#Spock trying to get a hold of himself and SHAKING

[lichqueenlibrarian]

Kirk’s fury igniting at the sight of Spock’s trembling hands and the actual shaking in his voice!!

[sepdet]

Merry Shitscram, Tumblr!

(transcript below cut)

Guess what I borrowed from Mom's stacks while visiting?

I won't cap the whole thing, but at least I can provide you with some selected excerpts for the next week. Yes, this IS that edition.

Transcript below.

Chapter One

FOR THE THIRD consecutive night, Captain James T. Kirk awoke with a gasp of surprise and something akin to fear clinging to the side of his throat. He blinked once, then struggled to sit up, leaning against the head of the bed his eyes scanned the dark room. Reality returned and his gaze settled on the chronometer. It was shortly after 3 A.M., Ship Standard Time, but he was wide awake and knew he would have little hope of getting back to sleep before the alarm demanded his attention at six.

Releasing the breath he'd been holding, he replayed the recurring dream in his mind, wondering why it should have disturbed him so deeply . . . and so often.

After discovering no logical explanation for its cause or its unprecedented effect on him, he tried passing it off to the fact that the Enterprise had been on routine patrol of the Romulan Neutral Zone for nearly two months—an inexcusably boring mission. But with Romulan Fleet activity increased for no apparent reason, he accepted the fact that he was bound to be a little edgy.

After another deep breath and a shake of his tousled hair, he slowly lowered himself back into the warm nest of covers,l and closed his eyes; but as expected, he was only pretending to sleep when the First Shift duty alarm sounded less than three hours later.

Stifling a yawn, Kirk entried the Deck 5 turbolift to discover the ship's first officer studying him with a lifted eyebrow.

"Morning, Spock," Kink said with a sheepish grin, wishing he'd taken the time for a cup of coffee before presenting himself publicly.

The Vulcan's head inclined in greeting, "Captain," he said formally. The doors closed and the lift began its familiar horizontal motion, but the Vulcan continued to study his friend. "Is everything all right, Captain?" he inquired presently.

"Just fine, Mister Spock," Kirk replied. "Why do you ask?" He wondered if his eyes were a trifle more red than they'd appeared in the mirror.

The eyebrow climbed higher beneath the long black bangs. "You seem. . . unusually distracted," Spock observed after a questioning moment of silence.

So much for dismissing the matter, Kirk thought. Spock's scrutiny was never escaped easily. "Would you believe me if I told you that the invincible Captain Kirk has insomnia?" he asked with a smile.

"Indeed," Spock murmured. Kirk was normally a very private individual; but now the hazel eyes seemed alight with a combination of embarrassment and mischief. The Vulcan decided not to mention that he himself had been having disturbing dreams for at least a week. "I trust you have not sought relief from Doctor McCoy?"

Kirk shook his head. "For a few hours of lost sleep?" But the twinkle left his eyes as a frown found its way to his face. "I don't know why it should bother me at all," he said, feeling some need to explain himself. "But . . . never mind, Spock," he added as the nocturnal images returned to haunt him. "It was . . . just a dream." Trying to change the subject, the smile returned to his face. "Another human shortcoming, eh, Spock?"

Something in Kirk's too-casual tone caused the Vulcan to look at him more closely. "Would you care to discuss the matter in more detail, Captain?" he asked, momentarily wondering why he didn't dismiss the subject as Kirk was attempting to do. Yet he realized that the captain's normal reservations concerning his personal life did not extend to him, just as he understood that the reverse was also true.

Kirk glanced up from where he'd been studying his boots, and felt the familiar telepathic door swing open between himself and the Vulcan. It was something which had formed between them over the years, something which had saved their lives countless times and made them brothers. He did want to discuss it, but only with Spock.

McCoy would, as the Vulcan was fond of pointing out, dispense a handful of pills and an hour of friendly advice; and though Kirk valued the doctor's friendship, he wasn't in the mood for a full battery of psychological tests to determine the cause of a simple recurring dream. He chanced a quick look at the Vulcan as a plan of action took shape in his mind.

"I haven't had breakfast yet," he began, finding an excuse he needed. "But . . . I'm sure you have, Mister Spock. After all," he continued with a broadening grin, "Vulcans never ever miss breakfast, right? You have to keep those thought-wheels well oiled and in perfect working order." He studied his first officer's lean frame. "And you never gain an ounce either!" he added with a look of mock-disgust, remembering Mc-Coy's warnings to cut back on the meat and potatoes and settle for a salad once in awhile.

The Vulcan brow lowered as Spock observed his captain's nonchalant approach. "I have not eaten this morning," he stated in straightforward contrast to Kirk's roundabout endeavors, "and I would be pleased to join you." His eyes seemed to lighten as he studied the casual way Kirk was holding in his stomach. "And we need not inform Doctor McCoy as to the menu."

—•—

(Next Time: Our lads discuss nightmares over breakfast and discover they are on the same wavelength, as usual.)

[See tag Killing Time Excerpts for more!]

[illegalpaladin]

for the drabble thing— can we get h/c or fluff with insecure ! bones while spock & Jim pamper him and he doesn't know how to deal with all that love and attention. maybe a pre relationship thing where all three of them are close friends and Bones and Jim always had a pretty close, touchy-feely friendship but Bones was always unconsciously backing away whenever Jim hinted at trying for more so he never did, and something happens that makes Bones realize how much Spock does for him in a very casual way (like making sure he always had access to his favorite bourbon and fixing shifts around so he worked with his favorite nurses when he was having a hard time or whatever) and has a complete breakdown over how much "work" he is and how they shouldn't bother (and then sweet sweet comfort)

or the same but with Jim and Bones giving Spock "perimssion" to be self indulgent, like giving him room to be himself and accepting him and all that good stuff? Spock learning to accept himself and growing comfortable with his human ancestry, without actually changing who he is or leaving behind his Vulcanity

or Jim breaking down after a tough mission (or a triggering mission or just a heartwarming mission) and Spock and Bones being there to hold him and reassure him and all that good h/c stuff (but please make it so that Jim feels secure in Spock and Bones love and is comfortable being vulnerable with them) (sweet sunshine that he is)

Thank you for three very good prompts!! I saved this one for last because I wanted to see what I ended up writing for my other requests. In the end, I went with Jim. I had a lot of fun writing this one! Thank you fur the suggestions!!

Jim barely manages to get himself together before he finds himself transported back onto the ship. The room is spinning, and the sounds of voices around him are nothing but white noise. 

He feels the pressure of a hand on his back, but he can’t bring himself to focus on it. 

“Spock,” he hears himself say, “you take the conn. I’ll be in my room.” 

He doesn’t wait for Spock to respond. His feet take him down the hall, into the turbo lift, and into his room. 

As soon as the door slides shut behind him, Jim falls to his knees. 

All he can see are the faces of Tarsus IV– the faces that have haunted him for years, that he’s tried so desperately to keep locked away. 

Why had they chosen him for this mission? Why had Starfleet waited so long to step in? Why didn’t they care? 

The door slides open, but Jim doesn’t hear it. He’s only distantly aware of the two distinct sets of footsteps heading towards him. 

Suddenly, McCoy’s face is in front of him. Even though Jim can’t focus on him, he can see the concern etched clearly in his face. 

McCoy’s hand rises up and gently touches Jim’s cheek. It comes away wet. 

Is he crying? He’s captain of the Enterprise– he doesn’t cry. 

Another presence kneels down at his side. He doesn’t think enough to recognize it as Spock until he feels cool fingers wrap around his wrist. Spock’s mind presses gently against his own, and Jim knows him well enough to know he’s not reading his thoughts– he respects his privacy too much for that. But Spock is letting him know that he’s there. 

“We’re here, Jim.” McCoy’s voice is quiet, gentle. He always has such a good bedside manner. He’s such a good doctor, but he’s also a good partner. They both are. 

Even amidst the pain, Jim is so incredibly grateful for both of them. 

McCoy tugs Jim closer with both arms, pulling him into a hug. Jim’s head rests in the crook of his neck, and he feels himself shaking with emotional release. 

“We’re here,” McCoy says again. Spock’s mental presence is projecting the same thought, through warmth and care and affection. 

Jim squeezes his eyes shut. He sees the faces again. An inhuman sound pushes from his throat. McCoy holds him tighter. 

The three of them stay like that for a long while. They make no effort to move Jim off the floor. They simply meet him where he is. Where he needs them to be. 

Jim doesn’t realize he’s been crying until he straightens up and finds McCoy’s silk shirt soaked through. “Bones, I–” 

McCoy offers a small smile, a slight upturn of his lips. “Don’t worry about it, Jim. That’s what I’m here for.” 

“Jim,” Spock whispers. Jim turns to find Spock watching him quietly. He can see the anger in his eyes– anger he knows is directed at Starfleet and not him. “I will be having a word with Starfleet Command, if you will allow it.” 

It startles a laugh from Jim. It’s hollow, but it’s a laugh nonetheless. “We can talk about it later, Spock. One thing at a time.” His own voice sounds alien. 

For now, he just needs them. He needs them in order to breathe, though he doesn’t know how to express it. Panic clutches his heart as he thinks about them pulling away. 

“We’re not going anywhere, Jim,” McCoy assures him, as if he’s the telepath. “How about we go lay in bed for now? I bet you could use the rest.”

Jim swallows. “All three of us?” 

Spock squeezes his wrist. “Yes.” 

“We’re not going anywhere, Jim,” McCoy says again. “I promise.” 

Even through the pain and the fear, Jim knows he can believe them. 

[trekmupf]

maybe the way we treat mentally ill people and prisoners is still not fixed huh

Pro

Super suspicious package is suspicious of becoming plot relevant

McCoy hanging out on the bridge again. Also he is absolutely incapable of standing without holding onto something in this episode (did I make a screenshot collection? Of course)

The way Kirk handles Van Gelder with the weapon on the bridge

McCoy being a good doctor! Also gives further insight into his character: scientific curiosity, gut feeling, good patient care. Also his close ups are so beautiful, He's so expressive, 10/10 Bone's face

Kirk and McCoy dynamic! McCoy having him investigate, Kirk implying he doesn't have great psych personnel, McCoy sending a woman he has history with to annoy him and it absolutely working

That weird dove, hand and rainbow sign screams danger cult

So many scenes between Spock and McCoy. When they properly work together it's beautiful (jk they're always beautiful even whenthey're verbally bashing each other's heads in)

Van Gelder's pain and suffering while trying to tell them what's going on is terrifying and sad, but it tells us a lot about who he is

Kirk like I can totally try the crazy people device on myself!

At first voluntarily but who could have known, it escalades

Dr. Noel is great! She has things to do, is a good doctor in her field, an actual character with ethics and a moral compass (not letting Kirk kiss her as he's not himself despite clearly being into him), and she gets shit done! I'd argue so far the most a female character gets to actually do in an episode

Spock's face when he sees them kissing is gold (also Spock's face when Noel first says “We've met”);

Another “he's dead, captain” by McCoy

Love the last conversation between McCoy and Kirk

More of Kirk's character: Is a very mentally strong person who to a degree can shake out of the machines manipulation twice, and is very resilient – it's that this trauma is still with him, McCoy and Spock are worried and he reassures them he WILL be fine with a slight smile (but he isn't yet) (Shatner's acting is SO good here)

The horrors of psychiatry / mind manipulation (conversion therapy, shock therapy, forced medication comes to mind), in the 60's extremely relevant but looking around now, still relevant today (sadly)

Van Gelder calling out Kirk: “You smug, button-pushing brass hat! Wash your hands of it. Is that your system?” is a great callout to the people in power ignoring the people in the system

The absolute horrific death of the bad guy by his own device – even though it was his own design, instead of turning the narrative towards “he deserved this” it's made clear that this was a terrible death that no one deserves. Shatner's acting of grief here is great, and this mood stays until the end of the episode

The set up of Dr. Adams being a great man in his field who revolutionized health care for the better having turned to the dark, experimental side and being dangerous – achieving great things or doing good should never stop people from questioning what a (famous) person is doing later on and McCoy was right to do so

Introduction of the Mind meld!

