#If you break Starfleet code you are not only not a good officer but perhaps a terrible person

[imagine-writing-rainbow]

Chakotay x Reader

Very few things worry you as much as an empty bed. What's worse is that it wasn't uncommon, with the crew stretched thin, you and your boyfriend spent many nights lying alone and awake while the other worked a shift. Especially being the second in command as he was. He was needed far more often than you would like.

It was laughable, almost. Right now you felt like crying. Just curling into a ball and letting go. It wasn't easy feeling like that, like you could combust into a blubbering mess at any moment. Yet, here you were. Missing Chakotay like dead grass misses the rain. 

You can't sleep alone anymore, Not when you could be laying in the arms of someone who loved and appreciated you. 

You throw the covers off, and dress in your regulation uniform. The uniform was probably the easiest thing to get used to when you were stranded on the voyager along with your maquis crewmen. The rules and regulations simply hadn't fit you, and they hadn't fit you in a long time.

You head to the rec area, with your tablet in hand,but hoping a walk will wear you out. (It won't)

Growing up with a Starfleet admiral for a dad hadn't made the transition easier. If anything it was much, much harder. 

You had an issue with authority, plain and simple. You were red-hot like a teenager. Itching to have a go at the system. To stick it to the man. Always been that way too. 

Chakotay often muses about how you joined the maquis to spit in your father's face. Shit on his legacy and whatnot. When he first implied it, he hadn't been joking and you exploded like c4. Everything you did was for your father, about your father, because of your father. You couldn't be your own person or make your own decisions. You just about had break a breakdown on the brig. Screaming until you were horse and teary eyed. 

He, like every other maquis crewman, was there for a reason and you were a punk kid who had daddy issues. 

Perhaps you were just a punk kid with daddy issues, looking to shed the weight of daddies shadow off. Perhaps. But you were grown now. And stuck masquerading as a Starfleet officer no less. 

Daddy would be proud.

There's only a few people in the rec room: all starfleet. They eyed you with skepticism, distrust. That was your fault, while everyone else warmed up to their starfleet crewman. You'd remained standoffish. They probably thought you were planning a mutiny. Kill Chakotay and rally the troops. If only they knew how much you loved him; that you couldn't even sleep if he wasn't there. 

You throw yourself into one of the seats, tucking your feet underneath yourself. You open your tablet, but it only serves to illuminate your face as you ponder your circumstances. 

Janeway had taken a liking to you, which was interesting. She mumbled something about being good friends with you in another life, another time. You wondered if you might've turned out like her if you'd chosen the starfleet life and she probably wonders if she would have turned out like you if she had chosen to be a maquis. 

It really didn't matter all that much now.  Being stranded seventy light years from home could really put things in perspective. 

Now you weren't Daddy's bitch, you were Janeway's. Or Chakotay's depending on who was gossiping. 

It was easy being disliked. You never had to engage in friendly chit-chat, or do any favours, or adhere to someone else's  moral code. You could simply be. (Be lonely) 

Not that you didn't have any friends, just that you wouldn't count on them to go looking for you if you got stranded in space.

"Ahem"

You are startled from your thoughts. Turning around you see Chakotay standing behind you. "I knew I'd find you here" He says.

"I couldn't sleep"

"Well I'm here now, so let's get to bed"

You get up and resist the urge to wrap yourself around him. You have a reputation to keep and pda was against regulation.

Beside there would be plenty on cuddling behind closed doors.

[shih-coulda-had-it]

reverse the polarity

a reverse captains!au for Star Trek: Discovery, wherein Captain Gabriel Lorca is Michael’s first Starfleet Captain, and Captain Philippa Georgiou is her second

@senator-organa this took basically two rewrites, and I actually feel compelled to continue in a longer, more refined oneshot

-0-

(captain gabriel lorca)

“I know I asked you for recommendations, Sarek,” drawls the tall man, “but I didn’t expect you to escort one aboard my ship.” His arms are crossed, and he looks vaguely unimpressed. Fortunately, Michael Burnham has undergone a lifetime of being subjected to unimpressed looks.

