The Dragon and the Photograph
Title: The Dragon and the Photograph
Series: Star Trek (XI)
Summary: The desire to adorn one's living quarters with images of loved ones was an irrational, emotional human characteristic. Spock was half-human. (Kirk/Spock Pre-slash)
Rating: G
Length: 3,640 words
Spock was aware of the fact that the majority of the crew felt a strong need to decorate and personalize their living quarters. Apparently, the act of ornamenting the otherwise bland rooms in their individual tastes gave the crew a sense of having a “personal home” on the Enterprise, which increased feelings of safety and security among the more emotional races. Spock neither condoned nor condemned this practice. While the rationality of considering a personalized space “safer” than a bland area continued to elude him, he had come to understand that emotional creatures such as humans tended to be more productive when their emotional needs were met. As the decorating of crew quarters apparently facilitated the effective operations of the ship, it was only logical that he accept the irrational practice.
In addition, Spock found that although the decorations in individuals’ quarters varied widely, there were a few underlying patterns, which provided a fascinating insight into the emotional nature of humans. In particular, he had spent a considerable amount of time in the quarters of Nyota and the Captain, having been frequently invited by each of them to share a meal and play chess, respectively. The decorations in each room were strikingly different; in Nyota’s, there were a number of aesthetically pleasing blooming plants, each of gentle pastel shades, whereas the Captain’s room was haphazardly scattered with a number of . . . questionable . . . gifts he had received on various planets, as if they were trophies of his impulsive and risky behaviors.
However, both rooms shared a particular similarity, which Spock had also observed in a number of other quarters he had chanced a glance in - that is, the presence of images of those for which the individual felt strong affection. In Nyota’s room, three picture frames were placed in the upper right-hand corner of her desk. The first frame portrayed a teenaged Nyota, posing with two adults and a younger boy in front of an intricately sculpted fountain, whom she had identified to Spock as her parents and younger brother. The second showed three young women, pressing up close to one another and toasting with their drinks - “old classmates”, Nyota had said, and the rueful tone in her voice made Spock realize that these classmates were some of the many who had perished with the destruction of Vulcan. Spock did not need clarification for the final image; he recognized it as the photograph taken just after James Kirk had been given command of the U.S.S. Enterprise, when the bridge crew had banded together in celebration of their reunion.
A copy of this same image was present in the Captain’s room. Unlike Nyota, the Captain had not procured a frame for the image; he had simply tacked it to the wall, the centerpiece of a disorganized medley of images of the Captain’s crew and friends. Doctor McCoy was easily the most common figure in the photographs - but close to the center of the arrangement, there was one small photograph in which Spock recognized his own likeness, somewhat unfocused and with his eyes focused on something in the distance, clearly a candid image.
When Spock had discussed this pattern of decoration with Nyota, she had smiled at him fondly. “Well, humans like to feel close to the ones they love, and photographs of them help that,” she had explained.
“But you are in close proximity with the crew of this ship,” he pointed out. “And at times, you have claimed to desire to be in your quarters ‘away from everyone’.”
“It’s not like I’m trying to actually have them there, but a way to remind myself that I love them.”
“Do you forget?”
“Not exactly,” she’d said, and left it at that.
Spock did not investigate the phenomenon further, deciding that it was a manifestation of human emotionalism that followed the somewhat inexplicable rules of sentimentality. The desire to have images of loved ones in one’s “home” was simply yet another irrational human characteristic.
Spock’s own quarters were kept neat and carefully uncluttered, almost as bare as they had been when he had arrived. A few of his practical personal belongings were placed in their rightful spots, but the room had very little to show for his personal opinion of aesthetic tastes. There were only two exceptions to this rule.
The first was his meditation lamp, which had a small, open flame pot and a sturdy handle. An iron dragon was curled around the lip of the bowl, and it reared upwards so that when the lamp was lit, the flame appeared to have been brought to life by the dragon’s breath. This lamp was a replacement for the more simplistic and unadorned one he’d had previously, which had been unfortunately broken during an attack by Orion slave traders. The vendors at the next planet they had stopped at seemed perplexed by the idea of an undecorated lamp, and so Spock had been forced to choose one of their unnecessarily embellished products.
And if Spock found himself to be strangely fonder of this lamp than the one he’d had previously . . . well, it was irrelevant.
The second exception to his otherwise purely practical quarters was a small image, four by five inches, pinned carefully above his desk. The image featured the Captain standing on a white sandy beach with clear blue waves stretching out in the background. He was shirtless and barefoot, a string of tropical flowers around his neck, and his expression was bright with mirth. In one hand, he held a bright pink fruit drink. The other was resting around the shoulders of a disgruntled-looking Spock, who was still impeccably dressed in full uniform, except for a light coating of white sand. And despite the carefully arranged expression of disapproval in the image, Spock remembered quite clearly that he had not attempted to move away until the Captain had released him.
