Well, Neil Gaiman just ripped my heart out with Season 2 of Good Omens, so I am engaging in some writing therapy to try to recover.
No substance here, folks. You've been warned.
I. Acts of Service, or The Needs of the One
Spock of Vulcan is cold.
This has, unfortunately, become one of multiple minor inconveniences which result from serving aboard a starship designed to keep one species, in this case humans, in moderate comfort. It would indeed be foolish to adapt so many costly systems, Environmental Control included, to satisfactorily accommodate one being out of more than four hundred, and Spock has no objection to this approach, on logical principle.
However, it is most inconvenient at times, as his physiology simply does not have sufficient thermo-regulatory techniques to keep his internal temperature at a comfortable level without sacrificing energy and/or productivity in other areas. Such ability is, quite simply, a finite resource, and in nearly every case, duty must take precedent over personal preference.
Kaiidth. What is, is; and after more than a decade aboard this particular starship, Spock is quite accustomed to the relative constant of being perpetually chilled; a low-level but consistent source of discomfort when he is working anywhere but his own cabin or Science Laboratory Thirteen, situated as it is over the powerful warp engines and as such remaining several degrees higher than the shipwide norm.
When needed, Spock makes do, as he believes the human saying goes, with the additional thermal layer offered as an optional part of the Starfleet uniform for cooler-blooded species, and spends the majority of his free time in the aforementioned Science lab or in his cabin. This has the added benefit of solitude, as he is not particularly inclined to pointless 'small talk,' or any of the human leisure activities which exist for entertainment purposes in the various recreation rooms.
Unfortunately, his new captain apparently possesses the exact opposite temperament, in nearly every respect.
James T. Kirk is by nature an almost frenetically active, energetic human. He is firm but fair, kind, and what is apparently considered quite charming to nearly every species Spock has seen him encounter thus far. Kirk is far less reserved as a rule than Christopher Pike had been, and far more physically sociable, both above and below decks. This can be a strength in a leader, certainly; loyalty is a far more desirable compulsion for a crew to follow than fear would be. It could prove to be a dangerous weakness, as well; but time will tell, on this.
In an entirely incidental but tangentially related observation, Spock has noticed that the man also seems to radiate warmth like a sun, despite the lack of any visible energy transfer; but Spock has, in the last six months, ceased to wonder at how a room brightens when the captain enters. It simply does.
Kirk also seems to think that Spock spends entirely too much time alone, which is neither an accurate assessment of Vulcan introversion nor any of the human's business; but Spock has also ceased to wonder why it is so difficult to tell the man no. It simply is.
Spock does, however, find satisfaction in a mental challenge; and it seems in the game of chess, particularly the three-dimensional variety, that they have finally found some common ground in a leisure activity.
Adding a second layer to his uniform or retrieving a hot drink before playing are small costs indeed for a most diverting hour or two spent in this fashion, and Spock no longer dreads this particular social activity, as he had the first few times it had been suggested. Jim Kirk's strategic mind is already proving to be fascinating, and the human is also quite intelligent, contrary to some of what Spock now suspects were merely jealous rumors, which had circulated before his assumption of captaincy.
However, Kirk is also far more observant than he appears to be, something Spock has already noted on more than one mission where a crewman unwisely decided to test the hearing and/or tolerance level of their new commander. The lower decks are still discussing the morning the captain showed up to watch a manual phaser drill, blithely wearing the female-presenting uniform instead of his usual tunic and trousers, because someone had been foolish enough to whisper an outdated slur about one of the gender-fluid phaser operators in Kirk's hearing the day before.
The foolish young man in question had actually taken the point without further reprimand, and thankfully changed his behavior, according to a much-entertained Montgomery Scott. Spock was mildly surprised to hear this; in his experience, such careless bigotry is not so easily quelled in a human. It is further proof that this particular human has far more leadership power than might appear at first meeting, something which will be an interesting scientific study.
That said, Kirk appears to possess both high intelligence quotient and high emotional quotient, a duality which Spock does not himself possess. Coupled with a natural ability to observe and listen before making decisions, it is a powerful combination in a starship captain, if an unsurprising one.
Spock is presented with another example of this one evening as they prepare for the final stages of a tri-D chess game in Recreation Room Four.
