A/N: Trust me...I own nothing.
Commander Spock strode onto the newly-repaired bridge, past the communication station and the captain's chair, and seated himself at his post on the starboard side. Mr. Chekov and Mr. Sulu were already seated at the helm, reading for takeoff and conversing quietly with each other.
"Where is the Captain?" Spock asked them after a few minutes of inside jokes and broken English on the young Russian's part, mixed with the frequent beeping of the computers. He did not recall seeing Jim since they arrived on the starship via shuttle.
"I believe he was showing Lieutenant Uhura to her new quarters," Sulu replied, his voice a little cautious, as if treading on thin ice. It was no secret among the higher officers that their relationship didn't exactly end on smooth terms. He knew that Jim and her had started getting closer, and he was not going to mourn over it; if anything, he was glad that she could be with someone who could show her love the way she deserved.
"Very well. Has Dr. McCoy come aboard yet?"
"He has, sir. He has been showing the new doctor around the ship." Since the death of the previous chief medical officer on the previous mission, McCoy had taken his place and a replacement for his post was needed. Spock had heard very little about the newest addition to the sickbay, other than the fact that the young doctor was extremely well-versed in exobiology and biophysics, and knowing his supreme health along with his superior Vulcan agility, he knew it would stay that way.
Just as Spock turned back to his station, the automatic door leading to the elevator lift opened and Captain James T. Kirk demonstrated his trademark strut on his way to the captain's chair, while Nyota Uhura seated herself at the communications post. Spock's excellent peripheral vision confirmed the long stare that she was giving him before starting on her work.
"All personnel aboard, Mr. Spock?" asked Jim in formal tone, something unusual for a recent Starfleet graduate who only months ago fearlessly defied his academic suspension and managed to somehow get onboard.
"Yes sir," Spock answered, eyeing the monitor that reported the number of crewmembers aboard the ship, as well as the secured status of the shuttles.
Jim pressed one of the communication buttons on the arm of the chair. "All set, Scotty?"
"Aye, captain!" came chief engineer Montgomery Scott's enduring Highlander accent. "She's ready for ascension."
"Alrighty then. Mr. Sulu?"
"Separating from space dock, sir…all clear. Ready for warp, captain."
Jim leaned back in his seat, as if basking. "Maximum warp, if you will, Mr. Sulu."
Spock remembered when he had to instruct Mr. Sulu on the reason why the ship was not entering warp. The commander knew that he was a very capable pilot and trusted that it would not happen again. He blamed the human emotion of novice anxiety mixed with the dire situation at hand to be the cause.
"Aye, sir." Sulu pushed forward on the silver warp handle. The stars surrounding them suddenly began to blur and soon vanished. A loud bang that usually accompanied warp speed followed.
As Chekov began to verbally enter in the password for the intercom system ("9-5-Victor, victor-2"), Jim turned to Spock, who was glued to the science station monitors.
"Spock, are you alright?" The Vulcan looked up at his captain. Jim began to look towards Uhura, who was twisting a dial at her post. Spock refused to look in her direction, neck stiff in his usual statuesque stance.
"I am utterly well, Captain," he answered in his familiar pronounced tone. Spock then turned his back to his commanding officer and got to work on monitoring any foreign materials within a light year's radius of the starship.
Christine opened the large, overbearing suitcase that had been placed on her bed by one of the unlucky ensigns assigned to the luggage shuttle. It was filled with many of the same dark blue shirts assigned to those in the science division, along with multiple pairs of black pants; she had opted out of wearing a skirt due to the fact that a sickbay can sometimes turn into a hectic place and fashion was not something that was needed to be worried about.
She pulled out a framed holophotograph from her bag and set it on her desk. It was a picture of her family -- her mother Theresa, her father Felix, her younger sister Abigail, as well as her niece Naomi. It was a very picturesque image, but, of course, nothing was perfect; her astrophysicist mother had recently been laid off from her high-paying position at a Starfleet research center, while her father was struggling with his diplomatic duties on a foreign Andorian base located on the moon Titania. Her sister -- who was branded the black sheep of the family after getting pregnant at the age of sixteen -- was struggling to raise her four year old daughter without any help from the father.
Christine frequently played the caretaker to her family, doing exactly what they wanted, whether it be babysitting little Naomi, or working extra hours at the research center at Starfleet Academy, sacrificing her nonexistent social life in the process. It was probably the reason why she had become a doctor -- she already knew how to take care of people, so why not get the official title?
Sighing, she spread herself out on the large bed, stretching out her limbs in exhaustion. As much as she hated to admit it, she was going to miss her overbearing family -- signing up for this Five Year Mission may have been a major mistake.
Of course, everyone seemed nice enough -- Dr. McCoy, the man who had mentored her over the past few months, introduced her to everyone in sickbay. He made sure that she would fit in with the rest of them, like an older brother looking out for a younger sister just entering high school -- or, in this case, an aviaphobic older brother with a slight anger problem and a slight backlog on his child support.
But, no one was perfect.
She was the poster child for that phrase, with her inability to start up a decent conversation without scaring the person off with her rather large dose of sarcasm that seemed to always lurk in her voice, which made it a little difficult for people to take her seriously.
She rubbed the bridge of her nose, still not used to the fact that her glasses were long gone and replaced with laser surgical implants in the cornea.
The reason for signing up for this mission was to get away. To get away from the responsibility of always having to look after her family, to get away from the fact that her ex-boyfriend, the celebrated Dr. Roger Korby, duped her into thinking her really cared. Oh yes, aside from finding him in bed with his research assistant, he really did care about her. And aside from the black eye she inflicted upon him, as well as the fact she had no desire to ever seem him again, she really did care about him.
Oh, the dynamics human relationships and the disappointment it incurs.
A/N: Review, maybe?