So, this one was a bit of an adventure to edit. For those of you wondering what it is, exactly, that I've edited, I'm mostly going back and giving a bit more description at this point and tweaking some things that didn't fit in the Star Trek universe. Hope you're enjoying it! (Oh, also, in case you didn't notice, I'm giving the chapters names. Fun fact.)

Hope you're enjoying this one!


"So, was it just me, or was Doctor McCoy the one from the shuttle?" Karina asked as the door slid shut behind her. Giving Camille a very indicative look, she added, "He cleans up well."

"He's too old for you, kid," Camille muttered, tossing her crutches aside and falling on her bed. What she wouldn't give to have a do-over for the day.

Karina's eyes widened. "That was not what I meant! I was just commenting."

"News flash, abbey-girl, that doesn't qualify as just commenting. That definitely means you find a person attractive," Camille said, knowing that Karina was probably not taking the teasing well, but wanting to turn the conversation away from herself.

"Ew," Karina said, grimacing. "I'd be a bit of a… reverse cradle-robber, wouldn't I? If it was the case. Which it isn't."

Camille laughed, relenting. "Okay, I can tell you aren't lying. And good. Because while he may clean up good, still doesn't change the fact that he's just as much of a paranoid jerk as he was before."

"Hmm," Karina mused, not quite as ready to surrender the point. "Seemed perfectly sane to me. He just didn't quite know what to do with you." She plopped down on the side of her own bed, leaning forward, elbows on knees. The serious look on her face belied the mirth sparkling in her eyes.

"Oh. My. Word." Camille rolled over so she didn't have to see that devilish twinkle, then winced at the pain in her ankle. "You know what? I am not having this conversation. I'm…studying. That's what I'm doing."

"Sure. Of course you are."

"I'm serious. Only a week in and we already have an exam on Monday!"

"We had one the first day," Karina muttered, trying and failing to be nonchalant about it.

Camille sat up quickly. "Ow. Wait. Are you serious?"

"Yep."

"How the heck are you so calm, kid? Do you know what you got?"

"Nope," Karina replied, now pretending to flick lint off of her skirt. Camille rolled her eyes. She could see through this façade a mile away.

"Once again, I repeat: How are you not going out of your mind right now?"

"Why would I be? That was the easiest exam I've ever taken. It was just on Earth languages. Just seeing if we could master the dialects. I knew most of the languages."

Okay, the kid was good, Camille would give her that. She could be a convincing little actress one day. However, Camille was slightly better. Concealing her emotions might be a breeze for Karina, but so was reading people for Camille.

"How many were there?" she prodded, just grateful for something to bug Karina about – and a switch of topic from Dr. McCoy.

"Oh…twenty-five."

Camille's jaw dropped for the second time that day, this time in awe. "You are crazy, do you know that?"

"I've been told before. Sister Agatha was a particularly grumpy nun who did not understand children. Don't ask me what she was doing at the abbey, since it was specifically set aside as an orphanage. She was the only one who knew about my obsession with language and informed me that the only ones it was necessary for me to learn were Latin, German, and English." The last sentence was uttered with a great deal of contempt. Half of her mouth tipped up. "Of course, that was when I started muttering random things under my breath around her in different tongues. Just to see what she would say. I never knew the words 'Adios, amigos,' could drive a woman crazy."

Camille's laughter filled the room. She hadn't gotten Karina to admit that she was actually more nervous than she let on, but that was okay. This was an interesting change of topic, anyway. "So, what's your favorite language?"

Karina paused, giving her a scandalized look. "You do know you basically just asked me to pick my favorite child?"

"Go on, then."

After a moment of contemplation, she muttered, "I think I have three."

"Three? Okay, shoot."

"Well, I do like Romulan for alien languages. I don't know why. There's something too choppy about Klingon and half of the Orion language has to do with sex, and those are the only three alien languages I know. But I'll learn more, of course.

"Obscurity wise? I love Swahili, but I haven't had a single situation in which I could use it. It just has absolutely no connection to any other language. Such…uniqueness." She sighed. Camille attempted to reconcile this love of language with how she would feel about a new development in the flamethrower.

"And for the third?"

Karina blinked, as if coming out of a trance. "Oh, yeah. I'm going to have to go with Russian. There's something kind of beautiful about it… I don't know."

"Not German?" Camille asked, smirking.

Karina's face darkened. "No. Heck no."


Karina had downplayed her nervousness. In truth, she was actually concerned about the exam. When she had told Camille that it was the easiest exam she'd ever taken, she hadn't mentioned it was the only exam she'd ever taken….that involved anything other than German or Latin. Though the pair of them had grown closer over the past week, she still found Camille just slightly intimidating. So she'd put up a front, tried to write it off as not a big deal.

But Monday had come, and the score was up…

Attempting to steady her breathing, Karina strode up to the score sheet and let out a sigh of relief. Next to her ID number, second from the top, was a 97.5. Out of 100, not that bad. It was definitely better than she'd expected.

Checking the score of the one above her, she was shocked to find a 99.5. Dang. Someone here was really stinking good at linguistics. Then again, most of the cadets here were at least five years older than her. She would get there in time.

Wouldn't she?

