…Don't own.
It hadn't really occurred to me that I left it on a cliff hanger...even though that was technically what I was going for...I guess? Sorry all the same.
… … .. . .. … …
The bridge was carefully silent, eyes cautiously trained on their commander. The collective breaths of the room barely stirred the air, everyone waiting for something to crack. Stiffly, with no more movement than necessary, Spock stepped to the Captains chair and took a stilted seat. The small motion was the final, shuddering earthquake that brought about an eruption of emotion.
"What was that just now?" Uhura didn't raise her voice, but succeeded in imbuing it with intense emotion.
Sulu's voice rang out even as she was finishing her sentence. "I thought you two were trying to fix your problems with each other."
"This matter concerns none of you." Spock said insipidly, eyes flicking down to the front station. "We will be departing now, Lieutenant Sulu. Commence exit procedures."
Sulu hesitated, eyes darting around the bridge, looking for someone to instruct him further. When he didn't find it, he turned slowly towards his station. Chekov's hand flitted out, halting his reach for the controls.
"Net! Is wery bad if the Keptin und Kommander hawe had disagreements. Ve vill be vith vorrying. Explazingz vill be in order." Chekov didn't flinch under the stony look he received.
"Cease your interferences, Ensign Chekov, or you will be confined to the brig."
Sulu snapped back around at that. "Hey! Don't take it out on him! He's right. We can't operate right with what just happened on our mind."
"They're right." Uhura added quickly, standing. "That looked serious. I know I won't be able to concentrate."
"It was a personal matter, and therefore not available for scrutiny." Spock stood quietly. "Any further acts of mutiny will receive appropriate countermeasures. Lieutenant Sulu, commence exit procedures."
The bridge was very silent as Sulu turned back around, a blatantly bitter look on his face. Uhura remained standing, watching Spock tensely.
"Ensign Chekov, make your announcements now."
"Yes…Kommander." Chekov turned back to his station, pouting.
Uhura fumed, never one to give up so easily. "Commander, permission to speak to you in private?"
Spock sat back down. "There is a 98.3 percent chance you wish to discuss the interactions between the Captain and I. Return to your post."
She gritted her teeth. "If I return to my post, I'm requesting Dr. McCoy's presence on the bridge to assess your ability to command."
"Unnecessary." He seemed completely unfazed by the prospect, watching the process of leaving the starbase with detached ease.
"I'm not so sure of that. I still remember what happened the last time you two fought." Uhura hissed.
Spock turned his head to her, slowly. His eyes were unreadable. With a swish of her ponytail, she crossed her arms and prepared herself to dig the last knife in and twist.
"Did you panic, because Kirk was being too emotional? Did you push your anger on him? Did you hurt him, like last time?"
"Stop!" Spock stood, voice a little loud, eyes flashing with hurt. "You can not understand what he has done. It does not matter. It will not affect my work."
He looked down, away from her, away from the crew. They were tense, watching him in confusion. Finally, the only one socially stupid enough to have the bravery necessary to break the silence, spoke up.
"Vhat has Keptin done is so horrible?" Chekov mumbled, looking put upon. "Ve are vith Kommander on prablem, da?"
"I wish to have no undue effects on your performance with the Captain."
"It wouldn't be undue." Sulu pointed out. "If he's done something wrong, we should know about it."
"I…do not believe he has done anything outside of the standard deviation of human behavior. My reaction was, though blunt, not unnecessary. It is not inconceivable, and is indeed likely, that the Captain's reaction was due to not anticipating my own."
"Not outside the norm?" Uhura asked skeptically. "What was so normal about his behavior that you would blow off any possibility of friendship?"
Spock gave her a pleading look, though his face remained impassive. No one spoke, waiting on his answer. He closed his eyes and stilled himself. It was illogical to be embarrassed by these occurrences. It was illogical to be embarrassed by his past. It had become clear that refusing to answer would make bridge work exceedingly difficult, as they had proven themselves adamant on the matter.
He straightened himself, intent on presenting a strong, undaunted front. "The Captain was…less than honest in his pursuits of my friendship."