They typically gravitate to one of the back corners of these public rooms, both for a lower noise level and because the crew tend to be more at ease when they do not feel as if their superiors are, literally or metaphorically, listening over their shoulders. But tonight, the room had been nearly at capacity upon their entrance, and a single table along the starboard wall had been all which was left available. Kirk is not the type of captain who would oust any crewman from their positions, even if they were to offer (as they did, remarkably cheerfully) the same; and so they take this atypical location with no further comment.
But the room has only grown louder as more crewmen enter, raucous and celebratory. It is Friday evening, and most alpha-shift crew are off-duty for the next two to three days, eager to enjoy their free time in social activity. As the noise level steadily increases, Spock finds himself rearranging his playing strategy to bring the game to a swift and decisive end, rather than amiably prolonging it to learn more about Kirk's apparently unsystematic and completely chaotic style of offense. There will be other nights for such observations.
If he had thought to adjust this strategy unnoticed, however, he had been incorrect in his assumption.
Kirk's hand stops him with a gesture as Spock reaches for the white queen, and he raises an eyebrow in question. "Sir?"
"Either you were only humoring me for the last hour, or you're now trying to end this with even less mercy than usual." The captain's eyes flick rapidly around the room, momentarily landing on the friendly argument escalating over a game of cards in the back corner, and then back to him in question. "Is it the number of people, or the noise? Over-stimulation?"
Surprised at both the quick intuition and what looks to be genuine concern, he nods, if somewhat hesitantly. He does not wish to cause offense by voicing negative comment on actions which are, for a human, quite normal.
"The latter. The noise level is less than optimal for my own peak efficiency, particularly with accentuated hearing."
"Right, Vulcans hear up to 35% more than humans, don't they?"
Also surprised at the quick recall of fact, he nods. "Under normal circumstances this is of benefit. However…"
"When the Botany boys can't find their inside voice for a poker tournament, it is not of benefit?" Kirk supplies, jerking his head back toward the loud table in the corner.
"To an extent, yes. But I am in no serious difficulty, Captain."
"If we play in one of our cabins some evening, Spock, can I convince you to call me Jim?"
"Negative."
"It'd be just us, nice and quiet…" The words are coaxing, almost teasing, and Spock is still unaccustomed to this, or to the preferred response; so, as always, he errs on the side of professionalism.
"That is not sufficient reason for disregarding professional courtesy, sir."
"Hmm. I do note that you didn't say no to playing in a cabin rather than a public rec room, though," Kirk observes slyly, apparently unoffended.
"I would not be entirely averse to this, no."
"Let's continue this tomorrow evening, then. Yours or mine?" Spock hesitates, only a fraction of a second, but it is enough for this particular human. Kirk's own eyebrow inclines with mild interest. "Yours, I assume?"
"That would be acceptable."
"Not the most ringing endorsement for my company, but I'll take it, Commander."
-0-
Spock has never entertained a human in his cabin before, for any purpose. While he worked pleasantly enough with most of Pike's crew, he did not easily form close companionships with anyone, nor did he feel the need to do so; and any official business could be verbally conducted over a comm-channel. There was simply no need for a human to ever invade his personal space in this fashion.
However, due to this fact and the fact he is mid-sentence in a Science Officer's log at the time, it does not occur to him to adjust the climate controls until after he has already granted the captain admittance to the room and pointed him to a seat at the small table in the sitting area. Kirk settles readily enough and starts examining the waiting board while Spock finishes his notes.
Once signing off, he then sees that the human's face is already slightly flushed; the temperature is likely far too high for human comfort.
"Computer, reduce temperature to twenty-eight degrees, increase humidity by five percent," he directs, moving toward the table.
Kirk's eyes flick up to him in interest as he sits. "What temperature was it before?" he asks, although clearly grateful for the impending change.
"Thirty-nine degrees."
A quick blink of surprise. "Is that Vulcan norm?"
"It is."
"How on earth are you not freezing all the time aboard ship, then? Human norm in public areas is 25.5."
"We are not on earth." He moves a rook into a cautious opening gambit. "But it is…manageable, at most times. My physiology has adapted successfully to it as a working environment."
