Enterprise High
being a high school AU of ST: XI
with many hijinks
and much angst
x
Chapter Thirty-Six: The Deadly Years
x
Archer ended up adding time to Scotty's suspension for the Porthos fiasco, although Pike was able to get it reduced slightly, since the hoverclub needed Scotty for the next race.
Which came up faster than anybody really expected. On the second day of class, in fourth period, Pike looked around at their bored expressions and said, "You guys have the Enterprise ready for Friday, right?"
There were a couple of slow blinks.
"I've already talked to Principal Barnett," Pike went on serenely. "We'll leave early Friday—you're skipping school that day. The race is at two in San Diego. Which is great because there's a really nice trout stream nearby, so I'll be disappearing after the race for a while, and you guys can wander around the city. So you should be prepared, since it's in two days."
Chekov's jaw dropped a bit, and Bones got a twitch in his left eye.
"Are all of you alright?" Pike asked worriedly when the silence in the class became heavy.
"Yeah. We're fine," said Kirk, snapping out of his haze of panic. "We're all good. Guys! Let's go down to the shop real quick and check out that, um, that thing."
With murmurs of, "Yes, that thing," and "Ah, the thing," the hoverclub filed hastily out of Pike's room.
"Oh my God," said Sulu, in the corridor, taking faint hold of a column. "Oh my God. The race is day after tomorrow? Fuck. Fuck." Chekov took advantage of Sulu's worry to go stand warmly next to him and look perturbed.
"No, it's okay, we're good," said Kirk soothingly to the group. Chapel clutched Kirk's forearm whitely. Spock even looked kind of concerned. "We've been doing the standard maintenance all winter. And we spent some time in the shop yesterday. That was great. We added those panels."
"We started adding those panels," Uhura corrected. "Then we got distracted because Spock found Porthos."
"Oh yeah," said Kirk. "Well, those won't take too long finish installing. They just hook into, what, the auxiliary?"
"They control the auxiliary," said Spock tightly.
"And they hook into the main, the submain, both hydrogen engines, and all eighteen electronics bundles," said Chekov.
Kirk was quiet for a moment. Then he agreed with Sulu. "Fuck," he said.
x
The word "hurry," or even "rush," was an understatement. There was instead, for two continuous days, what amounted to a very small explosion of speed and purpose as the hoverclub threw parts and pieces onto the Enterprise.
The construction was actually too intense. Everybody woke up Friday morning at an obscene hour, the day of the race, to come up and finish the hovercar, only to find that all they had to do was turn some bolts and be done.
So then it was five fifteen AM, there was nothing to do, and nobody had thought to bring coffee.
Kirk, holding his head delicately, was trying not to be angry. Not at specific people, but at the situation in general. Chapel and Chekov, unable to believe they were done, were inspecting the Enterprise closely, but the hovercar was spick and span.
"Run some standard tests," sighed Kirk, finally sitting up. Bones and Scotty nodded hollowly and jabbed Sulu in the diaphragm to wake him up. Uhura, who was the most alert, said wistfully, "I'd kill for a Danish."
"Spock, you and me, coffee run," said Kirk, motioning to Spock, who gave him an eyebrow. "What? We have strategy to discuss." This was a white lie: Kirk had a single question to ask Spock about the hovercar's slightly complex braking system. Other than that he just wanted to be close to him.
"We should take my vehicle," said Spock, putting a hand on Kirk's shoulder to get Kirk's attention. Kirk leaned into the touch a bit, like Spock was an irresistible magnet, and then pulled himself out again. He looked at Spock. There was nothing on Spock's face, as usual. Just a mask of focus and neutrality.
Kirk—this was interesting, he thought—had not paid much attention to falling in love with Spock. It was simply a state he was in, the same as any other, except, God, not at all… All of his synapses were cordoned in on Spock—every nerve in him hummed when Spock was near. It was a sweet, aching thing, different from any passion he had ever felt. When he had been in love before—well, it hadn't been love, had it? That was clear now.
