Author/Pre-Chapter/Note: I did my best, KHAAANN! Read onwards.

((()))

Technical Difficulties

Chapter 18: Of Picnics and Parlance

((()))

She kept going back to her computer and checking her contacts and messages. Yes, Roger Korby was still there, newly minted into Chapel's extremely limited list of close contacts. No, he hadn't sent her anything yet.

Every few minutes, she would sit back in her desk chair and flick on the screen. There were no changes, and she would stand and go do something somewhat productive like cleaning the sink or making the bed or folding the laundry or looking through outfits. Then she would lose interest halfway through and return to the computer. This was the stuff of teen-angsting, hormone-raging, love-struck girls.

She hadn't felt like this since high school, and that was quite a long time ago.

When Chekhov's email popped up, she was filled with hope that quickly got punctured and sagged into disappointment. But she opened it, read it, and typed up a quick rsvp in reply.

Who else as coming? Looked like the other invites were to Nyota, Janice, Hikaru, and Riley. She would be able to tell Nyota and Janice all about it.

It being her date.

With Roger Korby.

Did she mention she had a date?

Chapel went back to fussing over what she was going to wear.

((()))

The blanket ballooned in the wind as Bones flapped it into the air, settling lightly onto the fresh green grass of the science quad. Sun glittered on the windows surrounding them, making an unexpected light show of flashing colors and patterns for anyone who lingered long enough to see it. He set his large basket off to the side, which was so full his purchases were spilling out of the brim.

Bones tumbled easily onto the patchwork, feeling the scratchy grass underneath the cloth bend from his weight. He looked up into the sky, which was surprisingly empty of any transports or satellites. It was just blue. The purest form of blue Bones had ever seen, right there. He closed his eyes and listened to Scotty hum into the still air, breathing warmth into the drab atmosphere.

Rustling in the grass next to the Doctor, Scotty knelt down to examine the contents of the picnic basket before him. He had bought many a meat and the Doctor many a condiment, and it was now time to make a few sandwiches to reward them of their efforts. There was no lid on the basket, so Scotty just started taking out supplies. The plates were a good first choice; the cutting board next, the knife. He carefully placed the bread in the board and sawed through it to make four separate pieces.

In less than ten minutes, he had completed his task in engineering ten sandwiches. Each of them had five stacked on his plate. Bones sat up from his silent reverie at last, pulling out a pack of napkins and two beers from his basket.

"Ready?"

Scotty rubbed his hands together in anticipation.

"Aye, aye, Doctor!"

They chowed down. It was glorious.

The sandwiches were all completely different, made of various meats, cheeses, vegetables, and even fruits. Each had its own individual flavor and meaning, and Bones and Scotty thoughtfully went through them all, pondering on all the tastes and textures with the intensity of professionals.

Bones began commenting on what he thought it all meant, which Scotty enthusiastically responded to. First was the beef cheddar, which was a strong opening to be sure. Bones was pretty sure it represented the vitality of youth and beginnings, with all the power but none of the finesse of experience. Scotty agreed with the idea that the sandwich was a symbol of an authoritative start, but that instead of emphasizing the failings of a headstrong child, it was more about the raw shock of new experiences. Bones could agree with that, though both views had merit.

Second was chicken parmesan and apple. The apple, Bones was sure, represented temptation with its sweet taste and luscious red peel. The combination with the chicken parmesan, a solid and well-worn arrangement, indicated not only having a developing life full of regulation and custom, but also innocently and simply giving into temptation. A temptation that hadn't yet revealed its ugly side, waiting to strike. Scotty chimed in that this particular sandwich following the beef cheddar implied the naïve mind growing in arrogance, believing that it has seen it all and understands everything around it. Even though there is still so much for it to see.

Next, third, was the ham and swiss with various vegetables. The strong flavor that rocked Bones back was obviously the shock of the first exposure to evil and animosity, to the world that was not neat and orderly but wild and violent. In response, Scotty claimed the natural holes in Swiss cheese added to this effect, symbolizing the way the mind had had holes punched through its inflated ego and other half-formed misconceptions. Bones could only agree, and think that the multitude of other tastes, though minimal and overtaken by the Swiss, added to the overall feeling of chaos.

