The Pie: Chapter 4
Title: The Pie: The Best Laid Plans
Characters: Spock, Uhura, Kirk, Chekov, Scotty, McCoy, Chapel,
Fandom: TOS
Genre: Total crack.
Summary: Spock likes pie.
A/N: Disclaimer: I don't own anything Star Trek-related. Not even a T-shirt.
Thanks to Aphrodite319, aquasoulsis for listening to on-the-spot rewrites, over and over and over, without telling me to shut the hell up. And purrs to SpockLikesCats for catching those missing words I'm usually known for missing.
( Read Chapter 1 )
( Read Chapter 2 )
( Read Chapter 3 )
The Best Laid Plans
First, he became aware of the scent of leftover meditation incense. Next, he heard the ambient drone of multiple machines. Finally, he opened his eyes to scan the decorated walls of his own cabin.
He was alone.
The regular breathing that had lulled him to sleep and the cool, soft body he had held close in his arms were missing.
Ponfo mirann! Instantly and fully awake, he sat up.
“K’diwa,” he whispered, without understanding why, to the woman who was not there.
_____________
Minutes later, he stood impatiently in the small cubicle while the sonic shower cleansed his body of the night’s accumulation of dust and perspiration. At first, he wondered at his illogical, and uncharacteristic, desire for haste. When he realized he was listening for a childish cry that would not come, his shoulders bowed under the weight of an even more disconcerting disappointment and defeat.
No tiny female child with pointed ears and Nyota Uhura’s smile would be calling out for her baba or sa-mekh.
Shutting off the shower, he stepped out of the cubicle and padded back into the main room without bothering to dress.
“Oh my!” exclaimed a husky feminine voice.
Halting, he acknowledged the warm pleasure that suffused his senses at her unexpected presence. And he exercised considerable control to keep visual confirmation of said pleasure from her inquisitive eyes.
“I guess I dreamed some things just right,” she added as she conducted a patently appreciative appraisal from his toes to his chest. “That answers one of my questions.”
She swung around in his desk chair to face him fully. Her formerly-embarrassed smile widened considerably as her gaze dipped down again.
Perhaps, he thought as he squared his shoulders and stared back at Lt. Uhura, all is not lost, after all.
_____________
Four hours later, after he had managed to dress himself and convince her - and his swelling lok - that they could no longer delay apprising the captain of their experiences, Spock, Ms. Uhura, Mr. Scott and Mr. Chekov sat in conference room with Dr. McCoy, Nurse Chapel and a pacing Captain Kirk.
“Couldn’t find a thing wrong with any of ‘em, Jim,” the doctor reported.
“Mental functions for all four appear to be normal, Captain,” the nurse clarified. “They’ve suffered no detectable adverse affects from the… visions.”
Kirk stopped mid-stride and clasped his hands in front of his chest. He studied the four members of the “original” away team with an expression Spock could not read.
“In that case,” their captain said, his eyes trained on his communications officer and XO, “I don’t see how I can let you four go down there.”
Uhura was on her feet before Spock could decide whether he was relieved or disappointed.
“Sir, the Maytecis have a complex culture with elaborate customs they expect their visitors adhere to at all times!”
“And you lot did such a good job of that they kept you prisoner for six weeks,” the captain observed dryly.
“In our dreams, Captain,” Uhura shot back, exasperated. “With the Federation demand for cold-synthesized Maytecin theobromatl already astronomical, and growing every day, we can’t risk trade negotiations as important as this just because a few of us had some silly dreams.”
“Considering the fact that the four of you experienced the same dream-” Kirk began.
“Not exactly the same dream, Captain,” Spock corrected, for the moment not caring that he was interrupting a superior officer. Accuracy and precision were sometimes more important than protocol. “While Lt. Uhura, Engineer Scott, Ensign Chekov and I all seem to have dreamed about the same period of time, we each experienced the passage of said time from our own perspectives.”
The hard eyes that cut from communications officer to the science officer suggested that Jim Kirk was barely holding on to his temper.