The tension and pacing of the episode are excellent; especially the scenes with the machine are horrific and hard to watch

I cannot overstate how much I love everyone's acting in this episode, but especially Morgan Woodward's depiction of pain, mental illness & urgency and Shatner's suffering & pain at the end

Cons:

Noel making Kirk think they had sex when he was vulnerable was and uncomfortable ( I think it can be sooort of excused by neither of them taking the machine seriously and her having to think of something they both know didn't happen - she clearly wouldn't have taken advantage)

Counter: Fake womanizer Kirk (non con due to hypnosis) Quote: "To all mankind, may we never find space so vast, planets so cold, heart and mind so empty that... that we cannot fill them with love and warmth" - Dr. Adams

Moment: When Kirk uses the mashine for the first time and the viewer realizes how invasive and terrifying this is – he doesn't even know it happened Summary: Great episode with an open political commentary still relevant today, interesting and well acted one time characters and more characterbuilding for the trio – Kirk as Captain putting himself front of the line to find out the truth while Spock and McCoy support him from the ship and swoop in when he needs them to (and them teasing each other a lot!)

Previous Episode - Next Episode - All TOS Reviews

[who-dat-homeless]

Okay sibs there's an almost 2k wip that I will never finish because I suddenly felt like I don't like the idea at all and I really really don't want to finish it. But I guess I can put it here bc it's not bad for a wip imo Dunno how you usually put wips so.

Spock accidently experiencing death whilst in a mind meld with a dying creature

For lack of a better metaphor it feels like a fourth degree burn.

Not in a sense of a great pain, more like in a sense of a great loss of any sensation. Layer after layer losing any ability to feel anything at all, be it an agonizing pain or a soft touch of a spring breeze. 

What’s even worse – he’s vulcan. Oh how he prides himself upon being one, but with pride goes its coast – he’s too well aware of what’s happening in his body. He can shut off any pain, he can stop impulses from running up his brain to disturb his precious mind, he meditates, he knows over a dozen breathing techniques, he can pinpoint a source of pain down to millimeters. 

And now he feels how senses in his body die. One after another. He feels as all five layers of epidermis from stratum corneum down to stratum basale all one after another lose their functions, lose their sensitivity. It is painful, of course it is, but more than painful it’s frightening. He’s not in control. He can’t stop it. He can’t even take another breath to hold himself together. He screams. His mind is a mess but a little part, the smallest little patch of logic, stoicism and everything he likes to call *vulcan* feels ashamed of such a pathetic show of pain. He must control himself.

Even though it’s impossible.

He’s dying.

There’s nothing to control. Only to accept. 

Even though he can’t. He has no right to accept it. 

He’s on duty. He’s a valuable officer. And he must protect himself. 

Pain worsens with every second and he can’t feel his legs, he can’t feel his forearms, his head cracks and big sweat droplets run down the neck. So ticklish. Such a strange sensation amidst the pain.

He’s dying surprisingly fast but not fast enough to relieve him of this pain. He must fight back, he must survive, but how? How?.. His mind is not his own anymore, his mind is suppressed by fear and pain and it doesn’t seem to rebel in the nearest future.

It’s not even cold. He thought it would be cold, how many times he heard about how cold death is, how many times he touched a corpse only to find it considerably cold, but now neither cold nor warm. It's an absolute nothing and he can't comprehend it. The small part of his brain, the one that fears, the one that bare teeth as a stupid display of happiness, the one that screeches and slither around like an ancient reptile, the one he calls *human* screams and tries to take another breath.

It’s useless.

There’s no need for oxygen for a dead brain. 

Vulcan shuts his mouth – he must not show any fear or any pain. If he must die he must die in a vulcan way – with dignity and cold certainty of what is awaiting for him.

Human bares his teeth – he must survive at any cost. He must try until he runs out of breath. If he must scream – he will. if he must roll in dust – he will. If he must cry – he will. The horror of non-existence is incomprehensible so he must live. In agony, in pain, filled with fire, filled with cold, but he must live.

But then he dies.

And there’s nothing he can do.

***

– Spock!

He can’t stop shaking him even though he knows it’s useless. The creature died while Spock was still in the mindmeld with it and now his eyes are rolled backwards and he inhales and inhales but he can’t exhale. If nothing is done soon enough Spock will just suffocate. 

Kirk stops shaking him, puts him back on the ground and lightly slaps his cheeks. No response. He clenches his teeth and withdraws his arm to slap Spock across his face when Bones finally comes and grabs his hand midst air. 

– Jim, for god’s sake, snap out of it! Step back.

It takes Kirk two seconds, no more, to blink and process what's been said to him. He gets on his feet and lets McCoy work. For a moment in the darkness of this enormous cave shines the metall of an ampul. Second later a quiet sound of injection, so loud in the cold silence, died down. Kirk didn’t feel an ounce of relief. He's been friends with McCoy long enough to know that no injection, no pill or mixture is a total cure for all. Especially now, when Spock isn’t even hurt, not actually, not physically. McCoy can help when it's a physical injury. But when it’s mental…

Spock finally takes a long inhale and loudly exhales, all the muscles in his body loosens and for a moment it seems like he’s going to be okay.

McCoy leans back. He takes Spock’s wrist, adjusts his hands and then…

And then he furrows his brows. Kirk remains quiet but he already knows – Bones will find no pulse at the wrist. Nor at the neck. Nor at any other point. Yet still he’s silent. He’s not a medic after all, just some stupid little captain with a professional deformation called “Hope for the best, expect the worst”.

McCoy tries to find a pulse at the wrist but at some point his hand races to the neck. Same deal. Seconds past. Kirk flexes his jaw. He’s useless now. He tries not to think about it.

McCoy's face flashes fear and he leans on the Spock’s chest. His mouth agape. He licks his lips waiting for anything. The scariest part is anticipation. He waits for anything – for him to respond, for him to not respond, for literally anything.

McCoy’s eyes racing – ancient brain tries to find the source of the sound he’s looking for, not understanding that it’s hidden beneath meat and bones. Kirk clenches his fists, nails sinks into the flesh. He wants this pain to distract him but his eyes ache from how much he focuses on Spock’s lifeless figure. 

Moments passes by.

A single droplet of unknown liquid drips from the cave’s ceiling.

Kirk bites his lower lip.

And then McCoy takes a sudden loud breath, squints his eyes and sits straight.

– I swear to god, – he whispered on the exhale, – one day I’ll kill him with my bare hands…

– Bones-

– He’s alive, okay? It’s just that his heart decided it would be oh so funny to slow his pulse to the point it almost doesn't exist and call it a day.

– But it’s… bad, isn’t it?

– For humans – yes. For vulcans – a regular self-preservation measure. He’ll be fine.

Finally Kirk’s tensed shoulders drop. He lets out a tired exhale.

– Would it be dangerous for him if I “transport” him myself or should we wait for a gurney?

– There’s no physical injury as far as I can tell so you can get him up. Besides I don’t want to spend another minute in these caves, not only can we be killed any other minute but it smells absolutely horrendous in here.

Kirk paid no attention to the remark. Right now, the moment they speak, dozens of Enterprise personnel beamed up injured from caves collapse and creature’s assault. Actually it’s better than the operation on the Janus IV. But only in the matter that almost no one died. But injured… Kirk knows McCoy already thinks how to arrange people – sickbay of Enterprise is spacious by comparison to other ship’s but at the end of the day it can accommodate oh so many people. And then he has to decide and decide quickly – who can wait for help and who needs it right away, what injuries he has to inspect himself and what he can delegate to nurses. 

McCoy is on edge and it does no justice to his temper.

Kirk knows to ignore it.

He steps closer to Spock, squats, takes Spock’s one hand and in one swift motion get’s him on his own back. Spock is much taller than Kirk and weighs accordingly, it takes Kirk a second time to stand up. It still fascinates him that the unconscious body seems to weigh more. He tries to entertain himself with such a silly lil thought rather than thinking about how his friend is lying on his shoulders unconsiouse because he just quite literally experienced death in all of its glory.

– Can we beam up from here? 

McCoy got the empty ampule and was ready to go.

– No, we gotta return to the station. For some reason the ship can’t get to us down here.

– Oh mother of-, McCoy started but quickly aborted, – Okay, let’s waste no time I have a job to do.

– Get your phaser ready. Don't hesitate to use it.

– Is it of any use?

Kirk stares at him. He gives McCoy a little smile. 

– Get your phaser ready. 

McCoy wants to shout at him, Kirk can tell from just one look at him, but he draws his phaser and doesn't ask any further questions. 

Of course phasers are useless there, but what else could've Kirk said? Of course McCoy would've appreciated it if Kirk just finally admitted that they're helpless in this situation, but how could he admit it when his whole career is based on him looking confident enough for people to not get into a state of maddening panic every time something goes wrong? Of course Kirk himself would've like to show this little pathetic, yet still very human, fear – his first officer is out for good, almost third of his personnel injured, almost third of miners is dead, they all being chased by unknown creature that still showed no sign of being injured or at least tired –but he's not a human, not on duty, he's the symbol, the beacon, people look for him for guidance, more than guidance, they look at him for reassurance. He's a glacier, he's stoic, he keeps on smiling in a dire situation. He can't just say “it's useless”. He's the last hope for people around him. If captain James T. Kirk still smiles, it means it's not that bad. They'll figure it out somehow. They'll be fine. 

They start to walk. McCoy paranoingnly turns on each sudden sound he hears and the only thing Kirk can do in this situation is to pray to whoever listens that this little walk be uneventful. McCoy is a healer, he's more than useless with a phaser. 

Creatures lure in the dark seeking revenge for a killed brother but are too scared of the barbaric humans to come closer. Kirk is scared. Not in a typical sense, not like usual people are. Sometimes he feels like his gland in charge of fear atrophied long ago – you can’t be scared in the middle of operation, you can be either before it or after, never in the midst – and instead there's a mechanic substituted in its place.

“Hey, Jamey, don't want to bother but this shting is pretty shpooky to me and if I were you(which I'm obviously not) I would've been pretty damn scared. But you're your own man, I mean, do what you think is right, I'm by no means telling you how to act. So, here's your adrenalin, cortisol, lactic acid and some other chems, you know what to do with them  too-da-loo~”

And this one silly thought keeps him focused. Imagining your own fear as a friendly machine that just does things it's programmed to, as a separate from you entity, makes it easier to manage. He's not his fear, and suddenly he can think logically, and suddenly his mind is in control.

Spock's tunic brushes against his cheek. Ticklish. Such a strange sensation amidst the chaos. 

[thesconesyard]

Yeehaw!

When the Cactus Blooms

27. A Whole Heap of Trouble

McCoy opened his eyes and made to stretch, but something was holding him down and he couldn’t. For a second fear passed through him, but he quickly realized it was Scotty sprawled mostly on top of him. He let out a breathy laugh, and shoved gently at Scotty’s shoulder. He got a grunt in return as Scotty turned his face away.

“Alright,” McCoy said softly, amused.

Carefully he slid out from under Scotty and off the bed. Light was coming through the curtain as McCoy got himself dressed. He looked down at Scotty’s still sleeping form, and love rushed through him. It was a tight squeeze for both of them in the bed, but Scotty had been promising to fix that. He just had a few too many other things to work on at the moment.

“We’ve got work to do,” McCoy said, as he rested a hand on Scotty’s shoulder and gave another gentle shake. He made sure Scotty was at least mostly awake, then left the cabin.

Out in the early morning air, McCoy stretched again, before heading towards the stables. As he walked the back of his neck prickled. He reached a hand up and rubbed under his bandana, but the prickling persisted. He looked around carefully as he walked, a feeling of being watched rising in him. He glanced at the house but didn't see anyone looking out the windows.

The prickly feeling left when he entered the stables.

“Morning Honey,” he said as he entered the horse’s stall. He gave her a pat on the neck and she nosed at his pockets. “Gimme me a minute,” he laughed at her.

Soon enough he heard the others entering the stables and going about the morning chores.

After breakfast McCoy followed Jim and Spock to look over some of the cattle. The prickly feeling crept up his neck again. He rubbed at it and rolled his shoulders.

“Alright Bones?” Jim asked, looking over.

“Yeah,” McCoy grunted. “Just got the strangest feeling of being watched.” He looked around them, but saw nothing but scrubby grass, cattle and sky. A few trees too small to hide behind.

“There appears to be nothing but us and the cattle,” Spock said.

“I know,” McCoy snapped. His hand rubbed his neck again. “It’s the damnedest thing though.”

The feeling stayed with him all day. As long as McCoy was outside, he felt he was being watched. He knew how irrational it was. There was nowhere in the open pastures for someone to hide, and everyone was in and out of the house and buildings all day long.

“What is it Len?” Scotty asked as they sat together by the creek.

“I don’t know,” McCoy admitted slowly. “I’ve been on edge all day.”

