Jim had been woken up a number of startling ways in his life, however, he could say with certainty that he had never been given such a rude awakening before. A hand clamped over his mouth, preventing the scream he otherwise would have let out. His eyes flew open and he had to hold the blankets in a vice grip to prevent himself from acting on his instincts to harm the source of such surprise.

That blonde woman from the other night… what was her name? Molly? Marie? Whatever, it definitely started with an M. She kneeled above him, covering his mouth with her hand. "Shhh," she warned, holding a finger to her lips. Her blonde hair fell from behind her shoulder into her face. "You need to go."

The sunlight streamed in through the curtains and hurt his eyes. He could feel the hangover rising in his bones. Today was not going to be a good day.

She pulled her hand slowly from his mouth. "Why?" he whispered.

"My husband is home."

"What?!" he asked, probably a little too loudly. He jolted upright, causing her to fall off of him and topple over onto the floor. She huffed and glanced toward the door. She certainly hadn't mentioned a husband last night.

He hadn't signed on for an angry husband.

He threw on his shirt in a blur and pulled his boots onto his feet. Luckily he hadn't been wearing his uniform and the millions of different layers it entailed. They were docking on world for just a few nights before heading out again.

M shrugged on a robe and saw him out the double French doors and onto the balcony. "You should be able to sneak out the back. Climb down the trellis and through the neighbor's back yard. And for God's sake be quiet."

Jim groaned and ran his fingers through his hair, backing out into the wretched sunlight. "Have you done this before?"

She only smirked before shutting the doors in his face.

He leaned over the railing. It was a long way down, and he definitely didn't feel up to climbing down all of them. Maybe this was God's way of telling him to find a nice girl and settle down, not that that would ever actually happen.

The thorns on the trellis bit into his hands. They were probably bleeding. He could only hope the woman's husbandwouldn't spot the blood stains until he was long gone. He jerked away after one particularly bad stab and stuck his finger in his mouth, wiping the mixture of blood and spit off onto his pants. He could hear her talking inside and the low rumble of a man's voice, but couldn't make out any words. He crouched as close to the wall as he could, in case he decided to take a look out onto his fairly expansive yard.

He suspected his military training probably hadn't been intended for these purposes, but it was coming out quite handy. Amelia, his aunt of sorts who had introduced him to the profession, would not be proud.

He made his way climbing down, until a part of the trellis cracked. His stomach sank. In slow motion, the crack spread until he lost his hand-hold. Then a foot. Then both feet fell out from underneath him. Finally, the crack spread entirely to the top of the trellis and it came toppling over with a loud bang, falling on top of him.

He fell to the ground, knocking the wind out of him, and filling his mouth with thorny, painful, plant. His tongue was bleeding and he saw stars. For a second he feared he might throw up, but evidently the adrenaline had eliminated his nausea and hangover entirely.

A man shouted inside, and he could hear M try to stop him before the balcony doors burst open. Jim struggled to push the trellis off from on top of him, but it was too massive and heavy. He was trapped. Heavy footsteps slowly strode the balcony before a familiar, uniformed Navy officer leaned over.

He was an older gentleman, with a low, bushy brow and a mass of salt-and-pepper colored hair. His expression was stern, and his face slowly become increasingly red.

"Captain Hawkins," the man growled.

Jim swallowed, his heart thrumming in his chest. "A-Admiral Brandt," he stuttered. He tried to salute, but his arms were pinned down. It probably wasn't appropriate for the situation, anyway. He had just slept with the man's wife, after all.


It was moments like these when Jim's fingers absolutely ached for his solar surfer, which he just now remembered he hadn't touched in months. It was bright outside with just enough cloud cover and a steady breeze; perfect for flying. He hoped it still ran alright. He really shouldn't have neglected it. He would have to clear out all the dust before it was operational again.

A solar surfer was just about the only thing he would end up flying if this hearing went as he expected, probably for the rest of his life.

"Er… Jim? What are you doing?"

Jim glanced up at his friend and snapped back from his daydreams of flying, realizing that he was holding his knife in a death grip. "I don't know, Al. I'm just distracted, I guess."

Al shrugged and shoved a large section of pancake in his mouth. "You nervous?" he asked with a full mouth.

Jim had unknowingly slept with his Admiral's wife and had been caught sneaking out the morning after, so, yes. Nervous was a bit of an understatement. He hunched over his mug of coffee and grunted. He'd gotten a notice about a week ago to come to Lasalle, the planet where the navy base and headquarters were located, to meet with the naval disciplinary committee about what happened. He'd put the notice under the pile of books he'd been meaning to read on his nightstand, hoping that it would go away, but the paper remained and here he was.

