Bourbon, Chapter One
Feb. 2nd, 2011 04:01 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
teaoliChapter One: Dark Amber Burn
A follow-up to The Comes Spock.
By![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
teaoli
Summary:They had a thing going on. Until they didn't. Forced to work together in order to unravel the mystery of twins they both wish to protect, they must accept there's still something between them, in spite of all their past hurts.
( Bourbon & Amaretto )
Ambassador Sarek, once of Vulcan, now of T’Khasi Vokaya, kept a parlor that would have made any Southern belle house-proud. Bones tried not to get too comfortable. Even at times like tonight — especially at times like tonight — when he was among friends, it was important remember where he was.
Even after six years, he’d never quite gotten to the point where he actually liked flying around in a giant tin can, but spending the past few weeks on the colony (“Memory of Vulcan” was an awfully sappy name for a planet of a famously unsentimental race) among Vulcans and with her made him miss the Enterprise.
It shamed him to think of how he’d greeted her the day she’d arrived. The woman had never done anything to him except love him and his kid, and demand that he respect her feelings.
“You’re here to meddle!” he’d accused.
Because, of course, the entire universe revolves around Leonard McCoy, he thought derisively. She came all the way from Earth to Planet Pointy-Ears just to look over your shoulder.
And then he’d added insult to injury by disparaging the ancient (only he’d said “primitive”) African ritual that was her real reason for being here. Getting her to forgive him for his round of latest fuck-ups should have taken a miracle. Lucky him, she was more worried about keeping her pregnant baby sister in good spirits than about getting even with a foolish former lover.
Shaking his head, he indulged in a moment of self-disgust. May as well change my name to Jim Kirk, he figured. Except these days, even Jim is too smart to act like such an ass to a woman.
Truth was, Bones’d been too shocked by her unexpected visit to his temporary office to remember his manners.
Seeing her damned near every day was easier than he would have expected. But it was still harder than he would have liked.
The fact that his old friend practically panted like a dog, his tongue just about hanging out of his mouth, every time the three of them were together didn’t exactly help. Jabilo Geoffrey M’Benga was halfway to smitten and there wasn’t a damned thing Bones could do about except try his best to get in the way.
Ambassador Sarek’s parlor had been made for getting in the way. The room was far smaller than the two more formal sitting rooms in the large residence.
Spock said it was a replica of the one his momma had designed back on Vulcan. She’d wanted a public space where her guests (Bones figured she’d meant humans) could spread out and mingle a bit without ever feeling like they were far from the action. ‘Mingle’ was just a polite form of saying ‘getting in the way.’
Pen lapped up everything her fellow African had to say about practicing medicine on Vulcans. She did a good job of pretending it was just polite professional interest, but McCoy suspected she was doing it on purpose. She hadn’t used to be the type to play those kinds of games, but hell, people changed, didn’t they?
Maybe she ain’t playin’, an insidious little voice inside his head taunted. J.G. is a good lookin’ guy. And he don’t come with a load of baggage heavy enough to weigh down ten men.
Bones shut the voice up and faked a laugh at J.G.’s latest tale of cultural misunderstanding right along with Upenda. He knew she was faking because while those gorgeous lips curved up and that throaty laughter poured out like Kentucky’s finest, when she glanced over at him, her eyes weren’t shining the way they did when he was the one tickling her funny bone.
Well, if she was woman enough to act like everything was fine, he was man enough to do the same. They owed it to her little sister, anyway.
“Can you guys maybe not talk shop?” Uhura interrupted their mini medical conference, earning McCoy’s eternal gratitude. “Dinner is almost ready.” She speared all three medics with her death stare. “I could use a little help in the kitchen, in fact.”
His appreciation faded. There was no way in hell he was leaving the other two alone together.
“I don’t know a thing about cooking for damned vegetarians,” he muttered, half under his breath. He knew from experience that his colleague would catch every word. Those ears of hers had only gotten more sensitive as her pregnancy progressed.
But J.G. and Pen were already on their feet and Uhura was sticking out her tongue. Damn it to hell! His miscalculation hit him in the face like a right cross, but it was too late to go trailing after the other two like some sort of a lovesick puppy.
He thought he’d managed to school his features into something that said I-don’t-give-a-shit, but his friend’s sudden look of sympathy told him he was wrong.
“We’re eating African tonight,” she offered softly.
He didn’t even bother answering. She knew him well enough to understand. Too damned well.