“Well,” Scotty said in a low voice, “maybe we should do something about that.”

McCoy looked over with a grin. “Maybe we should.” He got to his feet and lowered a hand to help Scotty up. Together they walked towards McCoy’s cabin.

Trying to be subtle, McCoy couldn’t help but look around them. Voices could be heard from the porch, but not seen. His unease grew stronger. The moon hadn’t risen yet and the stars were only throwing faint light.

“Oh! How delightful.”

McCoy froze at the deep voice coming from the shadows of his cabin. Scotty’s hand tightened on his.

“It wasn’t hard to miss the pull between you both. How nice you sorted it out.”

“Harrison!” McCoy managed to choke out.

“Now, don’t do anything stupid,” John Harrison said as he stepped from the shadows. A gun in his hand was pointed at them. “No calling out or anything that would let the others know.”

“What- what are ye doing here?” Scotty asked in surprise. “Why are ye doing this?” He took a small step forward but stopped as John Harrison raised the gun.

“Why does anyone do anything?” Harrison bit out.

“You won’t get away with this Harrison,” McCoy threatened.

“Oh doctor, I don’t think you have much say in that. And it’s not Harrison. My name is Khan.”

“Well, Khan, you’re still only one person and there’s ten of us on this ranch,” McCoy said, putting as much bluster into his voice as he could.

“Doctor McCoy,” Khan said lightly as he stepped closer. “I’m not alone. My family is moving closer as we speak.”

“I don’t believe you,” McCoy stated. He took a step that put him in front of Scotty protectively.

Khan gave a light whistle and footsteps could be heard behind him. In a moment another man stepped out from next to the cabin. His gun was pointed at them as well. McCoy frowned as he thought.

“I’ve seen you,” he said to the second man, trying hard to remember where he had seen the man. “The poster in town,” McCoy said suddenly. “M- Mar- Marcus!” he exclaimed. “Wanted for murder.”

“Very good doctor,” Khan said sarcastically. He turned his head slightly towards Marcus.

“Everyone is in place,” Marcus reported.

“Good,” Khan said, triumph already in his voice. “Take these two in there and tie them up. They were already planning on getting close.” Khan smirked.

Marcus moved behind them and jabbed his gun into McCoy’s back. “Let’s go,” he said.

“This isn’t going to work,” McCoy told Khan as he passed him.

“I think you’ll be surprised,” Khan gloated.

McCoy held tight to Scotty’s hand as they entered the cabin. Just minutes ago they had been headed to it for a different reason. He could only hope Jim or Spock or one of the others noticed something was wrong before Khan could strike first.

[smowkie]

finished my second bingo card from @ficreadingchallenge, woo! thanks again for hosting this event, it's great fun! 💗

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Spones, TOS, 1,429 w, rated gen

summary:

Spock couldn't let it happen again.

6. future AU

I will die in the house that I grew up in by justhockey

Buddie, 911, 3,169 w, not rated

summary:

Loving Eddie is like breathing past all of the broken glass in his lungs. Buck can’t believe he gets to have this - can’t believe he gets to hold something so precious in his shaking, bleeding hands, and is trusted not to ruin it. He’s not sure he deserves that kind of faith, but he will spend the rest of his life being grateful for it anyway. He’ll spend the rest of his life trying to deserve this family that he’s made.

7. 5+ year old fic

Letters from the Northern Continent by thehoyden

Garashir, DS9, 7,966 w, rated mature

summary:

It just figured that the first time Julian Bashir set foot on Cardassia after the war, it would be halfway around the world from Elim Garak.

8. fic with no comments yet

Big Medicine by LadyDrace

Garashir, DS9, 100 w, rated gen

summary:

Doctors make the worst patients... and tailors don't make very good doctors either...

9. hurt/comfort

Here, at the End of All Things by sahiya

Garashir, DS9, 17,929 w, rated teen

summary:

He was no one’s choice of nurse, Garak reflected, even if Bashir seemed to tolerate him more than anyone else on the station did. Garak had been trained to inflict pain, not to ease it; to terrify, not to comfort. Bashir had shown Garak more tenderness and care than anyone had in many, many years, and the idea of trying to play that same role for the good doctor now was, frankly, a little intimidating. Not trying at all, however, simply was not an option.

10. fix-it fic

you standing in the doorway by Mireille

Stony, MCU, 1,420 w, rated teen

summary:

The most remarkable thing about you standing in the doorway / Is that it's you and that you are standing in the doorway - Mountain Goats, "Going to Georgia"

11. genderbend

Magic is the Worst by arianapeterson19

Tony Stark (gen), MCU, 1,354 w, rated teen

summary:

As far as magic went it wasn't the worst thing to have happened to Tony but it also wasn't turning out how he wanted. He was going to find Loki and demand a refund. OR The one where Tony gets turned into a lady.

12. de-aging/kid

Kid Steve by Neverever

Stony, Avengers Assemble (cartoon), 1,752 w, rated gen

summary:

It's all fun and games for Kid Steve after being de-aged by the Impossible Man, until asthma attacks.

free space

Bombing It by tokidokifish

Garashir, DS9, 1,112 w, rated gen

summary:

“Happy birthday.” “I’m sorry, my dear doctor—I think you’ve mixed me up with someone else.” “I haven’t. I know you wouldn’t ever tell me your real birthday, but I still wanted to give you something to show how much I appreciate your friendship—so I just picked a day with appropriate significance in human culture.” “The first of April.” “Exactly.” — Julian wants to give Garak a gift, so he simply picked a day to do it.

13. bodyswap

i'm yours, body and soul by meidui (orphan_account)

Stony, MCU, 749 w, rated gen

summary:

When Tony wakes up in his husband's body at six in the morning hundreds of miles away from his conference, he almost puts a pillow over his head and goes back to sleep because, really, stranger things have happened.

14. daring rescue

come out to the sea, my love by allyasavedtheday

Buddie, 911, 8,035 w, rated teen

summary:

“Bobby,” Maddie exclaims. “It’s Buck.” Eddie’s head shoots up, hand immediately going to his own radio. Did something happen? Is it another clot? Did Christopher call 911? Is Buck on the floor bleeding out while his son watches- “He and Christopher were on the pier.” There’s one dizzying moment where Eddie’s vision completely whites out and he loses all control of his limbs but then a strong hand is gripping his arm and he manages to pull himself together enough to focus on Bobby’s face. “Maddie, how do you know that?” Bobby asks and he sounds calm but Eddie can hear the tension hidden in his voice. This can’t be happening. This can’t be happening. “A girl with a drone called 911- she sent me the footage and-“ Maddie lets out a hitching breath. “They’re stranded on top of the 136’s ladder truck.” * Tsunami au in which the 118 find out about Buck and Chris being stranded on top of the ladder truck and come to rescue them before they get separated.

15. fic written by someone who follows you

a line drawn in the sand by crazyassmurdererwall (smartalli)

Buddie, 911, 5,655 w, rated teen

summary:

When Eddie forgets about a family tradition and can’t get off work early, Buck steps in and takes Christopher to Abuela’s for him. Eddie doesn’t expect Buck to still be there when he gets off work. He doesn’t expect to tell Buck how he feels. And he doesn’t expect to stand up to his parents. But maybe it’s about time he did. Maybe it’s about time he go after what he wants.

16. unhappy/bittersweet ending

Flowers for Julian by peytra

Garashir, DS9, 1,232 w, rated teen

summary:

A late-night conversation about time and gardening.

17. short fic (<1000 words)

Sleep And Be Peaceful by Elemental_Queen

Garashir, DS9, 214 w, rated gen

summary:

Garak comes home late, and finds Julian asleep on his couch.

18. BFFs

I really love you (oh, you’re my best friend) by stellarpoint (pettifogger)

Steve & Robin, Stranger Things, 1,457 w, rated gen

summary:

Robin approaches him slowly. She sees herself in the mirror: still dirt-smudged with bags under her eyes and dried blood obscuring her freckles. She rests her hand on Steve’s back and feels the rattle of his breath under the vest he still hasn’t taken off. “It’s okay, Steve.” He jerks his head up. His eyes are red-rimmed and shining. She slides her left hand all the way around his side until she’s hugging him from behind. She presses her cheek to the denim covering his back and closes her eyes. “It’s okay, dingus. You can let it out,” she murmurs. She rubs her face against his back and slides her hand down the bare skin of his arm. “It’s just me. You don’t have to pretend you’re okay.” Or: Steve has a tell for when he’s trying not to cry and Robin seems to be the only one who notices it.

19. pets

Birthday Surprise by PepperSpicedLatte

Saffi, ST: Picard, 100 w, rated gen

summary:

Evie, their beloved cat, has a surprise for Raffi

20. mistaken identity

What Happens At Comic Con by Heartithateyou

Stony, MCU, 1,164 w, rated gen

summary:

So Steve likes to go to comic con sometimes. And just maybe he dresses as Captain America. And perhaps he might flirt with an Iron Man cosplayer. But can you blame him?

21. remix fic pair (worth 2 spots)

out of the mouth of babes (a childish remix) by Fluffypanda

Stony, MCU, 3,745 w, rated teen

summary:

Tony doesn't know how to deal with a child-sized Steve that seems to think they're friends.

22. new (to you) fandom

when you think you've tried every road by firstaudrina

Tristan Duffy/Liz Taylor, AHS: Hotel, 3,224 w, rated teen

summary:

Normally Tristan would brush off someone eyeing his ass but this is different, somehow – like Liz looked at him once, and wanted to keep looking.

23. lyrics title - listen to the song too!

Crawling on Your Shores by Mireille

Stony, MCU, 9,600 w, rated teen

summary:

Compared to the last time Tony was trapped in a cave, this should be a piece of cake. It's really not. His armor is damaged, he doesn't have anything to work with, and he has an unconscious supersoldier on his hands. It's definitely not a piece of cake.

24. slow burn

keep a bower quiet for us by starghost

Garashir, DS9, 20,218 w, rating gen

summary:

Julian Bashir goes on vacation, and ends up stuck on Earth, in the past, with Elim Garak. Things could be worse, probably.

[barebcnes]

@paramounticebound asked: [ GENTLE ]: having found the receiver sender in an emotionally compromised position, the sender receiver closes the door and approaches them carefully, gently saying "hey…" to try and get them to communicate what has upset them. (( or reversed if you want! ))

To say that seeing Khan cry, of all people Leonard has met so far, is thoroughly shaking him up quite a bit... might be an understatement.

That's probably the case because of different reasons: First, Khan is... well, Khan. He is perhaps the most strongest human (granted, enhanced human) he's ever met in his entire life (or heard of, for the matter), not only phyiscally but mentally as well, if one takes into consideration what he's gone through during his existence. To Leonard, he comes across as quite collected, despite the weight that rests on his shoulders - and hadn't Jim told him about that one time the Augment had cried back at the brig, the Doctor would boldly assume that crying is simply not an action that's existing within his genes, as if a code is missing for that emotion to portray itself.

Second: ... Well, actually... Bones has started to like him, somewhere along the last couple of weeks. Quite a lot, which he knows might be a questionable thing to experience given everything that has happened just a short while ago - but dammit, he's just human himself, and the longer Leonard had mused about what exactly had gone wrong there (not only regarding the whole getting-killed thing, but also the fact that Khan must have gone through so much mental trauma to even end up where he was once Jim, Spock and Uhura had captured him back on Kronos...) the more he'd found himself realizing that basically everything had gone to shit in the most horrific shit ways. Things could - and should - have been handled better from all sides, ended up in a situation that has, effectively so, caused even more harm, with Kirk dying (and being resurrected, thank god) and Khan... well. Having gotten turned into another popsicle before Leonard had been the one to thaw him again.

And now here the man is, the one who has probably experienced so much more pain than any of them could ever imagine - than Bones could ever imagine, for the matter. He barely makes any noises but fuck, Leonard just knows that guy is crying the seconds he spots him standing in that dark corner of the room, back turned toward the door, hiding his front from curious gazes with a hand up on his face---

"...Hey.", is what he decides to say, quietly so, because he's a Doctor, he knows he shouldn't sneak up on someone who's having a hard time. McCoy closes the door behind himself, makes sure no one is entering, before he takes a soft breath and walks further into what has been Khan's home for the last week or such; A glorified prison cell that's made to look like a small one-room-apartment but doesn't allow him to leave. Granted, Khan at least is allowed to own some furniture here - like a bed, a table, chairs, a couch, even a TV for entertainment purposes.

