A/N: The point of plot is not the plot itself, but how people's minds and hearts change as things happen to them. How else could you grow if the world did not shift unexpectedly around you? For a species capable of making up its own mind, we very often fail to do so with any discernable level of determination, and so the course of events shapes us more than we could ever shape ourselves.

Not that any of you could ever take me seriously after reading the title for this chapter. *grin*

x

Enterprise High

being a high school AU of ST: XI

with many hijinks

and much angst

x

Chapter Thirty-Four: What Are Little Girls Made Of?

x

Bones got back to Earth just in time for school to start.

He told everybody about what he had seen—about Selaar and Nero's involvement in his parents' death—individually. It was horrible having to repeat the story seven times, but he knew that the impact of it would have not been the same had he told them as a group.

Surprisingly, it was Chekov that had the worst reaction. He broke a lamp in his bedroom. Bones realized that of all of those involved—excepting Scotty, as usual—Chekov was the only one whose parent had not been directly threatened by the Rihanh. Chekov had told them himself that his mother, Lidiya Garikov, even though she led the department with Itidal Kabwegyere, had never been on a mission: Lidiya was an investigator, somebody who solved the clues when they were given to her. She was not a soldier, or even a police officer; she had never been on a mission. So she had been safe from many of the attempts the Rihanh had made against Starfleet.

Bones realized that this revelation scared Chekov more than it scared anybody else. Kirk, Spock, and Uhura's families had been directly affected, Chapel's mother had almost died, and Sulu was sure his sister was in danger. But Chekov had never really been at risk simply because the risk had not seemed real. And now it was.

In addition to passing around this information about Nero, Bones confronted Kirk.

Bones had been willing to give Kirk some leeway when it came to talking about—whatever it was that they were going to talk about. First, it was finals that delayed their discussion; Kirk said he just had to study, even though he had yet to make as low as a 99 in most of his classes. Then it was the break, and Kirk said he had to be with his family. So Bones let it go for a while, bringing the promise up occasionally at the end of an email. Kirk would always say something along the lines of, "Oh, sure, we can talk about that whenever you get back"—or ignore it. More often, the latter occurred.

It was the first day of classes after the winter holiday when Bones moved. Thirty minutes before school started, Bones, from his pickup, saw Kirk walking across the parking lot, his motorcycle helmet tucked under one arm. Bones snatched his backbag and pelted out of his car and over to Kirk.

"Um," said Kirk, alarmed. He'd stopped in his tracks. "Hey? Happy to see me?"

"Yeah," said Bones shortly, grabbing Kirk's arm and dragging him over to the same dragon tree that Kirk had once seen Spock and Uhura making out under. (Kirk shuddered at the memory, and realized that he had been so up in arms about their relationship because he evidently had a crush on Spock at that point; who knew?)

"So, what's up?" said Kirk, pulling the wrinkles out of his jacket where Bones had grabbed him.

"You've been delayin' our talk," said Bones. "Let's have it."

Kirk went pale. "Now is a terrible time," he hedged.

"I'm sure it is," said Bones, "but you haven't been particularly receptive to my attempts to schedule a better time."

"Haven't you taken a psychology class? It's because I don't want to talk."

"Of course you don't, but you said you would, and you owe it to me," said Bones. He leaned forwards, noticing how small Kirk had become, like his friend was trying to curl in on himself. "Jim, I am worried about you. I'm not particularly astute when it comes to people but it is abundantly clear to me that there is somethin' wrong."

"There was something wrong," said Kirk firmly. "It's in the past."

"Is anythin'?"

"How philosophical. Yes, things can happen and then they stop happening, it's a basic principle of functioning life, okay? I really—listen, if it comes to it, Bones—I don't want to talk to you about this."

Bone was quiet for a while.

"If you really feel that way," he said, "then it's your choice, of course." He looked Kirk levelly in the eye. "But if you don't talk to me, you should talk to someone."

"I talk to a psych once a week," said Kirk defensively.

"I know," said Bones. "You—" Bones paused at the look on Kirk's face. "What?"

