41. Are You Challenging Me?
*** As many of these themes seem to inspire darker fics, I am making an intentional attempt at levity. As a result, some of the characterizations might be…stretched.
"Are you challenging me?" she asked sharply from across the table, her voice carrying enough to draw the attention of several nearby tables.
Spock froze, his cup of tei halfway to his lips. He glanced uncomfortably around the room, then back to his table companions who, unlike the others present, at least had the decency to avoid all eye contact. Spock took a moment to set down his cup, perfecting his controls. "I merely pointed out a biological fact, Doctor Chapel."
"Is that so?" She rolled her water bottle agitatedly between her palms. "Sounded like a challenge to me. Leonard?"
"Oh yeah!" Bones added, eagerly ganging up on the Vulcan. "'Thems fighin' words', as we'd say back home."
"Nooo. Spock wouldn't do that, would you, Spock?" the admiral asked him, looking up to meet his gaze, his eyes glinting with humor.
Spock looked at each of his companions separately until understanding dawned. "It was not my intention to either fight or challenge our co-CMO, Admiral." Spock shook his head good naturedly, willing to team up with his commanding officer against the medical staff. "Let me rephrase. Your physical and academic accomplishments this past Standard solar year have indeed been impressive, Miss Chapel." He allowed himself a small pause, satisfied to note the mollified expression on her face and the disappointed one on McCoy's. "For a human," he added, allowing a hint of disdain to his tone, "and a female one at that." He accepted a surge of satisfaction when their reactions indicated his attempt to provoke was successful.
McCoy guffawed. "Dead man walking," he muttered softly.
"Compared to what, Mister Spock?" she demanded. "To a Vulcan? To you, perhaps?" She put her bottle down and folded her arms angrily over her chest. "And my 'accomplishments' would mean what to you? Merely average? Subpar? Child's play, perhaps?"
Spock heard her foot tapping against the floor. "There is no cause to compare yourself to me," he chided, mimicking her posture by folding his arms as well. "And it is illogical to state that which we both already know."
Her eyes burned with a blue fury. "We'll have to see about that, won't we?"
Spock shook his head. "As I already stated, I am not challenging you-"
"*I* am challenging you, Mister Spock!" She stood up, pointing a sharp finger at him. "Kuhlaya!" she declared.
His eyes widened, the native word striking home in a very primal way. "Indeed," he said enigmatically.
"Wait," Kirk interjected, "this looks like it's getting a little too serious. It was just a joke-"
"A challenge has been issued, Admiral. And it will be met." He met the doctor's eyes. "I hope you learned more about the kuhlaya then its pronunciation, Miss Chapel." He noted the doubt creep into her eyes. "Traditionally the terms of skiltor would be declared before a challenge is issued or accepted. In this case, I see no reason to delay for formalities. You may consider your terms, if you should win, and tell me tomorrow."
"Fine," she said flippantly, then spun on her heels and strode from the mess hall.
Kirk released a deep breath. "I don't know if this is a good idea."
"No harm shall come to either of us," he promised.
"She looked angry."
"Ya know," McCoy scratched his chin contritely. "I probably should have mentioned this before, but Christine will be giving you your physical tomorrow."
**~~**
Spock entered sickbay to find Doctor Chapel standing in the exam room doorway, waiting. She silently pointed to a table. Spock complied, removing his outer tunic, and took his place on an exam table. Christine pulled over a rack from which hung a pouch. She then placed a connected band around Spock's right arm then pressed a switch which discharged the hypo, pushing a needle into his vein to begin the blood collection process. Some of today's collection would be used for routine tests, then rest preserved for an emergency blood supply.
Spock watched his fluids flow into the clear tube and up into the collection bag, then went back to watching the doctor.
Checking that the phlebotomy machine was running correctly, Christine picked up a data PADD then flipped on the bio-monitor and began taking down readings.
'The silent treatment?' he pondered, pressing his lips together thoughtfully. He wondered if he was supposed to take initiative to break the silence first, or if conventional protocol was to honor the preference for silence. He was never good at such Terran games.
"Is the silence significant, Miss Chapel?" he sighed, giving up.
Her mouth twitched just a fraction, then became serious again. Her eyes met his as she shook her head in the negative.
