Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or any Star Trek-related material.

Chapter One

Swearing Off Kirk

Sometimes, when I close my eyes, I believe that I can hear the whirring of the ventilation systems back home. The soft, low hum that always nudged me to sleep, giving me comfort in the knowledge that I wouldn't suffocate while dreaming. The instruments that made the planet habitable, livable. Yes, there was a higher risk of mortality what with the dust storms, the bitter temperatures, and the low oxygen-levels.

But Mars was my home.

And still with all of the lethal hazards, I feel that I'd rather take my chances hiking through the Valles Marineris-one of the larger canyons in the Solar System-naked, than sitting in a class next to James T. Kirk. The Marineris is approximately four thousand kilometers long and Hand-to-Hand Combat is only seventy-five minutes.

I count down each one.

I can already feel my blood pressure rising as I make my way out of the women's locker room and into Combat Training Room Four. Honestly, the amount of stress this boy inflicts upon me is ludicrous. Now with the mere sight of him, his cheeky smirk as I take my stance across from him, I want to drive my fist into the wall just to excuse myself to the Med with a broken hand.

"Karetak," he greets me. He at least has the decency to weaken his smirk but I can see right through his coyness.

I address in kind, "Kirk."

"You're looking lovely this morning, partner."

Yes, our instructor paired us by surnames and it is a universal injustice that mine is just before Kirk's.

I twitch slightly but remain cool. "Thank you."

His smirk bleeds through and he says, "You are most welcome."

He appears to want to say more but thankfully Admiral Sibley strides in and begins ordering everyone to take a seat at the benches. A few stragglers hurry in, their heads ducked in order to avoid eye contact.

We all believe that Admiral Sibley operates by the T-Rex phenomenon. No movement and no eye contact will ensure that he won't see you and therefore won't "volunteer" you. We all also hope that he will never catch on.

The benches sit in rows on raised levels; each level is just a bit higher than the other to ensure the row behind it can see. Stadium seating comes in handy during these times of lecture. Unfortunately that also means that I have to sit in close proximity to Kirk.

"You're looking a little tense there, Karetak," he whispers lowly as I take a seat next to him. He then leans in closer to murmur in my ear, "Could someone use a little massage?"

"Kirk," I begin with a slight edge to my voice.

"Karetak," he responds with a slight smirk.

"Please pay attention to the lesson. It would be tragic for you to miss a minor detail that would prove vital in future combat." I then turn to him, his smirk widening. "And I wouldn't want to hurt you during the practical." Of course, it is all empty concern. If he gets injured because he won't concentrate then that is on him. I refuse to be bothered by his juvenile priorities.

"You're worry for my well-being is touching, really. But I think I'd be able to handle myself in a scuffle." I can tell he's thinking back to the infamous bar fight that brought himself to Captain Pike's attention and therefore here. A little part of me blames the captain for even thinking about recruiting this twit.

"You're reliance on instinct alone will not carry you through every fight, James. Eventually, you will run into a conflict where actual strategy and forethought are needed for victory."

"Again, touching. But of course only a future tactician would be concerned with strategy and forethought. The rest of us," he pauses to gesture to himself. "Know that in order to ensure survival-the most basic instinct-you must rely on instinct."

In the background I can hear the Admiral beginning the lesson but I refuse to let Kirk best me.

I drive on quietly, "All right. You bring your methods to the floor and I'll bring mine."

"And may the best man win."

I have decided that it is a physical impossibility for Kirk to not smirk. Most of all when it is directed at me.

The intensity in our stares can quite possibly ignite the air between us. He holds out his hand as a challenge and I gladly accept it. We fight for the strongest grip, an immature show of dominance I will admit.

Before the winner can be determined, Admiral Sibley shouts, "Cadets Karetak and Kirk!"

The two of us immediately freeze, hands still gripping the other, and turn to the front where Sibley has written down the day's techniques. While we look at the admiral, the entire rest of the class is staring at us.

"Save the flirting for after class!"

Our hands drop at once as we turn our attention to the board. Several people are snickering, glaring, or simply rolling their eyes. My dislike for Kirk increases tenfold. I do not wear embarrassment well. Naturally, Kirk notices my reddened cheeks and smirks.

Again with that abominable smirk.

Ignoring him, I focus on the lecture and immerse myself with the steps, the maneuvers, the holds, the small shifts in weight. It has always annoyed me to no end that Admiral Sibley does not allow note taking. His view is that without any notes to fall back on, his students will be compelled to visit the gym and actually practice the techniques. Paper can't teach you how to punch.

Fortunately, I pay well enough attention that I have yet needed to go to the gym for extra sessions. Kirk apparently feels the same way even though I've never seen him look at the board for more than five seconds at a time. It's beyond me how he does so well in the class.

Sitting so close to him, our arms grazing and knees occasionally bumping into each other, makes the Valles Marineris all that more appealing. By all means, Kirk is attractive but his attitude and personality reduces him to the allure of a Klingon. I'm pretty confident he can say the same thing about me.

