A/N: In case any readers haven't recently visited my profile to see my note, please be aware I'm continuing to post here on due to the kindness of regular commenters - but I'm primarily active on AO3 now, and most of my Trek fic has undergone a decent rewrite or edit since being moved there. I've had to disable PMs here on yet again due to either nasty or just annoying spambots, so feel free to look me up on AO3 if you're active there. LLAP, all.
Quality Time, or Event Horizons
Nearly two years have transpired, since Spock's parents came aboard the Enterprise on a fateful diplomatic mission, and the passage of time has been of benefit to Spock's previously strained relationship with both. While he would not consider himself to be on 'good terms,' as the humans put it, with Sarek, they have since the Babel voyage adopted a sort of amicable amnesty, which seems to serve them well.
Certainly, it is an improvement over the past two decades, and more certainly, it is an obvious relief to his human mother. Spock has learned, not just from Amanda, that human loyalty can be as powerful a force as the Vulcan equivalent; he is well aware his peace-loving mother has never been quite happy, forced to divide that loyalty on occasion between her husband and her son.
That said, while his relationship with Sarek has evolved into something along the lines of mutual respect, Spock does not remain in any kind of frequent contact with him, nor has he intention of changing this. There is no logical reason to inform Sarek regarding facets of Spock's life, particularly as Spock still dutifully writes to his mother once a month, a human concession to a specific request made by her some years before. If she deems his missives of importance, she no doubt would share the information with Sarek; and even if not, he likely is aware of it due to their marriage bond. There is no logical reason to burden either himself or his father with awkward communication.
But as this state has become typical, it is very unusual (and somewhat alarming) to be commed by the Bridge one evening while he is mid-move over a chessboard, and be told his father, of all people, is on the other end of the connection.
The chirp of the comm is bright and loud in the quiet of the cabin. "Bridge to Commander Spock."
He drops the rook in its new position on the lowest tier before moving over to the desk, absently noting with a most un-Vulcan satisfaction that the move seems to have produced a disgruntled scowl from his opponent. Kirk glares at the board as if the equipment itself is solely responsible for his impending checkmate, and taps a finger thoughtfully on the table. Attempting to wrest a stalemate out of the limited moves remaining, no doubt.
He presses the button to connect his private comm. "Spock here."
"Sir, I have a call waiting for you on Channel Four." Lieutenant Uhura's voice is, as always, calm and professional, but the fact that Channel Four is in use, particularly for him, is very unusual and they both know it. "Mr. Spock…it's a call from Vulcan. It's Ambassador Sarek, sir."
From his periphery, he sees Jim half-turn in his chair. Channel Four is the urgent personal channel, Five and Six being non-urgent. The fact that that call is live instead of a recorded communique, is also highly unusual.
"Put it through, Lieutenant," he directs without delay, seating himself at the desk.
"I'll just –" Jim gestures toward the door but stops, hesitant, when Spock shakes his head. "It's probably private, Spock."
"If it is unpleasant news, I would…" He cannot bring himself to say I would prefer not to be alone, but as always, this one human seems to hear what is not said as loudly as what is.
"If you're sure."
"Affirmative."
The captain nods and resumes his seat, only to fidget absently with a captured pawn.
Before him, the subspace relay finally connects. "Sarek. This is unusual."
"The cause is sufficient." The tension in his father's features is obvious, although not to the degree Spock would expect if there were actually tragic news impending. "I would not ordinarily trouble you before there is need for alarm, but not knowing your precise location, believed it best to reach out at this time in an abundance of caution."
"Please specify."
"Your mother has become quite ill, Spock." The words are delivered with typical Vulcan calm, as expected – but this time he can hear the unease behind them. "While she is not in immediate danger, it appears to be yet serious. She is currently being admitted for observation in the primary medical facility of Shi'Kahr."
Behind him, he can hear Jim starting to put the chess board away, barely audible clinks as pieces are near-silently replaced in their starting positions.
"More detail would be appreciated, Sarek. What is the precise definitions of serious in this instance?"
