"Why are we reduced to learning from fictional films?" Spock asked as he scrolled through the list of titles projected into the air.

The portal he'd installed functioned flawlessly, forming a doorway between their respective rooms on different floors of the ship. It appeared as though the rooms had been designed to be adjoined. With the overhead lights powered off, his room exuded a blue glow from various lights from various power sources. Vida's room, however, which they currently occupied, had a perpetually pink hue. It created an accidental, stereotypical his and hers display.

The room that typically smelled of perfume and flowers now smelled of fresh popcorn- an indulgence from her Earth childhood that she was unwilling to give up.

"For whatever reason weddings are not considered relevant of further academic exploration. We've exhausted the available options in the fields of economics and psychology, however there is a lack of anthropological information regarding 'western' wedding practices."

"A metaphorical artifact of colonialism, I presume. The 'west' performed the research but were unwilling to be studied in return."

"Precisely. This means our data is limited to that produced by them for them for the purposes of entertainment rather than education." Vivian took a cross-legged seat on her bed and reached for the bowl of popcorn on the nightstand. "I would recommend filtration through an AI process to produce relevant learning points, however, in this context, the visuals themselves are crucial."

"Noted." He selected a title and joined her on the bed. "Although I do find the emphasis on visuals disingenuous."

"Elaborate."

"Given that Earth weddings are now exclusively consensual agreements of two or more parties expressing affection, the fanfare seems unnecessary."

"I agree...partially...Unfortunately, I too am bound by cultural and familial expectations. While I would be satisfied with an elopement, my family feels otherwise and would interpret the action as intending offense to them or separation from them. At least on Vulcan, the ceremony includes an action other than involving the government in my personal life."

"A shared sentiment."

"Have I shared with you the messages I have received from my step-mother?"

"No."

Vivian stretched for her tablet on the nightstand to produce the messages, mostly images and suggestions. She passed the device to Spock.

"Luz has a strange sense of humor."

"She is not attempting humor here."

Spock's eyebrow raised at the sight of a comically large, white dress with enough ruffles to surround a land vehicle several times. "I do not intend to make light of your culture...however, such a garment is impractical. It would restrict movement."

"And you wouldn't be able to reach me in the following manner." She leaned forward and kissed him- something that occurred at an exponentially increasing frequency.

"That would be both disappointing and inconvenient."

Fortunately for Spock, Vida hadn't chosen a similar design.

"I do not understand your refusal to meet me in my quarters."

"V, relax," Uhura grinned as she opened the door to the hollodeck. "You'll like it. Just step in...Okay, open your eyes. Tada!"

Vivian opened her eyes and took in the falsified setting. They appeared to be located in a small bridal salon. Racks of white, ivory, and blush dresses lined one wall. The faux front of the building was glass, providing a view of cars passing in a quaint downtown square and occasional foot traffic of shoppers carrying bags and to go containers from fake nearby restaurants. A chandelier hung from the nonexistent ceiling and a marble end table held full, sparkling, bubbling champagne flutes. There was a circular platform surrounded by mirrors in a corner. A blush couch sat in front of the arrangement.

"Surprise!" A small crowd consisting of Christine Chapel, Carol Marcus, and Hikaru Sulu leapt from behind the velvet seating.

"It is not my birthday." Vivian clarified, her eyebrow already ascending her forehead.

"I know!" Uhura shrugged, "But...ok so I don't know what Vulcan traditions are like, but human women tend to go wedding dress shopping with close friends-"

"I do not need to purchase a gown as I have commissioned two from our costuming expert."

"Correct, and they're ready." Lieutenant Theiss, a mathematician with enough flare for the artistic to manage the Enterprise's costuming and uniform needs, peaked from around the corner of what had to be a dressing room. "I hope you don't mind. They haven't seen them yet, but I've got them in here in case you wanted to try them on."

"We want to see! PLEASE V!" Carol rocked on the couch.

"A little sneak peak!" Christine added.

Sulu smirked and sipped his champagne. "You know...it's not like we get to even SEE the Vulcan one otherwise."

V exhaled, "I will provide a demonstration in order to perform the proposed bonding ritual, however, my final decision-making is dependent on the validation of no one other than my own." Once they conceded, she proceeded to the dressing room with the designer.

"Alright, you guys ready?"

"YES!"

She peaked out from the curtains, then moved to step up on the platform as instructed. The dress was strapless, with a neckline once referred to as "crumb-catcher" that formed angular and symmetrical v's surrounding her cleavage which was squeezed upward towards the top. A small, singular band of crystals served as a belt directly under her bust. The buttons down the back and short train were made of similar crystals. The fabric, more structured than a silk or a satin but still shimmery, could've been a lilac, or a silver, or a baby blue depending on the light. Depending on how she stood, multiple colors could be visible at once. It was fitted down to mid thigh, then flared slightly to the floor.

