Boredom's Not So Bad

Reporting to the Bridge early the next morning, rested and refreshed, Jim Kirk discovered that there was an interesting side effect to spending so much time with his Vulcan First Officer: He was strangely attuned to the actions and expressions of his co-workers and friends. He found himself listening to the tones of their voices; and imagining he could (well, almost/kinda, anyway) understand what the others were thinking – feeling - as he observed them. He felt oddly like he was watching them all move in slow-motion.

It was fascinating.

But time-consuming.

And Lieutenant Sulu had glanced back at him a couple of times, now, and caught him staring. The normally unflappable helmsman was actually beginning to look a little irritated – or nervous.

Oh, well.

Maybe the Captain should find something productive to do, beyond sussing his crew: There was probably actual work to be done, even on a milk run such as this current one was promising to be.

He swiveled in the Command Chair, eyeing the various stations of the Bridge. Maybe he could…

No. Spock had only just completed one of his long, slow circuits; and apparently, as far as the Vulcan was concerned, there had been nothing unusual to report. Nor anything usual worth reporting, for that matter. (And, honestly, the guy was a pretty good judge of the interesting, no matter what Bones said.)

He glanced back to where Spock was still standing, leaning over his console.

Uhura was turning in her seat, one hand just touching the earpiece firmly inserted into her left ear. Kirk had watched her do this – oh, a thousand times. She would turn, letting her gaze wander idly over the Bridge as she focused on what the earpiece was conveying. She might turn a little more, frown, tap the tiny device…

Yep: She had turned a bit, and paused, her hand to her ear. Her right foot pushed her back, a little, and her free hand adjusted one of the controls. Then she was turning, again, one fingertip on her earpiece.

Sometimes, when he was bored, Jim wondered what she thought about, as she listened, endlessly, to Space.

What went on in her mind as she worked all day alongside the man – the grave, silent, Vulcan man – whom, Jim had long since realized, she would probably go home with, at day's end?

But he had to be really, really bored, to let his mind go there.

(Honestly, there were times he never got past admiring her legs.)

She had paused in her aimless circular progress, and was staring at nothing, her vision unfocused.

Wasn't she?

Jim couldn't really see her eyes – at least, not well enough to determine whether they were focused or not, on something – or nothing. It occurred to him that she could really be looking at Spock, whose tall form was still bent over the science monitors, two fingers touching the comm device protruding from his own, elegantly pointed ear. He was only a few steps away from where she sat - close enough, almost, to touch.

He, surely, was giving full attention to his work?

Uhura had turned a little more, and a little more than that. Her frown was definitely an absent one, and Jim knew that once again he had allowed his mind to hurry down a profitless path – to too little purpose, and too much pain.

Apparently, she felt his eyes on her: Her focus sharpened and shifted; their eyes met.

He glanced away, for a second - and her eyes followed. When his gaze moved from Spock back to her, her frown was deepening.

Uh-oh.

He swiveled all the way around, and checked out the main viewscreen. Well, would you look at that… Space. Right outside his front window.

He drummed his fingers on the arm of the Command Chair, glad - for the umpteenth time – that its designers had left enough room instrument-free, at the ends of them, for him to do just that. Hey, even Spock had been known to tap a finger or two on that empty place, when his mind was otherwise engaged.

Jim cleared his throat, and Sulu and Chekov turned as one and glanced back at him over their inside shoulders. They were like bookends with matching quizzical expressions.

He had to smile at the foolish fancy.

See that, the two in front of him smiled, too; and exchanged a look that told of their sheer pleasure in being in the exact spots they were in, at this exact moment - boring milk run, or no.

Jim chuckled. He climbed to his feet, and stepped down to stand off those same two inside shoulders.

It was a pretty damned fine place to be.

He bounced a little, on the balls of his feet, and Chekov shot him another glance. Kirk intercepted it with a supressed smile. He was feeling expansive. "No Klingons this morning, Mr. Chekov?'

Chekov shook his head. It had to be Kirk's imagination: Surely the boy didn't really look a little doleful as he replied, succinctly, "No, sir."

Sulu glanced up with the start of a cheeky grin. Apparently, he had forgiven the Captain for the relentless staring, taking it as a symptom of boredom, not ire. "Perhaps Mr. Spock could find us some," he suggested, his own boredom causing him to brave a swift and cuttingly logical retort.

"Now, now, Lieutenant. Let's not hope for too much excitement," the Captain chided, murmuring into the tiny expectant silence that followed Sulu's remark.

The helmsman nodded at the justice of the Captain's response, before glancing down at his station, and making a tiny course correction.

Kirk enjoyed the forward view a little while longer, before dropping one hand to Sulu's shoulder, for a second, in a momentary gesture of camaraderie. Then he clasped his hands behind his back, and strolled toward the next station over. Its occupant smiled, too, over her shoulder as he came alongside.

God, he loved these people – this ship - his whole fricking charmed, amazing life.

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