This chapter is not what I promised, but… oh well.

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Chapter 26: Golden

Kirk knuckled the bags under his eyes and tried to remember the last time he'd gotten some decent rest, the beginnings of a headache knocking on the inside of his skull. It took him a moment to remember that it was only the night before that he'd slept, but so much had happened since then it felt more like ages had passed. With his eyes closed, the room smelled like warm metal and stale water, as much as water could smell like anything. When he was little he'd often forget his thermos, leaving it in the sun on hot days, and the water would bake – as much as water could bake – in the metal container. When he finally drank it, the taste and smell was metallic and stale and disconcertingly warm to boot. The meeting room called to mind those memories, gratefully guzzling warm water just because the summer heat wouldn't allow for anything else and because he had been nine, so why the hell not?

Before Pavel had begun explaining what they'd learned in the lab, Kirk had dimmed the lights slightly; the glare had been getting on his nerves. The result was that the blue screens all over the room gave the light a cooler feel, but the yellow lights of the ceiling a warm, dim ambience.

Altogether it was like sitting outside at dusk in the summer; cool, but with the heat of the sun not yet forgotten, still radiating off the asphalt. There was the smell of hot water, warm metal, and grass filling his nose, the breeze just strong enough to bring him a whiff of churned up dirt that gave off the odor of rain, even though it hadn't so much as drizzled in two weeks.

He lost himself in the memories; running through sparse woods with underbrush of thorns, vines with teeth tearing at his ankles. He had ignored it though, always had. There was adventure to be found in the woods, whatever his mom said; small treasures to be found in the bed of a dried-up stream, where the only water was a puddle under the Big, Old Tree where a snake lived. Or rather, where he had thought a snake must live, since there was such a large hole in the trunk above that puddle. Along the stream bed he would run, kicking up dust instead of sprays of water, until he reached the Big, Old Tree. There he would stop and edge to the other bank – or what had been a bank before – and then sidle along, the dirt from the side leaving yellow streaks on the back of his shirt. Had anyone ever asked, if anyone had ever thought to ask, he would have said that he went right up to the roots of the Big, Old Tree, right where they hung over the edge of the tiny ravine, falling to the bank and the river of dust below. He would have said he saw the snake and it hissed at him before slithering away. He had never seen the snake, though; had never heard it hiss, either. He just edged along the opposite bank until he was well on from the Big, Old Tree and then ran, the smell of hot dirt in his nose.

He'd keep running, too, until sunset. Then he would turn and race the sun to the horizon. He didn't care about the red glare in his eyes, he just wanted to win; sometimes he would even forget about the Big, Old Tree until he was already far past it. So wrapped up in running, he'd fly past it and its invisible snake, on into the sun beyond the horizon. Inevitably though, he would stop. Whether he won the race or not, he'd skid to a halt, just beyond his thermos; sometimes he'd be going so fast his shoes would kick up that little bit of wet Earth, deep below the dust. He'd pick up the metal thermos, nestled in the tall, brown grass, and brush off the bugs before taking a sip of hot water, tinged with the aftertaste of nickel. Behind him he would hear the cars trundle past, old ones with wheels and gasoline, a punch of wavering asphalt and refined oil blasting away the smell of dust and wet earth at his feet. As the last red of sunset lit his hair, he'd turn, his face half in shadow, and walk toward the road, sneakers pulling up weeds along the way.

How many days had he reveled in the smell of earth and dust, brought home by the smell of hot water and metal? Days not beyond count, but certainly beyond measure; he remembered well the eternity spent in that ravine, just a little dry dip in the ground. The bed of a stream that wasn't; the dust, a memory of what once was.

In the dusk he'd find his home, little golden windows on brown on black on blue; the sky fading fast to darkness. He'd grip his water bottle tight and walk in the door of white wood with cream lace curtains framing a yellow sun of stained glass, and his mother would shake her head. In the summer, she would always have to do more wash. The dust looked brown in the dusty light of home, but soon, with the taste of warm, metallic water still in his mouth, he'd find himself clean. The only dirt left was a small smidgen behind his ear he never managed to get off. His mother would give him a glass of apple juice that was cool, but not quite enough to take away that taste of hot metal. His muscles would ache from his run and the taste of nickel never quite left him, not for hours to come, as he lay in bed and looked at the dim, grey ceiling. He'd wonder what he would find the next day, if perhaps there were places not yet treaded in that ravine, that perhaps held untapped treasures. The window open, he'd listen to the breeze, and when it died, just for a moment, he'd relish in the stillness and the quiet blanketing the world.

