Home Away from Home

Jim Kirk stood outside the door to Commander Spock's quarters.

Twice, he raised a hand to press the chime, and twice that hand fell. He knew himself to be woefully unprepared for this situation. He realized he didn't even really know what 'this situation' was.

How could he ask what he wanted to know?

What could he possibly say?

And why did Vulcan equanimity have this effect on him?

Knowing what to say - making conversation - was not exactly difficult for him. Jim had been told (probably too many times for his own good) that he could charm the birds out of the trees. But his normal methods were certainly not going to work here: Humor, sarcasm, and shameless flirtation were right out; and Spock, so far, seemed immune to the charm. Well, Jim supposed, that left only one thing: Unpredictability.

With Spock, that would have to be his ace-in-the-hole.

Suddenly, Jim felt better. Go with the flow? That he could do. He was an expert, and his First Officer knew it.

He pressed the door-chime. A moment later, the door whooshed open.

Jim didn't visit Spock in his quarters very often. When he stepped inside, he was overwhelmed by experiencing so many alien sensations all at once.

There was the initial blast of heat that struck him as he stepped through the doorway. Even expecting it, his body tensed, as though preparing to flee from fire. He supposed, for Spock the effect was the opposite: His muscles probably relaxed, finally, after spending the days half-frozen. (Hmmm. There was something to ask about later.)

There was the fragrance - of incense and spice and tea - of Vulcan-ness. (This was something Jim couldn't explain or describe: It was just…different, otherworldly - as though everything left from that planet were imbued with some essential something formed from dust, and heat, and strength - and loss.) Spock's quarters smelled good - great, actually - but with a subdued scent that, somehow, made Jim feel lonely, or sad.

There was the quiet. Equipment that cheerily clicked and bleeped and pinged in his own quarters was hushed here, hardly daring to break the silence.

There was the light – or lack of it. These red-draped rooms were habitually kept dim, even more so in the evening; and he was momentarily blinded when he moved in from the bright blue-white glare of the corridor. As his eyes adjusted, he knew, he'd be able to make out the standard Starfleet décor – made mysterious by the half-light - and Spock's own possessions: A few precious artifacts, each amazing, which spoke of an aesthetic that seemed somehow out of reach.

He held still, his eyes shut, waiting for the disorientation to fade. He heard the door close behind him. His body was relaxing from its initial reaction, the pounding in his ears slowing. He was able to breathe deeply, and the scent was familiar. Surely his eyes had adjusted? He opened them.

At first he thought the room was empty, except that there was an expectant something in the air.

Spock was at the far side of the room. He stood motionless. Although his face was partly turned from the door, Jim could feel his eyes.

But he had the impression he wasn't the focus of the Vulcan's attention – Spock seemed to still be listening to something that had been said before Kirk's arrival.

Uhura was standing near Spock - not an arm's length away - turned toward him, one slender hand lifted slightly. Still in uniform, she somehow looked to be almost a part of the room. Jim could see her perfect profile: She appeared frozen mid-movement, like she had been going to him, and started to turn at the sound of the door - but couldn't quite bear to look away.

Then, for the second time that evening, time started slowly flowing again.

That slim feminine hand came down to rest lightly on the Vulcan's forearm. Her face turned to look back into Spock's, even as his eyes sharpened on the Captain.

Uhura's hand softly stole over Spock's wrist and came to rest on his own pale one - which rotated, then, to receive it. His eyes snapped to hers, and held. Her face tilted up, his chin angled down…

Jim once again had that familiar feeling of volumes spoken in silence; though, perhaps, this silence was less serene than the one normally enfolding these two. (Or maybe that was just him.)

Then Uhura was turning. Her fingers dropped from Spock's. Her eyes were huge, luminous.

Spock was looking toward Jim, his hands moving to clasp behind his back - and there was that well-known Vulcan pose.

Suddenly, the moment was broken. Jim raised his hands and shoulders in a shrug. "Hey, guys," he said.