I am aware. It would be of a benefit if those individuals learned some measure of caution.
[ He is, likewise, speaking of the captain. Really, some caution would not be amiss.
Spock is certainly rebellious, and he acknowledges that somewhere in the back of his mind, another concept carefully shielded and repressed from all introspection. It began even before rejecting the VSA, and it carried on to him joining the Enterprise rather than helping his people settle in their new colony.
It is simply not an easy thing to admit, this rebellious desire that lingers in his chest. It had been easy, before, to cite his mother - and she had been a major reason, because he still cannot bear negative talk regarding Amanda Grayson - but it has grown much more complex.
Kirk is a good, logical choice to place the blame. He draws people in and makes demands, and Spock cannot let go.
There's nothing he can really say about humans and their irrationality, because he knows how this argument goes. Besides, he finds he tolerates their irrational natures, from time to time. ]
Your help is appreciated, Doctor. [ He glances between the chocolates, and selects one of the white chocolates. It lacks the same rich smell as the dark chocolate, and the taste is -
Well, it's not chocolate. All it tastes like to Spock is a mess of sweetness. ]
This is atrocious. [ He doesn't make a face, but only barely, and discards the rest of the white chocolate in favor of another square of dark. ] The nomenclature of said candy is misleading. In fact, many candies the crew discuss are misleading. Is it simply the human way?
[She's been trying for four years to curb Jim Kirk's flighty nature, all to no avail. If Spock thinks he can do better, she's going to let him do his best and watch him crash and burn with a drink in her hand and a laugh on her lips. She needs more things in her life to amuse herself with, and that would be a prime contender.
Spock takes a bite out of the milk chocolate and stills, and if Len were a betting woman (she is), she would put money on the micro expression he just made being akin to a baby's grimace when they first try a slice of lemon. It takes real self-restraint to keep from laughing aloud. She knows if she did, Spock would just get huffy, assuming she was laughing at him (she would be), and wouldn't be able to see the humor in the situation. To stop herself from chuckling some more, she takes another sip of her synthehol, and shrugs when he drops the white chocolate to reach for the dark square.]
I dunno, Spock, you're going to have to give me specifics. I don't really know what kinds of candy the crew discuss in their downtime.
As the individual in question rarely listens and it is illogical for me to expect him to change, I will refrain.
[ He is not even trying to be subtle anymore. They are both referencing Jim, and are aware of it, and no one else is close enough to overhear.
That is something he would normally never say, expect maybe to Jim himself, but Spock doesn't think about the oddity of the words leaving his lips. ]
Or rather, only mention it when he is truly in danger.
[ So a dozen times a week. No matter.
The second square of dark chocolate disappears even quicker than the first, and he takes a piece of the milk chocolate to try. It is sweeter than the dark chocolate, creamier and lacking the bite, but acceptable. He still prefers the dark chocolate, going for a third piece - his fourth altogether. ]
They refer to candies such as kisses and fruit-based chews that lack any trace of fruit.
[She snickers to herself over her glass, pleased when Spock gives up the ghost and admits what they both know: that they're talking about Jim Kirk.] Yes, well, at least you're able to admit that to yourself. Most divorces happen because people are unable to see that attempting to force someone to change to suit your own needs will never work out in the end. [Not that they're married; although, she's heard some scuttlebutt insinuate that they might as well be. Not that Len listens to gossip, though.] Good luck with that, buddy. I've been yelling at him for four years about his damn fool antics and he's never listened to me yet.
[She sounds fond, though. As much as she complains about him, Len is very fond of Jim Kirk. It's almost impossible not to be, he's the type of person who inspires one of only two reactions: you either love him despite your better judgement, or you loathe him because of it.
Nothing in between.
He really seems to like chocolate. Amused, Len watches as he devours another piece, his higher body temperature melting the chocolate slightly against his fingertips. He hasn't seemed to notice yet; she wonders if he will, if he'll wipe them on a napkin or lick the chocolate off so as not to waste any.]
Hershey Kisses is just the name of the chocolate, I don't know why they're called that. The fruit ones, though, well. That's probably to trick people into thinking they're anything other than artificially-flavored sugar bombs. Who knows, really.
Attempting to change an individual is illogical, Doctor. It will happen when they wish, or not at all, and one should not attempt to change the base personality. It leads to disharmony of the mind. I do wish the captain would learn to exercise caution, in some aspects of his life. [ A delicate sniff accompanies his words that from anyone else would be a tremendous sigh. Really. Some caution.
And no one should listen to gossip. Spock has already had words with his department, but they show no signs of stopping.
His fingers are covered in chocolate, though he doesn't realize it until he reaches for another piece of chocolate. It is improper to waste food, and smears of chocolate are still a waste, so there is only one logical course of action.
Spock brings his fingers to his lips, licking them off his thumb rather delicately. It is good they are mostly alone, and it is only Bones watching him. Spock can at least pretend Bones has no idea what he is doing. It's easier to think that at the moment, which should trigger an alert in his head, but strangely doesn't.
He sucks his index finger into his mouth, licking the pad. It's almost indecent, by any cultural standard. Bones can forever hold this over his head.
He releases his finger with a 'pop,' and when he responds, his voice is just a fraction warmer. ]
See, as I said, they are misnomers. Terran traditions regarding names are most perplexing, Doctor.
Yeah, well. Tell that to my ex-wife. [She lifts her glass to her mouth to take a long, bracing draught of the still vile synthehol — it stands to reason that the more she drinks of it, the better it will taste, right? right? — any mention of Jocelyn still making her want to spit out a curse. To call the divorce acrimonious would be an understatement, but it's all in the past now. All Len can do is keep her sights fixed on what's in front of her and not wallow in what's done. Well, not too much.
She snorts somewhat inelegantly, and waves her glass in a dismissive sort of arcing motion.] Jim does whatever the hell Jim wants, always has, always will. It's up to us idiots to pick up his pieces and make sure he doesn't kill himself in the process.
