The Enemy Within

by whatshouldntbe

Six months into her captaincy, Jim Kirk experiences the hardships of being a twenty-something woman in command. girl!Kirk/Spock -Sequel-

10. Chapter 11

Chapter 1

"Captain Kirk. Commander Spock. Come in, come in," Dr. Dehner says, stepping out of the way and making a sweeping gesture with her arm to invite them into her office.

Spock waits, letting Jim slide through first before he follows. Dr. Dehner makes another gesture towards the wide, banana-colored couch that sits behind the all white coffee table to the left of the room. As Jim plops down directly in the middle of it, Spock chooses to distance himself at the right of the couch, keeping the space between them at a steady four steps.

Jim is suddenly hit with déjà vu. "We've definitely done this before," she mutters quietly, fully aware that Spock can pick up on it.

As if to prove her right, Spock inclines his head towards her, meets her eye and raises an eyebrow as if to ask a question with that simple physical gesture.

Jim shrugs and shakes her head before her eyes follow Dr. Dehner as the grey-eyed woman situates herself in the opal-colored armchair at the front end of the coffee table. Jim fidgets with a frown and wiggles out of her shoes. For some reason, they felt a little tighter than normal. She sets them neatly off to the side and within reaching distance.

Dr. Dehner hands are barren, no pen or leather-bound notebook in sight. She says, "You wanted to discuss a certain member of your crew."

"A specific patient of yours," Jim clarifies, lacing her fingers together.

Dr. Dehner gives an indulgent smile, and it edges along the lines of humor and condescension. "I consider every life form on this vessel a patient," she replies. "But perhaps if I were given a name, I would know of whom you speak. Though I have an intuitive guess you're referring to Kelly Smith."

Jim gives a little indulgent smile of her own. "Was it the gossip or Lieutenant Giotto's insistent hounding that tipped you off?"

Dr. Dehner chuckles, shoulders tensing in a firm line as her perfectly manicured fingers lace together over her crossed legs. "You can pick either, you wouldn't be wrong," she states simply in a very roundabout way that Jim finds curious.

Jim grins but this time it's merely for show. "What exactly did these weekly appointments entail?"

"Camaraderie—reserved exchanges. Intimate details that she felt could not be shared with anyone else," Dr. Dehner says. "She was a tightly wound individual, highly private but desperate to cleave to some form of bond." Dr. Dehner sighs gently as she removed her glasses. "She was quite lonely."

Jim nods, taking each word with immeasurable consideration and calculation. "And these—private conversations," she words carefully as she glances quickly at Spock and then away. "What exactly did they involve? I mean—what exactly was being said?"

Dr. Dehner looks guardedly uncomfortable. "It goes against my policy of confidentiality to even consider—"

Spock interjects, "Dr. Dehner, Yeomen Smith was brutally murdered, without provocation aboard this vessel. Clinging to the notions of privacy would be illogical, even more so when any information could be of use to us."

Jim fights back an appreciative grin, but honestly she could high five her First Officer for his witty strike at Dr. Dehner's gathering excuses.

Dr. Dehner's expression goes a bit stale but she nods obligingly. "Understood," she says reluctantly. She shifts in her seat and slides her glasses on. "Kelly was a very—special case. She exhibited multiple diagnoses of Schizoid Personality Disorder, Manic Depression—not to mention delusions of reference."

Jim feels her eyebrows skyrocket. And Smith was allowed on her ship? "I'm sorry—I just—I don't seem to…delusions of reference?"

Dr. Dehner nods gravely. "Although it is highly unusual for a woman with all such psychologically diagnosed disorders to be cleared for full active duty, there are stipulations—actions, that, one could take to ensure that they are treated as fairly as possible if they were adamant about pursuing a specific position in Starfleet. Now seeing as Kelly sought to be a Yeomen, exceptions came very easily for her concerning her medical disadvantages. Hence, the reason for our weekly appointments. One of the stipulations for being cleared for active duty is that she willingly seeks counseling with a medically trained individual that could report no harmful or alarming behavior that would cause her to be discharged from her position."

Fucking Starfleet. Jim doesn't verbally express her agitation but she wouldn't put it past those stiff-necked admirals to overlook Smith's case in order to make things a bit harder for her. She takes a steady breath.

Spock says, "Lieutenant Giotto informed us of his inability to obtain a suitable statement in regards to Yeomen Smith's last moments spent in your presence."

Dr. Dehner glances back and forth between them with a regrettable sigh. "It wasn't an accident that I refused to make a statement. I don't feel comfortable having to tell you this directly but I feel it is for the best." She held up a finger and went to her work desk. She spent a few seconds rifling through her drawers before she pulled out a leather-bound journal, quickly flipping the pages. "I wrote this down, because—I had planned to approach you with my concern." She looks directly at Jim as she says, "Three hours before midnight, she came to me—frenzied and jittery—unlike any way she has ever behaved before. She would not look or speak to me directly when I inquired on her well-being. She seemed—distant. So very distant—and she wouldn't stop quoting scriptures from the bible." She looks down at her journal and continues, "Finally, at the end of the hour, she stood to leave and said, and I quote, 'He wont let me eat. I try—I try so hard but he allows no me peace. No sleep, no thought or function. He feeds off my pain, my isolation. I am consumed by his hunger—by his desire. He wants her—he wants her—has wanted her since he felt the transition of her soul into this lifetime. I pray to God for forgiveness but I pray for Captain Kirk more. I will be relieved when he frees me but I will mourn for her the burden that she will undertake in my stead.' End quote." Dehner shifts and exhales. "Well," she begins. "You should know that Kelly held the belief that she was condemned. A bargained vessel that was plagued by demonic forces."

"Possession," Jim mutters, albeit disbelievingly. "She believed she was possessed."

"Tormented, would be the way she would describe it, but yes," Dr. Dehner agrees. "She often stated she was the victim of blinded love that saw an unworthy trade for external youth for the blessing it certainly was not."

Jim suddenly feels sick. She feels sick and uncomfortably aware of her own genius that undeniably points out the connections between the pictures she found in Smith's quarters and Bones's resolutely grim medical conclusions. Smith, so in love with her husband, bargained her own soul for the one thing that would keep him in a state of happiness: her youth and beauty. The God-awful truth of it all slithers down her throat and warps her mind. She still does not believe in religious deities but she cannot deny that there is something dark at work. An unhealthy darkness that Smith willing dabbled in, along with her husband Mudd and perhaps even Mitchell.

There's no doubt that Smith's impromptu meeting was nothing but a opportunity to do—whatever Smith had intended to do. Maybe the goal had been to pull Jim herself in on that unhealthy darkness. The image of Smith's mangled body flashes across her mind, and Jim feels so fucking sick.

Spock seems to be aware of her internal struggle, because he says, "I believe that will suffice—"

"Not quite," Jim interjects with a raised hand, staving off his intervention and ignoring her own shaking nausea. She gives Spock an apologetic look and he holds his peace. "Family," she begins with a dry swallow, focusing her gaze on Dehner's small shoulders. "Did she ever talk about family? Relatives—relationships—contacts."

"Not exclusively. I really must emphasize how much of a private person she was," Dr. Dehner admits and snaps her journal close. "But there was a sister I believe. Younger, even. But my understanding of the situation is that they were at odds and had been for a number of years."

Jim considers that, making a mental note once more to contact Smith's sister personally. She presses on, "And relationships?"

"Captain Kirk," Dr. Dehner says with a confused smile. "Was is that you're trying to pry from me? I mean, with all due respect—I get the feeling you may know more than I do."

"I wouldn't exactly say that," Jim deflects, crossing her arms and holding on at the elbows before she leans forward on her thighs. Gravity pulls her blonde bangs right into her eyesight. "Commander Spock and I are only trying to narrow down a list of suspects. So it would be very helpful if you could remember if she ever at least hinted at having a husband or some significant other. At any point."

"I see," Dr. Dehner says vaguely, rubbing the middle knuckle of her index finger across the swell of her bottom lip. "Well," she inhales, crossing her legs and leaning more to the right. "She, like all young women her age, experienced a handful of sexual encounters. Healthy encounters of course, mainly with the opposite sex—not withstanding however. I could even go as far as saying that she seemed to have an aversion to long term relationships."

Yeah, no surprises there. Seeing how she was already married, that might have become a problem, Jim thinks to herself with a brief sort of bitter amusement. Obviously she wasn't all that happily married if she had no problem with cheating.

"So she had a preference for one night stands?" Jim guesses, flexing the toes of her left foot as she frowns thoughtfully.

"Sexual encounters," Dr. Dehner corrects patiently. "'One night stand' is a negative term I don't believe in endorsing when referring to the female counterpart."

Jim inhales slowly and exhales carefully. "Okay," she says simply. "Did she ever mention a—sexual encounter that might have happened between her and someone else aboard this ship?"

"I don't believe so," Dr. Dehner says before her eyes flicker over to Spock, then back again. Strange. "If so she never made mention of it. Once again—"

"She was a very private person," Jim recites with an ironic grin. She watches as Dr. Dehner nods as if to confirm the truth in her words. Jim sees this line of questioning isn't getting her anywhere. She really was only curious about if Smith had ever slipped up and mentioned Mudd, but apparently not. That tidbit is frustratingly confusing. Just what had they been playing at? She looks at Spock. "Did you have any questions?" Otherwise I'll just keep driving us in circles if you let me babble on, she mentally adds.