Fourth was meatball and provolone with a dash of oregano and a smattering of olives. This, according to Scotty, was the reestablishment of order through the familiar, through the simplicity of life. After the terror from the ham and swiss, the meatball and provolone served to once again ground the mind in the beauty of the moment, to the core beauty of existence. Bones nodded fervently; with few ingredients and barely any spices, the power of the sandwich was evident in its individual quality in every area present. The olives and oregano that served to add to the sandwich were the sparkles of wonder and glory in a world of simple laws of nature. Truly, this was an affirmation.

Fifth and last was rejoicing: the salmon. The sweetness of the fish boasted its freshness, as the happiness given by true understanding and love was constantly being made anew no matter how old the mind. Different from the blasts like the beef cheddar, this taste was constantly shifting, subtle and wonderful in its wisdom. No bite was exactly the same; the sauces and salmon mixed to make every one a surprising yet familiar and delicious flavor. This was and could only be a celebration of the intricacies of life, and their great mystery and beauty. Scotty said as much, and Bones could think of nothing more to describe its brilliance.

Sighing contentedly, Bones finished off his very last crumb, turning back to his beer and remaining fruit, and slouched back onto his elbows. Scotty was still sitting Indian-style, happily humming once again, some Scots song that Bones had heard on one of those dying-cat instruments. Whaddya call 'em, the bagpipes. Bones hated those goddamn bagpipes with all his soul, but he liked the tune.

Maybe it was the hum that was trickling down through him, but Bones was especially happy, and he didn't bother to tell himself that he wasn't. There was a golden bubble of joy at the center of his being, just there in his stomach, expanding and spreading to his entire body. He didn't know how to explain it better than that. He didn't bother to stop himself from thanking Scotty, "This is a damn good lunch, Scotty, thanks for the invite," and he didn't bother to conceal his smile. What was the point of that, anyway? Hiding things. Scotty didn't care about that kind of thing, so why should Bones?

Scotty beamed back, as he always did. "Aye."

Soon they would have to head back on board the Enterprise and start working again. Probably before the day was over. Where they would slam their noses to the grindstone, both of them, until the next shore leave. But for now, they enjoyed the moment.

They clinked their beers together in an unspoken cheers.

((()))

"Six days," said Jim. "We have six days to get the Enterprise not only working, but to its absolute peak of performance."

He was sitting at a table, in the command position as always, his hands knit together. He was leaning forward intently, trying to get the feeling of serious haste across.

Surrounding him at the table was a gaggle of engineering and labor directors. These would be the people running the repairs for the most part. And Spock was standing right behind him, as always. The two of them made quite the formidable duo in a conference room.

"The missions that my crew takes are impossible without the Enterprise. We need this ship to be a reliable vessel of transport, an able battleship, and a safe environment to live in. When we are in deep space, I need to be able to trust in the solidity of the ship functions to keep my crew alive." Kirk took a breath. "This has not always been the case. There have been multiple malfunctions throughout the ship's functions, malfunctions which have threatened the safety of my people during various crises.

"My Chief Engineer and myself have studied the multiple malfunctions throughout our three years aboard the Enterprise, and have created an list of the most common mishaps. We have also written up an outline of how best to solve those problems."

Kirk held up a PADD. "All of this information is on the PADDs that I have passed out to all of you, and is easily accessible. Please open the file labeled 'Outline' now."

The directors obediently clicked at the PADDs before them.

"In this file you will see that every single portion of the Enterprise has been divided amongst specific directors according to decks for the upper disc, and the remaining parts of the ship will be split among the Engineering sections. Every director will be the leader of six teams which will rotate according to the labor schedule. There will be a various number of different team focuses: Infrastructure, which will focus on repairing the general architecture, Defense, which will focus on preparing the shields and weapons, Lifestyle, which will work on fixing up the quarters, mess hall, restrooms, et cetera, Transport, which will focus on the tranporters, shuttles, shuttle bays, and other forms of transportation, Engineering, which will focus solely on Engineering aspects such as engines and other mechanizations, and finally Outer Hull. The outer hull will be worked on by a series of specialized teams separate from those that are working on the inside. We'll work from the inside out for maximum time efficiency."

Jim paused. "But not only are we going to finish repairs with efficiency, we plan to focus on repairing with exact, total precision. We will not make mistakes. We will not sabotage ourselves by rushing through this job. Instead, everyone will take the time needed to perfect every single damage. This is the fastest scheduled time for any full-wide starship repair ever undertaken. We must work concisely, but correctly."

He looked around to see the faces of the officers he was putting in charge. Many of them were faces that he recognized.

"Is that understood?"

A resounding "Yessir" filled the room in response.