"Not immediately life-threatening, but having the potential to become so. The most severe symptoms match that of pneumonia, and she has developed this condition once before, though not to this degree." Sarek's eyes flick briefly to the side, and then return. "I do not expect you to leave your post aboard the Enterprise, Spock. But I wished you to have advance warning in the event of the situation growing critical. Your mother is not precisely young, by human standards, and the healers here are quite unaccustomed to treating any kind of serious illness in outworlders."
Both are facts Spock is painfully aware of. His own childhood involved multiple medical appointments, most of them highly unnecessary and unproductive, due to his own not entirely Vulcan physiology and the lack of medical education surrounding all such facets of a non-native.
And even if his mother is certainly not considered elderly yet, it is simply a fact of life that she is far closer to end of life than Sarek is. Every Vulcan is quite aware at all times that they are likely to outlive non-Vulcan companions by many decades, at minimum. This is not the most common reason for a Vulcan refusing to engage in a relationship outside their species, but it is certainly a reason. It would be illogical to form an attachment of any kind which one is well aware will end painfully, long before a Vulcan life expectancy is reached.
Any exceptions to the rule must be, by definition, exceptional.
"I am grateful for your candor, Sarek." His voice is quite calm, though his mind is not, and he is grateful for that as well. His father would not be helped by a human display of emotionality at this time.
"Indeed. I will keep you informed as I have more knowledge. A human specialist is being recalled from Eridani II to the facility as I speak, and I should have a more accurate report within an hour of their arrival."
"Any additional update would be appreciated."
Sarek nods, and in unusually abrupt fashion, terminates the call instead of indulging in the typical sign-off courtesies that even a distant Vulcan typically employs. This more than anything, tells Spock that the matter is indeed serious.
He is not precisely certain what to do with the information.
"No, I don't think that's necessary, but he can give you details later." As if from a great distance, he only just hears the captain, speaking into the wall-comm located closer to the sleeping alcove. "Just have someone write up anything time-sensitive and send it to his padd so he can make decisions on the way. I'll call Hartford myself, see if they want us to continue to M-955 or reschedule for when he's back aboard."
"Understood, sir."
He does not realize he is still seated at his desk, looking at a blank computer screen, until there is a firm hand on his shoulder, a familiar voice in his ear. "Spock. Are you with me?"
"Captain."
His voice sounds strangely flat, even to his own hearing, and the hand tightens for a moment; Spock absently notes with interest that there is zero emotional transference, an extremely difficult thing for a human to do. The gesture is most appreciated, as he is not able to properly assimilate anyone's thoughts but his own, at this time.
Deep below their feet, the powerful, omnipresent hum of the warp engines starts to ebb, indicating a drop in speed and/or power.
His confusion must be obvious, because Kirk finally crouches beside his chair, expression calm and earnest. "We're dropping out of warp so we can launch a shuttle," the captain answers, again in answer to a question Spock does not actually ask. "Unless you want me going through your closet, you need to go get a bag packed."
"I have no intention of leaving my post at this time, Captain. The absence of the First Officer is not permitted under family medical leave unless a specific diagnosis is medically confirmed, and even then, restrictions are in place when the ship is mid-mission. This situation is not applicable."
The Enterprise is, in fact, on a relatively tight schedule to reach a small planet ten systems' distance from their present position. Their mission: To pick up and ferry a scientific research team to an observation colony requiring an unusually intense, highly experimental terraforming procedure. While the procedure is not particularly urgent to planetary ecology, as the world is uninhabited, the team is quite eager to be underway; hence, the aforementioned schedule.
"I know you have at least 90 days of personal leave banked up from the last several years, because you work yourself to death by human standards. There are no regulations around when and where an officer may take that leave."
"There is no logical reason for my diversion. My presence will not improve the situation on Vulcan in any way, and my absence would hinder the operational procedures of the Enterprise."
