Author's Note: I do not own Star Trek, or any recognizable characters, locations, etc. They all belong to Gene Roddenberry, CBS, and Paramount Pictures. My playing with the characters is not intended as disrespect for the characters or the actors that give them life.

This story is fifth in the "Metamorphosis to T'hy'la" Series, and directly follows "The Dawn in Desinence." Certain points in this story may refer to those previously in the series several times. Enjoy, everyone! ~ RK

Logic Bombs

When he was awakened by an argument from the adjoining room, Spock fleetingly wished he was born with human hearing instead of Vulcan. "You're going and that's final, Bones!"

"I'm on shore leave, so I can do whatever I want, which includes not listening to you."

"I can make it an order."

The response was tense. The doctor was probably speaking through clenched teeth. "What part of 'I'm on shore leave' don't you understand?"

Spock knew that this type of banter between his captain and the ship's doctor typically lasted for another ten to fifteen minutes. He decided that it would be useless trying to meditate, or – despite being much more beneficial to him physically – going back to sleep. He folded back the covers from his body and rose from the surprisingly luxuriously comfortable bed. It was drastically different from the issued bunks aboard the Enterprise. Aside from the happy memories of being tucked into his childhood bed, Jim Kirk's bed was probably the most comfortable one he'd ever slept in.

"Shore leave is a time for relaxation and fun, Bones. What could be better than a birthday party?"

"I'm not going."

"Yes, you are."

"No one wants me there anyway."

Spock heard Kirk sputter for a second. "Wha—why would you think that?"

He decided that he did not have any desire to overhear the doctor's response to this. Being noisy to the point of excess, Spock gathered a change of clothing and went into the fresher unit in order to bathe. He was very much against listening in on personal conversations, especially when on shore leave. However, there were situations in which eavesdropping was completely logical. For instance, when he was on assignment and he was gathering intelligence from the opposition, it was not only logical but necessary to eavesdrop. A conversation regarding the attendance of a birthday party was not among those that would benefit from eavesdropping.

It was only after he'd bathed, groomed, and dressed that he found himself curious as to whether or not he had been invited to this birthday party. He knew that in order for this to have occurred, he would have to be a friend of the individual for whom the party was being held. He wasn't sure who this would be. It wasn't Doctor McCoy's birthday. If it were, it would be strange indeed for him not to attend his own party. It couldn't be Jim's…could it? He suddenly wondered if it was. He didn't even know his captain's birthday. He knew that humans placed an unusual amount of importance on the date of one's birth. He found this strange that humans gave gifts to someone on that person's date of birth simply as a congratulatory gesture for managing to remain alive for another year. It was a puzzling custom.

His mother had tried to enforce this practice on him and his father. Over the years, she got more and more clever about it, and her gifts were less and less grandiose, but they were present every year without fail. One of his earliest birthday gifts was rather pointless – a stuffed sehlat. It had no practical purpose in his life. He had even expressed this concern to his mother.

"It's to keep you company when you get lonely."

He awkwardly held the fluffy, lifeless representation of a sehlat. "That is illogical, Mother. I am Vulcan. Vulcans do not experience loneliness."

She smiled at him. "But half-Vulcans might get lonely."

He shook his head, staring at the pseudo-creature. "Accepting your premise, a non-living object cannot keep any living being company. It cannot respond. It cannot react. It simply exists."

She could not contain the sigh. "Spock, remember when you would illogically have me hold you until you went to sleep when you were very young?" At his nod, she continued. "This will take my place for now until you can sleep peacefully without something to hold onto."

He looked skeptically at the sehlat's likeness. "But, it is not you. There can never be a replacement for you. To propose such a thing is possible is illogical."

Somehow, in his half-rejection of her gift, Amanda Grayson understood what her son said in his own logical way. "I love you, too, Sweetie."

Later, the gifts his mother chose for him made a little more sense. When he was preparing for his journey to Starfleet Academy, his mother had given him a simple luggage container. On his previous trips, he would usually accompany either his father or his mother, and logic dictated that they should consolidate their travel necessities into as compact a unit as possible, making their travel that much more efficient in the end. However, his mother presented him with his own container on the reasoning that he could not take his father's or his mother's luggage container, and thus deprive them of the ability to travel with efficiency should the need arise. He found her reasoning solid, and accepted the gift with pleased satisfaction.

It was the last gift that he'd received from his mother that he most dearly treasured. While he was a student at the Academy, he had participated in an interplanetary music competition. He had entered not for prestige or potential recognition. He submitted his name for the simple reason of xeno-cultural awareness. He believed it to be a superb opportunity not only to experience the musical contributions of other races, but also to represent Vulcan to all of the other gathered races by performing with his ka'athyra. He had informed his mother of the competition, and she had of course consulted with Sarek about the event. Sarek had little to say about the matter with one exception: He would refuse to permit the relocation of the heirloom instrument from Vulcan to Terra for a simple competition. And so, Amanda had done what she felt was in the best interest of everyone. She purchased a new ka'athyra and sent it to her son for his birthday, though a little early that year, and just in time for his competition. He'd placed highest in the performance, and many of the attendees of the competition were exposed to traditional Vulcan music.

All thoughts of birthdays and relevant festivities left Spock's mind, however, when the door to his current and temporary bedroom slid aside and he found himself staring at the inquisitive eyes of a beagle dog. He raised an eyebrow at the dog, who reacted by tilting his head to one side, his pink tongue lolling out of his mouth. Planchet gave a clipped yip then dashed madly away, happily yipping all the way to the kitchen table.

Spock entered the kitchen hoping that the discussion between Jim and McCoy was concluded. He saw that the doctor was seated at the table seemingly devouring his breakfast with the enthusiasm of a caged and starved beast. He realized that he did not see Jim.