"Good. Now, you all have your assignments. As I talk about the angles that Chief Engineer Scott and I have devised to try and combat malfunction, think about how you could implement them in your designated section."

Kirk scrolled down his PADD. "The first area of concern – the Jeffries tubes. These are between and go through every single deck, from Engineering to common. These are absolutely necessary for intra-ship movements during an emergency, and so they will be the chief focus of laborers during initial infrastructure repairs: therefore, the Infrastructure team of every unit will take the tubes as first priority. We also have some possible design improvements, as created by Scotty, which you will implement at your own discretion. Hallways and turbolifts come next in order of importance for the sake of efficiency.

"Second area of concern – the transporter. This piece of machinery specifically is vital to the success of so many missions that Starfleet itself has lost count of them. This is also a very tricky instrument to fix, use, and really understand. Many times in the event of a disaster, it malfunctions. During these repairs, I want to narrow down the reasons for malfunctions and correct them, as well as making the controls easier to maneuver.

"Third area of concern – communications. I want shipwide communications constantly up and running during repairs. At no time should any crewman be caught without communications, as it is a danger for them to be at any time caught without access to help. If there is a problem, health or otherwise, the officer must relay it. There have been injuries sustained during repairs before, and it will not happen on the Enterprise. Also, during emergencies communications have the tendency to break down and I would like to make it harder for them to do so by once again implementing upgrades to the system. Scotty has devised several new plans for communications, once again found in the outline file. This will be one of the tasks for Engineering teams.

"These are the basic problems that occur on a regular basis – and we're going to do our best to stop them from happening now. Let's look at this repair as less of a hassle and more of a chance to evolve our Silver Lady."

Jim smiled genuinely, and everyone smiled with him.

"Dismissed."

The directors filed out with their files. And it was good.

((()))

Sometimes Sulu really liked being planetside. This was one of those times.

It had been years since he'd been able to fence properly. When the Captain confiscates your foil after you're infected with some alien disease and go 'moderately batshit' on the crew, you lose the privilege of packing a sword in your quarters. As Sulu quickly learned.

He'd called up some Academy friends from the fencing club, the extremely competitive, championship-winning club that he'd been the captain of, and they got together in a gymnasium to go at it properly.

Going into the closet full of supplies was a blast from the past. All of the uniforms, pristine as usual, neatly hung on a rack. Grabbing his size, it was as effortless as he recalled; to slip into the jacket and guards and helmet and gloves. Around him, the team struggled into theirs, most of them finding that the sizes no longer matched. Hikaru was glad they couldn't see his smile under his facemask. He picked out his favorite sword with care, remembering the feel of the handle in the palm of his hand, rolling it back and forth before snapping the sword up and about in a complicated maneuver.

He was still razor-sharp as he had been in the Academy. Testing out his abilities during warm-ups proved as much. All of the skills he'd beaten into himself were latent, waiting for a chance to leap out and strike.

He was ready.

They'd set up a round robin tournament for their pool, where everyone was playing on a lane against someone else. They had an even number of people, and so it was self-called. Everyone was just there to test their long-forgotten skills and have fun with old friends.

And, in Sulu's case, dominate.

His first opponent was a girl who had joined the team as a freshman cadet when they had been mostly seniors – she had never fenced before, but she had a natural gift. She was innocent and cute as well as deadly with a foil in her hand. Her name was Iraj, and had wormed her way into the hearts of everyone on the team.

Sulu, as the obvious senior and captain, said, "En garde." Everyone raised their arms into their positions, fiercely studying the opponent as they tensed.

"Allez!"

Sulu advanced on Iraj with slow purpose, narrowing his eyes in concentration, when –

"Halt!"

Instantly, everyone snapped back to attention. Sulu looked around for the referee, but wait, they didn't have any referees, this was just a pool, and caught sight of the guy who'd stopped them.

He was angry, and standing with arms crossed in the doorway. Behind him was a motley group of cadets, who also looked pretty enraged. Sulu didn't recognize him at all.

"I am the captain of the European Swordsmanship Club, and this space is reserved only for the team!" The angry kid huffed, his face turning red. "Who's in charge of this – this trespassing?"

Sulu stood and unfastened his mask. He pulled it off with one smooth motion. "I am."

The cadet's jaw dropped and his eyes popped.

"Hikaru Sulu?" In response to the name, the cadets lined up behind their captain recoiled in shock. Clearly Sulu's name had its legacy here. And the captain even knew what he looked like; he was obviously a hardcore fan.

