The Appropriateness of Candles
Title: The Appropriateness of Candles
Betas: nightrider101 and euphonious_glow
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Rating: G
Pairing: Spock/McCoy
Summary: McCoy is suffering from a serious case of First Date Nerves.
Words: 979
Note: Written for the first challenge of the ship war run by st_respect. The prompt was "Frist Date".
The table was set. McCoy checked it twice; made sure everything was where it was supposed to be. He had another look in the book. Yes, the forks, knifes, spoons, the glasses and the candles were all in the right position. He checked once again, in case anything had moved while he wasn’t looking. Because Spock, being Spock, would know how a table for this occasion had to be set, and he’d drop a comment.
And then McCoy would smash in his head with the candleholder.
The candles were probably not a good idea. Too romantic. Him and Spock, they were not romantic, they were just having a date. And perhaps they were a little in love, or at least he was. Spock probably wasn’t, he was just in logic and reason. If asked, the Vulcan would give him twenty reasons why dating McCoy was more logical than not dating him. There was nothing romantic about that. It just raised the chances of the candleholder being used as a murder weapon.
No candles then. McCoy took them off the table, destroying the composition. Flipping open another page in the book, he set the table again.
This was going to be the worst first date he ever had.
McCoy looked around the place. Everything was perfectly clean; everything was in its place. The tableware still hadn’t developed a life of its own. And this was not going to work.
He and Spock were always arguing, always at odds with each other. This date, meant for being nice and peaceful and having a good time, couldn’t be anything other than awkward. They wouldn’t know how to act around each other as they ate in uncomforable silence. Then Spock would find an excuse to leave and McCoy would be glad to see him go, and they would forever feel uneasy around each other.
Damn Jim for coming up with this horrible idea. He didn’t want them together, he wanted to bring them apart!
This couldn’t work. It wouldn’t work. But somehow McCoy couldn’t see himself opening the door to Spock and telling him that it couldn’t work, thus ending this before it started.
The doorbell rang. Spock came in. “This can’t work,” McCoy said. “We are not made for romance. Let’s not do it and keep what we have.”
“Okay,” said Spock and left.
McCoy shook his head to the mental image and checked the table one more time. Okay, so he could see himself doing it. Actually, it was tempting.
It occurred to the doctor that he was having a bad case of Nerves.
First Date Nerves. Because of Spock. God, he couldn’t tell this to anyone.
Perhaps he should call this off, claiming to be sick. He was feeling a little sick. Except it was too late for that, as Spock would be here any minute.
In fact, he should have been here minutes ago.
McCoy frowned, his slight nervous nausea being replaced by slight irritated anger. Here he was worrying himself sick about Spock’s visit, and the damn Vulcan didn’t even have the decency to show up and confirm his worries.
He became even more irritated when he realised this was Spock who was never late. Unless he wanted to be. Which he didn’t, because it would not be goddamn logical!
Still, McCoy wondered if Spock thought dating a human male forced him to turn into a human female. Which was probably unfair to a lot of human women, except that every woman McCoy had dated in his youth had thought it appropriate to be fashionably late for their first date.
They had all claimed to have been delayed by something terribly important, but he knew better. There was a plan to it, some kind of secret passed on from woman to woman about why it was a good idea to annoy the man they were dating before the date even started.
Perhaps Uhura or Christine had learned about this and given Spock the necessary instructions. Though McCoy really couldn’t see Chris telling Spock how to behave on his first date with her boss.
Uhura then. Fortunately, McCoy could really not see himself calling her to ask if she’d been teaching their resident Vulcan how to be a human woman.
Because it was a stupid thought. McCoy was just about to bang his head against the wall when the doorbell rang.
Spock stood outside, trim and proper, which was not remarkable because he always looked like that. McCoy glared at him. “You’re late.”
“I am aware. I was distracted by an interesting scientific experiment.”
“Did your experiment involve poisonous gasses that made you forget how to use a phone?” McCoy glared some more (and glanced at the table to see if it had moved). Spock never lost track of time. “I was wondering if you’d arrive before our leave was over.”
The Vulcan entered the apartment and looked around with raised eyebrows. “I see you have engaged in cleaning activities.”
“It’s always clean here,” McCoy defended himself. “Are you going to sit down now or have you forgotten how to do that as well?”
“On the contrary, doctor,” Spock said with dignity. “Though I do wonder if you have forgotten about the basic courtesy of offering your guest a drink.” Well, at least he was his usual irritating self. McCoy scowled, secretly glad the Vulcan’s delayed arrival and general nastiness was keeping them on familiar ground.
Suddenly realising what Spock was doing, the human burst into a wide grin. “Yes,” he said. “I was worried too.”
They sat down to eat the food McCoy had skilfully ordered, and Spock inspected the arrangement of the tableware. Closely.
“You display an unexpected familiarity with the finer points of setting a table,” he commented, somehow managing to make it an insult. “I do, however, believe the occasion requires candles.”