"Doctor," he began speaking as he headed towards the irritable human. "Where is the captain?"

Swallowing forcibly, Spock was on the receiving end of a glare. "Don't you have an off switch?"

"I beg your pardon?"

McCoy took another large bite of his breakfast sandwich. It seemed to be a stacked concoction of some sort of meat, egg, and what looked like wheat bread. Spock did not want to come much closer to it. "You're always on duty, all the time!" exclaimed the doctor. "Can't you just can it for a while?"

Spock had heard many human idioms over the course of his life, but some of them still eluded him. "'Can it'?"

Planchet had obviously smelled the meat that was being enthusiastically eaten by McCoy, and was whining at the human's leg. "Knock it off!" he barked at the dog. Then, his attention was back on the Vulcan. "Yeah, can it. You had to have heard that one before."

"I have not."

McCoy groaned, before ripping off another gigantic bite, while nudging the whining dog with his foot. Planchet was having none of it, and avoided the foot, moving right back to where he was, still whining for some meat.

"It means 'to stop,' or 'put an end to something.'"

Spock turned and there stood his young captain. He was freshly showered if his clean scent, wet hair, bare chest, loose-fitting pants, and the towel he held in his hand was anything to go by. "Capt—Jim. I was unaware that you were here."

McCoy choked on his sandwich as he began speaking before fully swallowing. "It's his place! Of course he'd be here, you empty-headed—"

Spock took a defensive step toward McCoy without truly realizing it. "My head is not empty, doctor. It contains—"

"Spock!" interrupted Jim. Spock turned to face the human. "Did you eat, yet?"

"I have yet to consume any morning sustenance."

Jim chuckled softly to himself as he draped the towel around his neck. "Sit down. I'll see what I can find for you." Spock had only taken one step toward the table before Jim got his attention again. "Could you bring those over?"

Trying to hold back a very human grimace, Spock accepted the plate of sausage links that had been thrust at him. He brought it over to the table, and placed it as far away from him as possible.

"Hey, kiddo!" McCoy shouted unnecessarily loud. "I made extra eggs for you. They're in the warmer."

With only a nod, Jim went to the warmer, opened it, and took out the small plate of eggs. In seemingly no time, he was bustling over to the table, his hands filled with dishes. He had the plate of eggs, a mug of coffee, and a plate with one of the biggest waffles Spock had ever seen. All of these things, Jim placed in front of himself. With a burst of energy, the younger human sprung away and returned to the table with a plate and glass that he set of front of Spock. It was simple golden-browned toast, smeared with a fruit jam, and a pile of assorted, fresh and sliced fruit. The glass contained orange juice. With an expression that screamed his anticipation, Jim sat in his chair with a ripe red apple. He'd already bitten into it and was mid-chew when he noticed that Spock had not eaten anything yet, but was simply staring at the food. "Oh my—Is that okay? Do you want something else, or—"

Spock saw the precise care with which the blackberry jam had been spread on the toast. He was unable to identify the emotion he was currently experiencing. All that he did know was a simple truth: Jim had put thought into and taken the time to prepare a simple breakfast for him.

Jim hurriedly put his apple down, and leaped out of his chair again. "I forgot tea, didn't I? You probably have tea not juice, right?"

"Jim." His voice could not have been louder than a whisper, but the human had heard it. "This is more than satisfactory. I do not require tea presently."

Jim already had a mug in hand. "You sure?" He gestured to his old-fashioned stove with the cup. "I can fire it up and have it for you in—"

"Jim, the juice is enough." He flicked his eyes to Jim's abandoned breakfast for an instant before refocusing on the human. "Please, eat."

The younger man stood there for just a moment too long, as though waiting for Spock to change his mind. When the Vulcan began to eat the fruit, he finally reclaimed his seat. Spock felt Jim's attention on him throughout almost the entirety of breakfast, but instead of being discomforted by it, he was relaxed. He knew that Jim was expecting him to find some sort of fault with the food he'd given him. He thought that he should put his mind at ease when he was three bites away from completing his meal. "Your culinary skills are to be commended, Captain." Both humans had two very different reactions.

Jim Kirk grinned softly to himself, and sipped his coffee to hide the coloring of his cheeks.

Leonard McCoy choked. "It was toast, Spock." Planchet had apparently chosen that moment to nip at the doctor's leg. "Knock it off, you little pest!"

"Just give him something, Bones. He'll probably like you if you do."

"Fine!" he growled, snatching a link of sausage and tossing it in front of the beagle. Planchet attacked it like it was an enemy! "That better? You okay with me, now?" He reached down to pet the dog, but what he received was a growl and a snap.

"Bones," Jim admonished. "You don't just throw food at him like that."

"He's a dog, Jim."

"Still, you should be nicer."

While this was occurring, Spock reached over and took hold of a sausage link. Without the notice of the humans, he held it out under the table. When Planchet did not notice his offering, he tilted his head so that he could see the beagle and then gave a high and short whistle. The beagle whipped his head in his direction, saw the sausage waiting in his grip and bounded over to him. With a happy yip, Planchet snatched the link from Spock and nibbled.

"What was that?" said McCoy, his expression one of disbelief.

"I believe the expression is 'killing him with kindness.'" He missed both humans' reactions. He felt a hesitant scratch on his leg. He looked down and saw Planchet staring at him, his tongue hanging out of his mouth. Not quite knowing what to do, he lowered his hand again. Planchet sniffed his fingers for a moment, and then decided he did not mind that Spock did not have another link to give him. Instead, the dog swiped his tongue all over the Vulcan's fingers, which now tasted like sausage.

Spock shivered at the touch, but forgave Planchet for this intrusion. There was no way the dog could know that he was kissing him.