The lecture is very informative. The admiral focuses on the Vulcan style of combat and I'm excited to use it. The Vulcans are so fascinating that I have tried to find any reason to take a class taught by our very own Vulcan instructor. Technically he's only half. And technically none of his courses apply to my field of interest. Due to my advisor strongly advising against taking unnecessary courses, my interest can only be satiated by books and open lectures by the Commander Spock.

When Admiral Sibley calls everyone to the mats to put the lesson to practice, Kirk leads us down to our taped circle and grins. I stand across from him and frown.

"You bring your methods, Karetak?"

"You're going to wish you had paid attention," I counter.

"We'll see."

"Did you even see the examples?"

With each technique, Admiral Sibley "volunteers" a student to help demonstrate. At the beginning of the semester, there were many who would volunteer on their own accord but we learned that the demonstrations were unpleasant and uncomfortable in front of the entire class. Now, the admiral must call us down.

Kirk shrugs. "Instincts don't need examples."

Admiral Sibley barks out the maneuver he wants us to practice first and I easily move into place. Kirk watches me and lazily copies my actions. I'm so used to this that it no longer annoys me.

After several run-throughs of the various techniques, Sibley allows us free rein to spar as we like. Using what we learned, of course. This is how Kirk does so well in this class. All he needs is to see me do it a few times, copy it, and then he easily memorizes it. He's crafty but one day it won't be enough.

Standing at either side of the circle, our stares are just as intense as before. I have to win this fight to put him in his place. Best man indeed.

It begins steady. We are both merely testing the waters, taking our time. By this point in the semester, we have learned a great deal about the other's fighting style and can often predict their next move.

I decide to break my precedent and rush him. Kirk is unprepared and I manage a few swipes at him before he can fend me off. The Vulcan style, fast and sharp, suits me well. Kirk hasn't spent enough time sharpening his reflexes so he mostly stays on the defense, waiting for an opening.

There must have been an opening because the next thing I know, I'm being shoved to the mat. I am slightly stunned; that wasn't a technique from the lecture. Clearly, all bets are off. Kirk is on me quickly, trying to wrestle me down into submission. We struggle with each other, twisting, turning, flipping, fighting for dominance. I try to maintain the Vulcan technique but Kirk is relying on instincts once more.

"This isn't from the lecture," I struggle to say in between grapples.

"Exactly. This is my method." I am pleased to hear that he is just as strained as I am.

He's stronger than I am but I'm faster. My speed is the only thing that keeps me in the fight. We end up on the floor, locked in each other's grasp, seemingly in a stalemate.

"Ready to admit defeat?" I ask.

"My instinct says no," he replies.

A struggle ignites again but there's little progress. We finally manage to push away from each other and I skillfully roll away while he scrambles to his feet. We rise simultaneously and this time he comes flying at me. Fatigue is wearing me down and I can no longer maintain my reaction time.

Getting the best of me, Kirk manages to flip me onto the mat. He smirks, standing over me. Clearly, he believes that he has won the match. In a last act, I swing my leg out and catch his. He tumbles to the floor next to me and neither of us move.

Lying there, panting and sweating, we study each other. He's on his stomach and I'm on my back and our limbs are sprawled out and we look a royal mess. But it was fun. I have to hand it to Kirk, as much as I complain about being partnered with him, he's fun to grapple with.

He throws a lazy grin my way and I return it with an equally lazy frown.

"That was exhilarating," he gasps.

"That was a draw," I throw out.

"Is it always a competition with you?" He doesn't sound accusatory, just teasing.

"Only with you."

He gives me a look, not sure what I mean. Truthfully, I don't even know. I close my eyes, groan, and lift myself up to my feet. Admiral Sibley dismisses the class and I limp my way to the women's showers. I was more than ready to be clean again. Rolling around on the floor with Kirk made me feel gross.

The hot water feels amazing on my strained muscles. I can hear the other girls talking about the lesson and how much fun it is to learn how to kick some ass. This is about the time where the questions start to fly my way.

"So, Beta," one calls from a few stalls down. "What's up with you and James?"

I'm only on shampooing, still conditioning and soaping to go. I wasn't going to be able to dodge this question.

"What do you mean?" I decide to play oblivious. It usually works for me.

This time, the girl next to my stall spoke up. "You two seemed awfully chummy during the lecture."

I roll my eyes. "Oh is that all? We were just arguing."

"While staring longingly into each other's eyes?" Another girl asked.

I rush to correct, "You mean staring venomously into each other's eyes?"

"You were holding hands," one points out.

"We were shaking hands. As a deal to see who would win the spar." This is getting ridiculous. Honestly, these women need a constant source of gossip to keep them going. It makes me miss the Martian colony dearly. Good thing I'm almost finished conditioning, though.

"Oh and we can't forget about that match!"

All of the girls erupt into fits of giggles. I in turn frown at the shower knob.

"What about the match?"

"Come on Beta! You two were rolling around on the floor, grabbing each other, sweating, grunting. I promise you, even I was getting turned on."

Gross. I do not need to know about what stimulates my classmates' sexual need.

