The computer's artificial glow painted his desk in bluish light, highlighting his long fingers, casting shadow across the keyboard beneath their deft movements.
Starfleet Criminal Database filled the screen, the search menu located near the top. His fingers blurred, hurrying through the site. One name hunt later and the Irishman mugged from the computer.
Leo Walsh was one known alias of a certain Harcourt Mudd, who was the proud perpetrator of a multiple screen list of petty crimes going back decades. From the looks of it, Mudd was an inept criminal, prone to scheming and theft, usually bungled. Where his true talents manifested themselves was in the art of escape; through a combination of legal loopholes, plea bargaining, and mitigating circumstances, Mudd had gotten off almost every time.
Looking at his record brought to mind images of a reincarnated Houdini with a criminal bent.
Kirk whistled softly, leaning back, and resting his interlocked hands atop his head, ruffling his hair. The movement of wet air between his lips broke the concentration of the Vulcan reading over his shoulder, whose eyes flickered to Jim's mouth for a heartbeat before training on the screen again.
They sat crowded at Jim's computer desk in the corner of his quarters. For the sake of efficiency, Spock had agreed to come with Kirk to the captain's personal terminal, where they could more easily access Starfleet records, since the men wouldn't have to go through, "a bunch of authentication and verification bullshit because it already recognizes my clearance for classified information."
Spock's proximity did not make Jim uncomfortable, exactly. Rather, it was too comfortable for his, well, comfort. Soft waves of heat rolled from the Vulcan warming his side, and his even, slow breathing tickled gently on Jim's neck. Sitting by Spock in silent companionship was peaceful, surprisingly enough, filling Kirk with a sense of well-being. As he temporarily (and secretly) basked in his First Officer's body heat, Jim suddenly remembered something from his Xenobiology class, and jumped to his feet. Only Spock's inhuman reflexes stopped his chair from toppling to the floor, but the captain didn't pause to see the catch, which he surely would have appreciated for its sheer coolness.
"Captain, may I inquire as to what prompted this illogical display and why you are altering the temperature settings in the room when it is only .3% probable that you are uncomfortable?"
Spock settled the chair firmly to the floor and looked over to the man who was suddenly on the other side of the room, but then he was still, waiting for an answer. Jim finished with the controls and recrossed the room with unhurried steps; he was considering something startling, something he should have seen sooner. His hip touched the corner of the desk, and he leaned into it, his arms folded over his chest.
"So Mr. Spock, it just occurred to me that Vulcan has a much warmer climate than the average one of Earth. More akin to one of our deserts really. To answer your question, for someone accustomed to heat and with a much higher body temperature – namely you – it would, in fact, be uncomfortable in here." Jim paused. "Actually, it would be uncomfortable everywhere on the ship." He fingered his lip absently; Spock didn't exactly break his statue state, but his eyes followed the digit for a moment. Weird. Now that Kirk thought about it, Spock did kind of look at his hands a lot. Maybe Vulcans had a thing about hands. He really did need to brush up on his Xenobiology. Genius or not, he hadn't paid attention in class, and therefore found his knowledge was lacking. He hated not knowing relevant information. If only he'd known he would actually make it to captaincy, he would have certainly attended classes more often.
"Hmmm…I think we could reset the control temperature a few degrees higher. Maybe two or three. I don't know, I'll have to check with the science departments about experiment conditions and get with the other non-Terran crewmembers to figure out their temp preferences. I know it's not much, but would it make you more comfortable? You are cold right?"
Spock blinked.
"The ambient temperature of the ship is measurably cooler than that of Vulcan."
"Yep, you're cold. Probably partially frozen all day. Maybe that's why you've got such a stick up your ass usually."
He grinned angelically, but it slid out of place quickly as Spock regarded him.
"Fascinating."
It was more breathed than spoken, wisps of sound on the air. Jim wasn't sure that it had even been a voluntary utterance or one that he was supposed to hear.
Their gazes locked.
Brown eyes intently searched his own blue gaze, and Jim felt foggy. There were secrets there, guarded, but open too. Things he seemed to half remember. Light in an icy cave and searing memories pouring into his mind. He had stayed alert with the other Spock, but with this one, even without a touch on his face, he was losing himself. It was the transporter room all over.
Spock blinked again.
Jim was free. He couldn't decide whether to be relieved or disappointed.
Vulcans probably have mystical eye powers too, he thought wryly. Really, I do need to dig up that class file.
"We will discuss your erroneous perception of me at another time. Presently, Captain, the erstwhile Leo Walsh must be addressed."
And there he was, being all First Officer and reminding Jim of his duties again. As if he hadn't provided the distraction in the first place with his body heat. Oh well, at least he was, uh, cordial about it this time, I guess. Plus, he said we'd talk later. He doesn't outright lie. Kirk decided to accept it as progress.
"Of course Mr. Spock. Drub up the usual suspects for a round table. Conference Room Four in 15 minutes for debriefing?"
Spock nodded.
"The room is already clear. I anticipated you and had it prepared for a command meeting."
Smug Mode: Engaged.
White teeth gleamed.
"I'm that easy to read, huh? I'd watch out for assuming if I was you. You know what they say about that."
"Indeed, I am not aware of imprecise colloquialisms often employed by Terrans."
"You can't fool me Spock. You were a linguistics professor. I think you know the ins-and-outs of every Federation language there is and more besides."
Seemingly of its own accord, the Vulcan's eyebrow rose.
"And you are not what you would have others believe you to be."
Jim was still trying to work out that cryptic comment when Spock rose and went to the door.
"Briefing in 15, Captain; we will meet you there."
He exited, motions crisp. Jim looked at the door that hid his retreating form.
Fucking Vulcan. He was driving him crazy even when he wasn't being an asshole.
Ohmigoodness, I published this and then realized I hadn't written one of these!
I really want to thank everyone who read/reviewed/alerted my work or any combination thereof. That goes for Observation Deck too. I've been a swelled up like a bullfrog with all the feedback. Thanks!