"With your permission, referring to Dr. Dehner's earlier statement," Spock replies. "There is an inconsistency that requires extensive deliberation."

Jim nods with a shrug. She's not sure which exact statement he's referring to but she's curious and willing to turn the conversation over to him.

Spock accepts her silent affirmation and steers his dark eyes in the direction of Dr. Dehner. "Of your encounters with Yeomen Smith, how frequently was the Captain's ill will the main topic?"

Jim feels her eyebrows lift. That was a good question. She looks at Dr. Dehner expectantly as well.

"Well she had expressed an explicit dislike towards Captain Kirk. But that was in reference to the Captain's character and behavior," Dr. Dehner explains as she laces her thinly nimble fingers together over the journal in her lap. "Let me elaborate—she never spoke of harming the Captain. She just felt very disagreeable about her and her work ethics."

Jim snorts, but says nothing when Spock and Dr. Dehner glance her way. She knew good and well how Yeomen Smith felt about her work habits seeing as how she never really applied herself all that much when it came to paperwork and applying her signature here and there.

"How common were these complaints?" Spock questions. "If you also have an average, please provide this estimate as well."

"Sometimes she spent a good five to fifteen minutes on this topic alone. This was every session. She'd describe how unbearable it felt to deal with Captain Kirk and her lack of cooperation. How Captain Kirk made things harder and slower than they had to be. Simple work related jibes. Nothing more," Dr. Dehner explains. "It's not uncommon for an individual to complain about their work or the people that they work with."

"Understood," Spock replies, monotone. "Yet you stated that she sought you out three hours before midnight, prior to her meeting with Captain Kirk with disturbing allegations. Acting unlike herself."

"Yes," Dr. Dehner says slowly. "This behavior was uncommon."

"Nonetheless, you have made it clear that Yeomen Smith frequently voiced her dislike for Captain Kirk which makes her unsavory actions not wholly irreproachable," Spock declares soundly.

Jim glances back and forth between them. Spock looks adamant while Dr. Dehner looks properly chastised. In this verbal tennis match, Spock is dominating, as he usually does. Jim is secretly envious of his oral prowess.

"Kelly Smith was not a violent individual," Dr. Dehner protests weakly. "She had no former incidents that would—"

"Was it not stated that her diagnosed conditions included multiple diagnoses of Schizoid Personality Disorder, Manic Depression, as well as delusions of reference?" Spock counters.

Dr. Dehner quietly and reluctantly nods.

"Therefore it is highly possible that a woman with conditions such as hers could easily harm not only herself but others, correct?" Spock continues.

"Yes," Dr. Dehner admits unwillingly. "Without the necessary treatment or intervention, of which, she had access to."

"Doctor, an individual can prepare for rain by facilitating the use of an umbrella but the object itself holds no guarantee of keeping the individual completely dry," Spock counters evenly.

Dr. Dehner says nothing to that, but then, "There is and was no way to ever really be sure Commander Spock. A case such as Yeomen Smith's could have gone either way. Murder, suicide or homicide was never an option, and it certainly was never a factor."

"Perhaps if it had been, then certain situations could have been avoided," Spock remarks, unapologetic. "It has come to my attention that at anytime after or during your encounter with Yeomen Smith you could have alerted either myself or the Captain to the situation. Instead, you held your silence until it was within our obligation to seek you out. As such, your misguidance, unintentional or not, has put this crew and it's Captain at risk. Unfortunately, the repercussion will be a reassessment of your competency suited to your specific field by an evaluation board of your superiors."

Dr. Dehner looks properly scolded but she still finds the energy to nod.

"If there is no dispute over the matter, the Captain and I shall take our leave," Spock decides and stands. He makes no move to actually exit until Jim has risen to her feet. "Until you are assigned a formal hearing, it would be wise to alert your patients and postpone any impending appointments until a deliberation has been made."

Dr. Dehner nods but her expression sours a bit.

"Dr. Dehner," Jim says by way of goodbye. She grabs her shoes without putting them on and turns to exit just as Dr. Dehner walks them to the door. Jim leaves silently with Spock in tow and they both drift down the corridor. She spends that silence going over everything that has just occurred and really lets it all sink in. Midway to the lift, Jim says, "How is it that you're so good at disciplining our personnel?"

Spock does not acknowledge the question until they are on the lift. Even then, he waits until after he pushes a number and tucks his hands behind his back before he responds, "I feel no apprehension on the matter of discipline. As First Officer and Commander, I must acknowledge that my position will require me to correct all errors I have identified in your stead when you have not or refuse to do such. It ensures full functionality of the ship."

"Are you trying to say I avoid disciplining my crew? Because we can go find Mitchell right now and I can prove you wrong," Jim argues and resists the urge to cross her arms and pout because that would be childish.

Spock glances at her with a quirked eyebrow. "Of that I have no doubt, but Mitchell, to date, has been the only exception," Spock remarks. "Your judgment regarding other matters of discipline elsewhere leaves much to be desired."

Jim scoffs. "Well I just—that's—" she fumbles for a response. "I disagree," she says finally. "In fact. I'm willing to wager this. I bet I can be a lot stricter and deal out the punishment that fit the crimes when the time comes to it. And you won't even have to. All you have to do is stand there and basically—continue to exist."

"Indeed?" Spock challenges, and it's amazing how he can make such flat and even speech sound skeptical. "I must disagree. Of those moments when conveying discipline was mandatory, my intervention was required 96.2 percent of the time. I also decline your challenge seeing as there is no benefit to be gained for either of us."

"No?" Jim grins just as the door to the turbolift whooshes open and they step out into the corridor. She's not sure where they are or where they're going but that moment it really wasn't priority. "What if I made it worth your while?"

"I assure you Captain, you can not make it 'worth my while'. Gambling is a disreputable habit I do not condone," Spock states in that matter-of-fact tone.

"Not even if I promised to agree wholeheartedly with your every opinion on any matter if you should win for the next three months?" Jim tempts and watches in satisfaction the telltale twitch of interest that worries Spock's brow. "Think about. If I can't manage to be the proper disciplinary by the end of this month, than it's your victory. Which means—three months of me agreeing to stay aboard the ship during our missions and leaving the excavating to our more than capable away teams. I wouldn't argue with you looming behind me like some bodyguard if I were on my way to some private meeting with one of our personnel. I would even tell you, in explicit detail, how I managed to beat the Kobayashi Maru."

"Captain, that will—" Spock hesitates and Jim can see the indecision that's threatening to usurp his usually expressionless face.

"Come on," Jim urges. "I'm giving you so much leeway here. Say yes. What's the worst that can happen? Don't answer that. Instead—think of this as like a team building exercise. A random, out of the blue and odd team building exercise. In space. And you know—it might actually teach me a lesson or something."

Spock expression slouches into something more apprehensive and there is a fleeting moment where he looks like he might even lecture her. But he doesn't. His dark eyes flicker to and fro from one end of the corridor to the other before he straightens and turns to face her directly. His clasped hands lift a little higher behind him before he asks, "And if the odds should lean in your favor? What would you require as recompense?"

Jim smothers a grin but she's sure it's fruitless. She just wants to remember this moment forever. She might actually be convincing her logical First Officer to participate in something that he wouldn't normally. God—he might not be so bad after all. "Well," she finally says, pretending to think about it very carefully even though she totally knows what she would want. "I suppose, if I were to—I don't know—win," she drawls. "You have to do two things for me."

Spock inclines his head as if to urge her to continue.

"One—stop being an uptight jerk. I mean you can lecture me or whatever, you're Vulcan and that's like a thing so I wont deny you that simple pleasure, so go ahead and join up with Bones and nag me and I'll still do what I want anyway—but don't treat me like I'm a little kid or the dirt between your toes—yes I know, another illogical metaphor but you get the gist of what I'm saying so I wont bother wasting two minutes in explaining it," Jim states without pause. "And two—you have got to help me with all the paperwork. I don't mean do it for me, I just mean help me with it because to be honest with you, if it's anything more than scribbling out my signature I am just hopeless. Like very. I kind of skipped out on that leson back at the academy. Yeomen Smith was not exaggerating about my horrible paperwork skills."

Spock considers her words for about two hiccups of silence before he, albeit a bit cautiously, says, "Very well. I agree to your terms."

"That would be wise," Jim retorts with an amused smirk. "So uh—let's shake on it." She reaches out with her left hand, one of her heels pointing at his waist like a gun and offers it, looking at him expectantly. Jim is always considerate and mindful.

Spock's brow furrows for a brief moment before he wraps his pale fingers on the pointed tip of the shoe and shakes it as if they were really touching hands.

"Awesome! So it's settled. Starting now, all disciplinary matters will fall to me until the end of this month," Jim announces and puffs out her chest with confidence. "And my first order of business will be to start with Mitchell." She turns to locate a video monitor and inquires on the whereabouts of Mitchell.

The computer replies, "Lieutenant Commander Gary Mitchell is located in Officer Training Center, deck 8."

