Author's Note: You guys have no idea how much fun this was to write with and for my darling girls: my beloved gal pal and Beta reader GhostieGirl, who I'm convinced, at times, is Kirk in disguise, my adorable Cupcake of Win, the precious Puck and my mythologically amazing Koala. 3 There is much laughter to be had in this chapter, also a lot of Vulcan, with in-line translations. Also, still not mine, don't sue, I'm broke and it's rent week. Also, any grammatical errors, be they in Vulcan or English, are mine. I'm still working on getting it in an easy-to-read format so bear with me.
On with the story!

Edit: Son of a line monkey-buggering linebreak! I hope this format is much easier to read. 3

"You still have to take your shoes off, guys," Amelia said, kicking off her boots the moment she got in the door, keys jangling in one hand as she held the door open for Jim and Spock. Coat, hat, scarf, gloves; all the snow-coated outerwear was hung up as the three made their way down the small hallway and into the apartment. "Hey, the heat's still on! Isn't that nifty? Y'all are a good luck charm! Maybe I'll even get the gorram thing fixed before spring thaw."

"If it stays on all night, we should be happy, right?" Jim asked ruffling his hair to get rid of any extra snow that lingered. Blue eyes, though tired, scanned the room again, moving to unbury the couch from the mountain of throw pillows. "I'll move these."

. . .

"I'll shut the door in the spare room, set up the space heater out here, and dig out a bunch of extra blankets," Amelia said. "In fact, if the three of us crash out here, we can get more warmth." Amelia bustled around the room, shoving the coffee table against one wall, tilting it up to make more room. "Just 'scuse me, real quick," Amelia smiled at Spock, who was standing stiffly just inside the hallway curtain as she moved a pile of papers to a slightly organized mess on the floor.

"Had people crash over here often?" Jim asked, helping to un-bury the coffee table

"Often enough to know how to deal with a likely starfish sleeper and a touch-me-not," Amelia grinned. "The big couch pulls out into a bed and I'll take the squishy chair. If you guys wrap up separately, you should be able to avoid contact, even if the good Captain sleeps like a starfish. Any objections?"

"That arraignment should be satisfactory for the time being," Spock gave a slight jerk of his head in agreement.

"For tonight at least," she agreed, "we'll figure out something a little better in the morning when I can think a little better."

"You know, that's pretty handy, you knowing about the whole from the future, alien life-form, touch-telepath thing," Jim gave a yawn, stretching his arms above his head.

. . .

"Yup. Anyway, I've got some spare dude clothing in the sewing room, I think. You're a, what, 30x32, Captain?" At Jim's nod she grinned. "I'm good at the whole guessing measurements thing. Mister Spock, what about you? Are you a 32 by 36? Or… if you think in metric, 82 by 92, approximately?"

"That is accurate enough," Spock nodded.

"Yeah, I think I have something that'll fit you guys. Lemme raid the scrap pile and see what I've got here."

"You can call me Jim, you know," the Captain called, rubbing his arms from the chill that lingered. "Since we're crashing with you and all."

"Jim, do you have a problem with monkeys at all?"

"Uh…no? Why?" Jim wandered over towards the sewing room, glancing in the doorway only to get smacked in the face with a pair of bright yellow sleep pants with monkeys all over them. "Wow those are bright." He winced at the giant smiling monkey on the rear of the pants. "These'll work. The lights will be off, right?"

. . .

"Yeah; got some a-shirts here; they're not your regulation blacks, but they'll work. And where are the other gorram…" There was a crash and skitter of something spilling over, a muttered curse from Amelia and another pair of sleep pants, blue with strange eyed frogs, came flying out of the doorway.

"And here are the shirts. Do you want me to make something for you guys to eat?" she asked, offering an off-white a-shirt to both men.

"I could eat something," Jim nodded.

"Well, I don't have a replicator, but I'm sure I can whip up something a Starship Captain and his First Officer can eat," she smiled, "even got some vegetarian stuff I can throw together, I think."

. . .

Spock arched a brow at her statement, jumping into the conversation for the first time since they had left Quinn's cabin. "I am still uncertain I fully understand your reasoning: you are still willing to offer the Captain and I a place to stay knowing of our true origins?"

