#burned out phasers

[isagrimorie]

Star Trek Voyager, 4x08 - Year of Hell, Part 1

Captain Kathryn Janeway as a Brilliant Tactician, part 1, 2, 3 (version 1) (version 2)

[ssweetleaf]

set phasers to stun.

summary: joel wants you to sit on his face— you think you’re far too heavy for something like that.

pairing: joel miller x fem!reader

includes: SMUT 18+, face sitting/cunnilingus, dom!joel, i wrote this with an age gap in mind, but it isn’t really specified so make it up girlies, a bit of spanking, slight insecure!reader, pet names (honey, girlie, baby, babygirl, sunshine) a tad of a daddy kink (i’m sorry, it’s me, what do you expect?)

a/n: sorry i’ve been gone again, i’m back in my pedro pascal phase and this just came out of nowhere lol. let me know what you think. dividers credit goes to @saradika-graphics <33

“Quit your whinin’ and sit the fuck down.”

You were hovering over Joel’s face, thighs twitching and burning from their position, careful not to bump any part of yourself into him— too scared to fully sit yourself upon his face like he had so desperately asked for earlier in the day.

“Joel— m’too heavy,” you muttered, cheeks heating, shifting your weight from knee to knee and hands on the headboard, knuckles whitening from your firm grip.

He lifted a big palm against the cheek of your ass in a sharp, searing slap, quelling your whirring thoughts for just a moment, the burn of his hand print thick and heavy upon the globe of your ass.

“Don’t you fuckin’ dare,” he growled, teeth clenched, eyes boring into yours from underneath you and you would’ve frowned at the sight of the protruding pudge of your belly when you looked down, but the constant smoothing of his callused hands against the soft rolls and swells of your body had you stifling it.

“Now listen here, honey,” he huffed, shifting his face to the side to press a few spongy kisses to the thickness of your thighs. “I ain’t gonna tell ya again.”

Joel was firm with his words, the low timbre shooting throughout your core and flooding your folds with a surge of arousal.

“Y’gonna take a seat, and y’gonna ride my fuckin’ face till I say you can stop, y’hear?”

“Joel, I—Ow!”

Another spank, on the other cheek this time, but just as hard, the print blooming in the shape of his calluses and the ring on his finger.

“Girlie.” The fond pet name was now a word of warning, almost daring you to disobey him. “Sit, now.”

You swallowed thickly, and with a shaky breath you lowered yourself down, easing onto his handsome face, the broad slope of his nose prominent against your slit, and you gasped at his deep inhale, breathing your scent deep into his lungs, almost savouring it before nudging your clit with the tip of his nose.

Your lashes fluttered, threatening to close once he mouthed a kiss to your pussy lips, teasingly sucking your folds into his eager mouth, careful to avoid your poor, puffy clit and keep you on edge.

“Look at this pretty cunt, hm?” he cooed, gruff and thick, muffled slightly from between your thighs and beneath your soft belly. “She’s been beggin’ for this, baby and you’ve been keeping her from me.”

His tongue peeked out from between his lips, swiping a long, fat stripe from your slick, fluttering hole, to the engorged jewel of your clit.

“Oh!” You whined, threading your fingers through his thick curls, tugging slightly once his lips enveloped your pearl, suckling it into his mouth, humming into your heat, the vibrations sending shockwaves throughout your cunt and you moaned out at the feeling. “Joel, fuck.”

He pulled back only slightly, brow raised and eyes dark and glistening— a big palm squeezed at the fat of your ass. A little warning.

“Language.” he clicked his tongue, turning to nuzzle into the thickness of your thigh, biting into it with dull molars and sharp canines, urging another wave of slick to surge your poor cunt.

“S-sorry!” You squeaked out, nails scratching against his scalp the way he liked as a little apology. “Keep going, please.”

You could feel his smirk against your flesh, tongue swiping at the marks he bit and sucked into the sensitive skin of your thighs.

“There she is,” he hummed, “now ya beggin’ for it, aren’t ya, baby? Knew you’d come around some time.”

Joel dove back into your cunt, lapping crudely at your hole, picking up silver strings of arousal on his tongue before lolling it over your peaked clit— smacking kisses to it, practically making out with your poor pussy whilst humming happily into your heat.

“Just needed some persuadin’, huh, sunshine?” he spoke into your pussy, voice muffled and barely legible through your hazy brain. “Just needed your ol’ man to eat this pretty pussy from down here, didn’t ya, babygirl?”

You cried out, nodding profusely at his filthy words and personification of your cunt, tears ebbing at your waterline and slowly easing over.

“Been havin’ so much trouble with my damn back— just layin’ here while you ride my face is so much better, sugar.”

Knowing your man wasn’t in pain, that his usual achy back and knees were quelled and sated by his current position, instead of the place he so often took between your legs with a hunched back and sore knees, had you relaxing somewhat.

‘Makin’ y’daddy a happy man, baby,” he groaned, fisting at the fat of your hips, leaving you tight and secure against his face. “fuckin’ dripping down my throat.”

You could feel the tightening in your belly, coiling throughout your insides, warming you up and leaving you panting, fisting at any part of him you could find.

“J-Joel,” you panted, chest heaving up and down, up and down, nails in his scalp, in his shoulder blades, even reaching behind you at his thighs. “so close.”

Your speech was clipped, lips stuttering and drool slipping from the corner of your mouth.

“Ah ah,” he shook his head, lips still suckling at your clit after every other word. “None of that, you ask for daddy’s permission— you know what to do.”

You whined again, long and drawn out, bucking your hips and huffing out— there was a warmth upon your cheeks that blossomed, creeping down your neck and teasing the tips of your ears, all shy now when asking your man to cum.

“Please, Joel,” you sighed out, thighs squeezing at his ears, clamping him tight underneath you. “can I cum? Pretty please?”

“Please, what?” He huffed, gruff and quick, tongue lolling and rolling over your spit-slick clit before thrusting the pink muscle into your quivering hole. “Ain’t got all day, hon.”

“Daddy— please, daddy! Need’a cum.”

“Atta girl, such nice manners— taught you good, baby girl. Cum f’me.”

[dccomicsimagines]

Hello There - Jon Kent x Reader

Requested by Anon -  hello! i love your works, you are an excelent writer :D! Can i request an one shot were batsis (from fitting in) and jon fall in love? she highkey deserves a fairy tale romance and i think bruce and damian reactions would be very funny haha

Requested by Anon -  I know you basically just finished one big Jon x reader, but do you think could please make another fic or headcannon with him? It could about anything you choose. 👉🏼👈🏼 (P.S. - it's been said already but I'll say it again; WILIF is m a s t e r p i e c e ✨)

Author’s Note - This took me a year to write. Happy Holidays!

***

You bit your lip as you left your biology lab and headed outside to the sprawling campus of Metropolis University. The air was crisp and fresh as it always was late autumn. It was warmer in Metropolis than it was in Gotham. You theorized it was because the sun shined more here. 

Your phone beeped. Your next class wasn’t for another hour and you planned to use this time to finish your paper for Medieval Literature. A sigh escaped you. You pulled out your phone, looking at it as you walked. 

‘Are you coming home this weekend?’ You held back an eye roll. Your father couldn’t leave you alone, could he?

‘No, I have plans here. I’ll be back in a month for winter break.’ You looked up to avoid walking into a group of women exiting the library. A smile pulled at your lips. You could show him your medieval lit paper then. Your plan was to write how Beowulf's preoccupation with glory led to the current glorification of superheroes. The look on Bruce’s face would be priceless.

It took him a long time to answer to the point where you were expecting a call from him. However, you only got another text. ‘Be safe.’

You snorted, smiling. That was as close to I love you that Bruce Wayne got. ‘Love you, Dad.’

Just as you hit send, you ran straight into what felt like a brick wall and toppled back to land hard on your butt. The jolt went straight through your bones painfully. You grunted. “I’m so sorry,” a male voice said. A hand appeared in your vision. You eyed it.

“No, I’m sorry. I was texting and walking.” You took the hand after a moment and got to your feet. Your butt hurt a lot. It was going to bruise. You finally looked at the man you ran into. Your breath vaporized from your lungs. 

He had the prettiest blue eyes with rich black hair. His smile was big, head tilted like a curious puppy. You couldn’t stop yourself from smiling back at him. “Are you hurt?” He kept your hand a second too long. You felt your face burn. 

“No, I’ll be fine.” You pulled your hand away and brushed off your clothes. He looked familiar for some reason. “Have we met before?”

It was his turn to blush as he flicked his head to get the hair out of his eyes. “We’re in the Physics of Star Trek class together.” You bit your lip. Right, that class you took because Tim saw it when you were picking classes and begged you to take it for him. At least it counted as a general course and to be honest, it was pretty cool.

“Oh, you were the one who tried to argue that Superman’s laser eyes were basically the same concept as Star Trek’s phasers.” You shook your head. “Who would have thought that would cause a debate that took the entire class period?”

“I know, right?” He grinned brightly, shifting on his feet. “Well, I was about to get some food from the cafeteria? Would you like to join me?” 

You thought about the work you were going to do, but then you remembered how you promised Alfred that you would try to enjoy yourself. “Sure,” you said, turning to walk beside him. “What was your name again? I’m (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Luckily, Bruce let you enroll under your mother’s name to keep you safe from the dangers that came with the Wayne name.

“I’m Jon Kent.” He held the door to the cafeteria for you. “It’s nice to meet you, (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” 

You laughed, heading inside with Jon right behind you.

***

The next day in the Star Trek class, you found Jon sitting next to you with that same dopey, puppy grin on his face. Your heart fluttered when his arm brushed against yours by accident as he raised his hand to start another controversial debate. Jon got a kick out of it. You felt it was some kind of inside joke for him. Maybe he’d explain it to you some day.

After class, Jon walked out with you. “So that was my last class for today. What about you?” he asked, looking at you with his full attention. 

“Oh, well it’s the last class for me too.” You smiled when you saw his eyes sparkle at your words.

“Great!” He blushed when he realized he was shouting. His voice softened. “Would you like to go downtown with me? It’s student night at the movie theater. Five dollar tickets.” He chuckled nervously. “The new Transformers movie came out or if you wanted to see something else, I’m game.”

You eyed him, feeling lighter than air. Why did this feel so surreal? Like you were in a movie and this was a classic romance. “Sure.” Your heart skipped a beat when he practically exploded with energy. 

“Awesome!” He hopped over a crack in the sidewalk. You swore he floated for a second before he landed. 

“I want to drop my stuff off first, so I’ll meet you outside Gnanatti Hall in a half an hour?” You turned away from him, headed toward your dorm. 

“Yeah! I’ll see you there.” Jon waved happily at you. You waved back, blushing when you saw people were watching you two. A girl laughed with her friends that Jon was like a lovesick puppy. You felt a wave of doubt flow through you. Could Jon like you like that? You shrugged, deciding not to focus on that right now. 

***

Your roommate lounged on their bed, watching you primp yourself in the mirror. “You have a date or something?” 

“Maybe? I don’t know.” You shrugged, finishing the last touches on your makeup. It did feel like a date, didn’t it? “I just want to look good anyway in case.”

“Well, if you need the room, just text me. I can go hang out with Taylor in her room, but just don’t be all night,” your roommate said, getting up to grab their laptop. 

You wrinkled your nose. “I don’t think it will come to that.” Your heart sank about the idea of being so loose. Besides, you didn’t think Jon was just trying to get into your pants anyway. “But thanks.”

“Sure.” Your roommate opened their laptop and started working on homework. You gathered your purse and phone. “Call me if you need an out.”

“Thanks.” You waved at them and headed out. To think, your dad almost insisted on paying for a private room, but you wanted to have the full experience. Alfred agreed with you. Bruce couldn’t do anything after that. 

You glanced at your phone as you headed down the stairs to see a text from Damian. It was a photo of Titus. You sent him a heart back and told him to give him a pet for you. Damian always reached out with Titus as an excuse as if he couldn’t handle missing you himself.

Jon was outside the dorm, bouncing from foot to foot. He grinned when he saw you, nervous energy bouncing off him. You waved and went to meet him. “You look beautiful,” he said, eyes going from your feet to your face several times. 

“Thanks.” Your cheeks burned. “You don’t look bad yourself.” Jon blushed and offered you his arm. “Are we walking or taking the bus?”

“I was thinking we could walk. It’s a nice day.” Jon led you down the sidewalk and off campus. You relaxed, letting yourself enjoy.

***

“So I didn’t think you’d be an ice cream person?” Jon teased as he handed you a cone. You smiled, accepting it.

“Who isn’t an ice cream person?” You took a lick, savoring the taste. It reminded you of the rare times your dad would pick you up from school. He always took you out for ice cream after you swore not to tell Alfred. 

Jon hummed, taking his own cone. “Lactose intolerant people.” He chuckled, holding the door to the ice cream shop for you. You stepped out into the cold night air. The person inside the shop thought you both were strange for getting ice cream on a chilly night, but Jon was so excited. You couldn’t say no. “My mother doesn’t like it because it’s too cold.” 

“Really?” You laughed. “To be honest, my...” You had to think about what to call Alfred. Butler came with it’s own impressions. You didn’t want Jon to know. “Grandfather doesn’t like ice cream either, but he always keeps some around for everyone else.” 

“So you have a grandfather?” Jon nudged your side. “Did he raise you?”

You raised an eyebrow at him. The two of you walked slowly back toward campus. “Somewhat. My dad was there too, but my grandfather was the one who was always there.” You smiled, making a note to yourself to call Alfred. “What about you?” You side eyed him with a playful smirk. 

“Well, I have a mom and a dad.” He didn’t meet your eye. You caught the slight downturn of his lips. He was holding back something. “I’m not close to my mom’s dad, but I know my dad’s mom pretty well.” 

You wrinkled your nose slightly, sensing his discomfort. “I never asked what your major was.” 

Jon accepted the subject change with a smile. Funny, was Jon hiding his family like you were hiding yours? “Oh, I’m undecided right now. I have a lot of interests.” He nudged your arm and licked his ice cream. “What about you?”

“I’m majoring in business,” you said, smiling at him before taking a lick of your ice cream. “But I might just switch my major over to classics and minor in something else. I want to do something that interests me instead of what will make me a career.” You bit your lip. Of course, you were set for life simply because of your father. You knew it was a privilege. 

“Classics?” Jon blinked. “Wow, that makes a lot of sense.” 

You elbowed his side. “What is that supposed to mean?” You narrowed your eyes at him while he smirked.

“I just meant I noticed you were carrying a textbook of Greek lit when we met, so now it makes sense.” Jon took a lick of his ice cream. “I kinda thought you were an Amazon or something.” 

You snorted. “Just because I study Greek lit doesn’t mean I’m an Amazon. Are you an alien just because you are in the Star Trek class?” You laughed when Jon choked.

“No.” He chuckled nervously, stumbling over a crack in the sidewalk. You grabbed his arm to steady him. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Sorry if I hit a nerve there.” A flash of guilt filled you. You wondered why he seemed so taken back by your comment? 

“No, you’re fine.” Jon looked at you.��“You just took me by surprise, I guess.” He smiled. “By that logic, would the whole class be Aliens including you?” 

“I suppose.” You laughed, finishing your ice cream as you both reached campus. “We should bring that up in class next time.”

Jon laughed hard. You liked the sound of his laugh. It was so open and free. You and Jon kept walking past your dorm hall and doing loops around campus, not wanting the night to end.

***

Weeks past, you and Jon were inseparable. You did your homework together, went to movies, had lunch and dinner together and a billion other things. If this was what falling in love was, you enjoyed it. 

Two days before you were going home for winter break, you and Jon were at the Metropolis Mall. It was a huge place and you had to take two buses to make it there. The entire mall was blaring Christmas music and decorated to the nines. Jon was bouncing on his toes like an eager child. You were glad that you had already gotten his gift. He was too excited to not notice if you picked up something for him here. 

“So where should we go first?” Jon asked, reaching to take your hand. You smiled at how warm his hand was in yours. It had gotten colder in Metropolis the last few weeks, but Jon was always warm. You don’t know how he did it. 

“I don’t know. I need something for Cass, my sister.” You bit your lip. Jon squeezed your hand, pulling you along toward the Cinnabon. “What about you? I mean, besides Cinnabon for yourself?” 

“Cinnabon for you too,” Jon chuckled, getting in line. “We need food before we walk around this place anyway.” He squeezed your hand again. “I need to get something for my mom and dad.”

You hummed, distracted by three kids running by. They were clearly high on sugar as their parents chased after them. “This is so strange. We never went to malls when I was growing up.”

“Well, you did live in Gotham. Do they even have one?” Jon teased, letting go of your hand to slid his arm around your waist. 

“They do. We just never went.” You avoid telling him how Alfred thought it was an indecent place and refused to allow you to go there. The first time you went was when you were sixteen with friends. So far, you avoided mentioning you were from the Wayne family. Cass was the only name you dared to voice. 

“We came every year. My mom loves the decorations.” Jon blushed slightly. “Plus we always went holiday shopping for my dad together.”

You smiled, leaning your head against Jon’s shoulder. “That sounds nice. My family didn’t really have any traditions except for Christmas dinner and presents afterwards.” 

“That’s kinda sad.” Jon rubbed your back. You got to the front of the line and Jon ordered for both of you. It’s amazing how well he knew you in such a short amount of time. Then again, you knew him quite well too, which is why you slipped the clerk your credit card before he could give his. “Hey, I got this.”

“Nah, my treat.” You winked up at him, taking the card back once it was processed. “Besides, you need to save your money for nice things for your parents.” 

The two of you got your drinks and cinnamon rolls and sat down at one of the tables. “Are you sure you have to go back to Gotham?” Jon asked, frowning slightly. 

“Yeah, I promised my family. They’re even coming to pick me up.” You blushed as you tried to take a bite of the cinnamon roll, but it was too big. Jon just went into his, getting frosting on his nose. You laughed, reaching over to wipe it off with your finger. 

“So I’ll get to meet them?” Jon asked once he swallowed, smiling when you licked the frosting off your finger. You froze.

“Maybe not.” You bit your lip. “I’d rather they not know about you yet. Keep you to myself.” Your heart sank when you saw his face fall. “Not that I’m trying to hide you or something, it’s just my family is overbearing. I want us to be just us until we add them in. Don’t want to scare you off.” You laughed, smoothing it over.

The sparkle came back to Jon’s eye. “Really?” He took another big bite of his cinnamon roll. “You’re just going to have to go for it, (Y/N).” He nodded to your roll.

You sighed, picking it up and taking a big bite. Frosting got all over your chin and nose, but the taste was worth the mess. Jon reached over to wipe frosting off your face with his finger, copying what you did to him. It made you laugh. Your laughter triggered his too and soon the people around you stared wondering what you two were laughing about.

***

It took several walks around the mall for Jon to find a present for his parents. You finally convinced him to get one of those engraved glass figures. He gave the man a photo of the two of them, and you had to wait an hour for it to be processed. 

Meanwhile, you looked for a present for Cass. She was the hardest to shop for. Jon gave his opinion and eventually found you a super soft sweater that you knew Cass would love. 

“So we got another half an hour until the glass thing is done.” Jon put his hands in his pockets. He held his elbow out, so you could hook your arm in his. “What should we do?”

“I don’t know.” You laughed, leaning against his arm. “We could...” You frowned when Jon suddenly stopped, tilting his head to the side as if he was listening to something. “You okay?” 

“Yeah.” He smiled, pulling away from you. “I just need to use the bathroom real quick.” He blushed and ran back the way you came. You watched him go. It was very odd. He never did something like that before except for the time you maybe got him too excited. 

You walked over to a coffee place and ordered yourself and Jon a coffee. You heard the girls’ behind the counter talking about a bank robbery stopped by the young sexy Superman. They must be talking about Conner. You met him once at the manor when he stopped by for Tim. He was very cute and knew he was. Actually, you were sure he was probably the only non-family hero you met. Dad always made sure you were kept out of the way of his night work.

“Hey, I’m back,” Jon said suddenly, appearing behind you. He was out of breath, hair disheveled. 

“You didn’t have to run back so fast.” You reached up to adjust his hair. Jon blushed slightly, eyes widening. “I got us coffee.” 

“Cool.” He smiled sheepishly, picking up the order once they called your name. He handed you your cup. “Thanks babe.”

You raised an eyebrow at the new nickname before you decided you liked it. “Now what should we do?” You hooked your arm with his and led him away. 

“I think we should check out that arcade.” Jon pointed across the way to the brightly lit arcade. “Let’s see what we can do.”

“Alright, but I’ll warn you. I’m pretty good at these.” You nudged his side, laughing when he looked at you in surprise.

“Really? Oh please, I’d like to see that.” He smirked. The two of you wandered inside. You kicked his butt at every single game you played.

***

“(Y/N)!” You jerked awake only to see your disgruntled roommate hovering over you. “Your boyfriend is here. Can you tell him to only come at decent hours next time?” They went back to their bed. 

“Sorry.” You yawned, sitting up to glance at your clock. It was six in the morning. You were supposed to get up in an hour to pack and meet Alfred at eight in the parking lot. Climbing out of bed, you slipped on a pair of slippers and shuffled out of your dorm room to find Jon standing nervously in the hallway. He was fully dressed for the day. Probably doing his morning jog that he told you he did every morning. “What’s up?”

“Hey.” Jon looked you up and down, smiling at your pajamas before taking your hand and guiding you down to the lounge. It was empty at this hour. “I wanted to see you before you left.” 

“Jon, we said goodbye last night.” You squeezed his hand, taking a seat on the couch. He sat down right beside you. His thigh brushed against yours. You yawned again, noticing he was wearing the sweatpants you got him. 

“I know, but I had to give you my present.” You blinked at him.

“You gave me a lovely bath bomb set, Jon. I can’t wait to use it when I get home.” Leaning over, you kissed his cheek. “You don’t need to get me anything else.” 

Jon shook his head. “No, I needed to get you something more meaningful. I talked to one of my friends last night. He told me I was an idiot to give the girl I love bath bombs.” He blushed so red that his face rivaled the poinsettia in the corner of the room. 

Your jaw dropped. “Love?” Your mouth went dry, heart spasming. “You love me?”

Jon nodded. “I do.” He smiled shyly, taking your hand in his. “I couldn’t let you go without telling you.” 

“I’m coming back, you know.” You laughed nervously. “But I love you too, Jon.” You met his eye, seeing the joy sparkling in his eyes. Slowly, you leaned over to seal a kiss to his lips. Jon melted into you, his arms wrapping around you to pull you against his chest. He was so warm. 

Jon started laughing. You giggled along with him, pulling away to gather yourself. Your lips tingled from the pressure. “I wanted to give you this,” Jon said, swallowing back his laughter as he pulled a jewelry box out of his pocket.

“You didn’t have to.” He placed the box in your hand.

“Open it.” Those puppy dog eyes were on full power and you opened the box. Inside was a golden necklace with a tiny star pendant. 

A big smile pulled onto your lips as you took it out, noting the tiny designs etched in the star. “Wow.” You took a deep breath. “Can you put it on me?” You turned, handing Jon the necklace. 

“Of course.” Jon chuckled. His fingers feather-light on the back of your neck. “I’m glad you like it.” He kissed the back of your neck once he closed the clasp. “I wanted something you could remember me by while you’re at home.”

“It’s not like you won’t be able to call or text me.” You turned to face him, touching the necklace. It made your skin tingle when he gave you that puppy dog grin. “It’s only three weeks. I’m coming back a week before everyone else to set up my internship at the Metropolis Library Archives.” 

Jon leaned forward and stole another kiss. “You’re so smart and beautiful. I can’t believe I met you sometimes.” 

You smiled into the kiss, pulling away when you caught the time on the wall clock. “I have to get ready to leave.” It hurt to stand up, knowing you wouldn’t see him for three weeks. “But we’ll text.” 

“We can even zoom call too.” He got up, frowning slightly. “I love you.” 

“I love you.” You took a step toward him. Jon wrapped his arms around your waist. You pressed against him as you slowly kissed him one last time.

***

It surprised you when you got a text from Dick telling you he’d meet you in the parking lot. You went out with your bags, slightly confused. Alfred said he was going to pick you up. Worry nibbled it’s way inside you. Was Dad hurt? Was someone dead? You hated your family sometimes. It was very much like them to not tell you something like that until you had to find out.

Dick leaned against the car with his arms crossed, looking around the campus with interest. You noticed two women were eyeing him, checking him out from afar. You had to hold back the eye roll. 

He perked up when he saw you. “Hey kiddo.” He opened his arms for you. You reluctantly gave him a hug. “It’s been too long.”