“Thank you, Mr. Spock,” he gritted out. “Considering the fact that the four of you had nearly the same dream, and that the events you experienced resulted in the same conclusions, it would be too risky for me to send you down to the planet together. I’ll just have to choose a new team.”
“I’ll be happy to take Uhura’s place,” Nurse Chapel chimed in, and Spock wondered, not for the first time over the past two minutes and twenty-seven seconds, why she remained a member of the meeting once the good health of the four dreamers had been asserted.
“That probably won’t be necessary,” the captain told her, “but thank you, Ms. Chapel. I will take that under consideration.” He offered her a smile to soften what would likely become a refusal, but waved an impatient hand through the air when his communications officer opened her mouth to interject her objection.
“Uhura, are you going to tell me you want to take a chance on ending up a single mother and giving up your place on the Enterprise just so the dirtside hordes can pay a little less to get their chocolate fix?”
Nyota’s eyes widened while her mouth opened and closed again several times before she actually spoke.
“Give up my- ! Sir, do you honestly think Mr. Spock would that allow to happen?” she gasped. “Why, that must go against all kinds of Vulcan mores!” She turned imploring eyes towards the first officer. “Tell him, Commander! Tell him we won’t end up with a baby!”
Outwardly, Spock was as cool and composed as was customary; inwardly, he trembled at the vivid recollections of his rapturous, albeit artificial, time on Mayteca. And though he quickly calculated the high odds that his answer would prevent him from replacing those mendacious memories with valid visions of time spent with his comely colleague, in the end his Vulcan proclivities spurred him to speak as he must. He had not forgotten what had nearly transpired in his quarters that morning.
“I cannot do that, Lieutenant,” he said, soundly slightly sad to his own pointed ears. “Vulcans do not lie.”
“She was quite the bonny lass, our T’Maurja was,” Engineer Scott sighed wistfully.
Ensign Chekov patted the older man’s arm and nodded in sympathy. “Da, Meester Scott. I vill miss her, too.”
“You’ve got three days to get the replacement team up-to-speed on Maytecin mores, Lieutenant,” said the captain.
_____________
Spock stood between Messrs. Scott and Chekov as the captain prepared to beam down with an eager Yeoman Rand, a now-reluctant Nurse Chapel - She should not have offered if she was unwilling, Spock mused - and a smug Mr. Sulu, as Lt. Uhura called out last-minute instructions on courteous conduct for Mayteci guests.
The half-Vulcan decided he had made a fortuitous escape as he caught Ms. Chapel’s longing look. He turned away too soon to see her fawning farewell.
Uhura was animatedly gesturing to the captain’s yeoman. The concern on her lovely face caused Spock’s stomach to tighten uncomfortably. He took a step forward, but stopped when he heard Rand’s loud whisper. “Don’t worry about me, Nyo; Dr. McCoy fitted me for an IUD.”
Much as he expected, the Maytecis appeared to have taken the away team captive. The extension of the three-day mission had many of the hallmarks of the shared dreams.
Three weeks had gone by in which communication between their leaders and the Enterprise consisted only of continued reassurances that their colleagues were doing well, and enjoying their time immensely.
While Spock did not doubt the veracity of those reports, he was certain that there was a direct correlation between the dream-time events and what was now taking place on the planet.
On the first ship’s evening of the fourth week, he made his way to Recreation Room 7 in search of Lt. Uhura. While he needed to speak with her about her analysis of the Maytecin messages, frankly, he wanted an opportunity to enjoy her company outside of Alpha Shift and their weekly lute lessons.
She had just confirmed his assessment of the Maytecin situation when Mr. Chekov discreetly approached their table.
The object in the young man’s hand was much smaller than the nine inches Ms. Uhura had assured Spock was standard, but already its heady aroma was having an interesting effect on a part of the half-Vulcan’s anatomy that was conveniently hidden by the table.
“I vill bake a bigger vun vunce the keptin returns,” the earnest ensign promised. He shook his head. “Cook has plenty of ceenamun in the galley, but Meester Scott had only a small supply of theobromatl left ower from before ve arriwed. I doan know how he does it. Dat man ken get anyting he vants!”
“I’ll just bet he can,” Uhura muttered under her breath.