"I acknowledge the latter, but the former is not completely accurate," the captain counters, with strangely reassuring calm. "Medically, your presence will not assist. But I can tell you with certainty, that we humans like to have the people we love close when we're not at our best. In sickness and in health, as the old vows go – and maybe even more so in sickness. Your presence will most definitely improve that situation. For her, at least. Isn't that logic enough?"
This is a foreign concept to most Vulcans; any kind of illness or injury, being an intensely personal thing not so easily controlled by the Vulcan Way, is detrimental to mental focus. As consequence, it requires additional effort to maintain equilibrium in those circumstances. Incorporating additional factors to the equation only exacerbates the physical and mental stress.
Spock knows Dr. McCoy thinks he typically desires medical quarantine simply because Spock prefers peace and quiet to human chaos; the doctor does not fully understand that it is actually a medical necessity. No Vulcan wishes to have other beings near when they are at their least controlled, as focus cannot typically be spared to manage any other radical factors.
But he is aware that for humans, it is typically the opposite, with only few notable exceptions.
"And if, gods forbid, the situation were to deteriorate," Kirk adds carefully, "wouldn't the best scenario entail you already being en route, instead of regretting a decision to wait, and every minute traveling in the opposite direction?"
That is logical.
"Exactly. We'll get along without you for a couple of weeks just fine, if necessary. Your staff is the most competent in the Fleet."
He is aware of this.
"Then you have no logical reason to linger. Go pack a toothbrush, I need to make sure Scotty's done your pre-flight inspection. It'll be at least a day and a half one-way, at top shuttle speed. Do you need a co-pilot?"
"I would prefer solitude."
"Not what I asked." The captain's tone is unyieldingly firm. "Do you meet the minimum safety requirements of an overnight pilot in your level of mental focus right now, Commander?"
"I do." He is Vulcan, and as such is capable of compartmentalizing any distractions when in control of a vehicle. To do otherwise would be most irresponsible, and indeed impractical.
Kirk seems to be satisfied with this answer, because he rocks back to his feet in a graceful gesture. "Good. I've told your science heads to send you a written recap of anything pressing, so you can set up any needed calls or meetings during the trip."
"I had promised to escort the ecological research team from M-955 and accompany them in the initial stages of the terraforming endeavor. They were most insistent on my presence for documenting the process, as I have a connection for scientific publication in the Vulcan Science Academy."
"That is a little unfortunate, but they'll just need to adjust accordingly. There are at least forty people on this ship who know how to dictate a detailed scientific transcript for post-mission periodical writeup, myself included. It won't have Vulcan-level commentary, but it'll complete the mission. They might even want us to hold off until you can rejoin the Enterprise, if it's that important."
That does appear to be his last objection.
"Good. I'll have Scotty meet you in Hangar Bay Two in fifteen minutes, unless you need longer?"
"Negative. That is sufficient." He shuts off the computer and stands, already computing a more efficient shuttle trajectory than that which he knows the auto-navigator will recommend. "However, if -"
"If something comes up, we have one of the most sophisticated communications systems in the 'Fleet, and we will use it," Jim interrupts him gently. "That goes both ways, Spock. If you need something, even if you just need something to occupy the time, you call. There are any number of people on board who would be happy to drop everything and speak with you for a while, if you need it."
He does not quite comprehend why and when he would 'need it,' but as the humans tend to say, the thought behind the words is what carries most impact.
-0-
If he were human, Spock might feel the combined emotions of relief and minor exasperation. Relief, over the fact that his mother is well on her way to recovery by the time he reaches Vulcan some thirty-eight hours later, having been delayed due to an ion storm disrupting his projected flight path; and exasperation, because Sarek had not seen fit to inform Spock of the fact until he was requesting landing clearance.
Obviously, the foremost of these sensations would be the relief at finding his mother quite miserable by human standards, but at the least, in no immediate danger of further complication. Amanda's delighted surprise at Spock's appearance is more than ample compensation for his diversion from the Enterprise, and it is no hardship to stay a short period and keep her company. It would be illogical to leave immediately, after such effort has been made in travel arrangements, after all.
