Chapter Text
No one is quite certain as to how she came to be aboard the Enterprise.
There are several theories, of course — some more believable than others. However, there is also a notable lack of evidence. Even Spock, with his enhanced abilities of deduction, is unable to come to an adequate conclusion. He can think of no plausible explanation for her presence, nor does he have any eyewitness accounts to comb through.
Speaking in human terms, he is 'flying blind.'
Here is what is known: She appeared in a flash of bright pink fur, mere seconds after the away team re-materialized in the transporter room. She then proceeded to dart between the legs of several confused ensigns, one of whom let out a shrill, surprised noise — which then sent the tiny animal barreling in Spock's direction.
All of this happened within the span of a mere instant. Before the Vulcan could make sense of the circumstance at hand, he was interrupted by the sensation of several sharp claws digging into the skin of his left calf. Even through the thick layer of his Starfleet regulation clothing, Spock was certain the contact had drawn blood.
It is only now, once Spock's surprised grunt has managed to garner the attention of every crew-member within an indeterminate radius, that the ship's first officer recognizes her uncanny resemblance to an Earth feline. Before Spock can voice this observation, however, Lieutenant Uhura wonders aloud, "Is that a... kitten?"
An ensign to her left adds, "A bright pink kitten," and Spock raises one brow.
"The resemblance is clear," the Vulcan allows, voice once again steady (despite, mind you, the animal's unrelenting grip still digging into his skin). "Though physical resemblance does not necessarily imply biological or social similarity. As such, we should be careful to treat it with as much caution as we would any other alien lifeform."
But when Spock tears his gaze away from the creature, intent upon catching Kirk's eye, he is met with a look of pure horror. "Captain?" he wonders aloud, holding that wide gaze for several long seconds. He has never seen Jim Kirk look so fearful — not without the very real possibility of mortal danger, that is.
"Sorry, it's just —" the human starts, pausing to gesture in the animal's direction, "I'm really not a cat person. They sort of hate me. It's... a long story."
Spock assumes Jim is exaggerating, as he so often does. Never has Spock met an individual so inclined to hyperbole as one James T. Kirk. It quickly becomes evident, however, that the human is not making a joke. His fear is nearly palpable. This is only underscored further by the fact that Jim does not accompany Spock to Medbay.
The Vulcan cannot remember a time — not since he and Jim came to be what he would consider 'friends' — in which he sustained an injury and the sandy-haired human did not remain by his side. Even on occasions when duty dictates that Jim cannot accompany him right away, the human always appears eventually.
They have never openly discussed the pattern. Spock is certain, however, that Jim is aware of it. He wonders if today is the day it will be broken.
Then he wonders just where that strange, fascinating human might have run off to.
"Well," McCoy starts, sounding less-than-enthusiastic, "I've got good news and bad news."
After several seconds of silence, Spock deduces that he is expected to respond. "You may proceed," he insists, and the Doctor snorts amusedly.
"Dunno what I expected there. All right, Commander: here's the bad news. That thing's claws go deep — and I mean deep, though I'm sure you're aware of that. Even with the dermal regenerator, there's a high chance you'll have minimal scarring."
Spock raises a brow and prods, "The 'good' news?"
"Oh! That," McCoy responds, gesturing for Spock to open his lips to make room for the tongue depressor. Whilst the Vulcan's mouth is occupied, he pushes on, "You're not dying. Isn't that wonderful?"
Due to the current preoccupation of his mouth, Spock is unable to respond. He focuses instead on the small, pink creature at his side. Makes note of the slight rise and fall of her chest, fuchsia-toned fur undulating in time with her breathing.
The animal had to be heavily sedated in order to 'unlatch' from Spock's leg. Now she is starting to wake once more. She raises a tired (and seemingly heavy) head, slowly blinking her tiny pink eyes, and yawns. Spock feels a strange — though not entirely unwelcome — rush of affection at the sight.
Which prompts the Vulcan to ask (when he is once again capable of speech), "And what of the creature?"
"Depends, I guess, on how Jim's call is going. He's been on the line with the head of the crazies for at least thirty minutes."
"I assume you are referring to the inhabitants of Rebos," Spock says. He has yet to hear anyone refer to the planet's people by such a nickname, in or outside of formal settings. In truth, Spock often struggles — especially whilst in the company of this particular man — to define the parameters of the strange, amorphous thing that humans call 'humor.'
