AN: Ended up writing this when I should have been studying. Naturally, it's the longest chapter to date and still doesn't progress us very far.

Also, something to consider: Given how long Harriet may have been traveling and what she may or may not have had to face in her unknown number of years, is it really all that far fetched to think she may be splintering around the edges?


Part III: Starwhaaa?

Harriet sat crossed legged on the ground, elbows to knees, slim fingers interlocked beneath her chin. Ultimately, she'd had to concede the round. She wasn't sure she ever wanted to play the waiting game with him ever again. Or any game really that involved Spock where she wasn't completely aware of the rules or the boundaries or the pieces or the species or the meaning behind all the different uniforms –

'Why in Merlin's name are they color-coded anyway! Who ARE these people?!' Well, she could actually answer part of that question now, thank you very much.

To begin with, Mr. Anomaly's name was Spock. He was not human. He was a Vulcan, from Vulcan, wherever that happened to be. While he was not an elf (Harriet still had problems accepting this), he was a Star Fleet officer, wearing a Star Fleet uniform. Within this Star Fleet, Spock was a Lieutenant. Lieutenants were some form of junior officer but not Ensigns, although Ensigns were more junior than other junior officers. The three from earlier had been Ensigns, which ranked lower than Lieutenants of any sort but higher than cadets and crewmen. Harriet used this knowledge to deduce the Star Fleet was some form of government sponsored armed service – most likely naval given all the references to Ensign this or Ensign that.

Then there was Spock, who, as it happened, was not the type of person who told falsehoods. No, he had not lied to her. He had not taken her to a lab to be dissected. He had in fact assured her, "carting her off to a lab to be dissected" was against the Star Fleet directive (Harriet felt the air quotes were absolutely necessary, but we digress). Whatever 'the' Star Fleet directive was or was not, being a literal alien apparently wasn't going to be as much of an issue as being an undocumented one. Hopefully, she would get a chance to fix that (the sacrifice of her coffee deserved nothing less).

Moving on, Spock claimed, and currently maintained, that she was "safe" (air quotes!). He, and now others, merely wished to know more about her abilities. If he did not know the nature or extent of her abilities, he could not properly report or reprimand the three Ensigns who were wearing red uniforms. Junior officers and red uniforms apparently went hand in hand – until her trip through the building had also shown her that Junior officers could wear blue uniforms when they weren't busy wearing the red ones. Well, Spock had addressed the male as 'Ensign' anyway.

The material point however was that he had done so shortly after he had brought her to what turned out to be a holding facility. Harriet was quite certain it was a holding facility too. Nothing says holding facility like being led into a room with only one exit and offered a seat in a lone chair and a sad excuse for a bed only for a shield of some sort to spring in place after you take a seat. Definitely what one might at the very least call a 'cell.'

To Harriet's credit, she hadn't walked directly into the holding cell. No, she'd had a solid ten or fifteen minutes of gaping here and there while Spock indulged her (himself in wonder at her wonder) and then gone to the holding cell. Not that she wasn't expecting something of the sort but, Merlin help her the Vulcan's perfectly unaffected manner was infuriatingly misleading. If he had attended Hogwarts, he would have been a slytherin. She was sure of it.

'Green blooded elf.' (His blood had to be green. Upon further inspection, she was sure his skin wasn't itself green, something underneath it was). 'Great, that's even better, he probably actually bleeds green.'

And now he was sipping his tea – TEA – from a seated position in front of her with that completely neutral expression and those simultaneously infuriating and intimidating eyebrows.

Her green eyes studied his face intently. Really, she'd never known how expressive someone's eyebrows could be until she'd met Spock. For the time being though, they were the only things giving away any hints. She decided that while the overall execution of his 'not taking her to be dissected but confining her for further experimentation/ interrogation' was quite brilliant, she didn't care for it. Or the tea – TEEEAAAA – that he so kindly provided for her.

To Spock's credit, he did say he could supply her with tea and a location where she could sit down out of the rain (which she was also ready to concede in full hadn't been very rainy rain anyway). So, once more, she couldn't say he'd lied or misled her. He'd merely withheld information.

'Bloody giant green blooded snake like elf.'

Simply put, Harriet was annoyed, both with herself and with him. She had met non-human, non-magical creatures before. She was even comfortable living with them to a certain extent. He was perhaps the first non-human, non-elf living in an apparently mostly human society she had met, but that wasn't too far fetched. She could adapt. She could even adapt to living in a society based strictly on science. Been there, done that (mostly - avoidance strategies may have factored in greatly).

She was even planning to, ah, acquire a set of those Star Fleet uniforms when the opportunity presented itself to aid in the process. Even though they looked terribly uncomfortable. The female uniform was probably too short to boot too, if the society was truly as liberal as she suspected it to be.