Kirk pushes a bishop into position on the second tier, and makes a thoughtful hmm-ing sound. "Well, your own cabin is not a working environment, Mr. Spock. Computer, reset to default cabin presets."
This human continues to surprise, something which is endlessly fascinating to a mind of science. "You will not be able to properly focus in such conditions for long, sir."
"Well, you'll just have to checkmate me quicker, now won't you?"
"That will not be particularly difficult if you suffer the effects of mild hyperthermia within ten minutes, Captain."
Kirk eyes him speculatively over the board, even if he is already clearly perspiring from the sudden increase in heat. "A wager, then: If I win in such adverse conditions, you must agree to call me Jim when we're alone."
"The odds of that eventuality occurring are at least two thousand, three hundred and sixteen to one, sir."
"Less talking, more checkmating, Commander. I believe it's your move."
-0-
They have been in stationary dock over Starbase Four for nearly one week now, restocking various medical and engineering supplies and making minor repairs to the aft outer hull with the help of the 'Base's large repair bots, a much safer endeavor than asking crewmen to take on the responsibility themselves via space-walking.
While most of the crew has been eager to avail themselves of shore leave on the 'Base, Spock has spent the time sorting and correlating a backlog of lesser important Science reports and experiment post-mortems which tend to accumulate periodically when his staff is at full capacity with more important, or at least more urgent, projects. Outside of nightly reports, he has not spoken with anyone on the primary alpha shift crew for five-point-two days, and it is with a strangely human sense of calm that he resumes the Science station the day they leave orbit. It is as if something has re-settled deep within.
They have just jumped to warp when, though fully focused on compiling the final logs for their stopover, he half-hears a conversation happening over the captain's armrest-comm, ending with what sounds like a cheerful affirmative from Engineering. No doubt, Scott had utilized his rare free time while docked as equally productively as Spock himself had, and has made a report accordingly. Their Chief Engineer is nothing if not steadfast in his care for this ship.
But it would appear that not all of the time in question was spent in the Engineering section, but rather at least partially on the Bridge. Spock is quite surprised to suddenly feel a blast of very welcome, very warm heated air suddenly start flowing across his legs, from what certainly was not previously any kind of air duct in this particular console's lower section. There is a well-disguised control switch as well, which upon examination gives an option to change the active air flow to a more subtle, radiating heat.
His surprise at this discovery must be audible or visible, as in his periphery he sees the command chair swivel toward the science station, and then back to its normal position. A short chuckle, and a quiet "Well done, Scotty. Bridge out," before the environment fades back to the peaceful calm of early morning business.
Fascinating.
Captain James T. Kirk has a headache.
This is, unfortunately, one frequent result of being a starship captain, with the responsibility and pressures that accompany the position; and particularly one such captain of this, the most advanced and arguably the most important starship in the whole of the 'Fleet.
While clearly pre-disposed to the minor annoyance known as chronic headaches, Kirk has since his Academy days been more than capable of managing said annoyance with little difficulty, a necessary survival skill borne of his somewhat obsessive study habits at that time. However, said ability to manage is somewhat hindered during weeks such as this one.
They are running on a constant yellow alert due to increased and potentially hostile activity along the nearby Romulan Neutral Zone. In such times, the captain works a primary Bridge shift every day and is essentially on-call around the clock; and while this is not the first time the practice has been implemented aboard the Enterprise, it is the first instance in which he has been forced to attempt, with limited success, to work his ninth day in a row while managing a migraine of epic proportions.
An effect of being at such high alert, all public areas of the ship remain fully lit even on the night shift. This includes the primary command Bridge, which is where he has spent the majority of the last two days on duty trying not to snap at his well-meaning crew and their very normal noise levels. It's hardly their fault if every chirp and whirr and beeping screen seems to create a razor-sharp blanket of noise that knifes shrilly into their captain's skull.
Unfortunately, due to the unusual alert status, he cannot in this case simply go to Sickbay, obtain Dr. McCoy's most effective migraine medication, and retire for the two to four hours it typically takes to work its magic. He is more than capable of pushing through pain and visual distortion, but not through the near-immediate sedative effect that said medication typically offers.
But the flashing yellow alert blinking silently on every wall sensor has steadily acquired a slightly blurry halo in the last four hours. He can time his pulse in his head, noting absently it seems to be increasing in pounding intensity behind the eyes, and if Chekov squeaks that chair just one more time, he swears…
He will not do anything.