His eyes glued to the swinging kitchen doors no matter how hard he tried to turn them away, Bones didn’t notice when she glanced over at Spock, or when the half-Vulcan shook his head in warning.
“Dessert is peach cobbler,” he heard her say. The hint of pity in her tone was enough to snatch back his lost sense. “Just for you. If you come help me, I can show you how to do it yourself.”
“Nah, that’s okay, beautiful,” he told her, aware that his voice was gruff. “Too many cooks….”
Bones gave a weary shrug and turned a strained smile her way. The sympathy in her gaze chased him right back to staring at the door. After a long moment, he heard her footsteps fade as she left to join her sister and J.G.
__________
Upenda glanced around Ambassador Sarek’s pristine kitchen.
Ennie had gotten almost everything prepped. Ingredients for a popular Ethiopian stew awaited their final steps. The thick, doughy batter for flatbread resting near the assortment of glass and pottery bowls, as well as a huge pot of yams and white potatoes, were the only other indicators that a meal was in preparation.
Nothing was out of place.
She surveyed the red lentils, still soaking in a large stoneware bowl of water, before examining the diced onion and minced garlic. Several tomatoes waited to be crushed and finely chopped. Leaning over to sniff a small container of blended spices, she recognized a maternal great-grandmother’s recipe for berbere.
“Looks like your sister plans on making mesir wat tonight. I thought your family was from Kenya?” M’Benga’s deep polished voice made her turn and smile.
“We are, mostly,” she told him. “Mama’s great-grandmother is from Ethiopia, and all Uhuras and Wakufunzis tend to embrace a bit of a… pan African lifestyle. Especially where food is concerned.”
“Ah.” He nodded sagely. “It shames me as a son of the continent to forget that you are a member of two of our First Families.”
Upenda Heard the lie, but dismissed it as flirting. He wasn’t the first African to pretend to make light of her auspicious heritage in that manner. Besides, Wakufunzis were supposed to use their Gifts outside of work.
“No worries,” she assured him with genuine laughter. “There have been times when I’ve wanted to forget that myself!” Crossing over to the sonic cleanser, she carefully washed her hands.
“Don’t tell me you’re not proud to have descended from the ones who freed Africa!” He stood close behind her and she moved aside to let him take her place. She made her escape under the gentle humming of the sonics.
“It’s one thing to be proud of legendary ancestors,” she said as she crossed back to select a tomato and a sharp knife. “It’s quite another to live through the reality of nosey old aunties who want to know why I’m not already married and popping out more heroes-in-the-making.”
M’Benga laughed at that. The sound was happy, infectious. Her lips twitched in concert.
“What is it about African aunties?” he wanted to know. “I can’t go back to Tanzania without one saying, ‘When Jabilo brings home a wife…’ It’s even worse for my sisters.”
Upenda smiled in understanding. “I know! Ours are the same. Muta can do what he likes, for now. But Ennie and me? We should have about four babies each already! Or course, she’s just about halfway there, so…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t help that I’m the eldest and she’s the youngest.
“You know that sly way the old aunties speak? Like you won’t know they’re trying to pressure you? ‘Nyota has a fine husband and twins on the way!’ They adore Spock. ‘Perhaps you should go to T’Khasi Vokaya to find a Vulcan of your own if no one in your homeland, or even New York City, meets your approval.’ As if!” She shook her head.
“So,” he murmured as he came up beside her and began crushing the tomatoes she hadn’t set aside for chopping, “did you come here to find a Vulcan of your own?” Amusement laced his voice, but she could Hear the very real desire to know beneath his teasing.
“Of course not! I came here for the birthing ritual. Baba’s family are Agĩkũyũ and they take babies very seriously.”
He laughed again, and she Heard him begin to relax.
“You’re almost as bad as Leonard,” she continued. “He accused me of coming to usurp his research!”
This time, his laughter failed to reflect what she Heard.
“His bark is worse than his bite.”
“Oh, I know that,” she said, smiling softly. “But the bark can still prick if you let it.” She sliced into another tomato, missing his sharp look.
“Have you known him long then?”
She looked up to find him studying her intently.
“No. Wet met just before Ennie’s wedding last year. He’d never known a woman who could drink under the table until he met me.”
M’Benga’s next shout of laughter rang true, and when Nyota pushed through the door seconds later, it was to find her two helpers had made considerable progress on the meal.
