Disclaimer: Star Trek belongs to the great and powerful Paramount. Not to me, more's the pity.
Blynneda: 27: McCoy, sound like Spock? Where did I go wrong?! lol, kidding. Why did he knock…um, because the setup for offices is different from the setup for quarters? 26: Giant spoons…oh dear. 25: Favorites? I'm flattered. Oops, I did misspell, didn't I? Sorry about that. 19: Spock…bathing suit…heeheehee… 24: You don't like Kirk? Gasp! Don't worry, I never kill reviewers. Although on the other hand, you do fall into the category of 'writer-with-cliffhanger.' Hmm… Nah, then the conclusion would never get written. 23: Sorry. I really am 15, a sophomore, virtually the one representative of Trekdom in my school. They're nice people, but they're sadly lacking in Trek-interest. 22: I did actually try to figure odds out…dunno if I did it right though. I hate math. We all have separate lives…don't we? I hope? I do. Honest. No, really, I do. 21: Drivelize would probably do it. 20: [gawks] You carry my stories around? Wow… 18: Canned pears and psycho biologists…I'll try. Too many chapters to write just now as it is though. I'll get back to you on that one.
Claire: Oops, did I give that impression of Kirk? Sorry, not my intention. I know there's more there. You know what, if you're only up to chapter four, I can see where you'd get that impression. Read farther along. Glad you like these though.
Silverfang: I'm flattered you like this so much. I'll see about Spock and Sarek…I did have an idea about that that never happened…hmm, we'll see.
EmpressLeia: Sounds like me. Online early in the morning. As for the finals, my school's got a weird schedule. Really weird.
Trekker-T: Yeah, the cow probably started walking. Jones has horrible balance.
Caprice: Ookay, then. That was a little random even for you. Must be interesting to have your head on backwards…
Everyone has to make note of this: I did post Wednesday. 6:30 p.m. to be precise, but Wednesday! Before Thanksgiving. Most people probably won't read it until Friday anyway, but it is up.
Hanakin, this what you had in mind? Well, maybe not, but it is kind of based around your suggestion. Thanks!
Chapter Twenty-Eight:
Have a Happy Thanksgiving
Several days after the cow incident, Kirk and McCoy are talking in Rec Room Three:
"Jim, do you realize what today is?" McCoy asked.
"Do you mean the stardate, or how many days it's been since we got rid of Harry?" Kirk asked idly.
"Neither. The date on the old earth calendar."
Kirk thought about that. He'd heard that phrase somewhere, not too long ago… He frowned. "If you tell me it's Friday the thirteenth, I'm walking out of here and I'm not looking back."
McCoy laughed. "No, that's not for a couple weeks. You really have no idea what today is?"
"As long as it's not Friday the thirteenth, I'm happy. So what is today?"
"The fourth Tuesday in November."
"And…that should have some meaning for me?"
"No, but do you know what happens in two days?"
"The fourth Thursday in November?"
"Right!"
"So what?!"
McCoy shook his head in mock disapproval. "And you claim to be from Iowa! Lincoln would be horrified."
"Lincoln…Thursday…what…?"
"Thanksgiving, Jim. This Thursday is Thanksgiving."
"And…why couldn't you just tell me that?"
McCoy shrugged. "Oh, I could've, but…" He waited a beat. "…it's more fun watching you get confused."
Kirk debated with himself. He could get mad. But that was hardly in the spirit of the season. "So the day after tomorrow is Thanksgiving?"
"Mm-hmm. We ought to do something."
"Yeah, we should. How's the tradition go? Lots of food, turkey, mashed potatoes, and so on?"
"I believe it's something like that," McCoy agreed.
"Although on the other hand, have you noticed virtually none of our friends are Americans? Doesn't matter usually, but under the circumstances…"
"So what? Everyone goes in for a big party."
"When you put it like that…"
"Well, we should organize this."
"Yes…you should. I need to get back to the bridge…" Kirk started to leave. He managed three steps before McCoy registered what he'd said.
"Hey, wait a minute here! I should?"
"Well, it was your idea."
McCoy reverted to sarcasm. "Oh, gee, in that case…"
Kirk nodded. "Exactly." He kept walking.
"You're a big help!"
Kirk looked back. "So do what I always do. Delegate."
* * *
Four hours or so later, Kirk started to feel just a little bit guilty for that. Although after all that nonsense about Tuesdays in November McCoy certainly deserved it. He decided to drop by sickbay though, and see if he really had managed to delegate. Turned out he had.
