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starlocked01 · 4 years ago

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Rivals to Soulmates Speedrun

AO3

Masterpost- Previous- Next

Summary: Logan is confident in his ability to compete academically. He's not prepared for the consequences of ignoring his team. Content Warning: Brief swearing, Kissing, one mild nsfw mention

Day 24 Loceit- When you first meet your soulmate you see a vision of the future. Modified so that the vision happens at their first touch.

"Alright I need everyone to focus. I don't know how we managed to get this far but we did and we are not going home empty handed," Logan looked each of his teammates in the eyes. He really did not know what miracle had gotten them all the way to the championship- no wait, yes he did. It was him. The unfortunate truth of attending a small private school meant that getting on the Academic Challenge team was not so much a matter of skill or knowledge, rather it was asking to be on the team.

Logan was used to pulling more than his fair share of the burden anyway. And at least Roman knew theater stuff and Patton- well, Patton was there for moral support.

"Just remember, all answers go through me," Logan stood straight and smiled confidently.

"Whatever you say, Spock," Roman sighed, more interested in his nails than the team captain's speech, "let's get this nerd royale over with."

"Remember to have fun, kiddos," Patton grinned and clapped his teammates on their backs as they made their entrance on stage.

Logan's first thought was to size up the competition. He wasn't intimidated in the slightest but one must know their enemy.

First was a boy who looked like he'd been dragged out of the alleyway and forced on the team. If his monochromatic outfit and terrible posture matched his enthusiasm he wouldn't pose any immediate threat to Logan.

The second boy looked, in a word, deranged. His large grin and wide eyes were out of place among the serious faces of the other competitors. Logan did have to note that the frilly black and green skirt complimented him well. The boy caught Logan’s eye and winked at him. Eugh.

The third, the team captain, was on a different level entirely from his team. Logan immediately felt utter loathing for that casual smirk. Everything about him just screamed "pretentious asshole who thinks he's smarter than everyone in the room". Logan scoffed at his socially deviant attire, which included a bowler hat and black capelet. Logan adjusted his tie. How ridiculous looking. This boy thought he was a threat to Logan. That misconception would be quickly rectified.

"Welcome to the Academic Challenge District Championship! I'm your host tonight, Thomas Sanders," the man grinned widely at the seven people in the audience, "today's game will be three rounds. Team captains, if you would step forward and shake hands."

Logan stepped forward and met the other captain in the middle of the stage. He offered a yellow-gloved hand to Logan.

"Gloves?"

"You can never be too careful. May the best team win."

Logan grabbed his hand and shook firmly, "we will."

"We'll see," the other captain smirked and turned back to his team with a flourish of his cape.

Logan smirked and pivoted to walk back to Patton and Roman who were already set up at the podium. Both boys looked absolutely bored out of their minds already but Patton at least tried to give Logan a supportive smile.

Logan gave the host a self-confident smirk, "it's game time."

They quickly ran a buzzer check for both teams and started the categories round. The other team seemed pretty evenly matched with Logan and not many points were turned over while toss-ups became a matter of who was faster to the buzzer. By the end of the round Logan had a slight lead and felt very confident.

"Alright! Now it's time for the alphabet round! Today's letter is 'N' and all the answers will start with 'n'. Teams here are your sheets, you have 4 minutes starting… now!" Thomas declared and both teams quickly flipped the list of questions.

"'Musical about the effects of mental illness on a family'," Logan read the first question aloud, "Roman, what's the answer?"

Roman shrugged, "I dunno."

"What do you mean, 'I dunno'?" Logan hissed, "this is your area of expertise!"

"Just because I'm an actor doesn't mean I've seen every show," Roman scoffed, reading down the list of questions to himself, "well I don't know any of this. Try Hamilton."

"It has to start with 'N'!" Logan groaned.

"What about 'Next to Normal'?" Patton didn't look up from his paper where he was drawing.

"Okay fine. What are you doing?"

Patton showed him the doodle, "it's a nectarine for number 17."

Logan looked dumbfounded and scrambled for the last two minutes to answer as many as possible. He glanced over at the other team to find them all talking calmly while the green skirt boy scribbled down the answers.

The buzzer sounded and both teams handed their sheets to Thomas who quickly graded the answers.

"And with that round both teams are tied! It all comes down to the lightning round. To your buzzers everyone!"

Logan only started to mildly panic when the other team got the first three answers. He knew them but couldn't buzz in fast enough.

"Help me out here, guys," he hissed at the others.

Roman rolled his eyes and buzzed in halfway through the next question, "the answer is American Gothic."

"How could you possibly know that?" Logan was furious but turned to give their official answer, "uh Grant Wood."

"No, sorry, Team B?"

The boy in the cape leaned in to the others before responding, "American Gothic."

"Correct!" Thomas replied cheerfully.

"Told you, you're on your own, wonder nerd," Roman sighed and went back to not paying attention.

Logan did his best to keep up but was falling miserably behind.

"Okay last question, where did Descartes claim the human soul resided in the body?" Thomas waited for the buzzer.

"Shit!" Logan dropped his head in shame,then heard the buzzer ring and looked up to see Patton had rang in.

"The pineal gland!" Patton blurted out cheerfully. Logan’s head hit the podium. That was the dumbest-

"Correct! And with that the final score is Team A 350 to Team B 470! Congratulations to Dark Knell High!" Thomas led the scattered applause for the team.

Logan stood, furious, and walked back to the center of the stage where the other captain stood, looking smug as hell and holding the trophy. Logan stuck out his hand for the congratulatory handshake, scowling. The boy made a show of removing his glove before taking Logan’s hand.

Logan’s back against a brick wall with that smug face inches from his. The expression softens and a finger traces his cheek before he leans in to kiss Logan. A cacophony of conflicting emotions screams through his head and settles on "wait, am I gay?" just before he kisses back, anger and humiliation temporarily forgotten in the arms of-

"Janus, my name is Janus. Looks like I'll be seeing you behind the school," Janus winked at a stunned Logan. Logan quickly straightened up and returned to his team.

"What was that about, Specs? You two were standing there for like a minute," Roman looked amused.

"I-" Logan couldn't make himself speak.

"I'm sorry we lost, Lo," Patton smiled apologetically, "they worked really well together as a team. It was going to be hard to beat them."

"No- Patton you did marvelously. I'm sorry for doubting you. And Roman, I'm sorry for not trusting you and not working together as a team. I failed you both," Logan looked down to his feet, ashamed.

"Aw, it's okay, Lo! Maybe we can practice together more before the next tournament and work together next time?" Patton gave him a reassuring smile.

"Assuming I'm even still on the team. Honestly, this sucked. I'm out of here," Roman turned to leave.

"Roman…" Patton chided

"Ugh, fine, yes we'll do better next time," he waved the others off as he left the stage to talk with their advisor.

"He'll come around," Patton grinned, "but seriously were you okay up there?"

"Patton, I think I need to go meet my soulmate. Don't let Dr. Picani leave without me," Logan was distracted by Janus slipping out a back door.

"What?? Okay I'll stall," Patton looked incredibly happy for his friend.

Logan followed Janus out the back door and soon found himself reliving the vision he'd had.

"That was a close game. I wasn't certain we were going to win until your team fell apart," Janus smiled at him, hand still in Logan's hair.

"Well, I didn't expect- you," Logan's mind was whirling.

Janus slipped him a scrap of paper and kissed his cheek before turning back to the door, "call me."

Logan looked at the phone number, "I'm Logan. And I'm sorry you're stuck with me for a soulmate."

"I'm sure we'll make it work. I was quite impressed with your performance today. Until next time, Logan," with that Janus slipped back inside and Logan realized he needed to not miss the bus back home. He sprinted around the school and found Dr. Picani patiently dealing with Patton's antics. He climbed on the bus while their advisor was distracted and collapsed in his seat.

"So where'd you disappear to, L?" Roman asked without looking up from his phone.

"Janus is my soulmate. I saw the vision when we shook hands the second time," Logan confessed.

"Oh my god! Good for you, Lo! Maybe getting laid will make you chill out," Roman smirked, texting his own soulmate.

"Wow, rude. I expected nothing less from you," Logan smirked, fishing his phone out of his backpack and programming the number in his phone before calling Janus.

"Love you, Specs," Roman grinned as Patton and Dr. Picani finally boarded the bus.

"Nice job today team! We didn't win but you gave it your best, which is what counts! Did you all have a good time?" Dr. Picani gave them all a broad grin, genuinely proud despite the loss.

"Logan sure had a good time," Roman snickered.

"I had fun!" Patton beamed.

Logan held the still ringing phone away from his ear, "today was adequate. Thank you, Dr. Picani."

"Great, let's get home," Dr. Picani turned to the bus driver and they started driving back. Logan grinned as Janus finally picked up the phone.

"Hello, Logan."

Tag List: @stoicpanther @ifrickenhatedeverythingaboutthis @idontgiveafuckaboutshit @tsshipmonth2020

#tsshipmonth2020 #Soulmate September 2020 #loceit #logan sanders #janus sanders #patton sanders #roman sanders #remus sanders #virgil sanders #dr. emile picani #c!thomas sanders #logan centric #soulmate au #high school au #academic challenge #ironically this buzzer beater... was posted late #damn my phone but I figured it out

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marlinspirkhall · 4 years ago

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Tomorrow Never Comes, Chapter 07: “Not A Single Friend”

Content Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Chapter Word Count: 3,799

[Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8]

Further CW: Major Character Death

Light streams through the window, and Jim rolls onto his side with a sleepy smile. “Morning,” he hums.

Spock watches him intensely, and it’s only when his eyebrows raise slightly that Jim realises he’s trying to communicate.

“The bond?” He croaks, pushing himself up on his elbow.

Spock shakes his head. “It didn’t survive…” His brow furrows. “The planet’s restorative abilities did their job too well.”

Over the next few days, Spock becomes more withdrawn. It doesn’t worry Jim, exactly; Spock always does this whenever they reach a new obstacle. Perhaps he blames himself. Hell, Jim’s been inside his mind; he knows he blames himself.

Jim throws himself back into research. He scours every archive he can find, reading the names of wanted smugglers in this sector, anyone who could have disappeared here, anyone who could have a clue. If getting out of here is the only way for them to retain their bond- and their bond is the only thing which will make Spock happy- then he needs to find a solution.

Jim sits near the guardrail, his legs dangling over the edge of the Veranda, and hears soft footsteps behind him. He turns, with a sad, slight smile.

“I was thinking about Earth,” Jim murmurs. “Being trapped here almost makes it easier to cope with. Do you find that?”

Spock gives a hesitant nod. “Earth was similar to this planet in many ways-”

A huff of laughter. “No, I mean- I can almost pretend that being trapped here is the only reason I won’t see it again,” Jim whispers.

Spock nods, and joins him beside the guard rail.

They sit in silence for a moment. The dark leaves of the forest rustle all around them; the first warning of the oncoming weather, and Spock wraps his arms tighter around Jim. When the first drops fall, they barely feel them; too lost in one another’s mind.

With storms like these, eternity is hard to weather. Jim tries to keep track of time, but, if it was hard before, it’s impossible now. He would have thought Spock’s own, immaculate sense of time would keep him in check, but, instead, he wonders if he’s rubbed off on him.

‘Or perhaps I was never as good at keeping time as you thought.’

‘Well, spending time trapped in a time-loop will do that to a person,’ Jim comments.

Spock massages his temples, as if dispelling a headache. ‘Perhaps we should practise your ability to block certain thoughts. It’s not necessary for me to know your every thought.’

‘Ah, but you love it.’ Jim kisses him.

Once it’s repaired, they take the shuttle for a short test flight over the forest. They don’t dare take it further until they have a more concrete escape plan, but Jim stays in the front seat a little longer once they’ve landed, double checking every part of the controls. There’s a lot about this shuttle he doesn’t understand- it’s got features he’s never seen before: some are experimental, some are prototypes. There’s an abundance of suspicious and dangerous-sounding subroutines. A large file size piques his interest, particularly because it’s nestled within a list of comparatively smaller files.

File Name | size

11292254qDefp.mp4 | 28.5TB

11302254RsTwy.mp4 | 22.23TB

11312254Ghtf2.mp4 | 58.334601151 PiB

12302253lCmdp.mp4 | 21.56TB

He stares. 58 pebibytes of information. It must be using all the shuttle’s available memory space. He searches through its parent folders.

‘Overseer Protocol: Active.’

Curious, he selects it.

‘Admin override required.’

He inputs Leland’s password, but the system refuses to accept it. Whatever the overseer protocol is, it was clearly intended to keep Leland in line. It takes Jim a couple of tries to override the system without the password.

There’s a bleep.

The video files load in their raw form: dates, followed by a series of timestamps.

28 Oct: 24:23:09

29 Oct: 25:00:00

30 Oct: 19:30:03

The screen flickers, and freezes for a moment as the numbers load.

25:56:03

An error sound.

625:56:04

5625:56:05

31 Oct: 45625:56:07

He exhales. The seconds keep ticking up. His heart pounds in his ears.

He chooses the file from October 30th, and picks a timestamp towards the end. The screen pulls up two videos, side-by-side. Two cameras. One of them displays the exterior of the shuttle, the other, the interior. The int. screen is pitch black, and the ext. is extremely dim. The only sound is the faint rustle of the trees, battered by the wind. He rolls the video back, and lands on footage of the three of them on that first day, unloading the shuttle. He clenches his fist as he watches the early relationship between Leland and Spock, and he considers just how far he’s come. In some ways, it’s a miracle he ever got away from Leland at all; and a cynical part of him wonders if, perhaps, he never did. Jim glances to the entrance to the basement with an uneasy feeling.