That's bullshit, all of it is, in Leonard's opinion. But he's got nothing to say on the matter, not for the duration of however long all of this might take. So he accepts it, because what else is he supposed to do?

Part of the Doctor wants to ask that one, stupid question everyone does: You okay? But seriously, that's an idiot-thing to ask, especially when seeing someone going through something here, emotionally compromised in any shape or form.

... He's actually here to take a scan, another blood sample, such things. Looks like he might be here for something else.

"---You want to talk?"

The medical supplies Leonard had been holding onto are placed down onto said table, not needed for now. Perhaps later - but whatever Khan goes through right now is more important.

Fuck, it hurts to see him like this. A lot, actually.

[endeavvor]

How many times have they found themselves in this exact position - pushing the boundaries of what exists between them while attempting to maintain the brittle balance of denial? How easy would it be for Kirk to fill the space left only for him to occupy? To step forward, bury himself in the warm comfort he knows is waiting just a few inches away. He wants to know intimately the scent that would overwhelm his senses at just taste of the crook of his neck.

He wants it so desperately that he's convinced himself it is why he can never have it.

It's why he simply watches with bated breath as Spock reaches out. Tracing each slender finger as it hovers over his own hand with slightly parted lips and a question poised on the tip of his tongue. Why he relinquishes the grasp on one of the objects he holds most dear to entrust it to the other. Because what has been shared here between them has never been shared with anyone else. It is more than the feelings raging through him, but the history that comes with it.

Kirk is visibly trembling, and it is only his desk that keeps him standing - though he suspects should he falter, he would not be allowed to fall.

"Spock, I -"

Whatever he was going to say is lost to the interruption of the intercom. It does not cut through the tension between them, but it does shake the captain from his daze. Gone is the vulnerability and openness he'd had moments ago, as if a door has been firmly shut, replaced with a carefully constructed mask. All of this done while maintaining the Vulcan's gaze, giving him privy of each carefully constructed layer raised between them.

"We're on our way."

He says instead and flees his quarters and the moment shared.

The tension follows to the bridge, but shifts as it resonates outwardly to the crew. It is, unfortunately, still deeply personal, but different. Kirk knows without asking they've already looked and have seen what awaits them. He knows as soon as the order is given for a visual on the main screen, that he's going to be met with a ghost: The Kelvin.

It's there, impossibly. Though not perfect. The hull has experienced damage, and the ship is missing large pieces of itself, but it is still in tact enough that some life could have been sustained. But twenty-six years of it?

"Any response to attempts to hail it?" He asks Uhura.

"None, but we're still trying."

He nods, to be expected, nothing was ever that easy. Which means he's also anticipating the answer to his next question - posed to Sulu and Chekov. "What about initial scans - life, weapons, shields?"

"The shields are down, but we are still unable to determine if what we are picking up is life or something else. It's like trying to see a picture through static." A shrug. "But they aren't pointing weapons at us, so it's possibly a good sign? If there is something, it's not hostile."

"Well then." It leaves them with really only one potential way forward. "As long as we don't know what's going on inside the ship, I don't want to risk beaming over. Spock and I will take a shuttle across, get a closer look, and if we determine we can board, we will. Otherwise, any sign that this is not what it is presenting itself to be, we'll pull back and reassess."

"Do you want to notify Starfleet?" Uhura asks, and he levels her with an unreadable gaze.

"Not yet. Not until we fully know what we have. But I do want you to continue attempting to open a line of communication. Even if no one is there."

This time when he turns to his XO again, it's not to attempt to leave him in charge, "Spock, with me."

These moments on the bridge always seem to go by in a blur. There one moment, done the next. Kirk feels as if all he has to do is blink and they are done, back in the lift, this time heading further down into the depths of the ship. Locked in the confined space, running on adrenaline, the tension returns two fold. He knows his voice is strained with it when he speaks.

"I'm maintaining command, but if you think we need to draw back, I will default to your logical assessment of the situation."

@fasciinating

INSIDE THE CAPTAIN’S QUARTERS, IT only just occurs to him that he has never fully been inside it. Following after Kirk, Spock stops within the boundaries of the door, momentarily stunned by that knowledge as his eyes drink in the sight of such an unfamiliar place.

Their recent chess games have unfolded in other locations: the rec room, an empty conference room, once in the living space of Spock’s quarters but never here. He finds pieces of Kirk that have been hidden from him. There are books, physical copies that he suddenly desires to reach for, curious to its materials and the sensation of paper on his fingers.

They litter the floor, the shelving, stacked precariously in a way that makes Spock itch, a part of his mind simultaneously warring for organization of every last one and to discover their contents.

Kirk is undeniably well-read. And yet, Spock has never given thought to what context may be responsible for Kirk’s indelible imagination. It prompts him to stare at Kirk’s back, sweeping inevitably across the broad line of Kirk’s shoulders, tracing down one arm until he lands on a pair of optical lenses—

He blinks, struck briefly by the realization that he lacked awareness in so many singular details before harshly tucking it away. The revelation is unproductive. Kirk requires Spock’s focus, his attention, his advice, and as First Officer, he reminds himself that is more than prepared to deliver it.

Calmly, he breaks the barrier of an invisible line, striding to stand before Kirk and study the device in Kirk’s hand. It appears to be a recorder of some kind, an older model from Earth, Starfleet issued. The deduction of its recording is an easy conclusion that he could make. He doesn’t question it, fairly certain that that feat would be impossible at the barest mention of his home-world.

He should reiterate what regulation would dictate in this matter. A formality, now, and nothing more. Except Spock recognizes his place in this — Kirk will not be hindered from boarding whatever they find; if it were Vulcan — and instead, he tells him, “ So, it will. ”

Then simply listens, quietly assessing the obvious vocal patterns of Captain George Kirk and comparing it to his memory of the earlier signal. The context of the message is devastating, weighted heavily with emotional distress. But Spock remains defunct of compromise in opposition to Kirk, objectively dubious, suspicious, and cautious.

Save for one parallel that he cannot help but derive.

—I love you, said at the edge of sacrifice.

I married her, because I loved her, said over the edge of loss.

And Spock's memory is an insidious weapon against himself: do you know why I came back for you?

“ I agree that the voice composition is remarkably similar between both samples. It is advisable that we, ” together is implied, “ prepare for the possibility that what we have heard, may be something more perilous. " A hoax, a trap, or an absence of hope; Spock is familiar with the danger in disappointment. For a moment, he lingers, hand reaching out to hover over the top of Kirk's hand. Tension fills the space, wanting to complete Spock's gesture, magnetized. He moves to pull the recorder out of Kirk's grasp, the tips of his fingers glancing Kirk's.

" Bridge to Captain Kirk, " a voice cleaves between them, and Spock takes a step back, " We're in range of the signal, sir. You're going to want to see this. "

@endeavvor

[trek-tracks]

Something unusual happens in the TOS episode Return of the Archons. Instead of using his signature nerve pinch, Spock punches a guard in the face. 

It’s so out of character that even Kirk comments on it.

Why does he do it? 

Here’s a theory.

In the episode, Bones gets mind-controlled (again) by the collective, and completely loses his individuality and personality. Even though Kirk has seen it happen to two other people already (Sulu and O’Neil), it’s easy to tell that he only really gets truly upset once Bones is “absorbed” - he’s trying everything he can think of to get Bones to snap out of it, including shaking him physically. 

Spock’s watching the whole time - seeing Kirk lose it a bit clearly affects him as well. 

As he’s being taken away, Kirk pleadingly asks Spock to try to "work on" Bones, and after a frustratingly bland conversation with the doctor, Spock tries what looks like a mind meld - he doesn’t like this version of Bones either.

Spock completely fails to break through to Bones. It’s hard to capture in a screenshot, but if you look carefully in the episode, you can actually see the muscle in Spock's jaw twitch with frustration when he announces that there's nothing he can do for Bones because the control is too powerful. He honestly thought he was going to be able to save him, and he’s pissed that he can’t.

When both Spock and Kirk are saved from mind control and continue to plot, we see the most uncharacteristic and disturbing reaction from Pod Person Bones yet - not just extreme placidity, but outright anger and murderous violence. Kirk has to put him in a sleeper hold to subdue him, not wanting to harm his friend, but even this pains him: “Doc, I don’t want to hurt you...Aw, Doc,” he says. 

(By the way, Kirk only calls Bones “Doc” when Bones is under the influence of mind control, to create psychological distance from himself. It’s a technique he uses in other contexts, too - in Operation: Annihilate!, he only starts calling Peter “my nephew” instead of “my brother’s son” when Peter is no longer in danger of dying.) 

Spock, again, is watching all of this and trying to rein in his feelings about the whole upsetting situation.

So when the very next thing they do is confront the guards who took each person away to be mind-controlled, instead of doing a nerve pinch, Spock just cold-cocks the guard with his fist. 

“Isn’t that somewhat old-fashioned?” Kirk says.

Spock just looks rather satisfied with himself.

Sometimes it’s logical to allow yourself a little violence on the person who upset your captain and took your doctor away. 

[deannaroxannewrites]

Tropetember Day 11 - Time Travel / Amnesia / Coma

Coma comma revelation

Pairing: James T Kirk x GN!Reader

Fandom: Star Trek AOS

Rating: General Audiences

TW: Coma, minor swear

AN: Day 11 of @tropetember. Sorry for the wait, life has been a bit mad. Not the best but hope you enjoy :)

The aftermath of an away mission gone wrong.

Find this story on Ao3 here.

Word Count: 1.3k

It wasn’t uncommon for members of an away crew to end up in the sickbay upon their return to the Enterprise. Injuries regularly ranged from small cuts and bruises to native diseases to broken bones. A visit to Dr McCoy was something all members of the crew had to mentally prepare before beaming down. What was uncommon was for people to be in the sickbay for longer than an overnight stay.

Spock and Kirk had both had a couple of longer stopovers following heroic (read: risky) actions. Dr McCoy dreaded either, or worse both of them, being there because they were both hard-headed and constantly tried to sign themselves out against medical advice. Luckily, this wasn’t something McCoy had to worry about with the current resident of the sickbay. What was happening was far more worrying. Because you had been in a coma for 4 days now and nobody had any clue as to what to do.

Running his hand down his face, Dr McCoy’s gaze remained laser focused on the most recent test results, trying to find an answer. Any answer. Even a clue. Nothing. There was nothing indicating why you weren’t waking up.

Sighing quietly to himself he got up and headed to your room, checking on the monitors. He hadn’t even realised anyone else was there until he turned to exit.

Stood leant against the wall next to the door, Captain James T Kirk stood like a sentry. His eyes watched everything in the room, in between regularly checking on you. The Doctor pressed a hand to his heart as he processed his surprise. Had Kirk not been wearing his yellow command shirt, chances are McCoy wouldn't have even noticed him with how still he was standing.

“Jim, you’re the Captain not a shadow” he observed, his normal gruffness softened slightly.

The gentle rebuke received no response from Kirk. He simply flicked his eyes from the body in the hospital bed to McCoy and back again.

It was clear to see that all was not right with the Captain. His uniform was creased, his eyes red. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days.

“Jim, you ok?”

A small sigh and a shake of the head is all he receives in response. McCoy props himself up against the wall next to him, a show of silent solidarity.

"They weren't even supposed to be there, Bones."

You'd opted to go on the away mission instead of Mr Spock to allow the Vulcan some time off from Kirk-sitting, and as part of your push to keep at least one of them on the ship at all times. "Cos, you know, regulations" was all you scoffed when someone pointed out that they'd both made a break for it onto some distant moon, leaving you as Lieutenant Commander in charge of the ship.

The additional position had been created to help support the demands of a 5 year mission on the crew as a whole. Given the Enterprise's tendency to have an engineering emergency in the middle of crisis, Mr Scott was often unable to support in the way the Chief Engineer may on other ships. You bridged the gap, allowing Kirk, Spock and Scotty to hand over some of their day-to-day responsibilities to focus on the extreme.

Though they had initially railed against it, they would all now agree that your presence had improved the efficiency of the ship. It also allowed them all some welcome downtime. The crew appreciated that more than they would ever admit in front of the higher-ups. Kirk in particular could get bitchy when he was tired.

Something that no one would have predicted about adding you to the crew, was the depth of the friendships you had formed with the command crew. In particular, you had developed a close friendship with the Captain, despite his initial wariness. You and Jim were regularly spotted in observation watching the stars float by whilst having a drink, or heading to each other's quarters with a holodisk in hand.

