extra extra! (excerpt by charlie)
commissioned by: none, personal work
fandom(s): star trek tos
ship(s): spirk (romantic, established relationship)
basic summary: excerpt from a scene before the events of “the enterprise incident” s03e02
“A bit late for a visit, isn’t it, Mister Spock?” he teased, pressing the page of his book between his thumb and pointer finger. They’d already agreed to sleep separately tonight, mainly because of Spock’s growing fatigue from grueling shifts—something he’d half-heartedly admitted, and only because McCoy had threatened him with a hypospray to make him sleep the next three shifts off if he didn’t. The Vulcan had the unfortunate tendency to get overstimulated quicker at his current level of energy, and the prospect of an entire night pressed against Jim had been enough to make him go pallid.
”My apologies, Captain,” answered Spock, with enough frankness to convince Jim he wasn’t using that dry humor of his—that, and the fact that his lips didn’t twitch upwards.
Jim waved him off with his free hand, his smile remaining. “You’re not bothering me—you never do. Is something wrong?”
A slight hesitance and a brief tension at his brow confirmed Jim’s suspicions—he was upset regarding something. “What is it, Spock?”
He was not startled when the Vulcan got straight to the point, clasping his hands together behind his back and pursing his lips. “There are certain… aspects of this operation that provoke discomfort.” It was a heavy admission, drawn out by Spock’s exhale, weighed down by the Science Officer’s familiar frustration at confronting personal emotions.
Jim had witnessed such a struggle many a time: a provocation, usually by McCoy or Jim himself, followed by an intense, analyzing stare and hours of meditation to process the said emotion. There were occasions where it took longer, or Spock’s concentration wavered due to a lack of energy within his mind, but for the most part, Jim made himself scarce during those times—after ensuring that the program tape for Altair water was set out and ready for use with the food synthesizer.
Jim closed his book with a decisive thud, tossing it onto his desk. He could wait to start the chapter until later—a nice boost of energy for the days ahead, knowing that he’d have his fictional questions answered once his duty was over. “Which ones?”
Another pause, more pregnant this time. Jim watched Spock’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat as he swallowed. “Most of them.”
It was Jim’s turn to hesitate, a frown stretching across his face. “You… didn’t mention this during the briefing.”
His chest tightened as a brief expression of pain shadowed Spock’s face, obvious to him by how the left side of his mouth twitched and the developing strain in his neck. “I am aware, Captain.”
“Jim,” the captain reminded gently, switching his frown to a more easygoing smile, one he used to coo and console delegates or alien officials whenever he encountered them.
It did not work on Spock. The Vulcan stepped forward, into the stream of the overhead light, and Jim immediately noticed the green tinge round his eyes, alongside the dark bags beneath them.
“Spock,” he breathed, pushing up from his chair, feeling the resulting stretch of his overwrought muscles. He strolled around the side of his desk, stopping in front of the entrance to his bedroom. “C’mere, please.”
“I do not see how this has any bearing on—”
“I’d like for you to sit down before you collapse, and frankly”—he gestured vaguely to the evidence written across Spock’s already-pale skin—“it seems that’ll happen sooner than later, so…” He reached down, patting the desk with his hand. “Sit, Mister.”