Spock's ire was up. Now he knew she was doing this to intentionally provoke him. He felt the needle withdrawing from his arm and a moment later the phlebotomy machine beeped, indicating it was finished. Christine laid the PADD across his legs to tend to it. He waited until she had completed her tamperings with the blood and was turning back for her PADD, then he casually lifted his left leg a few inches in the air, upsetting the balance of the PADD. She lunged to catch it, but was too late to prevent the PADD from clattering to the floor. She looked at him, alluring blue flames shooting his way, and her mouth tightening in preparation of the tongue lashing she would give. Spock raised an eyebrow in victory, but he was to be denied. Just as suddenly the flames ebbed, and her tightened lips spread into a benign smile. She picked up the data PADD and made some notes, then returned to flipping through the screen on the bio-monitor.
He pursed his lips thoughtfully. "If you wish to withdraw from the kuhlaya I would accept it," he taunted. She shook her head resolutely. "It would be understandable, and probably wise." Again, she only shook her head, continuing to make her notes. "And no doubt less humiliating."
"We'll see who's humiliated when I beat the pants off you!" she snapped.
"Indeed?" Spock pushed himself up so he leaned back upon his elbows. "And now that we know what you want if you should win, allow me to state my terms."
"That's not what I meant and you know it!" She smacked him on the chest with the PADD. "You're a horrible person," she said playfully.
"Surely not?" He pretended to consider the matter. "No, in fact my mother has frequently informed me I am rather terrific."
"She's biased. You can stand up now. Just a couple of inoculations and you can go."
Spock got off the table and pulled on his tunic while she prepared his injections. "My mother is a very intelligent woman, and quite logical – for a human. Plus she has known me much longer than you…I believe I will have to accept her assessment over yours, Doctor."
"I'm shocked," she deadpanned, holding up two hypos for him to see. "Ready?"
"Certainly."
She smiled wickedly. "Good, then drop your drawers and bend over."
There was an extended period of silence while they just stared at each other. "I receive my injections in the arm, Doctor Chapel."
"These injections have to go into a muscle, but it's up to me which muscle it goes into."
"It is just as effective in the arm, and much less…uncomfortable."
"True. Irrelevant, but true." She smiled at him again. "Come now, Mister Spock, we both have work to do." When he didn't budge she became serious. "If you would like I could have my co-CMO verify--"
"No need. He would agree with you whether you were correct or not." He turned toward the exam table, and bent over, leaning his arms on it.
"Pants down, please."
"The hypos can go through clothing," he objected.
"The hypos can go through the tunics, they are a thin material. The pants are too thick for the hypos to shoot through. Do you need assistance?"
Spock glanced over his shoulder at her, noting her too-pleased expression. "Not at all," he said, then pulled down his clothing to uncover his buttocks – both layers of clothing.
"Oh," she gasped in surprise. "I only meant the pants-"
He inwardly reveled in the blush that suffused her cheeks. "I would not wish to hinder the process, Miss Chapel," he said, turning back to face in front of him.
She gathered herself, physically as well as mentally. "Very well." She walked up behind him and pressed the cold metal against his flesh, enough to chill him, but not activate the hypo. "You see, Mister Spock," she said and pressed against him.
Spock tensed against the injection, even though he had been expecting it. It was a mistake. He closed his eyes to concentrate on keeping his muscles relaxed to minimize the pain from the injections. He shook his head in dismay when he felt her move to the other cheek for the next one.
"I don't need to win a bet you get your pants off."
Once she had given the second injection, which he was pleased to note he did not move a bit, he turned his head to look at her. She was still pressed against him, her face next to his, waiting for a reaction. Spock allowed his eyes to blatantly roam over her, then he slowly lifted an eyebrow. "No, you don't." He was again rewarded by another blush.
"I want your asenoi."
"My…" It took him a brief moment to realize she had used another Vulcan term, not a Standard one. She wanted his meditation pot he kept in his quarters. "Why?"
"I think it's neat." She stepped away from him, cleaning up her supplies. "If I win, I want it."
Spock pulled up his clothes before turning in her direction. "That particular one is a family heirloom. I could get you-"
"Then I guess you'd better not lose then, huh?" She glanced over her shoulder at him and raised her own eyebrow saucily.
He wondered if he revealed as much emotion when he did the gesture. He hoped not. "Very well. You have yet to ask what I am demanding if I win, however."
She turned around, crossed her arms and leaned back against the table. "Do I look worried?"
His eyes lit up with amusement. She was a brash one. "Very well, Miss Chapel. We can begin this evening, after our shift."
