As I am not a child and the container is hardly jar, let alone one that contains cookies, your phrase is misleading, Doctor.
[ But Spock reaches in, eyeing the good doctor, and took one small piece of wrapped chocolate. It was real chocolate, because the captain had insisted, purchased at the last starbase they had visited, rather than something replicated. Part of the experience, according to the humans on board who had offered up their opinions about the entire holiday.
Spock carefully unwraps the chocolate and studies it for a moment. Vulcans do not eat with their hands, but he lacks any utensils to properly manipulate the candy. As it is only the doctor, it is harmless enough, hefiures, and snaps the square in half, bringing it to his nose to smell the candy. It's certainly stronger than most Vulcan foods, rather rich and intriguing. ]
I am unfamiliar with your phrase. It is impossible for an inanimate object to go straight to your hips, as it lacks any mobility with which to traverse the distance between itself and the aforementioned portion of your anatomy. Furthermore, that implies a certain amount of consciousness, which this lacks.
[Sometimes she's not sure how much of Spock's clueless routine is him being a pedantic asshole and how much of it is genuine misunderstanding. Deciding to give him the benefit of the doubt, she picks up her glass of synthehol and takes a bracing sip before attempting to explain.] It's an idiom denoting an expression of guilt. You looked as guilty as a child caught doing something they had been forbidden from doing, such as taking a cookie before the proper meal, hence the expression.
[The replicators do their best when it comes to fulfilling dietary requests, but they don't always quite hit the mark. Her plate of good Southern comfort food is a very close facsimile to what she might eat after a bad day back on Earth, but subtle things about the texture or the flavor are just a little bit off. Still, it's worth it to shovel a forkful of mashed potatoes in her mouth and let the buttery flavor spread across her tongue, so she doesn't complain, just watches as Spock examines his chocolate.]
That's dark chocolate, [she points out, watching him smell it. It looks ridiculous, but then again, if he's never eaten it before, it's not the strangest reaction to have.] It'll be a little bitter. Milk chocolate is sweeter and creamier, but it doesn't have as strong a chocolate flavor.
[She rolls her eyes at him, cutting off the skin of her friend chicken and lamenting the fact that it just isn't quite right. Still, she's going to eat it because she's had a shit day, goddammit, and this will make her feel better.] I'm saying it'll make me fat, Spock. Sweets like chocolate go straight to my hips because that's where most human women store fat deposits. "A moment on the lips, forever on the hips," that's what my mother always used to say.
[ There is a secret is his clueless Vulcan routine, and it brings a certain satisfaction to him when people assume he is genuinely clueless. He grew up with a human mother, a linguist herself, and his curiosity knew no bounds.
It is highly un-Vulcan-like to be amused, but every time he gets an explanation like the one Bones is providing, something inside him twinges. It is always carefully repressed.
Though her explanation is better than his mother's had been. Not that Spock would admit to such. ]
Do children make it a habit to indulge in sweet snacks before their meal times?
[ That he is genuinely curious about, because children generally do not filch food on Vulcan.
Dark chocolate, hmm? He places it on the tip of tongue, letting the candy melt, rather than biting into it, and the flavor makes his eyes widen. It tastes similar to how it smells - dark and rich, with a surprisingly bitter note he had not been expecting, though it mellows after a moment. There is nothing he can recall ingesting that even begins to approach the flavor. ]
If any food is going to cause an increase in weight gain, it is the food you are currently consuming. There might be some benefit in ingesting something so deeply fried and coated, though I fail to see any.
[ He says it almost primly, while shoving the other half of the chocolate square in his mouth and digging for another piece. ] This chocolate is most intriguing. I see why humans are fond of it.
Children make it a habit to break as many rules as they can, it's a way to test the limits of the boundaries placed upon them and to flex their burgeoning independence. Also, they just love sweets. At least, Jo did.
[Though her daughter never stole food before their meal, not in Lenore's experience. Then again, the divorce happened when Jo wasn't yet two, so she was still learning to walk and talk the last time she really spent any time with her.
Thinking about how much of her child's life she's missing is depressing as hell, so Len switches her attention back to her food. Spock's oh-so logical observation has her fighting against the urge to flip him off. Either he wouldn't understand what she was doing and she'd have to explain yet another strange Earthling behavior, or he would understand and she'd round off an already terrible day by being written up for insubordination. Instead, she just points her fork at him and narrows her eyes.] You don't get to make comments about my dietary choices, as you are neither my mother, nor my husband. I just spent seven and a half goddamn hours painstakingly sewing shredded blood vessels and nerve endings back together on one of Scotty's hapless ducklings, I think I've earned the right to eat whatever the hell I want. [She punctuates that statement by popping a piece of cornbread in her mouth, licking the crumbs off her fingers and trying not to focus on the fact that the texture was all wrong. It tasted close enough, at least.
She's not really angry, though, too tired to feel anything more than a mild annoyance which is pretty par for the course when it comes to interacting with the Vulcan. Watching him devour his chocolate has her smiling a little, though, and she even goes so far as to push the bowl closer towards him.] We aren't the only ones, it seems.
Is this 'testing the limits' an inborn quality in all humans, Doctor? It would explain why so many grow up to be reckless.
[ The 'idiots' is only implied, never out-right stated, because Spock would never demean himself to be so crudely insulting. Why outright state something when you can simply imply?
Besides, the search for another piece of chocolate is far too engrossing. Why discuss human children when there are more immediate concerns at hand, such as deciding what to try next.
McCoy's finger-licking does get a raised eyebrow, though. He knows well enough that McCoy is familiar with some Vulcan cultural norms, had to take xenobiology like most science-track cadets, and is probably well-aware of what she is doing.
Rude humans. ] I fail to see why your mother or husband would play a role in your dietary choices. They are your own. I was simply commenting on the irrationality of blaming chocolate for weight gain when you are indulging in far more caloric food choices.
[ He shoves another wrapped square of chocolate toward her. ] Is this the milk chocolate you were referring to, earlier? I must sample multiple varieties, in order to form a valid opinion regarding chocolate.
More or less. Humans have a great independence of spirit, and being a 'rebel' is viewed as socially desirable, at least until you reach a certain age. Some people never grow out of it. [She's clearly referring to Jim, although, privately, she's also referring to Spock. He likes to think of himself as above silly, petty human nature, but he's half human and far more rebellious than he'd probably want to admit to.
Eschewing a place at the Vulcan Science Academy to enlist in Starfleet? Cleaving himself to one of the most emotional, rebellious individuals on the whole ship? If he wants people to think of him as a purely rational, logical being, becoming fast friends with Jim Kirk is not the best way to go about it. Len would know. She made that mistake on the shuttle to San Francisco, and she's never been able to be rid of him since.