Sulu nodded. "That's me." He gestured to the set-up pool. "We're here for a club reunion. Just a regular pool. It'll take at most an hour. That all right?"

"Yessir, we'd be honored to be able to observe it. And, if it's not asking too much, could we even have some matches with you and your teammates afterwards?"

Sulu grinned. "Of course, if they're up to it." He turned back to all his old underclassmen, who were either raising their eyebrows or smirking. He nodded, snapping his mask back on.

With a swish, the foil was poised just so above his head, and his knees bent into position.

"En garde…"

The fencers on the alleys prepared themselves again, tensing their entire bodies and focusing their minds.

"Allez!"

Sulu knew his opponent well, and had sparred against her many times. That had been a long time ago. But still, he saw the rise of her shoulders and the creak of her bones.

He advanced step by step, shuffle by shuffle. Closer and closer, brushing the distance between them with the tip of his front toe.

Fencing was always about the quick response time; there was a lot of slow buildup, lots of gauging the opponent. Then there was the lightning-fast attack – you could miss everything so easily if you bent down to tie your shoes, even if you sneezed. Then it was back to the slow part.

Hikaru's matches had never taken long.

With a snap of his wrist, he dove into the close-quarters space. She had seen him coming, but her parry was too wide, he clanged it aside with the flat of his blade and dragged downwards. Her foil went off to the side, and the tip of his blade cleanly pierced her torso.

Point for Sulu.

Quite a few points later, Sulu emerged as the uncontested, unbeaten winner of the round robin. Even when the current Starfleet fencing team took him on, he wasn't to be touched. Nobody scored on him, not even the captain.

He wrenched off his facemask, and gave a contented sigh. Sulu wiped the sweat from his brow with a towel handed to him by the current manager. He gave her his concise thanks and sat down. Biting off a gauntlet from the fingertip and dragging it off his hand, he checked his messages on his PADD.

There was a message from Captain Kirk, informing the whole crew that the next mission was at the end of this week and that they better get rested up while they could. Sulu knew that they hadn't had much time, but still, a week was really short for the amount of damage they'd sustained. He'd been hoping for more like a month, just to get in some trips around the world or something fun. But hey, Sulu shrugged, he got to fly around the galaxy all the time, so he shouldn't complain. He went back to his inbox.

Spock had sent out a general message about the status of the Enterprise greenhouse, and all the plants within. Sulu looked for his numbers – yes, it looked like most of his section's plants had survived the crash. Good, okay. Any more messages?

Oh, there was one from Chekhov. A nice surprise. Something about a party tonight? Sulu was down with that. He typed up an excited response and hoped it didn't seem too excited. It might seem… too eager? Sulu was always getting too riled up about things. It was a habit he was trying to tone down.

And Sulu liked seeing Chekhov and those guys on leave. A lot. They always had a good time.

He stood, cradling his mask under his arm. Doing some unconscious sweeps with his sword.

Time to get cleaned up.

((()))

Scotty was running around the ship, whistling as usual. He had a massive backpack of tools and handy supplies, and really, all this running around with this much weight on his back was sure to get him in quite a nice shape, he was sure.

There were teams up and down every single hallway, every single station, every place Scotty could imagine. There was professionalism every which way you looked. Most of the officers were building up the scattered remains of the metal beams that made up the structure of the ship. Scotty's job wasn't exactly on the same level as that, but every so often he stopped to lend a helping hand on the way to his next job.

He was expertly flipping though wires that were mangle-tangled all through a Jeffries tube, his next job to be on the transporter, when he caught sight of the Doctor and the Doctor him. He smiled and hopped out of the gash in the side of the hallway to address him properly.

"Doctor," grinned Scotty.

"Scotty," grunted Bones. "How's it goin' down here?"

"Ah, yea. Smooth enough, Ah suppose. Got any pressing needs, Doctor?"

"Well, I'm getting Sickbay restocked, but really I need to get a helluva lot of the machines in there fixed up right. Figured I'd go to you."

Scotty creased his brow, the grin disappearing under a light frown. "Ah have direct orders to take th' transporter as me first priority far naew…"

Bones' head did not drop a bit, and his shoulders did not sag. "I know it's pretty busy down here, sorry for imposin'. Just send some men up when you get the chance." He turned to get back to the turbolift before someone else called for it.

"Oy, oy!" Scotty caught his shoulder. Bones turned around with wide eyes.

