The Federation starship Enterprise has fifteen total laboratories completely dedicated to Sciences. This is not an unusual number for a Constitution-class vessel of their particular departmental allocation, and affords each sub-department multiple spaces in which to work, perform experiments, and otherwise carry out ship's business as they continue on their journey of exploration through the stars.

Of the fifteen, laboratory number three is Spock's preferred location. While it is an unfortunate shortcoming of his human half, to deny this preference when it clearly exists is illogical, and he has accepted it as having relatively sufficient cause, over time. Given that he spends between four and six hours per 24-hour cycle in at least one of the laboratories, other than those occasions when his constant presence on the Bridge is required, to develop such a preference is not unreasonable.

Science Laboratory Three is, while early in the numeric sequence, at the furthest reaches of the Science departments. It sits aft, above Engineering, and as such can be subject to more noise than most of his officers prefer to have when working on delicate experiments. Spock's own work is not typically so delicate, and as a Vulcan he is capable of sorting all types of background noise, filtering out the unimportant without losing track of any item he is focused upon.

Lab Three also regularly reaches temperatures of 29 or 30 degrees Centigrade, seated as it is above the ship's powerful warp engines. He learned very quickly upon regular work among humans that this is too warm for most of them to work in comfortably, much less efficiently. This temperature issue cannot be easily resolved, though he would apply himself and Engineer Scott to the task if required; however, with an additional fourteen laboratories available, most in more socialized areas of the ship, there has not yet been need to do so. His staff seem perfectly content to designate the room as primarily belonging to him, and so long as no one is resentful of his solitude, such a state is optimal for all concerned.

Tonight, with 38% of the crew on the surface of the planet at any given moment, rotating shifts of shore leave, the Science department has been rather isolated most of the day, and at this hour of ship's night is quite still and peaceful, particularly in Lab Three. The warp engines are powered down to a low, rhythmic hum, the atmospheric temperature is moderate, and he is half-listening to a lengthy stringed composition which Lieutenant Uhura had requested he analyze for possible adaptation on the lyrette, as she is planning a musical evening some time in the distant future.

None of these things are having any real, noticeable effect on his somewhat unsettled mental state, but they make it easier to adopt the pretense.

Though primarily focused upon the data at hand, in addition to mentally outlining seven other mildly urgent matters for Medical or Xenosociological review when they have rotated back aboard, he hears the laboratory doors slide opens unexpectedly.

"No, no – everything's fine," Kirk says hastily, as Spock starts to stand, assuming the man's sudden presence means urgent ship business. "Am I disturbing you, Mr. Spock?"

"While you are interrupting, your presence is never disturbing," he replies, truthfully, and is favored with a warm smile.

It is actually a compliment, though most humans of his acquaintance would not have taken it so. Jim has always been…unusual, in that respect.

Spock clicks a button to pause the data generation in front of him, and swivels on the stool toward the human as he wanders – there is no other word for the aimless motion – around the lab, looking curiously at various in-progress experiments but carefully touching nothing.

"Captain, I was under the impression you were planning to remain on the planet for at least a few days of shore leave."

"Yes, well." Kirk finally ends up opposite him at the long, polished table, and fairly collapses into one of the chairs surrounding it, dragging his hands wearily over his face with an incoherent noise of frustration. "Let's just say, my thoughts right now are not ones which I would like to have created in real-time, particularly in front of any crewmen within earshot."

Spock briefly considers if this is in reference to activities taken in the company of a former lover, as Kirk seemed to have in mind when last seen; while a Vulcan has no interest in such things, he can at least understand why privacy would be desired for such a fantasy. However, he soon discards this theory as unlikely, given the next piece of information he receives.

"The…caretaker? Is that what we're calling him? Of the place, actually recommended I not spend the night. Apparently the algorithms which control the simulations cannot properly distinguish between dreams and waking, fully conscious thoughts. Seems a very large flaw in the system, if you ask me."

Vulcans do not dream, as a rule; but Spock has been privy to enough conversations, both overheard and direct, with humans, to know that their dreams can range from strangely unsettling to legitimately terror-inducing recreations of traumatic events, past or imagined. Seeing these things come to life, even if temporarily, would also be…unsettling.

That explains why the captain is wandering the ship instead of attempting to sleep, and why he has chosen to wander in this direction, nearly as far from his bed as he can possibly be but yet more at peace than he would be there.

"Will I distract you if I just…hang around in here for a while?"

"Hang around, sir?"

Ordinarily, his only partially affected cluelessness regarding the imprecision of Earth idioms would produce a smile, even laughter; but not so, right now.

The twelve hours of relaxation on the surface have clearly not been enough to significantly counter the exhaustion, physical and mental, which has been driving every human on the ship, but particularly this one, for nearly three months straight. Kirk's eyes are still deeply shadowed, tense at the corners as they always are when he is suffering from a headache, and while amusement flicks quickly across his face, he barely manages a thin-lipped smile.