McCoy rolls his eyes. "As if you need me to clarify that."
When the Captain eventually hails the Doctor, his annoyance is audible. "Bones," he starts, voice gruff, "Is Spock there?"
The Vulcan reaches for the device, bringing it close to his face, and responds, "Yes, Captain. I am present."
"Great. I need you to meet me in my ready room at your earliest convenience."
"Very well, Captain. I will be there shortly."
Spock has nearly exited Medbay when the creature becomes aware of his absence. She immediately begins to wail, sounding almost pained. "Dammit," McCoy grumbles, "Poor thing's —"
But he is interrupted by the creature's sudden, inexplicable decision to leap off of the examination table. She (somewhat surprisingly) lands on steady feet, hardly reacting at all to the impact — despite having fallen from a height several times greater than her own. Then her eyes find Spock, standing motionless in the doorway as he is, and she begins to run full-speed in his direction.
Spock braces for impact. He expects those same sharp claws to make new, painful incisions somewhere else on his body. Much to his surprise, however, she comes to a stop mere centimeters from his feet. Then she simply stares up at him with unblinking eyes. Lets out a quiet, needy noise.
Instinctually, Spock lowers himself to his knees. He reaches out a single hand, letting it stay motionless in place, and watches in silent fascination as the creature begins to sniff it. Once she has thoroughly examined the scent of Spock's hand, she proceeds to prod at his skin with a wet, impatient nose.
Spock adjusts his palm, allowing her to nuzzle against it as she so clearly wants to. "I think she likes you, Commander," Doctor McCoy says from across the room. The Vulcan does not meet his gaze.
Instead, Spock continues allowing the creature to pet herself on him.
Both men let out sounds of quiet surprise when she eventually bends at the knees, shaking her furry posterior in a most strange manner. Her eyes are focused only on Spock. Before the Vulcan can make sense of her actions, the animal is pouncing at him. He nearly reacts in audible fear, imagining those sharp claws digging into his face, but bites back the instinct. This proves to be the logical choice when, upon landing on Spock's shoulder, the creature conveys her clear intention to remain seated there.
She unsheathes her claws just enough to puncture the fabric whilst still avoiding Spock's skin. "Fascinating," the Vulcan says aloud. McCoy laughs.
"That's one way to put it," the Doctor responds. Then his face shifts, as if he has gotten the most amazing idea, and he adds, "Maybe it's those pointy ears of yours. Makes her feel right at home."
Spock does not dignify that comment with a response.
When he arrives at the entrance to the Captain's ready room, Spock feels inordinately apprehensive. He eyes the creature still perched on his shoulder, remembering his Captain's words ('I'm really not a cat person'). It would have been preferable to leave her behind in Medbay. Her clamorous reaction, however, clearly illustrated her distaste for such an arrangement. As did her decision to run after the Vulcan.
Spock wonders how Jim will react to her presence now.
"Come in," he hears Kirk say through the door. It slides open then, revealing the stylish interior of Jim's ready room. Spock takes a step inside. The creature begins to purr almost instantly, as if gratified to have entered Jim's space. Spock feels a strange kinship with her in that moment (as he, too, often feels at peace upon entering this room).
"I do not come alone," Spock announces in warning.
"How ominous, Mr. Spock," Jim muses. Spock can hear the smile in his voice. However, when the Vulcan rounds the corner, his tone goes ice cold. "...You brought it."
Spock feels the strangest urge to correct Jim: she is not an 'it.' Instead, he says, "The creature seems to have developed an... attachment, I suppose, to my person. She would not allow me to leave without her."
Jim sighs then. He eyes the creature for a moment, suspicion clear in his expression, and then turns his sight back onto Spock. "I was afraid you might say that."
"Please elaborate, sir."
"It's 'Jim,' Spock," the human reminds him calmly. "When we're off duty, you can just call me Jim."
So Spock amends his statement. "Please elaborate, Jim."
The human chuckles, eyeing Spock for a moment, and says, "I've got their delegate, Rendor, on hold right now. He can probably explain it ten times better than I can, so..." When Jim trails off, eyes once again flickering to the creature on Spock's shoulder, the Vulcan understands his apprehension.
"She is not aggressive, Jim. Her reaction in the transporter room was one borne of fear. As long as you do not make her feel unsafe, she will do you no harm."