"Ah've some tahyme t' spare – " Scotty paused. " – Doctor."

Bones did not suppress a smile.

"Y'know, you don't always have to call me Doctor, Scotty," said Bones as they walked down the hallway together.

"What should Ah call ye, then?" asked Scotty curiously.

"Hmmm." Bones actually didn't know. "Uh, well, um, I figure my name? Or, Jim calls me Bones."

"Ah, so, Ah should call ye Bones?" Scotty beamed. "Here, Ah'll test it. Top o' th' mornin' t' ye, Bones." It came out like Baewns.

Bones wrinkled his nose. "Hm, maybe not." It sounded weird coming from Scotty's mouth. Maybe he'd get used to it, maybe not.

"Haew abaewt… McCoy?"

He shook his head. "Too formal. I mean, I call you Scotty."

"Aye…" Scotty thought hard.

Bones stepped into the turbolift, Scotty beside him.

"Leonard?" Bones's head shot around to see Scotty hesitantly looking at him from the corner of his eye, barely meeting his gaze. Even softer, "Len?"

Only his family had called him by his first name.

Only his wife had called him Len.

And he'd never seen Scotty looking so shy and unsure before.

Bones' mouth went dry. He gulped almost unnoticeably.

"Why don't we…" Bones scratched his head to hide the fact that he might have been blushing. What was he trying to say? 'Stick with Doctor?' No. Nothing like that. "Um…"

"Aye. Haew abaewt Ah call ye…" Scotty grinned. "Dobharcu?"

Bones' eyes nearly popped out of his head. A burst of laughter accompanied them. "Doe-er-chew?"

"Means 'otter' in th' land o' th' Scots. Also sounds a wee bit layike Doctor."

"Ha, uhm, I think I'll pass for now."

"Slanaighear?"

"Sla – bless you."

"Means saviour or healer."

"Oh. Uh, hmm."

"Luchorpan?"

Bones raised an eyebrow. "That sounds an awful lot like leprechaun."

"Thass wha' i' is."

He snorted. "No way."

"Hmmm. Ah'll think abaewt it some more then an' get back t' ye, Len. In th' meantime, Ah'll call ye Doctor. Deck seven."

Then Scotty started going on about repairs, of which Bones only understood parts and pieces. Scotty spoke bluntly enough that he got the gist, though.

It was only after the turbolift shuddered into motion, stopped, and opened its doors that Bones finally realized that Scotty had, off the cuff, called him Len.

He stubbed his toe on some debris.

((()))

Chekhov always got parties together for dinner and alcohol. It was almost a way of life, not to mention a rite of passage to be his friend. He even had a special booth at the most popular Starfleet officer bar; the owner actually kicked people out of it so Chekhov could reserve it. Tonight's reservation was at nineteen hundred hours, six people, for dinner and drinks.

They arrived as a group, having met on campus and walked over.

Chapel had already gushed about her upcoming date to anyone who would listen, and Rand and Uhura were more than happy to congratulate her and squee about outfits and all that jazz. Well, to be fair, Rand did most of the squeeing, while Uhura had smiled good-naturedly. Sulu had never been very good at decoding girltalk, but the rate they were talking seemed way too fast for anyone, even Spock, to translate. Maybe Uhura could if he asked, she could translate anything, but then, she was a girl, too. He gave up even attempting to follow along with that particular conversation.

He started talking with Riley instead about their plants in the greenhouse. Riley still had a square left, but most of his plants had been utterly destroyed. Sulu offered some of his base plants for a sort of startup intervention thing, which Riley happily accepted.

Chekhov just skipped along at the front of the pack, bubbling with happy energy. He was so ready to get wasted, Sulu could tell.

When they got there, they sat down immediately. Even though there was a lengthy line, one that passed outside the door and down the street.

Sulu made a point of eating a lot of food during dinner, because he always got drunk too easily.

It didn't help.

After the second round, he was already smashed.

Chekhov couldn't understand how someone could drink so little but still have such extreme reactions to such diluted alcohol. Of course, he was also (unofficially) the best drinker on the Enterprise, drinking anyone under the table, and he could never understand why people couldn't match his prowess in a field.

Not that Hikaru was inept, because he was truthfully very skilled. Especially in astrophysics. But in drinking, Chekhov saw that Hikaru still had much work to do.

"Paaaavel…" Hikaru pinched on Chekhov's shirt, eyes fluttering and head wobbling. "I'm drunk already." He pouted, disappointed.

