A/N: I know this chapter has taken forever, and I apologize. Real life has been attacking me with a vengeance: I'm working a full time job, school started back up again (and one of my classes is pre-calculus) and I'm in the middle of moving. My beta has also been very busy with real life, so it seemed like whenever I had a free moment she was occupied!

Chapter Nine

They walk silently, side by side, through the ship. Their ears are busy listening for any odd noise, their eyes searching every bulkhead and seam. Kirk is focused, every bit of his energy intent on finding anything that may be amiss. This part of Enterprise is not occupied at the moment, but for an odd crew member leaving or returning from their cabin, so the only noise they hear is the tap-tap of Archie's nails on the smooth floor as he walks besides them. The people passing the trio do not interrupt, instead simply nodding at their captain and the chief engineer as they make their rounds.

It's Scotty's job to make regular visual inspections of the ship, to make sure everything is functioning properly in case the sensors miss an important signal. And even though Kirk isn't required to come along, he's made it a point to go with Scotty on his trips through the ship as often as his own schedule allows. He loves the opportunity to see every part of his lady, and is always hoping to glean an interesting tidbit of knowledge from the Scotsman on their rounds; and the engineer appreciates Kirk's keen interest in his ship.

They pass a pair of pretty female crew members, and Scotty greets them happily. Kirk can see Scotty following the two with his eyes, watching as they round a corner and get out of sight. Only then does the Scotsman poke him in the side with an elbow. "Those lasses are fraternizing," he whispers, his eyes large as he states what was obvious from their body language.

Kirk grins, patting his friend on the shoulder, recognizing Ensigns Taft and Olivarez. "Good for them," he replies, using the hand on the engineer's shoulder to turn him back to their task. "The crew's so young, they're going to be pairing off, and – wait a second. You're the one who sent up their request to share quarters. Why are you so interested?"

Coughing to clear his throat, the Scotsman allows himself to be led down the hallway once again. "Ah dunno…well. Do ye think they'd mind a third?"

Unable to stop a chuckle at the hopeful note in his friend's voice, Kirk shakes his head. "I'm sorry to dash your hopes, Scotty – but they looked pretty exclusive to me."

His shoulders sag for a moment, leading Kirk to continue with, "But I'm sure you'll find a lovely lass of your own," in an attempt to cheer up his friend.

"Aye, yer right," Scotty says, perking up considerably. "There're dozens o' possibilities onboard, if Ah give it some time."

"Exactly," Kirk replies, giving the Scot's arm a squeeze.

Only then does he notice the absence of nails clack-clacking and the warm presence at his side. Glancing over his shoulder, he sees Archie several meters back, all his attention focused on a particular section of the bulkhead.

Scotty, who stopped beside Kirk, is also staring at the beagle. His eyes shoot a curious glance at his captain. "What's wrong with yer dog?"

Kirk shrugs, tapping on his thigh to get Archie's attention. The signal warrants a pair of warm brown eyes looking at him, but then a paw reaches forward and scratches at the metal, a soft whimper reaching the two Humans' ears.

Curious now – Archie's never ignored a command unless there's a good reason – Kirk steps up to the section of the bulkhead that has gotten the dog's attention. He kneels, all weight resting on his heels, as his eyes shift from the dog to the smooth bulkhead and back again. The Scotsman comes up behind him, an obvious frown on his face.

"Cap'n, Ah think yer wee doggie's a bit touched," Scotty grouches, crossing his arms over his chest. "This section is betwixt cabins – there cannae be anything wrong with the bulkhead, and the only thing there is the vent shaft."

Kirk shoots a glance in his direction, and has to suppress a smile as the Scotsman pauses to inspect the bulkhead, too. Careful, Kirk blocks everything out, and focuses back at the wall, freezing as there is a shuffling of some sort. The presence of a sound, just at the edge of his hearing range.

His eyes return to the dog just in time to see Archie's eyes shift – his point of interest changes several centimeters to the left. The engineer shakes his head, letting Kirk know he doesn't see anything odd.

