Hold on to me as we go, as we roll down this unfamiliar road

[hischair]

When: 20th August, evening. After this clusterfuck and these calls.
Rating: PG-13 for language; grown men and their mouths, maybe.
Characters: Jim (hischair) Spock (logistical) & Leonard (medicos)
Summary: After Jim breaks his own heart to do the right thing and send a spoken-for woman back to her partner while suffering a lovestruck curse, he requires centering. Cue a much needed Bro Night.
Log:

[ He's fairly certain that Spock has had enough of him in his kitchen (not Jim and Bones' because apparently in all its pristine glory, as Jim sees it, it's still not satisfactory to cook in) after a full twenty minutes. Having come back to the apartment to get his head on straight while his heart aches with the ghost of a love he knows now, given the benefit of the situation from his oldest friend, to be entirely fake, spending time with Leonard has gone a long way to settling disturbed thoughts on the matter but it's not quite enough; he wants Spock around to be his usual self, to reap the normality and comfort that comes with having his first officer dithering on the edges of Jim's vision. It's a grace and reassurance that he suspects no one but Kathryn would truly understand. There are serious matters that he should be discussing. The monsters on the separate dimensional plane that he saw when his fair-weather ladylove took him under her wing, for one, yet Jim deems it not enough of a threat to require immediate attention. He never knew the damned creatures were there at all for the longest time, spreading the knowledge of them will only ruin this evening panning out the way he hopes it will. The news will keep until he can slide it in, somehow.

He told Spock he could take however many spices in their dinner tonight as the Vulcan pleased. Now, sneezing into a tissue, Jim isn't so sure. He fixes up a DVD player in his own place (everything is so ancient by their standards that it's enough of a novelty to keep him distracted for fifteen minutes) with a movie that looks equal parts ridiculous and entertaining, then proceeds to hover around Spock while his XO cooks and Leonard is blessedly granted a measure of peace from Jim's chatter. Not for long, perhaps, but intermittently.

Deadpan, he sighs and folds his arms. ]

I can do more than stir, Spock.

Comments

[logistical]

[Jim is, in fact, the one doing the dithering. Spock has spent most of the time preparing the meal alternating between paying attention to the food, and to Jim, who's been generally getting under his feet, full of restless energy (were he aware of the metaphor, he'd say it was like staying with a pent-up hurricane). There's brief respite as Jim fiddles with the DVD player (which Spock admittedly is a little let down by, he was looking forward to examining a real film projector) but that doesn't last very long, and Jim's back in the kitchen, no doubt chased here by a McCoy who's getting fed up of his chatter.]

[Spock likes hearing Jim talk, no matter how inane it appears on the surface. There's always meaning behind the words. At first, he was completely puzzled: Spock was only accustomed to speaking of emotion in nuances, not. Well. Everything. However, once he learnt to look, and listen, it was pleasing. Music, played by an unknown instrument, tunes he didn't have to understand to accept, and he found himself tapping a metaphorical foot and humming along to it, contributing a few new directions of his own, and watching the melody shift to accommodate his presence.]

[Even the sneezing.]

[Spock glances at him curiously, closing the lid on a pot.]

This recipe is not suited to improvisation.

[hischair]

[ And talk Jim does, about whether he wants to try making fresh apples into a pie, why it's unfair just on principle that nothing he cooks turns out half as edible as Spock's and how many snacks is considered Too Many. Inane and pointless, but he likes to get Spock's opinion on as much as he can just for the sake of it. It's a nice to-and-fro, one he's come to rely on whether on the bridge and relaying actual information of import or sulking (mostly for show) over a kitchen counter because he's been given a clear Hands Off warning several times. Occasionally, with just a look. ]

What am I going to do to improvise, toss a slice of bread in it? You're standing right there. [ He's aware he's pleading; he doesn't especially care. Jim wasn't terribly invested in helping cook until it became clear he wasn't allowed. ] I'll do whatever you tell me to.

[ Hands up, he blinks widely as if appearing unassuming is tantamount to displaying his good intentions. ]

You're captain of the kitchen, show me the ropes.

[logistical]

[Spock doesn't think it's humanely (Vulcanly?) possible to learn any more about apple pie and Jim's diet than he has in the past half an hour. Raising an eyebrow occasionally throughout the conversation, he comments neutrally throughout. He hesitates on the subject of nutrition, knowing full well that any more than a surface opinion is going to earn him McCoy's approval and admittedly, he rather enjoys ticking the doctor off. He does it - what's the phrase - for kicks. Most of the time, anyway.]

[And it helps to talk back, tease a little. Spock's quiet with Nyota because her presence is calm and helps him centre himself, but Jim doesn't like silences. Never did. That was perhaps the worst part of the dome, that he'd been reduced to not being able to use his words like weapons, leaving everyone behind his wake. No, he'd been forced to stay stuck, floating in empty space. That had cut in a way Spock didn't expect, and never wanted to see again, just as him not being able to feel at all must have cut Jim.]

[Speaking of teasing.]

Captain of the kitchen.

[He's quietly amused by this.]