-------------------------
The photograph had been taken during a shore leave on the tropical paradise of Varus II. Initially, Spock had had absolutely no intentions of signing up for shore leave; he had never quite understood the appeal of coating oneself with sand or sipping at artificially sweetened fruit drinks, and there were a number of research projects on board that required attention. But then, when Mr. Sulu had slid over to him in the mess hall and whispered conspiratorially in his ear: “It’s the Captain’s birthday, and all his closest friends should be there - including you,” Spock had simply commented on the irrationality of celebrating the annual anniversary of one’s birth, and then added himself to the shore leave roster at the next available opportunity.
When Spock beamed down to the surface, he quickly excused himself and headed towards the local market. He gathered he was expected to present an inexpensive trinket to the Captain in honor of his ‘birthday’, but had been unable to procure something acceptable in the limited black market of the Enterprise.
He’d wandered through the bustling market of Varus II, pausing at various venders and examining their wares with a critical eye. He was uncertain of what item would be both most practical and best suited to the Captain’s tastes, and he momentarily entertained the idea of seeking assistance from Doctor McCoy - before quickly dismissing the thought as a less than satisfactory option.
After about an hour or so of searching through the marketplace, Spock happened across a stand that was scattered with small bottles, oils, dried plants, and bars of soap. Here, he paused, intrigued by the variety of scents that tickled his nose.
“Welcome, welcome!” the vendor greeted him animatedly. “Please, feel free to test any of the products - I guarantee you’ll enjoy! All made from local plants and spices, all very natural - delicate scents, not too overwhelming for your sensitive Vulcan nose!”
“Indeed,” Spock had replied impassively, and he lifted a small jar curiously. It smelled strongly of a spice similar to cinnamon. While the vendor was not entirely accurate in proclaiming the scents “not too overwhelming”, Spock also noted that the scents were strong enough that he would be able to detect it with relative ease from across the bridge. And more importantly, he reminded himself quickly, they were in the comfortable range for a human nose.
Several minutes later, he had selected a small, yellow bar of soap, which had a warm earthy scent, with a barely noticeable tone of citrus.
“Good choice, good choice!” the vendor exclaimed happily. “That one is made from a mix of blanka petals and juice of the delectable tampik fruit! Very good, you have good taste! And if you buy this boxed bulk of ten, each will only be two credits! Good deal, very good deal!”
Spock had to concede that it would only be logical to buy the larger assortment - each bar of soap would be cheaper, and indeed the Captain would be able to go much longer without having to buy a different soap with his own credits. Spock passed over twenty credits to the vendor, and the vendor happily wrapped up the box, beaming at Spock enthusiastically.
“Thank you, thank you, good sir! Enjoy your new scents!”
Spock eventually tracked down the Captain and his celebratory entourage under a small, open-walled shelter on one of the city’s white-sand beaches. When the Captain spotted him, standing stiffly to one side, gift grasped firmly behind his back, the Captain’s eyes lit up, and he beamed brilliantly.
“Hey, Spock!” he called out, waving him over. “I didn’t know you were coming!”
“Nor did I, initially,” Spock confessed. “But I believe it is customary to express well wishes for continued health and good fortune on the anniversary of a friend’s birth.”
The Captain grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Glad to have you here, Spock.” He reached over and clapped Spock on the shoulder.
Spock inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement.
The following celebration was certainly not one of Spock’s typical endeavors during a shore leave. The day was spent roughhousing in the sand or the waves, consuming novelty food items (despite Spock’s insistence that they were devoid of nutritional value), building structures out of sand, and a number of competitive games that the Captain thought up, among many other odd and illogical celebratory behaviors. Despite the lack of scientific inquiry or exploration, which Spock had grown accustomed to during his shore leaves, he was somewhat surprised to note that he found the overall experience quite . . . satisfying.
“It would be illogical for me to participate in a game of ‘tug-of-war’,” Spock had pointed out when the Captain approached him. “I am Vulcan, and therefore would be an unfair advantage.”
“The other team can take an extra person,” the Captain replied dismissively.
“Captain, may I remind you that I am three times stronger --,”
The Captain waved his hand, cutting Spock off. “Hey, it’s my birthday party, and I want you on my team. So you’re on my team.”
Afterwards, as Mr. Sulu, Doctor McCoy, and Mr. Scott picked themselves off the ground, grumbling loudly, the Captain laughed loudly and clapped Spock on the back in conspiratorial camaraderie. He accepted a celebratory drink from a grinning Ensign and toasted his “hard-won fair and square victory”, winking even as Spock skeptically raised one slanted eyebrow at him.