__________
Dinner had been a terrible idea. Bones could see why Sarek had suggested it, though. Spock had been what passed for jumpy in a Vulcan every time the two Starfleet doctors talked to him for the last week. The commander hadn’t been comfortable in their presence since they’d discovered there was something funny going on with his sperm.
With everyone (mostly) following Uhura’s ban on talking shop, table conversation had turned to gossip and banter. Jabilo insisted on recounting their exploits at Ole Miss. Pen had countered with stories of growing up on a compound in Kenya’s Garissa District. Though they’d directed their comments to the table at large, and weren’t the only ones telling tales out of school, Bones couldn’t shake the feeling that they were carrying on a covert flirtation. Spock — both of him — might be able to relax under the circumstances; McCoy had to settle for thanking everything that was holy that M’Benga was out of arm’s reach.
By the time the old Spock’s girlfriend had snookered Nyota into a conversation about subspace physics and communications engineering, dinner was over and Sarek was herding them back into the parlor for dessert. Bones had to clasp his hands behind his back, Spock-style, just to keep from wrapping them around his African contemporary’s thick neck.
Nyota and Astra Boipuso drifted over to a pair of matching arm chairs near the tall windows, still yakking about the field they had in common. It was only natural for the three doctors to do the same across the room. When the two Spocks joined them, one on his left, the other at his right, he realized Nyota Uhura wasn’t the only one who could read him like a book.
Pen spoke with her hands when she was passionate about the subject. Between their wild — but somehow graceful gesticulation — and the way her eyes sparkled with excitement as she began to explain herself, Bones could barely hear the words coming out of her mouth.
“Think about it: Vulcans are at what appears to the end of their evolutionary journey,” Upenda ordered her small audience. He sucked in a gulp of thin air when she reached across the narrow coffee table and grabbed his wrist. Just a quick squeeze and she was gone, but the damage was done. “They’re rigid,” she continued, “not amenable to change. It makes sense that that’s why they have some ability in self-healing.”
They don’t know the meaning of rigid, he thought wryly, shifting in his seat.
“Humans are, at best, half-way through, and still pretty adaptable. Did anyone ever discover why physiologically Spock is more Vulcan than human? It makes sense. And if Spock’s Vulcan half was trying to ‘heal’ itself, then yes, it makes sense for it to eliminate the human genes when it could. What better opportunity would it have than during spermatogenesis? Those cells are being stripped down and exposed, ready to be ‘fixed.’”
She is trying to kill me, McCoy decided. Listening to talk about pointy-eared swimmers should’ve been like an ice-water bath, but no one had seen fit to tell that to his nether regions. He shifted again.
“But that wouldn’t explain why the babies are female, now would it? What if, instead of being the eliminated, the human genes were somehow induced to mutate so that they mimicked Vulcan DNA?
“And, going with the ‘adaptable human’ theory, who’s to say that some of Ennie’s genes weren’t recruited to the other side early in the twins’ development?”
J.G. ‘s eyes took on a glint that spelled trouble. Bones knew that look. He’d seen it dozens of times when a pretty female had just proven herself smart enough to be worthy of the great Jabilo Geoffrey M’Benga’s special attentions.
Oh, hell no!
“Damned meddler!” Bones bellowed. He was on his feet and clearing the coffee table to fly towards her before either Spock could stop him.
_____
I should have seen this coming, Upenda realized with a silent groan. She’d promised him she hadn’t come here to step on his toes. The babies might be her nieces, but figuring them out was supposed to be his sandbox.
She opened her mouth to apologize, to stand down, to do whatever it took to keep from upsetting Ennie. But before she even drew breath, Len’s lips were crashing down on hers. They were hot and insistent. And they were gone before she had time to kiss him back.
“Brilliant, beautiful meddler,” he murmured. His right thumb caressed her cheek before he released her.
“It would seem that human genius runs in the family, dada,” Spock observed.
Cheeks burning, Upenda stepped away from her admirer and waved off her brother-in-law’s compliment. “That’s not genius; it’s looking for the simple solution,” she pointed out. “You three have been so bogged down in your complicated research, you failed to look for the obvious. And remember, I could still be wrong.”
A/N: Mesir wat is an Enthiopian dish. Berbere is a mixture of spices. Yes, much of the dinner scene appeared in Then Comes Spock; the differences are due to the changed perspectives.
Chapter Two
A follow-up to The Comes Spock.
