AN 1: Thank you for all your favorites and reviews! They keep me going so please continue to submit reviews and insert some prompt ideas while you're at it!

WARNING: POV whiplash ahead


Harriet was packing a ready bag. Well, she was packing a ready bag that she was packing into her satchel which was generally packed, ready, and on her person at all times. Well, she already had an entire wardrobe and a small army's worth of food stuffs and camping supplies packed in her satchel but today she was packing her newly issued Starfleet uniforms and copies of all her relevant potions' notes into an easily believable semblance of a ready bag…

Should she pack coffee?

People tended to believe she actually had a caffeine addiction. If nothing else, she could use that perception to pack as much as she wanted in her satchel – then continue to pull her supply seemly out of nowhere. It would be a terribly good prank to add to her ongoing efforts at the Academy…

But really, she wasn't addicted to coffee per se. It was more a matter of coffee not being a consistent commodity, whereas various forms of tea were always available. Thus, she was perfectly justified in nearly shunning the stuff!

(*nod nod*)

That same point also happens to be why she had such a great understanding of the purpose of herbal teas: healing. Armed, sometimes literally, with that simple understanding, she could do more than the average being thought possible. Oddly enough, she had Maglor to thank for that…

She paused in her perusal of standard issue laid out before her. Maglor. It'd been a while since she'd last thought of Maglor.

Huh.

She stared unseeing out of the window, holding her deceptively small container of coffee, deep within her own memory. How long had it actually been since she last saw Maglor? Some hundreds, if not thousands of years by now, sure. But how long, actually? Putting down the container, she took a tentative seat on a tasteful Vulcan sandrock colored fainting couch Amanda had picked out for her (she still wasn't sure why. Should she pack that as well? Probably should – just in case). She'd been hurled here and there for what felt like ages now, so she didn't generally keep track of such things as time anymore; not in the conventional sense anyway.

Yet there was always something memorable to remind her of the highlights: medical practices, unique physiology, startling monuments; rarely people. Meeting Maglor marked the beginning of her understanding of exactly what she was facing in terms of sorrow, regret, and the meaning of immortality. It wasn't the beginning of the whole jumping fiasco that had turned into her life, but it was certainly the point where she began to truly question if she'd ever make it back "home."

… was that even home? Was it ever home? Where was "home"?

After that first trip, and then Maglor, home had come, and remained, in the shape of the twins. She missed them. She certainly wouldn't go so far as to say she missed Maglor, but she did miss the twins – terribly so.

Would she miss Bones that way? Mrs. Thurston? Amanda? Spock? Would she miss people who could probably never understand why she no longer counted individual birthdays? Really, at a certain point it's far more useful to count name days.

'Would they be years?' Technically, she was counting the birthdays of each of her names, so yes? (There are so many of them to track!)

She hadn't lied to Spock when she told him Harriet Luna was 141 years old. That particular name, that particular way of honoring one of her few stalwart friends, had only been in existence for 141 years. As long as she was Harriet Luna, she couldn't be Harriet Evans or Evvana Harrison, could she?

… should she tell him she'd been Hari for far longer then? Did it really matter?

She shook her head and went back to her TA-54. Regardless of how sheepish she felt about that particular bit of their conversation, there was currently no reason to get caught up in the small things.

[They're big things.]

'Being ready for whatever that Death Sense of mine is warning me of is far more important.'

[And listening to all the hints Death seems to be trying to give you?]


McCoy entered the simulation chamber with a mild sense of dread. He could just tell Jim was up to something; he wasn't sure what but it was putting Jim in a good mood. Right now, Jim in a good mood was suspicious.

As he took his position to the right of the command chair, he settled in for what promised to be a very trying experience.

Uhura was once again at the communications station and had the dubious honor of starting off the simulation.

"We are receiving a distress signal from the U.S.S. Kobayashi Maru. The ship has lost power and is stranded. Starfleet Command has ordered us to rescue them."

The way Jim whipped around in the command chair, chastising Uhura for not calling him by his temporary rank, only confirmed his suspicions.


The test of the Kobayashi Maru wasn't designed to be 'beat,' as many cadets assumed. It had been designed, in much the same way as Harriet had suggested, to test a Cadet's rapid decision making skills while operating under difficult circumstances. Preparing for just this type of potentiality was a significant portion of the command track's training. Thus, standing there, ostensibly alone on the bridge, subjected jointly to the weight of the crew's dependency on your lack of temerity, and the attentions of an unknown number of unidentified, observing faculty, your ability to adapt to the circumstances, maintain your composure, and make informed, difficult choices determined your success or failure.