Jim isn't surprised when she and Spock stand in the threshold of the training room some minutes later to see Mitchell doing a set of pull-ups on a metal bar several feet off the floor while a group of female onlookers sigh, coo and cheer him on. It's a miracle Jim doesn't throw up on her feet right then. But she does roll her eyes and lets her mouth sag with an unimpressed frown. That frown deepens when Mitchell spots her and smirks while he picks up the pace of his pull-ups—even going as far as kissing his biceps and winking.

"Commander Spock," Jim says between clenched teeth. "Would you do me the grandest favor of retrieving Mitchell because if I have to do it myself I will strangle him?"

"That would be best," Spock agrees with a thoughtful frown as he watches the continuous speculation Mitchell is causing and stalks forward.

Jim watches as Spock and Mitchell exchange words before Mitchell frowns unhappily and drops down from the pull-up bar, reaching for the nearest towel and rubbing it across his sweaty naked chest. God damn it, Jim hopes Spock will ask him to put on a shirt because otherwise she will sadly have a hard time concentrating on interrogating him like the criminal he is. And wouldn't that give Spock an advantage with their bet? No thanks. If Jim is anything, it's competitive.

Spock makes an indication to a shirt on the floor and Mitchell scowls but swipes it from of the floor and shrugs the white t-shirt on.

"Oh thank God," Jim mutters to herself in relief. Sometimes she really does hate her libido. It throws a wrench in her priorities sometimes.

Spock turns with an unhappy Mitchell in tow and treks back over to Jim.

Mitchell opens his mouth, most certainly to say something that Jim will want to punch him in a throat for, but she cuts him off, "This way gentlemen."

The nearest interrogation room is about two levels down and takes three minutes to get to. The entirety of those three minutes is spent in silence, and for that Jim is grateful. She unlocks the room and gestures for Spock and Mitchell to enter first before she tweaks with the access pad to activate all of the cameras and microphones in the room and enters a subroutine that allows a copy to be stored directly in the databanks of her personal PADD. She may need to go over this whole encounter later—it's best to be prepared.

Jim enters and the door whooshes close behind her as she joins Spock on the opposite side of the silver table. She sits down and Spock follows.

Mitchell—already seated—just glances around, looking bored with the entire thing already.

"Device functionality check—interior, interrogation room five—code 50234," Jim says towards the ceiling as she crosses her legs and folds her hands atop her thigh.

"Motion sensors activated—recording devices at the ready and fully operational. State your name and purpose for documentation, please," the computer chimes in return.

"This is Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise, followed by my First Officer, Commander Spock. Commander?"

"Commander Spock speaking. It is the fifteenth of April, Stardate 2253, and standard Earth time 1514. On the other side of this conversation is one Lieutenant Gary Mitchell," Spock cites, because this is standard procedure. "Of whom understands that every word stated will be weighted, correct?"

"Undoubtedly," Mitchell agrees with a slow smirk as he eyes Jim like this is a game and he's very amused by it. "Lieutenant Gary Mitchell speaking, giving full consent to the proceedings."

"Right," Jim continues, ignoring him. "Commander Spock and I would like to question you about the death of Yeomen Kelly Smith and your whereabouts during that time."

"I guessed as much," Mitch retorted as he leans back in his seat casually. "You weren't exactly being subtle when you sent your lapdog after me. What was his name? Giotto?"

"It was within his right to do so. As it was your obligation to respond," Spock states.

"I won't argue that," Mitchell says simply. "But the guy's somewhat of a bulldozer. Not very likeable." He flicks his gaze over to Jim once more, and there is something in his green eyes that says he knows about her personal opinion of Cupcake. A recently changed opinion—but the opinion nonetheless.

"Is that why you avoided giving him a statement?" Jim asks, watching him carefully. "Because he's not very 'likeable'?"

Mitchell shrugs but doesn't verbally confirm or deny.

"Where were you the night Yeomen Smith was murdered?" Jim asks instead.

Mitchell pretends to think about it before he responds, "In Venice. Eating mostacholi under the ceiling of Michelangelo's Sistine Chapel. That is to say I was actually in my quarters, resting peacefully and dreaming that I was."

"So your room logs will attest to that?" Jim asks, gaze unwavering.

"They will," Mitchell remarks confidently.

"Okay," Jim says merely.

"Is this not something that could have been stated to Lieutenant Giotto?" Spock probes in that calculating way of his. He must see the same kind of hole in Mitchell's reasoning as Jim does.

"Sure, I guess," Mitchell says with another shrug. He's being very blasé.

"Your actions, however, were contradictory," Spock considers.

"Meaning?" Mitchell drawls.

"Meaning you avoided Lieutenant Giotto like you had something to hide," Jim clarifies impatiently.

"Well," Mitchell smirks. "I apologize if it comes off that way. I assure you that's not the case."

"Then what is the case?" Jim counters. She spends a moment staring at him before she asks, "What kind of relationship did you hold with her?"

"'Her' being?" Mitchell drawls, playing it dumb.

"Yeomen Smith," Spock elaborates as his expression flattens out into something disapproving.

"Define relationship," Mitchell retorts with an amused frown. Then he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table and meets Jim's eyes. Something dark twists in his green eyes as the corner of his lips curl and he looks as if this is all one big joke. "Are you asking if we fucked?"

"Not in those exact words, if at all," Jim replies, keeping her expression neutral. Whatever game Mitchell is trying to play with her, she wont participate. "But I'm guessing by your statement, you two were familiar with each other—intimately."

"So we fucked," Mitchell says crudely with a careless shrug and leans back. "And it's unfortunate what happened to her. Really. But I didn't kill her."

"How often did you and Yeomen Smith engage in sexual relations?" Spock questions. "As accurately as you are able, provide a close estimate."

Mitchell smirks at Spock. "Just the one time," he says. "And as incredible and world-shaking as that one time might have been—nothing after that."

"And then what? You guys went back to being coworkers?" Jim prods with a thoughtful frown. "You didn't talk? You didn't interact? You just left well enough alone, is that it?"

"Well we were never friends to begin with. She was a bit uptight—outside of the bedroom that is," Mitchell says with an airy wave of his hand. "I wouldn't exactly say we knew each other before then."

"So you meet each other for the first time and what? You slept together? And then nothing," Jim guesses, trying to sort Mitchell's story out but she feels like there is something there still. The bastard isn't being all the way about it.

"That's how one night stands work right? I'm sure your no stranger to that, Captain," Mitchell clarifies with a leer.

"Lieutenant Mitchell, that is the fourth time you have spoken out of turn towards the Captain. Please refrain or you will be reprimanded," Spock warns neutrally.

Mitchell huffs out a laugh but he lifts his hands to show he's harmless.

"Are you aware that Smith was married?" Jim asks.

"No, Captain, I can honestly say I didn't. She sure never said anything when she propositioned me," Mitchell admits as he rubs a hand up and down his forearm and leans forward again.

Jim stares at him with a frown.

Mitchell must see something in her expression that causes his lips widen into a devious grin. "Oh I see," he says with a quick laugh. "You thought I propositioned her. Polite, decent, little married Kelly, yeah?"

Jim had.

"Oh that is rich," Mitchell murmurs with a grin. He flicks his gaze over to Spock and says, "You know people are always so quick to assume that it is the guy who is the aggressor. Now how does that work with women? You get to be the victims and what? We men are the brutes? Do we take accountability for everything?" He looks back at Jim. "I'm assuming you've not seen much of the femme fatal? Why is that I wonder? Does your darling face fashion monsters out of men, Captain?"

"I'm allowed to make assumptions," Jim says defensively. The truth in his words, how closely they hit home—it's making her uneasy and she's locks her heart, her emotions and her memories up as an instinctive response.

"Are you?" Mitchell murmurs, green eyes darkening and turning sharp as they fix upon her determinedly. He looks at her like he's caught her, like he's found a way in and it makes Jim uncomfortable.

Spock senses the turmoil so he interjects himself in the conversation by saying, "For all intents and purposes Lieutenant Mitchell, I must remind you the current proceedings are an examination of your character."

"That is true," Mitchell agrees with a put-upon thoughtful frown. "But I think the problem with our Captain is that she, herself, has always been on the other side of the spectrum. Chased but never chasing."

"I'm sure I disagree. And we certainly haven't spent enough time together for you to be so sure in your assumptions about me," Jim retorts with a flat frown.

Mitchell smirks suddenly, "Ah but couldn't I say the same? You and your Commander are so quick to interrogate me about Smith. But I do have to wonder where your basis is coming from?" He pauses as if to think it over and leans back in his seat. "Unless all you're preconceived notions are still rooted from our night together."

Jim's mouth tenses into a thin frown and her entwined fingers tighten around each other.

Mitchell glances at Spock with a smirk. "Or hasn't she said? Was she so quick to label me as a suspect and never mentioned once that we had a very enjoyable evening together?"

"That is irrelevant to the current proceedings," Spock replies, always one to stay on task. "You mention being propositioned by Yeomen Smith. Please elaborate."

"Not much to elaborate. She was very straightforward. Asked me if I wanted to come back to hers and I said yes. And now some weeks later, here I am, being questioned about her death," Mitchell explains. "How many times do I have to say that I didn't kill her before it actually sinks in?"

"I think there's more to you than meets the eye, Mitchell," Jim remarks and watches as both of his eyebrows lift. It was time to turn the tables and get him cornered. "How exactly did you know about Sulu's father?"

Mitchell's face flattens out into a neutral expression.