She is unaffected by the cold glare of his eyes, mostly because she is pissed off. Denied by the Vulcan Expeditionary Forces only to be shuttled directly off to an old Starfleet science vessel? She could’ve reapplied, tried again—god knows she’s done that her entire childhood.

“Michael Burnham has an extensive résumé,” demurs Sarek. “Did you not tell me you were in need of a science officer knowledgeable in xenoanthropology?”

“I told you that months ago.” The scowl appears to be permanently etching itself into the man’s face. “You said there weren’t any Vulcans available with that ‘particular skillset.’”

“Yes. No Vulcans.” Sarek turns to Michael, and she detects the glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Michael, this is Captain Gabriel Lorca of the U.S.S. Shenzhou.” He nods, like he thinks his job is done. Like he can simply drop Michael off in the company of Lorca and continue on with his life, assured that he is never confronted with his greatest failure.

Michael looks at Lorca and doesn’t quite narrow her eyes. She resolves to stay impassive.

“You don’t want to be here,” Lorca says.

In this instance, Michael thinks, even Sarek would let her get away with a bit of insolence. There is something of the wounded animal in her, still smarting from a wounded pride. Her resentment at the situation grows, and withers. Perhaps… perhaps she does deserve this.

“You would be right,” says Michael, noting the tightening muscle of Lorca’s jaw. He hides it well, but one doesn’t live with Vulcans, breathe in their culture and mannerisms, without picking up the ability to detect anger beneath a façade of civility. “But you are currently in the wrong. I make it a principle to observe and then conclude.”

“Michael,” Sarek interrupts, and she turns her eyes to him. They’ve been a family unit long enough that he should take notice of her desperation to join the Vulcan Expeditionary Forces. He knows she can do it—her scores had been perfect.

It would have been a life of cold shoulders, but Michael is familiar with that kind of atmosphere.

Lowly, Sarek tells her to behave. He gives a perfunctory nod to Lorca. And then he leaves.

Lorca watches him go too, something appropriately ticked off in his expression. No protocols cover events like this, this being: a highly-respected Vulcan escorts a Vulcanized Human trained extensively in the field of xenoanthropology (among other disciplines) to be integrated into a Starfleet crew.

He switches his glare back to her. “Are you even aware what kind of vessel this is?”

“An exploratory one,” says Michael. The U.S.S. Shenzhou (NCC-1227) is named in tradition for a long line of Shenzhous, except the majority of its predecessors are satellites and asteroids. However, the former were also considered the property of China—this ship is under a more… universal purview.

Shén for heaven, divinity; zhōu for vessel. To translate it fancily, the Vessel of Heaven. To translate it literally, space boat.

The utter insult of it is that Sarek had chosen to drop her off on a ship that parallels the Vulcan Expeditionary Forces. It is a pat on the head. A consolatory reward. You were good, but you weren’t good enough.

“How fortunate for you.”

“Indeed,” Michael says, “Captain.” Her eyebrow lifts, voluntarily. She thinks it will always be voluntary—a challenge of ‘Do you deserve my respect?’ to a man she could overpower or outsmart given enough time and luck. Also, this is the one action that can’t be ruled as misconduct or disrespect to a captain.

Lorca suddenly breaks into a grin. “Let me show you around.”

(captain philippa georgiou)

The room is brightly lit, warm yellows and zero fluorescents. It’s an odd characteristic for a new vessel to be in possession of. It reminds Michael of the Shenzhou and Lorca’s stubborn determination to keep it just as his predecessor had—

A woman studies a tactical map. Blue for Starfleet and its allies, red for the Klingon Empire. Michael is familiar enough with the color scheme of blue (good) and red (bad) that her mind registers it instantly and turns itself inside out when it identifies the captain of the ship.

The captain is standing for her.

The captain—

“Michael Burnham,” says Captain Philippa Georgiou, hands clasped behind her back and a considering look in her eyes, “welcome to the U.S.S. Discovery. I’m Captain Georgiou.”