“But dah real secret is in dah crust,” Chekov went on, oblivious to the look Spock exchanged with Uhura. “I mixed almond paste into dah dough!”
“How you did learn of the pie’s preparation, Mr. Chekov?” Spock asked, taking care not to lick his lips as the spicy scent of freshly baked theobromatl and cinnamon teased his olfactory organ. And as thoughts of Ms. Uhura’s legs wrapped around his waist teased his brain.
“I cannot explain it, Commander. I voke up dis morning and dah recipe vas dere in my mind,” the flummoxed ensign confided, “and I just knew dat I must bake it to cheer you up. It came to me as if it vere a… a…”
Spock lifted an eyebrow.
“As if it were a dream, Mr. Chekov?”
“Yes! Yes, dat is eet exactly, Commander!” Chekov beamed at them. He glanced between the two unsmiling senior officers until the implications sank in and his face fell. “Oh.”
Uhura took pity on the young officer. “It was really sweet of you, Pavel,” she said, reaching for the diminutive dessert. “Let me take that.” She gave Spock what humans were wont to call a “speaking look.”
“It probably won’t hurt to have just a taste,” she added doubtfully.
Spock looked from the pie to Uhura’s stern face. She was wearing her “be nice, Mr. Spock” expression. He had no intention of disobeying. Or of leaving her in doubt.
“No, a ‘taste’ is unlikely to cause lasting physical harm,” he quickly conceded, “but perhaps we should consume the confection in the privacy of my personal quarters. It will make a pleasant accompaniment to our tea following your next ka’athyra lesson.”
The chief communication officer’s smile shined bright enough to rival their young colleague’s earlier grin.
“I couldn’t agree with you more, Mr. Spock,” she said.
And they lived happily ever after in their house made of gingerbread with their daughter, T’Maurja (who was conceived after Mr. Chekov’s pie had been consumed).
And when T’Maurja grew up very quickly and married a handsome Russian officer, Spock and Uhura baked and baked and baked until they had enough pie crust to build the young couple a house of their own.
The End
Just kidding; that’s not what happened.
Characters: Spock, Uhura, Kirk, Chekov, Scotty, McCoy, Chapel,
Fandom: TOS
Genre: Total crack.
Summary: Spock likes pie.
A/N: Disclaimer: I don't own anything Star Trek-related. Not even a T-shirt.
Thanks to Aphrodite319, aquasoulsis for listening to on-the-spot rewrites, over and over and over, without telling me to shut the hell up. And purrs to SpockLikesCats for catching those missing words I'm usually known for missing.
( Read Chapter 1 )
( Read Chapter 2 )
( Read Chapter 3 )
The Best Laid Plans
First, he became aware of the scent of leftover meditation incense. Next, he heard the ambient drone of multiple machines. Finally, he opened his eyes to scan the decorated walls of his own cabin.
He was alone.
The regular breathing that had lulled him to sleep and the cool, soft body he had held close in his arms were missing.
Ponfo mirann! Instantly and fully awake, he sat up.
“K’diwa,” he whispered, without understanding why, to the woman who was not there.
_____________
Minutes later, he stood impatiently in the small cubicle while the sonic shower cleansed his body of the night’s accumulation of dust and perspiration. At first, he wondered at his illogical, and uncharacteristic, desire for haste. When he realized he was listening for a childish cry that would not come, his shoulders bowed under the weight of an even more disconcerting disappointment and defeat.
No tiny female child with pointed ears and Nyota Uhura’s smile would be calling out for her baba or sa-mekh.
Shutting off the shower, he stepped out of the cubicle and padded back into the main room without bothering to dress.
“Oh my!” exclaimed a husky feminine voice.
Halting, he acknowledged the warm pleasure that suffused his senses at her unexpected presence. And he exercised considerable control to keep visual confirmation of said pleasure from her inquisitive eyes.
“I guess I dreamed some things just right,” she added as she conducted a patently appreciative appraisal from his toes to his chest. “That answers one of my questions.”
She swung around in his desk chair to face him fully. Her formerly-embarrassed smile widened considerably as her gaze dipped down again.