Most of the bridge looked confused. Chekov gasped in horror, hands flying to his mouth. Uhura froze, something familiar in those words filling her blood with cold ice.
"Net! No! He vould not! Vould he?" Chekov whimpered. "Vhen in Academy, I suffer from attentions vith intent of prowing capable of approaching me. People laugh and joke they could make me tink I vas popular, but leawe and tell friends."
By the end of his little speech, Chekov was staring at Spock in horror. Sulu's hands were fisted tight, his teeth gritted and his eyes focused on Chekov. Uhura had connected the dots, between Spock's past, and the Captain's.
"That scumbag." She hissed, earning surprised looks from the entire bridge for voicing the thought everyone was having.
"Lieutenant." Spock said sharply.
"I know." She replied quickly. "I'm sorry. I won't have another outburst like that again. It is our duty to behave professionally. Personally though…I think I've made my opinion known."
"Do not let this affect you." Spock told them all, stern. "I have not, and would find it most helpful if you did not either. He is still our Captain."
"Yes sir." The bridge resounded firmly.
"Return to your posts. We are underway." Spock sat back down, struggling to contain the trembling in his hands.
He had not wanted to do that. It reflected poorly on the Captain. As he was beginning to understand, this development would cause tension on the bridge. It would have been wiser to deal with it privately. Perhaps a transfer would have been in order. He knew, though, that he had irreparably damaged the Captains reputation in the eyes of his crew. It was a selfish, cruel move. In light of Chekov's painful concession, he was not unsure it was so inappropriate.
How many others was the Captain deceiving in an attempt to cultivate some false relationship with them?
How many others would the Captain injure by abusing their trust?
… .. .
McCoy didn't glance up from his desk as a flash of gold entered the room. He was prepping PADDs, setting up for the influx of passengers. That involved a mess of vaccines for the people currently on board and physicals for all of the people coming on board.
"What do you need Jim?"
"I don't suppose you have the ingredients for a Finagle's Folly?" Jim's voice broke.
McCoy snapped his head up, eyes falling to his friend. Jim was gaunt, red eyes sunken and his body shaking. McCoy waved him gently into a chair and made to reach for a tricorder. Jim caught his hand, shaking his head. His grip was tight, knuckles turning white with the force he held the other man. Bones, knelt beside his friend, trying to look up into the evasive blue eyes.
"That's quite a prescription Jim." His joke felt flat. "What happened that you'd want to drink something that bad?"
"I-fuck-I really fucked this up." Jim barked, voice a hoarse imitation of amusement.
Bones reached up carefully, patting Jim on the shoulder. "What?"
Jim gulped, squeezing his eyes shut. "I got in over my head."
"Jim…"
"I panicked." Jim laughed, like it were the most ironic thing in the universe. "He told me he wanted to try to be friends, and I panicked. I freaked out. I didn't answer him and…and he thought I didn't want…and I panicked."
"Oh Jim." McCoy whispered gruffly. "Tell me you didn't."
"I…I didn't mean to. I just…I didn't want him to walk off." Jim whimpered. "I didn't know what to do. I panicked."
McCoy sighed, standing up and turning to his desk. He retrieved a bottle from inside and a couple of glasses.
"This isn't therapeutic." McCoy warned. "I shouldn't let you drink."
Jim gave him a grateful look. "I can worry about therapeutic later. Right now…I need to get this out of my head."
"How bad was it, exactly?" McCoy frowned pouring them each a glass of bourbon.
"I…He was facing away from me, leaving. I caught his hand and I…I kissed him."
"Oh eugh," McCoy made a face at his friend, swallowing a mouthful of bourbon. "That's just wrong."
"Yeah…" Jim grimaced, gulping down his own drink. "It felt so weird."
"I bet." McCoy laughed.
"Seriously!" He groaned. "Every time I look at him I'm going to have that in my head. His lips were so stiff, and hot."
"I think I just threw up a bit." McCoy warned him. "I know you think laughter is the best way to get over everything, but this isn't something you can just…ignore. And I don't want to hear that kind of stuff."
"No, but I can get drunk enough that by morning it'll just be a horrifying, vague memory." Jim downed the remainder of his glass and stared imploringly at his best friend.