Jim grins amusedly. "I'm sorry," she says, not at all genuine in this apology but rather smug. "Is that something you don't want to talk about? Did I surprise you?"

"I thought we were discussing Smith," Mitchell mutters instead.

"Oh we are," Jim says as she leans forward confidently. "But we can come back to that. Commander?"

"Lieutenant Sulu stated that on the day the USS Enterprise was commissioned, you commented on the welfare of his father's health—information that was not only private but also scarcely known. Explain," Spock requests steadily.

Mitchell stares at Spock, then at Jim—back and forth, back and forth. "I happened to overhear—"

"Illogical," Spock interjects immediately.

Mitchell scowls. "Well then I guess I have some keen discernment," he sneers.

"Is that what you call it?" Jim questions, leveling him with a knowing gaze. "Discernment?"

"Well what would you call it then?" Mitchell asks curtly.

"ESP," Jim answers.

Mitchell's expression shudders into something dark before it altogether becomes a blank slate.

"You know I was really surprised when I had Doctor McCoy dig through your medical history for me. It's clean. Almost too clean. Too normal," Jim supposes. Her blue eyes traces over his face. "Especially so with someone of your abilities."

Mitchell stares before huffs out a bitterly amused laugh. "My abilities, she says," he echoes quietly. "Tell me, Captain. Just what do you think you know about my…abilities."

"Not as much as I'd like," Jim confesses. "For instance, I don't know how you obtained them."

Mitchell says nothing.

"Or maybe I'm wrong about it," Jim guesses. "Maybe you're more like Smith than I thought." She crosses her arms and looks at him. "Tell me, Mitchell. Do you have a special little friend inside of you?"

Mitchell's lips stretch out into a dark grin. "No, but Smith might've mentioned that she had one that wanted to get inside of you."

"What did you say?" Jim hisses.

"Oh it's nothing," Mitchell says nonchalantly. He cracks his neck and smirks again. "I'm sure you'll learn. But enough about that. I'm growing very tired of this whole thing. Either you let me go or you have your Vulcan friend perform a mind-meld on me. Either way, he won't find anything because I've done nothing. Therefore it is not within your right to keep me detained." His smirk grows. "Let's not pretend here. We both know who has the real power. Or hasn't your Admiral made it clear? Me and mine are not to be trifled with. My family has powerful friends."

"I don't give a flying-fuck about your friends," Jim snaps, angry beyond reasoning.

"Oh but you should," Mitchell chirps pleasantly. "After all, they're responsible for outfitting you with this fine vessel, and allowing you to believe that you wield some kind of authority in these intergalactic realms. But I know—oh yes—as do you and your Commander—that we live in a corrupt galaxy full of corrupt beings." He twiddles his fingers upwards as he goes on to say, "Everyone's scrabbling towards the top trying to get a taste of that power. But I know where that power lies—I have witnessed it myself. I have tapped into that deeply dark well and I have to tell you—the bottom is a lot more hollow than you know."

Jim stares at him, mouth tightening and fist clenching.

"You're so concerned with me, you're missing the bigger picture. There is a war coming," Mitchell continues. "Everyone in the galaxy knows, even your precious Federation." He leans forward very carefully. "But my question for you is—which side will you be attached to, Captain Kirk?"

Jim says nothing.

Mitchell grins fully before he leans back in his seat to say, "Why don't you and your First Officer talk? Then you can come back in here, play Captain, and he can perform a meld that will prove my innocence. And then we will all go about our merry little way. I'm sure this tête-à-tête will be the last of its kind concerning me, yes?"

Jim just gets up and storms out of the room before she can allow herself to give into the urge of leaping over that table and pounding his head into the floor. Once she's out in the corridor she breathes shakily and scrubs at her reddening face.

The door whooshes open again and closes. Then she hears a soft, "Captain."

"He's a piece of shit," Jim mutters as she straightens and exhales while she tacks her blue eyes on the lights at the other end of the corridor. She crosses her arms and holds on at the elbows. "He made us look like fools."

"His innocence may be proven true if I can find no ill will in his mind," Spock states, but not without a hint of sympathy. "It is possible that we will have to direct our attentions elsewhere."

Jim gives throaty and bitter laugh. "Yeah. Sure. Let's give him exactly what he fucking wants," she says with a careless wave of her hand.

"There may be no other alternative," Spock remarks evenly. "Furthermore, it would not be beyond us to assume that perhaps there is another among us outside of Mitchell who is to blame."

"Spock," Jim says desperately as she turns toward him. Her blue eyes meet his dark eyed gaze. "I don't want to be sensible about this. But I—I don't know what to do."

Spock considers her, along with her words, very carefully. After two hiccups of silence, he says, "You have once stated that you did not believe in 'no-win scenarios'."

Jim nods wordlessly.

"Perhaps it is time for you to learn to take defeat, so that you may rise above it and find your success," Spock advises as he tucks his hands behind him.

Jim sighs weakly as her gaze lowers. "I hate when you're reasonable," she says.

"That is illogical. You have stated before that it is my reasoning that qualifies me for my position," Spock replies neutrally. He's not showing it outright but Jim is very suspicious that he may feel very pleased with himself—which, okay, might not entirely be irrational. She's actually going to set her pride aside to follow his advice.

"Right then," Jim sighs and squares her shoulder. "Let's get this over with."

Spock inclines his head and follows her back inside the interrogation room where a smug Mitchell is waiting. Jim curls her hand into a fist at her side and says nothing when Mitchell rises to his feet before Spock and cocks his face so that Spock can perform a meld. She bites her tongue and crosses her arms, trying to clear her mind and think of nothing at all. Minutes of silence pass (Jim tries not to count them) before Spock breaks the meld and steps back. She watches the way his brows furrow in dissatisfaction and feels the bitter slab of defeat slide down her throat and cement in a hard boulder in her stomach.

"Well this was fun," Mitchell says cheerily. He looks so fucking smug. "I'll take my leave then. Dismissed am I, Captain?"

"Yes," Jim grits out and watches as he winks and exits the room. She is left in complete and utter silence with Spock. "Spock?"

"There was nothing," Spock says.

Jim sighs but nods.

Fucking perfect.

888

STARFLEET CORRESPONDENCE

HIGH PRIORITY

STARDATE 225304.15

CAPTAIN JAMES T KIRK VIA USS ENTERPRISE

ADMIRAL BARNETT OF CALIFORNIA, EARTH

Admiral Barnett,

He put us in a corner. The one try we got and we couldn't get a thing. Attached you will find an initial breakdown and a full report, from both myself and Commander Spock, of the encounter with Mitchell, as well as a vid recording.

Regards,
James T. Kirk

888

Jim and Spock spend the next two days retracing their footsteps and looking for sources outside of Mitchell. Jim doesn't say it, but she continues to access the vid recording of his interrogation on her own time, trying to find something that would solidify the gut feeling she has that Mitchell isn't all the way on the up and up. But she has a ship to look after so she doesn't allow herself to become so wound up in Mitchell. She doesn't like him anymore than she did before, and it's hard to even have him around, even on their mutual shifts. She wishes she could switch him out like they'd done Uhura, but she knows she would receive some backlash from his very powerful friends. He wasn't worth that trouble.

Speaking of backlash—Uhura hasn't been very chummy towards her as of late (and not that she'd ever been before). Not that Jim had expected she ever would, especially so since it's her signature that can be found on the duty roosters that places Uhura on an alternative shift. She's not sure where Uhura stands with Spock, and really it's none of her business, so she doesn't dwell on it. She does, however, help Spock assess a temporary replacement for Uhura as their senior communications officer. Surprisingly, they come across a relative of Uhura's. A female cousin named Kenya who has beautifully dark skin that could rival charcoal, and stunning hazel eyes that sat above two crescent moon scars sliced into both of her cheeks.

"Tribal marks," Kenya had explained cheerily with that thick and endearing Ghanaian accent when Jim had asked. Kenya kept the hair of her head closely shaved, also a tradition, mostly for women who were unmarried and had not bore a child. And she was just as lively as her wide infectious smile and mannerisms were. Jim takes an immediate liking to her and tells Spock that they need to elect her. And when they do, all in all, the ship falls back into peaceful lull.

The third day of their first official mission finds the USS Enterprise drifting above the exosphere of Alpha 177. It also finds Jim in the transporter room on this early morning with a disapproving Bones, and a very excited Leona, Riesa and Jasel (though he's pretending not to be interested). Jim—along with the kids because they were little geological scientists in their own right—mean to travel down with the two away teams (lead by Dr. Cruise with Spock shadowing) conducting the geological survey.

A minute later, Kenya strolls in the room with a wide smile and a cheery attitude. She saddles up beside Jim and says, "I heard you were among the group going down to the surface. So I come to see you off."

"Oh yeah? You know you should come," Jim suggests with a grin.

"Oh no," Kenya laughs. "I have no business with that. But I thank you just the same." She glances over at Bones. "Who is this?"

"Oh, sorry—this is my CMO Leneord McCoy," Jim introduces her scowling friend. "And Bones, this is the gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous woman I mention that not only is Uhura's cousin, replacement and complete opposite—Kenya Achebe."

"Nice to meet you," Kenya smiles.

"Pleasure's all mine," Bones replies and his scowl seems to soften into something considerate.

Jim snickers and bumps her elbow into his side. "She's single."

