Archive of Our Own

I: Cinnamon and Citrus

“Hey! New Girl!” Gaila said in an undertone, “You don’t want to sit over there. Venhexa holds court there.”

New Girl turned, and fluidly set her tray down on the table across from Gaila. “Hey.”

“Hi!” Gaila replied, sipping her orange juice, “I’m Gaila Vro.”

“I’m Jim.” Jim Kirk stated the obvious, starring at Gaila with a defiant expression on her thin face.

“I don’t live under a rock.” Gaila replied, “But it’s not going to be a thing unless you want to go sit with Venhexa and it can be the Thing of the Century.”

“I’m good.” Jim smiled, though the smile did not reach her eyes. “You might as well know, the Commandant is my guardian. So if you’re not going to be cool hearing about him out of uniform, I should probably go.”

“Jimmy, you can stay as long as I don’t have to hear about the man naked.” Gaila drawled, “I’m Orion, and his Proud Dad pheromones are always stinking up the place.”

“You guys are his goslings.” Jim insisted, her voice betraying nothing of the fondness and warmth in her Scent markers as she talked about the man who was clearly her father. Biomarkers didn’t lie, and Gaila could decipher familial scent threads as well as any Orion. That cinnamon-y scent tickling her nose was nothing other than I am thinking about my father and how I feel about him. “He can have fun with the kids at Prep and terrify the Academy students.”

“He calls high school students goslings?” Gaila asked.

“Nope!” Jim retorted, “But come on, the grey dress uniforms, the awkward teenage molting, the traveling in a pack…” She bit into an apple slice, “One day, you’ll graduate and be a beautiful moose.”

“Don’t you mean I’ll be a beautiful goose?” Gaila asked.

“Hey, you said it, Vro, not me.” Jim shrugged.

“Honk, honk, bitch.” Gaila deadpanned. “This is the strangest conversation I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah, it might be about to get stranger.” Jim allowed, the cinnamon fading instantaneously, lemony-citrus blooming verdantly in its place.

Gaila craned her head, catching sight of the Vulcan standing on the edge of the bustling quad, obviously looking for somebody. “Ooooh, who’s he?”

Anybody who could make a girl go that citrusy that fast was absolutely worthy of discussion. Just because Gaila wasn’t sexually attracted to people until she knew them on a deep level, didn’t mean she didn’t like knowing why other people liked who they liked—especially when those other people were her friends. That shared understanding was an intimacy she cherished.

The casually dressed Vulcan caught sight of Jim’s messy bun, and made short work of striding their way on lanky limbs. Within another few seconds, Gaila had her answer, “Good afternoon. I am Spock, of Vulcan. May I join you?”

Jim huffed, “Spock, Gaila. Gaila, Spock. Eat, drink, be merry.”

“Greetings, Cadet Vro.” Spock said, settling on the bench beside Jim. 

Gaila resisted the urge to plug her nose. They were both bleeding Scent. “Hey, Spock. Are you a new student, too?”

“No.” Spock replied, applewood fondness spiking as his shoulder brushed Jim, “I am concluding my undergraduate studies, and undertaking my plebe year at the Academy concurrently.”

Gaila knew that transferring between the Vulcan and the Terran educational system had probably put him far ahead in his undergraduate work. People said Vulcan high school was like an elite Terran university in intensity and scope. She guessed that must be true. 

“This is the Prep quad, wonder of wonders.” Jim interjected, “You’ll get a demerit for being here.”

“I shall not.” And, had Spock been any other species, that might have been smugness in his voice, “I am delivering a time sensitive message to one Cadet Jemima Kirk. That I remain to consume my own midday meal is a logical interpretation of the orders given.”

Gaila laughed, “Jim, you’ve just been replaced as my new friend. Sorry, but a devious Vulcan is much more interesting than a girl genius with daddy issues.”

Jim snorted, “Oh my God, Gaila.”

“I assure you, Jemima has worked extensively on her issues regarding paternal figures in therapy.” Spock insisted, “Such as they would have no bearing on a mutually beneficial social arrangement between the two of you.”

“Hey!” Jim mock-glared. “You’re not supposed to be arranging my playdates, too.”

Gaila fluttered her eyelashes. Spock’s ears went green and a flood of what she interpreted as discomfort-unbelonging-weirdgirl-alsoweirdgirl-nice-imhers-mine-thisone-thisone filled his personal space as he looked away, and towards Jim.

“You do not deny being devious?” Gaila asked.

“While I prefer the term pragmatic, the descriptive term chosen does not change the outcome of the actions undertaken.” Spock returned, “Call me what you will, in the end, my logic is sound.”

Gaila collected a bite of food onto her fork. She wouldn’t be able to taste it, not now that she lived in Scent City, but the honest purity of their emotional relationship somehow made up for the loss of chicken salad. “Somehow I have the feeling you say that a lot.”

“Yes.” Spock admitted, “Jemima…”

“I checked for allergens.” Jim quipped, “Dropping dead of anaphylactic shock is not the best to make a first impression on Terra, Spock.”

“As you say.” Spock agreed, “However, the consumption of food prepared solely with your needs in mind is much more logical.”

“Do you see anybody else with a Becky Biosphere lunchbox?” Jim asked, “No. Because everybody else lives in the dorms. Just because I can’t doesn’t mean it’s logical to call attention to it.”

“What concern is your billeting to your classmates?” Spock asked, “The factors influencing that decision are manifold.”

“Humans are illogical, Spock.” Jim said, “It’s easy to dislike the fresh meat because her bedroom is two doors down from the Commandant, especially when the aforementioned new girl is smarter than they are. Present company excluded, Gaila. You’re a genius with computers.”

