Author's Note: Chapter thirty of 'Home' is taking awhile, just because it kind of is, so I put together this little collection of bits and ends that are basically just snippets of stray thoughts. Most are K/S, but some aren't. Also, most are funny, but some aren't. Hope you enjoy! Oh, and in the first snippet, the etymology is completely made-up, but the definition is true. Pronounciation's a guess.
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Main Entry: T'hy'la
Pronunciation: t-hai-la
Function: Noun
Inflected Forms: N/A
Etymology: Old Vulcan, from t'hy, meaning 'comrade'.
1: An unrelated male with whom one shares a close personal tie.
2: A term of endearment between two men engaged in a committed sexual relationship.
Common Translations: friend, brother, lover.
Spock found that he had a certain affinity towards the older words of the Vulcan language. They were the only native terms from his culture which seemed to apply to the majority of his relationships onboard the Enterprise. Sometimes he wondered if his humanity didn't bring him a little closer to the heart of Vulcan nature, which held a certain curiosity to him, even as dangerous and destructive as it could be. The savagery of Vulcan's past, which had nearly obliterated his people long before Nero had made his own effort, so strangely provided him with a peaceful contentment in its words.
"T'hy'la."
Jim looked over at him. "Yup?" he asked.
What a strange collection of complexities lay here.
---
"Hey, Chekov," Kirk asked, during one of those quiet shifts on the bridge, when they were in warp and there was nothing particularly pressing to do. A few quiet conversations had cropped up here and there. Sulu was in the process of seeing if he couldn't calculate a faster flight path for them, and the young ensign was glancing at the view screen rather contemplatively when the captain spoke up.
"Yes, Keptan?" he asked, turning back in his seat a little bit.
Leaning forward, Kirk fixed him with an intent look. Chekov wondered if this was going to be one of those times when the captain got An Idea, and they wound up doing things like slipping through alternate dimensions or defying standard warp mechanics. He hoped so. It was starting to get very boring.
"I've been wondering for a while – why do you have so much trouble pronouncing 'v' sounds? At first I thought it was your accent, but I was talking to Uhura and she said that most Russians have troubles with 'w', not 'v'. So what gives?"
Chekov shifted a bit, slightly embarrassed and a little uncomfortable. He coughed.
"That is not my accent, Keptan," he replied. "It is a speech impediment."
"Ohhh."
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"Traditionally, Captain, given that I am both taller and older, I would appear to be the more suitable candidate."
"Yeah, but I'm the captain, so it should be me. Plus you're the peace-loving vegetarian with the delicate hands."
"I am also in possession of considerably greater physical strength than you. Again, in a traditional setting, that would qualify myself for the position. Additionally, you are the more aesthetically appealing individual between us."
"Oh no you don't, you're the pretty one. And besides, I'm more experienced. It should be me."
"It appears that we are at impasse."
"Maybe we should ask someone else," Jim suggested. Then he leaned over to the table next to them, and grabbed Dr. McCoy by the shoulder. "Hey, Bones?"
"Yeah?"
"Who should top tonight, me or Spock?"
"…Goddamn you straight to hell, Jim! I can't believe that's actually what you two were talking about! My brain, man, my brain! Do you know how important thinking is to my line of work?! I hope you die of some latent sexual disease that's been incubating in your body since you were sixteen! Die in a painful agony of screaming fire!"
"Okay, Bones, but that doesn't answer the question."
---
Uhura knew what it was like to be lonely. She was a friendly young woman, bright and intelligent, graceful and lovely. It often earned her a great deal of resentment from her peers. There was a whole package, and she had it – which, in theory, should have made her the most popular girl in her class. In reality, it meant that the smart girls resented her looks, the dumb girls resented her intelligence, no one understood her interests, and most of the guys she met were either intimidated to no end or else only wanted one thing.
So she knew what it was like.