“Who’s hurt?” you asked. You felt him wince in your arms. 

“Why does someone need to be hurt?” Dick pulled away and took your bags to put in the trunk. You noticed he must have borrowed one of Bruce’s cars. It was the Porsche. Dick basically had a claim over that one. 

“Because Alfred was going to come pick me up, and the only reason for Alfred to not be here is if he’s needed elsewhere.” You frowned, narrowing your eyes at him when he closed the trunk and allowed you to see him again. He bit his lip, running a hand through his hair.

“Okay, you caught me.” He held up his hands. “Bruce may have taken a bad fall during a recent ski trip.” Your eyes widened. That was code for broken bones or more. You swallowed hard.

“Is he okay?” You asked, a lump forming in your throat. Dick gestured for you to get into the car. You did and he quickly joined you.

Dick turned on the car, turning up the heat. “He had a bad fall when he was chasing Firefly the other day. Broken leg, concussion, and some internal bleeding. He’s fine now though, just has to recover. Alfred needed to stay home to make sure he actually rests.” Dick patted your hand. “Don’t worry, kiddo.”

You felt tears burn in your eyes, but you blinked them away. Dick’s hand squeezed yours. “Why can’t you guys tell me these things?” 

“We didn’t want to worry you during finals.” Dick leaned over to kiss your temple. “Bruce asked us not to.”

“Jerk.” You crossed your arms. Keeping your gaze forward, you thought about Jon and felt the weight of the necklace around your neck. You suddenly felt better. “Well, I guess I appreciate that.” 

“I did disagree with him, but he didn’t listen.” Dick pulled into traffic. His hand stayed on yours. “How was school?” He grinned, switching subjects. “I heard you changed your major.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Yeah, I finally decided to do it.” You sighed. “School is fun. The people are nice.” 

Dick hummed, glancing at you as he got onto the freeway. “I’m glad you’re doing what makes you happy.” He squeezed your hand. “Now tell me everything.”

You began to tell Dick things, but avoided mentioning Jon. He was your secret for now. The last thing you wanted was your family to find out about him. 

***

Jon floated above the city, depressed. He laid out on his back, looking up at the sky with his cape floating below him. His fingers itched to grab his phone to text you, but he stopped himself. “Give her a chance to get home,” he mumbled to himself. “Don’t want to be clingy.”

He heard an burglary alarm in the south side. Flipping around, he zoomed to that end of town and flew right into the jewelry store to grab both robbers and bring them outside. Then he grabbed some chains from the back of a nearby pickup and tied them to the light post. Both robbers blinked in confusion before swearing at him. Jon just smiled at them and flew away. 

He did several more good deeds before sitting on top of the Daily Planet. Closing his eyes, he focused on the sound of your heartbeat. Your heartbeat was unique. He remembered when he first heard it in class with you. Then he was lucky enough to actually meet you. 

“Jonathan Kent, what are you doing?” Lois Lane said, coming out of the Planet’s roof door. “Aren’t you supposed to be studying for your last final?” She pulled her jacket tighter around her. Jon got to his feet, blushing. 

“I wanted to take a break.” He smiled sheepishly. It’s not like Lois knew what he was doing. He made sure to keep you his secret. The last thing he needed was the famous Lois Lane and Clark Kent to scare you off. 

Lois hummed, narrowing her eyes at her son. “Right.” She reached to adjust the cape on his shoulders. “Well, Damian stopped by and told us we’re invited to the Manor for Christmas. With his injuries, the family wanted more people around to keep Bruce occupied.”

“Oh yeah, he told me about that when we met up the other night,” Jon said, remembering Damian mentioning that before he told him off for only giving you bath bombs. Lois narrowed her eyes. “It wasn’t long. There was just a concern with Kid Amazo or I guess Man Amazo now?” He chuckled. 

“Well as long as you pass your finals.” Lois crossed her arms, smiling at her son. “I haven’t seen you in a while. You missed all our family dinners.” 

Jon blushed and glanced over his shoulder. He spent those days with you. “Sorry, Mom. I’ll be there this week.”

“Of course.” She reached up to brush a strand of hair off his forehead. “Now you better go study before the world explodes again or something.” 

“Yes, Mom.” Jon kissed her cheek. He floated up into the air. “Tell Dad I said hi and that I’ll see him at dinner this week.” 

“Tell him yourself.” Lois waved as Jon flew off into the city. He headed back to Metropolis U, wishing you were there to study with him. Maybe he could text you now? You had to be home by now, right?

***

“Wow, Dad. You’re in bed. I thought you never used it,” you teased, stepping into his bedroom with a big smile of relief. Dick said he was okay, but you couldn’t relax until you saw him with your own eyes. 

Bruce grunted, setting his paper down. He was sat up against the pillows with his cast covered leg propped up. “Har, har.” A hint of a smile pulled on his lips as you came over to him and sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m glad you’re home.”

“Merry Christmas, Dad.” You kissed his cheek and took his hand. It was rougher than it used to be. More nicks and calluses. 

“How was school?” He squeezed your hand, studying you with that vigilant gaze you used to hate when you were younger. Now you enjoyed it. It was the way he showed he cared. However, his eyes lingered on your necklace and suddenly you changed your mind about that. 

“Good. Aced all my classes and changed my major officially. I’ll go for classics with a minor in linguistics instead.” You shrugged your shoulders as you reached up to hide the necklace in your shirt. 

Bruce hummed. “Good, I want you to do what you want.” He squeezed your hand again before wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you into his side. “I’m proud of you.” 

Your heart warmed. “Thanks Dad.” You eyed his cast. “How long will you be out?” 

“Six weeks.” He frowned. “But the boys and Cass have it covered. No need to worry.” He rubbed your shoulder. “Now do you have that paper you wanted me to read?”

You smirked, pulling it up on your phone. “Yeah, I do. Aced it, and it sealed my internship with the Metropolis Library Archives too.” You handed him your phone. Bruce started reading, snorting at the title. All you did was pray Jon didn’t text you while Bruce was looking at your phone.

***

Days later, Jon was laying on his bed in his parents’ apartment. His phone was in his hands. You were about to call him. It took a while to schedule a time. You said your family was nosy. Then again, so was Jon’s, but luckily Clark just left for the watchtower. Out of range. 

Your ringtone echoed in his room. He grinned, answering it. “Hey beautiful,” he whispered when he heard his mother turn on the shower. He relaxed, knowing he was in the clear.

“Hey yourself, handsome.” You laughed. Jon’s heart ached at the sound of your voice. “How are you?” 

“Good. Just finished family dinner. Now I’m in my room.” Jon stretched his legs, eyeing the old Overwatch poster on his wall. “At my parents’ place.”

“I figured.” You sighed. He heard you moving around on your end. “Well, home has been interesting for me.” 

“Really, why?” Jon put an arm behind his head. 

“My family is a little crazy.” A dog barked in the background. “Okay, Titus. Come on in.” A door opened and closed. “Sorry, my dog wants to be in my room with me. He gets attached.” 

Jon smirked. “Titus huh? Can I see him?” 

“Maybe when we zoom call tomorrow? I’m not presentable.” You coughed. “I have to go with my brother to a party and I’m getting dressed.” 

“Ooo,” Jon bit his lip, daring to ask the question. “Can you send me a picture of what you’re wearing?”

You hummed. He heard you brushing your hair. “I can, it’s a nicer party. My dad can’t go, so I didn’t want my brother to go alone.” You laughed. “You can’t make fun of what I’m wearing though.” 

“Never.” Jon imagined what you could be wearing. He had to shake his head to stop the dirty thoughts. “Whatever you wear is beautiful.” 

You laughed again. Jon couldn’t get enough of the sound. “You charmer.” You sighed softly. “Promise you won’t laugh or make a joke?”

“I promise with all my heart.” Jon pulled the phone away from his ear when it buzzed with a text from you. His breath caught in his throat. You were drop dead gorgeous. Jon’s mouth went dry. He coughed hard. “Woah, babe. You’re stunning.” 

“Thanks.” Your voice sounded faint “At least you won’t have to worry. My brother will keep people away from me.” 

“Thank goodness.” Jon sighed in relief, zooming in on the photo to look at your face. You were blushing. “I was worried I’d have competition.” 

“Like any of them would stand a chance.” You blew a kiss into the phone when a voice echoed in the background. Jon swore he heard a familiar ‘TT’ in the background. He shook his head, must be imagining things. You didn’t have anything to do with Damian Wayne. “I got to go. Let’s zoom call tonight, okay?” 

“Okay.” Jon grinned as he saw you were wearing his necklace too. “I love you.”

“Love you too.” You hung up the phone quickly just as another voice spoke up. Jon set his phone down and relaxed. He eventually fell asleep, dreaming of you in that beautiful outfit. 

***

“TT, what is with the necklace?” Damian demanded as he handed you a drink. The two of you were at the Wayne Foundation Christmas Fundraiser. Since Bruce was out, you and Damian were forced to attend in his absence. 

“What?” You blinked, taking the drink before glancing down at Jon’s necklace. It matched your outfit. You hoped he wouldn’t notice anything about it. 

“The star?” Damian nodded toward it as he sipped his drink. “It’s cheap.”

You wrinkled your nose, grabbing your necklace in your fist. “It’s not cheap. I happen to like it.” You let go of the necklace and flicked his nose. Damian narrowed his eyes dangerously at you. “Knock it off.” 

A few businessmen approached. You and Damian dropped your conversation. Damian mumbled under his breath, but you talking over him. Soon the men moved on, leaving you and Damian alone again. 

“You smile more than you used to.” Damian crossed his arms, rolling his shoulders in his nice Armani tux. “It’s disturbing.” He took a drink of the champagne, wrinkling his nose at the taste. 

“Just because you rarely smile doesn’t mean the rest of us can’t.” You rolled your eyes, watching the people start to dance not so far away. It was only a matter of time before someone came over to ask for a dance. “I’m enjoying school, Damian. Nothing else.”

Damian hummed. He tensed when he saw Bambi King striding over with her eyes on Damian as if he was a delicious piece of steak. You smirked at him, panic brightening his eyes. “Dance with me now.” He grabbed your hand and dropped his drink on a waiter’s tray. 

“Okay, okay.” You laughed, stumbling after him. “You don’t want to be devoured tonight, huh?”

Damian spun you in his arms and started to waltz. “Stop it or I’ll call Zeke what’shisname over.” 

You just laughed, dancing with your brother. “How about two more dances and we ditch this place?”

“Excellent.” He spun you around and brought you back to him. “We showed our faces.”

“Alfred will just be happy we stayed this long.” You winked at Damian, catching the sparkle in his eye. He was enjoying himself, even if he wouldn’t admit it.

***

You walked into the kitchen in your pajamas, yawning and giving everyone a lazy wave. It was Christmas Eve morning and the entire family was home. Most were already eating at the table. You stopped to kiss Alfred’s cheek as he flipped pancakes on the stove. “Thanks for breakfast, Alfred.”

“You’re welcome, Miss (Y/N).” Alfred nodded for you to go eat. You went to Bruce next and maneuvered around his elevated foot to kiss his cheek too. 

Bruce hummed, watching you as you took your seat next to Tim and across from Damian. Tim eyed you carefully. “What?” You asked Tim after he didn’t look away.

“You are the last to breakfast.” Tim looked around the table before looking back at you. Dick, Barbara, and Cass were chatting among themselves at the other end of the table, but Jason and Damian had their full attention on you. Bruce just went back to his paper, but you knew he was listening. 

You shrugged, helping yourself to pancakes and eggs. “I was up late.”

“Talking to someone,” Jason mumbled, smirking when you glared at him. “I heard you giggling when I came in last night.” You and Jon finally got to zoom call each other. It left you giddy, missing him so bad that it hurt.

“I was talking to one of my friends from school.” You kept your head down, knowing you were blushing. “I didn’t know that was a crime.”

Damian snorted. “Is that the person who gave you that cheap necklace?” 

Your hand shielded the necklace as if to protect it from his words. “Why are you so obsessed with my necklace? I bought it myself if you must know.” You took a bite of your pancake, suddenly losing your appetite. It was like you were reliving your high school years where your brothers tried to involve themselves in your social life. 

“Boys, leave (Y/N) alone,” Bruce said, folding up the paper to take a sip of his coffee. “Your sister is an adult and can talk to whoever she wants.”

“Thank you, Dad.” You smiled smugly at your brothers. Jon was still your secret, but you vowed to be more careful. Last thing you need was your brothers tracking down Jon to give him the ‘shovel talk’.

Tim hummed, poking at his food. “How did that Star Trek class go?” he asked after a moment. You laughed and easily fell into a conversation about the class. 

“Hey Bruce,” Dick said as he got up to get another pitcher of orange juice from Alfred. “Are the Kents coming to Christmas dinner?”

You almost choked on your pancake. Kents? “Yes, they are coming,” Bruce said as he poured more coffee into his cup. 

“TT, at least it will be somewhat enjoyable with Jon here.” Damian narrowed his eyes at Tim. “Even if we have to tolerate the clone.” Tim glared back at him, but didn’t reply. 

Meanwhile, you forced yourself to swallow your food. Your brain rushed at hundred miles per hour. Kents? Jon? Jon Kent? Could there be that many Kents? That many Jon Kents? The blood drained out of your face. You quickly took a sip of your drink to hide it, but Bruce noticed, frowning slightly as he watched you.

“The Kents are always well mannered. Perhaps some of it can rub off,” Alfred said pointedly as he added another plate of pancakes to the table. 

“We’re not that bad, Al.” Dick chuckled. Jason was looking at you too, eyebrow raised in concern. 

“Maybe Cass, (Y/N), and I aren’t, but you boys...” Barbara said, rolling her eyes.

You finished your glass and carefully set it down. Your hand was shaking so bad that it clattered against your plate. “(Y/N), are you alright?” Bruce whispered as Damian and Tim started arguing.

You licked your lips. “Are the Kents from Metropolis?”

Bruce raised his eyebrows. A hint of a smirk pulled at his lips. “They’re the Supers, sweetheart. Superman, Superboys, Lois Lane.”

“Superboys? Like more than one?” Your eyes widened. Suddenly flashes of Jon quickly leaving you with excuses of bathroom runs only to come back completely disheveled. How sometimes he seemed to almost float. The look on his face when you joked he must be an alien for being in the Star Trek class. You could be wrong, hoped you were.

Bruce chuckled softly. “Yes, Conner was the first and still is full time, Jon is the second, part time due to college.” Bruce took a sip of his coffee. His eyes studied you as the world’s greatest detective only could. “Jon goes to your school.”

Your stomach dropped to your feet. “Oh no.” You pressed your hand over your mouth and jumped out of your chair. The chair clattered to the ground as you ran out of the room to the nearest bathroom. 

Slamming the door behind you and locking it, you slid down to the floor. Your chest tightened. 

“How the fuck did I happen to meet Superboy and fall in love with him? Oh my god, I’m going to die. Jon’s going to die.” You pulled your knees into your chest. “How could I be so dumb? Why didn’t I pay more attention to other heroes?”

You touched your necklace, clutching the star so tightly that it embedded into your palm. 

A soft knock on the door made you flinch. “(Y/N), are you okay?” Cass asked softly. You reached up to open the door and motioned for Cass to come inside. She slipped in and quickly closed the door behind her. 

“Cass, I’m screwed,” you whispered softly, grabbing her hand and pulling her to the floor with you. You tensed when you heard the boys outside, loudly eavesdropping.

She blinked in confusion. Cass clicked her tongue, settling down beside you. “Why? You’re not pregnant.” 

“Of course you would know that.” You groaned and rested your forehead on your knees. “Damn it. I was so happy, but now I’m screwed because I’m so stupid and I didn’t even realize who he was.”

Cass hummed. She wrapped an arm around your shoulders. “You are dating someone?” You sighed, nodding your head. It was nice she could read you so well. You didn’t have to say anything. “The family won’t approve?”

“No.” You swallowed hard. A lump hard in your throat. “And they are going to find out so much sooner than I wanted.”

You watched her frown in thought before her eyes lit up. “Oh no.”

“Yes.” Tears filled your eyes. “It’s going to be so bad.” A sob slipped out of you. You pressed your hand against your mouth to silence it. 

Cass rubbed your back, kissing your temple. “We will get through this, but first you have to call Jon. He needs to know that you know and if he doesn’t know about you, then you need to tell him.”

“But then what? He’s going to be here tomorrow. I don’t know if I can act like I don’t know him.” You bit your lip hard to stop another sob. 

“No, but we can get allies.” Cass smirked. You looked at her confused, but she just hummed and pulled you into a tight hug. “Trust me.”

***

The kids at the children’s hospital laughed and waved as both Jon and Clark flew away. Jon had a permanent smile on his face. This was one of his favorite part of the holidays, being able to visit hospitals and children’s homes on Christmas Eve. It made their Christmas. His heart felt warm.

“Having a good time, son?” Clark asked once Jon and him were far above the city.

“Yeah, I love doing this sort of thing.” Jon wished you were here. He knew you would love this as much as he did. Closing his eyes, he listened for your heartbeat. It was still in Gotham and faster than normal.

“What’s wrong?” Clark asked, tilting his head to listen too. 

Jon swallowed hard, opening his eyes. “Nothing.” Maybe you were working out? Or just having some fun? He shouldn’t be worried. 

Clark hummed, studying Jon. “We should head home. Your mother probably has some cookies made already.”

Jon licked his lips. “Can’t wait.” Clark flew toward home, but Jon stopped when his phone rang. He pulled it out of his pocket, almost dropping it when he saw it was you. Clark paused, watching Jon curiously. Jon smiled sheepishly before putting the phone to his ear. “Hello?”

“Hi.” You sounded off. Jon’s stomach dropped slightly. “I don’t know how to say this.” 

“Babe, are you breaking up with me?” Jon chuckled humorlessly. Clark flew a little closer, pretending that he wasn’t eavesdropping. Jon couldn’t find it in himself to care. 

“No, but it might be easier,” you muttered almost under your breath. That was like a knife in Jon’s heart. He felt so confused. “Jon, do you know who I am?”

Jon blinked, flinching slightly. Clark tensed at the sight. “(Y/N) (Y/L/N), what’s going on?” Jon said. Clark’s eyes widened at the sound of your name. Jon frowned at Clark, wondering if Clark knew your name for some reason. Could have been from the internship you scored? Would Clark know about that?

You sighed. Jon heard someone talk to you. “Yeah, he doesn’t have a clue either. I’m not the only dumb one,” you said to them, voice fainter as if you covered the speaker of your phone. Jon clenched his hand around his phone. It took all he had not to just fly to you and demand answers. “Jon, do you really not know who my family is? Like at all?” you asked him again. 

“Your family doesn’t matter to me. I love you, damn it,” Jon snapped, blushing when his father face palmed. Why did he feel like he was missing something?

Something almost like a sob came from you. Jon tensed at the sound. “Jonathan Kent, my father is Bruce Wayne.” 

Time stopped. The blood drained out of Jon’s face. His phone slipped out of his hand. “Oh my god.”

The next thing Jon knew, he was sitting on a rooftop with his father talking to you on the phone. Jon tried to wet his mouth, pushing aside all the images of Damian and Bruce murdering him for dating their (Y/N). Damian mentioned you once or twice, but Jon never met you or even seen a photo of you before.

Jon watched his father blankly. He felt numb. How could he have been so dumb? All the signs were there. You even looked a bit like Damian when he thought about it. 

“I’m on board with your plan and I’ll update Jon once he recovers from the shock.” Clark chuckled, watching Jon with a teasing expression. “And it’s nice to finally meet you, (Y/N). Your father always spoke highly of you.”

Jon stumbled to his feet, reaching for the phone. Clark shook his head before hanging up the phone. “Jon, my sweet boy.” Clark pulled Jon into a hug. “I love you so much, but you get into so much trouble.”

“Are you saying that because I’m going to die tomorrow?” Jon mumbled, resting his chin on Clark’s shoulder. “I really love her, Dad.”

“I know.” Clark pulled back to look him in the eye. “We got a plan. You’re not going to start World War Three when Damian and Bruce whip out the kryptonite. (Y/N) is just as smart as her father bragged all these years.”

“Of course, she’s smart. She’s amazing.”  Jon grinned, thinking about you. “I can’t believe I was so dumb. I should have known.”

Clark chuckled, ruffling Jon’s hair. Jon groaned at the touch. “To be fair, I don’t think (Y/N) knew about you either.”

Jon sighed, taking his phone back and shoving it in his pocket. “So, do I get to know more about this plan?”

“We can discuss it when we get home.” Clark floated up into the sky. “I can’t wait to tell your mother.” He flew toward home.

“Hey!” Jon flew after him, but Clark just flew faster. “That’s not nice! At least let me tell her! Dad!” 

***

Later that day, you and Cass slowly recruited Barbara and Steph. Barbara was on board with little convincing, giving you a big hug. Steph on the other hand...luckily she was spending Christmas Eve with her mom.

“You’re dating Superboy?! Oh my god, oh my god. Damian’s going to freak! Can I be there when he finds out? Oh, please, please, please,” Steph shouted through the phone. You, Cass, and Barbara were in your bedroom, strategizing. 

“I mean you’ll be here tomorrow since your mom is working Christmas Day, so you’ll witness,” you said dully. Your heart pounded like a sledgehammer just thinking about it. Even with allies, you weren’t sure how it would go. You kept seeing Jon’s death, Damian losing his only friend all because of you. 

Cass clicked her tongue. She held her hand out for the phone. You handed it over before covering your face with your hands. Cass talked quietly with Steph. Barbara rubbed your back, giving you a sympathetic smile. 

“It’s okay.” Barbara whispered in your ear. “It’s all going to be okay.”

“How do you know that?” You looked up at her, tears burning your eyes. 

Barbara smiled. “When they see how happy you and Jon are, they’ll have to accept it. Damian loves you both. He wants you to both be happy. Bruce wants you to be happy.”

You groaned, flopping down on the bed. “I don’t know.” You grabbed your pillow and pressed your face into it. Barbara patted your knee. You always had a close relationship with her. She was the one who told you about the internship at the Metropolis Library Archives and the first one you told about getting it.

“You do know. Now stop moping, we got a plan to form.” Barbara pulled the pillow from your face. Cass hung up the phone and set it on your bedside table. “We need to get some of the boys in on this.” Barbara crossed her arms. 

Cass clicked her tongue again before leaving the room suddenly. You and Barbara shared a look. “I don’t know. The boys never keep things quiet,” you said after a moment. 

“True, but the more allies the better in this case.” Barbara smiled. “We’ll have to bring in Alfred for sure.” 

“I’ll tell him later. Alone.” You blushed. Alfred might have been your confidant when you were younger, but the idea of telling him about Jon...it made you wince. Alfred wouldn’t judge you though. 

Cass reentered the room with Jason and Tim behind her. Tim looked confused, sipping a cup of coffee while Jason seemed slightly concerned at the sight of you. You realized you still looked like a mess from all the tears you shed earlier. 

“Okay, what’s going on?” Tim asked sharply. Cass closed and locked the door behind them. Jason sat next to you on the bed, eyeing you carefully.

“We need you to be understanding and willing to support (Y/N),” Barbara said, glaring at Tim then Jason. “No matter what.”

“Don’t tell me you’re pregnant.” Tim ran a hand through his hair. “Because I don’t want to be anywhere near the manor when you tell Bruce.”

“I’m not pregnant. Why does everyone think that?” You blushed, wiping your eyes with your sleeve. 

Jason cleared his throat. “Well, that’s the running theory downstairs.”

Barbara rolled her eyes. “You’re all idiots.”

Cass held up a hand, silencing the room. “(Y/N), tell them.”

You hugged the pillow to your chest. Your blood turned to ice. If you felt this bad telling Tim and Jason, how was it going to be with Damian and Bruce. 

“We won’t judge you, (Y/N). We’re worried about you,” Jason said, putting a hand on your shoulder and squeezing gently.

“Honest. We’re here for you, even if you’re being a little overemotional,” Tim added, sipping his coffee. Cass punched his arm. Tim yelped in response.

You took a deep breath. “I’m dating Jon Kent.”

Silence followed. You glanced between Jason and Tim. Both were froze, eyes wide. Barbara smirked at the sight while Cass just rolled her eyes.

Finally, a chuckle escaped from Jason before spilling into full out laughter. He rolled off the bed, holding his stomach as if it would burst from the laughter alone. Tim slowly blinked and downed the rest of his coffee in one go.

“It’s not funny.” You nudged Jason’s side with your toe. 

“But it is.” Jason choked, still laughing. Barbara sighed, reaching down to pinch Jason’s ear. He yowled in pain as she drag him up and onto the bed. “Ouch, okay. Not funny.”

