And he may have been slow on the uptake this morning, but he was at the gym at precisely 2000 hours.
As was Spock. In fact he opened the door for Kirk (or his motion activated the sensor, semantics) and they stepped in together.
"Despite your earlier parameters, Captain, it is unwise to adjust the gravity differentials."
"...It is?" Jim blinks at him, looking genuinely confused.
"I require them in order to maintain your safety."
"...Yeah, that was kind of the idea," Jim laughs. "Oh-oh!" he straightens up. "Oh, yeah-I mean, I'd definitely be down if you didn't wear grav-equalizers, but I kind of wanted this to be challenging for you, too."
It took a moment for him to adjust, realizing the miscommunication, "I will wear them." He sniffed, not wanting to let on that he'd assumed Kirk had a masochistic streak.
Jim just peers at him with a clear twinkle in his eyes, though. Surprisingly, though, he doesn't make any off-color remarks or references, he just nods and orders the computer to produce the two metallic bracelets and a chess board. "White or black? I figured we can start with 2D, so my infinitesimal brain can catch up." He picks up the flat board from the buffer.
"I know all of your grades." He reminded Kirk- well aware of the mans fantastic intellect. Spock fastened the bracelets onto his wrists neatly.
"You do not," Jim sticks his tongue out, as if affronted by that instead of flattered. "I'll give you first move, too," he decides magnanimously as he sets up the board lightning-fast.
"Very well." Spock made his first move with a pawn.
Jim only scans the board for a second before making the next move with his knight. "I still think we should go in through the front door," he says after Spock makes another move and he counters immediately. "Or at least consider it."
Spock is a machine. Predictable, but smart.
"And once we are in the front door?"
Jim on the other hand is completely random. Chaotic, nonsensical. It's hard to tell if he actually knows how to play the game. "We could go in with subdermal beacons. Find Narae, activate them and wait for remote transport."
Spock's tactics mostly relied on predictability of his partners moves. Kirk's methods were maddeningly erratic and Spock found himself working overtime to try snd compensate.
"They will likely scan for subdermal beacons." He pointed out, brow furrowed and eyes on the board.
"I know a thing or two about Orion scanners. I could configure ours around Syndicate standards. It's not fool proof, but what's the alternative? We watch, we wait, while he gets further and further away from Federation space. While this guy, who is a doctor, who is unlikely to have experienced more than a papercut during his tenure at Berkeley-"
"It does sound like the more sound of two plans." Spock allowed.
"It sounds like the plan where we do something," Jim implores. "I don't relish asking this of anyone, I can't guarantee a good outcome. All I can do is act, now."
"The team should also include security." It was happening now, Spock wouldn't fight the inevitable, he would instead do his best to ensure it went smoothly.
"Agreed," Jim nods. "But I don't want this to get out of control, either. We only take who we need. The bigger our team is, the less control we'll have. One security officer," he holds up a finger.
"Three of us." Spock seemed sceptical.
"We get in, we get out. That's going to be hard to do with a full away team complement." Jim's eyebrows arch.
That was true. If risky. Spock considered it while his eyes flicked over the chess board speculatively, "Very well."
Jim nods, rubbing the back of his hand over his face, which seems to move reflexively to smile, instead of glower or frown. "You're the first officer," he points out. "You don't have to come. I can just take two security thugs with me."
"I would be remiss if I did not attend such a profound diplomatic meeting." He pointed out sagely.
That makes Jim laugh. "I didn't figure you for a politician, Spock."
"I am a man of many talents." He said, dry.
"We'll see about that," Jim grins and slides his chair out, falling into a light stance, jabbing out playfully.
He eyed the board and then Kirk, "What has triggered the spar?" He was so lost on how this game worked, but knowing Kirk there was no rhyme or reason to it.
He just keeps grinning, which only serves to prove Spock's point. "Gotta keep you on your toes somehow. Put 'em up," he thwaks Spock lightly on the shoulder.