Such is duty, and he has powered through such things and far worse before.
Doing so in front of the galaxy's most suspicious First Officer, however, is something entirely new to him. Kirk is still not quite convinced that he's not just a fascinatingly radical factor throwing off Spock's ongoing experiments in humanity, rather than making determined headway into what could possibly be the most valuable relationship in his adult life. But at the least, he has apparently been found fascinating rather than wanting, in important areas.
This does, however, entail the mortifying ordeal of being known, as the old saying goes. Spock's possibly the smartest person Kirk has ever met, and like all scientists, is keenly observant even when it appears he is fully concentrating on something else entirely (or most likely, several somethings simultaneously).
It's equal parts embarrassing, irritating, and flattering that the captain of the Enterprise qualifies as one such concentration today.
By this time, late in the second half of an endlessly long shift, he is fast approaching the end of his tolerance at warp speed, and is only a few desperate seconds' distance from tossing regulation out the airlock in favor of a Sickbay visit. But he wouldn't put it past McCoy to take the decision out of his hands entirely were he to show up in this condition, and so he doesn't dare until they've stood fully down from yellow alert, which will likely not be for at least another shift. In a few hours he will be free and clear until the following day (barring rogue Romulans), and will likely spend it in a very quiet, very dimly lit cabin.
And so, he sticks it out for another hour, and then two more, his increasing discomfort easily disguised as hyper-focus directed at a report on his padd, one which he literally cannot see clearly or respond to over the pounding in his head. It's evident enough from the side-eyes he keeps getting from the helm, that at least one of their two youngest crewmen suspects all is not quite well, but they have the good sense to not comment accordingly.
Kirk does start, almost violently, in his chair, when behind him the communications board squawks unexpectedly in the silence, bursting into an excited, rapid-fire comm from one of the Science labs. Fortunately for the captain, two other crewmen also jump a little in their seats, then glance around and reluctantly participate in the smattering of awkward laughter which ripples across the Bridge. They are all keyed up a little too high of late due to this hazardous patrol along the Zone, and Kirk certainly doesn't begrudge them amusement at each other's or his own expense.
Judging from the haste with which the volume is turned down on the comm behind him, though, his communications head has likely deduced or at least suspects he is not firing on all thrusters. Uhura is far too wise to say anything to him about the matter, though. As always, he appreciates her tact.
"On our way, Lieutenant."
The captain tunes back in just in time to hear Spock finish the conversation, and glances over his shoulder with mild interest. Spock tilts his head toward the turbolift, looking at him expectantly.
"Hm?" He's clearly missed something, and when Spock's eyebrow starts inching up his forehead it's not exactly Vulcan-level logic to quickly deduce the captain's presence had been requested in addition to the head of Sciences. "Right, coming."
The world blurs out a bit as he stands, vision tunneling and ears ringing like a red alert. Just one dizzying second, but it's enough to betray him to this most perceptive of beings as his mis-step off the dais is fractionally louder than it should be. The look of mild alarm on Spock's face vanishes just as quickly, however, when Kirk strolls calmly into the turbolift, nodding at the new young officer manning the Engineering station as the doors close.
"Don't even," he warns, hand upraised as Spock clearly starts to say something. His tone is light, but the look he sends across the intervening inches is very much not. "You know the regulations as well as I do."
"Affirmative. That does not mean I agree with enforcing every potential extrapolation of said regulations. And I am perfectly capable of expressing that misgiving if questioned by someone not currently aboard this vessel."
Despite his annoyance, he can't stop the amused snort that escapes. "Good to know you haven't quite lost that spirit of mutiny, Mr. Spock. I will keep your offer in mind moving forward."
A few weeks, even a month ago, it would have been too soon; but now, he only receives a look of tolerant exasperation as they exit in perfect sync onto the primary Science deck.
"I missed what we're being called down here for," he then adds quietly, foregoing pride in favor of not looking like a fool in front of some of the smartest people aboard. His own image aside, his people deserve better.
"Lieutenant Dorsai has succeeded in enriching the nocturnal environment required to successfully cross-pollinate and breed a hardier variety of Norsandi dayshade plants, potentially for an increase in aesthetic appeal in the arboretum or a recreation room. He requested a review of the final hydroponics setup, urgently needed as the plants are due to bloom for the first time in less than two hours."
