Title: Potential
Series: Tales from the Lower Decks
Written for: st_20_fics Table, Prompt #16 - "There's more to life than _."
Characters: Spock, Kirk, OC Matthew Turner (seen elsewhere such as A Celebration in Infinite Combinations and Insontis)
Warnings/Spoilers: written by me? :P
Series Summary: The adventures of an ordinary Maintenance man aboard the Enterprise, and his observations of the developing trifold powerhouse which is Kirk, Spock, and McCoy.
This Bit Summary: Ensign Turner learns that he's not the only one with quick reflexes.
This Bit Word Count: 2916
A/N: Having abandoned my NaNo temporarily because it had ground to a very painful, very boring halt (and I only do NaNo because I enjoy writing; once I start hating a fic I know it's time to give it a break and plan a little better the second time around), I am beginning this series of ficlets/oneshots for st_20_fics, with the prompt table linked above. They will all be Triumvirate-centric, more so than these introductory ones, so just bear with me while I establish an OC POV and let some initial time pass before moving on to the better ones. I'm just fooling around and having fun here, people, so expect anything from crack to angst and all the universes in-between.

A/N2: I just realized that I referred to the crewman in the first fic by the wrong name throughout, mixing him up with a minor character named Matthews that I fleshed out in ACiIC, who goes the way of all redshirts in Miri. Characterization was right, name was wrong. Sorry about that, to anyone who is jarred by that type of glaring inconsistency.

Prompt #16 - "There's more to life than _."

One really fantastic thing about being aboard a ship like this, is that life in space is far too short to carry grudges. Your mistakes may have consequences, but only the most rude of people will keep tossing them back in your face after you've been forgiven. The risks here are much too great for petty feuds to develop, the reality of a dangerous occupation foremost in everyone's minds in regards to their relationships with even the most annoying of people.

Still, occasionally somebody does something that's one for the books, and he either goes down in history or ignominy because it's so over-the-top as to be worthy of multiple recalls.

Poor Kevin Riley was one of those unfortunate crewmen who would be forever remembered: for singlehandedly overriding crucial computer codes and holding the ship hostage during a medical crisis, his crowning act as 'captain' being bequeathing double portions of ice cream on his appropriated crew as they were forced to listen to a serenade of what must be the most annoying song on any of the British Isles (and this from a Northern lad, who grew up on too many twee Scottish ballads to be mentally healthy).

Riley's had a great attitude about the ribbing he still gets occasionally, good-natured or no (the captain for one was not a merry man), though for about a week after the Psi2000 incident he was too mortified to show his face at a public meal time. Hikaru Sulu had accepted his crewman-chasing, sword-fighting adventure with shameless pride, and had pulled off an aloof self-deprecation that even Captain Kirk would be proud of - but poor Kevin, the lad would barely walk the corridors for a week afterward, taking Jefferies tubes instead from his cabin corridor to Engineering, and hiding himself away again as soon as his shift was over.

I for one had escaped the effects of the virus, though I witnessed firsthand the degenerating crew morale below decks and was called upon to break up a few fights. None of us really had any idea the danger we were in until we learned what was happening in Engineering, with the ship going down and the engines totally cold. The idea of crashing on an imploding planet or blowing ourselves to pieces with a cold engine start was enough to scare me out of my wits, and if most of the crew had still possessed any inhibition whatsoever it would have been enough to sober them all up right quick. As it stood, however, we made it safely out of our decaying orbit and, in fact, back in time.

Back in bloody time.

I mean! No other starship has ever even contemplated a successful time-warp, though the Vulcans have occasionally dabbled in the theoretics of it; and certainly no one has dared to attempt it since, other than our fabulous Enterprise on two other occasions. We made history that day, and Spock's Science departments were geeking about it for months afterwards. They'll be telling their grandchildren someday, no doubt, how their First Officer came up with the intermix formula that would propel a starship into time warp.

Oddly enough, however, Commander Spock himself didn't seem overly enthusiastic with his remarkable discovery and its successful field trial. You'd think he would be over the moon…so to speak, though Lieutenant Uhura tells me Vulcan doesn't have a moon…but instead, he was just a bit distant for the remainder of that historical day, and most of the next.

He and Captain Kirk spent a deal of time in Engineering the day after McCoy's miracle serum had been distributed, working with Scotty on an engine overhaul and going back over Mr. Spock's calculations in order to present their findings to Starfleet Command. I've a friend who works in the Astrophysics labs, and she soundly swears that if you know how to look, Spock has tells of excitement and other emotions that are unmistakable; you just have to know how to interpret his body language rather than his facial expression and speech. But I could see nothing except a weird sort of tension between him and the captain, the whole time they were in Engineering. Granted, 'twas none of my business, and I'd no intention of making it my business, but Fate is an odd old girl at times, and gave me an opportunity to make sense of the rumors that were beginning to float around this ship of ours.

