#i see people talking about kirk's shirt tearing a lot

[cloudilicious]

my favourite kirk looks are the ones where his hair gets disheveled

[vanderlindemangofarm]

The Van der Linde Gang - Jobs in a Modern AU

I’ve been really inspired to write about this lately and I’d love to hear your takes! These are the occupations that I think each gang member would have in a modern AU. Some were more challenging than others, but hopefully you guys can see where I’m coming from with each! 

Arthur: Film location scout. His natural eye for photography and framing makes Arthur the perfect member of a pre-production team. His no-bullshit approach to everything means he keeps to deadlines, although he’s known to go wandering off into the wilderness for unknown amounts of time. He enjoys the lone working side of his job and finding exactly the right spots that would make the film come to life. He doesn’t always like the films once they’re finished (in fact he’s often bought cinema tickets and walked out half way through, grumbling that it wasn’t worth the popcorn) but he can’t deny the excited buzz he gets every time he gets hired. In his early years as an assistant he met Bertie Mason, a nervous but talented photography intern. Despite an ill-advised hookup after a week joined at the hip they have remained close friends and still go out on shoots together. 

John: landscape gardener. John? Flowers? Yes, alright, I found it hard to believe too. But look, it’s not about the flowers, even if he does get misty-eyed at the sight of a sunflower in the early morning light. It’s about the challenge, the outdoors, and solving problems. After all the renovations he did to his house and garden (some more successful than others) John found how much satisfaction he got from digging and reshaping and planting. Don’t get me wrong, he’s often without a shirt, even in the colder months, much to the delight of some and the horror of others. He always makes friends with the household pets and is wonderful with the kids, always dropping his task to throw a frisbee around for a bit or cheekily accept an ice cold glass of lemonade from their mothers. Whenever he drives past one of his projects he feels himself glowing with pride - “I did that!”. 

Dutch: philosophy lecturer. As always, late with Starbucks. Will he actually grade your essay? Will it mysteriously disappear? Keeps you on your toes, doesn’t it? Sitting precariously on the very edge of his desk, leather jacket hanging off his shoulders and losing his balance every 15 minutes, Dr Van der Linde is nothing short of a wonder. For the love of all that is holy, do not get him started on Kant. Kant has no place here. You want to talk about your precious Kant? Get your butt down to Dr O’Driscoll’s class, he has plenty to say about Kant. Perhaps a little too fond of Socrates. Plato who? Completely illegible handwriting and definitely sleeping with several members of the faculty. But somehow his students always walk away with excellent grades. At the end of each term Dutch takes everyone out to a local bar for drinks, insists on buying tequila which no one really fancies at 11am. Claims to ride a motorcycle called The Count which no one has actually seen. Impossible to hate, and he writes everyone great references for their summer internships. 

Hosea: social worker. In a crisis, there’s no one better to knock on your door. Hosea has seen it all and he’ll see it all again, but that doesn’t stop him from treating every single case he gets with the upmost respect and care. His no-nonsense approach to his work means he gets things done, but he never sacrifices his compassion. He mostly works with teenagers and has a way of being able to connect to each individual without coming across as patronising. He’s been in the field for over two decades and is an invaluable mentor for any newcomers, always willing to share a word or two of advice or be a shoulder to cry on. 

Javier: guitar teacher and music therapist. During his worst years, Javier’s guitar was his lifeline. And he wants to help others find their lifeline, too. He works on a freelance basis, mainly going into mental health hospitals, schools and prisons. He runs workshops focusing on guitar playing, but brings other instruments (mainly percussion) to try too. He’s a gentle teacher, always with a joke in his back pocket for when you need it most. He has nicknames for everyone and remembers everything they’ve ever told him. He’s patient and never lets anyone feel bad for making a mistake. Javier also runs an after-school guitar club at the local middle school alongside playing his own music at gigs whenever he can. No, he doesn’t reply to DMs no matter how thirsty they are. 

Sadie: self-defense instructor. After surviving an attack several years ago, Sadie used her ferocity to get her qualification in self-defense to teach other women how to fight back should they need to. Her husband Jake helps out in her classes, happily allowing himself to be thrown around and slammed onto the mat as many times as required. Her students are terrified of her in the best and nicest way. Sadie also volunteers at a women’s refuge, providing emergency care and taking phone calls. 

Charles: environmental campaign manager. Charles has always been drawn to charities and started doing voluntary work for Greenpeace when he was at university, securing an internship with them in Canada which led to a full time job. Whilst Charles mainly hosts meetings and organises events, he also works closely with elementary schools and runs workshops with outdoor activities, crafts and music. Last week they made bird feeders! It was awesome. He’s also a keen activist and regularly meets up with Javier to go to protests and community events, most recently for BLM. 

Micah: motorcycle mechanic. Micah is massively invested in motorcycle culture and treats his beloved bike better than his own mother, if he still spoke to her. Although he pretends not to care, fixing bikes is his greatest passion and almost looks...happy when he’s doing it? Maybe? He likes knowing more than the people who stop by his shop and makes sure they know it. Occasionally he leaves his number on a scrap of paper inside women’s handbags when they’re not looking but for some reason none of them call. Like it or not, he’s incredibly skilled and will have your motorcycle singing a tune if that’s what you want. Euphemism? Of course not. 

Abigail: nurse. She was so shy when she realised she wanted to pursue nursing - would people laugh at her? Was she too impatient, too nagging, too shrill? Her dyslexia always put her off going into further education and she was always discouraged by her parents. But with lots of encouragement from Hosea (who helped her to fill out her applications and other forms) and her friends, Abigail went to university in her 30′s to get her degree. She graduated top of her class and now works full time in her local hospital, based mostly in the emergency room. From drunken brawlers to tearful children and grumpy old men with lumbago, Abigail has learnt to keep her cool and to have faith in her own ability. 

Molly: holistic therapist and masseuse. It took years to get that bastard of a philosopher out of her head (and out of her bed - damn those happy hour drinks “for old times’ sake”), but she’s finally free. Molly radiates a kindness that few took to the time to see, and she wanted to take strength from her past struggles to help others who may need someone to listen, just as she did. Molly took a bunch of online courses in various holistic therapies, including aromatherapy and massage, as this was something she had always been interested in. She runs a tiny clinic on a quiet street, the rooms filled with sunshine and the scent of geraniums. She also has a quite popular ASMR YouTube channel, Emerald Eyes ASMR, which she shyly admits just reached 500k subscribers. Her most popular video, ‘Irish Girl Helps You Fall Asleep (soft spoken, tapping, mouth sounds)’ just reached over a million hits. 

Kieran: veterinarian specialising in equine care. Much like Abigail, Kieran didn’t like the idea of going back into education. He’d had a rough time of it as a teenager, dropping out of high school early and working a string of menial jobs for the next decade. They paid his rent, but he still felt poor. His favourite job, however, was working at a stable. The horses made him feel calm and he found that he could read them better than most people. He went to the library and read as much as he could about them. From there, he got himself an apprenticeship which paved the way for him to earn his degree in veterinary science. He smiled so hard in his graduation photo his eyes disappeared into his cheeks. He travels all over the local countryside, visiting farms and ranches to care for the horses. His confidence picked up after the first few blunders, and little by little he’s saving up to buy his own ranch one day. 

Lenny: political science student. You know that kid who always looks amazing, even in 9am lectures? Yeah, that’s not Lenny, but he’s sat just behind. See him? Yep, the one rubbing sleep from his eyes as he pushes through the effects of another all-nighter. It’s not due to procrastination, but from perfectionism. He spends hour agonising over references, appendixes and even titles. One time he was so tired he signed his work “Ynnel”. He’s completely in love with his course and relishes every class he takes. Oh, he’s taking Dutch’s ‘History of Western Philosophy’ module by the way. Sitting in the front row, middle seat, directly in front of Dutch, his eyes glinting wickedly. Poor Dutch. Lenny has a counterpoint for absolutely everything and can barely stifle his laughter as Dutch gets more and more flustered. He’s been dating Jenny Kirk, an English Lit student, for the past few months and it’s going well. So well in fact, that he might stop hiding his Doctor Who merchandise every time she comes to his dorm room. 

Tilly: business student. Tilly started university at the same time as Lenny and they still always go to the library together, rolling their eyes at each other over their morning peppermint lattes. Tilly is at the forefront of any and all on-campus activism. Think of Sam from Dear White People - that’s our Tilly. She wears her Ravenclaw scarf all autumn and winter long and posts scathing Instagram stories about the cafeteria food. But she’s powerfully kind and very ambitious, taking on a part time job tutoring kids with dyslexia in their reading and writing. 

Susan: midwife. Think having a baby is scary? Try crossing Nurse Grimshaw. She’s here now, and that baby is coming out of you one way or another. She’ll hold your hand through thick and thin but if you dare say “I can’t do it” one more time she’ll unleash hell. Susan will make sure everyone has a job to do. Partner just standing there like a lemon? Not on her watch. She’s harsh but kind to her trainees and will always offer a cup of coffee and a shoulder to cry on, but there’s a time and place for slacking and it’s not on her labour ward. 

Trelawny: talent agent. Our Josiah is cunning, infuriatingly charismatic and with an eye for the best of the best - what else could he do so effortlessly? He’ll wrangle you a 10 second role as a latrine cleaner in a non-profit film and he’ll still make you feel like the next DiCaprio. You’re a diamond, don’t you know? Of course you could nab Elphaba, we’ll worry about the singing later. How do you feel about cat food commercials? No no, it’s not pornography, it really is cat food this time - he double checked. On top of this, he knows everyone in the business. No, really. He can’t move 3 feet down Broadway without someone booming his name. The tone of said boom depends, of course, but who hasn’t been caught with his bottom out in that director’s wife’s en-suite? 

Sean: outdoor activity centre instructor. You mean you can actually get paid to swim in lakes, ride ziplines through the forest and eat roasted marshmallows?! Sean couldn’t believe his ears. But it was true, and he’s living his best life. He may be on his penultimate warning for unruly behaviour, but he knows he could never really get fired. How could they? Everyone loves him. And to his credit, he’s a fantastic instructor, especially with kids. Everything from canoeing to caving, wild swimming to climbing, Sean has mastered it all and he always makes it fun. No one is allowed to feel left out or silly for not being able to do something. Sean has a way of making everyone feel included, even if you can only make it up the first few rungs of the ladder. Hey, that’s still off the ground! He once knew this feller Bill who cried because a moth flew into his face. You’re doing fine. 

Mary-Beth: librarian and YA author. Sweet Mary-Beth, how could she be anywhere else but surrounded by books? She adores her job at her small, local library and is always looking for ways to make it even better. She often gets tangled up in the stories she reads whilst organising shelves, but it’s quiet enough most days that she’s rarely caught. She loves helping people find their books or recommending her favourites. She also runs the toddler storytime groups and a writing club for older kids. Of course, she’s also writing her own books. The first of her ‘Valentine Mysteries’ books made a modest profit and she’s excited to write more about the adventures of Leslie Dupont. 

Karen: actress. Realising that she had a knack for accents and even after an especially successful high school lead role as Roxy Hart, Karen didn’t really acknowledge her would-be passion for acting for a long time. But she used her talents to get herself and her friends into X-rated films, dive bars and successfully pull off dozens of prank calls. It wasn’t until one of her friends was going to an open-call audition for a short film and wanted someone to go with her that Karen had her epithany. She was cast on the spot, much to the dismay of her friend. Since then, she’s been in a handful of arthouse films, a commercial here and there, and recently enjoyed a short run as Hermia in A Midsummer Night’s Dream at a small theatre downtown. Does she want fame and fortune? Honestly, she hasn’t really thought about it. Right now, she’s just enjoying the ride. And the phone numbers left for her at front of house from many admirers. 

Strauss: financial loan adviser. Oh boy, perhaps you saw this one coming. Then again, maybe not. Old Leopold isn’t quite the two-pronged-tongued eldritch horror people often mistake him for. In fact, he actually advises people against loan sharks. He had his fair share of debts y’see and he genuinely doesn’t want anyone else to go through the same thing. He’s not exactly sweet and cuddly, but he might let you have a free pen if you call by his office. I mean, technically they’re not free but...never mind, just take it. 

Bill: plumber. It was purely accidental that Bill bashed his way into his career. No, really. His sink was blocked and after an hour of poking and prodding the pipes he started hitting the poor thing with a spanner out of pure frustration, cursing all the way. To his shock, it worked, and he suddenly had running water again. What shocked him more is that he realised he wanted to know how. So, he bought a book. And he read the book. And one thing led to another, and now he’s the proud owner of Williamson Plumbing Inc. The money is very good, but for Bill that’s not it. You have to understand that for him, it’s the act itself of fixing something that brings Bill immense satisfaction. And Bill isn’t used to knowing more about something - anything - than those around him. For the first time perhaps in his life, he can sit down, solve a problem, and know that he’s done a good job. 

Swanson: AA group leader. After getting completely sober almost a decade ago and staying that way, Orville wanted to give something back to the people who had helped him out so greatly. Becoming a volunteer to help those who were trapped where he was seemed like the only path, and it felt so right. Orville is there in meetings, making coffee, handing out donuts and training new volunteers. If anyone wants to talk about their faith he’s all ears, but he never pushes it as a cure-all in any situation. Orville’s sobriety has also meant that he’s learnt to make the most phenomenal mocktails. 

Pearson: grocery shop manager and cooking teacher. Simon has his small grocery shop on the edge of town which has a wide range of regular customers. But he wanted to do more, so he set up a small class to teach fellow veterans how to cook. His wife helps out, and they grow the ingredients together in their garden and down at the allotment. It’s just an therapeutic for him as it is for his students, as he’s only just realising how much he wants to talk about his time in the navy. 

Uncle: unknown. For the longest time, everyone thought Uncle worked at one of the worst dive bars in town, as whenever they stumbled in for a nightcap he was there, behind the bar, happy as a pig in shit. Turns out that he just started going there one night and no one could get him to leave. And so every evening he’ll appear like a phantom, sit himself in the half-broken chair behind the bar (clearly labelled “not for customer use”), order the cheapest beer on the menu and sit there until midnight. No one can understand how he gets the means to live as he ragingly denies receiving any government handouts despite his lumbago. Claims to be a veteran but hasn’t fought in any wars anyone has heard of. 

[lovelylogans]

debutante

previous chapter | chapter two | next chapter

part of the wyliwf verse.

warnings: mention of creepy adults/pedophilia, transphobia, memory loss problems, food mentions, kissing/making out, arguing, 

pairings: logince, moxiety

words: 21,995

notes: there are spoiler warnings for the first three seasons of downton abbey, and dee and logan have a discussion of journalistic ethics that includes a mention of a teacher that is creepy toward teenage girls; it’s an abstract idea for the sake of argument, there is no actual creepy teacher, but i wanted to put a warning in here anyway.

⁂

he really needs to get on patton about getting a new rug for his bedroom, virgil muses.

his bare feet are resting against the hardwood of patton’s floor. patton, who usually clings to inanimate objects with an intensity fueled almost entirely by reminiscing, even patton had admitted he probably should let go of the raggedy bedroom rug, and he’d been meaning to replace it, but. he hasn’t yet. so virgil’s sitting on patton’s bed, waiting for patton to finish brushing his teeth and washing his face, so that they can curl up in bed and go to sleep. 

that’s a new thing—it’s not entirely new, but new enough that virgil feels too awkward to just curl up in patton’s bed and wait for him to come back. so. virgil is sitting here, in his pajamas, thinking about patton’s bare bedroom floor and his need for a new rug.

and not thinking about the various strides he and patton have been making in their relationship, slow but sure. virgil knows that patton’s really excited, and eager to move forward in their relationship, and virgil is too, but, surprise surprise, virgil’s anxious about it, so patton’s been very understanding about moving at a much slower pace than he’s used to—“you’re worth it, honey,” patton had said, his chin hooked over virgil’s shoulder as they cuddled at night, “there’s no rush at all. it’s been this long, ya know? i want to do all of this right,” and really, virgil did not deserve patton, he really didn’t.

there’s the sound of bare feet padding down the hallway, though, and virgil looks up, smiling despite himself, as patton opens the door. 

“hey,” he says warmly, closing the door behind him and shutting off the light—the lamps on the bedside tables are still lit—and patton continues his path, only detouring to lean down to kiss virgil sweetly before he sits down on his side of the bed. 

“hey,” virgil echoes, and at last swings his legs up on the bed, settling back against the pillows. “how was your day?”

this part he likes a lot, too—this, sitting in the same bed, talking about their days. it’s cavity-inducingly domestic.

patton hums, already squirming to be under the covers, and virgil copies him; they’ll move to cuddle once they’re done talking, virgil knows, so he mostly just stays where he is.

“the usual,” patton says. “um—got news of a wedding incoming, so i’m sure i’ll be going nutty about that in… a year and half or so.”

virgil knows that the weddings held at the inns hold some of patton’s favorite and least favorite parts of the job—helping make people happy, seeing people fall in love all over again, making everything so beautiful and lovely, but also, bridezillas and flighty grooms—and he smiles, mentally calculating. “you don’t usually get fall weddings, right? that’s mostly a spring/summer thing.”

“i know!” patton says brightly. “i hope they timed it nice so that it’s a warm fall day, and they get all the pretty leaves falling, and the sun hits the ceremony just right…”

“that sounds nice,” virgil says honestly, because it does—a picturesque fall wedding, sookie making some fancy version of an apple fritter for appetizers, a pumpkin-flavored cake. “fall wedding, i mean. it’s so pretty here in fall, i know we get boosted tourism because of it, but. not many weddings.”

“not many weddings,” patton agrees, and squeezes his arm. “and it’s a lesbian wedding, too, so from the conversation we had, i really think they’re gonna lean into the whole witchy-alternative vibe. the word celestial was thrown around a lot.”

“oh, that’ll be really fun,” virgil says, refining his mental image—black dresses and a tux, maybe, star-studded hairpieces, lots of fairy lights. “you’ll have to remind me when it’s actually being set up, i want to see how they decide to decorate. you never get to do witchy lesbian alternative celestial-themed weddings.”

patton laughs, and leans in a little closer to virgil. “no, i can’t say i’ve ever gotten to help out with a witchy lesbian alternative celestial-themed wedding. so that’ll be fun!”

patton continues with other work things—he has a much sooner wedding in spring, and unfortunately it is not a lesbian wedding, but a double wedding of two sets of insufferably rich twins, so there’s a lot to deal with there—before he winds down and says, “well, that’s about it with me, really, how ‘bout you?”

“um, pretty calm, pretty typical,” virgil says, before he reaches over and squeezes patton’s thigh. “oh, before i forget, the middle davis kid—”

“yeah?”

“—going by brick for now, while they’re trying to figure out what fits better,” virgil says. he leaves his hand on patton’s thigh, because. well. he can.

“brick,” patton says, delighted. “oh, that’s a great nickname for them—every time i see them, they’re insistent that they’re gonna bulk up and hit a growth spurt any day now.”

virgil allows himself a grin—brick is a pretty ironic nickname for a skinny little korean-irish kid who’s been hankering for their growth spurt since they could have possibly hit puberty, and now at age fourteen it was definitely becoming a bit more plaintive, but they also said it’s because they have the subtlety of a brick, so it fits in at least one way.

“they are still using they/them pronouns, right?” patton checks.

“yeah, still they/them,” virgil says. “you’ll have to ask them if they’ve added any pronouns when they turn up for your get cultured day—which is why i brought it up, brick brought by their dress for me to try and alter so that sequins don’t constantly scrape, so that’ll be a fun little challenge.”

“ooh, i hated wearing sequins at their age,” patton says sympathetically, and pats virgil’s arm. “good luck with that one.”

“other than that, though, today was mostly boring, my interesting stuff all has to do with the debutante ball,” virgil admits, rubbing his thumb back and forth over patton’s thigh. “oh, except for the part where kirk’s trying to sell topical funny t-shirts now.”

“ah, kirk,” patton says fondly. “where would the town be, without kirk and his seemingly millions of part-time jobs?”

“yeah, well, the best he could come up with today was rudy ate oatmeal, so i’m not really holding out hope for the funny t-shirt business,” virgil says.

patton snorts, and then tries to pretend he hadn’t—but, really, kirk becomes way less aggravating when you take him as comic relief. virgil knows, it’s the way he’s managed to stand all of kirk’s eccentricities over the years.

“anyway, yeah, that’s about it,” virgil says. “how'd the dinner go—i mean, i know emily at least gave you the dress, so that went okay, right?”

patton shrugs a shoulder and says, “i guess. i mean, i have a feeling this isn’t over, but… gosh, you should have seen her and logan stare each other down.”

“intense, huh?” he prompts, when patton goes quiet. he squeezes his thigh again, because physical touch is one of patton’s top two love languages. he knows, they took the test together.

patton chews his lip, before he says, “he looked like me. back then, i mean. the look on his face. my mom must’ve seen it a million times when i was his age.”

virgil squeezes a little tighter.

he knows that patton’s teenage years were rough. again, patton doesn’t really like to talk about them—virgil doesn’t blame him—but virgil did see patton struggle through the later end of his teens, and he was there for him when he’d broken down in tears. now, with as old as he is, as removed as they are from it, having seen logan and roman grow up and realizing how truly young patton was when they first met, the thought of teenage patton—struggling so fiercely in a house full of people who hadn’t understood him just made him, how hard patton had had to work to get a better life for himself and his son, the years of therapy patton had gone through—just made him want to grab patton in a hug and never let go.

“so,” patton says, pauses, and lets out a sigh. “i don’t—i don’t know. it went okay. but seeing logan copy me like that, i just…”

virgil leans over to kiss patton on the cheek.

“the difference between you as a teenager and logan as a teenager is massive,” he says lowly. “because logan’s got you, and me, and roman, and ms. prince, and rudy. he’s got this whole bizarre town. you had you, and christopher, i guess, but he didn’t understand. you’ve learned coping mechanisms that you passed onto logan, so he knows other ways to redirect his feelings. if he’s being rebellious to help protest something he thinks is sexist or unjust, i think that’s a pretty good reason to rebel. you did a great job with him. he’s a great kid. yeah?”

“yeah,” patton says very quietly. “yeah, he is.”

“you’ve come really far,” he says, and leans to see patton better, and gently pokes at patton’s cheek, just to make him smile, and he adds, “plus, i’d think if teenage-rebel you came to the future to see that your son’s protesting the gender stuff you’d been struggling with, i think that would’ve made you pretty happy, huh?”

and, yes, patton does smile at that, and something in virgil relaxes at the sight.

“yeah,” patton says. “yeah, i think it really would’ve.”

“well, good,” virgil says, and kisses his cheek, before he decides to just kinda go for it and lean in to wrap his arms around patton, initiating the cuddling early. “so, other than that déjà vu—”

“it went okay,” patton says, wiggling into virgil’s arms. “i mean—still weird to look at the dress that my mom bought for me. but other than that, it was okay.”

virgil hums sympathetically, and presses a kiss to patton’s head.

“well,” he says. “i’m gonna adjust it so that it’s logan’s dress, and his dress only. does that help?”

he feels patton smile against his collarbone.

“you know,” he says musingly. “i think it really does.”

⁂

logan has never walked into a store afraid to touch something before.

granted, most stores he walks into are grocery stores or convenience stores; clothing stores, sometimes, mostly before the school year or whenever roman decides he simply must check out the latest collection of things that the outlet mall in woodbridge had to offer. most of the time, the stores logan knew were quiet, maybe with some inoffensive music piped in, with products he knew how to use, or how they looked.

this was not the case in a bridal boutique.

which is where logan and roman are; though logan had the dress once intended for his father, roman still needed to get his own, and had so enticed logan to come along with him to help him choose.

it’s a saturday afternoon, and they’re technically on a date. there’s a bookstore just across the street, and a frozen yogurt parlor near there, and a thrift store they could dive into so logan could see the second-hand books and roman could hunt for some kind of retro statement piece.

logan inspects his hands again. there’s a stray inky blue smear across his hand that must have gotten there when he was taking his notes earlier today. he eyes the pearly-white tulle suspiciously, and takes a step closer to the center of the room, away from any of the merchandise.

objectively, he knows that touching these delicate, temperamental fabrics and testing the sensation of them by running his hand along the skirts won’t harm them, but. logan has laid eyes upon the price tags in this room. he is not going to even slightly risk ruining these dresses, somehow. 

roman’s spinning some kind of tale for the bemused, yet seemingly enthusiastic dress attendant—something something debutante ball, something something drag family induction, something something the most experimental stuff you’ve got!—and logan considers a dress a shade of blush pink so light it’s practically white, with a delicate, lacy flower overlay, the whiteness of the flowers being the only thing to really give away the pinkness of the dress itself. he wants to reach out and rub the material between his fingers.

he also knows that, with the location in the store and the quality of the material, the dress likely costs upwards of five thousand dollars. possibly more. maybe even double.

“logan!” and logan looks away, to where roman’s waving him back toward the dressing room section. thank god, somewhere to sit and not worry about accidentally tripping over a dress and leave an irreversible mud print from his shoe, or something.

the attendant burbles something along the lines of “so supportive!” that logan doesn’t really listen to, and doesn’t really have to respond to, because she’s pointing roman in the direction of a dressing room and logan gets to sit down in a chair and finally not worry about catching a ragged edge of his fingernail in a veil and accidentally ripping it in two.

logan waits until the attendant leaves, and says, “you’re really getting a dress from here?”

“it’s not all high-end,” roman says. “they have some old samples that they’re desperate to get rid of—that’s the kind of thing i want.”

logan nods, absorbing this, and his shoulders start to relax. obviously, roman’s monetary discretions are not up to him, at all. considering it comes from either his mother or working at his mother’s studio, therefore it should primarily be roman’s concern or ms. prince’s concern, but it is reassuring to know that roman isn’t about to ransack his college fund to get a pretty dress he’ll wear once as a prank.

the attendant comes back with armfuls of tulle, which roman claps his hands at with excitement, and steps into the dressing room with her. the door closes behind them, and logan can just barely hear their muted conversation beyond the door.

logan digs around in his backpack and pulls out his history textbook, his history notebook, and a pen; he may as well study while roman’s getting primped.

he gets through about a third of the chapter on enlightenment ideals by the time the door opens again.

he puts down his pen and glances up in enough time to carefully fold his lip under his teeth in an attempt not to laugh.

roman makes sure the attendant is occupied with adjusting the train before he pulls a blech! face at logan, one he’s accustomed to seeing whenever someone attempts to serve roman anything with cauliflower.

blech, logan thinks, is right. the fabric looks like it’s made of aluminum foil. it’s all bunched up in the front, like the dress is made of paper that’s been crumpled up by a giant hand, but there’s a long train in the back, and the whole thing is bedecked with big, chunky gems, like plastic rhinestones.

of the pair of them, roman’s always been the more fashionably-minded one, but even logan can tell this dress is not good.

“what do you think?” the attendant asks.

“it’s…. unique,” roman says diplomatically, smoothing his hands along the fabric; the bodice is strange, and clearly not fitted to suit roman’s chest. “definitely on the right track toward campy. but, um—”

“you tend to favor golds over silvers,” logan offers, which is true; one of roman’s signature colors was gold for a reason. “the crumpled look isn’t the best, either. you could certainly pull off a, um—”

he makes a hand gesture, and roman offers, “high-low skirt.”

“—right, high-low skirt, but the bodice isn’t the best, either,” logan continues. “something more theatrical would suit your personality, certainly, but i think that’s more in terms of, you know. a very outdated dress, or maybe something ostentatious, but not—”

“not this kind of ostentatious, yeah,” roman finishes for him, and the attendant looks between them, seemingly starting to question why she took in two teenage boys to try on dresses. the look falters, though, and she pastes a smile onto her face—professionalism must prevail, logan supposes.

“back to the dressing room, then!”

she trots roman out in a few other options—an a-line dress with a lacy bodice and a tulle skirt, a trumpet dress with chantilly lace and a sheer back, a relatively simple a-line dress that roman keeps twisting around in to gleefully poke at the massive bow perched at the small of his back—and logan offers commentary when asked. as she sees roman adjust the bow again, the attendant smiles.

“you like the bow?”

“i like the bow,” roman agrees, grinning. “i look like a birthday present.”

“all right,” she says. “i’ll bring out something a bit more experimental again—”

at the looks on their faces, she adds, “not quite as avant-garde as the first dress. actually, it’s fairly old-fashioned, but i think it might have that theatrical aspect you’re looking for. i’ll go back and change you out of this one and bring it back for you so you can take a look, does that sound good?”

roman agrees, and accepts her hand down off the stand, with a wink at logan, before they go off into the dressing room together. logan turns again to his history textbook; he’s nearly done with the chapter, which means one less thing to stress about when he should be focusing on a date with roman.

he can hear roman laugh from inside the dressing room and, unbidden, the corners of his mouth lift, too. either this dress is hilariously terrible, or roman’s thrilled at the idea of wearing this dress which he thinks is perfect for him.

when roman hops up onto the stand, logan honestly can’t tell which it is.

it’s like some fashion designer decided to stick every terrible fashion trend from the eighties onto one dress. there are big, puffy balloon sleeves made of tulle, secured with rosettes, in addition to typical spaghetti straps with smaller rosettes all over them; there’s a panel of beading down the bodice; there’s an overlay of rows and rows of ruffly tulle over a skirt of satin.

and, of course, there is a big, fluffy bow, perched right at the small of roman’s back.

it is extra. it is absurd. it is dramatic.

“i love it,” roman says gleefully. “oh, my goodness, it’s so much!”

it is, of course, roman.

“you look beautiful,” logan offers, and roman flashes a radiant smile in his direction, before he turns to offer his exuberant thanks to the attendant, who seems relieved (”we’ve had that sample longer than i’ve worked here, i’m sure they’ll be thrilled we’re rid of it!”) and takes roman into the dressing room, to help him out of the dress and go ring him up.

logan packs up his history book with some satisfaction; he has succeeded in taking notes for this chapter, which meant that frees up some time tomorrow, which meant he could probably work to get ahead in his latin class.

or, more likely, his dad would insist he go out and do something fun, despite the fact that he’s clearly doing something fun now. and yes, fine, he’s brought his textbooks, but clearly there was time to study here, so logan will provide this chapter of notes as an example as to why studying in the midst of a date was necessary.

logan slings his backpack over his shoulder just as roman emerges from the dressing room, in the same outfit he’d been in before he’d enlisted on a dress-shopping extravaganza; despite the fact that he’s wearing a red linen button-down tucked into a pair of high-waisted, dark-washed jeans, along with a dark overcoat to fight any of the last of the spring chill, a look that still seems very put-together—it seems almost like he’s a little underdressed, after all of the wedding dresses.

he doesn’t voice this—underdressed or not, roman constantly looks lovely—and instead he offers his arm, saying, “shall we go pay?”

“we shall,” roman says in an officious british accent, probably making fun of logan, just a little, but he laces his arm through logan’s anyway, and tugs him out of the dressing room area, to the front, where he chitchats cheerfully with the attendant and takes the truly massive garment bag, hoisting it above his head to avoid letting it drag on the ground.

“virgil’s going to have a hell of a time with this dress,” roman says gleefully. “should we go and grab a cummerbund for him? you know, just to make things easier for him.”

“he’s going to complain the whole time he gets all dressed up,” logan points out.

“i know,” roman says brightly, and tugs logan again. “c’mon, let’s go drop this in the car so we can go get fro-yo. i hope they’ve got gummy worms, i wanna make the super-fruity bowl this time.”

“so it falls to me to make some chocolatey flavor, i suppose,” logan says; for the pair of them frozen yogurt, unlike lucy’s, is prone to sharing, and as to avoid unfortunate flavor combinations, such as pineapple tart and whoppers, each of them make a bowl for each flavor—one for fruity flavors, and one for chocolatey flavors. “do you think i should combine coffee and fudge brownie?”

roman kisses him on the cheek, even as he’s pushing the door of the dress store open. “you’re a genius, my darling love.”

logan realizes in the middle of a bowl of coffee-chocolate frozen yogurt that roman’s managed to get him to leave behind his textbooks in the car, along with the dress.

he can’t bring himself to mind all that much.

⁂

this plan straight out of the plot of an early 2000s movie, if early 2000s movies had meaningful and visible trans characters, is somehow working.

dee still can’t believe it, somehow, even after a weekend of getting texts from known-but-aren’t-supposed-to-be-known members of secret societies like the porcellians (the porks, to those in the know, and dee is most decisively in the know) and the clairs and the skull and dagger and the sphinx club and the order of the gorgon’s head—truly the secret society names at this school were something else. 

he’s consulting his list on his way to meet up with logan to give him a morning update (could use some more involvement from the knights of the lamp and the old crows, and if he’s truly dreaming big he’ll try to crack all twelve of the twelve peers) when he glances up to see logan at his locker, looking truly startled as he’s being accosted by a freshman, who is waving a piece of paper at him with a fierce look on her face, her voice loud, but dee can’t quite make it out over the chatter and clatter of the morning crowd getting their books for the morning, and catching up over the latest weekend gossip.

as he gets closer, he realizes who it is. poppy mcmaster, whose legal full name is so genuinely atrocious that he could only feel pity for her when he’d scanned all the freshman’s files early in the year. who in their right minds named a child coppelia parthenope mcmaster and expected them not to get brutally bullied? unless, of course, they somehow preternaturally knew that poppy would turn out with the kind of aggressive, single-minded ambition whose brashness made her preschool teacher cry.

he mostly knows her because their families move in similar social circles, as ten generations of mcmaster have attended harvard. she stands at all of 5’2”, quite a bit shorter than logan, and yet she seems to be threatening him.

dee sidles closer to get a better look at her—dirty blonde hair pulled half-up, intense dark brown eyes, chilton uniform in perfect regulation—and approaches right as she’s saying, “some discretion, for the love of god—”

“dee,” logan says, spotting him. “um, this is—” and he glances at her, eyebrows furrowing. “you didn’t say your name.”

“coppelia mcmaster,” dee says, partially to show off but also because, coppelia. “or are you going by parthenope again? or something short for parthenope, anyway.”

poppy scowls at him, fierce, and snarls out, “poppy.”

“of course, of course,” dee says placidly. “poppy. how long has it been? i don’t think we’ve spoken since your bat mitzvah. mazel tov, once again.”

“todah,” poppy says, with the kind of tone one usually reserves for saying thanks for a present they resoundingly dislike. “you’re involved in this whole debutante plot, aren’t you?”

“well, yes,” dee says. “logan’s brainchild, of course, but one could say we’re co-parenting.”

poppy then proceeds to shove a familiar piece of paper into his hands, and she says, “mr. gardiner nearly saw and grabbed this if i hadn’t pretended it was a participation sheet from the student council.”

dee sucks in a breath, turning over the sign-up sheet—oh, wonderful, they have gotten another member of the twelve peers—but his eyes also land on the Contact Logan Sanders for details.

“thank you,” dee says at last, and turns his eyes to logan. “how many of these are up around the school?”

“three,” logan says. ��that one included.”

“well, we’ll have to take them down,” dee says decisively. 

“what?” logan says.

“you’ll get in trouble,” poppy says. “detention, suspension, maybe.”

“we are planning to disrupt a large social event for the daughters of the american revolution,” dee says, and glances at logan. “as you can likely imagine, social protest is not exactly the kind of press attention chilton would like to receive.”

logan scowls, and says, “tinker versus des moines—”

“—was a public school,” poppy says impatiently. “i know you came from the backends, sanders, but this is a private school. different rules apply to us.”

“plus, we’re recruiting for protest,” dee says. “i’m not sure how well the tinker test will hold up for us, and i’d rather not find out. the word’s been spread enough, we can further recruit over private text message and dms.”

logan concedes this point with a nod, and he says to dee, “i’ll defer to your judgement.” then, to poppy, “thank you for interfering. that would have complicated matters unnecessarily.”

poppy shrugs, and says matter-of-factly, “it’s common knowledge that either of you will likely be editor when i enter the franklin junior year, i may as well attempt to establish myself as one of your proteges this early on to improve my chances for being assigned the better pieces junior year, and to provide an even clearer path to editor senior year.”

logan looks startled at that, and dee turns admiring eyes to poppy—he’d known her ambitions, of course, but planning this far in advance was preparation that dee could appreciate.

she says to logan, “do you have an escort yet?”

“um,” logan says. “no. no, i don’t.”

“all right then,” poppy says, and fishes out a reporter’s notepad from the side pocket of her backpack, removing a pen from her breast pocket, scrawling, and then ripping out the paper and handing it to him. “consider the slot filled. i’ll do it.”

logan looks at the paper—her phone number—and then back at her. “you’re joining?”

“obviously,” poppy says. “the clairs are involved. my cousin was a clair, her mother was a clair. the connections you make with clairs last the rest of your life. if this helps me get closer to joining with them, i’ll do it, just so i won’t have to spend all year killing myself to get in. plus my mother has been insistent i attend a debutante ball for ages now, she’ll be crushed i’m doing it in a tux, and crushed that i’m not going for the puff route like her, but these are the sacrifices we must make.”

she doesn’t sound particularly sorry about crushing her own mother, but logan acknowledges this with a nod, digging around in his own backpack for a flyer before handing it to her.

“everyone is going to attend a sort of crash-course in debutante ball culture,” he says. “the dance, the bow, the curtsy, so on. here is the address and any supplies you should bring. do you already have a tux, or should i send you some information for rentals?”

“rentals,” poppy says, and exchanges a look with dee—dee knows logan wasn’t raised in all this, but seriously, a rental?

“i take that as a no,” logan says, undeterred, before he zips up his backpack again. 

“fantastic,” poppy says. “i was wondering about the strategy for establishing a working relationship with you, i’ve known him,” she flicks a dismissive gesture toward dee, “for years. it just so happens that this route will also help take care of my social life and allow me to enact some form of teenage rebellion, because it’s been scientifically proven that teenagers who rebel constructively form a robust sense of self and are more likely to a have a clear sense of direction, beliefs, or relational commitment, and those who don’t may find it hard to settle or focus on building a meaningful and satisfying life. this is excellent multi-tasking.”

poppy looks delighted. logan looks like he might be developing a headache. dee has found this a typical reaction to people within proximity of poppy.