Amelia shrugged, giving a stretch of her own as the long day started to creep up on her, muscles protesting the elongated stress of movement. "Well, you know what they say…"

"In this particular century or in ours?" Jim grinned, his head tilted sideways to read the titles of the books on the shelf in front of him.

"Sarcastic little thing, aren't you, Jimmy-boy? And actually, in either century; it just depends on the language."

"Why are you willing to help us, anyway?" Jim asked, trailing a finger along the spines of several books. "You don't know us; you're not from our time… I don't get it."

. . .

Amelia smiled, looking at both the man and the half Vulcan, thinking for a moment before she responded.

"I grew up on stories of you guys; I mean, I've heard all about you guys since I was a kid, being a second generation nerd and all. I know all about the exploits of the Enterprise and her crew in so many mediums: books, television, movies, and even fictional works have been penned about you guys since before I was even born. While I don't know you guys personally, I know a ridiculously nerdy amount about you, your universe, and all of that which makes me feel a little…" She trailed off as she wracked her mind for a fitting word. "Protective," she decided with a nod, "of you two now that you're stuck here for six months. You're friends I haven't made yet, and I'm always happy to help a friend."

. . .

Spock arched a brow, resisting the very human urge to roll his eyes at Amelia's sunny smile. His irritation simply signaled an elongated period of time awake and exerting his physical being in labor, coupled with an extended period of time in uncomfortably low temperatures his exhaustion was greatly influencing his emotional control. It logically accumulated into a need for meditation.

. . .

"Du riyet starun," he said quietly, straightening his shoulders when Amelia turned towards him with a smirk. 'You are a speaker of false words.'

"What was that, Mister Spock?" Amelia said her tone now a bit sharper but the smile still on her face.

"Nothing; I was simply expressing a passing thought aloud," Spock shifted his glance over to Jim when he snorted in amusement. The Captain had been making inferences recently about his desire to learn Vulcan in order to better understand the Vulcans they encountered, even if they were not aware of his fluency.

"Thinking aloud? Since when do you do that?" Jim asked, clapping a hand on his shoulder. "Methinks the Vulcan is a bit grumpy. In need of meditation, are we?"

"Veling t'nash-veh pla'kruslar," Amelia said, turning to face Spock fully, muttering the phrase under her breath as she walked by. 'Nothing my butt.' "Hey, farm boy, help me pull out the couch."

. . .

"So, what do they say?" Kirk asked again, moving more couch cushions to help pull out the folding mattress.

"In y'all's neck of the woods? Mmm…I suppose they'd say: 'Shiyau thol'es k'thorai k'ahm, opi spunau bolayalar t'wehku bolayalar t'zamu il t'veh' or something along those lines." Amelia flicked her gaze over to Spock, whose eyebrows were trying their hardest to meet his hairline. 'Nobility lies in action, not in name, since the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few or the one.'

Jim looked from Spock to Amelia, leaning backwards to rest against the wall behind him, feeling like a spectator in an intellectual standoff. "And once more in Federation Standard…Or English for that matter? Either one."

Neither Spock nor Amelia turned away from one another, her chin going up as Spock straightened into parade rest.

. . .

"Nash-veh fam s'frei. Du ek'ariben-Vuhlkansu?" Spock inquired his voice flat, devoid of emotion. 'I do not understand. You speak Vulcan?'

"Kau-bosh Vuhlkansu," Amelia said her tone sarcastic and teasing. 'Wise Vulcan,' she mocked him, falling back into a flatter, more emotionless pronunciation immediately afterwards. "Du sahris nah-tor. Nash-veh oren-tor Vulkansu-tal, suvel nahan fa'Surak eh po'Surak. Nash-veh kah'ru vesht-var t'whl'q'n, ek'ariben-Vuhlkansu." She wasn't able to keep her hands from her hips, passionate in her body language, if not in voice. 'You're so quick to judge a person. I have made a study of Vulcantology, both pre- and post- Reform. I know the history of your people, the language of Vulcan.'

Jim rolled his eyes, glancing back and forth between the two as they obviously traded barbs in his First Officer's native tongue. He was barely able to follow along and thus far the conversation had been the equivalent of pigtail-pulling or a verbal king of the mountain game.

Spock gave a slight sniff of irritation, his nose twitching once as the only outward sign of his current level of annoyance, attempting to suppress the desire to snap out his reply.

