Author's Note: Drabble set during Christine Chapel and Leonard McCoy's first semester at Starfleet Academy (under the assumption that they began at the same time). The title is part of a quote by W. Clement Stone. Sadly, unbeta'd and pretty raw as comment fics generally go, so constructive criticism and/or error reporting is more than welcome! Cheers.
Prompt: "Academy Flight Range - Located near Saturn in the Sol System, an area of space reserved for flight exercises by cadets from Starfleet Academy." (via where_no_woman on livejournal)
Disclaimer: Characters mentioned are used without permission and are trademarks of CBS/Paramount/Gene Roddenberry. I do not own them and am simply borrowing for my purposes. Please don't sue.

if you miss, you may hit a star
by, Caliente

Christine Chapel never had any desire to be a pilot. She had no need for speed, no special love for navigation or the physics of flight. And yet, when she entered Starfleet Academy upon the completion of her nursing degree, she found herself signing up for an elective course designed to teach personnel from other tracks the basics of shuttle piloting.

At first, Christine told herself she was doing it because it was practical. Assuming she was stationed on a starship (and she was expecting to be—she was very good at her job), there would almost undoubtedly be times when she would travel via a shuttle. And what if something happened to the pilot? It simply made sense; it was self-preservation.

But the coursework wasn't easy, not for Christine who'd always been more attracted to natural systems to technological ones. Still, she never considered quitting. Not because she had found a passion for the subject matter but, rather, that once she found it difficult, she felt more determined than ever to master it—if only to prove to herself she could. (Not that she was an overly stubborn person, really.)

It wasn't until she was sitting in the cockpit of an old training shuttle at the Academy Flight Range in the second half of the semester that it really hit her. This was what her life was about now. Sure, she was a nurse, but joining Starfleet meant she was going to be a nurse in space. And, having lived her entire life dirtside (in Louisiana no less), it would be an adjustment.

Maybe that was why she'd taken the class. Christine knew there'd be practical measures taken to familiarize all cadets to the idea of living in space but that wouldn't come until her final year and by then it'd be too late to back out. If she cut out after her first semester, nobody would question her too hard; it could be brushed off as a simple error in judgment.

Taking a calming breath, Christine began the preflight procedure they'd already practiced in the simulator a hundred times. She glanced over at her co-pilot, one Doctor Leonard McCoy, to see if he'd finished his part. He was seated beside her, eyes screwed shut and looking a little green around the gills. "Er, McCoy? Everything all right?"

"No," he ground out. "I won't be all right until I'm out of this damn deathtrap." She thought he was scowling at her but the effect was mostly lost, since he still hadn't opened his eyes.

Christine smirked. "Well, that'll happen a lot faster if you do your part." He shot her a glare, which only made her smirk harder (because it just figured that would get him). "Honestly, McCoy, if you're so against these things, why'd you even sign up for this class?" He was on the medical track with her—it wasn't like it was a requirement or anything.

Growling, McCoy punched through his pre-flight sequence with more force than was strictly necessary. "Dumb kid convinced me if I could fly a bucket of bolts, I might get over my aviophobia." He shook his head. "Shoulda known better, I'm the doctor. Probably woulda had better luck forming a support group."

"Interesting idea," Christine said, head tilted thoughtfully. "Should I even ask why someone with aviophobia would join Starfleet in the first place?"

His response was a glare and muttering something about being, "Too sober for that shit." She suppressed her laughter (in case she wasn't meant to hear him) as he finished up. "Everything's ready here." His expression grew increasingly anxious as he considered her. "You sure you know what you're doing?"

Although it was tempting to be a smart ass, Christine smiled reassuringly instead. (It was probably the nurse within her.) "I've done this in the simulator a hundred times—we both have. Besides, the instructors can take over our controls if anything goes wrong." He didn't look too comforted but it was all she had to offer. "Initiating start-up sequence…"

Eyes shut again, all the color drained from McCoy's face. "I may vomit on you."

Christine frowned. "No, you may not." There was plenty of shuttle for him to spew in. She patted his shoulder. "C'mon, McCoy, just breathe deeply. It'll be over before you know it."

"That's what I'm afraid of," he grumbled, although he did as she suggested and looked a bit better for it.

The bay door opened and, when the room was fully decompressed, the signal lit to let them know it was their turn to go. Christine took a deep breath of her own and then maneuvered the controls exactly the same way she had dozens of times before. The shuttle came to life and suddenly it was nothing like the simulations. It was real—she could actually feel the vibrations beneath her seat.

Swallowing the nervous lump in her throat, she took the shuttle out slowly—only a few hundred kph. Just enough that she could play with the thrusters, testing them out. Each shuttle, she'd been told by a particularly enthusiastic engineer, was different and, as such, had a slightly different temperment. (Personally, she didn't think it felt any different than the sims but that was just her.)

When they were clear of the marked slow zone, she bumped their speed up to one-eighth impulse. Then one-quarter, then one-half. Saturn loomed large in front of them, her rings vibrant and gasses swirling. The sight took Christine's breath away. "McCoy, open your damn eyes," she ordered when she got it back. "You've got to see this…"

And he must've listened because—"Well damn."

Christine grinned. "Yeah." She looked over at her supposed navigator. (Considering he'd spent the majority of their time out with his eyes closed, she was happy there were markers along the run.) "Think maybe this is what it's all about?" Beyond the exploration and aliens and wars and science there was this. There was beauty.

There was a lopsided almost-smile on McCoy's face. "Think it might just be." And then, instead of closing his eyes again, he began actually doing his job. (Would wonders ever cease? She might actually have to help him out when it was his turn to play pilot, after all.) "You ready to make the jump?"

"You know…" Christine gave Saturn one more glance before returning her attention to the controls, "I think I am." She found she meant it, too. (Unfortunately, the same couldn't be said for McCoy's stomach but, seeing as he'd followed her advice and kept it away from her person, that was hardly her concern. Thankfully.)

AN2: The idea of why McCoy would be in the class (which also explains why he was at the helm for Kirk's Kobayashi Maru test) is shamelessly stolen from the brilliant As Sparks Fly Upward by Jedi Buttercup. Christine's reasons, however, are from my twisted brain.