[Len's so wrapped up in her sudden bout of brooding that she almost misses it when Spock lifts his hands to his mouth and proceeds to lick his fingers clean, even going so far as to suck his index finger into his mouth. It's almost obscene, watching him all but fellate his finger, and Len's suddenly glad for the fact that she's the type to blush when drinking, as her alcohol-induced flush hides the sudden rush of blood to her face at that display.
She clears her throat.] I guess we're just like that. We name big guys "Tiny" and Chihuahuas "Bruiser" because... Well, I don't know why. And for god's sake, Spock, we're off duty. Call me Lenore.
Edited (hah i forgot that last part WE'RE GOOD NOW) 2016-05-17 23:52 (UTC)
As I am unacquainted with your former partner and suspect that a meeting between us shall occur only in less than auspicious circumstances, I will not pass on such information. [ His brow furrows for a second, and he deigns to add: ] You may inform her of my words yourself, adding that they come from a Vulcan, who are remarkably superior to unschooled humans.
[ He does not quite parse the rudeness of his comment, or the fact that it will never happen, but for all his surface dislike of Bones, he does have some esteem for her skill, and a person who could discard one such as Bones is not worth his consideration.
From a purely logical standpoint, of course. ]
He is fortunate to have individuals with talent and skill, and a marked tolerance for his impetuous actions.
[ Between the chocolate and the sucking on his finger, there's a faint green flush on Spock's cheeks, and he feels distinctly warmer than usual. It does not occur to him that there might be cause for concern, and rather than making a sensible decision to study what might cause an increase in internal body temperature, he reaches for a napkin to dry his finger tips.
And another piece of chocolate. ]
Very well, Doc - Lenore. Perhaps you might indulge my curiosity regarding the giving of gentlemen of large stature such monikers as 'Tiny.' Is it in reference to certain portions of their anatomy that belies their overall substantial presence?
[For all that Spock is half-human, he's so alien. Sometimes Len forgets; most of the aliens that are part of Starfleet have been immersed in the world of humanity for long enough to appreciate rhetorical statements and recognize the sort of empty threats that humans like to employ when talking about past wrongdoings, but Spock is forever oblivious. Instead of trying to explain, or telling him that if he ever tries to tell Lenore's ex-wife that she's unschooled, Len'll be the one surgically reattaching his dick after Joce cuts it off for him, she just snorts again and shakes her head.] Sure thing, buddy. I'll do that.
[There's a headache brewing at her temples, and the alcohol doesn't seem to be helping much. Sighing quietly, she rubs at her forehead and idly fantasizes about stabbing herself with a few hypos so she can fall asleep. But she doesn't like relying on drugs to cope with her problems — any mention of her fondness for alcohol will be met with a blank stare; that's completely different, thank you — so she shelves those thoughts and turns back to the matter at hand.]
I'm not tolerant, I'm just a sucker for big blue eyes, it seems. What's your excuse?
[Spock is looking green. On anyone else, that would be a worrying sign of nausea, but she's not sure what it means for Spock. He's so reticent about his physiology, not wanting her to know more than she absolutely has to in order to treat him, that she doesn't know very much about him at all. Jabilo seems to have that market cornered, and so she's left looking at the green flush that stains Spock's high cheekbones and the tips of his ears and wondering.
She laughs.] No, Spock, it's not because they've got small dicks. Although, steroids do tend to shrink genitalia. It's just...irony, I suppose. We just like to be contrary, surely you can attest to that.
[ Humans and their ridiculous lack of understanding logic and their empty threats and their insistence upon absurd emotions. Getting upset enough to inflict such crude violence just for a comment that is obviously true. Pride was an unfortunate emotion.
(Ignore the fact that Vulcans have even more pride than humans, and take great, subtle pleasure in reminding most of the Federation of their intelligence, skill, and superiority.)
At the very least, Spock will be in highly skilled hands. ] Your tone of voice and undignified sound indicate you are simply saying that to placate me. I assure you, I need no placating.
I am neither tolerant nor easily swayed by symmetrical features or the color and size of eyes. He is my captain and I do not wish to see another in his place. And.
[ He pauses and folds his hands together, leaning forward as though to bestow a great secret upon the doctor. ]
He is my friend. As I suffer a shortage of intimate connections, to lose even one would be abhorrent.
[ In the back of his mind, Spock is aware he has shared a confidence with the doctor and that such open discussion is atypical. It is simply that he can find no logical reason to not divulge such information, and the normal Vulcan reserve feels miles away. ]
The contrary nature of humans is not unknown to me. Even as a child, I encountered my mother, who was sometimes contrary. Not to such an illogical extent as some, of course.
[Lenore seems completely unrepentant to be caught out in her skepticism; she just hums and tilts her head to one side.] If anyone'll need placating after that incident, it'd be Jocelyn, not you. [It's not an apology, but it's something close to one, and it's the best he's going to get from her for now.
She lifts her eyebrows at him in a move that should demonstrate her disbelief, but she doesn't call him out on the clear symmetry of Uhura's face, nor the lovely color of her eyes. She's not sure where their relationship stands anymore, and there's needling Spock, and then there's needling Spock, and she doesn't really feel like pushing the boundaries that much tonight.
She's tired, and getting a little tipsy, and Spock is in an uncharacteristically talkative mood. She's surprised to find she kind of wants to encourage him.
Her gaze softens when he confesses what she already knows: that he has precious few friends. Instead of contradicting him as she might normally — "I thought Vulcans didn't have friends," — she just sighs and lifts her glass in a facsimile of a toast, holding it out to him like he'd clink glasses with her. Does he even know about the human tradition of toasting? She hasn't ever thought about it.] I know how that feels.
[Smiling a little at him, she leans her chin on her palm and lets her eyes droop in a lazy blink.] Will you tell me about her? She must have been quite a lady.