“Oh, really, it’s all Betty, my computer.” Gaila replied, “But wait, how do you know…?”

“There is an ongoing security assessment, Cadet Vro.” Spock informed her, “It was undertaken most discreetly, in the strictest confidence. Jemima has evidently been snooping.”

“Oh?” Gaila teased, “Were you worried about little ol’ me?”

“Indeed not.” Spock replied, “I am sure you are quite capable of holding your own against any would-be perpetrators. The assessment carried out by the Vulcan—”

“Hey!” Jim interjected, “We’re talking about me and my Becky Biosphere lunch box right now.”

“If you find that your present domestic arrangement interferes with your academic progress, the solution is simple.” Spock declared, “The Embassy provides many amenities conducive to balanced daily living.”

Gaila asked, “Are you one of them?”

“Certainly, I also reside…” Spock frowned, “Cadet Vro, you are going to be a thorn in my side, are you not?”

“Yes.” Gaila replied, “My apologies.”

“It is illogical to lie for the sake of social nicety.” Spock said, “You very clearly enjoy having fun at my expense.”

Jim dipped a fry into mayonnaise. “It’s called feminine bonding, Spock.” 

“I concede to your superior insight on the matter.” Spock said, “However, I think it logical to avoid any and all bonding in the presence of the Commandant, the Ambassador, the Lady Amanda, the Honorable T’Pau, and Winona Lawson.”

“Don’t worry, Spock.” Gaila promised, “Your secret’s safe with me.”

“I am suvel nahan po'Surak.” Spock retorted, “I possess no secrets.” 

“Tell that to somebody who’d fall for that poker face.” Gaila replied, “So, Jimmy. Tell your new best friend how you came to attend our lovely institution of secondary education?”

“I survived a death planet, and threatened to decapitate my stepfather,” Jim deadpanned. “if my mother sent me back to Iowa.”

“Decapitation is so messy, Jimmy.” Gaila replied, “A phaser to the head is so much cleaner, unless of course you wanted him to bleed…”

“Winona hates severed body parts.” Jim revealed, “Some people hate clowns. She hates dismemberment.”

“Interesting.” Gaila replied, “All things being equal, if I had to kill a man I’d probably go for asphyxiation. I’m not too fond of spiders, myself. What are you afraid of, Spock?”

“Presently?” He asked, “The implications of this conversation.”

“I’d be more afraid of the fact that you haven’t run off, personally.” Gaila said, “What does that say about you?”

“That I left all sanity and good sense in the sands of Vulcan.” Spock replied, eyes only for Jimmy. 

Gaila let the mutual scents of happy-silly-warm-contentment-ours-together-peace-vexation-joy-wholeness wash over her. Yes, she decided, she liked Jim. She liked Spock. But most of all, she liked who they became when they were together.  

II: Cilantro and Salt

“Jimmy, something’s wrong with you.” Gaila said, looking up from their math homework, “Something’s not right.”

“You act like this is new information.” Jim quipped, “Months of friendship, and you’re only noticing this now.”

“Jimmy, your scent…”

“What are you even talking about?” Jim ate another tortilla chip, “D’you want one? Allergen-friendly chips taste like cardboard, but hey, share and share…” 

Jim broke off, coughing, the chip bag falling to the floor.

That was all the warning Gaila got, really. One second, Jim was her normally flailing self. The next, she was gasping out a Klingon curse as her breath was squeezed from her throat. 

“Jim, keep calm, okay?” Gaila insisted, launching instantly into action at the first rattle. 

Gaila reached for Jim’s bag, knowing exactly what this was, understanding at once that if she didn’t get the cap off of this hypo and stick it in Jim’s thigh, she would surely die. She was already passing out, grey and sweaty as Gaila all but hauled her onto the floor. 

Just as Gaila depressed the hypo firmly into Jim’s tight-clad thigh, Gaila noticed the heavy cadence of boots rounding the stacks. Gaila expected it would be Spock lifting Jim’s feet onto her loaded, backpack, but it wasn’t him at all. 

The dark-haired man caught her staring and said, “Good job, kid.”

He promptly took over, leaving Gaila to take stock of the situation much more objectively—or at least rationally. The man was a doctor, she knew that much. She’d seen him around, seen him talking to Jim a time or three.

Obviously. Obviously. Only a medical professional would know how to assess Jim. Only a medical professional would be able to summon other staff from Medical, and handle what he called a “rapidly developing obstruction” almost as soon as they got Jim onto a bio-bed. They talked too quickly, and with too much presumed knowledge between them for Gaila to really know what all of it implied, beyond the obvious. 

By the time they were actually in Medical, he’d had to intubate her. All Gaila really noticed was the amount of stuff everywhere, the sterile packaging of endotracheal tubes, and the wires on monitors that were attached to the bio-bed, and the hypos and the drugs and the nurses carrying things. 

Gaila stayed close, because there was no way she was going to trot off to history class and leave Jim alone. Well. She wasn’t alone. The Commandant showed up, followed by Spock, almost as soon as Jimmy hit medical. A doctor had injected him with something he’d protested until Dr. Grayson arrived and talked him into conceding to her logic, if not the doctor’s own. 

“You okay, kid?” The doctor asked, coming back into Jim’s room. She was stable now. Resting. Sedated. Not herself. “Would it help if we talked about what happened?”

“No.” Gaila answered, “I understood what I saw. What I don’t understand is—how can somebody go through life knowing they could be fine one second and here the next because some idiot didn’t disclose properly on an ingredient label or something?”