I certainly didn't believe the one that said Captain Kirk and his First Officer had gotten into a hair-pulling catfight in a deserted briefing room just before the emergency warp engine implosion - nor did I think the one about Nurse Chapel jumping Spock in a deserted corridor had any chance (hope, in her case, probably) of being true. That Sulu had chased six Security men down the corridor with a fencing epee, calling himself the Japanese Zorro, was probably utter rubbish, while the one about McCoy throwing a medical scanner at a technician's head when he was standing around giggling under the influence, I thought might be the most likely one of the bunch to be truthful, or at least near so. And that, only because it was certainly within the realm of probability to happen on a day when we weren't infested with a deadly virus and the ship spiraling toward an impending supernova.

Just the same, Maintenance did get a call to replace a chair in the briefing room closest to Sickbay, one that's hardly ever used unless much of the ship is locked down (1), and there was obvious tension between Captain Kirk and Commander Spock. The lads in Engineering are, at this point in our five-year mission, beginning to fondly call them KirkenSpock behind their backs, because while our COs were rather carefully distant at the beginning of this voyage it's become less and less common to see one without the other.

I was surprised but not displeased to be called to fill a work order from Ship's Stores and Requisitions, apparently being next on the roster for repair duty. Certainly, fixing a pipe in KirkenSpock's shared lavatory was preferable to re-wiring fried computer circuitry in the Communications department, under the watchful and expert eye of Lieutenant Uhura. The pipe in question had apparently burst - along with many such pipes and ductwork aboard - when we'd been suddenly hurled into such immensely accelerated speed while trying to escape the gravitational pull of the imploding Psi2000. No starship, even the Enterprise, was built for time warp, amazing an experience though it was, and as such Maintenance was having a field day with repairs all over the ship. And of course, the captain's plumbing always gets preference over the less vital areas of the ship.

'Twas an unusual chance to see how the Privileged Ones differed in accommodations than the common people below decks, though. Most of us poor sods reside in the standard cabins - a tiny cubicle with two bunks, a shared wardrobe, and not much else. A favored few have a desk or couch, but starship cabins are built for sleep and not recreation; the rec rooms aboard are extensive, and opportunities to relax elsewhere are certainly abundant. And besides, any crewman who spends too much time alone in his cabin soon gets a "visit" from our fearless (and fearsome) CMO. Cabins on the Enterprise are joined by a shared lavatory containing a commode, tiny sink, and sanitizing stall; and while the ranking officers' cabins are certainly a sight larger they are still required by ship's design to share a lavatory between two cabins. Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock's are no different, though I wondered as I exited the lift on Deck Five how awkward it might be to share a loo with a species so private.

No doubt Mr. Spock had some sort of logical timetable worked out for the two of them.

There was no answer when I buzzed Mr. Spock's cabin, and so I moved next door to the captain's, which actually opened at my approach rather than remaining locked. I made a note to pass that information on to Scotty, who would probably raise seven kinds of hell about the lack of security, and poked my head into the cabin.

"Captain Kirk, sir?" I called, not seeing anyone in the small office area. "Maintenance to repair your lavatory ductwork?"

There was no answer, and that explained the unlocked door; Kirk had probably stepped out for a minute and had left it unlocked, having been alerted by SS&R that a technician was on the way to make repairs. It felt a bit odd to be wandering blithely into the captain's private cabin, but no one could blame me for doing my job, and so I scuttled as hastily as I could across the cabin and into the small shared lavatory, feeling rather like a child sneaking into his parents' bedroom and trying not to peek at anything private.

The lights in the lavatory of course registered my presence, flicking on silently with a harsh yellow glow, and the door slid shut behind me without noise as I placed my tool kit on the floor. Thankfully, at least those two systems appeared in perfect working order; a good thing, as my wiring skills were average at best, shock-inducing at worst. Riley still laughs about the repair work I tried to do on an Environmental Control motherboard during training, and the snowstorm that resulted in the Engineering test cubicle (hence my placement into Maintenance).

I suppose it was a bit inexcusably nosy, but given the opportunity, who wouldn't be a bit eager to learn what they could about their two commanding officers by what they kept on their shared countertop?

To my surprise, and private amusement, there was no chalk line down the countertop with My Side written in Vulcan on it, and yet the division was quite clear; Spock's side obviously held only a toothbrush and a comb, both in protective sanitization holders, and a small to-do-list tacked onto the corner of the mirror; while the captain's side of the sink was chaotically covered in a jumble of hair products, eye drops, a pill bottle (obviously a headache remedy, judging from what little I could read of McCoy's atrocious handwriting), and - to my surprise - an actual, honest-to-God paperback edition of a Zane Grey novel, with some sort of fuzzy green bookmark that said Reading Is Fun! peeking out of the pages halfway through.

Right, and that was probably more weirdness than I really needed to know. Hopefully their plumbing would not be near as informative.

It took a good quarter-hour of tinkering, taking apart pipes, and general guesswork to discover the leak in the ductwork, one which was caused by a faulty hydraulic coupling that had shrunk in the process of time warp - of course, a coupling in a size which was not standard and so was not in my toolkit. Such is the story of my life.