~X~X~X~X~X~

It was only about an hour later, but very little had happened in the lives of the three in Jim's apartment. Spock had decided to attempt meditation, though it had miserably failed. He'd thought he'd found a good spot directly in front of the large window in the living room, facing the sunlight – for a change this shore leave – and basking in the warmth as he sought that peaceful state of mind. Only to be brought out of it abruptly not by the conversation of the two humans, but by a heavy thud on his leg. He opened his eyes and looked down, only to see that Planchet had snuggled up to him and found it necessary to use Spock's leg as a headrest. His tail thumped repeatedly on the floor. Slowly, Spock reached over and began stroking Planchet's head. The tail thumping got faster.

"Damnit, Jim, fine, okay? I'll go! But I'm not bringing anything. Don't you think I'm bringing anything!"

"You don't have to bring anything."

By the sounds coming from the kitchen area, Spock could only deduce that the two very close friends were cleaning dishes together. There was no other way the splashing sound of water could be so constant while the sounds of dishes being replaced in their respective storage locations were also heard. He wondered which of them did which task. He had to look.

"Jim, I just…I get weird at these things. And you know what happens when the two of us drink."

"Spock'll be there."

"Have you asked him to go yet, Jim?"

By his tone, it seemed that Jim was surprised by his own answer. "No! I forgot! Shit!"

Then, there were footsteps approaching him. Spock looked up as Jim reached him. In his hands was a small dish towel. He was obviously not the washer. "Spock, are you busy today at all?" He wrung the towel in his hands.

"Are you inviting me to the birthday party that you and Doctor McCoy have been discussing for the majority of the morning?"

"You bet I'm inviting you."

Spock did not hesitate. "I accept."

Jim smiled then whirled around to head back to his duty of putting away the clean dishes. "Spock's coming, too."

"Oh, joy."

~X~X~X~X~X~

It was Spock's experience that when one was invited to such an occasion, it was by the will of the individual for whom the celebration was occurring. That left only one possibility. It must be Jim's birthday. Therefore, this must be Jim's party. McCoy had mentioned drinking. He knew enough about the doctor and Jim together to know that references to the act of drinking usually indicated the presence of alcoholic beverages. Spock did not drink alcohol. He hoped there was something there that he could enjoy.

There was another problem: what to wear. Was Jim holding a casual gathering or a formal gathering? Spock knew that it was considered awkward to attend either function while wearing clothing that would better match the opposite type of function. He would look excessively out of place at a casual gathering in formalwear. The exact opposite was also true. The only problem was that he had very little casual, civilian clothing. With very few exceptions, none of which he was inclined to wear outside of the comfort of home, his wardrobe consisted mainly of his black instructor's uniform, his science uniforms, or his sleepwear. He supposed that he could 'dress down' and go in only his science uniform foregoing the blue shirt, leaving him only with the black undershirt. It was a possibility.

He walked out of his temporary bedroom under the pretense of seeking out a glass of water. His real purpose was to see what sort of attire his current roommates would be wearing to the party. The only example he had to go on was Jim himself, who was bustling around his living room, folding up his bedding from the sofa. The human was wearing some well-fitting nearly black trousers, and a long-sleeved slate grey shirt. Definitely not of Starfleet regulation.

If it were not Starfleet regulation, then this party was not on Starfleet grounds. This answered his question well enough.

Spock went back into the bedroom and removed one of his science uniforms. With the care one took while performing a dissection, Spock removed the blue science shirt, and hung it on a new hanger. Quickly, he dressed. He was about to leave the room again, when he remembered a very important aspect of human birthday parties all over again.

Birthday presents.

What should he get Jim for his birthday?

With something near panic, Spock swept his gaze over his captain's possessions in the room. There was little to go on. He was a man of little trinkets. However, there was one prominent collection that not only resided in the human's bedroom, but also in the living area. Jim Kirk was very fond of books, antique books that were paper, ink, and bound. He remembered that his captain even had a collection, though considerably smaller than his home version, aboard the Enterprise.

Perhaps a book would do.

With every intention of leaving the apartment to journey to a nearby antique book establishment, Spock headed toward the bedroom's doorway, only to collide with Jim.

"Whoa, Spock!" exclaimed the young man as he grabbed onto Spock's forearms to steady more himself than the Vulcan. "Where's the fire?"

"There is no—"

While laughing, Jim translated for himself. "Why're you hurrying?"

"Oh." Spock straightened as though reporting to his captain a matter of complete and serious importance. "I must leave for a brief period of time in order to acquire an offering to commemorate your birth?"

It took Jim a moment to work that out. "Spock, it's not my birthday."

This was a surprise. "It is not? It is my understanding that only the individual to be celebrated is permitted to extend invitations to a gathering in his or her name. Since you have invited me to such an event, I had concluded—"

"That it was my birthday." Jim shook his head. "Good logic and all, but no. Not my birthday. I don't…celebrate my birthdays."

"May I ask why?"

Jim huffed and shouldered past Spock. He sat on the corner of his bed and began putting on a pair of well-worn and comfortable looking shoes. "Would you want to celebrate the day your dad died?"

Spock had forgotten that his captain had lost his father the very day he was born. He felt foolish for his conclusion. "I—No, I would not." He looked down.

"It's okay. Honest mistake." When he looked up, he saw that Jim had come back to stand right in front of him. He had a small, bittersweet smile on his face. "But thank you for thinking you should get me something. You don't ever have to." He clapped his hand on Spock's shoulder, his smile widening considerably. "But we do have to go soon if we want to be on time for the surprise part of it. Chekov'll kill me if I'm late. Sulu has no idea."