"Oh my God!"

"V!"

The friends collectively gasped, sighed, and made various exclamations. V took a moment to look at herself in the collage of mirrors and nodded with satisfaction. She designed an aesthetically pleasing and structural sound gown, despite not being trained in "fashion". For a moment, she sank into her own mind. The sight of herself in a wedding dress provoked emotion which she did not anticipate. She looked forward to the formal union of herself and her mate and felt fortunate to have found such a match.

"What IS this color?"

"It is multiple colors simultaneously. I chose it to honor the silver of Vulcan wedding gowns. It is structured to be practical and appear appropriate next to Spock's dress uniform. I believe it to be a balance of femininity and professionalism."

"Girl, you do NOT have to justify your wedding dress." Carol finished her champagne flute. "It's fucking gorgeous."

"Stu-nning."

While Vivian did not ask for, nor did she require their approval, she did receive a pleasant sensation in their complements. After allowing them adequate time to profess their love for each detail, she interrupted, "I believe you will find the Vulcan gown...surprising. I warn you that I am using my newfound platform to..."

"Make a political statement?"

Her mouth tweaked, "Propose a new philosophy...or cultural revision...a survival adaptation if you will."

"GO GET IT THEN!"

V turned to Lieutenant Theiss, "Is the Vulcan garment ready?"

She beamed, "Finished it this morning. Back into the dressing room you go..."

Vivian obeyed the seamstress, disappearing once again behind the curtain. She assumed the position of holding up her curves while her attendant undid the buttons down her back and shimmied her out of her gown. Next, next they unzipped the large, white garment bag. A seemingly weightless, forest green material billowed out. It took the two women a moment to separate the fabric enough for Vivian to step into. The A-line skirt was secured at the small of her waist, flowing out over her hips. The bodice of the dress was comprised of two pieces that met in neither the front, nor the back. The fabric was just enough to conceal her chest and wrap around her sides. Beneath her neck, a straight line of flesh ran in between her breasts down to just above her navel and a similar streak of skin was visible down her spine to just above the curve of her buttocks. A similar, but transparent fabric hung from each shoulder, meeting in the middle of her back to form a cape. This piece served as the train, and was conveniently detachable.

If her first emergence was met by applause, this one produced a riot. Her friends shrieked and flailed with delight.

"I thought Vulcan brides wore SILVER." Chapel shared, hoping nobody inquired further as to how she knew that.

"Green is like blood right? Like passion?" Uhura bit her lip, "This is part of your whole 'Vulcans need to have more sex' thing, isn't it?"

"Really Nyota?" Carol rolled eyes, "It was the green for you...not the boobs that clued you in?"

Sulu shrugged, "You know, boobs aren't really my thing but THAT is gravity-defying so bravo."

"Indeed," This time when she admired herself in the mirror, she froze. "Given the...implications of the ceremony...and timing...Displaying one's sexual characteristics is...logical...and productive..." The expectations rushed back to her, causing her to exhale slowly to contain the anxiety. Pon Farr...Its too private to discuss with them...They would not understand the obligations. Their cultural is different. Their species is not threatened. Think of something different- I did well designing this. Spock will appreciate the utility...I hope Sarek is not offended by the messaging...It does not matter much, however, as I will likely only be able to wear it once. Shortly after, my breasts will swell. My abdomen will swell. Everything will become rounder and this would be impractical.

"Earth to V?"

"Viv? You good?"

"Huh?" She blinked and swallowed hard, bringing herself back to the present. "Yes, I am...well...pensive..."

"Cold feet love?"

"My feet are presently a homeostatic and satisfactory temperature."

"Oooof, oh boy."

"Get her a drink."

She wasn't the only one urged to drink by wedding preparations. Just a few days later, the Enterprise arrived at Spacedock Earth. Their formal departure had yet to occur, but a colleague got a head start on the ground near Starfleet HQ.

"Well, I'll be damned." Leonard McCoy stepped out of his taxi and waved it off. The single story building before him glowed with neon signs reflecting off a tin roof into the night sky. Old country music could be heard from the parking lot where a few gentlemen in cowboy hats stood-smoking-TOBACCO?! Public health officials had won the war on tobacco nearly a hundred years ago and now the substance was practically illicit and quite hard to come by. The smell was nostalgic to the doctor, and he didn't even mind the stench coming from the mysterious puddles outside: likely a mixture of beer and urine. "There's a honky tonk in San Franscico...S'about damn time."

McCoy sauntered into the establishment, not much brighter on the inside. Men played billiards at an antique table across the way. Some folks stepped in line on a small, cement dancefloor. He headed straight for the bar and pulled up a stool, his eyes moving to the latest sports broadcast on the screens overhead.

