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From: Farfalla <stephenbratliffasc@earthlink.net> (by way of Stephen aka Old Man ASC <stephenbratliffasc@earthlink.net>)
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Date: Tue, 09 Mar 2004 00:24:03 -0500
Subject: [ASCEM-S] NEW TOS "A Friendship Rare and Well Done" K/S, U/C, Mc [PG]
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Title: A Friendship Rare and Well Done
Author: Farfalla the Butterfly-Kitten
Email: blueberrysnail @ yahoo dot com
Website: http://cosmicduckling.com/spirk
Characters: K/S, U/C, Mc, Mss
Beta'd by Hypatia Kosh
Archived on ASCEM, AAK/SA, and nice places that ask
for permission first.
Rating: PG for language, h/c for Gamin's challenge on
KSFF


A FRIENDSHIP RARE AND WELL DONE

"Hungry?" Uhura asked, lifting her eyebrows at
Chekov's plate.

"Just a leetle," Chekov joked back. He placed the
overflowing disc on the table in front of him and sat
down. Mashed potatoes, beef stew, greens seasoned with
bacon fat, and a turkey leg tried helplessly to fit
within its small borders. M'Ress and Uhura eyed his
plate with amused and indulgent expressions. Spock,
the fourth person at their table in the mess hall,
merely nodded in greeting and returned his attention
to his kashi and apricots.

Chekov tore into his food with the enthusiasm of a
starving dog. As he swallowed a mouthful of his beef
stew, he regarded the meals of his dinner companions.
Uhura was halfway through a large sandwich. M'Ress was
lapping milk out of a martini glass. A half-finished
bowl of smelts languished in front of her.

He looked again at Spock's virtuous plate. "Mr.
Spock," he asked. "How do you do it?"

"How do I do what, Ensign?"

"Eat that stuff! Look at that," he said to the women,
"all vegetables, grains... have you ever eaten meat at
all?"

"Once," Spock informed him. "I do not plan on
repeating the experience."

"Do you not like meat, Commander Spock?" M'Ress asked.
She was a recent addition to the crew, coming on after
the V'ger incident as a communications officer at the
beginning of their second mission.

"Vulcans do not believe in consuming the flesh of
other animals," Spock explained. "To us, the body of
another is not ours to take as our own food."

M'Ress eyed him suspiciously. "Our bodies are
incapable of digesting anything else." Her species,
the Caitians, were carnivores like the Earth cats they
resembled.

"Then it is only logical for you to eat what your
bodies have evolved to digest," Spock answered.
"However, my body is perfectly capable of sustaining
healthy life on a totally vegetarian diet, and since I
follow the ways of my father's species, I prefer to do
so."

"I could newer give this up," Chekov said lovingly to
his turkey leg as it approached his mouth.

"Does Lady Amanda eat meat?" asked Uhura, curious
about Spock's human mother.

"My mother consumes meat when she is on Earth visiting
family," said Spock, "but she has grown accustomed to
life without it and indeed no longer requires it in
her diet."

"It can be very healthy," Uhura pointed out. "For
humans, I mean," she hastily added before M'Ress's
tail could start twitching.

"As long as one is careful to consume the eight
essential amino acids that humans are incapable of
producing," said Spock, "plant foods can provide all
the nutrients that a human body needs. Certain
combinations of Earth foods have been culturally
associated to ensure a diet that is complete and
nutritional, for example, tofu and rice, or corn and
beans."

"I don't know about zat," said Chekov, "but I don't
feel full unless I've had some meat."

"Perhaps you would feel differently if you had grown
up on Vulcan," said Spock.

Chekov looked horrified at the idea.

M'Ress still looked slightly uncomfortable, so Uhura
tactfully changed the subject. "Mr. Spock, why isn't
the captain here? Didn't his bridge shift end for
dinnertime?"

"Admiral Kirk is feeling unwell," Spock told her. "He
is at Sickbay, or possibly resting in bed by now."

"What's the matter?" Uhura asked in soft alarm.

"It is not serious," Spock reassured her. "He simply
has not been able to breathe through his nose for the
last two days."

"Probably just a cold," she said, nodding.