“How? Why?” Tim asked, setting his cup down before sitting on the other side of you. 

“I didn’t know it was him. We met at school, and fell in love.” You touched your necklace. Both of your brothers watching the movement. “It wasn’t until this morning when you all mentioned Superboy was Jon Kent that it hit me.”

Jason chuckled, holding up his hands when Barbara threatened his ear again. “So Bruce and Damian don’t know yet?”

“No, but we need you with us and to go with our plan.” Cass straightened, glaring at Tim and Jason. “For (Y/N).”

Tim sighed. “I’m always on your side...but I get to bring Kon in on this.” He smirked, nudging your side. 

“Kon already knows. We already informed Clark and Lois. They promised to tell him,” you said, smiling at Tim’s surprise. You turned to Jason. “Jay?”

Jason rolled his shoulders. “Well, I guess I can help, but I reserve the right to give Jon the shovel talk.”

You groaned while the others laughed. “Please no.” 

“Nope, I got to hold over my big brother rights.” Jason held up his hands. “Right, Tim?”

Tim shrugged. “I don’t care as much, but sure.”

You laid back on your bed, slapping a hand over your eyes as everyone laughed. It felt better, knowing that if you got through telling Jason and Tim, the rest will be not as challenging. At least you hoped.

***

When Jon landed outside of Wayne Manor on Christmas Day, he closed his eyes and found your heartbeat. Your heart was music to his ears. He grinned, running a hand through his messy hair to get it back to normal.

“He’s love sick already,” Kon chuckled, bumping Jon in the back as he jogged ahead to knock on the front door. Jon glared at him. 

“You’re not going to fool anyone for long,” Lois said, reaching up to fix Jon’s hair again. Jon groaned, gently pushing Lois’ hands away. 

“I’m not that bad, Mom.” Jon crossed his arms as the front door opened to reveal Damian Wayne himself. 

“TT, Kents.” He stepped aside let them in. “Father is in the den.”

“Thank you, Damian.” Clark and Lois headed toward the den, knowing the way. Kon was jogging up the stairs. Jon stayed next to Damian. 

Damian eyed Jon carefully. Jon swallowed hard, biting his lip. “So how are things?” Jon asked. Damian raised an eyebrow in response. Jon blushed. Lois was right, Jon wasn’t going to keep it a secret for long. He listened for you again. You were in the kitchen. It sounded like you were peeling potatoes.

“Good.” Damian stalked toward the den. Titus ran out of the kitchen, tongue wagging, tail thumbing as he jumped on Jon. Jon laughed, petting him. Damian pursed his lips. “Titus, down.”

Titus obeyed. “It’s okay. He’s a good boy.” Jon laughed when he heard your laugh from the kitchen. Everything in him wanted to go see you, but it would ruin the plan. 

Damian hummed and stalked off toward the den. Jon followed with Titus beside him. Bruce was in his armchair, his cast resting on a stool. The Kents were on the couch. The conversation was light. Bruce was even smiling slightly. Jon let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad?

“TT, Father, are you comfortable?” Damian went to Bruce and stood beside him. He folded his arms, glaring slightly. Jon blinked. Maybe Damian knew something was up? He swallowed hard and took a seat next to Clark. Jon’s stomach flip flopped. He felt like a bomb was ticking down in the room and he had to sit and wait for it.

After a few minutes of just the parents talking, Steph, Cass, Tim, Kon, and Jason walked into the room all together. They were all smiling oddly. Steph gave Jon a big wink. Jon flinched and blushed when he saw Damian’s frown at the sight. 

“Hey Mr. Lane,” Steph teased, taking a seat on the floor by the Christmas tree. “Mrs. Lane.”

Clark just hummed. Lois kissed his cheek. Cass joined Steph by the tree. Tim, Kon, and Jason sat on the other couch. Jason put his feet up and smirked over at Jon. Jon narrowed his eyes. He hoped they wouldn’t give it away. Damian was watching his siblings with suspicion already.

“Merry Christmas, everyone,” Alfred said. He stepped into the room with a tray of appetizers, coffee, and hot chocolate. Clark got up to help. 

“Aww, you must be (Y/N),” Lois said suddenly. Jon jumped to his feet, spun to find you behind Alfred with another tray. His heart fluttered as you smiled. You were wearing a red sweater that looked amazing on you. 

He shot forward to take the tray from you. “Let me help.” 

“Thank you.” Your eyes sparkled. Jon lost himself in them until someone cleared their throat. Your eyes widened along with Jon’s as you both turned to look at the rest of the family. Damian and Bruce were frowning while everyone else just smiled knowingly. 

“We’re dead,” you said under your breath, biting your lip as Damian tensed. Jon saw Damian connecting the dots. 

“Trust in the plan,” Jon whispered back. He walked over to set the tray on the coffee table. 

You stayed by the door. Jon took his seat again. Lois patted his knee and leaned closer. “You blew it, sweetheart,” she whispered. Jon swallowed hard.

Dick came in with a third tray with Barbara right behind him. He stopped when he saw you huddled by the door, Damian and Bruce’s stony expressions and everyone else’s knowing looks. “What’s going on?” Dick asked. Barbara hushed him.

Damian looked from Jon to you several times. Jon kept his eyes on you. He hated the scared look in your eye. Slowly, Jon stood back up. The room went silent as Jon walked back to you. 

“Let’s just do it. He’s going to figure it out in a sec anyway.” Jon took your hand. Your lips trembled, squeezing his hand like he was your lifeline. He kissed the back of your hand. He heard a few ‘aww’s and ‘ooo’s behind him.

“No...my sister?!” Damian snapped. Jon stepped slightly in front of you to take the hit of a hot coffee cup against his chest. It shattered. Jon felt the heat from the coffee soaking into his clothes. “You mean all this time?! That harlot you were talking about constantly was my sister?!”

Jon bit his lip. “Well, yeah, but to be fair, I didn’t know she was your sister.” He held up his hands as Damian grabbed another cup. Alfred clicked his tongue and took the cup from Damian’s grasp. The others were watching like it was the finale of their favorite series. Your entire body shook, pressing yourself against Jon’s back. 

“How didn’t you know?! Her name is (Y/N)?! You have seen her pictures?!” Damian stomped toward Jon. Luckily, Clark stepped into his path.

“Calm down, Damian. I can vouch that neither of them knew who each other were until yesterday,” Clark said, putting his hands on Damian’s shoulders.

“You’ve seen pictures of me?” you said to Jon, peeking over his shoulder. 

“I must have.” He bit his lip, racking his brain. Maybe? Then again, you were probably too beautiful in person that a photo wouldn’t have done you justice. He looked at Bruce. Bruce’s expression hadn’t changed. 

“Damian, I love her,” Jon said when Damian jerked away from Clark. Jon’s eyes flickered to Bruce. “Like a lot.”

You stepped out from behind Jon. “And I love him.” Slowly you walked past Damian and went to Bruce’s side. “You’re not mad, are you, Dad?”

Bruce looked at you. Jon swore he saw Bruce’s lips twitch. A lump formed in Jon’s throat. “Damian, relax. I understand this is a shock, but keep your head,” Bruce said, focusing on Damian before turning back to you. “As long as you’re happy and he treats you well, I will be fine.”

Damian crossed his arms, huffing before storming out of the room with Titus behind him. Jon watched him go and sighed. He knew Damian would need to cool off before he could patch things up. 

“Wait a minute? Did everyone know, but me?” Dick asked the room after he saw no one else was startled by the news.

“Sorry, Dickhead, but you can’t keep a secret,” Jason said, laughing when Dick pressed his hand against his heart like he had been shot. The tension eased in the room, everyone laughing and teasing. Everyone began to drink and eat. Alfred slipped out of the room and came back with a broom and dustpan to clean the glass on the floor.

Jon knelt down to hold the dustpan for him. “Thank you, Mr. Kent,” Alfred said. 

You appeared at Jon’s side. “We should change your shirt. It’s going to stain,” you said. Jon looked down. He grinned, having forgotten about it. 

“Probably.” He let you take his hand. Alfred raised an eyebrow as you both slipped out of the room. “You know this probably isn’t a good idea for us to go off by ourselves.”

“We’ll be fine.” You smirked at him, leading him upstairs and toward a bedroom he had never really noticed before. It was across from Damian’s. Jon felt so dumb. There was a sign with your name on the door. How could he not have noticed?

Your room was clean and was very much you. Jon hummed, stopping to look at the photos on your wall. Most were of the family, but there were a few with people he didn’t know. He wondered if you had a photo of him to put up now that the secret was out.

“Here.” You came from your closet with a shirt. “This is one of Dick’s old shirts that he gave me. I usually sleep in it, but...well, it’s clean.” You handed him the shirt. A slight blush came to your cheeks. “I’ll put your shirt to soak in my sink. We should be able to get the stain out if we act now.”

Jon took off his shirt, smirking when he caught you staring. “Thank, babe.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “I missed you.” You stepped forward and placed a kiss on his lips. Jon melted, drinking in your scent, the softness of your lips against his. Your hands rested on his chest. The warmth of your hands made him shiver.

“I missed you too.” Jon smiled, pulling away when he heard several heavy footsteps on the stairs. He heard them stop by Damian’s room to collect him. “I think your brothers are coming to give me the shovel talk.”

You groaned, rolling your eyes as you took his soiled shirt. He slipped on the clean shirt, loving that it smelled like the laundry detergent you always used. “I can’t stop them. I promised Jason and Tim that they could if we had their support.”

Jon bit his lip, listening to some chuckles from your brothers. “I’ll see you at dinner. Don’t worry.”

“I’m not.” You kissed his lips again just as your brothers knocked on your door. “They know I love you, so they wouldn’t kill you.”

“Well, I wouldn’t say that.” Jon hugged you tight before letting you go. You sighed and opened your door. Jason looked gleeful, Tim seemed bored, Dick was worried, while Damian had a particular devious look about him. “So, I know you want to talk to me,” Jon said, sending you a wink. You frowned slightly. “But you’ll have to catch me first.” Jon ran toward your window, opening it smoothly and flying out. 

Over the shouts of your brothers, Jon heard you laughing. It was best sound he had ever heard and one he wanted to hear for all the Christmases to come.

[make-me-imagine]

Worth Saving

Plot: When you are on a stealth mission in a rebel base, Obi-Wan must listen from a distance. When you are found out, injured and trapped, Obi-Wan races to save you, even when you tell him it's not worth it.

Pairing: Obi-Wan Kenobi x Gn!Reader

Prompt: A is alone and hurt badly, they can talk to B through an earpiece/phone. Eventually A stops talking and B thinks they lost them. But they find them alive.

Requested By: Anonymous; this is a really old mystery prompt request lmao

A/n: I don't recall if they've ever even used ear-pieces in Star Wars except for with pilots in their ships, or if they just like...don't exist. But let's pretend they do lol

Warnings: Mild cursing, mentions of blood and death, wounds. Pretty angsty. Lack of a sense of self-worth from reader.

Words: 2.3k

-

You tapped on the new piece of hardware hanging over your ear as you walked through the darkened backrooms of the base.

"Is this thing working?" You asked in a hushed tone.

"Yes, I can hear you just fine." You heard Obi-Wan's voice come through with a small amount of static mixed in.

"Oh good, now I can have your voice in my head telling me all the things I do wrong all the time now."

You could almost hear the smirk on Obi-Wan's face at your sarcastic remark before he replied "Perhaps this will stop you from making your impulsive decisions then."

"Don't get your hopes up."

Obi-Wan smiled again as he checked his scanners again. Even in these kinds of situations you could always make him smile.

He was nervous for you, being alone in a rebel base with no real knowledge of what you were actually looking for. And he hated that he was so far away, unable to get closer due to the base's ability to scan for ships.

So you snuck in yourself. Obi-Wan insisted on coming too, but you needed someone to be prepared to get you out fast, besides, if you got caught, there was a higher chance of him being recognized. You had a better ability of blending in, and no one knew your face, you couldn't be tracked back to the resistance.

"Damn"

Obi-Wan's heart dropped when he heard you curse, immedietely sitting up in his chair his hands hvering over the ships controls in case he needed to make his way to you.

"Y/n? What is it?"

"Someones coming, hold on." Your voice was barely audible, but Obi-Wan held his tongue, and his breath.

You snuck into a nearby room and leaned against the wall in the darkness. The sound of people walking past echoed through your ears.

Your heart was hammering as you held the handle of your phaser tightly.

"Y/n?" Obi-Wan's voice spoke softly, worry obvious.

"I'm good." You whispered and you heard an audible sigh of relief.

Looking around the room you had snuck into, you realized it was full of computers and paperwork. Looking closer, you saw drives locked up in a cabinet. Your interest piqued, you inched closer, wondering if the information on the drives might be valuable.

"I found a bunch of data drives"

"Any way of knowing what's on them?"

Breaking the lock, you took as many drives as you could fit in your bag. "No Idea but I grabbed some. I'm going to try and get into their system."

Able to hack in, you were only able to find one file on a potential weapon development for the rebels before you suddenly heard the door behind you slide open.

You dropped down, trying not to be seen, but you weren't fast enough.

"There they are!"

Through the comm's Obi-Wan heard an unfamiliar yell before the sound of weapons fire was heard. Obi-Wan immediately started the ship and made his way towards the base.

Hearing you grunt in pain, Obi-Wan's heart dropped "Y/n?"

"I've been hit" You said with panic in your voice as you fired your weapon at the rebels. Killing one, and wounding the other, you managed to get out of the room.

You raced down the corridors, your abdomen burning from your wound. As alarms started to blare through the base, you looked for a way out, but as the sound of running approached, you felt a sense of dread wash over you.

"I'll be there soon Y/n, can you get to the pick up point?"

"I'll get back to you on that."

Weapons fire filled the comm's again and panic coursed through Obi-Wan. He knew it was too dangerous to send you alone, he hated that he didn't go with you, he hated that he didn't risk the resistance being linked to the mission.

When silence came through the comm's Obi-Wan spoke "Y/n, what's going on?"

He heard your heavy breaths through the comm "I can't get out, they've got the place flooded with people. Obi-Wan, they knew I was here. They didn't just find me, they were looking for me."

Obi-Wan's breath caught in his throat "Are you sure?"

You nodded, forgetting that he couldn't see you "Yes, they knew"

Anger and worry coursed through him, who found out? Or, who betrayed you?

"Where are you?"

"I found a small storage room, I'm hiding in, I don't know if they'll find me. If they do, I'm screwed."

"How are your injuries?"

You looked down at your body and you swallowed. After the first hit to your abdomen in the control room, the ambush of rebels in the hall did more damage. You had been hit in the shoulder, arm and leg. It wasn't good, you already felt your body weakening.

Your clothes were burned from the phaser fire, the wounds were cauterized, but blood seeped from them due to your desperate escape.

"Not good."

Obi-Wan's stomach turned "I'm almost there, just hang on okay?"

"Obi-Wan, don't"

"Don't what?"

"Don't come for me."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm too far into the base, it's too risky. And I'm too injured. It's not worth it."

Obi-Wan let out a scoff of anger and surprise.

"You mean you're not worth it?"

You always had this mindset. You always threw yourself into dangerous situations so other's didn't have too, because you thought you wouldn't be as missed, that you wouldn't be worth as much, that no one would really care if you died.

And he hated it, he hated that you didn't see your worth. He hated that you didn't see how much he cared.

Your silence told him exactly what he already knew.

"How can you still think that?" He asked, his voice desperate "How can you think after all this time, after all the people you've saved, that you aren't worth it?"

"It's an occupational hazard I guess." You spoke softly, obviously in pain, but he could hear the forced smile on your face as you spoke.

You were never one to want to worry him, so you always made jokes.

"Even if I don't think I'm worth it. It's too dangerous for you. The base is flooded with people, you may be a jedi, but you can't make it through all of them to find me. You'll get yourself killed."

"I'm coming to get you Y/n, nothing is stopping me."

Your heart was hammering in your chest, and you weren't sure if it was because of the pain, panic, or the way Obi-Wan was speaking.

"Is this what it feels like to be you, when I make reckless decisions?"

You heard Obi-Wan let out a soft huff "Yes"

"No wonder you always get so upset with me."

"Occupational hazard" He mumbled as his knuckles turned white due to the grip of his hands.

He could hear your voice slowly getting softer, you were loosing strength.

"I'm getting close Y/n, just hang on."

You could hear the sound of footsteps nearby and fear coursed through you. You pointed you weapon at the door, prepared to fire if needed. Even if you'd die here, you wouldn't let them take you out easily.

The footsteps faded and you felt relief wash over you. You hissed as a jolt of pain shot through your stomach.

"Y/n?"

"Obi-Wan, it's too late." Your voice was softer now, as your eyelids grew heavier. Your clothes slowly soaked with blood, your wounds aching.

"Don't you dare say that. I know you're stronger than this, so just stay awake, I'm almost there!"

Obi-Wan could feel himself losing to his emotions, but he didn't care, not now. He couldn't lose you, he wouldn't.

"Always so worried about me, always caring so much more than others. Why?" You were mumbling but Obi-Wan could still hear you.

Obi-Wan felt his eyes burning, hearing the pain and worry in your tone "Don't you know?"

"Yes. But If I'm going to die I'd like to hear it at least once."

Obi-Wan shook his head, "You're not going to die. You're going to hold on, and I'll tell you in person. How does that sound?"

"So now you're trying to bribe me into surviving?"

"Anything to make you stay"

You didn't notice your grip loosening and your gun falling to the floor, or the way your body began to slump. You tried to focus on Obi-Wan's voice, to stay awake, but you felt yourself falling into darkness.

"I don't...think I h-have...a choice"

"Y/n? Y/n!"

When you didn't response, and he was only met with silence and static, dread washed over him.

"Y/n?"

Seeing the base come into view, Obi-Wan began to land his ship. Fear, anger and determination coursed through him. He wouldn't believe you were gone, not until he found you. And if- if you were dead, he wouldn't leave you here, not alone.

Obi-Wan managed to get half-way through the base before encountering rebels. After a fight, and a light wound to his arm, he made his way through the base again.

Reaching out with the force, he felt for your presence, any sign of you nearby. Feeling nothing, he felt his heart clench painfully in his chest.

Suddenly, just for a second, he felt a familiar presence, a sort of warmth washed over him, but then it was gone. But it was enough for him as he picked up his pace, and began running.

Finding a small door sort of hidden in a corridor, Obi-Wan knew it would be the sort of place you would go too. Going in silently, his eyes immediately spotted you at the back of the small room and his heart dropped.

You were still, no movement could be seen. Your phaser was lying on the ground beside you, your hands limp and head to the side. Your clothes were soaked with blood, as phaser burns could be seen.

Obi-Wan ran to you taking your face in his hands. He felt relief wash over him. You were still alive, though barely.

He knew it would e dangerous getting you out. He'd have to carry you, but he was not leaving you. Scooping you up into his arms, he made his way out into the corridor. He could hear the sound of footsteps nearby. Taking a breath, he started to run, to get you to safety, so save you.

--- --- ---

You weren't sure how long you had been in the darkness, lost and numb. But slowly, you started to feel as though there was someone in the darkness with you. Like you were underwater and someone was reaching for you, all you needed to do was take their hand.

"Don't go Y/n."

The voice was familiar, but you had trouble placing it. It was warm, it felt safe.

"I'm right here, we're almost out of this, just don't let go."

Suddenly, like a jolt of electricity you realized. It was Obi-Wan. He had come for you after all. But you were sure you were dead. Weren't you?

No. Not yet.

Darkness swallowed you again, but you felt lighter, as though you weren't drowning anymore, but floating, waiting to wake up.

When your eyes finally fluttered open, the room around you was unfamiliar, but the presence beside you was a comforting one.

Obi-Wan stared at you for a moment, surprised by your sudden consciousness. Relief followed quickly though as he leaned forward.

You met his eyes before you spoke, your voice soft "You came for me"

He smiled softly "Of course I did."

"Even though I told you not too."

"Yes"

Your eyes wandered to his arm, which was now in a sling. "You got hurt"

"Yes."

He saw the guilt cross your face and he reached out and placed his hand over the top of yours. You met his eyes again as he spoke.

"It's nothing serious. I got off a lot better than you did. You've been asleep for days."

You looked down at Obi-Wan's hand as it encased yours. "I heard you, talking to me. Telling me to hold on."

Obi-Wan smiled softly. He knew what you were referring too. When he finally got you back to the ship, he reached out to you with the force. He knew there was a connection to the force within you, even if you refused to acknowledge it. That was how you could hear him.

"And you did hold on."

You nodded softly, seemingly lost in thought. Obi-Wan squeezed your hand softly and you looked back to his face. Your eyes remained locked in silence for a moment before he spoke.

"You asked why I cared so much for you" He began, his voice uncertain, knowing the things he wanted to say were meant to stay a secret. Knowing he was going back on his own training and beliefs for simply feeling them.

You shook your head, stopping him "You don't need to tell me Obi-Wan"

Silence fell as your eyes remained locked. You knew how he felt, and he knew how you felt. But that was all it could be. And you both knew it.

In a moment of desperation, before you thought you were going to die, you wanted to hear him say it, just once. But now you were alive, safe again. And those words could no longer be said again.

"It's okay." You said softly, your emotion obvious in your voice "I know."

Obi-Wan smiled, but there was only sadness and regret behind it.

He wanted to tell you so badly, but both of you understood the consequences if he let those emotions take hold of him. You smiled at him, but there was sadness behind it. The same as he held onto.

You both knew how you felt, and you both knew that feeling was worth holing onto, worth saving until you could final feel it freely. But for now, it would remain unsaid.

xx End xx

Not sure how I feel about how this came out, but I hope you enjoyed it!

General Taglist: @criminaly-supernatural, @imaginesfire, @onuen, @rexit-mo, @witchygagirl, @alexxavicry

Star Wars & Obi-Wan Taglist: @hoeforthefictional, @asgardianhobbit98, @agent-catfish-kenobi, @maellem, @locke-writes, @stargirl-05, @linkxneptune, @skylions-den, @sardonic-the-writer, @emptyflowerpots, @hoodedbirdie, @gatefleet

[alittlewordy]

Prompted Writing: The Sweetest Honey Is Loathsome [Elim Garak x Julian Bashir (Garashir) Star Trek DS9 Fan Fiction]

Prompt: Garak would take a bullet for Julian and it would be entirely because he's so hopelessly and desperately in love with him and he would be fucking MORTIFIED about it. [x]

Word Count: 1,067

Warnings: Phaser Use, Near Death

Characters: Elim Garak, Julian Bashir

Summary: It happened in the blink of an eye. A threat, a shot, a snap decision. Garak acted on instinct, one he didn't know he had, and he saved Doctor Julian Bashir from phaser fire. In the moments before the black, with Julian knelling over him, he was satisfied to die a hero under the touch of his lover. Then he woke up.

Read on AO3

---

"It's a love story."

Garak frowned and watched his companion, the ever-so-charming Doctor Julian Bashir, take a bite of the human lunch he'd chosen to replicate. Garak put his own fork down beside his Cardassian-based meal, and leaned forward, a keen eye focused on Julian's own lively glance.

"Surely not," Garak said, a response to Julian's rather bold assessment of the Federation literature they'd decided upon reading for their weekly bout.

"It is! Two star-crossed lovers doomed to be separated by the war between their families."

"They were children that could not understand the concept of love, never mind die for such matters. They were foolish, as were their families, who were absent due to their insistent bickering. Had they seen the folly of their own blood, the matter would have been completely avoided and their attraction for each other would have dissipated. This story is not of love, it's a family tragedy, and a poorly thought out one at that."

Garak watched Julian tease a smile as the doctor swallowed his mouthful of food. "It's both. The love led to the family tragedy."

"At this point, I have to assume you continue this train of thought to spite me."

Julian chuckled. It was a warm sound, one Garak wished he could wrap himself in to shield himself from the chill of the station.

"It is considered a love story, historically," Julian responded, "One of the more famous ones at that."

"Yet another indication of human's lesser form of what is considered to be literature. Surely you can see the flaws in the supposed love-"

A scream stabbed the calm. Garak jerked his attention to the archway. A human stormed in from the promenade. He had a phaser. He pointed it at their table, away from Garak, at Doctor Bashir. Finger on the trigger, eyes full of rage. Julian stood. His mouth opened. His hands raised.