“Keptin, Mr. Spock!” Ensign Chekov called out, waving a holo-cam at them. “Photo of the wictors!”
And the Captain had laughed again and wrapped an arm around Spock’s shoulders, drawing him close. Spock started slightly as he felt the Captain’s bare side pressed against his hip, but he managed to arrange his face into an expression of nonplussed disapproval just as the shutter closed.
“Perfect!” Ensign Chekov proclaimed.
Later, Spock found himself wishing that Ensign Chekov would take out his holo-cam again, as the Captain opened his gifts, beaming with sincere gratitude and his eyes crinkling with laughter.
“Soaps!” he exclaimed as he opened the box that Spock handed to him. He chuckled heartily. “Always so practical - why am I not surprised? But they smell totally awesome. Thanks, Spock!”
“You are welcome, Captain,” Spock replied. He inclined his head slightly, even as he felt a gentle warmth prickle at his cheeks.
And although the Captain insisted that Mr. Scott’s gift of (undoubtedly illegal) homemade peach spirits was by far “the best gift ever!”, Spock could not help but to notice the faint notes of blanka and tampik as they prepared to beam up the next day. Once again, he felt that inexplicable warmth in his cheeks, and he found that he could not quite meet the Captain’s eye.
When Spock returned to his quarters, he found a message waiting for him on his PADD from Ensign Chekov, with the subject line reading: “Photos of Captain Kirk’s Birthday Bash!” Curious, he scrolled through the holos - but when he landed on the image labeled “’Victory’ to Mr. Spock and the Captain!”, he found himself suddenly captivated by the expression of careless joy on the Captain’s face, and by how comfortable he appeared to be, even when pressed up so close to Spock’s side. He studied the image for several long moments.
Eventually, he shut off the PADD and climbed into bed, endeavoring to get a few hours of rest before his next shift. For exactly 3.8 minutes, he lay there unmovingly.
But then he abruptly sat back up and switched on his PADD.
4.2 minutes later, he had converted the holo image into a two-dimensional photograph, printed it out, and pinned it to the wall above his desk as the sole image in his otherwise purely professional quarters.
Nyota had said that humans kept pictures of their loved ones in their living quarters in order to remind themselves how much they loved them. As First Officer, it was Spock’s duty to hold the Captain’s happiness and mental well-being in high regard as to best construct an environment conducive to the Captain’s efficient command, and it was therefore only logical that he remind himself of the importance of the Captain and his sworn duty to protect him.
Spock rolled onto his side and gazed at the image almost unblinkingly. When he finally drifted off into sleep, his dreams were full of laughing blue eyes and the warmth of an affectionate hand on his back.
---------------------
1.7 months passed, and Spock had grown used to the image above his desk. It had become a focal point of his quarters, drawing his attention with its colors and lines while he worked on paperwork or attempted to sleep. Many times, he found himself tracing the curve of the Captain’s chest with his eyes, or examining how the Captain’s forefinger had brushed against Spock’s neck, without even realizing when, exactly, his attention had turned back to the photograph. But it was . . . comfortable to have in his quarters, and he was surprised to note that he found its presence even more calming than that of the meditation lamp.
For the past 1.7 months, no one had entered his quarters; even when he spent time with Nyota or the Captain, he always carefully manipulated the invitation to take place in their quarters. The existence of the photograph was of course logical, but he found himself curiously reluctant to allow others to know of its presence in his room. Perhaps he was simply unwilling to expend the energy necessary in its justification - the desire to conserve energy was perfectly rational. Yes, he thought, that was the most likely explanation. And so, for 1.7 months, the photograph of the Captain’s birthday party remained Spock’s secret.
That is, until the beginning of the alpha shift, 51 days later. They were in route to Starbase 7, after a less-than-perfect away mission which had prescribed the Captain to at least three days of bed rest after a stab to the leg.
Spock had been doing paperwork in his quarters, documenting the Captain’s injury and emphasizing that the unfortunate incident had been entirely unforeseeable and would have escalated if not for the Captain’s quick thinking. The stab wound was the Captain’s 254th injury he had sustained in the line of duty, Spock realized, feeling his lips thin at the thought. Overall, 34.2% could have been prevented, and 8.9% had been potentially fatal. He of course understood that in this particular situation, it had been logical for him to remain on the bridge and monitor the unpredictable weather fronts, but he had also calculated an 82% probability that if he had beamed down with the landing party, he would have been able to prevent the Captain’s injury. His eyes slid to the image above the desk.
Suddenly, the door to his quarter slid open, and the slight scent of blanka and tampik wafted over him, startling him out of his thoughts.
