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“Mr. Spock, I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
Jim’s First Officer of two weeks raised an eyebrow at him. It was a gesture that seemed to serve a multitude of purposes for the Vulcan.
That evening’s eyebrow raise felt unamused to Jim. Maybe questioning? Reading people was typically Jim’s specialty, yet the stoicism of a Vulcan demeanor was proving a difficult challenge for him. The difficulty of the task only proved to make Jim more determined though.
Therefore, it was only natural for Jim to become fixated on cracking the code of the Vulcan’s expressions. He could never back down from a challenge. Especially one as intriguing as Mr. Spock.
To follow up his eyebrow raise, Spock said, “You requested all non-Security personnel with advanced combat training to report to the sparring mats.”
Ah, so that eyebrow raise was probably a more unamused/exasperated expression. A I’m-here-because-of-your-orders expression. Cataloguing that information away, Jim responded, “I remember writing the memo, but I didn’t expect you to be among those officers. An oversight on my part.”
“I see. What excluded me from such expectations, sir?”
“Well, I was under the impression that no one man can be great at everything.”
The confession seemed to throw Spock for a loop, which was new. The Commander typically presented himself as unflappable. Jim found himself immediately amused with how the Vulcan needed an extra moment to retort. “Therein lies your mistake: I am a Vulcan, not a man.”
“Right you are. My apologies.” Jim smiled up at his companion, and he could have sworn the other’s expression was softer than it had been before. Truly, it was impressive how he did so with so little change to his face.
“There is no offense where none is taken. Additionally—although it is logical to strive for proficiency in many areas—no Vulcan masters every discipline. There are areas in which I am not skilled.”
“But you are at least functionally skilled in every branch of science I can name, tactics, and music if a certain rumor can be believed. And you can fight too.” Jim tsked, shaking his head. “This won’t do. You have to tell me something you’re bad at, or I’ll start to believe you can do anything.”
“It is illogical to assume that proficiency in one discipline leads to proficiency in another,” Spock said, hedging around a proper answer.
“Very true. It’s a good thing I never claimed to be logical.”
For a few moments, Spock took in Jim’s unwavering smile, which was a challenge to rival any eyebrow raise. Spock must have decided this was one battle not worth fighting and admitted, “I am a rather poor cook.”
“How lucky,” Jim cheerfully remarked. “I am a fantastic cook. Finally, something for me to bring to our five-year partnership.”
“Culinary arts are not typically a field of concern for missions. Even during diplomatic dinners, I doubt the captain will be required to prepare the meals. There are more pertinent strengths of yours that I lack; such as, social adeptness.”
It was the closest thing to a compliment Jim had ever received from his First Officer, and he tried to hide how flattered he was by it. “ ‘Social adeptness’. Is that written in my file?”
“Not in the same words. It is a conclusion one can come to should they read your file though,” and Jim didn’t miss the roundabout admittance that his First Officer had been the one to read said file. “Your career as a commander is marked by the cohesion of those serving beneath you. I have found that such a result is contingent on the social awareness and competence of a commander.”
It wasn’t unusual for people to try to flatter Jim—subordinates, diplomats, even enemies—but the comment didn’t feel like empty words. His First Officer was not a person to flatter or exaggerate. He was a scientist: someone who drew conclusions using evidence. From the evidence Spock had gathered, he had come to this conclusion regarding Jim.
Uncharacteristically so, the Captain found himself flustered. What was the matter with him? Jim knew he was good with people. It was something he prided himself in, and compliments about it usually didn’t make him want to nervously wring his hands. Maybe, this reaction stemmed from the Vulcan’s hard-to-please attitude. Or, maybe, it stemmed from how—ahem—intriguing Jim found said Vulcan’s angular features and deep-brown eyes.
“I do like to think of myself as a people person,” Jim managed to reply with pleasant nonchalance. “But, going over my finer points is not why we’re here tonight.”
The Vulcan observed Jim attentively, and he got the impression that his first officer was considering something. Weighing something about his commanding officer. After a few moments, Spock said, “Permission to speak freely, sir?”
Jim’s posture straightened, “Permission granted.”
“I confess that I find tonight’s gathering impractical. Sparring would inevitably occur between officers of similar combat training. It is unnecessary to disrupt the schedules of 57 officers in order to attempt to accelerate this process.”
“While I do hope our officers take this opportunity to mingle, that’s not my only goal for tonight.”
“Please, clarify,” and, despite the neutral tone, Jim felt like he was being challenged. No, tested.
It just so happened that Jim was excellent at passing tests. “I need to familiarize myself with the crew’s capabilities. Assembling parties with the best suited officers can mean the difference between life and death.”