"Some people on this ship are more interested in this sort of thing," McCoy said pointedly. "Didn't take me too long to find some help. Cook claims it's beneath him to cook stuffing and cranberries, but he said we can use the galley." McCoy rolled his eyes. "I swear, that man never makes anything but risotto and osso buko. Gourmet indeed. Anyway, I found someone to do the cooking."
[A/N: did you know the Enterprise had a galley and a cook? I didn't know that either. But I needed a kitchen of some sort. Or rather, I will in a few scenes. And what's a galley without a cook?]
Kirk tried to look innocent. "That's good."
"Yeah…did you know Scotty could cook?"
"He might've mentioned it once or…" Kirk stopped. He blinked. He reviewed what he thought McCoy had just said. "Scotty? Red shirt? Scottish accent? In love with his engines?"
McCoy looked thoughtful for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, that's the one."
"Scotty's cooking Thanksgiving dinner?"
McCoy shrugged. "It seemed a little strange to me at first too, but he swears he knows how to make mashed potatoes and cranberries and what not. Says he picked it up somewhere or other."
[A/N: to be honest, I don't think I've ever heard mention of Scotty's cooking skills…but it struck me as amusing to have our oh-so-Scottish crewmember cooking Thanksgiving dinner…]
"Well…if he thinks so."
"He's practically taken over, actually. Plans to start a menu as soon as he finishes fine-tuning the inertial dampeners. We haven't decided what would be best for the main dish yet though."
"Main dish?"
"Bird of some sort seems to be traditional. Turkey, duck…"
An idea struck Kirk. "Bird?"
"Right, like turkey, duck…"
"Goose," Kirk said with a definite certainty.
McCoy looked puzzled. "Goose?"
Kirk grinned. "I think we should have goose for dinner."
McCoy thought about it. "You know what that is? That's brilliance!"
"I thought so. And if Scotty doesn't mind, I volunteer to cook it too."
* * *
The next morning, McCoy happened to be on the bridge. He was chatting with Spock about the coming Thanksgiving plans.
"So we decided on goose for dinner. Ever had goose, Spock?" McCoy asked idly.
"I am a vegetarian," Spock said.
"Oh right, slipped my mind. Well, that's okay, we'll just make extra mashed potatoes."
Spock looked at him quizzically. "What, precisely, is a 'mashed potato?'"
McCoy blinked. "Well, it's a…potato. That's…mashed."
"That would explain the name," Spock noted. "And does mashing the potato in any way alter the flavor?"
"Not really," McCoy admitted. "A potato is a potato."
"Yes. The reflexive property of equality applied to vegetables."
McCoy had to think back into his Algebra days to follow that one. "Oh. Right. One is equal to one, a is equal to a, and…" He paused. Frowned. "And what has that got to do with anything?!"
"I am simply uncertain as to why anyone would expend energy smashing potatoes when it does not enhance the flavor."
"It's because…because…" McCoy gave up. "All right, so I don't know why either, but everyone does!"
Spock nodded. "Ah. Tradition. Remarkable how illogical activities, when considered tradition, become generally accepted."
McCoy decided it was high time he left. Otherwise he'd be likely to do something entirely out of the spirit of Thanksgiving.
* * *
Thanksgiving morning. Early. Seven or so. Scotty had a problem. He had a list of items he needed bought for the dinner that afternoon. The Enterprise was at a brief stop-off at a colony world. Nothing important, just a stop on the way to their next mission. Shopping could certainly be done planet side. Except that the…well, never mind what, but there was something technobabblish that needed doing in engineering. And Scotty was an engineer at heart. Choosing between the two was no contest.
Walking down the corridor en route to engineering, Scotty flagged down a security guard who didn't appear to be doing anything important. "You, lad, are you busy right now?"
The fellow saluted, and shook his head. "No, sir. Not right now. Something I can do for you, sir?"
"Yes." Scotty handed him the list. "Go down to the planet and buy these things for me. Charge it to Starfleet. Make sure and get 'em in the galley by ten-thirty or so."
"Yes, sir."
Scotty headed on into engineering, congratulating himself on finding a way to get two things done at once. Ensign Jones walked in the opposite direction, reading over the list. He wished he'd asked why the chief engineer wanted cranberries and potatoes of all things. Not to mention item number nine: 'goose.'
* * *
Kirk dropped by the galley about eleven. Wanted to make sure things were getting off to a smooth start. Not to mention see if there were any geese that needed cooking.
What he found was chaos. Plain and simple. Various ingredients were scattered around the counters in the galley, which was what was expected. What wasn't expected was Scotty and Jones standing in the middle of the room arguing, while a—Kirk looked twice before he believed it—while a goose flew overhead.