Garak lurched with panicked heart over the table and slammed Julian to the floor. A sharp burn slammed into the center of his chest. It barreled through clothes, tore through skin, and seared the same heart that willed his interference. The world became a cacophony of sounds, a blur of color, a cold array of pain and distance. He heard his name, a tender sound, held by a warm voice. Garak's eyelids fluttered open. Breaths were difficult, but he willed them so he could see that worried tan face with wide eyes that flicked from the wound to his face.

The doctor, his dear doctor, was alive. Garak raised a chilled hand up, fingers brushed against tan cheek, the heat a rising sun.

"Kiss me, Julian."

The only time the doctor's first name left his lips. Better the last time than never at all. Julian said something, but the words were lost in the incoming darkness. Then, the heat of the sun leaned in and a kiss landed on his lips. Garak tried to kiss back, tried to capture his last sensation and take it with him for eternity, the final token for a fallen hero.

Then it was dark.

Dark and cold. All else were abstractions. Sounds and touch wavered in and out, the calls of unknown beyond the understood. Garak grasped at nothing, thought nothing, willed nothing. He existed, a traveller, malleable in the abyss.

Then, the tangible. A weight on his body, a thick rectangle, a blanket. A forced warmth radiated from the fabric. An ache settled under his chest, a reminder of his heart that pulsed underneath.

Garak opened his eyes. Above him were infirmary lights, dimmed. Around, the hum of the station, the beeps of electronics, the ticks of fingers on a PADD. His eyes flicked right. There, in the light, a muted sun, poised in that abysmal Starfleet uniform Garak longed to toss into the void of space, sensor in hand, eyes on the medical PADD. The sensor became silent. Both pieces of technology were set aside before that ball of light leaned in, a soft smile causing the face to beam.

"How are you feeling, Garak?"

There was a small spark of satisfaction in seeing Doctor Bashir once more. However, any joy was dampened with the understanding that he, in fact, did not die. He was alive, and those moments he believed to be his last, a foolish leap to save his dear doctor and the subsequent request for a kiss, churned in his head through a revolving door of dismay. He need not asked if it truly happened. The doctor's eyes, the relief and love, poured with no hesitation because of his ridiculous actions.

Those same actions others saw, and they would no doubt speak of from this day forward.

Garak closed his eyes and inwardly cursed himself.

"Foolish."

"None of us knew that was going to happen," Julian answered, "You did what you had to in order to protect yourself."

"Your naivete knows no bounds, doctor."

"What do you mean?"

"Must I always spell things out for you, or will you be the only one on this deplorable station that does not understand who I was truly attempting to protect?"

Garak opened his eyes again. His outburst, though hoarse, did cause Julian's eyes to widen.

"I didn't think-"

"Oh please, you are quite aware of why I would take such ridiculous actions, and why you would be the sole benefactor of them. You are also quite aware of how mortifying it is for someone such as myself to take those actions."

Julian beamed. Garak could almost feel the warmth that radiated from that smile alone. Then he did, as Julian leaned in and kissed him. The kiss held centuries of love stories through its depth alone, but the length, the warmth, the living being that brought that kiss to Garak was the only one in the universe that split his heart and spilt words of adoration. The story was foolish, predictable, an embarrassment to all things Cardassian. Yet, it was his. While Cardassia would scorn such displays, and Garak himself would continue to feel the heat of embarrassment for years to come, this moment was theirs, and he treasured it. That's why, when their lips separated, and Julian looked at him with half-lidded eyes and that sweet as honey smile, Garak couldn't resist three little words.

"I love you."

"I love you too," echoed back, Julian's heart revealed to him without hesitation.

[to-trek-or-not-to-trek]

1st Report:

Star Trek TOS characters based on how good they would be at baking:

Kirk- He's not great at it, but he's trying so hard and that's the important part. Everything he makes tastes vaguely midwestern and nothing is even remotely healthy.

Spock- Spock is great at it, but would rather eat his spleen than tell that to anyone. He bakes in private, and no one ever tastes his concoctions, except for Jim. He likes to try and fuse Vulcan recipes and Human ones, which usually turns out okay. Jim tries to help, and is promptly thrown out of the kitchen.

McCoy- McCoy's baking is usually okay, if not overwhelmingly Southern. His cooking, however, sends people nightmares. He could burn instant ramen. All of his recipes are generations old.

Chekov- Chekov would be half decent, if he only had the patience for it. Unfortunately, he usually tries to take a shortcut that ruins the bake. His baking is always either overdone or underdone.

Sulu- Sulu is very good at baking, but usually makes healthy recipes with a startling amount of veggies, much to his Captain's dismay ("Not bad, what's in this?" "Zucchini, captain" "Get off my bridge")

Uhura- Uhura is also amazing at baking, and likes to challenge herself with complicated recipes. Her cake decorating skills could put artists to shame. They're usually too pretty to eat.

Scotty- Regularly burns toast, even with the replicator. Could not bake even if held to phaser point.

[whumpypepsigal]

Hey there whump-fellow! I was wondering if you might help me out a bit. I'm writing an original superhero story for Camp NaNo this year and I want the main character's superpower to come with whumpy side-effects, but I am having a hard time coming up with anything even slightly original in that regard. Do you have any suggestions or examples I might play off of? Also, I am going to ask around to a few whump blogs to cast a wider net! Any suggestions as to whom I should ask?

hi there! that’s awesome… wish you all the best.

im not very good with coming up with good/original ideas and articulating them lol but let me try-ish;

a superhero resistant fighter with lack of sense of touch/pain + super-fast metabolism : can’t feel when he’s injured till he passes out due to blood loss or fully conscious during surgeries as he feels no pain AND burns through anesthesia within secs.

there are so many awesome whump blogs who can help you out, im gonna tag a few but if any of my beautiful fellow whump blogs see this post please feel free to help our dear anon here

@deepwoundsandfadedscars @set-phasers-to-whump @fyeahvulnerablemen @aceofwhump @99point9percentwhump @whumpty-dumpty @whumpappreciation @of-wounds-and-woes @whumpslist

[youngpettyqueen]

for prompts, might I suggest a number 14 with Julian takin care of Kira, and a ‘it feels worse than it looks—no wait-‘ with Julian being a bad patient?

oh my god I finally fucking finished it.

I am SO SORRY this took so long I got hit with. the most violent writer's block ive had in a HOT minute and this had me fighting for my life. I dont even know how many times I wrote and rewrote this. I went through so many different ideas it was actually ridiculous. at one point I had something finished but it Was Not Good and I dont believe in posting writing I dont like so I scrapped it and started again

I keep waffling on whether or not I like this, but thats entirely because ive spent way too long staring at it. im sure in a few days ill actually really like it, cause I really like the dialogue, which was what I wrote out first. pulling myself out of my perfectionism, I do think I like this, and at the very least im proud of getting it down when it gave me so much trouble

again, im so sorry it took so long, but writer's block is a bitch and ive had a lot going on lately, so I hope you understand <3

for the readers- 14 on the list is "Stop pretending that any of this is ok. It's not." I did adjust that one a bit cause I was having trouble making it flow. but, without further ado, here's what I've got! 

Kira slides down with her back against the wall, grinding her teeth as she clutches at her wounded shoulder. The pain is still hot, the hole burned into her skin practically still smoking. She hisses as her palm makes contact with the sticky, raw flesh, but she still clamps down. 

“Anytime you wanna get over here, Julian!” She calls, her voice strained. 

“Doing my best, Major!” Julian calls from where he is, hunkered down behind some debris as a makeshift shield against the barrage of disruptor fire. 

This is, in eloquent terms, a right fucking mess. Getting into a fight with a bunch of Jem’Hadar soldiers is never a good thing, even when they’re prepared. When they’re not prepared, it’s even worse. And this time, they weren’t prepared. Because there weren’t supposed to be any Jem’Hadar on this planet. This was supposed to be a quick pit stop for the Defiant, replacing some whatsit that O’Brien said was damaged in their last firefight, but then there were Jem’Hadar soldiers and they’ve managed to land themselves in a whole different firefight. 

It really just hasn’t been a great week. 

Kira inches closer to the wall’s edge. Her grip on her phaser isn’t stable, but it’ll have to do. She takes a deep, steadying breath, and then she twists over so that she’s peering out from behind the corner. She spots the Jem’Hadar pinning them down, quick count tells here there’s 3 of them, and she snaps her phaser up to hit them with some fire of her own. The motion pulls at her injured shoulder in a way that makes her want to scream, but she bites down on it. 

Julian, bless him, takes the opportunity to lunge out from behind the debris. He scrambles across the gap, barely dodging the returning fire from the Jem’Hadar, and manages to throw himself down behind the security of the wall. He plasters himself up against the wall beside Kira, right as she ducks back behind cover as the Jem’Hadar’s fire intensifies. 

Kira looks at him. He looks at her. He’s breathing hard and heavy, his hair a mess and dirt and blood staining his face. She musters up a grin to tell him, “You’re late.”

Julian gives her a flat look as he turns to her. “Forgive me, it’s a bit difficult to make house calls in the middle of a battlefield,” He replies, sounding very, very tired. But then his eyes flick to her bloody hand, still clamped over her wounded shoulder, and she watches his expression shift as he clicks back into what’s affectionately referred to as doctor mode, “Let’s see that shoulder, then.” 

Kira moves her hand, letting Julian get a look at the wound. She winces as he pulls aside the burnt fabric, taking a deep breath in through her nose and resisting the reflex to jerk away. “How’s it look?” She asks, mostly just to distract herself. 

“Like it needs more than what I’ve got,” Julian replies, frowning, “The dermal regenerator I have will do for now, but this is deep. I’ll need to immobilize your arm,” He tells her, giving her an apologetic look, “If you move it too much, you’ll risk tearing it open again.”

“Just do what you have to,” Kira tells him, “Won’t be the first time I’ve had to shoot myself out with only one arm.” 

Julian nods, and returns his attention to her wound. “Right,” He pulls his kit up and rifles through it for a second. The first thing he pulls out is a hypospray, which he quickly sticks into her neck. Kira relaxes fractionally as the painkillers immediately start to work, dulling some of the burning in her shoulder. Then he’s pulling out the dermal regenerator, and bracing his hand against her shoulder again, “Try to hold still.” He advises.

Kira just gives a tight nod, already gritting her teeth and bracing herself. She feels the dermal regenerator start to work. The hypo helps, but it doesn’t take away that burning, itchy sort of feeling of muscle and nerves and skin stitching itself back together inch by inch. She clenches her fists tight, breathing hard through her nose as Julian works. 

“Sorry, I know this stings,” Julian says, “I’m doing the best I can. This regenerator wasn’t meant for a wound like this.” 

Kira grunts a wordless acknowledgement. If she says anything, it’s just going to be a string of curses. Instead, she focuses on keeping her ear on the sound of disruptor fire, making sure it isn’t getting closer. If the Jem’Hadar decide to come after them, she wants to be ready. 

“Done,” Julian pipes up. She looks over as he puts the regenerator back in his kit, taking the worst of the pain with it and leaving her with a dull ache, “That’s the hard part done. I’m going to move your arm now,” His hands are gentle, taking her arm and carefully easing it away from her side, “There we go. Alright, hold it there, please.” 

Kira does. Julian sits back, and unzips his jacket to get at his undershirt. “This will have to do,” He tells her, tearing a couple of strips from his undershirt, “These won’t be the most comfortable, but they’ll have to do. I’m out of bandages.” He leans back in, starting to bind her arm with the torn fabric.

“Sorry about your shirt.” She cracks weakly.

“I’ll get a new one.” He replies, without so much as a smile.

She hates how flat his voice is. Hates how… unlike him, it is. Quiet, with no bite. “C’mon, Julian, where’s that boyish optimism of yours?” She asks, “I could really use a hit of it right about now.”

Julian secures the bandage around her arm. “I must’ve dropped it when they started shooting at us,” He says, not meeting her eyes, “Do me a favour, Major. Don’t pretend any of this is ok,” He sits back again, still not meeting her eyes, all caught up in taking in his work, “Cause it’s really not.” He does look her in the eye, then. And he looks so… tired.

But then, he’s looked like that for a while, hasn’t he?

Kira gives him a smile. A sad, quiet little smile. “I never said any of this was ok,” She corrects, “I’m just… used to it, at this point.” Very, very used to it. Used to it in a way she hopes he never is. 

Julian considers that for a moment. His expression is hard to read- sad, maybe. Sympathetic. Then he sighs, and breaks eye contact. “Well, I suppose I’m getting used to it, too,” He scrubs a bloody hand through his hair, “We should get going. Can you walk?” He asks.

No time for sentiment, then. Kira nods. “It’s just the arm,” She assures him, “I can do a hell of a lot more than walk.”

“Good,” Julian starts to push himself up to stand, “Let’s-“ He doesn’t get far. He wobbles suddenly, his eyes widening slightly as he nearly topples right over. He barely manages to catch himself, bracing a hand against the wall before he can fall against it.

Kira quickly reaches out to steady him. “Julian?” She sits up, frowning, “What’s wrong?”

Julian frowns, confused. “I… don’t know,” He says, looking down, “I can’t feel my-“ He cuts off, suddenly, his eyes fixing on something, “Ah.”

Kira’s brow furrows. “Ah? What’s-“ She follows his gaze, and comes to the same abrupt halt as she sees just what he’s found, “Ah.” 

Julian has a substantial wound in his thigh. A chunk of his pant leg has been burned away, revealing a raw, painful-looking burn that’s steadily oozing blood down his leg. Kira’s eyes widen at the sight of it. That doesn’t look good. That really doesn’t look good.

“Well,” Julian says, “That’s not ideal.” And then he sways alarmingly, nearly crumpling right to the ground.

“Julian!” Kira lurches forward, manages to catch him by the arms. He grimaces as he eases himself down, taking his weight off his injured leg, “Damnit, Julian, what were you thinking ignoring this? Gimme that tricorder-“ She reaches for his medkit, not waiting for him as she rummages through it herself.

“I wasn’t ignoring it!” He exclaims, “I couldn’t feel it! Honest!” 

Kira finds the tricorder and pulls it out. “Don’t tell me they augmented the ability to feel pain out of you,” He shifts again, adjusting his position to give her a better angle to scan him, and it draws a painful hiss out of him, “Guess not.” She hums.

Julian manages a weak chuckle, the first one she’s gotten out of him all day. “Not as such,” He confirms, “I’ve just been- gah!” He grinds his molars as she pulls the burnt fabric away from the wound, “Preoccupied.” He growls.

Kira huffs softly as she reads the results on the tricorder. It’s not a fun wound. “So busy trying not to get shot that you didn’t realize you got shot?” She asks, arching a brow at him, “I’m almost impressed.”

“Only almost?” Julian asks, all mock indignation, “I’d hate to see what I’d have to do to actually impress you,” He mutters. His eyes drift down, then back up at her. He looks worried, “How bad is it?”

Kira puts the tricorder down. “How bad does it feel?” She dodges. 

“Pfft, this little thing?” He scoffs, gives a weak little wave that’s probably went to ‘wave off’ the pain, “It’s nothing. Just a scratch. It feels worse than it… no. No, wait, that’s not right,” He blinks, and she can almost see the gears in his head turning as he tries to figure out the order of the words, “I don’t mean to alarm you, Major, but I think the shock might be setting in.” He tells her.

Kira can’t help but roll her eyes. “No kidding,” She says, “This isn’t my first time, Julian. Hand me the regenerator, I’ll do what I can with it.” She holds her hand out expectantly.

Julian hands it over. “Now who’s being serious?” He asks.

Kira adjusts how she’s holding him, making sure she’s holding the burnt edges of his uniform away from his skin so that she doesn’t accidentally fuse any fabric to him. “Oh, so you can make jokes,” She takes the dermal regenerator and adjusts her hold on it, making sure it won’t slide out of her hand, which is slick with blood, “I thought you dropped that along with your optimism.” She gets the regenerator going, doing what she can with the wound.

Julian chuckles again, grins at her. “I told you, the shock’s setting in,” He replies, all charm, “I’ll say anything just to say anything. Apologies, but I’m going to be talking your ear off until we get out of here.” He warns.

Kira keeps her eyes on her work, keeps her hand braced on his thigh to hold him still. “As opposed to when you don’t talk my ear off.” She counters. After a few seconds, she can see that the burn’s healed as much as it’s going to. She switches the regenerator off and hands it back to him.

“Rude,” Julian huffs, taking the regenerator and putting it back in his medkit, “How’d the regenerator do? I don’t want to look.” He’s looking even as he says it, like he can’t help himself. 

“It’ll hold,” She tells him, not seeing any point in sugar-coating it. He would see right through her in a second, “For now. I’m gonna bandage it, just in case,” She adds. Now it’s her turn to get at her undershirt, tear it up for strips of fabric, “I liked this shirt, you know.” She informs him as she does.

“I suppose we’re even, then,” Julian cracks weakly, “Have I ever told you you’d make a great medic?” He asks.

There’s the Julian she knows. “Flattery will get you nowhere,” She tells him. Satisfied with her bandages, she gets them ready, “I do have one question for you, Doctor.” 

Julian frowns, confused. Yeah, the shock really has set in if he can’t see what she’s doing. “Go ahead.” He invites.

Kira starts wrapping his leg. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?” She asks.

He looks even more confused. “What are my-“ She yanks the bandages tight before he can finish, and he cuts off with a pitched yelp, “Fuck!”

Maybe it’s a bit mean to chuckle, but Kira can’t help it. She doesn’t often get to hear him curse. “Oh, language,” She tuts as she finishes tying the bandages off, “There. Nice and tight. That oughta hold you together till we get out of here.” She gives his knee a pat. 

Julian pouts at her. “You enjoyed that.” He accuses. 

“I did no such thing,” Kira replies smoothly as she pulls his medkit closer to her and starts rifling through it, not bothering to ask him, “Want a hypo?” She offers.

“No,” Julian shakes his head, making her stop short and give him an incredulous look, “I’ve only got the one left. Save it for someone who needs it.” He reasons. 

Her look quickly flattens. “Don’t start with the heroics, Julian,” She advises, “You’re not gonna be treating any patients until after you’ve been treated. On the Defiant.” She doubts he can even stand on his own, let alone treat people.

“I can hold out till then,” He insists, “Someone else might-“

“Julian,” Kira cuts in, not giving him any room to argue, “Take the fucking hypo.” 

Julian’s brows shoot up and he looks a little stunned. Just for a moment, though, before he huffs a bit of a laugh. “Now who needs to watch their language,” He says, his tone light and teasing, “Alright, go ahead.” He nods.

Kira takes the hypo out of his kit. “Oh, thank you,” She replies, making sure her own tone savours strongly of sarcasm, “You’re a terrible patient, you know that?” 

There’s that grin again. All charm. “So Nurse Jabara keeps telling me.” He replies, like the pain in the ass he is.

“You should listen to her. She’s always right,” Kira sticks the hypo in his neck, and watches his shoulders instantly sink down a notch. She didn’t even realize how tense he was, “Better?” She asks. 

Julian takes a deep breath. Probably the first one he’s taken all day. “…Much,” He admits, with the decency to look a little sheepish, “Thank you, Major.” His smile’s a bit less charm now, a bit more sincere.

Kira finds herself smiling back. “Anytime,” She says. She shoots a quick look around, regaining her bearings a bit now that they’re both taken care of. She can still hear blasters firing, but not as close. They might’ve moved off somewhere else. Or they could be waiting, “We should probably get moving.” She suggests.

“Probably,” Julian agrees, “Just one problem, though. I don’t think I can walk.” He tells her.

Kira figured. “Can you limp?” She asks, “I’ve still got two good shoulders, both perfectly good for leaning on.” She offers, patting her shoulder for emphasis.

There’s that glint in his eye. First time she’s seen it today- stubborn determination, or, in another word, cocky. “I think I can manage that.” He says.

Kira grins. “Great,” She ducks in and gets her arm around his waist, pulling him in snug against her as he wraps his arm around her shoulders, “Alright, lean on me. Steady. And…” She pushes herself up, and brings him with her. He leans heavy into her side, and she tightens her hold on him to keep him steady, “Up we go. Ready?” She asks.

Julian takes a moment to find his balance, shifting most of his weight off of his injured leg and compensating on Kira’s shoulder. “As I can be,” He tells her with a nod, “Let’s go.”

And they’re off. Making quite the sight as they hobble back into the action, pressed hip to hip and clinging tight to each other. But, hey, they’re still kicking, and they’ve still got their phasers, so they’ll make do. They always do. 

[wcrpbubble]

“  you’re not fine. and you don’t have to pretend that you are with me.  ” chakotay @ janeway

she weaves between crew members in the mess hall-turned-triage, connecting with those who are conscious and checking on those who are getting medical attention. a small handful were in sickbay proper, having emergency surgeries or other invasive procedures to ensure their survival - and even that was touch and go. she's made sure every injured member of the crew has been seen to and is being treated as needed; neelix has been passing out rations to those in the mess while the ones still on their feet take inventory of the ship and what systems are damaged or lost entirely.

the attack had blindsided them. species 8472 taking offense to their passage through a section of the delta quadrant and retaliating harshly before voyager had been able to detect them. they'd barely been able to repel the attack, but the ship had taken severe damage. entire decks unusable until the hull was repaired, engineering had taken a beating . . . a damn mess, frankly. it's out of pure adrenaline and spite and determination that she's still on her feet - she's perhaps the only one who hasn't seen medical attention for the cuts and bruises and phaser blast to her side, but she doesn't quite feel it. not yet at least. not until chakotay speaks and she's suddenly reminded that she's human, and allowed to be vulnerable. only then does the burning pain settle into her ribs. damn.

"about which part?" she asks lowly, flinching as she finally stops near the bar that leads back toward the actual kitchen, leaning against it for support. they're still running on emergency power until generators can be repaired, too. the ship is in terrible shape and while they're limping along at a pitiful warp 1, she doesn't know how long it will be until they're sitting ducks. she's hoping it doesn't come to that.

"i'm not alright that we keep getting attacked. i'm not alright that i'm injured. i'm not alright that we keep losing people. should i give you the full list?"

frankly the only reason she hasn't completely lost her mind is because she knows kolo and kieran are safe and unhurt, though terrified. she aches to go to them, to comfort them, but they're both lightly sedated and sleeping against harry kim against the far wall.

"i'm not alright that we could have lost them." she says, lower. "they were safer on new earth." and it's the truth. the worst enemy there was a rogue monkey or annoying gnat, not a species hell bent on killing them. her gaze snaps back up to chakotay; she's faltering somewhere between captain and kathryn - two separate parts of her, professional and personal. her hand moves to touch his shoulder instinctively, ensuring he's alright.

"i'm going to send some officers down to help be'lanna. any hands to help get them back up and running. tuvok's agreed to lead the security teams in investigating every hull breach, and repair them as they can until we can get the proper repair teams on them." her mind focuses to work, to the task at hand, though her gaze strays back to the boys. "i may not be alright, chakotay, but i've got to focus on something. if i give in to any ounce of myself, i'll lose my mind."

@stcrdate

[eponymous-rose]

So I've been rewatching Star Trek: TNG as comfort TV during/post-move and just got to Yesterday's Enterprise, which I remember liking well enough, but man, it's really unusual in the context of the rest of these early episodes. For one thing, the violence shown is a lot more stark than we've seen in the show thus far - Riker with his throat cut, Captain Garrett with the metal shrapnel in her head, lingering close-ups on dead faces. It's dark and moody and the "happy ending" resolution (as far as we know at this point, anyway) is saving the few survivors of a brutal battle, patching them up, and then shipping them straight back into that battle to be killed.

Given the show's not-so-great track record with its female characters, it's weirdly refreshing that we get a re-do for Tasha Yar. And yeah, she falls in love with a dude and goes off with him on his ship, but she was ready to say goodbye to him and that would've been that - what finally prompts her to step willingly into the meat-grinder is the realization that she had an "empty death" (Guinan had some really raw lines in this one) in the other timeline, and that now her death can have some meaning. It's nicely done, if a bit of a self-flagellating "mea culpa" on the writers' parts.

The alternate timeline isn't the gleeful, campy evil of the Mirrorverse, it's just an exhausted grind through the final days of a losing war. Lots of little touches show how desperate things have become - Wesley's been fast-tracked to a full ensign, Picard is a tactician first and foremost (he takes officers' opinions under advisement, yes, but he's also keeping from them the inevitable, imminent surrender), the bridge is laid out so the captain is front and center with everyone else in the background. As a contrast with the actual Enterprise's chill 90s living room lounge vibe, it's pretty striking. It's like a sneak preview into the bleak and war-heavy sci-fi that would start saturating pop culture a decade or so later, and then it's a firm rejection of that premise - "This isn't a ship of war. It's a ship of peace."

