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kinetic-elaboration · 4 years ago

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February 3: 2x05 The Apple

Today’s ep: The Apple!

I feel like people who enjoy hating on TOS probably especially hate The Apple but I like it and will defend it so--haters be gone.

I do think it’s an uncomfortable episode and asks questions with no good answers, but that’s a plus, not a minus, for it.

I love this red sky. It’s very alien.

Okay so Starfleet wants the planet explored and “the inhabitants contacted.”

I can’t believe Spock, who must know that Kirk has unrealistic fantasies of a simple, romantic life outside of the demands of Starfleet, just happens to mention that the soil is “good for husbandry.” Like “This would be a great place to settle down and farm, Captain. no reason for saying so. Just thought you should know." And Kirk tries to capitalize on this flirting and Spock doesn’t get it.

Bones is so personally affronted that Chekov thinks of Russia, not Eden.

This Yeoman is all up on Chekov.

Scotty angling for an invite to the surface.

Kirk picking flowers! Smelling the flowers! He is soft and likes plants.

“This isn’t a field experiment in human biology.” First lol. Second... isn’t it a little though?

“I know you find each other fascinating.” Interesting word choice there.

Sorry yet a third bullet point on Daddy Kirk telling the young people to calm themselves down it’s hilaaaaarious.

I love Spock in this episode. He’s always at his best when he gets to turn his scientific curiosity to stuff. Because like he loves new, weird stuff but he’s also very funny about it. “An analysis of this rock should prove interesting.” Then he just throws the other half away! And it explodes! And he’s not even embarrassed, he just thinks the explosion is cool.

Ugh this is one of my favorite underrated K/S moments: the “Jim!” the “Spock!” Spock putting himself in danger for Kirk. Kirk being grumbly about Spock being hurt. Concerned space husbands.

“Spock has been injured...this is a nightmare.”

Honestly, I love everything about this triumvirate scene too. “Dr. McCoy’s potions turn my stomach.” Spock’s clumsiness (he really isn’t graceful lol... I sometimes think people want to imagine he is, but he is NOT). “Do you know how much Starfleet has invested in you?”

I legit jumped at the explosion.

“His father helped me get into the Academy.” Interesting. How? What help did he need?

“I could have prevented all of this.” / “I don’t see how.” Spock is so....he’s so emotional about defending Kirk’s decisions and making Kirk feel better.

“As my father told me, Starfleet is dangerous.”

...I’m sorry I’m getting so many Spock and Kirk and K/S feelings right now.

This Spock and Chekov distraction conversation is hilarious. “Uh--you’re dumb!”

That’s not very nice, Kirk, just punching the confused humanoid.

“Vaal is Vaal” reminds me of that Daria episode with “Val.” “I’m Val, as in, VAL!”

“We come in peace,” says the man who just punched him.

Antennae! Spock wants to touch the interesting alien.

Scotty knows more about the Enterprise than the people who designed her.

Fire AND burned up in flames? Not a good day for Scotty.

Great Vaal design. This is not an ironic comment.

Not a good day for Spock either. That’s injury... 2?? Force field that knocks him on his ass.

“We have been introduced to Vaal.”

Don’t tell Sybok you met god.

“Vaal sleeps now.” Poor sleepy Vaal.

“Replacement” is a better word than children tbh.

“What is love?” Chekov just slides on in like HINT HINT.

McCoy lol. “No sex?? That’s not paradise to me!”

“It really does something for you.” / “Indeed it does. It makes me uncomfortable.”

Now everyone is laughing at him! A super bad day for Spock all around.

I do think he likes the decorations in the hut though.

McCoy is still wearing the flower decorations <3

The feeding of Vaal is so creepy. The machine needs to eat! At first I didn’t really get what they were feeding him, but my mom suggested it was the explosive rocks and I think that makes sense.

“Humans are only a tiny minority in the galaxy.”

The last time they thought they’d found aliens who were making no progress they’d actually found the Organians, who were BEYOND progress, so perhaps they should have learned by now not to be so hubristic in their judgements.

I like the philosophical argument and I like that they had it on prime time network tv.

I also think it’s interesting that Spock likes this kind of way.

Honestly, can you even imagine being a young Starfleet officer and you’re assigned to the Enterprise and KIRK is your Captain? And you end up on an away mission with him and he asks your opinion about the aliens? I think I’d find him intimidatingly cool. I’d probably have a big Captain Crush on him.

Kirk really walked his way into this awkward sex conversation though.

Hilarious how he asks Spock to explain sex lol--when he knows what sex convos with Spock are like. I mean that’s probably why he did it but still.

Spock probably WISHES he’d learned about sex from a machine. Rather than Sarek. Or Amanda.

His eyeshadow is a lot more subtle this season. (I know this is just the makeup team learning how to do makeup for tv but I’m going to assume it’s a choice.)

Chekov is so smooth lol.

PAV.

Can’t believe Chekov literally taught the aliens sex.

“Killing is a thing to do.” Well I mean... you’re not WRONG.

I think McCoy has a point that it is creepy and weird for a machine to control an apparently intelligent race so utterly that it can teach them how to kill without also teaching them what killing means, essentially turning them into mindless killing machines.

Like, Spock is up on his high horse about them becoming more human by learning how to kill and I guess technically that’s something they wouldn’t have learned but for the Enterprise interference but... it doesn’t come from them pulling away from the machine. It’s not that the machine spell is broken and the first thing they learn to do is kill. The machine taught them that FOR ITS OWN PURPOSES. Not even the murder is a choice.

“They exist to serve a machine.”

“They should have the opportunity of choice.”

I can’t believe Kirk can outright carry Spock. He’s gotta be heavy. (Also...injury 3?)

“Put them in the hut. They’re in time out.”

Poor Jim... feeling guilty again. "I had to follow orders...always orders." But he's a rebellious person who doesn't care about rules right???

Oh no, the aliens are escaping! “Get back in there. No. Back in there.” (That’s actual dialogue btw.)

I find it weird that they still have phaser power. Weren’t they diverting everything but life support?

Poor hungry Vaal.

Honestly, I do feel bad for them. This is a really sad situation in a lot of ways. Also, awkward. Like...not even going to explain kids to them? Just let them figure it out? That’s actually nighmarish in my opinion.

The ending is really awkward imo because the last bits of triumvirate dialogue usually do simplify the week’s adventure, which I get, but this one defies simplification, and so literally painting Spock as the villain for holding the opinion that didn’t win the day--especially when his metaphor is apt and Kirk IS the devil in it--seems very mean, not within the realm of casual friendly joking that they usually do.

Apparently Den of Geek compared this ep unfavorably to Return of the Archons, which I actually think is one of the weakest eps of S1 and not as good as The Apple. I think part of it is that the dialogue and adventure of The Apple is preferable to me, though I guess one could argue that Archons had a more evolved and interesting alien society, who were in a position to have opinions about their computer overlord. But it also had weird unexplained stuff like the purge or what-have-you, and my overall memory of the ep is that it didn’t really come together. One could argue The Apple doesn’t either, but in my opinion what it leaves open are more questions of world building than basic facts. Perhaps a splitting of hairs. Because the aliens in The Apple don’t (can’t) have opinions, I think the moral question is more complicated and defies a good solution.

Whether or not the Enterprise should have interfered with the Feeders of Vaal is a complicated question I think.

First of all, as it actually worked out, they had to in order to free themselves. But that makes me wonder...why were they there? Kirk is upset with himself in this ep for losing 3 officers and putting his ship in danger, more than interfering with the culture, but he IS upset with himself and I think it’s because his instincts were right, and he didn’t listen to them. The mission isn’t important. It isn’t worth everything that happened, to be honest.

So I’m uncertain about why Starfleet sent them on it. They’re not just there to look around an uninhabited planet or the uninhabited parts. They’re there to make contact with the people--which means they know there are people there! And like in one sense this isn’t weird, right, because the Enterprise’s mission is one of exploration--to make new friends for the Federation. But I feel like they should really only be seeking out relationships with aliens who are ready for them. You can’t beam down onto a planet of people who haven’t heard of space travel and NOT interfere with them. That’s interference! So you’d have to do some surveillance first. So either the Enterprise/Federation didn’t do that surveillance or they misjudged what they were seeing.

Of course, a society can not itself have space travel and still be open to alien visitors (like the Organians). So maybe they determined the Feeders of Vaal were in this category. And then I would think the role of the Federation vessel would be to determine if their society is the kind that the Federation could establish some kind of diplomatic relationship with. In my opinion, if it hadn’t been for the danger to the Enterprise, the correct thing for the Enterprise to do would be to leave the Feeders of Vaal and report back that they aren’t a suitable race for the Federation to ally with in any way, because their values aren’t the Federation’s values: they don’t think independently. I don’t think it’s the place of the Federation to MAKE their values match but I do think it’s fair to judge others by your core values, because they’re CORE values for a reason.

In other words, I do think it’s fair for McCoy to judge the Feeders of Vaal harshly and to think it’s wrong in some objective sense for intelligent humanoids to live with no history, no love, no families, no purpose, no creativity, no innovation, and no independent thoughts. I mean that’s pretty awful in a lot of ways!! Again, I think the ease with which Vaal turns them into weapons is very chilling. Because they lack so many basic concepts, they’re extremely malleable. That’s gross.

But Spock is right too... They do have a society that works. Their planet is beautiful, they have enough to eat and drink, they’re peaceful, and they seem happy, to the extent that they can be happy. They can’t die, they’re in good health, and they’re protected from all natural dangers.

Also, the Enterprise really doesn’t know what their society used to be or how they ended up with this version of a society. So when they kill Vaal and undo all of that, they don’t really know what they’re returning the people too. I think it’s irresponsible to just say ‘you’ll figure it out.’ And it is arrogant, to assume it just will work out, and what they’ll build now will be better than what they had with Vaal. The culture has been pretty clearly decimated by Vaal and so perhaps none of them can even recall what it used to be like. (I think this is an open question.. they don’t know “kill” or “sex” or “love” or “children” but they can refer to a “dark time” so....do they remember the details of the dark time??) But generally speaking, people tend to be experts in themselves. And so perhaps no one is an expert because the information is just lost, but certainly in no case are Kirk and McCoy experts.

In other words, someone built Vaal for a reason. He’s a machine so he didn’t just come to be. So the question is who built him and why? It’s possible that it wasn’t this society at all. I mean, there could have been another society who built Vaal and then died, and then these people took over. But I think the more likely explanation is that they built Vaal themselves, or, possibly, their parents built Vaal for them as children. Given that Vaal seems to have a lot of power over the physical planet--the killer plants, the lightning from the sky--that McCoy mentions that the computer protects them from the harmful rays of the sun, and that the people specifically praise Vaal as being the one who gives them food and “provides” for them, I think their paradise of a planet, without the computer, was probably very harsh. Kirk says it’s not so hard to gather fruit and Spock points out the good qualities of the soil but what if these things really do COME FROM Vaal and now, without the computer, they go away?

I’m not sure how the people came to be so dependent on Vaal or to have lost so much of whatever advanced culture they must have once had to create a computer like this (again, assuming it was them...). Maybe they had to spend so much time “feeding” Vaal that they forgot everything else. Maybe Vaal realized on its own that it couldn’t support a population any bigger than this and so forbid sex and reproduction. Maybe the turning point was in the attachment of the antennae, when the computer ceased to serve the people but to be served by them. But my point is that I think the computer was not created to for the purpose of people serving it, so much as it was created for some other unknown purpose and the society the Enterprise encountered was an accidental unintended long-term consequence of its actual purpose. And I don’t find this hard to believe, given both the sketchiness of AI (it does not think like humans!!!!!! very scary!) and the general inevitability of unintended consequences.

I think this ep is pretty relevant to today specifically because its unanswerable core question--how does a freedom-loving society react to a society that choose not to be free? can it respect another’s choice not to have choices anymore?--is similar to a common question floating about now: can a tolerant society tolerate intolerance itself? (The answer to that is no, and I feel like it might be no to the first question too, when phrased that way...and yet the interventionist attitude of the Enterprise makes a lot of people, including me, uncomfortable!!)

Not having context for why the society chose this or became this way really makes it much harder to judge Kirk’s actions imo. Like I was thinking about how powerful our machines are now. What if we somehow evolved to mindlessly serve them, and then thousands of years on, aliens came in a space ship and freed us? Would that be morally wrong of the aliens? I don't think so. I wouldn't want that for my future self. But from the aliens' perspective, we chose that life and so maybe it's wrong to free us. Like I think Spock's pov is basically dependent on this being chosen BY them. But eve if it was...how long ago was it chosen? If they themselves can no longer remember or in any way identify with or even explain the original choice, does it still hold?

I think there are some indicators that this society isn’t satisfied being the Feeders of Vaal. Vaal tries very hard to keep outsiders out (the flowers, the lightning, etc.). But the people are curious. They follow the newcomers and spy on them. They’re friendly and welcoming. They see Chekov make out with his girlfriend for about 10 seconds before they start wanting to do it, too. They seem to do literally nothing but feed Vaal and occasionally dance (?). But they were once smart enough to build this whole machine (I assume). Maybe they ARE bored in stagnation.

I wonder if Spock’s defensiveness of this society comes in part from being a Vulcan serving with humans. McCoy thinks it’s just inherently wrong for humans to give up their autonomy in service to a machine, and he doesn’t ever think about why they might have done that. But he ALSO thinks it’s wrong or at least weird for Spock to live his life ruled by logic rather than emotion, and he rarely thinks about WHY Vulcans do that: because without logic, they’d be so violent they’d risk destroying themselves. Maybe that puts Spock in a better position to think about their REASONS for Vaal: because they value peace and prosperity and health more than autonomy and creativity and innovation, perhaps, or because without Vaal they would not be able to survive any more than he believes Vulcan could have survived without the Reformation.

Anyway that’s a lot of thoughts! I think I got everything. I’m very tired now and must rest. I’m in service to my own Vaal tomorrow.

Next up is The Doomsday Machine, which I have seen, but don’t remember at all.

#star trek tos #the year 2021 #2021: star trek #2021: fandom thoughts #there's a lot of meta in this post and i am proud of it

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hrhduchessoflancaster · 4 years ago

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Chapter Ninety-Three: A Council from the Past

Disclaimer: see Prologue

A/N: I know it’s been months and a lot has happened to everyone and to the real life Harry but onwards with the history. No interferences from the real world shall come into this story. So I’ll continue with what I had already planned and finish this story in the coming months (finally!). Hope you’re all staying safe and healthy. Lots of love, Bea.

__________________________________________________________________

A few days after Owen’s birth, they released his full name to the press: Owen Charles Philip Augustus and their son would be known as HRH Prince Owen of Sussex, like his older brother. They had traveled to London by helicopter on the next morning to have the baby accessed properly at St. Mary’s Hospital. Once mom and baby where both cleared, they decided there’s no point in travelling again and decided to remain in London. So Elle’s parents and brother were the ones who made the trip to Kensington to meet the newest addition to the family.

“ Oh, he’s so precious, sweetheart.”, said Victoria, holding her youngest grandson in her arms. Elle and Harry smiled at her, while Arthur snuggled on his father’s lap.

“ I really the name you’ve chosen for him. Strong name, a family name no less.”, said her father smiling to the couple.

“ Yes, I quite agree”, said her brother. “ But maybe next name, could you make him an Edward?”, he continued and the room was filled with laughter.

And so the Sussexes spent their Christmas and New Year at home, relishing in the company of their sons and close family as much as they could for they knew that in the coming month they’d have many engagements to attend to with their renewed and fuller schedule, which included new charities and a much awaited christening to plan and execute.

************

March 2020

Dressed in a white a floral dress with a matching fascinator, Elle walked beside Harry carrying Owen in her arms, as he held on to Arthur who had insisted on walking. The flashes of the cameras slightly blinding them as they made their way towards the Archbishop. Much like at Arthur’s christening, the service was a private one, with family and guests present, including the Queen, Prince Philip and the closest members of the royal couple at the Chapel Royal, in London.

For Owen’s Godparents they chose Valerie & Edward, Catherine & Mr. Richard Collins. Harry and Elle walked in first towards the altar, as Elle carried Owen in her arms while the godparents followed behind them. Elle then passed the baby to Valerie, while Catherine held the towel to dry the baby's head.

" Your Majesty, Your Royals Highnesses, Your Graces, ladies and gentlemen... Parents and Godparents, the Church receives this child with much joy. Today we are trusting God for his growth in faith. Will you pray for him, draw him by your example into the community of faith and walk with him in the way of Christ?", asked the Archbishop.

" With the help of God, we will.", they replied in unison. The Archbishop lit a large candle and the service proceeded with prayers and blessings.

" Owen Charles Philip Augustus, I baptise you in the name of Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.", he said. Elle and Harry smiled as Owen cooed and Arthur clapped, making the congregation chuckle. The day was filled with joy and love, a bit different from their previous christening experience. No big revelations or problems this time around. The bells rang as the people left the chapel and moved to the palace itself. Little by little they made their way inside. Elle was holding Owen in her arms as Harry held Arthur, gleaming as the press snapped picture after picture that would soon be all over the world.

After the service, the couple, friends, family and guests enjoyed a luncheon at the grounds of St. James’s Palace. While the guests mingled, Mario Testino once again was asked by the couple to take their official portraits. Since it was a bit chilly for them to be outside, they took the photos in the Yellow Drawing Room, whose pale, pastel colour along with the sunlight coming from the window, made it seemed as if there was a halo surrounding the family. All in all, the pictures portrayed a very sweet and touching moment, that would be recorded on their minds and on paper forever.

Once the pictures were taken, they moved along to the grounds of the palace, with Valerie and Edward constantly bantering who’d be the best godparent as well as keeping the infant in their arms, switching every so often from one another. Owen, of course, loved the attention. On the other hand, Arthur was relishing on the undivided attention he was receiving from his parents. As per tradition, once again a piece of their wedding cake was defrosted and served to the guests, along with refreshments, sandwiches, canapés, confections and some stronger beverages such as brandy and whiskey.

************

A week later…

Harry and Elle had travelled to Scotland for an engagement in Perth, which was their first visit to their Earldom of Atholl. They had been visiting distilleries, churches and schools. They were in the middle of a guided visit at the famous St John's Kirk church, all was going very well when suddenly Ingrid, Alfred and Leo rushed to their sides along with Daniel and Lisa.

“ Apologies, Your Royal Highnesses, may we talk in private for a moment?”, said Lisa. The couple excused themselves and joined their staff on a corner of the church.

“ We’ve just received news from Her Majesty’s office. You’re needed back in London as soon as possible.”, said Lisa. Elle and Harry looked at each other alarmed.

“ Has something happened?”, asked Harry urgently.

“ We don’t know for sure, sir. But it’s the Duke of Edinburgh.”, said Daniel. Elle’s eyes widened and she reached for her husband’s hand, giving it a squeeze, which he returned.

“ We can’t simply rush outside. People will think it’s strange.”, whispered Elle to Harry. He hummed in agreement.

“ What is the plan?”, she asked in a low tone their RPOs and secretaries.

“ The helicopter is ready on the outskirts of the city to take you back to London. We’ll make an orderly exit to the car, as if nothing has happened.”, Lisa whispered back.

“ We should thank them and excuse ourselves, darling.”, said Elle, making Harry nod his head. Together with trained smiles, they returned to their hosts and very politely thanked them for the wonderful tour, took a couple of pictures and exited the church with cameras flashing in their direction. Inside the car, they kept their smiles up until they were out of reach from the paparazzi and the public.

“ Dear God… what could have happened now?”, wondered Harry, running his hands on his face. Elle’s hands ran up and down his back, comfortingly but her eyes held the same worry as his.

“ Sir, ma’am… we’ve got news. Apparently the Duke of Edinburgh and Her Majesty were in Sandringham for the weekend when His Royal Highness started feeling ill. They then travelled from Norfolk this morning to the King Edward VII Hospital in London for observation and treatment in relation to a pre-existing condition.”, said Daniel.

“ So grandad is sick again…”, said Harry. “ But that’s not new. He’s been on and off the hospital for the past year or so. What’s wrong this time… what are you not telling us?”, he insisted.

“ I’m afraid we don’t know sir. They are making tests but we can assume that…”, began Lisa.

“ Assume what?”, said Elle. Lisa and Daniel looked at each other and sighed.