She is aware of the whole hands-as-erogenous-zones thing in regards to Vulcans, but she honestly forgets sometimes. Spock doesn't wear gloves in his daily life to remind her, and he's the only Vulcan she's actually spent any time with. Combined with her stressful day and the sleepless night before, not to mention the glass of synthehol she's nursing, and she just plain forgot about his cultural taboos. So sue her.]
Humans are irrational, Spock, just accept it and move on. [She's not going to launch into an explanation of the outdated modes of belief that a woman's parents "owned" her until said "ownership" passed on to her husband, nor the way such beliefs still stubbornly clung to the more rural areas of the Deep South. She's just not in the mood to debate things she can't even change with him tonight.
Picking up the chocolate he pushes her way, she peels back a corner of the foil wrapper before nodding.] Yes, this is milk chocolate. [She hands it back and then dips her hand into the bowl as well, rifling around until she's pulled out a few more foil-wrapped squares in differing shades of red, pink, and white.] This one's white chocolate, which is actually a misnomer, as it's mostly milk and sugar. Very little cocoa in it at all.
I am aware. It would be of a benefit if those individuals learned some measure of caution.
[ He is, likewise, speaking of the captain. Really, some caution would not be amiss.
Spock is certainly rebellious, and he acknowledges that somewhere in the back of his mind, another concept carefully shielded and repressed from all introspection. It began even before rejecting the VSA, and it carried on to him joining the Enterprise rather than helping his people settle in their new colony.
It is simply not an easy thing to admit, this rebellious desire that lingers in his chest. It had been easy, before, to cite his mother - and she had been a major reason, because he still cannot bear negative talk regarding Amanda Grayson - but it has grown much more complex.
Kirk is a good, logical choice to place the blame. He draws people in and makes demands, and Spock cannot let go.
There's nothing he can really say about humans and their irrationality, because he knows how this argument goes. Besides, he finds he tolerates their irrational natures, from time to time. ]
Your help is appreciated, Doctor. [ He glances between the chocolates, and selects one of the white chocolates. It lacks the same rich smell as the dark chocolate, and the taste is -
Well, it's not chocolate. All it tastes like to Spock is a mess of sweetness. ]
This is atrocious. [ He doesn't make a face, but only barely, and discards the rest of the white chocolate in favor of another square of dark. ] The nomenclature of said candy is misleading. In fact, many candies the crew discuss are misleading. Is it simply the human way?
[She's been trying for four years to curb Jim Kirk's flighty nature, all to no avail. If Spock thinks he can do better, she's going to let him do his best and watch him crash and burn with a drink in her hand and a laugh on her lips. She needs more things in her life to amuse herself with, and that would be a prime contender.
Spock takes a bite out of the milk chocolate and stills, and if Len were a betting woman (she is), she would put money on the micro expression he just made being akin to a baby's grimace when they first try a slice of lemon. It takes real self-restraint to keep from laughing aloud. She knows if she did, Spock would just get huffy, assuming she was laughing at him (she would be), and wouldn't be able to see the humor in the situation. To stop herself from chuckling some more, she takes another sip of her synthehol, and shrugs when he drops the white chocolate to reach for the dark square.]
I dunno, Spock, you're going to have to give me specifics. I don't really know what kinds of candy the crew discuss in their downtime.
As the individual in question rarely listens and it is illogical for me to expect him to change, I will refrain.
[ He is not even trying to be subtle anymore. They are both referencing Jim, and are aware of it, and no one else is close enough to overhear.
That is something he would normally never say, expect maybe to Jim himself, but Spock doesn't think about the oddity of the words leaving his lips. ]
Or rather, only mention it when he is truly in danger.
[ So a dozen times a week. No matter.
The second square of dark chocolate disappears even quicker than the first, and he takes a piece of the milk chocolate to try. It is sweeter than the dark chocolate, creamier and lacking the bite, but acceptable. He still prefers the dark chocolate, going for a third piece - his fourth altogether. ]
They refer to candies such as kisses and fruit-based chews that lack any trace of fruit.
[She snickers to herself over her glass, pleased when Spock gives up the ghost and admits what they both know: that they're talking about Jim Kirk.] Yes, well, at least you're able to admit that to yourself. Most divorces happen because people are unable to see that attempting to force someone to change to suit your own needs will never work out in the end. [Not that they're married; although, she's heard some scuttlebutt insinuate that they might as well be. Not that Len listens to gossip, though.] Good luck with that, buddy. I've been yelling at him for four years about his damn fool antics and he's never listened to me yet.
[She sounds fond, though. As much as she complains about him, Len is very fond of Jim Kirk. It's almost impossible not to be, he's the type of person who inspires one of only two reactions: you either love him despite your better judgement, or you loathe him because of it.
Nothing in between.
He really seems to like chocolate. Amused, Len watches as he devours another piece, his higher body temperature melting the chocolate slightly against his fingertips. He hasn't seemed to notice yet; she wonders if he will, if he'll wipe them on a napkin or lick the chocolate off so as not to waste any.]
Hershey Kisses is just the name of the chocolate, I don't know why they're called that. The fruit ones, though, well. That's probably to trick people into thinking they're anything other than artificially-flavored sugar bombs. Who knows, really.
Attempting to change an individual is illogical, Doctor. It will happen when they wish, or not at all, and one should not attempt to change the base personality. It leads to disharmony of the mind. I do wish the captain would learn to exercise caution, in some aspects of his life. [ A delicate sniff accompanies his words that from anyone else would be a tremendous sigh. Really. Some caution.
And no one should listen to gossip. Spock has already had words with his department, but they show no signs of stopping.
His fingers are covered in chocolate, though he doesn't realize it until he reaches for another piece of chocolate. It is improper to waste food, and smears of chocolate are still a waste, so there is only one logical course of action.
Spock brings his fingers to his lips, licking them off his thumb rather delicately. It is good they are mostly alone, and it is only Bones watching him. Spock can at least pretend Bones has no idea what he is doing. It's easier to think that at the moment, which should trigger an alert in his head, but strangely doesn't.
He sucks his index finger into his mouth, licking the pad. It's almost indecent, by any cultural standard. Bones can forever hold this over his head.
He releases his finger with a 'pop,' and when he responds, his voice is just a fraction warmer. ]
See, as I said, they are misnomers. Terran traditions regarding names are most perplexing, Doctor.
Yeah, well. Tell that to my ex-wife. [She lifts her glass to her mouth to take a long, bracing draught of the still vile synthehol — it stands to reason that the more she drinks of it, the better it will taste, right? right? — any mention of Jocelyn still making her want to spit out a curse. To call the divorce acrimonious would be an understatement, but it's all in the past now. All Len can do is keep her sights fixed on what's in front of her and not wallow in what's done. Well, not too much.