Jim, for his part, had been reluctant to get to know you. The Captain of a starship is supposed to be separate from the rest of their crew. But, as with the interpersonal relationships between the crew, the length of the mission had required these expectations be adjusted in the interest of crew morale.

The outcome of the slow blossoming relationship with you was something he had not predicted. Where he always felt responsible when crew were hurt, the shot of ice through his system when he saw you being stabbed with a syringe was much, much stronger. More importantly, his almost visceral reaction had been completely unexpected. He was the Captain, he had to look out for everyone. Yet, he spent every second of the day and night since returning to the Enterprise worrying about you.

Drawing himself back from his thoughts he glances to Bones, who is watching him with a combination of concern and soft understanding.

“We have the best people in the Federation working on this Jim.” He gently grasps Kirk’s upper arm. “They’ll be ok. You’ll get them back.” He pauses then, glancing between the two of them. “Then you can maybe have an honest conversation about the two of you.”

Kirk sharply glances at him over his shoulder before allowing his own shoulders to sag.

“I hadn’t even realised,” he quietly whispers, moving to the side of the bed. He takes your hand in his before sitting down next to the bed. “It’s not allowed, Bones.”

McCoy for his part just smiles at him.

“Never stopped you before”

That gets a small smile out of the Captain as he turns his eyes back to you. He’s so focused on you that he doesn’t even notice as Dr McCoy slips out to head to his office.

-----------

Waking up after being unconscious for an unknown amount of time is, in a word, disorienting. The sickbay lights are bright, your throat is dry and sore and your head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton wool.

It takes you a while to come to but you’re ever so grateful to hear Dr McCoy's southern drawl welcoming you back.

“There you are darlin’, you had us worried.”

You let him run all of his tests without complaint, using the time to orient yourself. It’s not until he’s nearly finished that you notice there’s someone else in the room. You throw Jim a small smile, followed by a grimace as McCoy hits you with a hypospray.

“That should be everything for the minute,” McCoy tells you. “We’re going to keep you in for observation for a few days but your recovery is going as well as we could have hoped.”

You smile in relief at that, and he tells you he’ll be back in a few minutes before he heads out of the room.

After taking a moment to shuffle yourself into a more comfortable position, you wave a hand at Jim to beckon him over. He takes a gentle hold of your hand as he moves closer. It fills you with warmth and you can’t help a small smile.

“Managed not to blow up the ship while I was out of commission then?” you tease, wanting the frown to disappear from his face. He shakes his head in response.

“I honestly don’t know. I haven’t really left this room.”

You glance at him surprised, and then see the soft expression on his face. Huh. You thought it was just you.

Taking the plunge, you gently tug at his hand until he slides into bed next to you, your head resting on his chest. The beat of his heart starts to lull you back to sleep.

It’s probably best to rest while you can, you decide. You’ve got a lot to talk about.

[ohtheclevernessof]

A Quarter Vulcan: a Spuhura fanfiction

Spock wants to rediscuss the Helping Vulcan Repopulate discussion with Nyota. This is set a few weeks after the Krall attack at Yorktown. Enjoy my first Star Trek fiction

Spock and Nyota were in his temporary quarters in Yorktown going over briefings from the Krall attack over cups of tea. They had spent the last few weeks since the attack rekindling their relationship as Spock healed from his injury but he felt there was still some things that had been left unsaid.

“Nyota, I wish to revisit that last conversation we had on the Enterprise.” he spoke up, cutting the quiet silence of  the room.  Nyota looked up from the article she was reading, momentarily confused until she realized just what conversation her Vulcan boyfriend meant. “You meaning the one where you told me you wanted to help repopulate Vulcan?” she asked hesitantly, not sure why he would bring that up now especially since it was essentially why they broke up.  

She had felt so hurt that Spock didn't see a future with her and the fact that he had wanted help repopulate Vulcan he would need a Vulcan woman not her. She could never give him the full Vulcan children he wanted for his planet and she had felt like she was less in his eyes for it.

“Yes. I have come to realization that my idea was highly illogical and incredibly self serving because it completely disregarded your feelings.” Spock said as he looked at her honestly. Nyota let out the breath she didn't know she had been holding as it became clear that he was trying to apologize to her in his own way. She set down the reports on the table next to her and nodded for him to continue his thoughts.

“Father has often said to me as Child of Two Worlds that my desires for both of them will always be in conflict and he has been correct in his assumptions so far as even you have been privy to it. There has only been one absolute in all this that has not wavered and that is my care for you. Nyota, that is not something I take lightly and it has brought me to the conclusion that it would be more then just acceptable if our offspring would be only a quarter Vulcan.”

Nyota's eyes went wide at his words, she had not expected the conversation to go in this direction or for Spock to admit this so suddenly. But then again he was one to speak his mind at times when no one expected it so it shouldn't have surprised her that much.

“I think you are getting a bit ahead of yourself. We aren't even married yet and you are talking about our possible future children already.” she said with a amused laugh.

“Is that a desire you have? If it is, I would not be opposed to it, on the contrary it would be a great honor for me to take you as my Human wife. Just as my father did with my mother.” Spock admitted in his usual serious tone as he reached over and gently took her hand in his. Nyota blinked at him once again, he was definitely catching her off guard but it wasn't unwelcome. With all that they had faced together since she had entered the academy and then on the Enterprise. The pain, the hurt, the near death experiences, it wouldn't be outrageous to think that maybe the next step in their relationship would be on both if their minds,

“Is this you trying to propose?” Nyota asked him with a curious smile and all Spock could do for a moment was blink back surprised himself. Had his intention in this conversation to propose her at this moment? Sure he had been considering proposing to her, even researched it but had he meant so suddenly like this?

“I suppose I am... Although in my research of the subject, it seems customary for Human marriage proposals for a ring to be involved. If you wish me to table this discussion until I have procured one, I would...”

He found himself stopped in mid sentence by Nyota's finger to his lip and he looked back at her curious.

“Spock, I would love to be your wife.” she said simply as she leaned over and replacing her finger with her lips, sealing her words with a soft kiss that he gratefully reciprocated before pulling away gently.

“I do have one request for you. That you allow me to raise our offspring as Vulcan despite them being only a quarter but do so with the promise that they may choose to live as a Human if they so desire. The same option my father gave me.” Spock whispered, as he pressed his forehead to hers. “I would expect nothing less from you.” Nyota said with a grin as she pulled him closer and her lips found Spock's once more.

“You were researching how to propose? My god man, do you have even a ounce of romance in that pointy eared head of yours?” Bones exclaimed with a scoff at Spock's way of doing things. Even though he considered the Vulcan his friend, he still couldn't make sense of him about half the time.

The following day Spock found himself being practically interrogated by Bones after the news had been spread through the Enterprise crew chambers about Nyota's and his engagement.

“You mean to tell me your entire proposal was based off if you wanted Vulcan kids or not?” Bones questioned the  half Vulcan dubiously, crossing his arms. Spock sighed, looking back at him. “I can understand how it could be perceived in that fashion but it was not my intention. I had been researching proper Human proposals before this but I had not decided on the correct method.”

“What Uhura sees in you, I will never understand.” Bones said with smirk, shaking his head.

“I do not find that relevant to this discussion.” Spock replied flatly to Bone's accusation, frowning at him unamused. “Regardless Nyota seems pleased so I believe it was the correct action even though it was unplanned.”

[heresathreebee]

Wearing THAT

[Dewey Finn X Female Reader]

Summary: Reader teases Dewey in a Poison Ivy costume. You have a really hard time saying exactly what you want... Masterlist Next

Word count: 3.1k words (no beta) 

Warning(s): 17+ | teasing, lots of teasing and boners, lap sitting, near nudity, touching

AN: only Thots here, thots about Dewey Finn also is Ned British? He's British in my head

This was some sort of test. It had to be. God was testing him through you and you were not playing fair. It’s a costume party not a competition, you pompous little sycophant. And yet he can’t help but tug at the collar of his shirt. It’s not even anywhere near his throat but why else would he feel so constricted? It’s certainly not because of you…

You walked into his shared apartment wearing that and you had no idea the effect it had on him. 

Dewey watches you sling an arm around Ned and kiss Patty’s cheek in greeting. “Hi guys! Thanks for inviting me, I’ve been dying to put this on.” 

“Oh you look lovely,” Patty coos. She plucks at one of the plastic leaves on your corset. “Did you make this?! It’s so intricate.” 

You bark out a laugh. “Oh hell no! I have this cousin, right? And him and his fiancé own this shop where they make costumes for movies and theatre and if you pay ‘em right, ‘personal use.’ And they don’t ask questions what ain’t their business either.” 

“Well, I’m sold.” Ned raises his beer for a toast and Patty clinks it with her bottle of mysterious green juice. “Prost! What’s the name of the shop? Wanna see if they’re online– you know, for... support.” 

“Ned,” Patty swatted his empty hand (no need to be shy, we already know they’re freaky). 

You pat your friends on their backs and take a step towards the kitchen. “Gonna get myself a beer.” 

“Oh honey you don’t have to do that. Dewey!” The man in question nearly covered himself in his own drink when he heard his name. “Be a good host and get this lady her beer!” 

“Yes captain,” Dewey salutes and Patty can do nothing but glare in her Star Trek yellow shirt costume. Original series, of course, nothing but the best for Patricia Di Marco. 

Dewey takes a hold of the moment he has his back to you to take deep, calming breaths. He will not let this be the end of him. Your friendship means so much more to him than that and a little fancy green corset was not going to make him fuck things up with you. 

He’s ready for you when he hands you your beer. Your one arm hug is appreciated because he’s sporting a bit of wood and he’d hate to find out your corset isn’t thick enough to hide it– or god forbid you feel him on your thigh. And god, your thighs… those sheer green nylon tights were doing unspeakable things to him. Maybe if he kept you close and kept your legs out of his peripherals he could make it through the night without embarrassing himself. 

Or maybe not. 

“Are yoooouuu a college student?,” you ask and point at his inconspicuous clothes. 

“Actually– ” he opens the buttons of his shirt to reveal another shirt with a superman logo on it and buttons it back up clumsily as you laugh. “Ssshhh! Don’t tell anybody. Protect my secret.” 

“Of course,” you giggle. God you feel good hanging off him– usually he loves how physical you are but he has to figure out a way to keep his distance without offending you and quickly. “You like mine?” 

The way you pick up a thick swirling red lock and direct his attention to the very thing he’s trying not to look at is killing him. Of course you look even better up close. The leaves of your corset give the thing depth and texture, your gloves are fingerless and go over your elbows, and your heels are high, like make- him- feel- his- below- average- height high. 

“I like these.” Dewey plucks at the ring of leaves at the top of your gloves. It’s a way to keep his mind off your everything else. “Did you dye your hair?” 

“It’s a wig.” You tug on the top and then the bottom, wincing a little. “Sew in, so don’t go snatch it.” 

“I would never!” 

“Poison Ivy, eh? Think that’s one of Dewey’s favorites,” Ned blabs. 

Dewey sends him a death glare so powerful Ned chokes on his beer but you’re looking at your Spock-dressed friend so you can’t see it. 

“Oh, really?” You return your gaze to Dewey and say, “well you must be loving this, then.” 

Dewey swallows. No words come to him and there is nothing to stop the awkward silence that follows. You appear unbothered by it, maintaining eye contact as you smile almost knowingly… 

“We should play twister,” he says with the most unsure voice ever. 

“We don’t even have twister,” Patty mumbled. “Come on, there are like twenty other games setup, let’s play!” 

~

Dewey gives it a minute and when he’s free from you, he catches Ned by his pointy green ear and drags him into the hall. “Hey? What the fuck are you doing?” 

“Whah– what are you talking about?” Ned slaps at the hand fisted in his shirt but Dewey doesn’t budge. 

“You can’t just go telling people I’m into them, dude! Do you know how close you came to giving me away?!”

Ned scoffed. “Her? I hardly think she’s ignorant to your feelings, you’re not like that Steven from Austin fellow.” 

“– Are you talking about stone cold Steve Austin?"Dewey buries his face in his hands- "It’s his last name, not his birthplace–” 

“And besides…” Ned peeks around the corner to see you in the middle of some sort of posing game. Everybody's trying to take the form of some sort of vehicle, and you've got Chloe in a headlock and Vance's leg in the other hand. Ned never got to finish his thought because someone dropped a huge bowl of popcorn and that too became a game of ‘how many can you eat off the floor before Patty cleans it up.’ Ned’s got to help and he’s got to help now. 