January 15, 2010
Betas: nightrider101 and euphonious_glow
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Rating: G
Pairing: Spock/McCoy
Summary: McCoy is suffering from a serious case of First Date Nerves.
Words: 979
Note: Written for the first challenge of the ship war run by st_respect. The prompt was "Frist Date".
The table was set. McCoy checked it twice; made sure everything was where it was supposed to be. He had another look in the book. Yes, the forks, knifes, spoons, the glasses and the candles were all in the right position. He checked once again, in case anything had moved while he wasn’t looking. Because Spock, being Spock, would know how a table for this occasion had to be set, and he’d drop a comment.
And then McCoy would smash in his head with the candleholder.
The candles were probably not a good idea. Too romantic. Him and Spock, they were not romantic, they were just having a date. And perhaps they were a little in love, or at least he was. Spock probably wasn’t, he was just in logic and reason. If asked, the Vulcan would give him twenty reasons why dating McCoy was more logical than not dating him. There was nothing romantic about that. It just raised the chances of the candleholder being used as a murder weapon.
No candles then. McCoy took them off the table, destroying the composition. Flipping open another page in the book, he set the table again.
This was going to be the worst first date he ever had.
McCoy looked around the place. Everything was perfectly clean; everything was in its place. The tableware still hadn’t developed a life of its own. And this was not going to work.
He and Spock were always arguing, always at odds with each other. This date, meant for being nice and peaceful and having a good time, couldn’t be anything other than awkward. They wouldn’t know how to act around each other as they ate in uncomforable silence. Then Spock would find an excuse to leave and McCoy would be glad to see him go, and they would forever feel uneasy around each other.
Damn Jim for coming up with this horrible idea. He didn’t want them together, he wanted to bring them apart!
This couldn’t work. It wouldn’t work. But somehow McCoy couldn’t see himself opening the door to Spock and telling him that it couldn’t work, thus ending this before it started.
The doorbell rang. Spock came in. “This can’t work,” McCoy said. “We are not made for romance. Let’s not do it and keep what we have.”
“Okay,” said Spock and left.
McCoy shook his head to the mental image and checked the table one more time. Okay, so he could see himself doing it. Actually, it was tempting.
It occurred to the doctor that he was having a bad case of Nerves.
First Date Nerves. Because of Spock. God, he couldn’t tell this to anyone.
Perhaps he should call this off, claiming to be sick. He was feeling a little sick. Except it was too late for that, as Spock would be here any minute.
In fact, he should have been here minutes ago.
McCoy frowned, his slight nervous nausea being replaced by slight irritated anger. Here he was worrying himself sick about Spock’s visit, and the damn Vulcan didn’t even have the decency to show up and confirm his worries.
He became even more irritated when he realised this was Spock who was never late. Unless he wanted to be. Which he didn’t, because it would not be goddamn logical!
Still, McCoy wondered if Spock thought dating a human male forced him to turn into a human female. Which was probably unfair to a lot of human women, except that every woman McCoy had dated in his youth had thought it appropriate to be fashionably late for their first date.
They had all claimed to have been delayed by something terribly important, but he knew better. There was a plan to it, some kind of secret passed on from woman to woman about why it was a good idea to annoy the man they were dating before the date even started.
Perhaps Uhura or Christine had learned about this and given Spock the necessary instructions. Though McCoy really couldn’t see Chris telling Spock how to behave on his first date with her boss.
Uhura then. Fortunately, McCoy could really not see himself calling her to ask if she’d been teaching their resident Vulcan how to be a human woman.
Because it was a stupid thought. McCoy was just about to bang his head against the wall when the doorbell rang.
Spock stood outside, trim and proper, which was not remarkable because he always looked like that. McCoy glared at him. “You’re late.”
“I am aware. I was distracted by an interesting scientific experiment.”
“Did your experiment involve poisonous gasses that made you forget how to use a phone?” McCoy glared some more (and glanced at the table to see if it had moved). Spock never lost track of time. “I was wondering if you’d arrive before our leave was over.”
The Vulcan entered the apartment and looked around with raised eyebrows. “I see you have engaged in cleaning activities.”
“It’s always clean here,” McCoy defended himself. “Are you going to sit down now or have you forgotten how to do that as well?”
“On the contrary, doctor,” Spock said with dignity. “Though I do wonder if you have forgotten about the basic courtesy of offering your guest a drink.” Well, at least he was his usual irritating self. McCoy scowled, secretly glad the Vulcan’s delayed arrival and general nastiness was keeping them on familiar ground.
Suddenly realising what Spock was doing, the human burst into a wide grin. “Yes,” he said. “I was worried too.”
They sat down to eat the food McCoy had skilfully ordered, and Spock inspected the arrangement of the tableware. Closely.
“You display an unexpected familiarity with the finer points of setting a table,” he commented, somehow managing to make it an insult. “I do, however, believe the occasion requires candles.”
January 15, 2010