[ He was not swayed by the perfect symmetry of Uhura's face or even her talented tongue. He is above such basic lusts. Supposedly. It was her keen intellect and unparalleled cultural sensitivity that drew him to her. He was simply lucky enough to find someone smart, talented, and beautiful. And though their romantic relationship has ended, he still counts her a friend and is thankful for that.
The wrappers of the chocolates litter the surface of the table, and Spock carefully collects them, small souvenirs of his taste test of chocolate. He will make Jim gather more at their next stop. ]
You are acquainted with what feeling, Lenore? The few friends or the lack of desire to see them injured?
[ His mother remains a painful topic and there is an emptiness inside his mind where his bond with her once thrived. But the grief grows muted with every passing year, and he finds discussing her not as painful as it had been, even when she had been alive. ] She was a very warm individual, but did not resent Vulcan and the repression of her emotions while on the planet. There were those who thought her less because of her humanity, rather than admiring the grace and skill with which she managed to survive Vulcan.
[So that she has something to do with her hands, Lenore finds herself sorting through the leftover chocolate in the bowl in front of them, just as Spock is fiddling with the empty wrappers. The dark chocolate pieces she fishes out are laid out before him, with the milk chocolate making a smaller pile on the other side of the bowl. The white chocolate she leaves where it is, because they both think it's awful.
She unwraps a chocolate of her own and nibbles on the corner.]
Of course I am, Spock. This may shock you, but I'm not exactly an easy person to get along with. And I never like seeing people hurt. [She's a doctor, and a damn good one, at that. Not only is she adept at all the new hands-off technologies when it comes to healing, but she's done her fair share of extremely hands-on work; in fact, Lenore often prefers the so-called barbaric practice of physical surgery, using her own hands to wield the scalpel instead of a machine.
Mothers are often painful topics. Lenore's relationship with her own is strained, at best, but it's nice to know that despite how cold and unfeeling he might seem, Spock loved his mother the way all little boys should.] I wish I could have met her. [It would have been fascinating to pick her brain; Lenore isn't much of a linguist, so that topic of conversation would be more or less off the table, but she wants to know why someone would willingly pack up and move to a planet that's so very different from your own.
She only left Georgia because there was nothing there left for her. To make that kind of choice when there were other options...
[ Spock nods in approval at her sorting methods, for it is suitable. Plus, someone else is joining him in consuming chocolate. Which brings him to a very curious point. ] Are you familiar with the properties of chocolate, Doctor? Is it normal to feel so warm when consuming the substance?
[ It is not actually concerning to him, but he is quite interested in discovering more. If it makes humans feel this way, he can understand why they would enjoy such delicacies. ]
That is not a shocking fact, Lenore. I believe many would say similar things about myself. Their minds are small and narrow, and they refuse an understanding that would lead to greater knowledge and appreciation of the world around them and personalities that differ from their own. [ It is a long-winded explanation of the words his mother offered to him when his peers persisted in bullying him. Though he found little comfort in the words then, he can appreciate them now. ]
She counted herself a very fortunate human woman. I only wish she were here to meet my crew mates. No. To meet my friends. [ And he is almost sentimental about it all. But he does wish she could have met them, from Uhura to Jim to Lenore, and the rest of the command crew.
He thinks she would have liked them. ] She enjoyed human idioms and often used them in conversation when possible.
Warm? [She frowns lightly at him, just a little quirk of her eyebrows, and makes a moue with her mouth that signifies disagreement.] No, not warm. It's supposed to release endorphins, though, which light up the pleasure center of the brain. Plus it's sweet, and I'm sure you're aware how much we like sweet foods.
[Lenore is more of a savory snack person than a sweet snack person, but that's not really relevant. (She's reminded of a study she read that found that people who prefer salty foods over sweet foods are often viewed less favorably; 'bitchy' was one word used to describe the group by one of the participants, and oh, isn't that on the nose.)
She taps the edge of her fingernail against the table, continuing to frown slightly.] Most people would say we don't get along, either. Is my mind small and narrow?
[She finds she really is regretful that she never got to meet Amanda Grayson, although she did indulge herself in a little light reading about the woman a few months ago, when she had an evening free and curiosity struck. It's hard to judge a person's character from a dry summation of their accomplishments, but yes, she thinks they would have gotten along.
Spock's next comment just solidifies that idle notion.] So when you profess ignorance over some little turn of phrase I use, you're just being supercilious jackass? [The smile on her face, amused and vindicated in equal measure, should take the sting out of her accusation, but who knows how Spock will take it.]
Puzzling. I shall consult with Doctor M'Benga during his next shift. [ For the sake of science, of course. One must always record observations and follow through with experiments.
He unwraps another chocolate - how many is that now? - and breaks it into pieces again, slipping one into his mouth. Perhaps he can ask M'Benga about increasing lack of circumspect talk. ]
I would name you friend, Lenore, and be ever in your service should you require support. Your mind is illogical and rash, Lenore, and you are given to over-dramatic tendencies in your speech. But it is not small or narrow. Indeed, I believe your dramatic phrases to be the way you process complications. You are always capable of performing under pressure. Simply because we do argue in our approach does not mean we do not get along.
[ Besides, Spock has picked up on the fact that all of those insults from the doctor are simply her way of expressing frustration, and in some ways, a way to include Spock into the group at large. He has long since learned not to take offense.
Though he can't resist feigning offense at her words. ]
I am neither superior to anyone [ which is a complete lie ] nor domesticated hoofed mammal.
I simply must remind people of the egregious claims in their idioms.
If you lot weren't so goddamn secretive about your physiology, I'd be a lot more helpful, you know. [She sounds a little bitter because she is. She's a doctor, dammit, the ship's Chief Medical Officer, and she's kept in the dark about all but the most basic of facts regarding the First Officer on her ship. If he wasn't so famously touchy, she'd be badgering Spock way more to tell her what's so goddamn important about his body that it must be kept secret when none of the other races on the ship feel the need to keep her in the dark regarding the way their bodies function.