She is so different from Lorca that Michael finds herself blinking hard. Where Lorca was tall and broad, Georgiou is short and lean. Lorca had loomed because before he was a complete softie for the underdogs of Starfleet, he knew the importance of being respected by a bunch of greenhorns. Georgiou… welcomes. She is kind and not imposing.

Not the reception she expects for a mutineer like herself.

“Captain Georgiou,” echoes Michael, struggling not to crumble. Of all the captains in the fleet, everyone—everyone—likes Georgiou, even when they haven’t been chosen to join under her command. She’s never heard a cadet go a year in space without muttering, ‘Damn, I should have applied for Georgiou, she’s the best.’

Lorca had taken the complaints as compliments.

Lorca had said to Michael, “They all want to serve under, good. Georgiou is one of the best—explorer, warrior, and commander all in one. But they have no idea that she’s like me.” He had cracked a grin at Michael. “Her fist is only covered in velvet. At least I’m open about it.”

Rather abruptly, Michael remembers why she’s onboard this ship. “I’ll take my leave as soon as possible,” she blurts. She doesn’t want to be the cause of another destroyed ship, let alone Philippa Georgiou’s sleek science vessel. “I’ll go voluntarily to the brig.”

“That’s unnecessary,” Georgiou shoots back. “You’re a science officer, no? As it currently stands, there is a vacancy in the science department.” There is a wry grin playing at her mouth, and Michael is fixated on the weirdly humanizing aspect this has on the woman all cadets put on a pedestal.

She glances away from Georgiou. Distance. She needs distance to wrap her mind around this illogical decision. “I’m a mutineer,” Michael says. The words taste worse on her tongue than when she’d confessed it to the empty air of her cell. “Starfleet’s first ever recorded. Is this wise?”

“Starfleet understands assets,” the captain dismisses. “There will be some backlash, but there is always backlash in making decisions in war.” She looks mildly guilty about admitting this, even though it is par for course for Michael’s shitty decision-making skills seven months back.

“Yes,” says Michael, “but surely I wouldn’t be good for morale.” Under Lorca, Michael had developed a finely-tuned sense of snark and sarcasm.

Nine years of mutual needling and brisk fondness had chipped away part of her Vulcan shell, but her emotions hadn’t made a surging comeback. If anything, it had strengthened her defensive measures of hiding sentimentality and nostalgia.

Captain Georgiou pulls a face and sits down. “Burnham,” she says, “this war isn’t your fault.”

That, Michael cannot bear to hear from a captain so beloved by the fleet that Starfleet Command wouldn’t promote her to admiralty and a desk on Earth. “With all due respect, captain, I don’t see how that’s so.” Before Georgiou can continue, Michael adds, a little desperately, “My arrival here cannot be due to coincidence.”

Like a masochistic idiot, Michael lays out the whole thing. The shuttle’s change of course. The lack of warning about being transferred to a different prison facility. Her arrival here has been engineered.

Georgiou blinks. “I did ask for your shuttle to change courses. First, because you are an officer of many talents. Second, because the Discovery does have a vacancy, though my science officer tells me that he is capable of handling it. But lastly…” She looks guilty again. “I think you did not deserve so harsh a sentencing that you were given.”

“I started the war,” says Michael blankly. She’s repeated this sentence many, many times.

“By your admissions in the court transcripts, you suggested a solution, and the captain agreed to its flagrant disrespect of Starfleet’s code.” Georgiou is standing again, and moving around to the front of her desk. She maintains a respectful distance around Michael, who is feeling distinctly dizzy. “This ship is outfitted to win a war, Burnham. It only needs the right people to help it to success.”

She needs—she needs to take this chance—fix mistakes—

“Probation. I—give me a probationary period. Any mistakes, I go back to prison.”

Georgiou frowns. “You ask this condition as though you were not going to be on probation.” The slight relief Burnham feels when she is reminded that Georgiou is a highly competent officer is actually immense. This is a net to prevent her from blowing up the galaxy again. This is good.