He walked out of the room, leaving Spock no choice but to follow. McCoy was waiting at the door to the apartment. When he saw both of them come from Jim's room, he couldn't contain his twisted expression. "I don't want to know."

Jim must have glared, but Spock didn't know, since he was behind him. "Had to clear up a misunderstanding about birthdays."

"Did you?" McCoy was putting on a light jacket as he spoke.

Jim tousled his hair deliberately. "Yep, all good."

"Great. Does that mean we can go now?" McCoy wasn't really asking. He was already stepping outside.

"Absolutely! Let's go!" Jim breezed past the doctor, looking as confidently on the prowl as he could ever be.

McCoy watched Spock follow Jim's lead like another, much larger, Planchet. "Misunderstanding, my ass."

~X~X~X~X~X~

It was a success. Sulu had been very surprised to have arrived at his favorite restaurant only to find that the entire place had been purchased for the evening by the contributions of his shipmates, and another important guest. No one had brought him gifts. They did, however, bring plenty of credits, all of whom having the intention of buying the helmsman a drink for his birthday. Hours after Sulu had arrived on the arm of his longtime girlfriend, Ling Sui Yoshiko, the young man was enthusiastically introducing her to all of his crewmates. It was a good night.

"Thanks, Chris. You put most of this up, so just thought I should thank you, since he never will."

Christopher Pike smiled at his protégé. "Kirk, you stole the best crew and the best ship from me. Have to show them I still like them."

Kirk looked mock-offended. "Chris, I'm shocked you'd think I stole them. I did no such thing, you dog!"

Chris nodded his head at the Vulcan across the room. "Speaking of dogs, Spock's been following you around all night! What'd you do?"

Jim looked at Spock, who was standing as close to Bones as he possibly could without making the doctor uneasy. He had decided to accompany the doctor to the bar extending an offer to assist him in carrying drinks back to the table that contained Admiral Pike, Kirk, the doctor, himself, a woman that Pike introduced as his Number One, and occasionally – when she wasn't off socializing with her girlfriends – Tonia Barrows. Bones reluctantly agreed, especially after Pike had basically ordered Spock away from the table to 'talk with the little upstart.'

"What makes you think it was something I did?"

Number One spoke up. "Because it usually is something you did."

Kirk sighed. "I didn't do anything. Apparently, offering an olive branch to him made him a little clingier than expected."

Pike nodded in agreement. "Spock never had many friends, even when he was a student at the Academy."

"Why? He's not really all that hard to get along with."

Pike looked thoughtful for a moment, but it was the other woman who found her voice first. "I think it's that Spock doesn't feel confident enough to actually let someone in. The fact that he's done so with you is…pretty significant."

Pike nodded again. Kirk stared at the two of them for a long while, before shifting his attention to Spock and Bones again. "How long have you known Spock, um, Number One?"

Her laugh was melodious. "Annika, Kirk, if it makes you feel better." She sipped her drink. "And I was the one who welcomed Spock to the Academy on his first day. It was my assignment to meet him and escort him to the Academy." She smiled at the memory. "He kept insisting that he did not require a caretaker or a guide to show him the location of the Academy grounds, since he'd familiarized himself with everything to do with them prior to his arrival."

Kirk smiled fondly. It certainly sounded like Spock. "Stubborn even then."

Annika shook her head. "You have no idea."

"What was he like otherwise?"

Pike took over at that point. "Unfailingly polite, endlessly intelligent. That's never changed. But before you knew him, he was scrawny as hell. Good training bulked him a little."

"Only a little, though," chimed in Annika.

Pike nodded in acknowledgement. "Only a little," he agreed. He looked again at Kirk, pinning him with a serious expression. "And shy. He's always been shy."

"You know, Chris," Annika said. "I think the most confident I'd ever seen Spock was when he was trying to get you expelled for that Kobayashi Maru stunt, Kirk. He never addressed anyone in public like that until you."

Kirk was saved from embarrassment by the chipper chirp of his communicator. Without waiting for acknowledgement, the person on the other end began speaking. "Captain, I do not advise your consumption of the alcoholic beverages the doctor has ordered for you. It seems that he is determined to completely incapacitate—"

With a roll of his eyes and a sigh, he interrupted. "I can't believe you're using this across the room, Spock."

Jim missed the look exchanged by Chris and Annika.

~X~X~X~X~X~

Spock stood awkwardly next to Leonard McCoy at the bar of the completely rented restaurant. The doctor was perusing the drink selections as though making a show of it for his Vulcan companion. It was obvious that he'd long ago chosen the drinks he wanted by his body language.

Spock did not frequent bars…at all.

There was an incident with Nyota several years ago which he would rather prefer to forget, but never would thanks to his eidetic memory. He had remained at their table in the dark corner and let her make the trip to the bar since she was more familiar with how the process worked and he was not. She had ordered a drink, and then one for him, ignorant of the fact that he did not drink alcohol. She had become slightly – Spock remembered the human colloquialism as – "tipsy" to the point of draping herself all over the classmate she quite literally ran into, which resulted in both participants in the collision being covered in their drinks. The human male had expressed interest in her physically. She'd laughingly declined and headed back to Spock who was waiting at their table, but the human male did not understand. He had accused her of being a tease, grabbed her arm, and forcibly spun her around to face him. It was at that moment that Spock's protective nature had sprung into action. Afterwards, he'd wondered why it was that he'd felt the lewd and aggressive human needed to be rendered unconscious by a series of solid fists impacting the man's stomach, sternum, jaw, chin, and eye rather than a simple and painless neck pinch. The words exchanged were unimportant. What was important was a slightly inebriated anecdote that Nyota had later shared with him as he escorted her to her dormitory.

"This always happens to me, sir, and I don't understand why!"

"Perhaps it is due to your heightened physical aesthetic appeal."