"I'm looking forward to it, Mister Spock."
"As am I, Miss Chapel," he said as he left sickbay, walking slightly more stiffly than when he came in.
**~~**
"Spock!" Christine stormed into lab 4 where Spock stood next to one of his subordinates reviewing the project in front of them.
"Miss Chapel," he greeted cooly, stepping over to an empty part of the lab, where they would have less chance of being overheard – if they were speaking at normal volume, that is.
"There are six cell counters on this ship, and your team has every one of them tied up!"
"My team is involved in many different projects."
"So is mine, and I have a very sensitive project going on right now and need one of those cell counters. This can't wait."
"Then I suppose you will have to count it manually."
"Manually?! That would take forever."
"Then it is fortunate you can still sit for extended periods of time in comfort."
She gasped, her mouth opening in surprise. "Oh….Spock…. Revenge is such a petty emotion."
He stiffened and crossed his arms.
"And at the expense of scientific discovery too." She tsked.
"Very well," he relented. "I will see that a machine becomes available within the next half hour."
"Thank you." She leaned closer and lowered her voice. "And I'm sorry I hurt your tushy."
"It *was* rather unprofessional of you," he chided. "Of course, that had nothing to do with the cell counters being used at such a critical time for your Lathergian experiment."
"Hmm…of course not."
"Besides," he quickly moved ahead. "I would not wish to give you reason to avoid our challenge this evening."
"Oh, that's right! How does this whole thing work, anyway?"
"You challenged me," he pointed out. "You do not know?"
"Well, I gather it's a series of competitions of some sort."
"Yes, some involving logic and academics, others involving sport or physical competitions of some sort. I assume you wish to compromise on what tests we shall take rather than using the traditional Vulcan tests?"
"That would seem fair."
"Very well. My choice for tonight is a test of logic. I have already reserved and prepared two computers in briefing room 3 for us to use. The test will begin very elementary and become more complex as you move though it with correct answers. Whomever gets further into the program within one hour will be deemed the winner."
"Got it."
"And your choice?"
"Hmm…" she looked down, her lips pressed together in thought. "Basketball." She looked up for his reaction.
"Basketball…"
"Do you know it?"
"I know it involves throwing a ball into a suspended hoop. I will have to learn the rules before this evening. No matter, I accept."
"Great! It'll be half-court, eleven score wins, 1:2 point system, winner's outs. Does that sound okay to you?"
"It sounds like gibberish to me." She laughed. "Meet me in briefing room 3 at 1530."
"Be there or be square!"
He frowned at her, his head tilting in his typical puzzled expression.
"Never mind."
~~**~~
Chapel dribbled the ball, pivoting on one foot as needed to keep Spock at bay. He had whupped her earlier, but she had expected that. After all, the man had been studying since birth. She wiped at a string of her brunette hair, pulled back in her now typical pinned-up fashion, but her exertions had pulled several strands loose, which now clung to her slightly dampened skin. "Nine to five, Spock," she taunted him.
"I do not require a synopsis, Doctor." He faked a lunge at her, hoping to upset her rhythm to make her lose the ball.
She neatly pivoted away from him and took off toward the hoop to make another lay-up with Spock trailing behind her. She let the ball bounce unattended while she smiled smugly in his direction. "You are slow, you know that?" She took a moment to catch her own breath. "I never realized how slow Vulcans ran."
"The mean temperature is 148 degrees on Vulcan. We run as little as possible." He retrieved the now quickly decelerating ball. "It is again your ball," he held it out to her.
"How'd you get through the academy moving that slow?" She took the ball and they moved to their starting positions.
"Star Fleet does not require running speed, only stamina. Vulcans have excellent stamina."
"Is that stamina?" She faced him, noting his completely dry and fresh appearance – despite being fully clothed in his uniform. She wiped her sweaty palms on her running shorts. "I thought it was stubbornness."
"Do you think it logical to be so verbose when you are already winded, Doctor?"
"Okay," she relented. "Ten to five. One more point and I win."
"Understood."
Feeling cocky, she took the ball and jumped into the air, attempting a long shot. Spock jumped, his stronger legs and greater height working to his advantage, and easily caught the ball. He spun toward the basket, but she ran around him, putting herself between them. He began a slow and awkward dribble, watching her wearily.
