Seriously?

Yeah. Being Vulcan really, really sucked. That point had been firmly established, as far as James T. Kirk was concerned.

But who knew that empathizing with one would pretty much suck, too?

You know – Totally aside from the fact that it was probably just plain wrong to empathize with somebody who would just as soon not have you know that he had emotions in the first place.

{'And,' Jim's dozing brain shook itself awake enough to snidely insinuate, 'One who might very effectively throw down, thank you very much - simply for exercise and a little change-of-pace - if you're so obnoxious as to suggest 1) that he did, or 2) that he didn't.'}

Yeah.

Right.

The tea was good, though.

He took another sip.

Yeah, it was good.

He had always preferred coffee, himself.

He drank a lot of coffee - he and Bones.

At the Academy, there had only been a couple of tea-drinkers, that he knew of. Maybe it was just the idea of it: Those guys hadn't exactly had a reputation for being what you'd call 'tough.'

(Well, except for Pike – and he was already a Captain, so he didn't really count.)

But Scotty drank tea, and he was tough; same with Sulu, even if you wouldn't know it to look at him.

Kyle? Not exactly 'tough' - but still, good in a fight: Tricky.

And Spock, of course - though, like almost everything else, he pretty much drank it only in private. If you could get him to fight – if he were really motivated - Spock could kick some serious, serious ass.

So, yeah, tea was pretty good.

(Especially, Jim thought, when it was offered by a way serious non-emotional butt-kicking bad-ass.)

Yes.

Yes, maybe the tea helped.

"It's good," Jim said, glancing at the other. "Different."

Spock nodded. He took a sip.

Jim did, too; then he put his cup down, and its saucer with it. He looked over at Spock, studying him as if he'd never seen him before. After a second, Spock must have felt him staring so intently, because he raised his eyes, and turned his head, meeting Jim's gaze.

Jim hadn't quite figured out what to say. Why did he always think he had to say the perfect thing?

"I'm sorry, Spock, I think I might have messed up your bathroom. It was pretty neat in there, before… you know."

The Vulcan returned his cup to its saucer. He said, slowly, "It is of little concern." He reached out, and put the cup-and-saucer back onto the tea tray, his thoughts as much a mystery as ever. After a moment, he leaned back in his chair, and propped his elbows on its arms; he quietly interlaced his fingertips, and spent a moment or two looking at them. (Completing, perhaps, whatever reverie had been interrupted, before?)

Only then did he lift his eyes once more. "I trust you are recovered, Captain." It was not, quite, a question.

Jim shrugged. "I guess."

Spock just waited.

The Captain thought about it, then. "Actually, I'm pretty tired. I should probably go get some sleep."

He smiled, a little, "No telling what tomorrow will bring."

Spock nodded gravely.

(Didn't he ever get tired, too?)

After a moment, he stood, his attenuated body gracefully unwinding to its full natural height. It was a simple, unconscious action – and, from Spock, a rare unguarded one - but, watching, in his current mental (well - be honest, now, Jim – emotional) condition, it seemed to Kirk somehow significant.

Different.

Vulcan.

Alien.

Yeah, he must be really tired.