ALL I CAN DO

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Jim comes to his side, picturesque of something cavalier yet commanding Spock’s attention from the blue glow of the map.                                     He blinks once through the lazy curl of smoke that follows Jim, and strangely, it seems to ignite a sensation within him that Spock was not aware ever existed. It is a slow churning tangle of thread, thin bright lights and unfixed, sapphire shapes nesting just beyond the shield of the Force. The knowledge of Jim’s sensitivity to that bind of all living things is not unknown to him; his counterpart possesses the same thing. But this — it is nebulous when he glimpses it in their proximity — curiously familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. Perhaps, it is an after effect of Spock’s conversation with Jim’s copy, a hiccup or lapse in control. Shaking it from his mind, he resolves to inquire about it with Cal, later, then breathes, feels it cinch around him until he can exhale.                                     “ I had conjectured similarly, ” he says, returning his stare to the landscape as the walls flex with his quiet exhalation, supple and smooth. With a finger, Spock circles the location Jim had referenced, and looks for a path with which they could land Jim’s ship. He drags a line five clicks to the right. If this brings him closer to Jim, that is incidental. “ We could arrive, here? There is a clearing. However, it is not so open that it should expose our presence. ”

Jim’s response is not altogether surprising. From his place opposite on the bridge, Spock can visualize that same arrogance just as well as he can see it. Jim spreads out, almost lazy and fluid with that proclaimed confidence, unbothered by the looming shadow that has already swallowed half the galaxy by now. Spock has never been so undisciplined; his hands and eyes and ears are with him, always, tucked behind him or watching, silent if at all possible because he has no intention to speak before any moment necessary to think first. But he has never lacked confidence despite the quiet thrum of reservation and thoughtfulness that encompass him. Spock is doing so, now — lips parted and pushed forward — looking over the changing holo map as it pixelates an entirely foreign world with commanding interest. He stands and brings himself closer to a darkened structure protruding out of the mountain terrain. He squints slightly, head tilting; he can do nothing to hide the extent of his dissection. “ There appears to be, ” Spock reaches out and enlarges the structure. It reveals to them the possibility of an underground network, “ A hangar bay. There are smaller buildings on the surface, here. ” The terrain is filled with trees. But Spock points out the short rooftops lying flat inside them.

The images appear but they're not what catches Kirk's eye first. The sharp contours of Spock's face are cast in relief by the blue glow of the holomap. His lips are parted that way that says I'm thinking, his long, angular body leaned. He looks... He looks like he's meant to be here. Doing this. The hangar that appears can't even distract him fully from this strange sense of deja vu. Curiosity, though, does provide more than enough reason (or excuse) to get to his feet and move him closer. Kirk stands with his hand on his hip and another feeding the cigarette periodically to his lips, his thick brows furrowed. "That looks new," he comments through a veil of smoke. "I don't see a dock. Wait." He swipes the picture larger and narrows in on a flat plane on the other side of the mountain. He gestures with his cigarette. "Here. They're bringin' them in, those are blast doors. Odds are good most of the facility is underground."

All at once, Spock finds himself ruminating on the details of this arrangement. He was not overtly involved in its fragile beginnings, leaving his trust to Master Kestis when working to acquire a method of travel across a quadrant no longer built for them.                                     Judging by these statements, he could presume nothing akin to nobility on Jim's part, motivated by credits and material things; Jim said so himself. Taking up residence on one side of the bridge, Spock does not particularly concur with the implication that Jim does not possess any measure of sentiment, or care, in their regard. He hears arrogance, certainly. An inflated sense of importance. If they — Cal and BD and Spock — truly required this man specifically, he cannot say. The circumstances of Jim’s doppelgänger is convenient at best. He chooses to read into these responses otherwise, eyeing Jim blandly through the smuggler’s flippant and apparent drug use. It is, of course, all of these reasons the Captain mentions, as well something hidden, not quite unearthed but suspect when Jim told Spock: you need me, “ Indeed. ” Turning to the helm, his nose wrinkles, but Spock ignores the smoke to punch in the coordinates given to him by Kirk, “ Are you always this confident? ”

"Oh, yeah," Kirk replies, blowing out a lungful of smoke through the ring of his lips. He sits forward, curiosity drawing him into the holomap as this new set of coordinates materializes into a picture of their next destination. "Always." Gingersnap will want a confab before they head off. Ask Kirk though (either Kirk, really) and they might as well go now. A fragile galaxy threatened by petri dish Force clones of an unknown allegiance? Like flies on honey. Part of why the Jedi are all dead. They just couldn't help themselves, keep their heads in the sand. They just have to help. Well, the most helpful thing they could have done was live to fight another day. Now there's not enough left for it to matter. Honestly, the way Kestis is always whippin' it out, guy should be long dead. Kirk's staring thoughtfully through the holomap, cigarette touching his lips. He blinks, throws an arm over the bench behind him, and a leg up, too, and then he takes another drag, nodding at the screen. "What're we lookin' at?"