Her gaze drifted across the restaurant, over to a small corner where her linguistics instructor was sitting, eating alone for the hundredth time she'd noted since the year began. He was solemn, massively intelligent and exuded 'unapproachable' qualities left and right. His eyes remained fixed on his plate, and he gave no outward sign of sorrow or discontentment.
Making up her mind, she glanced once around the restaurant, and its crowd of cadets, and then made her way over to his table.
There was an obvious cure for two people suffering from loneliness.
"Hi. Would you mind if I joined you?"
---
"I love you, Jim."
Jim sighed, and picked his friend up off of the floor of his dorm. "Yeah, Bones, I love you too," he said, shifting the older man so that he was lying on his bed. It was an awkward angle, but it was still probably more comfortable than the floor. Bones' roommate was busy ignoring them, earplugs jammed in and head bobbing as he apparently didn't give a shit that the doctor he shared living space with was trying to give himself alcohol poisoning.
"It's Joanna's birthday today. Did you know that?"
"No, but I probably should have guessed."
This really wouldn't do. Jim didn't know Bones' life story well enough to keep track of all of these drink-inducing anniversaries, and it was pretty hard to keep track of him when they didn't have any classes together.
With a sigh, he turned to look at the head-bopping moron on the other side of the room.
This was going to suck. He actually had a single. He'd drawn the lucky straw at the beginning of the year, dammit!
"Hey," he said. The guy ignored him. Annoyed, Jim strode forward, and yanked on his earplugs, pulling them loose.
"What the fuck, asshole?!" he snarled.
"Yeah, yeah, I'm messing with your shit. Listen. How would you like to have a single dorm?" Jim asked.
Well, somebody had to keep his friend from accidentally choking on his own vomit one of these days. After all, Jim only had the one of him.
---
The trick, Sulu decided, was getting the constant beam of energy to work without overloading the power circuits. There was a lot of potential here for blowing his hand off. But for some reason, the idea just compelled, and somehow or another it had come up over lunch with Chekov and Scotty, and now half of Engineering and a good quarter of the science department was in on it.
There were many bated breaths as he stood in the middle of the rec room.
"Go on, then," Scotty said.
Sulu nodded. Steeling himself, he held out his arm and hit the button on the side of the cylindrical device in his hand. There was a pause. Then an electronic zing and hum, and an orange-red beam of phaser light extended from the end, holding its intensity in the approximate length and width of a sword.
There were 'oooh's, as well as several premature applause.
Then the handle overheated, burning against his palm, and with a curse, Sulu dropped the thing before it could explode in his grasp. The beam cut out. Everyone ducked and covered as a sharp whine filled the air, and the entire mechanism blew in a sudden burst of exploding parts.
Fortunately, the only damage done was a large scorch mark on the rec room floor.
After a moment of silence, there were several disappointed sighs.
Back to the drawing board again.
---
"There is one thing I must know," Spock said, as he stood with quiet intensity across from his alternate self.
"Then you may inquire, although I cannot guarantee I will answer," the older half-Vulcan replied.
"Romulus was to be destroyed because its sun was going supernova. Correct?"
"That is correct, yes."
"And your plan was to prevent this by injecting red matter into the supernova before it could destroy the planet. Also correct?"
"Indeed."
"May I ask how you intended for Romulus to then survive without its sun?"
"…No."
---
He kept seeing them. Everywhere he went. It was like they were unavoidable. Even down in the depths of his beloved Engineering, they haunted him, appearing at random in the oddest places and with no apparent cause. They simply were.
"Mr. Scott…" one of the lads said, and he glanced at him, knowing – as they all knew – to what he was referring.
"We'll just have to work around them, Ensign. It's part o' the job," he instructed, and everyone knew it was true. But they also knew that if there was a man who could find a way to get rid of them once and for all, it would be the chief engineer.
"Bloody lens-flares," Scotty grumbled, as another one glinted off of his console and forced him to squint one of his eyes shut.
---
…Nero?