Kirk's eyes creaked open, as slowly as they ever had on those warm, sleepy mornings that followed. Before him he did not see his room, with an open window letting in shafts of golden light; he saw the meeting room, plain and dim, olive accents on the chairs standing out against the dull grey. Darkened windows blocked the sight of stars. A lifeless room against that sunlit backdrop of childhood.

His life had never been the easiest. There were dark patches and grim ones, but when he looked back on those yellow afternoons and red dusks and blue evenings, he could smile and forget the uncertain present.

His headache was back, though, even without its cause present.

Bones.

In the empty room, Kirk began to wonder about his options on that front. He knew Bones was at least partially right; loathe though Kirk was to say it. Had Ensign Joanna Whitten been anyone else, best case scenario he would have taken them off the project and stuck them in their room, siccing Spock and Pavel on the problem instead. Worst case, he would have thrown the rabble-rousing ensign in the brig.

He just couldn't do it, though, no more than he could throw Bones in the brig.

'But why not?' he asked himself, and before he knew what was happening he was out of his chair and moving to the door. 'Why can't I treat her like anyone else?' She was harsh, unforgiving. She was aggressive and violent. She was poised in her rule-breaking and confident.

Trudging down the hall, Kirk thought of the walk over to Med Bay earlier that afternoon.

Emily Clearwood tripped over her own feet for the third time in about forty seconds. 'That's probably not a good response to stress for someone in security,' Kirk thought, and glanced over to Ensign Mores and Nurse Aarons to see how they were doing. No better, by all accounts. Both seemed to be trembling, though Mores seemed to be more furious than fearful; that was Aarons' schtick, hands shaking, even as he tucked them under his arms to hide them from the captain's all seeing eyes.

'Not quite all seeing,' Kirk berated himself. 'If they were, I would have nipped this the first time it happened.' He hadn't though, and now he was stuck beside a seething CMO who seemed equally close to hauling Joanna to his office for a talking to and a time out, as he was to whirling on his heel and punching Mores in his already bleeding face. Sulu had done the smart thing and put Kirk between himself and the fuming CMO.

Finally, Kirk turned his gaze to little Miss Joanna Whitten. She walked calmly, one foot in front of the other, no missteps and no shaking. She didn't seem to have picked up Bones' habit of pulling on the hem and sleeves of her shirt, though that could have something to do with her (most likely) dislocated shoulder. Her right arm sat motionless in a perfect ninety-degree angle, held in place by her left hand and forearm. Kirk had dislocated his shoulders before – both of them at least once, as a matter of fact – and he knew when you moved it, it hurt like the god of pain and suffering had descended from his/her/their lofty perch and had taken up tap dancing… and only did it on the tendons that connected the shoulder to the upper arm and elbow.

Basically, it hurt like hell.

But not only was Joanna bearing it, she moved like it hadn't even happened. Kirk had discovered during his many different injuries, that not moving the affected area of the body did not necessarily mean you were home free on the pain front. Once when he had a separated shoulder – a totally different injury than a dislocated shoulder, by the by – he had discovered that even turning from the waist down was enough to send waves of lightning through his collarbone, neck, and shoulder. And yet, there mini-McCoy was, gliding along like it was a normal day and she was holding her arm in place because she wanted to, thank you ever so much for asking. Joanna gave seemingly no concession to the pain. It was like she was robotic. Like she was programmed that way.

"… Like she was being forced to," Kirk murmured aloud, and then jumped at the sound of his own voice.

"You alright, Captain Kirk?" Kater asked from directly in front of him, and Kirk jumped again, yelping this time.