"Da, Hikaru." Chekhov put his hand over Hikaru's reassuringly. "Da."

Sulu relaxed back into the red leather of the booth.

Chekhov turned back to the conversation going on in front of him, his thumb still rubbing over Hikaru's knuckles under the table.

"The effects of the drama at the trial are hitting the side of the defense this week."

Uhura was dominating the spoken word, as usual.

"You know what happened to Finnegan's lawyer? Mendlesson?" She grinned and saw the huge response from the group, everyone closing in with interest. Nobody knew, but they all desperately wanted to.

Chekhov hmm'ed and made a guess. "Kidnapped unt thrown off cliff by a meesterious alien spy who eez goink to kill ze Prime Meenester uff Malaysia?"

Rand gasped, Riley snorted into his glass, Chapel giggled in a ladylike manner, Chekhov held a straight, serious face, and Uhura raised her disdainful eyebrow. Sulu was watching a fly buzz around and couldn't care less in his drunken state. But enough about him.

"No, Chekhov," Uhura sighed, "much more exciting than that."

She bent down, her elbows sliding onto the smooth surface of the table. She swirled the tinkling ice back and forth in her liquor.

"As you probably don't remember, when all hell broke loose in the courtroom, Mendlesson was on the side of where the majority of the shots were aimed and he flopped down on the floor like a dead fish immediately.

"The thing is…" She took a sip, just to keep them on their toes. "Mendlesson hit the floor before the officer started shooting."

There was a silence. At the table that was famous for being especially rambunctious. Chapel, Riley, Rand, and Chekhov just stared at Uhura, and the rest of the bar's noise drowned out into the buzz of inconsequential static.

Sulu ruined the moment a little bit by yawning, but everyone carefully ignored that.

"Soooo…" Rand dragged out. "That means…"

"That means," Uhura affirmed, "that Mendlesson knew about it beforehand."

"Knew what, exactly?" Chapel's brow furrowed. "Knew Finnegan would break? Knew that security officer would shoot? What did he know?"

Uhura's eyes sparkled playfully. "That's the question."

"There's no doubt that he had to know about the shooting," Riley proclaimed. "Or else he wouldn't have taken cover."

"Unt ze seegnal for eet," Chekhov observed. "But deed he know ze true depth of Finnegan's plot, eez ze qvestion."

"Yes, and that's exactly why he's been taken into custody and subjected to questioning."

Chekhov tilted his head to the side. "Unt…?"

"And… there's nothing to be gained from his statements. They're all addled and illogically thrown together. Really, he won't speak truthfully and is trying to come up with an intricate lie for us to fall for."

Chapel turned to Rand, who caught her glance. They both turned back to observe Uhura. "Nyota, have you been interrogating him yourself?" asked Christine.

"For most of today," confirmed Uhura.

"Girl, you've gotta cut loose sometime!" exclaimed Rand. "All work and no play when we're all supposed to be on leave is a sin! Leave it to someone else once in a while! You've earned it! Good thing you at least came to this little shindig, huh? Tomorrow night let's go out on the town, just us three. Whaddya say?"

Grinning, Uhura accepted. "Of course, Janice."

"Good, good! We'll have to go shopping, downtown, yeah? Go through all the new shoe fashions that we've missed out on! It'll be a ball – and there'll be so many new clothes to choose from, we've passed over quite a few spring lines. And jewelry, of course, can't leave that out. Maybe look at some watches for you, hmm Nyota?"

She nodded. "I was also thinking I'd get a haircut, too. Do you know a good stylist?"

Rand practically spasmed. "Of course I do, you'll look lovely with any cut, you know that, don't you, Nyota? What are you thinking of getting? A perm?"

Chapel had to interject, "A perm, darling?"

Rand flipped her hair huffily. "I know, it's a bit… passé, but I think it would look amazing on you, Nyota."

"Nyota, as your loyal friend and colleague, I would never allow you to get a perm." Chapel spun her slim black straw in her drink.

"Actually I was thinking of a pixie cut along with a volumizing treatment." She glanced form one friend to the other. "Opinions? Thoughts?"

"Lovely idea, dear."

"Oh my gawd, that's fantastic, Nyota! With your features, you would not only pull off the pixie, but make it your own!"

Uhura sat back, satisfied. Rand continued to babble about other things like makeup and purses, to which Chapel sometimes added her own unique spin.