I have a long, long history with TNG - DS9 is my favorite Trek on balance, but TNG is encoded in my DNA. From around ages 3 and 5, my brother and I were watching and rewatching TNG constantly. (My parents would laugh over the fact that my brother didn't know how to read yet but had memorized the episode titles of the first couple seasons.) We had pajamas. We scoured every garage sale and had a giant metal can full of action figures and phasers and tricorders and ships and even, shockingly, that transporter toy that made things disappear using mirrors.

The tactile experience of those toys is burned in my brain - the loose nacelles on the Enterprise model, the click of the left phaser button, the little hole at the bottom of the Borg cube that we once stuck a pencil in and had the tip of the graphite snap off and rattle around forevermore. My brother and I played incessantly with our action figures, to the point where most of them had the paint at least partially rubbed off - we created hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of new episodes over the years. The first time I ever used a touchscreen was at some sort of Star Trek exhibition in Canada in the early 90s that we stumbled across on our way to visit my grandparents.

I'm always fascinated by how kids interact with fictional media - my brother and I were so young, but we obviously knew Star Trek wasn't real. Except... I just always assumed that important people watched it, realized "well, that seems nice", and were actively working to make that future happen. I was (perhaps a little embarrassingly) older when I realized that no, we weren't gonna be out there on science missions to the stars during my lifetime. At least, not in an Enterprise kind of way.

At any given time, there's just this Star Trek filter over how I experience the world - when I got to go to college thanks to scholarships, I had that weighty feeling of responsibility and awe that came with daydreaming about Starfleet Academy. I saw my career shift from the gold of engineering to the blue of science to the red of command. And the older I get, the more I appreciate a show that, for all its flaws, managed to make a utopia interesting and complex.

Because TNG was such a phenomenon when I was a little kid in the early 90s, a lot of my family relationships also have TNG tied up in them. I remember going to my grandparents' apartment and my uncle showing us a fan magazine about the show. I remember another uncle who didn't really "get it" but gifted me and my brother astronaut ice cream because he knew we liked that space stuff. I remember watching most episodes curled up on the couch or my parents' bed with my brother and my mom and dad. When Mom got sick and we talked about death, I remember the way she wistfully brought up the Nexus from Generations or how she hoped she could see the next season of Picard (she didn't, sadly, but she really enjoyed that first season). Hell, one of the first real bonding moments I had with my otherwise hyper-professional and businesslike PhD advisor was when she made a TNG joke, I laughed at it, and she said, "I just love that show, everyone's so nice to each other."

It's just been a lot of fun coming back to this show, is all. I think I periodically forget how much it's affected me and the extent to which it was a fundamental, formative influence. While a lot of it either hasn't aged well or fails to hold up to modern media analysis, so much of it is still lovely, and occasionally there are these moments of shockingly good storytelling.

Star Trek good.

[indeedcaptain]

Regulatory Relations, chapter 17: The Therapist

Hello!! Thanks for your patience with how long this chapter took!! Real life was lifing. Hope you like it.

Also posted on AO3 here.

☆☆☆

Section 31. 

Kirk could hear the soft shuffle of boots on metal grating, the gentle beeps and whistles of a starship at work, but all he could focus on was the sway of Elise’s silver hair in front of him. He walked between four armed officers in the unluckiest four-leaf clover he could imagine. One of the officers behind him prodded him in the back with a phaser rifle every time he slowed his pace, making it impossible to get a good glimpse of anything beyond the black and chrome hallways. It was dark, unfriendly compared to the easy gleaming white of the Enterprise, and the agents’ night-black uniforms swallowed all of the remaining light. 

Elise did not look back at him. 

She was smaller than he remembered. Of course, he had still essentially been a child when he had met her: she had been larger than life compared to everyone else, the first person after Tarsus who did not treat him like he was breakable. But in her light-filled office with the tree-lined windows on the Academy grounds, she had always worn soft khakis, a cardigan, a blouse with evenly spaced buttons. Those clothes had been shed like snakeskin in the intervening years. The angular black Section 31 uniform fit her too well, elegant like a tailored suit, and it made Kirk ache to see it. He could not look away. Her boots struck the metal walkways with ringing surety, and every passing crewman nodded formally at her. She did not acknowledge them.

April trailed a step behind her. In the dim ambience of this forbidding ship and next to the titanium set of Elise’s shoulders, the man seemed to shrink. They followed her up into the rest of the ship until they arrived at a turbolift. Finally Elise turned around again, and her pale eyes gleamed in the fluorescent lighting. She looked at the officers. 

“Dismissed,” she said, and her voice was gentle. Kirk’s mockery of an honor guard nodded, turned sharply, and departed down the hall. The turbolift door opened, and she stepped inside. April took one of Kirk’s arms and steered him into the lift. His hands were still bound behind his back, and his shoulders were starting to cramp. His gold shirt was tacky with Spock’s blood, clinging to his skin and cooling uncomfortably. He itched with it: with knowing that Spock had been hurt, had been dying, with not knowing if Bones had been able to staunch the bleeding and repair the damage. But Scotty had been able to beam him out, and that was better than nothing. 

The lift doors closed, and Elise turned those gentle eyes on him. Her skin creased deeply at the corners of her eyes, and even her eyelashes were gray now. “I’m so glad you’re here, captain,” she said. She smiled, inviting him to join in her good humor. “Goodness, you’re all grown up now! And so accomplished. A captain of a starship, just like you always wanted.” Her voice was smooth, warm and familiar, the cadence of her words soothing and easy. Kirk held her gaze and let his lip curl, his eyes burning. But his anger didn’t seem to phase her in the slightest. 

“Deck seven, please,” she said to the lift, and it started to move. She continued conversationally, “I’ve watched your career with no small amount of interest, dear.” Bile rose in the back of Kirk’s throat. “You were so serious all the time when you were young, so studious. But it paid off, didn’t it? Youngest captain in Starfleet, and on the flagship itself. I was so proud of you.” She glanced at him, a smile playing around the corner of her lips as she considered him. His hands shook with anger behind his back, and he clenched them into fists. The doors slid open, she stepped out, and April pushed him forward with one hand on his elbow. They followed her down the empty hallway, their footsteps echoing eerily. “Your resilience has always been one of your greatest strengths, and you don’t even seem to realize you have it.” 

There was one door at the end of the hallway, and Elise led them directly to it. She pressed her hand to a plate embedded in the wall. It whirred and beeped before the door swished open, and she stepped inside. Kirk and April followed. A harsh white light blinked on as they entered, illuminating the dark space in front of them with unforgiving clarity.

Kirk stumbled backwards in horror. April’s unyielding hand against his back kept him from escaping before the door slid shut. It locked with a musical chirp. The room was all gray metal, with one single reclining chair in the center, upholstered in an uncannily cheerful mint green. The color burned his eyes, or maybe it was what was anchored into the ceiling above it: a device that Kirk had not seen in over a year, since he had returned to a similar room to find a dead doctor beneath an unholy light. 

The neural neutralizer winked at him from the ceiling. 

“You were the one to report the situation with Dr. Adams to Starfleet, were you not?” Elise’s voice echoed off the plain metal walls. 

“The machine was destroyed,” Kirk said, and his voice came out hoarse. He couldn’t tear his eyes from the haunting shadow of the chair alone in the center of the room, the painful illumination of the neutralizer above it. Something in him cringed away from it, remembering what it felt like to be trapped beneath it.  

“We rebuilt it, and improved it,” Elise said, as though it should have been obvious. “As soon as I read your mission report, I knew I needed it.” She crossed the room to an unobtrusive door set into the wall, and nodded to April, who shepherded Kirk forward. “Relying on trust, obedience, on discipline and loyalty… those things might work for you, captain, but they don’t work for me.” The door before her opened. She stepped inside before drawing Kirk towards her by the elbow. He ripped himself from her grasp.

April stepped forward to join them in the tiny room, but she placed a gentle hand in the middle of his chest. It was a possessive gesture, a disrespectful one. “Why don’t you go take a seat, Robert?” April’s eyes widened. 

“I---”

“Take a seat, Robert.” The door slid shut. Elise depressed a button, and the aluminum wall in front of them slid open, revealing a tinted plexiglass window. Through the glass, Kirk saw April cross ponderously to the chair and drop into it. As he placed his wrists on the arms of the chair, two thick metal cuffs snapped down around them. Kirk and April both flinched. 

“I used to rely on the natural plasticity of the brain,” Elise said, and she turned to Kirk to wink at him. His shoulders ached in earnest now. “When we worked together, for example. The human mind is so susceptible to suggestion, to persuasion… it didn’t take a lot to convince someone of what would be best for them, especially when they are so young.” Kirk’s stomach clenched. “But thanks to your helpful efforts, we’re able to assure almost one hundred percent reliability.” She smiled down at the control panel at her fingertips, and tapped at a sequence of buttons with a causal confidence that implied frequent repetition. The computer in front of her booted up and she selected a program, too quickly for Kirk to read any of what the screen displayed. 

“Almost?” Kirk asked. She turned to look at him again as the computer whirred, scanning his face intently. 

“There is something about you, captain, that makes even the best soldiers hesitate,” she said. She shook her head, disappointed, and some young and vulnerable part of Kirk still hated to see it. “The admiral is useful, but he relies too much on regulation. Not checking you for that second device, assuming you only carried standard equipment… he should have known better than to underestimate you. And now I’ve got another loose thread to tie up.” She sighed. “I must say, I’m not a fan of loose ends.” 

The computer in front of her read: PROGRAM INITIATED. RUN? 

“He said you wanted me for something,” Kirk said. His mind wheeled as he hunted for an angle that he could exploit, to get himself out of his bindings, to get back to the hangar and steal a shuttle. “Is that true?” 

Elise leaned her hip against the computer table. Over her shoulder, through the window, April stared unblinkingly at the ceiling. The neutralizer had not yet come on, that horrible yellow-white light not yet bathing the room in its terrible illumination. 

“You’re special, Jim,” she said again, and her face was earnest. “I knew it before, and I know it now. I need someone special at the helm of this ship.” 

“I would prefer to remain on the Enterprise,” he said, and she laughed like he had made a terribly clever joke. It was light, and airy, and her eyes twinkled when she looked up at him again before tapping a key on the console. The neutralizer blinked on. 

The admiral in the chair roared, throwing his head from side to side. “Robert is skilled in many ways, but he’s best at the diplomatic side of things. You marrying the telepath was a threat to our security, but I recognized it as the opportunity that it was. Are you bonded, by the way?”  

Kirk blinked at the question, but before he could even decide to lie or not she nodded calmly. “I had thought not,” she said. Her steady flow of one-sided conversation, her familiar and comforting cadence, felt like it was filling his head with cotton fuzz. He was thirty-five, captured with his arms behind his back. He was eighteen, sitting on her couch, desperate for a friend. He was twenty-two and terrified that someone would look at him and see behind his confident facade. His shoulders ached, and his mind was near-numb with disbelief and shock.

April’s screams trailed off in the room in front of them. He stared slackly at the light, which whirred as the intensity of the illumination rose and fell. Kirk could just barely hear the gentle murmuring of a recording--- Elise’s own voice?--- playing in the room. 

“For my own curiosity, dear, would you mind elaborating on how, exactly, you were able to tell your Mr. Spock about your past?” Elise said, as if she were asking about something as casual as the weather. “You were zipped up tight when last I saw you.” 

“Uncuff me and we can talk,” Kirk said. Elise clasped her hands in front of her.

“I would, Jim, but at this point I’m just not sure if I can trust you yet.” Her eyes were analytical as they scanned over his face. Even despite the years, the wrinkles that she now wore, the silvering of her hair, she was so familiar to him. And she thought that he was familiar to her; familiar enough that she knew him, understood him, could read him. She had watched him through the years, and wanted him now. 

And there it was--- Kirk found his angle. He took a deep breath, steadying himself, and the glass wall in his mind slid down between the half of him that screamed for Spock and the Enterprise and the half that was going to do whatever it took to get back home. He hesitated, like he was going to say something else, and crumpled his face for just a second. 

“It’s not like I could hurt you,” he whispered, and his eyes dropped to the floor as his voice cracked. “I could never hurt you.” 

Even as April whimpered near-inaudibly in the next room, Kirk kept his eyes downcast as Elise took a step towards him. His shoulders slumped and his spine bent, as if he were revealing the depths of his exhaustion. She reached out for him, pushing his chin up with one bent finger to meet her eyes, and he laid down his mask. He let it all shine out of his face: his fear for Spock, his anger at her and at Section 31, and beneath all of that, beneath the years of Starfleet and exploration and the Enterprise, the fury and fear and grief of the child that had witnessed the annihilation of his home on Tarsus. 

“Oh, my dear Jim,” she said, and her eyes lit up with a horrible joy. “You really couldn’t.” She placed her hand gently against his cheek, and he closed his eyes and leaned his head into it. “What have you been feeling, all these years?” 

More love and joy than I ever expected to find. “I’m so tired,” he said. “I’m tired of hiding. Tired of feeling the way I do.” 

“I’m sorry, Jim,” she said. “I really am. I hope it brings you comfort that it’s all been for the greater good.” He fought to keep his face neutral, and failed. He screwed up his face instead and pushed it further into Elise’s cool hand. Her skin was soft, papery with age. “Did you tell anyone but Mr. Spock?” 

Kirk shook his head. Technically, Spock had been the one to tell Bones. He lifted his face from Elise’s hand and opened his eyes.

“Good,” Elise said, her voice soothing. “That’s good. You’ve been so strong, Jim.” His heart clenched in his chest. He turned to look at April through the window, lying quietly under the neutralizer. If he played his cards right and convinced Elise that he would come quietly, he could keep himself from ending up in the same position anytime soon.

“What does Section 31 do?” 

Elise turned to look at him curiously. He put a little bit of himself back into his face--- just a hint of the fire that burned in his stomach, that moved him forward. “If I’m going to be your captain, I need to understand the mission.” 

“The consummate professional,” she said approvingly, and smiled. She tapped the console controller, and the faint strains of the recording faded away as the light over April dimmed. Once the light was completely off, the cuffs around April’s wrists snapped open. “You were my proof of concept, did you realize that?” 

“No,” he said, and he did not have to fake his surprise. “What does that mean?” He followed her as she opened the door between the control booth and the neutralizer room and strode to April’s side. He stared up at the ceiling with unseeing eyes. 

“Robert,” she said gently. “How do you feel?” Slowly his eyes flicked towards her, and finally focused after several moments of struggle. 

“Fine,” he said. 

“You seem a bit tired,” she said. “Why don’t you go lay down?” April sat up and swung his legs down over the side of the chair. He blinked a few times before refocusing on her. 

“I think you’re right,” he said, and shook his head lightly. “I think… I think I’m feeling a little under the weather.” 

“Go rest,” she said. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

“Certainly,” April said. “Thank you.” He stood and departed without ever once acknowledging that Kirk was there. He wasn’t sure that April would have recognized him if he had.

“What’s his role in all this?” Kirk asked, once the door had slid shut behind him. 

“He’s the big man around here,” Elise said, playful, and Kirk followed her as she turned to leave the room. 

“It seemed like he answers to you, though,” Kirk said, and Elise nodded. 

“Oh, yes, he does,” she said easily, and Kirk’s stomach sank. As an admiral, April could easily have been instated as the formal head of any branch of Starfleet, and should have had oversight of it. But that would have required him acting under his own agency, and Kirk was rapidly coming to the deeply unpleasant conclusion that April might not have been his own man for a long time. 

“So he’s the head on paper, and you…?” 

“Clever boy,” Elise said, and gave him another approving smile as he shadowed her down the silent hallway and back into the turbolift. “No one knows 31 better than I do, or understands the needs of the Federation like I do. And no one can politic better than April. When I had the opportunity to work with him, I leapt for it. And the rest, as they say, is history.” They rode the turbolift in silence until the doors slid open, and he followed her out. His shoulders were cramped painfully. He breathed around the ache the best he could, and he tried not to think about the hole in Spock’s ribcage. They walked down another hallway, each blank-eyed crewman they passed stopping to nod to Elise, before she lifted her hand and pressed her eye to a dual scanner system and opened a door. 

“My office,” she said, and swept him in with a magnanimous arm. It was a small room, but elegantly outfitted; a neatly organized desk, a chair, a small couch, and a table. She had a window. Through it, Kirk could see the stationary stars that surrounded them. Given enough time, he thought he could figure out where in the galaxy they were. She entered behind him as the door closed and crossed to sit on the desk, one leg dangling down off of it. 

He looked from the small couch to the chair across from it, and the table between them, and gave Elise a wry half-smile that he knew didn’t reach his eyes. 

“Come sit with me?” Kirk asked plaintively. “Like old times?” Despite the strain on his wrists, his whole arms on fire now with discomfort, he sat on the little couch and leaned back as best he could. She smiled and took the chair across from him, crossing her legs at the knee. The sense of deja vu was dizzying.

She pulled out her padd and tapped a button. Behind his back, the two cuffs linking his hands together unlatched. His shoulders loosened with a painful jerk, and he exhaled harshly. 

“In front of you, please, Jim,” she said, and he did as he was told. As he brought his wrists back together, the magnets in the cuffs reactivated, locking them together. He rolled his neck and shoulders out as the blood flowed painfully back through his arms and into his fingers. “Better?” 

“Yes,” he said. “Thank you.” She studied him, and he let her. His shirt was still stained with Spock’s blood, dried to a near black, and he could feel the fine grit of Kindinos VI on his skin, in his hair. Spock’s blood had dried in the wrinkles of the palms of his hands, under his fingernails, and he could feel the tight tackiness of where Spock’s bloody hand had landed on his neck. 

Spock had promised to come for him. All he had to do was stay out from under the neural neutralizer and, if he was lucky, steal a shuttle. But Spock would find him--- his crew would find him. They would not abandon him. Through this litany of hope and prayer, he kept his face on the tired side of neutral.

“If you want me to work for you, I want to know what you’re doing,” he said, after two minutes of Elise’s careful scrutiny. 

“Does it matter?”

“It matters to me,” Kirk said. He gestured at the ship around him as best he could with his hands bound. “All of this--- it’s followed me since Tarsus. I know 31 was on Tarsus. I want to know why.” The familiar nausea that came from talking about the colony rose in his esophagus, and he swallowed hard. Elise watched him carefully. 

“Alright, Jim,” she said. “I’ll make you a deal. I want to ask you some questions, and in return, if you answer honestly, I’ll answer some for you.” 

Kirk settled back against the couch, the angry muscles in his back unclenching with the support, and crossed his legs at the knee. He laced his fingers together in his lap and gave her another tiny, tired smile. “That works for me.” He met her eyes. The intervening years since their last session hadn’t dulled their clever light. She leaned forward, pen in one hand, padd in the other, and for a half-second Kirk felt like he was eighteen and utterly alone in the world again. But he inhaled, and he leaned in towards her too, forcing his body language to be open and trustworthy. He was not eighteen, and he was not alone. His crew and his husband would find him. All he had to do was lie, and he had plenty of practice. 

“Does speaking about the colony still distress you?” 

“Yes.”

“What physical reactions do you experience when you discuss your experiences on Tarsus IV?” She watched him as she said the name, and his slight twitch wasn’t entirely faked.

“Nausea is the big one,” Kirk said. “Lightheadedness. Erratic heartbeat and difficulty breathing. Difficulty speaking. General panic.” 

“Any loss of consciousness?” 

“No,” Kirk said, silently adding, Thank goodness! “Why did 31 save Kodos?” 

“That’s curious,” Elise mused, tapping her stylus against her padd. “It was never about Kodos. 31 only went to the planet to see if any of his research was salvageable. Finding him alive was a happy accident.” Kirk felt a little thrill at the confirmation that Spock’s hypothesis had been correct, a little pride in his husband’s sharp mind. “Would you mind elaborating on how you felt when you divulged your experiences to the Vulcan?” 

“All of the above,” Kirk said. “It was… unpleasant is a bit of an understatement. I never was able to say it out loud. In the end, I just showed him. In a mind-meld.” 

“Ah,” Elise said, a horrible curiosity on her face. “Such a fascinating edge case. I knew the telepathy was a threat to our secrecy, but I did not consider the forms it might take before a marriage bond. That’s clever, Jim, very clever.” She nodded at him like he’d accomplished something important and looked down at her padd before meeting his eyes again. She smiled sadly. “But you are not bonded.” 

“No.” 

“And why is that, Jim?” 

Kirk swallowed and looked out the window, away from Elise. The shuttle that had taken him to this ship had been traveling at sublight speed for the last section of their journey; even if it had been able to achieve warp, they couldn’t have gone too far from Kindinos. “I didn’t want him in my head full-time,” he said quietly. “I didn’t want him to know… how bad it still was. For me. Or for him to have to feel what I felt.” 

“Oh, Jim,” Elise said, and her face shone with concern. Kirk wanted to hit her. “That must have been hard for both of you. I understand those bonds are important.” 

He thought of Spock’s steady surety, thought of ad astra per amorem and no caveats, and held them in his heart even as he said, “It was. It is.” He cleared his throat. “What experiments were being run on Tarsus?” 

“Oh, those,” she said, and flapped one hand dismissively. “They didn’t end up leading anywhere useful. The governor had a background in genetic manipulation and bioengineering. He was the primary investigator for our attempt to create a biological weapon that could be used against some species while leaving others unharmed.” 

Kirk stifled the part of him that screamed at the injustice of the idea and lifted an eyebrow sardonically. “Was it supposed to be used against humans?” 

Elise gave him a warm, bemused look. “No,” she said. “It was nowhere near complete when waste material broke containment and got into the water system. It got into the reservoir, which contaminated the irrigation system, and…” She made a light, floating gesture with one hand. All that pain and suffering and death, reduced to a hand wave. Kirk’s lungs felt like they were filled with cement. “Experiment failed, and the PI revealed some… unfortunate beliefs once he though his career was ending. The only loose end after Kodos burned it all down and we grabbed him and the data was one kid who refused to die, and those that he saved.” She smiled at him, and it was like ice. I must say, I’m not a fan of loose ends. 

“You’re only alive because one of our soldiers made a mistake,” she said kindly. “A happy accident for you, but one that never should have happened.” 

“What did you mean, that I was your first?” 

“I think it’s my turn, Jim,” she said, tutting at him and frowning theatrically, and he gestured in front of himself in a ‘go ahead’ movement. “What is your relationship like with your parents these days?” 

Kirk actually laughed out loud. It was involuntary, and too loud in the quiet office, and hurt his throat. “I asked you for Federation secrets and you want to know how things are at home? After all these years?”

“It’s important, dear,” she said earnestly. “For the both of us.” 

“It’s fine,” he said, and she tutted at him. 

“Be honest, Jim, or this won’t work out.” On ‘this,’ she flicked her stylus back and forth between the two of them. Just Jimmy and Elise against the world. He could be honest. He just had to tell her what she wanted to hear until his crew came for him. 

“Did you know that Sam died?” Kirk blurted out. Elise slowly set her stylus down on her padd. 

“I did not,” she said.

“The Enterprise got the call that something was wrong on Deneva. But by the time we got there, Sam was already gone. We lost his wife shortly after. His son survived, but it was a close thing.” Kirk closed his eyes. “I was the one to tell our parents. I haven’t talked to them since.” It had been a horrible call. Winona had stared at him with that haggard thousand-yard gaze, and George had stepped out of frame without muting the mic. Kirk had heard his muffled weeping across thousands of lightyears and had been unable to do anything to help. They disconnected the line. Three hours later had found him slumped in a Medbay chair, positioned so he could keep an exhausted, protective watch over both Spock and Peter as they lay their biobeds.

“Oh, Jim,” Elise said. “I know how much he meant to you. I’m so sorry to hear that.”

“Thank you,” Kirk said, and closed his eyes to collect himself before opening them again. “Without him around, I don’t keep up with my folks much.”

“I see,” Elise said, and took another note on her padd. “That’s quite the loss. Have you been able to share that with anyone?” 

Had he talked about it? No. But he had spent late hours silently tinkering with Scotty in the engines when he couldn’t sleep. He had played chess with Spock when he couldn’t bear to sit in his quarters alone, listened to Uhura explain her translation work when his mind was too loud, drank with Bones in his office when he had forgotten how to laugh. 

He hadn’t spoken about it. But he didn’t have to. His friends had supported him anyway.

Kirk met her gaze. “No,” he said. “I haven’t.” 

“Why not?” 

“Don’t you remember?” Kirk asked quietly. “I have to be the bulkhead.” 

Elise’s eyes lit up. “Very good, Jim,” she said. She leaned back in her chair and tilted her head gently. He refused to let it remind him of Spock. 