"How do you know I talk to a psych once a week?"

"You said you'd tried to kill yourself. That means you have a mental soundness marker on your Federation health file. That means that you have to talk to a psychologist once a week for the first ten years after the marker is put on, then once a month for the next ten years, and… quit lookin' at me like that—I want to be a doctor. I know these things."

"You knew I was seeing a psychologist and you didn't say anything."

"Why would I? There's nothin' wrong with it. It's a good idea. Everybody should see one at least once in their lives."

Kirk stared at him. "There's nothing wrong with it," he repeated. He was astounded at the idea.

Bones looked at Kirk as if he thought Kirk were crazy. "There's nothing wrong with it," Bones said again. "Yes. You think everybody's perfect or somethin'? I saw a shrink every week this summer, and it really helped. Never had before, but it was worth it."

This was a revelation to Kirk. He'd had any number of psychologists and none of them had ever said that theirs was a common job. "Wow. Okay," said Kirk. "Well. I'm just going to go now—"

He tried to sidle away but Bones hooked his shirt. "Oh, no ya don't. Jim, why'd you try to kill yourself?"

"You are completely tactless! You can't just ask me that!"

"I can too. Look, I just did."

"You can't just—seriously! You can't demand to know these things!" Kirk was outraged, but… actually kind of touched. Although the warm fuzzies were pretty deep down. It was, somehow, sweet of Bones to be willing to face a terribly awkward, personal situation in an attempt to help him out.

"Jim! You idiot! I am your best friend, am I not?" Kirk was forced to nod in agreement. "We dated, did we not? And okay, parts of it were a disaster, but we really liked each other. Yeah?" Kirk nodded again, sullenly. "And you owe me this explanation, okay? You said we'd talk." This last Bones said in a hopeful, pleading tone of voice. Kirk kind of wanted to kill him.

"Okay," said Kirk. "Okay. Wait a second." He tried to hype his mind up. Yeah, he could tell Bones. Totally. Bones was right. Bones was his best friend. He owed it to him. Things were great between them. And this wouldn't change anything, would it? No, absolutely not. And he had to talk about it with his therapist (well, sort of; parts of it). It'd be fine.

But he had never summarized the story before. In every situation he'd been in where he had to actually talk about it, the involved parties had already known. His therapists, his mom, the doctors, the police. He didn't have to describe the thing. He didn't have to tell the whole story, just snippets of it. And with Bones, there would be no getting out of parts of it. He'd have to relive the whole thing.

It was just too early in the morning for that.

Kirk put his hand on Bones's shoulder.

"I really can't," he said, his voice as sincere and apologetic and feeling as he could make it. "I wish I could. No, that's a lie. I hate dealing with this. So I don't. I'm sorry. I'm not going to tell you. And you can't force it out of me. I am just not going to tell you."

Bones looked at him. "Okay," he said. He squeezed the hand Kirk rested on his shoulder. "But listen to yourself. 'I hate dealin' with this, so I don't.' Please—just think about that." He leaned down and kissed Kirk on the cheek. "Let's go to class, okay?"

Kirk smiled. "Okay."

x

Spock was in an unpleasant mood.

The day had gone very badly so far. He had set his alarm the night previously but forgotten to actually turn it on, and so Sarek had woken him up only twenty minutes before school started, leaving Spock with barely any time to get dressed, much less take a shower. In his hurry out of his room he had dropped and then stepped on his communicator, reducing it to a heap of very bent metal. There was no quick food in the kitchen and they were even out of milk. And then he ran into a door. Spock was angriest about this, somehow. He never ran into things. He was graceful. Like a cat. Or something.

He stalked into school, having somehow managed to get there in plenty of time for class (which made him even angrier). Everyone looked so cheerful and happy. Spock scowled so hard at a freshman that was in his way that the freshman squeaked and ran into a locker. This made him feel a little better.

He slid into English and sat at the back, muttering to himself and pushing up his crooked glasses viciously. Kirk and Bones came into the class, as happy as everybody else was. Kirk had his arm over Bones's shoulder and was saying something into Bones's ear. Spock wanted to give up.