“ …that it’s not looking good if they asked you to return to London with such urgency. They are saying… that Operation Forth Bridge is on high alert.”, continued Daniel. The couple looked at each other, eyes wide at the severity of what might have been waiting for them in London. They held their hands tighter as they got nearer to the helicopter. Soon, they’d know for sure how bad it really was.

************

Upon arriving in London and making sure their sons were okay with their grandparents, the couple was taken to King Edward VII Hospital, a place they knew well enough and brought back a few memories, specially to Elle. She pushed those aside and hand in hand with Harry, she was guided by their staff to a private ward where as soon as they arrived, they could see Charles & Camilla, Anne & Timothy, Andrew, Edward & Sophie and the Queen.

“ Nobody said what’s happened. What’s going on?”, asked Harry, looking around the room. The Queen, visibly shook, was being held by Andrew and Edward.

“ It seems his heart is in a bad shape. His coronary artery was clogged again but when they were making tests in order to operate him, they discover that… his heart is failing. They can’t operate. It would be too risky.”, said Charles, misty eyed. Elle and Harry breathed in deeply and looked at each other.

“ What can they do then?”, asked Elle, sympathetically.

“ They’ve given him some medication to help with the clog and he’s being monitored but there’s not much they can do. The doctor’s said that… due to the severity and his age…they are just trying to make him comfortable.”, replied Charles. Elle and Harry hearing his words then realised why they had been called to the hospital. They were not only there for moral support. They were there to say goodbye.

For the next few days they came and went to the hospital to stay with the family and talk to Philip as much as they could. The older royal was struggling a bit with the idea of departing against his own terms but was comforting to the fact that there was nothing he could do. Even thought he general mood was gloom, the Duke of Edinburgh tried to remain in good spirits, cracking a joke every once in a while and terrorising the doctors from time to time. Though there was no joke or funny comment that could make up for the look of utter loss and sadness that had taken over the Queen.

By the end of the week, the press and public had caught up with the news but they didn’t yet know the extent of Prince Philip’s condition. As soon as the news began to travel, messages were pilling up on social media, prayers and good wishes were sent from all over he Commonwealth, vigils were held from all over the UK and the press, for once, tried to keep their distance and remained alert but respectful. One afternoon as Harry and Elle were keeping him company by relieving the Queen, Prince Charles and Princess Anne so they could rest, the older prince asked to talk to Elle alone.

“ Now my dear… what I have to tell you is simple but extremely important.”, said Philip. She leaned closely to him, listening attentively.

“ Being a member of this family is not easy and you’ve had your fair share of tribulations along the way. I cannot guarantee they are over for in my experience, there’s always something or someone who’ll come along to test or threaten you.”, he continued.

“ I know Charles won’t be king for a long time. He’s already old as it is. And soon it will be Harry’s turn. And one day, your son’s. Being the spouse of a monarch is much harder than it looks. But what you need to know… or better yet, what you need to do… is stand by him. Stand by him, Eleanor. Talk to him, advise him, comfort him but also challenge him. We live in a position of privilege but they hold the real power. We cannot govern for them, but we can try to do it with them.”, finished Philip, closing his eyes momentarily.

“ Promise me you’ll do that. I see so much of myself in that boy… I want him to accomplish all that we could not. And by God I wish you both to have a long life together.”, he continued.

“ I promise.”, said Elle, teary-eyed.

“ Good… good. Now… I must rest. Call one of the nurses, will you?”, he said and she nodded her head, quickly calling one of the nurses with the buzzer.

************

On the following week, per Philip’s and the Queen’s request, he was taken from the hospital back to Buckingham Palace where he’d have all the medical care and attention needed but would be at home and away from all the atmosphere of a hospital, which was what he wanted to have. His condition, unfortunately, did not improve and he weakened further throughout March. On the afternoon, March 14th, 2020 Prince Philip, the Duke of Edinburgh died, with Her Majesty and Princess Anne at his bedside. Queen Elizabeth was devastated. No one had never seen her so sad or distraught apart from her own mother’s death.

His body was taken to the Chapel Royal at St. James’ Palace, which only a few weeks prior had been visited by the family at a much happier occasion. There he remained in the lying in state, with a guard os 20 British Grenadiers soldiers guarding his body. The Queen and all senior members of the Royal Family broadcasted tributes to him. William and Kate also paid tribute. His wishes had been for his funeral to be a private affair, unlike the state funeral he could have if he so wish it. But he had been a soldier his whole life and that’s how he wanted to depart it. As a soldier as well.

And so, on March 28th the funeral was held at Windsor Chapel. His sons and grandsons walked behind the coffin from the short distance between Windsor Castle and St. George’s Chapel. All close members of the Royal Family attended the service, as well as friends, the military associations he spent years as patron of or colonel and the heads of the Commonwealth countries, past and present whom he had had a contact with. He was laid to rest opposite to the Queen Mother, his father-in-law and sister-in-law. A mourning period of thirty days was installed on the family and no one performed any duties for the duration of it.

The Queen retired to Sandringham, away from the public eye, with her dogs and Princess Anne. William, Kate and their children often visited her from Amner Hall. In that period, Harry and Elle also moved away from London with their sons and took solace in their home in Sussex. Renovation had been made to make a new room for Arthur and adaptations into the nursery so it could better suit Owen. Sir Lancelot was delighted to have the free space and wild animals to chase about the property and the couple was happy to be away from all the fuss of the city. Elle took the time to put some of her writing in order and to dedicate some of her time to start a vegetable and spices garden at the property, with Harry’s help. Taken up much of what Charles advised them, they started sustainable farming the estate so it could produce the food they consumed and also created more jobs for the people in the village they lived in.

“ Do you think we’ll be able to go back to normal after this?”, Elle asked him as they were planting some rosemary in a patch of their garden.

“ I don’t think we can go back to normal at all, my love. And honestly, I’m not sure granny ever will.”, said Harry sadly.

#phff #prince harry fanfic #prince harry fanfiction #FATES INTERTWINED

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v-thinks-on · 5 years ago

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Khan

It was a slow progress, as one would expect for an entire civilization rebuilding itself from fragments scattered across the galaxy. And yet, with remarkable resilience, rebuild they did. For all the tragedy that had occurred, it was with great pride and satisfaction that Spock watched a new, perhaps wiser civilization emerge from the dust of the old. His greatest regret, though he knew the fault was not his own or anyone else’s, was that his own Jim Kirk was not there to see it.

“Spock” - a young Vulcan interrupted his contemplation - “we are receiving a transmission from the Federation starship Enterprise. Your presence is urgently requested.”

Spock inclined his head in acknowledgement and followed the woman inside. To his surprise, it was not the young Captain Kirk who greeted him on the viewscreen, but his own counterpart.

His counterpart greeted him formally before quickly addressing the matter at hand - his fear was apparent, though he attempted to conceal it. “I will be brief. In your travels, did you ever encounter a man named Khan?”

Whatever Spock had expected, it was not this. It was too soon, years before they first encountered Khan, but it appeared everything in this universe had been accelerated relative to his own.

He urged caution; “As you know, I have made a vow never to give you information that could potentially alter your destiny. Your path is yours to walk, and yours alone.” Still, after everything Khan had done, he could not allow their counterparts - still young and inexperienced - to face him unaware. “That being said, Khan Noonien Singh is the most dangerous adversary the Enterprise ever faced. He is brilliant, ruthless, and he will not hesitate to kill every single one of you.”

“Did you defeat him?” his counterpart asked urgently, as though it was as simple as that.

“At great cost. Yes.”

“How?”

Spock shook his head. “That I cannot tell you. Even if I could, I doubt it would be relevant to you; so much is difficerent. I am certain that you and Captain Kirk will find some way to subdue him.”

Spock hesitated. Khan was doubtless a threat in the present, but he would not be truly dangerous for many many years to come. However, if there was anything Spock could do to spare them - to spare Jim - that suffering, he did not dare hold his silence.

“What matters,” Spock said at last, “is what you do with Khan when he has been defeated. It may seem the better way, but do not leave him to ‘rule in hell.’”

“I owe you my gratitude,” Spock’s young counterpart said, plainly still shaken. “I know you have sworn not to interfere, but if not for your advice, I would have killed Khan, and then we would not have been able to use his blood to save Captain Kirk.”

Spock stopped, startled, certain he had misunderstood his counterpart’s words. “I fear I do not understand. You used Khan’s blood to save Captain Kirk?”

“Yes. Is that not why you urged me to spare him?”

“I did not think that you or Captain Kirk would consider killing him.”

“After everything he did, it would have been a mercy.” Spock could see his young counterpart’s anger rising to the surface, his emotions still so unrestrained - but perhaps it was better that way.

“Maybe we should have when we had the chance,” Spock admitted, “but at the time it would have seemed cruel. However, I see that your first encounter with Khan was rather different from ours. What has become of him?”

“He and his people are back in cryogenesis where they belong.”

“Good. There, at least, they can do no harm and form no grudges.”

His counterpart nodded. “But if you did not intend to warn me to spare Khan’s life, why did you say that he should not be left to rule in hell?”

“Milton,” Spock explained. “We thought it would be better to allow Khan to rule in hell than to make him serve in heaven. We were mistaken. Perhaps we should have expected that he would seek revenge.” After a moment’s pause, Spock asked, somewhat incredulous, “You said you used his blood?”

“Yes. Captain Kirk sacrificed himself to save the ship. He died, but Khan’s blood was able to restore the necrotic tissue.”

“I see.” It appeared this universe was very different indeed.

“Was that not the case in your universe?”

“No, it was not. Are all of Captain Kirk’s memories intact?”

“Yes” - his counterpart appeared surprised by the question.

“Good. If my universe is anything to go by, then the remainder of your time on the Enterprise will be comparatively easy and uneventful.”

Note: Thank you to @itwastheband and @justpostspirk for inspiring and encouraging me to write these little off-screen moments!

#v writes #Star Trek: The Original Series #Star Trek: Alternate Original Series

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thekoshertribble · 5 years ago

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What’s up with “the Preservers?” Questions and Speculation

So I was thinking about “the Paradise Syndrome” - you know, the super awkward and problematic Native American stereotype episode - and I was thinking about the “Preservers.” This is the ancient race that apparently searched the galaxy looking for cultures threatened by extinction and moving these populations to other planets where they could thrive. They’re never brought up again and I have a few questions...

- How do they decide which culture is threatened? Spock says they look for “primitive cultures” whatever the heck that means...To a race as supposedly powerful as the Preservers are, who is considered “primitive?” And was this their only way of selecting a population? The Native Americans on Amerind were selected because of genocide - but what about other threats like natural disasters, or plagues?

- Personal question: if the Preservers rescued certain Native American tribes from genocide, did they do the same for other peoples of Earth. Is there a planet out there somewhere inhabited by Jews? If so where is it, I would very much like to go there.

- Spock says the Preservers were an ancient race. But the earliest acts of genocide against Native Americans only goes back to the beginning of the 16th century. That’s only 700 years ago, from the 23rd century. In celestial time, this isn’t very long at all. Were the Preservers time travelers? Did they “foresee” the genocide of certain populations and move them before it happened? (On Amerind, for example, they placed an asteroid deflector because they predicted an asteroid would threaten the planet?)

- Did the selected population know it was being moved, or “re-seeded?” Or were they basically abducted by the preservers against their will? This, obviously seems extremely unethical and unsafe.

- Or maybe a representative of the Preservers would live among the selected people in disguise to learn about them and who is the natural leader among them? The representative could then tell said individual(s), in that culture’s terms, that there is a way of escaping persecution, and offer to help?(Miramanee refers to the “wise ones,” suggesting that the Preservers made some positive connection with her ancestors - I’m guessing it was positive because she calls them the “wise ones”, not the “takers” or “abductors.”)

- Or perhaps the Preservers had a form of selective memory-wiping that they employed to make their transported populations forget the likely trauma caused by their re-seeding. (Kirk’s memory wiping in the control room of the obelisk might be evidence of this technology.)

- Why did the Preservers do this at all? What was their motivation? They seem to sympathize with cultures and people in peril - is this because the Preservers themselves had suffered in some way? Were they an endangered species through some tragedy? Suppose they “saw” their own future inevitable demise, and decided to use the rest of their time dedicated to saving similarly endangered cultures from an early death.

- Final big question: is the “re-seeding” of cultures by the Preservers ethical? Obviously it violates the Federation’s prime directive of non-interference, but on the other hand, if you had the means to save a culture from extinction, wouldn’t you try to do something to help?

Bonus: Apparently I am not the only person who has wondered about the Preservers. In Marvel Comics’ Star Trek: Untold Voyages #5 (by Greenberg, Collins and Williams) the Enterprise meets a species that look strikingly like the “visitors” of old Earth scifi tales and UFO encounters. This species explain to Spock that they are as old as the Preservers and knew of their “re-seeding.” However, these “visitors” found this work unethical, and has been working for centuries to re-do the damage of the Preservers. Here’s why: (Transcripts below each image from comics)

Kirk: Why were they abducting the Lycosians?

Spock: For the same reason that they have visited and studied various planets and peoples throughout the galaxy over millions of years--to confirm whether or not these worlds were “seeded” by their contemporaries--an ancient super-race known as the Preservers.

McCoy: The Preservers...You told me once about them Spock! A long-lost race believed to have traveled the galaxy, rescuing life forms in danger of extinction and placing them on worlds where they could thrive...

Spock: Quite correct doctor. But these abductors opposed the work of the Preservers, believing that seeding planets with life forms from other worlds robbed these planets of their individuality--and wreaked havoc upon their natural environmental cycles.

Spock: It is the belief of the abductors that countless life forms were suppressed and unable to come into being, on world that would have rightfully been theirs, because of the very presence of the Preservers’ “seeds.” Thus, these abductors have been slowly working their way to across the galaxy, trying to determine how much damage was done to worlds seeded by the Preservers -- and undo that damage.

McCoy: “Undo--how?”

Spock: By removing the “seeded” life forms from the planets. To give each of these “tainted” worlds a chance to develop naturally.

McCoy: And what do they do with the “seeded” life forms, Spock?

Spock: They store them in the bowels of this vessel, in suspended animation. To eventually be returned to their rightful homes.

Kirk: What?

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

So clearly, not everyone approved of the Preserver’s work. The “Visitors” in this instance, were mostly concerned about the planets that the Preservers were “seeding,” not so much the “seeded” populations themselves. Obviously they don’t have problems with abduction, considering their own practices.

#star trek #the paradise syndrome #star trek untold voyages #long post #the preservers #star trek comics #kirk #spock #mccoy #alien abduction

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roominthecastle · 6 years ago

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"Rassvet” delves into the time period between Katarina’s first suicide attempt in February, 1991 (following her run-in w/ the Osterman death squad) & the strategic “resurrection of Raymond Reddington”. Timeline-wise we are good here, imo, otherwise things get... interesting. More behind the cut:

Red told Liz that her mother walked into the ocean 2 months after the Christmas fire (1990). This date checks out. At the shelter, we can hear the news announcing the results of the Lithuanian Independence Referendum. This happened (for real) on February 10, 1991. We also know that Ilya/Red had his first surgical procedure on October 3, 1991. So it’s an 8-month period and not 6 as Liz says, but it’s not that big of a difference (you’re bad at simple math, Liz, and I can relate). Dom says that the various reconstructive surgeries took place over a one-year period, so Ilya/Red likely walked into the first bank towards the end of 1992. Katarina was still alive here and that matches Dom’s claims that 1) he came to the US after the collapse of the Soviet Union (so anytime after December 31, 1991) and 2) that he met Katarina a few months after he arrived, then he never saw or heard from her again. And this is where Dom’s story ends.

Katarina’s “death”, however, is trickier. The show’s been playing fast and loose w/ Red’s “I’ve never lied to you” for a while now, and what he’s told Liz about her mother’s death is def on the very loose end here. Ilya/Red claimed Katarina committed suicide. Well, she did (“I went into the ocean to end my life.”), it was just an unsuccessful one and Ilya/Red did believe her to be dead for a while. He also claimed she was never the same after the fire, and her death is treated as a symbolic one throughout this episode, too (“The woman who walked into the ocean is dead.”). But I still think she is likely dead for real now, she just died later as a consequence of their Reddington Charade, likely as a result of a betrayal that contributed to why Red is the way he is today, why he accepts nothing less than utmost/undivided loyalty, and why he feels so much guilt around Liz, believing that he can never give back what he took from her.

So the dates are fine and, at the end of the day, “Lizzie, your mother is dead” is a statement that holds true, imo (at the very least as a “clever turn of phrase” if Kat is “gone” like Samar is, i.e. never coming back, never able to reach out). For now, I am at peace w/ this.

We also have confirmation that Ilya/Red was indeed there when Liz shot her father. They pulled the dying Reddington from the flames before the firefighters arrived, but he soon died in Katarina’s arms. Then -- after burying him -- Ilya/Red and Kat probably went their separate ways bc he only read about her suicide and had no idea that she survived. In fact, we find him back at work at the Embassy all perky and business as usual, which feels emotionally disjointed from the importance Katarina seems to suddenly take on in his life when he decides to sacrifice everything to protect her. Interestingly, he makes no mention of Liz in this initial vow of protection. In fact, he seems to have no particular investment/interest in Liz whatsoever, and, as we know, his promise of taking care of her “as his own” is never followed through, either.

So if Katarina is as important to him as that monumental sacrifice implies, how come he wasn’t out of his mind with grief before when he thought she’d drowned? With Liz, he is emotionally consistent: his devotion is 100% and so is his devastation when he believes her to be dead. I don’t see this w/ Katarina. There is an inconsistency here that makes me think that there was more behind his willingness to take over Reddington’s identity than a childhood pledge but the answer to this is in the missing parts of the story.

I am def not disputing that Katarina was important to him. They clearly had a bond. I think that childhood pledge was real, too, bc it’s something Dom would know about and it got repeated. I also buy the unrequited & unconditional love scenario bc it fits Red’s personality and he already dropped a comment about this to Liz. But I don’t see them as lovers.

Katarina was decidedly not interested, she was devastated by Reddington’s death, even had a second suicide attempt. She was in love w/ Reddington and also married to/lived with Kirk in Soviet Russia at the time Ilya/Red was stationed in Washington, so I really don’t see how tacking on a 3rd (long-distance) relationship would have fit her life or why. In this ep, they also stayed in separate hotel rooms, Ilya/Red knocked before trying to enter hers -- this behavior doesn’t match two people being in an established intimate relationship (even if it’s on-again, off-again) and I got the same vibe from Red’s POV in “Cape May”, too. Liz is his life and heart, the woman he loves, and after this latest episode, the parallel btw how Katarina and Red react to the death of the person they were in love with is clearer and stronger than ever. For Katarina it was real Reddington. For Red, it is Liz. And I am not even gonna get into the “my child is being raised by someone else” angle but it parallels, too: Katarina put a pin in her original “plan” and came back to make sure Liz was safe. Red did the same for Agnes.

Anyway, what we have in “Rassvet” is, imo, a blend of standard limited 3rd person narration + a curious (infuriating? depends on your perspective) case of an unreliable narrator, which resulted in 2/3 of the messages I got that range from “WTF did I just watch?” to “it doesn’t really add up” and “what about his family??” I don’t believe it’s supposed to add up (yet) and stuff is missing (for now) for a reason.

This ep taps into the signature style of previous flashbacks:

“Cape May” is Red’s distorted recollection filtered through a cocktail of opium, guilt, grief, and suicidal ideation

“Requiem” is Mr. Kaplan’s trip down memory lane that’s skewed by her severe physical/mental/emotional traumas

“Rassvet” is a classic story-inspired-by-true-events Dom tells his granddaughter

There is no objective record of past events presented to us in TBL. We never had that and we might never will. We have memories from sources that are compromised -- biased, altered, censored, redacted -- in various ways, and “narrators” who are unreliable for various reasons. In other words, we have stories and storytellers with agendas.

The lack of reliable omniscient narration becomes evident in “Rassvet” that fittingly revolves around the creation of an identity from a mix of hard facts and anecdotes -- “some true, grounded in reality, some invented” -- for a purpose that (imo) remains partially obscured. It is perfectly captured in both Red’s scene w/ Liz and his subsequent confrontation with our most recent storyteller, Dom: “I know the broad strokes, I know who I am. I need to know the details of exactly what you’ve thrown out there into the ether.”

