AN : Yo! I'm back, did you miss me? A reviewer left me this witty repartee that left me extremely confused, anyone care to decode it for the dumb not- blonde person?

:'"An perfectly acute observation." Replies Spock, [...]. "But I was hoping
you'd go deeper"'
(HEY! THIS WAS A DOUBLE ENDED QUIP!)
McCoy looked closer at the body. She would have been drunk and choked on her
own vomit except that there was no smell of alchohol on her. Drugs, perhaps,
or poison? He shared his observations with the Consulting Hobgoblin who
reported to Jim that the murder of the Yeoman who liked pink things was
clearly killed by the same person who killed the others. It wasn't suicide, it
was murder. They had a serial killer aboard.
(WHAT IS THIS? EXPLAIN! EXPLAIN!)

Translation/tldr;/In short: looks like someone's a Sherlock fan.

Also , I think I've found a brilliant plotty way to end this fic in a few chapters time, don't't be sad, I'll finally get to write my AU, where the reformation of Vulcan never happened and Jim has to crash on Vulcan where Spock is a Prince. Need I Say more?

Anyway, more of the whupage stuff. Onwards!

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Stardate 2259.04

Time: 14:57 hrs

Location: Observation deck, Deck 1 USS Enterprise

Jim leant back and observed the stars, tiny pinprick streaks of white light speeding by , his vision unobscured from where he was, safely encased in the warp field of Star ship Enterprise. Somewhere below him, on a deck somewhere, was a memorial service. Honouring the dead of the battle of Vulcan ; billions of empty markers reflecting the devastation of Nero's madness.

Unbidden, a self decimating smirk rose to his lips. But it was cold. And empty.

It was his birthday.

Some where people would be lamenting the death of someone they loved, and the Vulcans especially, of nine million, barely ten thousand survived, less than one fucking percent, hell, less than one hundredth of a fucking percent. Jim shaded his eyes with the scratchy sleeve of his dress uniform, the hat somewhere on his left. Remnant of the old militia days when it looked cool - fuck if he cared.

The point was, how could he bring himself to even be happy on a day like this?

The quiet swish and soft footfalls alerted him to the visitor he now had, the bond thrilled it's agreement and mental greeting.

" I had hoped to find you here ,Thy'la."

"Go away, I'm angsting" came the half hearted reply, he had to get up and look sombre for his father's commemorative speech later, and then he had a date with a bottle, or perhaps many bottles ,of bourbon, or vodka, or whisky, whatever, he wasn't fussy.

Spock sinks down elegantly by his side, spreading out a blanket of sorts, and placing a stacked lacquered box on the cloth. Then begin to remove layers and arrange then in an arrangement of some sort on the blanket.

" I have brought you sustenance, you will need your strength." Spock quietly states.

Jim ignored him, till the smells of food became too tempting to his empty stomach. Then scrambled upright. "How are you ordering them?" he glances at the squares placed equidistance apart, could probably use them as a ruler.

"Alphabetically by country of origin." Spock replies. Right.

"Very logical" Jim half heartedly teases.

It was an odd assortment, Fried Chicken, Haggis sandwiches, Plomeek soup, Borscht, Sushi,-

"What is this?" Jim pokes a dish of green vegetable sting thingys.

"That is, Sukumawiki, an traditional Kenyan dish." Spock pauses. "Of vegetables" he adds meaningfully.

"Right." Because that made so much sense. But then again, food was food, and Spock couldn't possibly know what all of this meant to him.

"They do not, but I do."

"What?" could he have heard that?

"The crew and I wanted to wish you a happy birthday."

oh.

Oh.

Dammit, now his eyes was burning, Kentucky, Scotland, Vulcan, Russian, Japan and Kenya, nobody had ever done anything like this for him, not in 26 years. Jim manages a watery grin. And tried to tone down his pathetic sniffling, "Did ya bring cake?"

"No, I did not."

Oh, he couldn't suppress a sigh of disappointment, but still, this was still more than anyone had-

"But I do believe the Crew is hosting you a surprise party, please remember to act suitably emotional this evening." Spock cuts in .So much for being sworn to secrecy.

Jim's smile lights up like a supernova, so bright it was almost blinding.

Spock suddenly found himself flat on the floor, an happy human wiggling in his lap, not that he was complaining."Jim, the food will get cold."

"I'm not actually hungry yet, do you think we could do something to work up an appetite?"

Spock feels his eyebrow go up, and was rewarded by a grin, and a nibbly kiss to his left ear.

"I am not certain this is the best location to conduct…such activities" he surprises himself by saying.

Jim leans back and turns up those startling baby blues. "But it's my birthday. "

Spock's self appointed denial lasts a precisely 1.446 minutes, which was 20.55 seconds less than the last time. a record that is slightly unnerving to say the least.

"Very well. " he relents, not that he hadn't planned an incentive experiment later, it was, after all, his Thy'la's birthday .

"Computer, lock doors, Authorisation code Alpha Beta Gamma Six Two four."

"Quarantine Lock. Activated." Came the reply.

"Disable security cameras, Captain's Authorisation code. Silly sally Twinkle Terneria"

"Cameras disabled"

Spock raises an eye brow.

"What? I promised Jo."

"Illogical" Spock states in deadpan.

"Whatever, you love me anyway" Jim retorts, sliding down "I think we should christen these uniforms"

"Illogical, as the clothing is neither sentient nor of the Christian faith-" a well practiced move by Jim's talented hands shut him up immediately. Spock refused to groan, he digs it too undignified. Good thing James T Kirk did not believe in no win scenarios.

"Now, "Jim's grin was wicked." Where were we?"


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And I'll leave the rest to your fertile imaginations. Tra la! And the end is nigh, I think I'll be done within the next 3 chappies. So long and thanks for all the fish!