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Author's Note: Written for Journey to Drabble.
It was Gaila who started "The Rules".
"No singing in the shower until at least 07:00," she'd wailed from beneath her pillow, pulling her standard Academy issue red coverlet up so green toes poked out the other end of the bed.
"No leaving three days worth of clothes on the floor," Nyota declared as she kicked her way through a pile of discarded laundry.
"No coffee after 21:00," Nyota muttered as she yawned and marked her place in her textbook and asked the computer to lower the lights, while Gaila stayed at her desk, tapping her stylus against the glass mug.
"No blasting 22nd century goth-industrial techno. Ever."
"No using my comm for phone-sex with that transporter chief on Mercury Dry-dock."
"No stealing my stash of Belgian dark chocolate because it's raining and your don't want to mess up your hair walking over to the commissary."
"No yoga before dawn when I've been working Gamma shift."
"No creepy chorale ensemble guys who steal my fuck-me shoes."
"No creepy engineering students who steal my panties from the laundry basket."
"No hogging the comm during the Intergalactic Cup."
"No borrowing my favourite earrings, and losing them in a the back of a certain someone's flitter."
"No hitting on my brother."
"No hitting on my cousin."
"No hitting on me when you've had too many Cardassian Sunrises."
"No more bringing guys back to the room," Nyota said, dumping her sheets into the 'fresher, "and then having sex in my bed."
Yet somehow, even with The Rules firmly established after two and a half years, Jim Kirk hiding under her bed didn't come as a surprise.
"And no more Iowa farmboys," Nyota tried, waving an accusatory finger at Gaila, who only laughed and shrugged.
"Some rules were made to be broken."