“What did you mean, that I was your proof of concept?” 

“I don’t think you understand, Jim, just how dangerous you were when you returned from Tarsus. The youngest son of George and Winona Kirk, half-dead, and telling a story about how a mysterious black shuttle whisked away the man responsible for the death of an entire colony? Not to mention that you could have refuted the entire mission report if you had ever seen it.” 

“I was just a kid. No one listened to me,” Kirk said.

“You would have become a symbol,” Elise countered. “Tarsus itself was bad enough for our reputation. We couldn’t allow the damage to be multiplied. Every splinter group that wants to weaken us would have used you to slander the work of the Federation.” 

“I don’t think it counts as slander in a court of law if it’s true,” Kirk said mildly, but Elise’s hawkish eyes speared him through. 

“It doesn’t matter if it was true. The Federation is only as strong as people believe that it is. One of 31’s most important mandates is to protect that image. Once the Valiant picked you and the other kids up, I received my orders.” 

His kids. Their faces spun through his mind. He owed it to them to keep her talking, and to find the truth. “And what orders were those?” 

Elise smiled, pressing her lips together. “To keep you silent. All of you. To ensure that none of the details that you witnessed and remembered could be compiled to disprove the official Federation record of what occurred on Tarsus. It gave me the opportunity to test a theory of mine, and the success of that theory changed the trajectory of my career and 31.”

Whatever expression Kirk was holding on his face dropped off. “What theory?” 

“The extent to which brain plasticity could be manipulated through cognitive behavioral therapy. This general concept has been known for centuries, of course. Trauma rewrites the neural pathways in the brain; healing requires rewriting them again. I simply…” She picked up her datapen again and twirled it in her wrinkled, dextrous fingers. “It sounds unkind when I say it now, but it was what was best for you, and best for the Federation.” She met his eyes. “I do hope you’ll believe me.” 

“What did you do to us?” His voice was flat. He had to keep himself calm, keep her thinking that he was considering staying. He unclenched his hands and smoothed his hands down his thighs.

“I was able to link your physiological post-traumatic stress response to the idea of sharing what you had seen. If sharing details about the colony triggered a post-traumatic episode, you were less likely to do it. But I did not believe that alone to be sufficient; there also had to be a positive reason. Not just ‘I don’t want to do this because X,’ but ‘I want to do this because Y.’ For you, of course, that meant linking remaining silent to being a good captain.” Elise smiled at him, warm and familiar, and his stomach heaved. He stared at blankly her in horror as she continued. “And for years, you did beautifully. You’ve done so well for yourself. But then your star kept rising, and you became more and more well-known among Starfleet.” 

She tapped her datapen firmly against her padd. “And then a little bird told me that you and a certain telepath were more than friends. Your public profile, and Spock’s ties to Vulcan, and the possibility of you bonding… surely you can see why you together became a threat to be neutralized.”

Kirk’s throat was as dry as that desert planet. “Our marriage, a threat to the whole Federation? Because I witnessed one crime twenty years ago? I can’t believe…” 

“Jim,” Elise interrupted, infinitely patient. “Can you even imagine the political upheaval if T’Pau claimed you as a son of her clan and then discovered that Starfleet had tried to develop an androphobic bioweapon and nearly killed you in the process? You could have destroyed everything we’ve built since 2063.”

If it can be destroyed by the truth, then it deserves to be. He looked away from her smiling, lying face, out the window. White stars, black space. Everything she had told him roiled within his mind. 

“I imagine you have a lot to think about. I’ll let you get some rest,” Elise said. She tapped something into her padd, and her office door unlocked. “We have a lot of ground to cover tomorrow.” 

“What happens tomorrow?” The door slid open to reveal two black-uniformed officers, standing at attention, staring blankly forward. Their faces were slack in an uncanny way, no shifting eyes to indicate their attention was drawn in any direction.

“Your treatment begins.” 

Tomorrow. The idea of being subjected to the brutal loneliness of the neutralizer again encased his heart in ice. But the wait gave him more time to find a way out, and he had already endured it once before. He could survive it again. He nodded, as if the fact that she had brainwashed an entire crew of Starfleet officers into silence was in any way less than abhorrent.  

She flicked her hand at him, and the guards each seized one of his arms. 

“So what next?” Kirk asked. She nodded at the guards, and they started marching him backwards out the door. 

“Your first mission will be cleaning up the mess you made on Kindinos VI.” 

He blinked. “You didn’t get the dilithium?”

“Of course we did,” she said. “But April’s mission was to ensure that Spock could not relay any information to his family. Your actions have only prolonged the inevitable.” She followed him to the door and laid one hand on his shoulder, peering up into his face. Her hand burned like a brand, even through his shirt. 

“I’ll use that wonderful machine to ensure your compliance, and then your first mission will be to tie up our little loose end.” Kirk’s stomach dropped. She smiled gently at him. “I really am so happy that you were able to confide in someone, Jim. Your resilience is truly admirable. I just wish it had been anyone else.” She stepped back and the door slid shut. Kirk stared at the closed door as the guards manhandled him in the opposite direction. 

She was going to wipe his mind clean and send him to hunt Spock down. He, who knew Spock better than anyone, understood the way he thought, would be able to find him no matter where he hid. 

Waiting passively for rescue was no longer an option. He had to warn his crew. 

☆☆☆

The two officers marched him down the oddly silenced hall and then into the turbolift, where one of them ground out, “Deck three.” Both were men of indeterminate complexion, sallow from lack of sunlight, with eyes that never seemed to lose focus on the wall in front of them. They were about his height, and carried themselves with the comportment of fighters. They both carried phasers, and had comms at their hips. 

He would have to steal their comms. One, definitely, but both if possible. But how?

“Work here long?” Kirk asked conversationally, and tried to catch the eye of the one on his right. Their grips were painfully tight. 

“Ten years,” he said, and shoved Kirk forward when the turbolift opened. Kirk stumbled slightly. The sliding doors revealed not a deck of quarters, as Kirk had hoped, but a nondescript hallway so long that he could see the curve of the ship far ahead. 

“A long time,” Kirk agreed, and turned to the one on his left. He started dragging his feet as they walked; he didn’t think it unreasonable for him to be sluggish after the day he’d had. He wasn’t sure what time it was, or how much time had passed; it seemed impossible that he had been kissing Spock in their quarters only earlier that day. Lefty redoubled his grip on Kirk’s arm, dragging him forward. He let out a semi-stifled groan. 

“Sorry, gentlemen,” he said, yawning hugely. “I’m sure you can forgive me for being dead on my feet after today.” As they passed down the hallway, he noticed that every twenty paces there was a rectangle embedded in the wall, like the outline of a doorway. This couldn’t be the crew’s quarters--- there would be far more people around, and he had yet to see a single soul besides his escort.

But if they were taking him to the more likely and less desirable location, the brig, and this ship was built the same way that most Starfleet ships were, they would be coming up on---

There. Stairs. Kirk braced himself as they continued their inexorable march, keeping pace with their steps, until---

He flung his foot out into empty space. He let himself drop. The gravity of the ship caught him and dragged him downward, and with his weight came his guards. The three of them dropped down the four stairs, and he twisted them all until one was nearly in front of him. Kirk tried to brace his fall with his hands in front of him, but all he managed to do was tangle them in the officer’s uniform in front of him. They all crashed to the ground in a graceless heap.

“Sorry,” Kirk wheezed, ankle and wrists throbbing, as he disentangled himself from the guard groaning beneath him. In the gap between their bodies he liberated the comm from his belt and slid it into the waistband of his pants. It rested on the flat of his hip. The other officer flipped him over and yanked him to his feet without a word. Even when his face was only inches from Kirk’s, he didn’t seem to really see him. There was a distance behind his eyes that Kirk couldn’t bridge, even looking intently into them. 

“Where were you posted before this ship?” Kirk asked. But the officer just shook his hands free of Kirk’s soiled shirt and grabbed his arm again. The other staggered back to his feet and took the other. 

“Where are you taking me?” Kirk asked. But neither officer responded. Their footsteps echoed down the hallway. The rectangles in the walls grew further and further apart. If this ship was similar to the flagship, there would be another set of stairs that descended to the lowest level of this deck. But he didn’t think the stairs trick would work so neatly the second time. And it wouldn’t have; as they approached it, the officers slowed, tightening their grip on his elbows and steering him down the stairs first. If his suspicions were correct, they should have been approaching a checkpoint where another crewman would be stationed; but there was no one in sight. The hallway curved gently ahead of them and they proceeded down it until there was only a blank white wall in front of them. 

“Looks like we ought to turn back now,” Kirk said, but his jocular tone did not seem to have any effect on the statue-like men. Their silence and focus unnerved him. One officer nodded to the other, who stepped behind Kirk and grabbed both his arms from behind. The now-freed one laid his hand against the blank wall, on the outside of a faint etched outline. A square glowed around where his hand rested, blinking red and then green. Then the outline deepened, recessing further into the wall, until a door removed itself and swung inward to reveal a dimly lit, square room with no windows. 

“I’m alright out here, actually,” Kirk said. He had thought that they were taking him to the brig; he had expected the familiar energy shield, an officer operating said shield, a situation where he could rely on human error and his own human ingenuity to get him out. He bucked against the hold of the officer, spinning over his shoulder, and realized in a flash that he had, in fact, been on the brig deck the entire time. He recognized the rectangles for what they were. 

The whole deck was lined with solitary confinement cells. 

He needed that second comm. He had no idea where in space he was, how far he was from the Enterprise, and if his crew had any idea where he had gone. He was going to need a second battery.

The officer who had opened the door still had his comm clipped to his belt. Kirk needed him to chase him down and get him close, without losing the comm he’d already taken or getting beaten senseless. 

“Please,” he said. “I get claustrophobic.” 

The man blinked. “Rough for a starship captain,” he said, sounding almost for a second like a person with thoughts and feelings, before the light in his eyes shuttered again. “Get in.” 

“No, thank you,” Kirk said, and he stomped hard on the instep of the man holding him. The officer hissed, his grip loosening, and Kirk spun out of his arms and ran. The other one dashed after him. 

Six steps--- turn--- fake a stumble--- and he leapt for him as Kirk turned to face him, wrapping both arms around him as they both hit the ground. Kirk’s head bounced against the floor painfully, his arms trapped between himself and the other man, but his hands were exactly where they needed to be. 

He slid the second comm from the belt and palmed it as the officer flipped him unceremoniously from his back onto his stomach, smashing his hands between his body and the floor. Painful. Perfect. Kirk could feel the other comm pressed against his forearm by his body weight, and the sharp edge was comforting. The man grabbed him by the collar of his uniform and yanked him to his feet, and he heard the familiar sound of the seams snapping by his ear as he snuck the second comm into his pants. 

“Careful,” he wheezed, and his voice was weak from having the breath crushed out of him. “This is my only shirt.” 

The officer stared impassively at him. He pulled his phaser from his belt and leveled it at Kirk. “Inside.” 

Kirk raised his bound hands in a placating gesture. “I got the message, thanks.” The officer pressed the muzzle of the phaser against the back of his neck and pushed him forward. Kirk kept his hands in the air as he walked towards the cell. The one whose foot he had stomped on glared sullenly at him. 

“Nice working with you, gentlemen,” Kirk said, when he was fully within the cell and turned to face them. One man tapped the wall next to the cell and the door swung shut, leaving Kirk in the dim red light of solitary confinement. 

He stood, waiting, but he heard neither returning footsteps nor the quiet swish of the door mechanism. He didn’t want to risk pulling out the comms and having them confiscated immediately. Instead, he stood, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, taking stock of his injuries. 

There was a scorched section of his back; likely where he had been stunned by the phaser on Kindinos. His head throbbed, both from the stunning and from unpleasant bounce against the tile floor moments ago. His shoulders and back ached from the hours he had spent with his hands bound behind his back. His wrists chafed against the smooth metal of his cuffs. 

And the worst wound; Spock’s blood on his hands, caked in his shirt, beneath his fingernails, the dirt of that God-forsaken planet in his hair and on his skin. He closed his eyes and breathed. Spock’s ribs, exposed to air; Spock’s unfocused eyes, the deep brown that he loved most; Spock’s weak voice rasping, “Ashayam.” For one second, Kirk let himself think of his husband. He let the memories wash over him, of being awoken that morning by Spock’s hand against his face, Spock in his arms in the shower the night before.

He pulled his mind away from home and instead thought of the Spock rule: on any dangerous away mission, Spock would be where Kirk was. Spock had promised to come for him. His fear and love for Spock threatened to overwhelm him; he let it fill his chest, and he held it in his heart. Then he gently put those feelings behind the glass wall in his head, pulled the two comms out of his waistband, and settled into the corner of his cell to take them apart. 

Stealing both comms had been the right decision. Kirk spent the first chunk of time fiddling with just one of them, listening to chatter on different channels, before discovering that the comms of this cursed ship were on a closed radio band; they were designed to be on a discrete circuit, not used to communicate outside of their unit. 

Not an insurmountable challenge, but an inconvenient one. He tore one fingernail prying the cover off of the comm’s housing, and stuck it furiously in his mouth when it bled. The salty tang of it turned his stomach and forced him to remember that he had not eaten since breakfast that morning, and the fact that he didn’t have to use the bathroom meant that he was probably nearing dangerous levels of dehydration. Working with tiny pieces of machinery, with his hands bound together, in dim red light, was giving him a headache. But his alternative was gambling that his crew would find him before Elise stuck him beneath the neural neutralizer, and the cost of being wrong would be Spock’s safety. He pressed on. 

An hour of solitary confinement later found him hearing Scotty’s voice in his mind, explaining how he had used a separate battery to boost the comm’s range. Scotty’s goal had been to keep the comm locked to the transporter, but maybe the same concept could be used to send a message out into the great vast beyond. He hadn’t heard a single sound from outside his cell, though whether that was because he was on the farthest edges of the row of cells or because it was soundproofed was anyone’s guess. 

Despite the fancy dark exterior of the comm and the closed-circuit programming, this was still just one step away from a standard-issue Starfleet comm. He squinted as hard as he could at the tiny insides, ignoring the tension headache that the red light was giving him, and eventually overrode the limiting factor. He listened carefully, but heard nothing. Nothing to indicate that there was a ship nearby; nothing but silence on all channels around him. It was almost a little eerie; not even static crackled over the radio waves. 

He methodically opened the second comm up, ignoring the fact that he bled a little bit onto it, and removed the battery and power cable from it. He pinched the tiny cable between his fingers and threaded one end onto the other battery’s cathode and the other onto the anode. 

A tiny spark arced between the battery and the wire, lighting his corner of the cell with pure white light for just a second. Kirk rolled his neck and shoulders out for five glorious seconds, holding the connected comms carefully in his lap. 

Now his message. He needed something that wouldn’t disintegrate into jibberish as it soared through space, something that wouldn’t get caught up in background noise. Something Uhura would recognize. Uhura, who loved languages and codes, who had spent nearly as much time learning dead Terran languages as live alien ones. Kirk bit the inside of his lip as he smiled and began tapping his message onto the comm’s signal pad. 

Three short taps. Three long holds. Three short taps. 

Three taps. Three holds. Three taps. He sent his SOS in Morse code out into the universe and prayed that she would hear it among all the other noise. He tapped it over and over again, remembering the letters of Morse code, before switching to N-R-L N-T-R-L-Z-R. He sent that message a few times before switching back to SOS. His stomach grumbled in earnest, and the exhaustion of the day swept over him. 

Kirk laid down on the cold tile floor, facing the back corner, with his jerryrigged comms between him and the wall. He alternated between sending SOS, SOS, SOS and NRL NTRLZR over and over again until the power light on his little miracle machine finally went out. He patted it gratefully, slid his hands under his head, and fell into an uneasy sleep. 

☆☆☆

There was a tiny beep in Kirk’s cell. Wakefulness and exhaustion slammed into him in a one-two punch as the door hissed open. He held himself still, curled on his side and still facing the wall, as two sets of footsteps entered the cell. 

“Stealing, Jim?” Elise’s sugar-sweet voice dripped with disdain, the rotten core of a candied apple. “And I thought we were finally getting to be on the same page. I hope you enjoyed communicating with the rest of the ship and not much else.” 

Kirk rolled over and pushed himself up. His wrists had swollen while he slept, chafing against the skin-warmed metal of his cuffs, and his neck ached from the uncomfortable angle. 

“Your officers make for poor conversationalists,” he said. His voice was rough from sleep, and his shirt was veritably glued to his skin with an unpleasant mix of bodily fluids, both his and Spock’s. He didn’t think he was ever going to be able to wash the smell of blood and grime off of himself. 

“They know better than to talk to the uninitiated,” Elise said.

“So that’s what you’re calling it? An initiation?”

“Sure.” She smiled. Kirk could feel the little comms experiment pressing into him, where it was hidden from view. “Nearly everyone here joined 31 voluntarily. The neutralizer only makes mistakes less likely. I think you’ll find the process much more pleasant than before.” 

“Well, there was a lot of room for improvement,” he said. Elise made a sharp gesture, and the officer who stood behind her came around and inspected the ground of the cell. His movements reminded Kirk of a bloodhound. He stalked to the back corners of the small room, and his eyes alighted on the comms behind him. He swept them up, carelessly knocking his knee into Kirk’s shoulder, and the tilting movement made every taut muscle in his body ache. 

“Both retrieved,” the officer said, and then his brow furrowed. In the dim red light, the wrinkles in his forehead made him look positively devilish. He held the comms out to Elise, cradling them as they were connected in both hands. She looked down at them, tilting her head in curiosity. For a moment she stared blankly, eyes tracing the connections between the two comms. As emotions flitted across her face, Kirk wondered if she would strike him where he sat. Then she sighed. 

“Such a clever boy,” Elise said. “I am so looking forward to seeing what you can accomplish for me.” She made a lifting gesture, and the officer pocketed the comms and hauled Kirk to his feet. 

“Clear my schedule,” Elise said to the officer. “I see no reason to delay the captain’s appointment with the neutralizer.”

“Yes, sir,” the officer said, and shoved Kirk forward through the door. After hours in the dim light of the cell, the standard white light of the hallway pierced through his head like an ice pick. His legs felt oddly disconnected from his body, and an aching emptiness permeated his belly. He fought to keep his eyes open against the overwhelmingly bright lights.

“I don’t want you to get your hopes up,” Elise said to him as he staggered down the hallway and up the stairs. “You may have gotten your little message out, but this ship has a unique cloaking capability that will make it look like it came from nowhere.” 

“It seemed pretty visible to me when we arrived,” Kirk croaked. He was parched. 

“Visible to the eye,” she said. “Invisible on scanners.” 

That got Kirk’s attention. “This ship can’t be seen on sensors?”

“Not at all,” she said. When she caught Kirk’s eye, she smiled co-conspiratorially. The discrepancy between her actions and her demeanor gave Kirk whiplash. “It’s quite interesting, really.” 

“I’d love to learn more,” Kirk said, and he groaned as the officer jerked his shoulders up as they climbed the second set of stairs. “Please, tell me all about how Section 31 is using secret technology that could be shared with the rest of the Fleet.” 

Elise frowned at him. “It will be shared,” she said. “This agency and this ship serve as the final testing ground for many of the technologies you have come to rely on, captain. All we do is for the security of the Federation, even if you don’t approve of the methods. I hope you can remember that.” 

“I’ll keep it in mind,” he said. The cell-lined hallway seemed shorter upon exiting than it did entering. He was running out of time--- as they approached the turbolift, his heartbeat kicked up in tempo. 

“How does it work?” The look Elise gave him made it clear that she recognized that he was stalling for time, but she indulged him. 

“The cloaking, or the neutralizer?”

“Both.” 

She laughed lightly. “The cloaking is just a matter of overwriting the ship’s natural signal emissions--- comms, engines, light, heat--- with a pattern that looks like nothing. As soon as we can figure out how to replace nothing with an imitation of the background noise of the galaxy, it will be virtually flawless unless in visible range. I am so looking forward to having your engineering capabilities at my disposal, captain.” The turbolift soared upwards, taking them back to the deck where she had punished April upon their arrival. “The neutralizer, though… that’s my proudest achievement. Can you imagine, captain, the end of punitive measures for disobedience? A galaxy without prisons? A one hundred percent success rate for rehabilitation?”

Kirk stared at her as she placidly watched the deck display of the lift. “All you’re doing is turning the mind into a prison,” he said. 

“Please,” she said, turning to him. She met his eyes without hesitation, without any sign that she felt remorse at all. “Captain, I understand that this is a difficult proposition for you. But you interacted with April for years without ever realizing that anything was different about him. He maintains his career, his marriage, and most of his own agency. The only thing that I have asked him to change is his priorities.”

“And I’m sure you asked him so politely,” Kirk said acidly. Elise lifted one shoulder and dropped it in a dainty shrug. 

“I believed then that I knew what was best. His success as an advocate for 31’s work within the admiralty has proven me right.” 

“If you’re doing what’s right, why not let people work for you of your own accord? Why use the machine?” The doors opened and the officer shoved him forward again. Elise walked quickly down the hallway towards that ominous door. 

“You are not listening,” Elise said, her words sharp and staccato. “I am simply removing human error from sensitive decisions. The officer who didn’t shoot on Tarsus; April trying to separate you and Spock instead of simply eliminating him like I asked. And there are a hundred different examples that I could list that aren’t about you.” 

She pressed her hand to the panel in the wall and the door slid open. The reclined chair with its open metal cuffs waited for Kirk, waiting to swallow him whole. 

“You’re not removing human error,” Kirk said desperately, digging his heels into the tile and pushing backwards against the officer holding him. “You’re removing the humanity.” The officer threw him forward into the room and he toppled to his knees, muscles screaming as he fought to remain upright with his hands still bound. 

“We will have to release his current restraints to secure him in the chair,” the officer said to Elise. Kirk staggered to his feet. She considered him, padd held gently in front of her in both hands. 

“One hand at a time, perhaps.” The officer nodded, and approached him. 

Kirk fought like a hellcat, thrashing and kicking and full-throated yelling, but the officer moved inexorably, unphased by any of his attacks, and in less than five minutes he was cuffed into the chair beneath the neutralizer. The officer’s broken nose dripped blood and his eye was already blackening from where Kirk had been able to land a few good hits, but an entire day without food and water made him weak and dizzy. Elise watched carefully. 

“Imagine how strong you’ll be when your impulsivity is finally tempered,” she said. “You could have learned a thing or two from your Vulcan.” He closed his eyes. The cuffs on the chair were looser than his restraints, but bumping his abused wrists against the metal was excruciating. He couldn’t pull his hands through. 

“Do not be afraid, Jim,” Elise said, and came to stand next to him. Her pet officer stood bored by the door. She laid her hand on Kirk’s shoulder and he thrashed again, just to see her flinch away. She looked at him, disappointment in him clear on her face, and he let his lip curl back in a snarl. This was the woman in whom he had put his trust? He had allowed her guidance to keep him blind for too long. The scales had fallen from his eyes. She was a shell of a person, seizing every drop of control she could because she feared everything around her. 

The worst thing, Kirk thought, was that she completely, one hundred percent believed in what she was saying. She truly believed that what she was doing was right for her crew and the Federation. Her fear had blinded her completely.

He held her gaze, and for a moment he thought that she would delay further, try again to convince him to join her voluntarily.

Then the blaring siren of a red alert split the air. 

Elise sprang to the comm unit in the wall, tapping at the button. “Captain here, situation report, now,” she snapped.

The voice coming out of the speaker crackled. “Something just dropped out of warp and is hiding in our blind radius, sir.” 

“Identify.” 

“Unclear, sir. We couldn’t get a read on it; it was too fast. It might have been a shuttle.” Kirk closed his eyes as sharp-edged hope flared to life inside his chest. 

“Find it and destroy it,” Elise commanded. “Battle stations. Commander, you have the conn. I am not to be disturbed.” 

“Yes, sir.” The officer ended the comm, and the screaming siren of red alert continued until Elise stalked to the control room and hit something on the console that silenced everything that wasn’t Kirk’s own breathing. Through the plexiglass window Elise gestured at her officer, and he slid out into the hallway beyond. For a moment the distant sound of the red alert bounced down the hallway and into the room; as the door slid shut, everything fell quiet.

“This is normally a gradual process, but your actions have unfortunately made that impossible,” Elise said. “It may be painful, but you’re strong. You’ll be fine.” Kirk strained against the cuffs, pressing bruised skin against the metal, but there was no give. He heaved his body off the chair, arching up, but there was no escape. His bones would break long before the metal did.

