"I can assure you, Doctor, while we are typically reserved in our reactions to stimuli-" Spock caught Kirk's upward gaze and raised an eyebrow. "-with some exceptions…we are not as cold and unfeeling as you believe. Quite the contrary." He reached for a French fry and dabbed it in a puddle of ketchup twice before delicately lifting it to his mouth and biting off the end. "Salty and sweet. A combination of two tastes that while alone are satisfying, together are…strangely not enough without recurrence." Repeating the action with another fry, he chewed slowly, lifting his head as he realized that both Kirk and McCoy were watching him.
"In case you were wondering, I believe that's Vulcan for 'you can't eat just one'." McCoy chuckled, reaching for an onion ring. "Okay, case in point. But seriously, even though you're half-human, there are some things I just can't see you doing." He took a bite, chewing off a section of batter and pulling the onion inside out. It hung limply from his lower lip.
Kirk put his hand on his first officer's arm and shook it gently. "Oh, come on, Bones, Spock can do anything he puts his mind to, can't you, Spock?" A straw lay next to Kirk's left arm. He reached for a plastic spoon and used it to scoop his milkshake out of an old-fashioned style soda glass. Flecks of ice cream dotted his cheek.
Spock looked down at his hands. "I believe my record speaks for itself, sir. I have no wish to brag, but I have completed many objectives which were thought to be impossible. As both of you have." He selected three fries from the pile on a plate in the middle of the table.
McCoy dipped a fry liberally in the ketchup and brought it to his mouth carefully, twisting his head and neck to catch a drip that was headed for his teal shirt. "No, seriously…" He smacked his lips together.
"Okay, I'll bite." Kirk picked up the half-eaten hamburger from his dish and did just that. "What wouldn't he do?"
McCoy paused, catching Spock's eye. He waved his hand, palm upward indicating McCoy should continue. He ran his grease-tipped fingers through his hair. "Well, like…like teasing his hair. Can you just imagine Spock with an afro? Nightmare city." He shivered. "Or doing the macarena."
"No." Kirk squeezed his eyes shut. "Stop right there. Ouch."
McCoy grimaced. "I know, right?"
Kirk pointed his burger at McCoy. "Riding a unicycle."
"Oh, man…" McCoy thought for a minute. "Doodling. On the wall. With sidewalk chalk."
"Blowing soap bubbles." Kirk leaned his head on his hand, snickering.
McCoy raised a finger in the air. "Playing ping-pong. No, scratch that…pretty much any competitive sport."
Kirk raised both brows at Spock, who sipped his drink calmly, unaffected. "Vulcans do have several forms of competitive physical activity, though they are far less about the rivalry between teams and individuals than those that humans participate in. Rather, we focus on achieving personal bests by disciplining the body and mind." He wiped his mouth carefully with a napkin. "The audience appreciates the poetry and efficiency of motion that comes from years of training."
Kirk turned to McCoy, chin resting on both arms. "Well, there's your answer, Bones."
McCoy pushed the chair back and stood, rolling his shoulders. "Okay, but still, I'd hate to be a commentator at one of those games." He held up both hands in front of his face, rolling his eyes. "I can hear it now; 'He scores! And the crowd goes wild with indifference!'"
Kirk snorted, picking up his tray and reaching for his half-full milkshake glass. Instead of grasping it, he knocked the heavy object flying at McCoy's head. In one fluid movement, Spock leapt from his seat to stand in front of a frozen McCoy. With a soft smack! sound, he caught the glass in one hand as it narrowly missed crashing into McCoy's lower jaw.
Kirk's mouth hung open, his eyes as round as saucers. McCoy shook all over, breathing rapidly, his face white. Spock, for his part, hardly seemed phased; except for a tiny furrow in his forehead, he appeared perfectly calm. Slowly he set Kirk's glass down on the table with a tiny clink.