"I don't see why." Al sighed. "You're the youngest captain the Navy's ever had. You're from one of the poorest planets in the interstellar alliance. You're the press' poster child. It's not like they can kick you out."

Jim knew his friend hadn't meant anything insulting by the statement. Al's father was the Queen's cousin. He was a royal, everyone was poor compared to him. Plus, he was notoriously blunt and had very limited knowledge as to what being "poor" actually entailed. He hadn't been the one to have to work twelve hour shifts just to help his mother put food on the table.

He was a nice guy, though. With his pedigree, he could have risen in the ranks faster than anyone. However, he had found himself content acting as Jim's First Mate. Al had never been one to take responsibility for himself; he was five years Jim's senior and still lower in rank.

Part of Jim always thought his issues with responsibilities stemmed from the fact that he had no cousins. He would be king one day, unless the interstellar alliance decided to get rid of the monarchy all together. It was possible. Parliament was gaining power, and no one wanted a wayward naval officer on the throne.

"They can take away my ship and my crew."

"I don't know if they'd risk making me Captain. Transferring you would be a poorly thought out decision if I've ever heard one."

Jim wished he had such confidence. "I don't know."

"You weren't doing anything that the dear Admiral himself didn't used to do when he was your rank," Al pointed out. "It's not like you killed anyone. It's just personal, they'll see that."


"Well," Al said at last, clearing his throat, "you may not have your ship, but at least they didn't demote you. And you still have me."

Jim heaved a heavy sigh and slumped down in his chair by the bar. He ran his hand down his face, feeling the way his skin pulled as he did so. The only reason why Al was assigned to him was because he, being the idiot that he was, had burst into the hearing and demanded that they listen to stories about every instance in which Jim had displayed good moral fiber. Most of them, truth be told, were instances in which he had displayed a gross neglect for the laws and, by luck alone, had managed to pull everyone on his crew out alive. The naval disciplinary committee hadn't taken too kindly to the young royal's demands, and had decided to punish him as well. They had intended on separating the two but, as it turns out, all of the other captains refused to work with Al, and not a single first mate was willing to work under Jim.

He'd headed straight to the bar and had been there for hours—the sun was starting to come up, and he could feel the stubble on his cheeks. He never wanted Al to come, even telling him repeatedly to "leave me the hell alone you dumb son of a bitch", but Al could not be deterred in the least. "Yeah," he muttered, his lips pressed against the glass as he took another sip. "Thank god for that."

"Lighten up. It's not like this assignment is going to last forever."

"Except that it will." Jim groaned and pulled the map from his back pocket and threw it down onto the cut up, sticky table in front of him. It was wearing down from where he'd folded and unfolded it repeatedly for hours. "Here's the ground we've covered. This is all of known space," he explained, drawing a circle of a small area with his finger. "We've been running exploratory missions for the past four years. They want us to find one planet in all of space. A planet that doesn't exist. It's a legend."

"You've done it before."

Treasure Planet. Jim shook his head. "That's different. We had a map. Now they're sending us out to find…" he paused as he tried to figure out a way to explain it. "Proteus. It's a legend within a legend. Captain Flint had Treasure Planet and all this technology that was ahead of his time. It still is; even the best scientists in the galaxy don't know how that portal worked. By their estimates, it shouldn't have. Nutjobs have held onto this idea of a lost civilization for centuries—Atlantis, for example. Now they've jumped all over this. They think this technology had to come from somewhere, some lost planet called Proteus, I don't know. They don't think he was smart enough to make it himself."

Al frowned. The committee hadn't explained it in such words when they had detailed the mission out to them. "Like I said, you've done it before. Treasure Planet was a legend until you found the map."

Jim stared into the map and only saw the vastness of space. They were nothing but a blip, how were they supposed to find one planet in an entire universe? Search every one? He'd been staring at the map for the past twelve hours and the small ring of space they called known only seemed to grow smaller and smaller.

They'd effectively ended his career by sending him on a wild goose chase. "We'll never find it, Al. It's not real."

"Listen," his friend groaned, staring him straight in the face with raised eyebrows. "I'm going to help us, but you have to stop moping, okay?"

Jim frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Al explained, "while you were on your fourth pint and wallowing in despair, I made a few phone calls. God, you're so lucky you have me."