"Du ek'ariben'es," he told her, 'you are fluent' he admitted, 'though your pronunciation is far too emotional'; "hi du stariben nuh'zherka-bosh."

. . .

"Wow," Jim sighed, tossing the sleeping clothes over the back of the nearest object, stepping into Amelia's line of sight. "I'm bored and not fluent in Vulcan or Romulan or whatever the hell you guys are speaking. Can I raid your fridge, Am?" 'Too emotional? Who is the one clenching their fists behind their back there, Mister Spock?' Kirk thought to himself.

"Knock yourself out, Jim," she said waiting until the blonde moved towards the kitchen to continue. "There should be some leftovers on the second shelf in the blue topped storage containers. Besides, Mister Spock, komihn; nash-veh zherka-bosh eh lafot." 'I'm human; I'm allowed to be flawed and emotional.'

"Du flekh, hi komihn kah'ru kahr'y'tan," he told her, wincing when he heard Jim smack something glass against another object while rustling through the kitchen. 'You are strange, a human that knows the Vulcan history.'

"Nothing broke!" Jim called, prompting a concerned glance from Amelia. "I swear! I'm just stealing the other micro-section of this sub, all right?"

"That's fine, Jim," Amelia called back. "Nash-veh tom'izhm shaikong nafu'es. Kahkwa Khart-lan Kirk," she said, leaning against the wall and crossing her arms over her chest, jerking her chin towards the kitchen from which there was an endless stream of strange noises. 'I'm an annoying and strange individual like that. Like Kirk.'

"Du smertau kahkaw Kirk," Spock admitted, feeling slightly disquieted that this strange human benefactor spoke his tongue. 'You do vex me as Kirk does.'

. . .

"Itaren du!" Amelia laughed the 'thank you', nodding in agreement. "Du hi kahkaw tas'a, petakova Spock, ple'ma tsu rshaya?" She tiled her head, a touch of drawl entering into her pronunciation, a smirk over the nickname and casual address of the Starfleet officer. 'But you are also confusing, darlin' Spock, but cannot the same be said about me?'

"I heard my name!" Jim called, poking his head out of the hallway curtain. "No talking about me when I can't understand what you're saying and refute it properly or admit it's correct. Also, still hungry. Starving starship captain here. Feed me."

"Don't worry about it, hon, we're not saying anything bad about you," she assured him, waving him back toward the kitchen. "Raid away, but don't touch that chocolate cake. I'll break your gorram fingers if you do, Cap'in Kirk. That's for Critch's birthday tomorrow." Amelia smothered a yawn behind one hand.

. . .

"Dammit." Jim tried to pout, realizing he was still alone in the kitchen. "What about the pot roast?"

"That's fair game," she assured him, "but only if you're not allergic to garlic."

"Awesome, I'm not." There was another concerning clink-almost crash from the kitchen."

"Do you want me to heat it up for you?" Amelia offered. Whatever response was smothered and mumbled. "I guess that's a no. Use a fork, you barbarian!"

Another garbled phrase came out of the kitchen, something along the lines of 'where are they'.

"Second drawer on the left. And don't you dare make a mess in my kitchen, Kirk. I will punch you as hard as I can."

. . .

"…Du…Por shinsarat, Amelia," Spock said, his confusion reflected in the single brow he arched at her. 'You…you are out of your mind, Amelia.'

She laughed, straightening from the wall with a nod. "Ah. You'll get used to it, I'm sure. You have six months, after all. Du k'avon?" she asked, rolling her now-stiff shoulders. 'Yes…Are you hungry?' She walked past him, holding the curtain open to imply he should follow.

"I admit to being slightly confused by your temperamental nature…" Spock said, letting the curtain fall shut behind him.

"You mean because I'm human or because I'm a human from an alternate past that can speak your language?" Amelia laughed again, amused genuinely this time. "Hon, this particular human is from two centuries away from your present time period. You're lucky I speak anything you can understand, never mind a close proximity to your native tongue."

. . .

Jim, around a mouthful of roast beef, smiled. "S'logical! She's got you there, Spock!"

"Can I do a victory dance now?" Amelia asked, doing a quick wiggle around the linoleum floor in socked feet. "So, dinner, Mister Spock?"

"Yes. Itaren, Amelia, vu dvin dor etwel," he told her. 'Thank you, your service honors us.'