//

"Twenty-third century and we still can't cure the
common cold," Admiral Kirk bitched from the bed.

"It is impossible to cure because there is no 'common'
cold," Spock pointed out. "What you humans call a
'cold' is in reality any of a number of minor viruses,
all displaying the same symptoms, which are merely the
normal immune response to such invaders."

"Mm," grunted Jim. "I know." He sighed, and fiddled
with his blanket. "I feel like hell."

"Your metaphor is appropriate," Spock observed after
putting his hand gently on Jim's fevered forehead.

Jim's mouth twitched into a smirk at the pun, then
relaxed it into a smile. Even though Spock wasn't
deliberately melding with him right now, the touch of
his hand near the meld-points still brought a little
brush of pleasant affection.

"I guess you've got to go back out there soon," Jim
commented. "You've got the bridge for a while. Bones
wants me to stay in here for the next forty-eight
hours. Can you believe it?"

"I agree with the doctor's orders," said Spock,
"unusual as that is. This virus can be quickly
expelled from your body if you are rested, but if not,
it could develop into something more serious. Since we
are merely bringing supplies to colonies at the
moment, you can spare the time and ensure a quick
recovery."

Jim made a growling noise in frustration. "Not you,
too." He sighed loudly. "I have things to do out
there."

"Nevertheless, the doctor has decreed that you rest."
Spock started poking into the bookcase. "Shall I get
you something to read before I leave?"

Jim told him to pick out an antique book of sea-faring
mysteries, printed on real paper and bound in leather.
Spock placed the book in his hands and left the room,
and Jim began to read.

//

"I can't take this any more."

"You have less than a day left of quarantine," Spock
pointed out as he reshelved Jim's latest read books.

"I should be out there being useful," Jim grumbled.
"Where's that medicine?"

Spock came to the bedside holding the pills Dr. McCoy
had prescribed. "I see you are in need of more water,"
he noted, giving Jim the pills and taking the empty
carafe from the bedside table.

"I've been drinking all day. Flush it out, my mother
says." Jim sighed. "I feel like a water balloon,
between this and the chicken soup. Endless chicken
soup!"

"From what I have heard, the ship's chicken soup is
not up to standard," Spock sympathized.

"You heard right, Spock. Too much salt, not enough
flavor..." Jim shifted restlessly on the pillow. "You
know what I wish I was eating, Spock? What would
really make me feel better?"

"I do not," Spock asked, with interest. He filled the
carafe from the sink in the bathroom.

"A steak. A big, 16-ounce steak, cooked medium rare,
with a helping of my mother's corn pudding on the
side." Jim sighed. "Not that the synthesizer steak
would even come close."

Spock placed the full carafe of water next to Jim and
poured him half a glass. "You will be back on the
bridge tomorrow, according to Dr. McCoy."

"Thanks," said Jim about the water. "Yeah, well,
that's true. I'm sorry for complaining. I'm just
having a bad day." He smiled weakly at Spock, who was
on his way back to the door. He was needed on the
bridge again, in the absence of the captain.

"Pleasant dreams, Jim," Spock said softly as he left.

//

"Signal confirmed from planet Valencia II," said Lt.
Uhura. "Mr. Spock, they're asking if we're ready to
beam down their supplies."

"Are all of the goods assembled in the transporter
room?" Spock asked.

"Transporter room confirms food and pharmaceuticals
all accounted for," Uhura answered promptly. "And
their payment is confirmed in the computer's memory
bank."

"Commence beam-down of planetary supplies," said
Spock. He pressed a few buttons on his armchair
computer and went back to the recipe pages he had been
reading.

Corn pudding, it turned out, was not actually pudding.
It was a sweet, sticky, caramelized mush infused with
whole corn kernels. During the moments of the bridge
duty when his attention was not needed, Spock had been
researching the exact procedure by which one prepared
corn pudding. And not any corn pudding--he sought to
deduce by regional and temporal clues exactly which
recipe was the favorite of Jim's mother.

He had no doubt of his ability to uncover an
approximation to the formula for Dr. Kirk's beloved
hotdish.

"Mr. Spock," Uhura broke into his reading.
"Transporter room reports a successful beam-down, and
Valencia II confirms they have received their
supplies."