Sarek, surprisingly, expresses actual gratitude for Spock's appearance, a highly bizarre act which does not really assist in lessening the strained relations between them. Perhaps, in time, this awkwardness might fade into something more resembling familiarity, but for now, the tension is obvious, and it is not precisely conducive to Amanda's recovery. Spock therefore avails himself of the logical opportunity for retreat once the medical facility's public visiting hours are over for the day; only one visitor, typically a spouse or partner, being permitted to remain past those hours.
He assures Sarek and his mother of his return in the morning, and retires to his designated lodgings. He is slightly surprised, but probably should not be, that Jim had thought to reserve a local hotel suite and send the information to his padd while he was in flight, rightfully understanding Spock might not wish to stay in the familial estate, many kilometers' distant and full of not precisely pleasant childhood memories.
Not yet in need of a rest period, having had little else to occupy his time during the lengthy shuttlecraft journey, he spends the sunset hours methodically reading and responding to the two dozen messages, none of them urgent, which fill his communications inbox from the Enterprise. He then places a call to the ship to receive an update on the Science departments and report his expected return date.
Lieutenant Riley is on duty at the Communications station for what corresponds to ship's gamma shift, but Spock is somewhat mystified when the young man cheerfully takes his report and then informs him, in a tone that brooks no discussion, that the captain had given strict orders to put any call through to him immediately, no matter the time of day (or night, apparently), if Spock were to communicate over a live channel.
Deciding against sending a written update evidently had been a tactical error.
Before he can even inquire as to this unreasonable order and the chances of subverting it, Riley forwards the comm, chirping a farewell that seems far too energetic to be tolerated long by the more relaxed overnight shift. Spock briefly contemplates simply ending the comm before it connects, and then considers that it would likely cause alarm. He resigns himself to a repetitive and unnecessarily emotional conversation, as the screen finally flickers on.
"Jim. You do realize I specifically called the Bridge because I had no intention of disturbing your sleep cycle."
"I do, which is why I made sure Riley knew to forward the call." Clearly only just having been pulled from sleep, the captain's eyes are somewhat dark-circled, his hair comically ruffled. However, he seems alert enough when he finally focuses completely on the screen. "I was glad to get your message this afternoon, though. Is she still doing all right?"
"Quite so. As of this evening, Vulcan time, there appear to be no complications, and the pneumonia is bacterial rather than viral, so can be treated quite easily once the appropriate anti-biotic agents have been created for a being of iron-based blood. They anticipate her being permitted to return to the family estate within three days, barring any unforeseen circumstances."
"That's great, Spock. I'm happy to hear it."
"It is certainly…more optimal than initially anticipated."
Kirk smiles at his avoidance of any more emotive term, but makes no comment on the matter. "You're still planning on staying a few days though, right?"
"I had planned to. But –"
"No, no buts. Stay long as you – or your family – need, Spock."
"Very well."
"Good." The word is punctuated by an unexpected yawn, and the human flushes slightly in embarrassment, shaking his head. "Excuse me. I am so sorry."
"It is 0305, ship's time. I do not believe an apology is warranted."
"Hmh." Kirk rubs his eyes almost absently. "Oh, by the way, I heard back from Hartford. The terraforming project has been postponed until you're able to rejoin us, because Hartford really wanted you, specifically. Scotty's going to use the extra time to do some upgrades to the dilithium chamber, so it works out for everyone. Depending on when you plan to return, you might want to just meet us at M-955."
"That would be logical."
"How are you getting along with Sarek?"
Amused, he raises an eyebrow. "As well as any two rational adults of an intelligent species would. Sarek has always been slightly more personable in his natural habitat."
Kirk snorts. "You'll forgive me if I observe that state of affairs wasn't exactly in evidence when they were in your natural habitat."
"Yes, I believe you made your observations to that effect perfectly clear when unrestricted by the expectations of public diplomacy. More than once, if Sarek's recounting is accurate."
