Series: Moments in Time
Characters: Kirk, Spock, some McCoy
Word Count: 4500
Rating: K+
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for The Alternative Factor. (Wait, that was an episode title, you say?)
Summary: Let's just say that First Officer Spock was less than thrilled with the fact that Lazarus not only set the ship on fire and stole their dilithium crystals, but also ended up sending their captain into a completely unknown antimatter universe with no known method of retrieval. One guess as to which offense he found more forgivable. Slice-of-life fic, a look at the follow-up of a mission with repercussions both mechanical and emotional.
A/N, for those who have no clue what this episode was about: Man, this has to be one of the most cringe-worthy episodes ever scripted and special-effected, though there are some redeeming moments, if you don't want to rewatch the thing in its entire awful glory. Spock's "Why you mad" face when telling their new acquaintance he's only made the logical conclusion the man's a liar is hilarious, and there's a beautiful little conversation between Kirk and Spock in a briefing room where they talk through the mission – the dialogue's a little clunky at times but there's a really lovely informality in the exchange that speaks a lot about their relationship development in this early first season. Opening scene, closing scene, and those two scenes, and you can skip the rest, really – though you really shouldn't, since this was one of the sadly few TOS episodes to feature a female command officer of color, Lieutenant Masters. Why she was wearing Science Blue instead of Engineering Red is anyone's guess, lol.
For nearly every department aboard the Federation starship Enterprise, it had been an excruciatingly long day.
The widespread magnetic disturbances, brief though they had been, had been so intense and so severe as to damage nearly every system aboard – from the sonic showers to the medical scanners to their navigational computer, everything on board was malfunctioning in some way, and Lieutenant Uhura had already stayed on the Bridge a full five hours past alpha shift's turnover in an attempt to properly field and distribute the damage reports and calls which were coming in from all parts of the ship.
While they had coped with such widespread malfunctions a time or two before, and while prioritizing procedures were already in place for such catastrophic situations aboard Federation vessels, with Engineer Scott on a brief shore leave at Starbase Sixteen attending a conference discussing the recent discoveries in – ironically enough – matter/antimatter mixing and chamber development, and with Engineering having been damaged in the electrical fire this afternoon, the Enterprise and her competent crew were already understaffed and overworked.
Add to that, restoring a decaying orbit with only two dilithium crystals, and having to come up with an explanation to Starfleet Command as to why their remaining two had been blown into (literally) the next universe in order to prevent the "invasion" which had been talked of, had taken them precious hours they did not have to spare. It was well into ship's night before her Captain, First Officer, Assistant Chief Engineer, or indeed any ranking officer even paused for a break, much less any rest.
And then they received the news, that due to the widespread starship evacuation of the surrounding systems, their previously scheduled shore leave would be postponed for another month, minimum estimation; and they needed to make all haste to the Cygentian system to take over the nebula-charting duties which the Victoriana had dropped in her haste to leave the area.
Being pulled off exploratory duty for a job a first-trimester cadet could perform singlehandedly in any well-equipped shuttlecraft was not flattering, nor was the shore leave news a welcome reward for playing the bait in the invasion game they'd just concluded. The Enterprise's captain glared moodily at the table viewer for a few moments after the screen had faded to black, as if his expression alone might convey over so many lightyears to an entirely uncaring audience, his frustration with their command decisions.
"Well, that's just dandy," his CMO growled testily from his left, arms folded across a stained scrub shirt. The physician had been present at the vid-conference primarily because Spock was so buried in Engineering he couldn't be extricated in time, and with Scotty absent McCoy was next ranking officer in that chain of command. Right about now, he was heartily regretting that title of Lieutenant-Commander and all the hullabaloo it entailed.
"Bones…" Kirk sighed, scrubbing both hands over his face. Lieutenant Masters covered a smile with a less disrespectful yawn, and inclined her head in a wordless question at the door, to which he waved a hand in dismissal; after today, none of them actually cared or needed to stand on formality. She hurried from the room, already composing notes on her datapadd for Engineering. "Status of Sickbay, Doctor?" he continued, hoping to head off the tirade which looked to be building.
"Same as when I got here," McCoy retorted tartly. "Don't try to cut me off, Captain. You look like you've been hit by a hovercraft, and that's after one day of this. They're talkin' two more weeks of just us coverin' the entire quadrant. That's not fair, and you darn well know it."