Perhaps, he thought as he squared his shoulders and stared back at Lt. Uhura, all is not lost, after all.
_____________
Four hours later, after he had managed to dress himself and convince her - and his swelling lok - that they could no longer delay apprising the captain of their experiences, Spock, Ms. Uhura, Mr. Scott and Mr. Chekov sat in conference room with Dr. McCoy, Nurse Chapel and a pacing Captain Kirk.
“Couldn’t find a thing wrong with any of ‘em, Jim,” the doctor reported.
“Mental functions for all four appear to be normal, Captain,” the nurse clarified. “They’ve suffered no detectable adverse affects from the… visions.”
Kirk stopped mid-stride and clasped his hands in front of his chest. He studied the four members of the “original” away team with an expression Spock could not read.
“In that case,” their captain said, his eyes trained on his communications officer and XO, “I don’t see how I can let you four go down there.”
Uhura was on her feet before Spock could decide whether he was relieved or disappointed.
“Sir, the Maytecis have a complex culture with elaborate customs they expect their visitors adhere to at all times!”
“And you lot did such a good job of that they kept you prisoner for six weeks,” the captain observed dryly.
“In our dreams, Captain,” Uhura shot back, exasperated. “With the Federation demand for cold-synthesized Maytecin theobromatl already astronomical, and growing every day, we can’t risk trade negotiations as important as this just because a few of us had some silly dreams.”
“Considering the fact that the four of you experienced the same dream-” Kirk began.
“Not exactly the same dream, Captain,” Spock corrected, for the moment not caring that he was interrupting a superior officer. Accuracy and precision were sometimes more important than protocol. “While Lt. Uhura, Engineer Scott, Ensign Chekov and I all seem to have dreamed about the same period of time, we each experienced the passage of said time from our own perspectives.”
The hard eyes that cut from communications officer to the science officer suggested that Jim Kirk was barely holding on to his temper.
“Thank you, Mr. Spock,” he gritted out. “Considering the fact that the four of you had nearly the same dream, and that the events you experienced resulted in the same conclusions, it would be too risky for me to send you down to the planet together. I’ll just have to choose a new team.”
“I’ll be happy to take Uhura’s place,” Nurse Chapel chimed in, and Spock wondered, not for the first time over the past two minutes and twenty-seven seconds, why she remained a member of the meeting once the good health of the four dreamers had been asserted.
“That probably won’t be necessary,” the captain told her, “but thank you, Ms. Chapel. I will take that under consideration.” He offered her a smile to soften what would likely become a refusal, but waved an impatient hand through the air when his communications officer opened her mouth to interject her objection.
“Uhura, are you going to tell me you want to take a chance on ending up a single mother and giving up your place on the Enterprise just so the dirtside hordes can pay a little less to get their chocolate fix?”
Nyota’s eyes widened while her mouth opened and closed again several times before she actually spoke.
“Give up my- ! Sir, do you honestly think Mr. Spock would that allow to happen?” she gasped. “Why, that must go against all kinds of Vulcan mores!” She turned imploring eyes towards the first officer. “Tell him, Commander! Tell him we won’t end up with a baby!”
Outwardly, Spock was as cool and composed as was customary; inwardly, he trembled at the vivid recollections of his rapturous, albeit artificial, time on Mayteca. And though he quickly calculated the high odds that his answer would prevent him from replacing those mendacious memories with valid visions of time spent with his comely colleague, in the end his Vulcan proclivities spurred him to speak as he must. He had not forgotten what had nearly transpired in his quarters that morning.
“I cannot do that, Lieutenant,” he said, soundly slightly sad to his own pointed ears. “Vulcans do not lie.”
“She was quite the bonny lass, our T’Maurja was,” Engineer Scott sighed wistfully.
Ensign Chekov patted the older man’s arm and nodded in sympathy. “Da, Meester Scott. I vill miss her, too.”
“You’ve got three days to get the replacement team up-to-speed on Maytecin mores, Lieutenant,” said the captain.