She snorts somewhat inelegantly, and waves her glass in a dismissive sort of arcing motion.] Jim does whatever the hell Jim wants, always has, always will. It's up to us idiots to pick up his pieces and make sure he doesn't kill himself in the process.
[Len's so wrapped up in her sudden bout of brooding that she almost misses it when Spock lifts his hands to his mouth and proceeds to lick his fingers clean, even going so far as to suck his index finger into his mouth. It's almost obscene, watching him all but fellate his finger, and Len's suddenly glad for the fact that she's the type to blush when drinking, as her alcohol-induced flush hides the sudden rush of blood to her face at that display.
She clears her throat.] I guess we're just like that. We name big guys "Tiny" and Chihuahuas "Bruiser" because... Well, I don't know why. And for god's sake, Spock, we're off duty. Call me Lenore.
Edited (hah i forgot that last part WE'RE GOOD NOW) 2016-05-17 23:52 (UTC)
As I am unacquainted with your former partner and suspect that a meeting between us shall occur only in less than auspicious circumstances, I will not pass on such information. [ His brow furrows for a second, and he deigns to add: ] You may inform her of my words yourself, adding that they come from a Vulcan, who are remarkably superior to unschooled humans.
[ He does not quite parse the rudeness of his comment, or the fact that it will never happen, but for all his surface dislike of Bones, he does have some esteem for her skill, and a person who could discard one such as Bones is not worth his consideration.
From a purely logical standpoint, of course. ]
He is fortunate to have individuals with talent and skill, and a marked tolerance for his impetuous actions.
[ Between the chocolate and the sucking on his finger, there's a faint green flush on Spock's cheeks, and he feels distinctly warmer than usual. It does not occur to him that there might be cause for concern, and rather than making a sensible decision to study what might cause an increase in internal body temperature, he reaches for a napkin to dry his finger tips.
And another piece of chocolate. ]
Very well, Doc - Lenore. Perhaps you might indulge my curiosity regarding the giving of gentlemen of large stature such monikers as 'Tiny.' Is it in reference to certain portions of their anatomy that belies their overall substantial presence?
[For all that Spock is half-human, he's so alien. Sometimes Len forgets; most of the aliens that are part of Starfleet have been immersed in the world of humanity for long enough to appreciate rhetorical statements and recognize the sort of empty threats that humans like to employ when talking about past wrongdoings, but Spock is forever oblivious. Instead of trying to explain, or telling him that if he ever tries to tell Lenore's ex-wife that she's unschooled, Len'll be the one surgically reattaching his dick after Joce cuts it off for him, she just snorts again and shakes her head.] Sure thing, buddy. I'll do that.
[There's a headache brewing at her temples, and the alcohol doesn't seem to be helping much. Sighing quietly, she rubs at her forehead and idly fantasizes about stabbing herself with a few hypos so she can fall asleep. But she doesn't like relying on drugs to cope with her problems — any mention of her fondness for alcohol will be met with a blank stare; that's completely different, thank you — so she shelves those thoughts and turns back to the matter at hand.]
I'm not tolerant, I'm just a sucker for big blue eyes, it seems. What's your excuse?
[Spock is looking green. On anyone else, that would be a worrying sign of nausea, but she's not sure what it means for Spock. He's so reticent about his physiology, not wanting her to know more than she absolutely has to in order to treat him, that she doesn't know very much about him at all. Jabilo seems to have that market cornered, and so she's left looking at the green flush that stains Spock's high cheekbones and the tips of his ears and wondering.
She laughs.] No, Spock, it's not because they've got small dicks. Although, steroids do tend to shrink genitalia. It's just...irony, I suppose. We just like to be contrary, surely you can attest to that.
[ Humans and their ridiculous lack of understanding logic and their empty threats and their insistence upon absurd emotions. Getting upset enough to inflict such crude violence just for a comment that is obviously true. Pride was an unfortunate emotion.
(Ignore the fact that Vulcans have even more pride than humans, and take great, subtle pleasure in reminding most of the Federation of their intelligence, skill, and superiority.)
At the very least, Spock will be in highly skilled hands. ] Your tone of voice and undignified sound indicate you are simply saying that to placate me. I assure you, I need no placating.
I am neither tolerant nor easily swayed by symmetrical features or the color and size of eyes. He is my captain and I do not wish to see another in his place. And.
[ He pauses and folds his hands together, leaning forward as though to bestow a great secret upon the doctor. ]
He is my friend. As I suffer a shortage of intimate connections, to lose even one would be abhorrent.
[ In the back of his mind, Spock is aware he has shared a confidence with the doctor and that such open discussion is atypical. It is simply that he can find no logical reason to not divulge such information, and the normal Vulcan reserve feels miles away. ]
The contrary nature of humans is not unknown to me. Even as a child, I encountered my mother, who was sometimes contrary. Not to such an illogical extent as some, of course.
[Lenore seems completely unrepentant to be caught out in her skepticism; she just hums and tilts her head to one side.] If anyone'll need placating after that incident, it'd be Jocelyn, not you. [It's not an apology, but it's something close to one, and it's the best he's going to get from her for now.
She lifts her eyebrows at him in a move that should demonstrate her disbelief, but she doesn't call him out on the clear symmetry of Uhura's face, nor the lovely color of her eyes. She's not sure where their relationship stands anymore, and there's needling Spock, and then there's needling Spock, and she doesn't really feel like pushing the boundaries that much tonight.
She's tired, and getting a little tipsy, and Spock is in an uncharacteristically talkative mood. She's surprised to find she kind of wants to encourage him.
Her gaze softens when he confesses what she already knows: that he has precious few friends. Instead of contradicting him as she might normally — "I thought Vulcans didn't have friends," — she just sighs and lifts her glass in a facsimile of a toast, holding it out to him like he'd clink glasses with her. Does he even know about the human tradition of toasting? She hasn't ever thought about it.] I know how that feels.
[Smiling a little at him, she leans her chin on her palm and lets her eyes droop in a lazy blink.] Will you tell me about her? She must have been quite a lady.
[ He was not swayed by the perfect symmetry of Uhura's face or even her talented tongue. He is above such basic lusts. Supposedly. It was her keen intellect and unparalleled cultural sensitivity that drew him to her. He was simply lucky enough to find someone smart, talented, and beautiful. And though their romantic relationship has ended, he still counts her a friend and is thankful for that.
The wrappers of the chocolates litter the surface of the table, and Spock carefully collects them, small souvenirs of his taste test of chocolate. He will make Jim gather more at their next stop. ]
You are acquainted with what feeling, Lenore? The few friends or the lack of desire to see them injured?