“I think they do it the same way anybody does anything,” The doctor said, “Knowing they have to, because what choice is there? Jim doesn’t want to go through life afraid.”

“So the rest of us should just—learn to be okay with being afraid for her?” Gaila asked, “I don’t…”

“Kid, you can tap out anytime you want to.” The doctor said, not wholly unkindly, “God knows the Jim Kirk Experience isn’t for everybody. It wouldn’t make you a bad person. You did save her life today. But if you stay, you should know this was an outlying experience. This isn’t normal.”

“Yeah, I got that all by myself.”

“I mean, this isn’t her normal.” The doctor replied, “This isn’t Jim’s normal. Look, Gaila. This isn’t her normal, but even so, it isn’t your job to worry about her future and her prognosis. She—and you—have adults in your lives whose job it is to shoulder that kind of stuff.”

“I’m young, but I’m not stupid.” Gaila snapped, “Adults never worry until it’s too late. You could have warned me, somebody should have warned me, about how easy it would be to love her. Everybody says Orions are all about sex, but really, we care about lasting relationships, family. We seek that, that intimacy, or at least I do.  And I found a sister in Jim Kirk— a family in her—and she could die and leave me alone again because of a stupid bag of chips.”

“Gaila,” The doctor asked, “turn and look at those people out there. The Commandant. Dr. Grayson. The hobgoblin. They didn’t send me in here to check on Jim. They’re out there asking about you. Because here’s the thing, kid. The Jim Kirk Experience includes a bonus pack of a whole bunch of people who care about each other. That includes you. So listen, please, when I tell you this…”

“I’m listening.”

“You are not alone, Gaila Vro.” He said, “Even if Jimmy should jet away on her starship and save the galaxy and be sucked into an alternate reality where Spock is a stand up comedian, you will never be alone.”

“I’d believe you,” Gaila allowed, “But I don’t even know your name.”

“Len McCoy.” The doctor smiled, “Jim calls me Bones because my ex-wife got everything but my bones in the split. Them’s the breaks when you marry a shark of a lawyer.”

“Jim’s mentioned you.” Gaila smiled, “She calls you Dr. Grumpypants.”

“Dr. Lion Tamer, more like.” McCoy grumbled, “You’re saved in her PADD as ko-kai, by the way.”

“I don’t know what that word means.” Gaila said, searching her memory.

“Yes, you do. Clearly.” McCoy insisted, “Now come on, Dr. Grayson ordered dinner. Chinese. I need fried food, but if you promise not to snitch on me to Jim about it, there’s a doctor’s note for school in it for you.”

“No thanks.” Gaila decided, “I’ve got an in with the Commandant.”

McCoy smiled, “That you do, Vro. That you do.”

 * * *

“My brother Sam…left me.” Jim whispered, her voice barely reaching Gaila’s left ear as they stared at the ceiling of Jim’s bedroom, “I know why. In my head, I know why. But—today’s the anniversary of the day I last saw him, and I got out of the hospital yesterday, and…”

“I’m sorry, Jimmy.” Gaila rolled over on her side to face Jim in the darkness. It was after midnight, and clearly Jim had been laying there awake a long while before Gaila woke up and asked her what she was doing awake.

“He loved me.” Jim insisted, “He just couldn’t take the abuse anymore. I loved him, and I should have protected him. It was always me Frank hated, but even Frank didn’t dare touch me. I’ve always been…different. Sickly. There were too many people watching. He might have been awful, kept food from me, that kind of stuff, but he never once hit me. Well, I lied. He hit me once, after Sam left.”

“Jimmy…”

“He split my lip. I got a busted up face for back talking over him trying to sell George Kirk’s car.” Jim recounted, “And then I started screaming at him that I was going to tell, tell my grandparents, hell I was going to tell the news media, Chris. And then he said to me, ‘What makes you think you’ll tell anybody when Sam never breathed a word about what I did to him?’”

“And I just…lost it.” Jim admitted, “If it hadn’t been for Spock, hadn’t been for his voice in the back of my mind, I would have killed Frank. I don’t remember anything much about it. Next I do, I was on a ship to Tarsus IV. There was a school there for psi-rated girls. They said I’d had an episode of psionic transference, that I’d used Frank’s strength against him to tie him to a chair in the basement and leave him there for hours. That I wasn’t culpable but that I needed education. I got one, alright.”

“We don’t have to talk about that, Jim.” Gaila said, “We’ve all got baggage. My own mother attempted to sell me into slavery on Vondem. I’m the reason my father took my brother and me and left her. They were mates, but she turned on me, and he chose to protect me over staying with her. He heard her making the arrangements, and we fled in secret, with little more than the clothes on our backs. He walked away from everything, just to protect me. He tore his soul asunder for me.”

“You’re his daughter.” Jim said, “I’m learning that’s what fathers are supposed to do. Also, I’m sorry your mom did that to you. That’s ten kinds of sick.”

“I was going to be trained to use my pheromones at the whims of my owner. It’s a one way ticket to a harem, if a girl is fortunate. She knew my orientation. She knew I just—can’t even begin to imagine sex without an abiding and emotional connection.” Gaila said, “Even so, I don’t manipulate people. We don’t do that, ever. I can’t even sense pheromones towards me, anymore. I don’t want to, because even that knowing—for myself—makes me feel like I have an unfair advantage.”

“Doesn’t that hurt?” Jim asked, “You’re meant to have those biochemical signals for yourself too. It’s just like reading body language. You can use mirroring to get something out of another person, consciously. It’s how you use it that matters.”