Bones flushes and goes right back to scowling.

Kenya just chuckles and places a hand over her lips modestly.

Jim straps a holster to her small waist, slips in her phaser and communicator (also noting how Bones glares at the action) with a grin. "You know—scowling is not going to keep me on this ship, Bones," she says.

Bones just scowls deeper. "Well you'd be all the wiser for it," he grumps and crosses his arms. "How stable is this planet anyway?"

"Stable enough," Jim supposes. "Look it'll be fine. I'll have Spock with me."

"How comforting," Bones gripes and gives Spock a mean look, which he misses because he's too busy assessing the readiness of their away teams with Dr. Cruise.

"You do not trust the Commander?" Kenya asks curiously.

Bones falters and his expression turns into something sheepish. "No, I've no doubts. But the Commander and I aren't exactly on good terms," he admits.

"Bones keeps a mean grudge," Jim adds.

"Ah, I see," Kenya murmurs softly. "Well, would it not be best to take down some security?"

"Nope. Planet's dead and it's senseless. Besides, I can hold my own," Jim assures as she watches Leona and Riesa drag Jasel up the steps of the transporter pads with enthusiastic impatience. "We're not going to be down there long anyway—temperature's dropping."

Bones whips his gaze at her and stares her down with exasperated eyes.

"It's a steady decline!" Jim promises quickly. God what is it with this man? She can't help but to love him though. "Not immediate. I repeat, not immediate. Right now it's hotter than hell, so a temperature decrease is actually welcomed."

Bones just huffs. "Still don't like it," he mutters. "Something's churning in my gut. Don't know what it is but—"

"So come with us, and you don't have to run yourself into the ground worrying about me," Jim suggests with a grin.

"No thanks, Kid. I'm fine where I am," Bones says. "You just be careful, and mind the kids."

"Munchkins one, two and three will be fine," Jim guarantees with a firm nod before she rubs her index fingers across the arch of her blonde eyebrow. "Stop worrying."

"Can't. Especially when it involves you directly. Don't know what it is about you Jim but somehow you find a way," Bones says with a fond sort of frown.

Jim smiles slowly and says, "I'm a hazard. You had your chance to run three years ago," she points out.

"Yeah and you would've ended up more worse than you are now. Be thankful I didn't," Bones retorts.

"Always," Jim says softly with a private smile.

Bones flushes and shifts uncomfortably. "Jesus, this is getting to sappy for my tastes. You just get back here in one piece and don't you touch a goddamn thing. I mean it, Kid. If I had it my way, I'd send you down in a pair of gloves and a medical mask," he grumbles.

Kenya chuckles at that and Bones smiles a little at her response.

"Whatever. You just do me a favor and keep an eye on my ship for me," Jim says as she walks backwards towards Scotty, who was overseeing the entire proceedings and orchestrating the transports with another transport operator of lower rank. "We good to go, Scotty?" she asks as she leans against the station.

"Aye. Just as soon as you and yours stand on the platform, I can send you down," Scotty confirms as he tweaks and pokes a few buttons here and there. "Yes—that should do it alright."

"Awesome. I'll spread the word," Jim says, perking up and turns to face the rest of the room's occupants. "If I can have everyone's attention for just a moment." All eyes veer in her direction and she smiles slightly. "Those of us in this room, I'm sure, are all aware of what our mission is. Fairly simple—Starfleet has ordered a geological survey of Alpha 177. Now under the surveillance of Dr. Cruise, Command Spock and myself, once we have arrived on the planet's surface, we will be splitting into two separate teams. One team goes North and East, while team two goes South and West. Sound fair?"

"Yes, Captain," voices chime simultaneously.

"Very good," Jim says with a smile. "By my estimate, we're leaving with exactly fourteen bodies—and that's exactly the same number I expect to see return aboard this ship no later than 1600. As of now it is currently 0900, which leaves eight hours in between for you to fish around. Understood?"

"Aye Captain!" everyone chimes agreeably.

"Fantastic. Scotty?" Jim says as she turns to her Chief Engineer.

"Right then—who'd like to go first?" Scotty asks and gazes around.

Jim, seeing that the Leona, Riesa and Jasel are anxious, just walks up the steps with quick wave of her hand. She stands beside Jasel and mirrors his stance by tucking her hands behind her back and straightening her spine. Not even a second later, Dr. Cruise and Spock join them on the platform.

Spock says, "Energize."

"Okay—here we go," Scotty pipes, and with the familiar whirrs of the transporter, Jim feels everything within her scramble apart, right down to her molecules, before reconnecting on the very warm surface of Alpha 177. She moves off to the side to join Jasel, Leona and Riesa who are staring up at the blood-tinged sky that reflects enough light against the both yellowed and pale rocks rising from the ground made of thick sand.

"Isn't it interesting, Lady Jim?" Leona comments excitedly.

Riesa adds, "There is no sun, yet the planet is able to stabilize its own temperatures and provide for itself the necessary amount of light."

"It's too new," Jasel frowns. "The larger rocks are just surfacing from the planet's mantle."

"The core is impressively stable nonetheless!" Dr. Cruise chimes, a tricorder in one hand, swooping to and fro like a wand as his other hand wields a PADD, which no doubt has a screen full of readings. "We can learn a lot from this," he goes on to say, voice heavily riddled with that charmingly thick Italian accent. He pauses and looks at the kids for a moment. "Would you like to help me collect samples?"

Leona and Riesa clap merrily as though Christmas had come six times over.

Jasel remains withdrawn in his reactions however, sticking close by Jim but watching his sisters saunter over to Dr. Cruise and accept the set of vials and bags for collecting samples.

"And Jasel, will you be of service to me?" Dr. Cruise asks politely as he offers the young prince a set of excavating tools, rolled up in a thick sac. "There is a certain rock here that has a strong magnetic field around it, which I'm sure to mean that it has come directly from the core. You are smart, I know you'll find no trouble of finding the one."

Jasel nods quietly and accepts the tools.

Dr. Cruise turns to Jim with an apologetic smile. "I am sorry Captain. I have no task for you. I was sworn by your good Doctor and your First Officer to not involve you in any of this."

"Don't worry about it. I'm used to it," Jim says with an exasperated grin.

"As you would be. Now if you'll excuse me, I will join heads with your Commander and we will discuss some things," Dr. Cruise states with a cheery smile and makes his way over to Spock, who happens to be directing the away teams in their assigned routes.

Jim watches them for a moment before steering her attention to her own private company.

Leona and Riesa are collecting samples like frogs, crouching down, scooping up and leaping to another point to do it all over again before they stuff their collections into a brown knapsack they are sharing between them.

Jasel tucks his excavating tools under the crook of his left arm, looking to and fro amidst the horizon. "Is this what you do, Jester?" he asks quite suddenly. "Your title gives you this much freedom?"

"This is part of what I do," Jim confesses as they keep up a leisurely stroll down a declining slope. She keeps a watchful eye of the twins to make sure they don't fall or hurt themselves. But they manage in their own way by holding onto one another. "Other parts include acting as ambassador to set up a reasonable alliance with a newly discovered race or maybe even noticing a problem that they hadn't and taking it upon myself to save them from themselves," she continues. "I think above all else, we learn. Learn all that we can about it all."

Jasel hums thoughtfully.

"And what about you?" Jim says as they go further down the sandy hillside towards fields of more protruding jagged rocks and boulders. "What does your title demand?"

Jasel grins humorlessly, quick and then it vanishes. "That is something I've wondered myself," he admits curtly. "What exactly is expected of a king?"

"Is that what you are?" Jim asks, swiping the back of her hand across the gathering sweat above her brow. It really is uncomfortably warm.

"No," Jasel denies genuinely. "Not even close to it." He sounds almost ashamed and disappointed.

"But one day you might be," Jim supposes and stumbles a bit when the front of her foot dashes against a small rock. She manages to right herself before she goes tumbling down.

"One day I might be many things," Jasel counters and glances over to where his sisters are. They are several meters away, still collecting samples happily as they follow down the decline of the sandy hill. "But no one will ever accuse me of being great."

"You're fantastic by my standards," Jim offers with a sincere smile. "Even more so then."

"I've been utterly horrid to you," Jasel reasons as he looks at her with a frown. He stumbles a bit but he doesn't fall. "And I am not as you say. I'm a pretender. I've no courage. I'm a coward. Laughable, really. They don't say it in my presence but I know there are whispers in my kingdom of how I—" He pauses suddenly with a deeper frown. "Perhaps I shouldn't say. I've probably said too much already."

"Jasel, wait just—" Jim turns and catches him by the shoulders.

"You're b-being too forward," Jasel stutters with a fierce blush. "Unhand me. I have not given you liberty to address me by my name, Jester!"

"Sorry, sorry!" Jim says and removes her hands. "I just think we should take a second and talk about what you mean. Why are you being so down on yourself all of a sudden?"

"Doesn't matter," Jasel replies stubbornly. "I saw the disappointment in your eyes not too long ago. I know it has to do with—the bad dealings that occurred on your ship. I didn't—I haven't been able to do or say much even though I know, I know of the evil that slinks in dark corners on your ship. I've felt it's anger—it's hunger. It skates around you, looking for a way in but my sisters and I have afforded you time with protective prayers and seals. I—I am useless and something will happen to you and you will be yet another I have failed to protect."

