[ Here's the thing: Spock understands how to be discreet.
As much as he has been peripherally aware of Jim's project, he had honored Jim's need for such an unveiling. It had meant not asking Jim about what he had brought back with him at times or treading into the yard when Jim was working, but Spock had adhered to his wishes. Illogical as it may have been, he knew that for Humans the act of gifting and the concept of "surprises" satisfied a particular emotional "itch," as they might have called it. The natural chemicals produced, the pleasure of being able to "hide" something of benefit from the other until such a time that they were finished — Jim had explained it was an act of affection, a recognition. A sort of kindness.
And so, Spock did not seek out the answers until given permission. He recalls his mother had attempted such "surprises" when he was young, but he had not yet learned why it is was she took joy in it. Now that he was older, he told himself he must now ignore the clues, overlook the signals. He had cordoned off the bond where it was any such knowledge touched, allowed Jim to run his hand along it, but.
I will be there shortly.
And so he is, taking with him a nicely brewed cup of coffee out into the side yard. What he sees is not entirely what he expected, but he pauses at the lip of the back porch. Pauses, the dark of his eyes touching upon each minute detail that makes up the environs Jim's painstakingly constructed. He had known about the cats, Jim, but it was — there's a tentative little wave of something that rings of disbelief, wine glasses traced about with the pad of a thumb. As it goes, affection laps from beneath. Affection and curiosity, a sort of prevailing admiration for the workmanship that Jim's exercised. A surging sort of —
Very carefully, he steps down off the porch. His eyes stay fixed upon the structure that Jim's built, voice very soft when it is he reaches Jim's side. ]
Jim, [ he says, his name containing any manner of meaning as he settles his gaze upon him. It is not a question, but a statement. A recognition. ]
rotating this in my head like terran fowl in a convection oven
As much as he has been peripherally aware of Jim's project, he had honored Jim's need for such an unveiling. It had meant not asking Jim about what he had brought back with him at times or treading into the yard when Jim was working, but Spock had adhered to his wishes. Illogical as it may have been, he knew that for Humans the act of gifting and the concept of "surprises" satisfied a particular emotional "itch," as they might have called it. The natural chemicals produced, the pleasure of being able to "hide" something of benefit from the other until such a time that they were finished — Jim had explained it was an act of affection, a recognition. A sort of kindness.
And so, Spock did not seek out the answers until given permission. He recalls his mother had attempted such "surprises" when he was young, but he had not yet learned why it is was she took joy in it. Now that he was older, he told himself he must now ignore the clues, overlook the signals. He had cordoned off the bond where it was any such knowledge touched, allowed Jim to run his hand along it, but.
I will be there shortly.
And so he is, taking with him a nicely brewed cup of coffee out into the side yard. What he sees is not entirely what he expected, but he pauses at the lip of the back porch. Pauses, the dark of his eyes touching upon each minute detail that makes up the environs Jim's painstakingly constructed. He had known about the cats, Jim, but it was — there's a tentative little wave of something that rings of disbelief, wine glasses traced about with the pad of a thumb. As it goes, affection laps from beneath. Affection and curiosity, a sort of prevailing admiration for the workmanship that Jim's exercised. A surging sort of —
Very carefully, he steps down off the porch. His eyes stay fixed upon the structure that Jim's built, voice very soft when it is he reaches Jim's side. ]
Jim, [ he says, his name containing any manner of meaning as he settles his gaze upon him. It is not a question, but a statement. A recognition. ]