Gaila sighed, “I know enough. I figure things out. Anyway, knowing I had my pheromones on lockdown was the only reason Daddy let me come to Prep.”

“I’m glad you did.” Jim said, “I guess I should tell you, since you won’t Scent it.”

“Oh no.” Gaila teased, “Here’s the part where you tell me Spock wants a threesome. I’m a good girl. I promised my Dad I’d wait for marriage.”

“Did you?”

“We don’t talk about sex.” Gaila replied, “After everything with Mom, the fact that I’m a girl is a taboo subject in our house. Mom had a lot of—ideas—about how I should think and be, and I don’t think Daddy knows how to ask if I really believed her or if I’m really happy as I am, as myself. He worries, but he doesn’t understand that there’s nothing to worry over, anymore. She doesn’t define my choices. She used what she knew to betray me, that’s all.”

Jim replied, “Doesn’t she know anything about the spectrum? If she were here now, I’d bet she think we were having a sordid affair.”

“Just because I know someone well doesn’t mean I’m automatically—” Gaila broke off when she realized that Jim was barely holding back laughter. “Stop teasing me. You’re meant to think I want to be with you and Spock, because people like me obviously just can’t separate different kinds of intimacy, or decide that one is more important than the other when everybody says sex is the be all and end all, Jimmy.”

“Well, if you want to be my sister-wife, you can be.” Jim decided, “You’re already my ko-kai, my sister.”

Gaila laughed until she cried, the scent of salt suffusing her.

This time, she wasn’t crying alone. This time, Jim was there to soothe her in Vulcan and tell her that the dissolution of her family wasn’t her fault. This time, she believed it. 

Orions had a saying. They said it was a sister’s duty—a sister’s right—to help her sister face difficult truths, and to be there in the aftermath. For the first time, Gaila understood. 

III: Ocean Breeze and Coconut 

“So, I’ve waited.” Gaila began, “I’ve been exceedingly patient. But now I have to ask. What’s the deal with Spock? We are DTR’ing the two of you until I am satisfied.”

“Gaila, DTR?” Jim asked, pulling her attention away from the waves. Seagulls cried above them, and children played on the beach below them. 

“Defining the Relationship.” Gaila defined, tapping the railing of the boardwalk, “So. Friend? Brother? Lover? Categorize and we will begin to subcategorize appropriately.”

“You have a taxonomy of relationships?” Jim asked, looking at her over the top of her sunglasses, “Why does this surprise me?”

“It shouldn’t.” Gaila said, popping some caramel corn into her mouth. “I’m going to publish it one day, make millions, be famous, solve all the relationship problems. If people understand their context, understand themselves and what they really want and need from the relationship, they can make better choices.”

“Good luck with that.” Jim replied, “Spock and I’ll be your test case. The answer by the way is, yes, yes, and not yet. But, yes, eventually, we’re working on it.”

“Exactly how are you working on that, ye of hidden depths?” Gaila demanded, caramel corn forgotten.

“We are taxonomizing, Gaila.” Jim replied, “Not engaging in qualitative description.”

“The two are not mutually exclusive!” Gaila cried, “Alright. Alright. While from my personal perspective, all lasting romantic relationships are built on friendship, in the taxonomy, you must pick a category to begin. One cannot be a guard dog and a bird.”

“Geese, Gaila.” Jim said, “Geese.”

“That only makes sense because it’s coming from you.” Gaila said, “No. You must—define the relationship via previously and objectively established parameters so that we, in time honored tradition, may analyze it.”

“Alas, I cannot. For you, my love, I would, if I but could.” Jim sighed wistfully, “In the words of someone far more brilliant than I:

‘The stars go waltzing out in blue and red,
And arbitrary blackness gallops in:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.

I dreamed that you bewitched me into bed
And sung me moon-struck, kissed me quite insane.
(I think I made you up inside my head.)

God topples from the sky, hell’s fires fade:
Exit seraphim and Satan’s men:
I shut my eyes and all the world drops dead.’

Jimmy finished quoting the poem, and added, “It’s The Mad Girl’s Love Song. Sylvia Plath. I read it years ago.”

“Jim.” Gaila exhaled, “Are you Bonded?”

“Not in the ritualistic sense.” Jim admitted, “But his katra—my soul—are one, such that I have always known him, even when we’d never met. A ceremony at this point would just be window dressing, for the experience, the totally superfluous external confirmation. A mind adept wouldn’t even know how to evaluate or engage with what we have. They bond minds, not souls.”

Gaila believed that, felt the truth wash over her as she watched the waves crash on the shore. She herself couldn’t get a handle on what they were—what they weren’t—to one another. They were on the East Coast because they had the day off school, Spock had to come out here, and of course they were tagging along. There hadn’t even been a question in Jim’s mind, nor in her own.

“I used to close my eyes back in Iowa, and there he was, wholly with me. I thought for so long that I’d made him up, made up a friend, made up a brother, made up someone whose love—”

“But clearly, you didn’t.” Gaila replied, knowing that if she turned and looked at Jim, she’d see the evidence of Spock’s existence in her eyes.

“I didn’t.” Jim agreed, “Everybody thinks it ought to be love at first sight. It was, but it wasn’t. I didn’t know him, not as I do now. How could I love him, then? Even when we did grow to trust one another, to know what cereal we like…”

“You had to choose, to develop.” Gaila summarized, “I know enough about bonds to know they’re not mixes for instant relationships, add carbon-based life forms, and stir.”