Spock has moments like the other night- flashes of affection- and then seems to draw back in on himself. Granted, Jim never expected it to happen all at once, but he almost believed that would be it- one final mind meld, and he would be able to save Spock. He’d forgotten, of course, just how many times Spock had melded with him before. It could be that first times- all the times which were erased from Jim’s memory- are easier than the second.

He assured Spock that he’s not trying to get him to behave more human, not holding him to Vulcan stereotypes or standards, or a strict section-31 regimen, as Leland would have. But, still, there are days where he cannot reach him.

He watches as he and Spock enter the forest, and Leland begins to move the crates of power packs towards the entrance of the basement.

Jim clicks the video off, and chooses an entry from the 29th. More of the same. Leland, crashing the shuttle through the Martian dome with barely a scratch.

As for that final entry…

The shuttle must have continued recording the whole time they were in the time-loop. The internal clock is programmed for the Martian 25-hour standard, perhaps because Mars Colony was the last chartered place the shuttle landed on, though the days aren’t nearly as long on Heirin- they’re perhaps nineteen, twenty hours maximum.

There are perhaps six Earth-years’ worth of footage crammed into this one device. He wonders how many recordings there are of himself or Leland dying, and his stomach turns. He doesn’t really want to know, but the monitor could have other uses. He ends the recording manually, and switches to a new recording. He waves his hand in front of the screen experimentally. The interior camera appears to be built right into the screen.

He disconnects the monitor carefully, and weighs it in his hands for a moment. It’s small, and relatively weighty. He considers showing it to Spock, but, after a moment’s hesitation, he drags it into the server room. He’s not sure if Spock would want to be reminded of how long he’s spent here. Not yet.

He plugs the monitor into the console, though it appears to have some internal, backup power-source. The video files have disappeared- no doubt stored in the shuttle, as the monitor’s internal storage is comparatively smaller. Jim leaves it by the consoles for now.

Jim is attempting to balance on one leg.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to see if I can build up-” Jim falls over with a cry. “- Muscle,” he hisses, rubbing his hamstring with a grimace. He stands back up, and resumes the position. “We still don’t know if our bodies are entirely replaced each morning, or if it only happens when one of us is injured.” He poses. “How does my butt look?”

“The same as usual,” Spock says, dryly.

“Well, it’s early days,” Jim shrugs.

Spock hesitates, then steps a little closer. “I doubt it’s possible for you to gain much more… ‘muscle’ in this particular area,” he says, tactfully.

Jim shoots him a glare over his shoulder, and promptly overbalances. “There’s that Vulcan tact, I see.”

“This could help prove it, once and for all.”

“It is futile to attempt to prove something which runs so contrary to the laws of physics-”

Jim grabs his hand, and, with one sharp tug, Spock lands in the mud beside him, and they bump heads.

“Law of gravity,” Jim says, sheepishly, as he rubs his nose.

As far as he can tell, their bodies seem incapable of going through any kind of change. Gaining/losing weight, scarring, telepathic bonds- none of them seem to stick. They really do seem to regenerate each morning, without exception, though the rest of their surroundings wither. And we’ll never age. It’s practically immortality, Jim thinks.

If only we weren’t stuck here.

The next time Spock melds with him, a bond forms almost immediately, as it did before.

‘I guess that means we’re exceptionally compatible.’

Spock tilts his head. ‘We know each other well. A bond is an inevitable side effect.’

‘That’s what I said!’

Despite its futility, Jim convinces Spock to bond with him again. And again. It becomes a strange sort of game, a dance; to go to sleep each evening aware of the other, with the ability to broadcast their every thought into the others’ head, and renew it each morning.

‘Are you familiar with Greek mythology?’ Jim asks. Spock appears in front of him, stern and disapproving.

‘If I were not, I could get the information from your mind.’

‘Right,’ Jim laughs. ‘At first, I thought we might be living the life of Sisyphus, cursed to roll the same boulder up the hill every day. But, every time I look at you, the story of Tantalus comes to mind.’

Spock’s eyebrows twitch. The landscape shifts, until Jim is standing neck-deep in water, watching ripples on the surface of a great lake. Spock stands on the shore.

A large willow tree looms over Jim, its leaves a delicate, olive-leaf green. Something flutters across his face, pale pink and soft. A single petal. Jim smiles serenely, and glances at the underside of the tree. Improbably- and, perhaps, illogically- it is covered with cherry blossoms, the like he hasn’t seen since Earth.

“Which am I, Jim?” Spock says, in a booming whisper. His voice echoes all around him, syllables melting into great, crashing waves. “The water you can never stoop to drink, or the fruit which is just out of reach?”

Jim focuses on the falling petals, their delicate red hue looking less familiar by the moment, and contemplates their similarity to the rocks on Heirin. Everything about this planet is overpowering: drenching, seeping into them, even in these stolen moments of serenity. Jim knows better than most how easily alliances can be shattered by violence, and, reaching out, he touches one of the petals.

“Neither,” he answers. He takes a deep breath. “I know what you’re scared of- that I, like Leland, view you as a prize to be won- but I don’t.” He considers for a moment. “But, I do need you. You are only like the water because I need you to sustain me. Only like the fruit because I’m willing to wait for you to fall. This… Time loop, this trap we’re caught in- I wouldn’t be able to survive it without you. You’ve demonstrated that, time and time again.”

As he’s talking, the water level shrinks to his waist.

“I don’t want to be trapped here, but there is one benefit- it gives me time to wait.”

Spock blinks. “For what?”

“You.”

Spock reaches out, and catches a falling petal. “You could be waiting for a long time.”

The echo of laughter. “As far as we know, we have eternity.” He holds his hand out, and Spock appears next to him. He wraps his arms around his shoulders and kisses him slowly.

They’re so deep in the meld that it takes daybreak to pull them out of it. Jim wakes up in bed blinking in the light. Spock is curled on his side next to him, his hand outstretched towards Jim’s forehead. It’s almost easy to believe that he fell asleep this way.

He reaches out, and cards a hand through Spock’s hair. For a moment, he allows himself to pretend that they’re just two lovers, lying together on a lazy Sunday morning with no responsibilities, and nothing else to do. But, it isn’t Sunday, and, somewhere below them, Leland is waking, too.

He kisses Spock’s wrist. He twitches in his sleep, his brows pulling together, perhaps sensing Jim’s troubled thoughts. Jim rises, and hurries downstairs as quietly as he can without sacrificing speed.

Leland’s “rise and shine” doesn’t have time to fall from his lips.

Jim spends a pleasant morning with Spock before returning to the server room for his usual dig through The Klingon archives. His Klingon has gotten really good recently, and he’s sure there must be something he’s overlooked in the top-secret war files. As he goes to input the now-familiar sequence, something catches his eye in front of him.

‘Mars-Colony gang members reported missing […] with the exception of T’Gar Taag, who was apprehended last Tuesday-”

His eyes widen, and he leans back in his chair, eyes darting around the printings and clippings laid out on the walls.

‘Crash-landing results in bloodbath […] sole survivor, Lewis McAllister-’

Sole survivor. Jim reaches forwards, bringing up the scribbled translations of the Klingon tomes he was able to piece together. It’s only legend.

A time loop, sparked by the spilling of innocent blood.

A hazy memory from that first night. Perhaps it’s so hazy because it’s the last thing he remembers before he was murdered: Leland, sitting opposite him in an unknown cave, firelight painting his face, and the walls, a deep, intense red. “When the battle ended, there wasn’t a single enemy left.”

“And not a single friend, either,” Jim had joked.

He’s not laughing now. He sits in the server room for a moment, hands trembling as he contemplates his next move. Then, he rises, tears the clippings from the wall, and heads for the door. On his way out, he doubles back, and grabs the monitor which he tore from the shuttle, hugging it to his chest as he runs through the beginnings of rain.

He enters the stronghold through the main entrance, and enters the central hall. Spock is upstairs, meditating. After a moment’s deliberation, Jim stashes the print-outs under the cushions of the sofa. As for the monitor…

He grabs an axe from the wall, and steps into the downstairs bathroom.

The shower runs. It provides an interesting background to Jim’s conversation with himself. The green light paints his face a sickly sheen, and he looks almost… Undead. It’s not entirely inappropriate, he thinks grimly, as he sets the axe and the monitor in the tub, and hits record.

Spock wakes up alone, which isn’t entirely unusual, but he feels strangely uneasy.

Downstairs, Jim sits at the dining table, papers laid out all around him, as is customary for one of their escape-planning sessions; although it’s been a while since they’ve had one. The change in their surroundings is immediately apparent.

“You’ve redecorated,” Spock observes, lightly.

The remaining knives, weapons and tools have vanished from the walls, and Jim gives him a strange smile. “I thought we could use some… Variety.”

Spock lifts an eyebrow, and settles in the chair opposite him. He only needs to study his face for a moment.

“You’ve found a way for us to leave,” he realises.

“No,” Jim closes his eyes. “Not us, exactly…”

Jim points to one of the headlines, then the others, and begins to explain. As he listens, Spock’s heart begins to pound in his chest, and he struggles to remain outwardly calm. He feels every bit as trapped as he did that first night, when Leland had pointed a phaser at him.

He remembers the clatter as the power pack had fallen into the gap in the ceiling, and his eyes dart, momentarily, upwards.

“- But,” Jim catches his breath, “There’s another option.” He swallows. “We could stay here, together. I know I’ve said it before, but- we don’t need to eat. We don’t even, technically, need to sleep. That’s paradise, to some people. Maybe as close to it as we’re ever going to get. We’d never get old, and we could live our lives in relative comfort, until one or both of us was ready to…” He swallows. “Leave.”

Spock’s face twitches. The idea is almost tempting. Except...

“Rise and shine, campers!”

He turns to the door. “There will always be Leland.”

“A small price to pay for paradise,” Jim says.

Spock purses his lips, and begins to rise from his seat.

“No.” Jim pushes his chair back, and places a hand over Spock’s. “Allow me.”

Spock slumps, and watches as Jim exits onto the Veranda.

Footsteps, quickly, down the stairs.

Voices. A scuffle.

A body hits the ground.

Outside, Jim drags Leland’s body towards the forest, and Spock watches them until they’re out of sight.

He sits. He sits and contemplates, for how long, he does not know.

He considers everything that Jim had told him. With his strength, it would be easy to kill Leland with his bare hands. But, Jim? If the man turned on him, he would certainly have the physical strength to defend himself, but there are other factors to consider.

“Theoretically, if we’re here long enough… Axes will blunt. Knives will wear down.”

They would have to kill Leland with their bare hands, day after day after day. And- if ever Jim got bored of him, as humans are wont to do- he would have to rid himself of Spock in the same, clumsy way. Vulcans are patient, Leland had said. But, he was raised by humans, and he has murdered his fathers too many times to cling onto any concept of remorse. For surely- surely- somewhere, after years of two-person solitude in this desert of companionship, Jim will tire of a world where the only person to quench his thirst is a Vulcan. Spock can foresee it with almost-perfect clarity: a day where Jim will bore, and he will only be able to repay him in blood.

As if moved by some external force, Spock hurries upstairs, and retrieves one of the empty phasers which Leland had left in the third drawer of the nightstand. Then, he returns downstairs, and pushes one of the dining chairs to the center of the room.

He climbs onto it. Blindly, he reaches into the gap in the ceiling, searching for the power pack which Leland had lost, yesterday and so many years ago. After all this time, there’s no guarantee that it will still work, and a part of him hopes that it won’t.

So much has changed since that first night. In many ways, they have become complacent of the danger Leland poses to them, a danger which is very likely to return.

And, there are so many ways that it could go wrong. If, one day, either one of them forgets to kill Leland, he could kill one or both of them instead. They have already been clumsy too many times. If it happens again, and Leland succeeds in killing one of them by mistake, they would lose their memories. Even if a mind meld could partially restore them, it would put them at a dangerous disadvantage.

And Leland need only be lucky once.

There are other things, too. Spock appreciates an adherence to routine; he does not know if the same is true for Jim. And, when one takes into account the enormity of eternity, it may not even be true for himself.

A part of him longs to put it to the test. To see how many eons they could go on thriving in this remote place. Never growing older, even as the stronghold around them was eroded by the winds of time. They could repair it, to a point, but, eventually, they would have to rebuild it from the woods that surround them. Fashioning their own tools as the old fell to ruin. That would certainly speed up the daily ritual of what must be done.

A small price to pay for paradise.

But, truly, how many times could they bear the stain of Leland’s blood? The man isn’t innocent by any stretch of the imagination, but, if there’s any truth in the terran concept of “purgatory”, has enough time elapsed to pay off his debt? At any rate, they’re not dealing with a world of terran invention, but it can’t be a Klingon one, either: in this instance, The Last Man Standing would be without honour.

How long before the ravine to the East becomes full of identical corpses, as the clearing in the woods was once overcrowded with Jim’s? And, in truth, is still overcrowded. There’s no room to start a life together on a planet littered with one another’s bones.

Mining the planet by hand if they had to. Perhaps they would even uncover the buried Time Crystal which keeps them trapped here, and a way to destroy it. But, even as he allows himself to dream, he knows it’s impossible. If there is any pattern to his life so far, any truth in the instruction given to him by Leland, it is this:

Vulcans are patient. Humans are not.