[ His mother remains a painful topic and there is an emptiness inside his mind where his bond with her once thrived. But the grief grows muted with every passing year, and he finds discussing her not as painful as it had been, even when she had been alive. ] She was a very warm individual, but did not resent Vulcan and the repression of her emotions while on the planet. There were those who thought her less because of her humanity, rather than admiring the grace and skill with which she managed to survive Vulcan.
[So that she has something to do with her hands, Lenore finds herself sorting through the leftover chocolate in the bowl in front of them, just as Spock is fiddling with the empty wrappers. The dark chocolate pieces she fishes out are laid out before him, with the milk chocolate making a smaller pile on the other side of the bowl. The white chocolate she leaves where it is, because they both think it's awful.
She unwraps a chocolate of her own and nibbles on the corner.]
Of course I am, Spock. This may shock you, but I'm not exactly an easy person to get along with. And I never like seeing people hurt. [She's a doctor, and a damn good one, at that. Not only is she adept at all the new hands-off technologies when it comes to healing, but she's done her fair share of extremely hands-on work; in fact, Lenore often prefers the so-called barbaric practice of physical surgery, using her own hands to wield the scalpel instead of a machine.
Mothers are often painful topics. Lenore's relationship with her own is strained, at best, but it's nice to know that despite how cold and unfeeling he might seem, Spock loved his mother the way all little boys should.] I wish I could have met her. [It would have been fascinating to pick her brain; Lenore isn't much of a linguist, so that topic of conversation would be more or less off the table, but she wants to know why someone would willingly pack up and move to a planet that's so very different from your own.
She only left Georgia because there was nothing there left for her. To make that kind of choice when there were other options...
[ Spock nods in approval at her sorting methods, for it is suitable. Plus, someone else is joining him in consuming chocolate. Which brings him to a very curious point. ] Are you familiar with the properties of chocolate, Doctor? Is it normal to feel so warm when consuming the substance?
[ It is not actually concerning to him, but he is quite interested in discovering more. If it makes humans feel this way, he can understand why they would enjoy such delicacies. ]
That is not a shocking fact, Lenore. I believe many would say similar things about myself. Their minds are small and narrow, and they refuse an understanding that would lead to greater knowledge and appreciation of the world around them and personalities that differ from their own. [ It is a long-winded explanation of the words his mother offered to him when his peers persisted in bullying him. Though he found little comfort in the words then, he can appreciate them now. ]
She counted herself a very fortunate human woman. I only wish she were here to meet my crew mates. No. To meet my friends. [ And he is almost sentimental about it all. But he does wish she could have met them, from Uhura to Jim to Lenore, and the rest of the command crew.
He thinks she would have liked them. ] She enjoyed human idioms and often used them in conversation when possible.
Warm? [She frowns lightly at him, just a little quirk of her eyebrows, and makes a moue with her mouth that signifies disagreement.] No, not warm. It's supposed to release endorphins, though, which light up the pleasure center of the brain. Plus it's sweet, and I'm sure you're aware how much we like sweet foods.
[Lenore is more of a savory snack person than a sweet snack person, but that's not really relevant. (She's reminded of a study she read that found that people who prefer salty foods over sweet foods are often viewed less favorably; 'bitchy' was one word used to describe the group by one of the participants, and oh, isn't that on the nose.)
She taps the edge of her fingernail against the table, continuing to frown slightly.] Most people would say we don't get along, either. Is my mind small and narrow?
[She finds she really is regretful that she never got to meet Amanda Grayson, although she did indulge herself in a little light reading about the woman a few months ago, when she had an evening free and curiosity struck. It's hard to judge a person's character from a dry summation of their accomplishments, but yes, she thinks they would have gotten along.
Spock's next comment just solidifies that idle notion.] So when you profess ignorance over some little turn of phrase I use, you're just being supercilious jackass? [The smile on her face, amused and vindicated in equal measure, should take the sting out of her accusation, but who knows how Spock will take it.]
Puzzling. I shall consult with Doctor M'Benga during his next shift. [ For the sake of science, of course. One must always record observations and follow through with experiments.
He unwraps another chocolate - how many is that now? - and breaks it into pieces again, slipping one into his mouth. Perhaps he can ask M'Benga about increasing lack of circumspect talk. ]
I would name you friend, Lenore, and be ever in your service should you require support. Your mind is illogical and rash, Lenore, and you are given to over-dramatic tendencies in your speech. But it is not small or narrow. Indeed, I believe your dramatic phrases to be the way you process complications. You are always capable of performing under pressure. Simply because we do argue in our approach does not mean we do not get along.
[ Besides, Spock has picked up on the fact that all of those insults from the doctor are simply her way of expressing frustration, and in some ways, a way to include Spock into the group at large. He has long since learned not to take offense.
Though he can't resist feigning offense at her words. ]
I am neither superior to anyone [ which is a complete lie ] nor domesticated hoofed mammal.
I simply must remind people of the egregious claims in their idioms.
If you lot weren't so goddamn secretive about your physiology, I'd be a lot more helpful, you know. [She sounds a little bitter because she is. She's a doctor, dammit, the ship's Chief Medical Officer, and she's kept in the dark about all but the most basic of facts regarding the First Officer on her ship. If he wasn't so famously touchy, she'd be badgering Spock way more to tell her what's so goddamn important about his body that it must be kept secret when none of the other races on the ship feel the need to keep her in the dark regarding the way their bodies function.
Chomping bitterly on her square of chocolate, she's so shocked by Spock's miniature monologue about her good qualities that she almost chokes on the sweet in her mouth.
She coughs, attempting to regain her composure.] Spock. [If he were anyone else, she'd reach out and touch his hand; she may be tipsy, but she's not drunk enough to touch a touch-telepath without thinking about it long and hard. Yet.] I thought you didn't even like me. Illogical and rash. Gosh, I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said about me. [If she's blushing, it's all because of the alcohol, alright. Definitely not because of the startled pleasure curling under her breastbone.
She doesn't care what Spock thinks about her because she doesn't care what anyone thinks about her. She's a grown-ass woman, and a successful doctor to boot. She doesn't need anyone's approval.
Though it is kind of nice to know she's held in some esteem by her fellow officers.]
I guess you're not so bad yourself. Even if you are pedantic as all get-out.
I am Vulcan, madam. We do not discuss Vulcan biology with off-worlders. [ Not even M'Benga knew everything about Vulcan physiology, though his scope of knowledge was quite impressive. Spock knew well that certain conversations were dropped when a off-worlder entered the room.
There were reasons he could understand, when it came to particular causes. A male Vulcan's time was the cause of a deep, abiding shame, and that was something none wished for the galaxy to know. But otherwise? There were good reasons, Spock was sure, but he could not recall them, could not remember why they were so stubborn about allowing records to be translated and given to medical personnel.