A hand extends, and Michael shakes it. The firm, warm grasp is a much-welcomed anchor.

“Let me show you around,” offers Georgiou with a smile.

[impalaanddemons]

Enterprise Crowd - Part 1

Summary: These are the adventures of Reader, a Lieutenant Commander assigned the Enterprises IT engineering team. Her biggest flaw? Her temper. 

Wordcount: 1650

A/N: My hand kinda slipped? I wanted to write something with that IT headcanon I had since I first wrote it down and here we go. There’s some hardcore and blatant reader inserting of me in there. I’m sorry. I hope you find some amusement in it anyways. If there’s any techno babble you don’T understand just skip it.

Warnings: Theres like a ton of curse words, several f-bombs and a very short temper

There was a corner of the Enterprise that only belonged to you and your coworkers - you were 10 in total, just enough to cover shifts and the occasional illness. You all donned the red shirt and were immensely proud of it - though affiliated to Engineering, you rarely saw your CEO and he rarely saw you. Usually, everything went just swimmingly, or swimmingly enough to just pass by shift after shift. You were the few IT guys left on an advanced ship like this. Just a few weeks ago a whole horde of new Ensigns had boarded ship and those weeks following were usually the busiest.

„Vance, this fuckwit actually paid for alleged Human-Deltan porn and got his PADD infected.“ you exclaimed at your coworker while shaking your head vigorously. „And, did he get worth his money?“ he shot back looking up from a PADD he was working on. „Nah, he probably dumped his first salary into this stuff, only to have this file getting blasted by Wintermute the second his PADD connected to the ships network.“ you giggled a bit as you removed the locks from the PADD, identified with name and grade („Lieutenant Officer“) to the ships ICE and had the corrupted files removed. „See, good as new for the nutjob to get it blasted again come next shore leave.“ Vance snorted and shook his head. He threw the PADD he’d been working on into a box already full of PADDs and turned around on his chair. He was a small guy - with whispy blonde hair and a stern look to him. People rarely got along with him, but that was because they never made the effort to actually get behind his cool demeanor. At least that’s what you told yourself. You threw the PADD onto the pile and groaned. „I swear, if I have to reset another Ensigns password or roomcode, I’m gonna throw myself out of a bloody airlock.“ Vance grunted - it was his version of affirmative laughter - and grabbed another PADD. „Mr. Scott probably won’t like it, if you name part of the ship after some weird 20th century pop culture stuff.“, he argued and lifted an eyebrow. „You talking about poor Wintermute?“ „For example“ Shrugging you grabbed another PADD of the „To-Do“ pile and plugged your diagnostics tool in. „If he thinks so, he can come down and tell me himself.“ „As if“, Vance cut the connection to the new PADD on his lap and just threw it on the growing pile of „Finished“ PADDs. You quirked an eyebrow at him. „Works fine, the owner just needs to turn it on properly.“ The both of you shared a look of shared disbelief before you continued working.

Mid-Beta turned into lunch break - a good time to share the latest gossip in engineering - and then into late Beta and finally into the last few minutes of your shift, eagerly awaited by plans to share a beer or two with that cute guy from the laboratories. „You forgot something“ Vance stated and glanced over the pile of finished PADDs. No catastrophes today, just regular work. It had been a good, quiet shift which had allowed you to actually get some work done. „I .. what?“ you furrowed your eyebrows and lifted your head from the report you were about to finish. „Ensign Yueh is going to hand out the PADDs we finished today in the first half of Gamma.“ „Yeah,“ a fiendish grin spread across his face as he threw you a communicator which was painted red and gold. You groaned. „You’re on call today, Babe.“ „Fuck that, Vance. When did I sign up for this?“ „Last week, when you convinced T’Sai to switch duty because you wanted to go out with that guy from communications.“ Groaning once more you grabbed the communicator and stuffed it into your pocket. Of course you’d forgotten about that little incident. „Have a nice evening, Y/N“ You muttered something not suitable for general audiences and called it a day.

