They walked into the officer's mess to more applause. McCoy released her and T'Phol took another bow. People began moving forward to greet her. He stepped back and watched her for a few minutes. Uhura appeared beside him and took his hand, giving it a quick squeeze. He raised a brow and she patted his arm.

"Just checking. Go get something to eat, and don't be a wallflower." She moved into the crowd, laughter and hugs following her as usual. Uhura was popular and gregarious, as well as kind, gorgeous and brilliant. People naturally gravitated to her and she would usually be found at the center of the group.

McCoy turned to Scott, who looked about as thrilled with the prospect of mingling as he did himself. "Come on, Scotty. Let's see what's on the menu."

The food consisted of assorted canapes and fruit and vegetable platters, and a dessert table along with various spritzers. They both filled a plate and navigated to the corner out of the flow. He had not eaten since toast at breakfast so he finished his plate rather quickly. Scott picked at his a bit, then tossed most of it away uneaten. McCoy chuckled. He did not mind eating lighter fare, but Scott like his meat and heavy carbohydrates. The engineer held up the flute of sparkling water and shook his head. "Tis nae a drink, either," he said ruefully.

"This menu has been tailored to the Vulcan palate," McCoy told him. "You can grab something later if you must. You've put on a pound or two. It wouldn't hurt you to eat more like this."

"An' it wouldn't hurt you to have a plate o' black pudding, eggs, and neeps and tatties. Yer as skinny as a snake. But I might be able to find a wee drop of something to liven up the punch." He patted the sporran hanging from his kilt.

"Home brew or Scotch?"

"Not only is it Scotch, but it is Scotch from my stash of old reserve. After all, it's a special occasion."

"It's tempting, but I think I'll pass this time. Hold the thought, though."

Scott watched the doctor's eyes follow T'Phol and nodded. "Aye, I see. Yer keeping a clear head for T'Phol. I dinnae blame ye for that. Lassie is sweet on you, ye ken?"

McCoy's head snapped around to look at Scott, but there was no duplicity there, just the gentle fondness that was his friend's hallmark. He sighed. "Maybe you're right." He tugged on his shirt collar. "Or maybe I'm being a fool."

Scott frowned. "Nay, why would ye think that?"

"What would she see in a cranky old guy like me? But..." He shrugged. "She enjoys my company."

"Aye. And ye enjoy hers. Nothing wrong with that." His eyes narrowed. "Yer sellin' yerself short, Len." He drew himself up straighter. "And we are not old. O' course, ye are older than me."

"By a month and a few days. Doesn't count."

"Aye." Scott nodded and turned up the glass of water, finishing it. "I am not old, so you are not old. Now you get it." He gestured toward T'Phol with the empty glass. "That bonnie lass has taken a fancy for you. What have ye to lose?"

"Gentlemen, gentlemen." Uhura was approaching, looking a bit peeved. "I asked both of you to circulate and not hold up the wall all night. But here you are, stacked in the corner like Spican flat slats. You're wasting all this handsome on each other. Come with me, please." She took Scott's empty glass from his hand and set it aside, taking his elbow and holding out her hand for McCoy to take the other arm. "I'm claiming Scotty for the evening," she said to McCoy, "but don't worry. I'm sure you won't be lonely."

Uhura led them through the room and into the group surrounding T'Phol. She and Chekov were discussing the merits of Russian composers as Sulu, Chapel, M'Benga, and a couple of nurses looked on.

"Rachmaninov was compelling as a character as well as a composer," she was saying to Chekov. "Dark, brooding, passionate, and he dearly loved and missed his homeland. He also had huge hands. His pieces can be difficult to play. You might enjoy his choral symphony, The Bells, sung in Russian, of course. And his Piano Concerto Number Two in C minor is a thing of beauty. Then there is Tchaikovsky, particularly his final work, Symphony Number Six in B minor."

"Ahhh, brooding and passionate, everything a good Russian should be," agreed Chekov. Beside him, Sulu rolled his eyes.

"According to this one," he said to T'Phol, "Russians always do things first and best."

"There is no doubt Russia has indeed produced some of the finest composers ever heard," said T'Phol mildly. At that, Chekov looked pleased and Sulu laughed.

"Don't encourage this, please. I have to sit beside him."

Chekov punched him good-naturedly in the arm.

"Now boys, behave in front of our guest," Uhura said. She unhooked her arm from McCoy's and gently propelled him forward to stand beside T'Phol.

"Tonight's selection was exclusively Terran. Do you travel off Vulcan now?" M'Benga asked. "I wondered if you find it easier to play to human audiences than Vulcan."

