Jim's Personal Quarters

Where you can find Jim if he's not in the gym, rec room, sickbay, the Bridge, or his ready room.

Jim rushed around, putting the final touches on things. The desk was (mostly) clear, the table was set, and the meal laid out. He'd contacted Old Pock and asked what Pock's favorite meal was.

Because goddamn, he wanted to do things right.

He looked around his room. The door to his bedroom was closed, check. Everything set, check. All that was missing was Pock herself.

And now to wait.

Pock took a deep, calming breath to steady herself. She could handle this. She was strong, capable, and practical, she reminded herself, and there was absolutely no reason why she couldn't make it through a casual dinner with Jim Kirk despite what she had labeled as her inconvenient emotional infatuation.

It had developed approximately 6.2 months ago, and since it had been growing, its roots deepening in the recesses of her mind. She found herself turning to him approximately 3.8 times more, always dwelling on his opinions before anyone else's.

She sighed, taking another breath and eying herself in the mirror. It was illogical, she knew, to focus such attentions on Jim Kirk. He could - and most likely did - have any woman of his choosing, and Pock was not a particularly compatible match as far as mates went. She knew that her infatuation would be unreciprocated and ill-received, and thus, she would deal with it accordingly.

With one last deep breath, and one illogical glance at the mirror, she departed her own quarters for Jim's room, buzzing the door.

She could do this.

She could.

Jim paced as he waited. When the buzzer rang, he called, "Come!" He quickly wiped his hands off on the jeans he was wearing, waiting for Pock to enter.

He could do this. This was just telling her he liked her. It wasn't like he was confessing his undying love for her.

He was James T. Kirk. There was no such things as no-win scenarios and he refused to believe that this was one.

Pock silently stepped through the door as it slid open, obeying Jim's casual command. The room was just as it always was, slightly unkempt, but it appeared as though Jim had placed a particular effort into making it more presentable on this night. She was unsure of why.

"Greetings, Jim," she said, bowing her head in acknowledgment and greeting. Her eyes were warm and friendly.

Jim smiled at her, affection for her filling his stomach with butterflies. "Hey, Pock," he said. "Dinner's already on the table." Anxiety was now worming its way into his stomach.

He could read his First Officer fairly well, but one thing he'd never been able to read on her was her thoughts on how they could be together romantically.

And that scared the ever living shit out of him.

But, goddammit, he was going to tell her how he felt, one way or another.

At least he hadn't waited 'til Valentine's Day to do something cheesy. He would never have forgiven himself, and he had a feeling Pock wouldn't have either.

Pock nodded warmly, turning to the table.

"Excellent," she said.

She moved to take a seat, sliding gracefully into the chair. "What have you prepared for us this evening?"

Jim chuckled. "Food," he said. "But, actually, it's a vegetarian dish that I thought you might like," he mumbled. "It's a vegetarian curry."

He slid less gracefully into his own seat. He could do this. He could.

And if she rejected him, okay then. He could live with that. It wasn't like he hadn't been rejected before.

"Curry?" she inquired. She eyed the dish warily, tentatively reaching for her fork. She had not experienced this food before, and the name was unfamiliar to her. It did not look or smell unappealing, it was merely different. "I have not heard of it before."

She crossed her ankles beneath her chair. Her back was rigid. She could sense an air of tension in the room, as though something hovered unspoken between them, and she noted it with a slight anxiety. She wrestled it to the back of her mind.

Jim forced a chuckle down as the woman seated across from his did all but poke at it suspiciously with her fork. "Curry. It's a dish from India. You can eat it with naan bread or with rice. Rice was easier to make, so I went ahead and made the ride." Some of the tension that he had been unconsciously carrying left his shoulders as he talked about the food.

India, a country located in the continent of Asia on planet Earth, known for its vibrant culture. She clinically sifted through all that she knew of the country, and when she was satisfied, she met Jim's eyes. They were warm and friendly, and she trusted him.

She took a bite of the food.

The flavor was strong, and she chewed it carefully, as though she were thinking very hard about it. When she finally swallowed, she met his eyes again. She noted that the tension had eased slightly.

"I deem the dish favorable," she said, taking another bite. "I thank you for exposing it to me."

Jim laughed lightly. "You're welcome," he said, mixing his own curry and rice. He took a bite of his own. The tofu he'd used had fried up perfectly, if he did say so himself. "How was everything in the lab today?"

Pock swallowed the food in her mouth, savoring the taste. It was strong and flavorful. She had to admit, she really did enjoy it. Jim always forced her to do things that normally she might not have. He forced her to expand her boundaries and challenged her to try new things, be them foods or new approaches to problems. It was part of the reason why she valued him so.