These were the conditions of the test. These were the basis for determining what type of future Commanders, Captains, and Admirals, they were producing; wanted to produce.

"Two Klingon vessels have entered the Neutral Zone and are locking weapons on us."


Jim had lost his mind! Klingon vessels had entered the Neutral Zone, were firing on them, and all he could say was "that's okay" !? Even he, who was mildly desensitized to Jim's antics, could do nothing but gawk. Generally at this point in the simulation, cadet responses varied from panicked to confused to nonexistent. And here was Jim saying it was okay?

"It's okay?"

"Yeah, don't worry about it."


Above and to one side of the simulation bridge, puzzled test administrators and technicians exchanged a number of profoundly bemused looks.

"Did he just say 'Don't worry about it'?" one administrator asked his colleague.

Turning back to the simulation chamber, his cohort's eyes narrowed as they focused tightly on the cadet presently occupying the command chair.

"What's he doing…?"


Regardless of Jim's lackadaisical state, he had a job to do. "Three more Klingon warbirds decloaking and targeting our ship," he reported. He glanced toward the command chair. "I don't suppose that's a problem either?"

"Nah."

The cadet manning tactical reported in. "They're firing, Captain. All of them."

Jim nodded in understanding. "Alert medical bay to prepare to receive all crew members from the damaged ship."

"And how do you expect us to rescue them," Uhura pointed out sharply, "when we're surrounded and under attack by the Klingons?"

"Alert Medical."

And now the part McCoy was sure would only make the situation worse. "We're being hit. Shields at sixty percent."

"I understand."

'How have I let myself be roped into this farce?' he wondered. "Should we at least, oh, I don't know, fire back?"

"Mmm, no."

"Of course not," he muttered under his breath. "What an absurd notion. Forgive me for bringing it up." This was turning into a complete waste of his time.


She was only about an hour into her shift at the shop when Bones' very impressive scowl proceeded his entrance into the shop – by about a mile.

'The test must not have gone well for him to be that agitated … I really don't think I'm going to like this discussion…

Oncoming storm! EVASSIVE MANUEVOURS!'

[O dear … emotion suppression imminent]

(emotions management techniques!)

[In your case: same thing]

(*indignant squawk*)

"An~nd the story of tonight is?"

[O dear… trolling through out of date pop culture references. Poor Bones.]

Bones just continued scowling at the menu mounted on the wall behind her as if it would up and cower in fear before him.

"I wasn't in the room where it happened Bones. You're going to have to let me in on the details."

"Jim damn well cheated is what happened. I need a drink."

She blinked at him behind her Trelawneys TM and moved to the end of the counter, loose sleeves ever so billowy. Naturally she slid a mug at him, then wiped her hands on her sensible shop apron. "What's your poison?"

Now Harriet wasn't scared of death, but, at that moment, she was just a tad bit afraid of Mrs. Thurston. Not that she and her obnoxious snorkack repelling bracelets didn't deserve it. She was very clearly avoiding all the tedious paperwork she should be filling out for the dear woman given her upcoming quality time with Starfleet.

Still, it was paperwork. And here was Bones. BONES! He clearly needed her attention more than the dratted paperwork.

(*nod nod*)

Based on said madam's unamused look, she clearly disagreed. Still it was Bones. And Harriet was certain the woman liked the man in spite of his plethora of disgruntled angles.

"How, exactly, is your dear dunderheaded friend expecting to emerge from that quagmire," she asked skeptically. "Does he honestly think he's confused or confounded anyone?" Even she could tell the simulation had been hacked and she hadn't even been there!

[How do you even know these?]

McCoy finally looked at her as she moved a stool in front of him so she could sit. Really, he should write a book: "Epic Facial Expressions" or "How to Have a Conversation With Your Face." Hmmm, maybe not that last one…

Since he still hadn't answered, she decided for him, opening and pouring the contents of an unmarked pumpernickel (*snicker*) packet into his mug. Then, slowly, artfully, she used both hands to simultaneously pour a mix of mashed rye berries and sugar with cream. It didn't sound, smell, or taste the best, but it would relieve some of the angry energy he was exuding – even more so than his usual cup did. It was effectively as close to a double shot of the stuff as she could, and ever would, try to get.

"He damn well decided receiving a distress signal from a maimed, stranded vessel, that we were ordered to rescue, while we had Klingon birds of prey after us, was "okay" and not something we should worry about."

She passed the drink to him with a scowl on her face.

"Did he take even a moment of the test seriously?"