Chomping bitterly on her square of chocolate, she's so shocked by Spock's miniature monologue about her good qualities that she almost chokes on the sweet in her mouth.
She coughs, attempting to regain her composure.] Spock. [If he were anyone else, she'd reach out and touch his hand; she may be tipsy, but she's not drunk enough to touch a touch-telepath without thinking about it long and hard. Yet.] I thought you didn't even like me. Illogical and rash. Gosh, I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said about me. [If she's blushing, it's all because of the alcohol, alright. Definitely not because of the startled pleasure curling under her breastbone.
She doesn't care what Spock thinks about her because she doesn't care what anyone thinks about her. She's a grown-ass woman, and a successful doctor to boot. She doesn't need anyone's approval.
Though it is kind of nice to know she's held in some esteem by her fellow officers.]
I guess you're not so bad yourself. Even if you are pedantic as all get-out.
I am Vulcan, madam. We do not discuss Vulcan biology with off-worlders. [ Not even M'Benga knew everything about Vulcan physiology, though his scope of knowledge was quite impressive. Spock knew well that certain conversations were dropped when a off-worlder entered the room.
There were reasons he could understand, when it came to particular causes. A male Vulcan's time was the cause of a deep, abiding shame, and that was something none wished for the galaxy to know. But otherwise? There were good reasons, Spock was sure, but he could not recall them, could not remember why they were so stubborn about allowing records to be translated and given to medical personnel.
For Spock, it was a different story. Enough time under the cold, calculating eyes of scientists who viewed him as nothing more than a specimen has left him reluctant to spend even the slightest time undergoing poking and prodding.
This chocolate really is going to his head.
He does not mind, however. The taste is still pleasant, and his limbs feel relaxed. He even deigns to slouch the slightest bit, tension bleeding from his frame. ]
I assure you, that was not meant as a compliment. [ Though her reaction does not surprise him; he has always found Lenore to react in ways he does not comprehend.
He recognizes her own words are a return of his sentiment, and bows his head in response. It is, in a deep, startling way he cannot thoroughly describe, gratifying to hear her claim. ]
Someone abroad this vessel needs to be exact, and none but me seem capable.
Don't you "madam" me, okay. [She's not annoyed, though, she's almost laughing. Yes, she's annoyed that Spock keeps her out of the loop, but it's so Spock, she almost expects it from him. The fact that he's playing directly into the role she's mentally written for him just makes her feel satisfied. She shakes her head at him, sighing.] Well, don't come crying to me when you manage to wind up with boils in some very inconvenient places because you reacted badly to something on some off-world mission, alright? I can't help you when I don't know what's wrong with you.
[She's still laughing when he tries to tell her that he was insulting her, which just makes her laugh even more. The synthehol has left her feeling far giddier than usual at this time of night, but Spock is acting looser than he normally does, so she doesn't feel too badly for being a little silly.] Oh, I know. I just choose to take it as one, so thank you.
[His hair is always so neat and tidy, like a wig, or a helmet. It's just another part of his fastidious nature that she's always come to depend on, like the fact that his boots are almost mirrored they're so polished, and that his reports are written with such exact grammar that they might as well be examples in a college textbook. When he bows his head in acknowledgement of her backwards compliment, she can see that his hair is mussed, just a little, just a few pieces lying out of order.
It's startling, and distracting.]
Well, it's a good thing we have you around then, isn't it, Mr. Spock?
Very well, Doctor. If you insist. [ He is not one for familiarity, even with people who might not be concerned. Though he cannot see the difference between "madam" and "doctor". ] As it is unlikely that I will wind up with boils that cannot be cured by a healing trance or medication you already possess, I see no reason for concern. Besides, Dr. M'Benga has some knowledge of Vulcans, and what you cannot do, he can.
[ Spock does, actually, possess some measure of esteem for her medical expertise, but he will never say such a thing. At least, not to her face. If anything negative does impact his health, Spock knows the doctor will find a cure.
He is not going to acknowledge her thanks. Not only does he rarely acknowledge thanks, for no thanks are needed in most circumstances, her reaction is ridiculous. Thanking someone for calling them illogical. Spock does not even try to resist rolling his eyes at her.
It is a good thing he does not notice his hair is out of place. It is a distraction he would not care for, especially when the chocolate is so good and the warmth in his blood startling. ]
Indeed, it is fortunate. Were I given to idle speculation and frivolous imaginings, I would venture to say that the ship would fall apart without my guidance.
However, that is improbable. The ship cannot fall apart, Mr. Scott is most adept at keeping her repaired. And the individuals residing on the ship would likewise not fall apart literally. It is operations that would suffer.
Spock. What did I tell you? [She arches her eyebrows pointedly at him, not even trying to hide the smile curling her lips.] And when something happens to you and Jabilo isn't around? What will you do when you're hurt and unconscious and the only sawbones around is me, with my sub-par knowledge of your biology?
[Of course she'll find a cure if something negatively affects him. She'll stay up all night for days on end, working feverishly until she figures out how to crack the code of whatever ailment is afflicting him, because she's a damn good doctor but also because he's her friend. A friend she enjoys antagonizing, but a friend nonetheless. She's lost enough friends as it is, she's not going to lose any more if she can help it.
If she were braver (drunker), she might reach out and fix his hair for him. For now, she just fiddles with a chocolate wrapper and tears her eyes away from his head.
She chuckles and then opens her mouth as if she was going to ask him something, but freezes before any sound comes out. After a slow blink, she heads in a different direction.] How old are you, anyway?
Edited (i use people's names WAY TOO MUCH in tags whoops) 2016-06-17 22:47 (UTC)
Not to call you 'madam,' which, I will point out, I did not. [ She did not say anything against calling her doctor, and Spock lives for technicalities. ] There are resources you can access, should you need to in such a situation.