Then Uhura walked in, looking damn attractive and carrying a copy of Falor's Journey, and Spock had a mad moment where he regretted ever breaking up with her and considered throwing himself at her feet and begging her to take him back. Then he realized that his hormones were acting up more aggressively than normal because T'Pring was in the room.

He had only seen T'Pring at the high school a few times, even though she attended the school as of last year. They had no classes together, and T'Pring seemed not to care very much about socializing with Spock in a human setting—or, indeed, at all; in the Embassy, she did not exactly avoid him, but neither did she seek out his company. They had spoken any number of times and even eaten together on multiple occasions, but that had always been separate of humans—which was important.

Spock had figured out that living in the Embassy was, actually, quite bad for his body. Being around Vulcans made his Vulcan physiology act up alarmingly. It was being around humans that kept his kha'khek vok'a—his chemical attractors—from working, and that also prevented his Vulcan reproductive cycle from functioning properly. Since he was a hybrid, he would not enter pon farr until much past the inception date for Vulcans, but his time on Earth had extended his reproductive infancy for much longer than normal.

The crux of the matter was this: Spock was bonded to T'Pring, which meant that whenever he was around her, his kha'khek vok'a would really kick in. And whenever Kirk was around, his kha'khek vok'a would become a veritable whirlwind. The combination of James Kirk and T'Pring was potent. Spock wanted to go off and faint somewhere rather than deal with the chemical stew boiling within him. He felt nauseous, irritable, voraciously hungry, and passionate, all at the same time.

It was just too early in the morning for that.

To Spock's very great frustration, right before class began, T'Pring picked up her books and came to sit next to him. Spock could not help himself: he glared at her. He did not know why Vulcan reproductive systems were so emotionally and hormonally fragile. It did not seem at all fair.

"Is there something wrong, Spock?" said T'Pring in Vulcan.

"Nothing at all," said Spock, trying to un-grit his teeth.

"I wondered because your kha'khek vok'a are emitting pheromones at a heightened rate," said T'Pring smoothly.

I hate you, Spock thought. "My proximity to other vok'ai are causing this," he said, referring to T'Pring.

"Yes," mused T'Pring. "Along, perhaps, with your proximity to certain other persons." She gave him the Vulcan equivalent of a knowing smile. "Nyota Uhura, perhaps?"

Spock felt a deep relief. "Ko-kuglasu, Nyota Uhura and I have been separated for some months."

"Yes, I know, sa-kuglasu," said T'Pring, lining the edge of her PADD up with the edge of her desk. "James Kirk, then?"

To Spock's great horror, T'Pring spoke into a moment of silence. Kirk turned around, as did nearly everybody else.

"James," said T'Pring to Kirk, rising. She was not at all embarrassed. "Spock and I were just speaking of you. I am T'Pring, daughter of T'Pral."

Kirk came over, and the class tried not to watch. "James Kirk, but you already knew that, t'sai T'Pring. You can call me Jim."

"Jim, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. I see that you have been taking care of Spock in my absence."

"You could call it that." Kirk grinned at Spock, who wanted dearly to either slap him or kiss him (it was fifty-fifty, at the moment). "How do you know Spock, then?"

"My father is personal assistant to Spock's father. We have been familiar with each other for a long time."

"I'm very sorry."

"For what reason?" said T'Pring, without guile. Spock was not sure if T'Pring was being facetious. He suspected that she was not.

Kirk took this in stride. "I've been putting up with Spock for a few months now. He's a fine man, isn't he?" He made a show of looking at the time. "Well, class is starting soon. Good to meet you, t'sai T'Pring. I'll see you around."

"Indeed," said T'Pring. Kirk went back to his seat next to Bones, who immediately leaned over to say something to him.

"Fascinating," said T'Pring to Spock, her nostrils flaring. "Your kha'khek—"

"Oh, shut up," said Spock tiredly. T'Pring stared at him, shocked and offended. Luckily, the bell rang.

x

"Nice girl," said Kirk to Spock at lunch. Spock ignored him and wrapped his chopsticks around his futomaki roll.