He watched Spock extract his wallet from his bag. What was it? The feeling was useless to pinpoint, but he had to try. The grace in his arms, perhaps. Those lines—what was different about them? Nothing particularly. He could not contribute his attraction to Spock's Vulcan features. Maybe—he studied Spock's face. The very slight purse of Spock's lips as he concentrated. The tiniest knit between his brows. Kirk wanted to kiss that indent and cup Spock's sharp chin in his palm. He wanted to hug Spock to him and tell him everything.
There was no why, and it drove him crazy that he lacked this fundamental knowledge of himself and of his strongest impulse. There was no reason for it except that it was—except that it was Spock. And there it was—the best why he had was a mere name, although of course, it was no mere name, because again… God, it was just so frustratingly simple, so maddeningly unexplanatory… it was Spock, and that was it, that was all.
"You sure you don't want to take my motorcycle?" said Kirk, grinning, and hoping inwardly that Spock would say yes. (Those arms around him again.)
"Your driving alarms me," said Spock flatly, holding up the keys to his Volvo.
Kirk scowled at him, but acquiesced. They left the garage.
They walked to the car with a minimum of conversation. Kirk posed his question about the brakes and Spock answered it. When they got to Spock's car, Spock asked where they should go.
"Ripley's," said Kirk immediately. "The place over on Bryson? Nyota was pretty serious about her Danish needing to be quality stuff."
Spock shrugged. "I have not been there. Is it located next to La Maison?"
"Oui." Kirk paused. "You haven't been to Ripley's? I'm sorry, are you even in high school?"
Spock pressed the brake gently at the school parking lot exit. "Excuse me?"
"Well, it's one of those traditional, 'I'm in high school, I am socially required to hang out here' places, like the mall, or Shore Leave." Kirk glanced over at Spock, whose lips were pursed. "Oh yeah, I forgot. Mr. Anti-Social."
"I am not anti-social," said Spock.
"Mmm," said Kirk skeptically, leaning into the turn Spock made onto Bryson Lane. "See? There's Ripley's."
They purchased three-dozen assorted donuts and enough coffee to revive the dead, and then returned to the eager arms of their clubmates. Sulu drank an entire twelve-ounce cup in under a minute. (The ensuing chugging contest was, in retrospect, not their wisest off-the-cuff decision, but it did produce a few notable moments, such as Scotty flashing Kirk while Kirk was trying to drink his coffee. As punishment Kirk made Scotty re-polish the Enterprise, though he barely could for laughing.)
When Pike finally showed up at a quarter 'till eight, the hoverclub were bouncing off the walls. Pike stuck his head in, calculated the equation high schoolers + coffee + sugar + day off = I'll come back later, and repaired back to his room for forty five minutes to polish his fishing gear until it really was time to go.
The ride to San Diego was short but traumatizing. Kirk, making a mistake he would forever regret, sat in between Uhura and Chapel, who, after conversing innocently about chocolate, quantum physics, and makeup for half an hour, suddenly started talking about the female menstrual cycle.
"Yeah, I'm ovulating right now," said Uhura glumly, touching her left side and flinching a bit.
"Oh man, you can feel it?" said Chapel sympathetically. "I never could. I just keep track on a calendar so I know when to start carrying tampons around."
Kirk dove into his backpack for his headphones, but had evidently left them at home, along with his belief in a supreme being who didn't hate him.
"What does it feel like?" Chapel asked.
"It's hard to compare it to anything else," said Uhura slowly. "It's a very sharp pain, but—dull, because it's so far in." She frowned. "It's hard to describe things in 3-D, you know?"
"Yeah, no. How long does it last?"
"About half a day—probably less, actually. And you've never felt it?"
Kirk flipped through his PADD, looking for something that would preoccupy him. Oh God, he'd forgotten his library device; this was his school PADD. All he had on it at the moment was Moby Dick, Tacitus's Annals and Histories , and about fifty physics texts. Fucking shit.
"No, I just start bleeding," said Chapel sadly. "Does yours start out with chunks? Because mine generally does."
A better, more dignified end, Kirk thought philosophically, trying to bury his entire jacket inside his ear canals, would be death.
"Oh my god, I really hate those little lumps of congealed blood," said Uhura passionately. "They are just so disgusting. And at the end of your period—it's brown! I'm like, oh my god, why are you brown? Have you been up there for a while? Our bodies really need to be more practical."
