A/N – An attempt at Spock's pov. Kirk arrives on the Enterprise.
Disclaimer – I don't own Star Trek, any of the canon characters, settings or concepts. No money was made in the writing of this fic.
First Impressions
The news that James Kirk had been appointed the new captain of the Enterprise had not been unexpected. Rumours had circulated for weeks before the formal announcement; Starfleet was an organisation rife with speculation, and Spock had followed the developments following Captain Pike's promotion closely.
He had been – not concerned, but interested. It was clear that the Admiralty had chosen Kirk as much for his aesthetic appeal and his reputation as for his fitness to command; immediately following the announcement of his captaincy they had embarked on a program of high-profile media and public relations appearances. During the past months, Spock and the remaining crew who had not gone with Captain Pike or transferred off the ship had become all too familiar with the sight of their new captain and the long list of his commendations.
Even in an organisation as inured to the unknown as Starfleet, Kirk had a reputation for the improbable. Lieutenant-Commander Mitchell, their new navigator, had scoffed at the holo-media coverage, but had been all too happy to recount far-fetched "true" stories of his service with Kirk. If, Dr. Piper remarked dryly after one of Mitchell's retellings, their new Captain was even a tenth of the man his reputation made him out to be, they were in for an interesting five years.
Spock could only concur.
The three months since the announcement of the five-year mission had passed in a blur of holo-cameras and cheering crowds. Kirk had thought himself more than willing to play Starfleet's golden captain if it meant the centre seat, but he soon found himself tiring of the endless rounds of interviews and photo shoots. He had more than his fair share of vanity and ego, but he was in danger of having his head turned by all the publicity.
Mitchell had taken great pleasure in ribbing him, sending him the airbrushed publicity stills and picking out particularly painful quotes. Finally, in the interests of sheer self-preservation, Kirk escaped from his Starfleet Press Corps minders and made his way to a quiet viewscreen overlooking his silver lady, waiting in spacedock for him to take possession.
He was aware that the quiet serenity was an illusion: inside, engineers and technicians would be crawling over every inch of her, refitting her for the unknown dangers of deep space; the first officer (A Vulcan, Gary? In Starfleet?) would be busy organising the thousand and one urgent tasks and details needed before departure. But it was an illusion that he needed, to remind himself once again of his true purpose.
A tall ship, and a star to steer her by.
Finally, the hour was at hand.
Spock could feel – if not understand – the excitement and anticipation of the crew, their determination to make a perfect showing for their new captain. He had been up for the last 36.27 hours finalising the last details before Captain Kirk's arrival, 'terrorising' (as Dr. Piper put it) the crew into making the ship immaculate. Ninety percent of his attention was fixed on the activity around him; the other ten percent was occupied with speculation regarding the new captain. He wondered how Kirk – by all accounts an active, hands-on commander, often bordering on recklessness – would affect the ship's dynamic. A captain had absolute power on his ship, and his whims and temper could affect the whole crew – it was to be hoped that the effect was positive rather than negative.
He slipped through the weaving crowds – although it was more accurate to say that they parted to allow him through, being familiar with his aversion to physical contact – and paused a moment outside the transporter room to straighten his dress tunic before heading in. Before the transporter console, the senior officers of the Enterprise gathered to welcome their new captain aboard: Commander Scott, in full Scottish regalia; Dr Piper, uncomfortable in full dress uniform; Lieutenant-Commander Mitchell, grinning confidently; Lieutenant Kelso, quietly competent.
The familiar whine of the transporter set his teeth on edge, before the beam shimmered, solidified, and revealed Captain James Kirk. The first impression Spock received was of vibrant energy, masculinity and determination and that indescribable force that humans called charisma, that had carried through so well in the countless interviews and photo shoots that accompanied the launch. The second impression was of intelligence, of discipline even – that incredible energy was banked by formidable will.
And then the bosun's whistle sounded, and Kirk stepped lightly off the transporter platform. His gaze swept swiftly over the assembled officers; he nodded to Mitchell, and then turned to Spock. "Permission to come aboard?" he asked, as though the question was more than a mere formality.
"Welcome aboard the Enterprise, Captain Kirk," Spock said, holding his hand up in the ta'al. "I am Spock."
"Mr. Spock," the captain repeated – and then smiled, the same slow, deliberate smile that had sent the holo-media into a frenzy of adoration. "I look forward to working with you."