"Definitely touched," Scotty confirms, and Kirk can see him watching the beagle as well. "Now 'is ghost is moving."

A slight frown between his eyebrows, Kirk stands up straight once again. Tapping on an elbow with the other hand, he turns to the engineer. "Archie isn't touched – he has the best nose I've ever seen on a dog. He must be smelling something through the bulkhead."

The Scotsman grunts, and looks at Kirk skeptically. "Sure Ah believe ye, Cap'n. It's not a ghost yer dog is followin', it's a bodach crawlin' through the vent shaft on its way to suck the life outta yeoman Rand."

Raising an eyebrow at the tone in Scotty's voice, Kirk returns the grunt. Even though he's trying to be serious, he can't help but chuckle at the Scotsman's joke. "I know what I'm talking about here, Scotty," Kirk replies, and then an idea hits him. He takes control of his expression, making it calculated to show just the right amount of speculation – he knows the Scotsman won't be able to resist. "And I can prove to you how good his nose is! I bet you he can find a scrap of dog treat on this ship, no matter where you hide it!"

A shrewd look flashes through the engineer's eyes, and he lights up at the mention of a bet. Kirk grins, crossing his arms over his chest. He knows he has Scotty's interest now.

"Ah highly doubt that – Ah know some right impossible hidin' spots, what with fiddling with the ship all the time," Scotty attests, virtually inflating as he boasts.

Secure in his confidence in Archie's abilities, Kirk counters with, "I'm sure you do, but they're no match for my dog."

"Then let's make this interestin'," the engineer replies, calculating in his head. "If'n the dog ken find my treat, next time we're in port, I'll cover yer drinks. An if 'e nae ken find it, then ye cover mine."

Kirk lets his grin widen even further, reaching out a hand towards the Scotsman. "It's a deal."

Shaking Kirk's hand, Scotty chuckles to himself with obvious glee. "And just to satisfy ye, cap'n, Ah'll have one of me techs check the vents later – we donnae want a blockage or summat."

They both continue down the hallway, back to their duties with a joke here and there – Archie trailing after.

(*)

With a contented sigh, he unceremoniously drops his tray on the table and plops down in the chair left empty for him. Scotty, on his right, scoots over a fraction of an inch to give him some elbow room. Kirk watches as Bones gives him a nod, seated across the table, but continues recounting whatever story he was currently occupied with. The Scottish engineer is mesmerized, leaning forward and not even looking at the food he is shoveling in his mouth.

One of the doctor's hands flails wildly, as he gets involved in the scene he's describing. With a grin, Kirk turns to Bones' left, to find Spock focused on the plate of vegetation in front of him.

"What's he got Scotty so caught up in today?" he asks, watching, fascinated, as the Vulcan cuts the tuber into small precise slices.

"Even though both men were present, they are discussing the outcome of the poker game we participated in Thursday evening. Apparently, the doctor is still unable to comprehend the results," Spock recounts, and he sounds relaxed even if he's not actively participating in the discussion. There has been a noticeable thawing in the relationship between Spock and Bones. Kirk wonders if it's because of his confession regarding his feelings for his First, as ever since then the doctor has made an effort to reduce his antagonism towards the Vulcan. From what he's able to tell, it seems to have helped quite a bit – they still take jibes at each other on a regular basis, but there isn't the hostility beneath the words that there used to be. And it's not just Bones and Spock; his entire senior crew is clearly starting to develop some deeper bonds, and regarding each other as more than simply colleagues.

Kirk chuckles and inserts himself seamlessly into the conversation. "Still can't believe it, Bones?"

His friend turns his attention to Kirk, shaking his head resolutely. "No, I can't! I never knew she had the capability to bluff like that!" he says, with an appreciative smile.

"I still can't believe that she'd pulled off that huge win against Sulu," Kirk adds his own admiration of her skills. The only ones that had not been surprised at her total sweep of the table had been Chekov – and Spock. Kirk glances at the Vulcan seated next to Bones, and grins. "I bet she learned her poker face from Spock."