Spock stood, but unlike Kirk's classic put'em'up pose, Spock crouched in a classic Vulcan ready stance.
Jim seems to fight in a very standard, classic manner, almost predictable. He falters on his footing and Spock gets a good jab in to his stomach, which makes him laugh, winded. "Good thing we got the equalizers," he snorts.
"Indeed." Spock agreed with the faintest of smirks, spinning for another jab and a leg sweep.
Jim sidesteps, though, and this time he hooks his foot under Spock's knee and jams his elbow into his opposite shoulder, using his momentum and strength against him in a sudden, explosive flurry of movement.
Spock, to his surprise, hits the mat.
Jim is grinning down at him widely and holds his hand out to tug Spock back to his feet. "Beginner's luck," he promises guilelessly.
"Your skill should not be diminished by such flippancy." Spock scolded.
"That's suus mahna, yeah? That stance, here." Jim mimics it as easily as if he's been studying Vulcan martial arts his whole life. "To be fair, I'm preferential to D'Alik'tal. My primary weapon is a staff, if you can believe that," he laughs easily. "We should 1 on 1 sometime, crew would pay good money for a showdown. It'd help boost morale." He spins to the side and falls back into ready, this time his smaller, compact form is like water, smooth and fluid and completely unpredictable.
Spock's eyes flicked over Kirk's form, begrudgingly finding no fault in it. His gaze lifted as Kirk dropped into another stance and Spock's brows quirked, "Not chess?" But again assumed the suus mahna. Predictable, if powerful and precise.
Knowing Jim, there were rules and regulations to the timing, but he was just making the whole thing up as he went along. "Each of us has two pieces," he says. "So, two rounds." That was probably not at all how it worked, but tomato, potato. Jim seems to fall back most easily on silat, and when Spock starts to dig in and really expend effort he finds Jim almost impossible to connect with, his hands, arms and legs locked more often than not requiring him to back off. Unfortunately Jim's tendency to showboat gets the best of him and Spock nails him in the chest with an elbow, and it sure looks genuine when he slams into the mat. "Welp, I think that's a draw," he wheezes dryly.
Spock straightened and offered Kirk a hand up- he hadn't so much as broken a sweat but his cheeks had the faintest green rouge to them.
"Probably stick to the basics, huh," he bats his eyelashes and grips Spock's hand, easily flipping himself back on his feet. He sits back down, studying the board contemplatively. "How're you finding it on board? The crew dynamics, things like that."
"Meeting expectations." He said as he studied the board, still trying to wrap his head around this 'game.'
"Good expectations or bad ones?" Jim's eyebrows arch.
"Expectations do not have inherent moral values." He was just a little smug.
"Well, no," Jim concedes, but it's skeptical. "But they can fall under an objective good or an objective bad. Meeting an expectation for xenophobia and stupidity is different from meeting an expectation for professionalism and competence."
"Unless the expectation for those inherently negative traits is one of minimal to non-existent." He pointed out, "An expectation does not necessarily mean it is one of substantial weight."
Jim picks up a piece and abruptly putting Spock in check. "Maybe, but having no weighted expectations at all is an indicator itself."
Spock was busy glaring at the board but he acknowledged Kirk with a sharp exhale, "Is it?"
"Sure it is," Jim replies, watching Spock watch the board. "For example, I have plenty of expectations of this ship and this crew. Some of them are good, some of them-people meet, and some are a little tetchy. There's instances where I just don't know what to expect. It all means shit, impassive or not. You're the liaison to the crew; you're the one they're going to depend on, to mimic, to mete out discipline. Your job depends on crew relations, so I'm interested in how that's going."
Jim's eyebrows raise as Spock makes a move, which he immediately counters with hardly a breath in between.
Spock's gaze rose from the board, trying to subdue the irritation that he felt at Kirk's easy countering of his well-considered attack on the board, "I expect that the crew conduct themselves to the standards of exemplary Starfleet Officers of the fleet's flag ship. They are meeting expectations."