"Hell," a girl on the other side of me chimes in. "Admiral Sibley was throwing glances your way."

I fly through the soap, rinse, and turn off the water. Before leaving I grab my toiletries and wrap a towel around myself. I need out of this room. Stat.

I cannot fathom the idea of Kirk and me getting any more physical than a rough match. I gag at the thought. I rush through drying my hair and putting on my uniform, not caring that I look a little wild. My things are shoved into my locker, the lock engages, my book bag is slung over my shoulder, and I'm heading through the door. My next destination is the cafeteria where my roommate is waiting for a cram tutoring session.

However, a larger body moves to block my path and I stop just in time to avoid running into, none other than the, James T. Kirk.

He smirks down at me and leans his side against the wall. Immediately, I become agitated by his display of nonchalance.

"Yes, James?"

"I like how you say my name when you're angry."

"I'm not angry. Just very annoyed," I assure him.

Then something about him changes. He's still smirking-that damn smirk-but I can tell it's tight. Something's upsetting him.

"Am I what's annoying you?" he asks innocently.

I meet his stare and answer, "Yes."

He fights down a frown. "Would you elaborate?"

This is it. This is my chance to lay it all out and tell him straight. I can use this opportunity to take him down a notch or two. Taking a deep breath, I fly right into the speech I have been practicing since the day he became a thorn in my side.

"You're swine." His eyebrow rises. "You are absolutely disgusting. You sleep around with women unabashedly, dragging them along by their heartstrings only to leave them in a wake of heartache and despair, without any amount of care-"

"How poetic," he interrupts with a poor stab at sarcasm.

I steamroll right through it. "For their feelings just to go and do it the next poor girl!"

Kirk narrows his eyes, staring at me intently. I fight down the urge to shift uncomfortably. "Did I sleep with you?"

Now, I have to fight down the urge to punch him. I clench my teeth.

"No."

"Then a friend?"

A fire burns in my eyes and he grins. "My roommate, actually. Moira Simmons."

He pauses, thinking the name over. "Are you sure? That name doesn't sound familiar. Was it just a one-night thing?"

"Two weeks," I inform him bitingly. "For two weeks, you played her."

He whistles lowly. "I would remember two weeks. I guess it wasn't anything worth remembering." He winks at me.

And my God, there's that smirk.

Kirk flies back into the wall when my right fist drives into his left cheek.

"For weeks," I tell him. "She cried over you. For weeks I had to tell her how awful of a human being you were. I had to convince her that you were a spineless pig."

His hands fly up in self-defense. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding. Of course I remember Moira." Kirk massages his cheek. "You have a nasty right hook there, Beta. But yeah, I remember Moira. She was one of the nicest girls I was with."

"Then why did you hurt her?"

"It was going to happen sooner or later and unfortunately I dragged it out to later. Trust me, I would not have gone that long if I didn't genuinely like her."

And suddenly, I feel like I'm looking at him for the first time. Someone stuck in the play-boy role. He probably couldn't shake it even if he tried. Hell, he probably has tried. Moira could have been that attempt. Often times, labels are too strong to overcome.

"What's up with your name anyways?" His smirk returns. "Beta? What kind of name is that? What, you were just the test-"

Again he flies into the wall, this time by my left fist.

"You're left hook, too? You sure are the full package, aren't you?"

"I don't appreciate people mocking my name."

Kirk shrugs casually. "It's to be expected. You're a redhead so obviously you're going to have a temper. Huh, a redhead from the red planet. Coincidence? I think-"

This time, I punch him straight in the nose. Honestly, this feels too good. It shouldn't be this easy to attack someone. But it's Kirk. I can let that slide.

Grabbing his nose, he manages to say, "Ugh, not my nose!"

I scoff. "Maybe this will teach you a lesson to stop jerking girls around."

He lowers his hands to grin at me. "Hey now, I'm the one their jerking around." He winks at me.

Now, I grab him by the shoulders, pull him down, and knee him in the gut. He groans, unable to move out of my grip.

"Good form, Cadet Karetak," Admiral Sibley praises as he walks by.

"Thank you, Admiral." I release Kirk and he falls back into the wall. "Any other snide remarks you'd like to make?" I ask with a glare.

"I think I'm in love," he says while smiling pathetically up at me.

"A side effect of the concussion, I'm sure. See you on Wednesday."

Just as he's about to be out of my hearing range, I manage to catch a longing, "I didn't have a concussion earlier when I felt this."

I wholly pray he isn't implying what I think he is. Otherwise, I can easily see myself becoming another Moira and I refuse to let that happen. Until he can grow up and show some responsibility, I am swearing off James T. Kirk.

A/N: It is surprisingly difficult to stay consistently present-tense. The thing that frustrates me about the English language is that sometimes tenses mix with one another. I apologize if I missed a few.

I've had this idea ever since the movie came out but whenever I would try to write it, it never seemed to just "flow." So, I shelved it and only recently decided to change the direction I envisioned and everything seemed to snap into place. I'm thinking about putting a picture of what I think Beta would look like on my profile.

Thank you for reading :]