“I think I’m still falling in love with him.” Jim said, “Everybody says there should be this moment, when you hit bottom, when wholly satisfied. I see the depths of his soul, feel the boundlessness of his emotions, and still, every day, I realize it, you know? I think it’s because we’re both growing and changing so much, individually.”

“Honestly?” Gaila asked, wholly certain that she had no idea about any of this on a personal level. 

Jim smiled, “You will one day, Gaila Vro.”

“Thanks,” Gaila refused, “but a Vulcan bond sounds like more than a bit much to me.”

“The bond…” Jim replied, “I love it, because it is part of him, part of me, but it is not—not definitive. What exists between us is no mystical connection. If we woke up tomorrow, and the telepathy, the emotional resonance, was gone, we’d be fine. We’d still get up, look toward the horizon together.” 

Jim continued when Gaila didn’t reply, “It’s just the choice, the knowledge, that we are free to be…just be…for one another—beyond fear, beyond definition. That’s what I want for you, because it's what you and I have, in our own way.”

“After Mom,” Gaila said, “I’m not sure I want to love as you love. I’m demi-sexual, you know that, but after Mom, I don’t…I don’t know. I’m not ready yet, and that’s okay.”

“First off, you shouldn’t love as I love. You love as you love, wholly and completely as yourself. Second, you deserve more than okay.” Jim insisted, “You deserve somebody whose very blood calls for you. You deserve somebody who looks at you when you’re at your worst, and says to themselves, ‘God, Gaila Vro is the absolute best.’ before they even realize they’ve thought it. You deserve somebody who will trust you enough, honor you enough, to tell you that—in action and in word—every day.”

“I’m not sure there’s anyone in the known Universe who could do that when I’m at my worst.” Gaila said, “Don’t idealize me, Jimmy, or relationships.”

“Well, see, that’s why you have me.” Jim smiled, “I’m going to do deep space exploration, one day. You’ll just have to come along. Maybe your tal-kam is working on some frozen planet somewhere, hoping for the Federation and planning to meet the Universe, never knowing that in doing so, you will find each other.”

“Jemima Kirk, you are a closet romantic.” Gaila declared, clicking her tongue, “I knew that cynicism was all an act.”

“No, you see.” Jim replied, “I am a cynic, but I have a pragmatist inside my head, and so I know there’s no way there isn’t someone who will see you for who you are, and love you enough to hold up a mirror and say ‘see yourself as I see you, taluhk.'”

“Despite the conversations I overhear, sometimes I think the only Vulcan you know is the endearments.”

“Well, I could tell you you deserve somebody who wants to break a bed with you in Golic Vulcan, but have you seen yourself, Gaila? That’s like 97.65 percent of the population.” Jim replied, “Selective criteria for a partner should at least be a little bit exclusionary.”

Gaila laughed. 

Jim opened her PADD. “Come on, Spock’s almost done, and if we leave him waiting too long he’s going to whine about the humidity.”

“Physiologically?” Gaila asked, “Is it challenging on his lungs?”

“Not so much as it is on his hair.” Jim smiled, “He gets a little bit of static and you’d think he’s got my mane.”

“Don’t talk to me about frizz, Rapunzel.” Gaila retorted, tightening her ponytail with a firm tug. 

Jim smiled. 

IV: Cedarwood and Lilacs

“I cannot believe we’re getting our knuckles rapped by the Commandant over this.” Gaila hissed, “You swore we wouldn’t be caught.”

“Yeah, well, our lookout had to go to Massachusetts and be around science people because not everything can be done by CommLink.” Jim retorted, “Forgive me if I’m a little distracted.”

“Oh, go eat some strawberries and cry about it.”

“You know they make me vaguely itchy and uncomfortable.” Jim huffed, “Bones won’t even give me a hypo for it, just a stupid topical cream. ‘If you’re dumb enough to choose an intolerance you can avoid, you deserve every itch you get’ my foot.”

“Oh was it your feet that itched, last time?” Gaila teased. 

“Shut up.” Jim retorted calmly, “We wouldn’t have gotten caught if somebody—”

“You wouldn’t have gotten caught,” The Commandant interjected, “if the two of you weren’t attempting to sneak back on campus after having left in the first place.”

The Commandant waved away their attempt to stand as he crossed his office to settle in at his desk, the very picture of leadership. Gaila wanted to vomit. 

“Now, suppose you tell me why it was so very important that you had to leave campus today?” The Commandant asked, “Gaila?”

Gaila shook her head. 

“Alright, you have the floor, Jimmy. Spin your yarn. Go ahead, I’m all ears.”

“That you think I would lie to such an august personage is beyond my comprehension.” Jim insisted, “That you think I would lie to my own parent is, well, apt. Let the record speak, there. But seriously, we just had to go the museum today for that project in advanced molecular biochemistry."

Jim elaborated, "The presentation we have to do absolutely requires field research, and since you won’t let us go to space like people in Starfleet should do, we’re kind of limited. So we thought, hey, we’ll just pop over to the museum, only the exhibit closes tomorrow and we’ve just been so busy, working our young fingers to the bone for the benefit of this fine educational institution, that we had to go today. We determined that it would be best to simply go, with a minimum of fuss, and return in plenty of time for the activities later today, which were the very reason you called a campus weekend.”

“We did plan to return in plenty of time, sir.” Gaila added, breathing through her mouth to avoid inhaling the cedar-y scent of white lies all around her.

“Now, that, Cadet Vro, I absolutely believe.” The Commandant replied, “However, point of fact, Jim-Jam: that exhibit isn’t open today.”

“I know!” Jim cried, “But I didn’t know when we left. Imagine our shock when we got there, we were aghast and dismayed. We were beside ourselves.”