Most importantly, any exceptions aside: James Kirk is not. Jim, the man who bet the late Christopher Pike that he could graduate in four years, and have command of his own ship in five. Jim, the man who cheated on The Kobayashi Maru.

Still, the test was designed to be unbeatable. And, perhaps- perhaps- if Jim Kirk was willing to sit an unbeatable test three times- he may not be so impatient after all. Perhaps, somehow, through the combined stubbornness that’s sustained them so far, they will find another solution-

The door opens behind him. Spock swings round, still balanced precariously on the chair, and Jim stops dead in his tracks.

Without breaking eye contact, Spock slots the power pack into place, and levels the phaser at Jim.

Jim stares at him, open-mouthed. Spock steps down from the chair, and Jim settles into a grim smile. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t run.

They stare at each other like exhausted children, waiting for a drawn-out game of make-believe to finally end.

Humans are impatient, Spock assures himself. He waits for Jim to make the first move, but he doesn’t even twitch. Conceivably, they could both stand here forever.

His fingers find the trigger.

He is impatient.

He fires.

[Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8]

#tomorrow never comes #star trek fic #star trek aos fic #star trek discovery fic #spirk fic

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toast-the-unknowing · 4 years ago

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Lmaoooooo “when I grow up I’m going to have so much amnesia” pls just post whatever you’ve written over the last ten years I am so INTRIGUED

Well, the subject line is a Futurama quote, I can’t take credit for that, alas.

I am fond of several of the jokes in that story, but at the end of the day, it’s a mystery and I wrote 20k words of it without ever deciding what the answer to the mystery is. The odds I’ll ever bother figuring it out now are slim, especially since I look back and realize...you know...I’ve become a much better writer than I was 10 years ago and most of those 20k words aren’t great.

But some of them I like! So what the hell, why not, here’s some of my favorite bits from a Star Trek 2009 fic that will probably never otherwise see the light of day:

The whole thing with Kirk and Spock losing their memories on the same away trip is funny for a total of three seconds before it becomes utterly terrifying.

Okay, maybe there's about five minutes of Hikaru making himself sick trying to hold in laughter at the stunned stupid look on Kirk's face as he steps onto the bridge, the way that Spock mutters "what an ingenious invention" after they're beamed back to the Enterprise, but hey, Hikaru's only human. And now so is Kirk, stripped of that cockiness that comes from knowing he's survived all kinds of crazy shit that he shouldn't have, and so is Spock in a way, since he seems to have forgotten all his Vulcan mind-master training along with everything else.

And that thought is what wipes the smirk off Hikaru's face and has him exchanging sideways glances with Chekov, because they're right on the edge of Klingon space, Kang had sworn eternal vengeance against the entire crew the last time they'd seen him, and without Kirk's impossible ability to get them out of everything he gets them into, Hikaru doesn't like their odds of escaping a skirmish unharmed.

McCoy skips right over the part where anything about the situation is amusing and even skips over the "utterly terrifying" part and opts straight for angry yelling before the doors of the turbolift have finished opening to allow him onto the bridge.

"What the devil are you playing at now, Jim?" McCoy demands, striding up to Kirk and waving a tricorder at him that he can't possibly be reading, since he's too busy venting at Kirk's face to look at the machine.

The effect of this is apparently lost on the amnesiac Kirk, who looks over his shoulder trying to figure out who McCoy is talking to.

Right. No one told the Captain his name was Jim.

"We're doomed," Chekov whispers to Hikaru, who wholeheartedly agrees.

"More tests?" Hikaru asks Chapel. Hikaru hopes he sounds world-weary but in all likelihood he just sounds like a kid whining about not wanting to go to the dentist's. At least when he was a kid his parents would give him some candy to make the whole experience more bearable.

"You've failed them all so far," Chapel tells him.

"Doesn't being healthy count as passing?"

"Not in his Sickbay." She gestures over her shoulder at McCoy, who is ranting to the nurses that he washes his hands of Hikaru, complete with actually physically washing his hands, because McCoy has no concept of subtlety.

Maybe it was just the terrible psychological burden of working too long under McCoy that had made her a sadist. Hikaru had helped the med staff repair and restock Sickbay after a disastrous encounter with Romulans, and after two days of McCoy's crazy-eyes drilling into the back of his skull, he hadn't felt terribly generous toward his fellow sentient beings. Kirk, who always had to be perverse and do the opposite of what a normal person would do, had been invigorated by the experience and set some kind of mountain-climbing record on the next planet they stopped at.

McCoy must be having a field day, wherever he is; nothing makes him happier than a legitimate reason to be unhappy.

He winces and walks over to answer the door, to find Chekov's curly head bouncing around with an upbeat energy that makes Hikaru feel a thousand years old.

"What?" he asks. "Communicator doesn't work?"

"You didn't answer," Chekov points out, which is probably correct. Hikaru hadn't been aware of anything, much less the chirp of a communicator.

"You know," he tells Chekov, stepping back into his room so he can change into a fresh uniform, "when someone is annoyed with you, telling them how it's their fault doesn't make them like you any better. It just makes them more annoyed."

Chekov blinks big, hurt eyes at him. "You are annoyed with me?"

Hikaru just sighs and lets it go. "So what do I need to be told so badly?" he asks, slipping on a new pair of pants and pulling his shirt off. "I'm guessing that if it were good news, it could wait."

"We have Klingons," Chekov tells him, completely matter-of-fact, and Hikaru is never going to share with anyone, least of all Chekov, the fact that his immediate response to this was to think Russians really are that stoic.

His next thought is that he has to get to the bridge, now, so he sets off at a run with Chekov following along behind.

His third thought, that he never did finish getting dressed, takes its own sweet time occurring to him, specifically waiting until the doors to the Bridge open and Uhura looks at him, blinks her eyes at a momentary loss for words, and then smirks.

In retrospect, it will feel pretty good to have made Uhura happy about something in the middle of this whole clusterfuck. At the time, Hikaru just wonders how bad it could really be to eject himself out the nearest airlock.

"Had a disagreement with your uniform, Mr. Sulu?" Uhura asks. "Or have your just decided that today is a good day for swashbuckling?"

Hikaru plays it cool, because there are only so many options available for you when you show up to battle without a shirt on, and because there's an appreciative look in the eyes of more than one person on the Bridge that reminds him that his shirtlessness is not, in and of itself, anything to be ashamed about. "I wanted to be on hand as soon as possible to help with the situation, sir," he tells her, voice completely smooth. He falls into a formal at-ease position that draws the muscles in his chest tight, causing someone to whistle lowly.

The Acting Captain is actively fighting back laughter at this point; Uhura is going to give him shit about this for the rest of his natural life, but then again, Klingons, so Hikaru can't begrudge her trying to make the most of it now in case the rest of his natural life is only another ten minutes. "Mr. Chekov, please restrain your dramatics in the future," she tells him, and the ensign takes on a look of righteous outrage that is decades older than his face. "Perhaps you could have communicated to Mr. Sulu that another second or two's delay would not have been fatal."

"I thought it obvious, sir," Chekov says, primly. "No Russian would charge into battle in such a state of unpreparedness."

"Because they'd freeze to death on a summer's day," Hikaru mutters.

"How?" Uhura asks, with that same fake innocent tone she uses when she's trying to convince everyone at the table that she's got a shit hand, and dammit, Hikaru has fallen for that bluff too many times. After which he was often divested of an article of clothing, oddly enough, so the whole thing is starting to feel really familiar.

Kang is even willing to deal with someone who isn't Kirk, as long as Kirk is there to have accusations and insults hurled at him, which is some kind of horrible metaphor for command but Hikaru is still trying to force his jaws together and doesn't quite appreciate the many, many cosmic jokes that are unfurling in front of him.

Every single person on the bridge of the Enterprise who still has a brain freezes and darts their eyes to the view screen at the exact same second. Later that simultaneity would make Hikaru wonder why the hell the dancing had been so uncoordinated in the crew's performance of Pirates of Penzance, since clearly they are all psychically linked to each other. Or perhaps psychic connections require substantial motivational force. Few things are more substantial or more motivating than enraged Klingons, and – as every eyeball except two immediately takes in – they have one hell of an enraged Klingon on their hands.

"WHAT CHARADE IS THIS," Kang demands, spitting out 'charade' like it's the dirtiest word he knows. Apparently Klingon honor doesn't have much time for theater. Hikaru wonders what Klingons do for embarrassing social bonding in lieu of Pirates of Penzance.

"Oh, good, so we can tell them that we aren't responsible, they'll listen to that and act reasonable," McCoy mutters, before jabbing Kirk with something on the pretense of getting more brainwave readings. McCoy has been dragging Kirk around the ship with him all morning for reasons as yet unexplained. Hikaru's torn on thinking it's to cause more havoc, since every little thing that happens inspires a thousand pointless questions from the deposed captain, and thinking it's so he can stab at Kirk like some stress relief toy. It doesn't seem to be working, but modern science has not yet found a conduit big enough to channel McCoy's stress, so that would be asking a bit much to ask from a guy who needed help going to the bathroom earlier. (Hikaru made Chekov do it. That's what ensigns are for, right?)

Chapel had proclaimed the whole thing hogwash and said she would get around to it when she had a minute, and implied that that minute was going to be a long time coming, because apparently that attitude was handed down with command of Sickbay like the crown of a hereditary monarch.

Besides, there's the Klingons to consider, and even Scotty can't make hooch so strong it wipes out the memories of people on other ships. Probably. Hikaru will ask him about it when his memory is back, and they will write a paper together, "A Transwarp Theory of Moonshine", and it will ruin both of their chances of ever advancing up the command chain, which would probably suit Scotty just fine and would be the best thing to ever happen to Hikaru if it means he never has to deal with a mess like this again.

"When we get to the point where we're recruiting untested specialists from alternate dimensions to solve the problem, just leave me brainless," Chapel scoffs. "I don't want to know."

Hikaru scribbles a note to himself. Evil clones running the Enterprise becomes Plan Y; stealing versions of themselves from other dimensions becomes Plan Z. He thinks they have a better chance of un-fixing the teleporter to make clones again than of making it pull people from other dimensions.

Chekov bounds down the hall at him – speaking of teenagers – and apparently the gloom is rolling off Hikaru thick enough to strike down an enthusiastic ensign at fifty paces, because the spring goes right out of Chekov's step when Hikaru looks at him. His faces turns somber and he tugs on his uniform shirt like he's worried about wrinkles. Or maybe he just remembered that this is a catastrophe in the making and a little gravity is called for.

He nearly takes it too far, though, going for a salute and Hikaru thinks that if Chekov salutes him right now he will actually go insane. He intercepts Chekov's arm on the way up and drops it back down like its covered in nettles. Chekov looks a little confused about how to proceed from here, but hell, the kid's always telling them he's a genius, let him figure something out.

He picks up Chapel like a leech; when he refuses to stop in Sickbay she just attaches herself to him and starts talking every bit as rapidly as Hikaru is walking. He can't tell how she's breathing. Maybe she isn't. Hikaru feels a little bit like he isn't breathing, either, or that might just be his flair for the dramatic.

He gets distracted, too, by the nurse who is accompanying Chapel, holding several PADDS and a medical tricorder and struggling to hold it all and drop nothing and keep up on her rather short legs. Maybe they could slow down for her, but hell, Chapel's her boss and isn't worried.

Hikaru can't remember the nurse's name. That's a panicky moment, but no, it's just that she's new. Should he ask her name, he wonders, or would that be rude? As the captain, however temporary or inglorious the title may be, he should know everyone on the crew already.

At least the crew is making that easier on him by shrinking.

"Stress is every bit a real, medical problem, particularly among young men in high-pressure situations who think they're immortal." This comes with a side order of meaningful look.

"I assure you, Nurse, I am well-aware of my failings."

"And I'm seeing drastically heightened stress all over the ship. Heart rate, blood pressure, shaking, forgetfulness -- not amnesia -- emotional outbursts -- "

"Maybe the crew doesn't like having medical personnel hovering all around them." Hikaru jumps as the short nurse waves her tricorder over him, presumably getting a reading of his own heart rate, blood pressure, and emotional outbursts. "I'm open to any suggestions about how to lower the crew's stress levels, up to and including Ensign Chekov going door to door singing Russian lullabies."

"I'll put that down as Plan Z," Chapel says, and holy shit, can she read his mind? He makes himself think profusely repentant thoughts for his attitude the last two days and also for that time he sneaked a look at her hand at poker, just in case. Also, he probably shouldn't play poker with Chapel anymore, honest or otherwise, if she can read his mind.

That, that right there, is apparently what Chapel looks like when she is truly outraged and not just annoyed or sarcastic or feeling superior, which is a valuable piece of information and Hikaru files it away in the very sincere and fervent hope that he never sees it again.

"You know, just, some people," the Acting Captain of the Federation Starship Enterprise mumbles into his shoulder.

"How did we get here?" Hikaru mutters. He's barely even realized he's spoken, so it's doubly alarming when Chekov jumps up and grabs his shoulders, shakes them violently.

"Sulu, no, you cannot have amnesia, too," the kid starts babbling. Why is it that his accent gets easier to understand when he's worked up? Shouldn't it be the other way around? Unless, hang on, has the kid been faking his accent this whole time? "Then I will have to take command of the Enterprise and while that is a thing I have dreamed of doing, it is no good to me if no one is around to admire."