Jim said nothing, but crossed his arms in front of his chest. Al had a lot of heart, but things like making plans and leadership just didn't come to him easily. They'd once been outnumbered by hostiles, surrounded on all sides, and his solution had been to "send over what's left of the good wine, play nice, and say the ship was on autopilot because I'm all out of ideas." Needless to say they did not, in fact, go with his plan.

Anticipating what he was thinking, Al sighed. "Now, I know I've had a few bad ideas in the past, but this one is different. Come on, let's go meet the new crew."

Jim, who had just been taking a large gulp of his beer, involuntarily spat some of it out onto his First Mate in a fine mist. He pursed his lips and forced himself to swallow the rest. It hurt going down. "What?!"

"No time like the present," Al said with a shrug.

"I'm still drunk! I haven't showered, slept… shaved!"

Looking at his watch, Al grunted. "Well, you're already late so I don't see why you can't go pretty yourself up. I told them to meet us at the dock half an hour ago."

Jim stood and tucked his shirt in, arranged his hair, and scraped the plaque buildup off his teeth with his finger. "No, no. They should know what they're dealing with. I'm a degenerate, I might as well look like one."

Al laughed and shoved him, which caused him to fall over a bit farther than he would have had he been totally sober. "That's the spirit. Let's go."

The closer they got to the docks, the more dread built up in the pit of his stomach. The dread, in combination with the sobering effect of the cold morning air, weighed him down. Al was walking in front of him, chipper as ever, and had been forced to stop more than twice to allow him to catch up.

Bile rose in his throat, and he imagined the look on his mother's face. He stopped.

"I can't believe I did that."

Al swung around and stopped. "Did what?"

"I'm an idiot, Al. They gave me the fastest ship in the fleet and I lost it in less than a year. I haven't even told my mother yet, she'll probably end up hearing it from Amelia."

"Oh," Al said with a grimace, "that hag-"

"She's a nice lady!" Jim interjected. He looked down at his feet, and wanted very much to just sit down in the middle of the road and wallow there forever. However, if he did that, he would probably be arrested and demoted yet again for being intoxicated in public. "I just… I thought I changed. I tried to, at least."

Al's lip curled. "Are you really going to sit here and feel sorry for yourself? Really? I expected more."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Either Admiral Brandt is punishing you because he can't get it up, for which you should want to both literally and figuratively kick his ass because that's an abuse of power, or you're the badass genius delinquent I've been hearing everyone complain about for years, for which you should also probably want to both literally and figuratively kick his ass. But, for like, fun because you're cool and don't really care about what other people think about your life choices."

Jim frowned. "Was that supposed to be motivational? I think I'm more confused than motivated. How do you figuratively kick someone's ass?"

Al groaned dramatically. "That's what I've been trying to tell you—you find this stupid make believe planet and wipe it in his face. Why do you think I've been trying to get you to meet the crew I picked out?"

"I think you're missing the part where Proteus doesn't exist."

"Then find something passable," Al said, grabbing Jim's hand and pulling him along. "Let's go. It's just around the corner."

Jim sighed and followed him down to the docks where the ship was waiting for them. From off in the distance it didn't look too bad structurally, although it was definitely the oldest model the navy was in possession of. There was no way it wasn't. Even from this far away, he could point out about four or five upgrades that would have once been necessary in order to even force him aboard. Now he didn't have a choice. He was captaining this junk heap. The rising sun enveloped it in a soft orange glow, wrapping gently around the corners just enough to make the nameplate shine—The Citadel. He'd never heard of such a ship before. For one with such a grand name, it was completely and totally unremarkable.

Standing in front of the ship was a line of young naval officers. They looked like new recruits, though he knew that there was no way that they would condemn teenagers to this stupid mission. No, they had to be new graduates of the academy. No other captain wanted them aboard their ship, so the committee assigned them to Jim. They were most likely a bunch of degenerates themselves, not that he was much better. The committee had never particularly liked his attitude, but they'd given him a good, proper ship regardless because he was good at what he did. These boys, on the other hand, were rebels with nothing to back it up. Their skills would never be enough to outweigh their bad attitude.

Jim scratched at his stubble, and wondered briefly why Al would ever be excited to show him such a crew.

"This is Johnson, Adams, Carting, Davis…" Al introduced each of them by name as he went down the line. There was no way he was ever going to remember, so he was trying to get a good look at them. He would tell them apart by their physical characteristics later, and probably have Al be the one to speak to them directly.