_____________
Spock stood between Messrs. Scott and Chekov as the captain prepared to beam down with an eager Yeoman Rand, a now-reluctant Nurse Chapel - She should not have offered if she was unwilling, Spock mused - and a smug Mr. Sulu, as Lt. Uhura called out last-minute instructions on courteous conduct for Mayteci guests.
The half-Vulcan decided he had made a fortuitous escape as he caught Ms. Chapel’s longing look. He turned away too soon to see her fawning farewell.
Uhura was animatedly gesturing to the captain’s yeoman. The concern on her lovely face caused Spock’s stomach to tighten uncomfortably. He took a step forward, but stopped when he heard Rand’s loud whisper. “Don’t worry about me, Nyo; Dr. McCoy fitted me for an IUD.”
Much as he expected, the Maytecis appeared to have taken the away team captive. The extension of the three-day mission had many of the hallmarks of the shared dreams.
Three weeks had gone by in which communication between their leaders and the Enterprise consisted only of continued reassurances that their colleagues were doing well, and enjoying their time immensely.
While Spock did not doubt the veracity of those reports, he was certain that there was a direct correlation between the dream-time events and what was now taking place on the planet.
On the first ship’s evening of the fourth week, he made his way to Recreation Room 7 in search of Lt. Uhura. While he needed to speak with her about her analysis of the Maytecin messages, frankly, he wanted an opportunity to enjoy her company outside of Alpha Shift and their weekly lute lessons.
She had just confirmed his assessment of the Maytecin situation when Mr. Chekov discreetly approached their table.
The object in the young man’s hand was much smaller than the nine inches Ms. Uhura had assured Spock was standard, but already its heady aroma was having an interesting effect on a part of the half-Vulcan’s anatomy that was conveniently hidden by the table.
“I vill bake a bigger vun vunce the keptin returns,” the earnest ensign promised. He shook his head. “Cook has plenty of ceenamun in the galley, but Meester Scott had only a small supply of theobromatl left ower from before ve arriwed. I doan know how he does it. Dat man ken get anyting he vants!”
“I’ll just bet he can,” Uhura muttered under her breath.
“But dah real secret is in dah crust,” Chekov went on, oblivious to the look Spock exchanged with Uhura. “I mixed almond paste into dah dough!”
“How you did learn of the pie’s preparation, Mr. Chekov?” Spock asked, taking care not to lick his lips as the spicy scent of freshly baked theobromatl and cinnamon teased his olfactory organ. And as thoughts of Ms. Uhura’s legs wrapped around his waist teased his brain.
“I cannot explain it, Commander. I voke up dis morning and dah recipe vas dere in my mind,” the flummoxed ensign confided, “and I just knew dat I must bake it to cheer you up. It came to me as if it vere a… a…”
Spock lifted an eyebrow.
“As if it were a dream, Mr. Chekov?”
“Yes! Yes, dat is eet exactly, Commander!” Chekov beamed at them. He glanced between the two unsmiling senior officers until the implications sank in and his face fell. “Oh.”
Uhura took pity on the young officer. “It was really sweet of you, Pavel,” she said, reaching for the diminutive dessert. “Let me take that.” She gave Spock what humans were wont to call a “speaking look.”
“It probably won’t hurt to have just a taste,” she added doubtfully.
Spock looked from the pie to Uhura’s stern face. She was wearing her “be nice, Mr. Spock” expression. He had no intention of disobeying. Or of leaving her in doubt.
“No, a ‘taste’ is unlikely to cause lasting physical harm,” he quickly conceded, “but perhaps we should consume the confection in the privacy of my personal quarters. It will make a pleasant accompaniment to our tea following your next ka’athyra lesson.”
The chief communication officer’s smile shined bright enough to rival their young colleague’s earlier grin.
“I couldn’t agree with you more, Mr. Spock,” she said.
And they lived happily ever after in their house made of gingerbread with their daughter, T’Maurja (who was conceived after Mr. Chekov’s pie had been consumed).
And when T’Maurja grew up very quickly and married a handsome Russian officer, Spock and Uhura baked and baked and baked until they had enough pie crust to build the young couple a house of their own.
The End
Just kidding; that’s not what happened.