"What exactly would you have me do about it, Doctor?" he asked wearily. It was true, they would be completely exhausted at the end of that period, but there was little at the moment he could do to change the order. Moments like this showed him anew just how fortunate he was as captain, to be gifted the First Officer he was. He and McCoy's volatile natures would never be a good combination for command, not without the calming addition of Spock's third – like fire and wind instead of fire and water. "We have more important things to think about right now. Masters and Granger seem to be all right, what about Lieutenant Corsina?"
"He's fine. Told him he needs to take a couple more self-defense classes with Sulu, and he agreed with me." Kirk nodded in assent. "He'll think twice before letting someone without clearance that close to a transporter console again."
"Good. Anything else to report, then, Doctor?"
McCoy glanced toward the door as if afraid of being overheard. Kirk raised an eyebrow. "Out with it, Bones. If this is about my doubting you earlier today, I already apologized for that – you're not going to hold it over my head, I hope?"
"It's not that, Captain." Kirk frowned; if he was still using titles, this was serious ship's business, not personal. "It's probably nothing, but I'm still duty-bound as Chief Medical Officer to always pass these along for your notation. You have to read and initial the report."
"It being…ah." He was handed a medical padd, one with heavy encryption built into the hardware; must be the official medical logs, then. A report was already pulled up on the screen, but it was not a medical one. "This is a security report, Doctor."
"It is. If there's a medical or safety concern at any time by any member of the crew, it's submitted as a security report and flagged as medical, automatically forwarded to my inbox. Can by submitted anonymously if needed, though that's never been necessary on this ship. Sometimes it's nothing, but sometimes it's been a good indication a crewman's got some stuff goin' on we need to know about, or there was an issue on a mission I should know about which got glossed over in the official logs – once it even caught some gender bigotry going on that the ensign in question never would have reported on her own. Usually it's only official Security members who submit them, and that's what this one is, a standard post-mission report in addition to the official logs submitted by you and Commander Spock."
Kirk's eyes widened as he read, skimming at first and then going back to re-read a few lines. "And you put any credence in this?" he finally asked, turning an incredulous look up at his calm CMO.
"Mm, yeah, I do, actually. And that's why I'm callin' it to your attention. Maybe you need to have a chat with him, because he might not be doing as well as he says. God knows it's been a rough coupla months."
The captain's lips tightened in a frown of repressed memories. It had indeed been a hellish last few missions, only the last of which had been the one culminating in the Organian Peace Treaty. Perhaps Spock wasn't doing as well as he claimed, after being subjected to the Klingons' neural neutralizer. No doubt, he would certainly never admit that fact without being confronted with evidence, and possibly not even then.
"Granted, he's always been a little scary when he wants to be where you're concerned, but if one of those clueless young fools in Ops is saying he was 'frightened for their prisoner's safety,' then we might have a sliiiiight problem."
"Where do you think you're going? I have, literally, a hundred other things do right now, Bones."
"Tough. I'm a doctor, not a marriage counselor. Go fix your Vulcan."
"Bones!"
After searching through the whole of Engineering, getting distracted by various small fires being put out (literally and figuratively) throughout the entire section, he finally located his First in a small access room on D Deck, where he and a quad of weary-looking engineers in varying stages of dis-uniform were busy taking apart communications motherboards.
He took one look at the almost frightening number of parts and circuits scattered about the room in tiny piles of electronic debris, and dismissed the sloppy appearance of his men, who were scrambling to pull themselves together into some semblance of attention. It was a hundred degrees in here at least, there was every reason to not be wearing the scarlet over-tunic, besides the fact that the article of standard-issue clothing tore with every slight provocation.
The captain waved them off with a quick gesture, which returned him a look of exhausted relief. Naturally, Spock was still in full double long-sleeves, and looking like he rather enjoyed the blistering temperature, though he could tell from the tightness around his First's eyes and the fact that Spock did not immediately get up upon his entrance, that the Vulcan was on his last nerve as well from tension.
"Relax, gentlemen, I'm just here for a quick report and then I need to borrow Mr. Spock for a while." He noted with amusement the furtive glances of gratitude exchanged between the young engineers at his words; he suspected it was more from the news that he was extricating their taskmaster than the knowledge that the captain wasn't there to critique their work. No doubt Spock had been pushing them to their limit, as well he should – it was one of his best qualities as a leader.