"You see, Chekhov, our ladies are so concerned with looks…" Riley sighed. "You know, you girls talk about fashion so much, but…" He gestured into the air. "There is no substitute for beauty like a pair of starry eyes. And that is something you can't fake with products. Agreed, Chekhov?"

"Hrm. Eet eez deefeecult to say; I sink zat eyez could probabwy be mechanized unt altered wif ze proper technology…" Chekhov pulled a stylo from his pocket and started scribbling away on a napkin. "Eef I could just…"

Riley sighed. "We've lost him. But as I was saying…" He looked around, but nobody was listening. He turned to Sulu.

He strongly emphasized his points with wide hand motions. "You know, a woman should not be… made up…"

Sulu looked at him unfocusedly, and that was more than enough to spur Riley on.

Somehow, it became a debate. Rand heard part of Riley's speech in one of her pauses for breath, and became enraged at the audacity of a man to dare insult femininity. Her face was flushed and her words slurred, but her points on the difficulties of being a sexual, objectified object in this man's society today were quite clear.

And Riley responded with various points on what men really looked for in women, and how materialism and primping could not truly compare with inner beauty, and how women who are shoulder-deep in the world of appearances are only becoming victims and perpetrators of the sexist standards set to them by the very pigs of men that had demanded it of them in the first place.

It was a drunken argument that they'd all heard before. It would go on for the rest of the night.

Uhura signaled the waiter, who bustled over. She ordered another round of drinks. Chapel nudged her and lowered her voice in a quiet tête-à-tête.

Chekhov, ardently bent over his calculations on reflection on concave surfaces, gave an unsatisfied hrmph. He turned to Sulu and grabbed his chin, pulling his head up towards the light. Sulu blinked owlishly, confused.

"Eexample," Chekhov explained. "For zis eye problem zat I am workink on."

"Kay," whispered Sulu, his eyes scrunching up in a smile, still meeting Chekhov's gaze.

This, Chekohv had to stop and study more closely. Somehow, the minute reflections of the light that was hung above them added to the particular tint of Hikaru's eyes and the particular way which he had scrunched them culminated in one of the most stunning displays of eyes that Chekhov had ever previously observed in his uneventful life.

Narrowing his eyes, Chekhov calculated the exact angles of all of the lights in the vicinity that affected the eyes in question and how they interacted to form the demonstration before him. He took in the slow blinks, instantly deducing the pattern and speed of the shutting eyelids, as well as the geometrical, rounded curve of the iris.

He bent a little closer, focusing solely on the problem of why Hikaru's eyes were shining like his name implied – the sun. As he scooted forward, the brown of Hikaru's eyes, from far away barely distinguishable from the deep black pupils, became obvious in their golden-brown sheen. He catalogued the hue for future reference, though he felt as if he had never quite seen brown this way before. Maybe it had to do with the infinite layers of iris, alternating in all sorts of wondrous colors, from blue to green to yellow to red to blue again, uncountable in their thin, melded film, that could only culminate in this breathtaking color with the blessing of nature.

Hikaru blinked according to his algorithm, and Chekhov caught a glimpse of his eyelashes; they were black and silky, tips gleaming in the soft blaze of barlight.

Chekhov didn't realize how close he had come to Hikaru's face until their noses brushed together.

He was still holding Hikaru's jaw fast.

Sounds interrupted his blank thought process. It had almost seemed completely still around him, as Chekhov had leaned in. Now he was suddenly aware again of the clink of glasses, the babble of customers, the thuds of the footsteps of waiters, the laughter of the bartender. But he was still fixed on Hikaru's eyes. He was still only an inch away.

His friends hadn't noticed anything, it seemed; Rand and Riley were still attacking each other brutally with erupting decibels that would shake the foundations of Mother Russia, and Uhura and Chapel were talking about something on the other side of the table together, something Chekhov didn't hear well enough to understand.

Chekhov didn't move. He was torn, frozen.

He wanted something, desperately, but he didn't know what it was.

Sulu blinked again, his eyelids drooping shut against his will.

It was like a switch was flipped in Chekhov's brain. His free arm reached around to encircle Hikaru's back, pulling his entire body closer, lips barely brushing Hikaru's –

When he got a tap on the shoulder. He turned, a bit disgruntled, to find Uhura there.

"Chekhov, if you want to make out with Sulu, you should probably wait until he's sober," she whispered into his ear.

Chekhov pouted, sticking up his lower lip, but he nodded grudgingly.