Dewey finds himself on the couch with his fifth beer of the evening. Vance, Jeremiah, and Chloe are talking baseball stats when suddenly Dewey’s vision is filled with green and red just before you sit down. Right between his legs. He unconsciously scoots up to make room for you and before he catches on to your game, you nestle into his space by the arm of the couch and sling your legs across his like you belong there. 

Ok, something is definitely up with you. 

Would he describe you as cuddly? A little. Perhaps a more appropriate word would be… hands on. Long before he started wanting more than friendship with you, you two were always just touching. Your presence and your love language was physical. Dewey never felt like you were invading his personal space or overstepping his boundaries because he simply had none with you and the feeling was mutual. But this was something else. Something that wasn’t there before. 

Was it him? Was he fucking up his perfectly in sync companionship with you because he couldn’t keep his dick in his pants or (his heart for that matter)? He wasn’t sure if he wanted to drag you closer or push you flat on your ass right now. 

You were listening to Chloe chew Vance out for hating Gritty the mascot when you felt Dewey plant a hand on your forehead. “Hey, are you feeling ok?” 

You gently shake him off and raise a single eyebrow. He seems serious, his voice gone all soft and making you feel gooey inside. 

“You just seem… I dunno,” he fumbles, “do you want me to take you home after this?”

Hellooooo opening! “Actually, can I stay here tonight?” 

“Yeah, of course.” Fuck, who said that? Dewey? Ah, shit… 

 “Thanks,” oh oh you should not be rubbing his thigh right now… “I think I’ll go change here in a minute.”

Oh please do, please please puh-leeaaase–  

~

After a brilliant movie drinking game (which Dewey tapped out of), the crowd began to disband. 24 became 20, then 18, then 12. You went out to your car to grab your overnight stuff and Dewey was hoping for a brief reprieve from the assault of your visage. He just needed a few more people to leave so he can sequester himself and rub one out– you know, get his head straight. Ever since you left his lap he’s been rock hard, there’s not enough blood flowing to his brain. The guest count is down to 3– 2 with you in your car, and he can’t wait anymore. 

Dewey slipped into the only bathroom in the house and prayed to god nobody noticed him. He barely got his hand wrapped around his shaft when Patty’s fist banged on the door demanding he help clean up. Sulking and agitated, Dewey managed to calm down while cleaning up red solo cups, glass beer bottles, cans, and small pocket sized objects that would need to be returned to the guests after their hangovers subsided (no keys, thankfully, everybody’s got a DD). His “predicament’ is nearly forgotten when you finally return with a bundle of clothes, disappear into the bathroom and reemerge in loose sleepwear with your makeup wiped clean and uh… braless. 

You catch him looking. Dewey– surprisingly sober after he gave up drinking half way through his sixth beer– does nothing short of raise a slightly irritated eyebrow at you. “Cold in here, huh?” 

“Shut up. You know how uncomfortable it is to sleep in a bra?” 

You help him collect a couple bottles that rolled under the couch and walk with him down to Ned’s car. Patty would sort the recyclables from the trash in the morning (late morning, she did a couple rounds of tequila shots thanks to you). It’s almost like the party never happened; you’re shooting the shit again and everything is right in the world. He’s got no ulterior reaction to putting a hand on your hip– that’s just a normal thing in your perfectly platonic relationship. God, he really must have been imagining things, he was beginning to think you were actually trying to flirt with him! 

Ned’s bent over the kitchen sink with Patty and holding her hair back. He looks up as you enter the apartment and shakes his head. You and Dewey make yourself scarce by slipping into the shared bathroom to hide. You try to giggle quietly as Dewey surveys the skincare products you covered the counter with. He points to your head and asks, “you wearing that to bed?” 

“It’s sewed in, I’m not taking this off for three weeks at least,” you answer. “Get my money’s worth. I can work it like my natural hair.” 

Dewey nods. You rub your arm nervously and look for something to say, something to circle back to the whole point of showing up looking like a sexed up goddess. What do guys like? Girls wearing their clothes, right? But you need to phrase it perfectly… 

“Dewey?” He looks up from the scrubby lip balm in his hands. “I’m not quite ready to go to sleep yet and it… it is a little chilly in your place. Can I wear your jacket?” 

Just to bring your meaning home, you tug on his sleeve– the very jacket on his back. You don’t want just any jacket, you want that one, already warm and scented by him. You don’t miss the way his eyes glance past you like he was reluctant to comply. And yet… 

“Yeah, here.” He slips out of it with ease and drapes it over your shoulders. You miss the sigh of relief he makes when you pull the zipper closed and obscure your pebbling nipples. “Think I’m gonna go help Ned put Patty to bed.” 

Ned was a scrawny little thing and couldn’t carry her by himself, and she needed to be carried. Competitive by nature, it’s easy to talk her into virtually anything, especially if it feels like girl time. You need Patty in a deep sleep for your plans tonight (sorry not sorry). Dewey’s very sexy as he bears most of Patty’s weight. She’s clinging to Ned, arms around his neck and babbling incoherently while Dewey’s got an arm around her waist and legs, keeping Ned on his feet. You skirt ahead of them and open the bedroom door, help pull her shoes off, her captain insignia, her earrings, you even wipe the spit from her lips and the eyeliner smeared on her cheek. 

“You’re my favorite ever,” she whimpers, “I love you so much, you’re like my best friend ever…” 

You shush her gently. “You say that about everybody when you’re drunk, baby. I promise I’ll make you a fat breakfast in the morning but you gotta go to sleep now, OK?” 

Patty nods. She snuggles into her pillow just as Ned is taking up position as the big spoon when she looks back up at you and asks, “can we go for a run together?” 

You blink evenly. “Yes.” You already regret it as she smiles big and wide. It would be just your luck this is the one thing she doesn't forget in the morning.

Finally it's just you and Dewey in the hallway. It feels like you're standing between two choices: his open bedroom door and the living room. But it seems like only you can feel the weight of it. 

"Are you sure you want to stay over?," Dewey asks, "you can use my bed." 

You perk up out of your heavy mood. "Really?" 

"Yeah, I'll take the couch tonight." 

He can't possibly miss the way you instantly deflate but he's still not putting the pieces of the puzzle together. "Dewey. I'm not going to kick you out of your own room." 

He shrugs. "Suit yourself. I'll grab a few blankets." 

There's a storage closet in the main building with this one extra soft blanket that Dewey knows you'll love. You on the other hand have got no more patience left. Once the man leaves, you stomp your foot and decide to try one final act.

Dewey returns to the apartment to find an empty, quiet living room. Ned and Patty are in bed, but where are you? He wanders past the bathroom door because it's dark inside and checks his room. There you are reclining on his bed. He could have sworn you were wearing pants before but your legs are bare and his jacket hugs the tops of your thighs. He also could have sworn you were wearing a shirt. He finds both items folded neatly beside you with your underwear right on top. 

Oh…

This cannot be happening right now. He just survived tonight by the skin of his teeth and now you were doing this to him. He’s going to pull his hair out, going to scream, it’s so frustrating because he can’t just ask you what you want– you’ll turn the question back on him and he’ll fuck it up. He lets the blanket fall from his grip and with a heavy sigh he whispers in a weak voice, “straight answers only. What are you doing to me? Why you doin’ this?” 

You cock your head and answer leisurely, your eye drifting across the items in his room. “You know that’s not how I roll, but if you want me to address the elephant in the room: I'm naked in your bed right now." 

Against his better judgement, Dewey moves closer. "I can see that." 

One step closer and your eyes find him again. Like an invitation you lean back more, even uncross your legs but go no further. Dewey swallows his tongue and waits for you to elaborate and every second is agonizingly slow. 

"You think you can just walk around here with your pretty face and cocky little attitude like it’s nothing,” you said accusingly. 

Dewey glared at you. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.” 

“Well we're in agreement then,” you’re almost sneering at him, but he knows it’s because you’re really frustrated with yourself, “I look and I touch and I feel but I don’t know, you know?” 

“Not a clue,” he sighs and sits himself beside you. He’s done trying to keep his distance. “Let’s go back to you being naked in my bed.” 

“Do you like it?” 

“Do I like it?,” he repeats incredulously. Dewey leans back on his elbow to look you over from top to bottom. You look damn good in nothing but his jacket. You’ve got the long ends of your red hair in braids that sweep down to your navel. The zipper rests tantalizingly right below your ribcage. Dewey dares to reach out a mollifying hand and give a tiny stroke to that silver keeper. He cannot bring himself to speak above a whisper as he nods, “yeah, I… I like it.” 

The tension leaves your shoulders and you wear a small grin. “It’s not too late to take it back. Say no, and I’ll put my clothes back on and sleep on the couch like none of this ever happened. This,” you point between the two of you, “doesn’t change unless we want it to.” 

… this was real. In answer, Dewey’s chin wrinkles and he watches his finger travel upwards, drawing a light line up the expanse of your chest between your breasts to feel you shiver at his touch. Thing is he doesn’t want to say no, but wouldn’t it be better? Safer? He asks the question he’s been dying to know all night. “What do you want from me?” 

“Whatever I can get,” you answer truthfully. “Whatever you’ll allow. Don’t trouble yourself with labels and things ‘cause what we have has always been so much more than that.” 

Dewey feels a weight lift off of his chest. His hand works around your waist and drags you closer, halfway under him and he rests his perspiring forehead on your breastbone. Whatever happens next happens, for better or for worse. 

You’re not troubled when Dewey moves the jacket to expose one of your breasts, however you are taken aback when he bites you. You barely manage to stifle your yelp when you feel him growl against your flesh and the sound vibrates straight to your core. Dewey drags his head up and stares you dead in the eye as he kneads your savaged breast. 

“All night,” he growls, “all fucking night for this? We could have done this ages ago. The salon, the drive in, Chloe’s cat’s birthday– grocery shopping last week. But no, instead you pick a party full of people and you’ve had me riled up for hours.” 

Dewey pinches your hardened peak and you keen. “‘m sorry…” 

“No you’re not, but don’t worry: you will be.”

AN: Check Out Part 2 @hoodoo12 @go-commander-kim @escape-your-grape @softbeej @imma-fucking-nerd @werwulfy

[thefleetsfinest]

He doesn't bother trying to tell her that there wasn't ANY point in worrying about the mission that she had ORIGINALLY been on, and that she should be FOCUSING instead on herself. "Yeah Jim and Spock have the whole thing UNDER CONTROL, and I'm sure by the time you are back on yer feet the whole thing will be ALL SETTLED."

Leonard notices that she keeps ONE HAND still firmly placed in his own. The continued contact was doing wonders to calm him down and it really did feel like he was able to actually THINK CLEARLY for the first time since she was BEAMED aboard the ship. Again with her worrying about him getting rest even though she was the one in the MEDICAL BED.

"Oh what you don't think that's my plan? Yer gonna scoot over and the two of us are gonna get some real BEAUTY SLEEP right here." Jokes were always his go to when it came to people he cared about, it was EASIER this way, made the whole thing more MANAGEABLE.

Though the longer he looked at her, the more he couldn't SHAKE AWAY the underlining CAUSE of all of the stress and worry. Deep down Leonard knew that he was reaching a BREAKING POINT with his ability to deny that he was in love with her, not to mention any reason he had to NOT tell her how he felt was all but DISAPPEARING after watching her get uncomfortably too close to dying.

Memories of Jim's cold dead body sitting on his exam table flash through his mind..

Though he QUICKLY shook them away, focusing back on LINDA. "Oh Lin.. what am I gonna do with ya?" the question falls from his lips soft and gentle, it had been more for himself than her anyways. He had been staring down at their hands when he said it, trying to decide if he was going to let a MOMENT slip by.

The decision was made in SECONDS..

Leonard took her hand that he had been HOLDING in his own and carefully brought it up to his lips. Carefully he kissed each and every knuckle, only resting on each one for a few SECONDS at a time. "If you are gonna go making a habit of giving me heart attacks.. well there is something you ought to know.." his voice was soft, only loud enough to be heard by heard in the QUIET of the medbay. (He was relieved that everyone else was BUSY with the mission.)

He finally DARED a glance up, green eyes meeting green eyes. "I love ya Lin.. and I'm talking more than just a best friend, I'm talking I wanna spend the rest of my life with you by my side sort of way.. and I know romance ain't something you are looking for.. and all I have is my word and I don't expect ya to return my feelings or anything like that.. but..I just.. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if something were to happen to you and I never told you..so.." He didn't really know how to END this conversation, and he knew that he was DANGEROUSLY close to babbling.