"Who?" said Chekov curiously, sitting down across from Spock.

"T'sai T'Pring," said Kirk. "Lives at the Vulcan embassy. She was in our English class this morning. Did you notice?"

"I noticed her talking about you," said Chekov, unwrapping his pelmeni.

"Really interesting family, too," Kirk went on. "When did Idris start working for your dad?"

"How did you know the name of T'Pring's father?" Spock said.

Kirk shrugged. "Simple search." He took a sip of the sancocho he had brought for lunch.

"My father hired Idris twenty-four years ago."

"Dang. Long relationship."

"Not particularly," said Spock. "Pavel, how did you spend your break?" Kirk glared at Spock for changing the subject.

"We went to the Zefram Cochrane museum," said Chekov, eyes bright. "My sisters want to be astrophysicists. I tried to tell them about warp theory, but I think that they only want to be astrophysicists because the newest Disney film is set in Starfleet, and the heroine is an astrophysicist." Chekov paused to take a bite of his lunch. "Who sings."

"They always sing," muttered Kirk. "That's so interesting, Pavel. Now, Spock, have you and T'Pring had any assignations in the past?"

"Excuse me?" Spock tilted his head to peer at Kirk over his glasses in what he thought was a threatening manner.

"You two just looked really familiar with each other," said Kirk, a very fake innocent expression pasted onto his face.

"We have known each other since birth," said Spock. "Thus. Ah, hello, Montgomery."

"Lads," said Scotty, sitting down next to Chekov. "It's great t' be back!"

"Mm," said Spock unenthusiastically.

"I know," sighed Chekov, watching as Scotty took a bite out of his sandwich. "I am so happy to be in physics again that I could sing!"

"Can you sing?" Scotty said interestedly.

Spock had heard Chekov sing before and would do anything to stop Chekov from singing again. "While Pavel is indeed vocally talented, I think that now is not the time," said Spock hastily.

"Any news about your family?" Kirk asked Scotty.

"About them and th' Rihanh? Nothin'," said Scotty. "Ah think there's nothin' there." He wiped his mouth and leaned in to address the three boys. "Hoverclub meetin' after school?"

"There's not one planned," said Kirk.

"We ought t' to over a few things before th' next race," said Scotty. "Ah think we'll do well—you've been practicin' enough, Jim—but th' next round could be difficult."

"The track's basic," said Kirk carelessly, leaning back in his seat. "What could go wrong?"

"Don't say that!" hissed Scotty, hastily knocking on the wooden table. "Anythin' could go wrong! We've got t' get t' th' final round. Colleges'll be fallin' over, tryin' t' accept us."

Spock, who was planning on entering Starfleet and who felt quite sure that he would be accepted into the Academy, could not say that he was particularly excited about the final round of the competition. The fourth and fifth races, which they had yet to run, took place quickly in late January and early Febuary. Only six teams would move on to the final competition, which occurred in late May, smack in the middle of AP tests, finals, college acceptance deadlines, and prom. It looked to be a stressful month already.

The really terrifying thing about the final race was that they would be building an entirely new hovercar for it. The six finalists received a large grant from the California Hovercar Junior Racing Committee to build a full-size hovercraft four times the size of a regular car. This model was to operate at a professional racing standard, and would hold anywhere from five to ten crewmembers. With the new design's size came increased capabilities: it went considerably faster than the smaller, one-man version, and one of the requirements was that the craft be spaceworthy.

It was quite a lot to blueprint, build, test, and practice with in just three months.

To make matters quite a lot worse, the final race took place as the opening ceremony of the professional hovercar circuit, where hundreds of thousands of people would gather in San Francisco, at Star Track, one of the most complicated courses on Earth, cheering or booing them on. It was an incredibly popular race. Kirk had looked at the betting online, and their odds weren't bad, although a few of the commentators called their performance "worryingly erratic." (Kirk agreed with this sentiment.)

"We'll go check on it, calm down," said Kirk to Scotty.

"Good," said Scotty. "Meanwhile, do th' lot o' you want t' finally have a look at my dilithium-powered phase transition coils?"

