The ready room smells faintly of roasted beans. Spock sits at the desk with a mug in front of him, steam curling lazily upward. He eyes it with suspicion before lifting it to his lips. The first sip jolts through him, widening his eyes by the smallest fraction.

He lowers the mug deliberately, as though restraining a shudder. “Caffeine. A stimulant. Human officers appear dependent upon it for survival.” He inhales, shaking his head slightly. “The flavor is bitter. The effect… uncomfortably pleasant.” His lips press together. “It is illogical to crave more. And yet…” He reaches for the mug again.