"Okay, right?" said Chapel, nodding in deepest agreement. "It's like, you've been doing this for about a million years now! Get it straight. Or, don't do it at all."
It was punishment, Kirk decided. Punishment inflicted upon him by the cruel world, just because women were the ones who experienced childbirth, while men merely dealt with orgasm, nine months of pickles-and-ice-cream (if they chose), and then the occasional child support payment. Women had to expel miniature humans through their vaginas. And then get stitches.
Or so he learned as the conversation continued.
He was occasionally—very occasionally—interested by what Uhura and Chapel were saying. It turned out that girls and boys were very different. (Who knew?) Until now, he had managed to forget that women bled out of their privates once a month, which was just disturbing.
After he thought this, he realized that Uhura and Chapel had gone silent. He looked around. They were staring at him.
"Excuse me?" said Uhura in one of the most dangerous tones of voice Kirk had ever heard.
"Oh fuck," said Kirk. "Did I say that out loud?"
x
Eventually Uhura and Chapel took pity on him and let him out from under the seat, but by that time, they were in San Diego.
"Nice goin'," said Bones, slapping Kirk on the back as they exited the transport. Kirk turned baleful eyes on him. Ahead, Uhura and Chapel walked, straight-backed, to help Pike unload the Enterprise. "I was takin' bets on how long you'd last," Bones continued airily. "Made myself a fair amount of money."
"Bully for you," sniffed Kirk. Chekov giggled.
Kirk stayed near Spock as Uhura, Chapel, and Scotty unlocked the Enterprise from its moorings and lowered it to the ground. Pike had parked just outside of the UCSD racetrack. They were slightly late: most of the other hoverclubs had unloaded and were walking their crafts into the arena.
Kirk was having a hard time thinking of this as his second race. He felt like he'd been in the hoverclub for most of his life, and had piloted the Enterprise for half of that. Strange how slowly things went, sometimes. He watched Uhura and Scotty trace the grooves near the engine bed with their sensors, their reflections following them on the Enterprise's polished surface. And Chekov and Sulu were standing closer together than they generally did as they watched the test screens run their evaluation.
The hoverclub worked more efficiently than they ever had. This was their first really regular race—four races in, of course, but still. As Kirk ran back to the transport for his flight jacket, the rest of the team moved the hovercar into the race grounds. Scotty, without too much of a frown, pronounced the craft ready for battle—"Er, race," he corrected hastily, but Pike hadn't noticed, and everybody else agreed with his phrasing anyway.
Kirk poured himself into the cockpit and busily flipped buttons. Everybody called good luck to him and filed off, except for Spock, who steeled himself, walked over to the open window, and said imperatively, "James."
"Huh?" said Kirk, turning opened-mouth to see who had addressed him.
Spock leaned in, kissed him messily on the cheek, and fled, blushing furiously.
Kirk had to sit there for a full minute before he could move again.
Spock went off and covered his face and moaned for a while. Then he said to himself, "Am I seven?" and straightened his manly backbone. There was no way a kiss on the cheek could be misconstrued. Or construed. Wait. Did he want Kirk to know he liked him? Oh no. What if Kirk figured it out? Oh no. What if Kirk didn't figure it out? He covered his face again. He generally thought things through so well. But that maddening something that he liked about Kirk made him act like an absolute fool.
This would have been much simpler on Vulcan, Spock reflected. Then he sighed. But probably not nearly as interesting.
Meanwhile, Kirk zipped up his flight jacket, grinning as he tucked Spock's scarf inside of it. He had forgotten it on purpose, so he could go back to the bus for the scarf.
x
"I think this is going to go well," said Sulu, back in the observation room.
The observation room at UCSD was the nicest the hoverclub had encountered. It had extremely soft couches, a wide, UV-sprayed window, angled towards the track, a food replicator, and a bar. Sulu, at least, felt good about the race because, sprawled out on the couch next to Chekov, life itself seemed better.
Chekov turned to smile blissfully at him. Sulu felt his heart seize up a bit. Chekov was basically laying on his thigh, which was both awkward and amazing. And then Chekov ran his hand up to Sulu's, so that he could stroke Sulu's wrist. Sulu tried not to shudder.