"Nafai, Spock. Veling, velik gol-tor. Oh! I think I have some tofu in the refrigerator. Want some sautéed with veggies?" Amelia shrugged off his thanks as quickly as possible, flushing slightly in embarrassment. 'You're welcome, Spock. It's nothing, simply helping.'

. . .

"So, are you guys done flirting with each other?" Jim asked, actually swallowing his mouthful of pot roast before speaking, dropping the empty storage container into the sink and running water to rinse it out. "Because as cute as it is, I'm still hungry and unless we want a visit from the fire department, you do not want me cooking."

"We weren't flirting; we were having a perfectly logical discussion, Captain," Amelia sneered the title a little, her sore back giving a twinge as she bent to look in the refrigerator. "If I was the tofu, I would be…"

"Isn't all Vulcan foreplay intellectual?" Jim laughed when Amelia swung an irritated hand in his general direction, tossing the now-located tofu onto the countertop.

"Hey, Spock, veh kwon-sum nash-kro'el?" Amelia asked, pulling a selection of vegetables out of the crisper, offering them to Jim as she spoke. 'He always this way?'

"Incessantly," Spock assured her, taking the second load of vegetables from her and depositing them on the counter as Jim had done.

"Good to know." Amelia kicked the fridge door shut, snagging a cutting board and dropping it on the counter. "Tofu stir fry for dinner. Du messau?" 'Do you approve?'

. . .

"Now kids, speak in Standard so the whole class can understand you or don't speak at all," Jim chided in a sing-song tone. "Because I like being able to add my two cents in, no matter the language."

"As if a language barrier has ever stopped you before?" Amelia inquired, shooing him out of the way to reach the sink. The kitchen was a little too small to have three people in it at once, but Amelia was well used to cooking with people underfoot. "If memory serves, you've bedded at least six different races by this time, including one sexy Orion chick."

"Well, no, I don't, and yes I did, but usually the sexual tension is directed towards me, not floating around me like some sort of super dense atom cloud." Jim snagged an apple from the basket of fruit on the counter, crunching into it with relish as he watched the verbal tennis match continue. "But whatever, you guys can enjoy your sexual tension all ya like." He motioned to the half Vulcan and human woman with the apple. "Knock yourself out, it's an amusing pastime."

"You're hallucination, Captain. There is no sexual tension of any time here!" She snagged the apple, stuffing it in his mouth as he went to protest and hip-checked him out of the way, rinsing her own hands before she began cutting the vegetables. "Get over there; I can't cook with you in the way."

. . .

Jim fought the apple out of his mouth, swallowing before speaking.

"Right, so now that you two are done pretending to not be into each other, or whatever verbal mating dance that was, I was hoping we could discuss, perhaps even in Standard, our plan for employment and you know, getting the hell out of Dodge."

"Captain, we are not, as you phrased it, into each other. How can we be thus described when we are 1.73 meters across the room from one another? Also, our current location is Elgin, Illinois, not any territory known as Dodge."

"Score one for Team Literally Minded," Amelia grinned, snagging a mixing bowl from the cabinet above her head and dropping some of the cut vegetables into it. "What Mister Spock means to say is that we just met, hotshot, and just because you slept through Language Lab, in more ways than one, doesn't mean we should be stuck to speaking Standard." Amelia cast a glance at Spock. "Du khart-lan if beglanau–kahk wak fam kastorilau kash-to-vel, ri?" 'Your captain is fond of attention when he's not being mentally stimulated, no?'

Spock gave a brief nod, holding out his hands for the bowl when Amelia realized she had pretty much run out of counter space. "I'tepul if shaht-fam, mau flakosh–tor vath sular." 'At times, his energy is boundless, much to the distress of others,' he said, arching a brow at Jim's disgusted sigh.

. . .

"Well, if you two want me to participate, instead of being a slightly-awkward voyeur while you two are making verbal love to each other then give me a call in a language I do speak."

Amelia shot him an annoyed glance over her shoulder, rinsing off the knife to cube the green pepper in front of her. "Sorry, blonde, body language only works in strip joints; I can give Standard a try though."

"If you are both done being disagreeable about the subject of our preferred manner of communication," Spock cut in, "perhaps it would be wise to take the Captain's suggestion and plan for our future return."

"I think perhaps you mean our return to the future." Jim puzzled the phrasing. "Future return?"

