Disclaimer: I don't own these characters, or this universe in any way shape or form. I don't even hold any stock in it.

Jim Kirk knew that he wanted to acquire a cat for his first officer ever since he saw the half-Vulcan interacting with a blind vendor's big white tom on Earth Colony 13. They were on a Priority One mission to rescue thirty-one victims of an intergalactic child slavery ring, and all evidence had led them here, to the single biggest tent-city slum in the entire jurisdiction of the Federation. The devastating poverty shook Jim to his core; Iowa wasn't rich, and it had its share of unfortunates, but no one ever starved to death; no one died from severe malnutrition. The children on Earth Colony 13 were often seemingly without any parental guidance, running roughshod in the streets, wanting for shoes, food, clothing, begging and stealing, constantly in danger of the child snatchers who would make periodic raids of the planet's more populated areas. Jim was stricken by the sight of small children with distended bellies, mothers suckling babies with bottles of obviously contaminated water, cripples left lying prone in the streets. Damn, he thought, we got our shit together and fixed Africa, and India, but all we really did was move our problems farther away. And as horrible as he felt, he could tell that Spock was even more alarmed; his pointy eared friend had drawn his mouth into a tight, unhappy little line, betraying his extreme distress. Jim knew that, behind his stony exterior, Spock was a bleeding heart liberal, a pacifist with seemingly boundless empathy. This mission was an eye-opener for the both of them in the area of socioeconomic equity. Damn, but this was supposed to be a quasi-utopia!

They wandered through the hot, dusty streets as quickly as possible, keeping a weather eye open for pickpockets, and occasionally stopping to ask the natives for directions to Akron Bender's trading post. They were frequently misdirected. The inhabitants in sector four, where the two of them had beamed down, were especially skeptical of outsiders after the "Desert Crop" scam twenty-three years earlier. Come late in the afternoon, as the glaring sun was just beginning to back off and let the gathering cold font from the southern hemisphere have its chance, Jim and Spock were exhausted. Jim in particular was in need of a rest, as he was unused to heat of that magnitude and the desert atmosphere. He had stripped down to his undershirt, tying his captain's shirt onto his head like a turban, and was desperately fanning his face with a dusty piece of cardboard he had found in the street. Spock, of course, was unaffected by the heat; in fact, Jim remarked dryly to himself, the pointy-eared bastard wasn't even sweating, not even a little, and his hair was still flat and tidy, just the same as it had been when the two of them had beamed down from the Enterprise. The jerk didn't even look dusty. Damn Spock and his Vulcan perfection.

It would have been so much easier, mused Jim, if they had been able to beam down to the precise location of the trading post; however, as Scotty had so patiently explained, there were no street names in Sector four. The natives knew their way around by rote memory. Besides, the locations of any 'landmark' shops or gathering places moved frequently, in an effort to confound would-be thieves and ruffians, and also to prevent the Federation authorities from effectively cracking down on the crime rings which made up the area's entire economy. As such, they had only been provided with an approximation of the locale, and had to find the exact coordinates themselves.

"Captain?" Jim shook himself out of his mental dialogue to find that Spock had stopped walking and was looking at Jim with subtly expressed yet obvious concern. "Captain, perhaps a momentary cessation of our search would be prudent." Jim noticed that Spock had pointedly neglected to explain why such a 'cessation' would be 'prudent,' and appreciated the gesture. He considered accepting, but also considered the fact that the sun would be setting in a few hours and they needed to arrive at their destination before that eventuality, and then find the local Federation Embassy, or else they would have no place to sleep.

"I appreciate the gesture, Spock," said Jim, smiling briefly at his first officer, "but I'm fine. We need to keep going. I don't know about you, but they couldn't pay me to get stuck without a place to sleep in this neighborhood." Spock raised his eyebrow at Kirk.

"It is most improbable that anyone would pay you to do so, but I see your point. It would do us well to find this… 'trading post' within the hour, make our inquiries, and then find our way to the embassy before twenty-two hours, which is a very rough approximate of when the sun sets." Jim whistled.

"Dude, the sun sets really late here." Spock shrugged his left shoulder.

"That much ought to be relatively unremarkable," Spock remarked, "considering our high latitude and the time of year. If I understand correctly, this planet follows much the same patterns as your home planet, Earth. I believe that northern areas such as the land mass known as Greenland have particularly long days during the summer time." Jim smiled again and resumed walking. Trust Spock to have a ready riposte to every inane comment that came out of Jim's mouth. If Jim weren't so nice, he would have marooned the smart-alecky Vulcan on the ice planet Delta Vega a long time ago. Well, not really.

"Yeah, but," Jim retorted, relishing the easy banter which was a welcome distraction from the blistering heat and depressing surroundings, "this is a desert. Greenland is a big sheet of ice, just like all of earth's upper and lower latitudes. You can't blame me for not making the connection between two such disparate climates."