"Well, I do like to leave a lasting impression. And at least your mother doesn't hate me. I hope you offered my best wishes for her recovery?"
"I did. She in turn requested I convey her gratitude for expediting the arrangements for my temporary leave of absence."
"Speaking of – is your room all right?"
"Affirmative."
"And are you all right?"
"Yes, Jim."
Kirk waves a hand in a vague gesture of surrender before folding his arms loosely across his chest, though he looks more amused than defensive. "It's a simple question, Spock. Not a Vulcan judgment. Something tells me you've got more than enough of that, right now."
This human has always been far too perceptive of Spock's constant and consistent battle to balance a dual nature, this instance included; and Kirk is actually correct in his perception more often than Spock is inclined to admit.
Perhaps a rest period is needed, after all; or at the least, a short time of meditation. Given that he will be in close interaction with Sarek at some point in the next forty-eight hours, that is likely a wise course of action. His father would not intentionally cause conflict in his human wife's sickroom, but that does not mean it will not occur naturally. Their amicable distance has lost its distance; but Spock would prefer not to lose the amity as well.
However, he soon realizes that in the twenty-three seconds that have transpired over this brief but distracting train of thought, the captain's eyes have already closed again, and he appears half-asleep in his chair, head tipped against his chest.
"Jim."
"Still awake, unfortunately," Kirk replies, smiling. His eyes are still closed. "The things I do for you, mister."
"I did not request this conversation."
"Which is exactly why I did. Because I knew you wouldn't, even if you wanted or needed to." Kirk finally looks up at him, amusement lingering at the back of his expression. "It's terribly annoying, when someone knows you that well, isn't it."
Intensely so.
"Indeed."
"Well, now you know how it feels to be on the receiving end." A quick smile, and the captain rubs his eyes briefly as he regains a fully upright position. "But if you're sure you're all right, I do have to be on the Bridge in…four hours."
"Three hours and forty-seven minutes."
"My mistake," Kirk replies dryly. He does take a moment to scrutinize the screen before him, as if doubting Spock's protestations of mental equilibrium, but finally subsides without further comment. "I know you already talked to your people below decks, but is there anything you need me to do while you're away?"
"Do not permit Doctor McCoy to file my monthly requisition forms. He will likely assume he is being helpful. The assumption could not be more incorrect."
A sharp bark of laughter. "Understood. We'll keep an eye on everything else for you. Get some rest, all right?"
"If needed, I will do so. Right now, I believe you should follow your own suggestion. Sir."
"Giving orders, are we?"
"As you said, Captain. Now you know how it feels to be on the receiving end."
-0-
Spock does indeed rendezvous with the Enterprise as it sits in orbit over planet M-955 some eight days later, the shuffling of personnel and scientific goods well underway by the time he brings the shuttle to a safe landing in its designated bay. The bay re-pressurizes around him as he powers down the engines, and the sound brings a reassuring sense of familiarity and habit which is quite welcome.
Montgomery Scott is waiting for him when he exits the vehicle, along with a trio of red-shirted personnel who immediately fall to work on the post-landing inspection and restocking procedures; their instructions no doubt to see that all vehicles are in perfect working order, in the event they are needed for the upcoming science-focused mission.
"Welcome back, Mr. Spock," Scott offers with a companionable grin, falling into place beside him as they exit the hangar bay. "And how was the ride, sir?"
"The Ptolemy appears to be in exceptional working order, Mr. Scott. My compliments to your improvements on the navigation system programming, in particular."
"Oh, aye, that was an upgrade and no mistake. I am mighty glad to hear it. And glad to have you safely back aboard, sir. It's been a bit unsettling without you." The words appear to be quite genuine, and Spock is gratified by this. Scott's respect is not given lightly, and is somewhat mercurial in the event the ship is threatened.
The aft turbolift doors close. "Deck Five. Is there any immediate ship's business I should be made aware of?"