The Captain stumbled in, heavily favoring his right leg. His hair was mussed, and his uniform was slightly rumpled, but his eyes were bright with excitement. “Hey, Spock!” he said. “You mind if I hide out here? Bones is chasing me down and threatening to tie me to the bed, the kinky bastard -…”
But then he paused and peered at Spock, who had smoothly slid to his feet to stand firmly in front of his desk at the Captain’s entrance.
“You know, Spock, we’re in your quarters; no need to be so formal,” the Captain said, raising his eyebrows with a grin.
“I am aware,” Spock replied stiffly, but he refused to move from his position between the Captain and the photograph.
The Captain simply shrugged and limped over to Spock’s bed, where he sat down with a heavy sigh. Spock shifted slightly, reorienting himself with the Captain’s movements.
“So, uh, you don’t mind if I hide out here?”
“It is illogical to continuously disobey the explicit orders of the Chief Medical Officer, Captain.”
“That’s not a ‘no’,” the Captain commented with a beaming smile. “Awesome. But, seriously, we’re in your quarters. Call me Jim.”
“…It is inadvisable for you to remain outside the Sickbay, Jim.”
“Still not a ‘no’,” the Captain teased. “But good effort, using ‘Jim’ there. Very clever manipulation.”
Spock raised one eyebrow at him.
“So what are you up to in here?”
“I was finishing the paperwork for our last mission.”
“Aw, geez, Spock, you don’t have to do all of it on your own. I’m Captain, I should be doing some of that!” The Captain grabbed the headboard of the bed and attempted to heave himself to his feet - but then he let out a sharp gasp of pain.
“Captain, are you well?” Spock asked sharply, quickly stepping forward to support him.
“Yeah, yeah, Spock, I’m fine, don’t worry, no need to send me back to Sickbay! And it’s Jim.”
“Captain-,”
“Hey, what’s that on your wall?”
Spock stiffened. In his concern for the Captain’s health, he had completely forgotten about the photograph. He felt his cheeks and neck begin to prickle uncomfortably with warmth.
The Captain pulled away from him, limping quickly across the room. “Oh, hey!” he said, his face lighting up with a beaming grin as he recognized the photograph. He placed his hands on the desk and used them as leverage as he leaned in closer to examine it. “It’s from my birthday party! Spock, I didn't know you cared!”
“I am your First Officer,” Spock replied stiffly. “It is only logical I remind myself of those most important in my line of duty by means of the presence of images of those I have sworn to protect.”
…Of course, hearing it said aloud like that, Spock suddenly had the sinking feeling that his argument was not as logical as he’d lead himself to believe.
The Captain turned to him, lips still quirked upwards. “’Those most important’?” he repeated. “You know, Spock, there’s only one person in that photograph, other than yourself.” His grin widened. “And I’m not even wearing a shirt.”
“Captain, I assure you-,”
“Hey, Spock.” The Captain reached out and rested one hand on Spock’s arm. Spock stiffened slightly, but with a careful breath, he met the Captain’s gaze evenly and did not pull away. The Captain was still grinning, his eyes crinkling just like they did in the photograph. “It’s okay; I’m messing with you. But seriously, I’m glad that I mean so much to you, really. It means a lot. No, really, I’m really happy about it.”
Spock’s eyebrows pulled together slightly. “You - are pleased by so small an action?”
“Spock, I know you. To have a picture of me in your room - that’s significant,” the Captain’s gaze softened slightly. “And of course I’m happy that I’m important to you. Really, I had no idea you thought so highly of me.”
“Captain-,”
“Jesus, Spock, we’re in your quarters, and you have a picture of me shirtless and barefoot on your wall. Can you please call me Jim?”
Spock inclined his head slightly. “…Jim, you are a remarkable individual.”
Jim’s eyebrows darted upwards in surprise, but he beamed. “Thanks, Spock. You are, too, you know.”
Spock felt the warmth in his cheeks begin to prickle again. “…I am gratified by your high opinion of me.”
“I can tell,” Jim said, raking his eyes over Spock’s cheeks and neck, and Spock realized he must be flushing noticeably. “But you know, Spock . . .”
“…Yes, Jim?”
“You really need more pictures. What do you say you come with me next shore leave, we can spend the day together, explore, get something to eat?”
This time, when Spock met Jim’s eyes, he noticed a slight spark of shyness lingering behind the confident grin. He blinked slowly, and then reached out, just barely, to brush his smallest finger against the skin of Jim’s wrist.
“…That would be acceptable.”
FIN
-----------------------
This is the first story I've written in ages, so please feel free to jump in the criticism, help me get my head in the game again! But thank you for your time - I hope you enjoyed it!