By
teaoliSummary:They had a thing going on. Until they didn't. Forced to work together in order to unravel the mystery of twins they both wish to protect, they must accept there's still something between them, in spite of all their past hurts.
( Bourbon & Amaretto )
Ambassador Sarek, once of Vulcan, now of T’Khasi Vokaya, kept a parlor that would have made any Southern belle house-proud. Bones tried not to get too comfortable. Even at times like tonight — especially at times like tonight — when he was among friends, it was important remember where he was.
Even after six years, he’d never quite gotten to the point where he actually liked flying around in a giant tin can, but spending the past few weeks on the colony (“Memory of Vulcan” was an awfully sappy name for a planet of a famously unsentimental race) among Vulcans and with her made him miss the Enterprise.
It shamed him to think of how he’d greeted her the day she’d arrived. The woman had never done anything to him except love him and his kid, and demand that he respect her feelings.
“You’re here to meddle!” he’d accused.
Because, of course, the entire universe revolves around Leonard McCoy, he thought derisively. She came all the way from Earth to Planet Pointy-Ears just to look over your shoulder.
And then he’d added insult to injury by disparaging the ancient (only he’d said “primitive”) African ritual that was her real reason for being here. Getting her to forgive him for his round of latest fuck-ups should have taken a miracle. Lucky him, she was more worried about keeping her pregnant baby sister in good spirits than about getting even with a foolish former lover.
Shaking his head, he indulged in a moment of self-disgust. May as well change my name to Jim Kirk, he figured. Except these days, even Jim is too smart to act like such an ass to a woman.
Truth was, Bones’d been too shocked by her unexpected visit to his temporary office to remember his manners.
Seeing her damned near every day was easier than he would have expected. But it was still harder than he would have liked.
The fact that his old friend practically panted like a dog, his tongue just about hanging out of his mouth, every time the three of them were together didn’t exactly help. Jabilo Geoffrey M’Benga was halfway to smitten and there wasn’t a damned thing Bones could do about except try his best to get in the way.
Ambassador Sarek’s parlor had been made for getting in the way. The room was far smaller than the two more formal sitting rooms in the large residence.
Spock said it was a replica of the one his momma had designed back on Vulcan. She’d wanted a public space where her guests (Bones figured she’d meant humans) could spread out and mingle a bit without ever feeling like they were far from the action. ‘Mingle’ was just a polite form of saying ‘getting in the way.’
Pen lapped up everything her fellow African had to say about practicing medicine on Vulcans. She did a good job of pretending it was just polite professional interest, but McCoy suspected she was doing it on purpose. She hadn’t used to be the type to play those kinds of games, but hell, people changed, didn’t they?
Maybe she ain’t playin’, an insidious little voice inside his head taunted. J.G. is a good lookin’ guy. And he don’t come with a load of baggage heavy enough to weigh down ten men.
Bones shut the voice up and faked a laugh at J.G.’s latest tale of cultural misunderstanding right along with Upenda. He knew she was faking because while those gorgeous lips curved up and that throaty laughter poured out like Kentucky’s finest, when she glanced over at him, her eyes weren’t shining the way they did when he was the one tickling her funny bone.
Well, if she was woman enough to act like everything was fine, he was man enough to do the same. They owed it to her little sister, anyway.
“Can you guys maybe not talk shop?” Uhura interrupted their mini medical conference, earning McCoy’s eternal gratitude. “Dinner is almost ready.” She speared all three medics with her death stare. “I could use a little help in the kitchen, in fact.”
His appreciation faded. There was no way in hell he was leaving the other two alone together.
“I don’t know a thing about cooking for damned vegetarians,” he muttered, half under his breath. He knew from experience that his colleague would catch every word. Those ears of hers had only gotten more sensitive as her pregnancy progressed.
But J.G. and Pen were already on their feet and Uhura was sticking out her tongue. Damn it to hell! His miscalculation hit him in the face like a right cross, but it was too late to go trailing after the other two like some sort of a lovesick puppy.
He thought he’d managed to school his features into something that said I-don’t-give-a-shit, but his friend’s sudden look of sympathy told him he was wrong.
“We’re eating African tonight,” she offered softly.
He didn’t even bother answering. She knew him well enough to understand. Too damned well.
His eyes glued to the swinging kitchen doors no matter how hard he tried to turn them away, Bones didn’t notice when she glanced over at Spock, or when the half-Vulcan shook his head in warning.