He forced a breath of air out, before shaking his head a bit. "No need to say anything now.. I just.. like I said needed to say it, and I would of waited ta get ya down to the floor but.. well with your injuries, it's better if ya stay up in bed and I just didn't want to wait." It sounded lame and he knew it, (He could practically hear Clint making fun of him for it all.) but there was no going back now.

"I'll leave ya alone for a little while.." he moved to get up, his hands moving to let go of her hand and get up from the edge of the bed he had at some point PERCHED himself at.

That was the understatement, calling today as one hell of a bad day. A quiet protest despite her own answer, some vagueness that today had been a really bad day. BLOOD ⸻ a lot of blood and her first instinct had ben to say that it had been someone else's but she's back aboard the Enterprise looking at Leonard Mccoy, and what a sight he was in.

Worried lines, every part of his face that could worry. He was a book left open, with the page left in big text that she couldn't miss, he was concerned and she wonders if he's even trying to school that expression. It calls to question what state she had been in, there's a dullness to her side and abdomen, a pieced together memory with haze that the blood wasn't her patient's her own.

Why would she have been bleeding ⸻ SHHH SSHHHH, her lip purse together tightly and does quiet her thought, her worry about the rest of the away team as well as the SOMEONE SHE HAD BEEN HELPING. His voice bears a stressed tone, feelings that she doesn't think she is just wanting to hear. It's not unknown to her that they care for each other to great degrees; their friendship one of the most cherished things and that, at least, is known to be mutual.

have you told them lately? ⸺ WHAT? ⸺ that you love them? ⸺ ACTUALLY I HAVEN'T TOLD HIM

Handlin' the person you were lookin' after ⸻ That's not right, is it? Things are starting to come to her, and she can't actually remember a single reading during her exam. There should be stats, something coming up unless she really had suffered a massive enough trauma that she's experiencing dissociative amnesia but that doesn't feel right. Her hand squeezes against Leonard's, grasping as Linda pushes herself to process.

ONLY YOU CAN APOLOGIZE FOR GETTING HURT ⸻ There is some relief that she watches release, slacking of his shoulders and she breathes herself. Reaching with her other hand, to grasp his hand already in her other. Stroking her thumb over his knuckles, and she keeps up with just breathing; trying to soothe his worries more than her own. ❝ I am so sorry for scaring you. ❞ She adds once more, looking up to his eyes and trying to offer a smile. SEE, SHE WAS OKAY NOW.

what was his name? ⸺ LEONARD MCCOY ⸺ i will make sure someone apologizes to him

OH, it's coming together to her now. The conversation she had been having with the man, in the room, and the two women knew what was going to happen. Linda start to recall the compulsion to set down the instruments used for examination. ❝ The Captain and Commander, uh, they figured it out right? ⸺ I, uh, I don't think there actually was a patient, it was all just a ruse, we all were- I was the distraction, and, uh, they had suggestive or telepathic capa ⸺ ❞ She trails off, not to worry him with trying to stress herself out of the details.

It was her blood, no one had been hurt until she had been hurt first. Linda nods her head, and they both know that she could rest in quarters. Only one hand releases from holding his, the other staying firmly grasped Leonard's, so she can press her fingers to her abdomen. Apply pressure and feel through the gown, there's a soft wince but she was sure that Leonard did everything that needed to be done to repair what memory now serves as multiple stab wound; cold, sharp, it was metal but what and that's where the the pieces were being worked out; the compulsion sensation to forget what happened to her.

SO I CAN MAKE SURE ⸻ ❝ Okay, and you'll be sure to try to rest some tonight at least? ❞ He seemed really concerned this whole ordeal, and it's more than him being a doctor that stood out past most; he's her friend and she won't argue with him about her getting additional care or monitoring, if it soothes his worry.

[herenya-writes]

Have some angst that popped into my brain from nowhere!

Warning for implied character death. Less than 500 words.

“Stay with me, Spock. Just a little longer,” Jim pleads, his voice garbled by the blood in his mouth. He spits it out, but he can feel more rushing in to take its place. “Can’t—can’t let you go before I do.”

Spock raises an eyebrow, the movement slow and laborious. “You believe it could go any other way?” There’s a smile in the set of his lips, though their both too tired to truly form the expression.

Jim shakes his head and leans forward, clumsily resting their foreheads together. “You’re Vulcan. You’re supposed to outlive me,” he whispers. Maybe he would have been angry at himself, at the universe, if their situations were different, but now it was all he could do to muster the energy to keep talking, to hold off the darkness for as long as he could.

“Jim. There is not a universe where I would not give my life for yours.” Spock’s words are certain, and there’s no resentment or even regret in them. Simply a constant like they always have been.

“I wish you didn’t need to. But I’m glad you’re here.” He turns his head to the side and coughs up some more blood before collapsing against Spock’s chest. The Vulcan’s arms wrap around him, the grip weak but present.

“As am I. There is…comfort in knowing that neither of us is alone.”

Jim swallows and blinks several times, trying to stay awake. “I always thought that’s how I’d die, ever since the Tholians. But you always save me.”

“Not this time.”

He hums weakly, turning so he can look up into Spock’s eyes. “This time too. Our ship is safe, our crew is safe, and we aren’t alone.”

Spock bows his head, and they drift into silence. It’s getting harder to stay focused on the feeling of Spock’s arms around him, on the rise and fall of his chest. He’s loosing his grip on the world.

“Jim. I could meld us.” Spock says, his words interrupted by a harsh cough, his chest rattling. Distantly, Jim feels a pool of warmth flood from the Vulcan’s side, too close to his heart to be anything but fatal. “It may not last.”

“Please.”

Jim tries his best to push himself up, tilting his head to give Spock access to his meld point. Spock’s blood-slick fingers find them easily, and the last thing Jim knows of the world is the sight of his T’hy’la’s face, eyes closed in concentration and lips murmuring the words he had heard so many times before.

Then there is only light. Light and warmth.

[refinedbuffoonery]

Looking Through A Window (3)

macriley married undercover au

masterlist.

Fun fact: the final scene of this chapter is part of my original brainstorm for this fic. The rest of the scenes I initially dreamt up won’t come until much later, so I’m thrilled to have at least one of them come early on in the story. 

To Carrie and Anna, the lights of my life: I named the neighbor after you two. She’s annoying as shit and nothing like either of you, but I needed a name and decided if anyone deserves to have their name as an Easter egg, it’s the two of you. 

*****

Despite the storm, Matty has the shipment of borrowed guns delivered to the Port of Houston in the middle of the night. While they eat breakfast, Mac and Riley study Matty’s excruciatingly detailed directions for navigating the port and finding their shipping crate. She certainly didn’t make it easy on them. 

Riley leans back in her chair, looking around until her eyes land on Harley. “Time for you to earn your keep,” she says between mouthfuls of toast. 

Supposedly, this is what Harley specializes in—sniffing out weapons. The dog should be able to confirm which shipping container the guns are stashed in without Mac or Riley having to check themselves. Theoretically. 

Mac finishes his own plate of eggs and toast in a few ravenous bites. “Thanks for making breakfast.” He gets up to clear the plates and start rinsing dishes. After living with her for more than a year, Riley making breakfast is routine, but Mac still thanks her for it every day. 

Living in the apartment together, they fall right back into their old habits. Mac wakes up early and goes for a run. By the time he returns, Riley is awake and making breakfast. After they eat, Mac showers while Riley goes on her own run. And so on and so forth. 

While Mac was out this morning, he wove through the whole neighborhood, making sure it’s safe for Riley to go out alone. She can handle herself, but Mac has no delusions about the overall quality of men on the streets, and even though he can’t fix that, at least he can help minimize her chances of encountering creepy dudes. 

Before they leave for the Port, Mac and Riley scour their car for a bug or any other surveillance equipment the organization might’ve hidden while they were inside the warehouse talking to Conrad yesterday. They find none. Thankfully. 

Once again, they’re going in armed, and the weight of Mac’s gun feels just as foreign and unwelcome as it did yesterday. He tries not to fidget with it while Riley drives, but she notices his discomfort anyway. “You’ve got to relax,” she says. “All your squirming is stressing me out.” 

“Sorry.” Mac stills, even though his whole body screams to put the gun somewhere else. 

Anywhere else. 

Once they arrive at the Port, Mac guides Riley through the maze of cranes and crates and warehouses until they find the one Matty had the guns stashed in—dark green and otherwise nondescript. 

Unfortunately, there are multiple shipping containers that fit that description at the location Matty provided. As they get out of the SUV, Riley glances between the boxes nervously. “Uhh, which one is it?” 

Mac doesn’t have a clue. “I guess that’s for Harley to tell us.” He looks down at the dog standing obediently beside him. “Find it.” 

He releases the leash as Harley takes off like a rocket, sniffing each container and the surrounding area. She inspects more than half of them before sitting and looking back at Mac. He waits for her to bark, but she doesn’t. Whoever trained her clearly did so with stealth in mind. 

“Do we open it to double check?” Riley asks. 

Mac opens his mouth to say yes, but he doesn’t get a chance to answer before a muddy, dark-blue diesel truck parks beside their SUV. Conrad jumps out of the driver’s seat, accompanied by two younger men, wearing matching scowls and Carhartt jackets. He walks with that same entitled swagger, and a cheap smile spreads across his face. 

“Mr. Turner!” Conrad exclaims, shaking Mac’s hand. His grip is too firm to be friendly. Stepping back, he sneers at Riley, acknowledging her just long enough to impatiently say, “Genevieve.” Mac doesn’t miss the way Conrad’s eyes drop to Riley’s chest, nor the way Riley bristles beside him, wrapping her jacket more tightly around her and crossing her arms to hold it in place. Mac clears his throat. “Sorry,” Conrad says, not sounding sorry at all, “but your wife is very attractive.” 

Riley rolls her eyes so hard they nearly fall out of her head. 

“Your order is this way,” Mac says, cutting off Conrad before he could make another gross statement, “Follow me.” Mac puts a hand on Conrad’s shoulder, squeezing hard as he steers the man toward the shipping container. Harley is still sitting beside it, waiting patiently, and Mac scratches her head with his free hand. 

Riley whistles, a single sharp note that sends Harley running back to her side. Mac buries his relief that she’s not alone, although he’d still much rather the hulking bodyguards were closer to him than Riley. 

Focus, Mac reminds himself. Riley can hold her own. Just get this over with. 

Mac opens the container, revealing two nondescript wooden crates. Still sneering—at this point, Mac’s starting to think that’s the only expression Conrad is capable of—Conrad waves over his bodyguards, gesturing for them to open the crates. 

For just a second, Conrad’s sneer edges toward a smile. Inside the crates lie exactly what he ordered: military-grade, semi-automatic rifles and enough ammo to kickstart the apocalypse. Mac’s gut churns. He hates this. He hates everything about this. He hates that he’s arming terrorists. He hates how these men look at Riley like dogs drooling over a steak. He hates that he can’t do anything about any of it, that he has no choice but to play along. 

Mac wishes he could bury his feelings the way Riley does, locking them behind a carefully controlled mask. Instead, his linger just beneath the surface, waiting to make themselves known at the first available opportunity. 

Counting backward from five, he steels himself to finish the game. Just as Conrad brushes a reverent finger down the barrel of a rifle, Mac chides, “We followed through on our end of the bargain. Did you?” 

“Of course.” 

One of the bodyguards pulls out his phone. In a deeper voice than Mac expects, he says, “We can wire the payment to your bank account right now.” 

“Good. My wife will help you set that up.” Mac gestures to Riley, and the bodyguard walks over to her. 

Conrad extends his hand, and Mac takes it, trying not to wince when his arm brushes his concealed gun. “Pleasure doing business with you, James,” Conrad says. 

“I hope this is the beginning of a long and prosperous partnership.” Long and prosper? Who was he, Spock? 

“Indeed. Welcome to the Patriots.” Conrad gestures for his men to start loading the guns into their truck. “Expect another order within the week.” 

Mac doesn’t know how to respond to that. Thankfully he doesn’t have to, because Riley waves him over, apparently having finished her conversation with Conrad’s lackey. “I’ll leave you to it,” Mac says, then turns his back on the terrorists and rejoins Riley. On instinct, he reaches for her arm as he murmurs, “Are you okay?” 

Riley tenses under his touch, but doesn’t pull away. “Yeah, I’m fine.” 

“Good.” He said the same thing to Conrad just a minute ago. Good. But the word is light years different from before—soft and caring, not curt and vaguely challenging. Bozer pointed it out to him once, how he talks to Riley differently than he does anyone else. 