#not a fic #my work #Anonymous

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bellatrix-le-strange82 · 5 years ago

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100 Days Of Drabble Chapter

Day 6 Prompt : Enthusiasm

Reminder: This is an AU. The Vulcans in these stories are often reacting far more human than the Vulcans in canon Star Trek.

Day 6: To The Stars

Sirok frowned when he looked up from his homework, "Spock, I do not understand this task. Can you explain it to me again? How do I find the integral here?" He cupped his chin in his hands, "I wish I were as smart as you. You never struggle at calculus. I am useless."

Spock got up from his bed and walked over to the desk, where his boyfriend was sitting. He put a comforting hand on Sirok's shoulder, "You just have different strengths, love. I wish I had your talent for storytelling or drawing. Also, you are not bad at calculus, you just need to have more confidence in your skills."

Together, they solved the task quickly and Sirok thanked Spock with a quick kiss, "Still... I understand everything so much better when you explain it."

Sometimes, Spock found it hard to believe that it was possible to feel so absolutely relaxed and at ease with somebody. It just felt natural to be with Sirok, "Let us not work anymore for tonight, all right? I suggest we get some tea and a few vegetable sticks and then just cuddle. My mother will be out tonight. She spends every Thursday night with her friends." Sarek also was not at home and would not be home for a few weeks. The ambassador was on a mission for the Federation.

Soon afterwards, the boys were comfortably settled in Spock's bed, with their snacks and drinks. "Sirok," Spock asked while his friend was nibbling at a baby carrot, "Do you ever think about what you would like to do when you grow up?"

Sirok shrugged, "Yes, I think... I would like to be a writer. I love to draw pictures with my words-but if this does not work out, I could also imagine becoming an engineer. You know that I am good with my hands."

Spock chuckled. At times, he possessed the same dirty mind as any 14 years old, "Oh yes... this is something I know without a doubt. You are great with your hands. Hey, that hurt!" Sirok had given him a dig with the elbow.

"That's not what I meant, Spock-and you know it. I just mean that I can fix anything technical that is broken. It just comes natural to me," Sirok explained.

Apologetically, Spock placed an arm around Sirok's shoulders, "I know. I was just teasing you a bit, love."

Sirok reached for a carrot stick and held it out to Spock, obviously intending to feet him, "what do you want to do when you grow up? he asked, while Spock took a bite.

He swallowed the bit of carrot down, before he answered, "I want to join Starfleet and go on mission into deep space. I have read all about the adventures of the ISS Enterprise NX-O1 and their Captain, Jonathan Archer.

"They were the first ship from earth to travel beyond the borders of their own solar system. They must have seen and learned so much out there... and they also had a Vulcan on board, a woman named T'Pol who became their First Officer.

“My grandfather Solkar was there when the ship was launched and he never understood how the humans got anywhere, but I do not share his opinion. These pioneers were amazing people and it would be an honour and a challenge to travel with them for a while. There are so many answers for us out there! Oh Sirok, come with me to Starfleet! They have the best engineers and it will also give you ideas for your stories, I am sure of it."

Both boys looked at each other with brightly sparkling eyes. "Nothing would make me happier than to join Starfleet," Spock added, somewhat more thoughtfully, "But now that I think of it, I am forced to conclude that father would never allow it.

"So, my second choice would be to go into politics. I want to make a difference to the minorities on Vulcan. Especially to the gays, so everybody would leave us alone and let us live our lives."

Sirok kissed Spock tenderly, "I love it when you talk with such enthusiasm. It makes me certain that, wherever you will go in life, you will go very far. And I will forever be at your side."

They let their tea go cold and forgot about the rest of their snacks, as they lost themselves in each other's touches and kisses.

#fic rec #fiction #gay love #spock #star trek #fanfic #writing #archive of our own

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firstofficerhobgoblin · 5 years ago

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Happy Birthday @luck-over-logic !!!!

To the most wonderful James Tiberius Kirk in the TOS RP community!!!!!

I've now known you for a year and change and I'm ever so very glad I ran into you!! The muse has been silent as the grave of late, but have some Birthday minific! I did Fourth of July Last year, so this year have Pride. And I hope I have to think of summer themes for you for many years to come!!!

________________

Spock liked talking walks during the hottest part of the day. Jim had always known that, but as they got older he began to realize the true implication of the habit. It meant that all damn summer Jim was going to sweat like a horse. Why it was only June 30th, and it was only 11 am, and he was only wearing a t-shirt and lo and behalf he was damn near soaking through it, and was starting to get a little self conscious about the fabric clinging to what it aughtn't, and really he probably shouldn’t be wearing shorts at all at his age, and he wouldn’t have if it wasn’t so hot; he just wasn’t as trim as he’d once been. Bones had taken to calling him good old fashioned fat. He stared at a well built young man in short shorts and a painted on tank top, chatting loudly on his phone as he jogged past them, clearly late for something. He remembered when he looked like that….

“You look perfectly fine to me.” Spock said softly, giving Jim a start. But he smiled at the sentiment. Spock could read his mind even when he wasn’t….well….reading his mind. But he could be a little frustrating when it came to looks, for even in this weather he looked dignified in all blacks and greys and never a day over 50.

Spock reached down and squeezed his hand. Jim, as always, squeezed back, returning the gentle pulse of adoration Spock had sent his way and they carried on.

A minute later a young woman bathed in pink, purple and blue glitter bounced past them, accompanied by a tall man in corresponding pastel pink, blue and white glitter. Spock observed them with quiet curiosity, that peaked when the sparkly pair met up with a girl wearing rainbow body paint, and little else at the end of the block.

“Human youth culture never ceases to amaze.” The Vulcan observed quietly. “Where could they possibly be going looking that conspicuous?”

But when they reached the end of the block and looked uptown, they got their answer. They were nearly bowled over by a wall of sound, emanating from a seething, screaming crowd of people flamboyantly dressed people, all congregated under a massive rainbow banner that read 'San Fran Pride'. Jim laughed aloud. Spocks eyebrows shot up so high they nearly disappeared into his bangs and his grip on Jim’s hand tightened.

“I forgot about LGBT history month!” Jim said. Spock stared at him in a way that indicated his comment had in no way explained the multicolored cabal of glitter and feathers that had appeared before them. “Humans used to be kinda awful to each other, remember? And homosexuality used to be kinda an issue.” He explained.

“I am well aware of your history…” Spock replied, with a gaze canted uncomfortably towards the parade impling Jim’s explanation had not in fact explained a damn thing about the mass of humanity doing their best impersonation of so many birds of paradise. Just then the obligatory Stonewall float passed by, and that was how Jim Kirk found himself shout-explaining the history of pride, from riot, to protest, to party, to historic commemoration, a few feet from the current incarnation of the event. The era when it was a protest. When corporations tried to take it. When it was declared a History Month, like it always should have been. Spock listened with his typical intensity, regarding the display of flamboyance with changing opinion and increasing regard as Jim spoke.

He was just beginning his own tale of “Why, I remember my first Pride. I was about seventeen. I hadn’t quite figured out what I was feeling for men yet and my friend from……..” He trailed off as a float grabbed his eyes and stole all his attention.

The Starfleet sponsored float was topped with a beautiful starship made of iridescent sequins, and the float below was covered in pictures honoring LGBT figures from Starfleet history. The First Homosexual Captain. The First Trans Captain. The first Asexual Captain. But Jim's eyes nearly bugged out of his head at the fifth photo.

The youngest Captain on Record. And his First Officer.

“Now you see here!” He hollered so loud that everyone in the vicinity turned to look at him. “I’m not history yet! I’m still right here!”

Everyone around them was staring, looking back and forth between the oversized image in the approaching float and the pair of old men standing in the back of the parade crowd. Finally someone declared the obvious.

“Holy shit…..it’s them!!! It’s Captain Kirk and Commander Spock!!” someone yelled.

“Admiral and Captain.” Spock corrected, but his insistence on precision was lost in the deafening cry of shrieks that rose up from the crowd around them, loud enough to draw the attention of the older man Marshaling the Starfleet float. The man, who neither of them recognized at first, immediately signaled for the float to stop and started waving like mad.

“Kirk!!!” He shouted, vaulting himself off the float with a spry leap that seemed inappropriate for his advanced years, and bolted to the edge of the Parade barricades. “Jim! Spock!”

It was Spock who saw through the rainbow wig and over the top makeup first. “Captain Sulu?”

“Yes!!!” He shouted back. “Why didn’t you tell me you were coming? You’d have had a place ON the float!! C’mon! Get up here!! C’mon guys!! Let the infamous Captain James T. Kirk and Commander Spock up here with us!”

Jim tried to insist that they hadn’t planned this at all, but his words of protest were lost in the happy cries of the crowd as they shuffled him and Spock forward and helped them climb the barricade into the parade proper, where Sulu took the Captain’s hand and yanked him up onto the float as it started moving again. Spock, who was still, clinging to Jim’s arm, got dragged along with and was surprised to find himself and Jim’s presence getting aggressively cheered.

Sulu immediately began fussing over their appearance, swapping out Jim’s t shirt for a multicolored tank with the image of a frying pan on it that they both found hilarious but Spock found confusing. Spock, to his great displeasure, had a tub of glitter dumped on him after he’d selected for himself on a small, tasteful button that read “Elder Queer” from the box Sulu had pulled Jim’s new shirt from. But once the parade got going again, they both had to admit that the energy was infections. And people were so very happy to see the pair of them, Riding together astride the great glittering starship float.

“You mean so much to them.” Sulu beamed at the pair at one point. “Not just the gay couples….but the interspecies couples. The offworld queers. You’re icons to them. And watching the two of you, always at the forefront…..you give them so much hope.” After that comment Spock was a little more visible about his affections with Jim, even managing a human kiss when they reached the grandstand.

And Jim? He was having the time of his life, playing back and forth with the crowds, throwing out rainbow Starfleet insignias, and rousing cheers every time he touched Spock. Gone we’re his previous doubts about his age. His looks. Everything. As he so eloquently put it…he wasn’t history yet.

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winterverses · 6 years ago

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Walking Wounded - Chapter Seventy

Coming home to a quiet, empty apartment didn’t settle his mind. “Anne?” he called when he walked in. There was no music, no one in the living room. A familiar smell that he couldn’t place wafted from the kitchen, but it was silent in that direction too. Nevertheless, that was the best place to start. Anne probably wouldn’t have left the house with food cooking.

As he came into the kitchen, he saw why it was so quiet and still. Out on the balcony scattered little lights flickered in the breeze, providing just enough illumination to be comfortable, little pools of wavering light in Yorktown’s night cycle. Uhura sat at the little table, her Charellian joyeuse in her lap, her fingers plucking at the strings and her lips curved in a soft, amused smile. Anne and Spock stood nearby, Spock positioning Anne’s arm, turning her chin, very clearly instructing her. Anne was listening intently, her eyes fixed on him. Curious, Kirk watched from the darkness of the kitchen as Spock lifted his head, said something to Uhura, and then stood across from Anne.

Uhura paused, resettled her joyeuse, and then began to pluck the strings again. As she did, Spock and Anne began to step slowly in a circle, watching each other. It took a moment to register that this was a dance, slow and stately, with sweeping, graceful gestures that Kirk didn’t recognize. A Vulcan dance? Kirk hadn’t ever heard anything one way or another about Vulcans considering dance an art form. And… Spock? It boggled the mind.

Not wanting to interrupt, Kirk watched for a few moments more, wondering if there was some sort of alternate reality leak, or maybe a lingering side effect from that last mind meld. He eventually discarded those possibilities as unlikely, if Uhura was calmly playing for them rather than raising the alarms. But still. Spock? Dancing?

When Spock stopped Anne, correcting one of her movements, Kirk decided he’d better just go out and join them before they caught him gaping at them. Shaking his head, he grabbed a cold beer and stepped outside.

Anne noticed him immediately, and her eyes brightened in a silent welcome, but she stayed where she was, listening to Spock’s explanation. “...as a trickster figure, T’Kay’s part is necessarily represented with more complex movements, steps that deceive the eye, while Shariel is represented with strength and bolder movements. T’Kay is the more demanding role, but I believe with your previous training you are capable of it, so long as you practice it.” Having seen her sidelong glance, he looked up, unsurprised to see Kirk. “Good evening, Captain. I trust you are well.”

“We’re off-duty, Spock,” Kirk said, popping the cap on his beer and seating himself beside Uhura. “Don’t let me interrupt your lesson. It sounds pretty interesting.” As far as he understood, Vulcans didn’t actually believe their mythology to be true, but it was still honored as a part of their history. It made sense that it would be preserved in dance as well as sculpture, like the bust of Shariel Spock had in his quarters.

“Normally, one does not share these practices with outsiders. Dance has long been seen as a pastime for children, to be set aside as one ages. Still, it would be a loss to our culture as a whole if these dances were to disappear. The practices of children are as important as the industry and art of adults in determining the true nature of a species.”

If Kirk hadn’t known better, he might have thought he heard a little bit of defensiveness there. Spock was right, though-- if no one thought these things important enough to pass on, something of value would be lost, especially since Vulcan children now were far more likely to take on the pastimes of other races due to their fragmented population. When he looked at it that way, it seemed logical in the extreme. “Mind catching me up on what I’m watching?”