"Not that I know of, sir, 'tis situation normal. Captain Kirk's had his hands full with this blasted science team, otherwise I'm sure he'd have met you when y'came aboard. Doctor Hartford seems to have…strong opinions, let's say, about a lot of things. He's a bit of a handful, if I may say so."
"I had observed that as a potential pain point in my pre-mission communications with him. I do not believe there is ill intent, however; merely a lack of social awareness which I can, in some part, relate to."
"Aye, that might explain a lot, sir," Scott replies with a chuckle. "He wasn't exactly happy to find you were still two days out when we arrived, and he's been monopolizing the captain's attention ever since."
The lift chimes to indicate it is stopping on Deck Six to accommodate a third occupant. The doors open to reveal Doctor McCoy, looking slightly impatient and more than slightly annoyed, both scrubs and forehead noticeably wrinkled.
"It's about doggone time you got back," he snarls, without so much as a greeting, and shoves a hypospray into Spock's somewhat startled hands. "Take that to Jim, I got a hundred other things to be doing right now before we can break orbit. That observation team has zero cognition of standard organization procedures, and they won't stay out of my medical storage compartments!"
Engineer Scott appears to be fighting a fit of laughter, not well-disguised as a cough.
"I'm a doctor, not a pharma sales representative! I do not have time to just drop everything and make a house call!"
"I will convey your complaint, and your medication, to the captain, Doctor."
"You do that," McCoy drawls, stepping back from the door-sensor. "Welcome back, by the way. Still can't believe I actually missed you, Lord help me."
The door shuts, allowing the lift to continue one deck above, before Spock can cogitate a response that is not indicative of his initial suspicion: namely, that he has returned to a mirror universe in which their Chief Medical Officer openly admits to anything other than combative annoyance at his presence.
"Well. It has been a long ten days, y'could say," Scott observes sagaciously.
"That is most illogical. There have been no temporal anomalies detected on either of our flight paths for the past seven years, at minimum."
Scott chuckles as the lift chimes to indicate arrival on Deck Five, stepping back from the door to allow Spock egress. "Glad to have you back, sir. It's not been the same without you."
If Spock hadn't already recommended Lieutenant Dorsai for promotion in the next round of official crew evaluations, Jim Kirk would likely just do it right here and now, post-haste, bestowing the added responsibility and sleeve stripe on the spot like some blue-shirted knighthood.
Thankfully, Kirk's common sense has not fled the room to chase the straggling remnants of his patience in their final flight, and so he refrains, praying his expression does not betray the fact that he's completely lost the thread of the conversation with a dismal finality that is going to be somewhat difficult to bluff his way through.
Lurking near the door, Dorsai hides a smile behind his data-padd, and sends him a knowing look as Doctor Hartford's impassioned and unnecessarily verbose admonition continues to fall on (unfortunately) not-deaf ears.
"Mr. Spock already made recommendations to that effect, Doctor," the lieutenant bravely interjects when the scientist next stops to breathe, and offers a reassuring nod when Hartford turns to look at him. "I've a full report for you here, sir, if you'd like to make any suggestions or adjustments before the Commander arrives."
Knighthood would not be an over-reaction, at this point.
"Hm. Well, they're not to the standard I would recommend, but I suppose they'll do, for a baseline." Harford scrolls down the list, skimming the report with a well-practiced eye. "I don't see any provisions for the possibility of hyperoxia in the aquatic region of the southern hemisphere, though."
"No, sir. Commander Spock wanted to go over that with you in person, since the crew of the Armstrong reported what he deemed an 'entirely unnecessary amount of conflict' with your team in this particular area, on the last terraforming assignment. He believes your hypothesis to be correct, but will need scientific data to back that up in an official report if we are to employ the unconventional approach."
"Are you implying my expert opinion is not sufficient, Lieutenant?"
"I imply nothing, Doctor. I state a fact. We are required by Federation and Vulcan scientific academia to only cite peer-reviewed data when making such projections, particularly those involving ship's manpower and time expenditures. Unless your end goal is no longer publication within those circles. Sir."