Mac shakes off the thought. He can’t get distracted, no matter how much his mind only wants to think about Riley. Releasing her arm, he says, “Let’s get out of here.”

*****

Back at the apartment, Riley settles in on the couch to dig into the Patriots' bank records. By wire-transferring the money instead of paying them in cash, Conrad practically offered up the organization's entire digital footprint on a silver platter, at least to someone like Riley. She doesn't speak as she works, so Mac listens to the melody of keyboard clicks while he makes them each a grilled cheese. 

Contrary to popular belief, he's not completely incompetent, although Bozer has nearly everyone convinced otherwise. Mac will never be able to cook something fancy, but he does make a mean sandwich. 

He even spreads mayo on the bread, the way Bozer does, because Riley prefers it that way. 

The sizzle of the sandwiches hitting the hot pan joins the keyboard clicks right as Riley announces, "I hacked into their bank records." 

"What've you got?" 

"From the look of it, the shell corp they used to pay us has only been around for four months. Before that, they must've either paid in cash or used personal accounts." 

"That makes sense though, since the Patriots haven't been around all that long." 

"That's what I thought at first, but come look." Mac does, leaning over the back of the couch so his head is right beside hers. Riley points at the screen. "The first three transactions were all big deposits, each one two weeks apart." 

Frowning, Mac squints at the tiny numbers on the screen. "One hundred thousand dollars?" 

"Times three deposits," Riley adds. 

"Where the hell did they get that kind of money?"

"I don't know. The deposits were cash." 

“Damn. Did you at least figure out who their previous arms dealer was?” 

“Yeah.” Riley shifts, causing her hair to tickle Mac’s nose, and he brushes her hair to the opposite side of her neck without another thought. “Turns out their previous dealer has Mexican cartel connections, which explains why the Patriots only paid them twice. I’m guessing they found out about the cartel part and broke it off before they made a long-term deal.” 

“At least they’re not complete idiots,” Mac mumbles. Tired of squinting, he leans closer to better see the screen. 

Except now they’re cheek to cheek, and Mac suddenly can’t focus on the screen at all. 

Riley twists to look at him, and it takes every ounce of Mac’s willpower not to glance at her lips. "Are you burning my grilled cheese?" 

"No." He straightens, simultaneously disappointed and relieved by the space now between them. Mac shakes off the thought. He can’t keep getting distracted like this. 

"Uh huh. Sure." 

Retreating to the kitchen, Mac calls, "That was one time!"

*****

As expected, they don’t hear anything from Conrad or the Patriots the following day. Mac doesn’t know what to do with all the downtime on this op. There are plenty of books in the apartment, but he’s too restless to sit and read. He opens the fridge, more out of boredom than actual hunger. 

They’re on day five of the undercover op, and it’s starting to feel an awful lot like quarantine. With nothing to do but hurry up and wait, hanging out in the apartment and doing nothing is starting to make Mac go a little stir crazy. 

When Riley emerges from the bedroom wearing workout clothes, it’s clear she feels the same way. “I’m going for a run,” she announces. 

“Want company?” He hopes she says yes. Anything to get out of the apartment for a while. 

Riley unplugs her phone from the charger and slides it into her pocket. “No offense, but no.” 

Dammit. Mac shoves down his disappointment. “None taken.” He closes the fridge. Nothing in there looks good. 

“Tell you what,” she says. “After I get back we can go to the space museum, okay?” 

His heart skips a beat at her offer. “Is it that obvious I’m bored?” 

“Yes.” Riley gives him a pitying smile. “So do you want to go?” 

Mac smiles. It feels like she just asked him out on a date. It’s not, but it feels like one anyway. Be cool. “What kind of question is that? Of course I do.” 

“Okay then.” Popping in her earbuds, she walks out the door. 

“Enjoy your run, muffin!” Mac calls, stealing Bozer’s go-to pet name for when he’s undercover with Riley. She reaches back inside to flip him off before slamming the door shut, and Mac chuckles. Riley really hates that nickname.

Now it’s just him, Harley, and this tiny apartment. 

Resuming his search for food he’s not even hungry for, Mac opens the pantry, and Harley comes running into the kitchen. She must’ve learned the sound of the door opening since they keep the dog food in there. Harley looks up at Mac expectantly. 

“Don’t look at me like that.” She whines, and her pleading expression reminds Mac of the wide-eyed look Bozer mastered as a kid while begging his parents for something. Neither are very effective. “You just had breakfast an hour ago,” he insists.  

Harley glances at the open pantry, then back at him. 

Mac doesn’t give in, but he does kneel to pet her instead, scratching Harley’s neck and ending up with a handful of hair. Frowning, Mac digs through every drawer in the kitchen in search of a dog brush. No luck. He checks the bedroom and bathroom, coming up empty once again. Who even organized this house? It makes no sense. His gaze lands on the laundry room door. 

Ah. 

Sure enough, there’s a dog brush on the shelf above the washing machine. 

Leash and brush in-hand, Mac calls out, “Alright, girl. Let’s go de-floof you.” 

Harley takes one look at the brush and sprints in the other direction. 

Well this is going to be harder than Mac anticipated. 

He ends up chasing Harley throughout the apartment, zig-zagging from one room to the next. Every time Mac gets close, Harley slips by, just out of reach. After the fourth time she sends Mac stumbling into the furniture after lunging for her and missing, he realizes what she’s doing. 

Harley is playing him. This is a game to her. And, so far, she’s winning. 

Mac stares the dog down, and she seems to narrow her eyes in response. “Challenge accepted,” he tells her. 

This time, he knows exactly where to find what he’s looking for—peanut butter. He smears an unnecessarily large glob into Harley’s dog bowl, making sure she sees exactly what he’s doing. Harley’s stubborn, and does a good job of appearing not to care, but Mac has a hard time believing any dog would turn down peanut butter. 

Harley, it turns out, is no exception. 

She follows him to the door, and Mac rewards her with a few licks of peanut butter while he clips on the leash, careful not to let her eat so much that there’s not enough to last while brushing her. Despite Harley’s obvious enjoyment of the peanut butter, Mac is no fool. She let him win this round, no doubt about it. 

He leads Harley down the stairs to the small lawn in front of the apartment building, where it wouldn’t matter if he left dog hair everywhere. The brush pulls away thick chunks of her undercoat with each pass, and it doesn’t take long for the lawn to look like something died there. 

The peanut butter, unfortunately, doesn’t last nearly as long as Mac hopes. 

Mac figures out pretty quickly that Harley does not like her tail being brushed; she turns away and tucks her tail and generally makes it impossible for Mac to reach it. He sits back on his heels, formulating a new strategy. “If I don’t brush your tail,” he says, “you’re going to look like a squirrel, and neither of us wants that.” 

Harley’s ears prick at the word squirrel. 

Mac tries again, and this time Harley lets him…sort of. It’s not perfect, but at least she won’t be leaving hair all over the apartment anymore—hair that he needs to vacuum, because Riley asked him to last night and he’d completely forgotten until now. Tucking the brush into his back pocket, Mac scratches Harley’s ears the way he learned she likes, and when she leans into his touch, Mac’s heart swells. 

“Good girl.” He kisses her head, and Harley licks his chin in return. “See? We’re not so bad.” Mac sighs. “I know we’re not who you wanted, but we’re going to take good care of you.” 

Riley made the same promise in the war room. Even if she doesn’t stay with them after the op, Mac will make sure Harley ends up with people who will love her for the rest of her life. 

“I promise,” he murmurs into her fur, kissing her head again.

Mac startles when a feminine voice calls, “You could make a whole other dog from all that hair.” A middle-aged woman stands in the walkway, oversized blue purse on her shoulder and car keys in hand. She smiles at Mac. “I haven’t seen you before. Did you just move in?” 

“Yeah,” Mac says, standing up. “My wife and I moved in this week.” 

“Well, welcome. My name is Carrie Ann, and my husband and I live in apartment 317. Feel free to stop by anytime. I think you’ll like living here, though I must warn you that it gets pretty loud during football season.” 

Mac nods. “Nice to meet you. I’m James.” He expects Carrie Ann to keep walking—presumably to her car—but she doesn’t, and Mac suddenly gets the feeling this conversation is about to be much longer than he wants. 

“And who is this cutie?” she asks, directing her attention to the dog. 

“This is Harley.” 

Carrie Ann sounds like a squeaker toy, greeting Harley in a voice so high-pitched it’s almost inhuman and petting her without bothering to ask for permission. Harley eyes the woman warily but surprisingly sits still. “I love dogs,” she says at a mercifully normal decibel. “Sadly my husband is allergic.” 

“That is unfortunate.” Mac shifts from foot to foot, eager to escape the small talk. He’s never really had the patience for it. 

Carrie Ann, it seems, is completely oblivious to his discomfort. She prattles on, asking asinine questions about what he does for work, if he’s been to the coffee place down the street, and when she can meet his wife. 

Mac doesn’t know if it’s a blessing or a curse when Riley appears in his peripheral vision, as if on cue. “Actually,” he says to Carrie Ann, “you can meet her right now.” Mac flashes Riley a wide, bright smile that she returns half-heartedly, chest still heaving after her run. Sweat glistens on her body, and a few wispy curls that escaped her ponytail are now plastered to her face. “This is my wife, Genevieve.” 

Giving Harley a quick scratch, Riley stands beside him, close enough that Mac can feel the heat radiating off her body. Instinctively, he starts to put a hand on her back, but he quickly pulls away. She’s not wearing a shirt—only a sports bra and those stupidly tight leggings—and the intimacy of putting his hand on her bare skin is too much to handle. “Hi,” she says, completely oblivious to Mac’s internal panic. 

Carrie Ann introduces herself again, and Mac is only half-listening while she and Riley chat. Riley’s so much better at small talk anyway. 

He’s much too focused on how Riley grabs his shoulder to use him for balance while she stretches. She’s so casual about it, like she’s done it a million times before. His skin burns under her touch. 

Mac wants to feel more of her, wants his whole body to feel like that. 

Stop it, he chastises himself. Stop thinking about her like that. 

He can’t. 

Even after Riley lets go, the feeling lingers, and Mac can’t stop thinking about that too. She’s standing slightly in front of him now, almost as if she’s protecting him from their nosey neighbor.

“When are you having kids?” Carrie Ann coos. “An attractive couple such as yourselves would make such beautiful children.” 

Shit. He and Riley never talked about that. 

Before Mac can come up with an answer, Riley pulls his arms around her, a smile blooming on her face. She guides his hands to rest low on her abdomen. “We’re actually trying right now.” 

Mac’s brain short-circuits. 

He blushes, both at the casual intimacy of Riley wrapping herself in him and at the implications of what she just said. Pressing her body fully into Mac’s, Riley looks up at him, smiling like he’s her whole world, and Mac’s heart stops. He’s not breathing. 

His whole body burns, and the feeling is so much more intense than he imagined just seconds ago. 

Alight with mischief, Riley’s dark brown eyes draw him in, and suddenly Mac is picturing Riley with that exact same expression while wearing far less clothing. 

Mac thinks he might die from spontaneous combustion. 

You are so beautiful, he barely stops himself from saying. His blush deepens as he’s snared in the mental image of him and Riley doing said “trying.” 

Their neighbor has the audacity to laugh. “Well, I’ll let you get back to it, Genevieve. Your husband looks like he’s ready for another round.” 

That makes it worse. So much worse. If he doesn’t spontaneously combust, then he’ll definitely die of embarrassment. It’s not how he wants to die, but it’s better than explaining his reaction to Riley. Because she’s going to ask him about it. Mac knows this—knows this like he knows grass is green and gravity is what keeps his feet on the ground.

As soon as Carrie Ann leaves, Riley does exactly that. She extricates herself from his grasp, putting her hands on her hips and furrowing her brow the way she always does when she knows something’s up. “Are you okay?” she asks. 

Mac’s voice is strained as he replies, “Yeah. I’m good.” 

He is not good. He is definitely not good. 

And Riley knows it. 

This op feels like all Mac’s worst nightmares coming to fruition. Simultaneously. 

Riley can’t know. Her knowing would ruin everything—their friendship, their work, their trust. Mac can hardly look her in the eye. How is Riley supposed to trust him when he’s secretly thinking about her like that? He’s her friend; he’s supposed to protect her from guys who want her like that, not become one of them. 

But god does Mac want to be one of them. Not one of them, he corrects himself. The only one. 

He’s screwed.

.

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