Karina took her seat. The instructor, a stern man of about fifty, nailed them with a stare that would have struck terror into the hearts of most hardened Starfleet officers.

"Most of you did fairly well," he began. "In fact, even for a first exam, I was impressed. However, only two scored in the nineties range – "

Karina breathed another sigh of relief. At least she'd far outscored most of the class. Wait, was he still talking?

" – and when you're translating an urgent message from a Klingon bird of prey about to destroy your star ship, 85 percent accurate is never going to cut it. The difference between 'fire' and 'shields' could be the difference between life and death." His brow raised. "And trust me. In Klingon, they are extremely similar."

Klingon had never been her favorite language. Too choppy. And honestly, too much like German. She hoped she didn't have to utilize that one any more than necessary, but knowing the interactions the Federation tended to have with the Klingons, she didn't think the odds of her getting out of that one were very high.

"So today we will begin our intensive work on xenolinguistics," the instructor, whose name Karina recalled was Captain Stark, informed them. "By the end of this year, your tongues will be so talented you'll be able to do tricks with them."

One of the male cadets snickered. Captain Stark, who was walking past his table at the time, smacked him on the back of the head with his book, then slammed it down on the table in front of him.

"And yes, I mean dialect. So pull your minds out of your rears. Especially you, Petrovsky. This isn't preschool."

Karina thumbed through the book in front of her. She found it odd, how of all the planets, Earth was the only one with multiple languages, that they knew of and had regular contact with. Maybe it had something to do with the other planet's cultures? She'd spent so much time studying the languages, she'd never considered how the people lived. Maybe she could –

"Cadet Bartowski!"

Her head snapped up. Stark was standing in front of her.

"I know the back of Uhura's head is fascinating, but maybe you could tell me less about that and more about the multiple dialects of the Southern African States?"

Karina cleared her throat. "Yes, sir."


Camille made her way back to the room, utterly exhausted. They'd spent the day testing out the prototype for the new weapons system. To say it hadn't gone well was a bit of an understatement. She'd nearly been scorched to death when the thing had accidentally backfired.

Captain Richards had merely wiped his brow, shook his head, and helped her to her feet.

"You're a bit of a walking disaster, aren't you, Osbourne?"

She'd nodded. "That's a pretty accurate descriptor, sir. In fact, I might go so far as to call it an understatement."

Did Camille admit it? Yes. Was she happy about the fact? Not at all.

She couldn't understand it. She wasn't necessarily clumsy. She wasn't awkward. She just got into scrapes on a frequent basis.

At least the fire had missed her entirely this time, because no way was she going back to that –

"What the hell are you doing walking around without your crutches? And when are you coming back in for that realignment? I repeat, do you ever want to walk normally again?"

She whirled. Speak of the devil, there was McCoy, a glare that could melt every remaining glacier leveled at her. Well, she wasn't easily intimidated, and this man was no exception. Camille stood taller, utilizing every inch of her five foot one frame. She still didn't come close to looking him directly in the eye without craning her neck, but she certainly felt better this way.

"My ankle was fine this morning. And last I checked, treatment is ultimately the patient's decision, Doctor," she retorted, launching every ounce of contempt she could muster into that last word. Doctor, indeed. He had just the same ego all of them did. Of course, it probably didn't hurt that he was deceptively handsome. That only added to matters, as far as she was concerned. And Karina had a point, he did clean up well, not that the beard had been unattractive, exactly, but -

"Your ankle, while it may feel fine, still has at least a week before you can be on it without assistance. Now, you could find someone to lean on all week, or you could do what I recommended and use your damn crutches!" McCoy, if anything, appeared to mirror her actions and stand taller himself, looking straight down his nose at her.

Well, that brought her off of the dangerous bent her thoughts had taken fairly quickly. She let out a slow, angry breath, attempting to control her anger. The hair that had been previously falling in her face drifted on the resulting breeze. His glare faltered for a brief second, then returned. Before she could respond, the guy who had been waiting outside the clinic door on Friday sauntered up behind McCoy. She recognized him now as the same townie from the bar in Riverside. This day kept getting better and better.

"Lay off the lady, why don't you, Bones?" he said, eyeing her up and down. For some odd reason, she didn't find it offensive. "Jim Kirk. Nice to meet you…Camille?"

The creep had peeked at her paper, no doubt. Suddenly, Camille found herself a bit more offended. She ground her teeth.

"If you insist, I might consider using the crutches tomorrow, Doctor." Hey, it was at least a bit of a compromise.

McCoy shook his head. "You're too stubborn for your own good, girl."

Camille stormed off, around the corner and into the room, hoping that the force with which she stomped through the door would send a signal to it to slam. Maybe then he'd get that she really wanted nothing to do with him.


Jim snorted. "Whatever. Stubborn? Like you're one to talk, Bones."

"Shut up. You just met me. And why are you calling me Bones, anyway?" McCoy growled, turning and stalking down the hallway.

"Aren't they all you have left?" Jim asked, his mouth tipping up impishly as he tagged along like a lost puppy. "So, Camille's kind of hot when she's being feisty…"

Bones groaned. "Come on, you idiot. I may throw up on you…again."