"Clearly," the Captain says then, eyeing Spock for several long moments. Assessing the Vulcan's face as if he is trying to solve some sort of puzzle. "You don't know cats."
Spock simply raises a brow. He decides not to verbalize his assertion that the creature is not a 'cat,' knowing frustration would not combine well with the Captain's already-present fear. Instead he says, "She will sit on the shoulder opposite to you."
Jim nods, looking almost grateful, and gestures for Spock to sit beside him.
"We are very sorry, sirs Spock and James, for this misunderstanding," Rendor says, marking the eighteenth apology he has verbalized since their call began a mere five minutes before. "Our companions are bred to seek out those among us who are — ah, what do your people call it? An individual with no mate."
"Celibate," Spock suggests. Rendor shakes his head, causing his thin, white hair to bounce just slightly where it rests above narrow shoulders.
Jim shifts beside Spock. His body goes completely still for several moments, as if in a trance, before the human says, "Loneliness. You're talking about loneliness."
"'Lonely,' yes! Even on Rebos, there are those among us who struggle to find a mate. The si'va is bred for the purpose of assisting those individuals. They are naturally inclined to seek out those who experience an untapped desire for connection, and match them with the appropriate mate — as such, no one on Rebos remains 'lonely.' It is most wonderful indeed! Such an honor to be chosen!"
Spock understands, suddenly, why Jim had gone so still. It is as if all of the blood drains from his face. The implication behind Rendor's words is clear — the reason for this creature's sudden attachment toward Spock, is... humiliating —
"A great honor indeed," Jim says then, seemingly having collected himself enough to address Rendor. Spock remains silent, staring at his own hands, and wishes for the call to end most expeditiously. "But, uh — considering we're on a starship, which is hardly a suitable home for a... seeva —"
"Si'va," Rendor corrects. Spock's right hand twitches minutely. "Our companions are well suited to any and all environments, sirs. They are quite adaptable. Their desire for routine would surely be quenched on a ship such as the Enterprise."
Jim clears his throat. Shifts in his seat, just slightly. "While we're honored, sir — and trust me, we are — I can't imagine that every inhabitant of Rebos is fond of such a companion. What if someone is allergic? Or... what if they just don't want a si'va, for whatever reason? What happens to the animal then?"
The responding silence leads Spock to look once again at the screen. He is just in time to see Rendor's face shift from an expression of joy to one of solemnity. "The si'va, when abandoned, will simply stop functioning altogether. They do not eat. They do not react to stimuli. Most die within five days."
Spock's hands clench into fists then, humiliation having faded into white hot anger when he wasn't paying attention. Kirk asks, "So, if we were to leave her on the planet...?"
"She would die, sirs."
"And you can't just, like... reassign her to someone on Rebos?"
Rendor looks almost offended. "As I said, sirs, it is a great honor to be chosen. My people do not have a say in this choice — nor would we dare to challenge it, even if we could. Those among us who deny a si'va's affection are often ostracized, if not banished altogether."
Spock turns to look at his Captain, catching Jim's eye, and wonders how the human will proceed. While Jim clearly holds no affection for the creature — the si'va, Spock's mind corrects — he is not a cruel man. One might even argue that Jim is compassionate to a fault. Doctor McCoy has done so on multiple occasions, in fact.
For this reason, Spock is not surprised when Jim says, "Thank you, sir. As the si'va is not native to Earth or Vulcan, we ask that you provide us with the appropriate care information so that we can honor this... honor."
"Of course, sirs. How splendid! It is an honor to be chosen."
"Indeed," Spock says. Jim ends the call soon after.
The second the screen goes dark, the Captain's entire demeanor shifts. Jim all but collapses onto the table before him, groaning aloud. His voice is muffled when he says, "Why does this shit always happen to me?"
"Technically, Captain," Spock counters, realizing too late that he is meant to be calling Jim Jim, "I believe this 'shit' is happening to me."
Jim's responding laughter is laced with no small amount of bewilderment.
The Admiralty is unimpressed with the situation at hand. They are also aware, however, of the optics. They cannot order the animal to be removed from the Enterprise — not without sentencing an innocent creature to death. They are also worried, Spock would imagine, about setting a precedent.
This assumption is all but confirmed when one particularly vocal member of the group insists, "Soon enough we'll have giraffes and monkeys aboard every ship in the 'fleet! We cannot let this go unpunished."
