The chime to Lieutenant Junior Grade Tanna Irovin’s door sounded. 

The room beyond looked less like a Starfleet stateroom and more like a time capsule. In one corner was a wooden bookshelf, its shelves sagging under the weight of the thick, plastic VHS tapes that lined them, most in faded paper sleeves, and a few with handwritten labels. A neon sign that read “OPEN 24/7” hung over the bookshelf, humming softly. Below it, on the top of the  shelf sat an old boombox and a stack of Cassette Tapes and Compact Discs. Along the wall adjacent was a low table, upon which sat a bulky cathode-ray television, its curved screen glowing brightly. A tape already spun in the VCR, producing a faint hiss of static before settling into the image of humans laughing over a canned laugh track. Any available wall space was covered in promotional movie posters, or photographs taken with an ancient self-developing camera.

Tanna herself was kneeling beside the set, fiddling with the tracking buttons on the front of the VCR. Her oversized shirt hung loosely off her frame, and a glint of silvery metal could be seen through the stretched out neck hole where the implant covered her shoulder. 

“Come in!” She called out, not bothering to look up.

The door slid open, and Lieutenant Junior Grade T’Luni stepped over the threshold, a small storage container balanced in her hands. She stopped just inside the door, and lifted an eyebrow as only a Vulcan could. Her eyes fell first on the glowing neon sign, then the humming television, finally coming to rest on the VHS tapes stacked two-deep on the bookshelf. 

“This is… unconventional.” T’Luni said. 

Tanna grinned as she rose to her feet, brushing her hands off on the baggy sweatpants she was wearing. “You must be T’Luni! Welcome to my madhouse. Don’t mind the decor – it grows on you, I promise.”

“I see,” T’Luni said, setting her container down on the unused side of the room with precision, aligning it perfectly with the edge of her desk. “Your environment diverges significantly from the Starfleet standard.”

“Starfleet standard lacks character,” Tanna replied breezily. She crossed to the shelf and plucked a tape from it, holding it out to T’Luni. “Take this for example. Back to The Future, Part II. Entirely about time travel paradoxes. It’s basically a cultural study wrapped up in a comedy.”

T’Luni accepted the case, turning it over in her hands to study the faded artwork. “These… tapes. They contain moving images?”

“Movies…” Tanna corrected with mock solemnity. “Late 20th century Earth entertainment. My mom was born in 1975 – long story there – so this became kind of an unofficial family tradition.”

T’Luni slid the cassette back into its place with measured care. “A tradition dependent on obsolete technology.”

“That’s half the fun,” Tanna said with a wink. She flopped down onto the faded sofa that sat opposite the TV, and pulled a pillow into her lap. “You don’t just watch a movie, like on a PADD, you experience it. The grain, the static – the way you have to rewind at the end – it’s tactile. Real. Honestly, I think Starfleet could learn a thing or two.”

The Vulcan tilted her head. “Your display device emits a measurable amount of radiation. Are you confident this is safe?”

“Oh, totally.” Tanna paused. “Well mostly. If I start to glow in the dark, we’ll know for sure.” The light from the television caught the metal of Tanna’s implant for a moment. Tanna shrugged the shirt over to cover it up. 

T’Luni’s eyes flicked to the movement. She didn’t stare, she just acknowledged it with a calm neutrality. “Your injury from the Cromwell Expedition.”

The grin on Tanna’s face faltered slightly. Her right hand moved to her shoulder instinctively. “You’ve read the report then, huh?”

T’Luni nodded once. “Yes.” Her tone didn’t carry pity, or judgement, just fact. “Your resilience under the circumstances was… remarkable.”

Tanna blinked. She expected discomfort, even questions. That’s what usually happened when someone found out what had happened. T’Luni just acknowledged it with quiet respect. Tanna started to make a joke about it, but decided not to. 

Instead, she got up and snatched a tape off the shelf. “All right. As a Vulcan, you’re pretty big on studying other cultures, right? Consider this field research.” She slid the cassette into the VCR. “Ever seen Ghostbusters?”

“I have not,” she replied, sitting down primly on the edge of the couch, hands folded on her lap. 

“Perfect. You’re in for a treat.”

The screen flickered, and the preview trailers began to roll. One of them had a loud explosion, and Tanna jumped, her heart lurching. She forced a laugh to try and cover it, but her hands were tight on the pillow in her lap. 

“You exhibit a heightened startle response,” T’Luni observed. “Is it recurrent?’

Tanna forced a grin. “Yeah, a little souvenir from the Cromwell.” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat, eyes still on the screen. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I was not expressing worry,” T’Luni said evenly. Then, softer, she added, “Only observation. Your condition does not diminish your competence.”

Tanna glanced over. T’Luni sat on the other end of the couch, as calm and poised as ever, but her words carried an unexpected weight. For the first time all evening, Tanna’s usual chatter caught in her throat. 

She looked back at the screen. “You know, you might be the first person who has ever said that without sounding like you’re trying to make me feel better.”

“That is because I am not attempting to.” T’Luni replied simply. 

Tanna chuckled, and the tension eased from her shoulders. “Well, in that case, hold on. You’ve got two hours of ghosts, slime, and Bill Murray ahead of you.”

For the next two hours they sat together watching the movie. T’Luni occasionally interjected with commentary – dissecting the irrational human responses to supernatural phenomena, questioning the physics of proton streams, or calmly pointing out that ghosts, by definition, should not be able to slime anyone. Each interjection made Tanna laugh harder than the movie itself. 

By the time the credits rolled, the room felt warmer and less divided. 

Tanna stretched, then stood and powered off both the TV and VCR. “So… what did you think?”

T’Luni considered for a moment. “It was illogical, scientifically unsound, and narratively chaotic.” She paused. “I would view the sequel.”

Tanna burst out laughing, pulling the covers back on her bunk. “I think this is the start of a beautiful roommate-ship.” 

She crawled into her bunk as T’Luni moved back to her side of the room, unpacking her crate and preparing for bed. The neon sign was still buzzing softly in the corner, casting both of them in its glow. Tanna gazed up at the ceiling of her bunk, and for the first time in a long time, she felt like this ship could really feel like home.