"Your what?" said Uhura, sitting down next to Scotty.

"Th' transporter ah'm buildin' for my shop class," said Scotty. "Ah'm tryin' t' improve on th' standard model, which uses deuterium, which is famously unstable…" Scotty went on like this for a while. Uhura ignored him and ate her hae mee. Chekov, however, was fascinated, and during their study period with Pike after lunch, dragged the group from lunch—Kirk, Spock, Uhura, and Scotty—down to the labs to see the transporter.

"Now, ah've already tried transportin' some things," said Scotty, leading them down a few hallways and into an extremely cluttered, dungeon-like room tucked behind the chemistry storerooms. "Ah got a grapefruit t' home ec, but it landed in an oven and some sophomores ate it for lunch." Scotty looked mournful. "Ah'm hopin' to try somethin' larger soon…"

"You could always try Porthos," said Kirk. He was joking.

Scotty was confused. "Vice Principal Archer's beagle?"

"Yeah, he followed us down here," said Kirk, motioning behind him. Spock and Uhura were outside the room, on their knees, stroking Porthos, who was on his back, legs kicking. Porthos was Enterprise High's unofficial mascot. He wandered around the office during the day and could sometimes be seen out in the halls. He was an exceedingly friendly beagle that everybody adored.

"That is a terrible idea," said Chekov. "You haf not werified the Heisenberg compensator's functionality, or the targeting scanner—and the biofilter is completely untested—"

"It'll be fine," said Scotty, advancing on Spock and Uhura. "Porthos, here boy!" Porthos padded over to him, eyes wide.

"What are you doing?" said Uhura, standing up and dusting Porthos fur off of her skirt.

"Just testin' th' transporter," said Scotty, hefting a trusting Porthos into his arms and plunking him down on the transporter pad. "Sit," he said to Porthos, who sat, tongue lolling.

"Um, I wasn't serious—" said Kirk.

"Oh my God!" said Uhura, hurrying forwards. "Monty! What the fuck!"

Uhura was too late. The transporter control panel sparked and started smoking a bit. Scotty frowned it at, but pressed a button anyway.

There was a high, sparkling noise, a flash of light, and Porthos disappeared. And then there was a very long silence.

"He should be in lab C," said Scotty, smiling brilliantly at everybody. "Ah'll be right back." He left to fetch the dog.

"Oh my God," said Uhura again, faintly. She followed Scotty. "Wait up!" Everybody else exchanged glances and followed him as well.

Lab C was empty.

"Porthos?" said Scotty, his face ashen. "Porthos?"

"He's not here," Uhura bit out. She had her arms crossed and was glaring at Scotty. She made an impressive figure, standing framed in the doorway like a statue haloed by floodlights.

"Shit," said Scotty, sitting heavily on the floor.

"You haf to tell Archer," said Chekov seriously, plopping down to six next to him.

"Ah can't tell Archer!" said Scotty. "He'll kill me! He'll behead me! He'll take me off th' hoverclub!"

Nobody was brooking this denial. They towed Scotty up to the office.

"Tell Gaila ah always loved her," said Scotty at the threshold, giving the group his best puppy-dog eyes.

"What? You two aren't even dating," said Uhura, completely unsympathetic. "Get in there."

Scotty proceeded inside with the air of one approaching the gallows. Kirk didn't entirely blame him. Archer was not exactly known for his sweet disposition.

"Let's go back to class," sighed Uhura.

x

Scotty got suspended for a week.

"Kinda harsh," said Kirk, leaning on a table and inspecting a screwdriver. He was the image of laziness.

"He killed a dog," said Sulu. "I'm amazed Archer didn't press charges."

They, with the rest of the hoverclub, were in the garage, going over the Enterprise again.

"He didn't kill him," said Uhura. "Porthos just… didn't reappear."

"Yeah—and aren't transporter accidents really dramatic? Generally you know if someone's dead," said Bones.

Spock broke in. "We all agree that the dog has disappeared, however."

"Yes," said Uhura sadly.