Everything went according to your idea of a perfect evening until the communicator went off. It was of course just seconds after you had slipped into your PJs and of course Ensign Yueh was on the other side, babbling frantically about some incident in the monitoring system. „Bullshit“, you muttered as Ensign Yueh forwarded you the alert on your PADD, but in the moment you read it, you felt your blood leave your face. It was time to slip into your uniform again.

Not much more then 10 minutes later you stood in front of your Commanding Officers quarters and frantically mumbled to yourself. Knocking did not help and you couldn’t hear the Klaxon in his room going off either. He probably had muted the alarm, because your PADD still showed the Warp Core Alarm going off every 2 minutes. „Dammit“, you knocked at the door again. Had he left? Probably. Maybe he was monitoring the Warp Core manually. Mr. Scott was probably furious, hell, you’d definitely be furious in his place. In that moment you decided to plug your security code into his door and override its controls to enter the room. The door slid open and there was - nothing. Silence. The lights were shimmering, already dimming down. You noticed that the lights were behind the ships usual dimming cycle. „Hi?“ you whispered but no one answered. Determined to fix the blemish on your teams reputation you grabbed a chair and pulled it over to a wall, climbed up and opened up a panel. „Utter bullshit“ you ripped out a cable and plugged your diagnostics tool in, your fingers tapping furiously at your PADD, giving way to your irritation. „Why does shit like this has to happen…“ you continued grumbling about as you worked your way through the chaos that unfolded before you. „WHO the fuck did that?“ you ripped out another cable, when a soft, warm voice interrupted your constant stream of swear words: „Do ya get paid by curse words per minute, lass?“ „What?“ your head spinned around in shock. „Ya’re cursing like a sailor“, your commanding officer, Montgomery Scott, added and you were unsure wether he was joking or serious. Or how he got there in the first place. He looked surprisingly calm and somewhat interested in the situation unfolding before him. „Well, Sir, I’m on a ship. I thought cursing was part of the job.“ you quipped back. Some day that mouth of yours would get you killed. It was probably today. He had his arms folded in front of him and cocked his head just slightly, watching you and the entanglement of cables surrounding you. „On a 18th centuries whaling vessel, perhaps…“ now there was definitely humor in his voice, which made you feel at least a bit relieved. „Uhm…“ you murmured and began to stuff the cables back where they belonged to. „Some f- …idiot .. decided to override the warp cores frequency settings manually, which threw the monitoring services system off.“ „I know that idiot“, retorted the voice behind you, but the tone of it went right past your conscious mind. „Yeah?“, you started to collect your tools. „Sir, you can tell him that overriding settings this way will cause unexpected behavior ALL THE TIME.“ emphasizing the last three words you turned around and jumped off the chair. „That idiot was me.“ his eyes were hazel-blueish and at this very moment piercing through you. Funny how one remembered those details. „And a simple manual override shouldn’t interfere with our monitoring systems like that.“ he added.

„Oh, come on, Sir,“ you watched - or listened - with horror how your big mouth got the better of you and felt your temper flare within seconds. „Everything can interfere with a soft AI like our monitoring system. The underlying neural network was simply not trained to -„ „Lass“, he interrupted you, gently, but with determination in his voice and you felt your ears and cheeks burning red. „If it wasn’t, it has to be.“ „Oh, come on…“ you paused, then you added a stretched: „Sir.“ and continued down a path you didn’t really want to see the end off: „You really are Mr. Warp-Equation an’ all but I know these bloody networks better then anything and you should see the shit these things get up to sometimes. Just look at the micro-climate in -„ At ‚Mr. Warp-Equation‘ you knew you had overstepped your boundaries by at least a mile and the tiny rest of self-preservation you got left prevented you from continuing to talk just after ‚micro-climate’. The fire in his eyes and the strain of his shoulders were a good hint to stop too. „I’m.. sorry, Sir.“ clenching your teeth you sprang to attention. „Mr. Warp-equation here“, he started and took a step into your general direction. His voice grew thick with accent. „Knows this ol’ lady here from top to bottom.“ „Of course, Sir.“, you answered stiffly. You were probably as good as dead. „Mr. Warp-Equation,“ funny how his accent stumbled around the words, you thought - a thought that was completely uncalled for right now and certainly not helping. „thinks it’s better for Lieutenant Y/L/N to get back to her quarters, reread starfleet regulations and report back for duty at Alpha in my office.“ „You’re right, Sir. I’ll do exactly that, Sir.“ you stared at a point over his shoulder, your face now burning hot. That’s not how you had went from Cadet to Ensign to Lieutenant Officer on Starfleets most prestigious ship. Not at your age. But it was probably the reason you’d been assigned a team that had relatively scarce contact to other members of the crew. If any at all. He handed you your PADD with some sort of curious fury, as if up until this point you’d been part of a faceless mass - now sticking out like a sore thumb. „Sir, thank you, Mr. Scott, Sir.“ you answered and left with as much grace as you could muster.