"I'm sure you can extrapolate the meaning from context, Mr. Spock. So?"

"Sir?"

"Will I distract you? Or could I just…stay, as long as I'm quiet? I don't want…"

"I am amenable to your presence, Jim." The gentle interruption serves its purpose, and he is not incognizant of the relieved sigh which is barely audible over the soft stringed music still playing several meters away. "Nor is silence required, until the last stages of my primary experiment."

"I doubt you prefer this laboratory because you want humans to come in and bother you with small talk, or ask questions before you're ready to present scientific results. I know you hate that."

"You are correct, but I have no objections to making a rare exception in this case." He re-starts the data flow, and scans it once more for the elusive variable which keeps occurring with no discernable pattern. "However, given the content of your thoughts, would it not be more…emotionally productive, to reassure yourself of Doctor McCoy's wellbeing in person, rather than sitting here?"

A vaguely exasperated huff. "Are you quite sure you are only touch-telepathic, Mr. Spock?"

"Quite sure," he replies dryly, pausing the feed to make a notation. "It is no great leap of logic, Jim," he adds, with a glance across the table.

"I've become that predictable?"

"Negative." At the quizzical look, he elaborates. "You have always been restless the night after losing a crewman, Captain. The fact that Doctor McCoy is now perfectly well, does not negate the physiological reaction to his apparent death, earlier today. It has been medically proven that what the brain knows to be fact, the body may still be attempting to process, minutes or hours later."

"Well." The human sighs, an almost shuddering expulsion of breath that takes with it some of the tension which had been keeping him rigid in the chair. He lists to one side, chin propped in one hand. "I suppose it wasn't a leap, in that case."

"I am…disquieted, myself, sir." The admission is not an emotional one, as the aforementioned physiological reaction happens in the body, not the mind.

Kirk's attention darts back to him. "You, Spock?"

"Indeed." He indicates the general surroundings. "I do not often determine the need for physical sleep, as you humans do. But I found myself unable to properly meditate this evening. It is most unusual."

"I'm sorry, Spock. Is there anything I can do?"

He makes another note on the data-padd at his left. "As I said, I would not be averse to conversation, particularly if the outcome is mutually beneficial."

A vague noise of interest. "All right. So…what are you working on?"

"Primarily, a hypothesis Doctor McCoy sent for my opinion earlier in the day. It is his belief that this planet could potentially be used at least in part as a medical facility, particularly regarding the rehabilitation of patients with severe physical or psychological injury."

Kirk sits up, hand falling back to the table. "Really? That would be incredible, Spock."

"I agree. It would obviously not be a permanent medical solution, and the doctor envisions it as a short-term facility rather than a long-term rehabilitation. But it would likely be of more practical assistance than the equivalent physical manpower, and offer the patient more control than they would receive in a traditional facility; for example, creating initial prostheses which correctly fit and function perfectly throughout the recovery period."

"That could be life-changing."

"Indeed. On a lesser note, but still of note, there would be no need for medical requisitions or supply schedules, which would not be insignificant in this somewhat remote sector. While cost is not a factor in galactic medicine, resources still remain finite; this would, essentially, be a net positive across the medical field."

"How does he think you would get around the thought aspect, though? Psychological trauma would mean very unpleasant simulations if not properly redirected. It's still unclear what kind of safeguards this caretaker actually has for the process, and if patients aren't capable of enough thought control…"

"Understood, and agreed. That is the primary issue to be solved, before the hypothesis can be realistically discussed and put through potential simulations. It is unlikely the Enterprise will have time or capacity for this while in orbit, but future scientific ventures may find the information of interest."

"Hm." Kirk stifles a yawn, but his eyes are far more alight with more life than he has shown for the last few days. "Well, it sounds amazing, Spock. Let me know where you land on it."

"You will have a full report, sir."

"Of course."

He feeds another three tapes into the deck at his right, and solves an equation waiting on the second monitor.

"You said primarily, what else is keeping you busy these days?"

He raises an eyebrow, despite the fact it is not exactly visible as he bends over a scanner. "It is a disambiguation of the complex entropic difficulties which theoretically would complicate time-travel on various species' physiology, with notes regarding what specifications would be required to compensate, in order for a starship to adapt sufficiently in the future."

"Disambiguation meaning, what, exactly?"

He straightens from the scanner, and turns patiently back toward the table. "Captain, it would likely be uninteresting to anyone but a statistician or theoretical physicist."

A sandy eyebrow rises fractionally, although Jim looks more amused than anything else. "Are you saying I'm not smart enough to follow your research, Mr. Spock?"