Series: Star Trek (XI)
Summary: The desire to adorn one's living quarters with images of loved ones was an irrational, emotional human characteristic. Spock was half-human. (Kirk/Spock Pre-slash)
Rating: G
Length: 3,640 words
Spock was aware of the fact that the majority of the crew felt a strong need to decorate and personalize their living quarters. Apparently, the act of ornamenting the otherwise bland rooms in their individual tastes gave the crew a sense of having a “personal home” on the Enterprise, which increased feelings of safety and security among the more emotional races. Spock neither condoned nor condemned this practice. While the rationality of considering a personalized space “safer” than a bland area continued to elude him, he had come to understand that emotional creatures such as humans tended to be more productive when their emotional needs were met. As the decorating of crew quarters apparently facilitated the effective operations of the ship, it was only logical that he accept the irrational practice.
In addition, Spock found that although the decorations in individuals’ quarters varied widely, there were a few underlying patterns, which provided a fascinating insight into the emotional nature of humans. In particular, he had spent a considerable amount of time in the quarters of Nyota and the Captain, having been frequently invited by each of them to share a meal and play chess, respectively. The decorations in each room were strikingly different; in Nyota’s, there were a number of aesthetically pleasing blooming plants, each of gentle pastel shades, whereas the Captain’s room was haphazardly scattered with a number of . . . questionable . . . gifts he had received on various planets, as if they were trophies of his impulsive and risky behaviors.
However, both rooms shared a particular similarity, which Spock had also observed in a number of other quarters he had chanced a glance in - that is, the presence of images of those for which the individual felt strong affection. In Nyota’s room, three picture frames were placed in the upper right-hand corner of her desk. The first frame portrayed a teenaged Nyota, posing with two adults and a younger boy in front of an intricately sculpted fountain, whom she had identified to Spock as her parents and younger brother. The second showed three young women, pressing up close to one another and toasting with their drinks - “old classmates”, Nyota had said, and the rueful tone in her voice made Spock realize that these classmates were some of the many who had perished with the destruction of Vulcan. Spock did not need clarification for the final image; he recognized it as the photograph taken just after James Kirk had been given command of the U.S.S. Enterprise, when the bridge crew had banded together in celebration of their reunion.
A copy of this same image was present in the Captain’s room. Unlike Nyota, the Captain had not procured a frame for the image; he had simply tacked it to the wall, the centerpiece of a disorganized medley of images of the Captain’s crew and friends. Doctor McCoy was easily the most common figure in the photographs - but close to the center of the arrangement, there was one small photograph in which Spock recognized his own likeness, somewhat unfocused and with his eyes focused on something in the distance, clearly a candid image.
When Spock had discussed this pattern of decoration with Nyota, she had smiled at him fondly. “Well, humans like to feel close to the ones they love, and photographs of them help that,” she had explained.
“But you are in close proximity with the crew of this ship,” he pointed out. “And at times, you have claimed to desire to be in your quarters ‘away from everyone’.”
“It’s not like I’m trying to actually have them there, but a way to remind myself that I love them.”
“Do you forget?”
“Not exactly,” she’d said, and left it at that.
Spock did not investigate the phenomenon further, deciding that it was a manifestation of human emotionalism that followed the somewhat inexplicable rules of sentimentality. The desire to have images of loved ones in one’s “home” was simply yet another irrational human characteristic.
Spock’s own quarters were kept neat and carefully uncluttered, almost as bare as they had been when he had arrived. A few of his practical personal belongings were placed in their rightful spots, but the room had very little to show for his personal opinion of aesthetic tastes. There were only two exceptions to this rule.
The first was his meditation lamp, which had a small, open flame pot and a sturdy handle. An iron dragon was curled around the lip of the bowl, and it reared upwards so that when the lamp was lit, the flame appeared to have been brought to life by the dragon’s breath. This lamp was a replacement for the more simplistic and unadorned one he’d had previously, which had been unfortunately broken during an attack by Orion slave traders. The vendors at the next planet they had stopped at seemed perplexed by the idea of an undecorated lamp, and so Spock had been forced to choose one of their unnecessarily embellished products.
And if Spock found himself to be strangely fonder of this lamp than the one he’d had previously . . . well, it was irrelevant.
The second exception to his otherwise purely practical quarters was a small image, four by five inches, pinned carefully above his desk. The image featured the Captain standing on a white sandy beach with clear blue waves stretching out in the background. He was shirtless and barefoot, a string of tropical flowers around his neck, and his expression was bright with mirth. In one hand, he held a bright pink fruit drink. The other was resting around the shoulders of a disgruntled-looking Spock, who was still impeccably dressed in full uniform, except for a light coating of white sand. And despite the carefully arranged expression of disapproval in the image, Spock remembered quite clearly that he had not attempted to move away until the Captain had released him.
