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First Officer’s Personal Log, supplemental.
Ensign Sato has requested my assistance with a project she has been privately working on in the S/COMS library during her off-duty hours. There have been several attempts by crewmembers to get her to reveal the nature of the project, however none have been successful to date. As I am presently recuperating from a minor injury, I agreed to meet with her this afternoon to discuss ways in which I can assist. I am curious to find out to what she has dedicated so much of her free time and considerable expertise these past few months.
T’Pol arrives at the library to find Hoshi missing. There is a PADD lying askew on the centre table with an automated program scrolling across the screen, and two chairs against the wall chaotically heaped with electronic equipment. T’Pol glances at the PADD and notes that the language displayed isn’t Federation Standard.
With no Ensign and no indication of her whereabouts, T'Pol heads to the intercom by the open door, but something makes her pause before she can open a channel. Spices on the air, warm and fragrant, invoking memories of her childhood. She smells them even as she hears Hoshi's footsteps approaching on the catwalk. T'Pol turns to greet her.
“Ensign.”
“Sorry I’m late,” says Hoshi, balancing two steaming, thermal mugs. “I thought you might like some Vulcan tea while we talk.”
“Thank you,” replies T’Pol as Hoshi places the mugs on the central table. “That was...considerate.”
Hoshi lifts the equipment off the chairs and brings them over too.
“How’s the shoulder?” she asks.
“Uncomfortable,” admits T’Pol, “but it will not prevent me from assisting you.”
“That’s...not quite what I meant.”
“What did you mean?”
“I guess I’m just asking if you’re okay.”
It’s a thoughtful gesture, one T’Pol has come to expect from Hoshi and her “great big heart”, as Trip puts it. While T’Pol has become accustomed to the quirks of humans, particularly since she resigned her commission, sometimes the sincerity of their inquiries still surprises her.
“I am fine, thank you. My shoulder merely has a pulled ligament.” T’Pol realises belatedly that Hoshi will fuss over her if she doesn’t alleviate her concern. “The same cannot be said for Commander Tucker’s racket,” she says, an attempt at humour to lighten the mood.
Hoshi’s smile is bright, even in the dim lighting of the library, and brighter still when she picks up a mug of tea and directs T’Pol’s attention to the PADD.
T’Pol knew that Hoshi’s interest in languages was greater than a mere affinity for translation, but she didn't fully understand the depth of her enthusiasm until she is presented with a prototype linguistic matrix. Hoshi calls it the linguacode, and its function is to look for commonalities in any new language they encounter to speed up translation. It allows the Universal Translator to ‘anticipate’ in a way that most Earth technology hasn’t yet mastered.
The theory is sound, and the innovation is unprecedented. When T'Pol says as much to Hoshi, her smile is enhanced with a flush to her cheeks.
Vulcan and Federation Standard have no shared history as far as either Vulcans or Humans are aware, but the second time T’Pol arrives in the library Hoshi is almost bouncing on her feet, eager to share the things she’s found since they last met; things that come up time and again in both languages. Commonalities, not in sound or syllable, but in pattern and property.
The spoken languages of Earth—naturally the first Hoshi introduced to the matrix—have many things in common with each other, even when they appear to be vastly different. As the matrix compares Vulcan to other languages of Earth, T’Pol is intrigued to find out that it has the most commonality with gesture-based sign languages across the entire planet.
Hoshi’s ability to pick up new languages and dialects quickly no doubt has something to do with growing up on a multi-lingual world, but she has a fluidity of mind that T’Pol can barely keep up with. Now that their initial work is completed, uploading the entire Vulcan linguistic database into the matrix, she doesn’t think she can contribute anything significant to the task at hand.
Hoshi argues emphatically that T’Pol’s assistance is essential to the success of the project. T’Pol can’t think of a good reason to disagree, so she turns up to their scheduled appointments a third and fourth time to allow Hoshi to “bounce ideas off her”, and leaves each time feeling an odd combination of settled and energised.
Hoshi is late for their fifth meeting. This time when she arrives she has not only tea, as is her new custom, but a plate of something sticky and sweet.
“Try one,” she says once they are seated and have planned out the afternoon. She rolls her eyes when T’Pol hesitates. “I promise you’ll enjoy it.”