Very well. You are appointed as First Officer. Kindly ensure the cutlery is placed on the table correctly.

[hischair]

[ Jim prefers not to think of their time in the dome when he was reduced to a series of snapping fingers, claps and increasingly aggravated expressions until they could go home. He treated Spock's lack of telepathy with the same disregard he would have done had it been in place, not about to act like it was a big deal and set off any more alarm bells than it already had (and he noticed, how could he not). Tonight might just make up for everything the City has put them through as of late.

Jim smirks and then straightens in a way he never did when he first set foot on the Enterprise, certainly not for his distinguished acting captain. Levelly, he says — ]

Yes, sir.

[ — and raids the cutlery drawer to start setting the table for three. The compliance is more easily given than he grants anyone else, immovable in many respects, yet pleased as he is to be "officially" appointed First Officer of the kitchen it's all done without argument. Largely to be a little shit about it passive-aggressively for making him wheedle his way to the imaginary position, although he stops caring about that in record time too. It's fun.

Hands on his hips once that's done, he glances over. ]

I'll get the drinks. Do you want water — Captain?

[logistical]

[Had this been then, this would have earned Spock's ire. They had been in a stressful situation and Jim had only aggravated it constantly by being a little shit, but now? It was a little endearing, knowing he wouldn't - knowingly - turn it on them. Not unless there was logic in the situation, and Spock always respected logic. He couldn't not, it was carved into his bones.]

[He nods approvingly at the table. Jim doesn't need it, not out loud like that, but at his heart he's a people pleaser and above all things - he does enjoy being able to make his crew feel happy and safe. The best way to chase off one of his foul moods is to make sure he was useful that way.]

[Yes, he's come a long way.]

Water would be acceptable.

[He sniffs cautiously at the pot.]

We may need a helmsman to taste the food. Who would you suggest as appropriate for this position?

[medicos]

[ enter the party pooper. ]

What you need is a goddamn food label stamped across the pot so I know exactly what you put in there.

[ he can hear you guys from across the apartment, you know, despite his attempt to block out the noises as he finishes up the paperwork that he brought with him from the hospital - paperwork that he should have done there, but didn't, because jim needed him here. that's one gigantic hole that you guys made between the walls and bones is still wondering whether he should yell at you guys for it or not.

in any case, he goes straight to business, getting all up into jim's space and stabbing his neck with a hypospray to stop his sneezing. bones was going to leave it, because sneezes are common, but jim's got this amazing ability to turn something so simple and normal into a full-blown allergic reaction under his nose.

might as well, right?

he does, however, turn to spock with a raised brow. ]

And you're forgetting that you need a doctor first to ensure that we're going to be eating nutritious food as part of a balanced diet.

[ it's clear in his tone of voice, however, that he's only teasing. ]

[hischair]

[ Rolling his eyes at the sink as he pours them all a round of water, Jim's reply is cut off into a haggard choking noise that spits out as much frustration as it does surprise when that hypo jabs him full of God-awful medicine. ]

Bones! [ A hand claps over his neck as Jim shakes his head around like it'll help throw off the sensation. ] Damn it, stop that!

[ He seats himself and glares, as wary of Leonard as one would be a shark in bright red waters. ]

I don't think we need anyone else on the USS Kitchen, Captain. All the other candidates are dangerous.

[logistical]

[To Jim:] It has become clear that we do not require additional staff.

[And people call Spock the party pooper. He raises an eyebrow at McCoy and there's a curious, playful light in his eyes. A lot of the time it's him at the other end of having to listen to the other two talk, so this is a way of getting back at them.]

I have kept to protocol, Doctor. Should you wish to examine dinner, you may petition the requisite Admirals.

[hischair]

[ Snorting at first, Jim throws his head back and laughs when he hears Spock essentially turn Leonard's nose to the wall on the subject. Arms folding, he looks as triumphant as if the burn came from his own sizzling tongue. ]

Looks like we might be having a roast tonight, after all.

[medicos]

Doctors can bypass your goddamn protocol, Captain, especially when your health is concerned. You wouldn't want to throw up on our shoes after eating something they weren't supposed to, would you? I've seen that happen before.

[ ehem, jim.

and then, there's a roll of his eyes. please, like either of you have ever deterred him with your tag teaming. it's the opposite. your snark gives him strength to snark back. ]

Keep up with that smart mouth, farm boy, and you won't be getting anything at all. [ he pinches jim on the side, anyway, just for kicks, before he settles on the edge of the counter table, and regards jim with a critical eye. ] You still sneezing?

[ because, of course, beyond the playfulness of the scenario, he's always got one thing on his mind. ]

[logistical]

Dinner caters to our nutritional needs.

[Like he'd ever make anything else. He carries the pot over, carefully putting the mittens on the counter before gesturing to the other two that they should take their seats.]

[hischair]

No! I'm healthy as a horse. Spock, tell him.

[ Don't sell him out, bro. Flopping in his seat, he leans over and sniffs the pot and oh my god, please marry him just so he gets fed forever. ]

I'm starving. Spock, that smells incredible.