Spock finally crawled out completely from under the motherboard he had been tinkering with and stood, fastidiously tugging at his tunic before standing at attention to report. "Captain. I would most strongly suggest upon Mr. Scott's return that you place him in a series of refresher courses as to the proper method of wiring, soldering, and programming relays. Our work here has been seriously hampered by what Mr. Riley informs me is called creative engineering artistry." The derision in the tone clearly showed what their CSO thought of both the term and its results, and Kirk saw with amusement that Riley was rapidly turning the color of his discarded uniform tunic. "I can give you no estimated time of completion at the current moment based upon this unfortunate complication."
He tapped a finger against his lips, processing this, and then turned to the fidgeting Engineering squad. That explained the looks; he'd been on the receiving end of a Vulcan hissy fit, and it wasn't pleasant, he'd give them that. "Gentlemen, are you familiar with Mr. Scott's…creative methods, of meeting the overly high expectations I have of him, often exceeding the bounds of what is considered standard Starfleet methods of starship operation?" he asked, and with the inquiry gently prodded his First to remember the stakes he often asked of their creative Chief Engineer.
"Uh."
Riley elbowed the stuttering ensign in the stomach and straightened. "Yes, Captain. I was with him when he rewired Communications top to bottom, sir, that's how I got my interest in it. I can do this, it will just take time if you want it done to previous standard."
"I wondered what you were doing, tinkering down here instead of on the Bridge, Lieutenant. All right then, Mr. Riley, you are in charge until Mr. Spock returns; I have need of him right now. I expect you to have this project completed in the same amount of time Mr. Scott would, if you seem to know so much about his, let's say, creative licenses taken with my ship." Riley's eyes widened. Kirk smiled, clapping the young man on the shoulder. "I require 100% system restoration by tomorrow morning and plausible deniability, Lieutenant, nothing more. Am I understood?"
"Aye, sir. I could use another two engineers, sir."
"Couldn't we all, Mr. Riley," he returned, not without humor. "See if you can borrow anyone from Medical, they're the only area under control right now. Some of McCoy's nurses have a programming or engineering background."
"Aye, sir."
"Mr. Spock, you're with me."
He turned and left the tiny room, glad when the cooler air of the corridor outside hit his face but regretting the seeping feeling of physical relief which drained away the last reserves of energy which had been fueling the last few hours. Exhaustion tugged at his body, accentuating a pounding headache, but he resolutely pushed it away despite the lateness of the hour; there was still much work to be done.
"Engineering report?" he murmured, as the turbolift doors opened.
"Lieutenant Masters reported to me before finally retiring for the night twenty minutes ago. All life support and medical systems are now functioning within normal parameters; this was the benchmark we had set in her departments for tonight's efforts."
He leaned against the wall of the lift, eyes closed. "Good work. Go on, Mr. Spock, I'm listening."
"The dilithium crystals have been re-aligned and we are operating at optimal efficiency given their current state. I would recommend all speed to Space Station Alpha Cygnus, however, to replace the two which were lost, as we will never reach speeds higher than Warp One without them, and we will certainly have no defensive capabilities should we encounter hostile forces."
"I agree. Starfleet won't be happy with me but I'll take the heat and try to swing a day or two of shore leave while we're there, the crew certainly deserves it. What about the shipwide repairs?"
"Systems have been categorized systematically by degrees of urgency, as per normal procedure, and are proceeding ahead of projected time frames. I would estimate all essential ship's functions 100% restored in twenty-four hours or less, depending upon crew stamina, with non-essential systems to follow."
"Don't burn anyone out; we don't have anything urgent waiting on us." He rubbed a hand over his face, swaying slightly as his equilibrium informed him he really needed to get some sleep, or at least sit down for a few minutes.
"Aye, sir."
"Anything else?"
Silence, pointed enough that he finally opened his eyes and lifted his head from his hand, blinking away the gray haze which threatened to tow him under in its beckoning promise of peaceful oblivion. "Spock?"
"Sir, perhaps you should follow your own directive."
He straightened on the instant, trying his best to look indignant. "I am perfectly fine, Mr. Spock, thank you."
"Captain. You have yet to give the lift a destination."
He stared blankly for a moment, and then directed his irritation at the control panel so that it did not fall upon his very undeserving XO.
"Bridge," he muttered, twisting the directional handle with much more force than was warranted. If he was hanging onto it for support as well, hopefully that didn't show.
