Chapter Text
“I am your designated social companion for the evening meal.” T’Akos sat her tray down opposite Jim’s.
He’d been here a month and was still in awe of the Sh’Raan’s mess hall. Instead of the utilitarian steel grey of Starfleet ships, the walls here were the pale orange of a summer sunrise. Bright yellow tapestries hung from ceiling to floor, making the useful panels of instructions and updates look like beams of sunlight filling the room. White and blue Vulcan calligraphy chased one another across their surfaces like wispy clouds. Between the tapestries the crew hand painted murals of birds and bird analogs from worlds Jim had never heard of.
His favorite tapestry was the ongoing commentary on their Human Guest. That one had been removed and replaced six times in four weeks, and the ongoing debate in the commentary ribbons attached to it made him want to steal the whole thing and take it home with him.
“Really? I was expecting T’Hini,” he lied.
This was the third time T’Akos traded another crew member for the evening Human Socialization Shift. He missed his Turbolift stop this afternoon because he was too busy pretending not to listen to T’Akos and T’Hini openly discuss the positives of his aesthetic properties versus the negatives of his physical weakness and distressingly bad memory. He almost tipped them off to his knowledge of conversational Vulcan by snorting when T’Hini compared his memory and coloration to that of a Koi Fish she’d seen at the zoo in Shi’Kahr. T’Akos replied that she was interested in seeing him wet.
“If the change in expected companions distresses you, T’Hini can be summoned.”
Her thick crown braid was decorated with delicate succulents culled from Botany Lab 3’s overgrowth. Half the dining hall was sporting a few of the blooms. Each rosette was no more than four centimeters, adding lovely flashes of purple, orange, and red to her onyx locks. The colors matched the bold floral pattern of her silky outer robe, while the matte satin texture of the succulent’s leaves was mirrored in the folds of her under robe. While no individual item was exceptional, he could tell by the sum of them that she’d dressed up for dinner.
“You’re already here.” He twirled a garlic breadstick between his fingers. “Take a load off. Tell me about your day.”
T’Akos sat a platter in between their trays. Her dinner this evening came in six small enameled bowls, each painted with a different bird. One held thin slices of a slightly sweet purple tuber, fried in a crispy tempura-like batter. She used her chopsticks to lay three slices onto the platter, then pulled the rest of the bowl close to herself, shooting him a quick warning look. He grinned and picked up one of the slices with his bare fingers, enjoying the way she watched him eat it.
“We successfully deployed a decoy beacon which lured an Orion pirate ship off our course.” T’Akos poured a fragrant red gravy over a yellow grain that looked a lot like rice, then topped it all off with crunchy fried cubes of human-style soy glazed tofu.
“The one that reads as a freighter ship leaking reactor coolant?” Jim slid a wide spoon under his fork and spun up a mouthful of surprisingly good Fettucini Alfredo.
“Indeed. If the Orions follow past patterns then the beacon should lead them to a nearby patrol ship.” She added two well stuffed vegetable dumplings to the platter between their trays. Jim reciprocated by offering one of his garlic breadsticks.
“That sounds like a solid day’s work,” said Jim.
He wanted to shove that beacon right up Spock’s ass. The crew of the Sh’Raan were smart enough to be aware of danger and practical enough to proactively lure pirates away from their ship and towards well staffed patrols.
‘You know, not all Orions are pirates,” he said. Gaila wasn’t, and neither was Dr. Oumou back on Typerias.
“Agreed,” said T’Akos. “Someone has to build the spaceships, establish a market for stolen goods, and maintain the culture.” She took a bite of her fragrant sweet-and-sour pickled vegetables and sighed with a pleasure that bordered on human.
“That sounds surprisingly judgemental for a Vulcan.” Jim tried to poke his fork into one of her remaining tempura slices. She swatted him away with her chopsticks.
“Have you seen an Orion ship?” T’Akos raised an eyebrow.
“Only in textbooks,” Jim admitted.
“They possess impressive exterior aesthetics and daring architectural design, although their interiors are notably lacking.”