-------------------------
The photograph had been taken during a shore leave on the tropical paradise of Varus II. Initially, Spock had had absolutely no intentions of signing up for shore leave; he had never quite understood the appeal of coating oneself with sand or sipping at artificially sweetened fruit drinks, and there were a number of research projects on board that required attention. But then, when Mr. Sulu had slid over to him in the mess hall and whispered conspiratorially in his ear: “It’s the Captain’s birthday, and all his closest friends should be there - including you,” Spock had simply commented on the irrationality of celebrating the annual anniversary of one’s birth, and then added himself to the shore leave roster at the next available opportunity.
When Spock beamed down to the surface, he quickly excused himself and headed towards the local market. He gathered he was expected to present an inexpensive trinket to the Captain in honor of his ‘birthday’, but had been unable to procure something acceptable in the limited black market of the Enterprise.
He’d wandered through the bustling market of Varus II, pausing at various venders and examining their wares with a critical eye. He was uncertain of what item would be both most practical and best suited to the Captain’s tastes, and he momentarily entertained the idea of seeking assistance from Doctor McCoy - before quickly dismissing the thought as a less than satisfactory option.
After about an hour or so of searching through the marketplace, Spock happened across a stand that was scattered with small bottles, oils, dried plants, and bars of soap. Here, he paused, intrigued by the variety of scents that tickled his nose.
“Welcome, welcome!” the vendor greeted him animatedly. “Please, feel free to test any of the products - I guarantee you’ll enjoy! All made from local plants and spices, all very natural - delicate scents, not too overwhelming for your sensitive Vulcan nose!”
“Indeed,” Spock had replied impassively, and he lifted a small jar curiously. It smelled strongly of a spice similar to cinnamon. While the vendor was not entirely accurate in proclaiming the scents “not too overwhelming”, Spock also noted that the scents were strong enough that he would be able to detect it with relative ease from across the bridge. And more importantly, he reminded himself quickly, they were in the comfortable range for a human nose.
Several minutes later, he had selected a small, yellow bar of soap, which had a warm earthy scent, with a barely noticeable tone of citrus.
“Good choice, good choice!” the vendor exclaimed happily. “That one is made from a mix of blanka petals and juice of the delectable tampik fruit! Very good, you have good taste! And if you buy this boxed bulk of ten, each will only be two credits! Good deal, very good deal!”
Spock had to concede that it would only be logical to buy the larger assortment - each bar of soap would be cheaper, and indeed the Captain would be able to go much longer without having to buy a different soap with his own credits. Spock passed over twenty credits to the vendor, and the vendor happily wrapped up the box, beaming at Spock enthusiastically.
“Thank you, thank you, good sir! Enjoy your new scents!”
Spock eventually tracked down the Captain and his celebratory entourage under a small, open-walled shelter on one of the city’s white-sand beaches. When the Captain spotted him, standing stiffly to one side, gift grasped firmly behind his back, the Captain’s eyes lit up, and he beamed brilliantly.
“Hey, Spock!” he called out, waving him over. “I didn’t know you were coming!”
“Nor did I, initially,” Spock confessed. “But I believe it is customary to express well wishes for continued health and good fortune on the anniversary of a friend’s birth.”
The Captain grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “Glad to have you here, Spock.” He reached over and clapped Spock on the shoulder.
Spock inclined his head slightly in acknowledgement.
The following celebration was certainly not one of Spock’s typical endeavors during a shore leave. The day was spent roughhousing in the sand or the waves, consuming novelty food items (despite Spock’s insistence that they were devoid of nutritional value), building structures out of sand, and a number of competitive games that the Captain thought up, among many other odd and illogical celebratory behaviors. Despite the lack of scientific inquiry or exploration, which Spock had grown accustomed to during his shore leaves, he was somewhat surprised to note that he found the overall experience quite . . . satisfying.
“It would be illogical for me to participate in a game of ‘tug-of-war’,” Spock had pointed out when the Captain approached him. “I am Vulcan, and therefore would be an unfair advantage.”
“The other team can take an extra person,” the Captain replied dismissively.
“Captain, may I remind you that I am three times stronger --,”
The Captain waved his hand, cutting Spock off. “Hey, it’s my birthday party, and I want you on my team. So you’re on my team.”
Afterwards, as Mr. Sulu, Doctor McCoy, and Mr. Scott picked themselves off the ground, grumbling loudly, the Captain laughed loudly and clapped Spock on the back in conspiratorial camaraderie. He accepted a celebratory drink from a grinning Ensign and toasted his “hard-won fair and square victory”, winking even as Spock skeptically raised one slanted eyebrow at him.