“So, in your shock and dismay, you just had to soothe yourselves with a little recreational shopping?”

“Medicinal.” Jim interjected, “Medicinal shopping.”

“Oh, wait until I tell McCoy. The world’s ills, cured by shopping. A new cure!” The Commandant replied, “Tell me, Jemima, does shopping cure stupid?”

“It does if you’re buying books at a semi-annual antique book fair that is one day only!” Jim hastened to add, “Books are knowledge. As an educator…”

“Don’t even.” The Commandant warned, “As an educator, I am inclined to worry about your ability to count. Jimmy, what does this picture show?”

“That would be my book room, sir.”

“That would be a room, the size of your bedroom, filled with nothing other than PADDs, data chips, and paper books, correct?”

“Yes.”

“And what is this room, Jemima?”

“That would be a collage, sir, of the various textual repositories on campus. Oh, and there’s a little map that has an X marked ‘Jim’s house’ and an X marked ‘Prep Library’ with little feet in between. That’s very cute, but I’ve already read everything there. I had nothing to read, and after the crushing blow of disappointment that was a closed exhibit, I knew my deep and abiding quest for knowledge could not be thwarted—”

“Alright, alright, let’s get this over with.” The Commandant held up a hand, “Cadet Vro, for the infraction of being off-campus during a campused  weekend, you are hereby assigned to work in the Prep Library for the rest of the week, sacrificing evening your recreational period.”

“We can cope with that!” Jim jumped up, “It’ll will never happen again, O Benevolent Pater.”

“I said Gaila.” The Comandant replied, “You, my shining star, have a much different future in store. Do you know what I like about this campus, Jemima?”

“The people?” Jim asked, “That’s what you said in the recruitment vid. The campus is made up of people. Or was it that the people make the campus?”

“No, no. That’s for other people.” The Commandant said, “I like the campus for you because it is safe. It keeps the unsuspecting population of San Fransisco free from the terror that is Jemima Kirk. It keeps you away from the…”

and here he displayed another series of pictures as he spoke, “The isolationists who seem to think you’re not Terran because you were born in space, the kooky Kelvinites who venerate you, the dangerous Kelvinites who think they should kill you, and the poor lady wearing obnoxious yet deadly perfume, to say nothing of the random man selling food who just contaminates everything in a hundred food radius."

He concluded, "This list wholly ignores other influencing factors, because that is a kettle of fish I am not prepared to address today. For that I will need a of bottle single malt, and a signed agreement releasing me from all liability if I send you of all people to a planet governed by sheer logic.”

“Summer vacation is a human right.” Jim interjected. “And also! Peace and goodwill between two dissimilar planets, brought into unity by the wondrousness that is mental compatibility is a thing!”

“Remind me to tell Amanda of all that she has done for her galaxy.” The Commander retorted. “When the name Jemima Kirk was as yet wholly unknown to the Universe, and George was buying condoms by the case lot.”

“I’m special, too.” Jim sassed, “According to some, I’m very special.”

“You’re a menace.” The Commandant disagreed. 

“Hey!”

“As an officer, Jemima, I am required to keep these people safe from a known menace.” The Commandant continued, “Even when they are seeking that menace out for awful reasons. And yes, they seek you out, even when you never find out about it. They want to grab you. Now, tell me, what would my darling menace do to these people if they got the drop on her and trundled her off in some sketchy white van?”

“I would tell them very nicely, no thank you for the offer of kidnapping and dismemberment, I need to go home now and do my chores and bake my family cookies.”

“Yes, perhaps, on an ordinary day, that might be true.” The Commandant agreed, “But tell me, imagine with me, what would you do, if you so happened to be snatched up or otherwise detained when Clorinda is on? You know how you get when people interfere with your story arcs, Jemima.”

“That’s why The Big Guy invented streaming.” Jim noted, “I hardly think kidnappers would offer spoilers along with bread and water.”

“Yes, but what if you were harmed or otherwise detained by some zealot on the one night a week I go out and pretend not to know what goes on in my house in my absence?”

Jim replied, “I believe the courts would rule my ensuing actions both logical and justifiable, given that they would know what I would ordinarily be doing.”

“See, Jemima. See?” The Commandant smiled, “Even you yourself admit it. These poor, poor, people must be protected from the might that is your objective judgement. They must be protected from seeing the limits you will exceed to keep up with your studies.”

“Studies?” Gaila couldn’t help but ask, “Sir?”

“Yes, Cadet Vro, studies.” The Commandant nodded, before returning his attention to Jim, “That is what you do on my card nights. You study. Or knit. That is what I have decided you do in my absence, because I am wise and all-knowing. These poor folks must be protected form the interplanetary incident and the hell you would rain down upon them if they denied you your studies. So.”

“So.”

Commandant Pike was a showman, and tapped the PADD in his desk. “Nancy, send him in, please.”

“Oh God.” Jim moaned, as the door opened. “Shoot me.”

“No, no. Dr. McCoy took an oath to ‘do no harm.’” The Commandant welcomed McCoy to his office, gesturing to another chair, “Even to the insolent brats who disobey every directive he issues for their health and safety.”

Jim stared at Pike, waiting for sentencing. 

Pike’s grin was every bit as electric as her own would have been in his shoes when he said, “Jemima Kirk, meet your new PPO.”

“You can’t just do that to him!” Jim cried, “He wants to be a doctor, do doctorly things, not follow me around making sure I don’t skin my knee. I shall not let you ruin what little he has in life.”

“Well, thanks,” McCoy said, “I guess.”

Jim looked at McCoy with genuine contrition, “I’m only looking out for you, Bonesy.”