[ And while it might be easier to indulge her curiosity now, when there is no disaster, it will take more than some chocolate to get Spock to ignore a lifetime of trained reticence.
Besides, he knows the ship and her crew, and knows that no matter what the universe might throw at them, someone will find a way. And if not - well, dying in space, working along side those he considers close, is a better fate than many.
The pile of chocolate wrappers is larger than the pile of remaining chocolate by the time Spock finally stops eating the chocolate. It leaves him feeling warm and pleasant, and when she asks about his age, it's easy to answer - and explain more. ] I am thirty. It is still young in Vulcan terms, as we generally live much longer than humans.
To call me Lenore. We're off-duty. Good lord. [She rolls her eyes at him and drains the last of her synthehol, setting the empty cup down on her half-eaten tray and then pushing the whole thing to the side so she can rest her elbow on the table surface and her chin in her palm.] You're impossible.
[She gives up trying to explain to him why the CMO needs to know about the weird alien biology of the crew on her ship, knowing she'd have better luck arguing with a brick wall and not wanting to expend the energy any longer. At least, not tonight, not after her horrible drink and especially not when Spock is looking so...tipsy.
There's a green flush high on his cheekbones, and his dark Vulcan eyes are bright and surprisingly human-looking. He looks...approachable.]
Thirty? [That's actually more than she was expecting; somehow she thought he was going to be Jim's age or perhaps even younger, based on the average age of the rest of the crew. Sometimes it feels like it's her and Scotty, the only two adults in a sea of children.] You look younger. How long is your lifespan?
I assure you, I am not impossible. I do exist, Lenore, and am not a figment of your imagination. [ He could not resist the raised eyebrow, or the slightest curl of his lip. ] Unless you make it a habit to imagine conversations with me when you are inebriated.
[ It is possible she might get information from his counterpart, who has been in the habit of sharing information with humans, and has his own memories of a different Bones. He makes a mental note to mention that to her, and then changes his mind to add: ] The ambassador might offer information. Or my father. Should you need it.
[ And if that surprises him, that those words escaped his mouth, then well, he has certainly gotten more than one surprise that evening. ]
Generally, Vulcans can live to be 200, if not slightly older. However, we are unsure of the effect my human blood will have on my lifespan. It is possible I might only live to 150.
You know what I mean. [She picks up one of the wrappers she's rolled into a ball and flicks it at him, resisting the urge to roll her eyes again.] And my imagined conversations usually end with me winning, so. [He rarely follows the script she writes for him when she makes up conversations in her head whilst in the shower or on the treadmill, but that tends to happen with her scripted thoughts, so whatever.
She shrugs and shakes her head, an action that's more of a roll of her head from side to side so she doesn't have to lift her chin off her palm.] I'd rather hear it from you.
[She hums, her eyebrows lifting lazily.] No kidding. Well, you'll still beat the rest of us, even with all the best modern medical advances, reaching one fifty is mostly considered a miracle.
[ The indignity! Spock's eyes widen for a brief second as the wrapper hits his forehead, and he fishes up the wrapper, flicking it back. ] That is why they are imagined conversations, not actual.
[ He wins just as many arguments as he loses with her; it is a battle to see who will come out the victor, with them. A nice challenge, even if he rarely admits such a thing. ]
I am aware, Lenore. Such is the issue with being a Vulcan. My father expected to outlive my mother by a number of years, even.
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[ He is, likewise, speaking of the captain. Really, some caution would not be amiss.
Spock is certainly rebellious, and he acknowledges that somewhere in the back of his mind, another concept carefully shielded and repressed from all introspection. It began even before rejecting the VSA, and it carried on to him joining the Enterprise rather than helping his people settle in their new colony.
It is simply not an easy thing to admit, this rebellious desire that lingers in his chest. It had been easy, before, to cite his mother - and she had been a major reason, because he still cannot bear negative talk regarding Amanda Grayson - but it has grown much more complex.
Kirk is a good, logical choice to place the blame. He draws people in and makes demands, and Spock cannot let go.
There's nothing he can really say about humans and their irrationality, because he knows how this argument goes. Besides, he finds he tolerates their irrational natures, from time to time. ]
Your help is appreciated, Doctor. [ He glances between the chocolates, and selects one of the white chocolates. It lacks the same rich smell as the dark chocolate, and the taste is -
Well, it's not chocolate. All it tastes like to Spock is a mess of sweetness. ]
This is atrocious. [ He doesn't make a face, but only barely, and discards the rest of the white chocolate in favor of another square of dark. ] The nomenclature of said candy is misleading. In fact, many candies the crew discuss are misleading. Is it simply the human way?
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[She's been trying for four years to curb Jim Kirk's flighty nature, all to no avail. If Spock thinks he can do better, she's going to let him do his best and watch him crash and burn with a drink in her hand and a laugh on her lips. She needs more things in her life to amuse herself with, and that would be a prime contender.
Spock takes a bite out of the milk chocolate and stills, and if Len were a betting woman (she is), she would put money on the micro expression he just made being akin to a baby's grimace when they first try a slice of lemon. It takes real self-restraint to keep from laughing aloud. She knows if she did, Spock would just get huffy, assuming she was laughing at him (she would be), and wouldn't be able to see the humor in the situation. To stop herself from chuckling some more, she takes another sip of her synthehol, and shrugs when he drops the white chocolate to reach for the dark square.]
I dunno, Spock, you're going to have to give me specifics. I don't really know what kinds of candy the crew discuss in their downtime.
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[ He is not even trying to be subtle anymore. They are both referencing Jim, and are aware of it, and no one else is close enough to overhear.
That is something he would normally never say, expect maybe to Jim himself, but Spock doesn't think about the oddity of the words leaving his lips. ]
Or rather, only mention it when he is truly in danger.