⁂

virgil looks up as the bell rings and immediately steps out from behind the counter.

brick is struggling cheerfully with a stack of tupperware in their arms, and virgil takes the top few so that brick can see.

“i got it,” brick complains.

“i don’t want you tripping over chairs, i’m sure you can handle the weight,” virgil says. “i was thinking you could set up over at this table here—right by the door, but out-of-the-way enough so that you don’t have to deal with anyone bumping into you. that cool?”

“yeah, that’s cool,” brick says. “thanks, virgil!” and immediately sets down the tupperware on the table in question. virgil follows suit, setting down his own load, and arches his eyebrows, impressed.

“you guys could put fran and lucy out of business with all these baked goods,” he says.

because that’s what brick is here for—the first shift of kids manning a table for a bake sale, to raise funds to make sure the sideshire kids can afford their slots in the debutante ball. 

brick stares at him for a few seconds.

“sarcasm,” he elaborates, because brick doesn’t really pick up on that too well, most of the time.

“got it,” brick says. “um, i’m gonna go help ellie—they brought a few other things, so save up that comment for them, i’m sure they’d get it.”

“need any help?” he says, knowing full well that brick will say—

“nah, i got it!” brick says, and darts out of the diner again. virgil waits by the door, just in case they need someone to open it for them—which they do, brick with another load of tupperware, and elliott with a poster tucked under their arm, a register in hand, and a plastic jar under their other arm.

“hi, elliott,” virgil says.

“hi, virgil,” elliott says.

“right over here,” virgil says, gesturing to the table, “do you need any help?”

“um, do you have tape?” elliott asks, frowning. “i just realized i don’t have any.”

“tape, got it,” virgil says, and ducks into the back to see if he’s got any in his office.

by the time he’s come back out, brick and elliott are already seated behind the table, arranging the last of the opened tupperware, with the plastic jar having a sign taped over it saying DONATIONS FOR THE BALL, and virgil pauses to dig a ten out of his pocket, dropping it in the jar before he hands over the scotch tape.

“thanks, virgil!” brick cheers, as elliott quietly thanks virgil for the tape and goes about taping the poster to the front of the table. it’s definitely homemade—there’s glitter, and marker, and there’s a little flyer taped beside it that explains what exactly they’re trying to do at the debutante ball.

“you want drinks?” virgil asks, tucking his thumbs into his front pockets. “on the house.”

“ooh, cocoa, please!” brick says. “the—the minty one. do you still do the minty one?”

“i still do the minty one,” virgil says. “peppermint should be a year-round flavor. ellie, you want anything?”

“cocoa/coffee,” elliott says.

“that stunts your growth,” brick points out.

“i’m taller than you,” elliott tells brick, who bristles and immediately opens their mouth, and virgil ducks out to get their drinks.

by the time he brings back the two steaming mugs, brick is finishing off their tirade with “—i’ll end up built like korra, and then you will see.”

“drinks!” virgil says, and sets the mugs down in front of them. “uh, just so you know, we hit one of those weird lulls, so we’ve probably got half an hour or so before things start picking up for dinner rush.”

both of them make noises of acknowledgement.

“so,” virgil says, settling in a chair near them. “elliott, i know you were thinking about what you were gonna wear slash do, did you decide that?”

“i, um,” elliott says, fingers tracing the rim of the mug. “i thought i’d wear, like, a half-dress half-tux thing. i dunno if i���m gonna debut or escort yet, though, that kinda depends.”

“that sounds cool,” virgil says encouragingly. “do you have a picture?”

elliott does, but since it’s only partly designed—their sister liked messing around with fabrics like that—it turns out all the sideshire kids who are planning on going to the ball are in a groupchat, so after elliott’s phone pings with a message from there, there’s a brief tangent that ensues because elliott sends out virgil says hi to everyone and a picture of the bake sale, so virgil gets to hear about everyone’s plans which is also cool. and he also records a video with brick that brick pinky-promises to just send in the chat, so he ends up learning one of the latest memes that the kids are watching these days. god, he’s old.

“the debutante thing’s really awesome,” virgil says. “i kind of wish i’d gotten the chance to do it back in the day.”

elliott looks up at him, and says, “you do?”

“yeah,” virgil says. “i mean, i’m not roman or anything, but i still wear makeup a lot of the time, i’ve got a few makeup palettes, i wore some skirts back in the day—”

brick’s head snaps up at that, and they say, “you did?”

virgil blinks—he’s not sure why this is surprising, but.

“yeah, i did,” virgil says. “i bet i’ve probably still got them buried in my closet somewhere. my heels, too.”

this also gets elliott’s attention.

“you do?” elliott says.

“i mean, maybe,” virgil says. “i might have donated them, i dunno, but—”

“why don’t you wear skirts or heels anymore?” brick says.

“well, right now?” virgil says, and gestures to the outside. “it’s cold. but, uh—i don’t really know.” 

and it hits him—he doesn’t really know. he just kind of kept going for jeans.

“just a habit, i guess,” he continues to the kids, because i don’t know is a bit of a weak answer. “it’s easier to match things with jeans. plus, it looks kinda weird to wear a nice flowing skirt and then just, like, a hoodie and a pair of sneakers i wear all day because i stand all the time. and wearing heels while i stand all day is just asking for a sprained ankle.”

“yeah, that makes sense,” elliott says. “sneakers kinda clash too.”

“but you wear boots too,” brick says, and points. “you’re wearing boots today.”

virgil glances down at his combat boots, the ones that he’s also got the gel foot insoles in. “well, yeah. i guess i am.”

“and leggings or tights would probably help with cold,” elliott says.

virgil looks between them, and says, “you two want me to wear a skirt, don’t you?”

“yes,” they both chorus, unapologetic.

virgil pauses, considering this. well. he definitely has at least one skirt, maybe more, they’re probably just tucked away where he doesn’t see them everyday. and he is fully down for these kids running in there and shaking up the patriarchy. and he does support men, or anyone on the gender spectrum who doesn’t fit soundly in the box of “woman,” wearing more traditionally feminine clothing, as long as they’re comfortable with it. and the surprised looks on these kids faces when he’d mentioned he used to wear skirts more often, and then the studies he’s read of how much representation means to kids...

he turns and calls out, “jean?”

“yeah?” jean calls from the back.

“i’m gonna run upstairs for a second, would you mind keeping an eye on things out here?”

jean calls back an affirmative, and brick and elliott exchange a look, before turning back to virgil.

“are you—?”

“maybe,” virgil says, standing, feeling a strange sort of excitement just from their excitement, but also, it’s been a really long time since he’s worn a skirt, and he’d liked wearing skirts. “again, i can’t remember if i’ve donated ‘em, but—”

“awesome,” elliott says, while brick is nodding along with them, wide-eyed.

“all right,” virgil says, and then, “uh, cool” and makes his awkward exit, heading upstairs for his apartment.

it takes a bit of digging, but he does manage to find where he’s stashed his skirts over the years. he’d even managed to fold them neatly before he put them away, so they’re not even that wrinkled or anything. and then he remembers the various struggles of matching an outfit with a skirt, because in his mind, a skirt outfit has to be at least a little fancy, and so after he examines and discards nearly every shirt in his wardrobe he ends up pairing a plum, long-sleeved button-down with a black pleated skirt that falls down to his ankles, even after he tries to make the skirt a bit high-waisted.

and then he gets a little more carried away, and smokes out his dark eyeshadow and pops some purple glitter in the crease and the inner corner and does a little cat-eye for the eyeliner and puts on plum lipstick, before something in his brain says back away from the makeup products, you are in danger of re-enacting your teenage emo phase, and so he does, not without a bit of a longing look at the black eyeshadow, because this is fun. why hasn’t he done something like this in so long?

he has to pick up his skirt one hand as he walks his way down the stairs, before he tugs aside the curtain that covers up the stairs that lead up to his apartment, and steps out from behind the counter.

brick and elliott swivel to look at him in almost-hilarious unison. and then they just. stare.

oh, the staring. the whole staring thing is why he hasn’t done something like this in so long.

virgil clears his throat, running a hand through his hair to make sure it isn’t too messy. “is it that bad?” he tries to joke.

“i,” brick says, voice strangled, “am gay.”

“uh,” virgil says, unsure of what to really say to someone less than half his age declaring that, then, “i’m with patton, happily so, and also, i am way too old for you, you are a kid.”

elliott rolls their eyes, and says, “they mean you look, um. good. you look really good,” and then they elbow brick in the ribs. brick shakes themself.

“yeah!” brick says. “you look. good. you look good!”

the bell above the door jangles, then, which means brick and elliott are distracted by attempting to sell baked goods, and virgil escapes to behind the counter, ready to start up for the dinner rush.

(he does take a few seconds to remind brick and elliott that anyone over eighteen is too old for them, at the moment, and the dangers of grooming, and also he is here if they need to talk about being concerned for anyone or if they need someone to talk to, in general, before brick says, “ugh, fine, jeez, you sound like the guidance counselor” so that takes care of that particular situation, virgil guesses.)

virgil does get a few compliments on his appearance, throughout the dinner rush, and also a few questions about why he’s dressing up nice, which means he can direct their attention to the baked goods table (brick and elliott leave after a couple hours, and so a couple more sideshire high students start their shift) and the cause that they’re raising money for, so. things are going well.

he ducks back in the kitchen, for a minute, when the staring gets to be a bit Much and he needs to take a second to breathe. he’s not super anxious, necessarily, it’s just—well, he frequently has the thought people are looking at me, which tends to make him anxious, and that’s true tonight, so. he needs to take a bit of a breather. and so he cooks.

cooking’s been a good outlet for his anxiety, ever since he was a kid and didn’t really get what anxiety was, ever since he was an asshole teenager who had recently been wrangled into his first therapy session by his parents following a doctor’s diagnosis. it’s almost always the same—if you follow the same directions, you’ll get the same result, almost always. and, sure, it could be an outlet for creativity, too, if he so chose, but right now he’s grilling burgers and assembling salads and making pasta. it’s an adventure in multitasking he does almost every day. he knows what to do, and so he does it.

he feels calmer by the time they’re in the midst of the dinner rush, partially because of the time spent in here, but also because the increased business is something that’s also familiar and somewhat comforting. so he chances poking his head out of the kitchen door, evaluating if he’s ready to enter back into the fray and start helping out with the waiters. 

he pokes his head out just in time to see roman, logan, and patton sliding into a booth, and he breathes a soft sigh of relief—those are people he can definitely go over to and not start to feel nervous just because they’re looking at him.

he’s about to fully step out and make his way over unnoticed by everyone else, except—

roman looks up, and makes eye contact with him, and declares “virgil! i came as soon as i heard!” loud enough that virgil can hear it over the background music and the dull roar of the dinner rush conversations.

virgil winces a little, before he sheepishly walks over to the table. he probably should have expected this, given roman’s vocal and often repeated desires to give virgil a makeover.

all three of them come into view—roman, eager at last that virgil is stepping outside of his typical fashion comfort zone; logan, mostly neutral if a bit curious; and patton, who is staring at him, eyes wide behind his glasses, and visibly swallowing. a flare of heat burns to life in virgil’s stomach at that, and so he turns his attention to roman, so that he doesn’t start blushing and his thoughts don’t become immediately obvious.

roman looks him up and down, surveying him, before he says, “you look like a goth femboy version of a librarian fantasy.”

virgil runs a hand down the skirt, a little self-conscious. “oh.”

“but,” roman says, pulling a face at him, seemingly detecting virgil’s mood change, “at least you’re showing some sense of style. this is an improvement over your daily wear, believe me. one would even say substantial.”

“oh,” virgil says, more sarcastic this time, with an eye-roll to boot. 

“however,” roman says, “can i request that you at least extend your color palette to something that would not look at home as a poster for an emo pre-teen? and your foundation, virgil, you do not have warm undertones, you have neutral undertones, if you’re going to start wearing makeup more you need to have a summer and winter foundation—”

virgil reaches over to flick roman’s ear, and roman complains “heyyy” before logan glances up at him.

“why wear a skirt today in particular?” logan says.

“oh,” virgil says, and jabs a thumb in the direction of the bake sale table. “y’know, i figured i’d support you kids. people ask me why i’m all dressed up and so i get to point ‘em there, and then, you know, solidarity,” he says, taking his skirt in hand and swishing it a little. “win win.”

“all right,” logan says and looks across the table at roman, cocking his head.

“roman,” he says. “what is a ‘femboy.’”

roman folds his lip under his teeth.

“um,” roman says. “well, y’see—”

“i’ll get you some waters!” virgil says, before he has to bear witness to roman explaining that concept to his boyfriend and his boyfriend’s dad. he knows that a femboy is just people who are male or non-binary presenting themselves in a feminine way, the word kind of started around his teenage years, but he also knows that particular expression on roman’s face means that virgil has probably missed some segment of Youth Internet Culture that might provide the backstory behind the newfound popularity of the word a bit… complex.

by the time virgil comes back, logan is jotting something down on one of the notecards he carries around with him all the time, and roman looks normal, so the conversation must not have been too awkward, but patton—

well. patton looks at him, once again looks like he’s swallowing his own tongue, and turns his face back down to the table, but not before virgil can spot the pinkness in his cheeks.

oh. interesting.

virgil has to swallow himself, before he readies the notepad.

“what do you want for dinner?” he says, in a tone that is perhaps a bit gruffer than normal, and patton immediately and not-very-subtly puts a hand over the back of his neck to hide that that’s going pink too.

very interesting.

virgil doesn’t get much of a chance to observe this interesting phenomenon—it is dinner rush, after all, and he’s got other customers—but when he does observe it, it brightens that low flame in his stomach, like someone slowly turning the knob on a gas stove, and patton grows gradually more bold. 

looking at patton’s general personality, one would probably assume that he’s a generally shy boyfriend—hand-holding and kisses aplenty, to be sure, but fairly unassuming when it comes to public displays of attention.

looking at patton’s general personality, one would probably not assume that patton is a flirt.

but he is—he is absolutely a flirt, and a startlingly adept one at that, so when virgil swings by the table perhaps a bit more frequently than he usually would, patton stares at him with a little smirk on his face and with zero shame as his eyes roam over virgil’s face, his arms, his mouth. 

patton looks up at him from under his eyelashes, biting his lip just so, and virgil nearly drops patton’s plate—and notices, distractedly, that patton has managed to use virgil’s distraction to finesse his way into a helping of fries instead of the vegetables or salad that virgil would usually suggest.

and when virgil brings over the bill, handing it to patton, patton takes the bill and then takes virgil’s hand and kisses his knuckles with a cheerful “thanks, honey!” and virgil has certainly forgotten any anxiety that might stem from someone staring, because it’s patton who’s staring at him.

patton, who had gotten so flustered at the sight of virgil in a skirt that his eyes nearly popped out of his head; and now, patton, resting his lips against his knuckles for just a moment, lingering, and virgil feels like an elizabethan maiden about to make her way to the fainting couch because of it.

virgil excuses himself to settle the bill, and also maybe rest a cool hand against his own cheek. honestly. it was a kiss on his hand.

he’s about to go back the table and hand back patton’s card, but he glances up as the bell jangles, roman and logan already leaving, and patton stepping close to the register, his hands behind his back, rocking up onto his toes and back onto his heels.

“hey,” virgil says, and shakes himself, before he offers patton’s card. “um. here.”

“thanks,” patton says, tucking the card into his pocket, before he bites his lip. “um. could we go up to your apartment and get the book i asked to borrow?”

what book, virgil wonders, before patton hastily adds, “if you have time, i mean, i don’t wanna—take you away too long,” and oh, he wants to go—okay. okay.

“i have time,” virgil answers, maybe a little too quickly. “um—sarah,” he calls, “me ‘n patton are going upstairs for a little bit, so—”

“we’ve got things down here,” sarah says, “go, go” and so they go, patton reaching out to grab virgil’s hand and squeeze, running a thumb over his knuckles. and so they ascend the stairs.

virgil shuts the door behind them, and turns to face patton.

“i was, um,” patton clarifies. “i was asking to come up here to see if you wanted to kiss for a little bit.”

“i know,” virgil says, then adds, because consent is important, “i do.”

“oh thank god,” patton breathes out, and before virgil can get out a response, patton surges up against him, rocking up onto his tiptoes and pressing virgil back into the wall, and virgil barely has the time to wrap his arms around him before patton’s kissing him with searing heat.

patton is a remarkable kisser, genuinely the best that virgil thinks he’s ever been fortunate enough to kiss, and patton knows the precise angle to tilt his head and the precise way to possessively splay a hand at the back of virgil’s neck to make the kiss deep and heady and excellent, a kiss so downright lascivious that virgil’s thoughts about retiring to a damn fainting couch doesn’t seem near dramatic enough.

virgil is distantly aware that patton must be rocked up onto his tiptoes, and he splays his hand at patton’s waist, squeezing him gently, giving himself the excuse that it might help patton keep his balance a bit better, and also because his hand fits so beautifully at patton’s waist it could make virgil cry, the warmth of him even through his sweater and the way he can feel patton breathing in unsteady breaths, so maybe virgil isn’t the only one who is losing it here a little.

simultaneously, like they’ve choreographed it, they stumble back together until patton’s knees hit the arm of the couch and virgil practically falls on top of him, virgil barely breaking the kiss to make sure he hasn’t crushed him before patton’s twining his fingers into virgil’s hair and dragging him back into the kiss, wriggling a little so that his thigh is pushed between virgil’s, and virgil groans into his mouth, patton greedily swallowing the sound.

time goes a bit fuzzy, then, everything narrowed down to patton’s breathy gasps and the slick slide of his lips and the warmth and pressure of a thigh between his own and patton’s wandering, unabashed hands in his hair, on his back, wandering down to give him a cheeky squeeze, gripping at his thigh, like patton’s using the touches to punctuate a sentence that virgil has no hope of reading but it sure sounds nice anyway. 

and then there’s a loud sound—someone’s dropped dishes downstairs—and they break apart, the pair of them looking toward the apartment door, startled, and as soon as it sinks in what it is that’s happened, they look back at each other.

patton’s smiling up at him, plum lipstick smeared all around his mouth, coy and unashamed, but with a little quirk at the corners that tells him that make out time is probably over. it is an image that immediately sears itself into virgil’s brain that will probably pop up at incredibly inconvenient moments, but he cannot really feel bothered about that right now, because christ is that unexpectedly hot.

virgil clears his throat, because there’s never exactly a non-awkward way to end something like this, that is until patton’s brow creases and he reaches forward to touch virgil’s lips.

“oh, no,” patton says, a little distressed, “i messed it up!”

“i can redo it,” virgil promises immediately, barely even thinking of the words before they’re out of his mouth in attempt to make that coy little smile come back, and he clears his throat to try and make his voice go back up to its usual octave, not the gruff and low near-growl that came out of his mouth. “um—you kind of have—”

patton’s brow creases even more, before he wiggles a hand free from under virgil and smears a finger beneath his bottom lip, holding it up to see for himself, and he giggles.

“i guess i do,” he says, and beams up at virgil. “be a dear, would you? i don’t wanna walk out there and make it too obvious that we’ve been mackin’ on each other this whole time.”

virgil nods, and, regretfully, rolls off of patton to go to the bathroom, attempting to steady his breath the whole way. 

he bends to get the makeup remover from under the sink, and straightens, at last looking at himself in the mirror.

he looks thoroughly kissed.

his plum lipstick is smeared all around his mouth, down his chin, which shows off how his lips have reddened and gone a little swollen; his black hair is ruffled, especially sticking up in the back; and the generally gobsmacked, slightly stupid look on his face is a dead giveaway that he’s been spending time kissing patton.

there’s the soft padding of footsteps, arms wrapped around his waist, a face pressed between his shoulderblades, before patton pokes his head around him to see himself in the mirror, too.

he bursts into more giggles at the sight of them—matching messy lipstick, matching messy hair, matching slightly stunned look, except on patton it doesn’t look stupid at all, it looks like he’s thrilled with himself, a smirk playing around the corner of his mouths, like a particularly flirtatious cat who’s caught particularly prettily painted canary.

virgil can’t help but grin, too, and patton arches up to press a deliberate kiss to tendon of virgil’s neck, and virgil’s grin turns into a groan, more out of frustration than anything.

“what?” patton says, smiling playfully at him in the mirror. 

“if you keep doing that,” virgil says, and then he’s at a loss for words, but patton seems to get it, slipping out from behind virgil but still leaving an arm wrapped around his waist.

“i don’t particularly want to stop, either,” patton agrees, before he reaches up to turn virgil’s attention away from the mirror, and so that he’s looking directly into patton’s eyes instead. patton continues, voice lush and full of promise, “i’d keep you up here all night, if you wanted, but, well.” 

“we’re taking it slow,” virgil says ruefully.

“we’re taking it slow,” patton agrees. “plus, you’ve got a diner to close, and i’ve got a kid at home who’ll probably stay up too late reading if i don’t bug him about bedtime.”

“yeah,” virgil says, but he can’t help but sigh a little—they’ve both agreed that moving slowly is the responsible thing to do, they’ve talked about it a lot, first to agree to slow then later to refine their mutual definitions of slow, which turned out to be pretty damn different at first, but. well. 

“i know,” patton agrees fervently. and he really does—he’s literally the only other person right know who understands exactly how virgil’s feeling, and that sets him at ease more than anything.

“all right,” virgil says, and peels back the top of the makeup removal wipes package, removing one. “lemme see your face.”

patton obligingly tips up his chin at virgil, smiling.

virgil cups the underside of his jaw and works to clean off patton’s face, gently rubbing away the plum smears around patton’s mouth with a purposefully soft hand. 

it takes a few wipes for virgil’s lips to twitch up into a smile, too.

“stop it,” virgil scolds, without any heat.

“stop what?” patton says, still smiling.

“you’re smiling at me,” virgil says. 

“what, i can’t be a little happy that i spent some quality time with my fella?” patton asks. 

virgil ducks his head, because that’s one of his top two love languages, and patton knows it. instead, he says, “‘course you can, i am, too. but you’re gloating.”

patton’s grin widens, and virgil sighs, lowering his hand—he won’t be able to help patton at all with patton grinning up at him like that.

“i have,” patton says, “the prettiest fella. i’m allowed to feel at least a little smug that you’re the belle of the ball tonight, darling.”

“stop,” virgil grumbles, looking away.

“what?” patton says. “it’s true! you’re gorgeous, honey.”

virgil mutters under his breath and rubs at the back of his neck—he isn’t the best with accepting compliments, he never has been, especially when it comes to things like this.

but, well—

“so,” virgil says, staring at the makeup wipe in his hand. “you… liked it?”

“liked it?” patton says.

“y’know,” virgil mumbles, and gestures vaguely up and down his body—the skirt, the makeup. “it.”

patton grins up at him, and tugs him down a little so that they’re eye-to-eye.

“i,” patton purrs, “love the skirt.”

it takes a little bit longer to get polished back up after that. and if, perhaps, virgil walks around the diner a bit more at ease than before, with a bit of a stupid smile on his face even after patton blows him a kiss on his way out of the door, well. that’s virgil’s business.

⁂

christopher calls when logan’s studying at the diner. his dad’s already headed home, most of his dinner conversation having been rhapsodizing his deeply-held desire to put on his pajamas. virgil’s busy behind the counter settling everyone’s bills now that the bulk of dinner rush is over.

it’s still unusual enough to logan that christopher brings himself to call semi-regularly now—even stranger that it’s weekly, and on a set schedule. wednesday nights at seven. he even remembers to call precisely on schedule, most of the time. but still—every time his cellphone buzzes and lights up with a photo of him and christopher and dad at a sanders-hosted thanksgiving a few years back, he’s surprised.

it takes quite a bit of work to unlearn sixteen years that consisted mostly of irregular, unscheduled visits and not showing up when the visits are actually scheduled, logan supposes.

“hey, kiddo!” christopher says brightly.

“hi, dad,” logan says, digging around for a bookmark, before giving up and placing a clean knife in his science textbook to mark the page and closing it. 

a moment later, logan curses his mental preoccupation with studying and the upcoming phone conversation he’ll have to have—the napkins are right there.

“so, what’re you up to?”

“studying.”

“you’re always studying,” christopher says, and there’s something in the tone that sets logan’s teeth on edge; he knows that christopher isn’t exactly academically inclined, and in fact would likely be better described as an academic anarchist, seeming to disdain upon the opportunities and privileges he was given with no strings attached that logan would almost certainly kill to have, not to mention many other people who would put it to better use, but. it’s not the time to pick a fight, logan supposes.

“yes, well,” logan says. “i have science test this week.”

“you’ve always got tests.”

“chilton is an academically rigorous school,” logan says, in a tone that implies he’s explained this a hundred times, because he has. “and i would like to maintain my position as a competitor for the top of my class. how are… things?”

this allows him a brief reprieve—since the official collapse of christopher’s business, not too long after he’d visited last fall, he’s been picking up a variety of odd jobs and temporary work, whatever catches his interest—christopher spends about five minutes explaining that he’s found some temporary work at a bar, now, to make some spare cash as he looks for something more permanent during the day. 

“—but yeah, that’s about all that’s going on with me right now.” a pause. then, christopher prompts, “how about you?”

logan shrugs, even though christopher can’t see it. “not very much. the test. i think i did well on a pop quiz on monday—”

he explains his various schoolwork and extracurricular activities��christopher hums in all sorts of places—before he adds, “oh, and roman and i went on a date on saturday.”

“hey, finally, something fun!” christopher says. before logan can even say something like but the debate team’s mock trial was fun, he says, “what’d you do on your date?”

“we had frozen yogurt,” logan says, “and roman wanted to go to a thrift store to get some things, and we both got a couple books, and roman got something for the ball, so that’s good—”

“whoa,” christopher says, “hang on, rewind. the ball?! what ball?”

logan winces.

because, well. it’s complex to navigate building a relationship that he initially blackmailed his father into, rather than have him propose to his dad. it’s even more complex to figure out how to handle a dad who had, for sixteen years, mostly showed up in irregular, unscheduled visits and not showing up when the visits are actually scheduled. 

he has a dad. for the vast majority of his life, patton has been the only biologically-related adult on whom he could rely. if there was ever anything a parent needed to be involved in, whether it be a parent/teacher conference, or parent’s night, or a parent volunteer for his classroom—he’s always penned down patton sanders without a second thought. virgil, occasionally, if he’d known that his dad had a scheduling conflict, but—always, patton first. that’s just the way it is. christopher had never even stepped foot in sideshire before last fall.

but now, well. now, he has to navigate should i have asked him to come back for this? because the rules say he needs his dad to escort him. 

and for so long, he has been so used to only having one of those. (well. two, but one biological dad. the other one kind of adopted him on sight and now he fusses after logan getting proper vegetable and protein intake.)

having both parents be involved in your life is even more unnecessarily complicated than i could have anticipated, logan thinks, before he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“um, yes. a ball. the daughters of the american revolution debutante ball, to be more specific.”

“you’re kidding,” christopher breathes out. “jeez, what kind of dirt does emily have on you that you had to recruit your boyfriend to escort some girls, too?”

logan blinks. “i have no idea why a handful of soil would motivate me to do that?”

“no, like—” christopher begins, and, perhaps, logan was overemphasizing his usual ignorance for use of slang just to give himself a break.

“well, that isn’t the case, regardless,” logan says, before he decides to just get it over with. “he was getting a dress. we both have one. we’re going to be the debutantes, not the escorts.”

there’s a pause.

“is this a gay thing?”

logan cringes, ever so slightly—christopher sounds more bemused than anything, so logan doesn’t think it’s a necessarily passive-aggressive comment, rather a more genuinely ignorant one.

“no, it’s not—” logan says, and pinches the bridge of his nose a little harder. “it’s not, um. a gay thing. we’re recruiting a lot of chilton students and sideshire kids to join in, it’s more of a public statement than anything.”

“oh,” christopher says, still with that tone of bemusement. then, “a public statement of what?”

“we’re making a statement about how sexist it is that society still deems it appropriate to trot young women around like that,” logan says. “we—the boys, i mean—are wearing dresses as a gesture of support and solidarity with them.”

“oh,” christopher repeats.

there’s an even longer pause.

“how many people did you say you got to join in?”

“we’re almost at forty, the last time i checked,” logan says, and christopher whistles lowly.

“your grandma’s gonna throw a fit.”

“we told her, actually,” logan says. “i wanted to see if she still had the dress she was going to make dad wear.”

“and how’d she take that?”

“she’s making me wear heels,” logan grouses, and christopher laughs.

“well, can’t say i expected her to be especially nice about anything,” christopher says. “so, tell me all about this massive prank you’re cooking up, then, i knew that some of my teenage troublemaking had to rub off on you somehow.”

though logan wants to say it’s not a prank, he supposes that it doesn’t exactly harm the movement if christopher thinks that; it’s not like he’s about to tell christopher the real reason, after all.

but logan tells him, all about the chilton kids, and the sideshire kids, and the upcoming Culture Day that his dad and isadora were organizing, and the bake sale that the sideshire kids were doing to raise money to actually enter into the ball in the first place, and the way logan’s had to hide sign-up sheets from teachers, and it seems to go okay. 

that is, until christopher says, “hey, i guess if you’re going as a debutante, you need your dad to escort you, right?”

“oh,” logan says, and coughs. “um, actually, dad’s already doing that.”

there’s another long pause.

“oh.”

“i mean,” logan says, and shrugs, even though christopher can’t see it. “you’re saving up for other things, you hardly need to come out from california just to do this.” 

“i would’ve,” christopher says, defensively. “if you’d asked.”

“right,” logan says, and the sarcasm slips through before he can even really attempt to modulate it into something resembling politeness.

“i would’ve,” he repeats, more insistently. “i know i haven’t been the best—”

“look, i have to get back to studying,” logan says, cutting off whatever platitude about i know i wasn’t present for you throughout your childhood, when you most would have needed the stability of your other parent, but i am trying now after you had to blackmail me into not upsetting your life, “next week, we’ll talk?”

another pause. a defeated sigh.

“sure, kid,” he says. “yeah. i’ll talk to you next week. same time. love you.”

logan flounders, for a moment, before he says, “next week, then, bye,” and hangs up before christopher can return the farewell salutation.

logan takes a moment to lift his glasses so he can press the base of his palms into his eyes, before he resettles them on his nose and opens his science textbook again.

the conversations with christopher are… something. they tend to go cordially most of the time, even, it’s just—

well. like he’d thought earlier. he’s so used to having one parent, and christopher only ever making contact irregularly. no guarantee for birthdays, no guarantee for christmases, no guarantee for thanksgivings. no guarantee for if logan really wanted to lean on someone, if he’d be there, solid and steady, or if logan would be sent sprawling to the ground. metaphorically.

it’s a bit like that cartoon that logan recalls, as a child—lucy, holding the football, insisting that she wouldn’t yank it away at the last second, leaving charlie brown tumbling head-over-heels.

christopher has insisted that he wouldn’t yank the ball quite literally since logan was born. forgive logan if sixteen years of ending up flat on his back hadn’t exactly endeared him to exactly trust that christopher would hold the ball steady, even if christopher had ended up being much more punctual and consistent with phone calls than expected.

it’s just—difficult. to adjust. to really believe that christopher might stick around, this time.

he suddenly feels his (already immense) sense of respect for patton rise all the more, because he trusts people like this all the time, no matter how many times he’d ended up flat on his face; logan’s thought it naivete for so long, that now that he’s attempting to practice it, he finds himself… well, if he’s to continue the metaphor, he’s found himself unwilling to even attempt the run-up to the ball.

logan attempts to shake himself, as if the thought is something that he can dislodge, like water in his ears. he refocuses on his textbook and readies his pen for any notes that he needs to take. which he does, for a while, his pen scratching a familiar rhythm under the quiet rush of other people’s conversation, and the soft, inoffensive music the diner plays, that is, until the plastic of the pen cracks under the force of his grip. logan scowls, and tosses the pen aside.

“here.”

logan looks up, startled; virgil’s standing over him, holding a small plate. he’s wearing another skirt today—purple, and it falls just below his tights-clad knees.

“what’s that?”

virgil sets down the plate, careful to avoid any notebooks, pens, or textbooks. there’s a slice of loganberry pie on it, which is actually logan’s favorite, despite the downside of the many puns his dad has made about logan liking loganberry pie.

“you look like you need pie.”

“i do?” logan says cluelessly.

“pen tossing usually signals the need for pie,” he says.

“you,” logan says. “brought me pie.”

virgil arches his eyebrows. “i could take it back.”

“thank you,” logan says quickly, sliding the plate toward himself, as if virgil would snatch it away, and virgil snorts, reaching out to ruffle logan’s hair before he retreats back to the counter, and—

and it really is just the sugar that has logan’s shoulders relaxing as he stares at his science notes, he tells himself.

⁂

the science test is predictably grueling. logan sits at his lunch table, his brain still tracking over various formulas and small facts he’d memorized, as if in a half-stunned stupor.

there’s the sound of a tray clacking on the table. logan looks up, startled.

dee, in his usual cape and hat, looks over at him, and arches his eyebrows as if daring him to say something. after logan blinks at him owlishly, dee resumes settling himself, as if he has sat at logan’s lunch table a great many times and not at all as if this isn’t the first time he’s done this.

come to think of it, logan’s uncertain if he’s ever even seen dee during their lunch period before. he sets aside the question of then where does he eat??? and instead reaches into his lunchbox, grabbing something at random to start eating.

a clementine. okay.

logan starts peeling the clementine as dee gets his lunch tray in order, and dee says, very casually, “would you like to come over so we can discuss arrangements?”

logan’s fingernail catches; he resists the urge to curse as he punctures the fruit, and instead reaches for a napkin to wipe his hand dry of juice.

“arrangements…?”

dee looks at him. “for the project.”

logan’s test-addled brain then proceeds to panic and mentally trace over every single one of his shared classes with dee, attempting to pinpoint how on earth he possibly could have overlooked an upcoming project, before—

oh.

“i—yes,” logan says, and resumes peeling the clementine. “yes, that works out fine, i think. um—do you live near a bus stop?”

dee flaps a gloved hand at him dismissively. “i’ll have one of the drivers take you back home.”

one of the drivers??? then, he has even one driver???? what on earth necessitates plural drivers???

“i… sure,” logan says, rather than comment on that, “i’ll text my dad and tell him i’ll be home late.”

dee nods, and so logan eats his clementine in sections as dee’s lunch tray depletes with a rate of speed that would already be impressive if not compounded by the fact that logan doesn’t even really see him eat, before he pulls out his phone and texts his dad, I’m going over to Dee’s after school, I’ll let you know how long I’ll be there when I have a better idea of the time frame.

he’s walking to his next class when his phone buzzes, and he glances at his phone. 

Dad: okay!!! say hi to the adults and be on your best behavior! love you, have fun!!!

he is uncertain how much ‘fun’ will weigh into the activities for any event at dee slange’s house.

⁂

dee’s pretending to be on his phone almost the entire time a chauffeur drives them back (he could have driven, but he hadn’t felt like it this morning, so therefore he didn’t have his car in the afternoon) but really he’s looking out of the corner of his eyes at logan.

logan is sitting stiffly, and he has been since he’d gotten into the car; it’s as if he’s nervous he might scuff up the leather if he moves. he’s holding his backpack in his lap, and his eyes keep darting to the driver, suit-clad and silent, and out the window, before glancing at dee, and then back out the window. 

as they creep up to the gate, and the chauffeur inputs the code that’ll open the gate so they can drive up the maple-lined driveway, to the house, dee has abandoned the ruse entirely, because logan looks the most confused dee’s ever seen him look.

the look only grows more obvious once they break past the trees, and logan actually gets a good look at the house; dee knows the townhome was designed to be magnificent, especially on first glance, but he’s been so accustomed to it that seeing logan’s eyes dart from the fountain in the middle of the driveway to the sprawl of primroses and lavender and hydrangeas and all the rest of the landscaping, and the towering height of it all, the brick crowded with overgrown ivy and climbing roses. the historic townhome may not have multiple wings, and it might not really hold a candle to the ultra-modern mansion where his parents live, but it still, certainly, is impressive.

“you live here?” logan says, stunned.

“obviously?” dee says.

he’s tempted to say something like if you ever saw my parents’ house, maybe pull up that old e-edition of a magazine that had covered it once, just to see logan’s eyes pop out of his head, but the chauffeur puts the car in park and logan’s saying “thank you, sir,” and scrambling out of the car as quick as he can.

dee arches a brow, and the chauffeur moves to open the door for him, because he was raised with manners, jesus, wasn’t this emily and richard sanders’ grandson? one would think he’d know something about how to comport himself.

his brain provides several mental images, though: the little yellow clapboard house logan lived in, the absurdly picturesque tiny town full of brick buildings and repurposed barns and colonial charm, logan’s voice saying, my dad and i were effectively homeless until i turned six, and feels a strange clenching in his chest. 

dee shoves it down and arranges his face into his typical boredom by the time he’s walking up to the front door, logan quickly falling into step behind him.

he opens the door—the chauffeur’s going around to the servant’s entrance—and by the time he’s stepping through the door, nanny has materialized at his side, and looks only slightly surprised that there is another teenage boy with him.

logan is too busy looking around at the entry hall—the rugs, the paintings, the furniture, the post-its stuck up on the front door—to really notice any of that, for which dee can’t help but breathe a little sigh of relief.

“hello, we have a guest,” nanny says. 

“i told granmè,” dee says, and his stomach sinks as nanny gives him a sideways look, as if to say you know better than to let that serve as a notification system anymore, before she refocuses on logan.

“your name, young sir?”

“um, logan,” he says, looking boggled that he’s being called sir, and adds, “sanders. logan sanders.”

“emily and richard’s boy?”

“their grandson, yes,” logan says, looking to dee for some kind of help; dee would shrug at him, if he wasn’t kind of enjoying watching the usually unflappable logan flounder a little bit.

nanny nods, and says, “welcome to the lavandelands,” which is technically the townhome’s name, but they only ever use it to introduce the house to new visitors, so dee forgets the townhome has a name at all until it comes up again—it’s the same with the manor, which is technically the hearthfields. logan doesn’t seem to notice, nodding at her like he can’t think of anything else to do.

nanny turns to dee, instead, and asks, “would you care for any refreshments?”

“just the usual tea should suffice,” dee says. nanny looks at logan.