"Terran music for a Terran audience. I am half Earth Human, trained on Earth, playing Earth instruments. I travel to Earth once or twice in a year for some select concert dates." McCoy heard a terseness in her reply, not enough to be rude but still perceptible. He could tell by the tilt of M'Benga's head that he was not finished with the subject. He saw T'Phol's shoulders tense as he wondered how he might diffuse the situation.

But M'Benga was perceptive as well. "Tonight's work was exceptional, and I am particularly glad I was here to witness The Lark Ascending. Congratulations on a performance well done." He took a small step closer, smiling slightly. "I mean that, T'Phol. Extraordinary." McCoy shot a grateful eye in his direction.

T'Phol bowed her head a bit, relaxing, then met his eyes. "Thank you, Doctor M'Benga." She paused. "You may be the only person aboard who has seen me in concert before," she added.

He recognized it for the peace offering it was. "If so, it is my good fortune." He looked at the others. "I have an early shift, so I will bid you each a good evening and pleasant night." He left at his customarily hurried pace.

McCoy went to the refreshment table and got a glass of sparkling water, offering it to T'Phol, who took it, drinking thirstily. He grinned. "Want another?"

"Please." She sipped on the second one as they made a round through the room. "Schmoozing," T'Phol whispered to him at one point. He chuckled. For someone who actually seemed somewhat reserved, she was very good at it, much better at making small talk than he.

Another hour passed as they visited and circulated through both rooms. Eventually the crowd thinned. McCoy was a little weary. If T'Phol was tired, she showed no sign, but when the hall was almost empty she turned to him.

"Have you eaten? I am hungry."

"I had a bite at the refreshment table. Come on, let's get you fed."

T'Phol filled a plate and got another drink. McCoy got coffee for himself and a sweet roll for them both. They sat at a deserted table in the main mess. The gallery crew was clearing the tables as the room emptied. Uhura and Scott were saying goodnight to the last remaining crew members. Then Uhura quickly grabbed a plate from what was left of the buffet and they came over and sat.

Uhura groaned, slipping her feet out of her shoes and wiggling her toes. "This is what three inch heels do for you," she said to T'Phol. "Be glad you don't wear them." She popped a piece of fruit into her mouth. Scott removed a small flask from a pouch and opened the lid, offering it to Uhura. She laughed.

"What are we, plebe cadets?" A pause. "What's in it?"

"My best Scotch," he replied.

"Oh. Well then." She took it from his hand and had a swallow, then offered it to T'Phol. "Here you go. We can pretend we're teenagers ditching class and drinking behind the gymnasium."

T'Phol raised a dubious eyebrow, but took the flask with a slight shrug. "I have never had Scotch. I suppose there is no time like the present." She turned it up, making a face, but swallowed. They each took turns until it was empty.

Uhura and T'Phol ate as the clean-up crew finished and departed, leaving the room to themselves. When they were done, Scott lifted Uhura's feet into his lap without comment and began kneading them. She stretched and sighed. "This has been a good evening." She sat up straighter, looking at T'Phol. "I am curious about something. May I ask you a personal question?"

"It is indeed a good evening. And yes, you may ask."

"Can you tell beforehand that your performance will be extraordinary?"

T'Phol steepled her fingers in a familiar gesture. "Do you mean a premonition or something of the sort? In that case, no."

"Not exactly a premonition, but maybe the knowledge that you are well prepared, perhaps the right audience is primed, and everything will come together like it did tonight. Does that happen every time you perform?"

"Not every time." She took a deep breath, expelling it slowly. "You are referring to the final piece, of course, and not the entire program. Tonight's performance was solid enough, and well appreciated by a very kind and undemanding audience. But it was unexceptional except for Lark Ascending. That kind of response is not common, at least for me. I have experienced it that strongly only once before. In a good performance, the visceral reaction is there, but to a lesser degree. That sort of connection with the audience is necessary to be a successful entertainer of any kind. It is one reason there are very few Vulcan virtuosos within the performing arts."

"But yer a Vulcan," Scott said.

"I am half Human. And I have struggled with expression and involvement, especially early in my career as a child performer."

"I'd certainly call it an emotional reaction," Uhura said. "I think everyone who was there would agree. You definitely made that connection tonight."

"Effusive," McCoy said quietly. "It was pouring out, streaming. I could feel it."

T'Phol looked at him with a sideways glance, then averted her eyes back to Uhura. "I cannot predict when it might happen. Several factors must be present at once. The technical quality of the performance itself is not the only variable. In fact, it may be the least important component. "

Uhura flexed her foot in Scott's grasp. "Ahhhh, that feels wonderful, Dear Heart." She turned back to T'Phol. "You made me cry. Now, that's not so hard to do. But I wasn't the only one."

"I interpreted the score from a composer who is three hundred years in the grave. I was the intermediary, a catalyst. You were moved by Ralph Vaughan Williams. His was the substance, mine the voice."