"Hey, hey—it's okay," Jim assures gently as she notices how watery his eyes are getting.

Jasel just lets a frustrated growl and storms off.

Jim sighs a bit hopelessly and lets him widen the distance. He doesn't go far though. He just chooses to stick close by his sisters. The ground begins to level off and so they don't have to be quite so careful with their footing. Jim just silently watches the three of them go to and fro, examining and touching things as she holds her peace. They all mostly don't go any further than they already have. They walk in circles and silently observe the environment around them. That silence is broken only once in a while when her communicator chirps with the voice of Spock checking up on them. Hours pass and the change of temperature are noticeable almost immediately fifteen minutes before they are scheduled to return to the ship.

The sky is darkening as well.

"It'll be time for us to leave soon, so I advise you all to wrap up your projects," Jim calls out.

Leona and Riesa look disappointed but they nod, as does Jasel. He stops at a boulder and unfolds his tools, getting to work with chipping off a sample. Jim crosses her arms and fidgets a bit, trying to squash down her growing need to pee. But her bladder's protests become harder and harder to ignore and eventually Jim is forced to give in.

"I have to pee! I'll be right over here, or there, somewhere. I'll be close but you guys don't go anywhere until I get back!" she exclaims, making a quick exit in the direction of east. She weaves her way through some rocks before she finds a comfortable spot to lower her guard and relieve her bladder. She sighs in relief as she works to make herself decent again, but frowns when she hears the unmistakable sound of growling. She wraps her fingers over the handle of her phaser and follows the sound deeper into the maze of rocks.

The growl gets deeper and more menacing but Jim can't really see the root of it. She shivers and looks around just a moment longer before deciding to give up altogether. Just as she lowers her hand away from her phaser, something tackles her from behind, sending her careening forward down another sandy slope, and she goes rolling out into a pool of yellow spores. Jim coughs and spits, trying to clear her vision of the yellow. She sits up on her knees and dusts herself off as best as she can before rising to her feet. She ends up hissing and stumbling as she feels the unmistakable sting of a gash on the bottom of her right foot.

Jim hobbles a bit to the nearest rock before she leans her weight against it and pulls the bottom of her foot up in view to assess the damage. The first thing she notices is that there is a jagged rock protruding from the underside of the heel of her boot. She wraps her hand around it and yanks it out, slicing the skin of her palm open because the rock is so sharp. She throws it off to the side and groans when a fountain of blood starts seeping out of, not only her shoe, but down her hand as well.

It hurt, of course it did, but Jim masters pain better than most. She just isn't looking forward to the verbal thrashing Bones was sure to give her. She sighs and clonks the back of her head against the boulder holding her up. Then suddenly, she hears the growl again.

Jim doesn't hesitate to whip out her phaser this time. But instead of some large beast, she's met with a small ball of brown fur and a porcelain horn. "What the hell are you?" she asks. "A unicorn? A dog? A uni-dog?"

The little thing just growls and barks.

"You look like a Pomeranian," Jim says and lowers her gun slowly before putting it away. "You either really were born that way, or your ancestors must have been unicorns and dogs. Now wouldn't that be strange?"

The foreign creature cocks its head.

"So were you the little shit that knocked me down?" Jim asks and watches as it watches her mouth closely, most likely not comprehending her words. "That wasn't very nice of you, Fuzzy. I'm all beat up now."

Fuzzy just barks and shifts his head in the opposite direction. His ears twitch as he growls and begins backing up towards Jim.

"What? What is it now?" Jim mutters as she shifts her blue eyes over to the direction where Fuzzy is growling at. She sees nothing but after a moment or two, the ground begins to shake. Then she spies a glimpse of a huge outline covered in black fur, practically ten times as big as the planet's largest boulders and five times as wide. Jim would almost mistake this beast for a bear, but in actuality, it's just a Godzilla-sized Pomeranian with red eyes, larger horns and huger teeth. Actually it has a huger everything. "Shit, fuck, damn," she stutters.

Fuzzy barks and Jim quickly grabs the thing, using her bloody hand to muzzle him. She hobbles as quickly as she can behind the boulder and crouches down low. A ground shaking growl begins to reverberate through the forest of rocks and is soon followed by a disturbing howl.

"Damn it, damn it, damn it," Jim whispers. She looks down at Fuzzy and says, "Why couldn't you just be the average size? Now come to find out that you're the fucking baby?"

Fuzzy growls and wiggles fiercely in her grip.

Jim shushes it before groping herself for her communicator. When she finds it, she quickly flips it open and whispers, "Kirk to Enterprise."

"Enterprise here," Scotty replies. "But why are you whispering?"

"Shh," Jim hisses and closes her eyes as she hears another sharp howl. When it quiets, she exhales and continues to whisper, "Scotty, I need you to do me a tremendous favor okay?"

"Aye?"

"I want you to beam everyone aboard the ship, now as in right now," Jim instructs.

"Well I can do that but you still got a good five minutes to go by," Scotty points out.

"Don't care, just—" Jim pauses and glances around the corner of the rock. She sees nothing. "Just beam everyone aboard now and leave me for last."

Scotty hesitates but eventually responds. "Aye, Captain."

"Kirk out," Jim snaps her communicator shut before tucking it away. She looks down at Fuzzy, who's gone quiet. "I'm guessing that large monster was your momma and she's looking for you. So I'm going to be nice and return you to her. I'll put you down, and you just go on." She sets Fuzzy on the ground.

Fuzzy tromps only a few feet away before stopping and just barking at Jim.

"You little fuck," Jim hisses and tosses a rock at it. "Go away!"

Fuzzy barks.

Jim throws another rock and shoos it off. The ground starts shaking again and a loud growl begins to echo. Jim wastes no time with fumbling to her feet and hobbling in the opposite direction. It gets harder to do when the ground begins rumbling even more with the unmistakable footsteps of Big Momma Fuzzy. But as luck would have it, it's the moment Scotty decides to beam her aboard and out of harms way.

Jim wavers a bit in the blinding light of her own molecules reaffixing and rematerializing themselves in the correct order. The light dims before disappearing altogether and it doesn't take long for her to figure out that something is wrong. Jim frowns at the wide-eyed and shocked stares she receives and fidgets when her uniform feels a little too tight. She looks down to see her chest is completely flat.

Jim's hands fly up to her chest in confusion before they drift up to her face and eventually her hair. "What—the fuck?" she mutters and chokes on her own words when she notices how deeper her voice sounds.

Spock walks up the steps of the transporter platform, dark eyes assessing her quickly. "Fascinating," he says.

"What is?" Jim says with exasperation.

Bones takes that moment to enter the room and clarify with a, "Good God woman! You're a man!"

Jim pales and wavers a bit. She accidently fumbles onto her injured foot causing a sharp and white-hot pain to shoot up her entire leg. She cries out and falls to her knees before falling unconscious.

888

The first thing Jim says when she (no—not she anymore) he regains consciousness is, "I want a mirror."

Bones, being right there at his bedside and continually scanning him from head to toe, hesitates before he nods and goes in search of one.

This leaves him alone with Spock, who stands ramrod straight at his immediate left, watching him with curiously dark eyes. He says nothing otherwise but he does glance down at his injured foot, which is wrapped in white bandages. He doesn't feel it, not even when he struggles to upright himself. When he finds a comfortable position, he looks at his hand. The cut across his palm is gone, which means Bones must have used a regenerator to restore the skin.

Wow this is going to be exhausting thinking of myself as a guy, Jim muses silently with an ironic grin.

Bones returns but he doesn't immediately hand the mirror over.

Jim rolls his eyes. "Just—I won't pass out again. I'm prepared," he assures.

Bones looks skeptically but he carefully surrenders the mirror.

Jim flips it upright and stares.

Odd. Very odd.

It's more like looking at a stranger—a very male stranger.

Jim frowns and watches the masculine features of his face slouch into it. His hair's a lot shorter than it was—still blond though—still thick enough to cover the scar. His eyebrows are thicker and his nose is wider. Also his lips are a lot bigger and full. Well isn't that an injustice? The only thing that seems familiar is his eyes. They are still as blue and as sharp as ever. That's the only thing that feels like it's really her. Everything else—well, it's all new.

Jim reaches under the covers and gropes himself unashamedly. "Hm, not bad," he praises with a cocky grin.

Bones rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

"I mean—worse to worse, I could've turned out ugly," Jim points out as he turns his head to and fro studying his reflection. "I'm actually a really good looking guy if I do say so myself." He smiles at his reflection and rests a hand in the middle of his broad chest. "Hm," he says and looks down at his bare chest and flexes the muscles in his arms. "Well, well, well," he grins as he continues to flex. "I get why you guys do this," he comments.

Nurse Chapel chooses that moment to make an appearance and hand Jim a fresh cup of water.

Jim grins, flexing a little more and says, "What do you think?"

Nurse Chapel takes a moment to really consider Jim before she replies, "I liked you just fine how you were before." Then she pauses before leaning in and lowering her voice, she whispers, "But this certainly isn't a bad improvement either." She runs a hand down Jim's broad chest. Bold move. "Offer still stands, you know. I'll be more than happy to help you sort everything out." She pulls back and walks away without a backwards glance.

Jim shifts and clears his throat quickly. He might actually be developing his first hard-on. How exactly did guys keep that under control?

