Le Tombeau de Couperin

Chapter 01: Prélude
Chapter 02: Fugue
Chapter 03: Forlane
Chapter 04: Rigaudon
Chapter 05: Menuet
Chapter 06: Toccata

At the beginning of alpha shift, all is still - yes, the beginning, because James T. Kirk is human and he knows that shifts don't truly begin until everyone is settled in their seats, ready.

But, before the beginning of alpha shift, things are moving. Positions are being taken, decks are being crossed, doors are opening, as are hands, palm-up.

Captain Kirk is waving at First Officer Spock, and though he does it with all gravitas, it feels unearthly quick.

Perhaps there is a chill in the air; the temperature regulators...a momentary defect. He will have to speak to Mr. Scott, just now rushing to his position in engineering, about that.

The observation deck is a lonely place, if one attends alone. If one has become accustomed to the warm, congenial presence of one's captain, confidante, and friend, at each semi-quotidien gaze. And, perhaps not only if, but this is Spock's experience.

Near the Andorian system, of course, Vulcan can be seen. Lacking moons, it reflects the brightness, the radiance, of 40 Eridani A.

Much, then, as Spock feels himself reflecting the radiance of Kirk, though he had previously been devoid of orbital moons.

"I like standing out here with you, Spock," Jim might say, raising his heels, and he does not have to. But Spock is pleased with the confirmation nonetheless.

Capricious.

It isn't often Kirk's way to be describing Spock as capricious, or to be describing him as much of anything at all. He defies it, for one thing, and Kirk is just as silent via tactility when he observes as when he interacts.

But the arches of those slanted brows, the quirks of eyes and ears, calculated though they may be, lend a tremendous quality of impulse, of autonomous speed and implacability. If Spock were to begin prioritizing emotional responses, which he would never do (or...would he?), Kirk would be powerless to stop him. It would proceed as negentropy.

He'd just hope to be afforded the chance to watch.

Kirk moves in tremendous outbursts, in solar flares and amiable apoplexy.

"You're chipper today, Captain," Spock says, records it in the virile air of their conversation.

"Why, thank you, Mr. Spock," Kirk flashes back, but then he's irritated. For a moment Spock wonders if it might be logical to conclude that the reason is he himself.

But Jim did say thank you. He did express gratitude, and even for such an illogical being as he, there would be no objective in expressing such a sentiment for naught.

If he wanted Spock to think that he was happy when he was not, he wouldn't keep revolving in Spock's direction...just like that.

In Spock's memory, there are a great many things. There are a great many attributes of his mother, for instance. There is Captain Pike, and there is the Starfleet Academy. Some of these things are demonstrably sweet, and some of them are relatively more...sour.

It is, of course, the ultimate quandary of his dichotomized mind that he might consider moments concerning both the many and the one. Perhaps it could be described as distressing that in most all his memories, he finds himself viewed as the main character.

But he hasn't any other choice, has he? Because that's the way Kirk looks at him, and he can never forget that.

At high warp speeds, there is no disturbance to travelers' physical comfort aboard a Constitution-class vessel. Those speeds are standardized, normalized.

But Kirk can't help but tease. He asks Spock, "Can you hear it? The sound, and the feel, of space, all around us?"

Spock turns, minutely, and inclines his head. "I cannot, Captain. Warp drive necessitates the creation of a subspace bubble; I would consider it more accurate to note the absence of generic space around us."

Kirk purses his lips, disappointed. "You mean the only thing those ears of yours are good for is listening to my sweet nothings?"

They exit warp drive, and Spock casually pops his ears.