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Space was a vast expanse of beauty and wonder and possibility. There was life of all sorts, that spark of consciousness all around. Sometimes he imagined even the stars themselves had a life to them, a sentience they couldn’t yet understand. James Kirk was not a superstitious man, but he wasn’t so senseless that he couldn’t understand the very wonder that any life could form in the swirling darkness encompassing the universe. It was an unknowable science that tantalized him, and though he did not have all the answers he could still see that beauty and wonder and possibilities all around.
For instance, the man beside him.
Spock was a picture of poised elegance. His full concentration was on the canvas in front of him, long skilled fingers wrapped around the wooden handle of a long thin paintbrush. Kirk could not quite see what he’d done so far and as much as he tingled with anticipation, he didn’t want to ruin the surprise. Besides, he relished the chance to just examine Spock relaxing, creating.
It had taken some coaxing for Kirk to convince him to give painting a try. Spock surrounded himself with works of art, why not create his own?
Of course Spock had retaliated, pointing out that Kirk read without writing himself. So he penned a poem—a sonnet, specifically—and read it to Spock. Spock, who happened to be the subject matter therein. And people thought Vulcans couldn’t blush.
Despite how coy he was on the matter, Kirk knew he enjoyed painting. Had such a talent for it, too. That precise, scientific mind of his probably helped. After that first painting done solely to shut Kirk up—a beautiful snapshot of Vulcan amongst the stars, with a to-scale Enterprise orbiting—he had kept at it, crafting beautiful creation after beautiful creation. He’d painted Terra in a similar fashion, companion pieces that hung next to each other above Spock’s bed.
He was so enrapturing in this deep concentration. Kirk knew his job as a model was to sit there quietly with his book and thoughts while Spock worked his magic, yet he could not for long hold back that incessant need to reach out and jabber at him. Perhaps it was merely a matter of willpower, but Kirk had decided not to bring any of that to this relationship.
“There’s a sort of magic to the universe, wouldn’t you agree, Spock?”
One perfectly angled eyebrow rose.
“Magic is an illogical belief, Captain.”
“So called Apollo. The caretaker at that ‘amusement park’. The great barrier—“
“All of that can be explained with science.”
“And those scientific answers are?”
“As doctor McCoy might say, touché.”
Kirk grinned. Which only prompted Spock to amend his words.
“Of course, that can hardly be classified as magic once we know how it all works. For example, in regards to the self-appointed god, we can presume—“
Kirk took a sip of his Saurian Brandy and let Spock ramble on. He was a smart man but knew his limitations; Spock on the other hand grasped what others might consider technobabble with an impressive ease. Kirk simply got the broad strokes and acted accordingly. In this case, the broad strokes were easy enough: Spock was gorgeous when he talked, which brought Kirk joy, thus he needed to keep the words coming. Of course, the easiest way to prompt this was by poking Spock’s buttons—something Kirk proudly excelled in.
“You have an answer for everything, Spock. I admire that about you.”
Another quirk of that pointy Vulcan eyebrow. It titillated Kirk in a way that most wouldn’t find normal.
“Are you teasing me, Captain?”
“Never.” He sipped the brandy, relishing Spock’s pointed look. “I’m merely admiring you, dear. You see a mystery of known reality and become the modern-day Sherlock Holmes. Wonders of the universe be damned—you always crack the case!” Kirk raised his glass triumphantly. Spock did something that wasn’t quite an eyeroll—that would be too emotive—but got the same point across. “And here I am, your humble Watson, in constant awe.”
“You do yourself a disservice, Captain. After all, Dr. Watson was very necessary, for telling Sherlock’s stories.”
Oh, that sass. Inherited from Amanda unquestionably. There was just the slightest hint of a smirk on Spock’s face. It was enough to spur Kirk on.
“And what an honor it is to be privy to those stories firsthand, Spock. To see how your mind moves—like you’re trying to move heaven and earth themselves to uncover the scientific answer to every question proposed. It’s quite…fascinating to behold.”
Spock made a small, curved stroke with his paintbrush. The movement made Kirk realize his own movements. He always had been inclined to talk with his hands. For safety he set his drink down.
“Doesn’t the thought of a mystery left unsolved fill you with any sort of thrill, Spock?”
Spock paused. Gazed upwards in contemplation.
“No.”
Kirk chuckled. Pointing at his partner he remarked, “You, my dear Spock, would challenge the very universe itself personified.”
“That’s a quite illogical and improbable situation.”
“Yet I’m not wrong.”
Pointedly, Spock didn’t reply. Kirk hid his grin with another sip of brandy.
“If not magic, then what would you describe these unknowable wonders of reality as?”
“Questions to be answered. Puzzles to be pieced together. Quandaries to be mulled over and investigated. Anything but magic.”
A thick disdain dripped from the word. Kirk grinned harder.
“What if I said you had your own sort of magic about you, Spock?”
“I will not be insulted in my own quarters, Captain.”
Kirk threw his head back with a surprised bark of laughter.
“Captain, while I appreciate the high standards you hold me to, it would be much easier to catch your likeness if you remained still.”
“Of course, Spock. My apologies. I promise to sit here quietly, and still, and let you work your magic.”
“My thanks, t’hy’la.” A beat. “Perhaps after I get these proportions correct I can move on to nude portraits. It would do good to study your form in its entirety. For artistic purposes, of course.”
Heat rose to Kirk’s face. My, Spock knew how to work that magic indeed.