"And you need my decidedly non-scientific review why, exactly?"
"I do not. However, Lieutenant Dorsai requested it."
"Did he now."
"Affirmative. As the experiment has taken well over a week to execute and he seems to be quite pleased with the result, I saw no reason to deny the request. He is most receptive to feedback, even from departments which do not fall under the Xenobotanical division."
He side-eyes his expressionless First Officer with a knowing look. "And it has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that these dayshade plants shed their leaves every evening and bud in total darkness. Right about now, I imagine."
"I would not have direct insight to the lieutenant's personal reasoning, sir."
"Of course, Mr. Spock. How silly of me."
Spock ignores both the sarcasm and its playful tone, as expected. The Vulcan strides ahead of him slightly, as if to make a very obvious point of dropping the matter per Kirk's unspoken warning.
Exasperated, the captain rolls his eyes as they round the corner to Hydroponics, and regrets it immediately as the rapid movement and turn around a sharp corner combine in an unfortunate lurch of brief disorientation and rising nausea. The sharp crack of his elbow hitting the wall as he leans on it for a second, firmly swallowing down said nausea, is either not loud enough to be heard by his First Officer (unlikely), or else is kindly being ignored by the same (much more likely).
Given that he nearly runs into Spock patiently waiting just inside the Hydroponics Bay, the latter option seems to be correct. However, any lingering annoyance he might be harboring is long forgotten as Spock inputs a clearance code on one of the large inner bays to allow them access.
The sound he makes as total darkness and a moderate sound-dampening field envelop them in blissful oblivion borders on indecent, and he can fairly feel Vulcan amusement radiating from somewhere to his left.
"You are indeed the smartest First Officer in the 'Fleet, Mr. Spock," he mutters, exhaling slowly in the leaf-rustling darkness. The tension which has been winding every neck and shoulder muscle painfully tight for the last twenty-four hours is already lessening under cover of artificial night.
"That is technically correct."
His laugh isn't loud enough to sharply accentuate the pain, this time. "And humble, as well."
"Humility is a human trait, Captain. As a Vulcan, I am quite unbiased."
"Of course." The thundering pulse in his ears slowly fades to a manageable level, and a lack of constant chirping of sensor readings and blinding lighting has already given him renewed energy. A second wind, so to speak, to carry him through the end of this last long day.
No doubt that was the intent all along, whether Spock enlisted a co-conspirator or not to assist.
"Is Dorsai actually waiting back there for us?"
"Negative. The lieutenant's workload is quite heavy at this time, and a written evaluation at my convenience will suffice."
"Well, I believe I can occupy myself for a few minutes while you do that. Unless you really want my uninformed opinion on soil samples."
"I was about to suggest you remain here. Twelve paces to your left you will find a small seating area, if you prefer that to standing."
He hums in acknowledgment, and hears Spock's barely audible footsteps slip away into the darkness. Small glowing dots dimly light a few traffic patterns throughout the bay, with green orbs on the distant walls indicating the location of active experiments. He manages to find what seems to be a large, low-slung bench of some kind in the general vicinity of Spock's directions, and slides to sit on the floor in front of it, leaning back against what feels like cool stone. From a distance, he can hear his First Officer recording observations for later transcription, a soothing hum of white noise that is more comforting than distracting.
Running over in his mind the potential issues they might encounter as they begin to exit this Neutral Zone patrol, he then moves on to considering how to counter a potential drop in crew morale due to this stressful mission. These major crew concerns occupy him for what he suspects is much longer than the time period an evaluation of eight plants really requires. But even so, he is still quite alert when he hears Spock returning, sure-footed and steady in the dark due to superior Vulcan vision.
"Captain?"
Spock clearly suspects he might be asleep. The word is barely audible, the harsh phoneme of the "t" rounded a bit so as to be less sharp to sensitive auditory nerves.
Oddly enough, it's this tiny detail that really extinguishes any remaining defiance he might be grasping at in a last-ditch, belligerent human effort to defend his pride against this strangely Vulcan method of care.
Humility is indeed a human character trait, one which he could stand to work on.