“Calm down, Jim, please,” Elise said, her voice low and soothing in a way that he remembered from a thousand afternoons in her office. In his mind’s eye he saw her creased khakis and soft cardigans, her understanding eyes and smiling mouth. The control booth’s door clicked shut and he heard something whir to life above him. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and turned his face away from the neural neutralizer. Even from behind his eyelids he could see the illumination increasing, slowly intensifying like a sunrise. Over an intercom came Elise’s voice, gentle, coaxing, undeniable. “It’s going to be okay, Jim. It’s all going to be okay. Aren’t you tired? Don’t you want to lay down some of your burden?” Something in him was responding to her voice, turning towards it like a moth to flame, but he locked it down and kept his eyes screwed shut. The light outside of his eyelids was blinding, even with his eyes closed.

“No,” he said aloud. “Thanks, but I do not. I’m not listening.” The volume of Elise’s voice increased, and he could barely hear himself think. 

“You’re so tired, Jim,” she said. “Tired of hiding, tired of lying, tired of having to be in control for every minute of every day. Open your eyes and you can rest.” 

“I’m fine, thank you,” Kirk said, but he could no longer hear his own voice over the rasping of the intercom’s static and Elise’s gentle voice. She was right, though--- he was tired. He had been tired before he thought he was going to lose Spock to another ship, the mundane fatigue of labor and responsibility, and the past week of revelation after revelation had done a number on him. The past day alone would have exhausted him. What if he did open his eyes? 

Almost the second the thought materialized, his eyelids started to open without his permission. He shook his head fiercely and redoubled his efforts. He was not going to become the captain of this dark and horrible ship. He was not going to let Elise take his agency from him. She might think that offering mercy was human error, but he did not. He never would.

“Your old crew would understand, Jim,” Elise called. It felt like she was in the room with him, bending over him, speaking directly into his ear. He felt her voice crawl over him, sinking into him, pushing everything else out. “They would be happy for you if you just gave in. They know that it’s only a matter of time until you make a mistake, or crumble under the pressure, and none of them want to be there when it happens. They wouldn’t trust a captain like you if they knew what you really felt. Open your eyes, Jim.” Her voice, the glare and hum of the neutralizer, were stripping away his fortitude. He was exhausted, starving, dehydrated, and afraid. The cuffs around his wrists burned. The light cutting through his eyelids felt like it was draining something vital and warm and alive from his chest--- everything that made him who he was. Her voice was a time machine that took him back to when he was eighteen and friendless, sitting on her couch for the first time with shaking hands.

“If you open your eyes, you can let all that go,” she said. “I can make you perfect, Jim. Isn’t that what you want? Open your eyes, and you’ll never have to fear letting your crew down again. You would be unassailable, impenetrable, infallible. All you have to do is look up.” 

He tried to yell out, but his jaw was clenched so tightly that he couldn’t open his mouth. His teeth ground against each other. His mind whirled through a maelstrom of his worst moments, each of the days that had threatened to break him: Sam’s death and Spock’s blindness, Edith’s death, Gary’s death, Kevin suffering in silence to protect him, every time he had lost a crew member on his watch, every time he asked his bridge crew to endure the unendurable in the name of their mission, every time he had made the wrong decision in a life-or-death situation. How could he be so vain as to think that they would grieve if he were gone? Beneath the light of the neutralizer, a yawning cavity of loneliness opened in his chest. It devoured his heart whole.

His eyelids were slowly opening against his will. She was right. He was so tired. He didn’t have the strength to keep fighting. The light that peeked around his eyelashes was so warm and inviting. He hadn’t felt the sun on his face in so long. If he opened his eyes, maybe the loneliness would go away.

“You’re doing so well, Jim,” she said. “I want you to listen to me.” 

He was listening. He didn’t want to be alone.

“Open your eyes. Let go of your old crew, your old life. Let go of Spock. Let go of everything that isn’t right here.” 

He obediently pulled their faces into his mind to say goodbye. He saw the bridge of the Enterprise in his mind, his crew stationed around it, and for one heartbeat, time seemed to freeze. The light outside of his eyelids was searing him now, but for a second, the depths of his loneliness disappeared. 

He was Jim Kirk. His crew was coming for him. He was not alone. 

“They mean nothing to you now,” Elise said, and Kirk squeezed his eyes shut again. Elise did not know him anymore. She never could have understood who he had become. Someone like her could never understand the power that came from putting your trust in hands of the people around you. The light of the neural neutralizer burned and burned like the sun itself hung above him, but Kirk ignored it. Elise turned the volume up on the intercom, spilling hatred and fear and isolation into the room, but Kirk ignored it. In his mind was the bridge, and the crew who had become his friends who had become his family. 

He sat in the center chair, legs crossed, hands unbound, and Chekov and Sulu turned around to smile at him. Sulu, who had been the first to joyously respond on the day that Kirk announced his wedding, and Chekov, who had been the only person on the ship to see and understand what lay between the captain and the commander. 

Uhura sat at her console with padds scattered around her, one elegant hand pressing her earpiece tighter, her warm brown eyes alight with mischief as she waved a graph of subspace comms usage at him, as she explained to him what he had been too complacent to understand. He remembered her kindness even after he and Spock had fought, years of friendship and trust summed up in the handover of a single cup of hot coffee. 

Bones leaned against the bannister that ran around the upper level of the bridge, a stalwart presence even when he wasn’t supposed to be there. His Georgia drawl, his shrewd blue eyes, his unflagging faith that Kirk could and would get better someday--- Kirk saw all of it in the careless wave of his hand.

Scotty lay on his back beneath a console panel, and when Kirk looked at him, he raised his wrench in a salute with a smile and lowered himself again. Kirk remembered Scotty’s silent company whenever he needed a moment to think, his unflagging acceptance of the captain’s presence deep in the heart of the ship, the ingenuity that allowed Kirk to save Spock when he had been mortally injured.

Kirk turned over his shoulder to look at Spock, and flowers grew over the place in his chest where loneliness had taken up residence. Spock turned away from his sensors to meet Kirk’s gaze, and Kirk inhaled sharply. In the warm ambience of his mind’s eye, Spock glowed. Everything from the sharp dark lines of his hair and eyebrows, to the deep woodsy brown of his eyes, to his soft lips, to the set of his shoulders felt like sunshine. The light of the neural neutralizer was a pale comparison, a shameful imitation of what Spock was to him. Spock tilted his head slightly, and Kirk’s eyes traced the elegant lines of his jaw and neck. 

“For better and for worse,” Kirk said. 

“No caveats, ashayam,” Spock said. Beloved. He was beloved, by Spock and by his crew, and he loved them too. Regardless of his secrets, regardless of his failures, he was loved. Nothing and no one could take that from him.

Outside of his mind he could hear Elise’s voice going higher in frustration, and he became suddenly, brutally aware of someone’s hands on his face. He snapped out of the comfort of his mind to find Elise’s officer with his hands on Kirk’s eyes, trying to pull his eyelids open. Kirk roared, thrashed his head from side to side, and snapped at the man’s hands, trying to bite him. 

Elise cried, “Sedate him!” The light of the neutralizer still burned above him, and his face ached with the effort of keeping his eyes shut. He heard the door into the hallway open as the guard ran for something. The red alert siren still shrieked through the air. 

Then, over the ship-wide intercom, someone shouted, “Security to engineering! They’ve---”

There was a thud, and a muffled thunk, and someone with a familiar brogue cried, “Oh, no ye don’t! Now!” Something clicked. 

Somewhere in the center of the ship, there was a frisson of electricity. A circuit closed. Then a thunderous shockwave exploded outward, shaking every single one of the millions of tiny pieces that made up the ship. The neural neutralizer went black, plunging the room into darkness. Kirk felt the pulse of energy through his body, through the chair, rattling his bones and pressing him up against the cuffs. 

For three full seconds, Kirk heard exactly how quiet the galaxy was. No humming engine, no background roar of life support; the only sound in the room was his heartbeat in his ears, and the enormity of the vacuum of space outside a ship that had just gone entirely dead. 

Oh, no ye don’t. There was a Scotsman on this ship, one that had just done something absolutely heinous to the engine, and Kirk couldn’t help himself. He laughed out loud in relief as the quiet drone of the backup life support kicked on. He had outlasted the neutralizer with his heart and mind intact, and his crew had come for him. 

From the hallway he heard footsteps at a rapid clip, and the thick clunk of an automatic door being manually forced open. Elise’s last words before the blast rang through his head again, and fear exploded in his chest. If they sedated him, he could do nothing to help his crew. He would be defenseless against Elise. They could take him wherever they wanted. 

“Stun him!” Elise’s voice was high and harsh with panic in the darkness. Kirk heard someone fumble a phaser, then heard it hit the ground, and he was filled with savage pride as the officer in the hallway yelled, “It’s shorted out! Everything’s out!” 

The footsteps grew closer as Elise fell silent in the darkness. He were nearly at the entrance to the neutralizer room, and a syringe would work even if the phaser didn’t. Kirk needed a way to defend himself, and his hands were still cuffed to the bed. If he could get even one hand free…

The officer was nearly to him. He was out of time. He gritted his teeth, and thought of Spock, and with an almighty roar he pulled backwards with all his strength. One of the bones in his hand snapped. With an awful dragging underneath his skin and his hand and wrist on fire, his right hand slid free of the cuff. The footsteps halted, just to his right. He closed his eyes, even though it made no difference in the pitch black, and listened. 

The officer’s flight down the hallway had increased his respiration, and Kirk could hear him breathing. He was only five feet away. 

The officer took a tentative step towards the chair, his pants swishing gently, and Kirk thought he heard him extend a cautious arm outward. If he was reaching out with his fingertips--- 

Kirk counted to three before the officer took another step. 

One, two, three. Another. 

As the officer took one last step, the whisper of cloth on cloth unbearably loud in the silence, Kirk rolled over the side of the chair. His wrist rotated terribly inside the cuff, and his breath came out in a hiss as his feet hit solid ground on the other side of the chair. 

He heard the officer lurch forward, heard his hands slap desperately against the now-empty chair. Kirk clenched his fist, counterbalanced against his cuffed wrist, and lifted his leg. He snapped out at the knee as hard as he could over the chair. 

The top of his foot connected with awful solidity, and the only noise the officer made was a soft exhale as he stumbled away and crumpled to the ground. The syringe that had been in his hand, hidden by the darkness, clattered on the tiles, rolling away into a corner. 

“Tyler?” Elise’s voice was querulous with fear, high and sharp in the dark room.  

“Not Tyler,” Kirk said, and he bared his teeth. 

“A neat party trick,” she said, trying and failing to hide the disquiet in her voice. “Are you planning on breaking your other hand now, too?” As the adrenaline of the brief fight wore off, the ache in Kirk’s thumb intensified from mildly uncomfortable to a sharp, stabbing pain. 

“Maybe,” Kirk said. “Depends on if you intend to try sedating me again.”

“I might,” she said. “This would be easier if you would just come with me, Jim. I don’t understand why you resist so. I could give you everything you wanted.” 

“Everything?” He just had to keep her talking, now. He heard her moving around, pressing the comms button, running her hand along the wall for something. But he knew ships, and he knew Scotty: if his madman of a chief engineer truly had set off an electromagnetic pulse from within the ship itself, nothing that wasn’t set up with three or four redundancy systems would be coming on anytime soon. There was a metallic clicking. Kirk was still on his feet, but unable to turn to keep his face to her. She circled the room like a shark around a meal, one hand still dragging against the metal wall panels. 

But then, so inhumanly quiet he almost missed it, there was one single footstep in the hallway beyond. “You know nothing about what I want,” he said loudly. There--- in the second after he stopped speaking, one more quiet footstep, and then nothing. 

“I know you, James Kirk,” Elise hissed, and her voice came from across the chair, on the side of the room near the door. It sounded like her foot was sliding around on the floor, but he couldn’t tell. Was that sound just his heartbeat pounding in his ears, or was someone approaching with leopard grace? “I have known you since the day you were picked up from Tarsus and I will know you until the day you die.”

“Your memory is finally failing you,” Kirk said. “We didn’t meet until I enrolled at the Academy.” He was talking louder than necessary, he knew--- half to cover the sound of whoever might be approaching, and half out of fear. 

Something struck the wall with a musical glass tinkle, and Kirk heard the shifting of her clothing as she bent to pick it up. The sedation syringe---

“Sweet boy. Naive boy,” Elise said. “You met me when you enrolled. But I already knew you.”

“What are you talking about?” 

“I was already assigned to your case by the time we met in person.” Kirk said nothing, and Elise laughed softly. She had said that earlier, and his brain had skipped past it to the more important details: she had received her orders even before Kirk and his kids had made it back to Earth. “You had figured out so much of the rest that I had thought you had figured this out too.” 

“Not this time,” Kirk said. “What did you do?” Right outside the door, Kirk heard something; a semi-familiar two-part slide. It might have been nothing. But it might have been the sound of someone settling into one of the four defensive Suus mahna postures. He heard Elise move slowly towards the chair in the center of the room. It stood between Kirk and her like a bulkhead. 

She sighed, and he heard the subtle click of a syringe cap popping off. “You never questioned how your parents managed to do every single thing wrong?” 

Kirk stood up straight in shock, the cuff yanking him back down by his bruised wrist. 

“I was the one who guided them through welcoming home their traumatized boy. I was the one who told them that you needed to be kept close, that you needed to see your friends, that you needed to be treated like nothing had happened. And when those things failed, I convinced them that the best thing they could do for you was to let you go.” Her hard voice got closer and closer, and he edged away as far as he could. He was unsteady on his feet, his head spinning with this last betrayal.

“I know you, Jim. I know you because I made you. And I know that you have always been, and you will always be, alone.” There was a flurry of movement, and Kirk flinched backwards, trying to dodge but still expecting the prick of the needle.

Then Elise choked.

“He is not alone.” Spock’s voice in the dark was quiet, ragged, vicious in its fury. Kirk had never heard anything so beautiful in his entire life. He heard the sound of continued struggle, clothing against clothing, a thump as if Elise had been lifted off the ground and had kicked the chair between them. 

“Jim, are you well?” 

They were on a near-dead spaceship after Kirk had almost had his mind wiped and Spock had almost been shot to pieces. The question was so inappropriate, so one-hundred-percent pure Spock understatement, that it snapped Kirk out of his fear for the moment. Kirk laughed, and his voice broke. “Better now,” he said, as his throat swelled with relief and gratitude and love. He heard Elise coughing, struggling to suck in air. 

“What are your orders, captain?” Spock’s tone was serious, his voice soft and low. In the quiet of the room Kirk could hear Elise fighting for each breath, and with a rush of gravity he knew that, if he asked, Spock would kill this woman for him without question. For an awful, dizzying second, the cold and calculating part of him considered it. If Spock killed her right here, she would never be able to hurt him or his kids ever again. It would weaken Section 31. He would have revenge for what she had done to him and his family, both blood and chosen. 

But revenge was not justice, and he was not her only victim. Her death would only erase the evidence of her crimes, and he was not convinced enough of the existence of Hell to bet that she would atone for her sins in the next life. But he could make damn sure that she paid for them in this one. 

“Incapacitate her,” Kirk said. “I want her to stand trial for crimes against the Federation.” 

“Certainly, captain,” Spock said, and with another swish of fabric the sounds of Elise’s struggles stopped and Kirk heard her body slump to the chair. “Are you restrained?” 

“Yes,” Kirk said, the word hissing out as the shock wore off and his wrist and hand throbbed anew. Spock swept around the chair and his hands found Kirk’s shoulders. As Spock’s hand reached him, pressing against him, Kirk’s heart settled a little further. Spock had come for him. The nightmare was almost over.

“Ashayam,” Spock said hoarsely, the endearment breaking over him like a wave as Spock’s thumb traced a line down his neck, and Kirk threw his free arm around Spock’s waist, burying his face in his shoulder. They stood for a moment, as close as close could be. Kirk inhaled the scent of Spock’s skin; not his normal spice and incense, but antiseptic and copper. But he was solid, and alive, and standing of his own volition in the half-circle of Kirk’s arms. His blood flowed. His heart beat. He lived.

“I was so afraid for you,” Kirk murmured, his lips against Spock’s shoulder. 

“I promised that I would come for you,” Spock said. He stroked one hand over the back of Kirk’s head before following the path of his shoulder and arm to find the cuff that bound him to the chair. “Please remain still.” Kirk did as he was told as Spock wedged his narrow fingers into the cuff and tore it open. It broke off from the chair and clattered to the ground. The blood flowed uncomfortably back into his fingers, prickling like a dermal regenerator, but the cool air against his chafed wrist was soothing. Spock ran his hands over Kirk’s shoulders once more, as if assuaging his own concerns about Kirk’s well-being. 

“We should depart with haste,” Spock said, and his voice was gravelly. 

“You don’t have to tell me twice.” Kirk kept one hand on the small of Spock’s back as Spock hoisted Elise’s unconscious body over one shoulder and led them back into the hallway. “How did you get up here? The lifts are all down.” 

Without answering, Spock led him down the dark hallway towards the lift. But as they walked further from the neutralizer room, Kirk saw a warm orange glow emanating faintly from a low point in the hallway wall. They pulled up even with the entrance to a Jeffries tube, and Kirk looked down. Zip-tied every ten rungs was a glow-stick, and Crovath, the Andorian security officer who had attended Spock’s hand-to-hand sessions, sat comfortably on one of the rungs. 

“Good to see you, captain,” Crovath said agreeably, and Kirk’s face crumpled with emotion as he reached down to pump the other man’s hand. 

“You have no idea how good it is to see you,” Kirk said. At Spock’s insistence, he climbed into the tube first. Crovath led the way, he proceeded in the middle, and Spock with Elise’s body slung over his shoulders brought up the rear. Kirk used the elbow of his right hand to grab the rungs, rather than messing with his broken thumb, and his wrist throbbed with every grip. He had never been happier in his life to be in such pain. They climbed down through the semi-darkness for at least ten minutes before Crovath put a hand against Kirk’s calf. 

“Wait here, sir,” the officer whispered, and he clambered the rest of the way out of the tube. Kirk and Spock waited in silence until the man’s antennaed head poked back into the tubes. 

“All clear, sirs. Mostly.” Kirk finished climbing down and shook out his left hand as Spock followed him out into the dimly lit engineering bay. Glowsticks rested on every available surface. 

“What does mostly mean?” But he turned over his shoulder to wait for Spock, and his stomach dropped out of his body as Spock stepped out of the tube. The front of Spock’s shirt, grayscale in the dim light, was soaked to black. “Put her down!” 

Spock did as he was told, allowing Elise to slide gracelessly to the ground, and swayed on his feet without his burden. Kirk braced him, one hand on his back, one on his side, and gaped in horror at the blood leaking through his shirt, dripping down onto the floor beneath him. 

“Spock!” 

“It is unimportant,” Spock said, and his eyes were focused and flinty when Kirk looked up at him, aghast. Crovath picked up Elise in a fireman’s carry and nodded to Kirk. 

“We tried to keep him from coming, sir, but he would not have it.” His antennae twitched as he gestured for them to follow deeper into Engineering. “We are nearly there.” Kirk pulled Spock’s arm over his shoulder to take more of his weight and wrapped his arm securely around his waist. They turned a corner, and Kirk beheld one of the most welcome sights he had ever seen: One and Two guarding a pile of zip-tied Section 31 engineers, Scotty at the manual controls of an airlock, and Laila guarding one unperturbed Robert April, who sat in the chief engineer’s chair with his legs crossed and his hands bound. Not a single one of them carried a phaser; they prowled around their captives empty-handed with a nearly Vulcan level of grace and power. 

The front of the airlock opened as Scotty turned and beamed at them. “All according to plan, Mr. Spock?” 

“Just so, Mr. Scott,” Spock said, but there was a burble of liquid in his throat, and he coughed. Then a hurricane of blonde and blue appeared, and suddenly Christine Chapel was standing on his other side, delicately tugging at Spock’s shirt. 

“You said you would try not to pull the staples,” Nurse Chapel said, and her tone was only slightly accusatory. 

“It was unavoidable,” Spock said, but he acquiesced to her pulling his shirt up slightly to peer beneath it. 

“Staples?” Kirk asked faintly, redoubling his grip on Spock’s waist, but no one listened to him.

“Let’s get on with it, then,” Scotty urged, and Kirk and Chapel bundled Spock towards the airlock as Scotty passed through it to the dark and silent shuttle anchored on the other side. Scotty cycled the airlock and dove into the shuttle as One and Two made a circle around the officers, ensuring that those unlucky enough to be on their warpath were still unconscious, and Laila backed carefully away from April, never taking her eyes off of him. Crovath met them by the door as April watched impassively. 

Beyond the airlock window, the shuttle lit up. The warm light of the Galileo was so comforting that a wave of exhaustion swept over Kirk. His crew had come for him. Spock had come for him. They had prevailed against an entire ship of Section 31 officers through their ingenuity and courage.

Then a flurry of angry motion caught his eye, and he turned to see Elise squirming hard against Crovath’s unmoving grip. 

“Unhand me!” Her scream echoed off the Engineering machinery and the cold, still engine. “Robert! Robert!” 

Admiral April looked at her across the deck with cold apathy in his eyes. “Yes?” 

“Help me!” She shrieked in anger and wriggled harder, but Crovath was inhumanly strong and an experienced security officer. He only clamped his hands harder down around her wrists and ankles. “Help me! I am your commanding officer!” 

April closed his eyes as the airlock door cycled open again in a rush of cool air. Kirk watched in sick fascination as he bent double where he sat, wheezing hard, before throwing himself backwards. His head tilted up to the ceiling. His throat twitched and clicked. He jerked his head hard to one side, his legs uncrossing as if to propel him across the room, before they crumpled beneath him. April knelt for a moment, head bowed, before he stood and considered her coldly, as still as if he had been carved from marble. 

“Starfleet regulations prohibit the captain and the first officer from leaving the ship at the same time, except in extraordinary circumstances,” Admiral April said. He looked from Elise to where Kirk stood, Spock leaning heavily against him, and he inclined his head. “I don’t believe this circumstance qualifies.” 

Kirk grinned broadly as Spock reached out with a trembling hand and pinched Elise’s neck again. She fell still and silent as they crossed over the airlock threshold and into the shuttle. Scotty cycled the airlock again as Crovath strapped Elise into the furthest bench seat and stepped up to claim the pilot’s seat. Scotty took the navigator’s chair as One, Two, and Laila strapped themselves onto the benches. 

“Lay him down,” Christine demanded, and Kirk obliged. As Crovath steered the shuttle away from that cursed ship, Kirk slid himself and his husband down to the floor as Christine pulled a travel medbag from beneath one of the benches. Kirk sat with his back against the wall, Spock’s head pillowed on his thigh, as Christine brought out a pair of shears and clipped Spock’s shirt open. She sighed, hands on her thighs as she surveyed the damage, and Kirk’s breath was sucked out of him in one painful gust. 

Spock’s chest was a battlefield. The entirety of his ribcage and both pectorals were bruised a deathly purple-black. The burned skin puckered painfully, weeping clear liquid and green blood. Leading in a train-tracks trail from his stomach to the top of his sternum were at least fifty tiny metal clips. Some of them held the phaser wound closed, but some of them had torn through his skin, leaving the wound open again and bleeding freely. Christine tutted at him as she bent over the popped staples with pliers and antiseptic.

“Spock,” Kirk said, horrified and awed at Spock’s sheer resilience, and ran his hand over Spock’s hair. His hand trembled, and his body ached. In the light of the shuttle, his wrists were rubbed raw, and his broken hand was swelling like a balloon. Spock’s eyes were closed, his breathing even and undisturbed but for the slight gurgling in his throat and lungs. His eyelids twitched as his heartbeat slowed, and Kirk looked up at Christine. She held the pliers in one hand as she pulled out her tricorder with the other and scanned Spock.

“Healing trance,” she mouthed, and her eyes crinkled as Kirk exhaled. He adjusted himself to ease the angle between Spock’s neck and the ground. He bent over, against the protestations of his body, to press his lips against Spock’s pale forehead, right between those pointed eyebrows.

“For better and for worse,” Spock murmured. 

“Against all dangers, as long as we both live,” Kirk said, smoothing his swollen hand over Spock’s hair as Christine worked, and he fell asleep upright with Spock’s head in his lap as Scotty flew them home. 

[bedlemboy]

Worf the Spy

Shortly after realizing the position of ambassador and envoy to the Klingon Empire was going to require a tad more subtlety than even he was anticipating; Worf, son of Mogh, Bane of the House of Duras and Slayer of Gowron sent a back channels message to his ex-wife, who passed it along to her husband, who passed it along to his boyfriend, and in short order found himself on Cardassia across a cafe table from Elim Garak.