He lifted the ball and quickly lifted onto his tip-toes as though preparing to make a similar jump shot. When she jumped up to intervene he drove past her, accidentally brushing her and knocking her off balance in his haste to gain as much distance as possible lest she catch up to him. He heard a commotion behind him but ignored it, his concentration solely on getting that ball to the end of the court. Once he was in reasonable distance he stopped, easily making the throw to put the ball through the hoop. He immediately retrieved it and turned to find Christine, curious that she had not interfered in the least during his execution.
She was on the floor, on her back, watching him with a bemused expression.
"That was called a 'pump fake'," he explained.
"You read about that earlier today, did you?"
"I did. And since I threw the ball before reaching that line, I score another two points."
"You knocked me down!"
"It is a hazard of the game."
"I'm a girl!"
"You are an opponent." He walked over to her and held out a hand to help her up.
She glanced at the hand, then up at him. "You have a real issue with competitiveness. Not very Vulcan of you."
"Quite the contrary," he dropped the ball and reached down to grab her arms, hauling her up to her feet. "Competitiveness is strongly encouraged on Vulcan. It pushes everyone to excel."
"Hmmm. Get your ball, hard-ass."
Spock moved to comply, but as soon as he turned his back to her he felt a hard slap to his sensitive gluteal muscle. He stiffened, sucking in air through his teeth. He heard her giggle and turned back to glare at her.
"I forgot. I'm sorry." Her continued laughter negated any attempt at apology.
He strode over to her and grabbed her arms, pushing her backward.
"It's a traditional – friendly -- sports gesture," she stammered.
"So is this." He placed a foot behind her and pushed her over. She gasped and grabbed into his arms as though afraid he would actually push her to the ground. He lowered her down gently, moving with her. Once she was on her back he quickly grabbed her legs and pushed them upward, rolling her up, then leaned his weight against them. He heard her breath leave her, and watched her face redden as she began to pant.
"What are you doing?!" She attempted to kick him off, but he used his size to his advantage.
"Vo'ek-pukan," he explained. "A traditional part of the kuhlaya."
"Get off me!"
"Dap-lan-pa," he taunted.
"I can't breath!"
Spock lessened his hold just slightly. "Of course you can. You could not yell at me if you could not breath. Dap-lan-pa," he repeated.
"What does that mean?!"
"You are supposed to reply dap-pan-pa."
"Then what happens?"
He tilted his head in a shrug. "Then I release you."
"Oh this is childish!" She struggled under him, to no avail.
"Of course it is," he agreed. "The kuhlaya is a children's game."
She stopped struggling. "It is?"
"Yes. Now, dan-lan-pa."
"Dampenpa!"
He frowned and shook his head. "Your pronunciation was atrocious. You can do better."
"Spock!"
"Say dan-pan-pa."
She took a deep breath. He could sense a growing anger in her, but she squashed it down. "Dan-pan-pa."
He got off her, rising to his feet, then held out his hand again to assist her up. She ignored him and got up on her own. She took several deep breaths and smoothed back her hair.
"So, this is a kid's game, huh?"
Spock nodded, reaching out to brush a stray tendril behind her ear and allowed his fingers to linger. He used the opportunity to brush against her mind as well, hoping her previous anger had abated. He was pleased not to sense it anymore.
"So what should I have said? Kal'I'fee?"
He quickly pressed his fingers against her lips, silencing her. He shook his head. "Never use that word. In fact…I would strongly caution you against using any Vulcan verbiage until you are certain of its meaning."
She stiffened. "It means challenge," she said defensively.
Spock took a step closer, his tone hushed. "It does, but you will notice that many Vulcans words appear to have the same meaning, but each one has a specific usage."
He dropped his hand and looked down where the ball sat motionless. "You have only one point to go. We can play, or I am willing to concede this round."
"Why? The score is seven to ten now. You have a chance at winning."
Spock shook his head. "Highly unlikely. Assuming, of course, that you did not intend to make further arbitrary attempts to score?"
She grinned sheepishly. "No. That one didn't work out so well for me."
"Then you win this round, which makes us tied overall."
Christine grabbed a small towel she'd left by the wall and wiped her face and neck. "So what's next?"
"For tomorrow I will bring the fu and the pleenok. Both are puzzles. Each play is different. They are used as teaching aids for children and as relaxation aides for adults. If you check the ship's libraries you will find sufficient information about them, including demonstrations."
"Ah, ok. Let's see...since this is a kid's game we're playing I will choose…cat's cradle and a color cube. You will also find ample information and demonstrations in the ship's library."