For Spock, it was a different story. Enough time under the cold, calculating eyes of scientists who viewed him as nothing more than a specimen has left him reluctant to spend even the slightest time undergoing poking and prodding.
This chocolate really is going to his head.
He does not mind, however. The taste is still pleasant, and his limbs feel relaxed. He even deigns to slouch the slightest bit, tension bleeding from his frame. ]
I assure you, that was not meant as a compliment. [ Though her reaction does not surprise him; he has always found Lenore to react in ways he does not comprehend.
He recognizes her own words are a return of his sentiment, and bows his head in response. It is, in a deep, startling way he cannot thoroughly describe, gratifying to hear her claim. ]
Someone abroad this vessel needs to be exact, and none but me seem capable.
Don't you "madam" me, okay. [She's not annoyed, though, she's almost laughing. Yes, she's annoyed that Spock keeps her out of the loop, but it's so Spock, she almost expects it from him. The fact that he's playing directly into the role she's mentally written for him just makes her feel satisfied. She shakes her head at him, sighing.] Well, don't come crying to me when you manage to wind up with boils in some very inconvenient places because you reacted badly to something on some off-world mission, alright? I can't help you when I don't know what's wrong with you.
[She's still laughing when he tries to tell her that he was insulting her, which just makes her laugh even more. The synthehol has left her feeling far giddier than usual at this time of night, but Spock is acting looser than he normally does, so she doesn't feel too badly for being a little silly.] Oh, I know. I just choose to take it as one, so thank you.
[His hair is always so neat and tidy, like a wig, or a helmet. It's just another part of his fastidious nature that she's always come to depend on, like the fact that his boots are almost mirrored they're so polished, and that his reports are written with such exact grammar that they might as well be examples in a college textbook. When he bows his head in acknowledgement of her backwards compliment, she can see that his hair is mussed, just a little, just a few pieces lying out of order.
It's startling, and distracting.]
Well, it's a good thing we have you around then, isn't it, Mr. Spock?
Very well, Doctor. If you insist. [ He is not one for familiarity, even with people who might not be concerned. Though he cannot see the difference between "madam" and "doctor". ] As it is unlikely that I will wind up with boils that cannot be cured by a healing trance or medication you already possess, I see no reason for concern. Besides, Dr. M'Benga has some knowledge of Vulcans, and what you cannot do, he can.
[ Spock does, actually, possess some measure of esteem for her medical expertise, but he will never say such a thing. At least, not to her face. If anything negative does impact his health, Spock knows the doctor will find a cure.
He is not going to acknowledge her thanks. Not only does he rarely acknowledge thanks, for no thanks are needed in most circumstances, her reaction is ridiculous. Thanking someone for calling them illogical. Spock does not even try to resist rolling his eyes at her.
It is a good thing he does not notice his hair is out of place. It is a distraction he would not care for, especially when the chocolate is so good and the warmth in his blood startling. ]
Indeed, it is fortunate. Were I given to idle speculation and frivolous imaginings, I would venture to say that the ship would fall apart without my guidance.
However, that is improbable. The ship cannot fall apart, Mr. Scott is most adept at keeping her repaired. And the individuals residing on the ship would likewise not fall apart literally. It is operations that would suffer.
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[ But Spock reaches in, eyeing the good doctor, and took one small piece of wrapped chocolate. It was real chocolate, because the captain had insisted, purchased at the last starbase they had visited, rather than something replicated. Part of the experience, according to the humans on board who had offered up their opinions about the entire holiday.
Spock carefully unwraps the chocolate and studies it for a moment. Vulcans do not eat with their hands, but he lacks any utensils to properly manipulate the candy. As it is only the doctor, it is harmless enough, hefiures, and snaps the square in half, bringing it to his nose to smell the candy. It's certainly stronger than most Vulcan foods, rather rich and intriguing. ]
I am unfamiliar with your phrase. It is impossible for an inanimate object to go straight to your hips, as it lacks any mobility with which to traverse the distance between itself and the aforementioned portion of your anatomy. Furthermore, that implies a certain amount of consciousness, which this lacks.
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[The replicators do their best when it comes to fulfilling dietary requests, but they don't always quite hit the mark. Her plate of good Southern comfort food is a very close facsimile to what she might eat after a bad day back on Earth, but subtle things about the texture or the flavor are just a little bit off. Still, it's worth it to shovel a forkful of mashed potatoes in her mouth and let the buttery flavor spread across her tongue, so she doesn't complain, just watches as Spock examines his chocolate.]
That's dark chocolate, [she points out, watching him smell it. It looks ridiculous, but then again, if he's never eaten it before, it's not the strangest reaction to have.] It'll be a little bitter. Milk chocolate is sweeter and creamier, but it doesn't have as strong a chocolate flavor.
[She rolls her eyes at him, cutting off the skin of her friend chicken and lamenting the fact that it just isn't quite right. Still, she's going to eat it because she's had a shit day, goddammit, and this will make her feel better.] I'm saying it'll make me fat, Spock. Sweets like chocolate go straight to my hips because that's where most human women store fat deposits. "A moment on the lips, forever on the hips," that's what my mother always used to say.
i'm so sorry, spock's a jerk ;;;;;
It is highly un-Vulcan-like to be amused, but every time he gets an explanation like the one Bones is providing, something inside him twinges. It is always carefully repressed.
Though her explanation is better than his mother's had been. Not that Spock would admit to such. ]
Do children make it a habit to indulge in sweet snacks before their meal times?
[ That he is genuinely curious about, because children generally do not filch food on Vulcan.
Dark chocolate, hmm? He places it on the tip of tongue, letting the candy melt, rather than biting into it, and the flavor makes his eyes widen. It tastes similar to how it smells - dark and rich, with a surprisingly bitter note he had not been expecting, though it mellows after a moment. There is nothing he can recall ingesting that even begins to approach the flavor. ]
If any food is going to cause an increase in weight gain, it is the food you are currently consuming. There might be some benefit in ingesting something so deeply fried and coated, though I fail to see any.
[ He says it almost primly, while shoving the other half of the chocolate square in his mouth and digging for another piece. ] This chocolate is most intriguing. I see why humans are fond of it.
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[Though her daughter never stole food before their meal, not in Lenore's experience. Then again, the divorce happened when Jo wasn't yet two, so she was still learning to walk and talk the last time she really spent any time with her.
