Title: With Klingon Blood and Vulcan Tears
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Pairings: Kirk/Spock, Sulu/Chekov, Chapel/Uhura
Main Characters (in order of appearance): Kirk, McCoy, Spock, Sulu, Uhura, Chapel, Koloth, Kahn, Chekov, Scotty, Kyle, Gaila
Genre: AU, Fantasy, Adventure
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: War, Violence
Summary: There are monsters under the bed and there are angels in the closet, and they're about to drag Jim Kirk and his best friend Leonard McCoy into another world and a war that will decide the fate of their own.
A/N: I'm not really sure where this idea came from, but I like it.
With Klingon Blood and Vulcan Tears
"Fairy tales do not tell children that dragons exist. Children already know that dragons exist. Fairy tales tell children that dragons can be killed."
–G.K. Chesterton-
Chapter One
In Which James Tiberius Kirk Rediscovers the Monsters in the Darkness
Jim knew he was being silly. He was twenty-five years old and he was checking under his bed for monsters, something he hadn't done in years. But he was pretty sure he'd heard something move and he had to be sure. Now, staring at the bare floorboards and neatly stacked shoe boxes underneath his bed, he felt even sillier. With a sigh, he pushed himself up and climbed back into bed. He listened for another minute, but there was nothing there. He flicked off his light and closed his eyes, waiting either for sleep or another noise.
He was just drifting off when it came again, a heavy thud like boots on wood. He tensed, squeezing his eyes shut. He told himself over and over that there was nothing there, that it was just the house creaking; but he didn't believe it. Not for a second. For one thing, it wasn't a creaking sound. For another, he could hear heavy breathing coming from somewhere above him, like someone was standing over his bed. He squinted one eye open and found a tall someone in what looked like armor looming over him. He tilted his head, trying to see more, and found that the man – it looked like a man, anyway – had long hair and some weird ridges on his forehead. He said something in a strange, guttural language and Jim's blood went cold. He had no idea what the words meant, but he had a strong feeling it couldn't be good.
He considered screaming. He figured waking his roommate would drive the monster away, but it would also mean enduring Bones' questions and quite possibly a few recommendations that he check himself into a mental institution. No, screaming wasn't an option. He would have to handle this himself.
The man – monster? – shifted and his hand came towards Jim. Jim waited until the last moment, then rolled away. He tumbled over the other side of the bed and scrambled into a crouch, his hands up, ready to fight. The man tipped his head back and roared and Jim jumped. It was an animalistic sound, like a cornered lion or a wounded bear. Jim glanced over his shoulder, trying to judge the distance to the window, wondering if he could make it there. He was about to go for it and just run when the roaring stopped. He looked back and found the man was gone. He stayed in the crouch for another minute, just in case, then he climbed into bed, switched on his light, and curled up to once again try and sleep.
He figured he must have gotten at least another hour when he heard the thud again. He opened his eyes briefly and found that someone – probably Bones – had shut off his light and his room was lit only by the faint moonlight from the window. But that, he found, was enough. Standing only a few feet away from his bed was a group of men, including the one who had tried to kill him – he assumed that had been the intended effect, anyway. He slowed his breathing down, trying to sound like he was still asleep, but the men weren't paying any attention to him. They were speaking in that strange language of theirs, discussing something. Possibly Jim's life.
He closed his eyes and counted backward from ten, repeating 'It's only a dream' between each number. Because it had to be, there was no other explanation besides a sudden onset of insanity, and that wasn't an explanation he was about to accept. When he reached zero, he opened his eyes again. The men were still there, still talking. Either this was a very convincing dream or he was actually awake and therefore crazy.
He couldn't afford to be crazy, he had work in the morning.
Suddenly, the group turned to his bed. He stared at them, wondering if they could tell he was awake. One of them – the one he had seen before – strode forward, leading the others towards the bed. Jim expected another attack and he braced himself for another daring escape, but no attack came. Instead, the man crouched low and disappeared under Jim's bed, the others following closely until they were all gone. Jim stared at the empty space they had occupied only moments before and tried to think if his family had any predisposition for insanity. He knew his mother was sane, but he couldn't be sure about his father. George Kirk had been a soldier and had died in battle shortly after Jim's birth. Still, Jim figured someone would have mentioned if insanity ran in the Kirk bloodline.
He hoped.
With a sigh, he flicked his light on once more and climbed out of bed. He crouched down and looked under his bed and found, once again, that there was nothing there. He thought for a moment, then lay down on his stomach and reached a hand towards the dusty floorboards. Just when his palm should have smacked against the wood, it passed through as if the floor wasn't even there. With a panicked gasp, Jim withdrew his hand and scrambled up, backing quickly away from his bed.
He stared down at the floor, hating himself for coming to the conclusion that he was fully awake before sticking his hand through the floor. If only he had let himself hold onto the illusion of the dream for a few extra minutes he might not be so scared. And maybe if he hadn't run through what little he knew of his family history he wouldn't be convinced that this was all real instead of some sort of hallucination. Even being crazy was better than knowing (thinking?) that strange men lived under his bed.
What was next? Angels in his closet?
Jim shook his head and jumped back into bed, making sure his feet didn't get too close to the floor underneath. He turned off the light, though he would rather've left it on, and pulled his covers over his head, thankful that he no longer shared a room with anyone. He could just imagine how this scene would have played out if he were still at home with Sammy in the bed next to his. His brother would either have been more scared than he was or laughing his ass off at Jim's childlike reaction
Probably both.
Jim took a deep breath and let it out slowly. It was late, he was tired, his imagination and his dreams were intermingling and making him go a little stir crazy. He needed a vacation, that was all. He'd talk to Bones tomorrow about doing something over the weekend. For now, he needed sleep.
These last thoughts comforted him and he felt more like the tough guy he acted like out in the world. He was James Tiberius Kirk and he wasn't afraid of any monsters under his bed because there weren't any monsters under his bed. He repeated this thought to himself over and over until he drifted off to sleep.
He heard no more thumps that night, but if he had stayed awake for just another minute he may have seen his closet door swing open for a second and then quickly shut again, but he was already dreaming, his childish fears forgotten.