Spock nodded, saying nothing as they left the gymnasium to head to their respective quarters. He would consult the ship's library, but only as a refresher. Amanda had played cat's cradle with him frequently when he was a child.
~~**~~
Spock came into the mess hall and procured his usual tei and kreyla from the replicator and made his way to his fellow senior officers. The admiral and Mr. Scott were looking at a PADD, deep in a technical discussion on warp cores. Doctor McCoy sat slumped forward, leaning against a propped-up hand beside his cup of coffee, in an apparent slumber. Doctor Chapel sat across from him, stirring her own beverage absently. She noticed his arrival and smiled up at him. Spock took a seat next to her.
"Why does he not retire to his quarters?"
Christine shrugged.
"Have you made your selection yet?"
"Hmm…no. Not yet."
Yesterday had concluded in another tie. Spock had won the color cube, getting all the like colors grouped together on each side of his cube in the time allotted, but had been disappointed by his loss at cat's cradle. He still remembered all the proper techniques, but he had underestimated how the large difference in his digit size would affect his performance. He had also won the fu but Christine had surprised them both by winning at pleenok. Of course, Spock did point out that oddly enough the device seemed to pick quite simple puzzles when it was Christine's turn compared to what Spock pulled up, but chance did play a role in pleenok.
Kaiidth.
"Yo-yo?" Christine suggested.
"I do not know what that is."
"Oh…really? Well…never mind then. It wouldn't be a fair contest."
"Chess, perhaps?"
"Do I look stupid?" She reached to a now empty table beside them and took someone's fork. "The problem we have here is we each pick contests we have a good chance of winning at."
"Of course."
"Which is why neither of us pulls ahead. Can you hand me the sugar cubes?"
Spock reached for the dish of miniature sugar cubes near McCoy and placed them next to Christine. "We could each choose a certain number of activities and have the computer randomly select one." He watched curiously as she placed the fork, prongs down, horizontally in front of her, then placed her spoon atop it, perpendicular, with the concave end toward her and the handle end now propped up by the fork.
"We could," she shrugged, "but you might as well just have it randomly select a winner."
"Then what do you suggest?" He watched her place one sugar cube on the spoon, adjust the utensils a bit, then press quickly on the propped-up spoon handle, sending the sugar cube sailing through the air over McCoy to land on the floor. She grimaced then began adjusting the utensils again. "What are you attempting to accomplish?"
"I am attempting to catapult a sugar cube into Leonard's coffee." She placed another cube and sent it off, smiling broadly when it landed on the table near the cup. "That was pretty close."
"Your trajectory is off."
"Yeah, I figured that out…when I missed," she said sarcastically.
"I could do it. Easily."
She stopped and slowly looked in his direction. "Is that so?"
Spock assessed the table and nodded.
"Best two out of three then? Winner gets their prize."
"One moment." He got up and walked over to the replicator area, then returned with his own spoon and fork in hand. He moved his chair right beside hers and took a seat. "It is my turn."
She held her hands up, palms out. "Have at it."
Spock studied the table, the distance and the angle, then hefted a sugar cube in his hand experimentally. He set up his own catapult, placed the cube on the spoon, then carefully fingered the handle, getting a feel of the weight. Making a few more adjustments he launched his cube. It sailed quickly across the table, bouncing against the cup's rim and fell to the table. He pressed his lips in dismay.
"That was real close!" Christine exclaimed. "Now…watch a pro."
Spock raised an eyebrow at this, but she did not seem to notice. Christine made more adjustments to her spoon, then launched her cube which soared neatly into McCoy's cup.
She pumped her fists in the air in silent victory. "Your asenoi is mine!"
"As your people would say, Miss Chapel, do not count your domestic poultry before they emerge from their hardened ovums."
Christine shook her head, bemused. "None of my people would say that."
Spock looked up from his work. "I am quite certain it is of Terran origin."
"Take your shot, Spock."
He made some more adjustments, then examined his set up. Satisfied, he glanced quickly in her direction to ensure she was watching then pressed his spoon handle. The sugar cube lifted high into the air. They watched, mesmerized and appalled, as the cube's trajectory became apparent. Christine gasped just as the cube bounced off McCoy's forehead before ricocheting into his cup.
Spock watched, eyes wide, while McCoy startled, snorted loudly then settled back against the table's surface, murmuring something incoherently. It was another moment before he could tear his gaze away, satisfied he had not been caught in a sweetener assault.