The greatest thing was that Chekov's behavior wasn't unprecedented. They had been studying together for the physics AP test for a while now, stealing touches in the library and in whosever house they were at. The study sessions at home turned in to movie nights, generally; Sulu had seen everything from Facepunch to Love's Labor's Lost with Chekov. And by the end of the movie, they became so entwined in the popcorn and pillows that Sulu never wanted to move.
He wasn't sure what to think of Chekov's feelings for him. Chekov was a difficult person to guess. He was affectionate to almost everybody. But he was, markedly, most affectionate to Sulu. They spent quite a lot of time together outside of class, and they communicated very well.
Sulu sighed, and lived in hope.
Spock, although he had confidence in Kirk, had grudging confidence in Kirk, and was not so sure as Sulu was about Kirk's success. Hovering near the window, he said, "I doubt that the race will be without its difficulties."
Everybody watched as the Enterprise crept into the starting lineup. There were only twenty-four hovercars in this race, and there would be a mere fifteen in the next race. Kirk had to beat out nine other drivers to continue.
"It'll be fine, Spock," said Pike, clapping Spock on the shoulder. Spock, who tended to be extremely polite to professors, gave Pike a devastatingly condescending look. Pike, who understood, just smiled.
Uhura, resting on Scotty's shoulder, felt a stab of jealousy. She knew why Spock was pressed against the window. She had been talking to Kirk lately, and she had noticed how, in a list of names, Kirk always put Spock's first.
x
"How am I doing?" Kirk asked.
"Really well," said Uhura, grudgingly, on the other end of the line. "You're freaking us out. Fuck, Jim." She flinched as the Enterprise was nearly crushed by another hover.
"Thanks," said Kirk, dodging the Radiant, which was chugging along in tenth place. "This is kind of freaking me out, you know? How easy it is so far, I mean."
"Yeah, totally," said Uhura sarcastically, sounding for all the world like she was just having casual drinks with him. Her tone switched when she said, "And hey, sorry about earlier."
"About what earlier?" said Kirk, a little distracted—the Radiant had just come out of fucking nowhere and swooped in front of him. Christ in a bucket.
"About stuffing you under the seat," said Uhura. "You deserved it, though."
"Yeah," Kirk agreed distantly, trying to figure out what in Surak's name the Radiant's pilot was thinking, or maybe using.
"You there?"
"Yeah, just having some issues with the Rosemont High entry," said Kirk.
"Oh man, Rosemont has a really good team," said Uhura.
"Listen, I love you and all," said Kirk, gritting his teeth as he darted out from behind the Radiant's smoking engines, "but aren't you supposed to maintain radio silence in case of emergencies?"
"Yeah, but I'm bored because everybody else is playing Contact."
"Spock is playing Contact?"
"What? As if. He's just looking angsty over by the bar. Oh, hey, we have a bar in here. Pike says it's because there are only like twenty teams left, so we're getting the executive suites."
"You bitches. Mix me a planter's punch. I'm gonna need it."
"I'm not a bartender. I don't even know what that is. Also I think Scotty already stole all the rum."
"You said you didn't know what that was," Kirk protested.
"I don't have all cocktail recipes totally memorized," said Uhura. "Doesn't it have, like, pineapple stuff?"
"What? Okay, just—shut up for a while," Kirk growled. "I have to fucking drive, okay?"
"Whatever. You're so touchy. Bonne chance," cooed Uhura, and signed off.
Kirk sighed. Ah. Peace and quiet, both of them. What a miracle! The Radiant was hovering unthreateningly a few meters to his right. There were only five ships between him and first. And he loved flying.
He settled back in his seat, twisted a few knobs, and let a big grin break out over his face.
This was, of course, when it all went to hell.
x
First, Uhura joined in on the game of Contact by sitting down next to Sulu, who in his enthusiasm to guess a clue, flailed and whacked her earpiece, causing a burst of static to drill right into Kirk's brain.
Second, the Radiant chose that exact moment to try and overtake the Enterprise once and for all, and accelerated before it realized that the Enterprise had just swerved unexpectedly in front of it.
Third, the Enterprise was not meant to sustain moderate damage. Minor damage, like scrapes and dings, its gurian alloy could withstand, and major damage went, on purpose, straight to the ejector seat, since nobody fucked around with security. The hoverclub did not think ahead to moderate damage, because in races like this, it was generally all or nothing.