"Negative, as we are both aware that is incorrect. However," he continues, as the human actually looks ridiculously pleased at the statement, "I believe that conversation, in the traditional sense, requires an equal contribution from both parties. I have answered your initial inquiry."

"Oh. Well, yes, I suppose it is my turn." Kirk leans forward, arms on the table. "Did you have a topic in mind?"

"If you are willing to indulge my curiosity, sir."

"Of course. I can't promise it's anywhere near as interesting as disaggregating the physiological effects of time-travel, but go ahead."

"On the planet, Captain. You encountered an individual with whom you did not seem to peacefully co-exist, in your Starfleet Academy days."

Kirk snorts. "That is an extremely Vulcan way to put it, yes, Mr. Spock. What about him?"

"I find myself…unable to reconcile this," he replies, setting the data-padd on the table and settling back on the stool, arms loosely folded.

"Unable to reconcile what, exactly? That bullying was still a thing in the Academy when I went through?"

"Negative. Targeting those seen as weaker or inferior is not uncommon across many species, socially intelligent or otherwise. It does not make the behavior acceptable; but statistically, some degree of it is to be expected, particularly in the uneducated or lesser-developed, such as during adolescence."

"I would love to say you're wrong, but unfortunately it is an area in which humans could stand to be more developed, adolescent or not," is the subdued reply.

"They are not alone in this. Even on Vulcan, such things still occur, even if they are primarily relegated to the very young or exceedingly close-minded." He does not allude to a more personal observance, as the captain is quite intelligent enough to hear that such personal experience was had.

"Hm. So what are you having trouble reconciling, then?"

"Not the existence of such behavior, but more that you were in reception of it."

"How so?"

"I do not understand what would have made you a…"

"An easy target?" Kirk supplies, looking even more amused. "I do believe that's actually a compliment coming from you, Mr. Spock."

"Take it as you wish, sir. I merely observe that, to date, I have encountered very few humans, on the Enterprise or otherwise, who do not at least respect you, if not are quite fond of your presence."

"That's…strangely reassuring, actually." Kirk rubs the back of his neck, almost self-consciously, and shrugs. "It's really nothing, Spock, just human foolishness. I was probably far too concerned with proving myself at that stage, and spent almost every free minute studying or auditing optional classes, trying to move through the academy quicker than was actually wise. It certainly wasn't healthy, physically or mentally."

"I do recall Lieutenant-Commander Mitchell once remarking on the intensity of your academic studies. A 'pile of books with legs,' I believe was the phrase used."

The captain laughs, low and genuine, and makes a dismissive gesture with one hand before mirroring Spock's position, arms loosely folded and slightly thoughtful. "Well, he wasn't wrong, rest his soul. I was much too serious for my age, and…well." He clears his throat, looks down at the table. "I didn't have many friends, Spock."

Spock briefly considers how vastly different his own Academy experience might have been, had their paths crossed then. Or perhaps, neither of them were quite mature enough, and whatever Fate or Destiny seems to guide their lives was aware of this.

Perhaps this is just one more thing which Spock had presumed was a variable between them, when in reality it is a constant.

"So. Does that answer your original inquiry?"

"Not precisely, but it is…informative."

The computer beeps loudly, signaling the calculations are complete, and he types a brief command asking it to transfer the data to his personal terminal.

"I should let you finish." Kirk slides gracefully off the stool, and though he still appears tired, the haunted aura that had slunk into the room with him seems to have dissipated.

"You may stay as long as you wish, Captain."

"Thank you. But…I think I might catch a nap and then beam back down, actually, maybe take a good book or two with me. Check in on Bones, like you said. Unless he's occupied."

Spock does not point out the obvious; namely, that while their chief medical officer may very much be enjoying his own shore leave pursuits, if Kirk needed McCoy's attention, the doctor would certainly attend immediately. (He would no doubt complain incessantly for at least forty-eight hours following, but he would be there.)

"Doctor McCoy did emphasize most clearly this morning that my sole responsibility for the day was to, directly quoted, 'nerve pinch and shove you into an active transporter beam' if you would not voluntarily leave the ship."

In the act of replacing his chair neatly in its original position at the table, Kirk glances up at him, eyebrows raised and clearly fighting laughter. "Well, I personally am glad you found a more peaceful solution, Mr. Spock."

Spock scrutinizes the data on his monitor, unbothered. "It does remain a medically recommended strategy on record if required in future, sir."

"I will keep that in mind," is the dry response, delivered over one shoulder as the man prepares to depart the room, the doors sliding open at his ambling approach. "And my neck firmly out of reach, I think."

"A sound strategy, sir."

"Good night, Spock." Kirk is clearly smiling as the doors close behind him, which would seem to indicate he received what he came for.

Strangely, it would also seem that the disturbances hindering Spock's own concentration have departed with him.

Perhaps he should make a second attempt to meditate, after all.