"Heya handsome. What can I get for ya?" A green-skinned cowgirl bounced in front of him, and her chest kept bouncing even after she'd stood still.

"Uh," He blinked, shook his head, and finally made eye contact with her. He asked if they had a brand of beer he remembered from his honky tonk days in college.

"'Course we do darlin'. You want a glass or in the bottle?"

"Bottle, like God intended. Thanks." When the bottle arrived, he rotated the cold, wet glass in his hand. The pop hiss sound of the opening sent the tension out of his head. It was fizzy, yeasty, liquid gold by his standards. He sighed and wondered about what kind of alcohol he could get into in the coming days. Drinking your way through your ex-girlfriend's wedding seemed normal enough...but those damn Vulcans might not even cater booze. He talked himself into thinking of something else, distracting himself, or, hell, just enjoying his newfound hangout.

Cheers from the TV caught Leonard's attention, "Shit!"

The man a few stools away smiled and shook his head, "You are not a fan?"

"Not of them, no." He responded, turning to the new stranger. The man had silver in his hair, slicked back, and well-groomed facial hair. His skin was tan, his eyes were dark, and his voice had the slightest accent to it. The doctor couldn't tell if it was southern or south of the southern border. Something about the man was odd, maybe even familiar. Then again, Starfleet HQ was only a few miles down the road. He would probably recognize a lot of people in the area. "Are you?"

"No. I don't spend a lot of time keeping up with sports," He took a drag from a Churchill sized cigar. "I only watch my local teams." As he named a couple, McCoy perked up.

"Texas huh? I'm from Georgia myself." His eyes caught the label on the cigar and drew him in further, "Say, s'that a CUBAN?"

"No, I'm Mexican." The man gave a hearty chuckle and continued sarcastically, "You mean the cigar? Yes, it's Cuban."

"My God man! I haven't seen one of those since I was a kid!"

"Hard to come by these days, I'll admit. I don't smoke...often..."

"Me neither. Unfortunately, those black lungs they show ya in med school really shook me up."

"Really?" He smirked under his mustache, "They still show those?"

"Wait- naw, you're a doctor too?"

"Geneticist. And you?"

"I'm a Starfleet physician, so lots of space madness and combat wounds...Now, I don't think I caught your name, sir." McCoy motioned towards an empty stool closer to the geneticist, to which the man nodded. As he took his new seat, he extended his hand. "Leonard McCoy, nice to meet ya."

A tanned, wrinkled, but somewhat manicured and surely strong hand shook his back, "Alfonso Vida, a pleasure."

His eyes bugged and he kept shaking for a beat too long before turning back to the bar. His vision zeroed in on the wood grain. "Out of curiosity...Dr. Vida...you wouldn't...happen...to be in town for a wedding...would you?"

"Actually, I am." Alfonso answered proudly.

"Yep," He groaned, "That's what I was afraid of." He took a sip to avoid eye contact and ended up almost finishing his drink.

"Starfleet, ey? You wouldn't...happen...to be crew member of the Enterprise, would you?" Clearly, he teased the younger man's intonation.

"Mhmm."

"Perhaps you know my daughter, Vivianna. Well, Dr. Vivian Vida she goes by."

McCoy felt his pulse in his head, "Yes sir, I believe I do." He suddenly found himself unable to make eye contact with the father of the woman he'd shagged against the shelves of a custodial closet. "We...work together. We're friends...I'd like to think. I mean I'm in the bridal party and all that...She's..." His voice trailed off for a minute, "Man she's really something. Smartest person I think I've ever met, well, other than maybe Spock...They're uh...well-matched in that regard."

He agreed and went on to explain that he saw their similarities. "I understand...to a degree...They're both half-Vulcans genetically ...but he's...MORE Vulcan. He grew up there. That is his culture. She has the same blood, sure, but she was raised on Earth. That is HER culture. She's more HUMAN. Our human family is LATINO, we have spice and fire and PASSION." He finished his umpteenth drink, his accent becoming stronger with each one. "Her mother was Vulcan she...was so distant and cold- like a robot sometimes. Vivianna, if she goes to stay on that planet, will she be accepted? Are they going to judge her or welcome her? I'm her father, I worry you know. I'm happy for her if she's happy...but sometimes...I gotta be honest, I wonder if she would not be better off with a human."

McCoy nodded along, "Mhmm."

"And...hey...Somebody like you-"

"Excuse me?"

"You like good beer, cigars, music. You're from the south like her. You're a doctor like her. You two could have been a good match, maybe."

He exhaled slowly and returned his attention to his newest beer, staring down the golden bubbles. "Yeah you're tellin' ME." He whispered as his mouth found the neck again.