"What was that all about?" Bones asks with a raised brow.

Spock lifts an inquiring eyebrow as well.

"Nothing," Jim lies, and his voice splits into two different pitches and it's the weirdest thing. He clears his throat. "Now is this permanent or what? How did this even happen?"

"As far as I can tell it's not," Bones admits. "Apparently you were exposed to some magnetic ore that, with the help of that damnable transporter, scrambled your DNA and your hormones and rewired you from the inside out. I'm guessing that lovely gash on your foot and the cut on your hand are the doorways that let the little yellow menace in and screw everything up."

"You found it in my blood work didn't you?" Jim asks with a wince.

"Just be glad that it'll circulate out of your system by the end of this month without leaving or causing anymore repercussions in its wake," Bones explains with a solemn scowl. "Now just how the hell did you manage all this anyway?"

Jim quickly outlines the story for them.

Bones scoffs. "Only you, Kid. Only you," he mutters with a fond shake of his head.

Jim shrugs in a 'what can you do' kind of way.

"Your foot should mend itself by the end of the week with the help of this ointment." Bones plops down a white tube in his hands. "Until then, try and stay off of it as much as you can."

"Got it—no marathons," Jim says in mock seriousness. He carefully slides to the edge of the biobed before standing. "So I'm free to go?" He doesn't wait for an answer; he just walks over to the other end of the room where there is a black (male) uniform waiting for him.

Bones open his mouth but Spock interjects, "Doctor—you are sure that the Captain is of optimal health?"

"Sure as sure. I've run the tests a dozen times over. Not much I can do for her at this point. Hell, if she wasn't allergic to penicillin I would've spoon-fed it to her to speed along the process and get her back to the way she was by morning," Bones admits with a frown. "But Jimmy is a special peach and so I've gotta let her body do what its wants on its own."

"Awe, Bones! You think I'm a special peach?" Jim crows from behind a medical curtain as he shoves himself in his uniform.

"That ain't a compliment, Kid!" Bones snaps sourly.

Jim pouts. Spoilsport.

"Now do you see why I asked you not to let her out of your sight?" Bones grumps at Spock before stomping off and attending to his other patients.

Jim (now fully dressed) exhales and runs his hands down his chest to smooth out his uniform, making his way towards the exit with a nod at Spock. "See you later, Bones!" he calls.

"And no sooner!" Bones demands in utter seriousness.

Jim just chuckles and exits the sickbay. "I am starving. Seriously, I feel like I haven't eaten in weeks. What's that all about?" he wonders aloud.

"The increase and change of hormones your body has undergone has elevated your metabolism which in turn has increased your appetite tenfold," Spock explains in that lecturing tone of his.

"Okay, that I can see," Jim agrees and just beams when his crew tosses him startled and confused looks. "What time is it? Where are the kids?"

"The current time is 1832. And Dr. Cruise volunteered his time and escorted the children to the Mess Hall once Doctor McCoy assured them of your well-being," Spock states.

"That's convenient for me," Jim mutters as they enter the turbolift and descend a few levels. A moment later, they wind up in the Mess Hall. After Jim spots the kids, he gets to work with filling his tray with several dishes of food and joins them.

Spock accepts the invitation to join them and immediately engages in a conversation with Dr. Cruise about their findings.

Jim graces Jasel, Leona and Riesa with a quick smile before he gets to work with devouring his food. He receives all manner of curious stares from the Mess Hall's company.

"Lady Jim?" Riesa says shyly.

"It's Lord now," Jasel says with a humored smirk.

"Does it hurt?" Leona asks as she pokes Jim's cheek. "You made a cry as if it did."

"M'fine," Jim mutters, mouth full of brown rice and broccoli and French fries and green jello.

"Ugh, I see your appalling manners haven't changed," Jasel notes with a disgusted twist of his nose.

Jim just smiles at him and carries on eating.

"She's so quiet," Riesa observes.

"Her food is bewitching her. She's never been this enthusiastic about eating," Leona deducts and leans her head in her hand as she continues to watch Jim.

Riesa does too and even Jasel seems unable to resist watching.

Dr. Cruise pauses his conversation with Spock for a moment to observe his captain. He laughs and amusedly says, "Ah to be young with such an appetite. I can almost remember it well."

Jim nods but keeps his head low and continues to shovel food into his mouth.

"But perhaps Commander, you should warn our Captain of the repercussions of over-indulgence," Dr. Cruise suggests as his handsome face slouches in a concerned frown. "I've not seen her breathe yet."

Spock also studies Jim with a frown. "Dr. Cruise is correct, Captain. You should ease yourself into this transition."

Jim stops suddenly and makes a pained face.

Everyone watches him closely.

Then suddenly, Jim lets out an alarming long and obnoxious belch.

Leona and Riesa laugh, as do a handful of others in the Mess Hall before a series of clapping breaks out.

Jim chuckles sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck before he stands and gives a showy bow and wave. The clapping and laughter dies down and Jim plops down in his seat and pushes his tray full of empty dishes away.

"I think that's the most I've ever eaten in a lifetime," he admits and eyes the tray with a thoughtful look.

"Ah, yes, women don't normally indulge as much as we do," Dr. Cruise says with twinkling eyes. "I do feel this experience will be good for you. Now if you'll excuse me, I have some matters to attend to. Buona notte e buona sorte a voi!"

Leona and Riesa wave happily as Jasel inclines his head in a silent farewell.

"Commander Spock, we will be in touch," Dr. Cruise says before going off. He almost bumps into a sprinting Chekov but manages to avoid it.

Chekov spouts a few apologies before he turns his frantic gaze over the Mess Hall. He spots some familiar faces and dashes over to Commander Spock. "Commander! I have news! Where is the Keptin? She must see this too," he exclaims.

"I'm right here, Chekov," Jim says with a rueful grin.

Chekov's eyes widen. "Yomayo!" he exclaims. "Keptin? I—was hearing rumors but—ah they are true!"

"Yes in this case they are," Jim acknowledges. "What have you got for us?"

"Ah yes," Chekov says, refocusing his attention as he reveals his PADD. "Is news report. Something has happened on Earth." He sets his PADD face-up in the middle of the table and opens up an application that caters to viewing the news in real time.

Jim frowns and leans forward—as does everyone else.

Chekov increases the volume.

A petite woman with fire engine red curls stands outside on the streets of the almost completely destroyed marble ruins of the Federation Supreme Court. "—amidst reports of a premeditated attack against Earth led by what many believe were a group of Romulan extremists, joined with a pair of Klingons. Again, we are just now getting words that the bodies are still being recovered from piles of rubble and wreckage. They haven't been identified but many people are aware that some of council's more important members were convening together to discuss Earth's possible stance with Romulan and Klingon empires. Earlier this week President Sanara Dadari made a direct statement in regards to peace dealings with the Romulan Empire."

The screen switches to a conference room full of reporters and President Sanara Dadari is at the front of it all behind a podium with the Federation Seal. She glances down and says, "I would like to take the time to let it be known that I, as well as many others of the Federation Council, the collective members of the Vulcan race, along with Starfleet, do not hold the Romulan Empire accountable for the bad tidings brought upon us and towards us by Nero. He has made a clear indication that he stood apart as a nonnegotiable war criminal. So I will go a step further by saying we absolutely are open to the possibility of reaffirming our treaties and dealings of peace with the Romulan Empire, should they have us. As always, at this point we are just contemplating over ways of how to do such."

The screen switches back to the redhead. "As you can see, an attack such as this is not only jolting to the general public but also alarmingly confusing. Thomas?"

The screen switches to a news studio with a white haired man with a pristine suite and milky white teeth. "This is certainly unsettling. Joining me now, via vid conference from his home in San Francisco, I have Professor Hurst, who not only teaches but specializes in understanding war from every viewpoint. Professor Hurst, what have you to say about all this? Is this a clear indication of war? And if so, by who?"

In a square above the anchormen's shoulder is a surly looking man with thick-framed glasses and an unshaven face. There is an awkward pause before he attempts to speak, "Well Tom, I can certainly speculate as I have been for the last thirty odd years about what is going on." He pauses to let out a humorless chuckle as he readjusts his frames. "Uh you know—I would have to say I wasn't surprised by this attack. And though I wish I could say more, I have those that would not take so kindly to me saying all that I know. They would call me crazy, foolish and all manner of insults to decrease my credibility when in truth I know exactly what I'm talking about. And honestly I think the general public doesn't need me to say it either because the evidence, Tom, the evidence is right in front of their faces." He adjusts his glasses again. "I tell my students all the time that war is, was and never will be something that just springs on a certain race or empire. The day we are surprised and baffled by an attack like this is a day that saddens me because we should never be so shocked. Fact of the matter is that there were omens preluding to the event and we choose to keep our eyes averted and our ears shut until we are forced to pay attention. You think we're at peace? You think all is well—but evidence continues to show us the contrary. The last thing I'm gonna say about this and then I wont say anymore is that if you think this the last attack of its kind then you're sorely mistaken. Starfleet along with the Federation are fully aware of what they have to do but they refuse to do it. Why? Because it requires the backing of the general public and specific funding."