"Are you saying that I'm a fine looking lady, Lieutenant Commander?"

He did not answer. She giggled. He cringed. "Reminds me of this jerk from Iowa when we all went to see the new ship being built last year. Hick, a nobody that thought he was…a big hit with…well, anything with a pulse, I guess. Wouldn't give him my name, came onto me, told me I was 'fine,' which was not fine with me. Anyway, Geo…jee…Barry! He came over to get him away and then it was a huge fight."

"I see. Were you involved in this altercation?" They were mercifully close to the building. He did not like Nyota like this.

"Actually tried to stop it until the guy grabbed my boobs after Barry punched him in the face! So mad that I pushed him back into the fight."

Spock was horrified. She had encouraged violence? This seemed unlike her. "And how did it—"

"Stop?" She drew in a breath. "Pike."

"Captain Pike instigated the end of the altercation?"

"Was so mad."

Spock was not sure whether or not she was saying that Captain Pike had been angry about the situation or if she meant that she was angry about it.

He never found out which. He'd left her in her building almost immediately afterward. He had thought that was the end of the entire situation, but was proven wrong by lunchtime the next day. Just after his first morning lecture, his padd chimed with a message, which read more like a command, from Captain Pike to report to his office immediately.

"What the hell is this, Spock? A bar fight! I thought Vulcans would find something like that illogical!"

"Has there been a complaint?"

Pike pointed a finger at his former student, and soon-to-be First Officer – once his ship was finished, anyway. "Don't evade the topic. I can read your expressions in those eyes, even though you're Vulcan! Were you involved in a bar fight last night which ended up with one of our cadets admitted to Starfleet Medical for several broken bones?"

Spock shifted. "If I were to respond with an affirmative, what punishment would—"

"Just answer me, Lieutenant Commander! Yes or no?"

Spock met Pike's gaze squarely and they engaged in a silent battle, like two ancient Earth knights eyeing their opponent just before charging on their horses toward each other, lowering their lances on the first tilt of their joust. In this case, Pike's proverbial lance hit its mark exactly, and Spock was unhorsed. With his eyes lowered in his shame, he divulged the entire incident to his superior officer, his advisor, his teacher, and his friend in crisp and precise detail, uncolored with emotion. Just bare and clinical narrative facts.

By the time Spock had concluded, Pike had relaxed in his chair and was making notes on a padd in front of him. He still did not have the confidence to look back up at the human. "Spock," Pike said, softly, his tone going from angry superior officer to friend with just his name. "I'll see what I can do to make this alright, but…" He waited until the Vulcan was looking at him. "If I can get you out of any punishment – severe anyway – which, in some cases would require anything from a psych exam to full dismissal from Starfleet, the latter of which I would seriously like to avoid since I want you on my ship, temper or not—" Spock was about to state that he did not have a temper, but Pike held up his hand to silence him. He obeyed. "If I can swing only a minor punishment for this, which I'm sure will not happen again—" This he said with a pointed glare at Spock, who comprehended his meaning clearly. "I want you to swear that you will never serve aboard a ship with another with whom you're seeing romantically. Is that clear?"

"Affirmative, Captain."

Pike looked thoughtful. "Now, I don't know how to actually make sure that happens without ruining both your reputations in the process, so could you maybe…" His hands spoke of his confusion in their gestures when he could not find the words. "Figure out how to keep it under wraps but never let any duty roster personnel know about it."

Spock stood from his chair, thinking. "I could compose a computer program that would prevent any and all personnel – including those capable of overriding assignments – from placing Cadet Uhura and myself aboard the same vessel for active duty."

Pike smiled at him. "Might as well put that A-7 classification to good use, right?" Spock nodded. Just then, Pike's office door chimed.

Spock knew that Pike had to have known that he'd erased the program preventing Nyota and Spock from serving aboard a ship together as soon as Kirk burst onto the bridge of the Enterprise, a shouting McCoy and a flustered Uhura behind him. Perhaps that was why Pike had promoted Kirk to be Spock's first officer, despite the cadet having no assignment – including active duty – since he was technically grounded, which Kirk had obviously ignored having smuggled his way onto the ship. Yes, Pike had known that Spock had switched Nyota's assignment from the Farragut to the Enterprise, and that Spock had broken his word to him, and so Pike had made Kirk his punishment. Kirk was Pike's protégé. Perhaps the captain of the Enterprise had thought the young man could handle Spock and keep him in check while he was gone to the Romulan ship.

Christopher Pike was not a foolish man. He knew the possibility was very high that he would not return to the Enterprise unscathed, if at all. He'd done two things at once by promoting Kirk to first officer. He'd given Kirk a chance to show Spock that there was more to the young human than brash arrogance and a disregard for regulations; that it was sometimes okay to break some rules once in a while. Pike had also given Spock a challenge, a way to evaluate if he was ready or willing to command a ship. Through Pike's actions, Spock had learned that in his own way, by throwing them together, Chris Pike was protecting his two favorite charges simultaneously.

He was brought out of his reverie by his own charge's heavily accented voice. "I vill have any drink there is vith wodka in it!"

The bartender, a tough-looking Bajoran female, looked at Chekov doubtfully. "What is your age?"

"I am almost eighteen."

"Then, you will have drinks without vodka in them, little human."

Chekov sputtered for a moment and was desperately trying to come up with a retort when he found himself shoved out of the way by a firm hand on his shoulder. "But I'll be havin' somethin', lass." It was a certain engineer. "I'll be needin' the followin'. A Scotch Stone Sour. Two nail drinks, Rusty and Bent. And one Anti-Freeze, just to try it."

