“Goddamn it, Jim!” Dr. McCoy shouts, storming off the bridge, and Spock can’t help but wonder a little bit. He considers the situation, comes up with a question, and turns around.
He waits until the crew has finished laughing and Kirk is sprawling in his beloved chair again. His recently injured leg is propped up on a stool. The doctor is correct, technically, when he feels anger towards their captain for not resting and instead coming to the bridge to look over everything as if everything was in its usual order.
Spock approaches smoothly. He stands by Kirk’s side, hands behind his back. “Captain?”
Kirk glances at him. There’s a tiny smile on his lips. “Are you going to yell at me as well?”
“No. I would merely like to know why Dr. McCoy keeps insulting you despite both of you claiming to be friends. I have not encountered this behaviour before.”
“Oh, that.” Kirk waves a hand around, dismissive, and looks back at the galaxy before them. “It’s our way of saying that we love each other. Some human males aren’t that good with expressing love, platonic or otherwise, so he yells at me and I give him nicknames.”
“I see,” Spock says. He doesn’t ask another question. After his shift is over, he goes to have dinner and makes a decision.
—
When Kirk comes limping onto the bridge at 0700 the next morning, Spock is already next to his chair. He gives Kirk time to sit down, clears his throat then. Kirk lifts a brow. “Yes?”
“Goddamn it, captain,” Spock says.
The silence is stunning. Nobody moves. Kirk is staring at him, mouth open, fingers tight around the rests of his chair. Spock shifts lightly. When nothing happens, he inclines his head, turns, and walks back to his station.
It’s another minute before the bridge breaks out into confused whispers, and James Tiberius Kirk starts laughing. “Damn you too, Spock,” he says over the whistles from Sulu and Uhura’s muffled giggle. “All of you be damned.”
Moami 