One elegant eyebrow rises, and the Vulcan blinks slowly at the silence that suddenly engulfs the table.

The Scot is the one to break it. "Now, if'n ye know some tricks t' help, ye best be sharin' 'em, Spock," Scotty says, his voice almost a whine. "Ah've been losing an' losing, and Ah need a safe bet – that's why Ah started the bloody poker nights t' begin with!"

"I assure you, Mr. Scott," Spock replies, setting down his fork to address the engineer. "That any knowledge that I have regarding this pastime has been garnered from literature easily accessed through the ships databanks. Any skills demonstrated by Lt. Uhura are the products of her own abilities, and are not the result of any assistance on my part."

Laughing, Kirk picks up his sandwich and takes a bite. "See, Scotty, he can't help you with that and he can't help you find any better hiding spots for treats, either," he says around the mouthful of food. As he expected, Archie hadn't had any difficulty finding the hidden piece of cookie. Kirk is looking forward to their next stay at a planet, and an entire night of free drinks.

"Hiding spots for treats?" Bones cuts in, his eyebrow rising at the odd comment.

"A bet Ah thought was safe," Scotty grumbles, shaking his head. While his voice is pitched to sound disgruntled, there's a smile in his eyes. "The cap'n's dog is a wee bit touched – the bogey led 'im right to my hidey-hole."

A set of delicate hands place a tray on the table next to Bones, causing all four males to glance up at Uhura. "That's not fair, Scotty – it's not Archie that's touched, it's his master."

She smiles warmly at everyone, and sits down. Picking up the apple from her tray, the conversation continues while they eat. Kirk starts on his fries, watching her thoughtfully with a slight crease between his brows. The only one who he doesn't seem to be getting closer to is her – there's a sense of aloofness in her interactions with him that isn't present when she talks to anyone else. He thinks he knows why it's happening, can understand her reaction to the closeness that's been developing between Spock and him.

He's asked for Bones' opinion on the subject, as the doctor is closest to both of them – besides Spock, who Kirk certainly doesn't want to discuss this with. Bones had basically agreed with him, that he had to have a talk with her about it – but Kirk still can't find a time, or place, to broach the subject. Sighing to himself, he leans forward and snatches the cookie off Bones' plate. When the doctor gives him an angry glare, Kirk grins and takes a huge bite.

"Damn it, kid," Bones grumbles, a hurt look on his face. "I was looking forward to that!"

Talking around the mouthful of cookie, Kirk says, "I can see why. It's delicious." Then a thought occurs to him, and he pauses as he stares down at the cookie. "This isn't replicated, is it."

"No, it's not," Uhura murmurs, reaching across the table and plucking the remains of the cookie out of Kirk's hands. "And it wasn't intended for you – I made it for him."

Scotty is suddenly occupied with eating what's left of his food, and Spock remains silent. Kirk's mouth moves for a moment, but no words come out. It's quite obvious that she did something sweet for Bones – and he messed it up. He gulps, and then tries again. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

A snort from Bones, as he retrieves the cookie half from Uhura. He inspects it for a moment, and then takes an experimental bite. "Probably gonna get some kinda weird STD from finishing this thing," he grouches, and he's still chewing when he addresses Kirk again. "When do you ever think, kid? How often do I eat sweets?"

Before he can respond, an appreciative look settles on Bones' face, and he stares down at the cookie in surprise. "This really is good. No, it's great!"

Kirk holds back the response he was contemplating, watching as Bones smiles at Uhura, genuine happiness radiating from him in a way Kirk has rarely seen.

"Really?" Uhura asks, all signs of annoyance disappearing as she smiles up at Bones. He nods enthusiastically before taking another bite, all his focus on the cookie.

An elbow bumping his right forearm catches his attention, and Kirk turns to give Scotty a questioning glance. The engineer grins at him, murmuring under his breath. "Tha' were a close one, lad."

Nodding, unable to disagree, Kirk decides to change the subject to a safe one. "Hey, guys. When are we going to hold the next poker night?"