“It’s a trickster story,” Nyota said. “How the trickster got her immortality. There are a few different versions of the myth, but in most of them, T’Kay dies of old age and her katra tricks Shariel into giving her back her body when it was young and strong. Once he realizes his mistake he chases her and tries to capture her, but when he corners her, she convinces him that since she’s a katra in a body and not a naturally born creature, a powerful sacrifice of some sort is necessary for her to give it up and go back to the underworld. In the end, he becomes temporarily mortal and dies to try to separate her from her body, and she’s able to escape him again because he’s trapped in his own underworld until he regains his godhood.” Nyota smiled. “Apparently he considered it a draw after that and left her alone. Personally, I think she won.”

“There are other interpretations of that same myth that posit that Shariel’s persistence was out of love for T’Kay, or that she had upset the balance of life and death with her actions. Some of them have Shariel succeeding in the end and giving her penances to perform to restore the balance of life and death, and some of them have her returning to the underworld willingly to visit with him, both of them having learned to respect the other. It is an engaging myth, one that figures largely in children’s pastimes. T’Kay’s flight inspired one of the practices I remember from my childhood, a game not unlike the human game ‘hide and seek’, although far more complex and intellectually demanding.” Spock looked back to Anne. “If your interest persists, we should continue the lesson.”

“Of course,” Anne said. “It’s fascinating. I’m immensely flattered that you’re willing to teach me. I’ve never heard dance mentioned in the same breath as Vulcan art before, not even when I was there.”

“As I said, it is not shared with outsiders or practiced by adults, but your respect for our culture is clear, as is our need to preserve our practices. I am gratified by your enthusiasm. Now, let us continue.” Spock looked at Uhura, who repositioned her hands on the joyeuse and began to play.

Once the mythology was explained, the themes in both the music and the accompanying dance were more obvious. Anne played her part as best she could, the dance obviously new to her, but she looked as if she enjoyed every second of it, responding instantly to any of Spock’s murmured corrections. Spock, on the other hand, looked as stone-faced as ever; if Kirk hadn’t known him so well, he might have missed how pleased Spock was by Anne’s interest and willingness to learn. The music resolved itself into a less stately motif for the trickster T’Kay, something complicated and hard to follow that matched Anne’s footwork and the way she appeared to start toward one direction only to end up elsewhere. Shariel, on the other hand, was slower and more forceful, Spock’s movements reflecting his attempts to catch the elusive T’Kay. Though stylized, Kirk thought he could even make out the basic structure of the story.

It figured that Vulcan playtime for kids involved complex choreography, though. Something like basketball or tag would have been just too simple.

After a time, Spock called off any more repetitions, having stopped and started a few times to work on different parts of the dance. “It would please me very much to know that you will practice this,” he said to Anne as they came over to the table.

Anne rested her hip on the arm of Kirk’s chair, leaning over him to grab a glass of water that was sitting on the table. “Of course I will. But I do have to ask-- what about performing it? I don’t mind keeping it to myself, but a dance as beautiful as that should be seen.”

Spock had to consider this for a moment, regarding her with a small frown. “I would not recommend performing it unless you have a Vulcan partner,” he said finally. “Otherwise you are likely to face derision from those who would undermine an expression of my culture’s art simply because you are not a Vulcan. I myself have faced prejudice due to perceived lack of Vulcan authenticity more than I care to say; it is unfortunate, but since that is the case, I have no reason to believe a human would be met with more acceptance, no matter how respectful you may be.”

“That is unfortunate,” Anne sighed. “I’ll be very careful about it. I don’t want seem like I’m insulting your culture. But it’s always bothered me that the measures taken to keep a culture ‘pure’ after a diaspora are also the ones that run the most risk of killing off the practices entirely through restriction.”

“There is no adequate solution. I trust you will use your judgment, and perform or teach only when you believe your audience or student is appropriate.” Spock looked down at Uhura, who grinned back up at him. “I appreciate your willingness to play for us, Nyota.” Anne echoed his thanks.

“You know I like this sort of thing,” Nyota said. “It’s getting late, though. We should think about dinner. Did you want to go out, or would you rather just punch something up?”

“Oh, no need for that,” Anne said. “I put something on to simmer when I went in last time.”

Uhura frowned, looking uncertain. “That was hours ago. Are you sure it’s okay?”

“It smelled great when I was in there,” Kirk said.

“Don’t worry. Stews just get better the longer you leave them alone. Just relax, I’ll go dish up for everyone.” Anne stood, running her hand through Kirk’s hair and looking fondly down at him.

“Nah, I’ll come help,” he said. “It feels wrong not to do anything to contribute to the evening.”

“Your presence is contribution enough, cher, but I won’t refuse the help,” Anne said, her smile crinkling the corners of her eyes and revealing that damn dimple. She looked back up at Spock and Uhura. “Do either of you want me to get anything else while I’m inside? More beer, more water, some wine?”

“I’d enjoy some wine. Maybe one of the bottles we brought? If they’ll go well, of course,” Uhura said.

“That Riesling should be perfect,” Anne answered, a secret smile lurking in her eyes.

Kirk followed her to the kitchen, noting that the window was closed and waiting for the door to shut behind them before speaking. “What have you got going?” he asked, pretending to be suspicious.

Anne turned and grinned at him. “Oh, it’s nothing really. I just hope you all like dinner.”

“I thought it smelled familiar. What is it?” Kirk asked, catching her hand and gently tugging her toward him. She came willingly, her body flowing up against his, her arms sliding around his waist.

It definitely wasn’t the time for more than a brief kiss, but it was impossible not to make it last longer than it should have. Kissing her was just too captivating. By the time she pulled away, he’d almost forgotten his question, and her cheeks were a bit flushed. “You’ll see. I don’t want to tell you until you’ve had a chance to try it and guess.” Anne said, turning to get the dishes set out, a smile lingering on her lips. “Do you mind opening the wine and bringing out some glasses? I can handle the rest.”

“You got it, gorgeous,” Kirk said. At Anne’s direction, he found the wine in the bar, already chilled. Bringing it back out, he set the glasses on the table and poured for each of them, glancing back to see if Anne needed anything else.

Evidently she didn’t; she came out shortly, carrying a tray. The smell of the stew was definitely familiar, but Kirk still couldn’t place it. He saw Uhura suddenly look as if she’d gotten a private joke, and Spock frowned slightly, looking like he felt the same way as Kirk. Anne set the dishes down and sat beside Kirk, picking up her spoon and watching the others. “Don’t you say anything,” she warned Uhura, who laughed. Anne then looked to Kirk and Spock. “I want to see how well I got it. Try it and tell me whether you recognize it.”

Kirk obliged her, taking a bite, and the spicy taste immediately pushed the nostalgia buttons in his brain. He remembered it, but couldn’t place it, the taste eluding him even as the spice began to build. It quickly reached a burn just barely within the limits of comfort.

After a moment of contemplation, the heat failing to make a dent in his demeanor, Spock spoke up. “If I possessed a tail, it would indeed have a kink.”

Anne and Uhura burst out laughing, and Kirk joined them with a shake of his head. Sivaoan food. Tail-kinkers. After their talk of tricksters, he was surprised he hadn’t remembered it sooner; that was, after all, where they’d met a real life trickster of a sort. Taking another bite, he tried to recall any differences between the taste of the grabfoot stew they’d eaten and the stew that Anne had set in front of them. It seemed subtly different, but not in a way he could define, and not such that it stood out as a reproduction. Even the meat seemed more like the tiny, colorful little dinosaur-beasts than anything from Earth. “Damn. How’d you put this together?” Kirk asked.

“The genetic information was in the Enterprise database. It took some trial and error to translate it into the synthesizer-- you would not believe some of the terrors that came out. Luckily, I knew of a little Sivaoan community here in Yorktown and enlisted their help in return for giving them the synth pattern. Of course they prefer the real thing, but they were happy to know they’d be able to synth something that tasted right in a pinch.” Anne smiled and sipped her wine. “This was for you, Spock. Nyota said you liked tail-kinkers. If the ones in the stew are acceptable, I’ll send you the synth pattern.”

“It is more than acceptable. I am flattered that you went to the trouble on my behalf,” Spock said gravely.

“It was no trouble. It gave me something to work on during the days. Now I’ll have to find a new project.”

“Can’t sit still, huh?” Uhura asked. “Any idea what you’re going to work on next?”

Anne’s pleasure dimmed. “Yeah, actually. I was going to help Ben and Hikaru with their appeals. Ethics had a problem with letting them adopt Lilla, something about the fact that they already had a kid. I don’t know much about the whole thing, but I can at least make calls and fill out forms.”

Nyota grimaced. “I heard about that. Sulu seemed to expect it. I don’t think it’s going to be that big a problem, but I’m glad you’re helping out. I told him, but I’ll tell you too, let us know if there’s anything we can do, okay?”

“Yes, of course,” Anne said, then brightened. “And then there’s the party to plan, too…”

Spock and Uhura were coming, of course, regardless of the actual date. Kirk would have been shocked if they’d declined. What did surprise him, however, was how fast Anne and Nyota went from casual discussion to planning, then actually starting to put things in motion. By the time the first bottle of wine was finished, they had decided on a guest list and a menu (with input from both himself and Spock, of course); by the time the second one was finished, they had already figured out how much of what would set up the bar, what playlists to use, in exactly what order and how far ahead every dish would have to be made, and the likelihood that they would need aircars standing by to transport anyone who had overimbibed. Upon reflection, Kirk decided that his surprise was unwarranted. Nyota was an organizer by nature. He’d known that since they’d been in the Xenolinguistics Club together back in the Academy. She’d always been on his ass about the club accounts and bookkeeping, which, of course, had been her job as President-- keeping her Treasurer on the straight and narrow. And he already knew Anne was detail-oriented, self-motivated, and used to considering issues from multiple angles.

“I wonder what would happen if they were ever posted to Ops,” Kirk murmured to Spock, watching them systematically wipe out task after task, right down to sending out messages to the sources Anne had chosen for the food.

“By my calculations, we would see an increase in efficiency on the close order of thirty-four percent,” Spock said blandly. “Perhaps more, if they were allowed to dictate repercussions for poor performance.”

Kirk was pretty sure that was a joke. “Let’s just hope they’re free if we ever need to plan a war.”

Catching his comment, Uhura raised her eyebrows at Anne. “I think they’re getting restless. The wisecracking has started.”

“Well, we have enough done for now. I’ll call you tomorrow after five-- oh, wait. We have that damn interview.” Anne rolled her eyes. “What a pain. I’ll call you the day after.”

“Sounds good.” Uhura looked over at Kirk. “And if you said you were going to send out invitations, you’d better get cracking. I want to know we’ve heard back from everyone by Sunday.”

“All right, all right,” Kirk laughed. Somehow this had become her party too. He didn’t mind. It was kind of neat watching his friends take a random whim of his and make it into a group endeavor. It was something that wouldn’t have happened this way if Anne hadn’t been around. The dynamic was different, more balanced. He was less set apart somehow. Was it easier for them to ignore the shipboard pecking order because Anne didn’t have a real rank? But it wasn’t like Nyota had ever been excessively deferential in the first place, and Spock was just Spock, no matter what rank either of them had ever held.

Setting his thoughts aside as Nyota and Spock rose to leave, he and Anne escorted them to the door, saying their goodbyes. Once they were gone the place felt emptier, but not entirely, as if they’d left some of their companionable warmth behind them.

Anne leaned into his side, looking affectionately up at him. “I’ve got to go clean up, cher. Will you run us a bath if you’re not too tired?”

“Sure.” The thought of the advice he’d been given, both by Ella and by Carol, made him pause. Was it better to talk about these things now?

“What is it?” Anne asked, curious.

Damn. She was getting to know him too well. No point in putting it off. “A couple things. You need a communicator, for one.”

“Why?” Anne asked, annoyance flitting across her features.

“Because if you have one, I won’t have to worry that you won’t be able to reach me if you’re in trouble.”

She knew he had a point, even though she wasn’t happy about it. What was wrong with having a communicator? His puzzlement must have shown on his face, because she answered immediately. “I just don’t like the idea of anyone being able to bother me wherever I am and no matter what I’m doing. If I get a separate comm code, will you keep it to yourself?”

Reluctantly, he said, “That’s probably not a great idea. If there was an emergency and I couldn’t give the code to someone else for whatever reasons…”

Sighing, she rested her head against his arm. “All right. But only because you think it’s necessary. The moment it’s no longer necessary, I’m getting rid of it.”

“That’s fair.” Was that enough for the moment? Was she too annoyed to take it well if he brought up the other thing? Deciding it was best to get it all over at once, he said, “And… if things don’t work out for you, would you consider staying aboard the Enterprise? I know it’s not… I mean, I know you think you’re not cut out for Starfleet and all that, but… it’s an option. Or at least I could make it an option. If you wanted.”

By the time he’d finished speaking, she’d gone entirely still, her hurt wordlessly radiating from every line of her body. Wasn’t great for the old ego. He had to admit, though, that he knew just how important her writing was to her by how assiduously she avoided the subject, and how relentlessly she filled up her time. And that was just what he saw; he had a feeling that was the tip of the iceberg when it came to her feelings about her writing. Might as well ask him to stay with her if he’d lost his ability to be the Captain. It would be like cutting out half his personality, his life, the person he thought of as himself. She wouldn’t be able to replace that for him, no matter what he felt for her.

But… it would help. Having someone who cared that much for him would help. Wouldn’t it? He wasn’t in her position. He couldn’t tell.

After a long while, she pressed her cheek harder against him. “Yes,” she said, her voice small and quiet. “I’ll go with you, if it comes to that.”