While the bartender gave no reaction to the engineer's order, Spock was growing increasingly confused. He turned to him and got his attention with a simple question. "Mister Scott, why would you order two defective pieces of little used hardware and a sampling of anti-freeze in a drinking establishment?"

The response he received did not lessen his confusion. The Scottish engineer burst out laughing and clapped Spock on the back unexpectedly, sending the Vulcan into the edge of the bar. By the time he'd recovered, Montgomery Scott's order had been fulfilled and he had been replaced at the bar by Hikaru Sulu and Ling Sui. Where Mister Scott's choices of beverages seemed odd to Spock, those chosen by Sulu and Ling only confused him.

"Hello, Miss Ah-lam." Sulu obviously knew her better than anyone else in the restaurant. But this was her family name, Spock knew, not her given name. Bajorans were addressed by their family name. However, by the familiar way in which Sulu spoke to her, it was highly probably that he was well aware of her given name.

"What can I get for you tonight, Mister Sulu?" Miss Ah-lam apparently went along with the practice of her people in addressing Hikaru Sulu by his family's name.

"Well, I would very much enjoy my normal order, with one additional one for this lovely lady here, Miss Yoshiko." The young woman next to him blushed endearingly.

Miss Ah-lam allowed an indulgent smile as she keyed in the order for her customer. "An order of sake, Planter's Punch, and a Pilot Boat." Her eyes flicked to Hikaru's date. "And what will Miss Yoshiko have?"

Hikaru looked at her. She answered in a tiny, soft voice. "Two?"

The smile he gave Ling was one that Spock had heard described by Kirk several times. He had said it to McCoy whenever Yeoman Barrows came around. The phrase was "laying on the charm," he believed.

"Everyone is paying for my drinks tonight, so yes, you can have two drinks."

She grinned coyly at him. "You choose."

Sulu turned to Miss Ah-lam. "A Poinsettia and a Tulip."

Miss Ah-lam didn't even blink at the request. She simply keyed in the drink order. Spock, however, did not understand how one could drink a flower. He was about to announce this conundrum, but Leonard McCoy had then gotten the attention of Miss Ah-lam. "Yeah, I have to place a disturbingly large order."

She smiled, fingers ready to begin hitting keys. "I think I can handle it, Mister McCoy."

He grinned, completely ignoring the drink list. "Well, to start are the drinks for that table of ladies over there—" He indicated the table with a pointed finger. Spock looked over there and saw that the indicated table contained a group of young women, all of whom he knew. Nyota Uhura, Christine Chapel, Martha Landon, and Tonia Barrows. He noticed that Pavel Chekov had made his way over to their table and had firmly snuggled himself up in a tight embrace with the youngest of the ladies, and firmly planting his lips upon hers. She responded just as enthusiastically. With a strange feeling in his abdominal region, Spock turned away to listen to McCoy's drink requests. "—a Foxy Lady, Dark Eyes, Pink Squirrel, and Sweetie Baby."

At this point, Spock was almost rendered speechless. What made him so was the request of an unnaturally colored squirrel! How could that be on the menu? He stared at McCoy in growing horror.

"Which drink is for which lady, Mister McCoy?"

McCoy gestured with his hand in a sloppy repetitive direction the drinks were to travel. "Starting with the little guy mackin' on his girlfriend, it goes in the order I named them, like that."

She watched and then nodded. "I understand." She keyed in something else and then returned her attention to him directly. "And what is your poison tonight?"

Spock could not keep silent. "To order poison at a bar is not logical."

Miss Ah-lam and McCoy completely ignored him. "I'll be having a few different varieties all to myself." He made a show of consulting the list. "I'd like to have a Yellow Fever—" Spock wondered why a doctor would voluntarily contract this. "—a Cerebral Hemorrhage—" Spock could not help it that his eyes widened in alarm. "—and a…aw, hell, throw in a Meltdown, while we're at it."

Spock stood stunned.

But the other two were not paying any attention to him whatsoever. McCoy was pointing at Admiral Pike, Annika Hadley, and James T. Kirk. "The brunette lady there will have a Hot Apple Pie, and the older man will have an Admiral's Cocktail."

She nodded in approval. "Fitting." She knew Admiral Pike, then. "And the last?"

"Oh, him?" The look on McCoy's face was devilish. "He'll be having all of these drinks and will most likely pass out and need my medical expertise afterward." He picked up the drink list again and began pointing to multiple drinks.

As he watched, Spock was no longer confused, he was alarmed. So alarmed that he took out his communicator without hesitation, eyeing the intended individual to be sure he answered. As soon as the man on the other end flipped open his communicator, Spock began speaking. "Captain, I do not advise your consumption of the alcoholic beverages the doctor has ordered for you. It seems that he is determined to completely incapacitate—"

He saw Jim roll his eyes and sigh, before he interrupted. "I can't believe you're using this across the room, Spock."

"I am ensuring your health by warning you of—"

Jim stood up from the table and began to make his way over to his current roommates. "Just…stop, Spock. Let me see, exactly, what Bones is trying to get me."

It seemed that Jim almost materialized at Spock's side. Jim draped his arm over Spock's shoulders and leaned toward McCoy. "Alright, Bones, what have you chosen for me?"

The older human looked at Kirk with a slightly dazed expression. "Well, I only got a little way through this. But I went alphabetically."

Kirk gestured enthusiastically for the drink list. "Gimme that!" Apparently, Bones delayed too long. "Gimme that, Bones!" The doctor surrendered the list to the younger man. Kirk removed his arm from Spock's shoulders and studied the list for precisely one minute before he put on his "seductive face" and leaned into the bar, no longer looking at the list as he presented his selections.