“Keptin, Mr. Spock!” Ensign Chekov called out, waving a holo-cam at them. “Photo of the wictors!”
And the Captain had laughed again and wrapped an arm around Spock’s shoulders, drawing him close. Spock started slightly as he felt the Captain’s bare side pressed against his hip, but he managed to arrange his face into an expression of nonplussed disapproval just as the shutter closed.
“Perfect!” Ensign Chekov proclaimed.
Later, Spock found himself wishing that Ensign Chekov would take out his holo-cam again, as the Captain opened his gifts, beaming with sincere gratitude and his eyes crinkling with laughter.
“Soaps!” he exclaimed as he opened the box that Spock handed to him. He chuckled heartily. “Always so practical - why am I not surprised? But they smell totally awesome. Thanks, Spock!”
“You are welcome, Captain,” Spock replied. He inclined his head slightly, even as he felt a gentle warmth prickle at his cheeks.
And although the Captain insisted that Mr. Scott’s gift of (undoubtedly illegal) homemade peach spirits was by far “the best gift ever!”, Spock could not help but to notice the faint notes of blanka and tampik as they prepared to beam up the next day. Once again, he felt that inexplicable warmth in his cheeks, and he found that he could not quite meet the Captain’s eye.
When Spock returned to his quarters, he found a message waiting for him on his PADD from Ensign Chekov, with the subject line reading: “Photos of Captain Kirk’s Birthday Bash!” Curious, he scrolled through the holos - but when he landed on the image labeled “’Victory’ to Mr. Spock and the Captain!”, he found himself suddenly captivated by the expression of careless joy on the Captain’s face, and by how comfortable he appeared to be, even when pressed up so close to Spock’s side. He studied the image for several long moments.
Eventually, he shut off the PADD and climbed into bed, endeavoring to get a few hours of rest before his next shift. For exactly 3.8 minutes, he lay there unmovingly.
But then he abruptly sat back up and switched on his PADD.
4.2 minutes later, he had converted the holo image into a two-dimensional photograph, printed it out, and pinned it to the wall above his desk as the sole image in his otherwise purely professional quarters.
Nyota had said that humans kept pictures of their loved ones in their living quarters in order to remind themselves how much they loved them. As First Officer, it was Spock’s duty to hold the Captain’s happiness and mental well-being in high regard as to best construct an environment conducive to the Captain’s efficient command, and it was therefore only logical that he remind himself of the importance of the Captain and his sworn duty to protect him.
Spock rolled onto his side and gazed at the image almost unblinkingly. When he finally drifted off into sleep, his dreams were full of laughing blue eyes and the warmth of an affectionate hand on his back.
---------------------
1.7 months passed, and Spock had grown used to the image above his desk. It had become a focal point of his quarters, drawing his attention with its colors and lines while he worked on paperwork or attempted to sleep. Many times, he found himself tracing the curve of the Captain’s chest with his eyes, or examining how the Captain’s forefinger had brushed against Spock’s neck, without even realizing when, exactly, his attention had turned back to the photograph. But it was . . . comfortable to have in his quarters, and he was surprised to note that he found its presence even more calming than that of the meditation lamp.
For the past 1.7 months, no one had entered his quarters; even when he spent time with Nyota or the Captain, he always carefully manipulated the invitation to take place in their quarters. The existence of the photograph was of course logical, but he found himself curiously reluctant to allow others to know of its presence in his room. Perhaps he was simply unwilling to expend the energy necessary in its justification - the desire to conserve energy was perfectly rational. Yes, he thought, that was the most likely explanation. And so, for 1.7 months, the photograph of the Captain’s birthday party remained Spock’s secret.
That is, until the beginning of the alpha shift, 51 days later. They were in route to Starbase 7, after a less-than-perfect away mission which had prescribed the Captain to at least three days of bed rest after a stab to the leg.
Spock had been doing paperwork in his quarters, documenting the Captain’s injury and emphasizing that the unfortunate incident had been entirely unforeseeable and would have escalated if not for the Captain’s quick thinking. The stab wound was the Captain’s 254th injury he had sustained in the line of duty, Spock realized, feeling his lips thin at the thought. Overall, 34.2% could have been prevented, and 8.9% had been potentially fatal. He of course understood that in this particular situation, it had been logical for him to remain on the bridge and monitor the unpredictable weather fronts, but he had also calculated an 82% probability that if he had beamed down with the landing party, he would have been able to prevent the Captain’s injury. His eyes slid to the image above the desk.
Suddenly, the door to his quarter slid open, and the slight scent of blanka and tampik wafted over him, startling him out of his thoughts.