'Why do militaries put their female members in skirts anyway? Sure, no one mistakes you for a bloke but, really, it's not like you can run in those things. Might as well be running nude by the time the skirt hikes up, some o' 'em are so short. What if there's an emergency? Or a surprise attack?'

No, Harriet was more annoyed that she couldn't really stay annoyed with Spock. Of all the other annoying issues presented by her current situation, the fact that she actually admired the Vulcan in front of her was the most upsetting. It implied a lot more than she was willing or ready to deal with.

Spock continued to meet her gaze without wavering. He clearly wasn't in a hurry.

'Must of contacted his superiors when he went for the tea (tea!) or spoke with that Ensign. Well, let's see how this plays out then.'

She was actually fairly certain this whole holding cell nonsense was someone else's idea. Spock seemed more the type to ship her off to a lab as a personal science project than one to lock her away for military grade interrogation.

Besides, while Harriet was admittedly terrible at the tactfully asking questions and patiently waiting for answers game, that didn't mean she was incapable of withholding information – or even, cough, acquiring it without permission (merlin help her, she was going to be doing a lot of acquiring in the near future). Not that anyone needed to know that. Although she was quite sure Spock already knew or suspected as much if those eyebrows were anything to go by.

For the moment, there was only the one question circling in the part of her mind allowed to engage directly with Spock:

'TEA?! Really?! Dear Merlin, he actually went 'n made a pot of tea! Who is this guy?' Okay, that may technically count as two, possibly three questions but no one's actually counting right?


Spock's dark eyes rose from his cup to meet her intense green.

"Is the tea not to your expectation?"

Harriet considered him for a moment more before breaking eye contact long enough to finally accept the cup placed just on the inside edge of the energy field. Her magical senses were still tingling but she was pretty sure it was muggle technology. If her journey through the halls was anything to go by, Spock was the only real blind spot for her. Even then, he wasn't as much of a blind spot as, well, an anomaly. Her magic just felt – different – near him. 'Not quite absent, not quite all there. Or maybe it was there but different? Altered somehow to account for his non-humanness?' She put it down as another issue she would have ponder in more detail.

"Would I be correct in presuming that dosing, spiking, poisoning, or otherwise placing additives or unexpected substances in a drink offered to a confined guest who has yet to threaten you or your territory is also against the Star Fleet directive?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "You would be correct."

'How reassuring.' She pointedly waited a moment before taking a sip.

… It was actually pretty good… and British. So wonderfully, reassuringly British… Not that he needed to know that. [Eyebrow: We do.]

They fell into a comfortable silence that Spock eventually broke a few slow sips later.

"I must presume from your silence that the tea is serving its purpose."

Harriet partially closed her eyes for a moment and made a slight guttural sound, a gesture that would have meant approval at a different time, in a different place. "So it is."

She was, in fact, feeling much better. The feel of solid earth beneath her toes during the walk over had been soothing. The cold floor beneath her and the Vulcan in front of her was not, but the smell and taste of tea from a distant past that she could only just remember was drawing her more engaged part farther away. Once more, there was silence.

"Then if you are rested, we shall proceed." Harriet, half-heartedly drawn back to the present, huffed.

"We as in you and me or we as in you and your superiors?"

The eyebrow was back in play. Harriet idly wondered what kind of workout routine he had it on…

"I am certain –"

"Enough of this." Spock rose smoothly to his feet, clasping his hands once more behind his back, calming making room for the new arrival. "Who are you and how did you get onto Academy grounds?"

Great, ANOTHER uniform.


Spock had to remind himself that this was not entirely his concern. He was, in fact, only earth side because Captain Daniels had ordered him to take leave. In 10 hours, he would take a shuttle to the San Francisco Space Dock, where he would report for duty onboard the Artemis as a recently promoted Second Officer.

The female in front of him however was preoccupying far more of his attention than his mental preparations for his upcoming cruise required.

It had not initially been his intention to make her less inclined to answer questions. He had only wished to ensure she would not run away. While her ability to bypass the Academy's external security problems required attention, her actions thus far were not indicative of an express threat. There was a high probability she was as confused and lost as she said she was. There was also a possibility she did not know or understand her own abilities.

In other words, he was certain she was in need of a medical (and psychological) evaluation.

He had said as much to the officer on duty at the medical center while she staring at one of the displays in the back entrance hall. He couldn't quite understand why he had been directed to escort her to a secure room for dangerous patients when directing her to the care of a physician or xenobiologist would have been the more logical route.