Red used to be Ilya but the Ilya we see in this episode is Dom’s version -- idealized and incomplete, mostly to fit the story and Dom’s reasons for telling it. This is why Red needs to know what exactly has been said, imo. Liz has already told him the broad strokes and he is Ilya, but the details Dom used to color over things ended up painting a distorted picture that made Red twitch as he listened to Liz in that restaurant. “I know who I am”, he tells Dom but it sure seemed that he only recognized parts of himself in what Liz repeated back to him. The technicalities of him becoming Reddington were told. The whys and hows of his mental/emotional de-evolution are still unclear, imo. This is what Liz touches upon, as well, when she asks him why he stayed Reddington after his alleged original motivation (accessing the $40-million “frame fund” to use it to stay ahead of those hunting Katarina and him) was satisfied. And he naturally dodges her question.

Red detests monsters who masquerade as saviors. This was established at the very beginning when he demolished one of Liz’s idols, as was his view of himself as a violent, ruthless man and self-proclaimed monster who’s sick with guilt and grief and can only atone by protecting Liz. But now, thanks to Dom’s story, she has a skewed view of him as some selfless hero with the purest of original motivations. He was visibly uncomfortable when she believed him to be her father bc he is not that. He is uncomfortable to be perceived as her hero, too, bc he is not that, either, and he def does not see himself that way, either.

Red knows what we know and is angry about it: Dom omitted parts from his narrative and embellished or maybe even invented others. Dom blamed Red for Katarina’s death. He forgave her betrayal but not Red’s (which reminded me of Aram’s situation w/ Levi and Red’s reaction to it), and we have seen Red blaming himself, too, but that tragedy, the event necessitating a “Hobson’s choice” (either letting both Liz and Katarina die or saving one) is missing from the story. Dembe once told Red that Liz may never be ready to hear what he did to Katarina, but there is no trace of that in Dom’s story; it is all unconditional love and pure sacrifice. There is no trace of Red’s own family tragedy, either, but I still don’t believe any of this is forgotten or rewritten.

The former is likely omitted bc Dom’s “storytelling agenda” was to reconnect with Liz, smooth things over, and help everyone move forward. This motivation was floated in the previous episode via his carside chat w/ Red that’s all about the topic of forgiveness: “Why did she turn you in? What did you do that made her want to do that?” | “I haven't ever been totally forthright about myself. She thought she'd have a better chance of finding out more if I was in prison and couldn't interfere.” And it is brought to a conclusion -- on Dom’s part -- at the end of “Rassvet” when he tells Red: “What you need to do is to thank me for putting all of this behind you.” I think the story was Dom’s way of offering forgiveness to Red (a response to his “You forgave Katarina but not me” in the previous ep) and helping him move on. He believes he told Liz enough to give her closure, too. Red seems to disagree, claiming that this likely made things worse. He’s probably right and I cannot wait to see how it unfolds.

I think the other major omission -- that of Red’s family tragedy that’s been alluded to in earlier seasons -- is not in Dom’s story bc he doesn’t know about it. At least I had this feeling when Red showed up on Dom’s doorstep after Liz’s “death”. Dom acted like Red had never experienced the devastating loss of a family, saying sth along the lines of “You think now you know how I feel?!” If he knew about Red’s/Ilya’s wife and daughter, he never would have said that, imo. Also, Red was an operative and worked in the Ambassador’s Residence in D.C. that still housed the Soviet embassy in 1991. When he met younger Dom in Moscow, he greeted him by saying “Sir, it’s been too long.” So they were likely not in touch for a long time and Ilya/Red was stationed in the US for who knows how long and for what mission (it seems he was translating a report on a USA/USSR Maritime Boundary Agreement when Katarina’s crossword code popped up on the screen). This “blank period” gives us room for that missing story piece (which likely happened around/after 1987) and a plausible reason for Dom to not be aware of it.

Dom was not aware of the existence of the Cabal, either, until Katarina got caught up in their web, so I think it’s v likely that they were also responsible for killing Ilya/Red’s family, which -- coupled w/ wanting to protect Katarina -- would be a proper, plausible motivation for him to take on Reddington’s identity given that it provided him w/ something even better than $40 million: tangible access to the Cabal and the Fulcrum. The new identity brought the seed money and a stepping stone to launch his Odyssean mission.

#tbl spoilers #tbl spec #long post #lizzington #hope you guys accept this as a sort of 'blanket response'#the stuff i didn't touch upon but was asked about will come separately soon

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beatrice-otter · 5 years ago

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That Tender Light

Title: That Tender Light

Fandom: Star Trek: The Original Series

Relationships: Spock/Nyota Uhura (TOS)

Written for: LittleRaven in Star Trek Holidays 2019

Betaed by: phnelt

Word count: 11,497 words

Rating: teen

Summary: Spock and Nyota are colleagues and friends, nothing more. But now that Spock's bond with T'Pring has been broken, he can't help noticing Nyota in new ways.

On AO3. On Dreamwidth. On ff.net

Nyota was sitting at her desk playing games on her PADD while she waited for Christine. They'd been on opposite schedules for a couple of weeks and hadn't gotten a chance to talk. But now they were on the same shift again, so they could get together for tea and games, and given the rumors flying around the ship, Nyota wanted to check in to see that Christine was alright.

Half the rumors painted Spock as some sort of cave-man sexist pig throwing a temper tantrum. Half of them painted Christine as some sort of sex-crazed nymphomaniac. All of them had Christine as the subject of a brutal dressing-down.

None of it made any sense. Spock was unfailingly courteous and respectful in the best sense, and, like Captain Kirk, never failed to support the female officers and crew under his command when the situation called for it. Nor was he prone to viciousness of any kind. Sardonic was as bad as he got. Christine was a professional and would never sexually harass anyone, but especially not a patient.

And none of that even took into account what came after, with Spock countermanding the Admiralty's orders, the back-and-forth to Vulcan or not, Spock having a wife no one knew about (with poor Christine being right there when the surprise was sprung, which hadn't exactly quieted the rumors down any), and then the captain coming back to the ship unconscious. From Vulcan, of all places! One of the safest planets in the Federation! Nyota was confused and upset, and she didn't like either feeling.

The door chime rang. "Enter!" Nyota said.

It was Christine, impeccably groomed and styled as always, but still visibly worn.

"Christine!" Nyota said, tossing her PADD aside. She got up and hugged her friend. "How are you holding up?"

"Oh, please, Nyota, not you too," Christine said with a groan, sinking into one of the chairs. She buried her face in her hands. "Spock was ill and not himself, and anything else is bound up in patient confidentiality."

Nyota took the other chair across from her friend. Christine was so obviously disturbed by the whole thing that that couldn't be the whole story even without considering the rumors. "Must have been some illness," she observed carefully.

Christine snorted. "You don't even know the half of it, and that's all I'm going to say. But I can tell you that if Vulcan actually gave Starfleet Medical details on certain aspects of Vulcan biology, along with the cultural issues surrounding them, this whole mess would have been handled quite differently. And that's all I'm going to say. Frankly, this whole week has been hellish and I don't want to think about it one minute longer."

"All right," Nyota said quietly, taking her curiosity and locking it away for now. She wouldn't want to challenge Christine's professional ethics, and in any case, supporting her friend was more important than Nyota's questions getting answered. "What are you up for tonight? Game? Movie? Do you want distraction or just relaxation?"

Two days later, Spock asked her if she would like to resume their weekly jam sessions. He'd skipped the last two without notifying her; looking back, Nyota wondered if that missed session had been the first sign something was wrong.

She had to think about it; she'd always enjoyed playing with Spock, he was the only musician on the ship who could really keep up with her. And she considered him a friend (although, given Vulcan emotional reticence, she had no idea whether he considered her a friend). But that had been before he'd said … whatever he'd said to Christine. Before she'd been so forcefully reminded that he was alien, and that there was a lot about Vulcans that nobody knew because Vulcans just didn't talk about themselves.

Nyota got along just fine with people of many different races; you had to, as a communications officer. But she didn't like how he'd treated Christine, and she didn't like realizing she understood him less well than she'd believed she did. They'd never been close, but they'd been comfortable in each others' presence, and Nyota was decidedly uncomfortable now.

In the end, she went; whatever had happened between him and Christine, he'd been ill at the time and Christine didn't seem to be holding a grudge. If Christine wasn't, then it would be unreasonable of Nyota to do so when she didn't even know what had happened. And it was in one of the private gathering spaces on the rec deck, which was neutral territory if anything was.

Besides, the underlying problem was that Nyota had thought she'd understood Spock, and realized she was wrong, and a lack of understanding wasn't a problem that could be solved by avoidance.

"I apologize for missing our last two sessions without notifying you," Spock said as he tuned his lyre and she soaked the reed of her algaita.

"Apology accepted, Mister Spock," Nyota said. "I understand you weren't yourself." That she was not holding against him. The inconvenience was minor, and it was likely a symptom of his illness. It didn't make her any more comfortable about the rest of the situation, but she appreciated the courtesy.

"I was not," Spock said briefly. Was she imagining things, or was he uncomfortable? Sometimes Spock was surprisingly easy to read, for a Vulcan; sometimes he was perfectly opaque.

"Can I ask if you've apologized to Christine?"

That stopped him. His head shot up and he frowned slightly. "What should I be apologizing for?"

"What should you be apologizing for?" Nyota was incensed. "I don't know what happened because the rumor mill has gone crazy and she won't tell me because of confidentiality issues—although how you can claim confidentiality when it was in a public corridor with multiple crew members walking past is beyond me—but you tore a bloody strip off of her in public, and started a lot of very nasty rumors about both you and her, and you're the first officer and you've been mostly off duty since then so you may not have gotten any grief for it yet, but she has had no such protection."

He was very nearly green. "I did not—there are a number of substantial gaps in my memory of the last week. And there were occasional hallucinations and a number of very odd and lifelike dreams. I do not remember any such exchange, but that means little; and I cannot give you any idea of what my mental state was at that particular moment."

"Then why weren't you in sickbay?" Nyota demanded. "You were even still on the duty roster at that point, and if what you say is true you were certainly not competent to be giving orders for lunch, much less anything else."

"Unfortunately," Spock said, "when one's mind is imbalanced, rational judgment is often an early casualty. By the time the symptoms were undeniable, I was not capable of formulating a logical response to them." He hesitated. "May I ask what the rumors are?"

Nyota summarized them briefly for him, not going into the gory details but giving him the broad strokes of the main rumors.

"I see," he said, when she had finished. His shoulders were drooping, and he would not meet her eyes. His hands were clasped tightly in his lap. She had rarely seen him this discomposed. "Yes. I shall have to apologize. The altercation, whatever it was, was undoubtedly my fault, as was the public nature of it." He looked troubled, and slightly folded in on himself, and Nyota felt sorry for him. The whole thing must have been a nightmare—possibly literally.

"But you are better now?" Nyota said. "And Doctor McCoy knows what he needs to know should it happen again?" She was dying to know the whole story, but it wasn't her business as long as it didn't interfere with the running of the ship.

"Correct on both counts," Spock said, "although the chances of it recurring during the rest of Enterprise's five-year mission are miniscule."

"All right then," Nyota said, reassured that things would return to normal between them. She checked to see if her reed was ready. "Since the last time we met, I finished transcribing the next duet in the sequence into European musical notation, would you like to try it?"

"Certainly," Spock said, sitting up straighter so that he was a model of Vulcan stoicism. Nyota tucked her curiosity away and turned her attention to the music.

Spock took his time putting his lyre back in its case, so that Uhura left the practice room before him. He very carefully and deliberately did not watch her go, focusing instead on asserting his biophysical control so that he could stand and walk back to his quarters with no outward sign of his arousal.

He had always known that Uhura was a beautiful woman; that was obvious to anyone with eyes. But he'd never reacted so viscerally to her or any woman before, save T'Pring at the wedding-that-was-not.

Her hands as she'd trilled! The dance of her fingers over the instrument! So precise, so graceful! He had not been able to tear his eyes away, and felt ashamed at how he had gawked at her. She, of course, had not noticed; hands were not generally a major part of human visual erotic stimulation, and Vulcans certainly did not spread the details of their own sexuality around. Spock could not quite decide whether it was better that she had been unaware of his gaze (thus sparing him embarrassment) or if would have been better had she had known (thus being able to decide whether or not she wanted to be so gazed at).

Spock walked quickly to his quarters and took out the medical tricorder Doctor McCoy had given him for self-monitoring. His endocrine system was within normal tolerances, and none of the secondary symptoms of Pon Farr were showing. He was merely aroused.

He should have expected something like this. Vulcans matured differently than humans did, with two puberties, one in adolescence and the other at first Pon Farr. He was now fully adult, not subadult, and sexual responses were stronger in this stage of life. Moreover, he was no longer married; his bond with T'Pring had ever been tenuous, but it had curbed and absorbed some of what little sexual drive he had had as a subadult. Now, he needed a new mate, and every fiber of his body and brain knew it.

Nyota Uhura was beautiful, intelligent, competent, compassionate, and musical, and he respected her a great deal. Moreover, she was the woman he spent the most time with both in public and in private. It was only natural that he should find her alluring. If she were Vulcan, and not his subordinate, she would have been very nearly the perfect woman for him.

Alas, even if he wished to have a human mate (and after T'Pring, the idea had a certain appeal regardless of Nyo—of Uhura's—personal attractions), she was still his subordinate, and the regulations concerning such relationships were stringent, for very good reason.

This would require a great deal of meditation.

Nyota was cursing Nomad and going through all the drawers in her cabin, trying to learn as much about herself as she could, when the door chime sounded.

"Come," she said, walking from the bedchamber into the living room/office.

It was the ship's first officer, Commander Spock. The only time she could remember meeting him was when he administered the professional tests so that she could be re-certified as an officer. He had been somber, but without the hesitation or pity that marked virtually all of her interactions these days, and pronounced her 'Remarkably proficient as always, Lieutenant.'

She didn't know if he was a friend. But his presence had been easier to bear than all the friends who stopped in to hover awkwardly and tried to bond over reminiscences of things that were forever lost to her.

"Lieutenant Uhura," Spock said. "How are you settling in?" He was tall, the impression enhanced by his perfect posture. His face showed no emotion, but he didn't feel cold, merely still. He was very attractive, but somewhat intimidating. He entered her room with a catlike grace she couldn't help appreciating.

"Some moments better than others, Commander," she said. "Re-learning the academics is—well, not easy, but in some ways it was more of a refresher course than anything else. But anything personal—it feels like I'm a ghost in my own life. Some things I can piece together on my own from my records and the ship's log and conversations I've had since Nomad wiped my brain; other things, I really can't."

"I would be happy to help in any way I can," the Commander said. He had a nice voice, she noted, and wondered if he sang. "We regularly gathered to play music together, which you called our 'jam sessions.'"

"Ah!" Nyota said, brightening. "Then you can definitely help." She went to her bedroom and took out an instrument case. "What is this? It's obviously a double reed instrument of some sort, and it's not an oboe or one of the instruments in an Earth orchestra, and I haven't had time to dig through the computer's music database and figure out what it is."

"That is an algaita, an instrument from West Africa, especially prevalent among the Hausa and Kanuri peoples. You brought it because of all the African instruments you play, it was the smallest and thus easiest to fit in your mass allowance, thus serving double duty as a reminder of home and a musical instrument."

"But I'm not a Hausa, or Kanuri, am I?" Nyota said, frowning. "My file says I'm from Kenya in East Africa, part Kikuyu and part Luhya." And, judging from the items in her quarters, very proud of her heritage … which she no longer remembered anything about. Her insides twisted at another reminder of all that she had lost, and she carefully focused on keeping her breathing steady. She'd cried enough over her state, in the last few days; she was tired of feeling sorry for herself.

"That is true," said Spock, and she turned her attention back to him. "You never told me the story of how you came to learn that particular instrument."

"What other instruments do I play?" Nyota asked. Focusing on concrete things she could re-learn was much better than wallowing in grief.

"Your primary instrument is your voice," Spock said. "As for other instruments, you are competent on a wide variety of Terran stringed instruments, both African and other; most recently, I had been teaching you the Vulcan Lyre. You are apparently accomplished on the marimba, although I have never had the pleasure of hearing you play, for the Enterprise does not have one, nor any xylophones or other similar instrument."

"That's … a lot," Nyota said, dismayed. There was still so much to learn. Would she ever be back to what she had been?

"As with your hand-to-hand combat re-training and the operation of your station, muscle memory should make it easier to re-learn than it was to learn in the first place," Spock said.

"Yeah," Nyota said with a sigh. Well, start with the ones she had available on Enterprise, and the rest she could choose to re-learn—or not—at some later time when she had them available. She shook her head. "I'm sorry, where are my manners. Please, sit," she said, gesturing at one of the two chairs in the living room. "Would you like something to drink? I've got water and tea and some dehydrated drink mixes of various kinds."

"Tea would be appreciated," Spock said, taking the offered chair. He was easy on the eyes, and enjoyable to watch move, and she indulged in that for a second before getting out the tea caddy. She'd been through enough she deserved a bit of harmless pleasure.

Nyota let him choose what type of tea he wanted, and set the "hot" tap in the bathroom sink to the correct temperature for that type of tea. (Thankfully, it was labelled on the package, so she didn't have to look it up.)

"Well, Mister Spock, here you are," Nyota said when the tea was ready. She handed him one mug and sat down with her own, blowing on it to cool it. "I'm sorry, I don't know if there are any cultural things about hospitality I should be doing."

Spock tilted his head. "I cannot speak to your cultural practices, as I have never socialized with you in your quarters before. Were we on Vulcan, in a formal setting, the etiquette for serving refreshments is quite intricate. But we are not on Vulcan, we are not in a formal setting, and under the circumstances you have many other more important things to learn."

Nyota groaned. "I know. It's all so overwhelming and there is so much that I'll never get back. I want to take a break from thinking about it, and yet there's really nothing else I can think about." In a way, that first day or so had been the easy part. Everything had been so confusing, but she hadn't had any idea of just how much she needed to re-learn.

"As you know, I have been consulting with Doctor McCoy about your condition," Spock said.

"Yes," Nyota said, nodding. "Because Doctor McCoy knows the neurology, but if he were able to find a way of fixing my brain, he'd need some sort of specialized equipment and he's 'a doctor, dammit, not an engineer.'" She was quite proud of her mimicry of Doctor McCoy's irascible tone of voice.

"As you know, the chances are negligible that we shall find a technological solution at this point," Spock said. "However, from what scans have been able to determine, the majority of your memories are still there; Nomad did not erase the entire contents of your brain, merely severed the linkages necessary to access them."

"Yes, I know," Nyota said, a little irritated. "I have been paying attention to my own medical condition, Mister Spock."

"Of course," Spock said. "But while it is impossible at this time to build a device sensitive enough to physically rebuild those linkages, it has recently occurred to me that a sufficiently gifted and trained telepath might be able to do so."

"Really?" Nyota asked, feeling her heart begin to pound. "Where's the nearest telepath?"

Spock twitched, a little. "Vulcans are touch telepaths, however—"

"When can you do it?" she demanded. "Now?"

"No," Spock said. "I am not a trained healer. The nearest such is on Vulcan, a two week journey from here by shuttle."

"Shuttle?" Nyota sagged. "I'd have to leave Enterprise?" She had only a little over a week's worth of memories in her entire life, at least memories that she could access at the moment. The majority of that time, she'd been in sickbay. She had no memories of any place other than this ship. Something in her gut twisted at the thought.

"Possibly," Spock said. "I have not yet discussed this possible course of treatment with Doctor McCoy, and I would need to contact experts on Vulcan to make arrangements. But I wished for your consent before anything was done. Many humans would have qualms about allowing an alien telepath such intimate access to their mind; in order to work, the telepathic healer would have to have access to even the most personal of your thoughts and memories."

"Mister Spock, if it would get my memories back, I'd agree to have my memories broadcast across the quadrant!"

"Fortunately, that will not be necessary," Spock said, raising an eyebrow. "Very well. I will begin making arrangements."

Spock, Uhura, and Doctor McCoy had gathered in the Doctor's office to consult with a Vulcan healer over subspace. Spock was anxious to hear the verdict, for he very much hoped that the lieutenant's brain might be healed. It was more than the compassion he might feel for any sentient so injured, and more than the concern of a superior for one under his command. Uhura had handled her situation with a grace and courage and tenacity that Spock deeply admired. It spoke to the strength of her character, and his admiration for her had only increased.

