Jim's Spock has yet to impart that nugget of knowledge, if it's something he's even cognizant of - to be fair, Jim wouldn't know anything about his Spock's brand of calisthenics. It's not something they talk about any more than necessary, tacitly sidestepping the damage Khan had wrought to Jim's body (damage this Spock is clocking, in the way Jim holds himself, the way his non-dominant side is weaker than the other in a tangible way.) Regardless, Jim knows it's a...sensitive topic, and something about it with Spock always seems oddly charged - so they just don't touch it with a ten foot pole, the same way Jim avoids bringing up Jocelyn with Bones, unless Bones is the one to broach the topic first.
Jim buries his hands in the sand, letting the warmth cover them, even as Spock shakes his hair and sends water droplets every which way. It's as undignified as it is charming, in a way, and Jim can't help the funny little smile that pulls at his lips as Spock starts in on untangling his references. Their battle of wits is cut short, and Jim abandons any possible responses to Spock's aborted sentence, turning towards him as he, predictably, starts to argue instead.
That Spock calls him Jim instead of Captain surprises him, however, stopping his rebuts in their tracks, if only for a moment. Jim blinks, processing the tone for a beat as Spock approaches, hovering firm at his shoulder. It's about as close to impassioned as Jim could expect from his Vulcan Commander; and a far cry from his stoic "Let me drown Captain, don't worry about it, it's no trouble," bullshit from twenty minutes ago. Even if Jim will be fine in the water, stubborn bastard. Jim can't even be anything other than fondly exasperated about it, though, not after his insistence on an adamant no man left behind policy.
And of course, Spock's suggestion gets another doubletake - first surprise, then mild incredulity. Jim meets his gaze with evaluation couched in concern; he almost has to look away at the warm ocher color that makes itself known in Spock's iris, a reflection from the sand, surely - instead, he uses it as an excuse to take in the whole of him, looking for any signs of green tinge to his skin. "Spock - are you sure you're in a fit state?"
'Operating near normal capacity' wasn't exactly 'Ready to carry 190 pounds of human 30 feet up a sheer rockface'. Moreover, Jim's attention turns from Spock to the wall again, zeroing in on the holds carved distant from each other, then back to Spock. "I'd put you off balance, and that kind of a climb needs flexibility in range of motion. It might not be possible anyway, I feel like you'd need to be an octopus with eight - "
Jim cuts himself off suddenly, clearly working through an idea that lights him up as soon as it's uncovered. "Have you ever been camping, Spock?"
Jim approaches the wall without further comment, stretching the wingspan of his arms across the divide. Two sides to climb up, ostensibly, but the gap in the middle - he can touch both sides with his fingertips when standing between them. He turns around with a determined grin, beckoning Spock over. The room seemed determined to pit them against one another, but teamwork makes the dream work, as they say. "There's a technique I think we can...repurpose for our current needs."
The poorly-concealed amusement is evident in Jim's expression, but at least his eyes are alight with mirth and no longer abject worry.
you'll be billed for the psychic damage this email gave me
Jim buries his hands in the sand, letting the warmth cover them, even as Spock shakes his hair and sends water droplets every which way. It's as undignified as it is charming, in a way, and Jim can't help the funny little smile that pulls at his lips as Spock starts in on untangling his references. Their battle of wits is cut short, and Jim abandons any possible responses to Spock's aborted sentence, turning towards him as he, predictably, starts to argue instead.
That Spock calls him Jim instead of Captain surprises him, however, stopping his rebuts in their tracks, if only for a moment. Jim blinks, processing the tone for a beat as Spock approaches, hovering firm at his shoulder. It's about as close to impassioned as Jim could expect from his Vulcan Commander; and a far cry from his stoic "Let me drown Captain, don't worry about it, it's no trouble," bullshit from twenty minutes ago. Even if Jim will be fine in the water, stubborn bastard. Jim can't even be anything other than fondly exasperated about it, though, not after his insistence on an adamant no man left behind policy.
And of course, Spock's suggestion gets another doubletake - first surprise, then mild incredulity. Jim meets his gaze with evaluation couched in concern; he almost has to look away at the warm ocher color that makes itself known in Spock's iris, a reflection from the sand, surely - instead, he uses it as an excuse to take in the whole of him, looking for any signs of green tinge to his skin. "Spock - are you sure you're in a fit state?"
'Operating near normal capacity' wasn't exactly 'Ready to carry 190 pounds of human 30 feet up a sheer rockface'. Moreover, Jim's attention turns from Spock to the wall again, zeroing in on the holds carved distant from each other, then back to Spock. "I'd put you off balance, and that kind of a climb needs flexibility in range of motion. It might not be possible anyway, I feel like you'd need to be an octopus with eight - "
Jim cuts himself off suddenly, clearly working through an idea that lights him up as soon as it's uncovered. "Have you ever been camping, Spock?"
Jim approaches the wall without further comment, stretching the wingspan of his arms across the divide. Two sides to climb up, ostensibly, but the gap in the middle - he can touch both sides with his fingertips when standing between them. He turns around with a determined grin, beckoning Spock over. The room seemed determined to pit them against one another, but teamwork makes the dream work, as they say. "There's a technique I think we can...repurpose for our current needs."
The poorly-concealed amusement is evident in Jim's expression, but at least his eyes are alight with mirth and no longer abject worry.