It's no secret most of Spock's best people sound just like him when giving a report, but this is a different level of almost Vulcan-like, unruffled equanimity, one that produces genuine respect from the beleaguered captain of the Enterprise. No doubt, working directly under the ship's hardest taskmaster has well-prepared the young lieutenant for the job, but it's still very impressive.
"Hmph. Well, at least you know what you're talking about," Hartford observes, finally handing the padd back.
That's a bit passive-aggressive, but he's not exactly wrong. Kirk is by no means an idiot, but he can't follow the mathematical intricacies of advanced terraforming equations without more effort than he is able (or willing) to expend right now. Or ever, really.
"That is my job, sir, until such time that –" Behind them, the cabin door opens. Dorsai sidesteps deftly without bothering to turn around, and flicks the captain a knowing look. "Mr. Spock. Welcome aboard, sir."
"Lieutenant." Spock moves past them into the room, allowing the door to close behind him, and offers the ta'al to the Doctor with his free hand. "Doctor Hartford, I am Chief Science Officer Spock. I believe we have been exchanging written communiques for the past week."
Hartford, to his credit, has lost all appearance of being annoyed, his miffed demeanor instantly changing to something more along the lines of a hyperactive puppy about to have a treat dropped to him from an obedience trainer. He at least has the sense to not attempt a human handshake, only bounces in place with an eager expression of barely restrained excitement. Spock appears slightly taken aback, casting a helpless look toward the desk.
Kirk raises his hands in a laissez-faire gesture that he hopes makes clear the fact that he is, as the children say, not it.
It has been a very long ten days.
"Doctor, I require a period of, at minimum, one hour to re-acclimate myself to the ship and any important matters of ship's business. After that time, and only after that time, I will be entirely at your disposal, at least until the Enterprise is prepared to break orbit." Spock's matter-of-fact tone seems to brook no argument, and Hartford nods readily enough. "Until then, Lieutenant Dorsai is empowered to accept any feedback and suggestions you may have, which I will review at earliest convenience."
"Of course, of course. And I have a few questions for you regarding your publication work with the Vulcan Science Academy, Commander –"
"I had anticipated this, and will do my best to answer them, Doctor. In one hour, and not in the captain's private cabin."
Hartford flushes slightly, glancing back toward the desk. "I did come in here all a-buzz, didn't I, Captain Kirk."
"A bit, Doctor. But I completely understand the importance of your work," Kirk replies, with a genuine smile. "I believe you're in much better hands than mine now, though."
"Indeed."
Spock's blunt agreement draws an aborted laugh from Dorsai, who hastily clears his throat and gestures toward the door as if nothing happened. "Doctor, I'd be happy to escort you around the Science wing until the Commander's ready for you, if you'd like, or give you a tour of the ship. Has someone shown your people where the recreation rooms are?"
"No, not yet. I believe I will take you up on that offer, young man. Good afternoon, Captain. Commander Spock, I will see you in an hour."
"Indeed."
Dorsai pauses briefly at the door, accepts Kirk's fervently mouthed thank you with a grin, and then scoots out of the cabin after their errant civilian, who is already giving vent to another endless string of questions, the sound drifting impatiently down the corridor.
Barely has the door closed, when the captain hastily eliminates the possibility of an encore performance. "Computer, privacy lock, level three. Forward all calls except Priority One to answering terminal," he says, as he rounds the desk. "You didn't even toss your luggage in your cabin before coming to my rescue? You've been aboard for what, less than three minutes?"
Spock drops the single bag near the door, and raises an eyebrow. "Lieutenant Dorsai did request my presence with all speed just prior to my arrival, sir. I believe the phrase dreadnaught-class delusions of self-importance was used."
A brief chuckle. "Oh, believe me, I plan to put a commendation in his file for performance above the call of duty. But please, sit down, Spock." They move to the living area of the cabin, and settle on the comfortable, low-slung sofa. "How was the trip back?"
"Quite uneventful."
"And your mother?"
"Much improved, and continuing to be so by the day. She sends you her greetings."