Garak's anti-surveillance devices are excellent, and Worf refuses to talk about it, so no one knows exactly what was said that caused both to end up in the medical clinic twenty minutes later with six broken bones, three phaser burns and two kinds of poison ingested between them. Garak says they were "practicing."

From their clinic beds, they agree to meet next month, settling on chamomile tea as a reasonable compromise and agreeing to leave their phasers behind.

The next month, its is eleven broken bones, three poisons, two phaser burns and a knife wound. From their clinic beds, Garak gives Worf pointers on concealing weapons from hand-held sensors for next time. Worf grumbles the Garak stabs 'like a Hom Ha'DIbaH.'

Thirty years later, they still meet every month; discussing opera, theater and their mutual loathing of the Third Taylor Swift Renaissance more than spy-craft these days. They have long since moved on from concealed phasers to subspace micro-explosives, sometimes planted up to a month in advance (Garak was very impressed). They've finished their chamomile tea exactly twice.

Worf is basically immune to poisons, and can lie like a Tal Shiar. Garak has several genial contacts in the Klingon Empire (which he has leveraged into a prosperous post-occupation Cardassia), and is a member of House Martok whether he likes it or not.

They are best friends.

Julian still has the scars from the time he pointed that out.

[warpfive]

SAVING THEIR LIFE (AND GETTING HURT)

protecting the enterprise crew, and getting injured in the process

CW: gn!reader, small depictions of violence and injuries

CREW: jonathan archer, t'pol, trip tucker, malcolm reed, hoshi sato, travis mayweather

JONATHAN - it’s difficult for jon not to immediately get angry when you take a phaser hit for him. he’s had some trouble separating his feelings from his work - you only make things much more complicated and jon has to tell himself that if any other member of the crew did that, he’d just just as pissed. but he knows that’s not completely true, and it shows in the way his hands shake as he scolds you while t’pol comms for the shuttlepod. jon takes his responsibility as captain very seriously, so coupled with the fact that it’s somebody he deeply cares for (loves?), it muddies the waters and that only frustrates him more. later on, once phlox has stabilized your wound and orders you on a few days of bedrest, jon makes damn well sure you follow it, short of posting guards outside your quarters. he doesn’t go quite so far, but he visits you late in the night. scolds you again for getting hurt to protect him, makes you promise not to do it again, tells you how he doesn’t want to lose such a good officer and friend and… he doesn’t go much further. he doesn’t have to. when you tell him you don't regret it, and would so it again to save his life, jon wants to argue back. instead, he takes your hand and promises himself it would never come to that.

T'POL - vulcans are naturally stronger and more resilient than humans - it’s a fact often forgotten, t’pol’s noticed. especially in the chaos and confusion of a cave-in, where all the members of the away team are running away and simultaneously trying to help their colleagues out. t’pol was in charge of the away mission - it was her responsibility to assure her team’s survival. that’s all she was focused on, and not the rock moments away from falling and crushing her into a thick green soup. to give you some credit, you were fast and focused. t’pol barely registered what had happened - only that she felt your arms around her, a shove, and shortly after, your cry in pain that elicited something close to fear in her chest. phlox told her that the rock had broken your leg, and that you were lucky the break wasn’t another couple inches higher, or you would’ve been a real trouble. t’pol takes easily to scolding you, calling you reckless, making sure you knew how much she disapproved of your decision to save her. and yeah, you were in and out of sleep from pain medication. still, you found her hand and squeezed it and told her to court martial you, because you’d do it again in a heartbeat. though, you noticed in the next couple weeks that t’pol has been bringing you tea and finishing your work for you - she’s not completely as vulcan as she hopes.

TRIP - it’s all his fault, of course. if trip had been more careful, more astute; if he had somehow known this would lead to that and that would cause his console to blow, he could’ve prevented the whole thing. he was just too damn focused on the problem with the engine. with the ship shaking and the captain yelling over the comm, it was difficult to focus on anything else until he heard your name and felt you push him. trip wasn’t a small guy - in the moment, he was shocked you managed to push him over. but the shock fell away to panic once he figured out what just happened. the air was smoking, someone called out your name (maybe it was him), and he saw the angry red marks over your face and neck. phlox insists the burns aren’t all that bad, but trip doesn’t really believe him. if they weren’t so bad, then why did the sight of them turn his stomach so much? he tries to keep a good attitude, but part of him was so angry that you got hurt. not angry at you, of course. trip could never truly be angry with you. he was mad at himself, and after forcing a smile and turning away, the tight grit of his jaw was somehow worse than any burns he might’ve gotten in your place.

MALCOLM - he knows, logically, that he taught you hand-to-hand combat for this exact scenario. malcolm wanted, above all else, for you to be able to protect yourself if he wasn’t able to do it personally. yet, none of that made malcolm feel even a little better when he crouched beside you, a hand ghosting over the side of your face that was quickly swelling and bleeding. yeah, you smirked up at him. asked him if he was okay, and if he saw that move you pulled to disarm the man who’d pointed a weapon at him. malcolm insisted this was no time for jokes, and he said it in a rather harsh tone. of course, he was mainly frustrated at himself. if he’d disabled the attacking aliens quicker, you wouldn’t have had to intervene. and he says as much while pulling you up to your feet. you don’t seem upset - of course you weren’t, malcolm thought. you were still trying to ask if he was alright and malcolm had to eventually assure you he was, but he was also more worried about you. though, it wasn’t until you cupped his cheek and told him you were fine did he really believe you. still, in the days to follow, he couldn’t look at your black eye or hear your pained grunts without feeling guilty.

HOSHI - she didn’t even see the man coming. that was a flaw when she got so utterly sucked into her task - nothing else even existed. not even a large man with an energy weapon aimed right for her head and would have fired if you hadn’t intervened. the fight was long and brutal - hoshi heard the chaos of it from behind, but her focus needed to be on the task at hand. too much was riding on its success. it wasn’t until much later, when the crew was safe and the enterprise at warp, did hoshi come by sick bay. and of course, your spirits were high - talk of good teamwork and making you proud hit hoshi’s ears, but she just couldn’t match your energy. not when you were this battered and bruised from defending her. yeah, you talk of duty, saying that it was your job to make sure hoshi did her job. she didn’t feel much better, so you went a step further - telling hoshi that you loved her, and even without their duties to the ship, you would’ve defended her anyway. that did elicit a little smile, but when hoshi tried to give you a kiss, you were still a little too battered. you both compromised by holding hands until phlox had to run some more scans.

TRAVIS - when he came to, travis didn’t expect to be laying on a soft bed of grass, and not the hard metal floor of the shuttlepod. the sun shined right in his eyes, and when he squints against it, the motion pulls on a nasty lump on his brow - right, the one that knocked him out. and it takes only a few seconds of consciousness to sit straight up and search for you in a panic. the mental image he had of you being sucked out into space during the crash landing was thankfully laid to rest when he found you leaned up against a tree, looking more worse for wear than travis would have liked. when you saw him awake, you didn’t move to greet him. in fact, it seemed like just sitting there was causing you a lot of pain, despite working diligently to get the homing device back online. it wasn’t until travis stumbled his way over did he discover you’d broken your leg and probably a few ribs - a small price to pay, you told him, for successfully landing the shuttle (though, successful was a gracious word to use.) logically, he knew you were right. yet, it doesn’t make travis feel any better knowing he’d been in charge of getting the two of you to the surface, and you’d broken a leg when he failed to do so. he apologizes, you don’t understand what for. it just made him feel a little better.

[stellarred]

IS DEANNA TROI PARTLY RESPONSIBLE FOR QCARD???

I wouldn't be at all surprised if Q really didn't like Deanna Troi after Encounter at Farpoint, because near the end when Picard made that "bargain" with Q, pleading him to allow him to reach his Away Team, while they were on the attacking ship (jellyfish), we had this conversation:

Picard: My people are in trouble over there, Q...Please let me help them.

Q:

Picard: I'll do whatever you say.

*The Away Team fizzles onto the Bridge.*

Q: You'll do whatever I say...*Q leans forward, gazing intently at Picard.*

Picard: *looks at the Away Team*: Seems as though I did make that bargain.

Troi intervenes by saying, "It was not Q that saved us!"

Q then exclaims, "She lies...Make phasers and photons ready!"

Picard, of course, refuses to do what Q says, and then he procedes to put the pieces of the Farpoint mystery together as his Away Team colleagues share the new information that they'd learned through their comparison of the two alien structures.

But to think that Q almost had a chance to have Picard all to himself, with Picard doing whatever Q said, if Troi hadn't opened her mouth about the attacking ship saving them and not Q.

Perhaps in that moment Q thought, "Maybe he won't notice that the Away Team appeared on his Bridge in a purple, swirling light instead of my standard Q flash?"

Picard, for a moment, didn't take notice of that detail.

Darn that Deanna Troi and her Betazoid senses!

Alas, Picard manages to wriggle out of his little bargain with Q, as the entity allows Picard to solve the Farpoint puzzle and unite the jellyfish creatures.

Side note: I love how Q, standing behind Picard, kept looking at him. I wish I knew what he was thinking.

And then, Troi had to have her sappy moment with the whole "A feeling of great joy! It's so wonderful!" (Q: 🤢)

Poor Q. Skunked in the first episode.

We know it was for the best, though. Q was definitely in his jerky, self-serving phase of TNG, with his lessons to teach Picard (and his other expressions of love for Picard) coming later.

Neither of them were ready for a relationship at this point, and we very likely wouldn't have had any Qcard canon had Picard kept his deal with Q. It might have been amusing on Q's part to have Picard doing whatever Q said (with "whatever" being who knows?) but, Picard wouldn't have liked it.

A potential hookup with the one, who just put you and your entire race on trial?

Perhaps in that moment, and I'm reeeaaalllyy stretching it here, Troi had a slight hand in starting the evolution of Qcard.

Qcard has been a slow burn from the very start, and if Picard thought that Q had indeed saved his crew, and he joined him, the slow burn very likely wouldn't have even had a chance to catch fire at all.

[grandwretch]

star trek au.

steve is sent to tarsus iv after barb holland dies in his backyard. his parents send him off to live with aunt, light-years away, hoping the colony life will calm his rebellious streak.

everything changes.

its awful, at first. steve is used to being surrounded by people, to freshers and replicators and holos. eventually, he gets used to the chores and the old fashioned tech, but he's still lonely.

robin helps. she works in his aunt's lab, too clumsy to work in the fields like steve does. after his shift is over, watering and weeding and hauling done, they'll sit under the fan in his aunt's office and recount every movie they can remember to each other.

when the fungus creeps into his aunt's field, they think its her experiments. they burn all the crops, and steve is out of a job until his aunt can run the numbers and find out what went wrong. until they can start over.

so steve starts babysitting. its way more fun than field work, even if he complains the whole time. the kids are funnier and smarter than his friends back home, and their parents are kind, the way he wished the harringtons could be. max teaches him to ride a vehicle with wheels. mike and nancy teach him to cook. dustin explains starfleet comms systems to him so many times that steve thinks he might actually be beginning to understand. he, el, and lucas go fishing every sunday. will and jonathan try to teach him how to paint the view from his house, even though it always ends in a mess and a playful, colorful fight.

but the fungus spreads. and steve has never been hungry before, but he knows its fucked that his rations are bigger than the wheelers' and the hendersons' and the sinclairs', and that theirs are bigger than the hoppers' and the byers' and the mayfields'. he doesn't know a lot about whats happening, but he knows its wrong. so he eats as little as possible, gives what can't be saved to the kid, and stores the rest. he ignores the constant pit in his stomach.

the pit grows when his aunt pulls him into her office one night, her face haggard with hunger and horror. because she just helped write a list of people who get to live through this famine, and his name is on it. so are mike and nancy, and lucas and erica, and that's it. claudia henderson made the cut, but not her son. he looks too different, costs too much. not susan mayfield, the hardest worker he's ever met, or her daughter. not joyce byers and her sons, not el hopper. not robin, who saved him.

everything changes.

his aunt must see the disgust on steve's face, because she tells him that it doesn't matter if he's on the list or not, if he fights this, he'll be dead. they all will.

steve nods, forgives her. smiles. goes to his room, pulls the bag out from under his bed. climbs out the window.

he goes to robin first, holds her while she cries. steve can't cry yet, his mind too busy spinning plans. they'll go to the wheelers' first, because they won't be watched, but steve knows there's no way that mike and nancy will go quietly if jonathan and will aren't there. then lucas and erica, if they want. then the byers, then the mayfields, then... the plan continues to spin.

joyce is already gone by the time they get there, but the boys are huddled together in their fort. he and robin don't let them look. susan isn't gone, just missing, but steve knows they're running out of time. it takes too long to convince max to leave, so by the time they make it to the hoppers', the soldiers have beat them to it.

el is covered in blood. max screams, and its only the phaser shots from the front yard, paired with jim's shotgun, that keeps them from getting caught. steve picke up el, and they run

they hide next to the fishing hole, even though all the fish are dead. its familiar, its isolated, its quiet.

they get through all of steves food in a week.

two days later, steve leaves in search of more. five hours later later, he helps eddie munson kill a man.

everything changes.

[alittlewordy]

Prompted Writing: In Cardassian Hands [Elim Garak x Julian Bashir (Garashir) Star Trek DS9 Fan Fiction]

Prompt: Slammed into the top of a desk with their arm twisted behind them + Whumpee wincing and freezing under whumper's weight as they realize they're trapped; if they move any more their wrist is going to break [x]

Word Count: 2,101

Warnings: Ambush, Physical Restraint, Phasers, Third-Degree Burn, Hurt/Comfort, Whump

Characters: Julian Bashir, Elim Garak, Benjamin Sisko, Odo, Random Changeling

Summary: Julian Bashir is alerted to someone entering the infirmary late at night. Upon arrival, Julian notices right away that something is wrong. Still, he steps inside and walks directly into an ambush of one, headed by his partner, Elim Garak. Julian tries to plead with the Cardassian, but it makes his situation worse. It's only when Captain Benjamin Sisko and Constable Odo arrive to save him that Julian realizes how dire the situation truly is.

Read on AO3

---

Julian paused in the archway of the darkened infirmary.

When he received the alert that someone was in the infirmary, Julian expected the lights to be on. He also hoped for a patient to be seated in one of the beds, and for a polite conversation over a late night visit. Instead, the infirmary was shrouded, and concealed anyone who might be inside. In the ambient light from the promenade, Julian caught glimpses of supplies strewn across the floor. Julian reached for his combadge, but stilled, hand halfway to his left pectoral. It was 200 hours, far too early to call security unless it was an emergency. A simple break-in could be reported in the morning. His right palm settled on the handle of his holstered phaser instead as he eased into the infirmary alone, towards the console that would grant him light.

“Who’s here?” Julian demanded. His steps eased around scattered goods as he approached the main console. His hand reached for the light command.

A thud boomed from behind. Julian snatched his phaser and prepared to pivot. A hand clamped his left arm, another clenched the back of his neck. Both propelled him into the console. His chest crashed against the surface. Julian dropped his phaser. His left wrist was yanked up his spine. Julian tried to press his right hand to his combadge. There was no room to worm his arm under his torso. His trapped arm was wrenched higher. Julian let out a small scream and stilled.

“Hello, Doctor.” The cadence, venom, but the style was familiar. The combination spilled ice into Julian’s heart and veins. It froze his body, but not his mind, nor his mouth.

“Garak?” Julian managed a steady tone, in contrast to his swelling panic.

“Very astute,” Garak snarled.

“What are you doing in here?” Julian asked. The hand on his neck shifted, but refused to let him go. Otherwise, no answer. The cold silence compounded with the previous frigid injection almost forced a shiver down his spine. Julian repressed it by clasping his right hand on the edge of the console. “If you need help, I can-”

“I do not want your help.” Garak’s emphasis on “your” shoved that restrained shiver down Julian’s spine. Panic threatened to break free next. Julian forced himself to take a deep breath and attempted to rein in his racing thoughts.

Julian knew Garak wouldn’t come to the infirmary willingly, or alone, unless there was something wrong. Garak also wouldn’t talk to him that way unless there were a reason. Julian considered a relapse from the absence of Garak’s cranial wire, but it’d been years since they’d discussed the implant, even longer since Garak needed that kind of stimulation. Could it be a drug like the one on Empok Nor? Another hidden Cardassian implant? Some kind of hypnosis that commanded violence? Regardless, it was possible Garak didn’t remember him. He didn’t say Julian’s name this whole time. If he could appeal to the Cardassian’s heart, maybe he could get free.

Julian swallowed, then turned his head to the left. At that angle, in the dark, Julian couldn’t see the Cardassian’s face.

“Elim, darling, please, whatever it is, I’m here to-”

His wrist wrenched up his back further. Pain seared through his arm to his shoulder as it threatened to break. An airy scream was forced out of Julian. He shook, caught a breath, then whispered, “Alright, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” His muted words paired with the movement of his head as he turned it forward again. A lump grew in his throat.

“You will remain quiet, Doctor.”

Julian clamped his jaw shut. Tears pricked his eyes. After a moment, the hand below the back of his neck eased away. There was a shuffle. Julian wanted to look, to ease his growing concern, but he forced himself to remain as still as he could. His concern surged as a metal cuff locked around his right wrist. The metal was cold.

Wait.

The metal was cold, but Garak was not. The hand clamped around his left wrist was warm. The station was too cold for Garak, much less any Cardassian, to retain that kind of body heat. It was possible the warmth came from Julian, but that much, that quickly? Unless something was very wrong with Garak, that didn’t make sense.

Julian’s left wrist was pulled down his back and the second cuff was secure. The rod between the cuffs was rigid and unforgiving, the Federation standard, but longer. Cardassian make, then. Where had Garak gotten these? Did he have those the whole time? Were they a recent acquisition? Or was Garak-

A hand seized his uniform collar and yanked him to a standing position. The force expelled all questions. A moment later, something pressed into his back, above his cuffed hands. Julian knew it was a phaser, likely the one he’d dropped before.

“Docking bay. Walk.”

Julian walked, but did not intend to go further than instructed. They couldn’t leave the station. There was a war going on. A departure was beyond unsafe. With each step, Julian searched for an out. Yet, he stepped in the turbolift. Yet, he walked down the docking bay hall. Yet, he stopped in front of closed doors that led to a runabout. Garak’s left arm reached around him and pressed the door release. The doors remained shut. That same hand snapped around his left upper arm and jerked him around. Julian lost his footing, but stayed upright due to Garak’s grip on his left upper arm.

Captain Sisko and Odo approached, weapons raised.

“We have you surrounded,” Captain Sisko commanded, “Let Doctor Bashir go.”

“You know I will not do that,” Garak answered. Julian swallowed.

“Captain-” Julian started. Garak’s hand tugged at his uniform collar and jolted his words away.

“That is quite enough, darling.”

No. That was wrong. Everything about the situation was wrong, sure, but that word, that “darling”, was misplaced. It didn’t belong to Garak. Garak said “dear” in reference to Julian, even when the situation begged for no affections. “Darling” was Julian’s choice, a parallel in sound that made their sentiments intertwine. Never did Garak use the affection Julian chose.

This wasn’t Garak.

It explained the darkened infirmary, the ambush, the warm hands, the Cardassian cuffs, the tone of voice, the words used, everything. This was a Changeling, and they were trying to take Julian off the station. The possibility arose in the back of Julian’s mind the moment the cuffs hit his right wrist, but he’d pushed it aside under the flurry of questions his brain produced. How stupid could he be?

“If you try to take Doctor Bashir, you will not leave this station alive,” Captain Sisko said. The words pulled Julian from his thoughts.

“Perhaps not,” Changeling Garak said, “But you will also lose your doctor. Is that what you want?”

Julian refused to die, or be taken, because he was tricked by some Changeling. He wouldn’t be a pawn in their games again. He had to give Odo and Captain Sisko an opening, one that didn’t get him shot in a major organ. The arm or leg. That would be fine.

He glanced at Odo, who return the look. Julian flicked his eyes to the left, towards the Changeling, then back. Odo lowered his head. The phaser against his back twitched.

Julian shoved back and slammed the Changeling into the dock doors. The phaser slipped across his back to point at his arm. Perfect. Odo lurched forward. The Changeling fired. Scorched agony burst across his right forearm. Julian screamed and heaved to the right. Odo zipped by his left. A whack echoed. Julian fell out of the doorway and landed on his right side. Pain flashed. Julian clenched his eyes and jaw shut, then peeked over his left shoulder with left eye squinted to see if he was in a dangerous spot. The Changeling shifted to its malleable form and rocketed up the vent. Odo followed, form as pliant. Julian sighed and closed his eyes.

“Captain Sisko to security, Constable Odo is following the Changeling through the vents. Track the constable’s badge and cut the Changeling off.” Captain Sisko’s touched his shoulder and side. “Doctor, are you alright?”

“I will be, it just got my arm.”

Julian struggled to sit up. Captain Sisko grabbed his left arm and helped him get upright. Once stable, Julian’s compromised position and the painful sear rushed to the front of his mind. Heat flushed his cheeks and ears.

“I’m sorry, Captain, I let my emotions get the better of me.”

“It’s alright, we all failed to realize a Changeling got on board. We will all learn from this.” Captain Sisko’s hand moved from his left arm to his shoulder. Julian nodded. He felt Captain Sisko squeeze that same hand. “Let’s get you out of these cuffs and to the infirmary.”

“I believe I can be of assistance.”

Julian looked up to see Garak approach from down the hall, Cardassian phaser holstered at his hip. His hands were up. Captain Sisko’s phaser flicked towards Garak, who paused and smiled.

“Apologies,” he said. At that distance, Julian watched Garak pocket a hand and pull out a sewing kit. “You never know when there will be a wardrobe malfunction. A tailor must always be prepared.” Garak opened the lid with one hand, removed a needle with the other, and pricked his finger. He tucked the needle away, closed the case, then held up his hand. Blood oozed.

“Garak,” Julian breathed.

“I told you to stay in your quarters,” Captain Sisko said as he lowered his phaser.

“Did you? I’m afraid Cardassian hearing is not nearly as good as that of a human. But, since I am here, perhaps I can help the dear doctor and you can direct your authority towards the capture of the Changeling. Unless you would prefer I work with security, in which case-”

“Help Doctor Bashir.” Captain Sisko climbed to his feet.

“A wise decision, Captain,” Garak responded. Julian watched Captain Sisko run down the hall to the turbolift. His eyes focused on Garak again when the Cardassian knelt beside him, all signs of deception absent from his eyes. Garak’s left hand fell onto his shoulder where Captain Sisko’s was moments before.

“Are you alright, my dear?” Garak’s voice was soft, as if such a question was a secret. Julian gave him a smile.

“I’ll be alright. Could you get me out of these?”

Garak shifted behind him, then jarred to a halt. Fingers from Garak’s right hand brushed the skin next to the phaser wound, across exposed skin. A tinge of pain twitched Julian’s fingers.

“Garak?”

The hand lifted. “I apologize, Julian. I was… distracted.”

Julian felt Garak’s hand lift from his shoulder. Both touched the cuffs.

“How long will this-” Julian began. The cuffs popped open. Julian breathed a laugh. “Take.” He brought his arms in front of him. The forearm of his uniform was burned through. The skin underneath was a collage of black, red, and white. At the center, a pinpoint, the skin was gone and fat remained. Third-degree. A dermal regenerator and a few weeks rest should fix it up, but a scar may remain, a constant reminder of how foolish he’d been.

Out of his peripherals, Julian saw Garak circle his right and kneel in front of him. The Cardassian’s hands tucked under both forearms.

“I can’t believe I got tricked,” Julian whispered.

“Perhaps it will help you understand how the rest of us felt when we discovered a Changeling had taken your place.”

Julian nodded, but shame kept his eyes on the wound. He should have known that wasn’t his darling Garak. The Cardassian would never ambush and cuff him like that. Julian knew better, yet he allowed himself to be deceived. What did that say about his connection to Garak? Did he really understand the Cardassian at all?

After a moment, Julian felt Garak’s hand moved from below his injured arm and brushed his jaw. Julian’s head and eyes tilted up in time to see Garak close in.

Cool lips pressed against his own warm ones. The kiss was delicate, near fragile. Julian closed his eyes and exhaled through his nose. An ease washed through his skin, through his veins, to his once chilled heart. Their lips inched apart, first the bottom, then the top, before Julian rested his forehead against Garak’s.

“Thank you, Elim,” he whispered. A thumb brushed against Julian’s jaw.

“Shall we go?” Garak asked. Julian allowed their touch to remain for a few moments longer.