The Nebula of Our Hearts

The nebula.

It sat directly out the front window of the bridge, the swirling purples and blues reflecting their shimmering light off the control panels jutting from the floor of the Enterprise, and Kirk closed his eyes. He let the colourful light glide over his face, a wonderful warmth filling his features as he simply let himself bask in the moment. His body was fully relaxed, his fingers unclenched, and his lips parted slightly as he felt himself slip into a shallow meditation. 

There were no calls of Captain, no blinking red lights, no voices splitting through his calm. It was just him, the nebula, and the dark recesses of his own mind. A perfect combination for someone with as little time to himself as he got on a daily basis.

Kirk slipped the blanket he’d brought from his quarters off his shoulders, sighing as he lifted himself from the Captain's chair.  He wasn’t going to leave just yet; the calm was intoxicating, and he wasn’t sure when, if ever, he’d have the chance to experience the stars like this again. He wasn’t going to pretend like he was tired and go revel in his room for the next few hours. No doubt, he’d spend the entire time staring at the ceiling, a sense of discomfort and claustrophobia settling deep within his bones, and he wouldn’t be able to sleep. Spock would show up on the bridge in the early hours of the ‘morning’ and find Kirk seated in the Captain’s chair, having once again cleared the bridge of all other personnel.

Why?

The serenity.

Kirk’s socked feet tapped lightly against the deck as he slowly made his way closer to the huge window, his fingers tightly wrapped in the blue fabric of his blanket. He’d told the rest of the night crew to go busy themselves elsewhere, promising to keep watch on his own. As he was the Captain, they’d reluctantly obliged, a few going to sleep themselves and the rest playing poker down in the heart of the ship. Kirk only knew about the poker because it wasn’t his first time missing sleep, and their joyous cries had enticed him to join in the betting a few times in the past. He regretted nothing.

As Kirk settled himself on the floor before the giant window, he heard a small hiss from behind him. He was fairly sure it was the sound of the elevator opening, but having told the crew he wished to be alone, he couldn’t fathom why the elevator would be opening. If it were an emergency, they would have contacted him directly through the computer. He had his communicator with him. So, why…?

Kirk’s eyes widened slightly as Spock walked slowly through the doorway of the elevator, his eyes falling casually on Kirk’s face before slipping up to watch the nebula through the glass. He had a content look on his face. Not a surprise-- he rarely showed anything else. Yet, there was something in Spock’s eyes that made Kirk’s eyebrows dip into a frown. 

Kirk watched the Vulcan walk around the Captain’s chair, his eyes flitting carefully over his surroundings to avoid collision. Kirk watched with amusement. He couldn’t count the amount of times he’d seen Spock trip over a piece of jutting metal; an exposed wire. He was notoriously clumsy, and Kirk attributed it entirely to his human side. He’d never met another Vulcan with as little self awareness as Spock in all his years of Captaincy.

It was one of the things Kirk admired most about him.

Spock didn’t speak as he made his way towards Kirk, and the frown filling the Captain’s features quickly slipped from his eyes. He felt the Vulcan’s heavy, stubborn footfalls rumble through the floor, the shivering of metal alerting his body to Spock’s proximity, and Kirk slowly turned back towards the window. He shifted his body, the blanket around him tugging over his crossed legs as he wrapped it tighter around his body, and Kirk closed his eyes once more. The nebula’s rays once again slipped over his lips. They danced over his eyelids, unimaginable colours filling Kirk’s mind as he simply let himself bask in the light.