With a sigh, he downed his own and refilled both glasses. "What did he do after?"
"Stormed onto the bridge and said he'd never be my friend, in front of everyone." The blond mumbled, swirling his drink around.
"Oh? Great. So you're just here to say the big mean Vulcan hurt your feelings?"
"Bones." Jim sighed. "Therapy later."
"Fine. Fine." The doctor waved the bottle at him. "Drink up, because I can't afford to get drunk right now."
"Thank god. I'll need someone to administer the hypo later to make my head stop hurting."
… .. .
Jim wasn't pleasantly drunk. Which was a shame. McCoy had insisted that he get hypoed before he head off to bed, which meant much of the effects were diminished. So, being host to a rather unpleasant haze, he stumbled back to his room, thankful for the relative time of night that left the halls mostly empty. His eyes lingered on the door to Spock's room only a moment before stumbling into his room.
He'd never really like the damn thing. If it were up to him, he'd keep it empty. Instead, he had a bookcase filled with literature given to him by impressed political figures and not so charming dignitaries. The 'souvenirs' were pieces of junk that had absolutely no importance for him, but looked good when he had to take comms in his room. The chess set was a gift from his family that he'd never even bothered really learning how to use. Never even won a game.
They laughed at him, the other occupants of his room, reminders that even in the stars he couldn't just be himself. He wasn't free.
He gritted his teeth and ordered the room into absolute darkness. Stumbling through the dark and stubbing his toe a couple of times, he undressed and threw himself into his bed, nightclothes be damned.
… .. .
Spock sat in the darkness of his room, legs crossed, hands making the intricate form necessary for deep meditation.
The crew had been nothing if not understanding. Upon his request, the bridge told no one else of what transpired between him and the Captain. He suspected that would slow the rumors by a couple days.
If he wished to display the cool, professional demeanor he insisted he was capable of, he would need meditation. Doing that would curb the unnecessary pity the crew seemed inclined to offer him. He was not unused to such deceptions. He was not so fragile as to be damaged by the Captain's actions. He was capable of behaving professionally. He did not need a less than professional relationship with the Captain, and was puzzled that he had even thought he would desire one.
Clearly he had not done a proper, deep meditation in some time.
Every time he attempted to meditate on the encounter, he was met with a rush of emotions, the foremost being that loathsome, hollow lust. He would immediately push himself from the thoughts, and his meditation. It made focusing on any meditation at all exceedingly difficult. With a firm push, he sealed the briefing room incident in a corned of his mind, to possibly be investigated when it no longer angered him so. Or to be forgotten and 'left to turn into a tumor' as humans often described of their troublesome thoughts.
A bemusing turn of phrase to say the least.
Human also prescribed an unwarranted amount of emphasis on naming things. Once it was named, it became important and impossible to disregard.
In that light…it was simply a incident. Not the incident. And most definitely not the briefing room incident. Simply one incident.
Meditation.
Deep, warm thoughts. Memories of Vulcan. The feel of his barriers. Calmness. The control he held so easily when so many others had done far worse. Surakian logic. He would find focus in the old teachings. Ridged application would guide him, force him back into the comfort of his Vulcan ways. There was no pain, no embarrassment, no regret, no anger, simply logic and knowledge. Knowledge of past and present, logic to predict the moves ahead, into the future.
No uncertainty, forcing him along an undetermined path. No choosing without a process. Split second calculations and decisions based in logic. Because logic could be proven right or wrong. Logic could be compared, intelligence measured. So called 'heart' could not.
How could one prove their emotions were of greater importance? Greater validity? How could one prove themself by emotion?
Meditation. Logic. Devoid of emotion. Devoid of something immeasurable. An unnecessary parameter. A precipitate in the solution.
He needed only the solution. Emotion was a precipitate, not a catalyst. He had no need of emotion, therefore he repressed it. He had no emotion. No precipitate. No unnecessary parts, left in the solution at the end of the reaction. No imperfections. No remainders of something unwanted, not worth documenting. He was the solution, simply the logical outcome of a measurable reaction.
He was Vulcan.
… .. .