"Very kind of her, and I'm happy to hear it." Kirk sighs, feeling the weary exhalation take with it a good deal of the last few days' tension, seeping away into a more mellow state. "You do not have to jump right back into things, by the way," he adds, even though he is aware Spock typically prefers to do this. "Hartford could take a lesson in patience from your Science staff."
"I have no objections to the Doctor's enthusiasm, in and of itself. Such a quality is only of benefit to an experimental mission such as this. However, there is little reason for him to monopolize anyone's attention but mine during the course of the mission, and I intend to remind him of this if needed."
"He certainly seems to have a bit of Vulcan hero-worship going on," Kirk observes, with a hint of mischief. "You'll let me know if it gets out of hand?"
"If necessary, though I do not anticipate any difficulty."
"All right, then." The captain leans forward, elbows on his knees, and briefly massages his forehead. The silvered expanse of a hypospray appears in his vision a moment later, and he blinks down at it, wary.
"Please tell me you did not pilfer a travel souvenir for me from a Vulcan medical facility, of all places."
"I did not." The tone is tinged with amusement. "I was waylaid by Doctor McCoy on my way to Deck Five and conscripted for delivery."
"I was wondering how you beat him here."
"I was also told to inform you he is not in the habit of making house calls, even for you."
"Yes, well, I have been a bit occupied with a civilian scientist who has far too much energy at all hours of ship's night and far too little diplomatic tact to make up for that fact during the day." Kirk wryly accepts the cartridge and applies it to his neck. "Two days, Spock. Two days, of that. I don't know how Dorsai hasn't locked him in a control room and forgotten the access code yet."
Spock's eyebrow inches toward his hairline. "That action was certainly not on the list of instructions I gave."
"Hm. And such interesting instructions they must have been, too."
Spock looks suspiciously shifty, and Kirk now has to make a concentrated effort not to laugh in his First Officer's face.
Over the last few days in particular, Lieutenant Dorsai has clearly been making a concentrated effort to keep Kirk informed of ship's operations, educate him regarding the intricacies of the upcoming terraforming project, divert as much minutiae and civilian conflicts as possible to other channels, and generally keep the captain of the Enterprise from climbing the walls, as the void of Spock's presence aboard seems to slow time like a black hole's ergosphere.
Experimental Xenobotany lieutenants have precisely zero reason to be in the turbolift as the captain runs late to the Bridge one morning, having foolishly paused in Officers' Mess to snag a cup of substandard coffee, and just happen to be carrying a padd containing the same type of morning Ops recap Spock typically goes over with him on the ride up each day. Said lieutenants have even less reason to somehow end up in Officers' Mess at the exact time that the captain is silently wilting under the relentless barrage of chatter from their visiting guests, and skillfully redirect and misdirect the conversation to allow a stealthy escape.
And it's a highly unlikely coincidence that somehow, by some hitherto unknown magic, the dozens of routine reports from Sciences somehow have not multiplied like tribbles, as is to be expected in the absence of the CSO.
Spock has several proteges among his people, all of whom are incredibly eager and intelligent; but this particular white knight had most certainly been given a side quest.
"Just to clarify, though."
"Captain?"
"I can't exactly speak for anyone else, but I hope you know I missed you, Spock. Not the work you do aboard ship, although there's certainly that. But I missed my friend, not just my First Officer." He clears his throat. "I'm afraid I take them both for granted far more than I should."
"I have no complaints, Jim. On either count."
"That's not exactly the reassurance you think it is. I've never heard you complain about anything, I don't think. Or at least not without a biological agent of the truth serum persuasion."
Behind them, the wall-comm squawks in a clear disregard for the captain's previous order; there is no red alert flashing on the wall, so that is not a Priority One call. And it is definitely not from an Enterprise officer, it's just Hartford blowing past a boundary at warp speed.
Again.
"We have certainly hosted worse civilians," Spock says, unconvincingly.
"That's also not the reassurance you think it is," Kirk replies, unconvinced. "But welcome back, anyway."