"I have gone through the schedules, Captain," Spock says in his low voice, and Kirk shifts so he's facing the Vulcan. "And it appears that Thursdays at 2000 hours is the only time of the week we are all available simultaneously, barring any unscheduled shift alteration."

Kirk can't help but grin, a flush of warmth spreading from somewhere in his belly at the thought of Spock spending the time to figure that out. He must have enjoyed himself even more than he let on. "Thursdays it is then. Do we want to have the games in the rec room again, or in one of the conference rooms to make it more private? I vote conference room, so we can let our hair down – like we can't in front of the junior crew."

"While I concur regarding the privacy offered by the conference room," Spock replies, his brows drawing together infinitesimally, "the only member of your senior crew who has hair to let down is Lt. Uhura. And I am unsure how her doing so would affect the junior crew."

His mouth spreads in a grin, and he chuckles. "It's just an expression, Spock – it means we can relax and be ourselves."

"But, Captain, who else would we be if we are not ourselves?" An elegant eyebrow rises, and Scotty chuckles at Kirk's elbow.

"He's just teasin' ye, lad," the Scotsman answers, popping a piece of fried potato in his mouth. "An' I agree t' the conference room." With the rest of the table's consent, it's agreed, and for a moment there is silence except for a soft exchange between Uhura and Bones.

"What do ye have there, lass?" Scotty asks of Uhura during a lull in their conversation. There's an undercurrent of curiosity in his voice, and Kirk glances back across the table to see what the engineer finds so interesting.

Uhura has placed a small bag on the table, and at the engineer's question, takes out the furball she purchased at the bazaar. "I'm not sure what it's called in Standard, but I just couldn't resist taking it with me." With her slim, nimble fingers she pulls a slice of bread to bits and places the pieces on the table next to the blob. Kirk watches as it somehow moves itself over the food, wiggling itself as each piece of bread disappears. He thinks it's eating – but the thing doesn't have anything resembling a mouth, so he's not sure how the food is supposed to get inside it. Glancing to Bones' left, Kirk can tell that Spock is staring at the creature with evident fascination.

The engineer seated beside him noticeably stiffens, and Kirk can see a look of horror spreading over his face. "What're ye doin, lass?" he asks slowly, his hand twitching where it lies on the table.

At the obvious worry in his voice, Uhura glances up, puzzlement clear in the tilt of her eyebrows. "Feeding it, obviously."

"And this is nae yer first time feeding the wee thing?" he says slowly, carefully, as if dreading the answer.

"Of course not," Uhura replies, looking up at the Scotsman with confusion in her eyes, "I've had it for over a week – I can't let it starve!"

Shaking his head slowly, Scotty groans. "This cannae be good, captain. The lass has a tribble. And Ah know tribbles – they cannae cause naught but trouble!"

"But, Scotty, it's nothing but a furball. It doesn't even have any eyes or a mouth that anyone's able to see! How can it cause us any problem?" Kirk knows his voice is also colored in bewilderment, as he fails to see anything about the situation that should be causing Scotty worry.

"I had one on Delta Vega. The little buggers replicate faster'n McCoy ken down a pint. They need to be caged, an' nae allowed t' eat," the engineer explains, his eyes on the last bread piece as it disappears.

Uhura rolls her eyes, picking the tribble up and putting it back in its carry bag. "Relax, Scotty. It's been with me the whole time I've had it on the ship, and there's only one of them, so there's nothing to worry about."

The chief engineer is still looking at her skeptically, so Kirk slaps him on the shoulder. Grinning, he adds, "See, Scotty? And if it does start to pop out little ones all of a sudden, I'm sure they'll just be in Uhura's bag and we'll be able to control them with no problems."

Looking Kirk in the eye for several moments, Scotty eventually nods. "Ye have a point, captain. But if something happens, on yer head be it. And ye'll owe me ten bottles o' the galaxy's best liquor."

He gives the shoulder beneath his hand a squeeze. "Nothing will happen, Scotty. We can trust Uhura."

(*)

"Ouch!" Sulu cries, rubbing his sore forearm while he shoots a disgruntled look Kirk's way.