He stood outside the captured shuttle. Its smooth Federation hull, outdated and bland, was starkly contrasted by the glittering darkness of the Narada. The ramp was lowered, revealing its interior, and the captured passengers within it. It was the third they'd managed to pull in with their long-range tractor beam, before the rest escaped. He'd already been to through the other two. Doing by hand what their damaged weapons systems hadn't been able to accomplish from a distance.
Don't be gone too long this time.
The cowering medical personnel inside were pathetic to him. Even if they did not truly cower. Even if they stood, as Starfleet officers would, with a kind of rigid bravery to see things through. They had no chance. They were weak, spineless creatures, creatures of the Federation which had promised to help them, but had failed in that promise. How foolish the Empire had been to put their faith in a former enemy.
Of course the Federation would not have helped. They would only make it look as though they had tried.
Remember, when you get back…
He stepped aboard the ship, ignoring the words spoken to him, requesting his mercy, his reasoning. He had neither of those things left. They had died in the flowering explosion of Romulus, along with everything he had ever known, or held dear. His fellow miners walked just beside him. Equally grim. Equally enraged. They would take their hatred in the blood of these Federation officers, little though it would be in comparison to their pain.
He raised his phaser and fired, the cabin of the shuttle filling with cries, the flash of light and the scent of burnt flesh. First the medical officers. Then he turned to the woman lying on the stretcher, pale and worn, her hair clinging to her face in yellow strands as she remained unconscious, lost in her exhaustion. He heard the baby's crying. He knew what this was.
You're going to be a father.
He fired.
She would at least have the mercy of dying in her sleep.
Then he turned to the small crib, packed tightly alongside the stretcher, where a pink baby wailed. He had never seen a human infant before. The red colour of their blood was more pronounced – it would make it easier to slay. He raised his phaser, intent on finishing the job he had begun. Then the Terran lettering caught his eye, and he paused.
'James Tiberius Kirk'.
A recognizable name.
He considered that he might now revel in firing, if this Kirk was indeed the Kirk of history, the Federation hero and renowned companion of Ambassador Spock. Mentally, he counted the dates.
It fit.
With grim satisfaction, his finger compressed the trigger.
The crying stopped.
It was their fault she was dead.
I love you.
He would make them pay with every drop of blood, green or red, that he could spill.
---
"Wait, wait, wait. A bridge?"
"Those were the circumstances as relayed to me, yes."
"I died when a fucking bridge fell on me? That's how I went?"
"It was not the end I had envisioned for you, either. But you did save many lives."
"Well it's not going to be happening again this time around."
"I should hope not."
---
There was a bit of a scuffle outside of the diner. Winona paused, listening to the argument the teenagers were engaged it. It was nothing terribly dangerous-looking, just a bit heated, but as the mother of two sons she was accustomed to noticing such things.
"He isn't!" one of the young men was insisting to two of his peers, his face flushed and a fist clenched. "Captain Kirk isn't gay! Take it back!"
She blinked in surprised, and then moved a little closer. Captain Kirk? They were talking about Jimmy?
One of the other boys scoffed. "Sure he's not," he said. "He and that Spock guy are just really, really good friends." There was much snickering to be had at this. The tension snapped. The out-numbered boy lunged at the other one, his fist colliding with the side of his head.
Winona reacted, grabbing him by the back of his collar and breaking up the fight before it really began as she hauled him back. "Now just what the hell is going on here?" she demanded, but the two other boys were already running away, smelling the trouble they'd be in if word of this got to their parents. She was left only with the one she'd grabbed, the boy who'd thrown the first punch.
"Captain Kirk and Commander Spock saved the whole planet!" he said. "I won't let those jerks say anything bad about them!" His posture was defiant, proud, insistent. It was clear that he admired her son. But of course, there was something wrong with the whole picture.
"Hon," she said. "You really don't get it, do you?"
He looked up at her, clearly not recognizing who she was. Maybe expecting to hear more hate-fueled comments.
"They're my heroes! They're not gay!" he insisted.
After a minute, she just shook her head at him. She hadn't liked the tone of those other boys. But…
"I'm not seeing why they can't be both."