"Actually," replied Spock, "the climate of much of the upper Northern hemisphere, as well as the lower Southern hemisphere, is, as a matter of fact, classified as desert." Of course it is, thought Jim. I learned that in the third grade. "Thus, by your own logic, the relative lateness of the setting of the sun should be no mystery."

"Of course, Spock," ceded Jim. "Once again, I am defeated by your vastly superior intellect. Ooh, look," he suddenly exclaimed, pointing at a small, sorry looking booth down the way a bit, "shish ka bobs!" Spock rolled his eyes, just a little, but grudgingly followed Jim as he made his way to the little kiosk, which was operated by a small, skeletal man with two crisscrossing eye patches. Jim, obviously ravenous, bounded up like a runaway puppy who had just found his way home.

"Hi, I'd like two shish ka bobs please? Yeah, one with the works, and can you make one just veggie?" The blind man looked (for lack of a better word) at Jim like that was the craziest effin thing he had ever heard.

"Veggie? Hee hee hee!" The blind man had a cackle like a horny rooster. Jim looked around at Spock, somewhat disconcerted. Spock gave him a look that clearly said, well, you got yourself into this.

"Yes," said Jim. "My friend here is a vegetarian." The blind man gave another long, loud cackle, and Jim narrowed his eyes in confusion.

"VEGGIE-TARIAN? HEE HEE HEE!" Jim was down right confused now. Spock pulled him off to the side a little.

"Captain," said Spock into Jim's ear, "I do not require sustenance at this time. It is not necessary to purchase a … 'shish ka bob' for me." Jim gave him a look that blatantly said Spock was crazy. Meanwhile, the crazy ka bob vendor kept cackling away, hee hee hee.

"Look Spock, you haven't eaten in hours." Spock was unmoved.

"Vulcans can go much longer without food than can humans. I suggest that you eat now, and I will wait until we reach the embassy." Jim nodded unhappily.

"Scratch the vegetarian order," said Jim to the now-calm vendor. "Just one regular shish ka bob, please." But the skeletal man looked at Jim in confusion.

"No," he said, "two ka bobs."

"No," said Jim, "one, with meat." The blind man was more perplexed by the moment.

"Look!" he said. "I make veggie-bob for you!" And so he had. The little man held the vegetarian shish ka bob up like it was a great triumph, grinning broadly. Man, thought Jim, that's a lot of missed dental checkups, right there. Meanwhile, Spock had glanced up, doing that little tilt of his head he made when curious or confused. He reached out to take the proffered food item and nibbled at the top experimentally. He seemed to find it suitable.

"I am most grateful for your effort," said Spock, pulling out a few federation bills. The blind man 'eyed' them greedily, instinctively turning his head toward the sound of the rustling paper. Jim accepted his own ka bob, happy that things had turned out so well. Spock was forking over some money, to much smiling and chattering of the vendor, when the big white cat prowled out from the shack behind the booth. Easily the size of a beagle, the cat was one of the biggest domesticated felines Jim had ever seen.

"Here, kitty," said Jim, kneeling down and trying to pet the cat. The cat looked at the offending hand with what seemed to Jim to be disgust; the cat shunned Jim, choosing instead to wrap itself around Spock's legs.

"He likes da big one better," said the little ka bob vendor, and, after a quick mental measurement, Jim supposed that Spock was, indeed, the big one. But not by much. Meanwhile, Spock had kneeled down to rub the soft spot behind the cat's ears, putting as much concentration into the activity as he did in his duties as Science Officer, which was to say, a lot.

"What is the feline's name?" inquired Spock, showing as much interest in the cat as Jim thought he'd ever seen Spock show in anything.

"The cat be called Jack," said the vendor. "He my seeing eye cat! HEE HEE HEE!" Wow, thought Jim, as the vendor laughed his head off. That really wasn't all that funny. He turned back to Spock, who looked like he was trying to fuse his elegant hands with the cat's dusty white fur. For a couple minutes, Jim was engrossed in watching Spock pet the cat; the look of calm that had washed over his first officer's face was reminiscent of how the Vulcan looked while meditating, or sleeping, not that Jim had had much opportunity to witness either. And then Jim was entranced by the movements of those long, pale fingers, massaging the cat's back now with the most considerate, gentle strokes. Amazing, thought Jim, it's like the rest of the world has fallen away. He could have stood there forever, and obviously Spock could have continued in his activity for equally as long, but a new burst of cackles from the street vendor snapped Jim from his reverie. But not Spock from his.