He looked to Christine. Her back was to him and she was doubled over on her chair. Further inspection revealed her hands clamped tightly over her mouth, her face red with her effort to conceal her laughter. He placed a hand upon her shoulder to get her attention.
She sat up, breathing heavily. "I can't believe you did that!" she exclaimed in a hushed tone.
"It counts. You claimed no rules to indicate otherwise."
She shook her head. "That was great. That would be worth losing the whole competition for."
Spock picked up his tei, swirling the now tepid liquid in his cup. "If you are offering surrender, I accept."
"Surrender? Never! Not when I'm this close to winning."
"No closer than I."
"Next one in wins." She raised her hands, flexing her fingers. "Shoot…my stuff is moved."
Spock glanced over the rim of his cup. "Unfortunate."
"Did you move my stuff?"
"Of course not." He set his cup down, folding his hands casually on the table in front of him. "That is no doubt a consequence of your earlier emotional outburst."
She sighed loudly and began setting up her catapult again. "Shoo-ot," she mumbled to herself. "He's got a big advantage now."
"I know," Spock said smugly.
She chewed her bottom lip nervously, adjusted then readjusted her catapult. Spock waited patiently. "I don't suppose you'd give me a test shot?"
Spock shook his head.
Christine sighed. "Okay. Here goes nothing…" She rested her finger against the spoon handle, took a deep breath for courage, then closed her eyes and quickly pressed down.
Spock watched the cube's journey impassively. "Hm," he grunted.
"Was I close?"
Spock shook his head. "Not at all."
"Really?" Christine opened her eyes, her mouth dropping in dismay. The cube had barely made it halfway across the table. "How'd that happen?"
"The placement of your spoon upon the fork," he explained. "The distance between-"
"Just take your turn!" She leaned against the back of her chair, folded her arms over her chest, and crossed her legs, her foot bouncing in agitation.
Christine's foot kept brushing against his thigh as it bounced, but he ignored it as inconsequential. McCoy's earlier disturbance had caused him to shift the position of his cup, so Spock had to compensate in his own adjustments. He was concentrating hard, estimating the distance with the weight of his cube and the angle, but he kept finding himself more aware of Chapel's touch than he had intended. 'How does she not notice it?' He tried shifting his position but could not escape the reach of those infamously long legs. "Miss Chapel…"
"Hmm?"
"Are you attempting to seduce me?"
"What?!" Her bouncing ceased. "Of course not. Why would you say such a thing?"
"Is not brushing a foot against one's leg a form of Human seduction?" She still looked confused, so he looked pointedly at her foot.
"Oh!" She blushed. "Sorry."
He went back to his catapult, his concentration restored. Satisfied with his calculations he prepared to launch his projectile when a sudden and bold phalangeal caress caused him to jump. His cast an accusing glare at Christine.
"Oops," she smirked, then her mouth dropped open in shock.
Spock looked back at the table. He could not find his cube anywhere. "It went in," he surmised.
"Shit," she uttered under her breath.
"I win."
She nodded reluctantly. "So what do you want?"
The corner of Spock's mouth lifted slightly. "Come to my quarters with me."
Her eyes widened slightly. "What?"
"Accompany me to my quarters."
"When?"
"Now." He stood up and pushed his chair in.
Christine didn't move. "Why?"
"It will become evident when we get there," he said evasively. When she didn't comply he took her by the arm and helped lift her to her feet. "You lost the challenge," he reminded her.
"I know. I just…I deserve to know what you expect as your winnings."
"Yes, and if you recall I attempted to state such before we began. You were not interested."
"Spock…"
"Do you think I would hurt you in some way, Doctor?"
She looked down, abashed. "No, of course not."
"Then…" his eyes glinted with mirth, "Miss Chapel, attend."
He turned on his heel and left the mess hall without awaiting her reaction. He was nearly out the door, and beginning to become concerned, before he heard her following him.
~~**~~
They entered Spock's quarters, the rooms darker and much hotter than anywhere else on ship. He took a moment to pour them each a drink while he allowed her to acclimate.
"Spock…" She took the glass from him and took a small sip. "I just want you to know I wouldn't have taken a family heirloom from you."
Spock nodded but did not comment.
"It was just…you know…bravado. Competitiveness."
"Indeed," Spock finished off his own drink in one large swallow then began mixing himself another. "Vulcans do not engage in such."