"There is really nothing else to be done," said Spock. "After we delivered Montgomery to the office, I attempted to locate a canine biosignature somewhere within the school, but was unsuccessful. The transporter readings did suggest that Porthos was… misplaced." Spock flipped open the cockpit and reached inside to twist a screen towards him. "Later, I plan on disassembling the transpo—" Spock paused. There was a funny look on my face.

"Yes?" said Kirk.

"Something is licking my hand," said Spock slowly. He leaned inside the cockpit. "Porthos!" The beagle was smiling up at him.

"Hi," said Porthos.

x

"Wait," said Scotty, confronted with a consternated hoverclub bearing a dog that they said could talk. "What?"

"Porthos… say something," said Kirk.

"Hello, Scotty," said Porthos, making the dog's equivalent of a smile. "You seem to have granted me the power of speech."

"Oh my Lord," said Scotty faintly, staring at the beagle. "You had best come inside."

The hoverclub (and Porthos) filed into Scotty's house. It was a messy split-level with a gigantic kitchen near Bones's neighborhood. Eight Cairn terriers ran yapping up to greet everyone. Safe in Uhura's arms, Porthos eyed them with dismay.

"They hate me," he said mournfully, evidently translating from what the dogs were saying. "But I don't know why."

"They hate all dogs, donnae worry about it," said Scotty, showing everybody into the living room. "So, uh, hi, Porthos."

Porthos, who had leapt out of Uhura's arms and onto a couch, kept staring at the Cairn terriers, which were bouncing in his face. "Your dogs are very strange."

"They can be eccentric," Scotty acknowledged. "Leo, does he have actual human vocal cords, or are we dealin' with somethin' else altogether?"

"He still has a dog's vocal chords," said Bones grimly. "As far as any of us can tell, he's been gifted with some sorta psychic means of communication that sounds like a voice…"

Spock noticed that Porthos was staring, very intently, at the Cairn terriers, some of whom were still leaping at him, but with markedly less enthusiasm and energy. Others had stopped and sat on the ground, their stubby tails wagging, watching Porthos curiously.

"There's a solution none of you have mentioned," said Chapel, who had hovered in the back of the group the entire time, looking faintly exasperated. She moved forwards, her hands on her hips. She was one of the only ones who had not sat down to discuss the problem. "Porthos could just keep his voice. Scotty hasn't done any harm to him—in fact, he probably likes it. Do you, Porthos?"

Everybody looked up at her appraisingly.

"I very much enjoy talking to humans," said Porthos thoughtfully. "I would very much like to keep my voice. All of you are quite interesting. And I cannot wait to see what Jonathan will have to say to me."

"Jonathan?" said Chekov in an aside to Sulu.

"Archer," said Sulu. "Jonathan's his first name."

"Jonathan is wonderful," said Porthos, his tone becoming ardent. "I love Jonathan. Can I go see him now? And talk to him? You do not have any problems with me, do you?"

"No, we don't," said Kirk, looking a bit angry that he hadn't thought of this earlier, before they had come all the way out to Scotty's house. "Sorry we didn't think of keeping your voice earlier, Porthos. It just… weirded us out."

"It weirded you out," muttered Porthos. "You are not the one who can suddenly speak the language he has known all his life. This is going to make going to the bathroom so much easier. And asking for food. And waking Jonathan up when he snores too loudly."

Scotty giggled. "Ah'll take you back t' Archer," he said to Porthos. "Maybe ah can get him t' lift the suspension. How'd you end up in th' Enterprise anyway?"

"You beamed me there," said Porthos, hopping off the couch and trotting over to the door. "I could not exactly get out."

"Ah beamed you t' lab C!"

"And yet," said Porthos, his tone almost sarcastic. In the way that humans had, the group had oved had moved, together, without audible communication. They were all near the door. Scotty opened it and everybody filed out, laughing and talking about their eventful first day back and planning to do fun things before they got swamped by homework.

Porthos glanced back into Scotty's house, at the Cairn terriers sticking their heads around the door to the living room, and followed the hoverclub outside.

x