He’d thought it would make him… well, definitely not happy, not when he’d known she would be hurt. Relieved, maybe? More settled? Instead, it just felt unutterably selfish, and he wished he hadn’t said anything. Even though he didn’t mean it that way, it must have sounded like he didn’t have any confidence in her, and even if she knew better on one level, that didn’t negate how it must have felt. “We don’t need to talk about it again,” he added, wishing that he could forget it entirely. But Carol had been right-- it needed to be addressed. He needed to know, so he could take any steps that needed to be taken. “Just… come with me when I go back, if that’s what works.”

Anne must have had some idea he would bring it up, but even if it had to be said, that didn’t make it hurt her any less. Her body was tense, as if she’d just been hit and was trying to master her reaction so she could choose how she wanted to respond. After a while, she spoke, her voice still quiet but a little more controlled. “I need to be alone for a bit. I’ll be on the balcony. Go to sleep, if you like. You’ve had a long day.”

There was no way Kirk could sleep, not now. Not until she came back to him. But he knew better than to put that on her too. “I won’t bother you,” he said. He wished he could do something to comfort her-- hold her, make her laugh, something-- but pushing himself on her just to assuage his own guilt would be unforgivable. Instead, he stood still as she pulled away from him, only his eyes following her as she left.

After he heard the balcony door open, he decided he would run that bath. Maybe see what was in the refrigerator, get some rum chilling. It was the only thing he could think to do that wouldn’t be intrusive, that might help to smooth things over. He tried not to gawk when he went into the kitchen and the bedroom, but he did see that she was working in the garden. That was good. He wasn’t sure what he would have done if she’d been just sitting there crying the way he’d half-expected, aside from feel about a thousand times worse.

By the time he heard the balcony door open again, the bath had been full for long enough that he had to set the temperature to hold, or else it would have cooled too much to be comfortable. Kirk himself was seated on one of the couches, going over the most recently released court schedules. No word on Loche’s trial date yet, but the schedules were only mapped a couple weeks ahead. He concentrated on the padd in his hands to avoid wondering whether she would approach him or if he should go to speak to her.

Her footsteps on the carpet told him he had no reason to wonder. She didn’t say anything, but she came to sit beside him. When he looked at her, he saw that her eyes were a little red, and immediately felt like the galaxy’s biggest heel. She smiled, though, and even if she wasn’t happy, at least she wasn’t angry or resentful. “You should have gone to bed, cher. It’s late.”

“I’m fine. Not like I haven’t done it before.” He started to set the padd aside, then a thought occurred to him. “If you want, I’ll stay home tomorrow. They say they need me but they really don’t, it’s just the same boring old shit again. All little guys they’ve got airtight cases on anyway.”

Anne’s eyes lightened a bit, becoming instantly less guarded and more transparent, the turmoil of her emotions clearer. “You don’t have to,” she said.

Kirk lifted the padd and began to tap out a message. He’d seen that little bit of hopefulness in amidst her hurt feelings and self-doubt. “I’m sick of it anyway. I need a day off. And then maybe we can get that interview done with earlier and not have to spend our whole day waiting for it to be over.”

“I’d like that,” she said, resting her head against his shoulder.

Kirk finished his message and tossed the padd aside, sliding his arm around her. Missing a few trials shouldn’t be a problem. They had them in the bag already. After a short silence, one that was far more comfortable than the ones preceding it, he said, “I ran the bath for you. Do you want to go relax?”

“Will you come with me?” Anne asked.

“Of course.” Good. Not that he would have begrudged her privacy, but… good. Knowing she wanted him around made him feel less like he’d taken a baseball bat to a glass sculpture. He would never have felt this way if it had been Carol, or any of his other lovers-- he would have just thought anyone else needed to grow a thicker skin if even a sidelong reference could hurt them that badly. Anne was different. She was still recovering, and things she might be able to handle from others had more potential to hurt coming from him. That she wanted him around meant that she didn’t blame him, when she would have been justified in doing so.

It was better to stop thinking about it. She was fine, she would recover, and he hadn’t permanently fucked anything up. Kirk escorted her toward the bath, noting that she’d taken down or turned off all those flickering little lights outside. “Were those actual candles?” he asked. He’d taken them for holographs at first, but there had been a faint scent of burning to them...

“Yes,” Anne said, looking back at him with a hint of a smile.

How… quaint. Where would she even find something like that on Yorktown? One of those grey markets she seemed to effortlessly find? Well, they might be handy. She must have liked them a lot if she’d somehow dug them up out here. “I’m gonna go grab them. They’re in the kitchen, right?”

“Yes,” she said again, her smile growing just a little. He left her to get them, and found a little torch sitting beside them, presumably to light them with.

When he brought them to the washroom, he’d barely stepped inside before she was in his arms. “You are so sweet to me,” she murmured, and the warmth in her voice settled him further. “I didn’t realize you’d been paying that much attention.”

He glanced over at the tiny loaf of fresh-baked bread and the bits of cheeses he’d brought in for her. Sure, they didn’t look as nice as hers, but it was a pretty respectable effort. The starfruit and strawberry slices had turned out better. “It’s not like I made the thing. I just took some of the dough and put it in the oven after it had sat a while. The rest of it was just cutting things.”

“Still.” She looked up at him, her smile wide enough to reveal that dimple. “Let me guess, there’s something in the icebox here too.” He nodded. “I’ll pour us some drinks if you set up those candles. Then, into the bath. Oh, and let’s have some music, don’t you think? You pick.”

Sounded good. Great, in fact. So long as things returned to equilibrium, he was happy.

#James T. Kirk/OC #Jim Kirk/OC #Star Trek Fanfiction #dark romance #Star Trek #fanfic #Star Trek: Walking Wounded #ST:WW

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enterprisetrampstamp · 7 years ago

Text

what you want

for @sleepymccoy. congrats on the degree!

also posted on ao3

Len drags his feet, letting his tour guide- an enthusiastic young woman whose pips indicate she’s soon to graduate- pull ahead of him. She’s so caught up in her well-rehearsed speech that she doesn’t seem to notice his absence, plowing through the crowded Academy sidewalks with the confidence of seniority as the other cadets part around her.

He should probably feel bad about ditching her; she seems like a perfectly nice girl. Likely to go far in Starfleet, if the obvious respect her peers have for her is any indication.

Len should feel bad, but he doesn’t. As soon as kids start slipping between them, taking advantage of the empty sidewalk she leaves in her wake, he turns smartly on his heel and peels away.

Damned ridiculous, being led around as if he’s never been here before. Just because he graduated from med school and then joined the ‘fleet doesn’t mean he’s never set foot on the fucking campus. Jim did cajole him over to this side of the country a good handful of times before they fully drifted apart, in those godawful years after the mission ended.

Len shoves his hands in his pockets, hiking his shoulders up to his ears with a huff. “Godawful”, he has no idea where that came from. He didn’t have to deal with alien lifeforms committing murder or stealing bodies or impersonating Chicago mobsters, he wasn’t treating dumbass officers who had no idea how to take care of themselves- just normal, civilian dumbasses- and, of course--he got to see Joanna on a regular basis.

Retirement was- is- a retreat.

The only reason he’s even still in San Francisco, over a month after the successful resolution of the V’ger incident, is that Starfleet won’t let him leave. Conscripted service his fucking--

“Conscripted service my fucking ass,” he announces loudly, and of the cadets nearby, only the youngest look over at him with surprise. The others, like college students everywhere, have long since been inured to the weird shit that comes out of people’s mouths on campus.

Len cranes his neck, shading his eyes form the sun as he tries to read the stupidly intricate script of the letters on the stupidly tall facade of the nearest building. He figures his tour guide must have noticed by now that she lost him, and he draws quite a bit of attention, being dressed in civvies and also forty-odd years older than the cadets on either side of him; he needs to get off the street.

It’s either an astronomy building, he decides, or they slapped Sally Ride’s name on something random.

With a furtive glance back the way he came, Len takes the steps two at a time as he tugs off his scarf. The blast of heat is unpleasant when he presses through the heavy, wooden doors--what is it about lecture halls that prevents them from setting their thermostats at anything in between glacial and tropical?

Makes him feel a little nostalgic, actually.

Len grins, rubbing his hands together. Maybe he can find an interesting lecture to sit in on, before the security officer assigned to his case- an exasperated young man named Harvey- tracks him down again. Or maybe--

“Spock,” he blurts, and for a second he thinks he’s just mistakenly shouted at some other Vulcan.

Then the pointy-eared bastard turns, one eyebrow raised, and the cadet he’s speaking to steps neatly to his side, her gaze flicking over Len with a spark of curiosity.

“Dr. McCoy.” Spock inclines his head in greeting as Len drifts closer, his hands folding neatly behind his back.

“Have you taken on a lecture series?” Len asks, and he doesn’t even bother to hide his interest. He’d heard Spock was being offered a captaincy, now that he was re-committed to Starfleet, but neither Nyota nor Jim had breathed a word about this.

Spock ignores him, his dark gaze taking in Len’s civilian clothes with a hint of a frown at the corners of his lips. “Have you not accepted the renewal of your commission?” he asks, voice sharp; the cadet raises an eyebrow as she glances at him sidelong. “Admiral Kirk had implied--”

Len guffaws. “Jim’s still riding the high from having his silver lady back for those few short days. He hasn’t figured out yet that it’s not going to be like old times just because he pulled some strings and got me drafted for one mission. He’s still on desk duty, and I--” He rubs his eyebrow and sighs, his mirth fading as swiftly as it had come. “I still have a life back in Georgia.”

Spock tilts his head. “Yet you have remained in San Francisco.”

Len glances at the still-present cadet- she’s looking back and forth between the two of them with surprisingly visible interest- and offers Spock an uncomfortable shrug. “The admiralty’s pulling out all the stops,” he drawls. “They’re trying to sweeten the deal until I stop saying no, and in the mean time, they’re using every regulation they can to keep me in town.”

Spock nods as if this doesn’t surprise him. “It was a severe oversight to have allowed you to leave Starfleet without protest in the first place,” he states gravely.

Len rocks back on his heels, blinking, but his surprise quickly diffuses into a soft thrum of pleasure. He lets his grin spread across his face and reaches out to brush his fingertips over Spock’s sleeve. “Missed you, too,” he teases.

Before Spock can respond, the door behind them opens and brings with it a blast of sound from the street beyond. Len can hear- faintly, still a good distance off- someone asking, “Have you seen an older guy, kind of an asshole, dressed in civvies--”

Len claps Spock on the shoulder. “Good talk,” he declares, and hurries past them down the hall. He calls back, “Pass my love on to Harv for me, won’t you?”

The last thing he hears, before he’s rounded a corner into a gaggle of bright-eyed first-year cadets, is Spock’s shadow addressing him in Vulcan, her words indecipherable but her tone curious, perhaps even downright fascinated.

Len grins to himself as he re-wraps his scarf. Now, if he were the back exit onto the next street over, where would he be?

Nyota heaves a dramatic sigh and presses her shoulder against his, and when he lolls his head to look at her- good food, great alcohol, and better company leaving him feeling too pleasantly sluggish to properly lift it from the back of the patio bench- her gaze is fixed on the San Francisco skyline where it spreads out in front of them, glittering in the night.

“I feel like I don’t even know what I want any more,” she tells him. Her voice is softly plaintive, and he straightens just enough to drape his arm across her shoulders, letting his cheek come to rest against the top of her head.

“You want your own command; you always have.” Len rubs her arm with one hand, a sardonic little grin tugging at the corners of his lips. “God only knows why.”

She huffs, and it’s not quite a laugh. Still, he knows his bad joke managed to cheer her up a little, and there’s a smug sort of satisfaction nestled in his chest as he takes another sip of his mint julep.

“It always seemed so far out of reach,” she admits. “Like a pipe dream.”

“And now that it’s almost in front of you, you’re not sure what to do with it.”

Nyota laughs; it’s a sad, anxious little sound. Her fingertips are tracing patterns in the condensation on her bottle of beer. “That obvious?”

“That normal,” he counters, nudging her knee with his. “It happens to all of us, darlin’. Just don’t let your doubts take over and keep you from what you want.”

She’s quiet for a long moment, and Len doesn’t bother trying to guess what she’s thinking. Nyota, out of all of them, has always had the easiest time of expressing herself; if he gives her enough time, he’s sure she’ll find the right words.

And she does.

“What if it turns out it’s not what I want at all?” she whispers. She shrinks in on herself, just a bit--ashamed to be having these doubts, or maybe worried he’ll simply dismiss them without a second thought.

She’s a strong woman, Nyota Uhura, and she’s never wanted anyone’s approval of her decisions--but this late at night, in the company of a friend and under the influence of alcohol, even the strongest need reassurance.

Len holds her tighter and turns his glass to study its contents moodily, giving a self-deprecating snort. “Well, I guess you would fulfill your obligations and then move on to what’s next,” he tells her, his voice as quiet as hers. “And whatever you decide it is you actually want, you’ll go and get it, and dazzle us all in the process.”

Nyota huffs, rolling her eyes, and Len smiles even as he tells her softly, “But you can’t know whether or not you really want a command until you try for one.”

She slumps into his side, the tension leaving her all at once. “How’d you get that miserly reputation of yours, Lenny?” she teases. She reaches over to knock her bottle against his glass, a teasing grin playing at the corners of her lips. “You’re just one big softie at heart.”