Moderate damage such as the gurian alloy hull near the hydrogen engine is breached and hydrogen starts leaking out.
"Fuck," said Kirk, trying to stabilize after the Radiant, its nose a little dented but otherwise unharmed by its brush with the Enterprise, backed off. "Fuck. Shit, Nyota, come in. The hull pressure is dropping like a fucking rock."
"Fuck," Uhura agreed, having seen the collision on the screens. "I'm gonna put you on speaker, okay?"
"Yeah, sure," muttered Kirk, trying to figure out how bad this was. All he could tell was that the amount of hydrogen he had left was dropping quickly enough that he wouldn't have enough fuel to last the race. "God, why does this always happen?"
Uhura had put Kirk on speaker. Scotty started to say, "It's—" and Kirk cut in with, "Scotty, if you say this is 'excitin',' I swear to God."
"Fine, fine," muttered Scotty.
"What is happening?" Spock asked imperatively. They had crowded around Uhura's little earpiece. Pike hovered in the background, looking resigned.
"Hydrogen is dropping," Kirk said. "I switched to the auxiliary, but guess what? It got knocked out too. What luck."
"James, the occurrence is far from lucky."
"I wasn't saying—" Kirk protested.
"He needs a spare, right?" said Chapel, looking serious.
"Precisely," said Spock. "Although as to how he is going to install it…"
"Installing a spare hydrogen canister'd be easy," Chapel broke in. "Just stick the car in auto for a bit and access the fuel port. It's right near the pilot window, on the outside."
"Wait," said Kirk. "You want me to put the Enterprise on autopilot, lay half my torso out the window, and pour highly flammable hydrogen straight into the tank?"
There was a bit of a silence.
"What could go wrong?" said Sulu cheerfully.
x
"Okay, the sheer insanity of that plan is not even the main issue," warned Kirk, who was currently (and finally) being overtaken by the Radiant and feeling really pissed about it. "I don't have a spare hydrogen canister, people."
"We can get it to you," Chekov piped up. Everybody looked at him. "Isn't it obwious?" Chekov said, looking around wide-eyed at them.
"Can't say it is," Bones growled.
"We borrow—"
"Wait," said Pike, realizing what Chekov was about to say. "Wait a sec—"
"We borrow Meester Pike's fishing gear," said Chekov cheerfully. "Go out on the track, put it on the end of the line, wait for Jim to come by, and haf him grab it."
There was another bit of a silence.
Finally, Kirk, sounding like he was about to cry, said, "Will you guys just—stop talking? Stop coming up with such stupid ideas."
"It is not stupid," said Chekov, offended. "Is completely logical!"
"It is not! It would be a disaster and more importantly I would be a laughingstock."
Spock started to say something about priorities, but Bones broke in.
"For God's sake, Jim," he said. "Just do it. It's darin', it's stupid, and it's right up your alley. Plus, you get to win the race."
Kirk opened his mouth to object and found he couldn't. "Alright," he said. "Good argument, Sawbones. Bring me some hydrogen."
x
"I swear to God," said Pike, "if you hurt my fishing equipment, I will make sure you never even graduate from high school."
Chekov cowered. "Yes, Meester Pike," he said in a small voice. "I will be wery careful, I promise."
"See that you are," said Pike sternly.
Nobody was sure if what they were doing was entirely legal, according to the rules. Uhura had looked over the pertinent sections in the rulebook and was "pretty confident" that they wouldn't get suspended, "although a good lawyer could argue for and against," she'd said.
"Really confidence-inspiring," Chapel had said sarcastically.
"Are you the one who's interested in linguistics? I think not, Nurse Chapel."
"Doctor!" Chapel protested. "Doctor!"
Anyway, Spock and Scotty had scrounged a fuel tank and some hydrogen from the transport. Kirk, halfway through the race, was in third, but by the 3/4ths mark, he would start to loose speed as the hydrogen finally dissipated into the air entirely.
"Well, let's hope we don't get suspended," sighed Pike. Chekov, grinning, hefted Pike's fishing gear—carefully—and marched out the door. Sulu, mumbling something along the lines of, "Somebody should go with him," followed.
