Entering Orbit (Kirk/Spock AOS)

Part Four

Somewhere between talking to Spock and the chamomile, Jim must have dozed off. He woke in his darkened bedroom, the mug safely moved to the windowsill, and a blanket he recognized from Spock's room draped over his legs. Blinking himself awake, he yawned and rubbed the sleep from his eyes and padded downstairs.

Spock was playing himself in chess, an empty bowl beside him.

"I didn't want to wake you," he said without looking up. "Let me prepare your dish."

"Thanks," Jim said, falling into his seat at the table. "Mind if I reset?"

"I do not."

Spock set a bowl of the root vegetable stew in front of him. Leaning over the bowl, Jim inhaled the steam rising from it.

"Smells good. Thanks," he said and picked up a spoon.

"It is hearty," Spock explained. "I hope you find it satisfying."

He sampled the stew. It was full in taste and not too heavy. This was the fifth meal Spock had prepared in as many days. Despite his conviction to swallow copious amounts of mammal daily, Jim had to admit that there were redeeming qualities where Vulcan cuisine was concerned. The food was not overly seasoned, but the flavor was pleasing. It never made him feel sated, but he wasn't hungry either. It gave him ample energy, and his waist felt a bit lighter.

"Not bad," he commented. "I think this is my favorite so far."

"I will make it for you again," Spock said, obviously gratified. He folded his hands on the table and watched Jim eat, which, had it been anyone else, would have disconcerted Jim. Since it was Spock, he continued to chew in companionable silence. He finished his bowl, and Spock brought him another.

"You are certain you could never be a vegetarian? You eat what I prepare readily."

"I'll consider it if it makes you happy, as long as you let me have a good steak once in a while. Maybe two, three times a week..."

He stopped talking, closing his mouth and feeling clumsy. Why had he just said that? He'd made it sound like they'd be living together indefinitely. Spock looked pleased, however, and sat up straighter in his chair.

"Would you prefer to take white tonight?" he asked.

"Why don't we move this game out into the yard?" Jim suggested. "My back's sore from standing all day, and falling asleep in that chair didn't help. We can drag a table over next to the hot tub. That way it'll fix the kink in my back and I'll still beat you."

"I am winning at a rate of 52.5 percent."

"Not tonight. What do you say?"

Spock hesitated, his mouth settling into a thin line.

"Come on," Jim pleaded. "It's my birthday. By Terran tradition, you sort of have to indulge me."

"I did not realize the significance of the date."

Snorting, Jim shook his head. "It's not exactly a day we celebrated in my family, if you catch my meaning. It usually involved enduring a memorial ceremony at the shipyard. I got cake and presents when Sam got his in July."

"We do not celebrate birthdays on Vulcan," Spock said slowly. "But I would be pleased to celebrate yours."

Jim found an old pair of shorts in his room when he went up to change and tossed them at Spock, who was in the yard relocating the chess board.

"They might be a little big, but you're just gonna sit in them."

"Would it not be more comfortable without clothing?"