[ So a dozen times a week. No matter.
The second square of dark chocolate disappears even quicker than the first, and he takes a piece of the milk chocolate to try. It is sweeter than the dark chocolate, creamier and lacking the bite, but acceptable. He still prefers the dark chocolate, going for a third piece - his fourth altogether. ]
They refer to candies such as kisses and fruit-based chews that lack any trace of fruit.
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[She sounds fond, though. As much as she complains about him, Len is very fond of Jim Kirk. It's almost impossible not to be, he's the type of person who inspires one of only two reactions: you either love him despite your better judgement, or you loathe him because of it.
Nothing in between.
He really seems to like chocolate. Amused, Len watches as he devours another piece, his higher body temperature melting the chocolate slightly against his fingertips. He hasn't seemed to notice yet; she wonders if he will, if he'll wipe them on a napkin or lick the chocolate off so as not to waste any.]
Hershey Kisses is just the name of the chocolate, I don't know why they're called that. The fruit ones, though, well. That's probably to trick people into thinking they're anything other than artificially-flavored sugar bombs. Who knows, really.
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And no one should listen to gossip. Spock has already had words with his department, but they show no signs of stopping.
His fingers are covered in chocolate, though he doesn't realize it until he reaches for another piece of chocolate. It is improper to waste food, and smears of chocolate are still a waste, so there is only one logical course of action.
Spock brings his fingers to his lips, licking them off his thumb rather delicately. It is good they are mostly alone, and it is only Bones watching him. Spock can at least pretend Bones has no idea what he is doing. It's easier to think that at the moment, which should trigger an alert in his head, but strangely doesn't.
He sucks his index finger into his mouth, licking the pad. It's almost indecent, by any cultural standard. Bones can forever hold this over his head.
He releases his finger with a 'pop,' and when he responds, his voice is just a fraction warmer. ]
See, as I said, they are misnomers. Terran traditions regarding names are most perplexing, Doctor.
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She snorts somewhat inelegantly, and waves her glass in a dismissive sort of arcing motion.] Jim does whatever the hell Jim wants, always has, always will. It's up to us idiots to pick up his pieces and make sure he doesn't kill himself in the process.
[Len's so wrapped up in her sudden bout of brooding that she almost misses it when Spock lifts his hands to his mouth and proceeds to lick his fingers clean, even going so far as to suck his index finger into his mouth. It's almost obscene, watching him all but fellate his finger, and Len's suddenly glad for the fact that she's the type to blush when drinking, as her alcohol-induced flush hides the sudden rush of blood to her face at that display.
By human standards, it was pretty tame. A little risqué, but relatively tame. But knowing what she knows about Vulcans (which admittedly isn't that much, stupid tight-lipped bastards, the lot of them)...
She clears her throat.] I guess we're just like that. We name big guys "Tiny" and Chihuahuas "Bruiser" because... Well, I don't know why. And for god's sake, Spock, we're off duty. Call me Lenore.
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[ He does not quite parse the rudeness of his comment, or the fact that it will never happen, but for all his surface dislike of Bones, he does have some esteem for her skill, and a person who could discard one such as Bones is not worth his consideration.
From a purely logical standpoint, of course. ]
He is fortunate to have individuals with talent and skill, and a marked tolerance for his impetuous actions.
[ Between the chocolate and the sucking on his finger, there's a faint green flush on Spock's cheeks, and he feels distinctly warmer than usual. It does not occur to him that there might be cause for concern, and rather than making a sensible decision to study what might cause an increase in internal body temperature, he reaches for a napkin to dry his finger tips.
And another piece of chocolate. ]
Very well, Doc - Lenore. Perhaps you might indulge my curiosity regarding the giving of gentlemen of large stature such monikers as 'Tiny.' Is it in reference to certain portions of their anatomy that belies their overall substantial presence?
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[There's a headache brewing at her temples, and the alcohol doesn't seem to be helping much. Sighing quietly, she rubs at her forehead and idly fantasizes about stabbing herself with a few hypos so she can fall asleep. But she doesn't like relying on drugs to cope with her problems — any mention of her fondness for alcohol will be met with a blank stare; that's completely different, thank you — so she shelves those thoughts and turns back to the matter at hand.]
I'm not tolerant, I'm just a sucker for big blue eyes, it seems. What's your excuse?
[Spock is looking green. On anyone else, that would be a worrying sign of nausea, but she's not sure what it means for Spock. He's so reticent about his physiology, not wanting her to know more than she absolutely has to in order to treat him, that she doesn't know very much about him at all. Jabilo seems to have that market cornered, and so she's left looking at the green flush that stains Spock's high cheekbones and the tips of his ears and wondering.
She laughs.] No, Spock, it's not because they've got small dicks. Although, steroids do tend to shrink genitalia. It's just...irony, I suppose. We just like to be contrary, surely you can attest to that.
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(Ignore the fact that Vulcans have even more pride than humans, and take great, subtle pleasure in reminding most of the Federation of their intelligence, skill, and superiority.)
At the very least, Spock will be in highly skilled hands. ] Your tone of voice and undignified sound indicate you are simply saying that to placate me. I assure you, I need no placating.
I am neither tolerant nor easily swayed by symmetrical features or the color and size of eyes. He is my captain and I do not wish to see another in his place. And.
[ He pauses and folds his hands together, leaning forward as though to bestow a great secret upon the doctor. ]
He is my friend. As I suffer a shortage of intimate connections, to lose even one would be abhorrent.
[ In the back of his mind, Spock is aware he has shared a confidence with the doctor and that such open discussion is atypical. It is simply that he can find no logical reason to not divulge such information, and the normal Vulcan reserve feels miles away. ]
The contrary nature of humans is not unknown to me. Even as a child, I encountered my mother, who was sometimes contrary. Not to such an illogical extent as some, of course.