"My work day went quite well," she said. "The new soil testing equipment is quite efficient in its designated vocation. It reduces our time spent testing the samples by .9%." Another bite, then a sip of her water. "How was your own day, Jim?"

Jim shrugged. "Mostly spent avoiding my yeoman. Apparently, there's some paperwork that's still sitting on one of my PADDs that I forgot to turn in and Janice has been on me like ugly on an ape. So, most of my day was spent down in Engineering with Scotty, doing some maintenance." He smiled at her, before taking a sip of his water.

Pock cast him a disapproving glance, trying to hide the amusement in her eyes.

"You should not neglect your administrative responsibilities," she chided. "They are an important aspect of your position as captain, and are highly important to the successful running of this ship. To neglect them would be of detriment to the Enterprise, and to you."

She'd given him this speech a million times, it seemed, but she knew how it would end: eventually, at the last minute, Rand would catch Jim and force him to monotonously sign his name on form after form until he had completed them. Then, he would pout.

It was rather entertaining, she found.

Jim grinned. "Yeah, yeah, yeah, if I've heard this once, I've heard it a million times," he said, voice warm and affectionate. He switched to a pout. "But signing off on those things is so boring," he whined. He scrunched up his face to show exactly what he thought of having to sign off on reports.

Pock sighed in amusement.

"I apologize that being a starship captain cannot always consist of chasing criminals down with phasers or gunning down Klingon ships," she said, taking a bite of her curry. Her mouth twitched into a subtle reflection of her silent laughter. "Sometimes, it consists of paperwork. I should think that perhaps you might like the reprieve."

She took an even, steady sip of her water.

Jim gave a laugh. "The reprieve would be even better if I didn't have paperwork to ruin it," he said, taking a sip of his own water. "I'd much rather take the chasing down the Klingon ships to having to hide from Janice all day." He took a bite of his food, discreetly looking over at his table mate.

She was gorgeous in a way that suggested sometimes she didn't know her own beauty. Jim would just as happily stare at her, taking in her face, the way she moved and talked. He watched as her mouth twitched in laughter and he wanted to do nothing more than to kiss her right then.

"You are aware, of course," she said, pointing her fork at him, "that the longer you put off the administrative tasks Yeoman Rand has for you, the more foul her mood shall become."

Janice Rand was famous for the tantrums she could pull when she was frustrated, and nothing frustrated her more than the fact that Jim could successfully evade her. Pock was aware (disapprovingly, of course) of a betting pool on the ship for when she would throttle him over a health release form.

She caught his eye discreetly, smirking just a little.

"Is something wrong?" she asked hesitantly. Perhaps she had something wrong cosmetically that she had not noticed: food on her face, or in her teeth.

Jim shuddered theatrically. "Ugh, don't remind me," he said. "I would rather not be reminded of my imminent death at the hands of my yeoman, thank you very much." He grinned at her, a real grin, not the one he normally showed to the world.

He shook his head, "Nope, nothing's wrong." Damn! He thought he'd been more cautious than that!

His grin caused Pock to respond with what humans referred to as "butterflies" in her general stomach region. She knew, of course, that this was a reduction in blood flow created by her anxiety in a natural progression of the "fight or flight" response. It was an adrenal occurrence, nothing to do with entomology.

It did, however, indicate that she was made anxious by the mere occurrence of his grin, slightly crooked and warm with friendliness and affection. Were she not in control of her responses, she would blush. Yet another benefit to Vulcan training!

"So long as you are aware of it," she said curtly. "For it is an inevitability."

He smirked at her, leaning forward slightly. "I know it. Doesn't mean I have to like it." He took another bite of the curry.

As soon as they were finished eating, he would tell her.

Pock chuckled quietly, in her way. It was soft and subtle, and more of a glint in her eyes than anything else. Few every truly caught it.

She took another bite of her curry, finishing off the plate, and then took a sip of her water.

"I must admit," she said casually, "I am far more fond of curry that I had anticipated that I would be. You have excellent taste, Captain."

Jim saw the chuckle in Pock's eyes and gave a small imperceptible smile.

He gathered the plates and put them back in the replicator. When he actually cooked, the only thing he replicated was the plates and the utensils. He smiled back at her. "I'm glad you liked it," Jim said, hands delving into his jeans.

"Can we talk?"

She sat quietly as he collected the dishes, placing them back in the Replicator. The tension was back in the air, and for the life of her, Pock could not discern its origins. Had she done something? Was something wrong? She was certain that there was an aura of nervousness in the air.

At his question, her brows furrowed in confusion. "Are we not already?"