It was too early to be on the bridge. Gamma shift was still at their stations, and would be for another two hours. Jim knew it wasn't helping having him pace the bridge. He poured over their work, offering cheep smiles and words of encouragement. No one asked any questions, but that didn't mean they didn't know. He didn't really care either way.
It wasn't until his regular crew slunk in that he realized he'd barely gotten any sleep and hadn't eaten since lunch the previous day.
They were eyeing him, silent looks bleeding accusation as they took their stations. Jim sat silent, not bothering to greet them, just looking over the PADD he had been working on since he got up. It was a list of Starfleet regulations. He was re-reading through them, though he'd long since memorized them…mostly…in the academy. Over the top of his PADD, he watched them settle in and go over what had happened while they were off shift.
"Ensign Chekov, report." Jim called hollowly, voice stringing the tension of the bridge tight.
Chekov hesitated, gritting his teeth. "Ve are on course, Keptin. No adjustment are currently being necessary."
Jim noted the tone and filed it away. It didn't matter. "Lieutenant Sulu, report."
"Holding steady, Captain. Currently traveling at Warp 3." He didn't hesitate as much, but his tone was the most professional it had been since he fell off of a certain drill.
"Increase speed to Warp 5."
There was a quiet moment of confusion on the bridge. "Captain?"
"You heard me Lieutenant."
"Sir, anything above Warp 4 is generally reserved for emergencies and crucial deliveries."
"I'm aware of that. You don't consider delivering much needed supplies and scientists to be worthy of Warp 5?" Jim didn't snap, or sound amused, just a blank, challenging sound.
"…Proceeding to Warp 5, sir."
"Lieutenant Uhura, report."
"There are currently no transmissions incoming. Everything sounds normal, Captain."
"Progress on your briefing?"
She bit her lip, glancing back at him to see him still reading his PADD. "Almost finished, Captain. It should be available by lunch."
"See that it's finished by O-one hundred. Ensign Chekov, make the announcement when you've returned from your meal."
"Yes Keptin."
"Commander Spock, report." He didn't trip over the words, though they were heavy in his mouth.
The entire bridge coiled, as if readying themselves for an imminent fight. Spock didn't turn from his station, or even look up, hands still flying over the console with ease.
"All scans are normal, Captain." Spock's voice had no inflection. "Reports indicate that all experiments are currently in order."
"Commander Spock, Lieutenant Sulu, turn your stations over to your immediate reliefs. I want you overseeing making room for the experiments they will be bringing aboard. If you have questions about the content of those experiments, differ to Lieutenant Uhura."
"Yes Captain." They said in time, standing from their seats and leaving the bridge.
Jim was staring down at his PADD when they left. The bridge was mostly silent. He'd had a suspicion, and was looking into it. It had been a while since he completed his writing courses, but he was pretty sure he remembered how to do his paperwork. Which is why he knew he shouldn't have been getting requests from Starfleet to fill out 'missing' documents. If he was positive on the regulations, and knew for sure they were asking for extra documentation, he could handle it.
He would have asked Spock, but the man had already been aware of his workload before the briefing room incident.
He actually suspected Spock was partially to blame for the extra work. He hadn't started receiving requests for additional documents until after the second mission. Two specimen gathering missions and suddenly they wanted extra details on everything? No. Just no. As it was, he was pretty sure they were asking for extra already, just not the max they could.
It wouldn't do much good to ask Spock about it now. Not that it would have done much good previously either.
He didn't really notice when the others on the bridge left to take their lunch, only that when they came back, Spock and Sulu were with them. He turned off the PADD and tossed it to a Yeoman, turning to go.
"You have the Conn. Commander." The crew watched him leave.
He made a bee-line for Scotty's domain, ignoring the few looks he received in the halls. So word was starting to spread. So what?
Scotty looked up at him in surprise from where he was sitting on a bulkhead. He was downing a sandwich with the usual gusto, a pile of blueprints laid out to his side. It was nice to see that he was actually going over the work that was done.
"Aye Cap'n. Anything I can do for ye?"
"Nah." Jim shrugged. "Just wanted to know which replicator would be best to work on to stay out of the way and make the changes available in all the others."