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[janeykath318]

5 Times Chris Denied His Feelings, And One Time He admitted Them

1.The first time it happened, was the morning after he’d challenged her to do better. He wasn’t sure what he’d been expecting, but when Jamie Kirk nonchalantly pulled up to the shipyard on what was undoubtedly a very nice motorcycle and practically swaggered to the shuttle, he felt like he’d been bowled over. She walked like she owned the place and her sleek short hair was now tamed and gleaming in the sun. “Four years? I’ll do it in three,” she said, bloodshot blue eyes briefly boring into his as she brushed past him to the shuttle. Dang. Was he developing an irregular heartbeat? He’d better see Phil about that skipping a beat phenomenon before it got serious.

2.Chris couldn’t count the times Kirk made him regret his life choices over her three years in the academy. Sure, she was a certified genius (had to be to make through the command track classes in three years), but she was frequently a thorn in the side of Authority. She’d tested out of all the classes he taught, but he heard plenty from her profs, who were alternately awed and aggravated by her unconventional thinking. As her academic advisor, he’d spent enough time with her to know that was just how she was. When she was a Captain, that would be a great trait, but for now, it caused a lot of raised eyebrows and debates. One day, he filled in for the advanced hand to hand instructor and got to see her in action sparring with her classmates. It was clear from a minute’s watching how far she’d come from the wild bar brawl to quickly and efficiently bringing down her opponent, even the tall Andorian who had about two feet on her. Jamie tended to keep her expression schooled and determined, being a polite combatant, but after a tough bout with Cadet Mitchell, he caught a flash of wild fierceness in her face that threw him for a loop. Swallowing hard, he went on with the instruction, but the image stayed in his head for some time afterwards. 3.Chris was good at denial, very good. By Jamie’s third year, he’d convinced himself that his interest was all just an interest in her well-being and growth as a future Starfleet officer. He’d told himself this so much, he’d thoroughly convinced himself the happiness he felt in her presence was simply the product of being glad to see her thriving. Perhaps this delusion would have continued for sometime, but then the Academy Formal happened and threw him out of his carefully built up shell of denial. Crammed into the tight, itchy dress uniform, he was pacing the large reception room and wondering how long he could last before losing his mind. Chris hated these kinds of shindigs–he was forced to kiss ass and play Chaperone for lustful cadets who didn’t seem to grasp that Terra had actual decency laws and no one needed to see them sucking face and pawing at each other. He’d just told a very amorous couple to either get a room or tone it down, when Jamie Kirk suddenly appeared and he forgot about everything else. She strode in on the arm of a very disgruntled looking Leonard McCoy, looking downright stunning. He didn’t think he’d ever seen her in a dress before and the light blue number she was wearing was absolutely perfect on her. One ruffled strap crossed over her right shoulder and the calf length hem was adorned with more ruffles. At sight of him, she beamed and guided McCoy in his direction. “Well, Captain, you clean up nicely!” Jamie said admiringly. Chris was starting to sweat from both the uniform and her proximity. When she leaned up to give him a peck on the cheek, he felt his face flame.  What was wrong with him? He shouldn’t be having such thoughts about her or all people. “So do you, Kirk,” he managed to get out without sounding like a smitten teenager. “I see you even managed to get McCoy out socializing.” “I promised to protect him from the ravaging hordes,” Jamie explained. “Women, men, and non binary cadets all fall all over themselves to get a piece of his fine self. It makes him uncomfortable, so I’m running interference.” Chris looked at McCoy, who was scowling and flushing, suddenly feeling a deep sympathy with the man. He was in good hands, though, with Jamie as guardian. “Better get going then, because I see a horde coming right towards you,” he warned. Jamie nodded and pulled on McCoy’s arm. “Let’s go dance, Bones. That’ll keep them away for a little bit. Don’t go too far, Chris,” she called over her shoulder. I have every intention of saving a dance for you.