Small amount of bad language.
"Commander Spock," you greeted with a smile.
"Ensign (L/n)."
"Commander, are you currently busy?" You asked
"I am doing nothing urgent."
"Would you like to play a game of chess then? I was hoping it might help with my strategical thinking." Spock looked down at his Pad and swiped his finger across the screen.
"Of course. Would you be willing to assist me in a small matter regarding humour?" he asked as we walked side-by-side.
"Sure."
"Doctor McCoy has accused my of being a 'totally humourless pointy-eared bastard'. Regardless of my appearance and that 'bastard' is the incorrect term as my parents were married at the time of my birth, I would like to address the first part of this complaint. May I?" Spock asked as he moved his piece and replaced one of your pieces, putting your piece on the table.
"Sure. Go ahead," you said, assuming it would be a cheesy joke as you moved a chess piece.
"Why was six scared of seven?"
"I don't know, why?" You were almost certain it was going to have a terrible punchline.
"It was not. Numbers are abstract concepts, and are thus incapable of emotion," Spock stated. You smiled a bit.
"That was quite clever," you complimented.
"Thank you, Ensign," he said. "Would you like to meet up again?"
"Like a date?" You asked, unsure of his intention.
"Yes," he said. "That is, unless you do not wish for our meetings to be of a romantic sort?"
"No, no," You said quickly. "That's fine with me, how about tomorrow?"
"Tomorrow is fine."