He did not have long to dwell on this, however, as Healer T'Vyr was admirably prompt, and once the call had connected, wasted little time on pleasantries before sharing her conclusions. "While there is only a 29.4% chance of complete memory re-acquisition, your hypothesis is probably correct that a majority of the still-extant memories could be made accessible," Healer T'Vyr said over subspace.

"That's wonderful!" Uhura said. Indeed it was; Spock had to exert some control to keep his relief from showing.

"Indeed," T'Vyr said. "However, there remains a significant problem: no Vulcan mind-healer I have contacted has any experience with Human neural architecture. None have ever even mind-melded with a Human. Ideally, the healer would have melded with Lieutenant Uhura prior to the Nomad's attack, but failing that, they would need to have melded with multiple humans prior to the meld with the Lieutenant, so that they might know what a healthy human mind feels like."

"Where are we gonna find telepathic healers with that much experience, if there aren't any Vulcans?" Doctor McCoy asked. "Are there other species in the Federation with telepathic healers?"

"Possibly," Healer T'Vyr said. "However, there may be a simpler solution. This will require delicacy, but if Human brains are anything like Vulcan brains, the telepath will not be the one performing the re-association; the Lieutenant will be. Vulcan brains, and indeed those of most sapient species, make such connections easily so that memories may be formed in the first place."

"That's true of Human brains, too, ma'am," Doctor McCoy said. "Unless there's trauma of some sort involved."

Spock was filled with a sense of foreboding that was most illogical. He could predict the solution the healer was about to suggest, and it would be efficient and logical. While it would require him to reveal certain personal issues to the lieutenant, his privacy was not more important than her health.

"Spock, having studied your school records, I know that you melded with two humans over the course of your telepathic training, your mother and your foster-sister," Healer T'Vyr said. "Your instructors note that you have a delicate telepathic touch, and your instructor in telepathic ethics gave you a satisfactory report."

"I am not a healer," Spock noted.

"You may still be more qualified to help the Lieutenant than any Vulcan with healer training," T'Vyr said, "provided the Lieutenant is comfortable with accepting your help. In any case, as long as you do not try and force any connections, there should be no harm in trying. If you do not succeed, there would be nothing to stop the Lieutenant from travelling to Vulcan and being seen by a healer here. Or finding telepathic mind-healers elsewhere in the Federation."

"Well, that sounds like something we need to discuss on our end," Doctor McCoy said. "Thank you for your help. Lieutenant, you have any more questions?"

"I thought you didn't have any healers who had melded with humans on Vulcan," Uhura said. "Yet you still think I should come if Spock can't do it?"

"Lack of experience with Human brains is a solvable issue," T'Vyr said. "Although there are not many Humans on Vulcan, there are some, and the chances are very good that we would be able to find several who were willing to meld with your Healer to give them experience. It is not, however, ideal; mind-melds are, by their very nature, extremely intimate, and it is an enormous thing to ask of someone, to meld with a stranger, when they themselves have no medical or other need."

"I see," Uhura said.

There were no further questions, and so the communication was ended.

"Well, Spock, why didn't you say you could do it in the first place?" McCoy said.

"I am not a healer," Spock said. "If there were some sort of time pressure, and we could not wait to get Uhura to Vulcan or a healer here, then I would have volunteered."

"But—"

"If an away-team member had an injury requiring surgery," Spock said, "it would be appropriate for me to perform any emergency first-aid necessary, but not to perform the surgery myself, unless the landing party was cut off from the ship and the crew member would die without an immediate operation. The brain is a very delicate organ. Non-healers are taught to communicate through melds and regulate our own telepathy, not make adjustments in other peoples' minds."

"Point taken, Spock," McCoy said, crossing his arms. "But the Healer thinks you'd be capable, and I agree with her reasoning. What do you say, Nyota? Want to give Spock's magic fingers a try?"

Uhura frowned, looking him up and down. "Yes," she said, "but I think the Commander has reservations?"

Spock nodded. "As the situation is not time-critical, some discussion of the issues involved is necessary."

"Of course," McCoy said. "You can use my office, I'll be in the general sickbay."

As soon as the door closed behind him, Uhura turned to him with a frown. "Commander Spock, would you be okay with melding with me? If it's so intimate?"

"Under the circumstances, the intimacy would largely be on your side," Spock pointed out. "There would undoubtedly be some sharing on my part, as I do not have a healer's training in clinical shields. However, I would have to go through every memory of yours that I could find and present it to you so that your mind could make the appropriate connections. You would have no secrets from me, quite literally."

"That would be true of any telepath I saw, though, whether you or a healer on Vulcan," Uhura pointed out. She got up and began to pace. "The difference is, I know you, and I'm in comfortable surroundings here. My other option is travel to a place I've never been, trusting strangers with the secrets locked inside my skull that even I don't know about."

"The benefit to strangers doing this would be that you would never have to face anyone with that intimate knowledge of you again," Spock pointed out. "If I did it, and discovered things about you that you would rather I not know, you would have to see me every day, unless you transferred off of the Enterprise."

"Do you think I have any secrets that embarrassing?" Uhura asked, pausing.

"Unknown," Spock said. "You have always seemed to me to be a remarkably transparent individual, but you are also quite competent at undercover missions and any deception required professionally. And, obviously, you did not confide in me if you had any secrets you did not want me to know."

"Obviously," Uhura said with a snort, resuming her pacing. "You seem reluctant. It's your choice, Mister Spock, but I'd rather have you; I don't want to leave Enterprise and put myself in the hands of strangers. And then there's all the other people who'd have to have melds to give the healers experience, if I go that route, it's not any fairer to expect that of them than it is for me to expect it of you, if you would find it unpleasant."

"On the contrary, I suspect I would find it a pleasant experience," Spock said. "That is why I hesitate."

She stopped again and frowned at him. "I don't understand, Mister Spock, why would finding it nice be a problem?"

Spock gathered his courage. He would not have chosen telling her this way; might never have chosen to inform her of his feelings. Hours of meditation in the time since his … divorce … had been insufficient to settle within himself what his long-term personal goals should be, and until and unless he had decided to pursue a relationship with her it would be unprofessional to burden her with the knowledge of his affections. But there was no help for it. "I have recently discovered myself attracted to you, Ms. Uhura," he said. "Not merely to your body, but to your intelligence and quick-wittedness and personality, as well. I had not said anything yet because it was new, and I recently experienced a major life transition and wished to reach a state of personal equilibrium before making any large changes. In addition, given our respective ranks and positions in the ship's hierarchy, any relationship between us would require a great deal of care."

Uhura blinked several times, opening and closing her mouth before speaking. He studied her, and she returned the attention in kind. He could not trust himself to discern her reaction to his confession, but he hoped she was not offended. She did not seem to be.

"That's flattering, Mister Spock," she said at last, "but I don't know if I—"

"I am not asking for any reciprocity at this time, or even if such reciprocity might be possible in the future," Spock said. "If nothing else, your own mental state is such that you need time to recover and learn to stand on your own before making any serious relationship changes of your own. However, you needed to know before consenting to any mind-meld between us."

"Because I might find out during the meld?"

"Because if I wished to, I could almost certainly alter whatever feelings towards me you possess during the meld, and you would have no way of preventing it," Spock explained. "If nothing else, I could alter or create memories for you that would make you more disposed to accept my attentions, or simply prevent any memories critical of me from being remembered. I would never do any of those things because they would be an absolute violation of every ethical and moral standard, but I have the power to do them if I chose, and you have only my word and a week's acquaintance with me to base any decisions on."

"Oh," Uhura said, eyes wide. She swallowed. "But any telepath could do that, yes?"

"Yes," Spock said. "But a telepath who did not previously know you would have less motivation for such a crime, and tampering would be immediately obvious if, for example, you declared your undying love for someone you had only just met and wished to transfer to Space Central on Vulcan."

"Whereas you and I have served together for almost two years," Uhura said, thinking it through.

"And you have been known to flirt with me," Spock said. "As a sort of game, I believe, but an observer might not know that."

"And there's no one else here to double-check your work," Uhura said. Her body language was more closed off than it had been even thirty seconds earlier, and it grieved him to see, but it was better that she understand fully, and make an informed decision.

"Correct," Spock said. "I would never alter your thinking or your memories for my own benefit without your prior consent, but you have only my word for that. I can tell you that I would probably find exploring your mind to be a pleasurable experience, for I greatly admire you as a person and as an officer." He set aside his embarrassment to deal with later; right now, Uhura's future and mental health were the primary considerations.

Uhura made a face. "Would that be … an erotic sort of pleasure?" she asked hesitantly.

"Not in the physically arousing sense," Spock said, "although Vulcan notions of the erotic are different. I assure you, your memories would not become part of any fantasy life on my part."

"But, again, I would have only your word for that," Uhura said.

"Correct," Spock said. "I hope you understand why it is important that you understand fully the range of possibilities before consenting to any meld between us."

"Or between myself and any healer on Vulcan." Uhura closed her eyes and shook her head. "Can I talk with someone about this?"

Spock ignored his initial wish to deny her so that his private feelings might remain so. It was a logical question; since she had so little experience of his character to draw on, consulting with others who knew him better was the only way to get enough information to base a decision on. "If they understand that it is a private matter not to be gossiped about. Doctor McCoy would probably have a valuable perspective." Also, he understood the importance of patient confidentiality and would probably not tease Spock excessively about feelings he learned of in such circumstances.

"What about Christine?" Uhura asked. "She's been such a help since I lost my memory, and I know we were friends before Nomad's attack."

Spock swallowed. "Nurse Chapel would be acceptable," he said slowly, "and given her position as a nurse she has certainly seen me at my worst, in circumstances few others have. However, I believe she has an unrequited crush on me. She is a professional, and would not let it color any advice she gave you, but—"

"—but she might be hurt to know you were attracted to me and not her," Uhura said with a nod. "All right, I'll think about it and let you know."

Spock bowed in acknowledgment.

"You and Spock have a nice chat?" Doctor McCoy asked after Commander Spock had left.

"It was … revealing," Nyota said wryly. Flattering—she doubted he was the type to fall in love lightly, or based on superficial things, so to know he was attracted to her was a compliment both to who she was now and who she had been before the memory wipe. How she felt about him was a question she simply didn't have the energy to think about right now. Not while she had such a momentous decision to make.

"And? When are you going to do it?"

"You're so sure we're going to meld," Nyota said.

Doctor McCoy shrugged. "You heard Healer T'Vyr, he's the closest thing to an expert there is, and he'd make sure the job was done right. If you're not comfortable with him for some reason, you can go to Vulcan, of course, but I don't see why you'd spend that much time in a shuttle craft just to have a stranger poking at your brain."

"And I could trust him?"

"Yes," McCoy said without hesitation. "Absolutely. He drives me batty sometimes—and I do my best to return the favor—but his ethics are rock solid."

"Even when there's a lot of temptation?" Nyota asked. She was pretty sure she knew the answer.

"Yes," McCoy said. "That's when he tends to get the persnicketiest about things. Mind if I ask what exactly is bothering you? It'd help me to answer any specific questions you might have."

"He's attracted to me," Nyota said. "And … fairly deeply, if I was reading him right." His earnestness when he talked about all the things he saw in her, and the depth of his disquiet with confessing his feelings … no, this was no passing fancy.

"Spock's in love with you?" McCoy said with a splutter, standing up straighter.

"He didn't say he was in love with me," Nyota said. His surprise confirmed that Spock's affections weren't lightly or easily given. "He said he was attracted to me."

"Given how strictly he controls his emotions, it would have to be a pretty strong 'attraction' to be worth mentioning," McCoy said. "Why'd he tell you?"

"He wanted me to know because he wanted me to know what I was agreeing to, and tried to scare me off by pointing out that he could rearrange my mind to make me love him back." Nyota paused and thought for a few seconds. "Of course, if he were planning on doing something like that, he wouldn't have warned me ahead of time."

"That's Spock all over, though," McCoy said. "Making sure everything is done the right way, making sure you know exactly what you're getting into. Well, I can see why you'd want to ask about things, but I'd sooner believe he could fly without antigrav boots than that he'd take advantage of anyone telepathically like that. Still, if you'd rather go to Vulcan and have someone who's not in love with you rummaging around in your brain, I'll make the arrangements."

Nyota sighed. "I don't know. The idea of what he could do is frightening, but then, any telepath could do that. And this way I wouldn't have to leave Enterprise and have a stranger rummaging around in my mind."

She thought back to his confession that he would probably find pleasure in melding with her. She didn't begrudge him that; he was not the type to be creepy about it, and better that he liked it than imposing something he found distasteful. "I think I want Mister Spock to do it," she decided.

"You can have as much time to think about it as you want," Doctor McCoy said.

"More time won't change the options," Nyota pointed out. "I don't have enough experience to make judgments on how trustworthy any telepath is. You say he's trustworthy; well, I believe you. And I like him, what I've seen of him. And I am tired of wondering who I was before and what I'm missing now."

"Fair enough," McCoy said.

The meld was a success. When it was over, Spock left Uhura in McCoy's capable hands and retreated back to his cabin to meditate. He was in great need of it.

A deeper knowledge of Uhura's mind had only proven how fascinating a woman she was. His baser instincts were tempting him to dwell on what it might be like to have her in his mind always, but he had given her his word that he would not use what he had learned about her in the meld to fantasize about, and he intended to keep that word.

Still, he now knew first-hand that any bond with her would be completely different from that which he had shared with T'Pring, and only partially because she was human and T'Pring was Vulcan. T'Pring had isolated herself from him, responding in the most superficial way possible, and that only when ignoring him was not possible. Spock had responded in kind. But Uhura had welcomed him, in the meld, and he did not think merely because she desired his help. He doubted she would shut him out.

Of course, he acknowledged, the same might be said for any Vulcan woman who agreed to marry him. T'Pring had never desired to be his bondmate; it had been chosen for them, and her parents should have seen her reaction and found someone else for her. If he married now, it would be to a woman who had chosen him, and if T'Pau offered a potential match with a woman who was not compatible with him, it would be simple to decline. It was illogical to believe that because Uhura was the first eligible woman he had melded with who did not find his mental touch a burden, that she was the only such woman in existence.

It had been only a short time since T'Pring rejected him. Long-established research in both Vulcan and Human psychology clearly showed that making major decisions or changes too soon after a major loss such as a divorce or bereavement was likely to result in suboptimal results. Thus, as he had concluded from the beginning, it would be illogical to seriously consider a new relationship, either with Uhura or through the offices of T'Pau as matchmaker, until the debacle of his marriage was far enough in the past that he could view it with at least a degree of equanimity.

He turned his meditations to the now-familiar task of acknowledging and taming his feelings for Uhura.

Two days after the meld, Nyota laid on her bed in her quarters, staring up at the ceiling and trying to concentrate on the music she was listening to. It was completely different from any style of music in her personal playlists, and as far as she could tell she'd never heard anything like it before in her life. It was just what she needed: something unlikely to trigger any of the memories that she could now access, thanks to Spock.

Ironic, after spending a week digging for memories so frantically.

A lifetime of memories was a lot to go through, and the meld had been very intense. She felt like her brain was a dresser that had had its entire contents scattered about the room, examined, and then put back in place, and she wasn't quite sure there was room for everything. Her brain felt very … full.

The door chimed. "Come in," she said, sitting up.

It was Christine. "How are you feeling?" she asked as she walked through the sitting area to the bed chamber. "And what are you listening to?"

"Sixty-year-old popular music from a non-aligned world called S'hrevlar," Nyota said. "It's very distracting."

"I can tell," Christine said wryly.

Nyota turned it off. "And are you asking as my nurse or my friend?"

"Both," Christine said. "The meld took a lot out of you and Spock both, but he's back on duty and you're not."

Nyota sighed. The meld had taken hours, and been very draining. And then had come all the work of putting the memories she could now access into some sort of coherent order and narrative. In the two nights since, her dreams had been eventful, and Doctor McCoy thought that REM sleep was probably the best thing for her, so she was trying to take naps in addition to her normal sleep cycle. But even while she was awake, she was constantly seeing things with new eyes and putting together the puzzle pieces of her mind. "It's getting better," she said. "It's definitely much better today than it was yesterday, and better this afternoon than it was this morning when I had my checkup. It's just … it's just a lot, and I'm so tired. Not sleepy, just worn."

Christine hummed. "I can't even imagine."

"Hopefully, you won't ever have to," Nyota said, and changed the subject. She'd spent enough time dwelling on her own problems, recently, and not enough time just hanging out with her friend.

She and Christine had a nice chat, and after her friend left, Nyota flopped back on the bed. Now that she had (most of) her memories back, she was glad she hadn't told Christine about Spock's affections for her, when she'd asked Christine's opinion on Spock's ethics. That would have been awkward, and unnecessarily hurtful to Christine. (Reliving her memories of that mystery-shrouded trip to Vulcan had been one of the few times that Spock's own emotions had come through in the meld—he hadn't been able to hide how embarrassed he still was over the whole thing, how he'd treated Christine but also something deeper he hadn't shared with her. It felt like ages ago, but hadn't been all that long before the encounter with Nomad which had wiped her memories.)

Wait a minute. Nyota narrowed her eyes as something occurred to her. Spock was married! To that Vulcan woman who'd called them when they arrived at Vulcan! What was he doing falling in love with her if he was married? She'd thought Vulcans had better control over their feelings than that.

She rose, checked her appearance in the mirror to make sure she was presentable, and went to go ask him about it.

Spock was in his quarters and responded promptly when she pressed the door chime.

"Ms. Uhura," he said, inviting her to take a seat. "Would you care for some tea?"

"Thank you," she said, slightly taken aback. He'd never offered her tea before, but then, she'd never visited him in his quarters before.

"This is theris-na'na, which is more palatable to humans than most other Vulcan varieties of tea," Spock said, presenting her with a cup after a few minutes work.

"Thank you," she said, taking a sip. "It's good!" She didn't know how to describe it; it wasn't like any Earth tea she knew. But it didn't require sugar or milk or lemon or anything to make it drinkable.

"Kh'halwer nash-vey k'odu," Spock said. When Nyota hesitated, he went on. "The traditional response is th'i-oxolara kh'harwa."

She repeated it carefully. "I don't know that I've ever heard you speak Vulcan before."

"You still have not, as there is no single 'Vulcan' language."

Nyota felt her cheeks heat. She knew Vulcan, like most planets, had a plethora of languages; she so seldom fell prey to the common practice of labelling the most common language of a planet as the planet's only language. "Any language of Vulcan," she corrected herself. "What language were you speaking?"

"Shi'Kha'ri," Spock said.

Nyota raised an eyebrow at him. "You mean, the language that is most commonly called 'Vulcan' by offworlders?"

"Precision is important," he said severely, although she could tell he was amused.

"Are there any other cultural expectations?" Nyota asked.

Spock took a sip of his own tea. "Vulcans—at least, those following Shi'Kha'ri manners—do not typically speak when food or drink is being consumed. However, outsiders often find the silence to be … oppressive, and I have never minded one way or the other."

"Ah," Nyota said. She'd lost the momentum she'd had when she came here, but she still wanted to know the answer. "Spock, when you told me you had feelings for me, you implied you were considering asking to start a romantic relationship with me."

"Yes. Although I am not ready for any such step, just yet, and may not be any time in the immediate future."

"But you're married!" Nyota burst out. "Your wife called the bridge, what was her name—"

"T'Pring," Spock said, somewhat harshly. "She divorced me."

"Oh." Nyota was taken aback. "I'm sorry." She thought about the timing. "Wait, she divorced you when you were sick? So sick you could only be treated on your homeworld?"

"Yes." Spock sighed. "To be fair to her, Vulcan divorces require both spouses to be present with a priest or healer, so that the telepathic bond may be severed. I had not been back to Vulcan in many years."

"And if she'd asked for a divorce, would you have taken leave and gone to visit?" Nyota asked.

"Yes," Spock said, "although it is considerably more complicated, and difficult, than obtaining a divorce on Earth."

"Still!" Nyota said. She paused. "I'm sorry for bringing it up, it must still be a sore spot."

"Yes," Spock said dryly. He looked aside. "Vulcans prize marriage very deeply, and while my relationship with T'Pring was never close, it was still—I have not been alone in my own skull since we were betrothed at age seven. It is … more difficult than I would have thought, to adjust. A part of me would like to remarry immediately, merely so that I would not have to learn how to be … solitary."

Was he trying to hint that he wanted a serious relationship with her? No, Spock wasn't the type to beat around the bush. But it did put his feelings in a different light. "I'm not opposed to marriage, eventually, but there are a few necessary steps first," Nyota said. Such as deciding if she felt more for him than just 'very attractive man she liked a great deal.'