Now however he could see no quick or efficient method for recovering any ground he may have gained by providing her with shelter and tea. Gone was the female that Spock had observed sitting oddly out of place on the curb and the equally odd wide-eyed wonder she had displayed during their journey to the building's secure holding area. In its place was a warrior preparing to go into battle, face suddenly hard, she had quietly continued into the room without complaint, head tall, confident, and quiet.

She had reacted as expected to the tea and he had hoped to use her relaxed state as an opportunity to gain further information, preferably starting with her name. He was particularly intrigued by her lack of knowledge and general fascination with technology. As unfathomable as it was, all the evidence before him suggested she was not only 'confused' but also unaware of how to interact with a computer interface system.

Really, given this and her answers to his earlier questions, there was no logical reason to think holding this conversation in this manner was going to accomplish the anyone's objectives.


"The Lieutenant says you claim to be lost. I find that rather hard to believe. Starfleet Academy is a very well known, highly recognizable name in a very well known, highly recognizable location."

Harriet's only response to the man was to raise an eyebrow of her own (a poor imitation of Spock's) before going calming back to sipping her tea. Spock was one thing, but this, this was entirely different. This was working into a proper interrogation. She wondered how far she should let it go on.

"Are you implying all the Starfleet uniforms you saw when you bypassed security didn't mean anything to you?"

'He has to be some kind of ranking officer. Spock doesn't seem like the type to simply allow someone to intercede in his well calculated efforts.' She didn't doubt for a moment that Spock had been planning out their discussion from the moment he offered to provide her with tea and shelter.

"Why were you attempting to influence Starfleet officers?" He was becoming decidedly cross with her. 'That might be an understatement.' "Are you aware of how your actions can, and shall, be taken?" Harriet shrugged. 'Besides, I wasn't trying to do what you most likely think I was trying to do anyway.'

"If you don't start cooperating, you could be sitting in here for a very long time." 'Growling and speaking, just when I was starting to think how terribly unoriginal he was being.' "You could be facing serious charges with serious consequences!"

Harriet's eyes moved to meet the Vulcan's. For a moment, it felt almost as if, as if she were just on the edge of his shields, as if her magic were attempting to, well not dive into the mind arts, but almost as if they were trying to blend with something. 'But what? Why does it even feel like he has shields? It didn't quite feel like this before…'

Her eyes moved back to the Uniform in front of her, cutting him off before he could voice his next threat. "Could be and am are two very different things." She narrowed her eyes. "Besides, I don't respond well to threats."

The man's nose flared as he grew angrier. "Who. Are. You? It's the last time I'm going to ask." She imagined would be showered in spit if not for the energy shield. 'Hopefully, it will also be the last time someone sends you to do an interrogation. You're pants at it.'

"Good." Her steady gaze lost some of its edge as she smirked. "Your conversation skills leave something to be desired."

Apparently, that was the wrong (or right) thing to say. He stormed off, angrily speaking into some kind of communication device on or near his collar.

Spock was evidently intrigued enough to raise BOTH eyebrows at her. Harriet took it as a compliment. Then she smiled like someone who was about to do something they shouldn't and well knew someone was going to find it irritating.

"So Spocky Pocky," she sat up, grin almost feral, "tell me more about the Star Fleet? Some sort of special naval operations base?" 'They probably think I'm some sort of spy. Well, can't say I've ever really had a good kinda sorta relationship with a government. Why start now?'

His eyebrow, surprisingly, didn't raise but furrowed. [Eyebrow: more like cringed.]

"Your assumption is incorrect." Well, more like it contracted in the slightest of ways. "Starfleet is a deep-space exploratory and defense service maintained by the United Federation of Planets…"

(Spock actually continued on for a bit, no doubt doing a swimming job of recounting Starfleet history. As it is, Harriet stopped paying attention around about the word 'planets')

"Wait – Planets? As in plural?" The more expressive, not seemingly dangerous Harriet was back full swing. "As in, well, you mean Vulcan's not a city somewhere?" (It won't due to stutter Harriet!)

Spock fought to maintain a neutral expression. "No. Vulcan is an M-class planet in the Vulcan system, a little over sixteen light years from Earth."

Once more, Harriet found herself fighting off shock. After everything else that had happened, what was meeting a green-blooded, non-human, not-an-elf alien from another planet? Even made logical sense right? Sure, if she could get pass one teeny, tiny possibly problematic thought:

Actual space travel? As in stars and phasers and space-time continuums and and and and large metal containers that can be left drifting out in the middle of no where for years and years and years until overly excitable men in little blue police boxes that don't exist come and rescue you and and and –

She'd rather to kiss a nesting female Norwegian Ridgeback that was trying to kill her.

Needless to say, she was gone before he could finish.


Prompts: How distracting yet useful italicizing actually is; Military ranks are confusing!; and Harriet had that one possible run in with the Doctor that drove her, and him, mental.