“Dessert is peach cobbler,” he heard her say. The hint of pity in her tone was enough to snatch back his lost sense. “Just for you. If you come help me, I can show you how to do it yourself.”
“Nah, that’s okay, beautiful,” he told her, aware that his voice was gruff. “Too many cooks….”
Bones gave a weary shrug and turned a strained smile her way. The sympathy in her gaze chased him right back to staring at the door. After a long moment, he heard her footsteps fade as she left to join her sister and J.G.
__________
Upenda glanced around Ambassador Sarek’s pristine kitchen.
Ennie had gotten almost everything prepped. Ingredients for a popular Ethiopian stew awaited their final steps. The thick, doughy batter for flatbread resting near the assortment of glass and pottery bowls, as well as a huge pot of yams and white potatoes, were the only other indicators that a meal was in preparation.
Nothing was out of place.
She surveyed the red lentils, still soaking in a large stoneware bowl of water, before examining the diced onion and minced garlic. Several tomatoes waited to be crushed and finely chopped. Leaning over to sniff a small container of blended spices, she recognized a maternal great-grandmother’s recipe for berbere.
“Looks like your sister plans on making mesir wat tonight. I thought your family was from Kenya?” M’Benga’s deep polished voice made her turn and smile.
“We are, mostly,” she told him. “Mama’s great-grandmother is from Ethiopia, and all Uhuras and Wakufunzis tend to embrace a bit of a… pan African lifestyle. Especially where food is concerned.”
“Ah.” He nodded sagely. “It shames me as a son of the continent to forget that you are a member of two of our First Families.”
Upenda Heard the lie, but dismissed it as flirting. He wasn’t the first African to pretend to make light of her auspicious heritage in that manner. Besides, Wakufunzis were supposed to use their Gifts outside of work.
“No worries,” she assured him with genuine laughter. “There have been times when I’ve wanted to forget that myself!” Crossing over to the sonic cleanser, she carefully washed her hands.
“Don’t tell me you’re not proud to have descended from the ones who freed Africa!” He stood close behind her and she moved aside to let him take her place. She made her escape under the gentle humming of the sonics.
“It’s one thing to be proud of legendary ancestors,” she said as she crossed back to select a tomato and a sharp knife. “It’s quite another to live through the reality of nosey old aunties who want to know why I’m not already married and popping out more heroes-in-the-making.”
M’Benga laughed at that. The sound was happy, infectious. Her lips twitched in concert.
“What is it about African aunties?” he wanted to know. “I can’t go back to Tanzania without one saying, ‘When Jabilo brings home a wife…’ It’s even worse for my sisters.”
Upenda smiled in understanding. “I know! Ours are the same. Muta can do what he likes, for now. But Ennie and me? We should have about four babies each already! Or course, she’s just about halfway there, so…” She shook her head. “It doesn’t help that I’m the eldest and she’s the youngest.
“You know that sly way the old aunties speak? Like you won’t know they’re trying to pressure you? ‘Nyota has a fine husband and twins on the way!’ They adore Spock. ‘Perhaps you should go to T’Khasi Vokaya to find a Vulcan of your own if no one in your homeland, or even New York City, meets your approval.’ As if!” She shook her head.
“So,” he murmured as he came up beside her and began crushing the tomatoes she hadn’t set aside for chopping, “did you come here to find a Vulcan of your own?” Amusement laced his voice, but she could Hear the very real desire to know beneath his teasing.
“Of course not! I came here for the birthing ritual. Baba’s family are Agĩkũyũ and they take babies very seriously.”
He laughed again, and she Heard him begin to relax.
“You’re almost as bad as Leonard,” she continued. “He accused me of coming to usurp his research!”
This time, his laughter failed to reflect what she Heard.
“His bark is worse than his bite.”
“Oh, I know that,” she said, smiling softly. “But the bark can still prick if you let it.” She sliced into another tomato, missing his sharp look.
“Have you known him long then?”
She looked up to find him studying her intently.
“No. Wet met just before Ennie’s wedding last year. He’d never known a woman who could drink under the table until he met me.”
M’Benga’s next shout of laughter rang true, and when Nyota pushed through the door seconds later, it was to find her two helpers had made considerable progress on the meal.
__________
Dinner had been a terrible idea. Bones could see why Sarek had suggested it, though. Spock had been what passed for jumpy in a Vulcan every time the two Starfleet doctors talked to him for the last week. The commander hadn’t been comfortable in their presence since they’d discovered there was something funny going on with his sperm.