"Yeah, great. Never better! You just startled me," Kirk snapped and slid to the side. When did Kater get there? And how did he not even notice? All of a sudden Kirk felt like he was being stabbed in his right temple. His hand snapped up of its own accord, and he had to clamp his teeth down around a groan.

"Captain!" Kater exclaimed. He leaned down – had he always been that tall? – and peered into Kirk's eyes. "Are you sure you're alright? Should I get Doctor McCoy?"

"No, no. I was on my way to medical anyway. Just need something for a headache. If you'll excuse me," Kirk replied before rushing off down the hall. It took another moment before he realized that Med Bay was actually just two hallways away. Zoned out as he had been, it seemed he had unconsciously been navigating to go see Bones anyway.

Beyond the headache, Kirk didn't really know why he wanted to go there, but he knew there was something up. Something about Joanna Whitten he hadn't really seen before.

Bones, when he had abandoned the star system Clip meeting, had said something about talking to her. Maybe he had some insight by now.

When Kirk finally reached Med Bay "tense" would have been the gentle description for both himself and the three people in the room. Anyone who could escape had done so, including most of the on-duty nurses, who claimed to be restocking the two clinics near engineering and the crew's quarters. Thankfully Nurse Frost was nowhere to be seen; she was usually on duty around this time and the woman got on Kirk's nerves with a deftness that amazed. Sometimes he felt like he was cheese and she was a grater; almost like being annoying as possible was her sole purpose in life.

All remaining on duty nurses appeared to be in their offices, but in the back of the room huddled Aaron Aarons (poor kid; what a name!), Emily Clearwood, and Benjamin Mores, all looking like it was their turn at the gallows. Kirk didn't know what he was going to do about those three; the reports had been consistent, so he knew that Joanna had started it, not them, so he could hardly give them a more severe punishment than her. But, he also couldn't let them off entirely, which was a bit difficult since Joanna was getting off pretty lightly for the time being.

Kirk, huffing out a sigh and wondering why he had to make life harder for himself, marched across the room, almost like that was why he had gone to Med Bay in the first place. He couldn't make them stand there all day, not when all indications showed that this mission would not be "just routine." All three straightened when they saw him, shoulders going back and chins going up. Kirk's heel squeaked on the smooth floor and all three jumped at the sudden noise; Aarons chuckled nervously.

"You are all free to return to your duties," Kirk said. "When not on a shift or acting in the case of an emergency, I want you to remain in your cabins at all times until I, Commander Spock, or Doctor McCoy follow up with you. Is that clear?" Kirk asked. They all nodded, but what caught Kirk's attention was the woosh of an opening door.

"Yes, sir."

Kirk didn't notice which one of them had spoken; over Emily's shoulder he had caught sight of Bones just exiting his office, Joanna sitting in a chair in Bones' office. The door closed before Kirk could see any more than that.

"Good. Dismissed." Barely glancing at them as they trooped past toward the door at the front of Med Bay, Kirk instead slid to the back where McCoy was waiting.

"Bones!" Kirk tried to smile, but it didn't work; his headache was making itself known, tugging on his optic nerve and punching the back of his eyes. Bones, much to his credit, didn't even blink at Kirk's wince, instead backtracking to a small, white cabinet where he rustled out two hypos.

"Migraine or just a headache?" he asked. Two seemingly identical hypos in each hand, Bones flourished the one in his right when Kirk grumbled, "Headache."

"All right," Bones said, prepping the hypo. "This might sting."

"Might sting? Might?" Jim protested, tilting his head to expose his neck regardless. "They always sting! You give me hypos like – OW! – you're trying to get that stuff all the way down to my bone marrow!" Rubbing his neck, Kirk stepped away and watched as Bones turned back to the cabinet, rummaging around some more while sticking the two hypos in their places with just a bit more force than necessary.

"Huh…" echoed out from the cabinet.

"'Huh', what?" Kirk asked, trying to peer around Bones' head.

"That broken tricorder I found is usually in this cabinet, but it's not here anymore." Bones straightened, only narrowly avoiding cracking his head on the top of the cupboard, and glanced around Med Bay. "Maybe Frost is finally fixing it."

