[ The planet was a thriving one, friendly and hospitable, and Spock had been expecting to spend a few hours, a day at most, on the planet surface to negotiate trade rights. Alas, it was not to be, as the crew of the Enterprise discovered that they had arrived at exactly the wrong time. It was harvest time, and it appeared everyone, even the councilors and diplomats, helped with seasonal harvests.
They had been provided with a small furnished house, complete with a kitchen (no replicators on this planet; they took too much pride in their harvest to demean themselves by using replicators) and attached eating nook, a small space used for entertaining guests, and a single bedroom. As it was not the first time they had been stuck in close quarters and certainly would not be the last, Spock had not raised a fuss about sharing the bed with the captain. Indeed, considering the size of the bed, it hardly seemed an issue.
That morning, their first on the ground, found Spock waking up alone. It was not unusual, as he woke every day alone, but he expected to see Jim upon rousing, and for a split second, an edge of panic slipped through his mental shields, his hand going toward his communicator.
But he heard a cabinet open and close in the kitchen, and drew back that panic, settled his hands in his lap, assured of his captain's presence and their safety. He spent a few minutes every morning bolstering his shields, and that day would be no different.
Finally, near twenty minutes later, morning ablations done, Spock left the room, venturing out into the kitchen, his sense immediately inundated by the smell of food: the yeasty tang of bread, the sweetness of fruits, a few other scents he couldn't quite identify. ]
Captain? Might I inquire to your activities this morning?
[ He managed to get the entire question out before entering the kitchen, only for his eyes to fall on the table in the eating nook. A veritable feast was laid out, toast topped with vegetables that looked surprisingly close to a few Terran staples, a mound of pancakes, chopped up fruit.
Spock's brow lifted in just a slight hint of puzzlement. ]
I retract my earlier query. Did you arrange for this to be delivered?
i hope this works!
They had been provided with a small furnished house, complete with a kitchen (no replicators on this planet; they took too much pride in their harvest to demean themselves by using replicators) and attached eating nook, a small space used for entertaining guests, and a single bedroom. As it was not the first time they had been stuck in close quarters and certainly would not be the last, Spock had not raised a fuss about sharing the bed with the captain. Indeed, considering the size of the bed, it hardly seemed an issue.
That morning, their first on the ground, found Spock waking up alone. It was not unusual, as he woke every day alone, but he expected to see Jim upon rousing, and for a split second, an edge of panic slipped through his mental shields, his hand going toward his communicator.
But he heard a cabinet open and close in the kitchen, and drew back that panic, settled his hands in his lap, assured of his captain's presence and their safety. He spent a few minutes every morning bolstering his shields, and that day would be no different.
Finally, near twenty minutes later, morning ablations done, Spock left the room, venturing out into the kitchen, his sense immediately inundated by the smell of food: the yeasty tang of bread, the sweetness of fruits, a few other scents he couldn't quite identify. ]
Captain? Might I inquire to your activities this morning?
[ He managed to get the entire question out before entering the kitchen, only for his eyes to fall on the table in the eating nook. A veritable feast was laid out, toast topped with vegetables that looked surprisingly close to a few Terran staples, a mound of pancakes, chopped up fruit.
Spock's brow lifted in just a slight hint of puzzlement. ]
I retract my earlier query. Did you arrange for this to be delivered?