Thinking about how much of her child's life she's missing is depressing as hell, so Len switches her attention back to her food. Spock's oh-so logical observation has her fighting against the urge to flip him off. Either he wouldn't understand what she was doing and she'd have to explain yet another strange Earthling behavior, or he would understand and she'd round off an already terrible day by being written up for insubordination. Instead, she just points her fork at him and narrows her eyes.] You don't get to make comments about my dietary choices, as you are neither my mother, nor my husband. I just spent seven and a half goddamn hours painstakingly sewing shredded blood vessels and nerve endings back together on one of Scotty's hapless ducklings, I think I've earned the right to eat whatever the hell I want. [She punctuates that statement by popping a piece of cornbread in her mouth, licking the crumbs off her fingers and trying not to focus on the fact that the texture was all wrong. It tasted close enough, at least.
She's not really angry, though, too tired to feel anything more than a mild annoyance which is pretty par for the course when it comes to interacting with the Vulcan. Watching him devour his chocolate has her smiling a little, though, and she even goes so far as to push the bowl closer towards him.] We aren't the only ones, it seems.
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[ The 'idiots' is only implied, never out-right stated, because Spock would never demean himself to be so crudely insulting. Why outright state something when you can simply imply?
Besides, the search for another piece of chocolate is far too engrossing. Why discuss human children when there are more immediate concerns at hand, such as deciding what to try next.
McCoy's finger-licking does get a raised eyebrow, though. He knows well enough that McCoy is familiar with some Vulcan cultural norms, had to take xenobiology like most science-track cadets, and is probably well-aware of what she is doing.
Rude humans. ] I fail to see why your mother or husband would play a role in your dietary choices. They are your own. I was simply commenting on the irrationality of blaming chocolate for weight gain when you are indulging in far more caloric food choices.
[ He shoves another wrapped square of chocolate toward her. ] Is this the milk chocolate you were referring to, earlier? I must sample multiple varieties, in order to form a valid opinion regarding chocolate.
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Eschewing a place at the Vulcan Science Academy to enlist in Starfleet? Cleaving himself to one of the most emotional, rebellious individuals on the whole ship? If he wants people to think of him as a purely rational, logical being, becoming fast friends with Jim Kirk is not the best way to go about it. Len would know. She made that mistake on the shuttle to San Francisco, and she's never been able to be rid of him since.
She is aware of the whole hands-as-erogenous-zones thing in regards to Vulcans, but she honestly forgets sometimes. Spock doesn't wear gloves in his daily life to remind her, and he's the only Vulcan she's actually spent any time with. Combined with her stressful day and the sleepless night before, not to mention the glass of synthehol she's nursing, and she just plain forgot about his cultural taboos. So sue her.]
Humans are irrational, Spock, just accept it and move on. [She's not going to launch into an explanation of the outdated modes of belief that a woman's parents "owned" her until said "ownership" passed on to her husband, nor the way such beliefs still stubbornly clung to the more rural areas of the Deep South. She's just not in the mood to debate things she can't even change with him tonight.
Picking up the chocolate he pushes her way, she peels back a corner of the foil wrapper before nodding.] Yes, this is milk chocolate. [She hands it back and then dips her hand into the bowl as well, rifling around until she's pulled out a few more foil-wrapped squares in differing shades of red, pink, and white.] This one's white chocolate, which is actually a misnomer, as it's mostly milk and sugar. Very little cocoa in it at all.
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[ He is, likewise, speaking of the captain. Really, some caution would not be amiss.
Spock is certainly rebellious, and he acknowledges that somewhere in the back of his mind, another concept carefully shielded and repressed from all introspection. It began even before rejecting the VSA, and it carried on to him joining the Enterprise rather than helping his people settle in their new colony.
It is simply not an easy thing to admit, this rebellious desire that lingers in his chest. It had been easy, before, to cite his mother - and she had been a major reason, because he still cannot bear negative talk regarding Amanda Grayson - but it has grown much more complex.
Kirk is a good, logical choice to place the blame. He draws people in and makes demands, and Spock cannot let go.
There's nothing he can really say about humans and their irrationality, because he knows how this argument goes. Besides, he finds he tolerates their irrational natures, from time to time. ]
Your help is appreciated, Doctor. [ He glances between the chocolates, and selects one of the white chocolates. It lacks the same rich smell as the dark chocolate, and the taste is -
Well, it's not chocolate. All it tastes like to Spock is a mess of sweetness. ]
This is atrocious. [ He doesn't make a face, but only barely, and discards the rest of the white chocolate in favor of another square of dark. ] The nomenclature of said candy is misleading. In fact, many candies the crew discuss are misleading. Is it simply the human way?
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[She's been trying for four years to curb Jim Kirk's flighty nature, all to no avail. If Spock thinks he can do better, she's going to let him do his best and watch him crash and burn with a drink in her hand and a laugh on her lips. She needs more things in her life to amuse herself with, and that would be a prime contender.
Spock takes a bite out of the milk chocolate and stills, and if Len were a betting woman (she is), she would put money on the micro expression he just made being akin to a baby's grimace when they first try a slice of lemon. It takes real self-restraint to keep from laughing aloud. She knows if she did, Spock would just get huffy, assuming she was laughing at him (she would be), and wouldn't be able to see the humor in the situation. To stop herself from chuckling some more, she takes another sip of her synthehol, and shrugs when he drops the white chocolate to reach for the dark square.]
I dunno, Spock, you're going to have to give me specifics. I don't really know what kinds of candy the crew discuss in their downtime.
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[ He is not even trying to be subtle anymore. They are both referencing Jim, and are aware of it, and no one else is close enough to overhear.
That is something he would normally never say, expect maybe to Jim himself, but Spock doesn't think about the oddity of the words leaving his lips. ]
Or rather, only mention it when he is truly in danger.
[ So a dozen times a week. No matter.
The second square of dark chocolate disappears even quicker than the first, and he takes a piece of the milk chocolate to try. It is sweeter than the dark chocolate, creamier and lacking the bite, but acceptable. He still prefers the dark chocolate, going for a third piece - his fourth altogether. ]
They refer to candies such as kisses and fruit-based chews that lack any trace of fruit.
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[She sounds fond, though. As much as she complains about him, Len is very fond of Jim Kirk. It's almost impossible not to be, he's the type of person who inspires one of only two reactions: you either love him despite your better judgement, or you loathe him because of it.
Nothing in between.
He really seems to like chocolate. Amused, Len watches as he devours another piece, his higher body temperature melting the chocolate slightly against his fingertips. He hasn't seemed to notice yet; she wonders if he will, if he'll wipe them on a napkin or lick the chocolate off so as not to waste any.]
Hershey Kisses is just the name of the chocolate, I don't know why they're called that. The fruit ones, though, well. That's probably to trick people into thinking they're anything other than artificially-flavored sugar bombs. Who knows, really.