The anchormen nods with a solemn frown. "Wow, truly insightful. Thank you Professor Hurst. We're going to take you back to the Federation Supreme Court where just hours ago a horrendous attack has taken place and for those of you just joining us—authorities are merely speculating on what type of weapon or device was used to nearly eradicate the interior of the Supreme Court. We have, Delilah, our onsite reporter keeping us updated. Delilah?"

The red-haired reporter answers, "Yes, Tom. The body count it seems just continues to spike and so far only human bodies are being identified—"

Jim can't stand to hear anymore. He jumps to his feet and storms out of the Mess Hall, barking out a quick, "Don't follow me!"

Jim curses under his breath and tries to keep his temper under control, but it seems that his change of anatomy makes that very hard to do. So he counts to ten as he enters the turbolift and lets it escalate until it stops on the right level. When the door whooshes open, Jim doesn't waste anytime striding down the hall and stopping in front of a door. He uses his override code and enters without warning, taking Mitchell by the front of his shirt and pulling him off a half-naked woman Jim vaguely recognizes.

Jim slams Mitchell into his dresser as his companion shouts in alarm. "Leave!" he orders.

The woman grabs her clothes and stumbles out into the corridor, leaving them alone.

"Alright Mitchell talk. What do you know?" Jim demands once the door whooshes close, solidifying their privacy.

Mitchell smirks slowly. "I'm sorry—have we met?" he asks instead.

Jim growls and slams him into the dresser again. "Don't act cute. There was an attack at the Federation Supreme Court and my gut's telling me you know something," he growls.

"A little breathing room please, Captain," Mitchell calmly says.

Jim glares at him before he backs off and puts several steps of space between them. He ignores the ache in his injured foot.

"So something's happened has it?" Mitchell goes on to say in a completely and utterly frustrating conversational tone. He turns and approaches his replicator. "May I tempt you with a drink?"

"No," Jim snaps and watches Mitchell closely.

Mitchell just smirks wordlessly and grabs a glass for himself as he replicates some kind of clear fizzy liquid. Most likely soda. "Tell me, Captain. What makes you so sure I know something? Not that I'm not flattered that I am continually the center of your speculation—but I do wonder."

"It might have to do with that comment you made about war," Jim clarifies impatiently as Mitchell makes himself comfortable in his chair behind his work desk. "And now it's all that's being said and discussed on the universal news."

"Is it? Shame that," Mitchells tsks as he lifts his glass to his lips. "Well since you've made the effort to come and ask me my thoughts on the matter, I'll do you justice by giving you a bit of advice. Maybe you shouldn't be interrogating me—instead you should be asking those darling children of yours." He lowers his green eyes to the rim of his glass. "Need I remind you just where we found them?"

"And what makes you so sure that they have the answers I'm looking for?" Jim counters as he clenches his hand into a fist.

"Oh, I don't know. Blame my…abilities," Mitchell remarks with a sly grin. "And also to the fact that I pay attention. As do you. We've all made our theories haven't we?"

"What are you playing at?" Jim asks.

"Nothing," Mitchell laughs. "I'm not the bad guy. The sooner you figure that out, the better for all us."

Jim says nothing. He just turns to leave.

"I must say, this new look suits you, Captain," Mitchell taunts just as Jim exits out his door.

888

Jim is in a terrible mood. He shoulders this impossibly bad mood, and rather than returning to his quarters and inflicting the children with it, he decides to stow himself away in one of the ship's observation lounges. He isn't sure which one this is and he doesn't particularly care. He just sits in the dark facing the bay window that gifts Jim with the sight of the darkened planet of Alpha 177. His mind is a mess of unorganized thoughts, causing his need to sulk in silence to grow beyond reason.

This is how Spock finds him.

"No offense, Spock, but I'm not exactly looking for company right now," Jim mutters as he hunches further in his seat.

"I do not mean to disturb you, but my father is rather insistent that we speak with him," Spock says.

Jim feels his mouth tighten unhappily but he sits up with a nod. "Computer, lights to seventy percent."

The lounge becomes a lot more visible.

Jim carefully stands to his feet, mindful of his injury, and ventures over to the view screen that sits against the bulkhead on the other end of the lounge. Spock joins him (keeping a safe distance between them) just as he boots up the screen and sends out a connection.

Sarek appears on the screen some seconds later, holding his hand up in the standard Vulcan greeting but his eyes immediately tack onto Jim.

"Sarek," Jim greets sullenly.

"James," Sarek returns, dark eyes colored with concern as his brows furrow. "Is this another result of your allergic reactions?"

"Uh, no. This is—actually something different altogether," Jim explains and rubs the back of his neck.

"Yes, so my son has said," Sarek murmurs thoughtfully. "May I be so bold as to assume you have heard the events that transpired on this day at the Federation's Supreme Court."

"We have been enlightened to the situation by one of our personnel," Spock answers.

Jim says nothing of it. It only reminds him of why he was sulking in the first place. He chooses to just watch the exchange between Sarek and Spock with a bit of curiosity.

"It is most disconcerting," Sarek states evenly. "I wonder if it would be remiss of me to lay the blame with the Romulans. I sense we have come to a time where they may no longer be reasoned with."

"I too share this opinion," Spock confesses. "I doubt, however, Starfleet, as well as the Federation, will come to a firm stance on the matter until it is too late."

"Yes," Sarek agrees. "This is why I have taken it upon myself, along with the aid of your older counterpart, to quickly sort out a suitable home for our people so we may extract ourselves from the mounting tension."

Spock frowns as does Jim. He says, "Father—you mean to—"

"We have no place in the midst of these things," Sarek states firmly. "Perhaps in times pass when our numbers were far greater we could have offered our allegiance, but this is not so now."

Jim feels his frown deepen.

"I see," Spock merely says, with no inflection whatsoever. It's hard to tell what he's thinking—his face is completely free of any expression. "You will not begrudge me if I should—"

"I would not," Sarek interjects. His gaze flickers over to Jim and then back. "I've long since known where you would stand."

"You are assuming too much," Spock says distantly.

"I am not," Sarek disagrees, meeting his stubborn son's unwavering glare. There is a moment where he turns his gaze away to just silently observe Jim considerably. "James—what is the matter?"

"Nothing," Jim denies and tries to straighten out the frown on his face.

"Deceit is unbecoming," Sarek says disapprovingly. "I would not ask unless I knew without doubt my son would refuse to do so."

"Father—" Spock sounds affronted.

"Quiet yourself," Sarek says and cuts Spock with a sharp gaze that silences him. "Speak your mind," he says as he looks back towards Jim.

Jim hesitates for a long while but Sarek waits patiently. "I don't know," he finally says. "I don't know because there are many things that feel wrong."

"This is to be expected, however, you are more than suited to your position," Sarek states informally. "You need only to give yourself time to find the solutions you seek. Not all things can be found within an immediate interval."

Jim nods wordlessly.

"I also surmise that this—transformation has taken its toll on you. Not only physically but emotionally," Sarek deducts. "Allow yourself time to adjust."

"I don't have delicate sensibilities," Jim says suddenly, feeling very aggrieved by Sarek's coddling.

Sarek's dark eyes look somewhat amused.

"I don't," Jim repeats insistently.

"Very well," Sarek states.

Jim doesn't believe that he really means that for a second.

"You have discussed the bond?" Sarek questions and sweeps his gaze between them.

When Spock makes no move to reply, Jim does, "Yes. But not exactly in the way we might have wanted. And I would have appreciated some warning." He gives Sarek a meaningful look that does not go unnoticed.

"I did not wish to intrude," Sarek says cordially.

"Really?" Jim counters skeptically.

"The hour grows late. I require meditation," Sarek says instead. "It would be wise for you to seek rest, James. Let your mind untroubled. Spock—do not take everything to heart. I only mean well."

Spock's brows furrow but his shoulders relax.

"I trust you will come to the right end of things," Sarek goes on to say before he lifts his hand. "I suspect I will be in communication with the two of you soon?"

Jim nods.

"Indeed. Peace and long life," Sarek says.

Spock mirrors the gesture. "And to you as well, father."

Jim gives a weak wave and the view screen goes blank. Five hiccups of silence pass before he says, "Did you mean that?"

Spock glances at him with a raised brow.

"About—sticking with us. If worst comes to worst," Jim elaborates.

"Yes," Spock replies.

"You know I don't think anyone would blame you if you decided to step outside of things and join your people," Jim remarks. "I certainly wouldn't," he adds quietly.

Spock inclines his head before he redirects his gaze forward. "There have been many times where I had to decide which path to take," he notes. "But I believe it will always be my choice to make, and I sense that it would be remiss of me if I did not do all that I could to save the planet that at one time was home to my mother."

"Also understandable," Jim murmurs.

"If you will excuse me, Captain, I require meditation as well." Spock turns to exit, but pauses in the doorway to announce, "Captain, concerning our wager—I believe the odds still remain in my favor." Then he leaves Jim alone.

Jim hums begrudgingly. Well that certainly wouldn't do. He squares his shoulders and decides to make a few rounds down in the lower levels of the ship. There are always errors to be found there. Because if Jim is anything—male or female—it's competitive.

888

Author's Note: Okay, so I realize it has been a loooong time since I updated. I just want to take a moment to really say how grateful I am to all my readers for your encouragement and patience. I especially want to thank GUEST, who badgered me but reminded me that this little thing had a purpose. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed it and it would do my heart good to know what ya'll think. Please comment.