Spock blinked and looked at her. "I did not mean to imply that I wish to marry you in the immediate future. My apologies for the imprecision. No, if I wished to marry quickly, I would ask my clan matriarch T'Pau and she would find an appropriate Vulcan woman for me to marry. Indeed, I have no doubt that she will soon begin presenting me with possible options whether I ask her to or not."

"So Vulcans go in for arranged marriages," Nyota said, wondering if the T'Pau he named was the T'Pau—if so, no wonder the admiralty hadn't punished the captain for the diversion to Vulcan. "I'm sure based on all sorts of logical criteria."

"Yes," Spock said. "Telepathic and mental compatibility being one of those criteria—which is one reason I should not have been so surprised when T'Pring … did what she did. She and I were never close, even when we were first betrothed."

"And you were seven?" Nyota asked. That seemed terribly young. On a more personal note, the meld would have undoubtedly given him an idea of whether they were telepathically and mentally compatible. Now she was curious what she would have learned about him, if the meld had been more reciprocal.

"Yes," Spock said. "Seven is the customary age, in my clan."

"Why so young?"

"Vulcans are more psychologically stable when we have telepathic bonds, and that is around the age when our bonds with our parents begin to fade," Spock said. "And it is traditional. Not all clans bond their children, or do so that young, and not every House within every clan does it; but most do."

"And now you have no bond," Nyota said, softly, trying to imagine it. "What does that feel like to you? Do you miss it?"

"Like a missing limb," Spock said. "Understand, I do not wish T'Pring back; but I do wish to be bonded. However, the most expedient way to achieve that would be to marry whatever woman T'Pau suggests, and I do not know that marrying a stranger simply to be bonded would be an optimal long-term solution."

"Well, it's sure not the solution I would choose," Nyota said, shaking her head. "I suppose you don't know any unmarried Vulcan women?"

"No. I have spent most of my adult life in Starfleet, in majority-human environments, and approximately 90% of all adult Vulcans are married."

"Ninety percent?" Nyota said. "Wow!" She considered all that Spock had told her. "So when you said you were going through a major life change and needed to figure out what you wanted out of life before even considering whether to act on your feelings for me, you weren't exaggerating, were you."

"I do not exaggerate," Spock said. "In addition, there is another critical consideration: your feelings and wishes, which you have never discussed with me. And the fact that you are currently recovering from a significant trauma. Your resilience is most impressive, and I wish to support you in whatever way you require. Requesting major life changes on your part at this time would be … both selfish and thoughtless."

"Thank you, Spock," Nyota said, touched. "I do want to … settle back in to my life, so to speak, and I hope things will go back to normal as quickly as possible. Well," she said, correcting herself, "as normal as things ever get on Enterprise. I hope I didn't just jinx us."

"Luck—and jinxes—are illogical, Lieutenant," Spock said. "Statistical analyses will always reveal that, when the observer's biases are corrected for, improbable things do not correlate in statistically significant ways to any individual, object, or vessel."

"Spock, two things," Nyota said. She was happy they'd had the conversation, happy to have learned more about him, but still, she was relieved to have the conversation turn lighter. "First, when we're off-duty, you can call me Nyota." After rummaging through her brain, he knew her more intimately than any other person ever had, and it seemed silly to stand on formality. She'd never offered her first name before, but then she'd always felt constrained by the gap in their ranks, but then again, he'd never been this candid with her, either. "Second, how else do you explain all the things that happen to this ship without luck, good and bad alike?"

"Even million-to-one chances occur with some regularity given a large enough sample size," Spock said. "And calculating the odds of any given happenstance is difficult when one is studying the unknown."

"True," Nyota said, "but Enterprise isn't the only Federation starship exploring the unknown, and I've spend enough time gossiping with my fellow communications officers to know that odd and improbable things happen to us at a much higher rate than they do to our sister ships. Do you have any statistical explanation for that that doesn't boil down to 'we're just lucky that way'?"

Spock opened his mouth, but hesitated before speaking.

"I thought not," Nyota said triumphantly. "I'm back on duty starting tomorrow. I'll see you on the bridge in the morning, Spock." She slipped out the door with a smile on her face. It wasn't often she got the last word in a debate with him without cheating in some way.

It wasn't until she was back in her quarters that she realized he very carefully hadn't asked what her feelings toward him might be. Which was considerate of him, given how unsettled she was right now, but still left the question: how did she feel about him? He was very attractive and compelling, of course; she'd always been quite aware of that. And she enjoyed the challenge of sparring verbally with him (and flirting with him when she could get away with it). And he was a friend. But she had always considered him unattainable, and so never put much serious thought into the question.

He was very intense, and that was a quality she appreciated in a partner. The thought of all that intensity focused on her … she shivered, tingling a little. There was a reason she'd never let herself seriously consider his attractiveness. He'd been unapproachable, untouchable, and why open herself to that heartbreak? She'd had her fill of hopeless crushes as a teenager, thank you.

Except now he wasn't unapproachable.

Of course, part of that intensity meant that he wanted a serious relationship that might lead to marriage, and while Nyota had always thought she'd probably get married some day, it had always been something to set aside until some nebulous future after she was done with her adventuring. But a fellow officer on the same ship, that was a relationship she could have while adventuring. And once the Enterprise's five year mission was over, they could always ask to be posted together, if their relationship were still going strong then.

It was an appealing picture.

But what if they tried a relationship and it didn't work? He was much farther along in his attraction to her than she was to him. That might change, but it might not, and she didn't want to hurt him.

She laughed out loud at the absurdity of that thought. "Nobody knows how a relationship's going to end when they start it," she told herself. "And you never know, he might realize a relationship with a human is nicer in fantasy than reality and dump me."

Well. She wasn't ready for anything right this minute, but … it might be an interesting thing to try in the future.

Spock spent the rest of the evening working out a statistical analysis of the Enterprise's mission thus far, as compared to other starships on similar missions throughout Federation and pre-Federation history, and concluded that while the Enterprise was indeed (thus far) more likely to experience unusual events than other starships, it was not the only ship to experience such a pattern, and past performance was no indicator of future events, and so it was just as possible that Enterprise would soon experience no more than the normal unforseen events that happened to any exploratory vessel, while some other ship would find itself experiencing a string of unusual events.

The analysis was not as convincing as he had hoped it might be, but he sent it to Nyota's inbox anyway.

The next morning on the bridge, she got it, sent him a wry look, and set to annotating it in between her attention to her work responsibilities. By the end of the shift she had sent it back to him with insightful comments at every weak point in his analysis, and a note. "Still sounds like luck to me.—N"

Instead of allowing Nyota time to ease back into her life and work and Spock time to contemplate his wishes and priorities, the next mission was exactly the sort which happened to Enterprise more than other Starfleet vessels. The mission to Halka brought a dramatic twist and proof of alternate universes all at the same time. The scientific results were fascinating; the alternates of their crewmates were appalling.

It only took a brief interview with the alternates for a deep fear to plant itself in his gut: did his counterpart harbor similar feelings for the other Nyota, and, if so, what would such a man do to the object of his affections? It was illogical to dwell on the possibilities. Spock was certainly not responsible for the conduct of his alternate, and there was nothing he could do to protect Nyota except finding a way to retrieve the stranded away team, which he and the entire science and engineering teams were working on as quickly as they could. Meditation sufficed to keep his fear leashed, but could not relieve it.

It took a great deal of effort to maintain his control when the away team returned safe and sound, and Nyota showing no signs of trauma beyond that of a stressful undercover mission.

"Still don't believe in luck, Spock?" Nyota asked, after the debriefings were over and she'd had time to rest and write her report. "What other ship would have run into such a thing?" She proved quite immune to his logic and statistics, but the debate was entertaining anyway.

After that were a string of missions that, while noteworthy in themselves, were hardly out of the normal range of their experiences, and then came a mission Spock had been dreading since it was put on their schedule: a trip back into the Federation to pick up ambassadors and escort them to a neutral location for a summit. While he was grateful for the opportunity to see his mother, he could quite easily have gone another eighteen years without speaking to his father. But that was not an option as first officer of a ship his father was travelling on.

Nyota got to their usual practice room before Spock, and was warming up on her algaita by playing a song that had been popular when she'd been a teenager. She was surprised when he walked in with a middle-aged Human woman wearing Vulcan robes. "Hello," Nyota said. "I'm Lieutenant Uhura. Spock, do you need to reschedule?" Maybe the woman was a diplomat and needed something.

"Oh, please don't on my account, I've been looking forward to hearing him play," the woman said with a fond look at Spock, patting him gently on the arm. Spock looked mildly embarrassed.

His mother, perhaps? Spock's mother was Human, though Nyota hadn't known his mother was a diplomat. And why had he brought her here? They weren't even dating yet, much less at the meet-the-parents stage. And wasn't that telling, she realized, that apparently her subconscious thought of dating Spock as a matter of 'when' and not 'if.'

"Lieutenant Uhura, this is my mother," Spock said, confirming her guess. "Doctor Amanda Grayson."

Nyota blinked. "The Doctor Grayson, who worked on the Universal Translator team? The first Human to teach at the Vulcan Science Academy?"

"I see my reputation precedes me," Doctor Grayson said with a smile.

"I don't want to take time away from you and Spock, because I'm sure it's been a while since you've seen one another, but I would love to talk with you about your work," Nyota gushed. "As head of Communications, so much of what I do uses your translator as a base."

"Not just my translator, I was one of a large team," Doctor Grayson said with a smile. "But I bet Spock would find the conversation interesting as well."

"Languages are a hobby for me, not a vocation," Spock said, "but I do have some interest in the field, and even more in the computer programming which undergirds the Universal Translator's work. I would be quite interested in such a conversation as well."

"Wonderful!" Doctor Grayson said, clapping her hands. "I'll listen to you practice—please don't mind me, or think you have to perform for me; I'm just interested to hear what my son is up to these days—and then we can go get some lunch and talk linguistics, as I know Spock won't mind talking during his meal."

That lunch with Nyota and his mother was the pleasantest two hours Spock had spent in a long time. Of course his mother got along well with Nyota; they both were good people with excellent taste and similar interests. (He steadfastly did not contemplate how his father would react to learning his son wished to marry a human instead of a Vulcan woman of sufficient standing to make up for the alliance lost with T'Pring's challenge; in this, as in most things familial, Spock had no doubt that his father would be deeply hypocritical.)

After the surgery which saved his father's life, Nyota came to visit Spock in his quarters while he recovered. He'd been lying in bed in his meditation robe when she chimed for admittance. The doctor had been forced to take a significant amount of blood, and Spock was on strict orders to rest and eat well for a day or two while his body replenished the supply.

"Come in," he said at the door's chime, rolling out of bed and wincing at the lingering light-headedness.

Nyota stepped in. She was beautiful as ever, and it was pleasant to see her in something other than a uniform. The colorful caftan suited her, as everything did. "I'm not much of a chess player," she said, "and I know that's your game, and I don't know any Vulcan games, but if you'd like to play a game I could learn. I know when I'm sick or injured, the boredom is almost the worst part and I can't imagine it's any better for you."

"An untaxing entertainment to pass the time would be appreciated," Spock said. "If there is a game you are fond of, I am sure I could learn well enough for our purposes."

"You're the one who's under the weather, so we'll play one of your games," Nyota said. "When I'm injured, you can return the favor."

"Very well," Spock said, and got out his kal toh set, putting it in the simplest mode. As both a musician and a linguist, Nyota's skill at pattern-recognition was significantly above average for a Human, and she might find the game interesting.

"I noticed your parents touched a great deal, just their fingertips," Nyota said, making conversation in the middle of their second game. "It surprised me, because Vulcans generally avoid touching other people."

"Being touch telepaths, touching others with bare skin can easily result in unwanted reading of surface thoughts," Spock said. "Given that the majority of nerves which carry telepathic information in Vulcans are in the hands, touching hands is far more intimate than any other part of the body. But Vulcan marriage includes not just physical and emotional intimacy, but mental and telepathic intimacy as well."

"And that touch was … intimate?" Nyota asked.

Spock sighed. "As a child, I was often embarrassed by how visibly and frequently they touched in that manner."

Nyota laughed. "I was embarrassed by my parents kissing. But that didn't stop them—my dad would make their kisses noisier and more theatrical to tease me."

"My mother had that impulse as well, although my father would rarely indulge her outside our home," Spock said.

Nyota hummed and reached out to touch a piece.

"I would not advise that," Spock said.

"Why? No, no, don't tell me, I'll figure it out." Nyota frowned and studied the set for a few minutes, before her expression cleared and she made a much better move.

Nyota sat in the rec deck chatting and laughing with Christine and a few other friends. Spock was sitting on the other side with the Captain, and she couldn't help sneaking looks at him. She had a very good view of him from here, long and lean and graceful, relaxed and content.

He really was very attractive. And she knew him much better now than she had a few months ago. They played kal-to regularly now, in addition to their jam sessions. Even their music had changed. Where once they had focused exclusively on the music, now it was a jumping off point for discussions about music theory, other musical experiences they'd had, and anything else that came up. They'd been growing closer, and she enjoyed spending time with him.

That internal slip she'd made when he introduced his mother really had been telling, she realized. It was a 'when' and not an 'if,' at least from her point of view. And she was ready to be done with waiting.

"What do you think, Nyota?" Christine asked, and Nyota turned her attention back to her friends.

She did make a point of rubbing her fingers together where Spock could see. And from the looks he was sending her way, he'd noticed. She smiled.

Nyota left the rec room, headed for her quarters. "Lieutenant, may I speak with you?" Spock was always more formal in the corridors and other public spaces.

"Why, of course, Commander," she said, voice honeyed. She waited for him to catch up at the turbolift.

"May I ask the purpose of that display?" he asked, once they were inside. He was tense, every line of his body taut.

"I'm back to normal, and I'd be interested in trying a relationship if you are, Spock," Nyota said. "And I thought I'd give you incentive to make up your mind, one way or the other."

"I—you are sure?" he asked, hesitant in a way she'd never seen him be.

"Yes, Spock, I am," Nyota said. "I wouldn't tease about that." She shrugged. "Now, I know you have a lot of decisions to make, and this is probably a bigger deal for you than for me, as Vulcans don't date casually the way Humans do. I don't know if you want to actually try something, but I'm ready if you are."

"I am very unlikely to be content with casual anything," Spock said.

"I kind of figured," Nyota said. "I can't say I'd be willing to marry you right now, if you asked me, but I can't say I'd mind that as a direction to explore. And if we're going to start exploring in that direction, I'm as ready now as I'll ever be. You might need more time, and I respect that. But if all you need is a sign from me, well.…" She held up two fingers, as she'd seen his parents do. His eyes widened and from this close she could see his pupils dilate.

Slowly he stretched out a hand to match, and his eyes closed.

Oh.

That—she hadn't expected to get anything out of the finger caress. But she could feel him, not as clearly as in the meld, no direct thoughts, but she could feel the pulse of them, and the arousal that had been thrumming through him since she started flirting in the rec room. Then he began stroking his fingers against hers, and that was even better.

She really wanted to kiss him, and she leaned in to do just that. He met her halfway; well, of course, he could feel what she wanted. And the kiss was even better, because he didn't let go of her hand and she could still feel him, and he her.

Most first kisses were just a little awkward as you got to know your partner's body, but not this one. Spock could tell exactly what she wanted, and the result was a kiss that made her toes curl and her knees go slightly weak.

The turbolift beeped as they arrived at their destination, and they disengaged. Fortunately, there weren't any people waiting for the turbolift, because if she looked as dazed as Spock did, and people saw them, the rumors would spread at lightspeed.

"Well, Mister Spock," Nyota said, "I call that a promising experiment. But I think it needs further testing, don't you?"

"Indeed," Spock intoned, following her down the corridor.

#fanfiction #fanfic #star trek #spock #Nyota Uhura

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writeanapocalae · 6 years ago

Text

An Outline

I’m really bad at outlines but I wanted to write a story that I actually know what happens through and makes some semblance of sense since I haven’t done that in a while. I would really love to get some feedback on what you guys think!

Kirk is a trans man who was in a car accident that fucked up his jaw, hip and hand. He has been repaired and is now a cyborg. This takes place in the distanceish future and androids and humans live in “harmony” though androids are still second class citizens. I don’t want to go into the “what is human” philosophy stuff in this story. Abby is Kirk’s sister and Nimoy is Kirk’s best friend since childhood. Kirk actually named himself off of his relationship with Nimoy. t

Abby comes by to drop Carbon off with Kirk. Kirk does NOT want Carbon but Abby says that it was purchased by their parents and it cost a lot of money (a lie on the parents part) in order to help Kirk out with some of the day to day stuff. It’s just there to help take care of him and to speak for him. It’s very obvious though that Carbon is a huge fucking asshole. Why does Kirk name it Carbon? I don’t fucking know. (future memes?)

They slowly start to get along with one another but there’s something very wrong with Carbon. It doesn’t act like other androids, has phobias and panics, and sometimes just glitches out and freezes, staring at the wall. It’s all PTSD stuff, but in an android, especially one who’s just a caretaker, that is extremely unexpected. There’s still a lot of tension though as Carbon keeps cleaning up Kirk’s notes and he can’t remember things well without them.

One night a police officer, Daphne Montgomery, breaks into Kirk’s apartment to steal Carbon, thinking that Carbon has had a full system wipe of its police training. Carbon has not and, while it does not have any care for Daphne, it does stop beating the crap out of her when Kirk wakes up, freaking out at the sound and then the visual. Daphne explains that there was a major crime thing that Carbon was privy to, on the case, and it got some information that was very very bad for it to have. The crimer is after Carbon for that information and will kill anyone that its made contact with. This info could seriously mess with the political system of this world and thus its an “end of the world scenario”.

This is how Kirk finds out that Carbon was a cop, learns a lot about what it was before it became a caretaker. It explains that after its owners death it was donated and refurbished, passed around a lot before a hospital took it in and reprogrammed it.

Carbon has an exact copy of the code (a carbon copy if you will) in a quarantined folder. It says that it’s safe, that it’s not a cop, that there’s no reason that anyone would look for it now. Daphne doesn’t think that’s true, that they will still come after it. These worries are shown to hold merit when Carbon is recognized on the street. Carbon is out and about, just doing some normal chores and notices that it’s being followed, has a moment of panic, and then leads them through a wide open chase sequence, trying to lose them before it makes its way home. It gets caught though and it’s not clear that Carbon was that cop until one of its pursuers breaks off its face plate, revealing the damage underneath.

They try to extract the code from it, which is painful for Carbon, but forces its memories of being a cop more to the surface. It remembers more of its original protocols and combat abilities and breaks free of them.

Carbon makes its way home and Kirk freaks out because its not wearing its face but Carbon is in the middle of a full blown panic attack, both about what its done and about the danger its putting Kirk in. It’s a caretaker, it can’t put Kirk in danger because of its programming. Kirk reminds it that Carbon is the only one that is in danger, because they don’t know who Kirk is. As long as they’re quiet about it and Carbon doesn’t go out for a while they should be okay. This is the first time Kirk has seen Carbon without the face plate and he gets very emotional about it, about how damaged it was. He is able to help it get its face plate back on but it seems to be a lot more like a mask than a face now.

Kirk becomes much more protective of Carbon and tries his best to help out with its PTSD and starts trying to use different pronouns for it. It doesn’t exactly work and they are still not really close but it’s better than it was.

Things get worse when Bishop, one of the gang members that was hunting down Carbon, starts looking around for it. The neighbors have no problem giving away Carbon’s location, as they don’t know that it’s in danger. So Bishop and her boys show up and there’s a bit of a tussle. Carbon knows how to fight and knows the apartment well and it does a good job of beating the shit out of the boys. Kirk is mostly hiding away at this point but does draw the attention of one of them. The moment that Kirk is in danger Carbon flips out, gets reckless, and does end up taking a bullet for Kirk, getting terribly damaged. Daphne and some other officers were already on their way and the sound of gunfire spurs them on faster. The bullet doesn’t take Carbon down, its far too strong for that, but it is leaking and telling Kirk to get out of there. He really doesn’t want to, especially when the lack of balance and the amount of damage that Carbon has taken shows to be too much for it to keep fighting. They’re about to take it out when the police do arrive and Bishop and her boys are all arrested. Carbon isn’t going to make it unless it gets repaired immediately, and soon Kirk is left on his own.