Len grunts, informing her drily, “Judicious application of hyposprays. Damned near managed to drive even Jim off, way back when.”

Nyota extricates herself from under his arm, shifting in her seat so she can studying the line of his profile, and he can feel himself start to tense under that piercing gaze. “Speaking of Jim,” she begins.

Len winces. “Nyota...”

She ignores the warning in his tone. “What is it you want these days, Dr. McCoy? Because this purgatory you’ve let yourself be trapped in--”

“Let myself--”

She scoffs. “I know you, Len. If you wanted to be back in Georgia already, you wouldn’t have let a bunch of bullshit regs that don’t even really apply to you keep you here. You’d have told Starfleet to shove it and been on the first shuttle back to Meridian, or wherever the hell it is you’re from.”

Len pulls his arm off of the back of the bench, propping his elbows on his knees as he leans forward, staring moodily into his glass once more. “Meridian’s in Mississippi,” he mutters.

“Not the point,” she tells him kindly, rubbing him comfortingly between his shoulder blades. “All your hemming and hawing has finally started to make even Jim nervous, you know. He’s putting up a good front for the rest of the admiralty, but he’s worried you really are going to turn down your commission.”

“Can’t let things go on like this forever, can I?” Len asks, sighing, and tosses back the rest of his drink in one go. He turns the glass over and sets it on the balcony railing before settling back into his seat, chewing on his lip.

She lets him sit in silence for a good five minutes, and then she heaves another sigh. “Tell me what you’re thinking,” she orders.

“Spock’s teaching,” he blurts, then blinks. “My god, you’ve already mastered that authoritative voice, haven’t you?”

“I’m doubting whether or not I want a command, not whether or not I’d be good at it,” Nyota teases, and the light scrape of her nails at the back of his neck is comforting as she smiles at him, her dark eyes soft.

“Spock’s teaching?” she asks, leadingly, when he remains quiet for a long moment.

Len drums his fingers on his thighs, shaking his head. “That’s not why... I’ve only known that for a few days. Jim was more focused on waxing poetic about the captaincy they were offering him, and you and I’ve been...” he gestures vaguely.

“Not talking about Starfleet because up until now, I hadn’t managed to get you drunk enough to agree to do so,” Nyota fills in, her voice thick with amusement.

Len barks a laugh. “Jesus. Yeah, alright, I’ve been avoidin’ this conversation.”

“Because you don’t want to let them renew your commission, but you haven’t been willing to break Jim’s heart?” she suggests, though she doesn’t sound like she believes it.

“Because...” Len blows out a breath. “Because I went after what I thought I wanted, and it turned out I was wrong.”

He doesn’t look at her as he steals her beer. It tastes like piss; he genuinely has no idea why she drinks the stuff, but his julep’s gone and he really needs some more alcohol in his system.

“Are you talking about Georgia?” she asks him, and he rubs his hand over his face without answering. She sits back, muttering something in Swahili that he’s sure is something along the lines of “Jesus fuck.”

He stands abruptly, scowling out at the glittering streets of San Francisco. “I never wanted to be on that mission in the first place,” he says fiercely, curling his arms around himself as if he can shield his heart from his own words. “And maybe I enjoyed myself once we were out there, but there was a part of me that was always thinking of the moment I’d get to go home again. I resigned my commission the minute we touched down, stubbornly happy as a clam, and I stayed that way right up until the moment I realized I was walking around dreaming about the day I’d be back on a starship the same way I used to dream about Georgia.”

“Oh, Len,” Nyota says, softly.

He throws his arms wide, a desperate sort of smile on his face. “I have a life, Ny! I have a steady, pleasant job, I have friends, I get to visit Jojo at college every couple Saturdays- more often, if I’m willin’ to play nice with Joss and go same day she does--”

“But you’re not happy.”

He buries his face in his hands. “I’m not happy,” he admits, voice muffled. “And meanwhile Spock is out here shaping the minds of impressionable young officers, with all his ‘logic this’ and ‘Surak that’.”

Nyota, bless her, ignores his bullshit in order to cut straight to the heart of the matter. “You’d be a great professor, Len.”

He huffs, setting one hand on his hip as he takes another swig of her beer, and shoots her a dirty look. “We were talkin’ about you,” he accuses, and she smiles up at him serenely. Somehow, she must’ve left the balcony and grabbed herself another beer without him even noticing.

She sips from the bottle delicately, raising her eyebrows at him. “Sounds like you’ve known what you want for a while now; you just haven’t been willing to admit it.”

Len rubs the bridge of his nose, rocking up onto his toes and then back down. “I’ll talk to Jim in the morning,” he says resignedly. “And you--” he prods a finger at her, narrowing her eyes. “You’re talking to him, too. You know he’ll do whatever he can to get you in the right position to take over a ship sometime in the next five years.”

Nyota salutes him lazily with her beer, a sly twinkle in her eye. “Yessir, Commander McCoy, sir.”

“Jesus.” Len balks. “They’re not going to try and fucking promote me, are they?”

The answering sound of her laughter curls up into the night, bright and loud, and maybe signing his life away to Starfleet is worth it just for that.

Len wipes his hands on his uniform pants before he knocks, willing himself to be a little less nervous. It’s just Spock for God’s sakes! He’s known the man- Vulcan- for well over a decade now, and they’ve certainly had worse things to say to each other over the years than “Surprise! We’re coworkers again!”

He raps sharply three times, before he can lose his nerve again, and then another two for good measure. Sometimes Spock gets so caught up in something fascinating that he doesn’t even hear--

The door swooshes open. He must not’ve been working, then.

“Doctor,” Spock greets, folding his hands inside his dark blue robes, and Len rocks up onto the balls of his feet and back down, at a loss for words.

“Wanted you to be the first to know,” he finally announces, after the moment drags on just slightly too long. He steps back, making quick work of the buttons of his coat, and then spreads it wide, an obvious invitation for Spock to study his attire. The beige jumpsuit doesn’t feel like home the same way his medical blues used to, but--

He’ll get used to it.

Spock raises an eyebrow. “You have not yet informed Admiral Kirk?”

Len huffs, prodding him in the chest as he shoves past into Spock’s apartment. “Fine; yes, I had to tell Jim, so you’re second. Third, actually, since Nyota’s the one who finally managed to talk me into it, and if you start counting every yeoman with a PADD for me to sign--” He swings to a stop in the middle of the room and sets his hands on his hips, glaring back at Spock. “But you’re the first person I’m choosing to tell, just for the sake of the telling.”

There’s a glitter of amusement in Spock’s eyes as he moves away from the door, letting it finally slide shut. “I am honored.”

“You’re humoring me,” Len accuses. He tilts his chin up, turning on his heel to survey Spock’s living room. “But I’ll allow it,” he adds, a wisp of fondness in his voice as nostalgia rolls over him like a wave.

Late in the five year mission, sometimes he’d show up too early to walk to breakfast together and wait in the main room while Spock finished getting ready. Other times, they’d spend late nights on his Starfleet-issue couch working on reports, debating about any subject under the sun, or simply existing in one another’s presence.

He must have seen Spock’s quarters a hundred times, by the end--and for all that he’s never set foot in this building before today, he’s been in this room before.

The furniture is different and the floorspace greater, leaving the overall effect much more subtle and open, but the general layout, the wall hangings, the books on the shelves, the lyre in the corner--they’re all the same.

“You really haven’t changed a bit,” he murmurs with a small shake of his head.

“I must disagree, Doctor.” Spock counters promptly, moving to join Len in the center of the room. “We are each a sum of our experiences; from moment to moment we are redefined in subtle ways. Our years spent apart have necessarily wrought changes--”

“Spock,” Len interrupts, shoving his hands in his pockets as he smiles up at him. “Trust me; in all the ways that matter, you’re the same person you’ve always been.”

Spock tilts his head. There’s something soft in the lines around his eyes, something that makes Len’s heart constrict in his chest.

“Recent events have been highly effective at revealing my motivations in undertaking the rite of Kolinahr,” he says quietly, apropos of nothing. “I was concerned by the connection I had made to my human side throughout the years of our mission, and I sought to distance myself from it once more. I failed, Doctor; as such, I have finally put to rest my hesitance to embrace the person I became under the influence of your and Jim’s friendship.”

Len swallows hard. “Then you’re saying I’m right,” he says weakly.

“I am saying--”

Spock’s fingers are cool as they curl around the back of Len’s neck, cradling his skull in one large hand.

“--I was wrong,” he murmurs.

Len forgoes the doorbell in favor of knocking, three sharp raps and then two more. Sometimes Spock gets so caught up in his work, or his meditation, that he doesn’t notice someone’s at the door. Len finds it a little endearing, almost despite himself.

It takes over a minute for Spock to summon him, but Len just hooks his fingers in his belt and whistles as he waits. They’re on their way back to Earth--pending a lack of emergencies in the next two weeks, the Enterprise has, for all intents and purposes, completed her mission.

They’re a nice prospect, those quiet two weeks.

Afterwards, he’s going back to Georgia- permanently, so long as he can weather Jim’s puppy dog eyes and come out with his convictions intact- but he hopes... well. Maybe he’ll have some visitors once in a while.

“Spock,” he greets, grinning, when the Vulcan finally appears. He pushes past him into his quarters, almost bouncing with excitement. “Look, I’ve been trying to figure out a good way to say this for almost a week now, and--”

“Doctor.” Spock has not moved from the doorway. “May I inquire as to the nature of your visit?”

Len crosses his arms over his chest and huffs. “Kind of what I was attempting to get at just now.”

“This is a personal matter,” Spock surmises.

“Sure, of course it is. Spock, I--”

“Doctor, I am in the process of completing the last of the crew evaluations; can this wait?”

Len scratches the back of his head, a rueful tilt to his lips. ”Not really,” he admits. “I may lose my nerve, and we just don’t have that much time left.”

With something that isn’t a sigh, because Vulcans do not sigh, Spock finally joins Len in the middle of the room. “I am listening,” he says. He sounds resigned.

Ignoring the flare of anxiety in his gut, Len plods forward. “Look, Spock, I just wanted you to know that I’ve...” he stares up at those dark eyes and swallows hard. “I’ve come to appreciate your friendship. I may be resigning the ‘fleet, but whenever you’re on Earth, there’s a guest room with your name on it.”

“Doctor--”

“Wait, that’s--” Len holds up his hand. “That’s the chicken shit version, all right? There’s more to it, just give me a moment.” He closes his eyes, sucking in a deep breath, and then releases it all at once. Talking’s probably easier if he’s not watching Spock watch him; he keeps his eyes shut tight.

“Spock, I... I care about you very deeply. I’d like--that is, I understand that this is practically the worst time I could have brought this up, but I’m worried we’ll never get another chance if I don’t. I just--”

He makes a noise of frustration, opening his eyes, and simply yanks Spock down by his uniform shirt to plant one on him. That Spock- with his Vulcan strength- allows himself to be manhandled is promising; that he doesn’t reciprocate the kiss is less so.

Len releases him and steps back, feeling more than a bit foolish. “If you’re interested,” he finishes awkwardly, unable to meet Spock’s eyes.

“I do not believe this to be... wise, Doctor,” Spock says, with a voice that is uncharacteristically hesitant.

“Right.” Len nods, straightening out his med blues. He’s pretty sure his face is about to spontaneously combust. “Well, that guest room’s up for grabs regardless. I’ll... see you around.”

And then he- for lack of a better word- runs.

He barely sees Spock outside of a professional capacity for the remainder of the mission; it’s Nyota who tells him, sounding frustrated and forlorn, about Spock’s decision to undergo Kolinahr.

Len presses up onto his toes as Spock leans down, meeting him in the middle. Spock is warm against him, tall and strong, and his hands are hesitant as they drift over Len’s back, so lightly as to be almost unnoticeable through the thick canvas of his coat. Len’s arms, of their own accord, curl tightly about Spock’s neck, and he clings tightly as he pours himself into the kiss.

When they draw apart, breathing heavily, Len prods Spock firmly in the chest with one finger. “This is not why I came back to Starfleet,” he says, a note of warning in his voice.

Spock’s eyes glitter with amusement. “I am aware, Doctor.”

“I’m just saying, you don’t need to go getting a big head.”

“My cranium is of an average size for a Vulcan of my height and weight.”

Len practically growls, biting back the smile that wants to spread giddily across his face. “You know damn well what I mean, Mr. Spock; so help me God if you decided to get a sense of humor after all these years--”

“Leonard.”

His jaw snaps shut as he stares up at Spock with wide eyes, and the Vulcan has the gall to look pleased with himself as he brings his hands to Len’s shoulders, encouraging his coat to slip from his arms to pool at their feet.

“I am gratified you have chosen to remain with Starfleet,” Spock tells him lightly. “Regardless of your motivations for doing so.”

Len smiles, reaching up to trace the curve of one pointed ear. “I finally figured out what I wanted,” he admits. “Take me to bed, Mr. Spock?”

“Yes, Doctor.”

#it's not precisely what you asked for but I hope you enjoy!!!#spones #spock #leonard mccoy #a tramp stamp original #I wrote this

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angies-team · 7 years ago

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92 Questions Tag!

