AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hello everyone! I have lots of news to tell you, and I'm really excited! Ok, first things first- I'm going to attempt to stick to a one chapter per week updating schedule. However, that said, this month is going to be terribly busy, and I apologize in advance if my posting takes a bit longer than that. College applications are a bitch.
Secondly, the most important piece of news- I know I'm rambling, so hold in there everyone, and i know my author's notes for this chapter are shamelessly massive-
"Expectations" has undergone a title change. Obviously. Let me know what you think about the title change, okay? Hopefully it doesn't confuse anyone. :) I have a theme going for this story, and i feel that "The Moment" will more accurately reflect the plot.
Thirdly…I have a confession. (dramatic organ music in the background). I, moviesaremagic, have a review problem. I compulsively stalk my review page for days after I post, just hoping for feedback. Please enable my addiction- drop me a line and let me know what you think. All you silent readers out there- yes, you!- just a few words would make my day. Review? And for all of my fabulous regular reviewers, i want to tell you that you absolutely rock. Your feedback inspires me to keep writing and makes me jump up and down and squeal like a Justin Bieber fangirl. Some pre-slash here on Jim's part, laddies and lasses! (YAY!)
Shout out to ShamelessSpocker (I ADORE your pen name, by the way), MyriadProBold, droopydog, Fallchild92, MeEksiNs, and the countless others who reviewed.
Hiding in the Shadow, your review made me laugh: "No! It does do to dream, Spock! It does!"
Lady Merlin, your review was so nice I got a little teary eyed. :)
And without further ado:
The Best Friend
Jim Kirk is in a good mood. He's slept for almost sixteen hours straight, Bones is far too self satisfied that his little plot succeeded to be truly angry, and negotiations are finished. He takes a long, hot shower, puts on a clean uniform, and arrives at the bridge almost ten minutes before his shift starts, thrumming with energy, eyes bright.
(He isn't whistling, but it's a close thing.)
His crew arrives just as he finishes polishing up his Captain's log from the previous night. (He doesn't even remember making it, to be honest. Apart from the garbled official report, there's also approximately 39 seconds of the recording that he, in his sleep-deprived state, designated to discussing how penguins are always snappily dressed. Something about penguins and their aquatic friends and...formal wear? Sometimes Jim worries a little about the inner workings of his mind.)
For a few minutes each morning, as the crew trickles in, the Bridge resounds with greetings and conversation. This in itself is not a problem- extraneous conversation topics generally drop off a few minutes after duties begin. Jim has never had any difficulty with it previously- the crew maintains their professionalism in spite of this regular period of "talk time". He sees no reason to not allow a few quiet moments. But this is another story. On this morning, everyone starts talking all at once. With the completion of their last assignment, everyone seems to feel the need to talk. And talk at extremely high decibels. And with nearly ten people on the bridge, the noise level isn't merely disquieting- it's deafening.
"Feeling better, Keptain?" That's Chekov.
Then Spock walks quickly onto the Bridge, arriving uncharacteristically nearly fifteen seconds late-
"Course laid down," Sulu announces formally before leaning back in his chair, a sly smile spreading over his face. "I enjoyed your impression of a narcoleptic-"
And then Jim notices that Spock's hair is, most unusually, out of place. Almost genuinely messy. And for no reason he can fathom, it's incredibly, illogically (oh gods he's been spending too much time around his first officer), distracting-
His thoughts are interrupted by Scotty, stepping off the lift, a smudge of what looks like axle grease across his cheek, a well-worn pair of pliers in one hand and a smudged PADD in the other.
"You'll be needing to take a look at this, Captain, a bit of an electrical malfunction' down on Deck Three, Johnson surveyed it and we've got a few unusual readins', see 'ere-"
Spock, face growing steadily blanker in response to the commotion, shifts in a way Jim knows is from nerves. (Spock hates both noise and crowds. Won't say it as much, but it's true.)
Jim responds, but no one can hear him. In fact, he can't hear them that well either. Lipreading is the only reason he is making sense of any of this. Frowning slightly, he tries to shout over the clamor.
The few people whose attention he manages to catch simultaneously mouth "What? I can't hear you."
He runs one hand through his hair in frustration.
"Spacial anomaly detected in flight path three-zero-zero, rerouting course-" drones Ensign Ka'wids'ing, the new Science intern working under Spock, not once looking up from her holoscreen. She attempts to raise her voice to be heard over the ruckus- unfortunately everyone else is doing so too.
And Spock's hair is still so oddly (a quiet voice whispers the word "endearingly" in the back of his mind, but that voice is very quickly ignored) in a state of disarray-
Jim's head is starting to hurt. Quite badly. Maybe it's a migraine. Either that or a very large, very vicious brain eating slug that has decided to make a snack of his frontal lobe.
"Detection of anomaly in subspace sector two, quadrant six alpha charlie-"
Won't everyone just be quiet?
"an' the nacelles on the lower deck need some minor repairs-"
Spock's mouth tenses into a line-
"...bravo, second sector approaching east, readouts maintaining typical substructure-"
"DESIST."
The force of that one word is such that the entire Bridge, stunned, shuts their mouths. (Even Jim. In how long they've worked together, he hasn't heard Spock raise his voice maybe more than four or five times. And considering that one of those times was when Spock was fighting a horta to the death, that's saying a lot.)
Surprised though he may be, he catches Spock's eye (do not look at his hair) and dips his head slightly. Thank you.
Jim, lifting his eyes to the ceiling momentarily in gratitude, seriously considers raising his salary.
"Yes, Commander?" He says, in as normalish a tone as he can muster. Apart from the newfound headache, he's gotten plenty of rest. He really shouldn't be feeling this...discombobulated.