"Give up?" Kirk responds, as he hands over the pencil.

Grabbing the instrument with a huff, the pilot gets a focused look on his face. "Never!"

It's late afternoon, and any thoughts of lunch and furry blobs are far from Kirk's mind. He has beta shift this week, along with Sulu and Chekov, and they've met in one of the rec rooms to hang out before their shift begins.

The young Russian genius is reading a book on his PADD, but keeps glancing up as he and Sulu get progressively more focused. Finally he gives up, setting the PADD aside and turning to his two friends, the intense light of interest in his eyes. "What is zhis, you are doing?"

Easily taking a backseat, Kirk waits for Sulu to answer. Chekov is not left hanging for even a moment. "It's a game all American guys learn in grade school," he replies, trying to act all nonchalant – but obviously excited to bring the Russian into the conversation.

A confused expression appears on Chekov's face. "Explain, yes?"

And then Sulu turns completely around, all focus on the whiz kid. Kirk can't help but grin, not feeling the least bit put out. "You see, you take the pencil and hold it like so, and the point is to flick it against your opponent's forearm as hard as you can," Sulu explains, miming the actions. "Winner is the last one left standing, or the one that breaks the pencil first."

Trepidation replaces the confusion, as Chekov glances at Sulu with fear in his eyes. "Zhe point of zhis game is to break zhe pencil on zhe other person?"

Sulu pauses, considering, before he shrugs – looking decidedly unfazed. "Yeah. I guess it is. But it's fun!"

The Russian seems less sure of the fact. Kirk can recognize the glint in Sulu's eye, and before things can barrel out of control he reigns in the enthusiastic pilot. "The point is not to hurt the other person – not really," he breaks in, showing off the red mark on his arm. "But to hit one spot on their arm long enough where the sting makes them wanna quit. Broken pencil wins are just a big bonus!"

The fear fades, but confusion is still clear in the big brown eyes. "I guess zhat makes sense."

"Here," Sulu says, handing over the pencil. "You were watching Kirk and me just now, right?"

Chekov glances up at Sulu's question, a flush on his face. "Yes, I saw. But…."

"So you know how to flick the pencil properly," the pilot says, offering up his arm. "Give it a try." Kirk notices, with a grin, that it's the arm he hasn't been flicking for the past thirty minutes.

Giving up the cause as hopeless to refuse, Chekov takes the pencil and holds it tentatively in the correct manner. Focused, his pink tongue sticking out the corner of his mouth in concentration, he lines the pencil up with Sulu's arm and lets it fly.

Wincing, Sulu waves his arm to clear the sting. "Not bad, not bad! I think you'll be good at this game, Pavel!"

Kirk watches as a flush – happiness this time – washes over the whiz kid's face, and then fear enters his eyes again as he hands the pencil back to Sulu. But, gamely, the Russian pulls back his sleeve and offers his arm for retaliation. Kirk reaches out and taps Sulu's side under the table, out of Chekov's view, to warn the pilot to go easy on the younger man. Sulu gives him a glance, and a comforting grin, before readying the pencil.

And then he realizes he's an idiot, and never had to warn the pilot. "Now, this should smart, but it's not supposed to hurt. So if it does, just tell me and we'll ease up on you."

In preparation, Chekov scrunches his eyes shut and turns away. Kirk catches the silly smile on Sulu's face as the pilot pauses for a moment to revel – unobserved by the object of his attentions – at Chekov's behavior.

His hunch is definitely definitively correct. If he wasn't surrounded by his crew – and namely, the two members in question – Kirk would be cheering aloud. As it is, he contents himself to a satisfied smile as he leans forward to watch Chekov's reaction.

He loves this game.

(*)

Three hours into his shift, Kirk drops the PADD onto his lap that he's been hunched over all evening, leans back and stretches, feeling a satisfying pop. While there's never a shortage of work for him to do, sometimes he wishes certain aspects of it were a bit more interesting. He's gotten good at the paperwork, even handling the extra load given to him when Spock stopped helping, but he still hates it just as much as he did at the Academy.