The rhombus is a layered, flaky pastry that clings to T’Pol’s fingers, tacky with some kind of syrup, and the tactile sensation is a little uncomfortable. Though T’Pol has learned to enjoy some of Earth’s blander cuisine, the act of eating using just her hands is still a little alien to her. She isn’t sure why she took one when offered, but to drop it now would be considered rude and might cause Hoshi to frown.
T’Pol would prefer she remain smiling.
She takes a small bite of the corner even though it is such a tiny little morsel, hesitant in case it is anything like the "tablet” Ensign Mayweather introduced her to the last time they were in Earth’s space dock. One bite is enough for all the flavours to explode in her mouth, not cloying and overwhelming like the tablet, but a complex and complementary mix of honey and nuts and butter. It’s delicious and extravagant and far more delicate than she expected. It’s not something she would ever have tried before she joined the crew of the Enterprise. No doubt Ambassador Soval would not approve.
“It’s called Baklava,” says Hoshi. “It’s a delicacy on Earth, something humans have been making for over two thousand years. With the convenience of food synthesisers, it’s hard to find them made from scratch.”
“You brought this from Earth?” asks T’Pol, watching Hoshi pick up her pastry and eat it whole.
“Mmmm,” says Hoshi around her full mouth. She swallows. “I picked up a batch last visit. Chef kept it in storage for me. I thought you might appreciate it the same way I enjoy Vulcan Spiced Tea.”
T'Pol looks down at her sticky fingers with renewed curiosity. When she looks back up, Hoshi licks her fingers clean. It’s crude, but with no serviettes it’s effective. T’Pol does the same.
“Thank you, Hoshi. I am gratified to have experienced this.”
T’Pol doesn’t realise what she’s done until later when she is alone in her quarters. Addressing Ensign Sato informally...a slip of the tongue, but one she isn’t sure she regrets. She is enjoying their time together, and though Hoshi’s expertise is in a very different area to her own, they are of like mind and possess a complementary level of intellect. She’s not easily distracted from her duties, but there are times she finds herself anticipating their next appointment, and once or twice she catches herself observing Hoshi on the bridge; perched on the edge of her chair and resting her chin on her hand, eyes flicking back and forth over her screens.
Those moments when Hoshi looks over and catches her gaze, when she smiles right at her in that open and unguarded way of hers, make T’Pol keenly aware of her body; her heart beating a little heavier and her breath a little lighter. She tries to put it out of her mind, but some days later—when the environmental controls malfunction and the whole crew seems to find it appropriate to walk around in states of undress—Hoshi arrives for their final appointment with the sleeves of her jumpsuit tied around her waist. Her underlayers are more modest than some, but T'Pol is fixated with the skin of her bare arms, the hollow of her throat, her neck and mouth and...and she realises with a start that she’s feeling conflicted about the impending end to their activities together.
When the lingacode prototype is finally complete, Hoshi turns to her and says something, a question, and T’pol tries to piece together the meaning from the few words she knows she heard clearly.
Appreciate. Celebrate. Dinner?
She replies “that would be agreeable” and Hoshi smiles at her as she hands her a PADD with a copy of the matrix.
“For the High Command.”
“I am sure they will appreciate this gift.”
There’s a sudden change in the room, a vibration across the entire ship, and T’Pol takes a moment to enjoy the rapid correction of the temperature in the room even as Trip’s voice calls out over the comm.
"That should do it, Cap’n."
Vulcans run cooler than Humans, so while most of the crew were merely uncomfortable, T’Pol has been at times overheated to distraction, or at least that’s what she’s been telling herself.
“I will see you at seven o’clock?” asks Hoshi as they leave.
“I am looking forward to it,” replies T’Pol, looking down at the PADD to avoid looking up at Hoshi’s bare skin again.
“It’s a date!” says Hoshi, and she slips into a transporter before T’Pol can think of a suitable reply.
T’Pol presses the chime to Hoshi’s quarters at precisely nineteen hundred hours. Her heart thumps heavily again, and when the door slides open and Hoshi greets her with arms still bare and hair loose, she swallows down the habit to greet her by rank. She is not entirely clear as to the nature of this ‘date’, but she is certain it is not that of two colleagues simply eating together.