“This man is an expert on Psi-rated individuals, with a specialization in emergency medicine. He rotated through some of the most gritty EDs in the deep South. You cannot imagine the things this man has seen and done in his professional life.” Pike declared, “His PhD thesis focused on trauma care of bondmates in active war zones, wherein he himself served.” The Commandant ignored their sidebar, “Furthermore, he is an expert on Terran physiology in alien environments.”

“Bones? My Bones?” Jim retorted, “You are absolutely full of it. Bonesy is a simple county doctor. He doesn’t even like space.”

“You shouldn’t conflate who people are with what they do. I can be a simple country boy and do my job to the best of my ability. Also, I don’t like space because I know the worst of what it can do to people.” Bones replied, “For the same reason engineers don’t like being passengers on planes, and chefs don’t like eating other people’s cooking. You never did ask about my background, and I never did feel bragging was right. I’m still afraid my mother’ll wash my mouth out.”

“Good for you. It’s a billion more reasons for you to be my CMO when I have my ship.” Jim replied, “Your Mom must have lots of certificates to hang on the wall. I’m not sure what that has to do with me, though.”

“Jim, star of my universe, joy of my heart, it brings me no joy to say this, but you are more than enough to keep Dr. McCoy professionally engaged for as long as he sees fit to put up with you. I suggest you get used to it, because the arrangement is indefinite.” The Commandant turned his attention to McCoy and said, “Dr. McCoy, you have the good wishes of Starfleet and my personal sympathies as you undertake this new…venture.”

“Thank you, Sir.” McCoy replied, “Both are much appreciated.”

Jim grabbed Gaila’s hand. “Okay, so I’ll just—”

“And I wouldn’t even think for ten seconds about turning on the logical machinations with Spock.” The Commandant headed Jim off at the pass, “Complain too much about McCoy and I’ll set you up with a nice Vulcan lady PPO, who won’t look the other way when the Scion of the House of Surak throws centuries of Vulcan decorum out the window and attempts to converse with you without a chaperone present.”

Gaila forced herself not to snort. She was a mature young lady. She was. If private conversations were enough to send his relatives into palpations, what would happen if they knew that their logical heir was known to put his hands places that even made Gaila blush on the telling thereof?

“You’re horrible.”

“Yes.” The Commandant agreed, rather happily, lilac suffusing Gaila. “It’s called being a parent. I pray you have no direct knowledge of all that I endure for the reward of your ingratitude for at least another decade.”

Jim spluttered and left the office. Smiling wickedly, McCoy pointedly got up and followed. 

The Commandant smiled, “You’re dismissed, Cadet Vro.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

***

And so McCoy joined their little merry band of misfits. Gaila surmised that he was hired for the position he was now filling, possibly even head-hunted by the Commandant for the sole purpose of keeping the universe safe from Jimmy Kirk as she was unleashed upon it. 

McCoy took a special delight in torturing Jemima with convoluted stories riddled with expressions, often starting with “That reminds me of a time…” or “Back in Georgia…” He said all the stories had a point, and Gaila knew that their sole point was to needle Jim a little bit. Gaila was thinking about writing them down, or turning them into a podcast. Some of their beauty was certainly in the telling. 

He was nice, too. He even let Jim read her death threats. She and Gaila cackled over them, and then threw copies in the fireplace, all the while picking apart the letters. Spock did not join in on those girl’s nights. He got a little growly about death threats, and personally saw laughing over them as illogical. 

One night, not too long after McCoy had taken up his duties with the patience of a old hound dog, and the tenacity of a chicken, as he was frequently heard saying, Jim said, “You know, Gaila…”

“Hm?”

“I never…” She fumbled for the words she wanted, “I never had a parent, who did things that inconvenienced them just to keep me safe, just to do what was best for me. And Chris, he doesn’t even care that I basically showed up and ruined his existence. He…none of me…what I need…like not just to survive, but to be, like, secure and self-actualized and all that shit, it doesn’t even bother him. He pays Bones expressly so I don’t die, but also like, so I don’t have to worry about getting hurt. Granted, not everybody needs a Bones, but I do, and he—found me Bones.”

“Okay, from where I’m sitting, you’ve improved his life, and you should probably tell your therapist you think you ruined his existence.” Gaila said, “But also, you don’t bother him because you, Jemima Kirk, are not a bother, and I will personally send badly written death threats to anyone who’s said otherwise.”

“Thank you.” 

“I know what you mean, though.” Gaila said, after a minute, “I was always—too much, for my mother. Too brainy, too inquisitive, too desirous of real connection. But my Daddy, he loves me, not anyway, but because of those things, even if it took him a long time to understand what Mom tried to do to me. I think we both kind of lucked out, in the father department, in the end.”

“You know?” Jim asked, “You’re right.”

Jim pushed to her feet, “Come on, I’m going to get a call from T’Varc in thirty seconds asking if I and Miss Vro would honor the T’sai D’H'riset with our presence. She’s making chocolate chip cookies.”

“At 2300 hours?” Gaila teased, “What scandal! What spontaneity! What illogic! You bet your motherboard I’m going.”

V: Neroli and Burnt Metal (Much, Much Later, but Jim's very favorite part of this story to tell)

“Mr. Scott, welcome once more to the Starship Enterprise.” Jim said, setting her fork down, “Won’t you please join us?”

Gaila looked away as he shifted his tray and sat down across from Spock. “Aye, Captain.”