Jim stuffed his mouth with more fettucini to buy himself a little time. When the hell had T’Akos seen the inside of an Orion ship? Dammit, no. He wasn’t letting Spock get into his head.
“You’ve been inside the belly of the beast?” Jim twirled up another bite of fettuccine.
“Belly of the beast. A solid day. I look forward to researching the origins of your colorful idioms,” said T’Akos. “Captain Spisee agrees that an understanding of their etymology and historical use will deepen our comprehension of modern Federation Standard.”
“Nice!” Jim grinned at her. “You plan on publishing your findings?”
“I would require a human co-author who can verify the authenticity of the idioms in question and direct me towards ethnographic research resources.” She indulged in another decadent bite of her pickled vegetables.
Jim’s smile widened as he looked her over. “I might know someone who could help.”
“Thank you,” said T’Akos. “I would appreciate you sharing my contact information with Cadet Uhura.”
“I’m wounded.” He lay a hand over his heart. “You weren’t using research as an excuse to get my contact information?”
“Your injuries are imaginary,” said T’Akos. “Captain Spisee has your full contact information should anyone onboard need it. However, if it would not be an intrusion upon your privacy, we can schedule a time for you to introduce me to Cadet Uhura via comm. Once scheduled, I shall join you in your quarters so you may facilitate an introduction.”
Despite earnestly offering him a dizzying array of decorating supplies so he could make the room fit his personal and cultural aesthetic, no other Vulcan had asked to see what he’d done with the place. “That can be arranged.”
She nodded once, clearly satisfied with this interaction. “Have you received your third Unit of Praise today?”
His smile widened. “T’Akos, are you telling me I’m a good boy for introducing you to Uhura?”
“You are a legal adult, and you have as yet made no introductions,” said T’Akos. “Praise is reserved for actual accomplishments.”
She reached across the table and gently gave his shoulder three long, soft pats, almost like she was petting a skittish kitten. “You are especially well groomed this evening, Cadet Kirk.”
Her low tone and soft touch went straight to his dick. From a human, that would be exceptionally condescending. But from T’Akos, he was sure it was flirtation. Almost sure. “Thank you. ”
“Query.” T’Akos studied his dinner tray. “Are your edible ribbons derived from a cloth that can be worn as a garment or are they only used as food?” She studied the individual noodles in search of calligraphy or other ornamentation.
“It’s called Fettuccini. Just a sec.” He headed back to the Starfleet replicator they installed for his comfort and asked it for a fork, a ramekin, and a small box containing four Betazoid truffles. The box earned him looks of both worry and reproach. It was his third one this week.
The crew’s cuisine was nothing like the herb-rich food he’d enjoyed on Tyresias or the expensive, minimalist Vulcan restaurants back in San Francisco.
At the table next to theirs, Shugar, T’Una, Sepsis, Snaak, and T’Mari sat steaming bowls on a lazy susan. Breakfast was just a hearty soup, but lunch and dinner on the Sh’Raan were leisurely affairs with anywhere from five to eight courses shared by the entire table. They liked heavy gravies, full of flavor, poured over a dizzying assortment of grains. There was always a small fried course, pickles, some sort of protein paste, and on good days, dumplings.
They thought the Federation replicator was malfunctioning the first few times he pulled out huge plates of just one or two things, like tonight’s Fettuccine Alfredo with a side of breadsticks.
When he came back to the table, his giant plate of homogenous noodles was surrounded by small bowls of battered and fried orange tubers, a sweet and sour pickle that tasted like tart lemon candy, and the truly excellent Red Squared dumplings made with a paste of Terran red beans and Vulcan red spice.
“Here. Give this a try.” He wound the fresh fork in his Fettuccine Alfredo, placed the bite of noodles in the ramekin, and sat it on the communal tray. The fork wobbled, threatening to fall out of the ramekin. Jim’s fingers propped it up just as T’Akos reached for it. He pretended not to notice her pupils widen as their fingertips touched.
Cheeks flushed faintly green, T’Akos dutifully tried the bite in the spirit of cross-cultural understanding. “It is…damp.”