“ Chris didn’t register that he was staring after her stupidly until he heard Phil chuckle beside him. "My golly! You ARE gone on her, pal!” “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dr. Boyce,” Chris replied in his cool formal Captain tone, striding toward a group of colleagues to avoid talking about it. Phil shrugged and let him go, but muttered “denial isn’t just a river in Egypt, Chris” under his breath. 4.Graduation was a somber affair in the aftermath of Nero’s attacks. It hurt to see so many empty seats in the auditorium where Cadets should have been. The scale of the tragedy haunted Chris everyday even as he struggled to accept the loss of his ship and his limited mobility. Jamie was the talk of the planet with her role in saving it, but she spent as much time as possible visiting Chris in the hospital and having heart to heart talks about captaincy. She didn’t want to get her promotion this soon or this way, and told him so frequently. He had no idea what to say beyond the advice gleaned from his own years of experience. Jamie’s circumstance was unprecedented and came with plenty of criticism and pressure. “I’m convinced you’re going to prove everyone of those skeptics wrong,” he told her after the ceremony. “They know you’re one of the brightest cadets in history and it’s clear you’re destined for command.” “I’m glad someone thinks so,” she sighed. “Much as I’m loving the Enterprise already, I spend half the time cussing out Nero for what he did–killing My dad, the genocide, killing my classmates, and hurting you. I was so terrified you were already dead when I found you.” “At that point, I thought I wasn’t far from it,” he admitted, remembering the pain and hopelessness he’d felt after Nero had got the codes out of him. “But then you came charging in and saved the day.” “You’re not allowed to die, Admiral,” she said seriously, wagging her finger at him, “Not on MY watch. I want you around for as long as possible.” Oh, flip. There went his heart palpitation again. If this kept up, he’d have to just admit he was in trouble of losing more than a ship. 5.Chris hated the fact he’d had to take the Enterprise from her after only a year, but Jamie clearly had some lessons still to learn about rule breaking and it’s  consequences. Spock had been assigned to the Bradbury and Uhura had gone with him, leaving a big void on the bridge. He knew Jamie was mad about that, but she didn’t dare speak openly, given how lucky she was to not be shipped back to the academy. It had taken his most persuasive reasoning to get Marcus to agree to her being his first officer instead. For the first few weeks of their mission, she was almost painfully polite and formal, struggling to adjust to the new position, and Chris wasn’t sure how to regain the easy connection they’d once shared. It was a very different Jamie now, as if one wrong move would end her career. Oh, she was a fantastic first officer, and helped get them out of plenty of sticky situations with her genius brain, but she’d withdrawn and spent much of her down time with McCoy or in Engineering. He let her be for awhile, then went to have a talk with McCoy. “I’m at a loss here, McCoy,” he explained. “She seems to be avoiding me and I don’t know what’s going on.” McCoy nodded knowingly. “She’s dealing with some stuff. It’s a little awkward going back to first officer after being used to command.” Chris wasn’t convinced. “There’s got to be more to it then that. It’s been two months and she just now started avoiding me so blatantly.” The doctor shrugged. “I’ve got my suspicions, but she’d kill me if I told. I’d suggest you try to confront her one of these days and find out what’s going on. If you keep letting her go, she’ll just drift farther away.” Chris pondered this for some time and finally decided McCoy was right. The hands off approach was not working with Jamie T. Kirk. He’d follow her to engineering if that’s what it took to have a conversation. +1. Unfortunately for Chris, the planned conversation didn’t take place