"So what do you suggest, Bill?" another Admiral wonders aloud. "How do we 'punish' without being directly responsible for this creature's death?"
Which is when Jim clears his throat, shifting beside Spock just as he had when they spoke with Rendor. The Vulcan knows immediately that this will not be pleasant. "Excuse my interruption, Admirals," the Captain says. His tone is perfectly polite and yet, somehow, not polite at all. "But I fail to see how anything that has occurred could be seen as either my or Mr. Spock's fault. We have done nothing to provoke this."
Every Admiral's expression shifts in an instant.
They leave the meeting with significantly less dignity than they had when they entered. They are, however, allowed to leave with the creature in tow. Jim stays several steps away from Spock, gaze wary, and watches as a ball of pink fur trails behind his first officer. "You're already teaching her tricks, I see," he murmurs good-naturedly.
Spock cocks his head to the side. "I have done no such thing."
"Of course not, Mr. Spock," Jim says. His tone is plain, but his mouth is curled into a mischievous smile. Spock wonders, as he so often does on this ship (and with this man in particular), if he is missing something hidden within his Captain's words.
Rather than ask, he simply raises a brow. Jim laughs, bright and boisterous, and Spock himself could purr from the way his entire body fills with warmth at sound.
"Have you thought of a name for it yet?"
"'Her,'" Spock corrects, not looking up from his PADD. "And yes, I have."
They are sitting in Jim's ready room once again, the feline creature perched upon Spock's shoulder most comfortably. The quiet snores emanating from her body indicate that she has managed to achieve rest, despite the somewhat precarious nature of her present position.
Spock is relatively certain that it is an indication of trust. The thought fills him with a strange sense of tranquility.
"Care to share with the class, Commander?"
"Her name is Mol-kur," Spock murmurs, eyes still glued to the screen in front of him. He finishes reading the paragraph, making sure to mark his place, and then sets the device on a nearby table.
"Vulcan, I presume?" Kirk asks, and Spock nods. "... Care to translate?"
"It means 'magenta,'" Spock says, and Jim immediately bursts into laughter. The creature stirs on Spock's shoulder, lifting her head for a moment, and Jim's entire body freezes when she sets her sleepy gaze on him. Spock watches his Captain, feeling genuine fascination at the man's illogical fear. Surely Jim knows that Mol-kur is not a threat.
"So basically," Jim begins, once he has regained his composure, "What you're saying is, you named your pink cat 'Pink.'"
But Spock shakes his head, insisting, "No, Jim. I named my pink si'va 'Mol-kur.' Are you in need of a psychological examination?"
"I'm about to be," Jim grumbles, though he proceeds to do absolutely nothing to bring meaning to such a phrase. Spock ponders for a moment on his Captain's ability to be so consistently illogical. Then he proceeds to reach into his pocket, procuring a handful of synthesized 'treats,' and places one just below Mol-kur's muzzle.
The si'va reacts immediately, craning her neck so that she can reach the pellet. Then she settles down once more, chin resting on her two front paws, and allows pink eyes to flutter closed. Within seconds, she is purring contentedly.
"How do you do that?" Jim asks. Spock raises a brow, unsure to what aspect of Spock's behavior 'that' refers. Jim does not elaborate. He, in turn, does not respond. They simply stare at one another, questions silent, and wait for something neither can define.
When Mol-kur eventually loses her balance, nearly falling from Spock's shoulder, the human is up in an instant — cupping both of his palms to serve as a makeshift cushion for the creature. She tumbles into Jim's open hands, chirping in annoyance at having been awoken by some unnamed force, and then curls up and settles right back to sleep where she lays.
"What do I do?" the human asks, panicked. His eyes are blown wide with worry as he stares down at the ball of fur in his hands.
"You hold her, Captain," Spock murmurs, feeling something bridging on amusement. He quickly swallows the feeling down, eyes darting away from Jim's, and focuses instead on pretending to read his PADD once again.
And Jim, to the surprise of Spock (and most likely himself, based on the still-bewildered sound of his voice), says, "Okay." He accepts this new reality, drawing both hands closer to his chest, and stares down at Mol-kur's sleeping form. "She's not so bad, like this."
Spock nods, choosing to refrain from explaining to his captain that she is also not 'so bad' in general. Jim will surely realize this in time.
Mol-kur, drawn by yours truly :)