"Computer, override. Voice authorization Spock, First Officer. Deck Five."
Arms folded, he turned slowly on one heel with a small grinding squeak, and fixed his subordinate with a look that could flash-freeze plasma. Spock returned it in a surprisingly human glare of stubborn defiance.
"Sir, it is nearly 0200 hours, and you are back on duty at 0800. The ship will survive for six hours without its captain's amateur engineering attempts."
And there was the sarcasm, too. "I beg your pardon?"
Spock exhaled slowly in what looked like an obvious prayer for patience, or maybe for control, to whatever gods Vulcans probably didn't think it logical to believe in. "Captain. It has been…a particularly trying day. For the entirety of the crew. I believe all involved would benefit from, I believe the human term is, 'some space.'"
He was about to respond to that volley of Vulcan snark when the lift suddenly gave a particularly hair-raising screech and ground to a halt, gifting them one last spine-lurching jolt before dying completely.
Picking himself up off the ground along with the remains of his dignity, he glared at his First, who was looking at the dead control panel in consternation.
"You were saying, about all systems being repaired ahead of schedule?" he asked dryly.
Spock spared him a withering look over one tense shoulder, and neatly pried the cover off the panel with the snap of broken screws. Not so much as a spark greeted him, not a good sign, and when he cautiously attempted to detach a few wires, absolutely nothing happened – the lift had not just malfunctioned, it had lost navigational and computer power entirely, including the emergency backup. They were fortunate that the lights were tied into shipwide lighting systems, or they would have lost those too. As it stood, they had gone alarmingly dim, as if steadily draining of power themselves; he hoped they would not go out completely, but it seemed a possibility.
"Not how I planned to spend my evening. Morning. Whatever it is, now." Kirk sighed, exhaustion driven back yet again under adrenaline. He glanced up at the magnetic hatch in the ceiling, a good foot over his head. "That's usually tied into the systems too, is it fused shut?"
Spock was already reaching for it, long fingers stretching to first push against the panel, then feel around the edge. "Apparently. Not the most intelligent design feature, obviously."
"You are so merciless with us poor pathetic humans when you're tired, you know that?" He slid down the wall with a sigh, cursing the exhaustion-induced lack of tact which always indicated his brain-to-mouth filter was rapidly losing functionality.
Spock's raised eyebrows as he surprisingly slid to a mirroring position, were more amused than annoyed. "This, from the man who walked into a bulkhead in Engineering on our way out?"
His laugh sounded half-drunk from exhaustion, in the stillness of the lift; the oddity of the utter silence, without even the hum of background power, was quite strange. "I never pretended to be anything other than the pathetic human I am, Commander."
Spock's half-smile in the dimming light seemed more relaxed than before, but that could just be his imagination.
"How long, do you think, before someone notices we're stuck?"
"Unfortunately, it may be some time. Most of the internal sensors have been intentionally taken offline while Communications is being recalibrated, and while someone may wish to use the main turbolift, there are others which can be re-routed around a blockage and still not send up an error message to main Engineering until higher priority queues have been cared for. Lieutenant-Commander Scott would have noticed something amiss due to his intense scrutiny of all reports, minor or otherwise; however, in his absence, only the highest priority damage reports are currently being run. But at the very least, your absence from alpha shift at 0800 hours will be noted, and we will soon be located using the Enterprise's bio-signature scanner."
"We could be here all night?!"
"It is possible."
He groaned, resisting the urge to just curl up on the floor and go to sleep right there, hang his precious dignity. At this point he could probably sleep standing up, the bone-deep exhaustion which comes of mental and physical strain tugging relentlessly at him, no doubt exacerbated by his inter-universal travel. Who knew what that had done to his systems, though McCoy said his readings all showed as perfectly normal.
"Wish I'd eaten dinner now," he muttered, more to fill the ghastly silence than anything else.
He could see Spock's eyebrow-frown from a meter away. "You were on the planet below during ship's midday meal also, Captain."
No wonder he felt like passing out a couple times this evening after standing up too fast from under a console in Environmental Control. "Hm, you're right."
"Captain, seeing to the well-being of your crew includes your own."