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And no one should listen to gossip. Spock has already had words with his department, but they show no signs of stopping.
His fingers are covered in chocolate, though he doesn't realize it until he reaches for another piece of chocolate. It is improper to waste food, and smears of chocolate are still a waste, so there is only one logical course of action.
Spock brings his fingers to his lips, licking them off his thumb rather delicately. It is good they are mostly alone, and it is only Bones watching him. Spock can at least pretend Bones has no idea what he is doing. It's easier to think that at the moment, which should trigger an alert in his head, but strangely doesn't.
He sucks his index finger into his mouth, licking the pad. It's almost indecent, by any cultural standard. Bones can forever hold this over his head.
He releases his finger with a 'pop,' and when he responds, his voice is just a fraction warmer. ]
See, as I said, they are misnomers. Terran traditions regarding names are most perplexing, Doctor.
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She snorts somewhat inelegantly, and waves her glass in a dismissive sort of arcing motion.] Jim does whatever the hell Jim wants, always has, always will. It's up to us idiots to pick up his pieces and make sure he doesn't kill himself in the process.
[Len's so wrapped up in her sudden bout of brooding that she almost misses it when Spock lifts his hands to his mouth and proceeds to lick his fingers clean, even going so far as to suck his index finger into his mouth. It's almost obscene, watching him all but fellate his finger, and Len's suddenly glad for the fact that she's the type to blush when drinking, as her alcohol-induced flush hides the sudden rush of blood to her face at that display.
By human standards, it was pretty tame. A little risqué, but relatively tame. But knowing what she knows about Vulcans (which admittedly isn't that much, stupid tight-lipped bastards, the lot of them)...
She clears her throat.] I guess we're just like that. We name big guys "Tiny" and Chihuahuas "Bruiser" because... Well, I don't know why. And for god's sake, Spock, we're off duty. Call me Lenore.
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[ He does not quite parse the rudeness of his comment, or the fact that it will never happen, but for all his surface dislike of Bones, he does have some esteem for her skill, and a person who could discard one such as Bones is not worth his consideration.
From a purely logical standpoint, of course. ]
He is fortunate to have individuals with talent and skill, and a marked tolerance for his impetuous actions.
[ Between the chocolate and the sucking on his finger, there's a faint green flush on Spock's cheeks, and he feels distinctly warmer than usual. It does not occur to him that there might be cause for concern, and rather than making a sensible decision to study what might cause an increase in internal body temperature, he reaches for a napkin to dry his finger tips.
And another piece of chocolate. ]
Very well, Doc - Lenore. Perhaps you might indulge my curiosity regarding the giving of gentlemen of large stature such monikers as 'Tiny.' Is it in reference to certain portions of their anatomy that belies their overall substantial presence?
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[There's a headache brewing at her temples, and the alcohol doesn't seem to be helping much. Sighing quietly, she rubs at her forehead and idly fantasizes about stabbing herself with a few hypos so she can fall asleep. But she doesn't like relying on drugs to cope with her problems — any mention of her fondness for alcohol will be met with a blank stare; that's completely different, thank you — so she shelves those thoughts and turns back to the matter at hand.]
I'm not tolerant, I'm just a sucker for big blue eyes, it seems. What's your excuse?
[Spock is looking green. On anyone else, that would be a worrying sign of nausea, but she's not sure what it means for Spock. He's so reticent about his physiology, not wanting her to know more than she absolutely has to in order to treat him, that she doesn't know very much about him at all. Jabilo seems to have that market cornered, and so she's left looking at the green flush that stains Spock's high cheekbones and the tips of his ears and wondering.
She laughs.] No, Spock, it's not because they've got small dicks. Although, steroids do tend to shrink genitalia. It's just...irony, I suppose. We just like to be contrary, surely you can attest to that.
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(Ignore the fact that Vulcans have even more pride than humans, and take great, subtle pleasure in reminding most of the Federation of their intelligence, skill, and superiority.)
At the very least, Spock will be in highly skilled hands. ] Your tone of voice and undignified sound indicate you are simply saying that to placate me. I assure you, I need no placating.
I am neither tolerant nor easily swayed by symmetrical features or the color and size of eyes. He is my captain and I do not wish to see another in his place. And.
[ He pauses and folds his hands together, leaning forward as though to bestow a great secret upon the doctor. ]
He is my friend. As I suffer a shortage of intimate connections, to lose even one would be abhorrent.
[ In the back of his mind, Spock is aware he has shared a confidence with the doctor and that such open discussion is atypical. It is simply that he can find no logical reason to not divulge such information, and the normal Vulcan reserve feels miles away. ]
The contrary nature of humans is not unknown to me. Even as a child, I encountered my mother, who was sometimes contrary. Not to such an illogical extent as some, of course.
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She lifts her eyebrows at him in a move that should demonstrate her disbelief, but she doesn't call him out on the clear symmetry of Uhura's face, nor the lovely color of her eyes. She's not sure where their relationship stands anymore, and there's needling Spock, and then there's needling Spock, and she doesn't really feel like pushing the boundaries that much tonight.
She's tired, and getting a little tipsy, and Spock is in an uncharacteristically talkative mood. She's surprised to find she kind of wants to encourage him.
Her gaze softens when he confesses what she already knows: that he has precious few friends. Instead of contradicting him as she might normally — "I thought Vulcans didn't have friends," — she just sighs and lifts her glass in a facsimile of a toast, holding it out to him like he'd clink glasses with her. Does he even know about the human tradition of toasting? She hasn't ever thought about it.] I know how that feels.
[Smiling a little at him, she leans her chin on her palm and lets her eyes droop in a lazy blink.] Will you tell me about her? She must have been quite a lady.
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The wrappers of the chocolates litter the surface of the table, and Spock carefully collects them, small souvenirs of his taste test of chocolate. He will make Jim gather more at their next stop. ]
You are acquainted with what feeling, Lenore? The few friends or the lack of desire to see them injured?
[ His mother remains a painful topic and there is an emptiness inside his mind where his bond with her once thrived. But the grief grows muted with every passing year, and he finds discussing her not as painful as it had been, even when she had been alive. ] She was a very warm individual, but did not resent Vulcan and the repression of her emotions while on the planet. There were those who thought her less because of her humanity, rather than admiring the grace and skill with which she managed to survive Vulcan.
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She unwraps a chocolate of her own and nibbles on the corner.]
Of course I am, Spock. This may shock you, but I'm not exactly an easy person to get along with. And I never like seeing people hurt. [She's a doctor, and a damn good one, at that. Not only is she adept at all the new hands-off technologies when it comes to healing, but she's done her fair share of extremely hands-on work; in fact, Lenore often prefers the so-called barbaric practice of physical surgery, using her own hands to wield the scalpel instead of a machine.