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She lifts her eyebrows at him in a move that should demonstrate her disbelief, but she doesn't call him out on the clear symmetry of Uhura's face, nor the lovely color of her eyes. She's not sure where their relationship stands anymore, and there's needling Spock, and then there's needling Spock, and she doesn't really feel like pushing the boundaries that much tonight.
She's tired, and getting a little tipsy, and Spock is in an uncharacteristically talkative mood. She's surprised to find she kind of wants to encourage him.
Her gaze softens when he confesses what she already knows: that he has precious few friends. Instead of contradicting him as she might normally — "I thought Vulcans didn't have friends," — she just sighs and lifts her glass in a facsimile of a toast, holding it out to him like he'd clink glasses with her. Does he even know about the human tradition of toasting? She hasn't ever thought about it.] I know how that feels.
[Smiling a little at him, she leans her chin on her palm and lets her eyes droop in a lazy blink.] Will you tell me about her? She must have been quite a lady.
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The wrappers of the chocolates litter the surface of the table, and Spock carefully collects them, small souvenirs of his taste test of chocolate. He will make Jim gather more at their next stop. ]
You are acquainted with what feeling, Lenore? The few friends or the lack of desire to see them injured?
[ His mother remains a painful topic and there is an emptiness inside his mind where his bond with her once thrived. But the grief grows muted with every passing year, and he finds discussing her not as painful as it had been, even when she had been alive. ] She was a very warm individual, but did not resent Vulcan and the repression of her emotions while on the planet. There were those who thought her less because of her humanity, rather than admiring the grace and skill with which she managed to survive Vulcan.
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She unwraps a chocolate of her own and nibbles on the corner.]
Of course I am, Spock. This may shock you, but I'm not exactly an easy person to get along with. And I never like seeing people hurt. [She's a doctor, and a damn good one, at that. Not only is she adept at all the new hands-off technologies when it comes to healing, but she's done her fair share of extremely hands-on work; in fact, Lenore often prefers the so-called barbaric practice of physical surgery, using her own hands to wield the scalpel instead of a machine.
Mothers are often painful topics. Lenore's relationship with her own is strained, at best, but it's nice to know that despite how cold and unfeeling he might seem, Spock loved his mother the way all little boys should.] I wish I could have met her. [It would have been fascinating to pick her brain; Lenore isn't much of a linguist, so that topic of conversation would be more or less off the table, but she wants to know why someone would willingly pack up and move to a planet that's so very different from your own.
She only left Georgia because there was nothing there left for her. To make that kind of choice when there were other options...
But then again, love is a powerful motivator.]
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[ It is not actually concerning to him, but he is quite interested in discovering more. If it makes humans feel this way, he can understand why they would enjoy such delicacies. ]
That is not a shocking fact, Lenore. I believe many would say similar things about myself. Their minds are small and narrow, and they refuse an understanding that would lead to greater knowledge and appreciation of the world around them and personalities that differ from their own. [ It is a long-winded explanation of the words his mother offered to him when his peers persisted in bullying him. Though he found little comfort in the words then, he can appreciate them now. ]
She counted herself a very fortunate human woman. I only wish she were here to meet my crew mates. No. To meet my friends. [ And he is almost sentimental about it all. But he does wish she could have met them, from Uhura to Jim to Lenore, and the rest of the command crew.
He thinks she would have liked them. ] She enjoyed human idioms and often used them in conversation when possible.
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[Lenore is more of a savory snack person than a sweet snack person, but that's not really relevant. (She's reminded of a study she read that found that people who prefer salty foods over sweet foods are often viewed less favorably; 'bitchy' was one word used to describe the group by one of the participants, and oh, isn't that on the nose.)
She taps the edge of her fingernail against the table, continuing to frown slightly.] Most people would say we don't get along, either. Is my mind small and narrow?
[She finds she really is regretful that she never got to meet Amanda Grayson, although she did indulge herself in a little light reading about the woman a few months ago, when she had an evening free and curiosity struck. It's hard to judge a person's character from a dry summation of their accomplishments, but yes, she thinks they would have gotten along.
Spock's next comment just solidifies that idle notion.] So when you profess ignorance over some little turn of phrase I use, you're just being supercilious jackass? [The smile on her face, amused and vindicated in equal measure, should take the sting out of her accusation, but who knows how Spock will take it.]
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He unwraps another chocolate - how many is that now? - and breaks it into pieces again, slipping one into his mouth. Perhaps he can ask M'Benga about increasing lack of circumspect talk. ]
I would name you friend, Lenore, and be ever in your service should you require support. Your mind is illogical and rash, Lenore, and you are given to over-dramatic tendencies in your speech. But it is not small or narrow. Indeed, I believe your dramatic phrases to be the way you process complications. You are always capable of performing under pressure. Simply because we do argue in our approach does not mean we do not get along.
[ Besides, Spock has picked up on the fact that all of those insults from the doctor are simply her way of expressing frustration, and in some ways, a way to include Spock into the group at large. He has long since learned not to take offense.
Though he can't resist feigning offense at her words. ]
I am neither superior to anyone [ which is a complete lie ] nor domesticated hoofed mammal.
I simply must remind people of the egregious claims in their idioms.
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Chomping bitterly on her square of chocolate, she's so shocked by Spock's miniature monologue about her good qualities that she almost chokes on the sweet in her mouth.
She coughs, attempting to regain her composure.] Spock. [If he were anyone else, she'd reach out and touch his hand; she may be tipsy, but she's not drunk enough to touch a touch-telepath without thinking about it long and hard. Yet.] I thought you didn't even like me. Illogical and rash. Gosh, I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said about me. [If she's blushing, it's all because of the alcohol, alright. Definitely not because of the startled pleasure curling under her breastbone.
She doesn't care what Spock thinks about her because she doesn't care what anyone thinks about her. She's a grown-ass woman, and a successful doctor to boot. She doesn't need anyone's approval.
