Spock had, all those months ago, introduced him to coffee.
It counted against his labor, counted against his other privileges, like the illusion of privacy, red-shirted threats only waiting in the corners instead of right up against him. Waiting for him to make a mistake.
That coffee had its price.He didn't care. There were days, on wiring detail, that he needed it to stay sane.
This older tech took forever. He glared at the replicator. Properly intimidated, it spat out his order at last.
He snapped it up and sat, glad that for once, the room was empty. Except for his friends in red.