“We’re off, my name is Jim.” Jim insisted, looking around the table. “You know everybody present, of course. Except—Gaila. How is it that you never met? Weird.” Jim shrugged, “Anyway, Gaila Vro, computer guru/diplomatic genius, Montgomery Scott, mad engineer/food chemist extraordinaire.”

Gaila spoke, “Really, it’s all Betty, you know—”

“It’s my Silver Lady,” Montgomery Scott spoke at the same time, “nothing to do with—”

Gaila broke off, “Sorry.”

“Apologies.” Montgomery echoed, “I’m used to typing. Go ahead.”

“Betty, just…” Gaila said, “I couldn’t do my job with any other operating system, of that I’m sure. I mean, yeah, I built her, but at this point she must be at least sentient.”

“The Enterprise is just the same.” He replied. “Both she and your Betty have personality.”

Conversation flowed easily. Gaila felt the crackle of burnt metal fill her scent receptors, weaving with the neroli she—she hadn’t scented in a very, very long time. If the burnt metal was Montgomery, and the neroli was—was—well. 

Okay. It was not intentional. She was relaxed, happy after a productive shift. She shouldn’t be so shocked that—well, she was. No wonder she wanted to get to know him, show him Betty in person, taste the whisky he made, discover how the music they liked sounded on the Enterprise’s speakers. 

Jim hooked her foot around Gaila’s beneath the table, and shifted. When the conversation changed, Mr. Sulu calling Mr. Scott’s attention to something Mr. Chekov was discussing, Gaila hissed, “What was that for?”

“Later.” Jim said, “Later.”

After dinner was over, Gaila looped her arm around Jim and said, “Captain, Mr. Spock, walk with me, please?”

And so they headed away from the dining hall, back toward their quarters. When they finally came to a vacant corridor, Gaila spoke. “Spill your guts, Jimmy, or I’ll get Spock to air Clorinda episodes out of order on every vid-screen on the Enterprise.”

“No.” Mr. Spock insisted, “I value my peaceful existence, and the continued functionality of this ship.”

“Jimmy!” Gaila all but wailed, “You almost pulled me off the bench!”

“Well, I could hardly kick you, sitting next you, could I?” Jim replied, “Because I want to know, why aren’t you telling me I’m right?”

“What do you mean?” Gaila demanded, “You didn’t even say anything, you just sat there looking all smug.”

“I did not look smug.” Jim insisted, “I’m vindicated, and you don’t even care. Some best friend you are. I’m going to replace you. Spock, you’re my best friend now.”

“No.” Spock replied tonelessly, “I decline.”

Jim asked Gaila, “Is that mutiny or merely grounds for divorce?”

“You’d probably get to keep the ship if you divorced him, but if you toss him in the brig for being mean, at least you won’t have to worry about shared custody with his hyper-logical second wife.” Gaila said. 

“Point.” Jim replied, “You’ve been restored to active best friend duty.”

“Why is it that consideration of my death and misery brings you closer together?” Spock asked, “It is most illogical.”

“It’s called feminine bonding, Mr. Spock.”

“Very well.” Spock replied, “If I must go to the brig, allow me a few moments to prepare my staff and secure my laboratory in advance of my absence. I shall use the time to meditate peacefully.”

“Nah.” Jim replied, “Just make Gaila tell me I’m right and we’ll forget you don’t want to be my best friend.”

“I cannot, because in this case I must concur with her.”

“Oh, go away!” Jim groused, laughing as Mr. Spock turned left when they headed straight. She called after him, “Tell Bonesy I said hello!”

“If I must spell it out, I shall.” Jim said when they were finally alone, “Some years ago, when we were but fancy-free young women at the seaside, teenagers planning world domination and universal acclaim, I told you that even if it took us forever, you would find your tal-kam.”

Gaila warned, “Jimmy, don’t even start…”

Jim paid her no heed, “Deny it all you like, I know things.”

“No, you don’t.” Gaila insisted. 

“I do, I really, really do.” Jim insisted, “I shall prove it definitively. Where, oh where, Gaila, was Mr. Scott working before I insisted—that is, before he was mysteriously assigned permanently to the Enterprise?”

“Mr. Scott previously served on Delta Vega,” Gaila admitted, “as you well know, you obnoxious shrew.”

Jim replied, as was her habit to anything she thought was nonsense. “Therefore the geese go barefoot and the ducks wear little red shoes.” 

“Jim.” Gaila retorted, knowing she was perfectly sensible.

“Okay, but did I or did I not say that Gaila Vro’s tal-kam would be found working on some frozen planet somewhere, hoping for the Federation and planning to meet the Universe, never knowing that in doing so, you will find each other?” Jim asked, “I have a memory like a steel trap. I knows what I says.”

“That wasn’t the first time we’ve spoken, and you know that!” Gaila insisted, “We correspond frequently! It wasn’t a meet-cute.”

“It was if you’d never met in person!” Jimmy retorted. “Don’t take away my pivotal role in your relationship, Gaila. I’ve got to have a cute story in my back pocket, you know!”

Gaila grinned at Jim, “I don’t want to talk about it.”

Jim squeezed her gently, and stepped away, “I’ll be here when you’re ready to admit I’m right.”

Gaila watched Jimmy walk away, and pulled out her PADD. Already there was a message in her inbox. 

So the Captain thinks we’ve never met?

You know Jim. Somebody has to be right in front of her for it to be a meeting.

I did not know that about her. 

Most of what I know about her is classified. But yeah. 

How would she feel about a still aboard the Silver Lady?

I’ll ask her, if you want?

I’ll let you know. Do you want to come down and see it? 

The still, possibly. Montgomery Scott, certainly. Gaila headed for the turbolifts.