Spock looked up and over as he heard Jim's voice call his name. A brief look at the falling suns and an internal check on what time it was brought the startling revelation that Jim had met him earlier than he expected, which is why he had spent more time diving.

When they came within speaking distance of each other, Spock stood beside a large blue towel, throwing the small regulator onto it and the swimfins into the sand beside it. Folded clothes, one step away from looking ironed, and a towel of a deeper indigo also lay there. "Jim," He acknowledged him, though his eyes and attention were on the padd. His hands were still wet, water still rolled off his back and chest, down his neck from his hair, but apparently transmitting data to his hotel room was more important. Finished, he tossed it onto the towel, brushed his hand over his forehead to get the irritating touch of wet bangs off his forehead, and lent down to grab the smaller towel, unfolding it before beginning to dry himself off.

"You are unusually punctual."