"We're going back to the future?" Amelia choked on her laughter, setting the knife down to transfer the green pepper to the bowl. "Do we have to go 88 miles an hour?"

Jim's brow wrinkled in concentration as he tilted his head. "Wait, I think I get that reference. Give me a second because that sounds really familiar…"

"Think of a flux capacitor, Captain. Specifically the cinematic trilogy you inflicted upon me when I joined you in quarantine when you caught that paralytic strain of influenza after leave on Starbase 36 three point two months ago." Spock arched a brow, humor showing in his dark eyes as Jim laughed.

"Back to the Future!" the blonde crowed, nearly falling over in his amusement.

. . .

When Jim finally settled back down, Amelia turned to him, the last of the vegetables going into the bowl. "Hand me that wok on the pot rack behind you. No, the big bowl looking one; yeah that one. And I'm not being disagreeable, I'm being sassy, there's a difference in any language."

Jim handed her the wok, his expression clearly saying he didn't believe her. "Well I disagree."

"You would, farm boy! You argue for the sake of arguing," Amelia said, setting the wok to heat while she diced the tofu.

"Farm boy? I do not argue for the sake of arguing! And listen here, you live in the middle of a frozen wasteland of corn and cows; who are you calling farm boy?" Jim demanded, arms crossing over his chest.

Spock spoke up. "She is, in technicality, correct Captain, as you did grow up on a farm in Iowa."

"E tu, Brutus? Thrown under the bus by my own first officer," Jim bemoaned dramatically, "who won't even call me by my name when we're stuck in an alternate past, sans the ship or any other crew members! Woe is me!"

. . .

"Oh, suck it up, spaceman, besides, I was born in Chicago, I'm just a city girl at heart, only out here for, well, my own reason. Anyway, we do have cows out here, if you get lonely, you know." She giggled at his gob-smacked expression. "But I swear to Gods the first time you get hauled into the local lockup for a bar fight, I'm leaving your Captainly ass there, so keep the intoxication here, gorramit."

"Did you seriously just imply that I fornicate with cows?"

"Imply? No, directly infer, is more like it. And it wouldn't surprise me, with what you get up to with most anything else. Not to mention I'm sure it was lonely on that farm out in Riverside, Iowa, home of corn fields and repeat offenders. Do you have a Betsy at home who misses you?" She fluttered her lashes at him, cackling with glee when he scowled and turned away, pouting in the direction of the wall.

. . .

"Nyota did state that you have a fondness for non-humanoid creatures," Spock mused allowed. "Does this opinion, in fact, have basis in reality, Jim?"

"You totally just called him a cow-fucker!" Amelia seemed unable to stop laughing for several moments, one hand wrapped around her stomach as she gasped for breath, dropping her knife to the cutting board to lean against the counter, tears of mirth in her eyes. "Kirk, the cow-screwing captain! Ha, ha!"

"I refuse to dignify so low a suggestion with a response," Jim informed the pair, once Amelia seemed able to breathe again, without turning from the wall. "Besides, I've only been here for a few days, and in my experience it is steers that are the more lonely creatures"

"Why Captain, I didn't know you preferred your love creatures male!" Amelia smirked when Jim whirled around, playfully scandalized and insulted, his outrage comically exaggerated.

"I don't have to stand here and take this abuse," he cried, stalking out of the kitchen and giving the dividing curtain a dramatic flair out of his way.

"You can go anywhere and get it?" Amelia called after him, pitching her voice over the sizzling on the stove. "I hear your favorite little Miss Nyota is particularly fond of dishing it out. You masochist, you."

. . .

Spock now stationed next to the stove, both for the warmth it provided and having been directed to that location to assist as a bowl-holder, also raised his vocal volume to be heard over the noise the tofu made in the wok.

"I have not, under any manner of credible, heard of Nyota dishing out such treatment to the Captain or any other crew member of the Enterprise. I also disagree with her willingly satisfying any of the Captain's needs beyond that she fulfills on duty as the Communications Officer."

Amelia snickered at his stoic-but-annoyed expression. "I bet you do, Spock. Hey, did y'all really kiss on the transporter platform? Like, suck face in front of God, Starfleet security cameras, and Scotty?"

"I have no comment on the matter." Spock looked almost like he wanted to squirm with discomfort, his hands clenching and unclenching on the bowl he still held.