It isn’t long before Kirk decides to visit Carbon and contacts Daphne to try to figure out where it was taken. Carbon needed a lot of work done and a new face plate but Kirk doesn’t care, he goes to visit the repair shop. He’s expecting it to be like a hospital but it’s nothing like that. It’s more like a mechanic. Nimoy went with him and they state that they should leave, that they’ll just be in the way here, but Kirk won’t do that. He sees Carbon in a half rebuilt state and they ask him if he wants anything replaced but he doesn’t know. He doesn’t think that’s his place to decide. Kirk has been staying at Nimoy’s place during this time.

Bishop gets out of jail with barely a slap on the wrist from the police, as Daphne explains. She’s part of the biggest gang in the city, they easily paid for her release. Daphne’s super pissed about that.

One of the parts that Carbon receives is corrupted with the code that its been protecting all of this time. It is unable to see the code outside of quarantine, buried under layers of other codes.

When Carbon is repaired, it returns to Kirk, still living with Nimoy. It’s a bit more submissive, a bit more apologetic, but Kirk is having none of that. Kirk is a mess. Kirk almost starts treating it like a human being. Carbon doesn’t understand. Carbon wants Kirk to be like his usual self and thinks that it has done something wrong.

Daphne calls them to meet up somewhere private, a nearby bar, a few nights later. Really, she asks for Carbon, but there’s no way that Kirk is letting it go without him. And Nimoy somehow thinks that they can protect the other two so of course they’re coming along. At the bar Daphne starts talking about bringing the evidence that they know of to light, of finally doing something about the gang. She wants Carbon to break in and get a solid string of code, as well as some of the intercepted android parts and record some of the gang members talking about their crimes so that she can really peg them down and get them arrested. With that much evidence she believes that she could get a proper team to take them down, even though she knows how many of her superiors are in the gang’s pocket.

Carbon can do it. It has the training but isn’t a real cop. It’s extremely agitated as well, which makes Daphne think it wants vengeance for what Bishop did to it. Kirk is extremely against it, thinking that Carbon will get hurt again and decides that, if Carbon does want to go, he’s going to go too. He is, though, disabled, and Daphne is so against it that she would rather scrap the entire idea. But it’s too late and Krik has the idea. He also knows that Carbon will continue to be hunted until this is taken care of.

Carbon’s subservience passes and soon he becomes slightly more aggressive. It’s small at first, but it gets a bit more protective of Kirk while acting more dominant and distant. Kirk and Nimoy decide to go together, sneaking out to keep Carbon from reporting them to Daphne. Carbon knows anyway though, having become more controlling. It follows them to the hideout, where all of the interference with android parts takes place. Nimoy and Kirk are doing a decent job of it, oddly enough, sneaking through the building infrastructure, staying out of sight. They haven’t even noticed Carbon though.

It isn’t until they stop, trying to record a conversation, that Carbon makes itself known. And when it does it’s violent, out of control. It draws attention to them, scuffling, and beating the shit out of Kirk. Kirk recognizes the aggression, finally, being caused by the new parts that Carbon had replaced. He tries to talk Carbon down but there’s no use and there’s not time for it.

The bad guys get up there and they’re shooting and there’s a big fight sequence. Carbon is conflicted, trying to fight everyone at the same time. It decides to fight the gang first, which gives Kirk and Nimoy some time to get away. They more of just push past the enemies as they run further into the compound. They find the evidence that they need. They also in the very center of it all, find an android who is just the virus incarnate. The code is flowing through the android, in every single part of it and all they have to do is hook another piece up to it in order to infect the next part. The android is, primarily, in pieces and thus can’t harm anyone.

Kirk and Nimoy decide to take it with them out of there. That’s enough evidence for them and the android has heard everything that they would have had to record anyway.

Luckily the gang and Carbon have made so much noise in there that the police are already on their way, as well as some ambulances. Nimoy and the new android get out of there pretty easily but Kirk isn’t going anywhere without Carbon. He goes back in and while he more of stealths his way through he does have to fight some of the gang members in order to get to Carbon. They’ve been distracted enough that they haven’t noticed that their virus incubator is gone.

Kirk makes his way to Carbon, finding it shot through a whole bunch and really not able to do much other than leak. Even then it fights back with Kirk tries to help it and Kirk is forced to shut it down. Only then can he get Carbon out of there and even then its loud because there are so many pieces being dragged behind it. The police enter the building down below and Carbon and Kirk are trying to get down there, to the police, when Kirk gets shot by one of the gang members. Without any weapons or training, Kirk doesn’t have much that he can do against an attacker with a gun, but he picks up a chunk of Carbon and throws it at the gang member, knocking her out.

They get found and helped down to an ambulance. Carbon is in really bad shape but is salvageable. The other android is also in really bad shape but is at least stable and has been in such shape for a long time. While Kirk is in the hospital both Abby and Nimoy visit with updates on Carbon and the new android. There is a specialist with the police that is creating a vaccine through the virus. The android in question is really messed up in the head and is probably never going to fully recover. They’re considering permanently shutting it down once they’ve finished the vaccine and antivirus.

Kirk will soon be discharged when he’s visited by a complete asshole named Drake. Drake is the specialist, who, up until recently, was working for one of the big manufacturers of androids. They explain to Kirk that they want to go behind the backs of the police force. They understand the laws and the panic that will come from the police being public with this antivirus and how it will not only damage the reputation of android manufacturers but can lead to the end of android/human relations. They proposition that Kirk himself is the one that sets off the antivirus, it’s apparently very easy, he just needs to get into the strongest radio tower of the city, which is owned by the gang, of course. Why doesn’t Drake do it? Drake is a coward. Obviously a disabled and just shot cyborg is a better choice. He has to do it alone. Drake says some cryptic shit that’s basically that Carbon will meet him there to take care of any violence.

Kirk breaks into the tower, having Drake on comms to tell him where to go. About 3 floors up Carbon enters to building, physically better, but the virus is still in its system. Its much weaker and fading but its currently at 33% and decreasing. They both move upward through the building, Carbon only attacking if someone is close enough to it. Regardless Carbon is faster than Kirk and, when they reach about halfway up Carbon catches up to Kirk. There’s a bit of a reunion and Kirk is very happy to see it but Carbon can feel the urge to fight Kirk in its systems and practically forces Kirk away before it can lose control. Its a back and forth of Kirk trying to help Carbon and Carbon trying to kill Kirk and also of being the old Carbon that he trusted. Still they make their way up to the computer room of the tower.

Carbon keeps watch outside of the room, so as not to hurt Kirk while he works. It’s not tough, Drake talks him through the steps, but it’s going to take some time to install. Meanwhile an alarm goes off from someone finding one of the bodies that Carbon had left somewhere. Time is now of the essence and Carbon has to fight off more and more of the gang members as they find it, calling to others.

Kirk and Drake work through the other systems in the building and actually turn off everything in the tower except for the computer that Kirk is using and emergency power. Carbon can see in the dark and, while it does get shot a few times, it takes care of most of the enemies that come its way. The antivirus goes out into the world. Everything is fine.

Kirk turns on the power when the sound of fighting is over. He finds Carbon in decent but not perfect condition and, for a moment, thinks that Carbon is going to kill him. Carbon is back to being itself though which is still violent but much better than before. The police are surrounding the building but Kirk and Carbon sneak out another way wit Drakes help. And that’s the end I guess?

#outline #writeblr #My writing #science fiction #sci fi #donation bin

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kiss-my-freckle · 6 years ago

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In-show evidence. Like dialogues. As I’ve said in my previous post, this show is telling me that Ressler won’t be adopting any child. He’ll have a child of his own.

Ressler only had one dialogue specific to adoption, that came in Lady Ambrosia. Direct response tells us his child will have special needs.

Liz: Ethan Linley disappeared on May 20, 2012. In the six months before he “passed away,” his parents met with four different adoption agencies. Ethan apparently requires around-the-clock care - medical therapy, speech and language therapy. In fact, Jeanne quit her job to be Ethan’s full-time caregiver. Samar: My cousin has special needs. The burden it places on his parents - the way they deal with it is incredible. Ressler: I’m not saying it’s easy, but I’d never give up my kid for adoption.

Take this straight to Gaia’s episode.

Maya: Do you have a child with special needs? Red: Picasso said it took four years to paint like Raphael, but a lifetime to paint like a child. They live in a delightful space somewhere between dreams and reality. They taste color, hear shapes, see sounds. We should all have such special needs.There is a child. Her life hangs in the balance. I believe Skyler’s doctor could save her.

Remove Skyler’s doctor and add Dr. Stark.

Tom’s dialogue that’s specific to adoption doesn’t play.

Tom: I do have some say in whether or not we put our child up for adoption. If what I’m gonna try falls through, if Reddington interferes, then maybe you’re right. Maybe I’ll be okay with it, but I’m not - right now.

Reddington never once interfered. In fact, he tried to help Tom be a parent - a better parent, which started from 3x15 and continued even to his death. This tells us that no child of Tom’s will be adopted.

They brought up adoption again in S6, and I find it funny because they pushed it in at the same time they’re unfolding Rederina.

Liz: Before we had Agnes, I thought Tom and I were gonna adopt, that family had nothing to do with biology.

Family has nothing to do with biology, until it actually does. And they handed us this bit of dialogue right before they handed us the Brimley-unicorn foreshadow, along with Liz’s statement about parents not staying angry with their children and grandchildren. They’re gonna unfold Keenler baby along with Rederina.

Tom: So, if you pick up your hand and that is your intel on Kirk, then on the life of my daughter - you have my word that my intel on you will be destroyed.

And I should add this statement Tom gave us back in 4x5, swearing on the life of his daughter. Because Ressler fabricated evidence on Tom’s behalf.

Tom: Surveillance photos, signed confession witnessed by Special Agent Donald Ressler.

Now Russians with diplomatic plates are tailing Ressler.

Ressler: Vasily Komarov - A cultural attaché at the Russian Embassy. It’s just a cover that allows him…to run the US operations for the SVR under their diplomatic immunity.

Back to Vasily and Vasilia. Kirk’s SVR file and the Rostova Glasnost file. Lady Ambrosia, and the arc where Agnes’ storyline was initially meant to spark. The spinoff cancellation changed everything. That’s why Dr. Krilov came in 4x19, and we’re heading into S7 - still without so much as a mention of the memory wipe. Had the spinoff been renewed, they probably would’ve ran Agnes’ special needs arc with Kirk’s need for stem cells, revealed Keenler baby - which would’ve ended Keen2 and put Tom on the spinoff permanent for his redemption storyline. This would’ve allowed them the option of random crossovers to further his redemption storyline, though it was meant to be a stand-alone. Now they’re stuck busting two assumptions at once. Because Tom and Liz both basically swiped right on Ressler’s behalf.

#Keenler baby theory #Rederina #Anti-Tom Keen #Anti-Keen2

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mcspirkholidayfest · 6 years ago

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It’s the time of year again: Get To Know Your Mod! This year the moderators will be answering McSpirk headcanons.

Hello, everyone! I’m @klmeri , and I feel like I’ve been around for too long but you know there’s this beautiful thing called McSpirk that keeps drawing me back. I will be writing my headcanons aka mini stories in the TOS ‘verse, not because I love it best (AOS is lovely too) but simply for the ease of focusing on a Triumvirate that canonically has a lot of history together. I’ve dedicated nearly a decade to the joys of all things Triumvirate, so it’s with shameless insistence that I say read on, enjoy, and bless the other mods and the participants of McSpirk Holiday Fest with your attention too. There are a great many headcanons, stories, and art for you at this tumblr!

I will be answering these:

Who initiates hand holding while the other is piloting the craft

Who would cook the better romantic dinner

Who kissed who first

Who holds the door on dates

Who remembers things

Who caves to the other giving them pleading eyes

Who shows up at the other’s work randomly with gifts

Who initiates hand holding while the other is piloting the craft

Let’s be realistic. It’s Spock or Kirk piloting the craft. McCoy isn’t allowed. Sure, he might be trained and can navigate them the heck outta a bad situation in a pinch but if you value your sanity and don’t want to revisit what you last ate, you don’t let McCoy take the pilot’s seat. And like most crafts (shuttles, hover-things, alien contraptions), there is usually no more than two seats up front, precisely for the pilot and co-pilot. That means Kirk and Spock are often side-by-side and McCoy is in a seat behind them. This gives him great advantage (at least from his perspective) because it means he can do everything he wants with little to no repercussions, as that one time Jim tried to twist backward to make Leonard stop poking his shoulder did not go over well when Spock also took his attention off the console to intervene in their mock-fight and the whole craft nearly collided with a market stand of smelly produce in an overpopulated thoroughfare. Leonard does have some control over his childish impulses however; more frequently since he, Jim, and Spock got married, he finds himself reaching for the co-pilot’s hand like a lovesick moon-calf. If it’s Jim’s hand, Jim is very quick to lace their fingers together and kiss Leonard’s knuckles. If Spock happens to be in the co-pilot’s seat, he lets McCoy rest his hand lightly on the back of his, an area which is less sensitive than the palm and finger-pads. Leonard has come to understand this is still a very intimate sort of contact for a Vulcan. With the pilot, it’s different though. Leonard doesn’t dare interfere with the hands of the person controlling the craft (Jim, keep both hands on the levers, damn it!), but of course that isn’t a deterrent to showing affection. He likes to prop his chin on the shoulder of that partner. In this way, holding the hand of one and leaning against the other, McCoy stays connected to both. As the three of them know when it comes to loving each other, there are no favorites. Neither Kirk nor Spock have complained about this penchant of McCoy’s, and he hopes they never will.

Who would cook the better romantic dinner

Cooking is for those who can’t figure out how to use the replicator. Regardless of how many times, Jim Kirk hears this from Leonard McCoy, he doesn’t feel an ounce of shame over his desire to court his two favorite people. And because Jim is a widely read man, being particularly fond of literature with both adventure and romance, he has many and varied ideas on how a gentleman pays court. But cooking is not easy, he discovers. At least, the recipe for that Vulcan entree seems simple enough until one undertakes the act of preparing it. And, unfortunately, the final result doesn’t match the picture or the description of its supposed taste. Jim isn’t a quitter though, and on his third attempt (the kitchen crew would probably be appalled by the mess of the first two times), he gets it right. Spock thanks him for the effort later, and McCoy—after cracking a few jokes—appears equally appreciative of the country casserole Jim made for him. When all is said and done, success isn’t tied to Jim Kirk as a great chef or even as the best at cooking (as Kirk suspects McCoy could whip up a gourmet meal in a nanosecond); it is that his labor of love is truly one of a kind, standing out despite that none of them can stomach a second helping of a dish Jim might have flubbed a little during the making of it. McCoy, with Spock nodding in agreement, claims that is his best quality.

Who kissed who first

Jim swears he initiated the first kiss. He did. He will tell that to anyone who is gutsy enough to ask.

Except, years later, when Jim and Leonard sit down together and think deeply about the subject, analyzing the technique of kissing as humans versus as human-and-Vulcan, they realize Spock was kissing them long before their first passionate affair.

“We were duped,” McCoy says.

Jim decides, “Spock must have known what he wanted.”

“I knew there was something weird going on. He couldn’t keep his hands to himself!”

The men laugh about it, then, and never let on to Spock that they know his little secret.

Who holds the door on dates

If the universe finds it alarming that Kirk, Spock, and McCoy race to see who can be the first to sacrifice himself for the other two, the universe has never paid attention to the all-out war that is Kirk, Spock, and McCoy dating. A man raised to have good manners holds the door. A gentleman looks after his date. A fool in love lets his adoration be known through every tiny action. So, who holds the door on dates? Whoever gets there first! That’s both a sore spot and a playful game for the three of them. Spock wins most often, simply because Jim and Leonard are too busy tripping over each other trying to play the part of a proper escort. Spock will patiently wait for them to realize he has the door wide-open, and then one will frown about it and the other will grumble something about getting there first next time. But in general Spock has to stop holding the door a minute or so after, as the next battle usually ensues over which of Jim or Leonard should go through the doorway ahead of the others. A Vulcan’s patience, like a human’s, does have a limit after all.

None of them will admit it, but they are keeping score as to who can be the most mannered/gentlemanly/thoughtful lover. A true headache for any outsider to watch.

Who remembers things

Technically, Spock would claim his eidetic memory is superior. But that Vulcan doesn’t have a leg to stand on if you ask McCoy. Remembering the date of a dentist appointment isn’t the same as remembering the day they first said “I love you” to each other. If a man can’t recall a moment like that, having an eidetic memory is about as useful as a boot full of piss.

Spock isn’t fond of that strongly delivered expression, but sadly Jim, standing next to him, isn’t in a position to come to the Vulcan’s rescue. While Jim certainly can remember special dates like McCoy is referring to—anniversaries, first kisses, etc.—his days are so busy that his short memory has become less and less reliable; hence all those calendar reminders on his personal padd. And, okay, he might have missed the last important date, although he never forgets the romantic holidays.

In short, Leonard McCoy is very methodical in the maintenance of his relationships. He believes wholeheartedly in celebrating the special moments over and over again, which of course is the problem that led to this fight. Spock is not accustomed to the same way of thinking, and though he knows very well the precise date and time of all the little moments McCoy is rattling off, he did not once consider those moments would need to be recalled on an annual basis. This is one of those little trials unique to a relationship. The good thing is, Kirk, Spock, and McCoy will come to a joint agreement over what days are to be remembered and celebrated again. Spock will continue to remember the mundane details like appointments, meetings, and his partners’ schedules. Kirk will continue to rely on his padd for reminders but as the staunchest romantic of all three, he will put both McCoy and Spock to shame with his celebratory efforts.

Who caves to the other giving them pleading eyes

Jim, being readily expressive with his body language, has the best pleading eyes of the three men. He rarely feels desperate enough to employ the technique, however, preferring other, more direct means of persuasion; yet when the need arises and Jim falls back to the pleading eyes, he is always surprised to discover they never work. Why Spock and McCoy are oddly immune and utterly unmoved by any sort of sad, pitiful face Jim can conjure is quite the mystery to him, particularly as Jim considers himself a master charmer.

Spock’s dignity more so than his Vulcan upbringing does not allow for such behavior. He would rather argue his point of view until he runs out of breath. If that fails—such is rarely the case as Spock’s stamina (and stubbornness) is greater than his companions’ combined—he may admit momentary defeat until another angle of the argument can inevitably be worked out.

It goes without saying, then, that McCoy could be the best at using this technique. Truth be told, though, he knows something that works better, for McCoy is no stranger to how sensitive Spock and Kirk are to his moods and is equally aware of his own tendency to wear his heart on his sleeve, so to speak. Often, under duress or in the face of ill news, he cannot fully mask feelings like disappointment or sadness. So, Leonard might subtly infuse a little of that natural dejection into his body language or his tone (a tiny sloping of the shoulders or a soft, dejected sigh) when something isn’t going his way, and this small deception frequently proves effective. Leonard has won more arguments with Spock and sparked more swift reconsideration from Jim this way than sticking to his usual method of intractability. But Leonard doesn’t abuse this power he wields over the hearts of his partners because persuading a lover to eat a healthy salad or to cuddle with him a while longer on the couch can be relatively harmless, but asking a man to go against his values or moral code is not. Leonard understands that difference.

Who shows up at the other’s work randomly with gifts

Spock would insist that his behavior is a simple matter of performing his duties as first officer and husband in proper fashion, but in truth the Vulcan is a closeted caretaker. Having grown up in an environment that did not often appreciate the subtle differences in his character due to his being half-human, he treasures those who accept him for who he is, and therefore he treasures Kirk and McCoy. Logic suggests to hold on to something precious requires taking very good care of it. With this belief, Spock finds it no hardship in seemingly randomly checking up on his partners mid-shift or at odd hours and often without warning, bearing a small gift like a meal for the replenishment of energy during a long shift in Sickbay for Leonard or the summarization of those quarterly reports cluttering up Jim’s inbox. Spock’s thoughtfulness is in turn treasured by his husbands. Leonard and Jim always have a thank you or gesture of gratitude for him. They make certain Spock understands they care for him regardless of these surprise visits. This aspect of their relationship is one of the sweetest and also a testament to the depth of their love. Later, during Kirk and McCoy’s retirement years, they take great joy in returning the favor while Spock continues his work for Starfleet.