"I figured." She took another drink, a larger one.
"Would you hand me my robe? It hangs on the wall beside my bed."
Christine glanced into his bedroom and spied the robe. Seeing he was occupied she went in and brought it out to him. "Here you go."
"Thank you." Spock took the robe, draped it over his arm then topped off her glass. "I shall return momentarily. Please, make yourself comfortable."
She watched him enter his bathroom then allowed herself a deep, nervous breath. "Yeah," she whispered. "Right."
When Spock emerged he was clothed in nothing but his robe, in one arm he held his dirty but neatly folded clothing, the other hand held his boots. "I typically place my own clothing in the laundry chute, and select each day's outfit personally." He placed his dirty clothes into the chute, then moved into his bedroom, leaving a very puzzled Doctor staring after him. "Doctor," he called out to her.
When she entered his bedroom he gestured to his opened closet. "As you can see I prefer my items organized by type, with the freshly laundered placed to the left, and each day I selected the right most article from each category."
"Why?"
This caused him pause. Wasn't it obvious? "So that each piece gets even wear and less unnecessary washing. It makes them last longer."
"Oh…"
"My boots, likewise, are returned to the closet on the left." He did so with his current pair and pointed at the neatly lined row of footwear.
"Fascinating," she said dully.
Spock glanced at her sharply, her tone not lost on him. He pressed the switch that would close his closet door and turned his full attention to her. "At precisely 2315 each evening, like tonight, I have tei and kreyla served to me. The tei should be hot, the kreyla not."
"Why are you telling me this?"
"Do you recall at Starbase 12 we had a significant number of crew transferred off, and most of their replacements will not arrive until we reach Starbase 27."
"I know. I'm down a couple orderlies and a nurse."
"My yeoman was one of those who left." He took a seat on his bed, his gaze traveling around his room, lingering upon his desk. "I prefer my desk remain untouched by anyone other than myself. I am certain you understand."
"Wait…" Christine paced a bit, her mind racing. "You expect *me* to replace your yeoman?"
"Until we reach Starbase 27, yes, with a few accessory duties, I think."
"I am the CMO of this ship!"
"Then these duties should not be beyond your abilities."
Christine resumed her pacing, shaking her head in disbelief. "Are you trying to humiliate me?"
This raised Spock's eyebrow. "I never considered a yeoman's position to be a humiliating one, Miss Chapel." He watched her pace some more. "Are you refusing?"
She stopped, staring at his wall, her toe tapping. She took a deep breath, held it, then let it out all at once. "No," she declared, turning to face him. "Putting away some laundry, tidying up, bringing you a snack…not too bad as far as these things go. I'll do it."
Spock gave her a single nod of approval. He turned on his bed, lying out flat on his back. "Lights down to 25%," he ordered, and the computer compiled.
"Going to bed?"
"Not yet. I always mediate before retiring for the night. Most Vulcans do."
"I see. Then I'll leave you alone." She started out the room.
"Do you mediate, Doctor Chapel?"
She turned back toward him. "No. I don't."
"It is most helpful, but it does require a certain degree of relaxation to accomplish adequately."
She hesitated a moment. "Okay…"
"A foot massage is an effective technique for inducing relaxation."
He heard her laugh. When he looked over she was standing in the bedroom doorway, watching him and absently chewing her bottom lip. "Okay…what the hell." She came to the bed, lifted his legs, then sat down, placing his feet in her lap.
Spock settled back against his mattress, his eyes closed peacefully while he enjoyed her ministrations.
"You have nice feet," she complimented.
"Thank you."
"They're large."
Spock cracked an eye open to look at her. "Is that significant in some way?"
She grinned. "Some people think so."
"How so?"
It was difficult to be sure in his red lined bedroom, but he thought she may have blushed. "I don't think you can meditate if you're talking."
Taking the hint he closed his eyes again.
"Do you really make your yeoman's do this?"
Spock was surprised to realize he was closer to slumber than he had thought. "No. I have never asked, and no self-respecting yeoman would do such a thing."
Her hands stopped. "Then why did you ask me to?"
"I am curious to see how far I can go until you refuse me."
He became instantly roused when she twisted his toe painfully in retaliation.
~~**~~
Christine walked briskly down the corridor, the hot beverage burning her even through the stone Vulcan mug.
"What are you doing?"
She glanced up at Uhura, paused in her own doorway and watching her in complete befuddlement.