"Why don't you take him back to his quarters on campus, huh Chekhov?" She smiled. Chekhov vaguely noticed that Chapel was right behind her, grinning knowingly.

With a little help, Chekhov tugged Sulu out of the booth, and they got on their way to lumbering back to the dorm.

Just the two of them.

((()))

"Jim! You look terrible."

Bones strolled around the Bridge as if he'd been born there. Right up to the Captain's chair.

Jim's teeth flashed in a grin. "That's what you always say."

"But this time, I may have to forcibly sedate you," said Bones with a no-nonsense tone.

"You always say that, too."

"I'm not joking around here. I'll do it."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah." Jim waved his hand dismissively. "But to the point. How's Sickbay, Bones?"

Bones crossed his arms. "It's currently being restocked with an ample amount of supplied that should last us up to five years."

"You do know we only need two more years of supplies."

"That hasn't stopped us from running out of five years' worth in three."

"Point taken. And your tools and cots and testing equipment? How's that doing?"

"All better than ever, Jim. I pulled Scotty out of Engineering for a half hour to fix everything."

"And how's he doing?"

"…Better than ever, seems like. Though I need more sessions to really evaluate him. I'm not sure how deep the pain goes from Mira's death, Jim. I'll need more time with him."

"Sure, sure." Jim's eyes clouded with sadness for a moment. Then the moment was over. "Right, so we need to make sure the crew is fully rested before setting off again, and we also need a medic on call for any injuries that could be sustained during repairs. So I need you to stay on the Enterprise for the rest of the week, Bones. That okay?"

"Yeah."

"Good." Jim stood from the command chair. "Let's go grab some dinner. Then I'll sleep, I swear."

"I'm keeping you to that."

"You always say that."

"And I always mean it."

"Touché, monsieur."

The turbolift shut its doors.

"Speaking of a torturous duel to the death, where's Spock?"

Jim laughed. "Oh, he's in the greenhouse going over all the plants and experiments. Doing his thing as Science Officer."

"And he's exhausted, too, or is that just you?"

"Yeah, he's tired, but – " Jim stopped and raised his eyebrow. Bones was smirking. "Hm. So you know."

Bones rolled his eyes. "Of course I fucking know, goddamn it."

"Well then… How?"

Bones rolled his eyes again. "What d'you take me for? I'm a doctor, goddammit, not a goddamn chunk of wood. I can see. I ain't blind. Ain't dumb, neither."

"All right, all right. So you know."

"Yep."

Jim was silent for a second.

"Then…" He looked up at Bones. "What do you…?"

He swallowed, unable to continue.

"Dammit, Jim…" Bones rolled his eyes a third time. "You two lovebirds are about as cute as goddamn ponies prancing the fuck around. Don't ask my opinion on it ever fucking again."

Jim smiled. "Right. Gotcha. Noted. Affirmative. Copy that."

They walked down the hallway to the Mess Hall together in step.

((()))

End of Part 18

tbc

((()))

Author's Note: Woot. Some real Chulu action there near the end of the party. Plus I may be a shipper of Rand/Riley, which I never actually considered before I wrote this. Interesting… What would that be, Raley? Randy? Rind? Riled? They don't have a very flattering choice of wombos.

In other random news, I wish I could just copy-paste my thoughts into writing/drawings/sequences. There's just so much to type out sometimes, and it takes a really long time to do properly. This time was a bit easier than the trials, but still. Same concept.

And hellz yeah, updating on time! Maybe even early! Whoa! :D

Thanks for sticking around, yo. Might as well type up a review to get my creative juices flowing… ** shameless prodding **

Some inspirational questions to get your review on the review-o-meter to 100%:

Do you hate Mendlesson? Why? Do you enjoy the fact that he is now in prison and being ruthlessly interrogated? (Because I TOTALLY do.)

Are you wondering about this Roger Korby character, and do you remember the episode that he's from? Does this make you suspicious of him?

Do you like Scones? (uh, YES.) How much? (…Too much.)

Which situation struck you as the most romantic? (I liked… the one where… oh, dammit, all of them. ** blushes ** Though I do like rereading Chekhov and Sulu's scene during the party…)

Do you want the author to hurry the fuck up and get to the good actiony stuff on Colony IX already? (Sort of. But then that would be a lot of work, and I'm lazy… :D)

Lastly, do you give a holy canoodle for Giotto? (I don't seem to, as I've completely forgotten him for the most part.)

May these questions invigorate your reviewing abilities and allow much to be typed.

~happysquid08