#mcspirk #mcspirkholidayfest #2018 fest #feature: get to know your mod

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star-trekkin-across-theuniverse · 7 years ago

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Accustomed to her Face

Prompt: @cinema212 - Hey hey hey!!! So idk if you are accepting request right now but I just found out that Chris Pine sang with Barbra Streisand and it's all I listen to anymore it's amazing and wonderful and feed my soul. I was curious if maybe you were feeling up to it if you could possibly write something that included Jim kirk and the reader at a big fancy Starfleet event and he takes her on the dance floor and sings to her just quietly while they're dancing and then that leads to fluffy fast forward to the next morning and she comes downstairs and he is cooking breakfast while humming a song from last night. Sorry this is super long I just love your writing and immediately thought of your blog with this request. Word Count: 2535 Tags: (strikethroughs mean I couldn’t tag you) @dolamrothianlady, @supermoonpanda, @kirkaholic123, @shewhorunswithfandoms, @starmission @emmkolenn @sugarshai @outside-the-government @yourtropegirl @pinkamour1588 @aamaxraph99, @anyakinamidala @dirajunara @anotherotter @little-study-bug @rampant-salamander @goodnightwife @flirtswithdanger Author’s Note: Sorry this took so long, @cinema212! I hope it’s what you were hoping for! (this is the song referenced in the prompt, by the way)

You smoothed down the front of the stiff taffeta, fingers itchy with anxiety. You’d never worn anything so formal. The dress was gorgeous, an almost midnight blue, crisp with just a little shine, so that the light reflected off the subtle details - a gather at the waist, embroidery across the bust, tiny sequined stones throughout the skirt. It felt almost too much, but Uhura had insisted that she’d felt underdressed when she’d attended the ball last year. Your hair was piled in a strategically understated jumble of carefully pinned curls, a few loose tendrils sweeping your cheeks. And despite the fact that you worried your face might crack from the weight of the make-up on it, you glowed with a natural radiance that showed off the heightened pink in your cheeks from the nervousness you were feeling. You looked, by your estimation, like a better, more beautiful version of yourself. Like how you would imagine you looked if you were a storybook princess, free of blemishes.

There was a knock at your hotel door, startling you out of the trance you’d fallen into, staring at yourself. You flushed with embarrassment to be caught admiring your reflection, and then realized no one had really seen you doing it. You opened the door to see Jim standing there, looking more handsome than you’d ever seen him. Handsome enough that you felt just a little pinch of wistful desire for the man you considered one of your closest friends. What if? It was almost as though your heart was asking it with every accelerated beat. You took in the crisp pressed seams of his dress uniform, the shiny brass of his rank insignia on his chest. You hadn’t seen his hair so neat since he’d been awarded his captaincy so long ago.

“You look exquisite.” “You’ve never been handsomer.” You spoke at the same time and both cut short your compliments with a short laugh. Had he called you exquisite? The word brought a flush to your cheeks. You glanced up through your eyelashes at him and saw that the tips of his ears had pinkened from your compliment.

“Thanks for asking me to be your plus one, Jim,” you offered, breaking the awkward silence. He smiled and nodded, offering his elbow to you. You slipped your hand in the hollow and allowed him to lead you from your suite.

“I should be thanking you for coming with me,” he replied, ease returning to his tone. “These things can be stuffy and awful, and every time I show up on my own, some Admiral’s wife starts shoving her single daughter or son at me.”

“Happy to run interference for you, Captain,” you winked as you stepped onto the elevator. He shook his head and grinned apologetically as he followed behind you. The elevator doors slid closed and he turned to face you.

“It’s more than that, Y/N,” he protested. “We haven’t had a poker night in months, and our last shore leave was the regrettable incident of the -”

“Ugh, don’t remind me, Jim. Those aliens were sneaky and vile!” You laughed, trying your best not to remember the nearly successful seductions you’d both been the target of. He grinned again, and stole your breath with his genuine joy at the memory.

“The point is, we haven’t had a chance to spend time together in ages, and this is the perfect chance to shake off the regulation wear and have some fun,” Jim countered, giving you an earnest look. You got lost for a minute in his eyes, startled back to reality when the elevator door opened. You smoothed the shoulders of his uniform before taking his elbow again.

“Well, I got rid of the regulation wear, anyhow. That dress silver brings out the blue in your eyes, Jim. No wonder all the mamas want to have you as a son-in-law,” you teased. He rolled his eyes as he led you into the ballroom. It was crowded with dignitaries and officers of a variety of ranks, some in uniform and some out, you observed. You leaned into him, pressing your free hand against his chest. “Jim, you could have worn a tux.”

“I think one monkey suit in my closet is enough, don’t you?” He laughed, disengaging from your grasp long enough to grab two champagne flutes from a passing waiter. He handed one to you, and held his forward. “To old friends on new adventures.”

“To you, me and shenanigans,” you laughed with a saucy wink. You clinked your glass against his and took a long drink, wincing as the bubbles tingled your nose. He shook his head and sighed.

“Try not to get up to anything that will lead to demotions. For either of us?” He asked. You shrugged coyly. “I mean it, Y/N.”

You were the perfect and dutiful date, making the rounds with Jim, allowing him to introduce you as his Chief Nursing Officer. In normal circumstances, you would have scowled or rolled your eyes and explained it was a fancy term for a head nurse and nothing more, but here, on this night, you didn’t want the blur the lines of appropriate. Not in front of people who were mostly both of your superior officers. When he stepped away to refresh your drinks, an older woman approached. Her smile betrayed a mischievous streak that you didn’t doubt was a light year long.

“You know, there’s a few disappointed mamas out there tonight,” she offered as her opening line. You tilted your head in question, saying nothing in response. “I mean it, Lieutenant-Commander.”

“I don’t follow?” You admitted, turning to more fully face her.

“Well, unless you’re blind or stupid, that boy is off the market. He’s taken with you,” she observed. You let out a decidedly unladylike laugh and shook your head rapidly.

“Oh no!” you exclaimed. “Jim and I have been friends forever, it’s not like that.”

“Really? If you’ve been friends forever, why is this the first time he’s brought you to one of these?” She countered. You furrowed your brow and shrugged.

“I’m his counter-wingman,” you admitted. It was her turn to laugh.

“Oh honey, did he tell you he needed you to come cock-block? He’s clever, I’ll give him that,” she chuckled. Jim approached, a small smile guarding the worried look behind his eyes. The woman standing with him stole the two flutes of champagne and nodded at him.

“Thanks, Jim, you’re a darling,” she winked. “Now take that girl of yours dancing before the night ends.”

“By all means, Admiral.” He turned to you, holding out his hand. “I believe I’ve been given an order.” You allowed him to lead you out on the dance floor, your hand coming up to his shoulder as his settled at your waist. He held you closer than you were expecting, and you could barely look at him, he was so close. The ghost of a smile crossed his lips as the song ended and transitioned into another. The tune felt familiar, but you couldn’t place it until Jim’s quiet baritone started singing along, the vibrations in his chest carrying through into yours, leaving you breathless.

“I’ll be seeing you in all the old familiar places, that this heart of mine embraces all day through.” The words were just loud enough that only you could hear them, and without hesitation, you leaned closer into him, resting your head on his shoulder. He brought your joined hands to his chest, and spread his other hand across the small of your back, holding you firm and close. “I’ll be looking at the moon, but I’ll be seeing you.”

You leaned back to look at him, and felt that familiar pull of desire again, the same as you’d felt when he’d picked you up for the event. You could tell he was feeling it as well, seeing you through eyes clouded by the formal occasion. You broke whatever magical spell was holding you together with a silly face and he laughed. “Don’t look at me like you’re looking at forever, Jim, that’s not what tonight was about,” you chastised him as the moment fled. He shook his head and flashed the familiar devil-may-care grin Jim Kirk was famous for.

“It’s late, Cinderella, I should get you back before you turn into a pumpkin,” he suggested.

“It was the carriage that turned into a pumpkin,” you corrected. He laughed and slung his arm around your shoulders familiarly.

“What would I do without you?” He laughed. You glanced around the room and shrugged.

“From the looks of the crowd tonight, you probably would have made a terrible mistake,” you teased. He pressed his lips against your temple and laughed again and then sobered.

“Thanks for tonight, Y/N,” he murmured. “It felt right having you with me.”

You fumbled with the key for the hotel room, finally allowing Jim to take it from your hands and open the door for you.

“Now, in my limited experience and from watching old movies, when ladies are dressed this fancy, and have been to extravagant events like we’ve been just been at, it’s polite to invite their gentleman caller in for a night cap,” you winked. “So, Jim, would you like to come in for a drink?” You gestured toward the interior of the hotel suite and and waited. Jim stepped past you, nodding.

“I think this is the part where I ask for a bourbon. On ice?” He replied, as you led him into the sitting room. You turned two tumblers over, and dropped ice in both of them, pouring a splash of the amber alcohol over the cubes. You passed a tumbler to Jim and offered yours in a toast. “To a beautiful evening.”

“To future evenings with you on my arm,” he winked and tapped his glass against yours, causing you to flush and look down at the floor. When you looked up, Jim was in the process of opening his uniform tunic and unbuttoning the collar of the shirt under it, leaving his collarbone exposed. Your mouth went dry, and you forced yourself to take a slow sip of your drink as he pulled the tunic off and draped it neatly over the back of the couch before leaning against it and looking at you with a soft smile. “Your feet must be killing you.”

You smiled and kicked the delicate, slingback shoes off from under your dress, nodding. “I’ve never been a fan of heels. They’re never comfortable, no matter what anyone promises. That said, we’re back earlier than I had expected.”

“These never go late. Too many early morning calls for the higher ups,” he explained.

“I believe we drank a toast to shenanigans earlier tonight. Which is kind of hard to fulfil when you bring me home by nine pm,” you laughed.

“Go get something comfortable on. I’ll make popcorn. We can watch terrible holovids or something,” he offered. You nodded in agreement and pulled the pins out of your hair as you watched him searching the well-appointed little kitchen in your suite for snacks. You ran your fingers through your hair, letting the curls fall wherever they did, before interrupting his search.

“Hey, can I get you to help me with my zipper?” You asked, realizing you were probably trapped in the dress otherwise. Jim froze, stood up and carefully shut the door to the cupboard he’d been looking through. He swallowed, and bit his lip before gesturing for you to turn so your back faced him. You felt his fingers sweep through the hair cascading down your back, pushing it forward over your shoulder, tucking it against your neck to keep it from falling back onto the zipper again. His hands rested on the zipper for a moment and you felt your heart begin to race, making you draw in your breath in a quiet hiss. As the zipper began to drop, the press of Jim’s lips against your shoulder made you gasp and lean back into it. You felt him tease the zipper down until your back was bare, his lips following the open trail the dress had exposed. You forced yourself to breathe as you held the dress against your chest, but made no move to pull away from the sensations he was eliciting as his lips brushed against your bare skin.

“Y/N.” It was a breathless prayer, and you looked over your shoulder into Jim’s bottomless blue eyes and were lost. He pressed his lips against yours, teasing with his tongue until you opened your mouth, looping your arms around his neck, and pulling him against you as your dress fell to the floor.

The sun was streaming in your bedroom window when you woke. You scrubbed a hand over your face as you yawned and stretched, and then furrowed your brow in confusion as you smelled coffee and heard someone in the kitchen outside your bedroom. You sat up with a start as you realized you had nothing on under the covers, and held the sheets against you as your eyes widened with realization. Jim.

You fell back against the bed in horror, pulling the sheets over your head. What had you done? Not only was he one of your best friends, he was your captain. How were you going to face him? When the pounding of your heart in your ears finally slowed, you realized he wasn’t talking to anyone, he was singing. You strained to hear the words.

“In that old cafe, the park across the way, the children’s carousel, the chestnut tree, the wishing well.” His rich baritone floated through the crack between the bedroom doors and your heart stopped pounding to squeeze tightly. It was the song from last night. You wrapped yourself in the sheet and padded quietly to the door, opening it just enough that you could spy on him. Standing at the counter of the small kitchen island in only his boxer briefs, he was slicing strawberries and splitting them into two bowls. You took in the scene and realized he was making breakfast for both of you. You must have made some kind of noise because he looked up and a warm smile spread across his face. He dried his hands on a tea towel and then ran one hand across his dishevelled bedhead.

“I’d kind of hoped to get breakfast ready before you woke up,” he admitted. “I thought we had some things to talk about, maybe.” He pressed a kiss against your cheek and you very nearly swooned.

“Did last night really -” You were going to be firm. You needed answers.

“Happen? Yes,” he interrupted, the smile faltering for a minute. “Should I have gone? Oh god, do you have regrets?” He started toward the bedroom.

“What?” You exclaimed, stepping the way to stop him. “No! I’m glad you stayed. I just,” you bit your lip. “What does this mean?”

His hands came up to your face, and he kissed you again, on the lips. “I don’t know,” he shrugged. “And I’m okay with that. Seems I’ve grown accustomed to your face.”

#James T. Kirk #Jim Kirk #james t. kirk x reader #jim kirk x reader

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winterverses · 7 years ago

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Chapter Twenty-One

Warning: Violence/gore.

Kirk strode down the hall beside Anne, his brows drawn into a scowl. “When were you thinking you would tell me about this?” he demanded, trying to keep pace with Anne. Despite her shorter stature, she was moving along at a clip that could have left him behind.

“Please don’t. I meant to tell you, and then I got the message from Spock, and… they’re already all waiting for me.” Anne’s shoulders were squared, but Kirk could see her trembling. “I’m sorry I didn’t say something sooner, but…”

At least this explained her agitation at dinner. She’d been quiet about it, and she hadn’t answered when he’d asked, but he’d left it alone, deciding that if she didn’t want to talk there was probably a reason. “Anne, look, you could have told them to wait. I’m not that upset about it, but insisting that this has to happen in the middle of the night--”

“It does. Ever since I talked to Lieutenant Uhura, I’ve just been feeling sicker and sicker, and I finally get it. This needs to happen now.” She looked up at him, and he saw the naked fear in her eyes. “I do not want to do this but it has to happen right now, right away.”

“You could have at least warned me at dinner,” Kirk said dryly. “Here I was thinking it would take a couple more days, and you’ve been railroading everything.”

“And don’t you think I would be delaying if I could?” Anne asked, her voice ragged, sounding a bit odd around the edges. “Don’t you think I’d be avoiding this?”

“I know. That’s why I’m not mad about it. Just… worried. Maybe a little irritated. I was having a really interesting dream.” Kirk risked a joke. “There were Klingons in it.”

That won him only a wan smile from her. At least it was a smile. “I’m sorry. But I’m not doing this because I want to.”

Up ahead were the doors to the med bay. Kirk could already see Bones standing there, waiting for them, and Kirk’s scowl had been a pale shadow of his. Before they got too close, Kirk laid a hand on Anne’s shoulder, pulling her off to the side where they wouldn’t be seen.

Her whole body was trembling, her breathing as fast as it had been when she’d been on the witness stand. “Hey,” he said, gathering her against him, wrapping his arms around her. She was so small, and she seemed so fragile. He sort of wanted to hit the brakes on this whole thing. Was this really worth it? “It’s gonna be okay. Take a breath, get calm, and then we’ll go in.”

With a strangled little noise, she buried her face in his chest, her tension turning into a lean against him. For a few long seconds, she stood there, letting her breathing slow, and then she firmly pulled away. “We’re running out of time,” she said, catching one of his hands in hers. Lifting it, she pressed her lips to his knuckles. “But thank you.”

Then she was off again, the doors sliding open in front of her. Kirk followed in her wake, rubbing a thumb over his knuckles where her lips had touched them, trying to pretend like he wasn’t groggy and confused and worried and wishing he’d woken up to a completely different reason for her to want him awake.

Bones frowned even harder, if possible, having seen Kirk pull them out of sight. “Took you long enough,” he said acidly, even though it had been barely minutes since the rest of them had assembled.

“Mr. Spock. Now. Right now. Something is very, very wrong.” Anne hopped up on one of the beds, her eyes huge with fear, her voice still sounding odd, as if she was shaping her words differently.

“I had assumed there was a reason for your haste,” Spock said, approaching her and lifting a hand.

“Now wait just a goddamn minute,” Bones started.

“Trust my patient’s instincts, Leonard,” Dr. Hayes said. Instead of her uniform, she was wearing a negligee that Kirk might have wanted to take a closer look at if he hadn’t been so preoccupied. So they’d rousted her out of bed fast enough that she hadn’t had time to change. At least he wasn’t the only one caught off-guard. “If she says something is wrong, then something is wrong. We can pick up the pieces afterward.”

Spock’s fingertips made contact, and he murmured the traditional words of the meld. Anne’s eyes rolled up in her head, sliding closed. Her body slumped, then started to sag, and Kirk caught her and gently laid her down, never breaking her contact with Spock.

For a few long moments, everyone was silent.

“So when do we know if anything’s happened?” McCoy said.

Dr. Hayes was already laying out instruments she might need, sedatives, whatever she had handy to stem off any possibility Kirk could imagine. “I have the feeling--”

Anne suddenly inhaled and shot back up, her eyes wild with terror. “Spock,” she gasped.

Spock was already moving for Dr. Hayes’ array of instruments. “Do not attempt to stop her, Captain, Dr. McCoy,” Spock said, his voice firm. Brushing aside the laser scalpel, he grabbed an old fashioned metal scalpel from the tray and tossed it to Anne, who snatched it out of the air as if she’d done it a thousand times before.

Yanking up her dress, Anne exposed her thighs. Before Kirk could make sense of this, she brought the scalpel down, slicing open her thigh about halfway down, closer to the inside than the outside. Blood gushed from the wound, spilling over onto the bed.

Despite himself, Kirk started forward, meaning to grab her hand, at least until he could get an explanation. Spock’s voice was the only thing that held him back. “Captain, if you wish to help, you may hold her steady. If she cuts too deeply, there is a very real possibility that we may all die. Doctor, please do not administer any anesthetic, as we cannot risk affecting her motor control or sensitivity.”

“That insulin regulator,” Bones said, his eyes lighting with memory. “What’s wrong with it?”

Kirk found himself pressing his hands to her thigh, keeping her leg steady while she cut deeper and deeper into the muscle, trying to ignore her soft whimpers whenever she lifted the knife.

“Doctor, please draw a vial of blood large enough to contain the object from somewhere that will not interfere with her excision, and use a thickening agent to congeal it. If the device comes into contact with anything other than her genetic material, it may explode.”

“On it,” Bones said, grabbing a hypo and a vial. Dr. Hayes followed him, grabbing suction and applying it to the wound Anne was creating.

“Captain, if you would be so good as to contact Mr. Chekov and Mr. Scott, the device will need to be either shielded from all possible signals or beamed off the ship to be detonated. I will contact Mr. Sulu and notify him that he must halt the ship’s forward momentum as we do not know whether there is a physical boundary beyond which the device activates.” Spock stepped away, flipping open his communicator.

“I’ve got this, Captain,” Dr. Hayes said, taking over from him.

Kirk flipped open his communicator, rousing both Chekov and Scotty, and notifying them of the necessary actions. “You have maybe five minutes to get ready, Mr. Scott.” In truth, he had no idea. “If you can’t get it to a shielded container, tell Chekov to beam it off the ship, as far away as he can get it.”

“Aye, sir,” Scotty said.

Then, once all the instructions had been given, all he could do was wait, his hand on Anne’s shoulder to offer what comfort he could.

After a few long moments, Spock said softly, “We dare not risk cutting further, Ms. Hardesty.”

Her head lifted, and Kirk saw her bottom lip tremble as she looked up at Spock, her skin dead white and her eyes like dirty ice. She nodded once and tossed the scalpel aside, then plunged her finger into the wound. Even though he had suspected it was coming, Kirk couldn’t help but tense, her guttural cry of pain making him wish the bastard who’d done this was in front of him now. The two doctors were entirely calm by now, McCoy pulling away the hypo and preparing to uncap the vial of blood. Dr. Hayes continued suction, keeping the wound relatively free of blood.

It seemed like eternity before Anne snarled, “Got it.” Her voice was so distorted by pain that Kirk barely recognized it. As she pulled her fingers out of the wound, a piece of dull plastic filmed with blood held between them, McCoy uncapped the vial and let her drop it in, then snapped it shut.

“Mr. Chekov, now,” Kirk said, and Chekov didn’t waste time with an acknowledgment. The vial shimmered, and disappeared.