"This will last me the whole night, but, in this order, I would like to start with these. Ready?" It was rhetorical, apparently, since he did not even wait for the smallest response. "A Quickie, Between the Sheets." To his right, the doctor snorted. Miss Ah-lam did not react at all. If there was a hidden reference, Spock must have missed it. Kirk's smile grew more charming and his eyes sparkled in intensity. "Following that is an Angel's Kiss, which leads to a Golden Screw, ending in – of course – an Orgasm." Spock was beginning to realize that Kirk's drink choices were sounding rather suggestive in sexual terms. If that is the case and standard, then these alcoholic beverages were not anything close to resembling their names. For instance, Mister Scott's order of a Bent Nail. He could not possibly be served an actual ancient construction tool which was defective due to an angle other than one-hundred eighty degrees in its alignment. It was some sort of liquid. This was beginning to make sense.

By the time Spock had come to this conclusion, Kirk had continued his order. "Then, I hope to change the pace a little with a Long Hot Night, some Sex on the Beach with a Virgin, and a Sloe Comfortable Screw—" Then, Kirk slowly turned his gaze and Spock suddenly found himself pinned by it. With sudden and instantaneous recollection, Spock realized he'd been on the receiving end of this same gaze before.

Pike smiled at him. "Might as well put that A-7 classification to good use, right?" Spock nodded. Just then, Pike's office door chimed.

The older man drew in a breath as though getting ready for battle. "Now get going on that program, Spock. The boy's actually on time for once."

Spock did not even get to ask Pike who 'the boy' was before the office door slid aside, and a young man strode into the office. He wore cadet red, and his chestnut blonde hair was slightly disheveled. The cadet was surprised to find someone else in the office when he arrived, but tried to hide it by sweeping his gaze from Spock's boots to the top of his head. He did not linger there, but returned his attention to Spock's eyes, staring at him as though he were a dissection specimen. Other than this encounter, which took no longer than 2.7 seconds, the young man did not even acknowledge Spock's presence as he entered the office, making his way directly to the chair Spock had just vacated with a wide and arrogant-looking smile.

Pike greeted the visitor with a genuine smile. "You signed up for the Kobayashi Maru test in your first year? I know I dared you to do better, but this is getting close to plain overachieving."

The cadet saluted smartly then threw himself into the chair unceremoniously. "The earlier I take it, the earlier I'll know where I'm lacking in command ability."

Pike laughed boisterously. "No one's ever passed, son."

"I know that, but there's a first time for everything. And I'm not your son."

Spock left the office feeling a tinge of anger on Captain Pike's behalf that a first year cadet could speak so disrespectfully to a superior officer. However, what stuck with him most about the young man's entrance was that his smirk did nothing to detract from the beauty of his bright blue eyes.

The very same arrogant cadet that had sized Spock up in Pike's office, that he'd nearly succeeded in dismissing from Starfleet, that he'd marooned on Delta Vega, that he'd allowed himself to – as humans say – "let in" was pinning him where he stood in front of the bar with his gaze alone, as he'd done many times since that first encounter…

…Only this time, he was speaking. And it was what he said that caused a faint green coloring to appear on Spock's facial features and the tips of his pointed ears. Jim's voice grew husky, his gaze still firmly on Spock's. "—ending with, hopefully, a perfect Climax, and a Kiss in the Dark."

As though he had simply asked for a cup of juice he turned back to Miss Ah-lam with a sincere and almost chagrined expression. "Did you get all that? Was that too much?" She shook her head, still keying in his order.

A voice piped up from Spock's right, jarring him back to the moment. "Sure seemed a little much to me, Jim-boy!" He'd already finished one of his drinks. "Looks like the hobgoblin could use a drink after that, though. Might've gotten him worked up for his own drink."

Jim smiled at Spock. "Yeah? You want a drink, Spock? I'll buy you one."

"I—" Spock was not sure exactly what had happened in the last several minutes. The only thing he could do was nod.

Jim's resultant jubilant laugh only made Spock even more grateful for the poor lighting in the establishment. Hopefully, it was masking his flushed state. "Okay! Miss Ah-lam, my Vulcan friend here, will have something I choose," he announced proudly. He actually looked at the drink list for a while, beginning to nurse his first drink, a Quickie, before placing an order on Spock's behalf. "I think that a Chocolate-Covered Cherry would work for him."

Spock only heard one word of that. "Jim, I must decline this offer. By its title alone I must conclude that this beverage contains chocolate. As you must be aware, the sucrose level in chocolate is a far more potent intoxicant to Vulcans than alcohol is to humans."

Jim finished the Quickie, and moved to Between the Sheets. "Actually, I didn't. But, it's definitely something to file away for future reference. Okay, no chocolate. Let me pick a different one. Too, bad, though. I think you would've liked that one."

"Very well, Jim."

Spock waited for Jim to name his second choice. It did not take long. "You know," Jim said, glancing sideways at his first officer. "I wonder if you are."

"Are what, Jim?"

Jim did not address Spock but turned to face Miss Ah-lam. "A Snuggler."

This time, McCoy choked. "Can you imagine? Spock? A snuggler?"

Spock was confused again. "I do not understand."

He was apparently not going to have an explanation. At least verbally. A drink was placed in front of him. It was in a colored martini glass, topped with a decoratively and skillfully done whipped cream design, and a straw – a green one – sticking out of it. Jim smiled encouragingly and slid it even closer to him. "Go on, Spock. Try it."

Spock did as Jim urged and found himself swearing never to trust Jim with choosing his drinks again. He knew that what he was drinking was in fact a combination of something peppermint and hot chocolate, cleverly concealed by a cloud of whipped cream. He knew this, but could not stop. While he sipped his drink through the straw, he watched Kirk drink. He studied his throat in its swallowing motions, watched him lick his lips as he took the glass from them. Watched his hand reaching for the next drink. Saw his bright blue eyes focus on him. Then, saw the alarm.