“um,” he says again—dee is a little delighted, because he has never heard logan get so knocked off-center before, and after all this attempted antagonizing about his grades all it took was bringing him to his house—“just—just water’s fine. thank you.”

nanny nods, says, “i’ll be with your grandmother in the greenhouse. mr. sanders, it was a pleasure to meet you, please have mr. slange ring for us if you require anything,” and sweeps off.

“you have a greenhouse?” logan says blankly.

“we have a greenhouse,” dee confirms. “you can see it later, if you’d like. shall we go study?”

logan nods, and falls into step behind dee; dee considers going to the dining room, the way logan did when they were making posters at his house, but he wants nanny, bertie, ingrid, and martha to have plausible deniability in case his parents demand to know if they’d heard anything about this, and so he leads logan up the staircase and into his room.

it’s been cleaned today recently, he can tell; it smells like the lemon candles he likes, the ones martha lights whenever she airs out his room, so the room is in its tidiest iteration; vacuumed rugs, swept and mopped hardwoods, dust-free surfaces, with a made bed and no mess anywhere anywhere.

it practically seems like a hotel room, if not for the legal pad on his desk with his handwriting on it.

and of course, logan crosses almost immediately to the desk; dee only catches on a minute later, when he bends slightly to get a better look inside the vivarium.

“luke, leia, and han, right?” logan says, glancing at dee for confirmation before scanning the plants and rocks; dee crosses over, too, and gestures toward the rock in the back corner—mostly hidden by plants, but the sun lamp shines directly upon it.

“they like to nap here,” dee says, and he’s right—luke and han are curled up, sunning themselves, and logan makes an ahh noise when he spots them too.

“they’re larger than i expected,” logan says, staring at them, eyes lit up with curiosity.

“mm,” dee says vaguely. “females tend to be longer and bulkier than males. leia’s biggest, she’s a little over two feet.”

“where is she?” logan says. “you said she was the checkered one.”

dee tries his hardest not to seem surprised, but—logan remembers his snake’s markings. from a a throwaway comment he made nearly a month ago. 

“probably hiding,” dee says. “she likes to stick near the water, so she’s probably curled up under the lip—”

logan kneels down, all the better to see, and he says, “i see her!”

“asleep?”

“i think so,” logan says, and frowns. “i’m not as familiar with snakes as i am with other reptiles, though.”

dee blinks. “which reptiles are you familiar with?”

“frogs, mostly,” logan admits. “lots of frogs and toads would be around the pool, when we lived at the inn, and they’re very common in the pond there. salamanders and lizards, sometimes, during summers. i had a brief phase of hunting for reptiles and bugs, i thought i would be a reptile research journalist, or something—i kept bringing them home and dad had to pretend he wasn’t scared of any creepy-crawly bugs or scaly things, he’d call over virgil so that there was someone i could show all the bugs to who wouldn’t get freaked out.”

dee has a mental image, then, of logan—shorter, and baby-faced, holding up a salamander and babbling to this mysterious virgil about its various properties, who would nod and ask questions and generally care what a child thought, his dad shoving down his fear long enough to listen to logan, because it’s something that interested him, something that logan cared about.

and then a memory of himself, hip-deep in snake research books, trying to tell his new adopted parents all about why snakes were so interesting and cool, and receiving three snakes for his first birthday state-side and overhearing maybe she’ll shut up about the stupid snakes now, his mother saying at least we won’t have to see them, they’ll be in her room, maybe she’ll stay there more and children should be seen and not heard as nanny and martha tidied up the wrapping paper from his birthday party—

he squashes the not-jealousy with extreme prejudice. 

“oh, and the occasional turtle,” logan adds, breaking dee’s train of thought. “not many snakes, though; not many of the inn’s employees were keen on letting the five-year-old try to find out if one was venomous or not, so i’d be stuck watching if they ever found one.”

“...right,” dee says, unsure of what to really say to that. also, he’s a bit busy listening to the purposefully-heavy footsteps coming down the hall.

“so i’ve never seen snakes up close like this,” logan finishes, and dee just. nods.

fortunately, a knock on the door breaks any lingering awkwardness; dee calls out “come in!” and nanny comes in with a tray of a typical afternoon tea.

“just leave that on the storage bench, thank you, nanny,” dee says briskly, and so nanny sets the tray of snacks on the bench at the base of dee’s bed, before she presents a water bottle to logan, and says, “there’s a chilled glass for you on the tray.”

“oh,” logan says, and takes it. “um. thank you.”

almost as if he’s unable to help it, his fingernails tap-tap-tap against the water bottle as he looks at the design, whatever sense of culture shock that might have faded after looking at the snakes rearing right back.

“thank you, nanny, that will do,” dee says, and nanny nods to him, before she departs and closes the door on the way out.

“this water bottle is made of glass,” logan says, as if it’s a question.

dee arches an eyebrow at him. “do you not like water served in glass? do you only like plastic containers for your water? shall i call for nanny to get you a plastic cup?”

“no,” logan says, “no, it’s just—” and he squints at the label, before he looks up at dee and says, “this bottle of water is from a glacier.”

“you can keep the bottle, if you like,” dee says, “we have plenty more.”

“the source is only accessible from the ocean.”

“yes, i heard you,” dee says. “it’s not like i would already know this, since i have lived in this house and had that water for years, but do go on.”

“our goal was to create the world’s first luxury premium glacier water product with unmatched quality—purity—elegance. created from an award-winning source, from the hat mountain glacier in beautiful british columbia, canada, we have captured the hearts of water connoisseurs worldwide,” logan reads from the label, and looks up at him. “dee.”

“i don’t understand what your issue is with the water,” dee says, even though he’s very aware that logan’s issue is primarily you even have fancy WATER?! but it’s fun to see how absolutely bemused he is over it. “if it’s good enough for water connoisseurs worldwide, it should certainly be good enough for you.”

logan hesitates, before he sits on the bench at the end of dee’s bed, and picks up the chilled glass. oh, nanny set out to impress, that’s one of the nice crystal glasses that granmè only ever really brings out for parties.

it also has the added benefit of logan’s eyes becoming even rounder behind his glasses, and looking between the water bottle and the glass, as if weighing if he’s blue-blooded enough to consume it, or if he’s so much of a commoner that taking a sip of it will cause him death, like the false grail in indiana jones.

evidently, the combined hayden-sanders genes must win out, because he carefully pours himself a glass, and then looks even more hopelessly confused when he turns his attention to the tea tray.

really, dee at the start of the school year would be clapping his hands in absolute glee at how much he’s managed to catch logan off-guard.

“are these cucumber sandwiches?” logan asks faintly.

“ooh, yes,” dee says, plucking one for himself and promptly shoving it into his mouth, fast, so that sanders won’t notice while his attention is captured by their snack. “plus pear and stilton, here, and ham-brie-apple, and pesto chicken, and those ones are prosciutto-fig, i think. of course there’s scones and clotted cream, battenburg, crumpets...”

“you,” logan says, looking hopelessly lost, “you just asked for tea?”

dee looks at him, amused, even as he’s pouring himself a cup of tea. “my grandfather was english, sanders. it’s afternoon tea.”

logan blinks, before he says, “i didn’t know that. that your grandfather’s english, i mean.”

“and my grandmother’s french,” dee says. “my particular branch of slanges relocated to the americas much later than your branch of sanders did.”

“you know that?” logan says, startled.

“of course,” dee says. “sanders’ came over on the mayflower, daughters of the american revolution, et cetera et cetera. our grandmothers have been friends for years, did you really think i wouldn’t know?”

he waits a beat, before he adds, “and, well. know your enemy.”

“i suppose you took that much more seriously than i did,” logan says at last, before he reaches for a safe option—a blueberry scone—and cracks it open, spreading it with jam.

“yes,” dee says pridefully, “yes, i did.”

logan rolls his eyes, even as he plops a generous helping of clotted cream on top—

“oh, cornish method, interesting,” dee says, just to see that confused look come rearing back, and is immediately satisfied—

before logan shakes himself, and says, “why did your grandparents relocate here, anyway?”

dee tries his very best not to brighten too obviously, it’s just—it’s been so long since someone so blatantly handed him an excuse to spin stories on a platter.

“well, that’s a very interesting story,” dee says, leaning back, “and really, it all starts with my great-grandfather. or, rather, my great-grandfather’s very distant cousins. you see, my family had a lordship—”

logan looks at him, surprised.

“—a very minor lordship,” dee says, “technically barons, not dukes or anything. you probably wouldn’t have heard of them, it’s not like they were major members of the house of lords or anything. anyway, my great-grandfather didn’t know that, because again, he was a very distant cousin, and the main line of the family had three daughters. no women could inherit.”

logan frowns. “sexist.”

“mm, quite,” dee says. “anyways, they were counting on a closer cousin to inherit—a second cousin, i believe—but he tragically died in a boating accident, and so the family came calling to my cousin—who was a solicitor at the time—and brought him to the estate, which was called,” dee quickly casts about for an alike-enough name, “...upton priory.”

and so dee goes on cribbing details from the first three seasons of downton abbey, changing names and having a merry old time. logan gets close to realizing—he says “that sounds rather familiar, actually,” when dee reiterates the whole plotline of his supposed great-grandfather’s valet getting arrested for supposedly murdering his wife, to which dee says, “it was quite a scandal, perhaps you’re remembering the details from your grandmother, goodness knows she’d find it fascinating,” which buys him even more time until he kills off his great-grandfather, the matthew stand-in, after the birth of their second child.

logan frowns, and says, “well, that’s rather sad, but—i thought you said your grandfather was eldest? why would he give up a lordship?”

“why else, sanders?” dee says, and gestures expansively. “love.”

logan arches his eyebrows, and takes another sandwich—he seems quite partial to the pesto chicken and ham-apple-brie—and says, “go on, then.”

and so dee goes on stealing details and weaving a story, this time from the king’s speech, explaining how his grandmother was a divorcée (she is not) and his grandfather wanted to marry her anyway, as they’d met and she’d become his mistress during an outing to new york (possibly true, but in the same way that the moon landing being faked is possibly true) but as she was a divorcée (again, untrue) and he was a prominent member of the church of england (as far as he knows his grandfather was a catholic) to have a lord marry a divorcée had caused quite the drama between the family, and then dee cribs even more details from downton abbey to describe the fight, mounting and dramatic and full of high passions, going on for another fifteen minutes, until his grandfather finally decided—

“to abdicate the throne?” logan finishes dryly; they’ve picked the tea tray mostly clean of snacks, by now, and logan’s long since finished his water and has stolen a cup of tea. “i didn’t realize you were a descendant of edward the eighth. should i have been calling you your majesty this whole time?”

dee tries his very hardest not to pout, but he does cross his arms. “how long have you suspected?”

“around the time you said he gave a lordship ‘for love,’” logan says, “but i knew for sure when you started talking about how your grandmother became a mistress in new york. she’s french.”

“damn!” dee says, not really angry at all, but still, he had to keep up appearances. “i managed to fool brad with that whole backstory until he saw the king’s speech five years later.”

and then dee waits; he waits for logan to get mad, or to snap at him for wasting time, something that dee will attempt to brush off and maybe even laugh at. he waits for logan—journalism-obsessed, fact-checking, scientifically-minded logan—to react to what was dee, essentially, lying straight to his face for about half an hour.

but then:

“well, that’s brad,” logan says, “it doesn’t take much to fool him, i’d imagine.”

dee smiles, pleased. “no, it doesn’t.”

“so where was the other stuff from?” logan says. “upton priory, i mean. i’m assuming that doesn’t exist. i know the story from somewhere.”

he’s… curious.

he’s curious??? dee repeats to himself—this is logan, who is, as stated, journalism-obsessed, fact-checking, scientifically-minded—he doesn’t seem mad. he just seems… intrigued.

this bears much more investigation that dee would have thought prior to inviting him over.

“downton abbey,” dee allows. “i can’t believe you caught onto the historical significance of edward the eighth meeting his mistress in new york, and yet i throw three season’s worth of downton abbey at you and not even a little bit of recognition.”

logan shrugs. “i’m not very good with pop culture. that’s more—” and very suddenly he looks like he wants to slap a hand to his forehead, if logan was at all prone to dramatic, cliché gestures like that. “roman. he was going on for days about matthew dying in the same season they killed off sybil, that’s where i heard all of it before, it’s from roman.”

“the boyfriend,” dee says. 

“yes, the boyfriend,” logan says, “who is very excited for the excuse to wear a pretty ballgown, by the way.”

dee accepts this for the subject change it is, and digs out his notebook and a pen.

“right, then,” he says. “as previously discussed, i’m handling chilton participants, and i’m pleased to announce that with the addition of ana salazar, the entirety of the clairosophic society are involved.”

“oh, excellent,” logan says, and so dee goes on listing chilton students they’ve enlisted—he’d been right, recruiting the puffs and the skull and dagger had caused a wave of wannabes to join in too—and they discuss setting up a form for people to ensure that they’ve paid their way in, dee eventually digging out his laptop and making a couple drafts of one. 

as he does that, logan talks about the sideshire students (behind on payments, but they’re doing an ongoing bake sale at virgil’s, which, dee doesn’t know how small town things work, but he supposes he should trust that logan knows what he’s talking about) and logan taps his own notebook with his pen, going over all of the entrants and discussing anything that needs finer-tuning—not very much on their end, it turns out, but they’ll definitely need to have another meeting after what logan’s dad is apparently calling get cultured day, where he and logan’s boyfriend’s mother will teach everyone the dance they’ll need to know and the proper way to curtsy and so on.

logan scans over his notes, nodding in satisfaction, before he says, “we were a bit oversaturated on debutantes, the clairosophic society should help balance things out with escorts.”

“ana wants to go with janey,” dee corrects. “so she and janey are already taken, but otherwise—”

he blinks. “ana and janey are dating?”

dee looks at him, amused. “you know nothing about the social stratosphere at chilton, do you?”

“i don’t have much tolerance for gossip,” logan says. 

“really?” dee says. “i’d think that as a journalist you’d keep an eye out for these kinds of things.”

“i don’t report on gossip,” logan says. “what do i look like, francie jarvis? anyone else who lives and breathes that rag?”

“what, the jefferson?” dee says. “are you kidding? that’s the most useful thing that chilton’s ever provided me, and i’m including the education, here.”

“useful?” logan repeats, looking as offended as dee had expected him to look when logan would catch on to dee lying his ass off for half an hour straight. interesting. 

“well, admittedly, they can be rather behind when it comes to certain things,” dee says thoughtfully, “but the chaos that happens on the day it comes out? masterful.”

logan frowns. “i thought you wanted to work on the franklin.” 

“oh, i do,” dee says. “like i said, they’re not exactly cutting edge, i can do better with a well-coordinated social media check than they can do with an entire staff full of rumormongers. the whole,” and he flaps a hand, “truth and investigation thing, for the franklin, that’s interesting. besides, the franklin has more effect when it targets adults; with the jefferson, they just want to confirm that the algebra and the calculus teachers are having an affair, which they are—”

logan looks perplexed. “how do you—”

“—don’t ask,” dee says. “believe me, i wish i didn’t know.”

his eyes narrow, as if to say why should i believe you? which, good. he’s learning.

“but in the franklin, one can publish a deep-dive anonymous investigation and get shady male teachers tossed out of the schools on their ear for their too-frequent uniform checks and saying that uniform skirts are distracting. the franklin has more real-world power.”

“not that an investigation of an adult potentially preying upon teenage girls isn’t important,” logan says, “because it certainly is, but journalism isn’t about acquiring power. it’s about holding those in power accountable.”

“isn’t that the same thing?” dee points out. 

“no,” logan says. 

“but it is,” dee says. “because the concept of holding power is so multi-faceted. everyone’s idea of power is different. the upper class has power, the president has power, the people protesting have power. people like francie jarvis and tristan have power, but then, so do you and i. but all of those kinds of power are different.”

“well, that i agree with,” logan says cautiously, and then he frowns. “how do i have power?”

dee looks at him. he looks at him harder.

“what?”

“you’re kidding,” dee says. “you’re a sanders and a hayden.”

“the haydens are not particularly pleased that i am a hayden,” logan says. “the haydens would adore nothing more than to tidily remove me from the family tree.”

interesting.

“but they can’t tidily remove you being a hayden from everyone’s memory,” dee points out. “and, well. power can be privilege.”

“well, i certainly have privilege,” logan says. “i’m white, i’m a cis male, i’m attached to an affluent family.” he frowns, and amends, “families, i suppose.”

“oh, good,” dee says. “you’re a sane person who recognizes white privilege, i won’t have to kick you out.” 

also—attached to an affluent family, not part of an affluent family. more intrigue.

“anyways. you have plenty of power—take chilton, for example. say you wrote that piece on a pedophilic teacher that i was talking about. it would be due to your actions, your hard work and diligence, that removed him from his post. that doesn’t seem like power, to you?”

logan shakes his head, and repeats, “that’s what journalism’s about. just because there are effect from the story i write, to hold said teacher accountable, that doesn’t mean that is personally driven from me. that would be a response—from parents, from students, from headmaster charleston, eventually. there are responsibilities that journalists have, important ones, and we serve a purpose for society. perhaps the story has a powerful impact, or the story is emotionally powerful. that doesn’t mean that i am powerful. i didn’t direct people to fire him, i didn’t influence anyone. i would have presented the facts and exposed his wrongdoings, that’s all.”

“well, i suppose it does depend on your definition of powerful, that’s accurate enough,” dee says thoughtfully. “but the more philosophical idea of what is power? isn’t what i’m trying to address, at the moment, i’m addressing you. another example, then—academically, you’re powerful. tristan dugray would pay a tidy sum for any one of your study guides.”

logan frowns. “i wouldn’t cheat.”

“yes, yes, you’re very moral and ethical, good for you, you’ve passed the after-school special test,” dee says dismissively, “but specifically, for this definition of power, it’s a certain level of strength. but that’s a different kind of power, than, say—”

“tristan dugray never getting in trouble for his foolish pranks because of who his father is,” logan says.

“right,” dee says, “although you’re wrong on that front, he’s a prank on a bad day away from being sent to military school, but—yes, you’re seeing my point. power varies, power changes.”

“well, i never disagreed with that,” he says. “but those aiming for power—their main idea is almost never let’s be a journalist! unless they’re decisively within the yellow journalism era, or if they are fictional character charles foster kane. and even then, he was a media magnate, his attempts at journalism were just to manipulate public opinion and make a lot of money.”

dee sighs longingly and says, “if i were white, that would be my ideal era to work in.”

“what,” logan says, and suddenly they’re talking about yellow journalism—logan is very boring and against it, because he likes things like accuracy and facts—and then logan looks like he’s about to blow steam out of his ears when dee tells him that his ultimate career goal is to write for and maybe run something like the national enquirer, which leads to even more discussions on journalism, things like what qualifies someone to be a journalist and who decides what journalism is, and they’re on a little side-tangent about journalism as portrayed in films when there’s a knock on his door.

“mister slange, mister sanders, dinner is ready,” nanny says, and dee tries his best not to startle, because—logan’s been here for three hours. and he has not once gotten annoyed at dee for reasons outside of journalistic, ethical, or moral debate, and even then, logan seems to set all of that aside relatively easily.

and dee, apart from making up his entire ancestral backstory, has barely even lied.

“coming!” dee says, and then to logan, “i hope you like snail caviar.”

an expression of panic pops up on logan’s face, and dee laughs at him.

“kidding,” he says reassuringly. “it’s french onion soup and croque monsieurs.”

logan looks relieved, and he even laughs, and then proceeds to bump into dee, the way that friends on tv shows jostle each other when one tells a particularly biting joke, and then logan pauses, looking at dee.

very suddenly, dee thinks, oh.

does he think he’s my friend?

they’ve been debating for the better part of two hours, and dee lied to him for half an hour, and dee has been purposefully throwing as many rich-people things into conversation as possible to get logan looking baffled, and logan thinks that they are friends.

is that what friends do?

dee clears his throat, before he grabs logan’s bicep in a way he hopes is normal and does not at all give away that he has not had a friend since he immigrated to the united states, and says, “come on, then, i’ll let you stick your head in the library on the way.”

“you have a library?!” logan asks eagerly, following along as dee tugs him down the hall, and dee tries his very best not to smile too openly.

⁂

dee’s house is…a lot. it’s a lot.

(dee had pulled up a picture of his parents’ house to show off how it could be his own personal xanadu, when they’d been talking about citizen kane, and logan has mentally tabulated the publication he was talking about to fact-check that, because that—that was just absurd, even more so than this one.)

but the smell of french onion soup and croque monsieurs—essentially french ham-and-cheese, either sandwiches or baked lasagna style—is a little more comforting. logan knows these smells, baking bread and ham and melting cheese and onions—granted, virgil’s diner does a french onion soup, but he’s sure it’s not as fancy as what he’s about to eat with dee.

and, as they cross into the dining room, his grandmother, seated at the head of the table.

logan’s technically had lunch with mrs. slange before; it had been at the country club, and he’d been more preoccupied with glowering at dee, but he has met her and spoken with her. she’d been nice; she’d spoken to his grandmother quite a lot about landscaping, and flowers. azaleas in particular, he’s fairly certain.

she’s a rather diminutive woman, her already short stature shrunk down even more from age; her hair is thin and pure white, fluffing up in a way that makes logan think of dandelion fuzz. her face is wrinkled, especially with smile lines around her eyes, her mouth. she’s wearing a cardigan over a button-down, much like his grandmother wears on particularly casual days, but whereas his grandmother prefers solid colors, mrs. slange’s cardigan is white with embroidered pink and purple flowers; it matches her pastel pink button-down. 

by all accounts, she should register in logan’s mind as a fragile old woman; a nice one, one that seems to have more concern about her flowers than anything else. but there’s something glinting in her eyes—flinty, icy blue—that reminds him very much of dee, despite the fact that they are not biologically related.

it’s cunning, logan thinks, or intelligence—she must have both in spades, to help raise someone like dee.

she smiles at dee, and says something in french—logan can manage a basic spanish conversation due to his proximity to the princes, and he’s taking latin classes, but he’s absolutely hopeless with french unless he lucks out and they say something with a latin root word—and dee responds in kind. logan notes that their accents are different. logan puts together, barely a second after he notices, that one of haiti’s two official languages is french.

logan spares a second to wonder if dee can speak the other, haitian creole, before his grandmother turns to him directly and says—something in french. he has no clue what.

“il ne peut pas parler français, granmè, utiliser l'anglais,” dee says, looking almost a little amused at logan’s expense—well, logan can put together he can’t speak french, use english, just based off of context clues.

she starts a sentence in french, pauses, furrows her brow, as if unpuzzling it, and then continues in lightly accented english, “welcome to our home.”

“thank you very much for having me,” logan says, his dad’s be on your best behavior! text at the forefront of his mind, with his dad saying evelyn, right? i always liked her shortly behind. “your home is beautiful; the landscaping’s lovely.”

her wrinkled face settles into its worn lines she smiles.

“mer—” she begins, shakes her head, takes a breath, and then continues, “thank you very much. the roses are finicky little things, this time of year, i’m quite pleased with how they’ve turned out. i think they’ve thrown their last primadonna fit until fall rolls around again.”

and from there, it’s easy to prod her into conversation as they eat the soup course—logan mentally apologizes to virgil, but if he’d taste it, he’d probably agree that this french onion soup is better than his, too—just by asking about the various plants she tends to favor, the particular conditions that each seems to like. the conversation seems perfectly fine, if not for dee staring at the pair of them out of the corners of his eyes, as if monitoring their conversation to make sure neither of them says anything unseemly. 

which is a little unsettling—logan doesn’t think he’s said anything horribly rude to an old person lately, unless one counted his paternal grandparents last fall—but the conversation seems to be fine. logan admits that most of his knowledge of plants is theoretical, scientific, which prods her into asking about their shared science course, and dee takes over that conversation.

it’s fine. the whole dinner is fine, and it seems to be going well, even, and he keeps on thinking so and thinking so as he digs into the main course of croque monsieurs, and she says—

“how do you find the meal, christopher?”

it takes logan a second to register what’s wrong with that statement, and, as soon as it does, unwittingly, his eyes flash to dee.

dee has frozen, fork halfway to his mouth. it’s like he has to buffer for a moment before he visibly stiffens, setting the fork down. logan is about to excuse it as a slip of the tongue—she had known both his parents, surely, perhaps it was just a misstatement. most people in his grandparents’ sphere exalted his resemblance to christopher, even though he was quite clearly a carbon copy of patton excepting his sharper bone structure, straighter hair, and thinner frame, until—

“logan, granmè,” dee says, in a very gentle tone that does not at all match his fists curling up on the table. “this is logan, christopher’s son. do you remember? we had lunch with him and emily.”

her brow furrows, and she says, “right. of course. logan.”

she quite sounds like she thinks that dee is pulling one over her head, and she’s going along with it, the way one did when a small child was pulling an incredibly obvious joke on them.

she maintains that tone and slips a couple more times—christopher, how are straub and francine? as logan’s halving his croque monsieur; christopher, didn’t you say you were going out to california? when the maid, as tight-faced as dee, is setting dessert on the table. 

and it dawns on him, slowly: why dee had to prompt her to use english, when she was born speaking french, and why it had taken her a few seconds to clearly switch over in her head when dee went from french to english at the drop of a hat; why there were so many post-its near the front door; why the household staff had seemed surprised at a visitor, despite the fact that dee had told his grandmother he was bringing home a guest; why his grandmother had said she’s coming out less and less lately, it’s been a while since we’ve had a good, long chat; dee keeping a keen eye out, as if he’s monitoring what they’ll say; not for him, logan realizes, for her. 

she has a disease. she’s aware enough that her gardens are in splendid shape, she’s aware enough that she clearly knows who dee is, but. but she can’t remember who logan is.

it is an exceedingly awkward dessert.

he can’t deny the chocolate-raspberry souffle is absolutely delicious, though.

⁂

the dinner is over. nanny is taking granmè to the library. logan and dee are left alone at the dinner table.

dee has been mentally preparing for this since his grandmother’s first slip—comebacks, things to say, particularly acerbic and witty things he could summon up if logan is rude about it. he’s ready. 

that is, until logan just says, “can i see the greenhouse?”

dee blinks at him. “what?”

“the greenhouse,” logan repeats. “you said i could see it after dinner. can i?”

okay, dee thinks. changing the setting of the argument. he isn’t sure what logan’s play is here, but—

“sure,” dee agrees, and stands, purposefully languid and unhurried. “follow me.”

and so he leads logan through the narrow hallways of the house, mostly ignoring logan as they go (“is that a velázquez?” he demands of a painting, which dee doesn’t really deign answer to—of course it’s a velázquez, does his family seem like the type to settle for a framed imitation) and at last comes to the door of the greenhouse, which he opens without ceremony.

logan walks in. dee expects him to maybe go to sit down, and ask dee why his elderly grandmother thought he was his estranged father, but no—logan beelines straight for the hostas.

well. okay. dee trails after him, meandering vaguely around the greenhouse. logan’s route seems to make sense to him, and only him, but he pokes his nose close to each plant, adjusting his glasses on his nose as he crouches to examine the soil, the roots; if dee was walking into this situation with no prior context, he’d think perhaps that logan was an enterprising botanist who had just gained entry to a highly regarded greenhouse.

but logan is just in the greenhouse of an old lady with memory problems, who he did not know was an old lady with memory problems until she repeatedly referred to him by his father’s name. 

and so dee follows as logan examines fauna, and flora, and the goddamn soil. everytime logan hums with interest, dee thinks it’s a precursor to the beginning of this conversation, but no, he’s just humming at the plants. the plants. they’re plants, his grandmother’s plants, so he’s used to his grandmother being very fond of them and rambling about them even if he’s mostly indifferent about them, most of his emotion toward plants being if it makes granmè happy. the key word in that sentence is granmè. he does not particularly care if these plants make logan happy. he cares what logan will say about his grandmother.

they’ve looped three-quarters of the way around the greenhouse by the time dee’s patience runs out.

“well?!” and it tears out of him in a kind of snarl. logan, from where he’s crouched beside the lilies, blinks at him, his fingers resting on the arm of his glasses, as if he’s about to adjust them again.

“what?”

“what,” dee repeats, then, “what?!” and before he can even think about it, he has his bowler hat in one hand, thwacking logan over the head with it.

“ow!” logan says, clearly more out of the surprise of being thwacked when he wasn’t expecting it. that, or logan is a big baby, dee didn’t even swing that hard.

“what,” dee repeats, jamming his hat over his head again before logan can see any semblance of hat hair, “what, are you kidding me, sanders, of all the times to go quiet when you clearly have questions, you choose now?! say something!”

logan blinks at him, before he says, very slowly, “about…”

“my grandmother,” dee snaps. 

“ah,” logan says, then, almost like he’s reciting something for his latin class, “i am… sorry that she is ill, and i respect your privacy during this time?”

dee actually leans forward because of the force of the Look he is giving logan.

“you know i’m bad at this kind of thing,” he says defensively. “what do you expect me to say?”

“i don’t—!” dee says, and nearly throws up his hands, but he is not allowing himself to get that carried away. “i expect you to say something! not just wander around the greenhouse and let me wait and see if you say something stupid!”

logan looks at him, and says, “was that insensitive of me?”

dee’s eyes must look close to popping out of his head, because logan’s hands are already rising to protect the crown of his head, like he expects dee to hit him with his hat again.

“do you,” he says, and gives dee a strange look, “do you want to talk about it?”

“not particularly!”

“that’s what i thought!” logan says. “i assumed the prior agreement of you wanting to speak to me about anything that particularly affects you would take precedence—”

agreement, dee mouths, and mentally backtracks, until—

“my parents wanting to out me and you coming up with this whole debutante plot and my grandmother having dementia are two different categories!”

“i didn’t think that a statement like ‘if you want to talk about it, i am here’ needed categorization!”

“the previously agreed upon ‘it’ was specifically about my parents’ plot to out me by way of american daughters of the revolution!” dee says, near-hysterical.

“okay!” logan says, “okay, fine, i put forward the terms of that particular definition of ‘it’ being broadened to anything particularly troublesome in your life and wait on your acceptance, or your proposal on how exactly to renegotiate ‘it’, does that help?”

dee stares at him, jaw hanging open, and says, “there is no way that you are an actual person, are you serious?!”

“i don’t know what you want from me,” logan says, near-mournful, and the absolute absurdity of the situation sinks in enough that dee starts laughing.

his parents want to very publicly out him without his consent, his grandmother has dementia that will only get worse and worse and it will only be a matter of time before his parents realize what is happening and send her into a nursing home and force him to move back in with them, the household staff who are the closest people he had previously considered friends have no choice but increase their focuses on spying on him for his parents in order to distract them from noticing anything wrong with granmè, or else risk unemployment, and logan is here talking about renegotiations like they’re on a legal team, and talking sure as shit isn’t an option, so dee can’t do anything but laugh.

“christ,” he says, and half-crumples, half-slides to the ground beside logan, who looks very bemused. “putain de merde, sanders.”

“i’m assuming that’s impolite,” logan says primly, and dee snorts.

“yeah,” dee says, in the same tone would say duh. “yeah, impolite, let’s go with that, shall we?” 

logan pauses, for a few seconds, as if allowing dee to get his bearings, before he says "dementia?" with a tone of curiosity that has dee swiveling his head to glower at him.

"sorry," logan says, not sounding particularly sorry.

"journalist habit," dee mutters, beating logan to the punch for his own excuse.

"yes."

they sit in silence for a little longer.

"i didn't know she knows that particular side of the family," logan says. "the haydens, i mean."

"oh, yes," dee says absently. "we probably lunch with them about twice a year, sometimes more—less now, though, now that they've moved away."

"huh," logan says, then, "what are they like?"

"what, you don't know?" dee says, glancing at him.

"not particularly," logan says. "i've only met them three times, and considering i was still in the hospital post-birth for one of them and was learning how to crawl for the other—"

"huh," dee echoes.

how weird it must be for logan, to hear that dee's had more regular interactions with his grandparents. both sets, probably; he would have remembered if logan had gotten dragged into various family gatherings the way he has.

"they," logan says, purses his lips, and says, "the haydens were particularly transphobic."

"yeah, well," dee says. "that doesn't surprise me."

"homophobic too," logan says, and he glances at his hands before he looks sideways at dee. "deviant was the exact word used in my presence. i'm assuming there was more, but dad kicked me out of the room before i could hear anything else."

dee rolls around various replies in his mouth. he could offer sympathy, or something equally socially accepted and something dee would have no problem letting roll off his tongue like a well-rehearsed monologue.

but.

he would tell all of those monologues to people who don't know that he's trans, that have never been to either of his houses, that have never listened to him spin a lie for half an hour and not be mad about it. he would tell all of these monologues to someone who didn't know that his grandmother has alzheimer's.

so dee doesn't offer a monologue. he offers something that he assumes logan might appreciate, something he'd recognize in a fellow colleague: curiosity.

"which dad?" dee asks. "patton or—"

"patton," logan says, cutting him off. "christopher walked me out, though, to make sure i actually stayed out."

another pause. it seems like curiosity hasn't been the outright wrong move, so dee strives for more questions.

"are you close?" dee says. "with christopher. i've only met him a couple times."

logan's mouth twists downward at the edges.

"i don't suppose you'd be willing to offer definitive parameters for close, would you?"

"no, not really," dee says. "closeness is subjective."

logan shrugs a shoulder. he looks almost uncomfortable.

"what?" dee says, interest now piqued—because if he didn't know any better, he'd say logan looked guilty.

"i," logan says carefully, "might have blackmailed him."

"you what," dee says, turning to face logan head-on, not even bothering to hide his shock. or his delight. he doesn't bother hiding that either.

"after the visit last fall, he," and the corners of his mouth twist down even further. "well, that doesn't matter anymore. anyway, i dug up as much of his public financial and legal records that i possibly could and made him a deal that i'd extend equal efforts in getting to know him as he would getting to know me. we have a standing weekly phone call now."

"you blackmailed him?" dee says gleefully.

"with public information," logan says huffily. "it's not like i hired a private investigator or anything—"

"nuh-uh, nope, you used the word blackmail," dee says merrily. "you don't even have to justify it with saying where you got the information, you still used information you dug up on him to coerce him into a deal. that is the textbook definition of blackmail."

"i don't know if it's the textbook definition—"

"nope!" dee says. "nope, i'm not listening to your semantics. you blackmailed someone."

"you don't need to sound so thrilled about it," logan grumbles.

"are you kidding?" dee demands. "this is by far one of the most interesting things i've ever heard about you. please tell me there's more misbehavior like this in your past—no, no, wait! i'll figure it out myself!"

"good luck with that," logan says. and then, almost randomly, "everyone says i look like him."

dee stays quiet—give the interviewee time to consider their answer, if it's short, mel had lectured once. always leave a couple of seconds for them to think about if they want to add on to their answer before you move to an entirely different question.

"i mean," logan says, and runs a hand through his hair. "other than this, i don't particularly understand why. i pretty clearly favor my dad—ugh, patton, i favor patton, this is the problem with two dads—but everyone says i look like christopher. my grandparents—both sides—their friends, a couple teachers. it's usually rather frustrating, and though i can't prove it, i have a feeling it's somewhat rooted in transphobia, for most of those friends."

he pauses a beat, as if understanding where he's going with this particular line of conversation. dee suddenly feels a lot less excited about the potential for uncovering any more of logan's past misconduct.  

"but," logan says. "it, ah. it makes more sense, if your grandmother has more recently had contact with that particular side of my family—"

"don't," dee says, and the exhaustion in his voice almost stuns him.

"don't what?"

"don't," dee says, and flaps a hand. "don't make excuses for her. she has alzheimer's, she's not stupid. everyone's patronizing her now and i hate it, even though i find myself doing it sometimes, it's like everyone's scared that they'll somehow catch the alzheimer's if they don't talk to her like she's a toddler."

and now logan's the one who's quiet, just for a little bit, like he's strategizing how to carry out the rest of the interview. 

except, dee thinks, this isn't an interview. this is a conversation. this is that talking thing that logan offered so readily, back when dee had come out, back before logan came up with this whole absurd debutante plan. 

it's just—difficult. to consider turning this strategizing, conniving part of his brain off. he isn't sure if he ever has, ever since he was first notified it was there in the first place. why would he turn this piece of himself off when it protected him, when it kept him aloof and above it all and safe to conduct himself in the way that felt most true to him? if it took lying and manipulating along the way, so be it. he has no patience for attempts at moralizing the way he lives his life. immanuel kant was a fucking moron who would have gotten himself and his friend killed because he decided his perfect duty was to always tell the truth. what was the point of something like truth if it hurt you? if it put you in danger?

it's not even a choice. 

or, at least. it has never been a choice. because logan is no murderer at the door, or machiavelli-wannabe gossip, or high-society rich person who held so much more power than one could even think of through backdoor deals and secret donations, who had adopted a poor orphan from haiti because it might look good as an accessory, and people would think them charitable, and they would barely even thinking about that poor orphan from haiti growing into their own person with pesky, inconvenient things like wants and needs and opinions.

telling the truth would logan would be... telling the truth to logan. logan, who lived in a tiny, pleasantville knockoff town with things like dance marathons and punnily-named cat-themed stores. logan, who had once blackmailed his own father in order to obtain a standing weekly phone call. logan, who had a trans dad, and who had a boyfriend that he had brought to the school dance, and danced with him, and kissed him, and it didn't even occur to him to care who might see, who might disapprove.

logan, who was once homeless and penniless, and who had extended various sources of information that dee had in his hands, ready to drop into the public eye at any given moment.

logan, who had just sat and talked about citizen kane with him and didn't catch onto three seasons worth of downton abbey but immediately clocked a reference to wallis simpson. logan, who had looked helplessly confused at the sight of fancy water and finger sandwiches and afternoon tea. 

logan, who might think that they are friends.

it might become more of a choice then, dee thinks. 

so when logan asks, very quietly, "how long have you known that she's sick?" it only takes dee swallowing down the saliva rising in his throat to be able to answer.

"she was diagnosed about three and a half months ago," he says. "but i've known something's wrong for a lot longer than that."

logan swallows, too, and dips his head in a brief nod, as if to show he's absorbed the information.