"Nothing." She stopped, trying to look nonchalant while her mind screamed in agony.
"Stop your fooling," she stepped out of her quarters leaned against the wall. "You think I don't notice what's going on across the hall from me? Especially that one's door. It so rarely sees visitors." She sauntered over and glanced into the cup. "Vulcan tei served in a Vulcan stoneware mug." She lifted the cloth covering the flatbread and peeked underneath. "And kreyla."
"Ny, it's not what you think."
"You haven't a clue what I think." She pulled a small piece off the bread and popped it into her mouth. "But for the record, I know it's nothing…"
"Inappropriate?"
"Honey, in my opinion *that* would be entirely appropriate." She finished chewing. "But I know it's not that. Half the time you're in there he's not, except for this little…" she gestured to the food, "ritual, and you're not in there long enough with him for anything exciting to be happening." She smirked. "One would hope." She became serious again. "I just don't get why you're doing it."
"It's really silly…"
"Try me."
"I lost a bet."
Uhura nodded thoughtfully. "With Spock?"
"Well, obviously!" She grimaced painfully. "Can we talk about this later? This mug is scorching me."
Uhura took the offending mug from her hand, holding it precariously around the edges. "What was the bet? Not that little sugar tossing thing you two were doing in the mess hall a few weeks ago?"
"You saw that?!"
"Hon, half the room was watching. How often so you see your Vulcan First Officer and CMO flipping food at a fellow senior officer?"
Christine couldn't help but laugh, and Nyota joined her. "Yes, that was the deciding contest."
Uhura laughed again, hard, hissing when she accidently slopped some of the scalding beverage over her fingers, but even through that she laughed.
Christine smiled. "What? Why is that so funny?"
"Cause he never won!" She continued her belly laugh.
"What!"
Nyota nodded. "That last shot he made…it went way wide. You guys didn't notice?"
Christine thought back to that moment in the game. She had glanced away, for just a moment, when Spock had turned toward her. Neither of them watched the entire thing, but… When she looked back it was gone, and nowhere on the table, and his previous shot had been *so* close… "Are you sure?"
"Positive. I can bring you at least twenty other witnesses to, if you want. When he got up and left so suddenly afterward I thought he was in a snit or something."
Christine smiled broadly. "Ny, I love you!" She took the mug back from her. "You're the best!" She slid past the communication's officer and slip into Spock's cabin.
Spock was sitting at his desk, removing his boots. "You are late," he chided.
"Yeah, about that…" As she moved closer he finished removing his socks, tucked them into his boots, then set them out in her path to deal with. Christine kicked them carelessly toward the bedroom. "I just had the most interesting discussion with Nyota in the corridor."
Spock tore his gaze away from his boots and back to the Doctor. He took his mug from her, sipping gratefully at its warmth. "Indeed?"
"Uh-huh…" Christine flipped the kreyla onto his desk, the impact flinging crumbs all over the surface.
"What are you doing?" he snapped, brushing off his desk.
"Seems like our little game of target in the mess hall did not go unnoticed. Apparently several of our crewmembers watched the whole thing, Ny included."
"Is that supposed to explain your behavior in some way?"
"No." She headed off into the bedroom. "But this might. As it turns out that last shot you made did not land in McCoy's cup. You missed!"
Spock got up and leaned against his doorjamb, his brow rising in surprise. His boots and socks were still strung hazardously across his floor, but now they were joined by hers. Christine lay upon his bed, on her back, her feet bare. "Is that so?"
"Which means you didn't win!"
"We both agreed at the time that I had."
"I can go get Ny if you don't believe me."
Spock shook his head. "Not necessary. I do believe you."
She grinned and snuggled into his mattress. "I'm on my feet all day, Spock. A couple weeks' worth of massages will do me wonders."
"No doubt, however, even if we accept the premise that I did not win, it does not change the fact that you also did not win. We remain at a tie."
"My services do not come free," she said sharply. She lifted her foot and wiggled her toes at him. "You owe me."
Spock entered the room, picking up the discarded footwear and stacked them against the closet door. "And you demand I reciprocate in kind."
"Yep. Ya know…I've never had a yeoman. CMO's don't get one."
"Nor have I ever been a yeoman."
"This should be interesting."
"Indeed."
"Then you agree?"
"It seems I have little choice in the matter."
"Good." She closed her eyes, a gentle smile gracing her lips. "Spock…attend!"
THE END