"Whoa, whoa, Spock! Not so fast!"

Then, to his own horror, Spock giggled and chewed on the straw.

"Oh, no," groaned McCoy. "You got him drunk, didn't you? Didn't he just tell you what chocolate does to him?"

Jim looked helplessly between McCoy and Spock. "I didn't think it would take five seconds to—"

McCoy barked at Miss Ah-lam, "How about some Sober Thoughts for this one, fast!" In only a second, McCoy was forcing the nibbled straw from Spock's mouth and the glass from his hands, only to replace it with another. Spock reached insistently for the straw that he had been chewing. McCoy tried to pull it away, but Vulcan strength and a well-timed intimidating growl won Spock his mangled straw. He stuck it into the fruity concoction and sipped quickly, watching in complete fascination as the liquid drained from the glass, and wondering where it was going.

"Where's Scotty?" asked McCoy to Jim. "He'd know how to handle this better than anyone!"

They both looked around, and neither of them could locate him. With a shrug, Jim turned back to McCoy. "Maybe he got called back to the ship?"

"We've got to get Spock at least halfway back to normal."

Jim snapped his fingers. "I got it!" He looked at Miss Ah-lam with as much seriousness as he could muster. "Keep Mister Spock supplied with Logic Bombs throughout the rest of the night."

"Jim?"

"Yes, Spock?"

Spock did not appreciate the tone Jim was using. He was not a child, nor was he stupid.

"What is a Logic Bomb?"

Jim mouthed something to the bartender, who supplied the drink immediately in a simple clear glass. Jim slid it over to Spock, carefully transferring the bitten straw from the Sober Thoughts to the Logic Bomb while the other end was still clamped firmly between Spock's teeth. "Just…trust me."

Spock was not entirely inclined to do so at that moment, but he took a sip anyway. "Jim," he said, in a tone that would be described as whining were he human. "This is water."

Jim smiled softly at Spock. "I know. I told you to trust me."

Suddenly, Chekov bounded over to Jim and nearly shouted at his captain. "Ve're vaiting for you to make a speech about Sulu for his birthday!"

"Now?"

"Yes, keptin!"

Jim chuckled and shook Chekov off of him. "Okay, okay. How do you want me to do this, Chekov?"

The young Russian was beyond excited. "Stand on a chair and announce it!"

Jim decided that it couldn't hurt to go along with Chekov just this one time. "Alright, alright." He turned to McCoy. "Will you—"

"Yeah," he growled. "I'll play babysitter while you have fun. Why should today be any different?"

"Thanks, Bones." Jim went to the table that contained Hikaru Sulu and Ling Sui Yoshiko. He was about to hit his glass in a nod to old tradition, but Chekov beat him to it.

"Ewerybody shut up! The Keptin has something to say! Pay attention!"

Jim raised his glass at Chekov. "Thank you, Chekov." He took a deep breath and cleared his throat. "Everyone have a drink in their hands?" There were some murmurs of agreement, but he distinctly heard a certain slurred 'affirmative' coming from the area he'd just left. "Okay, good. Well, this was all arranged tonight to celebrate the day that one of Starfleet's finest helmsmen was brought into this universe. Without him, we wouldn't have had some close escapes these last few months, or had some unique and fresh vegetables and even some new hybrid species of plant food to eat, or had to deal with some rather interesting lessons in the gymnasium on the ship. Who's taken a fencing lesson so far?" Only a few hands went up. "Well! I want everyone to take at least one. It's something you don't want to miss." Then, he went quiet for a second. "But, other than those general things, what do I say about Hikaru Sulu that we all don't already know?" He smiled and lowered his gaze. "I'm not the best at speeches, guys, so hang in there." That earned him some chuckles throughout the room. "Never really thought I'd be giving any of them in my whole life, but, anyway, Sulu. Sulu's an extremely—"

At his hip, Jim's communicator chirped. "Sorry, everybody. The burdens of being captain, right?" With his drink in one hand, he answered the communicator with the other. "Kirk here."

"…Laddy?"

"Scotty?" Jim climbed down from the chair where he stood, still completely aware that everyone's attention was still on him. "Is everything going alright with the ship?"

The response was long in coming. "No, sir."

Jim put his drink down on the table. Dread filled him at Scotty's tone, at the muffled voice. "What happened?"

"There was…an…There was an accident, sir."

Jim compulsively reached for the back of the chair. He turned away from everyone gathered. He didn't want them to see his worry which he knew was clearly on his face. But he knew that everyone's attention was riveted to him. He could feel their stares, hear it in their silence. "Is anyone hurt?"

"It's Keenser…He's—" The Scotsman's voice hitched.

"Scotty…"

"Keenser's dead, sir."

Jim fell into his chair, the silence of the room suffocating him.

End Notes: After having rewatched "Generations" the other day, I found myself thinking, "Who exactly is the mother of Sulu's daughter!" Had to throw in something, if only for my own sanity. So, I present Ling Sui Yoshiko.

Also, decided that Number One could not go around without a proper name. So, I gave her one. And, here I present Annika Hadley. She will probably be around some more as the series progresses.

Bajorans. I know next to nothing about them other than what is in the story above. Addressing someone by their family name and not their given name. That is pretty much it. Behaviors? Nothing. Basic physical description? Only what I could find on various Wikipedia-type sites. Forgive any errors to do with Bajorans. Thank you. Just needed another alien species in the bar other than humans (and half-Vulcans – thanks, Spock, for being the token alien), so Bajoran it was.

Hope everyone enjoyed this installment in the series. Please leave a review, but leave all flames to yourself. They are unnecessary and unhelpful to everyone. Thank you for being considerate. Thanks! ~ RK