Spock is my homeboy. For realsies.

You can now blame my delayed chapters on my best friend Jandi. She introduced me to the world of Manga last weekend, which I avoided before because they're expensive and I'm poor. Now I'm like Sunako's clone, wholed up in my room reading manga. (Is sitting in a dark room surrounded by stacks of manga books) Heh heh. HEH HEH!! BWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!

Anyways, she totally created a monster because now all of my thought processes are in anime art style and I'm drawing anime (which I suck at but I don't care because I like drawing) and I'm starting a "The Gentlemen's Alliance" fanfic and I'm crying because I have no money to buy my own manga (ah the joys of downloading). Seriously, I'm like the worst person when it comes to being completely immersed/passionate/obsessed with fan culture stuff. I go ALL OUT. No joke. I'm like the reason the word "fan girl" was invented.

Okay, enough rambling about manga and anime. I'll write the chapter now (Japanese peace sign with huge smile) *bing!* XD

P.S. Yes, I know I put this on my other story. It was too funny not to.

P.P.S. I don't speak Klingon, so if I got the words wrong, I apologize. I was just making it up. And yes, I know that Grace's professor wouldn't be Klingon, but hey, this is the AU that the stupid Romulans created, so I decided that the Klingons would change too.

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The lift opens up to my room and I walk in, tossing my bag onto the floor. Armas is missing, even though it's almost curfew. I roll my eyes and get myself a drink from the food dispenser. I take a sip of milk and hear the lift doors opening.

"Hi cutie! I just thought of something that rhymes with Spock!"

I turn to glare at Armas, who is obviously drunk.

"Let me guess," I say as I look her over. "Your inspiration had something to do with why you skipped dinner? And why you're wearing someone else's shoes?"

"Har-di-har-har." She snorts and tumbles onto her bed, clutching a bottle of Cardassian wine. Her head disappears under her massive black curls, which always make my brown hair look paper thin. "So what happened with you and Commander Cock?" She giggles at her own joke.

"Spock," I correct while tidying the room. I always clean when I'm nervous or agitated.

"Did you fuck him?" She giggles more and sips her wine.

I throw some laundry down the laundry shoot. "Yes, I fucked him, Armas. And then, I came back here to be with my drunken roommate who might at any second throw up on me, instead of lying blissfully happy in his arms all night."

Silence.

"Is that a yes?"

I open my mouth to retort back, when a pile of laundry on the floor starts beeping. My communicator. I toss clothes everywhere, a few landing on Armas who doesn't even notice, until I find my badge.

"Cadet Fairgrass," I say into it. My history teacher yells at me for turning a paper in late, while Armas starts singing "Silent Night" in Klingon. She can't carry a tune to begin with, and Klingon isn't exactly a good language to sing in, so it's a double header.

"Armas!" I hiss at her while pressing my communicator to my chest to muffle it. "I'm talking to someone here!"

"Oooo-ooooo aaaaahkkkk baaaaaaaaaaaa-OWW!" I cut her off with a pillow to the head. "Haay! Th-sis classc musi-*hiccup* heere!"

"Klingon isn't classic music, stupid!" I gasp when I remember that the professor I'm talking to is a Klingon. I think I just failed my class.

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Thanks to Armas, my teacher sentenced me to helping out with a faculty picnic the next weekend. Translation: serve the food with a smile and I might let you pass my class. Armas didn't get in trouble, but she tagged along to help me anyway.

Most of our professors are not human, so 90% of the lunch food isn't what I would call edible. Armas keeps sticking her fingers in the dishes and licking them, so I keep hitting her hands with my metal ladle and in turn, she tries to pinch me with her tongs. One of us is going to end up with bruises before this lunch is over. My professors expect this behavior from Armas, so they don't pay attention to her. But when they look at me, I get a look like it's all my fault. Thanks.

Our school president, a fat little oopa loompa (I mean "Farn"), says a boring speech before the meal, which gives Armas and me a good chance to file our nails. We whip out our boards and get to work.

My eyes wander, looking for Spock. I haven't seen him for a few days. He's probably avoiding me, the weirdo who can't get her words straight. As if on cue, Spock turns to look at me, showing me his seat amongst the teachers. The corners of his mouth betray a hint of amusement. I'm beginning to understand why Spock didn't purge his emotions. He shows them too easily.

He nods his head in acknowledgement at me, before looking over in Armas's direction. His eyebrow raises at her, making me to wonder what she's doing to deserve an eyebrow raise. I turn to look and find her trying to sneak up on me and pinch me with her tongs.

I swing my ladle at her, which she dodges and ends up landing head first into a pot of something that looks like spaghetti sauce, and my ladle ends up hitting a metal container holding fish juice (what is it with this school and fish juice?), making a huge GONG sound.

Everyone turns to look at us.

I freeze holding my ladle to my chest and Armas re-surfaces from the goo with a sticky red face. Spock gets up quickly and rushes away with a hand over his mouth. Hope he's not going to throw up. This food is so disgusting; I don't blame him.

"LUNCH IS SERVED!" I yell to the faculty, who are starting to look more angry than startled. Although the school president looks quite furious, considering I interrupted his heartfelt (Not!) speech.

Armas walks over to me and licks her lips. "Blood pie." She scoops some off of her forehead and licks it a few times before offering some to me, which I promptly refuse.

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After Spock doesn't return for over an hour, I get some food for him and go searching. I know it's none of my business if he eats or not, but the picnic (for some dumb reason) is being held a few hours away from the school and someone thinks it's cute to make us get back by shuttle. Seriously, shuttles take forever. That's why transporters were invented, nitwits. That's my excuse for bringing Spock food. Armas saw through me. Bitch.

I find Spock lounging by a pond with a huge smile on his face. How is he doing that without breaking his face?? I hide behind a tree to observe and wish I had brought my tricorder so that I can take a picture.

"Hello, Cadet Fairgrass." Spock throws a stone in the pond and gets up, turns to face my direction, and bows formally.

I peek out from behind the tree with a smile. "Hello, Commander." I walk over to him. "I brought you some food. You left so suddenly and we're so far from school. I didn't want you to get hungry." I hold out the case I filled with Vulcan food that I personally replicated just for Spock. He takes it and bows while holding it out to me. Always so formal. Would he be even more hot if he lost control?

Spock coughs. "Please sit with me, Cadet."

"Sure," I reply too fast, as if I expected him to offer and was anticipating it. I start to sit Indian style, then remember my skirt and sit on my legs. God, my legs are going to fall asleep.

He opens the case and stares at the contents for a while. I prepared plomeek soup, Vulcan mollusks and Vulcan spiced tea. When he's still silent, observing the food, I start to worry that I did wrong. Fuck! My perfect chance to impress him and I screwed it up! Nice going, Cadet Blunder!

"I'm sorry, I thought that you would like this food. I'll take it back." I reach out to grab the case and his hand stops mine, holding it in a firm grip.

"It's fine, Cadet." HAND. THREATENING. TO. COMBUST. "I have not been served food from my home planet for many years. I thank you for the consideration." He lets my hand go and picks up the fork I packed. I rub my hand while I try to not watch him. Holy shit my hand feels like it just got dipped in boiling water. The heat moves up my hand and settles in two choice places, which makes me squirm with anticipation. All he touched was my hand and I'm already hot and bothered. Geez. If he ever touches anything else, I'll just incinerate underneath him. He'll be making love to a pile of ashes.

Spock chokes on his food.

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