Though it is kind of nice to know she's held in some esteem by her fellow officers.]
I guess you're not so bad yourself. Even if you are pedantic as all get-out.
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There were reasons he could understand, when it came to particular causes. A male Vulcan's time was the cause of a deep, abiding shame, and that was something none wished for the galaxy to know. But otherwise? There were good reasons, Spock was sure, but he could not recall them, could not remember why they were so stubborn about allowing records to be translated and given to medical personnel.
For Spock, it was a different story. Enough time under the cold, calculating eyes of scientists who viewed him as nothing more than a specimen has left him reluctant to spend even the slightest time undergoing poking and prodding.
This chocolate really is going to his head.
He does not mind, however. The taste is still pleasant, and his limbs feel relaxed. He even deigns to slouch the slightest bit, tension bleeding from his frame. ]
I assure you, that was not meant as a compliment. [ Though her reaction does not surprise him; he has always found Lenore to react in ways he does not comprehend.
He recognizes her own words are a return of his sentiment, and bows his head in response. It is, in a deep, startling way he cannot thoroughly describe, gratifying to hear her claim. ]
Someone abroad this vessel needs to be exact, and none but me seem capable.
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[She's still laughing when he tries to tell her that he was insulting her, which just makes her laugh even more. The synthehol has left her feeling far giddier than usual at this time of night, but Spock is acting looser than he normally does, so she doesn't feel too badly for being a little silly.] Oh, I know. I just choose to take it as one, so thank you.
[His hair is always so neat and tidy, like a wig, or a helmet. It's just another part of his fastidious nature that she's always come to depend on, like the fact that his boots are almost mirrored they're so polished, and that his reports are written with such exact grammar that they might as well be examples in a college textbook. When he bows his head in acknowledgement of her backwards compliment, she can see that his hair is mussed, just a little, just a few pieces lying out of order.
It's startling, and distracting.]
Well, it's a good thing we have you around then, isn't it, Mr. Spock?
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[ Spock does, actually, possess some measure of esteem for her medical expertise, but he will never say such a thing. At least, not to her face. If anything negative does impact his health, Spock knows the doctor will find a cure.
He is not going to acknowledge her thanks. Not only does he rarely acknowledge thanks, for no thanks are needed in most circumstances, her reaction is ridiculous. Thanking someone for calling them illogical. Spock does not even try to resist rolling his eyes at her.
It is a good thing he does not notice his hair is out of place. It is a distraction he would not care for, especially when the chocolate is so good and the warmth in his blood startling. ]
Indeed, it is fortunate. Were I given to idle speculation and frivolous imaginings, I would venture to say that the ship would fall apart without my guidance.
However, that is improbable. The ship cannot fall apart, Mr. Scott is most adept at keeping her repaired. And the individuals residing on the ship would likewise not fall apart literally. It is operations that would suffer.
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[Of course she'll find a cure if something negatively affects him. She'll stay up all night for days on end, working feverishly until she figures out how to crack the code of whatever ailment is afflicting him, because she's a damn good doctor but also because he's her friend. A friend she enjoys antagonizing, but a friend nonetheless. She's lost enough friends as it is, she's not going to lose any more if she can help it.
If she were braver (drunker), she might reach out and fix his hair for him. For now, she just fiddles with a chocolate wrapper and tears her eyes away from his head.
She chuckles and then opens her mouth as if she was going to ask him something, but freezes before any sound comes out. After a slow blink, she heads in a different direction.] How old are you, anyway?
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[ And while it might be easier to indulge her curiosity now, when there is no disaster, it will take more than some chocolate to get Spock to ignore a lifetime of trained reticence.
Besides, he knows the ship and her crew, and knows that no matter what the universe might throw at them, someone will find a way. And if not - well, dying in space, working along side those he considers close, is a better fate than many.
The pile of chocolate wrappers is larger than the pile of remaining chocolate by the time Spock finally stops eating the chocolate. It leaves him feeling warm and pleasant, and when she asks about his age, it's easy to answer - and explain more. ] I am thirty. It is still young in Vulcan terms, as we generally live much longer than humans.
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[She gives up trying to explain to him why the CMO needs to know about the weird alien biology of the crew on her ship, knowing she'd have better luck arguing with a brick wall and not wanting to expend the energy any longer. At least, not tonight, not after her horrible drink and especially not when Spock is looking so...tipsy.
There's a green flush high on his cheekbones, and his dark Vulcan eyes are bright and surprisingly human-looking. He looks...approachable.]
Thirty? [That's actually more than she was expecting; somehow she thought he was going to be Jim's age or perhaps even younger, based on the average age of the rest of the crew. Sometimes it feels like it's her and Scotty, the only two adults in a sea of children.] You look younger. How long is your lifespan?
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[ It is possible she might get information from his counterpart, who has been in the habit of sharing information with humans, and has his own memories of a different Bones. He makes a mental note to mention that to her, and then changes his mind to add: ] The ambassador might offer information. Or my father. Should you need it.
[ And if that surprises him, that those words escaped his mouth, then well, he has certainly gotten more than one surprise that evening. ]
Generally, Vulcans can live to be 200, if not slightly older. However, we are unsure of the effect my human blood will have on my lifespan. It is possible I might only live to 150.
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She shrugs and shakes her head, an action that's more of a roll of her head from side to side so she doesn't have to lift her chin off her palm.] I'd rather hear it from you.
[She hums, her eyebrows lifting lazily.] No kidding. Well, you'll still beat the rest of us, even with all the best modern medical advances, reaching one fifty is mostly considered a miracle.
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[ He wins just as many arguments as he loses with her; it is a battle to see who will come out the victor, with them. A nice challenge, even if he rarely admits such a thing. ]
I am aware, Lenore. Such is the issue with being a Vulcan. My father expected to outlive my mother by a number of years, even.
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