Mothers are often painful topics. Lenore's relationship with her own is strained, at best, but it's nice to know that despite how cold and unfeeling he might seem, Spock loved his mother the way all little boys should.] I wish I could have met her. [It would have been fascinating to pick her brain; Lenore isn't much of a linguist, so that topic of conversation would be more or less off the table, but she wants to know why someone would willingly pack up and move to a planet that's so very different from your own.
She only left Georgia because there was nothing there left for her. To make that kind of choice when there were other options...
But then again, love is a powerful motivator.]
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[ It is not actually concerning to him, but he is quite interested in discovering more. If it makes humans feel this way, he can understand why they would enjoy such delicacies. ]
That is not a shocking fact, Lenore. I believe many would say similar things about myself. Their minds are small and narrow, and they refuse an understanding that would lead to greater knowledge and appreciation of the world around them and personalities that differ from their own. [ It is a long-winded explanation of the words his mother offered to him when his peers persisted in bullying him. Though he found little comfort in the words then, he can appreciate them now. ]
She counted herself a very fortunate human woman. I only wish she were here to meet my crew mates. No. To meet my friends. [ And he is almost sentimental about it all. But he does wish she could have met them, from Uhura to Jim to Lenore, and the rest of the command crew.
He thinks she would have liked them. ] She enjoyed human idioms and often used them in conversation when possible.
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[Lenore is more of a savory snack person than a sweet snack person, but that's not really relevant. (She's reminded of a study she read that found that people who prefer salty foods over sweet foods are often viewed less favorably; 'bitchy' was one word used to describe the group by one of the participants, and oh, isn't that on the nose.)
She taps the edge of her fingernail against the table, continuing to frown slightly.] Most people would say we don't get along, either. Is my mind small and narrow?
[She finds she really is regretful that she never got to meet Amanda Grayson, although she did indulge herself in a little light reading about the woman a few months ago, when she had an evening free and curiosity struck. It's hard to judge a person's character from a dry summation of their accomplishments, but yes, she thinks they would have gotten along.
Spock's next comment just solidifies that idle notion.] So when you profess ignorance over some little turn of phrase I use, you're just being supercilious jackass? [The smile on her face, amused and vindicated in equal measure, should take the sting out of her accusation, but who knows how Spock will take it.]
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He unwraps another chocolate - how many is that now? - and breaks it into pieces again, slipping one into his mouth. Perhaps he can ask M'Benga about increasing lack of circumspect talk. ]
I would name you friend, Lenore, and be ever in your service should you require support. Your mind is illogical and rash, Lenore, and you are given to over-dramatic tendencies in your speech. But it is not small or narrow. Indeed, I believe your dramatic phrases to be the way you process complications. You are always capable of performing under pressure. Simply because we do argue in our approach does not mean we do not get along.
[ Besides, Spock has picked up on the fact that all of those insults from the doctor are simply her way of expressing frustration, and in some ways, a way to include Spock into the group at large. He has long since learned not to take offense.
Though he can't resist feigning offense at her words. ]
I am neither superior to anyone [ which is a complete lie ] nor domesticated hoofed mammal.
I simply must remind people of the egregious claims in their idioms.
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Chomping bitterly on her square of chocolate, she's so shocked by Spock's miniature monologue about her good qualities that she almost chokes on the sweet in her mouth.
She coughs, attempting to regain her composure.] Spock. [If he were anyone else, she'd reach out and touch his hand; she may be tipsy, but she's not drunk enough to touch a touch-telepath without thinking about it long and hard. Yet.] I thought you didn't even like me. Illogical and rash. Gosh, I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said about me. [If she's blushing, it's all because of the alcohol, alright. Definitely not because of the startled pleasure curling under her breastbone.
She doesn't care what Spock thinks about her because she doesn't care what anyone thinks about her. She's a grown-ass woman, and a successful doctor to boot. She doesn't need anyone's approval.
Though it is kind of nice to know she's held in some esteem by her fellow officers.]
I guess you're not so bad yourself. Even if you are pedantic as all get-out.
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There were reasons he could understand, when it came to particular causes. A male Vulcan's time was the cause of a deep, abiding shame, and that was something none wished for the galaxy to know. But otherwise? There were good reasons, Spock was sure, but he could not recall them, could not remember why they were so stubborn about allowing records to be translated and given to medical personnel.
For Spock, it was a different story. Enough time under the cold, calculating eyes of scientists who viewed him as nothing more than a specimen has left him reluctant to spend even the slightest time undergoing poking and prodding.
This chocolate really is going to his head.
He does not mind, however. The taste is still pleasant, and his limbs feel relaxed. He even deigns to slouch the slightest bit, tension bleeding from his frame. ]
I assure you, that was not meant as a compliment. [ Though her reaction does not surprise him; he has always found Lenore to react in ways he does not comprehend.
He recognizes her own words are a return of his sentiment, and bows his head in response. It is, in a deep, startling way he cannot thoroughly describe, gratifying to hear her claim. ]
Someone abroad this vessel needs to be exact, and none but me seem capable.
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[She's still laughing when he tries to tell her that he was insulting her, which just makes her laugh even more. The synthehol has left her feeling far giddier than usual at this time of night, but Spock is acting looser than he normally does, so she doesn't feel too badly for being a little silly.] Oh, I know. I just choose to take it as one, so thank you.
[His hair is always so neat and tidy, like a wig, or a helmet. It's just another part of his fastidious nature that she's always come to depend on, like the fact that his boots are almost mirrored they're so polished, and that his reports are written with such exact grammar that they might as well be examples in a college textbook. When he bows his head in acknowledgement of her backwards compliment, she can see that his hair is mussed, just a little, just a few pieces lying out of order.
It's startling, and distracting.]
Well, it's a good thing we have you around then, isn't it, Mr. Spock?
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[ Spock does, actually, possess some measure of esteem for her medical expertise, but he will never say such a thing. At least, not to her face. If anything negative does impact his health, Spock knows the doctor will find a cure.
He is not going to acknowledge her thanks. Not only does he rarely acknowledge thanks, for no thanks are needed in most circumstances, her reaction is ridiculous. Thanking someone for calling them illogical. Spock does not even try to resist rolling his eyes at her.
It is a good thing he does not notice his hair is out of place. It is a distraction he would not care for, especially when the chocolate is so good and the warmth in his blood startling. ]
Indeed, it is fortunate. Were I given to idle speculation and frivolous imaginings, I would venture to say that the ship would fall apart without my guidance.
However, that is improbable. The ship cannot fall apart, Mr. Scott is most adept at keeping her repaired. And the individuals residing on the ship would likewise not fall apart literally. It is operations that would suffer.
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