It is a seemingly ordinary day aboard the Federation's flagship; some might even add the word "dull" to that description. The crew continue to perform their regular duties with all of their usual diligence and rectitude. There was, however, a break from the norm with a planetary survey; that task had been efficiently carried out by the Beta shift, in the first breaking hours of the day-time.
One officer who thrives on routine is the ship's second-in-command. In spite of this specific day being his birthday, his thirtieth to be accurate, he treats it as he would any other; as stated by the old Earth idiom, it is "just another day". To say that he is nervous about what his new-found friends, and in particular his courter, have planned for him in celebration would be improper; Vulcans do not become nervous. Or, do they? There is, admittedly, a mild apprehension within him; somewhere deep, perhaps, buried in his subconscious. His usual air of stoicism masks such minute things perfectly...almost. He is, however, confident that at least his suitor has prepared for him a more subdued observance, a quiet occasion marking his thirtieth year of existence. After all, does she not know him more intimately than the rest?
At precisely 1230 hours, as displayed by the ship's chronometer, the Commander enters the turbolift, proceeding to make the journey toward the mess hall. With the day being uneventful as it is, the ship's crew are permitted by their Captain to attend the celebration as they so wish. Approximately thirty minutes prior to the Vulcan, the Lieutenant had already exited the bridge in order to prepare the venue for the upcoming gathering; the organisation of tables, the setting of food and drink and whatnot. Before departing, she had suggested to Spock, "take your time" in his travels to the mess hall, leaving him with a sweet peck at the lips.
As a Vulcan, and with his upbringing, he most certainly does not dawdle nor "take his time" with his ventures through the corridors; or with anything, really. It is not in his nature to have his time wasted. Yet, the day being as it is, and with Uhura's efforts, of course he would comply, with his steps slow and deliberate as his uniform boots tap along the glossy flooring.
Despite the Vulcan's rather forced ambling, the venue is prepared in excellent time, simple refreshments placed sparingly atop the tables, the room clean and uncluttered. There is a centrepiece to this gathering, one which was the first of the foodstuffs to be affectionately prepared by the Lieutenant herself: a meagre plate of what is known as 'cloud cakes'. The rather light confection is a small roll, created with bread comprised of mashya four. Abundant with vitamins and lightly sweetened, the pastry was considered a healthy form of 'comfort food', made and prepared lovingly by the First Officer's mother during his childhood.
Proficient as she is at her role as Communications Officer, the Lieutenant had previously transmitted a communique to the father of her Vulcan courter, stealthily requesting from the Ambassador the recipe and preparation instructions for the delectable treat, and of course informing him as to the reason behind her request and her intentions for the food in question. Fortunately, Sarek was willing to provide her with the information she had requested, grateful that his son has found one who treats him with such love and devotion.
The information successfully acquired without a hint of suspicion from neither the Commander himself nor the Captain, she had awaited the night prior to the celebration to begin preparing the bread in the privacy of her own quarters. Due to the mildly lengthy preparation time of the bread, she would not have been able to make it during her meal break. Once she had finished, she had covered and put aside the treat, joining her suitor in his personal living space.
Concurrently, a young ensign, whose remarkably pale skin had almost shone in near dim lighting, had begun to prepare a surprise of his own...