"Oh, aye I see. Any should do. Ye can jus patch in later once ye'v got 'er finished." Scotty nodded firmly, eyeing him.
"Cool. Thanks." Jim agreed absentmindedly. "I'll just get to that then."
"Something bothering ye Cap'n?" Scotty interrupted.
"Always the observant one." Jim laughed. "Don't worry about it. There'll still be sandwiches."
"Cap'n." He said sternly, patting the bulkhead next to him.
Jim sighed, sitting down. "It really isn't important."
"You let me be the judge of that yeah?" Scotty set his sandwich aside.
"I…I'm not going to go into a lot of detail. I just won't." Jim warned him. "The thing is…I…Me and Spock had a misunderstanding."
"Ye and the Comm'nder?" Scotty sighed. "What happened this time?"
"He…well he said he wanted to try and be friends with me and…I guess I panicked a bit. I didn't answer right away and he thought that was a no and then I tried to…well, prove that I did and…he misinterpreted what I did. He got pretty angry at me." Jim grunted to signal the finish of his little speech.
"Language is a funny thing Cap'n." Scotty nodded. "Let him have his time and he'll let ye explain it eventually."
"Yeah…no." Jim snorted. "That isn't going to happen. He's a Vulcan. He'd drawn his conclusions about me already and if he wouldn't let me 'add data' then he won't let me later. For people who don't have any emotions they sure do hold a grudge."
Scotty rolled his eyes at the air quotes and picked his sandwich back up. The Commander wasn't the only one who could hold a grudge. Maybe this time it was a bit more serious than their usual fights, but eventually they were either going to end up on different ships, or as good friends.
"Have you…have you been hearing things?" Jim asked tentatively.
"Jus whispers, Cap'n." Scotty shrugged. "People sayin' ye and him are in a fuss again."
"Oh. Well…yeah." Jim stood wearily. "You probably haven't heard near as much as everyone else, hu? Seeing as you're always down here."
Scotty shrugged. "Maybe."
… .. .
Sequestering himself in his room probably wasn't the most mature thing to do, but as he had access to a replicator there, it certainly worked for him. Tinkering always was his favorite thing. Whenever he got frustrated, or angry, he found it immensely soothing to sit down with pages of code and do as he pleased.
Now Jim sat cross-legged on his floor, his desk computer open to a recipe book, and the PADD in his lap connected to the replicator. He had a second opened to the downloaded specifications of the available food already in the replicator's memory system. He had always bemoaned the low selection of food choices. Worse, most of them were fairly poor tasting.
On that note, he had another PADD open with programming codes to make a variety of new ingredients available.
With a little of his own ingenuity, he would no doubt have something passable in the way of food. That was where the recipes came in. Once he had programmed the ingredients, he would have to sequence them to actually make food. He was also making a separate programming so he could eat whole apples, damn it. And not just those lime green ones that tasted like blueberries that somehow ended up programmed in a lot of the replicators at the Academy.
He hadn't been responsible for that.
He'd been nibbling at pieces of newly programmed food, attempting to reconcile what he had created with what is was supposedly supposed to taste like, for a few hours. It hadn't helped that much of what he was programming were things he had never eaten.
Most of the ingredients were passable when a loud, inescapable yawn demanded his attention. His jaw popped in agreement and he rubbed tiredly at it, looking for the time on his computer. Almost eleven by the ship's clock. He should have been in bed thirty minutes ago. He closed out the programs and shut his computer down, making sure the PADDs saved the altered data. He kicked off his shoes and crawled on top of the bed not bothering to strip or pull the blankets up.
… .. .
The upside of being up early was that Jim was getting a bit better at placing the faces of his Gamma crew with their names. He'd always felt a bit remise about that. He'd managed to struggle down a bagel for breakfast, and was sitting casually on the floor of the bridge, leaning back against the Captain's chair. He had a PADD open to the cultural report on Vulcans. Most of it was the usual 'DO NOT TOUCH'.
That kind of warning always kind-of made him want to touch. Not that he was going to this time.
There were a couple of small things he didn't know. Mostly details about Vulcan family structures. Also, he found some interesting information on the childrearing practices. Useful, since apparently they were going to have a few children on board.