If Hoshi’s light-hearted invitation left her in doubt of that, the outfit she has chosen to wear is enough to assuage any confusion. The practicality of the Starfleet uniform has been replaced by something that follows the contours of Hoshi’s physique more closely; a sleeveless jumpsuit in a red linen fabric, not tight like T’Pol’s uniform but cut to drape in a pleasing fashion.
T’Pol doesn’t let her gaze linger longer than is polite, but the image remains in her mind’s eye as she steps into the room.
“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” says Hoshi when the door closes behind the two of them.
“I was invited...” begins T’Pol.
“Yes, of course, I just thought you might...well, make yourself at home?”
T'Pol takes the question as the direction it was surely intended and steps further into Hoshi's quarters. She has never seen them before, and is unsurprised by the semblance of order, even though there are small signs that her environment is usually more chaotic. What does surprise her is the glass tank that spans an entire wall, backlit in hues of blue and green that reflect off its shimmering inhabitants.
T’Pol steps closer to admire the score of fish flittering in and out of their complex, but artificial environment.
“I did not know you had companion animals,” she says quietly, hesitant to disturb the soothing display before her.
Hoshi steps closer and says, just as quietly, “Technically only the Captain can have a pet on a starship, so if anyone asks, they’re ornamental.”
“I understand.”
“Do you like them?”
T’Pol searches for the right words. “They are...odourless and silent.”
“I’ll take that as a yes,” says Hoshi with a laugh.
“As you wish,” retorts T’Pol, but there’s no real irony in her words.
Hoshi retreats to the table by the window; two place settings with a jug of iced tea and a display of candles. There is a bunch of flowers in a vase, not red roses like in Trip’s movies but pink ones with dense plush petals and a very light scent. T’Pol had been braced all evening for the kind of assault on her sense of smell that entering the quarters of Captain Archer generally has, but she realises that Hoshi has made a deliberate effort to make her comfortable, and so when Hoshi lifts the plate covers to reveal a lightly spiced broth and a bowl of gently fragranced risotto, she is relieved but also gratified. She has become accustomed to accommodating human culture on this ship, and though she does not feel any resentment, it is so pleasing to have someone consider her own cultural norms and comforts.
They sit and eat and make small talk. T'Pol passes on the gratitude of the Vulcan High Command for her generosity, and Hoshi asks questions about her time on Earth before Enterprise. They talk about their childhoods and T'Pol shares stories about her pet Sehlat. In return, Hoshi talks about growing up a child prodigy, a lonely time of her life in which she was grateful for the company of her family's fish, something she has continued to enjoy into adulthood.
T’Pol finds it easy to talk to Hoshi, easy to share stories from her life, and she realises it’s because Hoshi is trying to meet her in the middle; connect somewhere in that vast lightyears of space between their worlds and cultures where common ground isn’t always obvious and cultural faux pas are hard to navigate.
As their meal ends. T’Pol decides to clear the air of the tension that has been building between them, unvoiced all evening.
“When you said ‘date’, was that a figure of speech or a romantic invitation?” she asks, as Hoshi sees her to the door.
“Uh, yes,” says Hoshi, unhelpfully.
“Yes to which?”
“Whichever you want it to be.”
T’Pol gives the answer the consideration it deserves. There are a lot of ways in which they differ, customs and practices and traditions, but Hoshi has made it clear she’s willing to put in the effort to bridge the gaps, to compromise. If she can do that, so can T’Pol.
“From what I have observed about human behaviour, a first date usually ends with a kiss.”
Hoshi smiles and presses her lips together, “Hmmm.”
“Would you like me to kiss you?”
“No.”
The answer is not at all what T’Pol was expecting and she steps back, concerned that she his misunderstood Hoshi’s intentions.
“No?” she asks.
Hoshi raises her hand between them, her index and middle finger reaching for T’Pol.
“From what I have learned of Vulcan culture, a kiss isn’t appropriate until we’ve been dating for a while.”
It is true, in those cases where a childhood engagement doesn’t work out, but it surprises T’Pol for the second time this evening. She reaches out and presses her own fingers against Hoshi’s.
A promise.