Jim's never before found Spock's hair to be that eye catching. A typical Vulcan hairstyle, and nothing of interest- just an average physical attribute of the man that he now considers one of his best friends. Then again, he hasn't seen it all rumpled, off-duty, kinda-adorable before.
On second thought, maybe he does need more sleep.
"We've received our orders from Starfleet, Sir," Spock relays. There's a momentary shift in his expression as Jim looks over, startled from his thoughts, and it's gone so quickly he's left only with a fading memory and an unfocused feeling of apprehension. But then he puts the pieces together. That micro-expression hints that once again, they are receiving their orders from her. And just like that, his good mood disperses.
His newly acquired headache, following the unspoken rules of the universe, does not.
He turns to his pilot, jaw tightening instinctively, and tries to school his features into something resembling civility . Not until he is again under control does he venture to speak. It comes out unnaturally calm.
"On the display, please, Sulu." Sulu's fingers fly over the keyboard, and the holo flashes to life, Admiral Kates onscreen.
All on the Bridge stiffen reflexively, controlling their expressions. Uhura's hands tighten into fists. The face they see is no friend of theirs, if the last few missions were anything to go by. Flagship duties are meant to be varied; jack of all trades missions. A mix of science, experimentation, observation, negotiations, trolling, peace-keeping, etc... But over the last few months, they've been ordered to form treaties with some of the most hostile planets known to the Federation. Thiristher in particular was a nasty place; the so called "tribal carnival planet". (Chekov now has an irrational fear of clowns, and a deservedly, completely rational fear of poison-tipped arrows.) And, in addition to the high-risk missions, the crew of the Enterprise is long overdue for shore leave. They haven't had a vacation in almost a year and a half- the last two scheduled were canceled by "the admiralty". Three guesses as to who.
The bitch has it out for us, thinks Uhura, in an an uncharacteristic expression of savagery. She still can't let go of Carigime II- when we had to swoop in and clear up her fucking mess with the High Council when her goddamned crew went ass over teakettle.
A sharp woman with a shock of cloud gray hair, Kates shows no warmth towards any of the crew. Instead, she addresses Kirk alone, with the sort of sneer generally reserved in Starfleet for mutineers, high-collared dress uniforms, or having to eat something at a dignitary dinner that looks and smells like cat food.
With her high cheekbones and thin face, she is exactly the sort of person you might describe snidely as a stick-up-the-ass. Of course, in more polite circles of conversation, you might say butter wouldn't melt in her mouth. Either way, there is no denying that the woman is utterly devoid of anything resembling an amiable personality.
"Admiral Kates." That quiet tone in the Captain's voice, somewhere between cordiality and danger, raises the arm hair of all humanoids present.
"Captain Kirk." The way she forms his name- precise, clipped, slower than normal speech- does not bode well.
"Negotiations with the dignitaries of Isiay are complete," Kirk says smoothly, his face still. "You will find my initial statement finalized and the two subsequent reports filed."
A dismissive grunt is the only answer. The woman's gray eyes flash.
"I wish to discuss a matter concerning your actions and those of your crew on Isiay." At his lack of reply, she elaborates.
"Your misconduct."
There is movement out of the corner of Jim's eye, and Spock is at his right, hands in their customary position behind his back, eyebrows narrowed minisculely in concentration. His first officer leans forward slightly; their shoulders brush.
"I am uncertain as to what it is you are referring, Admiral. Our crew has acted in accordance with all standard Starfleet customary procedures, including the Directives. Contact with the life forms of Isiay was not established until it had been noted and verified that their technology had reached a level of sophistication at which they had become capable of interstellar spaceflight."
"The Prime Directive is not what has been violated, Commander," Kates declares coldly, looking much as if she wish it had been. The nasty emphasis she puts on the word "Commander" is anything but respectful, and Jim feels a cold surge of anger that even steady breathing can not entirely dilute.
He does not look away from her stare; Spock steps minutely closer to him, posture unyielding, until the lengths of their arms are nearly touching. The simple gesture, like so much of what his friend tells him, is meaningful in its silence. They've never needed words to understand each other. And this, this little nothing but definitely something, speaks as clearly to him as if it had been spoken out loud.
I am here.
There, the Captain and his First, best friends, they stand together- partners in their efforts.
"By all means," Jim says softly, raising his eyebrows, and the reserved force of his words is a promise-
"Enlighten us."
Author's Note: Reviews to me are like nacelles and warp engines to Scotty- he could physically survive without them, but it would be a very depressing existence. Ok, so i got the wierdest idea for a cartoon today- imagine the Bridge. Each member of our beloved bridge crew has become a pastry- a walking, talking pastry. Uhura is a croissant. Chekov is a blueberry muffin. Spock is a steaming slice of herbed bread. Sulu is a yummy strawberry tart.
And Scotty is a "large almond biscuit, made dry and crunchy through cutting the loaf of dough while still hot and fresh from baking in the oven. " (thanks wikipedia!) Haha. That was a hint. Anyway...
Seated at their various workstations, busy with the problem at hand, a speech bubble comes out of Uhura's headset- the Captain is on the planet they are orbiting, in trouble of a nefarious kind! Oh no! What will he do? So Kirk (who has now become a delicately frosted Cinnamon bun, by the way) is freaking out on the other line. What is yelling into his communications device as the planet is imploding/ winged creatures are attempting to tackle him and take him to their lair? wait for it... wait for it...
"Beam me up, BISCOTTI!"
If you laughed at my ridiculous pastry joke, review. If you have no idea what i am going on about, review. If I just made you crave sweets, review.
Love, moviesaremagic