The Captain stumbled in, heavily favoring his right leg. His hair was mussed, and his uniform was slightly rumpled, but his eyes were bright with excitement. “Hey, Spock!” he said. “You mind if I hide out here? Bones is chasing me down and threatening to tie me to the bed, the kinky bastard -…”
But then he paused and peered at Spock, who had smoothly slid to his feet to stand firmly in front of his desk at the Captain’s entrance.
“You know, Spock, we’re in your quarters; no need to be so formal,” the Captain said, raising his eyebrows with a grin.
“I am aware,” Spock replied stiffly, but he refused to move from his position between the Captain and the photograph.
The Captain simply shrugged and limped over to Spock’s bed, where he sat down with a heavy sigh. Spock shifted slightly, reorienting himself with the Captain’s movements.
“So, uh, you don’t mind if I hide out here?”
“It is illogical to continuously disobey the explicit orders of the Chief Medical Officer, Captain.”
“That’s not a ‘no’,” the Captain commented with a beaming smile. “Awesome. But, seriously, we’re in your quarters. Call me Jim.”
“…It is inadvisable for you to remain outside the Sickbay, Jim.”
“Still not a ‘no’,” the Captain teased. “But good effort, using ‘Jim’ there. Very clever manipulation.”
Spock raised one eyebrow at him.
“So what are you up to in here?”
“I was finishing the paperwork for our last mission.”
“Aw, geez, Spock, you don’t have to do all of it on your own. I’m Captain, I should be doing some of that!” The Captain grabbed the headboard of the bed and attempted to heave himself to his feet - but then he let out a sharp gasp of pain.
“Captain, are you well?” Spock asked sharply, quickly stepping forward to support him.
“Yeah, yeah, Spock, I’m fine, don’t worry, no need to send me back to Sickbay! And it’s Jim.”
“Captain-,”
“Hey, what’s that on your wall?”
Spock stiffened. In his concern for the Captain’s health, he had completely forgotten about the photograph. He felt his cheeks and neck begin to prickle uncomfortably with warmth.
The Captain pulled away from him, limping quickly across the room. “Oh, hey!” he said, his face lighting up with a beaming grin as he recognized the photograph. He placed his hands on the desk and used them as leverage as he leaned in closer to examine it. “It’s from my birthday party! Spock, I didn't know you cared!”
“I am your First Officer,” Spock replied stiffly. “It is only logical I remind myself of those most important in my line of duty by means of the presence of images of those I have sworn to protect.”
…Of course, hearing it said aloud like that, Spock suddenly had the sinking feeling that his argument was not as logical as he’d lead himself to believe.
The Captain turned to him, lips still quirked upwards. “’Those most important’?” he repeated. “You know, Spock, there’s only one person in that photograph, other than yourself.” His grin widened. “And I’m not even wearing a shirt.”
“Captain, I assure you-,”
“Hey, Spock.” The Captain reached out and rested one hand on Spock’s arm. Spock stiffened slightly, but with a careful breath, he met the Captain’s gaze evenly and did not pull away. The Captain was still grinning, his eyes crinkling just like they did in the photograph. “It’s okay; I’m messing with you. But seriously, I’m glad that I mean so much to you, really. It means a lot. No, really, I’m really happy about it.”
Spock’s eyebrows pulled together slightly. “You - are pleased by so small an action?”
“Spock, I know you. To have a picture of me in your room - that’s significant,” the Captain’s gaze softened slightly. “And of course I’m happy that I’m important to you. Really, I had no idea you thought so highly of me.”
“Captain-,”
“Jesus, Spock, we’re in your quarters, and you have a picture of me shirtless and barefoot on your wall. Can you please call me Jim?”
Spock inclined his head slightly. “…Jim, you are a remarkable individual.”
Jim’s eyebrows darted upwards in surprise, but he beamed. “Thanks, Spock. You are, too, you know.”
Spock felt the warmth in his cheeks begin to prickle again. “…I am gratified by your high opinion of me.”
“I can tell,” Jim said, raking his eyes over Spock’s cheeks and neck, and Spock realized he must be flushing noticeably. “But you know, Spock . . .”
“…Yes, Jim?”
“You really need more pictures. What do you say you come with me next shore leave, we can spend the day together, explore, get something to eat?”
This time, when Spock met Jim’s eyes, he noticed a slight spark of shyness lingering behind the confident grin. He blinked slowly, and then reached out, just barely, to brush his smallest finger against the skin of Jim’s wrist.
“…That would be acceptable.”
FIN
-----------------------
This is the first story I've written in ages, so please feel free to jump in the criticism, help me get my head in the game again! But thank you for your time - I hope you enjoyed it!