for another two weeks due to the Enterprise being involved in some very delicate peace treaty negotiating between two warring peoples that took up all his time, then he and Kirk ended up being captured and held hostage by the group that opposed the treaty and they had nothing else to do but sit there and wait to be rescued. Geniuses as they were, the aliens had made it next to impossible to escape and certainly didn’t tie them back to back. On the third evening, they were abruptly informed they were going to be executed the next morning and left to ponder their fate. “Sulu had better get a move on,” Jamie remarked. “He’s cutting it awfully close this time.” “Well, maybe the threat of imminent death will coax you to finally tell me what’s been bothering you,” Chris stated simply. He was done with getting the run around. This time, she couldn’t go anywhere. Jamie squirmed in her bonds and looked down. “Why do you think that?” She asked with feigned ignorance. “Oh, maybe the part where you suddenly prefer Scotty’s company and completely  avoid me off duty. It’s pretty obvious something’s wrong. If I’ve done something, I’d much rather you tell me so I can make it right. I miss having you around, Kirk.” Jamie smiled weakly and sighed, still not looking at him. “I hate to be cliche, but it’s not you, it’s me. You didn’t do anything wrong, I’m just trying to deal with stuff.” “Can I help?” He asked gently. “I don’t know,” she said miserably. He could see the sadness in her eyes as well as a touch of fear and decided that he needed to go first. “Jamie, forgive me if I’m misreading things, but I don’t think this has anything to do with the change in position. I don’t know if you’ve heard, but I’ve been pretty insufferable without you around.” “Doesn’t sound too unusual, Sir,” She said, with a hint of the old sass. “True,” he admitted with a nod. “But this time the insufferableness was exacerbated due to my realizing just how much I need you: not just as a first officer, but a person.” Her head shot up and she squinted at him intensely. He couldn’t tell whether the dark circles under her eyes were bruises from the guards knocking her around or just exhaustion, but her eyes were clear and vivid, trained on him. Good grief, they were beautiful. SHE was beautiful. “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” She asked cautiously, but hopefully. “If you’re thinking that I’m more than a little………in love with you, you’d be right,” he blurted. Jamie’s eyes got huge. “Really? Me, the nonstop pain-in-the-rear with no regard for rules?” “Yes, You.” He confirmed. “And your brilliant brain and very lovable self.” Jamie was struck speechless for some time. “I would never have guessed it, you’re so good at hiding what you’re feeling,” she said at last. “I’ve been avoiding you because I couldn’t hide my own longing anymore and didn’t want you to find out and pity me or worse, transfer me.” “Transfer the best first officer in the fleet? Hardly,” he scoffed. “I admit I’ve been living in denial since you were a cadet.” “That long, Huh?” Jamie said, smirking. “When did you fall prey to my endless charm?” “Pretty quickly after I met you,” he admitted. “But I finally quite trying to pretend I wasn’t completely gone on you a few months ago. Of course, the whole Nibiru mess happened, so it would have been the wrong time to start up anything and I didn’t think it would be received well.” He glowered down at his restraints, wishing he could show her just how much he meant it. “Sorry I can’t do anything about it right now,” he apologized, looking at her with a frustrated smirk. “Yeah, it’s Pretty frustrating,” she agreed, “Maybe they’ll let us have one little kiss before they execute us. I can be pretty persuasive.” He snorted. “I don’t think it will come to that. I’m not going out like that and neither are you.” In the end, Chris was right and Sulu brought in the rescue team and had them free in the middle of the night, well before any execution could take place. Chris and Jamie proceeded to thoroughly scandalize the away team by grabbing each other as soon as they were untied and expressing their newly admitted feelings in a not-so-little kiss. “Dang it,” muttered Hikaru, trying not to smile, even as he pretended to cover his eyes. “Now I owe Uhura Fifty credits.”