---
Hiking had seemed like a good idea, in theory. It was a fun out-door activity, involved a lot of exertion and running around, and it was a hot, sunny day, so Spock should've been just fine with it. And for the first hour or so, he was.
The flaw in Jim's plan only became apparent after the first time he miscalculated his footing, and slipped. Of course, it was only a few feet, so it wasn't like he was in a huge amount of danger – not by any stretch of the imagination. But apparently his first officer still had some understandable, residual issues involving people who were close to him, rocky red-brown terrain, and falls.
"You can really let go of me now, Spock."
It wasn't that he minded Spock holding onto him or anything. He just really didn't want to deal with the embarrassment involved in getting carried back to town.
---
It hadn't been his intention at the start of the evening to get drunk. But it was Chekov's birthday, and the kid had been adamant on celebrating by cracking open the vodka. Somehow that had turned into everyone bringing their preferred poison to the table, which had led to comparisons of said poisons, and now Bones was down for the count and Scotty was arguing with the birthday boy about something to do with Leningrad, and Sulu seemed to find everything epically amusing.
And Jim was bored. And hot. And his stupid shirts were itching, so he took both of them off, but he didn't want to lose them, so he tied the black one around his head and pulled the other onto Bones for safe-keeping. But this still wasn't fun anymore, because no one was paying attention to him.
He figured he'd go find Spock. Spock generally paid attention to him. But Jim wasn't sure where he was, so he decided to stand on the table and have a look around the room, to see if he could find him.
It was pretty dizzy up there, though. "Hey, Spock! Where're you?" he called, figuring that Spock would probably hear him. He had good hearing. But then the dizziness got the better of him, and he fell off the table. Which hurt. A lot.
He decided it would probably be a good idea to stay still for a while. Just until the room stopped spinning. He lay there for a couple of minutes and listened to Sulu chuckling, and then a pair of familiar, warm hands came around his arms, and hefted him off of the floor and back onto his feet. He grinned happily, because apparently the shouting had worked.
"Jim…" Spock said, in that tone of voice that said that Jim was being confusing and exasperating and probably doing stuff that made absolutely no sense to a Vulcan. Too much stuff for Spock to even pick a question to ask. That was okay, though, because now Jim was starting to get a bit cold, but Spock was warm.
Hugging seemed like a good idea. Jim went with it.
"I love you," he said as he clung on, because Spock was awesome, and… and hot. And awesome.
"I am well aware of your affection for me, Jim," Spock told him, which was his way of saying 'me too', even though it didn't sound like it. Lots of people had trouble catching on to that. Bones didn't get it. But that was okay. Jim got it, and Spock smelled good, so he buried a nose against his shirt and inhaled deeply, clasping their hands together as he did. It felt nice.
Spock exhaled a little more slowly than usual. "I believe you have consumed an excessive amount of alcohol. I shall escort you to your quarters."
Jim liked the sound of that.
As if he could read his mind, Spock added: "I do not believe that would be an advisable course of action, given your impaired level of judgment."
"Oh."
"Additionally, I will remind you that I can read your mind, Jim."
"Oh yeah!"
"However, such skills would not have been required to determine the course of your thoughts," Spock added, and then he reached behind himself and pointedly moved Jim's free hand up several inches.
---
Okay.
So he was in a steady, committed relationship that was probably going to last for the rest of his life. And he was in a position of authority and responsibility, with people doing things like looking up to him, and calling him a role-model, and respecting his opinion. And last night he'd patted some wide-eyed crewman on the back and said 'Good work, Ensign' and been one-hundred percent serious about it. And then he'd disciplined about a dozen members of his crew for getting into a bar fight with a bunch of Klingons, and he'd actually been disappointed in Scotty and Chekov for starting it.
And now he was sitting in a pile of puffy little creatures that wriggled and purred and looked like you'd expect to find them in the bedroom of a little girl. A little girl who was really into excessively cute shit.
But he was still badass, dammit.
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