"i'm sorry," he says.

dee could say any number of things: she could live as long as twenty years after her diagnosis, but it's more commonly four to eight years. or one day she's going to forget who i am and i am absolutely terrified. or when my parents catch on they're going to send her away to a nursing home, and i won't be able to live here anymore, and i'll go crazy if i have to stay in that house for too long, their screaming and shouting will drive me crazy. or you don't even know the half of it, the household staff that you probably think are so nice and who practically raised me have no choice but to spy on every little thing i do because otherwise they'll get fired.

but for as much as dee can briefly turn off that part of his mind, he cannot turn it off all at once. there is no way he's opening the floodgates of information like that. they might be friends, but dee isn't in hysterics. he can control himself. he can control this. 

"yeah," dee says, and tips back his head to look up at the ceiling; half of it is glass, leading up to where it joins the rest of the house. the sky is bleak and black tonight, with no moon or stars in sight. "yeah, me too."

⁂

the chauffeur closes the door behind logan, and logan has to fight the urge to jump, even though the chauffeur was also holding the door open for logan to get into the car in the first place.

he has to shake himself before he turns to look at the front door of the lavandelands; dee is standing outside, letting the light spill out of the house and backlight him enough that logan can see him leaning against one of the columns, one arm casually wrapped around his stomach. his bowler hat overcasts his eyes.

"your address, sir?" the chauffeur says, and logan has to fight the urge not to jump again. he tells the chauffeur the address to virgil's, anyways, and turns his head to look at dee again.

haltingly, he lifts his hand and waves, just a little bit awkward. dee's shadowed form doesn't move.

there's a brief moment where logan's left with his hand raised in the air, and he cringes to himself ever so slightly before he starts to lower it.

but then, dee lifts a gloved hand, and tosses logan a lazy, three-fingered salute off his bowling cap, and logan tries to smile a little bit. he can't quite manage it, but he's pretty sure the chauffeur isn't judging him for not looking pleasant enough, as the chauffeur’s a bit busy pulling the car into a neat, three-pointed turn, before beginning to drive away.

logan glances over his shoulder, just enough to see dee, shoulders slightly slumped, re-enter the house. logan lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding and redirects his attention to his phone, which he's mostly been neglecting this entire bizarre sojourn at dee's.

he takes enough time to text his dad and virgil that he'll be dropped off at virgil's, so he can pick up a study snack before he heads back to their house, and reassures his dad that he doesn't have to wait up for him or anything. 

he reads a text from roman—a brief complaint about a girl in his dance class, not one of the ones he teaches but the class he actually takes, and logan sends a response that he hopes sounds like the proper, thoughtful response to a mostly inconsequential venting message from his boyfriend.

and then he sits and stares at his homescreen, still that selfie of roman, his dad, and virgil that they took last fall, when he was staying at his grandparents, before everything with thanksgiving and patton's pneumonia had rather tidily messed that week up.

because he has his dad, and his other dad, and virgil, who consists as a dad figure, and he has ms. prince, in her way, and he has roman, a wonderful supportive boyfriend who he has always been able to talk to throughout most of his life. he has rudy, even if he has never particularly leaned on rudy as a means of support. he has maria, and meredith and mark, and his host of cousins from the danes side of the family. he has his grandparents in their own strange ways, even if their relationship prior to this school year would best be described as stilted. he has friends from sideshire high and his teachers and mentors that he left there.

dee has practically no one.

it seems so obvious, looking back at the start of the school year, how dee had seemed so desperate to cling to his academic superiority over everyone in the grade, because that's what he has. he has an ill grandmother, and exceptional grades, and three snakes. he has a former nanny and the rest of a household staff who seem more preoccupied with his grandmother's care. he has his secretive stance in the chilton social ladder, but he didn't have friends. 

logan worries his lip between his teeth. he is incredibly ill-equipped to handle this kind of situation. honestly, he's probably fortunate he only escaped with dee hitting him with his bowler hat; anyone who attempted to have an emotion-centric conversation with logan knew that he wasn't exactly the ideal person to talk to. that's never been his forte.

it has always been his dad's. his dad, who dee had seemed fascinated with, who certainly had a certain level of similarity in their life experiences. and though logan, of course, would never betray confidences...

he could, perhaps, offer some of his vast support system for dee to partake in. leave the choice to him, of course, but. but at least logan would have tried.

and so logan takes a breath, and sends out a text.

Logan Sanders: Dad, would it be all right if I asked Dee sleep over the night of the Culture Day you're planning with Ms. Prince?

[fangirlandiknowit101]

12, 14 and 18☺️

Thanks for asking <333

12. Is there a trope you haven’t written yet but really want to?

There's lots to be honest, but something I still can't believe I haven't written is a horse riding au. Like, that's half a lie bc I have a few thousand words written for a Simon/Baz horse rider au that I might never finish, but I'd really like to write one for Naruto. But I always decide not to because I don't know all the words and I hate googling stuff while I write. But one day! Surely!

14. If you were stuck on a desert island with only two characters, which would you pick?

Honestly? Kirk and Spock. They'd find a way to get us out of there. And if not, it would at least be cool to meet them.

18. What is a line/scene you’re really proud of? Give us the DVD commentary for that scene.

You really had to pick such a difficult question... I can never decide on any particular line/scene. So I opened up The sun within me and looked at the chapters and thought I'd pick something that could be interesting to comment on. And in this case, it's a bit about how Naruto, Sasuke, and Charasuke have changed and their different relationships with each other. So! Here's a bit of commentary for a scene in chapter 40 (under the cut bc it's fairly long lol):

[For clarification, this is right after Naruto and Sasuke come back home from Sasuke's mission where he fought Menma and Menma then disappeared. I'm skipping ahead to the part where they arrive at the orphanage and Charasuke is waiting in their room (Naruto's POV). My comments will be written in bold text.]

The clone’s memories dropped into his head like a puff of smoke, and he groaned out loud, making a face. Sasuke gave him a concerned look, but Naruto sighed and shook his head.

“Let’s go,” he said, feeling very reluctant as he grabbed Sasuke’s arm.

He supposed he could have teleported them somewhere else, but Charasuke had seemed prepared to wait until they returned. Maybe Sasuke could deal with him while Naruto sort of… drifted away and hid in the kitchen.

Naruto is acting very childishly in this scene, mostly because he's still wary of Charasuke, and also because he's just spent two days in Sasuke's company but pretending to be Menma, which means no cuddles/kisses or anything. He's kind of clingy, isn't he? Haha. And also, he doesn't really want to admit to himself that Menma disappearing for Charasuke is the parallel to his worst fear, that Sasuke will disappear.

“Where is he?” Charasuke demanded the second they arrived in the bedroom.

“Ah, Sasuke, maybe you can explain?” he suggested, inching towards the door, but Sasuke nailed him to the floor with a single glare.

“He could be anywhere,” Sasuke said, continuing to glare until he was sure that Naruto wouldn’t escape. “I didn’t manage to get a good look through the portal.”

“The portal?” Charasuke seemed to waver, arms wrapped around himself as he looked between them. “Tell me what happened.”

You can tell that Sasuke has really started to care about Charasuke here. He's not entirely open with him yet, but he recognizes a lot of himself in Charasuke and he puts himself in Menma's position, thinking about when he left the village and Naruto was left behind. He doesn't want Charasuke to hurt the way he knows Naruto was hurting back then.

While Sasuke described the mission, including what he called ‘Naruto’s dumb interference’, Naruto dug through his closet for the shirt he would make Sasuke wear. He was absolutely sure that Sasuke would argue about it – especially since he’d sent a clone to Akatsuki and not himself – but if he talked fast enough and relented that it would be enough if Sasuke slept in it for one night…

“He really is gone, then,” Charasuke said, his voice toneless. “I’ll never see him again.”

“I’m sure you’ll see him again,” Naruto said, contemplating the pros and cons of a t-shirt versus long sleeves. “Whoever grabbed him and hauled him off probably just wanted to keep him out of Sasuke’s reach. He gets awfully strong when he’s irritated.”

Naruto is definitely acting a bit heartless here, again, because he doesn't want to think about his own feelings or feel forced to recognize that Charasuke is a person Sasuke cares about, that he should also care about. I think he can get a bit closed off when there's too much going on in his own life, and that makes it hard to focus on other people, especially since he still wants to leave the other dimension and doesn't want to think about Sasuke caring about his family here - meaning Sasuke might want to stay.

When he turned back from the closet, he found Sasuke giving him a disappointed look.

“What?”

“You’re taking this lightly,” he said, glancing at the shirt in Naruto’s hand and apparently deciding to ignore it.

“Well, unless we figure out how to dimension-hop after him, I don’t think there’s a lot we can do.”

Now that he was back to being himself, all Naruto really wanted was to curl up in bed with Sasuke and not think about the outside world at all. Charasuke, on the other hand, seemed on the verge of tears.

“And what would you have done if I was the one who disappeared?” Sasuke asked, an icy note to the question.

“How would I know? It hasn’t happened yet.”

A bit of foreshadowing lol. Except Sasuke is the one left reacting when Naruto leaves, but Naruto really is trying to keep a tight grip in his emotions here and absolutely not think about the fact that Sasuke could have disappeared with Menma, and he wouldn't have known what happened to him.

“You could have let me follow after him and we’d know where he went.”

Naruto straightened up, face hardening.

“No, you might have known where he went, but the rest of us wouldn’t. Besides, he was trying to kill you. I went through too much trouble to keep you alive to just let you jump into some unknown enemy territory.”

As you can see, putting a lot of emphasis on Naruto's fear of losing Sasuke again.

Silent tears now streaming down his cheeks, Charasuke sat down on the bed and clenched his fists over his lap. It was obvious that he didn’t like what they were saying, but Naruto pushed his feelings of sympathy aside. Sasuke was his top priority, and that hadn’t changed simply because there was another one of him now.

“I told him I never want to see him again,” Charasuke sniffled, and it was really disturbing to watch someone with Sasuke’s face – well, a version of Sasuke, really – crying out in heartache.

Meanwhile poor Charasuke is having a background breakdown. To Naruto, it's hard to see a version of Sasuke like this. Charasuke is coming face to face with the realization that he's A: definitely not over Menma, B: he really handled things badly and never even stopped to think about why Menma was doing things.

“If he survives, you can apologize,” Naruto told him, trying to sound comforting. “Hell knows Sasuke said a lot worse stuff to me.”

To his great surprise, Sasuke went over to sit beside Charasuke, frowning as his hand twitched to reach out to him.

“This isn’t about you and me, Naruto,” he said, settling for an awkward hand on Charasuke’s shoulder. “And it could be our fault, anyway.”

“You know, Sasuke,” Naruto said as the initial shock wore off, “that sounds scarily like you’ve started caring about other people.”

Naruto and Sasuke having a small fight about Charasuke... Naruto knew Sasuke cared about Charasuke, but this is when he realizes that Charasuke is becoming a person that Sasuke wants to protect. And for Sasuke it's a small step towards opening his heart for more people than just Naruto. Sasuke is honestly mad at Naruto for taking things so lightly, for treating this other dimension as something that doesn't affect them. Besides, I really wanted Charasuke to be comforted by Sasuke haha.

Charasuke kept crying, and the look Sasuke directed at him clearly said what he thought of Naruto right then.

“Moron. I care about other people, just not anyone in our own dimension.”

Naruto knew that to be a lie, but decided not to say anything. Having Sasuke admitting to something like having feelings was a huge enough step on its own. Instead he sighed, grabbed something to sleep in, and headed for the door.

“I’ll just sleep on a couch,” he mumbled.

Does Sasuke care about anyone back in their own dimension? Maybe, but you wouldn't really see him act like this with canon Sakura, not before they left for the RTN dimension at least. It's a big thing that Sasuke is starting to voice his feelings out loud, and acknowledge them more. Naruto is feeling jealous actually, because he wanted to finally have Sasuke to himself, and also he feels guilty for being jealous, and also he's hoping that if he pouts enough Sasuke will comfort him instead of Charasuke lol. Not always the most mature person, but who is?

Coward, Kurama accused as he headed towards the living room, but Naruto was too tired to argue with him. Something about Charasuke always rubbed him wrong, and maybe it had to do with how he displayed his emotions openly and so obviously thought of himself as weak. If Sasuke wanted to handle it, fine. Naruto didn’t have the patience for people who sat around crying, and a small part of him didn’t like that he had such problems with caring about Menma, either. Menma had everything, a loving family, a Sasuke who cared about him, but he was still feared and treated differently. Even in this world people treated the bijuu as something dangerous, and he wondered how much of the whole story of them losing consciousness and turning into beasts was true, and how much was justification to treat them badly.

It's a bit of 'my problems are worse than yours so you shouldn't be so upset'. In the movie, we really got to see how much it hurt Naruto to see this other world where he had everything he wanted, and then acknowledge that it wasn't real. Even if he can recognize that the bijuu were still treated badly here, he can't quite make peace with the way Charasuke and Menma can't appreciate what they have. It makes it really hard for him to sympathize with them.

Am I supposed to feel touched? Kurama snorted as Naruto rearranged pillows into an acceptable bed on one couch. You didn’t care much for us either before you figured out the truth.

No, but everything was supposed to be the opposite here, right? Well, this part isn’t the opposite, it’s the same.

Between one heartbeat and the next, Naruto blinked his eyes open in front of Kurama’s open cage. There was water sloshing around his ankles, and everything was clouded in some sort of yellowish haze.

“Oh, come on,” he complained, but Kurama tsk’ed at him with his head supported by one giant paw.

“I hate to admit it, but you might be onto something, kid.”

“Uh-huh, well I don’t know about you but I want to sleep.”

Kurama reached out and poked him in the stomach with a sharp claw, eyes narrowing to slits. Even if they were friends, Naruto didn’t feel like testing the limits of that friendship with those claws so close to him.

“Sometimes you say things in such a stupid voice that I miss how important it might be. Now shut up and listen,” Kurama growled, three of his tails swishing angrily behind him. “This world is supposed to be opposite, right?”

“I don’t know, but everything seems opposite.”

“Let’s pretend we know it’s true. So, everything and everybody is the opposite more or less. But, the prejudice against the bijuu is still there. And we were told that it was only recently that they became unable to control. So, where does that leave us?”

Naruto pouted, not bothering to answer. Obviously Kurama already knew what he wanted to say.

“I think it means that anything that is the same, is something that somebody has tampered with.”

I was going to do more with this, but it was also a bit of 'what sort of theories would they have for what was really going on?' and this one is accurate in a way, because Hagoromo did tamper with the bijuu which in turn made them become feared and badly treated. So it's definitely hinting at there being someone behind the scenes manipulating the bijuu.

“Huh?”

Kurama rolled his eyes, sighing so deeply that Naruto felt the wind from it tear at his clothes.

“Think, boy! If this is a mirror-world or whatever, people shouldn’t be afraid of me and my siblings. But they are, and it only started a while ago. Obviously someone made us go crazy. And Menma has me inside him, but a crazy version of me, so wouldn’t it be logical that whoever did something to the me inside Menma, could also do something to Menma?”

He thought about it, hard enough that his head started hurting. Sasuke would probably know, but he was busy with Charasuke.

“I guess,” he said eventually, huffing a little. “But even if you’re right, it doesn’t help us figuring out who’s behind it all.”

“Does it matter?” Kurama scoffed, and then his lips spread in a terribly evil grin. “We’re going to kill them anyway, aren’t we?”

“This is why you have such a bad reputation,” Naruto sighed.

Kurama only laughed.

I really love Kurama... His and Naruto's weird friendship gives me life. His solutions to problems are always very straightforward heh.

Well, that's that :3

[narniadynasty]

Suddenly there came a most frightful jerk and a noise | When that awful jerk came I thought it was the beginning of a railway accident | I remember thinking it was taking the bend far too fast | There was a frightful roar and something hit me with a bang 

There was a real railway accident | All of you are dead 

“Well! We have had a time," Peter says turning to his siblings when they land back in the platform, waiting for their train. Edmund doesn’t seem to hear him as he searches frantically for his torch, shoulders drooping when the realization hits that he left it back in Narnia. Lucy and Susan laugh as they rush to grab their luggage. Peter takes a moment to breathe before lifting his head and moving to them to help. He herds his siblings on the train, making sure they’re all accounted for and squares his shoulders sharing a knowing smile with Su, as they watch the train get full as students pile in. Knowing it’s time for him to move on. 

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"I was thinking about a career in medicine." Peter had said once, but back in Narnia he had to make the tough choice, the hard choice and don his armour, pick up his sword, and fight for a home that knew him only as a legend, now. 

Here, back in England, he is no one. He is not a warrior or soldier. He is not a King of Old, a Saviour, or even a Legend. He is not High King Peter, the Magnificent. 

Here, he is only Peter. 

Peter Pevensie, a boy on the cusp of adulthood. A boy with a whole future ahead, one not filled with slaughter and swords. A boy who decides that ‘yes, a career in medicine is my future.’. No more 'thinking about‘ and instead just going for it. He spends hours, days, and months studying, falling deeper and deeper into the complexities and intricacies of modern medicine and the new treatments showing so much promise and knows that he made the right decision. He wants to be part of the change coming to this world, he needs to be. He needs to be part of this new movement. He needs to save these people, his people, in a way different than his hands had been trained to do, long ago in another world. He’s always been on the frontline and this is the same. Now, instead of battles and slaughter, he faces disease and sickness. He faces broken noses from drunken fights. He combats an enemy unseen now. His scalpel is moulded to his hand as Rhindon once was. This world is advancing in ways Narnia never did, maybe never will. And he is going to do whatever he can to help lead it into the new era, a crownless king, magnificent once more.

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He leaves for America some time after his parents and Susan return. After he reunites with a quiet Lucy and a solemn Edmund and a changed Eustace. After he and Susan find a moment to gather the younger trio and question what has happened. He hears of how they had an adventure, their last adventure (not for Eustace who still has more to go). He shares a look with Susan and she swallows a sob, had known it was coming for her younger siblings, just as it did for her and Peter, but still hoping it wouldn’t. She steels herself and smiles ushering Eustace with her under the guise of needing help in setting the table for dinner. Peter sits and waits until the last creak fades down the stairs before he turns to Edmund and Lucy. 

Edmund hunches over, his fingers gripping hard to his knees, as the breath trembles and shakes through his bitten lips. Lucy dives for Peter, a small hummingbird, on the other side of the room one moment and in Peter’s arms the next. She clutches tight to her older brother, hides her face, and lets her tears stain his shoulder and he grips tight to his sister, hoping it will help but knowing nothing will ease that loss anytime soon. He sits with them, him in the middle, both siblings on either side and holds them both and wishes he could take this heartbreak away. Susan slips in the room with a murmured ‘Eustace is distracting everyone,’ shock still evident in her voice over their cousin’s change. She takes a seat next to Edmund, the couch dipping down. Peter’s got an arm around each younger sibling, and Lucy clings to him so Susan takes one of Edmund’s hands and gently loosens it from it’s tight grip on his pants and slides her fingers through his, an anchor to hold onto as he breaks. ‘We’ve got you,’ she whispers to a sobbing Lucy and trembling Edmund. Lucy reaches across Peter and Edmund to the hand Susan holds and places hers on top, seeking comfort from her resilient older sister like she always did. Susan places her other hand on top just as quickly, gripping hard to both. 

Once they’ve gathered themselves, Peter will lead them down to the dining table, back straight and shoulders strong. Edmund and Lucy will follow his guiding strength, and in his stead ready themselves for a future unknown. Susan will follow, last, and unwavering as she keeps a hand ready and reaching for either younger sibling who may falter. They’ll join their cousin who stands watching with awe evident in his gaze as he catches a brief glimpse of the Kings and Queens they once were as they enter the room. As he catches a glimpse of what the Narnians knew them to be. Hope walking. They’ll join their parents and aunt and uncle and sit through a dinner. ‘In a minute, once they’ve gathered themselves,' Peter thinks sitting on an old couch upstairs with his siblings beside him, broken.

Peter leaves for America some months later. He stays with his siblings and helps them find their strength. He leaves after hearing about the adventures and thrill that Susan faced in this land, this unknown land. He wants that. His blood sings for it. He studies hard in years and receives glowing recommendation letters from his professors, even Professor Kirke. He’s approved for travel and continued study if he’d like to accept. 

He will. He does. He packs his things, his books and clothes and trinkets Lucy keeps "stealthily" hiding amongst his things. He irons the shirts Susan has picked out for him to make him fit well over there, a new and different fashion than England's. She teaches him everything and anything she’s learnt from her brief visit and promises to write anything she’s forgotten. Edmund gifts him a new handbag, his old one having worn out over the years and unfit for his new adventure. 

Peter smiles softly and hugs each sibling long and hard, at the station, before he picks up his things. His mother and father step forward for their own goodbye. Peter doesn’t know it yet, but his parents can see it, that he won’t be coming back anytime soon. His mother grips his face between older, softer, hands and smiles a tear-filled smile as she tells him that she’ll write every week as often as she can. HIs father grips his shoulder and tells him how he is so proud of the man he already is and is on his way to becoming. They share their own hug with Peter, their first child and he grips them hard as he flashes a small smile at his saddened siblings through the gap between his parents shoulders. They straighten their shoulder and smile back at their brother, their King, as he takes the steps to the train, as it gets smaller and smaller the further it gets. 

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He receives letters often enough that he can’t find it in himself to miss his family too much. He knows, just as they do, he’ll always have them, and them, him. Lucy's letters are filled with stray animals wandering through her path and school and how there are hard decisions she’s having to make for her future. She talks about Narnia a lot too. Too much for Peter sometimes. He skips those parts when they become too much, when it hurts too much. He’ll re-read it when he’s stronger, although those days are becoming fewer and fewer between. Edmund writes about his continued interest in law. He talks extensively about the unjust laws of the country and even the world and the changes he envisions. Before Peter knows it, those words have transitioned into comparisons to their Narnia's justice. How they created it. How they created them and how they could have done better. Like Lucy’s, Peter skips these parts in his brother's letters as well. Susan’s letters are filled with endless questions on how he’s doing and what’s going on. She rambles about the latest fashion she’s read in newspapers and magazines and asks him for all the details on what he sees out in the streets and boutiques, despite the many times Peter replies telling her he barely goes out due to his learning. Peter laughs at his sister’s letters until it slowly fades as she slowly, as if knowing Peter’s reluctance, transitions to words filled with the latest gatherings between them, Eustace, Professor Kirke and Professor Kirke’s friend, a Polly Plummer. He places the letter down when these come up and takes a moment to breathe before continuing on and skipping over any other mentions. 

When he writes back, he writes to them all at once. He’ll write small paragraphs for each member but it gives him the excuse to not reminisce about Narnia since his parents will also be reading the letter. He writes about the doctor he’s met during his residency who laughs a loud and joyful laugh with loud footsteps even when he tries to be quiet. He writes about a boy he’d met at the book store of their university, who he’d gotten to talking about some club activity going on that night. Who’d invited him, having seen some loneliness and homesickness in Peter’s eyes despite how much Peter tried to hide it. Who’s now his roommate.

That older doctor decides to take him under his wing and helps to train him to the best of his abilities. He’d seen Peter working one day, during his residency, and something about Peter and his kind hands and old eyes had caught the Doctor’s attention. And Peter is just as intrigued by this doctor, who’s hands have saved so many lives. Peter thrives under his care. 

He lives in a quiet apartment with Charlie, actually named Charles but only answers to Charlie, the friend he’d written to his family about, the one he’d befriended near the beginning of his new adventure. Who’d say ‘enough is enough, Pete, buddy,’ imploringly with with his no-other-answer-than-yes American accent, Peter’s book in one of his hand’s held out of Peter’s reach before finally dragging Peter into the dark nights to dance and laugh and forget about his stresses for one night. He learns to save so many lives during his stay and will continue to do so. On the hard days, the days where he can’t save the patient, where he loses them, despite everything he and all the other’s do, he goes home silently. Charlie can tell what kind of day it has been by the quiet of Peter’s arrival and pours him one glass of whiskey and sets it in front of Peter on their small table. His hand grips Peter’s shoulder in solidarity for a moment before he leaves Peter to the silence knowing Peter needs the time alone to grieve and break. He doesn’t know what Peter has been through but he's seen enough to know that Peter won’t take that moment with him or anyone in the vicinity. So he takes a walk, down the apartment stairs and around their block, twice, before he heads back to find Peter’s room door shut and the glass he’d set down cleaned and put away. In the morning Peter will have a small smile on his face as he pieces himself back together. As Peter prepares for a new day.  

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Peter is in America when he receives a call. 

It’s Charlie and Peter starts talking before his roommate can, about the ‘book you forgot, mate,’ the book ‘you said you absolutely needed for your class,’ he finishes with a laugh. There’s no answering laugh, or pleading voice of his friend’s asking him to run it over for him. There’s only a heavy silence.

'Mate, you still there?' Peter asks in a quiet voice a hand gripping hard to the table the phone sits on. Something’s wrong, Peter can tell. Charlie is never this quiet.

‘Pete, buddy,’ he hears. But it’s not said in the laughing tone Peter’s so used to hearing, instead it’s said in a broken sob. 

‘What, what is it? Charlie, mate?' Peter questions with a quiet, breaking voice. He hears a heaving Charlie breathe in a hard breath as if preparing himself. Preparing himself for what, is all Peter gets the chance to ask himself, before Charlie tells him. 

About an accident. 

He’d heard about it from one of the other British students who’d lost her cousin in the accident. A railway accident that occurred on the same day that Susan had written Peter about where she and the rest of the family, Lucy, Edmund, and their parents, would be taking a train to meet up with Eustace, Jill (Eustace’s friend), Digory, and Polly on one of their routine meet ups.

'Pete?’ Charlie asks quietly in the silence of Peter’s response. ‘Peter?’ Charlie asks a little louder a little firmer, but all he hears is the click of Peter disconnecting. Charlie throws the phone down, apologies already spewing from his mouth as he races from the building, as he races to Peter, his best friend who’s always been there for him. 

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Peter returns to England.

He sees his remaining family, his aunt and uncle, and friends during the funerals. He meets the Poles, parents to Eustace’s best friend Jill. Hears stories about the lively Polly Plummer from her remaining family. Speaks to other professors that Professor Kirke had worked and learned with. 

He watches with a clenched jaw and watery eyes as his parents and siblings and cousin are lowered into their graves, here with him no more. Every time he attempts to speak, to tell about the brilliance of his mother or the strength of his father, his voice gives way to nothing. He wants to tell everyone about Susan, a younger sister who had no trouble calling him out on his wrongs. Who would help share the burden of being away from home, of having to raise their younger siblings in the absence of their parents. Who was the gentlest soul he ever knew. He wants to speak about Edmund, his younger brother, his best friend. Who always had his nose buried in books, and dreamt of making the world better for future generations. Who was able to remain just and fair and loving despite having faced the harshest of times. He wants to let them know about the Lucy he knew, his Lucy, the younger sister to them all. Lucy, the sunny and smiling sister with the kindest of hands ready to catch anyone should they fall. Who was as valiant as the heroes of legends and myths of this world.

He can’t though. His voice breaks every time time he tries. His hands shake on the podium he grips until he has to be lead away by gentle hands who hold his as he is unable to stay standing in his grief.

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When he finally retires for the night, after the funerals, he finds his gaze going back to his luggage. Back to where the letters from his family are placed. Tucked under his clothes, wrapped with cloth to keep them together.    

[sarcastic-space-gal]

Summer Wind

Summary: You love to dance along with some good music the night before an away mission.

Pairing: Leonard McCoy x Reader;

Word Count: 2k;

Warning: Fluff, Injuries, Blood, Angst, Sadness;

A/N: Hi everyone, i can’t stop writing Bones, please don’t send help. Hope you enjoy, feedback is always appreciated. Love you all xoxo.

It was the end of the day. Finally. After hours of briefing on the next day’s mission, you walked down the ship’s corridors, heading to your quarters, which you shared with your boyfriend. Little you knew, Leonard was already there, waiting for you. While you approached, you could hear a very faint sound, coming from your quarters.

As soon as you stepped in, you heard music coming from the speakers on a counter. You smiled in excitement recognizing the melody. It was a very old song but one of your favorite ones: Frank Sinatra’s “Summer Wind”.

Walking slowly towards the source of the sound, Leonard appeared from the bedroom and leaned on the door frame.

“Rough day?” he asked.

“Yeah” your voice came out as a tired whisper. He simply nodded and came over to you, turning the volume up a little.

Offering you his hand he asked “May I?”

Oh, he knew you well. Dancing was your cure for almost everything. Whenever you were stressed out, angry, happy, you would always put on some music and danced until your feet hurt, whether it was loud or chill. You used to do it alone for a lot of time, then you met him. So now you danced together as a couple whenever you find an occasion.

Bones would never admit it, but he liked it a lot too. It was calming and stress-relieving. Even though, what he loved even more was seeing you smile and having the perfect excuse to hug you constantly after a long day on that damn ship.

“Of course” you smirked accepting his hand. He instantly led you to the center of the room and encircled your waist lightly with his free arm.

You let the melody fill your ears as you stayed silent, enjoying the music and dancing along slowly.

After a few seconds you smiled at him “My favorite”

“Only the best for you” he said making you spin with one hand before embracing your waist again.

Letting out a giggle, you looked at him with bright eyes. You lived for those moments together, and so did him. Before embarking in a five- years mission aboard the Enterprise, Bones wasn’t really keen of the idea, but then he met you and then the idea of being stuck in the universe with you wasn’t that bad after all.

When the song ultimately came to an end, you sighed.

“What is it?” he asked.

You released the embrace taking his hands in yours. “Tomorrow’s mission. It’s going to be a looong day.”

Giving you a sympathetic smile, he responded “We can still dance all your favorite songs when we are done. All night long”

“Sounds like a plan” you stated.

“Indeed sweetheart” he cupped your face and gave you a little kiss “Let’s go to bed”

         ____________________________________________________

Among all the plans you had for that day, being captured on a not-so-friendly planet, inhabited by an obviously not-so-friendly aliens, was not one of them.

Kirk had mentioned the possibility of finding some complications with these people, due to their aggressive instinct towards the Starfleet, but you were all confident about having finally a peace treaty between the two factions. That was probably not gonna happen.

You beamed down ready to negotiate, along with Kirk, Commander Spock, your boyfriend and some other red shirts. Everything seemed normal when suddenly a large group of inhabitants surrounded you, fully armed. Kirk’s words of encouragement towards a negotiation went vain when they all captured you and separated you. Bones’ voice when he screamed your name as you were pulled away from him, still echoed in your ears.

It was the last time you saw your shipmates as you were dragged to an empty and small cell. You had no idea where the others where or why they all separated you. Right now the only thing you knew was that you needed to get out of there, search for the others and leave that planet ASAP.

Fortunately, Scotty had taught you some tricks to deactivate cell doors, so you got to work almost immediately. The controlling panel was old and crappy, in just few minutes you were able to open it and take a careful look outside. Silence. That was weird.

Looking side to side many times before stepping outside your cell, you proceeded to stealthily walk down the corridors of the building you were held in. Minutes went by, you continued searching for anyone, but there was only silence. While you were just about to turn to the umpteenth corner, suddenly a very loud alarm sound went off as you heard footsteps approaching you from behind. Maybe they were your shipmates and Leonard who were able to escape as well. Turned out you were wrong.

Those who captured you came out from the corner and instantly shouted “You! Stop!”

Without even thinking twice you turned and started running but your run was quickly stopped by a large hand gripping around your neck. Your breath was caught in your throat.

“We said stop” the alien repeated with his mephitic breath.

“Let me… go” you managed to say.

“Where are your friends human?” the large creature asked you.

“I... don’t know” his grip tightened.

He smirked and stated “Very well”

Without saying anything else he gripped your hands and dragged you down the corridors along with all the other aliens, who followed him.

You arrived in a large and cold room as the creature threw you to the ground with an evil laugh. Groaning you tried to lift yourself up but you were soon gripped by the neck again making you stand on your knees.

“Let’s see if your captain will show up” he stated.

Out of nowhere he pulled out a knife and stabbed one of your forearms. Pain instantly clouded your mind as you screamed.

“Come on Kirk! Come here, let’s have a talk!”

Few minutes went by and as soon as the alien behind you was ready to strike again you heard footsteps approaching. Bones and the others were finally in front of you.

“Len!” you shouted in pain.

His eyes went wide “Y/n!” he was already coming for you when Kirk stopped him, gripping his arm.

“Not so fast!” the creature behind you roared. His henchmen pointed their weapons at them immediately.

Leonard noticed your wound as blood slowly came out of it and his jaw clenched hard before giving a dreadful glare at the alien who was viciously holding you by your neck.

Kirk took a couple of steps forward “What do you want to talk about?”

“You came here to negotiate Kirk”

“We came here in peace and you took us as hostages!”

“You see, I’m not really fond of you Starfleet scum” he was dead serious now “You came to my planet to have control on it, you came here for war”

Kirk shook his head out of frustration “We wanted a peace treaty between the United Federation of Planets and you, not for war, we do not want any control on you. There can be advantages for both sides if we can talk this out”

The alien lifted his head and kept looking at the Captain as if he was pondering the idea.

During all the conversation between the Captain and the inhabitants, you shared a look with Leonard who looked at you with the most concerned eyes you ever saw on his face. You hoped that would end quickly and for the best. Darting your eyes to the side you noticed the captain holding something in his hand. His communicator?

“Very well” the creature said releasing the grip around your neck. Hesitantly you lifted off the floor as he gave you a push. Without thinking twice you sprinted towards Leonard as he and Jim both left out a sigh of relief.

Forgetting about the captain and the creature behind you, you put your arms around Bones’ neck “Len!”

“Y/n oh God” he hugged you so tightly you were unable to breathe for a moment “Are you ok? Your arm-” he then took your face in his hands to inspects it.

“Len, I’m ok” you covered his hands with yours as you smiled at him. That smile brightened up the entire room. Bones couldn’t hold back a smile himself. You were safe in his arms again.

Then suddenly, you jolted as you gasped unsteadily, your eyes wide. The smile on Leonard’s face disappeared and confusion took his place.

“SCOTTY NOW!” it wasn’t Leonard’s voice. It was Kirk’s. He was speaking through his communicator. You could hear lasers being fired as the room started to tremble and the roof fell down on the creatures, but you couldn’t focus on the fight because you felt a hot liquid soaking your uniform.

Bones saw your smile transform into a violent gasp, before seeing behind your shoulders the creature as he lowered his weapon with an evil grin on his face. Everything clicked. His eyes darted to you again as his heart started hammering in his chest.

“No, no, no, no, no”

Your knees gave up but he supported you with his strong arms.

While trying to support you he felt the blood staining his hand: you were hit between your shoulder blades. Carefully he sat down placing you in his lap, searching frenetically for medical supplies in his pockets, trying to stop the bleeding a little.

“L...Len”

“I’m here, sweetheart” he said putting pressure on your back. His usual steady voice was now weak and filled with fear.

“Scotty beam us up, now!” Kirk urged through his communicator.

“Don’t do this to me Y/N, please” with his free hand, Leonard stroke your hair. For the first time, you saw his eyes full of unshed tears, ready to spill out from his handsome hazel irises. Those irises you knew, you would never see again.

“I’m… I’m s-sorry” you whispered. You didn’t feel the tear falling down at the side of your face.

“Jim why are we not up yet? Where’s Scotty dammit?” Bones urged him.

“Just few seconds, Y/n hold on, just a little longer” the captain saw how distressed his friend was, but he couldn’t do anything besides waiting. Kirk searched his friend’s eyes and when he did, Bones shook lightly his head. There was nothing he could do to help you and it was an unbearable feeling.

“Len I… I...” breathing was hard and painful now “I hoped… we had more time”

Leonard couldn’t handle it anymore as he let his tears ran down his face.

“You will be okay, I’m gonna fix you up” he let out a shaky breath.

Hands and legs were completely cold now, and Bones knew it. The idea of being completely unable to do anything drove him mad.

“We have plans for tonight, do you remember? We have all those old songs to listen to”

You smiled “Can we... listen... to “Summer Wind”… again?”

“As many times as you want”

The color was fading away fast from your skin.

With all your strength you whispered “I… I… Love you” His heart ached in his chest.

“I love you too, I love you too” he lifted your head up kissing your forehead, his eyes closed as he cried silently.

Suddenly a light encircled you both, along with the others crew members, as you were beamed back to the Enterprise.

As soon as Leonard felt the energy fade away he looked at you again, in that moment your head fell into his arm, unmoving and your body was limp in his arms.

“Oh my God” he let out a shaky gasp. Being a doctor meant dealing with death almost everyday, but this. It was like daggers were being stuck in his heart.

The others stayed silent before heading out the room. Only Kirk stood there near his friend.

“No please, please”

He lifted your body up with a hand behind your head and kissed you one last time.

           ____________________________________________________

That night, Bones entered your… his quarters. He stood still for a moment unable to do anything, froze in his place. Your scent still lingered in the air. Your things, your dresses.

After few minutes he exhaled deeply and went to the counter. Clicking some buttons he put on your favorite song. The melody filled the room.

“Like painted kites, those days and nights they went flyin' by

The world was new beneath a blue umbrella sky

Then softer than a piper man, one day it called to you

I lost you, I lost you to the summer wind”

The song continued playing, muffling the sound of his painful cry.

TAG LIST

@dyn-djarin​

@zizzlekwum​

@ivvitm1109​

[jesuiscalmedammit]

Goodbye – (1) || [Bones x OC]

note: this isn’t an imagine. obviously.

James T. Kirk had just made some very serious decisions in the middle of the night: in a matter of hours, he would join Starfleet. By the time he arrived to the backyard of their house, hoping he wouldn’t throw up on her mother’s beloved flower bed as he’d done a few weeks earlier, it was already around four in the morning. This meant he only had four hours until departure. Four short hours to pack his most important things and say goodbye to his family. He was standing under one of the windows, wondering if the girl living in that room was awake at this time or not. Sighing, he decided not to care and climbed up to the window, opening it with ease when he reached it.

“What the hell?” came a familiar voice from the bed as his feet landed on the floor with a heavy thud.