"So those are professional expectations," Jim notes lightly, his tone all-business. "What about personal ones?" His eyebrows arch. "You had the opportunity to go to New Vulcan, but you didn't."
"My duty lies with the ship and her crew." Spock said lightly. Too lightly. His eyes shifted back to the board to make his move.
Jim watches, his chin resting on steepled fingers. It's fairly evident even to the psi-null that he's contemplating; thinking, maneuvering, testing. But he doesn't say a word, just counters quickly when Spock does move, submerging them once-more into equal ground on the board. "Everyone on board this ship has a duty to both," is what he says, just-as-light. "Having a duty to this crew, as an XO, as a leader, may not look quite the way you think it does."
"Are you implying that my dedication to this crew is sub-par?" He arches a brow but his eyes are glued to the board.
Jim lets out a grimace. "Spock, your dedication to anything isn't my concern. I have absolute faith in you when it comes to that."
"Then I fail to understand the purpose of this interrogation." Spock says flatly, not bothering to make another move on the board.
Jim rolls his eyes. "It's not an interrogation. It's me asking you your personal opinion of what's happening around here. I rely on your judgment, Spock. So I need to know that you don't consider me asking you whether our crew is performing beyond your empirical standards isn't construed as an interrogation."
His nostrils flare for the briefest moment, "Your crew is performing beyond my empirical standards, sir." He affirms, flat.
Jim's eyebrows lift again. "In what way?" he invites, holding out a hand.
"They exceed optimal operating standards in nearly every recordable fashion." He eyes Kirk's hand as though it may bite at any moment.
And just like that, odd as he is, Jim seems to drop it. And it isn't with dismissiveness judging by his pensive expression, he nods and genuinely concedes. "That's good," is what he says jovially. "I've thought so, too, but there's still a lot we need to get them on the same page about. A lot of them are still pretty raw."
Including the Captain. He doesn't say it, even if he is thinking it. Spock does have some social niceties, despite what people may think.
"Check."
Jim laughs at that, and makes a move which puts him out of check, triggering a spar according to his convoluted rules and he jumps to his feet, smirking like a predator. "Win's yours, Spock-if you can knock me out here and now."
"I will not render you unconscious, Sir." He sniffs, indignant, "Brain damage, while not irreversible, is never wise to purposefully inflict."
"Like I'm not already brain damaged," Jim shoots a finger-gun at him. "Well how about we settle for this. You take the grav-cuffs down an extra notch-" meaning that Spock's gravitational orientation would be even lighter than it already is, giving him a significant disadvantage- "and if you can knock me on my ass, you win." Never say Jim can't compromise!
He seems to consider it for a moment, then without answer, he moves nimble fingers over the cuff's controls to adjust them. With a nod, Spock crouches in ready.
This time, it feels like Jim isn't fucking around, but Spock knows it has a lot to do with the grav-equalizers, too. It's playful, daring. Not that he isn't taking the spar seriously, but more-there's an ease of confidence, that nothing serious will happen. No broken bones, no black eyes, no bleeding. Spock's hands feel like they require infinitely more effort to operate, the way an astronaut does on an EVA outing, and Jim manages to deflect his opening jab with a high vertical kick, his foot lightly nudging against Spock's inner wrist to push it aside.
It sends a zap of electricity through his arm. Spock doesn't have a moment to analyze it, though; entirely focused on using his new momentum to sweep a leg at Kirk's ankles, expression set in concentrated stone.
Jim stumbles a bit, or at least he appears to, and just when Spock thinks he's about to hit the mat he springs forward using the backs of his fingers to the ground, leaping up as though he were the one in zero-grav constraints, sending a powerful heel kick to Spock's shin. It's carefully aimed-not at his knee, that amount of force would debilitate him for real, but enough to cause pain. Jim tries to duck and jam his palm into Spock's opposing shoulder, in an attempt to twist him off-balance.