TAGGED BY: @hello-em75 (who is in every way awesome)

last:

drink: A wierd grape juice fruit blend thingy. I don’t really know but it was good.

phone call: my mother

text message: ditto ^^^^

song you listened to: Two Feet- I feel like i’m drowning.

time you cried: This morning I was watching Stranger Things okay

have you:

dated someone twice: neyooo

kissed someone and regretted it: yeah. Every night i put my younger brother to bed and regret giving him a kiss of the cheek when he makes some sort of annoying comment.

been cheated on: sorry that role goes to my tests.

lost someone special: yeah, family, I’ve had a few friends who have passed away for multiple different reasons, some more painful than others. Uhhh... I’ve lost a few fictional characters close to my heart.

been depressed: oh look it’s the title of my autobiography.

gotten drunk and thrown up: nopers

list three favorite colors:

blue

blue aquamarine

also blue multiple other colours that are also cool

in the last year have you:

made new friends: I HAvE. I sweaarrr. I have friends! It’s hard to sit alone ever though, but I wouldn’t change things even if i had the chance.

fallen out of love: nah, my heart still belongs to my one true love, Hayden Christensen.

laughed until i cried: did that yesterday, actually.

found out someone was talking about you: probably, but i don’t remember.

found out who your friends are: Iii’mmm not exactly sure what this means but one of my friends did turn out to be Batman soooo...yeah. no i didn’t i’m kidding i swear

kissed someone on your facebook list: nope

general:

how many of your facebook friends do you know in real life: probably most if not all of them

do you have any pets: we have two turtles: Spock and Chopper. (Chopper is the biggest lil shit too it’s perfect)

do you want to change your name: i mean not really. If i were going to i’d just make my nickname my legal name since it’s what everyone calls me already anyway.

what did you do for your last birthday: Which was TODAY WUT. uhhh idk played a little BATTLEFRONT 2 (IT’S AMAZING GAH),

what time do you wake up: well i should wake up by at least 7 to get to school on time but lately I've been sick and i’m always sleeping in and late for school. Usually ranges from 8-8:30 on schooldays and i have no idea for weekends.

what were you doing at midnight last night: uh i was totally sleeping. I wasn’t watching stranger things at all. nope. nuh uh. not a chance.

name something you can’t wait for: The last JEDI. gah just give it to me now i’m already dead you can’t kill me any more.

when was the last time you saw your mom: today

what is one thing you wish you could change in your life: my math and Physics mark. that or get rid of my stupid concussion so i can do things again.

what are you listening to right now:

have you ever talked to a person named tom: yeah, my late grandfather. There have probably been other Tom’s in my life but i can’t think of one off the top of my head.

something that is getting on your nerves: MATH. and this guy who keeps following me around and WROTE ME A FRIKIN POEM nopenopenope abort.

most visited website: youtube honest

mole/s: i don’t think i have any?

mark/s: freckles (if that counts, but i have like five and they’re practically invisible when it’s not summer), the large scar that appeared on my cheek this week, cuts, scrapes and bruises here or there.

childhood dream: teacher *shudders* glad i gave that one a rest.

hair color: dirty-ish light blond sort of thing i have no clue what my hair is. My eyebrows are black though and no i haven’t ever dyed my hair, except for that one time this year i went as sabine for Halloween

long or short hair: short. my hair was halfway down my back in around March and i chopped it all off for star wars.

do you have a crush on someone: sort of? I mean i don’t think it really counts as a crush i just think this guy is kind of cute but he also looks IDENTICAL TO EZRA I KID YOU NOT i swear on my life it’s crazy. but yeah that’s kind of the only reason i’m sort of obsessed with him i guess? But yeah I honestly dont even know who he is and I’ve only talked to him like three times and two were like “oh hey sorry is someone sitting here?” “oh no. sorry i’ll move my bag because its on your chair.” so yeahh. fun stuff.

what do you like about yourself: ummmmm... things? I love that i can find beauty in music and the world in ways alot of people can’t and i feel lucky because of that. My artistic personality is realy what defines me other than my constant use of sarcasm and dry humor, as well as terrible jokes and combacks that aren’t even comebacks and it’s helped me become who i am and will be fore the rest of my life. i love that i can use not only pictures but song, as well as words to express myself and other things to the world. I’m also terrible with words when i’m speaking so being able to write down what i mean with the detail needed to paint the picture into your mind is great. i also make no sense. like all the time.

piercings: one simple hole in each ear is enough for me

blood type: I....don’t actually know.

nicknames: Angie, Ange, Angeasaurus, tangeriene, angerine, Rey (it’s a long story), Bob, Frank, Joe (i am being serious, actually)

relationship status: single not like a pringle because pringles come on tins which hold alot more than a single pringle (heh) soooo what am i even sayig

zodiac: scorpio

pronouns: she/her

favorite tv show: ooohhh that’s an unfair question.

right or left hand: right

surgery: i don’t think so?

hair dyed in different colour: oh look i just talked about this. uh yeah, but temporarily for halloween

sport: ice hockey, water polo, tennis, swimming, baseball, something else i’m 100 percent forgetting.

vacation: i legit just went somewhere and i kid you not i cannot remember where it was. my memory is actually really bad.

pair of trainers: either my white sneakers or, if it’s winter or fall i’m always wearing my boots.

more general:

eating: a lolipop :)

drinking: lemonade

i’m about to: draw something stupid (probably)

want: to just feel like I’ve made a difference. To be happy.

get married: one day. but i’m like 17 so...

career: broke student(?)

hugs or kisses: hugssss

lips or eyes: eyes mostly, but both

shorter or taller: taller

older or younger: older

nice arms or nice stomachs: both is the way to gooo

sensitive or loud: really depends on the time, place, and people

hookup or relationship: relationship

troublemaker or hesitant: troublemaker

have you ever:

kissed a stranger: nopers

drank hard liquor: uh yeah. i accidentally downed my mom’s vodka when i was like 11 because i thought it was water. heh mistakes.

lost glasses/contacts: i’m using my mom’s glasses actually right now because i lost mine

turned someone down: all the time tbh. just the other day actually (in my defense he was stalking me and it was getting creppy)

sex on the first date: uh nooooooooooo

personal:

broken someone’s heart: yeah (i feel like a terrible person saying yeah, but the things this guy did to me to try and get me to like him back were ridiculous)

had your heart broken: everytime my favorite fictional characters die okay in all seriousness, nope. I’ve never really liked someone that way. except for that one time when i was 12 but that’s a story for another time

been arrested: nope

cried when someone died: yeah. my grandfather earlier this year, a friend of mine commited suicide last year, and another one just died this yeah in a hit and run accident. so. other than that... *glares at stoick*

fallen for a friend: not as of current date

do you believe in:

yourself: sometimes

miracles: yeah.

love at first sight: nah. romeo and Julliet is a LIE. sort of.

santa claus: nope. (i blame my mother for not being more stealthy when i was 11)

kisses on the first date: i guess it would depend

other:

current best friend: doesn’t have tumblr and would rather i didn’t say his name.

eye color: blue (except when it’s really bright outside they turn almost white. it’s creepy)

favorite movie: The Empire Strikes Back

TAGGING: @twiggy242 @tarched @leffie-draws-fanart @jeditimelordinthetardis @fanwriter02 @fangirling1998 and anyone else who feels like doing this!

#httyd fandom #angie gets tagged

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biofunmy · 5 years ago

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How ‘Star Trek’ Pushed Cory Booker to Make It So

NEWARK — In the month before officially becoming a presidential candidate, Senator Cory Booker spent his nights rewatching all 172 episodes of “Star Trek: Voyager.”

This is not a coincidence.

Gene Roddenberry, the creator of “Star Trek,” was an idealist. His vision for the future, as conveyed in the franchise’s many iterations, was a progressive utopia where racism and poverty were mostly eradicated in favor of a thirst for learning.

From there, you can draw a straight line to Mr. Booker’s 2020 presidential campaign which he has tried to define in terms of relentless optimism and an upbeat appeal to healing the nation’s divisions. Mr. Booker, 50, has been obsessed with “Star Trek” since a young age. His father, Cary Booker, one of the first black executives at IBM, introduced him to the original series after it had already gone off the air.

At his home in Newark recently, Mr. Booker gleefully displayed some of his memorabilia, including a set of “Star Trek” PEZ dispensers and the “Star Trek Encyclopedia” from his bookcase. There is more in his Senate office. Take it from a Trekkie: That’s not casual fandom. Recently, Mr. Booker attended San Diego Comic-Con, and a picture of him beaming while flashing the Vulcan salute went viral. His girlfriend, the actress Rosario Dawson, also adores the franchise.

Mr. Booker discussed his fandom, the political leanings of certain Star Trek captains and how the show has influenced his politics. The conversation has been condensed and edited.

We only have a handful of subscribers from the Klingon home world, so we’re going to have to keep most of this in English.

[Laughter] O.K.

What did your father see in Trek?

It was hope.

“Star Trek” was more than just an escape. It was a portal to say the future is going to be different. It’s incredibly hopeful and a belief that we’re going to get beyond a lot of these lines. We’re going to unite as humanity. It’ll be a place where your virtue guides you, the highest of human aspirations. I think there’s something about that he found really powerful.

Do you think you took it in differently as a person of color?

I took it in through that lens because I really believe that was the lens that compelled my father. My dad loved UFOs. When that television series “Project Blue Book” came out, that was another thing. He was fascinated by the universe and excited about it.

This idea that we as humans, where we are right now, are literally just not even at the foothills yet of the mountains of discovery that are out there. He was a man of infinite hope. “Star Trek” gave him that. It showed him that we are going to overcome so much of the stuff that rips at humanity now.

This I’ve never talked about. I had — they’re not dolls, they’re action figures. I had every “Star Trek” action figure you can imagine.

You collected them?

You say collected them. Adults collect. Kids play. So for me, I played with them. My brother and I, as little kids, created whole universes of “Star Trek” on our own. This isn’t fan fiction. This is two young kids whose father was really excited about “Star Trek.” I still remember, I had multiple Spock and Kirk action figures, and I would dress them differently so they would be different characters. This is me as a young, young kid. First grade, second grade. My brother and I would create worlds, forts and spaceships.

Your campaign, in many ways, is Gene Roddenberry’s ideal vision. It’s very optimistic. I look at the world we live in today. And it’s hard for me to see how we end up in the utopia Roddenberry envisioned hundreds of years from now. Do you find yourself struggling with that?

My parents were unflinching in telling my brother and I about the ugliness in the world. We would hear really rough stories of racism and bigotry. It’s almost as if my parents wanted my brother and I to have no illusions about how cruel the world could be. Yet, it was always told with an antidote to that, which was how good and virtuous the world is as well. Growing up with a story of, “This house you’re living in, people tried to stop you from being in this incredible home because of the color of your skin. But guess what? There were do-gooders that came and foiled that attempt.”

You’ve said several times that you take after Picard.

He’s my favorite captain by far.

Why are you so drawn to him over the other captains?

Besides his great haircut, I do love how profoundly intellectual he is and how reasoned and thoughtful. I was just rewatching the episode with him and Wesley Crusher, basically the one where Wesley is leaving and they get trapped and Picard is injured [Season 4’s “Final Mission]. He is incredibly affectionate toward him in a very restrained, British way. You could still see that he is still a nurturing leader. There’s something about his style that I’ve just found compelling.

Is there a character in “Star Trek” that reminds you of Trump?

[Pause] Wow. I mean, the first thing that popped in my mind, which I’d have to think about — just the Ferengi in general.

Quark? [The Ferengi bartender, mostly seen on the show “Star Trek: Deep Space Nine.” Ferengis are known for the relentless pursuit of profit over all else.]

I would definitely not say Quark because there was something about him — he showed some decency and kindness in many episodes.

When you ask me about Trump, what comes more to mind, is just this idea that he is a throwback to a lot of the things that my father would say our species has got to evolve out of.

I’m going to read you a quote from Ted Cruz from when he ran for president in 2015. “I think it is quite likely that Kirk is a Republican and Picard is a Democrat.” Do you agree?

Kirk is from Iowa. It’s so hard for me to answer that question because in the same way, if you look back 50 years ago, blacks were Republicans. So I’m trying to think if you want to look at the classical ideas of the party. I really think where the Republican Party has jolted, that it is now the party of Trump, I definitely do not think either of them would be that.

Your father passed away in 2013. If he was here right now, what’s the one episode you would watch with him?

There’s an episode of “The Next Generation,” [a show] he wasn’t as crazy about as I was. But one of my favorite episodes is a strange one because it’s not really a typical “Star Trek” episode. Season 5, Episode 25, “The Inner Light.” This really spoke to me. When I watched this, I was so one-dimensional in my life and so driven on this pathway. This came out before I became a professional.

Over the years, it spoke to me more and more. I was living this intense life: captain of a city [Mr. Booker was mayor of Newark from 2006 to 2013] and didn’t have a family life. “The Inner Light” is this moment where Picard gets some ship that sends a beam out and, literally, Picard is transported to another world and lives 40 years. He has a beautiful family and struggles and learns an instrument. It’s just this amazing whole life. And then he wakes up on the bridge. And he has lost all of that.

The reason why the probe was doing it was because a civilization was ending and they wanted people to not lose that civilization. He didn’t lose 40 years of his life, but he lived an entire lifetime.

The episode really broke me up. For my dad, who lived this incredible life, in the end, he fell into dementia. I think he started to lose perspective on the achievements of his life. In many ways, I was taught by him that we think life is about the big battle. The big election. The big win. But really, I think what my dad taught me — but I felt like he was losing perspective in the end — was that really, life is about the small moments. The every day acts of human kindness.

There’s something beautiful about that episode that just talked about a life well lived.

Sahred From Source link Arts

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