McCoy sunk back down in his seat, still looking up at the Vulcan in surprise, but his color looked a little better and he wasn't panting as heavily. He wiped his brow with his bare arm. "Phew!...Um…Spock…" he gasped. A bit of pink flushed his cheeks as he smiled wanly up at his rescuer. "Ah, perhaps…there's something…to be said about…'efficiency of motion'… after all."
Spock raised an eyebrow. "Indeed, Doctor. Perhaps there is."
"In case you were wondering, I believe that's Vulcan for 'you can't eat just one'." McCoy chuckled, reaching for an onion ring. "Okay, case in point. But seriously, even though you're half-human, there are some things I just can't see you doing." He took a bite, chewing off a section of batter and pulling the onion inside out. It hung limply from his lower lip.
Kirk put his hand on his first officer's arm and shook it gently. "Oh, come on, Bones, Spock can do anything he puts his mind to, can't you, Spock?" A straw lay next to Kirk's left arm. He reached for a plastic spoon and used it to scoop his milkshake out of an old-fashioned style soda glass. Flecks of ice cream dotted his cheek.
Spock looked down at his hands. "I believe my record speaks for itself, sir. I have no wish to brag, but I have completed many objectives which were thought to be impossible. As both of you have." He selected three fries from the pile on a plate in the middle of the table.
McCoy dipped a fry liberally in the ketchup and brought it to his mouth carefully, twisting his head and neck to catch a drip that was headed for his teal shirt. "No, seriously…" He smacked his lips together.
"Okay, I'll bite." Kirk picked up the half-eaten hamburger from his dish and did just that. "What wouldn't he do?"
McCoy paused, catching Spock's eye. He waved his hand, palm upward indicating McCoy should continue. He ran his grease-tipped fingers through his hair. "Well, like…like teasing his hair. Can you just imagine Spock with an afro? Nightmare city." He shivered. "Or doing the macarena."
"No." Kirk squeezed his eyes shut. "Stop right there. Ouch."
McCoy grimaced. "I know, right?"
Kirk pointed his burger at McCoy. "Riding a unicycle."
"Oh, man…" McCoy thought for a minute. "Doodling. On the wall. With sidewalk chalk."
"Blowing soap bubbles." Kirk leaned his head on his hand, snickering.
McCoy raised a finger in the air. "Playing ping-pong. No, scratch that…pretty much any competitive sport."
Kirk raised both brows at Spock, who sipped his drink calmly, unaffected. "Vulcans do have several forms of competitive physical activity, though they are far less about the rivalry between teams and individuals than those that humans participate in. Rather, we focus on achieving personal bests by disciplining the body and mind." He wiped his mouth carefully with a napkin. "The audience appreciates the poetry and efficiency of motion that comes from years of training."
Kirk turned to McCoy, chin resting on both arms. "Well, there's your answer, Bones."
McCoy pushed the chair back and stood, rolling his shoulders. "Okay, but still, I'd hate to be a commentator at one of those games." He held up both hands in front of his face, rolling his eyes. "I can hear it now; 'He scores! And the crowd goes wild with indifference!'"
Kirk snorted, picking up his tray and reaching for his half-full milkshake glass. Instead of grasping it, he knocked the heavy object flying at McCoy's head. In one fluid movement, Spock leapt from his seat to stand in front of a frozen McCoy. With a soft smack! sound, he caught the glass in one hand as it narrowly missed crashing into McCoy's lower jaw.
Kirk's mouth hung open, his eyes as round as saucers. McCoy shook all over, breathing rapidly, his face white. Spock, for his part, hardly seemed phased; except for a tiny furrow in his forehead, he appeared perfectly calm. Slowly he set Kirk's glass down on the table with a tiny clink.
McCoy sunk back down in his seat, still looking up at the Vulcan in surprise, but his color looked a little better and he wasn't panting as heavily. He wiped his brow with his bare arm. "Phew!...Um…Spock…" he gasped. A bit of pink flushed his cheeks as he smiled wanly up at his rescuer. "Ah, perhaps…there's something…to be said about…'efficiency of motion'… after all."
Spock raised an eyebrow. "Indeed, Doctor. Perhaps there is."