"Thank you, Miss Uhura."

"Sir!" she called suddenly with confusion.
"Transporter room reports an incoming package--they
say it's for you, sir! Three ears of yellow corn and
a--a sixteen-ounce Porterhouse steak. Blood raw."

The bridge fell silent. Chekov froze at his station.
Spock and raw meat tended not to go into the same
thought.

"Thank you, Miss Uhura," was all Spock said, not
looking up from his reading.

Chekov turned around for a moment. "Mr. Spock," he
began, unsure of what to say next. "I do not
understand?"

"It is for the captain," Spock said tersely.

"That's.... wery nice of you," Chekov replied
clumsily.

"How is he feeling?" Uhura asked, attempting to
fulfill her perennial role as a banisher of
awkwardness.

"He is recovering," said Spock.

When his shift was long over and he was no longer
needed on the bridge, Spock turned the helm over to
Lt. Sulu and made his way to the transporter room to
collect the commodities he had specially ordered. He
gathered the corn ears, still in their husks, in the
crook of one arm. The steak he regarded for a moment
with stoic distaste, then picked up by its plastic
wrapping between his thumb and forefinger. He tried
not to think about the animal whose carcass he now
held a piece of. Ah, well, Kaiidth, it was already
dead.

He should have known he would run into McCoy in the
hallway. The doctor fell into step next to him, his
arms resting casually behind his back. "Well, well,
well, Spock," he chuckled smugly. "What'cha got
there?"

"Terran corn," Spock answered, "and a portion of a
dead cow."

"I can see that," said McCoy. "Might I ask why you're
wandering through the hallway looking like you're
headed for the Indiana state fair? I thought you
didn't like meat."

"I do not," Spock answered. "This is for Jim."

"Ahh," McCoy nodded. "He finally got sick of chicken
soup?"

"He expressed displeasure with the taste of the
synthesized soup."

"One of these days they'll figure out a better
recipe." McCoy rubbed his eyes wearily. "What'cha
gonna do with the corn?"

"Jim spoke to me of a dish called 'corn pudding' that
his mother made when he was a child."

"Corn pudding? You mean, you're actually gonna cook?"

"Yes, I will follow the recipe," said Spock.

McCoy snickered. "Spock cooking. I don't want to miss
this."

"Do you doubt my abilities to adhere to the formula,
Doctor? It is really no different from any other
process that induces a chemical change, for example,
adding hydrochloric acid to sodium hydroxide to
produce sodium chloride and water."

"Point taken," said McCoy. "Just make sure you don't
put too much of that sodium chloride in that pudding."

"I shall be careful," Spock assured him.

McCoy followed him into the Rec Room kitchen anyway.

//

Jim rubbed his eyes sleepily before opening them at
the sound of Spock's voice. "Spock? What time is it?"

"It is 2300, and your quarantine will be over when you
awaken tomorrow morning."

As Jim grew more awake, he realized that a delicious
smell was filling his nose. "Hey! I can smell again!
What's that? It smells like...." His eyes widened in
amazement as he looked toward Spock and saw that he
was carrying a food tray.

On the tray was a heaping bowl of corn pudding, and a
beautifully-cooked Porterhouse steak, cooked medium
rare.

//

"I veel newer understand Mr. Spock," said Chekov,
setting up a checkerboard in one of the rec rooms.

"What is it this time, the steak thing?" Uhura was
counting checkers. Yep, they were all there.

"Yes! He's alvays talking about how humans and Wulcans
can surwiwe vithout meat," Chekov said, "and then
today, he buys a steak for the keptin!"

"Admiral Kirk needed a little cheering up," Uhura
reminded him gently.

"But Spock doesn't believe in eating meat," Chekov
said lamely. "Vy didn't that bother him?"

"It probably did." Uhura stacked her checkers on her
side of the board, then handed Chekov his half.

"Then vy did he do it?"

"Because he loves him."

//

=====
Farfalla's Kirk/Spock happyplace @ http://cosmicduckling.com/spirk
Stories, humor, cartoons, poetry, screencaptures, & more!
All-Ages Kirk/Spock Archive @ http://www.thyla.com
G-PG13 K/S; Over 85 authors & artists featured!




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