"I am not sure that I trust Pavel to do this on his own," said Spock, frowning and starting after them. Uhura hastily put a hand on Spock's arm.
"They'll be fine," she said, pretty sure that Sulu, who felt bad for causing this whole thing in the first place, would go off the deep end if Spock interfered with his private time with Chekov. "Don't worry about it. I gave Pavel a transmitter, okay? He'll let me know if anything goes wrong."
"Which it will," said Bones gloomily.
"You're so dour," lamented Chapel. "Here, have some whiskey."
Pike whipped around. "Some what?"
Chapel froze. "Um. There's a bar?" she said, pointing to the corner, where a fully stocked liquor cabinet sat above a little serving pedestal.
"Oh, right, executive suite," said Pike. He flopped down on a chair. "Would somebody get me a Long Island iced tea?"
The team exchanged glances at his reaction.
Uhura considered arguing that Pike was a teacher and should be making sure that his students didn't do anything illegal or stupid. Then again, Chekov and Sulu had just taken his prize fishing gear and were going go to dangle a highly explosive canister of fuel over a 500 mph racetrack for their captain to snatch out of the air and then pour into an exterior fuel tank.
So she just said, "Actually, we don't have any rum."
x
"Do you think this is going to work?" Sulu asked Chekov.
The two of them were poised on the lip of the racetrack a little before the 3/4ths mark. The track, which was blue-painted concrete, curved beneath them. Sulu was spread out on the grass overlooking the track, watching Chekov tangle fishing line into oblivion. The sun beat cheerfully down on the whole scene, and despite the air of real desperation inherent in the situation, Sulu couldn't help but feel very safe and happy.
"Of course it is," grinned Chekov, tying the end of the fishing line securely around the tank handle. Sulu didn't even know what kind of knot Chekov had just created. It looked like it would hold the sun together, it was so enthusiastically tied.
"Jim's going to have to cut that, you know," said Sulu hesitantly.
"I will cut it for him," said Chekov confidently. "I haf this all planned. He will come underneath us and radio when he is holding it, and I will cut it when he is holding it."
"If you don't cut it in time, the thingy might spool out," said Sulu, gesturing to the spinning reel. "Then the whole rod'll get yanked out of your hands and fly into the hovercars and not only will we get disqualified, Pike will kill you with his bare hands."
"I must haf good timing, then," said Chekov, unconcerned.
He's suicidal, Sulu thought admiringly, flopping onto his stomach in the grass. "Okay. On your own head be it. Have you talked to Jim yet?"
"I haf not had a chance," said Chekov. He glared at Sulu. "These things take time."
"Okay, okay," said Sulu, scooting back and putting his hands in the air. "Sure. Whatever. Let me know if you need any help."
"I shall," said Chekov snippily. He touched his earpiece. "Jim? This is Pavel. Are you close to the third-to-last bend?"
"Yep," said Kirk. "You there?"
"Yes," said Chekov. "Come to the inside. I will haf it waiting. Tell me the second you have your hands on the canister and I will cut the tie for you." Chekov touched his earpiece again, to mute Kirk, and said, "Actually, you must cut the tie, Hikaru."
"What?" said Sulu sharply, sitting up. "Me? I'm not involved. I'm just here to make sure you don't do something really stupid."
"No, I must hold the rod, and you must cut the line," said Chekov patiently. He was lowering the canister over the edge of the track as he spoke. Sulu could hear the hum of approaching hovercars; the leader, the Lexington, was about to pass their position.
"But you're wearing the earpiece. Let's switch," said Sulu desperately.
Chekov considered. "Okay," he said finally, and handed Sulu the rod. Sulu didn't know a thing about fishing, so he just copied Chekov, putting one hand around the rod's grip and pushing his other two fingers against the reel's switch, so, presumably, the rod wouldn't spool out. Chekov pulled a Swiss army knife out of his pocket and undid the scissors. The Lexington, the hover in first, hissed beneath them.
"I see it," said Kirk in Chekov's ear. "A little lower?"
"Lower it," said Chekov to Sulu. Sulu panicked a bit and let go of the switch entirely. The canister dropped ten feet, until it was mere inches from the ground.