The best part of Gamma shift was that they had a little less interaction with the rest of the crew so, aside from being closely knit, they didn't catch the rumors as fast.
That said, he didn't like the fact that they felt so excluded. He was going to look into a shift rotation system so everyone got a chance at Gamma or Beta shift. Unfortunately, he needed his main crew on Alpha. But he could arrange to mix up the relief crew on duty. First, he had to finish reading the forty page brief stressing 'DO NOT TOUCH'. It's funny how he could complete the same damn thing in three words. At least then he'd be sure everyone would read the whole thing. Maybe even change the color of the font for the word 'not' to stress it a bit more.
"We're…uh…well…"Jim's head snapped up to see the Gamma shift pilot staring at him.
"Yeah?" Jim prompted.
"We're real glad to have you down here, sir." The man blushed, glancing at the other crew members, who had obviously prompted him.
"Thanks. I like being down here." Jim flashed them a crooked half-smile.
The man beamed. "Well, it's just. We never get to really see you, and sometimes we can't help but wonder if maybe we're missing something. We don't even know what to believe when we do get chances to talk to everyone else."
Jim frowned. "You know, I was just thinking about that. What do you guys think of shift rotations? I'm a bit worried they'd make a standard sleep schedule impossible."
They all exchanged surprised glances. "Well…it might take a few weeks to get used to, but a flex schedule wouldn't be so bad…"
"Hm. Yeah. I didn't think about that." Jim set the PADD aside crossing his arms as the thought it over. "If I offset the shifts by an hour or so whenever there was a new crew rotating through, it would make it a bit more bearable…The time would have to be pretty fluid, but I could probably set the computers to keep it calculated. That way people wouldn't be making huge time jumps, but slowly shifting a few hours every day or something."
"How would that work for Alpha shift?"
"Hm?" Jim snapped his head up, having almost forgotten they were still there. "Oh. Well, the officers and main crew would still follow a ridged schedule, but the back crew would be more fluid. Relief and under positions would trade off during Alpha shift…with the main crew still being on."
"So some shifts we'd be delegated to relief positions, rather than standard control positions?" The back up navigator asked.
"Yeah…would that be a problem?"
"No!" Many of the crew agreed at once. The pilot grinned sheepishly. "It'd actually be a huge load off of our shoulders."
"Okay then." Jim nodded. "I'll see what I can do about it. I'll have to do a bit more looking into it, but I may be able to set something up."
"Thank you, sir." The crew mumbled, overwhelmed by the generosity of their Captain.
Jim nodded forcefully and returned to the brief. Page seventeen: 'DO NOT TOUCH'. This was going to be a very long day.
… .. .
He hadn't bothered getting up from the floor when Alpha crew came in. They didn't look too pleased to see him, but he didn't really care. Another half shift or so of the arctic conditions on the bridge, and he'd head off. He was still on the floor once everyone settled in and the last of Gamma shift had bid him goodbye.
"Lieutenant Sulu, report."
"…Traveling at Warp 5."
"Ensign Chekov, report."
"Ve are still on the course."
"ETA?"
"…Ah…iz wun veek and quarter."
"…Lieutenant Uhura. Report."
"No incoming transmissions…There was one message left for you by the Admiralty."
"Already got it." He waved his PADD in the air, still looking at it. "How are the rooming arrangements coming?"
"Almost finished Captain." She sighed. "We've decided to allocate observation deck three to their teaching purposes."
"We?"
"Commander Spock and I."
"Ah. Make sure the crew knows it's going to be off limits. Commander Spock, report."
"All experiments are in order, all scans normal, Captain. Arrangements have been made for the incoming experiments and should be finished by the end of the week."
Still frosty. Perfect. Not all that surprising. If he wanted strict professionalism, Jim could handle that. This was the quietest his bridge had ever been. He kind of missed the excitement of even the Nero incident, because then at least the air was charged. And not just with the subtle chill of a group of people who hated his guts.
Page forty: 'DO NOT TOUCH'…'unless given explicit permission.'
Story of his life.
… … .. . .. … …
…Sorry if this chapter seems to be going through a lot of time. It'll slow down again in a bit.