"Frost fixing it? Why don't you let Scotty at it?" Kirk stepped back across the gleaming white floor, closely followed by Bones.

"Because it gives her a hobby and something to do when she's bored so she doesn't bother me, even if it's been broken since we got on this ship," Bones said lowly. Almost growling, he continued, "That woman is a hyena, I swear, Jim. When she's not smirking, she's laughing, and when she's not doing either of those she's doing her best to make my life a living hell! Stop laughing!" he protested. "It's not funny."

"Yeah, sure it isn't," Kirk snickered. "I find no humor in your misery. That's why I'm not actually laughing right now."

"No, you're just giggling like a little kid," Bones grumbled.

"Hey, speaking of little kids," Kirk started and Bones groaned. Loudly.

"Don't you dare-"

"About Miss Joanna-"

"Jim, shut up," Bones barked at the ceiling, before striding off to the side, fiddling with some equipment that had absolutely no need for recalibrations.

"How's that conversation been going?" Kirk finally asked, sidling up to Bones' side. Rolling his eyes, Bones shoved the counter, immobile though it was, and stomped in the other direction. When Kirk finally caught up McCoy glared at him with the fury of a thousand star-system Clips.

"Oh, just great, Jim!" Bones announced in an obnoxiously high falsetto, stomping over to a biobed. It was a good thing Med Bay was empty or else he would never live it down. "That's why I'm in such a good mood!"

McCoy stripped an apparently clean bio bed in one quick motion.

"We've been having some fabulous father daughter bonding time."

The sheets and pillow went flying across the room to land in an unobtrusive hamper in the corner.

"And she's been telling me all her deepest, darkest secrets."

Bones snatched a folded sheet from a high shelf with one hand and then unfurled it with a sharp snap.

"We sat down to have tea and cookies with Spock!"

The sheet had hardly settled on the bed when down came a pillow, followed swiftly by a pillow case.

"And they had a cheerful and lively debate about the definition of daddy issues."

The pillow was in the case and on the bed in one swift motion, a dull thump all that indicated it hadn't been resting on the bio bed that entire time.

"And then they square danced around my desk."

Bones jammed the sheet's corners under the stiff mattress.

"And then pranced off, into the sunset."

Bones collapsed onto the bio bed, wrinkling the crisp sheets and skewing the pillow. "She hasn't lifted a goddamn finger, Jim," he sighed, dropping his face into his hands. "What do you expect?" Bones mumbled. There was a brief second of absolute silence before Kirk broke it.

"Come back to the meeting room," he said.

"What?" Bones asked, looking up. "Why?"

"Just come back," Kirk replied. "Maybe a little bit of peace and quiet will be enough for Joanna to rethink telling us about what's going on here." Bones examined him with the practiced gaze that only he could achieve before pausing, almost rolling the words he was going to say around in his mouth.

"What do you think she has to do with the…. With Elsa?" Bones asked. Just because there was no one in Med Bay didn't mean no one could hear them talk about the ILCA hack. Joanna was only a door away in Bones' office, after all.

"I don't know. I have… I don't know. It's more of a feeling than a thought. But the timing, and the walking, and the-"

"The walking?" Bones raised his eyebrows. "What does walking have to do with anything?"

"It's just a feeling, okay?" Kirk insisted. "Just get Chapel to cover your shift and come to the meeting."

"Fine. I'll be there in a few minutes."

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SANGUINE IS NOW OFFICIALLY LONGER THAN HARRY POTTER AND THE PHILOSOPHER'S STONE! (Yes, I know some of that is author's notes. Don't harsh my buzz, okay?)

(And Harry Potter book one has 76,944 words, according to the internet, in case anyone is interested)

Yep.

I might have gone a bit overboard. But I LIKE IT!

I'm aware this isn't the chapter I promised… But that'll come soon.

Personally, I think House of Gold by twenty one pilots would be a good song for reboot Kirk. Well, maybe not 'good' per se, but…. Yeah. It's not what inspired the first part of this chapter, but when I reread the beginning of this while editing I thought of House of Gold, went and listened to it again in the context of Kirk, especially in this story and the reboot, and decided 'yeah, that's a nice fit for him.'