"Acknowledged, Mr. Spock. I just had other things on my mind, you know." Like condemning an innocent man to a life in eternity by himself, so to speak – literally, his worst nightmare, and he'd sentenced a man to it today without a second thought other than the safety of his ship. He'd gotten a taste of that strange anti-world, just a glimpse, and it had felt so wrong; to imagine being trapped in one by himself, alone, forever…he really had no desire to sleep, perchance to dream, on that tonight.
Spock was looking at him strangely.
"Just thinking about Lazarus, Spock," he remarked, settling down into a more comfortable position. He rubbed wearily at his temples. "Getting a glimpse of that anti-matter universe…it was strange. I would hate to be marooned there, forever – yet I condemned a man to that, for eternity today."
"It was by his own choice, Captain. And had you not done so, our own world might have been forfeit."
"Yes, I know. But it's still haunting me, a little."
Spock's eyes lit with poorly-concealed scientific curiosity. "What was it like, Captain?"
"What, the anti-universe?"
Spock nodded.
"Mm, well…the transition into it was…nauseating, for one. It was like a bad transporter trip, you know, one where the pattern buffer is becoming corrupted and you barely make it back in one piece. Dizzying, more than the brain can really comprehend, I think. But then it all just faded into what at first looked like our universe. But…darker, it was all much darker. Inverted, I suppose you would call it, which makes a kind of sense. The sky was darker, the atmosphere felt…darker, I don't know how else to describe it. It made my skin crawl, Spock." He shivered, remembering the sense of wrong, of not belonging, that had fairly enveloped him at the first touch of the anti-environment.
Spock's features had gone from scientifically curious to pinched with tension. "You are fortunate the journey itself did you no harm," he said flatly.
"I suppose. It's not an experience I would want to repeat." He shrugged, though watching carefully for a reaction. "And it worked out for the best."
"Through no fault of the man Lazarus, or any efforts of ours," was the dark response.
"What's this about, Spock?" he inquired suddenly, leaning forward in the dim light. "There was no harm done, and –"
"And what, Captain?" He was startled to be interrupted, because that was just not done by such a polite species, but Spock apparently was on a roll because it didn't stop there. "And if there had been no such universal reversion possible? What would you have done then? If there had been no dilithium crystals in that other universe, waiting to be used in the transport? If the Lazarus of the other universe had not been in that anti-universe, waiting, and you had been the only being there when you arrived – what then?"
He swallowed. "Then I would probably have gone as mad as he did," he said quietly. "Don't think I haven't already thought it through too, Spock. You're not the only one who got scared to death, just a little."
He waited for the immediate, automatic denial, the expected rejection of the emotion as unVulcan –
But it never came.
He sighed, and moved closer across the divide between them in the small space, finally settling into place beside his silent First.
"That is the risk we take in this business, you know."
"I am aware," was the dry reply, almost icy in its sarcasm.
"Are you, though?" he asked softly. "Or did you just become very, very acutely aware, today, of just what that risk really could be?"
Spock's eyes flicked sideways in the half-light, the movement so rapid in its surprise that he knew he'd hit a nerve.
He shrugged, unrepentant. "You can't run from me here, Spock. And you should know better than to try to hide. Why do you feel the need to?"
His First stared woodenly at the side of the lift, eyes dark in reflection against the tritanium. "Sir, I am Vulcan," he finally spoke, almost desperately.
Kirk sat back, arms resting across his updrawn knees, and nodded. "Fair enough," he replied simply, and closed his eyes.
A moment later, they opened again, as he felt an incredulous stare fairly boring hold in his head.
"What?"
"You are not going to continue?"
"Continue what, insulting your heritage by trying to force an emotional display from you, Mr. Spock? That's Bones's territory, not mine." He closed his eyes again, half-smiling into the darkness.
He heard a faint noise of bemusement, before silence fell once more.
"Besides, I have a signed report from one of our Security team today, saying you quite calmly and logically informed Lazarus he would be receiving a very personal demonstration of that Vulcan warrior heritage in question, if I didn't make it back from his parallel universe unharmed, so, you know. Semantics."
He found it wise to scoot back across the lift after that salvo, but it was worth it to have several hours of frigid silence in which to take a very satisfying, very well-deserved nap.
One which evidently involved letting him sleep well past his shift's start time by locking the turbolift in place from any curious stragglers attempting to utilize it, before escaping out of the now-unfused magnetic hatch.
Thank all the gods, that the laws of the universe dictated there could only be one of each of them existing at a time, because two Spocks? That would just be unfair.