“Relevant skills are listed in personnel files.”
“Yes, but there are things I can’t learn from files. They may list combat certifications, but those outside Security don’t have any more detail. Thus, they don’t tell me how those officers act during a fight. Nor does it tell me how these officers interact with each other. Because you are right that officers of similar combat levels train with each other. They have established dynamics—and developing ones—that will affect their teamwork. I would prefer to become familiar with these details sooner rather than later.”
Quirking his head as he looked at the Captain—with what Jim might be so bold as to label intrigue—the Commander said, “Your goals and method of attaining them are logical.”
“Why, Mr. Spock, you don’t have to sound so surprised,” Jim replied playfully. He was quite pleased at having passed the Vulcan’s little test. It meant he was one step closer to being the true captain of the Enterprise.
However, his First Officer did not look pleased or playful. Instead, he lowered his head slightly, as if submitting. “I apologize, Captain. In my personal experience, humans tend to have a distaste for readings they find tedious. I had hypothesized this gathering was a method to circumvent reading personnel files. That was my error.”
“Don’t worry about it, Commander.”
“I do not experience such an emotion, sir.”
“Of course,” Jim acquiesced politely, though he had never been convinced that Vulcans were as emotionless as they claimed. Honestly, he didn’t blame Spock for being wary of a new commanding officer. They knew each other by reputation and reports only. It was natural to come to some wrong conclusions. Besides, “You’re also not entirely wrong: personnel files aren’t nearly my favorite genre. I do my due diligence, but I much prefer the Terran classics.”
The cheeky rejoinder was met with another eyebrow raise, and an, “Indeed?”
It was then that Ramirez—their Chief of Security and the person helping run this meeting—greeted Jim, stealing his attention away. The rest of the officers had filled into the room while their command team was conversing. Jim had been aware of the growing background noise, but he had not paid it much heed. Too absorbed with Mr. Spock to notice that it was time to start the gathering. Thankfully, Ramirez was on top of things.
Ramirez addressed the crowd first, encouraging those present to give their new captain a warm welcome and show off their skills. Jim added on that there was no better way to welcome him than by knocking him on his ass. The officers laughed, and Jim remarked in all seriousness that they shouldn’t hold anything back because he was their commanding officer. He could only be proud to serve with the best of the best.
Witty remarks aside, Jim’s main role would be that of an observer. He did spar with a few officers; nevertheless, his task was to learn his crew. To learn their strengths and weaknesses in order to place them where they could thrive.
Throughout his little speech and his observations, Jim couldn’t help but spare some of his attention for his First Officer. His eyes kept wandering to the Vulcan. Said Vulcan also seemed to be watching him too: Jim caught him glancing away several times. Additionally, Jim thought he could feel the other man’s gaze on him. That intense, analytical gaze dissected everything the Captain did.
The attention was thrilling in a way. Thrilling and a bit…magnetic in nature. He found himself drawn in by Spock’s stare. Pulled to that fascinating man. He wanted to know more about the Vulcan, what was going on between those pointed ears.
Eventually, when Jim deemed his goals for the evening complete, he allowed himself to give in and approach Spock.
His First Officer was engaged in a match, so Jim politely waited for its conclusion. Spock was a lithe man: his form did not suggest strength, yet he did not break a sweat as he brought the far more burly officer to the ground. It seemed the rumored Vulcan strength was no joke.
“Very impressive, Mr. Spock,” Jim commented as the other officer tapped out.
“Thank you, Captain,” the Vulcan said, releasing his opponent and standing gracefully.
Jim offered a hand and a smile to the officer on the ground, saying, “And, Lieutenant Aberdeen, you fought very well. Don’t take the loss to heart: I’m guessing the Commander here is undefeated by us humans.”
“Untrue, Captain,” his trusty First Officer chimed in while the Lieutenant mumbled his thanks and let himself be pulled to his feet. “I have been bested by five humans in hand-to-hand combat, not counting instances where I was injured or otherwise handicapped.”
“Five whole humans. Are any of them among our crew?”
“No.”
“Shame.” Flashing another smile at Aberdeen, Jim asked, “May I step in, Lieutenant?”
With flustered words, Aberdeen graciously allowed Jim to take his sparring partner and stepped off the mat.
“Do you not wish to observe more matches?” Spock’s words could have been born from chastisement or curiosity, and Jim couldn’t quite parse which.
“I’ve seen what I came to see,” Jim said in way of explanation. “Now, it’s time for me to step back and let my officers be. Also, if there’s anyone whose skills I should know best, it’s my First Officer’s.”