Uhura shook her head. "Semantics. That was some interpretation. An emotional interpretation. Don't you think the artist has to feel it before the audience can feel it?"

"I think it is reciprocal. You were receptive and willing to be released. Do you cry at movies?"

"Aye," Scott said. "That she does."

Uhura kicked his arm. "You do, too, you big softie."

"In terms of emotional reaction there is no difference."

"I disagree," McCoy said. "Movies are designed to manipulate the viewer's emotions, using both overt and subliminal methods. Watching a movie is a lot more passive than listening to music. Essentially movies are a button pusher. Music incites more brain activity by far and requires more participation, and of a more personal nature. Maybe both can evoke a response, but they do so by different physiology. Music speaks to the brain in a primitive, emotional language. It is processed first in the cerebellum and amygdala rather than the frontal lobes."

"Movies and music differ only in the delivery vehicle and the vernacular. Humans are emotional creatures. Everything seems designed to manipulate emotions from infancy to dotage. Every interaction, music included. Humans are often held hostage by their emotional dependency."

McCoy rubbed his neck. "Manipulation is not the only way Humans exercise their emotions. Nor is manipulative behavior limited to Humans."

"It certainly is not," Scott said with some emphasis. "Ye remember Kang and the energy being that fed from hostile emotion?"

"Over a year ago, the Enterprise encountered a type of energy, possibly a life form, that exacerbated hatred and hostility and facilitated an arena for endless battle so it could feed on the negative emotional energy from us and the Klingons," Uhura said to answer T'Phol's questioning look.

McCoy's face darkened. The aftermath of that incident had proven difficult for him in particular. Coming to accept the fact that he could be induced to feel murderous rage was one problem, forgiving himself was quite another. He shifted in his chair uneasily. "Let's change the subject to something more pleasant. I've heard newly hatched Karthelian thread worms can eat their way through a human's large intestine in less than a minute."

Uhura and T'Phol stared at him as Scott guffawed.

"That elicits a definite emotional reaction," Uhura said. "Mainly ewwwww."

"I think that response could be classified as a gut feeling," T'Phol said drily.

The three humans laughed.

"Nae let it be said Vulcans have no sense of humor," Scott said when he had recovered his breath. "Even if it was a terrible alcohol induced pun."

"Spock has a great, subtle sense of humor when you get to know him," Uhura said.

"Yeah, but he would deny it 'til the cows come home," McCoy drawled. "'It's not logical." He looked at T'Phol. "Maybe he should have a snort of Scotch occasionally. He says his ancestors were 'spared the dubious effects of alcohol'. But I have seen him take a drink a time or two."

"Unlike Spock, I have not quite been spared," T'Phol said. "I have been inebriated before. Never behind the gymnasium, though."

McCoy chuckled. "Well, I have."

"We do not want to hear about that, Len. Some things are better left untold," Uhura said firmly.

Their talk left serious subjects behind and they chatted for a while longer. It was getting late when Uhura stifled a yawn for the third time in a few minutes. Scott looked a little droopy eyed, too. Then the gamma shift engineering crew arrived to begin dismantling the stage to put the mess hall back to normal before breakfast. They got up and waited as Scott had a short conference with them. When he was finished, T'Phol closed the Moog in its box and collected her violin from the stand, putting it in the case, and they walked into the corridor and out of the crew's way.

"I guess that was our hint that the night is growing old," Uhura said. "Thanks for the great evening, you guys." She kissed McCoy on the cheek, then T'Phol. "You'll just have to excuse the familiarity, T'Phol. My manners have been compromised," she whispered.

"It is quite all right," T'Phol answered. "I understand Scotch is responsible for compromising many things besides manners. Good night."

Uhura laughed and turned to Scott. "Would this fine gentleman like to walk me to my room?"

Scott gently beamed. "Aye, Lass, my pleasure. G'night, then." He nodded to McCoy and T'Phol, and put his arm around Uhura's waist. She was barefoot, carrying her shoes and together they walked down the corridor and boarded the lift.

T'Phol watched until the lift took them away. She turned to McCoy.

"Are they involved in a – relationship?"

He turned a palm up. "Sometimes. It's an off-on thing. Most of the time they're just friends. Now? I'm really not sure. The amazing thing is they're able to go back and forth and remain buddies all the time. Two of the finest people I know. I hope they end up together and happy."

"Nyota is very perceptive."

"Yes. She certainly sees through me."

"You are close."

McCoy looked at her, speculatively. "She and Scotty and Jim are more than comrades to me. I love 'em. And Spock, too. But don't tell him I said that."

"Very well. Is there a reason you do not want him to know?"

"He knows."

T'Phol raised a brow. "I do not understand."

McCoy smiled. "It's late. I'll walk you to your room."