Jim only smirked at her reaction and turned on the lights, although he immediately regretted it since the bright light burned his eyes. The girl who was now sitting in her bed was only a year younger than him, with brown hair and light brown eyes. The lack of physical resemblance made it quite obvious for people outside the family and their circle of friends that they weren’t genetically related, only stepsiblings thanks to the marriage of their parents.

Even though Jim’s dislike for his stepfather was not only well-known but mutual as well, Izzy had always been the only person who managed to bring a positive change in their lives. On the bright side she, much like his mother, didn’t consider him a troublemaker. Well, at least they both assumed he was a bit more than that. This was probably the only reason why he hadn’t moved out of the house yet.

“Damn it, Tiberius, how many times do I need to tell you to use the door?” she asked angrily, trying to keep her voice down so they wouldn’t wake up their parents. It’d happened once and the consequences weren’t exactly pleasant, mostly thanks to her father.

“And how many times do I need to tell you to stop calling me Tiberius?” Jim asked with a shrug before sitting on the edge of her bed. “You have to help me, doc,” he said with a grin, pointing at his wounded face. He had washed off most of the blood before leaving the bar, but he had a feeling it didn’t help much.

“I'm not a doctor yet,” Izzy noted quietly, letting out a tired sigh as she took a closer look at the injuries. “You’re gonna be fine, I only have to clean the wounds then you’re free to go.” After flashing a reassuring smile at him she stood up and disappeared in the bathroom for a while. “Feel like telling me what happened to you this time?” she asked once she returned and sat down next to him with her first aid kit.

Jim let out a quiet groan as he buried his face in his palms. As it turned out, it wasn’t the smartest idea because he accidentally touched one of the wounds and it hurt like hell. “I got into a little fight with a few Starfleet recruits in a bar,” he explained calmly while Izzy started to wash off the remaining blood from his face.

“Why I’m not surprised,” the brunette remarked sarcastically, grabbing the antiseptic. “Okay, I know you’ve already heard that from me before, but it’s going to sting.”

He barely winced as she cleaned the wounds. They had been through this so many times over the years that his body sort of got used to the pain this process caused. That was obviously a fair price to pay for stupidity. What he had to decide now was how and when to tell her about the decision he had made not long ago. Moving to San Francisco didn’t only affect his mother, but Izzy as well. Maybe it was just like removing a band-aid: the faster you tear it down, the less it hurts. “I’ll join Starfleet in the morning,” he suddenly announced, his eyes locked on his shoes.

The girl’s eyes grew wide in surprise and from shock. “You will what?”

He laughed quietly, already thinking about how his mother will react. “That’s right. I talked to Captain Pike after this last fight and… I don’t know. He hasn’t met me before yet he believes in me, and also said I could be a captain and have my own ship in eight years,” he told her. “He also talked about my father. About the twelve minutes he’d spent as the captain of the USS Kelvin and how he’d saved 800 people, including me and mom,” he added, much quieter this time.

“Hey, I’m sure your father would be proud of you,” Izzy told him with a small smile, reassuringly putting a hand on his. But Jim knew it was only an act, because behind that smile he saw her sadness. It’s not like he wouldn’t miss her too. “And Winona will be proud as well,” she spoke up again. “By the way, when will you tell her?”

“In the morning, shortly before I leave.”

“You’re just kidding me, right?” Izzy asked angrily, punching his arm as hard as she could. “She deserves more than a few minutes in the morning. Even if you come home to visit every now and then, at the end of the day you’ll be gone for years,” she pointed out firmly, jumping off the bed. “I’ll wake her up and send her to the living room.”

Jim took a deep breath and stood up as well, clearing his throat to make her stop before she opened the door. “What about your father?” he asked.

“Don’t worry about him. This move of yours will shut him up for a while,” the girl said with a smile. “Zip up your jacket,” she added, pointing at his shirt. “Winona would be freaked out if she saw your bloody shirt.”

Jim looked down at her with a smile as he pulled up the zipper just like she’d told him. On his way home from the bar, when he’d made up his mind about the whole thing, he didn’t think saying goodbye would be so hard. Really, what would he do if he got into another fight? Was he supposed to see a normal doctor, or should he learn how to stich himself up in the next few hours? “I’ll miss you, Izzy,” he admitted after a while, breaking the comfortable silence that’d fallen between them.

“I’ll miss you, too, James. You’re gonna be a great captain one day,” she said before hugging him tightly. “Try not to get into trouble,” she added with a small chuckle.

“I can’t promise anything,” Jim said with a short laugh while he let go of her. “You know, you should join Starfleet as a doctor, ” he said, but left the room before she could even answer.

Downstairs the conversation with his mother and stepfather went surprisingly smoothly. Though his mother–just as he’d expected–cried upon hearing the news, she also told him through her tears how happy she was that he made this decision. This, of course, surprised Jim. Part of him thought she would be against it, mostly due to what’d happened to his father when he was born. But she was happy, and that day this was the most important thing for him. Knowing she was supporting him wholeheartedly made it a lot easier to aboard the shuttle in the morning.

Screw Starfleet: he'll get his own ship sooner than eight years to make his mother proud.

note: This is something I originally wrote in 2009. Yeah, a long time ago. I missed this story and the poor thing deserved better... So... here we go. I'll try to make things right this time around. And fuck fanfiction.net (where I originally posted it back in the day), this stays here and on AO3. 

[revisionaryhistory]

Three Days ~ 52

~*~Emma~*~

It's been a very long time since I've had a panic attack, but I remember how weak and out of control I felt. The only way through is to let it have you. The more you fight the worse it gets. Diving in, letting the cycle run its course, letting the adrenaline fade, is scary and difficult. I hate for him to have to deal with this. I know all I can do is support. I can't find the miracle fix for him and anyone else trying to talk you down can interrupt your process, your coping skills. Depending on someone else to pull you through is dangerous because no one can promise they will always be available. We're still learning each other. Hell, everyone is, so we're not unique. My instinct was to give him permission to take care of himself.

I wish I could say his fear that me waking to a note wouldn't have made me wonder if something was wrong.  After what Kirk and Alissa had said last night, I can't be sure a note wouldn't have scared me. But I was awake and happy when Sebastian took off out the door. We were going to have to talk about what they said and what the conversation was in the room he was in.

Sebastian started laughing right through the door, which was what I was going for. I'd taken a shower, dressed, and sat on the couch reading with a cup of coffee. As soon as I heard him unlocking the door, I flipped around where my crossed legs were up the back of the couch, my back on the seat, and my head hanging off the edge. I said, "Hey, baby." and started to sit up.

"Don't move." He threw his keys on the table near the door and ran over, dropping to his hands and knees when he got close. Crawling the last few feet, he kissed me upside down. It's harder than I expected, but we worked it out. Sebastian sat on the floor, adjusting his position until my head on his shoulder wasn't fucking with my neck. He ran his fingers through my hair, combing it down his chest. He made a contented sound; part sigh, part moan, and part hum.

I turned my head to kiss the side of his neck. "How you doing?"

"Good. Back to normal. Sweaty." He turned to kiss my temple. “Thank you."

"Not needed."

"Yes, it is."

The tone of his voice, the seriousness, told me while it was no big deal for me to let him do what he needed, for him it was. Kind of how our first night him making sure I knew he'd stop if I said to meant something different to each of us. I said a simple, "You're welcome" and added, "Anytime, Sebasti-an."

I didn’t know “anytime” in Romanian, but I wanted his name anyway.

"Oricând." He turned where we could see each other.

I repeated, "Oricând, Sebasti-an."

"I believe you."

We smiled into a crazy intense yet sweet kiss, ending with him kissing my nose. "I'll go de-stink myself then we'll hit this cafe I ran by."

"Yum."

He turned halfway to the bedroom, "Did you rearrange anything while I was gone?"

"What fun would it be to tell you."

Twenty minutes later Sebastian reappeared in black shorts and a heather gray t-shirt. I wore green shorts and a cream t-shirt. We were walking so we both laced up our shoes and headed out.

It was a gorgeous day. Bright blue sky with fluffy white clouds. I pulled down my sunglasses, "Lead the way."

Sebastian took my hand and pointed, "Two blocks north, one east. I put my name on the list. Our table should be ready when we get there."

Like yesterday we walked slow and close. The three or four inches he was taller than me made a difference in our strides, but we got in sync quickly where it didn’t look like I was being drug down the street or trying to pull him back. I like holding hands. I like the innocent familiarity of it. It's nearly impossible to walk with your arms around each other. Plus, that looks clingy. Standing still with arms around is ok, but walking is awkward and too try-hard. We could walk down the street separate from each other. We could, but what fun would that be. Besides we're in the first blush of a new relationship. Touching might be a rule. It certainly seems it is for us. I can understand where people see holding hands as an adult as clingy. For me, I want to feel his warmth. I want my touch to let him know I’m attracted to him and want to touch him. If that's what clingy means, so be it. Not like I have any control over what other people think anyway.

I could see the sidewalk tables when we turned the corner and seconds later the smell hit. Fresh bread, rosemary, and something sweet. Maybe banana pancakes? We had to wait for our server to finish clearing our table. We leaned against the railing by the hostess stand watching people and looking at the food. I leaned in toward him, "I love this already."

Sebastian nodded, "I've been here twice, both times amazing."

The hostess came back to take us to our table. Sebastian took my hand and lead the way. He pulled out my chair and kissed me before moving to his chair. Tables were packed rather tight and there was a near constant rumble of voices, pieces of conversations, some you could follow and some were too hushed. It was easy to tell who wanted to be heard. We were on the side next to the railing with a good view of people passing by.

I was excited to see guava juice on the menu. It was my favorite in Hawaii, but hard to find other places. Fingers crossed it was good. While our server, Kim, was off getting our drinks I leaned back in my chair and looked out onto the street, "I forgot how much I love the city. How different things feel even on the same block. Boutiques, grocers, restaurants. There’s always something to explore. I miss it. I haven’t been exploring in a long time. When I come down to see Ang and Eli, he’s usually playing so it’s mostly nightlife. Not a Sunday brunch and stroll around the neighborhood.”

Sebastian laid his hand on the table, motioning his fingers for mine. He waited until my fingers were in his before speaking, “That makes me happy. Us doing something you haven’t in a while.”

“Me too.”

“Feel free to load me down with bags if you wanna do some shopping. Lots of clothing shops around here.”

I smiled, “I’m more of an impulse shopper than a browser. Something in a window may catch my eye and pull me in.  I’m not much for searching racks.”

“I search. Never know what hidden gem is shoved in between crap.”

“The exception is galleries like last night.”

“We should go back sometime when we don’t have to be anywhere.”

The food was delicious. We talked and laugh through our meal, sharing bites of what we liked best and as usual finding the other had something we liked better than our own. Kim took our empty plates away and we sat finishing our drinks and waiting for her to bring back the check. Something behind me caught Sebastian’s eye and he looked at me, “We’re going to have company.”  I didn’t turn to check. A few seconds later two teenage girls were beside our table on the opposite side of the railing. Sebastian smiled, “Good morning, ladies.”

They smiled, one of them chewing nervously on her lip. The non-chewer spoke, “We didn’t want to interrupt your breakfast and were going to wait until you left, but we’ve got to meet our moms in like five minutes.”

He nodded, “Thanks for trying.”

I knew he didn’t like being approached during meals, but we were done. I couldn’t help but smile with the way they shifted from foot to foot and looked ready to either scream or burst into tears.

The same girl continued, “We love Bucky and have seen Endgame about five times. We can’t believe Cap gave Sam the shield and not Bucky. It looked like they left out a whole conversation between Bucky and Cap where he explained he was going back in time to Peggy. Bucky looked like he already knew what was going on when they hugged and then when Cap came back old.”

Sebastian made a face and bobbled his head, “I think Sam’s going to be a great Captain America.” He talked to both of them, but he kept a closer eye on the nervous one. “I think you’re right; Bucky knew what was going on. They probably did talk it out and Bucky’s always going to do what he needs to for Steve.”  He stood up, moving to the railing, and reaching for the girl still chewing on her lip, “Come here.” She got closer and he wrapped his arms around her. “You’re ok.”

I heard her slightly muffled voice, “I don’t want you to be mad ‘cause we came over.”

He squeezed her tighter, “Not mad.”  He let her go and looked at the phone in her friend’s hand, “You want a picture?”

They both nodded, “Please.” She handed her phone to her friend and put her arm around Sebastian.

I watched the girl shaking. She was never going to get a picture that wasn’t blurred and moving. I touched her arm, “Here, I’ll take it.”  I took the first and waited for them to trade out. Sebastian pulled them both in for a hug and I took a picture of that too, because for real, that’s the picture you really want. When he let them go, I handed the girl back her phone.

Sebastian had kept his arm around the nervous one, “Can you do me a favor?” They immediately nodded, not even knowing the favor. “Don’t post this for a few hours. Some people would try and find me from your picture.”

“No problem.”

“Thank you.”

“Are you on a date?” said the brave one.

I didn’t care what he answered, but I was amused. Sebastian made a face at her, “You know I’m not going to answer.” He glanced at me then back to her, “Besides if you’ve been watching us have brunch you don’t need me to answer. I’d appreciate you keeping her out of any pictures if she was accidentally in them.”  That made the brave one blush. She nodded. “Thank you.” Sebastian gave the nervous one another squeeze before returning to his seat, “Thanks for coming by to say hi.”

The nervous one waved to me. I smiled and waved back. I watched them walk away, making sure they were out of earshot before I looked back at Sebastian. “It pays to be nervous around you. She got all sorts of snuggles.”

He laughed, “She looked like she was going to pee her pants.”

“I’ll have to check your tags on the train home and see if they did as you asked.”

“They usually do. Most of my fans are respectful. The minority just happen to be more vocal.” He looked in the direction they’d walked off. “I’m sure they took sneaky pictures of us. Hopefully, they’ll edit you out. I don’t care if they say I was on a date, but I don’t want to see pictures of you.” He smiled and repeated my words from the festival, “Privacy shouldn’t be the price you pay for being with me.” He signed the check and took my hand, “Ready to go?”

“Yep.”

We wove through several blocks looking and windows and ducking inside. I broke from habit in this amazing boutique clothing store we found. I could have stayed there for hours. They had everything from comfy loungewear, bottoms, tops, outerwear, and dresses. Style ranged from cute to sexy. Sebastian was a good sport and I kept what I tried on to a reasonable number. He seemed to enjoy the fashion show and his expressions made his opinion clear. His favorite was a sleeveless hot pink mini dress with an embroidered collar and details. I was surprised. He just shrugged and said it was fun and flirty. Like me. It went home with us.

Sebastian showed me his favorite places and where he shopped. We added bags of his purchases too. We reached max shopping at the same time and headed back to his place. He dropped the bags on the chair and headed to the kitchen grabbing a couple of bottles of water. I kicked off my shoes and slouched down on the couch, “I’ll be visiting that shop again.”

“There was a lot in there that looked like you.” He handed me a bottle and sat down beside me.

“I like bright colors.”

“You look good in bright colors. You look good in black too. And muted colors. Pastels.” He leaned in and kissed me, “I guess I just like how you look. Among other things I like about you.”

I smiled my thanks and savored another kiss. I unscrewed the bottle top and took a drink. “I wanted to talk to you about last night.”

“Which part? There was a ton of shit going on last night.”

“True. I meant the part where Angie drug me out of the room with Kirk and Alissa in tow.”

He nodded, “The meeting about me.”

I laughed, “It was more about me, although you came in at the end.” I turned on the couch, pulling up one leg where my calf rested against his thigh, and I draped the other across his lap. He screwed the top onto his water bottle, laying it beside him before his hands moved to my legs. I wrapped my fingers around the one on my bent leg. I liked us being tangled together. This wasn’t a comfortable conversation. “Angie was butthurt because she thought I hadn’t talked to her about you to the degree she thought I should have.”  I could tell he didn’t understand. “We don’t act like we met two weeks ago.”

His laughter interrupted me, “Will said the exact same thing to me.”

“It threw her when we showed up being more comfortable than she’d expected. I filled in Alissa and Kirk and they kept looking at each other and Alissa was repeating things slowly. Like “he threw you over his shoulder and carried you out of the park” and “you call your dad Ed.” I imitated her slow pauses. “I got a little protective and defensive. Went on a rant.” He smiled and I rolled my eyes. “Might have been a little drunk.” He scrunched up his nose and nodded. I had to kiss him. “I said the touching and kissing is just you.”

Sebastian kept eye contact and shook his head back and forth, “Not at all me.”

“That’s what they said. Even raised their hands to be called on.” That part had been funny.

“What did they say?” He didn’t seem angry or anything other than curious.

“There’s not many pictures of you being affectionate with girlfriends. A couple of pap walks. You with friends is different than you with women. You have lots of feelings, but keep them on the inside, not letting them out. Thinking too much makes you emotionally unavailable.” Those words made him wince. “I had another rant about how I don’t know the person they were talking about. I’ve never felt kept outside. We’ve always had intimate conversation, often with you initiating. I would never say you were emotionally unavailable. And after calling me a drunken cow, Alissa said the you last night was the fun, unguarded, happy Seb you are with friends.”

Sebastian looked straight ahead for a little bit and did things with his mouth. He scratched his cheek and looked back at me, “I think I’m pissed at a couple of my friends.”

I smiled and ran my fingers through the hair at the back of his neck. He didn’t pull away, he leaned back into the touch. “I don’t want you to be mad. Had you gone for a run this morning and left a note I would have been freaked out. What I know doesn’t match with what they said and I don’t want to have those thoughts in my head. It’s not fair to either of us.”

He took a hand from my leg, placing it on the back of my head to pull me closer. His kiss was deep and tense. “You are one hundred percent to right to talk to me about this. We’re about to be apart almost as long as we’ve known each other and I don’t want you doubting me. Us.”

I kissed him. Soft. I didn’t move away until I felt him relax. “It’s me being brave and vulnerable.”

“You know, I think about that conversation a lot.” He smiled again, a sweet tender smile that made my stomach flip. “It was day three and we were talking about how it’s hard to be open, honest, and vulnerable with another person. Only it wasn’t all that hard. I mean, I might think “oh shit”, but it’s never been enough to stop me.” He looked like a piece had fallen into place. He looked to the ceiling, “Which might be why I had a panic attack in the middle of the night.” His eyes returned to mine, “I don’t know if this is going to make any sense. Not because I’m scared, but because I’m not. I’m still overthinking and still have the same anxieties, but it’s different because I don’t feel like I need to cover it up. You take my shit in stride.”

“What’s different?”

He frowned and shook his head, “Besides you? No idea. Which might be why I had a panic attack in the middle of the night.” He smiled and kissed me, “I’ll read back over what I wrote this morning and figure it out.”

“And there’s always Thursday with the therapist.”

“Good point, princess.” This time he squeezed my hand, “So . . . while I’m pissed at them for dropping all that on you, nothing they said is wrong. Girlfriends and dates in between would tell you they can’t read me and they never know what I’m feeling. I don’t show it and I won’t talk about it. I run hot and cold. I get insecure and pull them closer. I get insecure and push them away. I’m different with my friends. I have intimacy issues. Commitment issues. I’m a mess.” He lifted my hand to his lips, “Except I’m not. With you. None of those things is true. With you.  I don’t mean that in some unhealthy co-dependent way, it’s just different with you.”

“Did you ever think you might be different too?”  I question it being all about me. I don’t have some magic wand that takes away all his “issues.” I’ll agree I may respond differently and that does make a difference, but I don’t think he’s giving himself enough credit.

“I don’t know what would be different. I may respond differently than with someone else, but you react differently. Like this morning. I can tell you how that would have gone in the past. It would have been a discussion about what was I anxious about and why didn’t wake her up and why I don’t let her in. A million questions and suggestions, but never asking what it was I needed to be ok. It played out very different and not because I did anything different.”

“I’m sorry.” I ran the back of my fingers over his beard.

“Why are you sorry?”

“I’m sorry no one asked you what you needed.” I could see my words hit him, see him feel them. It was a subtle catch in his chest and breathing.

“We’re going to pause talking for a few minutes.” He pulled me into his lap. “Because right now I need to feel you.”

[kinetic-elaboration]

July 30: 1x08 Miri

Today’s TOS episode: Miri. This was one of the first eps I ever saw. It’s definitely a classic but upon rewatching, I am left with many questions. (And given current events, much unease....)

Another Earth! What!!! How strange! I’m sure everyone actually recognized it by just looking out the window, but I like the implication that they recognized Earth’s measurements when Spock listed them off.

Uhura and Sulu have the day off I see.

They seem to be landing somewhere in Western Canada?

McCoy’s hatred for 60s architecture lol.

How convenient that it looks like 1960s Earth.

Spock’s reaction to the tricycle is so hilarious to me. “What do I do with this... this TOY??” And McCoy is so careful with it, so gentle.

Don’t even say the word ‘plague’ around me.

Kirk legit doesn’t know how to interact with people without being charming. Like I’m sure he doesn’t approach Miri intending to flirt with her; she’s a child. But his aura is just so naturally flirty, that’s how it comes off. (And then of course when he sees it can be used tactically, he turns it up.) This is where the womanizer trope comes from but imo it is quite obviously just How He Is, and I really think he thinks it’s just like Platonic Charm.

Spock hearing the taunting children: has flashbacks to Vulcan

Oh those scurrying children.

“That’s a bad place.” Mm, underrated line. Of course the children would see the epicenter of the plague as cursed.

Jim enforces social distancing rules by not letting anyone else leave the ship.

I love seeing snarky Spock.

Life prolongation... honestly forgot that’s the background of this ep lol. That’s so disturbing.

Calling McCoy old lol Excuse YOU.

“She likes you, Jim.” And Kirk just being oblivious.

Spock trying to figure out where babies come from.

Jim, flirting with an older woman lol.

Spock really hates Yeoman Rand huh? His jealousy is so obvious; tone it down, Sir. “Almost 300 years older than you, Yeoman. Think about it.”

Those little tasks Jim gives Miri oml. She’s so heart eyed over him, but it’s so... like she’s looking for a father, too. That’s the other thing he’s playing off.

“And I do want to go back to the ship, Captain.” I have seen this scene so many times and I STILL don’t get how this exchange can seem so sexual? There is literally nothing in these words that requires the amount of flirt-voice and long, intense stares they’re giving here. Both of them, but Spock starts it, and I’m just like??? You don’t need to be this way but you are.

Wow, who would have ever thought creating a chain reaction of viruses would go so badly!

“Is that all Captain? We do have five days, you know.”

Come on guys, never leave your cell phones sitting out unattended! Amateur hour here.

They certainly had a ton of food on this planet, if they’re only now running out after 300 years!

Janice, taking the short cut to getting Kirk to look at her legs. By just telling him to look at her legs.

His attempt at comforting her lol--pat pat pat.

Spock brings out the first name again. “Jim.”

It could be a beaker full of death!

Everything about this virus story is so much scarier now.

“You’re being a very bad citizen.” I’m so curious what this society was like when it was... an actual society. They keep playing make believe games, like kids do when they practice becoming adults, but what were the adults like?

NO BLAH BLAH BLAH.

Those uniform shirts sure do tear easily.

Good Spones content here. Headcanon that Spock was communicating telepathically with McCoy and that’s why he’s holding his hands for so long. He’s just so careful, how he arranges them, and then he just holds them.

“I never will understand the medical mind.”

They’ll have to send truant officers lol.

Jim’s such a liar--you know he’s definitely gotten involved with older women.

Also the way he diffuses any awkward moment with Rand and then starts talking to Spock again. “Older women, no; older men, older aliens... I’m open to it.”

So I have a lot of questions now.

First, what happened to the rest of the planet? It’s the same size as Earth and with Earth-like conditions so one assumes it could support an Earth-sized population. Did everyone, adults and children, die everywhere else but this one city? Did the virus not travel world wide, and the rest of the planet is fine? (In which case...they’re just not gonna help out at all, I guess? Was Miri’s town quarantined? Did everyone just choose to pretend they don’t exist?) Are there other enclaves of children, without adults, all over the place? And in 300 years, they haven’t found each other at all? Did the other locations die out completely for lack of resources, like food?

And if so, (or even if not) why does Miri’s town have so much food? Mom suggested that the scientists there were doing other genetic modification projects, and that’s how they ended up with so much food that doesn’t spoil, and that this led them into other experiments manipulating life span, growth, etc. This would explain why the Enterprise just happens to beam down to the origin point of the virus, too. Only the epicenter survived, because of other experiments conducted by the same people.

On a related note to the worldwide spread question--their technology is really weird. Everything’s basically 1960s--the microscope, the lack of computers, or phones, the handwritten files--but they have a very good radio, still sending an automated sos after 300 years, plus of course the virus experiments themselves. So what’s their travel tech like? Even if it’s on par with the 60s though, global travel was fairly easy then, just like now (uh airplanes) and this virus is obviously VERY contagious. I think we understand pretty well how fast contagious viruses can get literally everywhere. I can’t believe this one didn’t spread to other parts of the globe.

On a related note to the food experiments, perhaps they were inspired to experiment with prolonging life because they were doing so well--if not on a global scale, at least a community scale. They had all this food, they weren’t fighting scarcity... why not live longer and enjoy that longer?

My next question is if the children will age normally now that they’ve been given the cure. My mom pointed out that in fact, we don’t know what there old life span was, even.

I kind of wish they hadn’t made this an alternate Earth situation because I don’t really see how that adds to the story. It sets you up to think you’ll be hearing about how an alternate Earth exists but you never do. It seems to be included as an excuse to use the Mayberry sets and avoid coming up with alien technology and costumes and such. But it brings up so many other questions that are unanswered, including but not limited to, how human are these aliens?

My mom also pointed out that ‘alternate Earth’ allows McCoy to use the old notes to create the cure, which then works on both the humans and, it’s implied, Miri and her people. But that seems like a big assumption!

Another thing about this ep is the vocabulary. Like first that was not a vaccine, it’s a cure--there still is no vaccine and that disease is still out there. They also mention that Miri and the older kids are “contracting” the disease at puberty--they’re not. I think they’ve had it the whole time and it only becomes active at puberty. Either that, or the virus has a SUPER long lifespan on surfaces, such that it’s still out there and transmittable after 300 years.

Also, I don't think it's weird that Miri didn't realize she'd get it and die. If the scientists were successful, she's literally only aged 3 months in all the time since the grownups died. She's been her current age for so much longer than any previous age, she's basically been--idk like 14??--her whole life. She doesn't perceive aging as a thing. None of them do. It's actually more surprising to me that so many of them are on the cusp of getting the disease and that McCoy is able to calculate so specifically when she's likely to die.

Anyway, that is a lot! Dagger of the Mind is next, which I like... decently remember?

[labyrinthof-fan-fiction]

Security Part 3: Golden Repairs

So this is definitely darker than the previous parts, focusing a lot on their pasts. Honestly this took on a mind of its own and went a completely different direction than I expected, but I don’t hate it.

Link to series masterlist. 

Summary: Three days are up, Avery cashes in on the deal she made with Leonard. 

Warnings: Alcohol Consumption, sexual themes, mention of sex, talk of death, talk of divorce, mentions of injuries, mentions of abusive relationships, swearing. If any of this makes you uncomfortable, please skip! 

Inspiration: Kintsugi- Japanese art of putting broken pottery back together with gold. Based in the idea that embracing flaws and imperfections, you create a stronger, more beautiful piece of art.

Word Count: 1,981

Leonard had been on edge for the past two days. Today marked a month since he had opened his damn dumb mouth. In that entire month, Avery had not been in his office once, not in a medical bed, not even near the medbay. Not for a scratch, bruise, stab wound, absolutely nothing. Not that he hadn’t been busy, the engineers had recently been having a bout with their equipment that had resulted in every degree of burn you could know. Luckily, Leonard had been able to use this to distract himself from the knowledge that Avery was going to show up in his office.  

There was a sense of unease that he felt, not seeing her security reds in the medbay. He passed her in the halls or in the cafeteria and she always waved and smiled at him, but never approached. At least when he was caring for her injuries he knew what to expect, a few smart comments aimed at him, but a healed woman. Each time he treated her injuries he felt a small part of his heart slide back into place in the mangled mess inside his chest.

Healing others in and of itself was fulfilling for Leonard, but caring for Avery was different. And he reluctantly examined the differences, one night, alone, in his office, with a bottle of scotch. The night that marked a full month of her staying out of the medley for any injuries of any kind, he was starting to wonder if Jim had wrapped her in bubble wrap just to spite him, or at least sanctioned you to desk duty. He sighed, taking a sip of scotch from the glass in front of him.

Feelings. He knew that was what was happening. Feelings that he had told himself that he would never experience again. He knew he would always care for others, that was hardwired into his existence. Caring for others kept him sane, even when it brought him pain, he took a sip as he remembered the faces of people he failed to save in his line of work. The most common denominator between them was the Starfleet red uniform shirt glaring him in the eyes. He let out a frustrated burst of air, of course he would develop feelings for someone who was probably destined to die before the Enterprise was finished with space exploration.

Feelings and caring used to be such a natural part of his persona, then she came along. He was so in love, she was so perfect. She was kind, she was compassionate. She made him a better person. Tears threatened to spill over his eyes. And she left. She left him with nothing, forced him to thrust himself into space. Into the unknown. Perhaps this was his personal purgatory, if he believed in that stuff. He had to atone for some of the sins of his youth he supposed, taking another sip of scotch.

Love, a fickle emotion, so hard to grasp and find, so easy to lose and chase away. Leonard had vowed that love was out of the question for him the moment he entered the shuttle that brought him Jim Kirk. Then Avery waltzed into his medbay, with jokes and smiles, even when bleeding profusely from a stab wound gained from the newest planet habitant she happened to meet. His heart clenched as he remembered the Klingon battle wounds that had almost killed her. Doctors weren’t supposed to fall for their patients, they were supposed to heal them and send them back into the world. But he couldn’t do that with her. He found himself on the bridge more often than not listening to away missions she was on, preparing himself for the day that he would sign the certificate that would send her into the depth of space for the final time.

He heard a knock at his door, “Hey, doc.” He glanced up from his musings and there she stood. She was in a security red dress, he had been so used to seeing her in the pants, that he couldn’t stop his eyes from raking over her body. It was no shock that she was fit, working in security would do that to a person. His eyes were drawn to her legs, long and toned, probably from running away from all her assailants, or towards them. “Can I come in?” She asked, he felt the nervous energy radiating off of her.

He grunted and gestured to the chair across his desk. She walked in and he couldn’t help but notice the movement of her hips and he damned himself to hell. She sat in the chair, crossing her legs, Leonard couldn’t be sure if that action was intentional or not, but he took a gulp of scotch, letting the burn clear his mind for a moment.

She glanced at him, “I believe we made a deal last time I was here.”

“Hmmm.” He answered, pulling a second glass out of his desk, pouring scotch into it, and sliding it across his desk to Avery. She glanced at it before wrapping her hand around it.

“Doc, I like you.” She said bluntly, taking a sip of the alcohol, Leonard was surprised that she didn’t even react as she drank it.

“Darling, if you’re gonna be here, drinking scotch, talking all this nonsense, you’re gonna call me Leonard.” He drawled, giving the glass in front of him a swirl.

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Leonard it is.”

He nodded approvingly, taking another sip. She seemed to be waiting for him to say something, but she was going to be disappointed, that much he knew. He would be lying if he said he was not in the slightest surprised by her bluntness towards him. She liked him, that brought a warmth to his chest, and damn did he want it to knock that shit off.

She seemed to notice that in this moment she was not going to get anything out of him without forcing his hand. “So Leonard, tell me about yourself.”

“Not much to tell, joined Starfleet, became a doctor, and here I am.” He said, gesturing to his office.

She nodded, her eyes raking over him. He felt his shoulders stiffen as her eyes made it to his hands, specifically his left. There hadn’t been a ring there for years now, but he still felt the weight of it, the weight of one of his largest failures. “How long?” She asked.

“I’ve been a doctor for Starfleet for….six years, I think.” He answered.

She chuckled, “How long have you been divorced?”

He glanced into her green eyes, “You’ve been talking to Jim.” He grumbled.

“While there is some truth in that, that’s not why I ask.” Avery answered.

“Six years.” He reluctantly mumbled. “Ten years together, thrown out in an instant and now six years as far away as possible.”

Avery remained silent, letting him speak his piece.

“Have you ever given your soul to someone, only to have it thrown to the wolves?” He asked.

Something flickered in her eyes, “Yes. I have.” She answered quietly. Leonard found himself quiet. “I got into security to protect people. I had wanted to be in the science division when I started.” She started, looking to Leonard.

He remained silent, urging her to continue with a tilt of his head.

“Back on Earth I have a sister,” She paused, “Had a sister. She was my best friend. She got married the year before I was able to apply to the academy. I didn’t like him, but I wasn’t marrying him. Six months before I leave for academy we get a call. The police. They said it was a domestic, that he was behind bars, but they didn’t say what happened to her. It took so much from my father to ask what had happened to her, she didn’t make it to the hospital. I had been preparing to join the research group. I changed my track immediately. If I had said something, called her, talked to her, pulled her out of that house. I could have….” Tears formed in her eyes and slid down her cheek.

Leonard reached out and gently held her empty hand. “If we live our lives in could have and would have, we’re just going to keep running in circles.”

She glanced down at their joined hands, “Thank you, you’re a good man.”

He let out a wry chuckle, “Don’t go too far, darling.”

She pulled her eyes from his, “Leonard McCoy, you are a good man. You heal and care for people who you barely know. You stayed by my bedside and you didn’t even know me. You. Are. A. Good. Man.” She emphasized each word of the last sentence, he almost believed her.

Leonard gritted his teeth, he wanted to believe her, but good men didn’t get dealt the cards he had, they had good lives, they had good wives. They weren’t forced off the planet for God’s sake. “I’m not.”

She pulled her hand out of his and stood, making her way around the desk so she was standing in front of his sitting form. She crouched down so they were eye level. “Don’t you see the good you do every day, the lives you save? Do you realize how many people you have helped?” She asked gently, placing a hand on his thigh.

He avoided her gaze, taking a shaky breath, glancing at the blank death certificates on his desk. Ready for the next away mission, a mission he would guarantee she was assigned to. “I’m not that good, darling.” He murmured.

She had followed his gaze to the certificates, she reached up and drew his chin up to bring his eyes to hers. “We know what we signed up for, we all do. There will always be the chance that we aren’t going to go home. But our purpose is to protect, protection can have costs.”

He sighed, “I am supposed to heal, that’s my purpose.”

“And I am proof that you have exceeded your purpose.” She whispered.

Leonard’s eyes searched her face, looking for her to tell him that he was a failure, he was the reason so many of her colleagues were to be among the stars for all eternity, but it never came. Instead she leant in until their lips were almost touching, her eyes asking his permission. He closed the gap between them, his hand going to the back of her neck to pull her closer, threading his fingers in her hair. He felt desperate as the kiss deepened, she was the air he had been searching for. He was the solace she had been craving.

They pulled apart, lungs begging for air. He took in her swollen lips, her disheveled hair. And he had never seen a more beautiful woman. A spark ignited in her eyes.

“So doc, your place or mine?” She asked, a wicked grin spitting her face.

He stood up, pulling her with him and brought his lips down to hers. Fire igniting in his chest. They pulled apart for the second time, breathless. “Mine is closer.”

“Lead the way.” She said, threading her fingers through his. Leonard lead her to his quarters, when he shut the door behind him, he took in the sight of her standing before him.

“Are you sure?” He asked.

“More than anything.” She answered unzipping her dress, that was all the confirmation Leonard needed. He pulled her in for another kiss before leading her to his bedroom.

Leonard woke the next morning with Avery curled into his bare chest, her hand resting above his heart.  For the first time in a long time he felt like his heart was whole, made up of the tiny pieces it had been broken into, but whole.

[a-man-for-hire-and-his-archives]

EXCLUSIVE: On Set With The Cast Of INXS: Never Tear Us Apart

LOCATION # 1:

New Council Chambers, Trades Hall, Carlton (7.30am)

Approximately 45 extras file down Lygon Street. There's an abundance of acid wash denim and it could be 1987 all over again. This morning, Trades Hall becomes the makeshift venue inside which one of INXS' college gigs as they targeted the US market is about to be recreated. During a previous shoot, Sidney Myer Music Bowl became Wembley Stadium. “Being on that stage and imagining what it would be like to play to 70,000 people” is a highlight from Ido Drent's experience portraying INXS drummer, Jon Farriss. Luke Arnold, who's perfectly cast as frontman Michael Hutchence, marvels, “It was pretty ambitious what we set out to do in the timeframe we had, really: turning Melbourne into places around the entire world over a couple of decades.”

As soon as Arnold heard about the project, he sent in some tapes “before they were even asking to cast anyone”. After auditioning other actors for the role, it was a tape of Arnold dancing “as Michael”. “I think it was on a Friday night while I was in Cape Town, after a big day of filming [Black Sails],” he remembers. “I set up my iPhone and filmed myself dancing around to an INXS song and that was the last thing that clinched the deal.”

Inside Trades Hall, the band cast of INXS: Never Tear Us Apart – which is rounded out by Nicholas Masters (Tim Farriss), Andy Ryan (Andrew Farriss), Hugh Sheridan (Garry Gary Beers) and Alex Williams (Kirk Pengilly) – get acquainted with the stage and their instruments. Masters wanders past and good-naturedly corrects us when we 'admire' his “dirty, rotten perm” (turns out they're his own natural curls). Williams wears a lot of Pengilly's “actual clothes” for the mini series, but the red billowy pants the actor sports today are brand new. “His red suit which he gave us was looking a bit tattered so we got another one made,” Williams clarifies.  

Drent actually learned how to play drums for a couple of years as a teen and took drum sticks along to the audition. “I was tapping away during the scene as if I was practising at home,” he recalls, “and that kinda worked 'cause – I didn't know about this, but Jon had requested that whoever plays him has to have at least played the drums along the line.” As Kick cranks through the venue soundsystem, hearing Hutchence's original snarling vocal makes his presence felt somehow. Onstage, Arnold's a bit more buff than the naturally streamlined Hutchence, but the actor has clearly done his homework.