"Spock," said Jim trying to rouse his comrade. No response. "Spock." Jim gently placed his hand on top of Spock's shoulder. Wow, Jim thought. I can see why the cat likes him. He's warm, and soft… startled, Spock jumped a little, and immediately tensed up. Oh yeah, thought Jim, Vulcan, and retracted his hand. "Come on. We've gotta go." Spock immediately got to his feet, smoothing down his uniform and glancing about in a cutely bewildered fashion. Yeah, thought Jim, I'm a man. Thinking Spock is cute doesn't do anything to damage that. Because, of course, it's absolutely true.

"I apologize, Captain, for my lapse in concentration. I have regained my focus and am ready to proceed to our destination." And with that, the mask was back on. This particular transformation always fascinated, and disappointed, Jim.

"It's perfectly alright, Spock." Turning now to the blind man, he inquired as to the whereabouts of Akron Bender's trading post.

"Just 'round da corner," came the reply. "Hee hee hee!"

Five minutes later, Spock and Jim were standing in front of the checkout counter of a very ratty sort-of convenience store, where pelts and boots and canvas were sold instead of chips and soda. The store's owner, standing in front of them, was a dour, greasy, sweaty man with rather too much hair on his body for this sort of climate. He was only wearing his underwear, however, so, Jim figured, it all worked out.

"What d'yeh want?" asked the man in what seemed to be the least friendly manner possible. Spock looked briefly at Kirk, wordlessly asking permission to proceed, before stepping forward.

"Pardon me," said Spock, politely, "we are conducting an investigation on behalf of the Federation, and we had some questions we would like to…" The man's face had closed off entirely as soon as the Federation was mentioned.

"Ye can stick yer questions up yer ass," came the snarled interruption. The already hostile shopkeeper suddenly looked like a caged tiger. Spock tilted his head, perplexed.

"It is physically impossible to stick questions anywhere, as they…" once again, Spock was interrupted, this time by Kirk, who had stepped up alongside Spock and, once again, placed his hand on Spock's shoulder, freezing the Vulcan as effectively as absolute zero temperatures. Damn, thought Jim, I keep forgetting. But he left his hand where it was, attempting to convey a sense of unity to the grotesque troll in front of them, oblivious to the fact that his Vulcan seemed to have stopped breathing.

"Excuse me, Mister, uhh, Bender. But you seem to have neglected the fact that me and Mister Spock here are Federation officers with a tremendous amount of authority over you and the rest of your sorry neighborhood. You will answer our questions, or the Federation will be so far up your ass that you won't be able to sit without squirming." And that was that. He took his hand off Spock's shoulder but missed the long, quiet, relieved exhalation that followed.

"It constantly amazes me," remarked Spock as he and Jim made their way up the Embassy steps. "You have such ill-mannered diplomacy, and yet it never fails to produce the desired ends." Jim flashed a roguish grin at his stiff companion, wondering a little at the slight twitch of Spock's fingers as he did so.

"What can I say? My charm never fails to impress." The two stopped at the reception desk. "Yes, hi, I'm Captain James T. Kirk and this is my first officer, Mister Spock."

"Ahh, yes," replied the stern young woman behind the desk. "You will be staying in the guest wing, second floor, room 209. Further instruction for your mission will be found on the PADD on the wardrobe. You will meet with Admiral Cole tomorrow morning at eight sharp."

"Just one room?" asked Jim. The woman looked slightly irritated.

"This is the poorest planet in the Federation. I'm sure you can deal with sharing a room." Jim nodded, looking over at Spock, who was looking at the wall with a distinctive non-expression. There better be two beds, he thought, because Spock has probably had enough close contact for the day.

"Right," said Jim, "of course," and took the key. "What a very efficient woman," he said as the two got in the elevator.

"Indeed." AS the lift's doors opened with a 'ping' and a slight creaking noise, Spock and Jim both stepped back to allow the other to exit first. "Captain, after you." Jim made a face.

"Look, I'm tired, it's dark out, and I'm tired of being on duty. Call me Jim." Spock pursed his lips, just ever so slightly.

"As we are on a mission, neither of us is ever 'off duty.' Thus, it is only proper that I continue to refer to you by your official title."

"But it's not what friends would do." This argument gave Spock pause; he seemed to be considering the implications of the sentence, and Jim wondered at how such a smart guy had such difficulty accepting informal human etiquette. "Bones calls me Jim when we're on duty, and I call him Bones. He's my friend, and so are you." Spock thought for a moment before inclining his head in agreement.

"After you, then…Jim." Jim smiled and shook his head, but exited the elevator first, turning right and approaching the room. Oh, thank goodness, he thought as he opened the door, two beds, just like a motel room. Most motel rooms were a little more attractive than this, though. Spock glanced around with barely veiled distaste. He looked like he was about to say something, but then thought better of it.

"Well," said Jim, clapping his hands together and dumping the pack he had been carrying on his back, "welcome to headquarters. I call dibbs on the bathroom."