Venting a frustrated sigh, I scrambled out from under the small sink and wiped my hands on my jumpsuit before turning to leave the lavatory, intent upon comm-ing SS&R to have Kalov send someone up with a No. 7 coupling -

- and walked out of the lav straight into the business end of a phaser.

Training instincts are a bit ingrained by the time any cadet goes into space, and so it was not quick thinking but rather just plain self-preservation that sent me crashing down into the fellow's knees in a short roll designed to throw his aim off while still putting me out of the line of fire. A brief scuffle, in which I got an elbow to the head and a vicious knee to places best left better protected - not a standard fighting technique, and a bit dirty, I thought indignantly above the unmanful shriek that threatened to break past my lips - and then somehow my arm got twisted up behind my back and a knee planted itself across my lower legs, effectively pinning me in less than ten seconds.

A shameful representation of my less-than-stellar defensive skills, unfortunately, and yet again indication as to why I didn't make high enough placement scores to go into Security on the Enterprise.

To make matters worse, the flood of adrenaline then faded to let me see none other than First Officer Spock standing across from me. His left eyebrow dutifully followed the right into his hairline as I gawped at him, squinting through my own fringe in an effort to make sense of the last few seconds.

Spock sighed through his nose, which made me want to giggle for some reason because it looked for all the world like a harried mum trying to not swat her kid upside the head for something, and then he looked pointedly my direction.

"Captain, I believe Mr. Turner will require the use of his arm during his duties aboard," Spock said dryly, and immediately everything just got ten times worse.

I heard a sheepish "Whoops…" from behind me, and immediately the weight pinning me scrambled away, revealing none other than Captain Kirk himself, grinning guiltily at me and offering me a hand up.

Oh, lovely. I'd not only been beaten in less than ten seconds by an assailant (a lack of skill which had cost me a placement and might someday cost me my life), but by one weighing a good stone and a half less than I.

Fantastic.

"Sorry, Turner," Kirk was saying, somewhat red-faced, as I reluctantly accepted the hand and was hauled briskly to my feet. "Instinct, you know."

"I do, sir," I replied ruefully, trying to surreptitiously rearrange my jumpsuit to relieve pressure on the more painful portions of my anatomy.

"Are you in need of medical attention, Ensign?"

Better and better, now I was being babied by the resident Vulcan. "Negative, Mr. Spock," I replied with as much crispness as I could muster. "My apologies, captain; I was sent to repair the ductwork in your lavatory…?"

To my surprise, Kirk blushed, I suppose in embarrassment for over-reacting, reasonable though the assumption had been. "Of course, Ensign. I had stepped out for a moment and forgot to lock the door; then, hearing someone inside when I returned, and knowing it wasn't Mr. Spock…"

"Aye, sir," I answered dryly, rubbing the side of my head. How a man that compact can have such a bony elbow is beyond my ken. "I must say Lieutenant Kalov neglected to inform me that plumbing repair would entitle me to hazard pay, Captain."

Kirk laughed, eyes sparkling with a good humor that made my initial irritation melt away despite the desire to hold a grudge. I'd heard people speak of the captain's innate charm, but had never been subject to it myself until now. But who really can be irritated with a man who can truly laugh at himself, and obviously take care of himself even without his Vulcan shadow?

To my surprise, the captain extended a hand to me, which I shook hesitantly after a moment's clueless hesitation. "I apologize, Ensign, for my hasty assumptions," Kirk said simply, all the more shocking for its readily-given sincerity. It's the first rule in the command track curriculum: never admit to your subordinates that you're wrong, and never apologize for your actions or decisions.

Obviously, vetoing the saluting in the corridors wasn't the only rule James T. Kirk was planning on breaking during his tenure aboard.

"Erm." I coughed awkwardly, and nodded. "No worries, Captain."

"I must say I approve of your excellent reflexes, Turner," Kirk continued in a more relaxed tone, as he retrieved his data-padds from Spock's patient hands. "Just remember that any attacker isn't going to stick to your personal sense of ethics when it comes to 'honorable' fighting, and you'll be just fine in a scuffle."

I stopped with my hand on the comm, staring at him in surprise. "Sir?"

"Ensign, I've reviewed the placement scores for everyone who applied for the Enterprise," Kirk said, seating himself at his desk and silently waving his First to the chair opposite. "Yours were considerably less stellar than Mr. Scott seems to think you are capable of being."

Well, that was news to me. Every instructor I'd ever had had recommended I focus on the Ops track since I had no particular aptitude for any specific skill.

Kirk tapped a stylus pointedly on the edge of the padd, looking at me over Spock's head. "I expect you to realize your full potential while aboard this vessel, Mr. Turner," he said firmly. "Mediocrity will get you killed on the Enterprise, and you have the potential to be as much as you wish to be. See that you realize that potential. I can safely promise you that there's more to life out here than unstopping toilets for the next four and a half years, Ensign."

I grinned, feeling a ray of hope for the first time that here was a commander who actually knew his people as more than numbers and pulled strings from old friends.

I might just have a chance on this ship. Who knew.

(1) According to the episode The Naked Time, they did end up closing off sections of the ship in an effort to stop the spread of the virus.