"Why'd you go so low?" Kirk squawked. "Reel it up! Reel it up!"
At Chekov's command, Sulu padded hastily at the reel. The canister whacked the ground as the Enterprise approached, Kirk hanging out the window. Then Sulu realized that he was turning the switch the wrong way and reversed, just in time. He was reeling the canister back up when the Enterprise, going a mere 100 mph, whooshed by.
"Cut it!" Kirk shouted, reaching for the canister. Just as he closed his hands around it, Chekov sliced the line, which floated limply into the air, at least until the slipstream of the hovercars caught it and whipped it frantically around. Kirk tugged the canister back inside the hover and corrected his steering hastily. He'd dropped eight positions, to ninteenth place. And he still had to put the fuel in the tank.
"Thanks, Pav," he said into his mike. "Gotta go."
"You are wery welcome!" Chekov chirped. "Come on, Hikaru, let us go back."
"Yeah," said Sulu, who had sat down on the track's rim and was breathing heavily. "Wait a sec." He felt like a total idiot for panicking and nearly fucking up the trade.
"What is wrong?" he heard Chekov ask concernedly from behind him. Sulu looked away. What was this? Were there tears in his eyes? He blinked angrily. Well, that didn't make any sense!
"Hikaru, what is it?" Chekov asked.
"Nothing," muttered Sulu, trying to make it look natural when he wiped his eyes on his shoulder. "I just feel like an idiot."
"What?" Chekov sounded offended.
"I just freaked, and I shouldn't have," Sulu said. "I don't know why I came with you. You had this great idea, and I nearly fucked it up."
Chekov didn't say anything. Sulu went on.
"I mean, I've never gone fishing before, but I should have known how to fucking reel something in—"
Chekov made this utterly disgusted noise and crunched over. Sulu flinched away when Chekov's body came in to view next to him. Then Chekov sat down and put his arm very firmly around Sulu's shoulder.
"Do you think you are stupid?" said Chekov furiously.
"Y-yes?" tried Sulu.
Chekov muttered something in Russian and pulled his arm off of Sulu. Alarmed, Sulu looked over at Chekov. Chekov was glaring into the racetrack.
"What?" said Sulu, totally lost.
"You are not stupid," Chekov snapped. "You are incredibly smart and beautiful and you are stupid if you think you are stupid. You are the best pilot in the world and you are talented and if you are not going to respect you then I am wery disappointed."
Sulu blinked at him. "Wait. I was just being emotional. Please don't take me so seriously."
"But you are saying crazy things! You are amazing and I do not know how you do not know that you are amazing!"
"You are so weird," said Sulu admiringly. "Trust me, you're more amazing than me."
Chekov let out a little shriek of anger. "That is not true!"
"Okay, calm down," said Sulu, putting his hands on Chekov's shoulders and wondering at how adorably crazy Chekov was. "If you feel so strongly about it, I'll shut up."
"You—" Chekov turned to look at Sulu and Sulu realized how close they were. Chekov's face took up his whole view.
Sulu was amazed when he spoke. "I what?" he asked quietly. Chekov blinked. His pale lashes seemed so close that Sulu wondered that they didn't brush his cheek.
"You need to understand how much I like you," said Chekov furiously, and kissed him.
x
Kirk's day was not going well.
"Fucking… fuck," he muttered, grappling with the cap on the hydrogen canister. "Who the fuck closed this thing?" (It had been Spock, who not only was unnaturally strong but also wanted to make sure that the canister didn't open in midair.) "Goddamn."
After what felt like hours he wrestled the cap out of its grooves and was left with a slushing armful of flammable fuel. "Oh, this was a great idea," Kirk growled, checking the autopilot for the eightieth time. Now he was in twenty-first place, and the hydrogen still left in the engine really was about to run out.
"Nyota?" he said into the radio. "I'm about to try this. I've always loved you."
"And you, fair maiden," said Uhura, swooning romantically. "Good luck, dude."
"Thanks," said Kirk, steeling himself. He reached out and unlatched the window.
Typically, the window wasn't meant to be opened during flight, so unlatching the window meant getting rid of the window entirely. Kirk pulled it in to the cockpit and shoved it behind some wires, then, hefting the hydrogen canister in the crook of his left arm, pressed the fuel flap button and leaned out the window.