“If I had realized it was there, I could have told you I’m not diabetic,” Anne said, her lips bloodless and her voice oddly accented. Her eyes were huge and glassy-- probably shock. Kirk realized he’d gotten blood on her shoulder, and then that the dress was ruined anyway, so it didn’t matter.

“They were exceedingly clever,” Spock said. “It was meant to be undetectable. If you had not come out of anesthesia during the surgery, we might have brought you back into Loche’s sphere of influence only to damage the ship.”

McCoy busied himself by handing Dr. Hayes the protoplaser, and dialing up a shot of anesthetic. “Goddamned dirty business. Any other medical conditions you don’t have that I should know about?”

“I'll have Mason forward you my last set of files.” Anne began to shiver, her teeth chattering. What was that accent? It wasn’t strong enough to identify.

“All clear, sir,” Scotty’s voice came. “We’ve got a wee red vial locked in a subspace refraction pattern that keeps any signal from getting in or out.”

Kirk lifted his open communicator. “Good job, Scotty. You too, Mr. Chekov. Get some rest. I’ll brief you tomorrow.” They acknowledged, and signed off.

Spock retrieved the scalpel from the floor where it had landed, and placed it next to the rest of Dr. Hayes’ equipment, then turned to Kirk. “Captain, if you wish to remain in the med bay, I will be glad to take the conn in your stead at 0700. Your presence would be far more comforting to Ms. Hardesty than mine; she holds you in great esteem.”

Anne’s eyes, which had been sliding half closed, flew open. “We’re not done, Mr. Spock,” she said through teeth gritted to stop their chattering.

“Oh yes you are,” Bones said, loading up another hypo with a sedative. “Sit on her or something, will you, Jim? I can’t have her kicking up her heels all over my med bay.”

His sense of the absurd abruptly reasserting itself, Kirk chuckled and wiped a stray bead of blood away from Anne’s cheek. “You liar. You said you weren’t interesting.” He was rewarded with the ghost of a smile and Anne’s head sinking to rest against his chest.

“There,” Dr. Hayes said, standing up. “Not quite as good as new, but it’ll do for the moment. Now, what the hell just happened?” As she spoke, she began to clean her equipment and put it away by rote, watching Kirk and Anne sharply.

“The device was implanted in Ms. Hardesty by her former captor, possibly as a precaution against escape attempts. However, we could not be certain that it was not also keyed to detonate should she cross back into his territory, or that it would not send out a signal to let him know of any such attempt. We agreed that we could not waste the time finding out; now that it is neutralized, I will be able to study it, and perhaps overcome the genetic requirement so that it can be safely handled with tools.” Spock glanced at Kirk. “Further questions must wait until I have analyzed the device. With your permission, Captain, I’ll take my leave.”

Kirk nodded. “Thanks, Spock. I’d have hated to put another hole in this ship so soon after the last. Get some rest.” Spock nodded and turned to leave the med bay.

Dr. Hayes looked thoughtfully at Anne, then shook her hair over her shoulder and wiped the last of the blood from her hands. “Well, show’s over then. I’ll see you in the morning, Anne.” Anne murmured an indistinct assent. “Call me if you need me, Leonard, Captain.” With a last frown for Kirk, she too left the med bay.

Bones continued to clean up, and then said, “Go get yourself some scrubs and have a shower, you’re covered in blood. And get one of those isolation rooms ready. You two can stay in there tonight.”

Kirk really didn’t want to leave her so soon. “I don’t care about the blood, Bones, and I don’t think she does either.”

“I care, dammit. She’s filthy, and that dress is garbage. And I’m a doctor, so I can clean her up, but not with you around. Have some respect for the privacy of my patient.”

“Oh.” Kirk had to admit that there was a definite rationale there. He sighed, then ran a thumb over Anne’s cheek. “I’ll be right back,” he said.

Anne pushed herself away, swaying, and looked up at him. That awful shaking had stopped, and her eyes were dreamy with the sedative. “I won’t go anywhere,” she said, her mouth soft, her eyes still managing to convey that she was making a joke. He couldn’t help a smile at that, and that soft mouth of hers slowly answered his. As he turned, he saw Bones pull out a pair of medical shears.

Once he’d washed off and dressed in a set of baggy scrubs, he returned to find Anne lying on the exam table, clean and wearing one of the standard issue med bay scrub gowns, her hair taken down from its customary twist, a silver corona spread out around her head and flowing over the sides of the table. Kirk hadn’t seen it down since he’d rescued her, and then it had been matted, the color indistinguishable. The silver locks softened her angular cheeks, making her seem more touchable somehow. McCoy walked out of one of the isolation rooms. “Took you long enough. It’s all ready,” Bones said. “Can you help her over here?”

Kirk just walked over and slid his arms under her knees and her shoulders, picking her up. Her eyes fluttered open. “Why am I always falling asleep on you?” she asked, her mouth curving up into a kissable little smile.

“Maybe I’m the boring one,” Kirk answered with a grin of his own.

“I’m adding that to the list,” Anne said drowsily.

Once Bones had turned the covers back, Kirk gently laid her down and stood aside so that Bones could adjust his sensors, then tucked the covers around her. “Need anything?” he asked, stroking her hair out of her face.

Her eyes flew open, as if she’d made a sudden grab for consciousness. “A different life?”

“Nope. You’re stuck with this one.” Kirk grinned. “Come on, hanging around with me can’t be that bad.”

Her smile reappeared, her eyelids drifting downward. “How about a motorcycle ride?”

“Done. Next shore leave. I’ll even pop a wheelie.” He ran his thumb over her cheekbone again, and then Bones caught his eye, jerking his head toward the door. “I’ll be just outside the door. Press the call button if you need me before I get back.”

Outside the isolation room, McCoy said, “Sit,” pointing to one of the chairs, and walked off to the controlled substances cabinets. When he came back, he had a pair of tumblers and a bottle of bourbon. Pouring them each a generous measure, he sat down in the chair beside Kirk’s and tossed back a swallow. “Damnedest thing,” McCoy said. “She knew it. That’s why she pushed everything so hard.”

“She didn’t know she knew it.” Kirk sipped his bourbon. “I’ll bet she doesn’t know she knows where that bastard is, too.”

Instead of answering, Bones stayed silent, and then heaved a long sigh. “Jim, I always thought you had the right idea. Women are trouble. Never stick with one long enough to let ‘em drag you into it. First rough spot and you’re gone.” He propped his ankle on the opposite knee. “And then trouble comes and drags a woman to you, and you’re standing still for it like that’s not the worst thing you could do for both of you.”

“Bones…” Kirk heaved a sigh, shaking his head. “I don’t know what you expect me to say. That I didn’t mean to get involved? I didn’t realize I was until it was too late. That she’s funny, and smart, and she thinks I’m fantastic-- yeah, okay. But I don’t know where the hell any of it’s going, whether it’s going to be just friends or what.”

Swirling the bourbon slowly around in his glass, Bones stared absently into it. “By the time you’re spending the night together, you’re sort of past the ‘just friends’ part of things.”

Kirk snorted. “Now you’re imagining things.”

“I woke you both up myself, in case you forgot.” Bones fixed him with a glare.

“We were drunk and we passed out. Nothing happened,” Kirk protested, a little stung. He'd been so careful with her that night-- once she’d lain down on him, he'd barely moved just in case she woke up and got frightened. Still… she'd felt safe enough to sleep on him. He must have done something right. She hadn't been worried for even a second. Nothing at all had happened.

“From you?” Bones tossed back the rest of his bourbon and stood up, grabbing the bottle. “That’s worse.”

Kirk had no answer to that; Bones was right. He threw back the bourbon, grimacing, and then handed Bones the tumbler and stood.

“Go on, she’s probably lying in there fighting to stay awake until you get back. Get some sleep. I’m keeping an eye on the monitors, and your calls will be routed through me for the night. I’ll wake you up if you’re needed.” Crossing the room to the controlled substances cabinets, he opened one up to put the bourbon back.

Once the door had closed behind him, Kirk looked down at Anne, her fine drawn lashes and angular cheeks, her pallor, the body beneath the covers that was still so thin. If he wanted to stay sane, he should just leave and let Bones watch over her. She’d be fine. He’d be fine. They’d still be friends-- she wasn’t one of those people who got attached. Neither was he.

Her eyes opened, and Kirk felt it like someone was drawing a fingertip up his spine. They were hazy, unfocused, but he knew she saw him because she smiled. “Coming,” he said, smiling crookedly. Unexplored territory. As he came toward her, he realized that she'd moved over, making room for him in the narrow bed. Who was he to refuse? He drew back the covers and slid in beside her, murmuring to the lights to dim them. Whether or not the bed was narrow might not have mattered; she nestled sweetly against him as if it were the most natural thing in the world, her lips just brushing his skin above the edge of the scrub shirt. Not the least provocative sensation, but then, the rest of the circumstances were more than enough to keep his imagination from getting carried away. Settling her against him and throwing an arm over her, he rested his chin on the top of her head. “What are we even doing, Anne?” he softly asked the silence.

His voice must have roused her; she slid an arm over him and stretched her legs, tangling them with his. “Sleeping,” she whispered, her lips moving against his skin. And soon, they were.

Click the heart for a deleted scene!

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

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samingtonwilson · 8 years ago

Text

Return - Part 1 - Jim Kirk

Summary: takes place during sequences of star trek beyond; the last few years of episodic space travel have been taxing on jim as his heart remains with you and the abronath remains with him. a trade-off is imminent, however, when he spots you and someone else spots the artifact. (series following loot; no real reason to read it, though)

Warnings: language, lil angsty

A/N: finally! i missed reader from loot so much and i’m so excited to write that character again! the story is going to be like star trek beyond but with a VERY large addition. so! should be good, should be long. we’ll see! (i’ve tagged those of you i used to tag for loot just in case!) peace out

It was a long time in the making— two years and three months, to be precise.

Jim wanted to rid the Enterprise of the artifact as soon as he was alerted of its presence on the starship. He wanted to launch it into open space and watch it freeze up, watch it drift away from his life— hopefully with any memory pertaining to it.

But planetary emergencies, more pressing peace negotiations, and other Federation business caused the artifact to drift from priorities. It was logged in the archives and remained there— neutralized as much as can be and collecting whatever dust could cling to the protective case.

As more time passed, Jim found himself increasingly hesitant to set course to Teenax and finally pull the Abronath from the depths of the ship.

Not because time had led to an increased attachment to the damn thing, but rather because he wasn’t as mentally prepared, as filled with anger as he once was. Facing the issues that caused the last two years and three months of space travel to stretch on like taffy in episodes that melted and oozed together was a daunting task— a task the slump-shouldered Captain didn’t think he could handle anymore.

So as he stood and spoke before the Teenaxi Delegation gingerly clutching the case he avoided meeting the gaze of at all costs, he could see and feel his own exhaustion, his own reluctance.

He thought right then that he actually might have grown attached to it. Though it sat in the archives and was long-forgotten by the crew, it had become a source of comfort for him. After all, loving was so short but forgetting was so long and on the self-indulgent days that led forgetting to seem like an impossible chore, the artifact was a trace of you.

The artifact served as a reminder that he couldn’t feel his heart beating in his chest because it was somewhere far away— lying beside the perpetrator, beside someone who was likely unaware of its presence. He didn’t know its precise location, didn’t know what condition it was in, but he knew you still had it— as much as he wished that wasn’t true, as much as he’d tried otherwise.

Jim stared at the creatures perched several stories above him, seated all around him so he stood in the middle like the circus performer he likened himself to. Their rough skin was grooved and dented to form spikes and wide features that were contorted in anger and suspected dissatisfaction as they leaned forward, extremely muscular arms holding them against the barrier while they clung onto it with curved, sharp claws.

Jim swallowed, stood up straighter, and began the introduction Spock had written, “My name is James Tiberius Kirk of the United Federation of Planets. I am appearing before you as a neutral representative of the Fibonan Republic. I bring you a message of goodwill and present to you, esteemed members of the Teenaxi Delegation, a gift from the Fibonan High Council with the highest regard.”

Jim’s voice sounded machine-generated even to himself— he wanted to roll his eyes at it but instead pulled the ends of the case, the lid coming open to reveal the round artifact.

The Teenaxi stared. The creature Jim focused majority of his drony spiel upon leaned further— he carried a scepter so Jim thought focusing on him was a safe bet. “What’s wrong with it?” a curious, deep echo-like voice resonated through the stone room.

Want a list? Jim thought to himself as he held back a snort. He sounded exhausted as he asked, “Uh, excuse me?”

“Why don’t they want it anymore?”

“Uh, well, this was once a piece of an ancient weapon and now they offer it as a symbol of— of peace,” the irony hadn’t hit him until now and he suppressed the heaviest of sighs. His tongue darted out to wet his lips instead. “In the Fibonan culture, to surrender a weapon is an offer of truce,” he was going off-script and could smell the bullshit rolling off his tongue.

“How did they come by it?”

“They told me they acquired it a long time ago.” And then it was stolen, stolen again, almost destroyed our ship, and here we are.

“So they stole it then?”

He almost snorted again. “No, they, um— well, I don’t know.”

“You don’t know the Fibonans like we do.” That caused sufficient clamor— the creatures beside the central one began shifting in a defensive fashion.

Jim shifted on his feet a little. He held the artifact up a bit and finally glanced down at it. His stomach flipped. “That’s very true. Your excellency, this gift—”

“They’re a crowd of untrustworthy thieves,” he leaned forward more, his volume was growing, the clamoring was increasing, “who want to see us murdered in our own beds—”

“This beloved,” he could have thrown up at that, “artifact is a symbol of trust,” he could have doubled over at that, “and peace—”

“They want to chop us into pieces and roast us over a fire!” he was shouting now, slamming his hands against the barrier so it shook under a weight Jim couldn’t even imagine.

Jim, tired, shook his head disbelievingly and scowled, stating matter-of-factly, “I don’t think that’s true.”

The creature shook before Jim, practically whining out, “And eat us.”

Jim shut his eyes as he rolled them, incredulous. “What?”

The creature, before Jim knew it, tucked in on himself and rolled down the extensive walls. Tumbling down easily, he untucked as he landed before Jim.

Watching in fear and amusement, Jim raised his arms to block himself as if his ineffectual fight-stand would defend him against creatures that looked and sounded so strong and—

His mouth fell open and he tilted his head as the Teenaxi leader roared— the voice no longer echoed, the muscles no longer looked large.

The creature was the size of a common Earth pomeranian. Jim could have laughed.

But, before a single laugh could leave his lips, the creature leaped and latched itself to Jim’s shoulders, pulling him back as sharp nails dug into his command yellow tunic. Jim swung his arms back, trying to rid himself of the pesky thing and maybe bonk the creature in the head with the artifact.

It was to no avail, however, and, incomprehensibly, each creature hiding in the alcoves of the high-above seating area rolled down the walls and latched themselves onto Jim. He grunted and groaned as he attempted to shake them off— but to, once again, no avail.

“Scotty!” Jim shouted into his communicator, his now disheveled hair was scattered before his eyes. “Get me out of here!”

“That was quick!” the Scottish voice quipped in amused surprise.

“Scotty!” Jim shouted once more, screaming out as he watched another Teenaxi scurry towards him and leap atop his shoulders to smother his breathing.

“There’s quite a bit of surface interference, sir.”

Jim groaned in frustration and ran towards a less populated portion of the room, kicking a few small-dog-sized creatures away and lunged towards the corner of the room. He fell and screamed, “Scotty!” before the familiar weightlessness and gold rings surrounded him.

When he appeared onto the transporter pad of the Enterprise, two Teenaxis clung to him— one around his shoulders that tried to dig sharp nails into his face and another around his leg. He was finally able to shake them off along with his boot, sighing and picking up the strewn shoe with more force than necessary.

He took defeated, exhausted steps towards his chief engineer, sighing. “I ripped my shirt again.”

Scotty, unable to offer the mess of a man the slightest bit of a genuine smile, asked, “How’d it go?”

Jim walked through the Enterprise, hair sticking up on all ends, as he held his boot in one hand and the artifact in the other. A part of him, a larger part than he was willing to admit, was satisfied that you hadn’t left the ship— or rather, the artifact hadn’t left the ship.

He glanced down at it as he marched through the cavernous corridors with lights bright enough to force his eyes into an exhausted squint. He hoped his shabby appearance would ward off any conversation with the crew and what crewmembers weren’t warded off by his torn uniform and scathed forehead were eventually sent away by the large scowl over his lips.

Jim groaned inwardly as he spotted the two men in blue shirts headed in his direction, one wielding a tricorder and the other wielding a haircut he hoped would be abolished on New Vulcan. He turned a corner and sighed as the two followed, flanking him on either side.

“Captain, did you manage to broker a treaty with the Teenaxi?” Spock asked on Jim’s right. The half-Vulcan’s tone suggested he already knew the answer.

Jim cleared his throat silently. “Uh,” he stretched as he limped on his uneven footing and tried not to focus on the mechanical whirring to his left, “let’s just say I came up short.”

He held up his boot. “Will you log that and put it in the vault, Spock?” Upon noticing that it was his shoe, Jim sighed. He tossed Spock the Abronath as he’d originally intended. “Thank you.”

Leonard took that brief silence and Spock’s exit down a connecting corridor as his opportunity to speak. “Jim, you look like crap.”

“Thank you, Bones.”

“You got that little vein poppin’ out of your temple again. You okay?” Though his tone suggested a lighthearted joke, Leonard really wanted to know.

As he’d bore witness to his friend’s experiences over the previous three years in space, he knew what the recent two years and three months had done. He knew how taxing they were on Jim and he knew how taxing they must have been on you— he didn’t dare tell Jim that, though.

In Jim’s eyes, Leonard was solely on his side while Leonard still held your friendship as close to him as he could. He knew how happy you’d made Jim, he knew how you made space look exciting to the Captain again, and he knew how much he, himself, valued you.

You two continued to share contact in the routine transmissions and holocalls, sharing the details of your week with one another while he tipped a glass of bourbon to you and you tipped a bottle of water at him. You never divulged the gory details of your heart’s condition to him but he could see your features change whenever he mentioned Jim.

Just yesterday, he told you liked your shorter hair and you scowled.

When he mentioned that Jim was finally taking the Abronath to Teenax with the intention of never seeing it again, he saw you shift a little. He knew you, and Jim for that matter, had attached part of your identity to the artifact and saw its departure as your official departure from the ship for good. He almost laughed when he realized that final departure came two years after you physically left.

“Never better!” Jim answered with that dry edge to his voice. “Just another day in the fleet.”

Leonard let a corner of his lips quirk up sarcastically. “You sure about that, kid? You’ve looked better.”

They rounded the hall and Jim shook his head. “How many times are you going to tell me how bad I look? I don’t think I’ll be able to look into a mirror for a year now.”

“You say that like you haven’t been avoidin’ every reflective surface you come across.”

“You think I get hair like this without looking in a mirror?”

Leonard looked at the messy blonde hair that shot up on one side and was fluffed on the other. “Hair like that? Yes.”

Jim sighed once more and Leonard almost asked if he was being paid to do that. Instead, the doctor continued to follow Jim through the halls. “Bummed we’ve still got that atrocity on board?”

“Spock? No, I’ve warmed up to him.”

Leonard snorted. “You know what I’m talking about.”

Jim’s smooth steps faltered for a moment— a moment he thought Leonard wouldn’t catch. He thought wrong. “Do I?”

“Jim, —”

“It’s been two years, Bones. I’ve— I’ve moved on.”

Leonard stopped and watched his friend walk on, calling out, “Decide which one of us you’re tryin’ to convince, then come find me.”

part 2

tagged: @outside-the-government @daughterofthebrowncoats @multifandom-slytherin@buckyy3s @cinema212 @caaptain @dani-fae @wonders-of-the-enterprise@imaginesofdreams @the-witching-hours12-3 @kaitymccoy123 @anyakinamidala @vevsee

I’M TAKING TAGS FOR THIS STORY SO LET ME KNOW WITH AN ASK MESSAGE IF YOU WANT TO BE TAGGED IN FUTURE PARTS!

#reader will be more actively present and will explain everything in the next part don't fret #this is more of an intro #jim #jim kirk #jim kirk imagine #kirk imagine #jim kirk x reader #kirk x reader #star trek #star trek beyond imagine #star trek imagine #captain kirk x reader #captain kirk imagine #imagine kirk #imagine jim kirk #N E WAYZ #hope y'all liked this

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