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Romancing the Vulcan
by T'Aaneli
Sitting in the mess hall, nursing his second cup of morning coffee, Dr. McCoy watched from a distance as Ensign Chekov hovered near Spock, obviously wanting to get his attention but unsure as to how to do it. Finally, Chekov walked over to Spock and plonked himself down. Not gracefully. McCoy chuckled as he saw Spock flinch ever so slightly. Uncouth movements and Vulcans don't go together hand in hand.
He watched as Chekov leaned towards Spock. Although he was a doctor, he wasn't a lip reader. Unfortunately. This morning he wished he had that particular gift as he saw Spock's eyebrow rise in response to a flurry of words from Chekov. A nod from Spock, a word or two in reply, and Chekov got up, looking relieved and positively ... glowing. That was it. Glowing. Good lord. What was going on now? He waited until Chekov left.
He stood up, cup in hand, and sauntered over to Spock, pasting on his friendliest smile. "Well and a good morning to you, Spock. I see the bed bugs didn't get you last night."
"Good morning, Doctor. Indeed, I appear to have survived the night unscathed. If you are having difficulties with these 'bed bugs' as you call them, I will arrange to have your quarters fumigated."
McCoy sat down across from Spock. He lounged back in his chair, shaking his head. "You really should study up on your old Terran expressions and stop taking them so
literally." He watched in silence as Spock fastidiously finished his bowl of gruel. Well, maybe it wasn't gruel, but even to his doctor's eye, accustomed to inflicting all sorts of healthy diets on his patients, it didn't look appetizing. He waited; he knew that Spock couldn't stand his silence for much longer. Vulcans are more curious than the proverbial dead cat.
"Doctor. Your continuing presence across the table suggests that you have some question which you wish to direct towards me."
Finally. "What makes you think that, Spock? Why don't you think that I just *enjoy* sitting down for breakfast with my favourite Vulcan on board?"
"I am the only Vulcan on board."
"Details, details." McCoy waved his hand, dismissing the reply. "So. I've been watching Chekov for the last few days. He's been very ... out of sorts. Just not his normal cheery self. I also happened to notice that he dropped by for a chat with you a few minutes ago. Is there anything that the ship's doctor should know?"
"As ship's doctor, I understand that you have your own methods of obtaining disclosure from individuals as to their physical and emotional condition. I suggest that you use such methods rather than attempt to interrogate me for any information." Spock took a last sip of tea. "If you have no further questions, my presence is required on the bridge in 5 minutes. Good-bye, Doctor."
McCoy watched Spock rise, even more curious than when he had first sat down.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
The door chimed.
"Come in." Spock remained at his desk, not looking up until the slight figure was standing in front of him. "Mr. Chekov. Please take a seat. I shall be with you in a moment."
As Spock completed his review of the weekly astrometrics report, he was aware of the Ensign's growing discomfort. First a fidgety foot. Then tapping fingers. Then the shifting in the seat. Finally, the cough in the throat. A sound which echoed in his quiet quarters.
Spock turned away from the monitor to face the young ensign. "Mr. Chekov. In what manner may I be of assistance?" He studied the young man's face, noting the blush creeping across his cheeks.
"Mr. Spock. I ... " Chekov's voice trailed away as he fidgeted in his seat again, his eyes locked in apparent fascination on the firepot in the corner.
"Mr. Chekov. Although I am Vulcan, and although I do have some telepathic abilities, I am not capable of reading your thoughts. In the event you wish any input from me, I would suggest that you articulate your question more clearly."
Chekov raised his eyes to meet Spock's. "I'm in love, Mr. Spock."
Spock reclined, arching one eyebrow delicately. "I believe the appropriate comment is congratulations. However, I am still curious as to why you are seeking my assistance in this matter?"
Chekov leaned towards Spock, his face the epitome of guilelessness. "Because I'm in love with a Vulcan."
Spock leaned back further, attempting to increase the space between them as his eyebrow continued its journey upwards. "Indeed. And have you discussed your current state with this individual?"
Chekov sighed, his face crumpling into a distressed look. "No. I don't know what to say to her. She's beautiful, Mr. Spock. She's posted to a linguistics research team on Starbase 5. I've tried to talk to her. But I just don't know what to say. And we're heading back there in four days. That's why I'm here. I need some advice, Mr. Spock. On how to romance a Vulcan."
Spock remained silent for a minute. Finally, he rose and went to the corner. He reached up to a bookshelf and pulled out a tattered notebook, an anachronism in his otherwise
meticulous quarters.
"Mr. Chekov. I trust you understand that I have little personal experience in regards to relationships. However, I am willing to share with you my mother's observations on the matter of romance and Vulcans; observations she has gleaned over the course of her marriage." Spock sat back down and carefully opened the volume. "I trust you will keep this advice strictly private."
"But of course, Mr. Spock, of course." And so the two dark heads leaned in together to review the meticulous notes in the tattered journal.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Kirk walked into his quarters, McCoy in tow. McCoy was still regaling him with Betazoid jokes that he had picked up during his recent shoreleave. Kirk was still chuckling over the last one.
As the lights came on, Kirk scanned his quarters out of habit. He was the first to notice the folded paper lying on the bed. He walked over and picked it up. No name. Hmmm. He
unfolded it. A typed note. No signature. He looked at the top of the note and quickly refolded it as McCoy came up behind him.
"What's that, Jim. Love notes? Is there something going on that I don't know about?"
"Don't be silly, Bones. Between you and Spock, all of my free time is occupied. Where would I find time for a romance?" Kirk brushed past McCoy, slipping the note underneath a pile of padds. He smiled to himself as he did so. 'Top 10 Ways to Romance a Vulcan.' Oh, really? Maybe he'd have to try some of them. And he knew just the Vulcan to test them out on. He had been rather too busy lately, in fact, he'd been plain inattentive.
"Care for some brandy?" Kirk reached for two glasses, gifting McCoy with his most disarming smile.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Chekov sat down next to Uhura, slipping an arm around her shoulders.
"And?" She looked at him, her dark eyes lit with anticipation.
"It worked beautifully, Uhura. Spock didn't suspect a thing."
She leaned back, smiling. "And the captain?"
"I left the note on his bed. He can't miss it. Guaranteed."
Uhura leaned over and deposited a kiss on Chekov's cheek. "Thank-you, Chekov. The whole bridge crew thanks you. If my instincts are right, in just a little while, we'll have our more relaxed command team back."
--finis--