Regardless of whether or not Spock indulges in a physical expression, Jim can practically feel it, all the same. The Vulcan was not nearly as subtle as he liked to think he was - certainly not to Jim, though he knows he's in the minority on that one. Still, he knows exactly how Spock gets when he's being pissy about a situation where he thinks he's right - and moreover, they've had this exact conversation before. It would be comical, if it didn't make Jim want to smack his head against the wall - which, incidentally, is what having this conversation again felt like.
But he digresses: their clock is ticking, and at least Spock has the good sense not to get into it now. Jim is sure they'll have plenty of time later - he'll kill Spock himself if they don't.
But hey, if it ain't broke? They don't have a lot of options here, and Jim has absolutely no problem shelving propriety in the face of extenuating circumstances (his dignity was always the first thing to go, it seemed). This Jim, in particular - he has no idea how the other Captain would handle the situation, but this one would much rather ask forgiveness than risk his crew. He'd take that trade any day, in a heartbeat, no questions asked. Jim's reasonably sure Spock's got about thirty million complaints to lodge, but they can wait for the after-action report. I bet he'd write one just for the hell of it -
Jim's a little disoriented when he surfaces, barely keeping the wherewithal to be able to kick his legs to aid in letting Spock pull him towards the debris. He's bleeding, but he doesn't feel it until Spock unceremoniously shoves him up, out of the water, and onto the chunk of wooden something-or-other. Jim's able to catch his breath just in time to fire off a string of curse words that would probably give the universal translator a lengthy pause, if they had one around.
"Sp-ock." Jim coughs, and he re-orients himself on the piece of deck, hovering a hand over Spock's wrist, completely ignoring the streaming cut on his arm, which dilutes as it mixes with the water dripping down his body. He doesn't touch him, but Jim's clearly ready to grab onto him the second it looks like Spock's in danger of losing his grip on the debris. "I can float, you stubborn - get up here! You're going to freeze!"
Greener than an Orion in the month of May, the Bones that keeps a running commentary in the back of Jim's brain helpfully adds. He doesn't exactly have anything to wrap his hands with to stop this being awkward, but he offers them anyway, should Spock choose to accept his help in getting up on the debris. He's definitely not going to take a non-attempt for an answer, not with how obviously Spock is suffering in the chilly water.
He wishes the flattened, water-logged bangs could be funnier, but Jim's in no laughing mood, with how the blotchy, green flush has taken over. They'd had one away mission where they'd been caught in an ice storm, and Jim knows it's no joke, how quickly Vulcans can succumb to low temperatures - cold and wet wasn't a good mix.
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But he digresses: their clock is ticking, and at least Spock has the good sense not to get into it now. Jim is sure they'll have plenty of time later - he'll kill Spock himself if they don't.
But hey, if it ain't broke? They don't have a lot of options here, and Jim has absolutely no problem shelving propriety in the face of extenuating circumstances (his dignity was always the first thing to go, it seemed). This Jim, in particular - he has no idea how the other Captain would handle the situation, but this one would much rather ask forgiveness than risk his crew. He'd take that trade any day, in a heartbeat, no questions asked. Jim's reasonably sure Spock's got about thirty million complaints to lodge, but they can wait for the after-action report. I bet he'd write one just for the hell of it -
Jim's a little disoriented when he surfaces, barely keeping the wherewithal to be able to kick his legs to aid in letting Spock pull him towards the debris. He's bleeding, but he doesn't feel it until Spock unceremoniously shoves him up, out of the water, and onto the chunk of wooden something-or-other. Jim's able to catch his breath just in time to fire off a string of curse words that would probably give the universal translator a lengthy pause, if they had one around.
"Sp-ock." Jim coughs, and he re-orients himself on the piece of deck, hovering a hand over Spock's wrist, completely ignoring the streaming cut on his arm, which dilutes as it mixes with the water dripping down his body. He doesn't touch him, but Jim's clearly ready to grab onto him the second it looks like Spock's in danger of losing his grip on the debris. "I can float, you stubborn - get up here! You're going to freeze!"
Greener than an Orion in the month of May, the Bones that keeps a running commentary in the back of Jim's brain helpfully adds. He doesn't exactly have anything to wrap his hands with to stop this being awkward, but he offers them anyway, should Spock choose to accept his help in getting up on the debris. He's definitely not going to take a non-attempt for an answer, not with how obviously Spock is suffering in the chilly water.
He wishes the flattened, water-logged bangs could be funnier, but Jim's in no laughing mood, with how the blotchy, green flush has taken over. They'd had one away mission where they'd been caught in an ice storm, and Jim knows it's no joke, how quickly Vulcans can succumb to low temperatures - cold and wet wasn't a good mix.