INXS: Never Tear Us Apart director Daina Reid agrees. While filming this project, she says Arnold “has these weird moments where you go, 'Woah!'” because his resemblance to the beloved late INXS frontman is “quite uncanny at times”. And it's not just physical similarities; Arnold has perfected the Hutch strut, international accent and mannerisms. On his preparation for the role, Arnold shares, “I locked myself in a little house in Elwood and kinda got up every morning, had a beer, put on some INXS, watched every video that was available, read every book, listened to every song, read through all the lyrics and just kind of immersed myself in it and spent as much time as I could on his walk and his voice.

“Occasionally in the rehearsal room, I'd do something and Tim Farriss might be like, 'Oh, that! Like that!' If it jumped out at him that it reminded him of Michael, I'd kind of put a little pin in that and try and incorporate it in the show somewhere.” Although Sheridan spent a lot of time chatting with Beers, who is currently based in LA, via Skype, he confirms Farriss as “the go-to overseer of the whole thing”. ”I run everything by [Tim] and if he thinks I'm doing a good job then I don't care,” Sheridan laughs. “I go, 'Does this look like Garry?' and he's like, 'No, spot on!' I go, 'Thank god'.”

“It was great having the band there,” Reid acknowledges of their presence on set from time to time, “but I felt for them in a way because it seems like a long time ago, but it's not really, emotionally… You would see Kirk or Tim acting in a certain way [on set], and in a way I probably didn't expect, which would have to be confronting.”

Reid promises, “There's a lot of people who have a personal connection with Hutchence and we approached it in a very respectful way.”

UNIT BASE # 1:

Entrance driveway to Royal Exhibition Building, Rathdowne Street, Carlton

“Those girls were asking me who INXS are!” Sheridan points out a couple of the extras, 16-year-old twin sisters who originally thought he was Guy Pearce before correctly identifying him as “That guy from …Rafters”. “They were like, 'We've never heard of this band.'” The actor then busts out some footage of Reid teaching the 'band' some '80s moves. “I just had to get back and film it because I was like, 'This cannot be the job that I'm working on now',” he cackles. “I couldn't stop laughing. Look at how shit they are!? They're SO shit!”

LOCATION #2:

Wilson Street (near corner Macpherson Street), Princes Hill

As the minibus delivering us to this location rounds the corner, Arnold (styled immaculately as Hutchence circa 1981 in a flowing, red, long-sleeved shirt and jeans combo plus trademark cascading mullet-mane) is leaning back against a Citroen ID21 safari wagon ready to shoot the next scene. Definitely another 'Woah!' moment. When the production sound mixer hands us some cans, we can not only hear the scene's dialogue once action is called, but also Arnold and Jane Harber (portraying Michele Bennett, Hutchence's first love/girlfriend whom he referred to as his “touchstone”) engaging in banter between takes. They cheekily discuss whether or not Bennett should in fact put down her uni books and jump into Hutch's car to move to Sydney (as is scripted) given that there's probably crossover with Kylie Minogue just around the corner and history shows the pair didn't work out romantically.

Hutchence and Bennett remained lifelong friends, however. The final phone call Hutch ever made, from Room 524 in the Ritz-Carlton hotel, was to Bennett. When asked how the star's death is handled in the mini series, Reid responds, “Because the world is divided, we cannot take a stance either way on that and it's not for us to do… Just because we are observers into someone else's life there will always be our own version of the truth. We're presenting the facts as they came to us from the band, but no one knows what went on in that room – nobody – so there cannot be a judgement. There just cannot be. There can be things people said, things that we know or heard, you know, a sequence of events and a result, but then we have to step back from that slightly.”

Arnold is acutely aware of the profound effect that the aftermath of Hutchence's 1992 motorcycle accident in Stockholm – following an altercation with a taxi driver – had on the singer. “When you're condensing someone's life into a story, you're looking for those big turning points,” he tells. “That really changed so much of who he was and his essence.” Hutchence suffered a fractured skull as a result of the incident and permanently lost his sense of smell. “When you talk to anyone about it, too, that's the moment where things just changed and, whether he always had demons or they were new, his ability to control them – the way his emotions worked – just changed after that.”  

When he contemplates watching the finished product, Arnold sounds tentative. “When I wanna see Michael, I'm gonna see me. I mean, I have real faith in everyone that I worked on this with, but this is probably gonna be the toughest thing for me to sit back and watch at the end because it means so much [to me] as a role… I'm sure it's gonna be great and I'm sure everyone's gonna love the show, but I'm gonna be over in Africa with my phone turned off I think,” Arnold laughs, thankful that Black Sails will have commenced filming on season number two in Cape Town. - The Music Australia

[per-ineptia-ad-astra]

Star Trek Episode 1.20: Court Martial

AKA: Photoshop Is Nine-Tenths of the Law 

Our episode begins with a captain’s log telling us that the Enterprise has been through a severe ion storm, which wrecked up the ship and caused one fatality. Bummer. Evidently the damage was so considerable that for once Scotty can’t just fix it on his own, so Kirk’s ordered an unscheduled layover at Starbase 11 for repairs. Aw man, unscheduled layovers are the worst. Hopefully Starbase 11 at least has a good food court.

Kirk also adds that “a full report of damages was made to the commanding officer of Starbase 11—Commodore Stone.” Sure enough, we see Kirk and this Stone guy hanging out in what I presume is Stone’s office, which looks like some pretty sweet digs. Stone calls up the Starbase 11 pit crew and tells them to switch from working on the Intrepid to working on the Enterprise, because the Enterprise is priority one. I dunno what the Intrepid is in for, but I guess her crew will just be forced to chill out at the Starbase for a while longer, which I’m sure they’ll be real broken up over. Meanwhile, Kirk is looking over some papers. That’s right, actual papers, a whole sheaf of them attached to a clipboard. I think this is the first time on the show we’ve seen anyone doing paperwork with real paper. Maybe Stone just likes the aesthetic.

Stone asks if there’s some kind of problem with Kirk’s deposition, because Kirk has reread it three times now. There’s not; Kirk’s just still brooding over losing a crewmember, and from the look of it he’s been fixating on that report more than a little bit, presumably ruminating over whether there could have been a better outcome if he’d done things differently. But, shockingly, obsessively rereading the report doesn’t seem to be helping anything, so Kirk finally hands it over to Stone. Apparently Stone doesn’t run an entirely paper-based office, though, because he also wants the extract from the Enterprise computer log that confirms Kirk’s deposition.

Said computer log is apparently supposed to be in Kirk’s possession by now, but is not, so Kirk pulls out his communicator and calls Uhura to ask where the heck is Spock, who’s supposed to be delivering the thing. Uhura, puzzled, says that Spock should have been there ten minutes ago. That’s a bit concerning, since after all this is Spock we’re talking about. He’s not exactly prone to getting easily distracted. Maybe McCoy flagged him down to have an argument over something.

While they wait for Spock to show up, Stone passes the time by saying that the whole incident is a pity because the service can’t afford to lose men like Lieutenant Commander Finney. I don’t know what was so special about this Finney guy, but the service loses people all the dang time and they seem to be managing okay. Speaking of which, do they have to go through this every time a ‘shirt dies? Imagine how much time that adds up to in-between episodes. Not to mention the time someone died and then came back—I don’t even want to think about the paperwork for that incident.

Anyway Kirk agrees with Stone about Finney and says that he waited until the last possible moment, but eventually the ion storm got too bad and he was forced to jettison the pod that Finney was in. The whole cheerful conversation is interrupted by Spock finally showing up, via a little two-pad transporter platform tucked away in a little alcove in the wall. Man, I guess you really know you’ve made it when you’ve got a personal transporter platform installed directly into your office. Although personally I think I’d prefer an office that people couldn’t teleport directly into.

Spock’s got the computer log on a floppy disc with him, but he’s looking kinda nervous about something. Kirk asks what took him so long and Spock starts to respond, but before he can Stone grabs the floppy right out of his hand and puts it in his computer, which, uh, rude. Then Spock’s immediately cut off again as the door opens and a woman wearing some truly inexplicable clothes comes marching in.

[ID: A young white woman with brown hair partially tied up, walking through a doorway, wearing what looks like a white tank top under a pale blue gauze shirt with bright blue cuffs and bright blue lapels that come down into a kind of bow and a metallic blue skirt split into rectangular strips, over white tights.]

The woman is in a right mood, which, I would be too if I was wearing that outfit, but she’s obviously got something else entirely on her mind. She marches right up to Kirk and angrily declares that “I just wanted one more look at you—the man who killed my father! Prepare to die!” Wait, no. Not that last part. Sorry, force of habit.

Kirk tries to talk the woman—Jame, he calls her (pronounced ‘Jamie’)—down, saying that Finney was his friend and Kirk did not in fact kill him intentionally, but Jame yells back that Kirk did so kill Finney intentionally because he hated Finney all his life, the MURDERER. Look, lady, just because someone died on the Enterprise doesn’t mean they were Kirk’s personal enemy. No one has that many enemies, c’mon.

But Jame’s too worked up to hear it and all this shouting about murder is making things real awkward for everyone, so Stone asks Spock to kindly remove her from the room. Well, actually, he just says, “Spock, please...” which is a sentence that can end a lot of ways, really. “Spock, please, remove this unsightly woman from my presence. Her tears bore me.”

As Spock gently ushers Jame out of the room, Stone asks Kirk, hey, you did say that you jettisoned the pod after the red alert, right? Kirk says that he did, yes, as he, y’know, stated in the deposition that Stone is literally holding right now. “Then, captain,” Stone says ominously, “I must presume that you have committed willful perjury!” DUHN DUHN DUHN.

Yes, it seems that the computer log that Stone is looking at shows that Kirk actually jettisoned the pod before going to red alert, quite the opposite of what he said. While Kirk stands there looking completely stunned, Stone tells him that he’s now confined to the base, pending an inquiry as to whether a full court martial is in order. Gee, I wonder if the episode titled Court Martial will involve a court martial? I’m on the edge of my seat.

After the titles, we get a captain’s log telling us that the Enterprise is still in orbit, being repaired, while Kirk is standing by until the inquiry happens—but he’s confident of the outcome. So confident, he’s going to casually stroll into the starbase bar to get a drink while he waits for them to clear his name and apologize.

But when Kirk, accompanied by McCoy, walks up to a guy he knows and cheerfully remarks “haven’t seen you since the Vulcanian expedition,” he gets the cold shoulder. (As for what ‘the Vulcanian expedition’ was, your guess is as good as mine.) No one else Kirk tries to talk to seems to be in a friendly mood either. One of them says, “I understand you’re laying over for repairs. Big job?” but this seemingly innocuous conversation starter turns out to be a trap. When Kirk replies that they’ll be there for a couple of days, the guy asks if they’ll be moving out after that. Why ask? Oh, he just wondered how long it would take Kirk to get a new records officer.

Ah. I see how it is. So does Kirk. “You can talk plainer than that,” he tells the guy, and the guy sneers that he could, but, “I think the point’s been made. Ben was a friend of ours.” Meanwhile, somewhere in this exchange McCoy, who knows shit about to go down when he sees it, has acquired a drink to better fortify himself for this nonsense. He tries to pull Kirk away from the brewing fight, but Kirk won’t budge. “No, go on, finish,” he says. “Ben was a friend of yours, and...”

McCoy breaks in with a stern “Jim” and hey, if McCoy is telling you an argument has gone too far you know it has really gone too far. Completely ignoring this, Kirk snaps that he’s waiting to hear the rest. Fortunately, McCoy’s other services don’t end up being required; when the guy says, “Why don’t you tell us?” Kirk stops rising to the bait and says there would be no point because they’ve already made up their minds, then turns on his heel and leaves.

Man, word travels fast around this starbase. You wouldn’t think Starfleet would exactly be loose-lipped about an inquiry into possible murder to begin with, but either they were or these guys heard that Finney had died and immediately assumed that Kirk was responsible all on their own. Then again, Kirk mentions that they were all in the Academy together, and Kirk is the only one wearing captain’s stripes; one wonders if there might have been enough resentment there already to make them a bit eager for blood.

As Kirk leaves the bar he bumps into a guy, catching the attention of a woman coming in, who stops and looks at him in surprise. A woman who apparently is just so comfortable and at home at Starbase 11 that she doesn’t feel the need to wear shoes.

[ID: A white woman with short blonde hair pausing and looking around as she enters a crowded room. She’s wearing a kind of open dress/robe that is green and yellow with tie-dye-like splotches, yellow tights, and no shoes.]

McCoy zeroes in on her with remarkable speed. “If you have any doubt, that was indeed Captain James Kirk of the Enterprise,” he says, which is a hell of a way to start a conversation. The woman replies that yes, she knows, and then asks if McCoy is a friend of Kirk’s. ‘Nemesis’ might be a more accurate term, but sure, ‘friend’ will do. Hearing this, the woman introduces herself as Areel Shaw, also a Friend of Kirk.

“All my old friends look like doctors. All of his look like you,” McCoy comments. There’s...there’s a lot going on in that sentence.

Anyway, McCoy and Shaw go off to have a drink and, presumably, commiserate over how much of a pain in the ass it is to be Kirk’s friend. Elsewhere—and later, presumably, since I’m assuming the starbase legal offices aren’t right next to the bar, but hey, who knows—Kirk and Stone meet to begin the inquiry.

After establishing for the record that this is an inquiry to determine whether Kirk is up for a general court-martial, Stone starts out by asking about Kirk’s relationship with Finney. Kirk says Finney was an instructor at the Academy when Kirk was a midshipman, but that “didn’t stand in the way of [them] beginning a close friendship.” Apparently Kirk and Finney wound up becoming so close that Finney even named his daughter Jame, after Kirk, which seems like a rather unfair thing to do to the poor kid. He could have at least spelled it Jamie and spared her what I’m sure has been a lifetime of mispronunciations. Hopefully this was at least after Finney stopped being Kirk’s instructor, because once you’ve named your kid after a student of yours you’ve probably lost the ability to be real objective about their grades.

But alas, this, uh, heartwarming friendship was not to last. Finney and Kirk didn’t just stop being friends, they stopped being friends so hard that Stone says it’s “common knowledge” that they had a falling out. Dang, and after Finney named his kid after Kirk and everything. That’s even worse than breaking up with someone after getting a tattoo of their name.

Kirk explains what happened: the two of them were assigned to the same ship, and one fateful night he came to relieve Finney on watch only to discover “a circuit open to the atomic matter piles that should’ve been closed. Another five minutes, it could’ve blown up the ship.” Dang, and here I had Finney pegged as a paragon of good judgment. Kirk fixed the problem and then, like a responsible crewmember, logged the incident—which of course brought Finney in for a hefty reprimand, and got him kicked to the bottom of the promotion list. Finney dealt with all this reasonably and rationally, by blaming it all on Kirk. It seems Finney already had some issues, because Kirk says that he had been at the Academy as an instructor an unusually long time before being assigned to a starship, and he felt that the delay looked bad on his record. Well, look on the bright side, man—I’m sure no one paid attention to that part of your record after ‘almost accidentally blew up the whole ship’ got on there.

This is the second time we’ve heard something about Academy students or recent graduates being instructors—remember Mitchell talking about Kirk being an instructor back in Where No Man Has Gone Before. The way Kirk talks about Finney spending a “longer than usual” time doing this at the Academy would seem to indicate that it’s normal for you to hang out at the Academy before starting active duty on a ship, but we don’t really get any more information on it than that, and if that reflects any real-life military academy practice I couldn’t find anything about it.

Anyway, Finney’s been resenting Kirk over this ever since. How he wound up assigned to the Enterprise I don’t know, but watching Kirk become captain of one of the most prestigious ships in the fleet and then having to serve under him day after day while Finney was stuck well below on the rank ladder himself presumably ground a steady supply of salt into that open wound. But enough about Finney’s hangups. Backstory established, the inquiry moves on to the matter at hand: how exactly Finney wound up getting ejected into space. Kirk explains that their scan indicated an ion storm up ahead, so Kirk ordered Finney to go man the pod. Stone asks why Kirk picked Finney and Kirk says he didn’t; Finney just happened to be at the top of the duty roster. It was his turn to man the pod, nothing more to it than that. You know what would be really helpful at this point is if anyone would explain what the heck this pod is or why someone needs to be in it during ion storms.

Once they hit the storm, Kirk went to yellow alert, as per procedure. Things weren’t too bad at first, but the storm eventually grew bad enough that he had to go to red alert, and apparently part of red alert involves ejecting this mysterious pod, whether or not there’s someone in it at the time. Finney knew he had only a few seconds to get out of there, Kirk says, and he gave Finney all the time he possibly could...but evidently, it wasn’t enough.

So, why, then, Stone asks, does the computer log show that Kirk ejected the pod while the ship was still at yellow alert—i.e., before ejecting it was necessary, and before Finney would have had time to get out of it. Kirk doesn’t have an answer for him. Stone asks if the computer could be wrong, which seems like something he should have looked up on his own time, and Kirk says that Spock is running a survey at that very moment, but the odds are “next to impossible.”

At this point, Stone stops the recording, comes around the desk to get all up in Kirk’s space, and starts talking about how being a starship captain is a really hard job. Enormous pressure, all the time, far more than any reasonable person could really be expected to take. A man under all that pressure could easily crack, fumble, make a mistake. That’s what happened to Kirk. No malice, no intentional murder, he’s just starting to slip. At least, that’s what Stone will say...if Kirk cooperates. Yeah, I’ll give you three guesses as to whether Kirk’s going to cooperate, and the first two don’t count.

But Stone persists, really laying the pressure on thick. No starship captain has ever stood trial before, he says, and he doesn’t want Kirk to have to be the first. Really? You guys have been doing this boldly going thing for how long and no captain has ever had to stand trial? Surely someone has fucked up in all that time. It kinda makes me wonder just what lengths Starfleet has gone to to avoid putting any captains on trial before this, especially with all the emphasis Stone puts on how he’s concerned for the reputation of Starfleet as a whole and doesn’t want to see it smeared. Kirk demands to know just what Stone thinks Starfleet is going to be smeared by here, and Stone fires back that okay, if you’re really gonna press that, what he’s seeing is a perjurer trying to cover up either bad judgment, cowardice, or something worse. What, you mean like, murder? It’s cool, you can say ‘murder’ on this show. It’s just sex you’re not allowed to talk about.

Kirk insists that he knows damn well what happened, it was the right call, and he’s not stepping down. Stone gives him one more chance, telling Kirk to accept a permanent ground assignment where he can fade away in safe obscurity—otherwise Starfleet’s gonna bring the whole hammer down on him.   Which is quite the tactical error, since presumably ‘permanent ground assignment’ was meant to be the more palatable option. But this is Kirk we’re talking about here. Being permanently grounded is pretty much a fate worse than death for him. Stone might as well have said “you can either stand trial or be thrown out the airlock.”

So obviously, Kirk says he’s going to fight. “Then you draw a general court,” Stone warns. “Draw it?” Kirk yells. “I demand it, and right now, Commodore Stone, right now!”

I get the impression Kirk is just as offended by the idea of Starfleet trying to cover all this up as he is at being accused of this whole thing. He didn’t do this, but if he had done this, he’d damn well expect Starfleet to punish him properly for it. What if there was some much less scrupulous captain in this position, who really did screw up and lie to cover his ass—or worse, intentionally offed one of his own crew over a petty grudge? Would Starfleet give them a quiet out instead of bringing them to justice? You wouldn’t like to think so, would you? That said, while I admire Kirk’s enthusiasm, I don’t think they can hold a general court-martial right now. We gotta at least find an empty room first.

After the break, Kirk gives us a captain’s log saying that the officers who will make up the court-martial board are on their way to Starbase 11. The last court-martial board we saw was comprised of a guy who could only say ‘yes’ and ‘no,’ a guy with the biggest conflict of interest ever, and a guy who didn’t exist, so for Kirk’s sake let’s hope this one is a step up. Meanwhile, repairs on the Enterprise are almost complete. What’s a man to do while he waits for his fate to be decided? Well, I hear there’s quite a popular option involving sorrows and the drowning thereof. Back to the starbase bar it is!

Luckily for Kirk, this time he is greeted not by a posse of passive-aggressiveness but by Areel Shaw, a much better conversational partner. They take a little table by the wall and Kirk, of course, immediately lays on the charm. Though, judging by the concerningly specific answer Shaw gives to his question of “how long has it been?” he’s already done quite a bit of charming there already. He says she hasn’t changed a bit, but she remarks that she can’t say the same for him, presumably meaning that in the sense that Kirk was not up on charges of criminal neglect and possible manslaughter when they last met four years ago. Presumably. I don’t know what they got up to four years ago.

Shaw knows about Kirk’s difficulties because—well, because it’s apparently all over the starbase, for one thing, but more specifically she knows because she’s a lawyer in the judge advocate’s office. Kirk would rather forget about his troubles for the time being and get down to some flirting, but Shaw isn’t easily put off. She comments that Kirk is taking all of this real dang lightly. “The confidence of an innocent man,” he replies breezily. It must be nice to have that much faith in your justice system.

Despite Shaw’s attempts to keep the conversation on track, Kirk is still quite distracted by Shaw herself, while meanwhile I’m distracted by trying to figure out what the hell Shaw is drinking.

[ID: An over-the-shoulder shot of Shaw talking to Kirk, with a drink sitting on the table near the edge of shot, containing an umbrella, a skewer with several brightly-colored cubes stuck on it, and various bits of greenery.]

How was there even room left for the drink in that?

She insists on giving Kirk some advice. The prosecution, she says, is going to build its case on the basis of Kirk vs the computer, and if his attorney tries to defend him on that basis, they won’t have a chance. That’s why he needs a good attorney. Oh, he needs a good attorney? Wow, that is good legal advice. I never would have thought of that. Kirk asks if Shaw herself is game for it and she stumbles a bit and awkwardly says she can’t, she’s busy. Then she reminds him that he really needs to take this whole thing more seriously; his rank is going to have Starfleet looking to come down really hard on him to preserve the reputation of the service. Finally, she gets around to recommending a lawyer: one Samuel T. Cogley. “If anyone can save you, he can,” she says. “He’ll be paying you a visit.” That sounds a wee bit ominous.

Shaw then gets up to go, but Kirk stops her and says she still hasn’t told him how she knows exactly what the prosecution is going to do. She looks at him very sadly and says, “Because, Jim Kirk, my dear old love...I am the prosecution. And I have to do my very best to have you slapped down hard, broken out of the service, in disgrace.” With that she turns and walks out, leaving Kirk to sit there in stunned disbelief that this day actually somehow managed to get worse.

Oof, that’s real rough. Also real conflict-of-interesty. The American Bar Association has a thing or two to say about that, back here in the dark ages of 2019:

The prosecutor should know and abide by the ethical rules regarding conflicts of interest that apply in the jurisdiction, and be sensitive to facts that may raise conflict issues. When a conflict requiring recusal exists and is non-waivable, or informed consent has not been obtained, the prosecutor should recuse from further participation in the matter. The office should not go forward until a non-conflicted prosecutor, or an adequate waiver, is in place.

…

The prosecutor should not participate in a matter in which the prosecutor previously participated, personally and substantially, as a non-prosecutor, unless the appropriate government office, and when necessary a former client, gives informed consent confirmed in writing.

Oh, and:

The prosecutor should not recommend the services of particular defense counsel to accused persons or witnesses in cases being handled by the prosecutor’s office.

But of course, we’re not in America, we’re in SPACE. And who knows how space law works? Maybe conflict of interest regulations were just one of those things we needed to outgrow as a species, like keyboards and amusement parks.

Speaking of things from the past, we then cut to a man sitting in a room, surrounded by old-fashioned, hardbound, made-with-real-paper books. Seriously, he’s got a lot of books in there. Kirk walks into the room and despondently pours himself a drink from one of TOS’s iconic Weirdly Shaped Liquor Bottles. Presumably this is his room, then, and he’s not just wandering around stealing booze from random people. Again. He completely fails to notice that a man with a small library has occupied his quarters until the guy says, “You Kirk?”

[ID: Kirk looking down at a middle-aged white man with receding brown hair, who is sitting in a chair surrounded by stacks of books strewn all over the furniture.]

Kirk wanders over to look over the whole scene with the kind of mild befuddlement of someone who can’t be bothered to be more than mildly befuddled because they’ve had such a long day already that what the hell, this might as well be happening too. “What’s all this?” he asks. “I figured we’d be spending some time together, so I moved in,” the guy replies casually. Wow, sure is easy to just move yourself and an entire small library into a stranger’s room on this starbase. Did we just lose all our door-locking technology at some point in the future? Has mankind just forgotten how to lock things at the same time we forgot how to recuse yourself?

All Kirk has to say about it is a dry, “I hope I’m not crowding you.” The guy asks if Kirk doesn’t like books and Kirk says he likes them just fine, but a computer takes up less space, not realizing that he’s just hit a major conversational tripwire with this dude. He immediately launches into a rant about how he has a computer in his office but never uses it, because he has his own system: “Books, young man, books, thousands of them! This is where the law is. Not in that homogenized, pasteurized, synthesized—do you want to know the law, the ancient concepts in their own language, learn the intent of the men who wrote them, from Moses to the Tribunal of Alpha 3? Books.”

I’m sure this came off differently when it was written, but even by 2019 someone with this attitude would be moving out of “eccentrically but charmingly old-fashioned” and into “straight up bizarre.” Someone in the twenty-third century having this attitude towards computers, outside of some kind of specific religious standpoint or something...it’s difficult to even imagine.

I mean, look, don’t get me wrong, I love books. And I love physical books. Proportionate to the amount of total things that I own, I have a lot of physical books, and they’re dear to me, and I would be very sad at the idea of them becoming obsolete. But the idea that they possess any kind of special magic that makes something any more real or true if it’s written in a physical book versus the same text entered into a computer? No. Of course not. Practically speaking, a computer allows you to access exponentially more information more easily, and a lawyer who chooses to disregard any advantage that big in favor of a personal philosophical preference is not a lawyer I’d trust with my career, any more than I’d trust an ambulance driver who showed up in a horse-drawn cart. Not to mention the practicality of not having to cart so many books around with you everywhere; seriously, if there’s one thing I learned from moving in and out of dorm rooms, it’s how quickly even a small amount of books can become an enormous pain to move back and forth. Heck, I’m amazed that Cogley was able to get so many in here so quickly on his own. Teach me your secrets Cogley.

Of course, at the time of writing, the idea of ebooks and generally accessing information via computers as easily as we do now wasn’t exactly a thing. One could forgive the writers for assuming that Cogley could have a salient point about books being able to store information better than computers—not that he ever makes such a point, or expresses any specific reason why books are better other than that they just are, okay. But it is a bit odd because by this point TOS had already shown us people using the Enterprise computer to read texts (in Where No Man Has Gone Before) or to look up information (in The Conscience of the King) without any problems or limitations with that information being described, unless you count the eye-bleedingly tiny text poor Mitchell was having to deal with. It all adds up to make Cogley seem less like someone whose outlook is unusual but potentially puts him in a position to have insights that others wouldn’t, and more like someone who just hates technology for no real reason.

Also, don’t pasteurize your computer. Bad idea.

Kirk muses that this guy must be either “[insert prejorative term for a mentally ill person here] or Samuel T. Cogley, attorney at law.” “Right on both counts,” Cogley says. “Need a lawyer?” “I’m afraid so.”

They shake hands. Kirk doesn’t look terribly optimistic. But hey, at least they can bond over their middle initials.

With the preliminary shenanigans out of the way, it’s finally time to get this trial started. We cut to Stone hitting a bell with a stick (but like, a ceremonial stick). Along with him, there are three old guys on the board, two in green and one in blue. Stone introduces them as Space Command Representative Lindstrom and starship captains Krasnovsky and Chondra. I don’t know what Space Command is, but it sounds cool.

Stone then tells Kirk that he has the right to ask for substitute officers if he has any objection to the board members, Stone being the president, or Shaw being the prosecutor. This sounds like a great time for Kirk to mention that he and Shaw have personal history and he’d rather she not be the prosecutor, which I’m sure would be a relief to her as much as to him, but of course, he doesn’t, so the trial proceeds.

Everyone sits down, and the computer is turned on to read out the list of charges, because the more things we can have the computer read out for us, the less Throat Coat everyone has to buy afterward. While that’s happening, we see the gallery, such as it is: there’s just some chairs against the back wall where Spock, McCoy, a redshirt woman, and Jame are all sitting. Jame’s still wearing her Sailor Moon getup. Maybe she was in such a hurry to get here and yell at Kirk that she didn’t pack any extra clothes.

The computer asks for the plea and Kirk, of course, says not guilty. For some reason this is followed by a big dramatic chord, even though that’s exactly what we expected him to say. Shaw (who’s wearing a red uniform, which confuses me—is being a prosecuting attorney considered part of Operations?) gets going by calling Spock to the stand. In Starfleet court, the stand is a chair with a glowy circle that you have to put your hand on.

[ID: Spock, in his dress uniform, sitting in a chair and putting his hand on a glowing circle connected to a nearby stand.]

Spock hands over a floppy disc, which I guess is his personal ID floppy, because once it’s put in the computer it reads out all his service info, including all the cool medals he’s received. Shaw then begins the questioning by asking, “As a first officer, you know a great deal about computers, don’t you?” Is that...is that a requirement for being a first officer?

“I know all about them,” Spock replies, a rather sweeping claim to make, but Shaw doesn’t push it. Instead she asks, “It is possible for a computer to malfunction, is it not?”

Okay, I guess Shaw is going to use the tried and true legal strategy of Asking Witnesses To Confirm The Bloody Obvious. While you’ve got him here, why not ask him a few more things, just to be sure? “Is it possible for things to catch on fire if they’re really hot? Can people bleed if you poke them with sharp things? THE COURT NEEDS TO KNOW, MR. SPOCK.”

Once Spock has called upon his extensive expertise with computers to assure us all that yes, they can malfunction, Shaw asks if he knows of any malfunction that’s caused an inaccuracy in the Enterprise computer. Spock says no. You know, aside from last week when we couldn’t get it to stop flirting with people. But when Shaw tries to move on, Spock interrupts to say, “The computer is inaccurate, nevertheless.” Asked to clarify, he says that what the computer is reporting—that Kirk reacted to non-existent emergency—is impossible. He admits that he didn’t see Kirk actually press the button himself since he was occupied at the time. So how, Shaw asks him, can he dispute what the computer says? “I do not dispute it,” Spock says. “I merely state that it is wrong.”

[ID: A screenshot of Merriam-Webster’s definition of the word ‘dispute’. ‘Dispute, verb, disputed, disputing. Definition of dispute (Entry 1 of 2): intransitive verb: to engage in argument: debate. Especially: to argue irritably or with irritating persistence. Transitive verb: 1 a: to make the subject of verbal controversy or disputation//Legislators hotly disputed the bill. 1 b: to call into question or cast doubt upon. //Her honest was never disputed. The witness disputed the defendant’s claim. 2 a: to struggle against: OPPOSE. //disputed the advance of the invaders. 2 b: to contend over// disputing ownership of the land.]

Sure buddy.

Shaw asks where the heck he’s getting this conclusion from, then, and Spock says he knows Kirk. At that point she cuts him off with a request to Stone that the witness be told not to speculate. “I am Vulcanian,” Spock says coolly. “Vulcanians do not speculate.” They can’t decide on what their species is called, but dammit, they don’t speculate!

To prove how logical and detached he is about all this, Spock goes on to give a metaphor about how if you drop a hammer on a planet with gravity you don’t need to see it fall to know that it did, and likewise he doesn’t need to have seen Kirk act to know what he did. “It is impossible to Captain Kirk to act out of panic or malice,” he says. “It is not in his nature.” Debatable.

“In your opinion,” Shaw says. Very, very grudgingly, Spock has to say, “Yes...in my opinion.”

Spock, you enormous dork. Look at him, passionately defending his friend while insisting with so much seriousness that he’s just being logical and this is all a totally scientific, objective viewpoint, because he’s a Vulcan(ian) so he would never speak up for someone just because they’re his friend and he likes and trusts them! Obviously!! God bless you, you incredibly transparent doofus.

Shaw yields the questioning to Cogley, but he says he has no questions, so Spock steps down and Shaw calls the next witness: the redshirt. Turns out she’s the personnel officer for the Enterprise. We aren’t given her name, only her rank—ensign, which seems like kind of a low rank for that position, but who knows how ranks work in Starfleet, honestly. I mean, apparently being the first officer makes you an expert at computers.

Still, I gotta give our nameless ensign this: she’s got some great eyeshadow going on.

[ID: A shot of a young Asian woman in a red uniform with her hair tied up, wearing pale blue and white eyeshadow.]

After confirming that the personnel officer is familiar with the records of everyone on the ship as per her job, Shaw asks her if Finney’s record mentioned a disciplinary action over that whole ‘almost blew up a ship’ thing. Ensign Eyeshadow says yes, and when asked who reported Finney for that, she confirms it was Kirk. That’s right, the same Kirk currently sitting in this very courtroom! Gasp!

With no further questions, Shaw again concedes to Cogley, who again has no questions. On to the next witness: McCoy. Oh man, here we go.

McCoy also hands over his card (these things are completely unmarked—can you imagine the chaos that would ensue if someone dropped a bunch of them?) and the computer identifies him as the ship surgeon, an occasional appellation of TOS’s that never made sense to me. I mean, he is a surgeon, but being the Chief Medical Officer is a bit more than that. It’s like calling Scotty the ship mechanic.

Anyway, whatever his title is, McCoy also has quite a list of commendations read out, so that’s nice. But what Shaw’s interested in isn’t his surgery skills. She wants to talk about psychology, specifically space psychology, which is like regular psychology but in space. No, really—she defines it as the study of what happens when you stick a bunch of people together in the tight confines of a starship for long periods. Unfortunately we don’t have a lot of data on it because our space psychologists keep turning into gods and dying.

Shaw asks McCoy to confirm that he is, in fact, an expert in space psychology. “I know something about it,” McCoy says dryly. Oh, stop, you.

“So you just heard the testimony of your own personnel officer that it was an action of the then-ensign Kirk which placed an un-erasable blot on the record of the then-lieutenant Finney,” Shaw says, “Psychologically, doctor, is it possible that Lieutenant Finney blamed Kirk for the incident?” Do you...need to be an expert in psychology to figure that one out? What class is “can people blame other people for things” covered under in psychology school? Seems odd to me, but a minute ago she had a computer expert up there just to testify that computers can malfunction sometimes, so maybe this is just how space law works.

McCoy’s like “uh, yeah, I guess??” because what else are you supposed to say in that situation? Then Shaw asks him, “Is it normal to return affection for hatred?” to which he replies that, well, no, not generally? In other words, Shaw says, once we learn that someone hates us we tend to hate them back, right? You know, just, hypothetically speaking. McCoy’s a bit confused by that one, since his usual reaction to someone hating him is more like “Oh yeah? Well I hated you first. Now shut up while I save your life, possibly at the expense of my own.” But he admits that sure, that other thing could happen too.

So, Shaw says, moving in for the kill, it’s therefore possible that once Kirk realized that Finney had started hating him, he started hating Finney back? At that point McCoy is like NOPE NOPE NOPE, hold the damn phone right there, that is not how Kirk rolls.

“Any normal human, doctor, is it possible?” Shaw presses. “But he’s not that kind of man!” McCoy protests. “Is it theoretically possible, doctor?”

What is going on in this courtroom? This is such an incredibly bizarre line of questioning. “Is it theoretically possible for the defendant to behave in this way?” I mean fuck man, I guess it is, because any permutation of human behavior is theoretically possible! Spontaneously declaring yourself Emperor of the United States and issuing your own currency is a possible human behavior, but that doesn’t make it relevant to the current situation! You could make someone sound guilty of anything if you’re going with that tack. She could get up there and ask if it’s a theoretically possible for any given human to commit murder, arson, tax fraud, any crime you want to pick, and McCoy would have to say yes because, well, it is! And ultimately he has to say—with a great deal of reluctance and frustration—that yes, it is theoretically possible that Kirk hated Finney in return. Cue dramatic musical sting, as if that statement actually meant anything at all.

Once again Cogley says he has no questions, so McCoy steps down, obviously fuming but managing to restrain himself from starting a fight on the witness stand. At this point Stone interjects to ask Cogley what his deal is, since he’s listened to three witnesses by now and not bothered to question any of them. “I’ve been holding back until we get this preliminary business out of the way,” Cogley replies casually. “I’d like to call Captain Kirk to the stand.” Can he...can he do that? I thought it was still the prosecution’s turn to be calling people. Space law is so confusing.

Apparently Cogley can do that, because Kirk goes on up to the chair, hands over his ID floppy, and puts his hand on the Glowing Circle of Truth. Like the other witnesses, the computer reads out his name, rank, ID number, and commendations...all his commendations. And there are a lot of them. Palm Leaf of Axinar Peace Mission, Grand Kite Order of Tactics, Class of Excellence, Frenterus Ribbon of Commendation...it just keeps going and going, while everyone sits there awkwardly.

Eventually Shaw interrupts to say, look, I don’t wish to imply that Captain Kirk is not super great and has the medals to prove it, but now that we’ve established that could we maybe, y’know, skip to the end? Stone asks Cogley about it, since after all it’s his witness, and Cogley says, “Oh, I wouldn’t want to slow the wheels of progress any...” then waits for Shaw to start drawing a sigh of relief before continuing, “BUT I also wouldn’t want them to run over my client!” So they have to sit and listen to more awards. My favorite is the Starfleet Citation for Conspicuous Gallantry, which makes me wonder just how conspicuous your gallantry has to be for you to get cited for it.

Cogley finally allows them to stop, saying he “wouldn’t want to slow things up too much.” I mean, who knows how long it might take for that list to be fully read out? We could be here all week! Ha ha! Super illustrious career there. Amazing. Totally irrelevant of course, but wow—what a guy, right?

Anyway, onto the actual questioning (finally). Cogley asks if there really was a red alert before Kirk jettisoned the pod, and Kirk says there was, so Cogley asks him to tell them all about it. Kirk starts out talking about the ion storm, but then gets rather sidetracked from giving the actual details to talking about how, despite the charges, there was no malice involved and Finney was treated the same as any member of Kirk’s crew. And no, Kirk did not panic and jettison the pod prematurely either, looking at you up there Stone. This was far from his first crisis and he handled it the same way he handled all the other crises he’s been through: he relied on experience and training and did everything that should have been done when it should have been done. Cool, thanks. That gave us almost no information whatsoever.