“That’s accurate,” Jim admitted. “What do you think of the flavor and texture?”
She sniffed a loose noodle that had fallen into the ramekin. “Is this ribbon replicated from a garment that was worn by someone with a fungal infection?”
“Ouch!” Jim laughed. “Even on Earth, cheese isn’t for everyone. And just so you know, the ribbons are called pasta, and they’re not used as garments. They’re made from a grain that’s processed into a powder, rehydrated, turned into a sort of dough, then rolled thin like this. I’m sure there are excellent educational videos detailing the whole process.”
“Noted. Perhaps we can enjoy an educational video together for your next Entertainment. I could reciprocate by supplying one about equally obscure Vulcan customs.” She picked up her PADD before his brain could process what the hell she meant by that. “Continuing with the Human Fraternization Checklist, what are your three favorite colors, ranked in order?”
Right. Time for more small talk. At least once a day Vulcans asked him questions from the Human Fraternization Checklist, often pausing to dutifully take notes.
“Most humans just pick one. Mine’s gold.” Just like his future uniform. “If I had to pick two more, I guess I’d say blue and red.”
T’Akos held the last slice of tempura fried purple tuber over the communal tray as an enticement. “Can you be more specific?”
Not without admitting to the aesthetically obsessed Vulcans that his favorite colors were the Starfleet Uniform trifecta. “Um, I think the human visual range is more limited than yours.”
“Unfortunate.” T’Akos ate her tempura. “Query: what do you miss the most about Iowa?”
“Corn.” Jim didn’t even have to think about that one. “There’s a beauty in rows upon rows of the prettiest green you’ve ever seen, stretching all the way to the horizon. We have fun with it, too. Corn plants grow tall - about two meters per stalk. Every county has at least one corn maze. That’s where you strategically plant the corn so there are twisty paths in it wide enough for two humans to walk side by side. Finding your way out is a fun little challenge.”
“Fascinating. Is this enrichment activity exclusively for people of a specific age or social standing?” asked T’Akos.
Jim laughed. “Nah. It’s wholesome fun.”
Sam had taken him every year until Jim left for Tarsus. When Winona dragged him away from Typerius, the mazes felt more like home than Dead George’s house. He’d had his first kiss with a human in a corn maze. David’s mouth tasted like all the sweetness of summer had been concentrated in his lips. They held hands and chased little kids around corners, giggling whenever they ran into another couple trying to steal a taste of summer.
“Do specific regional dishes accompany the corn maze enrichment activity?”
“They can, but I don’t think you’d like them,” he chuckled. “Human celebratory foods traditionally hold next to no nutritional value.” He paused, trying to think of how to describe Fair Food to a Vulcan, “At the corn mazes and county fairs, the booths serve a lot of variations of deep fried dough accompanied by excessive amounts of sugar.”
She raised an eyebrow. “And chocolate?”
He laughed. “I mean, in a city like Riverside you can always get a deep fried Snickers Bar, usually with chocolate syrup and powdered sugar on top.”
“Fascinating.” Her gaze drifted to his little box of four chocolates. “Perhaps you can replicate examples to consume when we share educational videos.”
Jim could feel Sepsis and T’Una’s eyes on them from the next table.
“Will the subject of her educational videos be comparative anatomy?” asked Shugar.
Jim coughed around a bite of pasta. He forced himself not to look in their direction.
“ I too am curious ,” said T’Una. “He is quite small and fragile, but humans are reputed to be surprisingly energetic.”
“Satisfy your curiosity about human mating customs with the antics of Bob and Rohingar tonight,” said Sepsis.
Jim perked up. Did they say Bob and Rohingar? Tonight! A story about watching The Stars Live In Your Eyes in a room full of Vulcans would get him free drinks for a week from Gaila’s crew. He was possessed with a sudden need to snag an invitation without giving away his secret knowledge of Vulcan.
“Both characters are both played by Bajoran actors wearing a nose prosthesis,” said T’Una.
“Close enough,” said Sepsis.
