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Three hours and two glasses of top quality scotch later, I thanked Scotty for his generosity and in return accepted his thanks for hashing out the details of the engine output problem.  The smaller details would have to be worked out tomorrow, but the bulk of the work was done.  We wished eachother goodnight and parted ways, myself feeling a bit unbalanced and foggy.  Alcohol use was restricted to quarters, and only a certain amount was allowed onboard.  I headed to the turbo lift, grateful to finally be heading to bed, even if it was only for a few brief hours.  I yawned and straightened my wrinkled clothes as I walked into the open turbo lift,… straight into a tall, unamused Vulcan.

Spock automatically reached out to stabilize me, thankfully stopping me from making more of a fool of myself by falling.  Even in my foggy state of mind, I could feel the panic creeping up on me; I was drunk and out in the corridors late at night, and now I’d run right into my commanding officer who just happened to be the person with the least tolerance for bullshit on the entire ship.

“Commander, I’m so sorry,” I stammered, feeling even more awkward than one usually felt around Commander Spock.  “I was just working late on the engine report output… I mean engine output report…”

I inwardly cringed at my slip of the tongue while trying to avoid eye contact without it being completely obvious.  Spock released his grip on my arms but did not widen the gap between us. With my less than average height, I had to look almost straight up at him.

“Lieutenant,” he spoke in that stern, gravelly voice as he looked down at me, “you appear to be somewhat unsteady.”

My panic rose even more as he spoke.  I tried to steady myself just as the turbo lift began moving and thought I had done a fine job of it, but Spock’s quizzical look seemed to suggest otherwise.  I had only had two half-full glasses of scotch over more than three hours, so I wasn’t exactly far gone.  It was just that the sleep deprivation and the drinks had chosen this inopportune moment to work against me in the face of scrutiny.

“Well, sir, I could use some sleep,” I said, trying not to blatantly lie to my superior.  “I was just headed  to my quarters. To get some sleep.”

Was I being redundant?  I wasn’t sure.  I held my breath under that penetrating gaze and hoped Commander Spock was in a good mood, or at least a less austere mood than usual.

“Lieutenant,” that stern voice said, still looking down at me, “Am I correct in assuming you were assisting Chief Engineer Scott?”

Oh god, I thought in resignation, why would he ask me that?  He must know we were drinking.

“Ah, yes,” I said hesitantly, “Sir.”

I entered the command for the turbo lift to take me to my floor.

“You were, technically, off duty, I presume?” he said.

“Right, technically,” I stammered.  “I mean yes, sir.  Very off duty.”

Very off duty?  What does that even mean?  Ugh, I’m making this worse!

“Lieutenant,” Commander Spock said again, and I was sure he was going to call me out, “Are you entirely sure you will be feeling well enough to be on duty in several hours?”

I swear this is the slowest this turbo lift has ever gone!

“Of course, Commander,” I answered, trying to sound reassuring.  “I just need some rest, that’s all.  The engine problem just took a bit longer than I’d planned.  Than Scotty had planned, I mean.  I mean Chief Engineer Scott.”

I was too anxious to look at Commander Spock, so instead I prayed for the turbo lift doors to open before he could say “Lieutenant” one more time.

Just in time, the doors opened to reveal my quiet corridor.  I practically sprang out of the turbo lift in my haste.

“Good night, Commander,” I said quickly.

I glimpsed the commander’s raised eyebrow before the doors closed.

“Good morning, Lieutenant,” he quipped just at the doors shut.

I breathed a huge sigh of relief and wiped the sweat off my forehead that I hadn’t realized was there.  I trudged down the hallway to my quarters and practically fell into my bed with fatigue.  All my worries could wait a few hours.