He cleared his throat. "Um, Al?" he asked under his breath. "How exactly is this crew going to help me figuratively kick ass?"

"These guys? No, I wasn't talking about these guys. These guys are uninspiring at best." Al frowned and crossed his arms across his chest as he got to the end of the line, tapping his foot. "Where's Jones?"

The crew looked back and forth at each other, but it looked like none of them wanted to be the one to speak up. Al's face grew progressively more and more red, until eventually he screamed at the top of his lungs, "JONES?"

The boys looked down at the ground with nervous, wide eyes.

A harsh, young brunette woman appeared from below deck. She was wearing a light blue collared shirt that was tucked neatly into her tan pants, and with her sharp cheekbones there was a definite hawkish aura about her. She appeared to be polishing a golden trinket, which she slid into her back pocket along with the rag as she jumped down from the ship.

Her eyebrows raised, and she didn't seem the least bit phased by Al's clear annoyance.

"I thought I said to be at the docks at six." Al wasn't used to not getting his way. Jim wasn't sure if Al was more annoyed at her apparent inability to follow directions, or the fact that his dramatic presentation had been ruined.

A hint of a smile played on her lips, and she shrugged. "I was. You were late." She had the same strange, lilting accent that Amelia had. It didn't do anything to play down her harsh features. In fact, the effect was quite the opposite.

"Yes," Al grunted, smoothing out the front of his shirt with his hands before gripping them tightly behind his back. "Well, Captain, this is Dr. Starla Jones. Her father is Dr. Francis Jones, the galaxy's leading expert on Protean history and technology."

Yes, Jim was aware. He'd heard Delbert complain about Jones on many occasions. He was a laughingstock of the academic community. If this was the surprise Al had been so excited about, he might find himself more than a little disappointed.

Against his better judgment, Jim had allowed himself to get his hopes up. Now he just felt nauseous.

"Yes," Jim said with a fake smile, shaking the woman's hand. "Welcome, Miss Jones. Thank you for coming on such short notice."

"Doctor."

"Sorry, what?"

"I have a degree, captain. You addressed me as 'Miss Jones', while my proper title is 'Doctor'." She frowned, and her nose crinkled. "Are you drunk?"

Jim opened his mouth to say something, but Al spoke up first. "I expected a man, actually. Your father, to be precise."

The hawk sent its sharp stare over to Al. "My father is a sick, dying old man. And I would apologize for not being in possession of your preferred genitalia, but I'm afraid that there's nothing I can do about it at such short notice. Therefore, that issue is something you may simply have to deal with." Her gaze returned to Jim, looking him up and down with a curled lip. "My, we've certainly got our work cut out for us, don't we?"

What terrible, witch woman was this? What had Al done? He had to fight against his jaw's urge to drop as he sent the meanest, cruelest, I'm-going-to-kill-you-someday glare in his First Mate's direction.

Jim took a deep breath and let the woman's insults roll off his shoulders. He offered his winningest smile and tried his best not to make it tight-lipped. He even made sure his eyes were crinkled around the corners to look genuine, even if he most certainly was not.

This was the worst day to end all worst days.

"Well, welcome aboard, Doctor. We're very lucky to have you with us."

Jones crossed her arms across her chest and tilted her head, her long hair spilling over her shoulder. "Yes, you are. So, would you like to know where we're headed first?"

Jim's fake smile fell. Who was this woman?

"Ligeia," she stated simply.

She was enjoying this. There was no way she wasn't. For once in his life, Jim was speechless. Ligeia was a remote planet, out in the middle of nowhere. It was once a prison where they would place criminals, but it eventually grew too large. The criminals overcame the men posted there to keep them in, and it became a large, lawless safe haven for the lowest bottom feeders in the galaxy. There was no way he or any member of his crew would ever step foot on that planet. They wouldn't survive a day.

He tried to keep his face from contorting into what must have been a look of pure incredulous confusion, but there was no fighting it. He was too drunk and baffled to maintain a proper air of authority against this evil woman. "And why do you want to go there, exactly?"

"We need a pilot. And the rest of the crew could use a little filling out, honestly," she explained. "I don't very much care for yours." She bowed her head slightly out of what would normally be respect, but she didn't respect him. She thought he was a drunken idiot. Unfortunately, he hadn't done very much to prove that she was wrong. "Don't worry, Captain. You should fit right in."


A/N: Jim needed his life ruined a little more. For character development.