“Are we close enough to Romulans?” she asked.
Oh God. He couldn’t do it. That was one of the biggest running jokes on the show!
“Are you well, Cadet?” asked T’Akos. “Your breathing is erratic and your posture … awkward?”
“I’m fine, T’Akos,” he said. “Just thinking about home.”
“And the corn mazes,” she prompted, once more picking up her PADD.
“Honestly? I’m kinda missing an obscure holo program you’ve probably never heard of. I used to watch it with my Orion and Andorian friends back at the academy.” He picked up a breadstick and twirled it between his fingers.
“Oh?” T’Akos reached her chopsticks over the communal tray to snag a bite of his lemon pickle.
“It’s called The Stars Live In Your Eyes .”
Every head in the room slowly turned his way.
“You’ve heard of it?” He politely placed half the contents of all three surprise bowls on the communal tray between them.
“Indeed.” T’Akos chose a Red Squared dumpling.
“Ask if he wishes to view it with us.” T’Mari steadfastly pretended all of her attention was on her meal.
Jim carefully kept his eyes on T’Akos and his expression pleasantly neutral. The absolute best part of being raised by Vulcans was his poker face.
“Tell him snacks will be present,” added T’Una.
Every Vulcan he’d ever met ate highly structured meals on a set schedule. He’d never once seen a Vulcan “snack.” What did they think that word meant? Was Snaak going to be present? Would there be little plates of food? Would they ritually indulge in something unhealthy? Damn, he wanted to know!
“I will not.” Snaak said sadly. “I have a duty shift after my meal.”
“You need not be present for the ritual consumption to honor you,” said T’Hini.
Okay. That sounded like cannibalism. He was behind a couple of episodes, but he was sure The Stars Live in Your Eyes hadn’t suddenly turned dark.
“A genuine human perspective would add significantly to the knowledge base we acquire from the program,” said T’Una.
“You wish him to support your theories,” said Shugar . “As a human his voice would carry authority yours lacks.”
T’Akos narrowed her eyes at them. “I am his designated social companion this evening.”
Jim ditched his fork and used his fingers to pick up another dumpling. He thoughtfully tapped it against his lips. T’Akos nostrils flared as she watched him. “I have missed watching the program with friends.” He bit the dumpling in half, sending warm filling trickling down his thumb. He stared at T’Akos as he casually licked it off.
“W’eld T’gath’er?” T’Hini said slowly.
Jim blinked at her, sifting through possible synonyms. “Join together? Are you inviting us to your viewing party?”
“The program will be entirely in Vulcan,” said T’Akos.
“The subtitles are in Vulcan,” said Sepsis. “The program itself is in the original Standard.”
“It has proven exceptionally useful as an aid for those studying the language,” said T’Una. Beside her, T’Hini nodded agreement.
Jim raised an eyebrow at T’Akos. He wasn’t entirely sure whether they genuinely wanted him there or were trying to subtly provide a post-dinner chaperone for him and T’Akos.
“Your presence could prove a distraction for those using the programs for educational purposes,” said T’Akos.
Jim grinned at her. “I can stop by my quarters and put on a longer robe if you’re afraid my ankles will prove too titillating for Vulcan sensibilities.”
Shugar and T’Una exchanged a bemused look.
“Or you could loan me your outer robe when we get there. You’re wearing, what, four layers? Surely you could spare one.” Jim left his hand on the table, fingers stretched to her side of the communal tray between them. “To cover me up so I won’t be … distracting.”
It was Snaak’s turn to cough around a bite of food.
T’Akos rested her hand next to the shared tray, her long fingers only centimeters from his. “A sensible suggestion,” she conceded.
“How long until the program?” Jim gave Sepsis his best Interested But Not Too Eager look.
“Two hours, sixteen minutes, and thirty four seconds.” Sepsis eyed their fingers.
“What are your plans until then?” asked T’Akos.
“I am here to learn.” Jim slid the tips of his fingers over hers on his way to picking up another dumpling. “Perhaps,” he smiled at her, eyes twinkling. “Something suitably educational.”