The view on the screen has barely changed since he arrived on shift. They are currently on a relatively simple ferrying mission and while in transit, his input isn't needed, so he has little to occupy himself during his shift beyond the paperwork and a couple of regularly scheduled meetings after dinner with two heads of department.

At a whistle from his comm. panel, he punches the button.

"Kirk here."

"Cap'n," comes the familiar Scottish burr of his chief engineer. "We've an emergency situation developing on G-deck. There's some type o' lifeform clogging up the ventilation shafts doon here and Ah'll wage ma dobber I know wha' it is."

He feels his brows draw inward, as he tries to make sense of the statement. They haven't stopped near a planet, and there's no way anything could beam aboard them during warp. It's not possible for an alien lifeform to enter their ship, except – he has a sinking feeling he knows what it is too, but he doesn't want to jump to conclusions.

"Do you have a report on what the life forms look like?" he asks, on his feet in a rush. The Bridge has hushed around them, as everyone listens for the Scot's words.

"I was going tae ask Commander Spock…"

"Mr. Spock," he interrupts the engineer, "if you could –"

"I have recalibrated the sensors, Captain," Spock smoothly interrupts before he can finish his request – something Kirk's only seen him do in emergencies, "and the necessary data has been requested. The computer is compiling a scan of G-Deck to ascertain the necessary information."

Kirk experiences a flash of gratitude that his first officer is a genius, and can anticipate his desires before they need to be voiced aloud. Not wanting to stand, frustrated and twiddling his thumbs while he waits for the results, he strides to the Science Station. He glances at Uhura, who is also on her feet near her station – a look of confusion and worry flitting across her face. He should have listened, should have taken Scotty's warnings seriously.

When he comes up behind Spock, the Vulcan's hands are busy flying over the computer panel, working their magic, pulling up the vital data they all need. He leans over the Vulcan's shoulder, his head right next to Spock's to view the information on the screen as it's compiling.

The adrenaline pumping through his system slows in the warmth of Spock's presence. But he wants more than just the hint that proximity offers. Not caring if he's been patient enough, or who sees, he dares push the boundaries that are slowly dissolving between them.

Staring straight ahead, focused on the computer console and the data Spock is collecting, he moves. Fingers splayed, he stretches his arm out across the broad back before him. Feather-light and ever-so-soft, just the barest hint of his fingertips rest against the strong shoulder. The Vulcan's heat enters him through the five infinitesimal points of contact, pulsing up his arm to merge with the shudder-thump warmth radiating from Kirk's heart.

He freezes as he feels the muscles tense, as an involuntary shudder rolls across the Vulcan's form. And then, to his intense relief and transcendent amazement, the muscles beneath him are made to relax. The shoulders shift back into their normal position as the tension is released, and Kirk has to hold back a cheer of joy.

For his part, Spock has not even acknowledged the hand upon his shoulder – instead, the Vulcan is still intent on the computer display before him, and the schematics that have been pulled up. And the dire news they display.

"It appears there are 392 – correction, 465 and counting – life forms on G-Deck. They are spreading out in a fan as they multiply, and based on their greatest concentration and the radial pattern of their progress, they appear to have originated in quarters G-11A," Spock reports, for the benefit of Mr. Scott. Everyone on the bridge knows that's Uhura's cabin.

"Can you isolate the affected shafts, Scotty? Stop them from spreading further?"

"Not wi'out cutting off life-support doon here. An' Ah'm guessing they've already spread tae F and H decks."

Kirk looks at the Vulcan who nods in confirmation. "Unfortunately, looks like you're right, Scotty."

Relishing the point of contact for just a moment more, Kirk presses his fingertips against that strong shoulder for a heartbeat. Then, stepping back, he addresses his crew. "Right. Spock, you're with me." He glances back at the woman standing alone and anxious at the Communications Station. "Uhura, get an environmental team to meet us on G-Deck. Sulu, you have the conn."

Uhura turns around and sits at her station, executing his orders as Spock falls in on his right side.