Jim burst back into the room, apple already consumed to the core, and grinned wolfishly. "I bet you don't, Spock, old buddy. You didn't have any comment on the matter either, when I was standing right next to you and the admittedly very fine Lieutenant Uhura."

"If you recall Cap-Jim, you had inquired about Lieutenant Uhura's first name, not the nature of our relationship."

Amelia snickered again, relieving Spock of the bowl he held once the vegetables were tossed into the wok. "Ah huh. Du wadi ha'yar-kur mesuvulau. Nash-veh du fluhvaya," she teased him lightly. 'Your skin is turning green…I think you are blushing!'

. . .

"Hey! What did I say about speaking in a way we can all understand?" Jim demanded, scooping the cutting board and knife up to deposit them in the sink.

"Hey," she parroted his exclamation without turning her attention from the stove, sprinkling some seasoning on the cooking veggies and tofu. "This is my rodeo, farm boy, I'm the captain of this metaphoric ship and I can speak in whatever gorram language I choose to."

"A rodeo, huh?" Jim looked momentarily thoughtful. "I would've brought my assless chaps had I known. Maybe I can get a pair around here…"

Amelia spun around, spoon in hand and looked Jim from top to toe, and then shot her gaze to the ceiling, cheeks turning crimson. "Oh my Gods, that's a mental image I did not need. Brain bleach, please?" She returned her focus to the meal she was preparing. "So, am I to assume the reason for not wearing full pants to a rodeo is for easy access?"

"Pardon my confusion, but ease of access for whom, Amelia?" Spock asked, willfully playing straight man to her joke.

"Isn't it obvious?" Amelia beamed at him. "For the steers! Ride 'em cowboy!" she cackled gleefully.

"And we're back to assuming I have relations with cows. Dammit, you two are dangerous together. Can we re-direct the conversation now?"

. . .

"If we are speaking of conversational direction, perhaps the upper atmosphere should be the next direction? We must figure out how to best repair the shuttle before the five month, twenty nine day window expires," Spock said, moving aside when Amelia waved a hand at him to scoot to one side.

"You can't just say six months?" she asked, grabbing a trio of bowls from a cabinet next to the stove, handing them to Spock to hold since she was still out of useable counter space.

Jim grinned, shaking his head in the negative. "No, he can't, or won't. Vulcans are horrible approximators."

. . .

"I disagree, Captain. Vulcans are excellent approximators; they simply chose to do so to a more finite level than is the human norm."

"How so? How is saying five months and twenty nine days better than saying almost six months?" Jim asked, leaning against the kitchen door frame.

"It would have been far more specific had I mentioned further detailed measurements, however simplifying it to a six month time period would have been far too lax in description. Given that you are both human and would have objected to anything overly detailed, I rationed that including the further details of the hour and minute would be superfluous." Spock arched a brow, as if daring Jim to contradict him further.

. . .

Instead, the human laughed and shook his head, amused by the wit the Vulcan so rarely let others outside of the Command team see. "See, this is why you're great to have around. You're funny as hell, even if you still couldn't round up to six months."

"Perhaps he thought your attention would be elsewhere with all the mention of cattle?" Amelia asked sweetly, adding a sprinkle of salt and dash of a dark sauce to the dish.

"My attention would hardly be as diverted as much as yours tends to be around certain Vulcan-speaking individuals," Jim returned without missing a beat.

. . .

Amelia snorted in amusement, turning towards Jim with the wooden spoon still in her fist. "You do realize you just implicitly admitted to wanting cow sex?" she asked, waving said spoon in his face.

"Ha! Only as much as you denied flirting with Spock this whole conversation!"

"Is the problem that I am sharing banter, a simple intellectual exchange, with your First Officer rather than you? Would your ego recover faster if I flirted with you instead, farm boy? Here, allow me: moo, moo, and moo."

"Please! My ego isn't the under attack," the Captain assured her. "If I recall, you were the one pretending to be a cow, in order to entice a Starfleet commandeer from over two hundred years in a parallel future. If anyone's ego needs defending it's yours, honey."