The Enterprise had sped back up to 400 mph, but Kirk had made sure that the wind-shield would protect him from the really crazy gusts, so it just felt like he was dealing with a 70 mph wind. Luckily, the fuel hatch was near the back edge of the window. Kirk, leaning heavily on his kidneys and cursing a lot, twisted himself around so that he could access the hatch. He grabbed the funnel attached to the hydrogen canister, stuck it on the canister's mouth, and stuck that into the hatch.
The meter on the hydrogen canister flashed 90%... DO NOT REMOVE… 60%... 25%... 0% EMPTY. SAFE TO REMOVE. Kirk, who had ducked back inside to correct the hover's course again, popped out, grabbed the canister, pulled himself inside the hover, and settled into the driver's seat. He flipped off the autopilot, closed the fuel hatch, shoved the canister in the cranny next to the window, said a few more curse words, and accelerated with alarming speed.
x
Back in the observation room, Uhura was worried. "Where are Pavel and Hikaru?" she said, looking around. "Jim's refueled. They should be back."
"Ah wouldnae worry about them," said Scotty, pouring Pike another shot of vodka. "They're competent lads. They'll be fine on their own."
Pike nodded solemnly. "If they don't show up by the time Jim crosses the finish, we'll call," he said. "And thank God Jim'll cross the finish line. That was a good idea of Pavel's."
"You know he has your fishing gear, right?" said Chapel to Pike.
"Call them," said Pike imperatively, sitting up and pointing dangerously around at everybody. "They need to get back here right now."
"Mr. Pike, I'm sure your gear is—"
Pike glared at Uhura. "Okay, okay," she said, grabbing her communicator. "You don't have to be so crazy," she muttered.
x
Kirk was having fun imaging what the pilots were saying as he sped by them. Various combinations of "holy shit" and "blistering barnacles" were bandied around. As he eeked into seventh, he figured he'd ask afterwards what their interesting takes on curses were. He grinned into the wind. He hadn't installed a booster subsystem in the Enterprise for nothing. It was a beautiful thing, flowing by the other cars like they were so much flotsam.
Then the end of the racetrack loomed before him, and he realized that he hadn't seen the Narada the entire time. How had that happened? He looped around a very angry Negh'Var and acquired sixth before crossing the finish.
The Narada was already cooling her engines backstage, in the first place slot. The (even more damaged-looking than usual) Voyager was smoking in a shocking second place, although the captain was giving Nero such a stink-eye that Kirk didn't doubt the poor ship deserved first. Kirk didn't bother going over to talk to Nero, who was obviously watching him out of the corner of his eye. Instead he reinstalled the Enterprise's window and then looked around for his team.
They were nowhere.
More than a little hurt, Kirk started towards observation. He was halfway to the sliding doors when Spock, looking irritated, same stalking out of them.
"Hey?" said Kirk, jogging over. "Thanks for the standing ovation. Where is everybody?"
"Pavel and Hikaru are lost," said Spock, hands deep in his pockets and a scowl carved onto his face. "Mister Pike—what is the term? Nyota said that he 'freaked out.' The others are looking for them."
"Ah," said Kirk, trying not to laugh as he imagined Pike freaking out.
"Additionally, you did very well during the race," said Spock, and Kirk realized that Spock was being so recalcitrant because he was embarrassed. "But do not let that inflate your oversized ego to an increased volume," he added snappily.
"Whatever," laughed Kirk, and slung his arm over Spock's shoulders. "Let's go help them look for Pav and Hikaru."
x
This is a legit notice. If anybody needs a beta reader, I would be delighted to help you out. I'd like to be the rl version of a beta when I graduate (content editor yeahh), so drop me a PM if you've got a story that needs lookin'. Additionally, if you merely have a story idea that needs lookin', or just some consultation on writing (characterization/plot/setting)/Star Trek/being alive, I am weirdly approachable. See, when I was about 14, I tried to submit to a private fic archive, but the beta there tore my submission to shreds, and really I've just now started writing again. And I would really, really hate for that to happen to any of you. So seriously, if you have any queries or concerns at all, about any fandom or original work, ask me 'em—email, message, anything.