With everyone (mostly) following Uhura’s ban on talking shop, table conversation had turned to gossip and banter. Jabilo insisted on recounting their exploits at Ole Miss. Pen had countered with stories of growing up on a compound in Kenya’s Garissa District. Though they’d directed their comments to the table at large, and weren’t the only ones telling tales out of school, Bones couldn’t shake the feeling that they were carrying on a covert flirtation. Spock — both of him — might be able to relax under the circumstances; McCoy had to settle for thanking everything that was holy that M’Benga was out of arm’s reach.
By the time the old Spock’s girlfriend had snookered Nyota into a conversation about subspace physics and communications engineering, dinner was over and Sarek was herding them back into the parlor for dessert. Bones had to clasp his hands behind his back, Spock-style, just to keep from wrapping them around his African contemporary’s thick neck.
Nyota and Astra Boipuso drifted over to a pair of matching arm chairs near the tall windows, still yakking about the field they had in common. It was only natural for the three doctors to do the same across the room. When the two Spocks joined them, one on his left, the other at his right, he realized Nyota Uhura wasn’t the only one who could read him like a book.
Pen spoke with her hands when she was passionate about the subject. Between their wild — but somehow graceful gesticulation — and the way her eyes sparkled with excitement as she began to explain herself, Bones could barely hear the words coming out of her mouth.
“Think about it: Vulcans are at what appears to the end of their evolutionary journey,” Upenda ordered her small audience. He sucked in a gulp of thin air when she reached across the narrow coffee table and grabbed his wrist. Just a quick squeeze and she was gone, but the damage was done. “They’re rigid,” she continued, “not amenable to change. It makes sense that that’s why they have some ability in self-healing.”
They don’t know the meaning of rigid, he thought wryly, shifting in his seat.
“Humans are, at best, half-way through, and still pretty adaptable. Did anyone ever discover why physiologically Spock is more Vulcan than human? It makes sense. And if Spock’s Vulcan half was trying to ‘heal’ itself, then yes, it makes sense for it to eliminate the human genes when it could. What better opportunity would it have than during spermatogenesis? Those cells are being stripped down and exposed, ready to be ‘fixed.’”
She is trying to kill me, McCoy decided. Listening to talk about pointy-eared swimmers should’ve been like an ice-water bath, but no one had seen fit to tell that to his nether regions. He shifted again.
“But that wouldn’t explain why the babies are female, now would it? What if, instead of being the eliminated, the human genes were somehow induced to mutate so that they mimicked Vulcan DNA?
“And, going with the ‘adaptable human’ theory, who’s to say that some of Ennie’s genes weren’t recruited to the other side early in the twins’ development?”
J.G. ‘s eyes took on a glint that spelled trouble. Bones knew that look. He’d seen it dozens of times when a pretty female had just proven herself smart enough to be worthy of the great Jabilo Geoffrey M’Benga’s special attentions.
Oh, hell no!
“Damned meddler!” Bones bellowed. He was on his feet and clearing the coffee table to fly towards her before either Spock could stop him.
_____
I should have seen this coming, Upenda realized with a silent groan. She’d promised him she hadn’t come here to step on his toes. The babies might be her nieces, but figuring them out was supposed to be his sandbox.
She opened her mouth to apologize, to stand down, to do whatever it took to keep from upsetting Ennie. But before she even drew breath, Len’s lips were crashing down on hers. They were hot and insistent. And they were gone before she had time to kiss him back.
“Brilliant, beautiful meddler,” he murmured. His right thumb caressed her cheek before he released her.
“It would seem that human genius runs in the family, dada,” Spock observed.
Cheeks burning, Upenda stepped away from her admirer and waved off her brother-in-law’s compliment. “That’s not genius; it’s looking for the simple solution,” she pointed out. “You three have been so bogged down in your complicated research, you failed to look for the obvious. And remember, I could still be wrong.”
A/N: Mesir wat is an Enthiopian dish. Berbere is a mixture of spices. Yes, much of the dinner scene appeared in Then Comes Spock; the differences are due to the changed perspectives.
Chapter Two
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Date: 2011-02-03 03:48 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2011-02-03 05:50 pm (UTC)Don't tell my S/U fans but, I think I might love these characters, and the ways in which they all interact in this story, more than any I've previously written.btw, I LOVE that icon!! Sheer beauty.