“This is true,” Spock agreed though he did not take a readied stance. “In that case, I believe I should educate you on a unique technique of Vulcan origin called the to’tsu’k’hy.”
Taking a step closer, intrigued, Jim said, “Do tell.”
“It is deceptively simple in appearance, requiring little contact; regardless, the amount of precision required makes it unusable for most species. Were I to perform the to’tsu’k’hy on you, I would place my hand here.”
Most of the time, Jim considered himself a good listener. Being able to listen well was crucial to understanding and helping his crew. He was still human though and capable of distraction.
The instant Spock’s large, warm hand cupped the juncture between the base of Jim’s neck and his shoulder, the Captain found himself very distracted.
Jim’s skin was already flushed from exertion. That was why he had taken his shirt off, which now exposed his skin to direct contact with long, strong fingers. Spock’s hand was warmer still than Jim’s flushed skin. Warm like a stone heated from the sun. Warm like the air within the golden light of a campfire.
Swallowing, Jim tried not to lean into that warmth.
“Captain? Has my explanation been sufficient?”
Startled out of his daze, Jim said, “Hmm? Oh, yes. Most sufficient.” The Captain’s face flushed further from embarrassment. He hadn’t absorbed any of the explanation Spock had given. This was bad. Jim didn’t want to appear inattentive or disrespectful. They had been making such excellent progress in their rapport too. Well, there was one way to glean the information he had missed. And, Jim had always been more of a hands-on learner. “I think I would understand the technique better though if you demonstrated it.”
The Vulcan blinked, visibly perplexed by the request. “It is not a pleasant experience.”
“I can handle being roughed up, Commander.”
“It is unnecessary.”
“Humor me,” Jim said, giving a challenging, cocky smile.
“Very well,” Spock said, and it sounded like there was an unspoken sigh tacked onto the end. “Shall I inform the room that the evening’s meeting is over?”
Confused, Jim said, “No, I’m letting Ramirez decide when to close.”
“I see. Then, I will bid you goodnight, Captain. I plan to retire for my nightly meditation shortly.”
“Goodnight?”
There was a pinch. Instantly, a shock of sensation, like a bolt of electricity that flashed through all of Jim’s nerves.
Then, nothing.
****
It was the oppressive, white lights of Sickbay that first greeted Jim upon waking. He groaned and threw an arm over his eyes. The light felt like it was stabbing him in the brain. What happened? Was he hungover?
“Rise and shine, Sleeping Beauty.”
“Bones,” Jim said, recognizing the drawl of his good friend’s voice. “What happened?”
There was the sound of footsteps and Bones fiddling with equipment while he replied, “Some fool thought it was a bright idea to goad a Vulcan into givin’ him a nerve pinch.”
“Nerve pinch…” The words took a few moments to register, and a few moments more were needed for Jim to remember what happened on the sparring mats. Sitting up suddenly—and wincing from how his head protested—Jim said, “A nerve pinch? Really?!? I thought that was an urban legend!”
“That ‘urban legend’ knocked you out for three hours.” The good doctor put his hands on his hips, not unlike how Jim’s mother did when she scolded him, asking, “What were you thinking?”
“I guess I wasn’t,” Jim sheepishly admitted, though he kept the reason why he wasn’t thinking to himself.
“At least he admits it,” Bones murmured. He fixed Jim with another scolding glare and said, “I should let you sit with that headache and teach you a lesson. But, I’m a soft touch.”
The doctor brought a hypo to the Captain’s shoulder. There was a slight pinch and a hiss. And then, it was like invisible hands were unraveling the web of tension that trapped Jim’s brain in a vice. With a sigh of relief, he said, “Thanks, Bones. You’re a lifesaver.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just don’t goad the Vulcan no more.”
“I can’t make any promises. He’s a rather interesting fellow.”
Halting as he was putting away his equipment, Bones gave him an incredulous look. Incredulity turned to dawning horror. “Tell me it ain’t so. The hobgoblin? Really? I know you like ‘em smart, but there’s smart and then there’s a literal computer! And—and he’s your First Officer, for Christ’s sake!”
“Relax, Bones. It’s nothing.” His friend folded his arms, unimpressed. Jim amended, and said, “It’s interest—a crush, that’s all.”
In spite of Jim’s assurances, Bones continued grumbling. “Can’t believe it. Of all the people on board—and after he just knocked you out cold!”
“I’d say that only adds to the appeal.”
“Right. I forgot who I was talking to.” The good doctor sighed deeply and placed a hand on Jim’s shoulder. He squeezed the shoulder, looking into Jim’s eyes with gentle concern. “Just…don’t get your heart broke.”
“It’s a crush. I give it a week. A month, tops.”