Cogley says that Kirk did the right thing...but would he do it again? Kirk says that yes, under those same circumstances, he would, because what he did was necessary to save his ship. “And nothing is more important than my ship,” he adds, which is a line that sure could be misused if taken out of context.

Despite getting a remarkable lack of anything useful out of that testimony, Cogley then cedes the witness to Shaw. Instead of questioning Kirk, though, Shaw opts to show some evidence. About time someone did. I was starting to wonder if this trial was going to consist entirely of vague philosophical arguments.

Specifically, Shaw is presenting the thing that started this whole debacle to being with: the incriminating computer log from the Enterprise. The episode thus far has been rather vague as to the exact nature of this computer log, so you could easily imagine that it was, y’know, an actual log made by the computer of everything that went through it during that particular interval. Nah. Of course not. It’s just footage of the bridge during the incident, because I guess the Enterprise is equipped with security cameras everywhere.

The recording shows us an overhead view of the bridge as Uhura reports an ion storm upcoming. Kirk says they’ll need someone in the pod for recordings. I’m still in the weeds about what exactly the pod is and why someone needs to be in it, but no one feels like explaining. Spock says that Finney is at the top of the duty roster, so Uhura has him report to the pod for “reading of ion slates” which really didn’t clear up my confusion any.

They continue to approach the ion storm, getting increasingly jostled about the closer they get. At this point, Shaw has the video reversed and paused, then magnified to show the panel on Kirk’s chair. That’s some pretty damn impressive magnification, considering that not only did it retain perfect image quality as it zoomed in, it also changed the camera angle.

[ID: 1. A computer screen showing an overhead shot of the bridge, as Shaw says, “Stop.” 2. Shaw saying, “Go forward with the magnification on the panel.” 3. The computer screen again, showing the panel of Kirk’s chair from behind, with five buttons on it; the first three are a yellow one labeled Alert, a red one labeled Alert, a green one labeled Jettison Pod, and the last two are white and unlabeled.]

But more importantly, now that we have a good shot of the panel we can see that not only can Kirk toggle red and yellow alerts directly from it, the ‘jettison pod’ button is RIGHT THERE. Who put that there?! Why? Why would the captain need direct access to that of all possible buttons, and for the love of God, why would you put it somewhere where it could so easily be pressed accidentally?? All it would take is one slip of the thumb and there goes your pod! I’m amazed Starfleet isn’t having more court martials about people being prematurely jettisoned if that’s where you put the button! This is the worst UI ever!

Remarkably, though, Shaw didn’t pause the video just to show us Starfleet’s incredibly bad design policies; she just wanted to point out that Kirk was pressing the yellow alert button, which she carefully describes in case anyone in the courtroom couldn’t figure out that that’s what pressing the yellow button marked ‘alert’ does. Then the log resumes, switching to another camera angle in the process. It sure is nice of the computer to dramatically edit its own footage for us.

Uhura says that there’s a call coming in from the pod, which is just Finney confirming that readings are in progress. Kirk tells Finney to make it fast, because they may have to go to red alert. On cue, the bridge shakes again. Not enough that anyone has to throw themselves across the set, but it’s clearly getting worse. Hanson, at the helm (hey, remember him?), reports that they’re getting “natural vibrations of force two” and then “force three.” That sounds bad. I guess.

Kirk tells engineering to give them more thrust, then calls Finney and tells him to get ready to get out of there because things are looking bad. The shaking gets worse and worse until Hanson is reporting force five. Then, suddenly, we cut back to the chair panel to see Kirk pressing the ‘jettison pod’ button, despite the light still showing only yellow alert. Wow, how convenient that the recording switched camera angles right at that critical moment. I’m sure there’s nothing significant about that.

Shaw freezes the footage there and, as Kirk and Cogley stare in shock, points out to everyone that the ship is clearly not at red alert there. In other words, Kirk jettisoned Finney because of an emergency that didn’t even exist at the time.

All Kirk can do is stare at the frozen image and helplessly whisper, “But that’s not the way it happened.” I dunno, man, that’s what the computer says. Are you saying the computer could be wrong? I don’t see how that could happen.

After the break, we get a nice shot of Starbase Eleven, which contrary to what you may have been imagining is actually on a planet, or at least, some of it is. A very purple planet it is, too.

[ID: A matte painting of a rocky planet with a purple sky and a dim pinkish-purple sun halfway up the horizon, with several tall futuristic buildings in the foreground and a few more scattered across the open plain.]

Visit scenic Starbase Eleven! The premiere place to develop Seasonal Affective Disorder!

Kirk gives us a short, dour captain’s log: “The evidence presented by the visual playback to my general court-martial was damning. I suspect even my attorney has begun to doubt me.”

Cogley is indeed looking pretty grim as he sits in his office/Kirk’s room, playing with a stylus while Kirk paces around the place. “Computers don’t lie,” he says. Boy, for someone who is apparently ready to go into a screed about the inferiority of computers at all times, you’re sure quick to immediately accept their unimpeachable accuracy there, Cogley. Computers, of course, do lie, because computers do whatever you tell them to. Or, to quote another famous sci-fi franchise, “The problem with computers is that they’re very sophisticated idiots.”

“Are you suggesting I did?” Kirk snaps. Cogley hedges that he doesn’t think Kirk lied, but maybe Kirk did have a lapse and make an error. For a moment, Kirk falls into doubt, musing that two days ago he was confident enough in his own judgment to stake anything on it—which is unlikely to be hyperbole since he did indeed put his whole career on the line. But now he’s beginning to be less sure. Is it possible that when the moment came, he really did make that fatal error…?

But Kirk only allows himself to consider that for a moment before shaking away the doubts. No, he says, he knows what he did and he’s standing by it. He tells Cogley that he can back out now if he wants to, but Cogley just shrugs and says there’s nowhere to go except back to the courtroom to hear the verdict.

Shaw made such a big deal about how Cogley was the only person who could win a case against computer evidence, but so far we sure haven’t seen any sign of him living up to that claim. His entire strategy seems to have been to have Kirk testify about his confidence that he didn’t make a mistake, and as soon as the computer log was played—the computer log, need I remind you, that should not have been a surprise to anyone because the fact that it makes Kirk look guilty is the entire reason we’re having this trial in the first place—he’s like “welp, nuthin I can do about that.” I’m kinda thinking it might have been more helpful to get a lawyer who actually knew something about computers other than “they suck and I hate them.”

Kirk’s communicator beeps just then; it’s Spock, calling to say that he’s run “a complete megalyte survey on the computer.” (I’m sorry, megalyte?) “I’ll tell you what you found—nothing, right?” Kirk says.

“...You sound bitter, captain,” Spock replies, and only the public broadcasting standards of 1967 prevent Kirk from saying “no SHIT, Sher-Spock.” But after a moment he says that he’s not bitter enough to forget to thank Spock for all his efforts. “It’s not all bad, Mr. Spock,” he adds. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll be able to beat your next captain at chess.”

Kirk’s attempt at levity falls flat, and not only because he’s talking to Spock; he just can’t muster enough of his usual confidence to make it sound light-hearted instead of tired and, well, bitter. But that joke didn’t die in vain. After Kirk hangs up, we see Spock sitting at his station on the bridge, looking suddenly thoughtful. “Chess,” he says to himself, and then suddenly gets up and leaves.

Unaware that Spock’s having a dramatic revelation, Kirk is all set to get back to moping when Jame bursts into the room. Starting to think that bursting in dramatically is the only way Jame knows how to enter a room. She’s not here to accuse Kirk again, though: instead she makes a beeline for Cogley, ignoring Kirk’s attempt to introduce them, and says, “We’ve got to stop this. Make him take a ground assignment. I realize it wasn’t his fault. I won’t make any trouble. Make him change his plea.”

Well, that’s...quite a turn-around. Kirk gently tells her that it’s too late for that, but he’s glad that at least she doesn’t blame him anymore. She tells him that she’s sorry and that she was so upset at first that she wasn’t thinking when she lashed out at him. She didn’t realize just how close Kirk and Finney were until she was going through his papers and read some letters he had written to her and her mother. And I hope you’re not on the edge of your seat to find out more about Jame’s mom and if she’s alive or dead or divorced or what, because that is the one and only mention of her that we’re going to get for this entire episode.

Anyway, Jame says that she now realizes that the idea of Kirk betraying Finney like she at first believed is ridiculous, and besides, ruining Kirk’s life and career isn’t going to change what happened. Cogley notes that “no use crying over spilled milk” is a bit of an unusual outlook to take towards the guy that, according to all current evidence, probably killed your dad. Kirk shrugs it off completely and says he has to go change since the trial’s resuming soon. “You ready?” he asks Cogley, who presumably feels no such need since he’s been wearing the same clothes for the whole episode.

“No,” Cogley says thoughtfully. “But I may be getting ready...”

Meanwhile, up on the ship, Spock is hanging out in one of the Enterprise’s miscellaneous rooms, playing chess with the computer. Not playing chess on the computer; he’s just sitting with a physical board with the computer reading out its moves to him. You’d think by the 23rd century we’d have better chess programs, but maybe Spock just likes the retro feel.

If Spock was hoping to have a quiet and uninterrupted game of chess, though, he didn’t do a great job picking his spot, because McCoy comes bursting in with a pre-emptive head of steam all built up. He takes one look at Spock and the chessboard and declares, “Well I had to see it to believe it...they’re about to lop off the captain’s professional head and you’re sitting here playing chess with the computer!”

I like the implication here that someone has told on Spock to McCoy. “OMG doctor you’ll never believe what I just saw Mr. Spock doing!” “SPILL THE TEA ENSIGN.”

When Spock doesn’t particularly react to this accusation, McCoy tells him that “you’re the most cold-blooded man I ever met,” which Spock accepts as a compliment. Then, as McCoy is turning to leave—I guess this was just a drive-by call-out—Spock calmly announces that he’s about to win his fourth game. McCoy pauses at the door and says that that’s impossible, but Spock demonstrates his claim by putting the computer into checkmate.

McCoy’s look of open, stunned confusion tells us two things: one, that this is a big deal and shouldn’t be happening (unless Spock is using cheat codes or something) and two, McCoy has a surprisingly thorough understanding of the limitations of the Enterprise chess computer given that we’ve never seen him show any interest in chess whatsoever. Either McCoy plays chess against the computer without telling anyone about it, or Spock talked his ear off about it at some point.

Spock elucidates for us that mechanically, the computer is flawless, so therefore its record of Kirk’s guilt must also be flawless—but, being the super logical and detached person that he is, he just couldn’t accept the reality of that guilt. “So you tested the program bank,” McCoy muses. Exactly, Spock says—he programmed it himself, so he knows that the best he should possibly have been able to achieve was a draw.

So someone tampered with the Enterprise computer log in a way that left no evidence that anything was wrong or out of place with the log, but did make a totally unrelated program malfunction. Sure, that makes sense. You know, the weirdest part about all this to me isn’t even that, it’s that for all everyone talks about the computer log and how the computer doesn’t make mistakes, the computer log in question is, as we’ve discussed, a visual recording. It’s not some kind of hard data entry on what the operations the computer was doing at a certain point, it’s a recording made by a camera! Which means everyone in this episode of a television show is just going around saying “well there’s no possible way to alter an image if that image was recorded onto a computer so I guess that has to be true.” Yes, I realize it was 1967 and they weren’t exactly making this in Final Cut Pro, but that doesn’t make it any easier to take seriously.

McCoy takes a moment to stand there and let this revelation sink in, before redirecting his outrage into demanding to know why Spock is just sitting around with this information. Spock doesn’t deign to answer that, instead calling the transporter room and telling them “Stand by, we’re beaming down.” Note the ‘we’; Spock knows damn well McCoy is coming along whether Spock wants him to or not.

Back on the Starbase, Stone is ringing the ceremonial bell with the ceremonial stick to resume the trial. He announces that “the board will entertain motions before delivering its verdict.” Wow, they really are gonna wrap this whole thing up in all of two sessions, huh. That sure was a quick trial. Then again, I guess there’s not all that much you can do when the defense folded after the first piece of evidence got shown.

Shaw says that the prosecution rests, apparently not even seeing the need to make a closing argument. Cogley stands up next. He tries to come up with something, but all he can manage is to shrug and say, “The defense rests.” Thanks man, you’re a real help. That vague-but-dramatic remark about “I might be getting ready” didn’t come to much, did it?

[ID: Cogley, who is wearing a dark brown corduroy shirt with shiny light brown rounded lapels, two large pockets on either side, and one smaller pocket in the middle of the shirt, standing up at a table  and saying, “Sir...”]

“I OBJECT!” “On what grounds?” “I couldn’t think of anything else to say.”

You know, I’ve been giving Jame grief for the Sailor Moon clothes, but I’d really be remiss to not take a moment here to take Cogley to task for what he’s wearing. We’ve got, like, a turtleneck that just didn’t feel like making an effort that day, over some thing that I’m sure was meant to invoke an eccentric academic tweed-jacket-with-patches-on-the-elbows kind of look, but why does it have one pocket positioned directly over the center of the stomach? And what does he have in it? Is that a nail file? What’s going on here? Tim Gunn would never stand for this, I’ll tell you that.

Well, I guess that’s it for our hero. The trial is over. Kirk is guilty--

[ID: A gif from an Ace Attorney game of someone shouting “HOLD IT!” in large bubble red letters over a white starbust.]

WHAT’S THIS?? Two new witnesses have just run into the courtroom! Spock and McCoy have arrived with crucial information just in the nick of time! What a close call. They couldn’t get there any earlier, of course, because they had to stop and change into their dress shirts first. If you’re gonna dramatically barge into a courtroom, you have to look your best.

McCoy starts talking to Kirk while Spock talks to Cogley. Well, I say ‘talk.’ The scene is clearly aiming for ‘frantic whispering’ but they overshot that a little bit; Spock and McCoy are just moving their mouths while making literally no sound. If there wasn’t other sound going on at the same time I would have thought that my cat had ruined my earbuds. Again.

That other source of sound is Stone, yelling at Cogley, who is not the one causing the disturbance but makes a better target I guess. Cogley quickly breaks off the non-conversation to run up and address the board, saying that some new evidence has just been brought to his attention. HOLD IT! Shaw protests—Cogley’s already rested his case! Thanks Shaw. I bet you were that kid who’d remind the teacher that they hadn’t assigned the homework five minutes before class ends.

Stone asks Cogley what the nature of this evidence is and Cogley says that he can’t tell them, he has to show them. Really? I think you could tell them pretty easily. Here, I’ll give it a shot: “Mr. Spock’s discovered a flaw in the computer that indicates it was tampered with after all.” There, sorted.

Shaw protests that “Mr. Cogley is well known for his theatrics.” “Is saving an innocent man’s career a theatric?!” Cogley demands (theatrically). It’s probably not, mostly because I don’t think you can have just one theatric.

Stone tells the lawyers to stop bickering among themselves and that if they’ve got something to say they can say it to the whole class. Cogley is all too eager to do just that now that he “finally has something to talk about.” By ‘something to talk about’ he does not, of course, mean this new evidence and its significance. Rather, he wants to talk about “Rights, sir, human rights, the Bible, the Code of Hammurabi, and of Justinian, Magna Carta, the Constitution of the United States, fundamental declarations of the Martian Colonies, the statutes of Alpha 3—gentlemen, these documents all speak of rights.”

Yes, yes, nice use of “let me remind you that we’re in the future by listing a bunch of real things along with a couple fictional ones” but WHAT are you TALKING about? You just listed a bunch of things that have laws in them! What does that have to do with anything? Are you just trying to prove that you are so a real lawyer? This is no way to win a court case!

It’s not just me who’s confused, either—look at Spock’s face while all this is happening.

[ID: Spock, wearing his dress uniform, looking off at an angle and frowning in puzzlement.]

Cogley starts talking about the various rights these documents speak of, because all of them definitely cover the same ground, sure, that seems right. Eventually he comes around to some kind of point, which is that these documents all speak of the right for the accused to be confronted by the witnesses against them. Well...the Constitution sure does. The Bible says “I answered them that it was not the custom of the Romans to give up anyone before the accused met the accusers face to face and had opportunity to make his defense concerning the charge laid against him.” so I guess that counts. The Magna Carta, on the other hand, basically only says that people (meaning men, of course) have the right to a lawful trial. And the Code of Hammurabi says “If any one bring an accusation against a man, and the accused go to the river and leap into the river, if he sink in the river his accuser shall take possession of his house. But if the river prove that the accused is not guilty, and he escape unhurt, then he who had brought the accusation shall be put to death, while he who leaped into the river shall take possession of the house that had belonged to his accuser,” so I’m not sure how we should go about applying that one here.

But more importantly, you might note that at no point in all this has he mentioned any actual specific current laws of the society they’re in. All he’s said is that some people, at some times, have said that that was a law. You can’t just go around invoking all the laws that anyone’s ever made! It’d be chaos! Alcohol would be simultaneously legal and illegal! Society would collapse!

But before anyone gets the chance to point this out, Cogley barrels right on ahead, declaring that this right—the right to be confronted with the witnesses against him—is a right to which his client has been! DENIED! Shaw jumps up and says that this is ridiculous, which, I mean, yes, for a lot of reasons, but specifically she points out that all the witnesses were produced in court and Cogley had the chance to cross-examine all of them, a chance he didn’t take. Well...technically speaking, everyone Shaw brought to the stand was there to give an expert opinion on something, not because they witnessed the crime. There were no witnesses to the crime, per se. Except for, as Cogley points out...the computer.

“The most devastating witness against my client is not a human being,” he says. “It’s a machine, an information system—the computer log of the Enterprise. And I ask this court adjourn and reconvene aboard that vessel.” Whoa wait what hang on now

Shaw protests this sudden turn of events—not objects, just protests—which makes Cogley start going on about rights again. Kirk has the right to face his accuser, he insists—again, at no point has he cited an actual current legal basis for this right—and if the court doesn’t grant that right, “[they]have brought us down to the level of the machine. Indeed, you have elevated that machine above us. I ask that my motion be granted, and more than that, gentlemen, in the name of humanity, fading in the shadow of the machine, I demand it. I demand it!”

“If you don’t run this trial the way I want humanity is doomed” is a rather bold stance to take, but surprisingly the court seems willing to go for it, because after the break Kirk gives a log to tell us “After due consideration, the general court-martial has reconvened on board the Enterprise.” Specifically, it’s reconvened in the briefing room, or maybe one of the briefing rooms, I’m not quite sure how many there actually are. And evidently Kirk, Spock and McCoy took the time to change along the way, since they’re all back to their regular non-dress shirts.

Cogley asks Spock how many games of chess he won against the computer and Spock says “five in all.” That number’s gone up somehow; earlier he told McCoy it was four. Cogley then asks if this is unusual and Spock says yes, because he programmed the computer himself and gave it an understanding of chess equal to his own. Thanks Spock, that was real considerate of you. Did you add any other difficulty levels in there, just in case there’s anyone on the ship who doesn’t want to play on Deity all the time?

“The computer cannot make an error, and assuming that I do not either, the best that could normally be hoped for would be stalemate after stalemate, and yet I beat the machine five times,” Spock goes on. “Someone, either accidentally or deliberately, adjusted the programming, and therefore the memory banks of that computer.” This is so not how computers work. I’m not even sure that’s how chess works.

Could that have an effect on the visual playback, then? Cogley asks. Shaw objects, saying that “the witness would be making a conclusion.” Is that...not something witnesses are allowed to do? What’s the point of having someone testify about their expert knowledge if they can’t make so much as a simple ‘if→ then’ statement? I don’t know, but I guess Stone does, because he sustains the objection, forcing Cogley to switch tacks.

Hypothetically, Cogley says—you can ask anything if you just put ‘hypothetically’ in front of it—hypothetically, if something like this had been done, it would be beyond the capabilities of most people, right? Spock confirms this, so Cogley asks who, aboard this ship, would that not be beyond the capabilities of? That would be Spock, himself, Spock says, the captain, and the records officer. Hang on, the captain? Since when does Kirk have that much knowledge of computers? And do we really not have any other computer experts on this ship? We’ve got a whole engineering department down there to make sure all the components of the ship are working correctly, but if the computer controlling all those components fails, you’ve got all of three people skilled enough to fix it? None of whom even has a position dedicated to that? Wow, what could go wrong here.

Actually, as Cogley points out, at the moment it’s not even three people—it’s two, because they don’t currently have a records officer. The last one died in a tragic accident involving an ion storm and a pod, you may have heard something about it. Cogley then turns to Kirk and asks him to describe the steps he took to find Finney after the storm. Kirk says he instituted a phase one search, which he describes as “a painstaking thorough attempt in and around a ship to find a man who’s presumably injured and unable to respond.” Of course, since the man they were looking for had been ejected from the ship straight into an ion storm, this search unsurprisingly did not turn anything up.

But...what if he wasn’t? This search, Cogley says, “presupposes, does it not, that a man wishes to be found?” Kirk stares back at him blankly, so Cogley has to elaborate—well, when you’re doing this search, you assume the person isn’t deliberately hiding, don’t you? What if they were? On a ship this size, how well could someone evade a search, if they really wanted to?

The penny finally drops. It’s clear from Kirk’s stunned expression that he never once considered this. He really does tend to think the best of people, Kirk does—even knowing how much Finney had hated him, the idea that he might be trying to get revenge on Kirk, that all this could be anything more than a tragic accident, never even crossed Kirk’s mind. Bless.

“Possibly,” he says grimly. Cogley turns triumphantly to the board and says, “Gentlemen, I submit to you that Lieutenant Commander Ben Finney is NOT DEAD!” Oh, the drama of it all!

We then cut—via a screenwipe, unusually for TOS—to the bridge, where the whole group is now camped out, along with Uhura and two helm officers, all of whom are probably feeling pretty dang confused right now. Stone says they’re waiting for proof of what Cogley said in the briefing room. Cogley says that they’ll have their proof, but first he needs the cooperation of the court in conducting an experiment. He then defers to Kirk, who he’s apparently had a conversation with at some point in-between scenes, because Kirk is able to fill in the next steps of the plan: it requires everyone onboard except the command crew and the trial members to leave the ship. So he’s ordering them all to report to the transporter room. Everyone. All 424 of them. And the transporter moves six people at a time. This is gonna take a while.

Oh, and Cogley’s also leaving; he says he has “an errand ashore of vital importance to the purpose of this court, and [he] will return.” The board is remarkably okay with the counsel for the defense up and strolling off in the middle of the trial with essentially no explanation for where he’s going or why, not something I would recommend trying in a real courtroom.

They are, however, a little concerned about this whole “everybody off the ship” business. Stone asks Kirk if he’s at least leaving an engine crew aboard but Kirk says no: the impulse engines have been shut down, and they’re going to maintain orbit purely via momentum. “And when the orbit begins to decay?” one of the board members said, which incidentally is the only line of dialogue any of them besides Stone have for the whole episode. Kirk just says they hope to be finished long before that happens. Seriously, you couldn’t come up with a way to do all this that doesn’t involve just hoping you won’t wind up crashing into a planet? And how many people did it take you to drag Scotty out of Engineering once you told him this plan? Because there’s no way he went willingly.

Sometime later (we’re not told how long that took, but if we generously assume it takes one minute to transport six people, it had to be at least 70 minutes) with just about everyone now off the ship, Kirk begins explaining to the board that the computer has an auditory sensor. “It can, in effect, hear sounds,” he adds, in case they can’t figure out what that means. “By installing a booster, we can increase that capability on the order of one to the fourth power. The computer should be able to bring us every sound occurring on the ship.” One to the fourth power? You mean...one?

Just then, the transporter operator calls in to say that all personnel have left the ship, except for him obviously. Kirk gives Spock the go-ahead, and Spock pushes a button. Suddenly an extremely loud, distorted heartbeat sound fills the bridge. Oh shit. Okay, who murdered a dude and stashed his body under the floorboards? Own up.

Kirk explains—after telling Spock to turn the sound down before eardrums start blowing out-- that the sound is the computer picking up the heartbeats of everyone on the ship. Just their heartbeats, not any other autonomic noises like breathing or digestion, or the sounds of any of the systems still running on the Enterprise. Just heartbeats. That is one selective auditory sensor you’ve got there. He then says that McCoy is going to use a “white sound device,” aka a microphone with a rubber band around it, “to mask out each person’s heartbeat so that it will be eliminated from the sounds we’re hearing” because that’s definitely a thing that makes sense.

McCoy goes around the bridge pointing the microphone at everyone’s chests (including Spock, whose heart would later be revealed to be somewhere else altogether), which causes their heartbeats to go away one by one. Finally McCoy uses the device on himself, leaving only the sound of the transporter operator’s heartbeat. “Mr. Spock, eliminate his heartbeat,” Kirk says. Whoa now, hey, what do you have against the transporter operator—oh. Oh, I see what you meant.

Spock flips a switch (and they said we’d never need an Eliminate Transporter Operator’s Heartbeat switch on the bridge!). Everyone should now be accounted for...but there’s still the sound of a heartbeat coming from somewhere. Stone very slowly gets up, walks across the bridge to find the most dramatic vantage point to stand in, and says, “...Finney.”

Yep, it looks like Finney is still alive and hiding out somewhere on the ship. Either that, or the Enterprise is haunted. 50/50. Kirk tells Spock to localize the sound and Spock says it’s coming from B deck, in or near Engineering. So Kirk has him seal that area of the deck off, and then heads for the lift, but stops because Stone is still standing there.

“So Finney is alive,” he says. Yes, thank you, Commodore Obvious.

“Commodore, this is my problem,” Kirk says. “I would appreciate it if no one left the bridge.” He hops in the lift, and I guess Stone at this point has completely given up on any attempt to exert control over the trial, because he makes no attempt to stop Kirk waltzing off the bridge. But hey, he’s just going off, completely alone, to confront a man so desperately and irrationally vengeful that he faked his own death to set Kirk up for murder—what could possibly go wrong?

So Kirk goes stalking off down the empty corridors, narrating—not giving a log, just narrating-- to us that “Sam Cogley had gone ashore to bring Jame Finney onboard. We both felt that Jame’s presence would make Finney easier to handle in the event Finney really were alive.” Oh, that sounds like a handy thing for Cogley to do. Sure would be nice if there was any sign of that happening right about now. Any...any time now.

Back on the bridge, everyone is listening to Kirk wander around shouting “BEN!” when one of the helm guys says that he’s “encountering variants.” Spock tells him to compensate. Shaw asks what this means, and Stone says it means their orbit is beginning to decay. Well, that was fast. So much for hoping that wouldn’t be an issue!

Kirk is still walking around Engineering yelling for Finney when suddenly he hears a reply: “Hello, captain...nothing to say, captain?” It’s presumably Finney, but there’s still no sign of anyone, no clue as to where the voice is coming from, so we still can’t rule out the “the Enterprise is haunted” angle just yet.

Apparently Kirk is not a proponent of that theory, because he calls back, “I’m glad you’re alive.” “You mean you’re relieved because you think your career is saved,” Finney sneers back. “Well you’re wrong!” He seems nice.

Kirk squeezes through a gap that’s in the wall for some reason and comes out in another part of Engineering, calling to Finney that it’s not too late, they can help him. “Like you helped me all along, kept me down, robbed me of my own command?” Finney says. “I’m a good officer. As good as you. I’ve watched you for years. The great Captain Kirk!”

Then, as Kirk passes along the wall, an arm suddenly comes out of a gap and sticks a phaser in Kirk’s back. Good news, you found Finney! Bad news, well, just one little minor detail, I’m sure we can sort that out.

“They told you to do it to me,” Finney says as he emerges the rest of the wall from his hiding place. I had figured he was talking into an intercom or something, but apparently he just has really good projection. “You all conspired against me, ruined me! But you won’t do it anymore!” Then he takes Kirk’s phaser and throws it away somewhere. I am shocked, shocked, I tell you, that this man would be so careless about gun safety.

Kirk, still looking unperturbed about all this, calmly tells Finney to put the phaser down. Finney says he wouldn’t kill Kirk—oh, no. Kirk’s own death would mean too little to him, which, well, yeah, it’s hard to care about very much after you’re dead. But Kirk’s ship…

[ID: Finney, a white man with graying brown hair, raising one eyebrow in a demented expression and saying, “Oh, I wouldn’t kill you, captain.”]

If you ever find yourself making this expression during an argument, it’s a good sign you may no longer be the more reasonable party.

“What about my ship?” Kirk immediately demands, doing an excellent job of confirming to Finney that he was right on the money with that one. Finney gleefully says that the ship is dead, he killed it. Specifically, he did something to the primary energy circuits. Huh, maybe emptying the entire ship so that the man we suspected to have an irrational grudge so big he would fake his own death over it could have the run of the place wasn’t a great idea.

Kirk runs over to a comm and asks Spock what their orbit status is. Spock and the helm guy confirm that their orbit is decaying fast, much faster than it should, even with the dodgy orbital mechanics in TOS. They’re out of power, Finney says—he knows this ship too, because it should have been his, would have been if Kirk hadn’t kept him from it. Oh, grow up and go to therapy like the rest of us.

Why kill innocent people? Kirk asks Finney. Finney—who started sweating buckets in-between shots—laughs and says there’s no innocents here, just officers and gentlemen, captains all, “except for Finney and his one mistake, a long time ago...but they don’t forget!” And, you know, the transporter officer, communications officer, two helm officers, the first officer and a doctor. Plus everyone on the starbase below, which was probably not built to survive an enormous starship crashing into the planet. But I’m sure Finney’s worked out some way in which they’re all responsible for his misfortunes as well. Kirk tries to take the bullet, telling Finney to place all the blame on him, but Finney says no, everyone’s to blame! Everyone but him! He was a good officer! He loved the service! He’s a completely reasonable, rational man with great judgment, and that’s why an enormous conspiracy involving all of Starfleet is the only possible reason why he hasn’t been promoted any farther yet! Then he starts crying. Great.

Meanwhile on the bridge, Spock and the helm guy are trying to fix their orbit but having no success, so Spock tells everyone they need to get to the transporter room pronto. But Stone cuts in and says, “Mr. Spock, the court has not yet reached a verdict. We’ll hear this witness out.” DUDE. PRIORITIES.

Kirk is still trying to talk Finney down, saying that it’s not too late for him to be helped, but it will be if he kills all these people. Finney insists that it’s only fair because “they killed [him]” which is either the world’s most over the top figure of speech, or he’s forgotten that he’s only pretending to be dead.

But then Kirk finally gets Finney’s attention by asking if Jame’s included in that deal. Finney, horrified, asks what he means by that, and Kirk says she’s onboard by now. Of course, he has no evidence of this, but Finney believes him anyway. “Why did you do that?” he wails. “WHY DID YOU BRING HER HERE?”

Kirk takes advantage of his distraction to rush him. That’s right, it’s FIGHT SCENE TIME. More specifically, it’s Fight Scene With The World’s Most Obvious Stunt Doubles Time. Seriously, it’s amazing.

[ID: Two shots of a pair of men fighting in Engineering. They are very clearly not the original actors.]

After a lot of general thrashing around, Finney gets his hands on a wrench. Not, like, a futuristic space wrench or anything. Just a regular old wrench, which is sitting on its own little wrench pedestal for some reason, like a museum exhibit.

[ID: Finney grabbing a wrench that’s sitting on a gray block built into the wall.]

Finney grabs it and starts going full Bioshock, swinging wildly at Kirk, but Kirk manages to dodge his way out of a serious head injury. Or at least, his stunt double does.

And yes, Kirk gets his shirt ripped.

[ID: Kirk with the front of his shirt ripped completely off his right sleeve, bracing himself as Finney takes a swing at him.]

Eventually, Kirk manages to get Finney up against a wall and clobber him on the jaw a few times, putting him down for the count. Then Kirk resumes his narration, telling us that, “Beaten and sobbing, Finney told me where he had sabotaged the prime energy circuits. The damage he had caused was considerable, but not irreparable. With luck, I would be able to effect repairs before our orbit decayed completely.”

The reason we’re getting this narration is that originally, there would have been a scene actually showing Jame entering Engineering and Finney’s reaction, which was actually shot but cut for time. Without that scene, the question of whether Jame was ever actually on the ship is kind of left open. Cogley says he was going to go get her, but obviously they haven’t returned by the time the whole heartbeat-test thing goes on, we never hear any word from the transporter operator about them coming up after that, and presumably no one would beam them up once they realized the ship was currently crashing. Kirk telling Finney that Jame is onboard “by now” is clearly a shot in the dark, but since Finney accepts this anyway, the whole venture becomes kind of a moot point.

While he’s narrating, we see Kirk climbing up a Jeffries tube, because, sure, he’s an engineer now, why not. His repair job seems to consist entirely of pulling wires out of the wall with his bare hands, but evidently it works because after a bit of shaking back and forth, the helmsman reports that power is returning. They’re able to activate the impulse engines again and stabilize their orbit. You hear that, Scotty? It’s all good. Put the phaser down.

Stone turns to Shaw and says, “Unless the prosecution has an objection, I rule this court to be dismissed.” Shaw says she has absolutely no objection. Stone doesn’t ask the rest of the board, but they don’t seem to have opinions on anything so it’s probably for the best.

Some time later, after everyone’s come back onboard and, presumably, Finney’s been led away to a quiet room somewhere, Kirk is on the bridge having a little soft focus moment with Shaw. She asks when she’ll see him again, and he says that depends on the stars. Poetic. Then she says that Cogley asked her to give Kirk something—a book. “Not a first edition or anything, just a book. Sam says that makes it special, though.” Yeah, well, he would.

Kirk says he didn’t have much chance to thank Cogley, since he just kind of walked off camera and never came back. Shaw says he’s busy on a case: defending Finney, and he says he’ll win, too. Oh yeah, sure. He did such a great job with Kirk’s trial, after all. I’m sure it’ll be a piece of cake defending the guy whom several witnesses heard confessing to his intent to crash a starship and everyone on it into a planet.

“Do you think it would cause a complete breakdown of discipline if a lowly lieutenant kissed a starship captain on the bridge of his ship?” Shaw asks. Oh lord, have you heard the kind of things that go on aboard this ship? A shirtless crewman bursting onto the bridge with a rapier is just another day in the life around here. Making out with the captain doesn’t even rank.

Sure enough, they kiss, and no one takes any notice. Shaw says goodbye, and Kirk wishes her better luck next time. “I had pretty good luck this time,” she replies. “I lost, didn’t I?”

She leaves, and Kirk takes a moment to put his best serious face on, then goes to sit down in his chair.

[ID: 1. Kirk sitting in his chair on the bridge, flanked by Spock and McCoy. Kirk is saying, “She’s a very good lawyer.” 2. Spock replies, “Obviously.” 3. McCoy adds, “Indeed she is.”]

Court Martial is kind of a...scattered episode. It doesn’t seem to know quite what to do with itself. We’ve got all this stuff about the computer, and about the nature of the computer as a witness, which seems to be building up to some big philosophical point. But in the end it all has nothing to do with anything. The computer log is just a piece of evidence which was tampered with, and there’s really nothing deeper to it than that. All of Cogley’s rants about the computer and elevating it above mankind etc etc all have nothing to do with anything, his attitude never gives him any helpful insight, and in the end the computer is used to help prove Kirk innocent without anyone batting an eyelid at the irony. Meanwhile, the whole story about Finney and his years-long grudge has to share time with this, but the themes of those two story threads don’t really have anything in common, so instead of complementing each other they mostly just take focus away from each other.

There was another scene in here that was cut, although I don’t think that one ever got filmed—originally, it was going to be mentioned at some point that while Jame was going through those letters she mentioned, some things her dad said made her realize it was likely he might try something like this, hence her abrupt turn-around towards Kirk halfway through. But we didn’t get that, and we didn’t get her appearing at the end. I think it would have made the story stronger if we had gotten those scenes instead of people talking about the computer so much. Or they could have gone the other way, and focused more on the drama about the computer instead of having Jame show up periodically for ultimately no payoff. Neither of those stories are inherently bad, it’s just that the focus is too divided to do either one justice. It’s not a bad episode, but I think it could have been better.

Trek Trope Tally: The climactic battle with Finney brings our Uniforms Unformed tally up by one, for a total of 5 counts so far. Next time, everything’s gonna be just :) in The Return of the Archons.

[rreader]

Hello, I really enjoyed the one you've just posted about Jim asking Spock's half sister out on a date. Would it be possible to write like a sequel where after years of dating, Jim finally has the courage to propose to her? She says yes. Thank you!

pairing: james t. kirk x spock’s sister!reader ; spock x uhurafandom: star trek (modern)warnings: languagegenre: fluffprevious: x

summary: five years. that’s how long you had been by his side, through the bad and the good. and now jim decided that it was finally time to take the next step with you, even if he had never thought he’d be that kind of guy.

a/n: such a cute request and one I loved writing. I enjoyed the first one a lot, so this was nice. I might actually make another one, where they have their first baby.. idk, we’ll see I guess. for now, enjoy this one my love ♥

Jimhad never thought he’d end up like this.

Yearsago, he has had missions that were so dangerous, that he should haveshit his pants. He should have been scared and downright nervousabout every single one of his moves and choices. But he had kept calm through itall, rode out the storm like a pro without breaking a sweat. Because that’s who he was. The cool guy.

Buthere he was, his forehead and palms were glistening with sweat, hewas shifting his weight from one foot to the other and his breathingwas rapid at the thought of what he was about to do.

Andall because of a single question..

..butthat question would change his life forever. Both if you were to give him the answer he wanted you to give and the one he was so afraid of.

“Youseem nervous, Captain,” Spock said, hands confidently behind hisback, “Are you scared of what my sister might say to you?”

Jimrolled his eyes and leaned his forehead against the cold wall infront of him.

“Notnow, Spock.”

Spock wasn’t concerned about Jim proposing to you. No, being able to see just how scared he was of it, was actually rather amusing to him. He enjoyed this.

Thefact that the great Captain Jim Kirk, who was known for fearingnothing and being so very brave, was currently about to cry becauseof his sister.

Notonly was he amused, but proud of you for having such an effect onJim.

WhenSpock was about to say something else, the door got opened and Uhuraentered with a big and excited smile.

“She’son her way.”