"My ego? My ego?" Amelia shoved the wooden spoon at Spock. "Stir that please." She wheeled on Jim, a challenging smile stretched across her face. "Listen, honey, I was born in 1985, I'm a G to the 8th MILF for you. I am almost two hundred and fifty years older than you! That's not ego-killing, that's winning the game of life!" She rested her hands on her hips, her chin up as she crowded into Jim's personal space. "I am going to make you the best damned tofu stir fry you have ever had. And then I'm going to make you do dishes. And do you know why?"

"Nope, not a damn clue!" Jim smiled his hands also on his hips in a mockery of her posture.

"Because I know how to work the stove and unless you want to spend the next six months living on dumpster diving finds and worked off meals, I'm going to be the bitch in the kitchen making sure you eat. Play nice. Or else."

. . .

The transformation of Jim's face from smug to pouting was an amusing one. Unfortunately, Amelia missed it, having taken the spoon back from Spock and resumed cooking.

"You humans are an utterly illogical race at times," Spock said, glancing back and forth between the human pair. "Setting aside for the moment the questionable carnal tastes of the Captain, perhaps the three of us can focus so that we might work on fixing the Shuttle?" Spock asked, moving to one side as Amelia shuffled around the kitchen to grab silverware and glasses.

"And while we're at it, will you two quit implying, inferring, indirectly stating and otherwise saying I screw cows or any other non-humanoid creatures?"

"Fine. Jeeze. Dinner's done," she said, handing the glasses and silverware to Jim before grabbing the bowls from Spock. "Seriously though, we have approximately six months," she grinned over at Spock for an instant, "before the next temporal anomaly that would allow you guys to get home. So, I think I know a mechanic that could get us some scrap metal, but we'll have to jury rig everything else. If you have the schematics on it somewhere, I can try and look it over and figure it out? I part time at the car shop, so like I said I might be able to get some spare parts."

"That's good," Jim nodded, holding his hands out for the bowl Amelia just filled. "So, the little dining room, right?"

"Yeah. I've got a jar of cider warming over the radiator, I'll snag it and we'll eat," Amelia said, dishing the other two bowls full.

"That sounds agreeable," Spock said, taking the bowl from Amelia.

"G'night guys," Amelia said, shutting off the light at the far end of the room.

Spock and Jim tried not to feel awkward as they inches away from one another, each separately snuggled into several blankets.

Amelia stood by the light for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the relative darkness of the room, nearly pitch black except for the one curtain still up, letting in light from a streetlight nearby. She silently made her way back to the little couch where she curled up, making a little nest to fall asleep into as she listened to the breathing of her two guests.

"I hope you guys sleep well; and if you wake up before me, feel free to raid the fridge in the morning," she yawned. "But don't eat too much; we're meeting the Ambassador and his little trained office monkey for lunch."

"Yeah, we remember. Night Amelia," Jim said, turning onto his side, away from Spock. "G'night Spock."

"Good night, Jim. Sleep well, Amelia," the half Vulcan said stiffly, laying flat on his back under multiple layers. The hat Amelia gave him, something Amelia had termed 'gimmie merch', had strangely bore the Science department's emblem and had been pulled down as far as it would go over his chilled ears.

. . .

While Jim fell asleep quickly, tired as he was, both Spock and Amelia seemed unable to easily find rest.

"You still awake, Spock?" Amelia whispered quietly, without turning over. An hour of near complete silence was driving her batty.

"Affirmative," he said back in a low tone, rising up onto his elbows to glance to the small couch where Amelia still lay. "I also find myself unable to find sleep at this time."

"Do you need a space to meditate?" Amelia asked, finally turning over to stare into the darkness of the living room to where she could barely see the outline of the Vulcan on her couch.

"I was able to meditate earlier while you were in the shower, but thank you."

"Oh. Well, if you can't sleep, I could get you a book or something?"

"Negative. As we must seek gainful employment in the morning, and you have work, it would be best to attempt to sleep at this time," Spock said, lying back down. "But I appreciate your offer of reading materials."

. . .

Amelia nodded and made a noise of some basic agreement as she yawned, snuggling back into her little nest of blankets. "I figure that Vulcans, or half Vulcans for that matter, either don't dream or don't admit to dreaming, but I hope you sleep well and, if you dream, dream well," she said, eyes finally drifting shut.

"Thank you, Amelia," Spock whispered back into the darkness, listening to the breathing of the two humans in the room as they slept.

End Note: Holy crap this was a fuckton of work. Oy. Next chappy in a week or three. ^_^