"No." His face soured a bit at the first whiff of her the concoction she gave him. "I don't even know why I bothered." He gave her a look that clearly asked if she was seriously expecting him to drink her lovely little concoction. (Medicine!)

"Then he failed again?" Surely he would with that attitude…

"NO."

"How in MOTHER MAGIC'S name not?" she said incredulously.

"Mother Magic?" he whispered, looking up from persuading himself Hari wasn't the type to poison a customer. "He likely did something I don't want to know the details of." He decided to just go for it.

If Harriet weren't starting to get rather upset, she'd have mentally insisted on getting in on that book deal. As it was…

"Annnnd?"

"Heaven help me, that's foul." ('Book deal!')

"Bones!" Harriet whisper shouted, leaning in. After all: Mrs. Thurston; enough said.

"The smug kid had the nerve to near gloat when he declared a successful rescue with no injuries to the crew of the stranded vessel." He looked like he wanted to hurl.

Harriet didn't particularly care.

"Keep it in your stomach," she stated dismissively. Then she leaned back and just managed not to snarl. "History is full of hotheaded, self-righteous, overly confident, hard-headed boys who did not live to see their glory, no matter their eagerness, and brought down others with them." She took a deep, calming breath.

"Does he even get the concept of a no-win scenario?" Harriet bared her teeth near imperceptibly in a hiss, which may or may not have been a rather inventive curse in parseltongue. "Spock will demand satisfaction. He will not allow this challenge to go unanswered."

"Challenge?" Bones hated the damn simulation, true, but… ('he still looks a bit peaky')

"Keep. It. Down." She shook her head disapprovingly, with no small dose of exasperation and just that hint of outright anger. "Very few can match the practical, tactical brilliance of the unknown that inspires the solemn resignation and despair of a cornered bridge Bones. That's the whole point."

[o dear … ]


Mrs. Thurston could only wonder at where Harriet's vehemence had come. Not even ten minutes with that man and she was already looking fit to tear into someone in that way of hers. Whatever happened? Harriet tended to be a bit … emotionally neutral. Not always of course, but in general she rarely displayed anything less than politeness to most people she spoke with. Occasionally, it was polite battery, but a neutral kind of polite battery nonetheless.

So whatever happened to get the dear, but still very blatantly avoiding her assigned task, girl to get her to talk about despair? Was she about to have another one of those, thankfully rare, days?

If that boy triggered her, so help her, he wouldn't make it back to Starfleet Academy for a long time!

But Harriet was headed off on a Starfleet vessel soon herself, thus the paperwork she needed to fill out, with that Vulcan friend of hers… who may or may not have already realized they were beyond friendship.

McCoy was Starfleet personnel as well. If she remembered correctly, he was poised to graduate soon. It was perfectly possible her current bout of emotional depth was somehow connected to the two.

She pursed her lips and determined to keep her ears open.


After a cup of disturbingly room temperature tea, she met Bone's eyes.

"History has its eyes on everyone Bones. It's unfortunate we tend to lose sight of that particular truth." Harriet sighed and considered her left wrist. "Jim doesn't really sound like the kind of person with a mind at work."

"A mind at work?" He'd finally stopped looking like he was regretting his life choices thus far. She had to look off to the side, eyes unfocused, her mind insistent on ruminating.

"He doesn't think about consequences; the impact on others." She refocused on him. "Do you think he'll ever rise up?"

Bones hesitated, uncertain and unable to answer immediately. "Eventually."

"Are you willing to wait for it though? Will his eventual crew mates? Superiors?"

"I don't think I'm quite ready to think on that properly." He exhaled a long breath. "Not here. Not on this poison."

Harriet wasn't quite sure she appreciated either of those opinions.

'Fine then. He wants to avoid a long overdue discussion? He wants to discount how I just subjected MYself to a cup of tea in commiseration? FINE.'

"Bones!" Harriet gasped. "Are you suggesting my love is draining and you can't go on?!"

"LOVE?!" Bones spluttered. "Damnit woman! Whatever you're up to, stop it!" ('You nearly gave me a heartache' face #8!)

€¥£ cha ($_$) ching €¥£

[o dear … ]


Mrs. Thurston smiled as Hari got back to her normal McCoy induced antics. Then glared at the Uniform type sitting at table 3, who had the decency to offer a wry smile before going back to at least pretending to mind his own business.


Prompts: Angst it up; Stick to the Plot! (partial fill for Ryuus2); Hamilton Reference Counter (Go for broke!)

AN 2: Not much of a diversion from the movie here but given the prompt and the point we're at, there really isn't room or need to be.