The arguing stopped very quickly when they noticed Kirk.
"Captain," Scotty nodded.
"Captain," Jones echoed.
"What…why…there's…" Kirk took a breath and started over. "Please…try to explain to me…why is there a goose flying around?"
They both started talking at once.
"This little nitwit bought a live goose! A live one! Whoever heard of gettin' a live goose, I ask ye!"
"He hands me this list, see? And it's got 'goose' on it! So I got a goose! How was I supposed to know he wanted a dead one?!" Jones' defensiveness was making him bold.
"What else would ye cook with?!"
Jones threw up his hands. "How am I supposed to know you wanted to cook it?! All it said was 'goose!'"
"Well if ye'd thought a little—"
"Enough!" Kirk interrupted. "Now, we're not going to accomplish anything by shouting! So let's look at this rationally. It's not exactly pleasant and it'll be a lot of trouble, but there's no reason we can't kill the goose and then cook it, so—"
Jones was appalled. "You can't kill Gilligan!"
Kirk was mystified. "Gilligan?"
"The goose!"
"The goose is named Gilligan," Kirk murmured.
Scotty groaned. "He named the goose!"
"I thought it had a nice ring to it," Jones said defensively.
"Wait a minute, Ensign, I thought you were the one shouting about evil geese a few weeks ago when—"
"That was a different goose. That goose was a minion of Satan. Gilligan is a nice goose though," Jones explained.
"Oh," Kirk said vaguely.
"Oh, that does it! I refuse to cook in the company of lunatics! I'm going back to me engines!" Scotty stormed out.
"Well fine then," Jones snapped. "Come on, Gilligan, we'll eat dinner elsewhere." Jones stormed out. The goose obligingly followed.
Kirk looked around the emptied room, and pondered this question: why was it that, sooner or later, everything that happened on the Enterprise became his problem?
* * *
Kirk was still pondering ten minutes later when Chekov and Uhura happened to drop by.
"So how are the dinner plans coming, Captain?" Uhura asked.
"Do you really want to know?" Kirk asked, looking depressed.
They were mildly taken aback. "Well, that is why we're here, Captain," Chekov said.
"Well…Scotty was supposed to cook, but he left. Jones left too, and took the goose with him. So what we have here is the ingredients for dinner, and no one to cook them."
"We can cook," Uhura pointed out.
"But can you make goose, without a goose?"
"No, but I can make a mean lasagna."
Kirk was doubtful. "For Thanksgiving?"
Uhura shrugged. "Hey, you gotta work with what you've got."
Kirk thought about it. "Well, it'll be different."
"It'll start a new tradition," Uhura suggested.
"Okay, let's go for it," Kirk decided. "How about you, Chekov? Any interesting recipes up your sleeve?"
"I can make pumpkin pie," Chekov said proudly. "It was a Russian inwention."
Kirk decided not to try to argue that one. "Excellent."
"I could go find Sulu. He can probably cook something," Chekov suggested.
"You do that. We'll get started here."
* * *
Chekov came back shortly later with Sulu and Spock both. Uhura was elbow-deep in lasagna noodles and tomato sauce, while Kirk was trying to figure out if he could cook anything with the cranberries.
"Oh, good, more cooks. I don't suppose either of you know anything about making stuffing?" Kirk asked.
"No, but I know this great rice dish with onions," Sulu volunteered. "The ingredients are probably around here somewhere."
"Go for it," Kirk told him. "Let's see, Spock…ever mashed a potato?"
Spock's eyebrow quirked. "I don't believe so."
"Oh. Well, it's not too hard. Potatoes are over there. Peel, cut and smash. Pretty simple."
"Yes, Captain." Spock went to smash the potatoes.
Kirk looked around. "You know, this might actually work."
* * *
It did too. By three o'clock everything was made and out. Everyone was there too. McCoy had arrived early enough to help make gravy for the potatoes Spock smashed. Scotty was convinced to come back from the engine room. Jones showed up a bit late, having gone back to the planet to release Gilligan in a wildlife preserve. It turned into quite a cheerful party even if the usual menu hadn't been followed in the slightest.
"Well, it didn't turn out to be very traditional, did it?" McCoy commented to Kirk as the party progressed.
"I don't know, I think we caught the spirit of it," Kirk mused, looking around. "Good food, good friends. Sounds pretty traditional to me."
Happy Thanksgiving everybody! (Or if you don't celebrate Thanksgiving, have a great weekend anyway!)