Jimnodded and looked at himself in the mirror once more, straighteningout the white shirt he was wearing and taking a deep breath. He kepttelling himself that it would be alright, that you would say yes. Youdidn’t have a reason to do otherwise.. did you? You had been datingfor more than five years now.. it was time to take the next step,even if the topic of marriage hadn’t come up that often and if it had, you both just ended up joking about it.

Hejust hoped that you would see it the same way he did.. that you wanted totake your relationship to the next level.

Sohe took one last look at himself, making sure that his appearence was perfect, before walking past Uhura and Spock.

“Inever thought I would say it, but I think Jim is going to make anamazing husband,” she said, once Kirk was out the door, “Don’t you think?”

“TheCaptain has changed a lot over the course of the past years and Ibelieve my sister has been a huge influence on him. So yes, I believehe shall indeed make a good husband and treat my sister right.”

Uhura’ssmile turned into a grin and she wrapped her hands around his arm,leaning against her boyfriend.

Who would have thought that Spock would one day approve of Kirk so much, that he’d not be against the idea of him marrying his little sister.

Certainly not Uhura.

                                                             * * * 

“Uh..hello?” you glanced around the big room, your eyes scanning thearea to see if there was like a hidden passage where the party wassupposed to be, “Am I too early?” you murmured, more to yourself, than to the emptiness of the room.

Nope,when looking at the time real quick, you realized that you wereactually a little late.

Uhurahad come into your room about twenty minutes ago, telling you aboutthe party the crew was having because of the success of the lastmission.

‘Everyoneis going to be there, (Y/N)! You have to come too!’

Youwere exhausted, wanted to take a hot shower and then cuddle with Jim, but the all-to-well known group pressure had gottenthe better of you, and so you had changed, taken a super quick showerand made your way over to where the party was supposed to be.

Onlythat there was nothing here. No party, no people.. just you.

And..-

“Oh,good, I thought this was a prank or something. They told me there isa party?” you asked Jim, who closed the door behind him.

“Therewill be.”

“SoI am too early? Uhura said I should hurry,” you huffed, annoyed thatyou could have taken your time and at least enjoyed a nice, hotshower. But that annoyance quickly faded when you saw the state thatyour boyfriend was in, “Jim? What’s wrong with you?”

Hewas sweating, his hands were even shaking slightly, even thoughsomebody else wouldn’t have noticed it. But that’s what more thanfive years of being in a relationship with him got you. You couldalways tell when there was something wrong. And quite frankly, this has never been a state you had seen him in.

Youmade your way over to him and pressed your hand against his forehead.

“Hmm..you don’t have a fever.”

“(Y/N)..”

“..butwe should still go and see Bones. You’ve been coughing quite a lotyesterday, maybe you’ve gotten sick on the last mission...”

“(Y/N),listen..-”

“Comeon, I’ll go with you,” you wouldn’t even let him finish, way tooworried with the possibility of him being sick.

Butwhen you grabbed his hand and wanted to pull him away, he stood hisground and grabbed both of your hands instead.

“(Y/N),can you just let me talk for a moment?”

“Oh,right..,” you cleared your throat, “Sorry, go ahead.”

Hetried to calm his accelerating heartbeat down, but holding your handslike this and staring into your (Y/E/C) eyes, he realized that hewouldn’t be able to calm down, before he got your answer.

Sohe took a few more deep breaths, lowering his head and closing hiseyes, before taking up all the courage he had in him and looking back up intoyours.

“Youknow how much I love you, right?”

Youfurrowed your eyebrows.

“Yes?”

“Good,that’s good,” he nodded and tried to continue, but the lump in histhroat kept him from doing so right away, so silence engulfed the two of you.

Onlywhen one of your hands disappeared out of his and instead, was placedon his cheek, did he look back up at you.

“You’reworrying me.”

“No!”he quickly said, that was definitely not his intention, “No, pleasedon’t be worried. If anything, I’m the worried one. Fuck, I’m sosorry, I thought I’d be able to pull this off like every other guy. And here Iam, like a teenager asking you to go to prom with me.”

“Well,you always said you’d take me dancing, someday,” you smiled happilyup at him.

Asmile that made him beam as well.

Howcould he not be nervous right now? When someone like you, someonethat he loved so much, was standing in front of him and only aquestion away from becoming his wife.

“Youknow.. when I was younger, I never thought I’d find someone like you,much less fall in love and be loved in return by someone like you. Ithought I’d spend the rest of my life sleeping around with whoever Iwanted to sleep with. But when you came into my life, my prioritieschanged from day to day. And then, eventually, there was a day whereI realized that there was only one future for me. A future that hadyou in it.”

Youkept smiling, still completely oblivious to what was happening, so hecontinued.

“Irealized that.. calling you my girlfriend isn’t enough for meanymore,” only after that sentence did your smile drop. Not becauseyou were upset, but because you were shocked, “I realized that Iwant to call you the mother of my children. I want to call you mywife, (Y/N). I want to call you mine, for the rest of my life. So..”

Andwhen he knelt down in front of you, you couldn’t help but take thetiniest of steps back, your hand covering your mouth.

“(Y/N)(Y/L/N). Will you do me the honor of marrying me?”

Itwas so.. traditional. Not that you had EVER expected him to proposeto you, in any form or manner. The topic had come up from time totime, but always in a playful manner, so that you never had taken itserious. You had accepted that he probably didn’t want to marry andit was alright for you, really.

Butnow that he was kneeling in front of you and asking you that samequestion that you had always dreamt of someone asking you when youwere a child?

Itwas all a bit overwhelming.

Somuch, that you hesitated for one second too long and you could feelJim’s hopes of you accepting vanish by the second.

“Ido,” you finally whispered and his eyes grew bigger.

“Youdo?”

“Ido!” you laughed, two lonely tears rolling out of your eyes, beforeyou leaned down, cupped his face in your hands and kissed himpassionately. He held your hips, slowly getting up from the floor,but not stopping the kiss for a second.

Onlywhen he put the ring onto your finger, did you separate for the tiniestmoment, lips returning to meet each other again afterwards.

Youwrapped your arms around his neck and he pulled you close, his ownarms around your middle.

Andwhen you could hear the sounds of clapping behind you, you found somemembers of the crew standing in the door way with the biggest ofsmiles on their faces.

Yourbrother being one of them.

Andwhen your brother smiled, that meant something.

[whatif-animagineblog]

Title: The Seven Years Between

Summary: You beamed down onto this planet seven years ago, only to arrive back on your ship to discover it’s only been 14 hours. 

Pairing: Pavel/Reader

Warnings: None really

Word count: 3143

A/N: I hope you enjoy this. This damn thing has been hanging out in my WIPs for months waiting for me to finish. It also was switched from Pavel SO to TOS Jim and back again. I’m pretty proud how this came out. Also, how would you feel about a company piece of when the Reader and Pavel first met?

*Я тоже люблю тебя, милый -YA tozhe lyublyu tebya, milyy-I love you too, sweetheart

You slammed your hand down on the button of your makeshift transporter and sighed in relief when you felt yourself dematerialize. It had to work, you finally heard a transmission from a ship, after so long. It had to work.

You collapsed when you materialized on the transporter pad from the rough transport. You looked up at the technician, you both having a look of shock. He pressed the button on the way to page the bridge. “Captain, it’s Y/N. She’s back all on her own.”

“Richard! Oh my God! What are you guys still doing here?” You attempted to stand but collapsed, weak from the transport.

“What do you mean? We only lost contact with you 14 hours ago.” You felt your brain stall, no. It was seven years. You had been down there for seven years.

A few minutes later The Captain walked in with Dr. McCoy and Chekov close behind. Chekov forced his way through, squeezing past to get to you. Falling to his knees to pull you into a hug. “Y/N,” He cried running up and wrapping his arms around you. Gently cradling your head in his neck. The hand on the back of your hair gripping tightly whilst the thumb stroked. “I was so worried. 14 hours of no communication.”

“Pavel,” you whimpered feeling a full onslaught of emotion. Tears started to soak his uniform.

“Shh, it's okay sweetheart. It’s okay your home.”

“Pavel, it's been so long,” you whispered gripping onto his shirt refusing the let go.

“I know it must feel like that.”

“No. It’s been seven years Pavel. Seven solar years have passed. There is time dilation on that planet!” Chekov pulled back to look at you. Tears streaming down your face cutting through the dirt that was caked there. “I-I haven’t, I haven’t seen you.” You reached your hands up to cradle his face, rubbing her thumbs over his cheeks. “I haven’t touched you, in years.”

His eyes flicked over your face trying to think of what to say or do. “I’ve missed you.” Pavel gently leaned in to brushed his lips against yours afraid to do too much.

“I was so worried.” He pulled back again, “let’s get you to medbay.” He eased you to your feet with the help of Leonard.

“Come on sweetheart, let’s get you checked out.” Len kicked Pavel out of the exam room, claiming he needed the space.

“Well, your metabolism has slowed down,” McCoy sighed as he looked at the readout. “That’s to be expected. So I want to give you a few vitamins and nutrition supplements for a few weeks.  Just to get you back to normal.” He smiled as he placed a hand on your shoulder. “I’m guessing you might need someone to talk too after all this. You’ve gone through a lot. I’m here, okay?”

You smiled at him and nodded, “Thank you, Doctor. I think for right now I’d like to get back to my room if I’m allowed.”

“You are free to leave, but I want you back here tomorrow understand? You’ve been relieved of duty for at least a week or until you feel fully readjusted.” You nodded sliding off the bed, you hugged Doctor McCoy tightly.

“I missed you, Len.”

His arms wrapped tightly around you tightly, “You gave me one hell of a scare. I’m glad you’re home.”

“Me too.” You pulled away and Bones gripped your forearms.

“Hey, I don’t want to rush you but, talk to Pavel.”

“It’s like looking at a ghost, Leonard. I can’t. Plus now I’m what, five years older than him? He deserves someone his age, and without all the emotional baggage of being lost in time dilation.” Bones crossed his arms with a smirk on his face. “Sweetheart, I know I can’t be the first to tell you we all have horrible emotional baggage. But. If you aren’t ready, you aren’t. The kid will respect that.” He pulled you into a tight hug again. “Get some rest.”

As the door opened to your quarters you smiled, it was all the same. It still smelled like home, the apple and pine scented candles that Pavel got you at Starbase Three. It was your one-year anniversary present. You gave the unlit candle a sniff before stripping of the cloth you used as clothing. You gingerly stepped into the sonic shower and instantly melted. The water pressure felt like magic on your skin. The water jest pushing into tight muscles, cutting through the thick layer of dirt and grease. You moaned in satisfaction, washing your hair a few times before it even felt clean.

As you toweled off you thought it best to go get some rest like McCoy suggested, well, rather commanded. As you laid on your bed you almost started sinking into the soft padding. You chuckled as you remembered when you one complained that it was way to stiff and made your backache. You sighed staring at the ceiling, it was like your first night on your ship all over again. You could hear the humming of the engines, and the usually unnoticeable vibration of the ship radiated through your body. Then there were the people walking by, chatting and laughing for the most part. Every night on that planet was quiet and still, and has now made your tolerance to noise so low. When you were last on the ship, Pavel said you sounded like Scotty when you stated that the hum of the engines lulled you to sleep. It was rough.

You started to toss and turn searching for some kind of relief.

None came that night, nor the night after, the third night you decided it was best to seek help. You shuffled into Medbay late, around 3:00 am, the room was mostly dim save a few lights. The rhythmic beeping breaking the silence. As you slid in you spotted Leonard sipping on some coffee reading a PADD “Hey…”

He looked up “Hey, you alright?”

You started rubbing your hands together nervously, “I can’t sleep,” you whispered. “I can feel the ship moving, and the humming, and I-I I don’t know.” He patted a biobed before turning to a cabinet.

“No problem I’ll prescribe something, but I thought I might give you a sedative and have you spend the night here.” You nodded, pushing yourself up on the bed. He came back over and pressed the hypo against your neck, then moved to help you lay down. “Take it easy, Darlin.” He brushed your hair back as the medicine took you.

The time apart from you finally made Pavel Chekov slink his way into Leonard McCoy’s office, “Doctor?”

Leonard looked up from a PADD, “Chekov, what’s the issue?”

“Y/n” he muttered softly, looking down at his hands. “It’s been two months and she hasn’t talked to me.”

“Pavel I told you. She needs time.”

“I know that,” He threw his hands up in frustration as he began to pace, “I know but it’s driving me mad! I’ve tried to be respectful… The few messages and calls I’ve left she hasn’t even answered. She talks to you though right?”

McCoy sighed and nodded, “Yes, in a therapeutic way. And no I can’t tell you anything.”

“I know, but, but!” Pavel leaned himself against Leonard’s desk, arms folded. “I can’t believe she was trapped for seven years. I mean she must have thought we abandoned her. That I abandoned her.” Len looked up watching him pace in front of his desk.

“Chekov,” he attempted.

“She won’t even look at me. “Maybe she doesn’t love me anymore. It’s been seven years for her.”

“That’s not true.” Leonard stood rounding the table to stand in front of the young kid “Pavel. She’s still adjusting. She never thought she see you again. She thinks this is too good to be true. Maybe back off a bit.”

“Isn’t she lonely?”

“From the looks of it she had been mostly alone down there. So all of this, all 400 of us? That’s a huge change.”

Chekov looked down at her feet and back up at Len, “I just want to understand. I just want to help, Doctor McCoy.”

“I know,” the older man placed his hand on his shoulder. “I know. Me too.”

“I miss her. I just think of the things she must’ve suffered. He should have never sent her down there.”

“Now, we will have none of that. This isn’t anyone’s fault.”

“But, Doctor McCoy, he put her in danger! She could have died hell I thought she did!”

“She was doing her job. She insisted remember? She was best suited for the job.”

“He could have said no. He could have ordered her to stay. He could have ordered someone else!”

“No, he couldn’t. You know that. ”

“Are we sure I mean,” Pavel huffed as he turned to leave.

“Pavel” He barely glanced over his shoulder. “Blaming Kirk is not going to help her. I know you angry and you want something to be angry at, but these things happen. I know that’s a shitty thing to hear but it’s something you need to accept. I’m here to talk if you need me.” Pavel nodded and left, head hung.

Later in the week, you clipped his shoulder walking back to your quarters and Pavel on instinct grabbed your wrist, slipping his grip to your hand. “Hi,” he whispered.

You gently squeezed back, “Hi.”

“Do you want to talk?”

You stood there a minute looking down at your hands linked together. Slowly you nodded, “Yeah.”

“How about your quarters? We won’t be disturbed there.” You nodded gently pulling him along.

As soon as you got in you dropped his hand, “How are you doing?”

“Alright,” you said softly daring to look up into his eyes for the first time in a few weeks. And looking into those honest eyes you felt everything come bubbling up to the surface. “I’m trying to get adjusted you know. I’m still having nightmares, I’ve been taking sleeping aids because it’s so bad. And i don’t mean to be ignoring you, Pavel. I really don’t. I just, I-I,” you felt tears starting to build up, and as soon as they did they fell.

Despite every nerve in Chekov’s body telling him to sweep you into his arms; he simply took your hand and squeezed. “It’s okay. I know you’ve been having a rough time.” Hesitantly, he brought his hand up to wipe some tears. “You’ve been so brave you know. So brave.”

You took a few breaths, wrapping a hand around his wrist that was next to your face. “I’m scared.”

“Of?”

You shook your head and shrugged looking back down not able to look at that soft face, “I don’t know a lot of things I guess. That Starfleet might discharged me. That this might be a dream and I’m still on that planet. That I’ll never feel normal again.” Your voice got thick with emotion, as heavier tears ran down your face. “T-That,” you hiccuped, looking back into those clear blue eyes, “That you won’t love me anymore.” You finally broke into inconsolable sobs, your body shaking with the raw emotion you felt.

Now he pulled you in, running his hand along your back. He rested his chin on your shoulder as you buried your face into his chest. You fingers curling into the yellow fabric. Slowly he pulled you down to sit on your bed. He sighed against you as you pushed in further. “I love you.” He squeezed you shaking you a bit before pulling back to look at you. “You hear me? I love you. I love you.” He moved his hands to grab yours, “My God, I love you.” He gently pulled your hands to his lips.

Despite the swirling emotions you laughed. You smiled as he did it again, “I remember when you first kissed my hand.”

“Oh?” Pavel tilted his head to the side confused at the change of topic. “That gala for the second year anniversary?”

No,” you shook your head.”I mean on Starbase 5. Do you remember that? It was before I was the Enterprise.”

“We were on shore leave. Celebrating our first few months. I was with a bunch of friends.  Well, until I saw you.”

“And you to my surprise didn’t use a cheap line on me.”

“Because you told me you would knock me on my ass.”

“I would’ve. But you were so nice, and charming. You kissed my hand. I think I fell for you then.”

Pavel smiled, “That was so long ago. We didn’t even start dating till after the Gala.”

“Even longer for me.” He adjusted the way he sat on the bed.

“I know...Do you love me still,” Pavel’s voice was soft and had a slight tremor to it. I understand it’s been seven years. That’s a long time.”

You sighed, gripping his hands tight, “You moron. The thought of you and this crew….it kept me alive. That memory, now like 15 years ago for me, when you kissed my hand for the first time? That kept me alive. Of course, I still love you.” You were quiet for a minute, “I was also scared that you did still love me.”

Pavel licked his lips, tilting his head to the side again, “I-I’m not sure I understand.”

More tears built up as he made eye contact, forcing the words out of you, “I’m scared you still loved me. Be-because I’m now so much older, a-and, a-and the baggage of-of.”

He kept his grip on your hands and brought you in close, nose barely touching. “Hey! Hey, who stays up with me when I have nightmares of the Nero attack? Who is always there for me to carry the weight of my tragedies and failures? You. You’ve always been there.” He brushed his nose against yours, pressing his forehead against yours, “ Now it’s my turn. I’m not going to let you handle this alone. I’ve got you. I’m with you. And I’ll tell you that as often as you need to hear.”

“What about my age? I have like five years on you now,” you don’t know why you suddenly felt so insecure but you did. But, Pavel just smiled and let out a low chuckle.

“I’ve been on a ship where most of my prospects are four years older than me. I’m fine. I’m perfect if you are okay with it. I want you to be comfortable.” Your heart understandably melted as he leaned his head to the side and his lips hovered above yours, suddenly become afraid of kissing you, “I love you, and your age has nothing to do with it.”

You let out a shuddering sigh, closing your eyes, trying to prevent more tears. You tried focusing on enjoying his hold on you. “I’d never thought I’d have this again.”

This time you felt a shuddering sigh against you, “Me either.” You stayed like that for a few minutes. “Can I kiss you,” the soft request came with a voice thick with tears. “Please?” You felt chills run down your spine as his breath breezed across your lips.

You tilted your head to the side and pressed your lips against his gently. It was like the first kiss all over again. Soft and tender, he carefully placed his hand on your cheek. And even though it felt like the first it still felt like home. Like you were finally home because Pavel still loved you.

“Do you think me sleeping next to you will help,” he finally asked.

You shrugged, “I don’t know. It’s worth a try. But-”

“Nothing will happen. We’ll take everything slow. You dictate our speed to intimacy. Okay?”

You smiled softly, kissing his cheek, “Okay. Alright.” The Pavel’s eyes began to feel with tears. His nose began to turn pink and his brows knitted together. You caressed his cheek, “Pasha?” Then it was like the dam broke, tears spilled over his cheeks and he let out small gasps that lead to large sobs. “Pasha,” you pulled him in, pressing his head into your shoulder. Your finger twisting in his hair. You felt the thick tears on your neck, his hand curling into the fabric of your shirt. You just began to coo and whispering affects and affirmations of his safety.

After a few minutes, he finally began to speak, “I missed you. And I know it’s nothing to compare, but I’ve missed you. And I’ve missed hearing you call me Pasha.”

You smiled and kissed the top of his head, “I’ve missed having you to call Pasha. I’m sorry I’ve been so quiet.”

“Don’t apologize, please. You have nothing to be sorry for. I understand, even more now.” He slowly untangled himself from you and walked to your closet. “Thank God we’ve had sleepovers so often, right?”

“I think our sleepovers and clothes is an oxymoron.”

Pavel spun around to face you after he had taken his shirt off, “Who you calling a moron?”

“You,” you teased. Pavel started advancing towards you, pushing you back onto the bed with a gentle force. You let out a very undignified squeal as he loomed over you. “Pavel, no,” you begged.

“Take it back,” He teased, a bright smile on his face as he freed a hand.

You tried to wiggle away but it was useless. So, you stilled and hardened your resolve, “Never.”

“Then it is to be war,” he asked giving you one more out.

“It is.”

Then that cheating bastard went straight to the most ticklish place on you, that cheating bastard. You squealed and tried to push his hands off. “No fair,” you yelled, “You have to work up to that! You can’t just go nuclear!” Pavel just laughed as he continued and you fought for a breath, “Pasha!”

“Just take it back. Just take it back, Y/N and I stop.” You groaned and mumbled an apology. “What was that I can’t hear you.”

“I take it back,” you laughed and he pulled his hands away and kept himself propped over you. As you caught your breath you felt wonderful. In that moment it felt like you had never left. Like you had just been apart for a few hours. “I love you,” you mumbled as you pulled him down on top of you, pressing your nose into his shoulder.

“Я тоже люблю тебя, милый. Seven years we’ve been together.”

“I pegged down the great Russian Lover.”

“Always.” You laid underneath his weight for a while, enjoying the warmth, the contact that you had been denied for so long. You were finally safe, you were finally warm, you were finally home.

TAGS: @feelmyroarrrr @outside-the-government @kaitymccoy123 @starshiphufflebadger @pinkamour1588 @thevalesofanduin @mccoymostly @answer-the-sirens @imaginestartrek @wificrazymisfit @athena1138 @buckyy3s @malindacath @bkwrm523 @goodnightwife @star-trekkin-across-theuniverse @jefferson-in-the-tardis @youre-on-a-starship @yourtropegirl @thequeenofthehobbits @awhitewyvern @daytimemaniac @dreaming-about-starfleet @starfleetorbust @sparkedupsilver @goddessqueenloki  @anotherotter @romansinsparta @lady-hawkguy

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TOS Tag Game

OK for starters YAAASSS, feel free to tag me in these every time because I too want to talk endlessly about Star Trek TOS and am always excited to feed the fandom beast.

@burning--amber tagged me in this greatness -- I apologize for the delay but you know, I did have to find a publisher who would sign off on this fucking NOVEL. Because that is actually what I wrote in response. I am so sorry. 😂 When I say I’m here to talk Trek I MEAN I am HERE. To get up to the podium and PREACH THE GOSPEL. I encourage anyone following me who’s thirsty to talk TOS to jump aboard, tag me and give us the T! I want to hear from y’all! 

1. Which is the most defining moment for Spock and Jim as couple, in your opinion? One which left you most shaken?

Wow, yes. Ohhhh no. Let’s talk about this. (Who let me out of my cage?) There are so many strong moments in TOS, my GOD. Amok Time is the most infamous and blatant, you can’t really skate over that big guy because -- because -- YOU KNOW WHY. IT’S AMOK TIME. This is the elephant in the room which will stomp you to death if you ignore it. I can’t let myself write a paper with a works cited list on Amok Time right now, I just can’t. That episode -- I mean -- it was literally getting sucker punched in the junk with a slash fandom awakening. Kirk sacrificing command? His career? Risking his life?! Spock becoming completely void, utterly gutted, and a husk of a destroyed existence in the aftermath of what he believed to have actually done to Jim? I don’t know how it’s possible for anyone to watch that episode and not get steamrolled into a human pancake at how real and obvious the Spirk relationship became right then and there. IN THE 60′S! Yup just bros though, just bro things. 

I did let myself practically write a paper on how huge Devil in the Dark was for Kirk and Spock -- you get to see two individuals who each have a valid point, who both believe fiercely in their own standpoint, and who ultimately end up adopting one another’s views. It’s a beautiful demonstration of what they mean to each other as equals and as individuals -- how in sync they are and what a significant mutual respect they share. 

Throughout the series you’re hearing and witnessing Kirk’s rather open way of expressing affection for Spock. Plato’s Stepchildren is one of those rare opportunities where we get to see the depth of Spock’s feelings for Kirk via his own words and actions. And it is intense enough to make up for how difficult it can be sometimes to get a clear window into Spock’s perspective. It was all out there for anyone to see after Spock witnesses Kirk getting mistreated and nearly being made to inflict harm to Jim. You really get an understanding of just how powerful Vulcan emotion can be in that moment, and holy God, does he have strong feelings about Jim. 

But if we’re talking all-encompassing canon then for me the most defining moment for Spock and Kirk as a couple throughout the entire series has to be Spock’s epiphany in sickbay after making contact with V’Ger. We know something happened that catalyzed a rift and separation between Kirk and Spock, and this is the moment their whole relationship comes full circle. The look on his face as he’s lying there shaking his head and saying “Jim . . . I should have known.” Jim’s blatant desperation as he clasps Spock’s shoulders and begs: “Spock. What should you have known?” And Spock reaches for him. My heart drops through me every time he takes Jim by the hand, locking their grip as he stares him dead in the eyes and says: “This. Simple Feeling . . . is beyond V’Ger’s comprehension.” And Jim is overcome, bursting, and he wraps his other hand over their already entwined hands and just nods. Spock nods wordlessly back. That was acceptance. It was acknowledgement. It was forgiveness. It was walking through mental, physical and emotional hell with AND without someone and coming out on the other side again to find each other once more. It was fucking love. 

As for the one that left me the most shaken . . . it’s unquestionably the end of Wrath of Khan. From the moment that Jim looks over at that empty chair and you feel a shadow of that dread and realization, Jim pushing a member of his crew out of the way and the entire run down, having to take three men to hold him back from trying to go in there with Spock with tears in his eyes . . . I mean, when we love somebody -- truly, genuinely love somebody -- we might throw around the idea or firmly feel -- believe -- say -- that if given a choice, you’d die for that person. But in living that moment, Spock actually did exactly that out of love. He knew what had to be done and he decided to sacrifice himself for his own family -- for the whole crew of the Enterprise. But there was a reason that the sole person kneeling down in front of him weeping, reaching for him and seeking out his hand, hearing his last words, and sharing his last moments was Jim. It’s so powerful, so utterly heart shattering, such a raw and sad depiction of love, and it turns me into a hot human mess every time I see it. THE FRONT. OF THE SHIRT. IS SOAKED WITH MY TEARS. EVERY TIME.  Ahem. So uh, that just happened. There’s Chapter 1. I mean question 1. I swear to God I am not going to write chapter books for each one of these. *Wipes forehead nervously*

2. Which alien race deserved more? What do you think could have been improved upon?

Two episodes really stand out for me as outstanding in the quality of the story; I find Balance of Terror and The Enterprise Incident captivating.They sort of ghost around that decadent and dark history that Vulcans and Romulans share -- they let you see a bit of it, but there is a lot of mystery surrounding it. They pique your interest in wanting to get a better look at those cultures to understand them. Oh trust, I was beyond curious. I was frothing. I know that other Star Trek series have offered us more in terms of the Romulan backstory and history, but I really had a thirst to know more during TOS and I would latch onto whatever crumb they would toss out. Honestly, I would watch an entire series based entirely on ancient Vulcans and Romulans. I mean it, I am thirsty as hell. 

3. What is the most disappointing thing about TOS for you?

In all honesty? The fact that it got cancelled after three seasons!!! We were robbed. F u c k i n g   p i l f e r e d   b u t t   n a k e d. I’m sure there was so much ground to cover with the show that they never got a chance to bring into fruition and that frustrates me. If we’re talking some aspect within the show, those occasional moments with women that were so blatantly objectifying -- the ones that kind of jarringly reminded you that this was still made in the 60′s. I acknowledge the time it was made, but it still stings to see that sometimes if I am being entirely honest.

4. Who gets the Mr/Miss.Congeniality award if you were the judge?

I would have to say Uhura. She doesn’t get the kind of screen time that Kirk, Spock and Bones do, but I find the moments that she has with other characters to be very telling. How they react to her and treat her reveals a lot about how valuable and meaningful her presence is aboard the Enterprise. They all have such an immense love and respect for her. You just don’t really see confrontations with Uhura and other crew members -- it’s so rare compared to other members of the crew. She seems to be that person who brings brightness and light and joy to people who may be feeling very out of sorts, low on morale, or lonely in space. I also love that she canonically sings for the members of the crew to lift their spirits and help them unwind. There’s something so pure and warm about her character while also showcasing strength and professionalism in the same vein. 

5. Which section of Enterprise are you most curious to see which was never filmed?

The room, turbolift, or jeffries tube that Kirk and Spock would drag each other off to so they could make out, because we all know that it happened. (I digress. Truth be told, it was less about seeing a section of the Enterprise and more about getting a little more intimacy with the crew. I wish there had been more time for moments like seeing them getting ready before work, interacting with their rooms, showing us little glimpses of who they are and where they come from. So I guess having access to more on a personal level with the individuals -- the crew is the section of the Enterprise that I am most curious to see which was not filmed intimately enough to whet my curiosity about them.)

I have two questions.

1. What was the defining episode that you watched that made you go: Yup. I am 100% on board for this. WHERE ARE THE REST. I AM SOLD. THE CHEQUE IS CASHED, I HAVE MADE THE PURCHASE, GIVE ME THE STAR TREK.

Second . . . 

2. What. The fuck. Happened in the story between Season 3 and The Motion Picture. I legitimately live on a steady diet of fan theories about this and I’m starved to death. I don’t care if that dead horse has been beaten to glue, I can’t not talk about it. I love hearing what people have to say about that time period. Seriously. What happened between Jim and Spock. 

I WANT ANSWERS! I WANT THE TRUTH!

(You know that nobody could possibly know that and you also know that Gene Roddenberry passed away in 1991.)

*Grabs collar shakily* ASK HIM ANYWAY. 

ಠ▃ಠ . . . 

(¬▂¬) . . . 

I really should stop here. 

(No obligation, just love and admire your blogs! I’m curious what y’all have to say if you haven’t been tagged yet! <3: 

@queenofgol @ashayamspirk @thisisnotahetship @startrektrashface @demonicvulcan @pansexualspirk @homosexualspock @cptkirksnipples )

[built-from-nothing]

See Through My Eyes

Genre: Soulmate AU

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader 

Synopsis: Upon turning twenty-one, you get to experience life through your soulmate's eyes for a brief moment. Today is your birthday, and you can not wait to wake up and see Sam's reflection staring back at you, but when you gaze through the mirror his hazel eyes aren’t the ones staring back at you.

Words: 1718

Warnings: Fluff, and angst.

A/n: Thought it would be cool to do a soulmate AU and switch between Dean’s and Reader’s perspective. Hope you enjoy and would love to hear what you think! 

Your eyelids flutter open from a long night's sleep as your head begins to pound. You knew those last few shots were a bad idea, but why you let Dean talk you into them you'll never know.

The boys had taken you out for drinks last night as a pre-celebratory 21st birthday, full of laughter, booze, and bad karaoke. However, fun that may have been, (you can't quite remember now anyway), your true excitement lies in discovering the identity of your soulmate.

For as long as you can remember, people have told you stories of when they first saw their soulmate. The rush of waking up on their 21st birthday to physically see through the eyes of the one they are meant to be with. To truly solidify the connection of two souls by walking in each other's footsteps, if only for a moment. To have undeniable proof that this person was made for you, and you them.

Ever since meeting Sam you have dreamed of this day, to wake up, see his reflection staring back at you, and know that you have found the one. Butterflies soar through your stomach, the anticipation killing you.

Waking up in the bunker confirmed your suspicion on being Sam's soulmate. You've dated for a few years now, but have been hesitant to take any big steps with your 21st birthday being so close. You wanted to be certain. The day finally here, all doubts are erased from your mind for you can now feel the Winchester on the other end.

Desperately wanting to see him, you sit up rubbing the sleep from your eyes, and walk over to the dresser mirror. You smile at the picture of a tall man with long brown locks in your mind's eye and slowly open your lids.

The smile vanishes and your eyes widen at the green-eyed man staring back at you, his sandy blonde hair sticking up at odd angles begging to be fluffed down. Freckles dance across his cheeks contrasting nicely against his morning shadow. Dean grins causing small crinkles to form at the corners of his eyes illuminating his face.

Shock sends you flying back to reality and your eyes burst open to see the familiar room surrounding you. You were back in your room at the bunker. You sit at the foot of the bed and take a deep breath to calm your nerves.

It was a mistake. The 'soul vision' got it wrong. You aren't in love with Dean. You've been best friends for as long as you can remember. Memories of all the good times you and Dean have had the past couple years flash through your mind. The time you drove for hours the night before a hunt looking for a diner and had to settle for convenient store fruit pies. You sat on the hood of the Impala and talked for hours eating pie after pie, never once running out of things to talk about.

Or that time you managed to get tickets to see Metallica a few towns over from where you were hunting. The way his face lit up when Kirk walked on stage and started blasting riffs was priceless. He let you drive Baby for weeks after that concert...

A smile tugs at the corner of your lips. What if you really are soul mates with Dean? You've never heard of linking with someone platonically, but the love of a friendship is still love. 'No this is ludacris,' you think. 'You're in love with Sam. You are meant to be with Sam.'

"You are meant to be with Sam," you tell yourself over and over each time becoming less convincing than the last. Not wanting to spiral, you decide to get some coffee in your system before attempting to make sense of all that's happened. You slap your face a few times and make your way to the kitchen.

DEAN'S POV

I wake up and roll out of bed, my head groggy from last night. A smile crosses my lips as the memories of last night come pouring back. (Y/n) went all out last night, not hesitating when I pushed those last few shots. A beautiful girl who can handle her hard liquor, damn is Sam lucky. I shake my head scoffing, and continue to the dresser to get dressed.

It's good Sammy finally found someone. This line of work is brutal and as strong as he may be, it's reassuring to know he has someone to lean on that won't fuck it up. (Y/n) really is a great partner.

I step into my jeans and glance in the mirror as I pull a t-shirt from the drawer. My heart falters at the girl in the mirror, (Y/e/c) eyes staring back at me. I examine every inch of her features committing the image to memory. I reach my hand to the mirror, my fingers tracing the outline of her jaw on the cool glass. I thought for so long this day would never come. The day that I, Dean Winchester linked with my soulmate.

A knock on the door snaps me back to reality, the image of (Y/n) not leaving my mind. I had long ago given up hope of ever finding my soulmate. After years of waiting to see her, I assumed I was one of the unlucky few who never link. Oh, how wrong I was. I sit at the foot of the bed grinning, and pull my shirt on.

"Come in," I rasp. Sam creaks the door open and steps inside, face discouraged. Too engrossed in the feeling of finding my soulmate, the biggest complication slipped my mind. (Y/n) is with Sam. "What's up?" I ask and run a hand down my face pulling any emotion from it.

"Dean, can I ask you something? As someone who hasn't linked?" Sam asks, nervously pulling on the zipper of his jacket, and I hum for him to continue.

"Well with her birthday today and all, I thought-" he sighs and looks up, his eyes full of defeat. "I didn't link with her, Dean."

The image of (Y/n) flies through my mind, warming my heart. I push the feeling down and focus on helping Sam. "It's not a simple thing. There's a lot of different things that factor into it."

"Like what?" he retorts and crosses his arms over his chest.

"Ugh Sammy, I don't know." I place a hand to my temples, frustrated he had to discuss this before coffee. "Maybe you didn't give it enough time yet. Not everyone links first thing after turning 21."

He eyes me skeptically, not pleased with my half-assed answer. I sigh, knowing he won't give up until I tell him the most possible scenario. "Or you're not soulmates."

Sam nods his head curtly as his eyes begin to glisten, the truth more painful than he expected. He thought for sure you were meant to be.

"Food's ready," he chokes out, holding back tears. "I made breakfast to celebrate-" he clears his throat unable to finish the sentence and leaves for the kitchen.

I run a hand down my face, the whole situation harrowing. Not linking with   (Y/n) was hard enough on Sam, the way he scurried out of here looking like a kicked puppy. He can never know I linked with her, that me and (Y/n) are soulmates.

READER POV

You enter the kitchen to find Sam flipping pancakes. You walk up behind him and lace your arms around his middle. "Good morning," you say placing your cheek against his back and inhale deeply taking in his scent. His shoulders tense as he lowers his head.

"Hey," he grumbles and continues with the pancakes. You hesitantly remove your arms and take a seat at the table. Sam plates the cakes and sits down opposite you. "So, did you get a good night's sleep?" Sam questions, his voice on edge as he pours the syrup and takes a bite.

"Yeah, I-" You look away to hide the blush creeping up your cheeks and see Dean enter. He slicked his hair making the small tufts of disarray from earlier no longer visible. You frown slightly having preferred the look of a sleepy Dean in his boxers. Your eyes wander the bow-legged man examining his features as a pulling sensation fills your stomach, drawing you to him.

You remain seated and continue to watch as a smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, almost as if he can feel it too. You shake your head clearing your mind of such a ridiculous thought, and push the growing desire deep down within you. You are meant to be with Sam.

"I slept well, but didn't link with anyone." You glance at Sam before piling pancakes onto your plate and sheepishly look down as you lather them in syrup. You sneak glimpses of the two brothers as you cut your food trying to gauge their reactions. Sam relaxes his shoulders and leans back in the chair relief flooding through him. Dean's face hardens, his lips sitting in a tight line. 'Could be worse.'

"But it's some stupid old tradition anyway that doesn't even happen to everyone, so." You say and hastily shove pancake into your mouth. Your grandmother's words repeat the old saying in your head.

"Only those whose souls are truly connected-" you mock and look up from your plate, your mouth still full. Your eyes snap to Dean's locking instantly as you both complete the phrase said to you time and time again.

"Can see through each other's eyes." A bolt of electricity rushes through you making your heart skip. You stare fixedly into his bright green orbs, the longing building in your stomach once again as you lose all awareness of your surroundings. The only thing you know for certain being the way you feel right this moment. The desire, the pull, the need to be with Dean.

A hunger arises behind his eyes, turning his adoring, sweet gaze into one of passion and need, the intensity of which leaves you feeling exposed. Embarrassment flooding your cheeks, you unglue your eyes and cross your arms over your chest. "What a load of crap," you scoff and take another bite of the fluffy pancakes.

Part Two