The captain strode into the transporter room, cloaked in the authority that sat better on his young shoulders with each passing day.
Close behind, the First Officer stepped with focused intent, a formidable column of black and blue, the impression complemented by his green tinted skin. From his purposeful energy and granite face, no one could have gathered that just a moment ago he was arguing with his captain.
They did not move as one, but their partnership was clear. Neither was a man to trifle with and neither would let the other fall.
Whatever the (lacking) state of their personal relationship, Kirk was glad for Spock's presence at his side. Reflexively, Jim looked at him again. The Vulcan gave a minute incline of his neck, acknowledging the unspoken need for reassurance.
Turning forward, Jim's eyes came to rest on the freshly materialized form on the transporter pad.
On it, stood a strangely dressed man; Jim could only think of his appearance as foppish, all puffy sleeved and tight pantsed glory. It was as though he'd taken to dressing like a character from a 20th century Shakespeare production. The captain barely contained a snicker.
Oh man, Bones has got to see this guy.
Jim looked at Spock again and instead of his typical stone-like façade, found a raised eyebrow in silent complicity.
Seeing Spock's reaction, he lost control of himself and his laughter pealed forth, coating the room in its mellifluous glow.
"Is the rest of me …er… crew goin' ta be joinin' us?"
That the man then opened his mouth and spoke in dramatic Irish brogue only increased the hilarity.
Spock's left brow was joined by its brother, but this one seemed more in response to his superior officer's unbecoming behavior. We are still in a critical time they said.
Dear God, he must actually be exhausted if he was starting to hear things from Spock's eyebrows.
Sucking in a deep, calming breath, Jim controlled his response. Right then, three more figures appeared.
Scotty, who'd come up from Engineering to personally man the transport, was transfixed, a silly smile plastered on his pale face, normally restless hands hanging slack from his wrists. The two male Ensigns in the booth were in little better shape, each sporting glazed looks and hanging jaws.
A trio of goddesses had appeared behind the fop. Their scent floated throughout the space, filling Jim's nostrils with the heady aroma of flowers under warm, open skies and an undercurrent of something exotic. It made him think of his Earth home and his mother's garden at the start of summer when the vegetation was at its deepest green. He'd always loved green. The exotic undercurrent called to him as well, but he couldn't exactly place its source, only that he found it incredibly attractive. The goddesses' smooth, pore-less skin seemed to glow, reflecting the light of the room back out, casting a radiance about them. Each was statuesque, shaped to perfect human proportions.
They're like ancient Earth dolls, foggily thought Jim's bludgeoned brain. There's even one for each hair color; a blonde, a brunette, and a red head.
His reaction was not lost on Spock, who watched him with carefully guarded eyes.
He's beautiful too, Jim's brain helpfully supplied in its dreamy state.
Spock looked pointedly at him, locking Kirk's dilated gaze within his own.
The human felt like he was wrapped in space itself; dark, unknown, and terrifying to most people, but for Jim it was the shaping force of his life. Space had marked him at his birth, and it created his destiny. For all its dangers, it was still exhilarating, intoxicating. Jim loved space.
This truth came through the mist of his thoughts sharp and clear, a talisman.
And his mind abruptly touched back home.
His eyelids fluttered and he looked at Spock with refocused eyes. Jim's pulse gave a tiny lurch as his dream notions about the Vulcan came to his attention before he sent them skittering away to the back corners of his psyche where he hardly ever visited.
Seeing Kirk was alright, Spock stepped back. He had come close to the captain (within 10 centimeters to be exact) and the proximity made him uncomfortable for a variety of reasons.
"You are aboard the Federation Starship Enterprise. I am Captain Kirk, this is Commander Spock. Care to explain why you were running from a Starfleet vessel in an outdated, sub-code space vehicle into a meteor storm that would have killed you?"
Jim's voice was not unfriendly, but it brooked no argument, power behind every syllable.
The blond opened her mouth. Before words tumbled from her trembling, luscious lips, the man cut in smoothly. His voice was unctuous.
"You see Captain, I'm Leo Walsh, a free-lancin' ferry man. I was transporting these women ta their new settlements. Somewhere down on Rygell 12, aye?" He swiveled his head, looking at the women, who tremulously nodded. "I thought we could get through th' storm. Didn't want 'em ta be late. Transportin' is a serious business, somethin' a man like yerself surely knows all about."
Having an advanced degree in bullshit himself, Kirk didn't buy the story for a second.
"That elucidation still fails to account for your evasive actions. It does not provide rational reasoning for navigating into a storm, or for being without proper cargo transport clearance. Furthermore, I detect inconsistencies in your accent, particularly in your vowel pronunciation."
Jim was glad Spock wasn't buying it either. He flipped open his comm.
"Giotto, I'm going to need security in the transporter room."
It was a good thing Security had practiced emergency drills so often and so thoroughly that they could be to any part of the ship in minutes. The captain would never admit to it, but he was a magnet for trouble. Excessive drilling was just another precaution for life on the Enterprise.
It was even better that they'd been hovering near the beaming room, like moths drawn to a flame, since being alerted by the bridge crew that Captain Kirk was bringing potentially dangerous individuals aboard.
What was a bad thing was that all their training seemed to fly from their minds the second they got to the captain and were hit by the women's beauty. The four officers stopped inside the door, their senses shocked, as though being assaulted.
Kirk was considering the picked-up crew and didn't notice the men become affected.
"Gentlemen, I'm going to need our guests taken down to a holding cell so we can get to the bottom of this. Go ahead to oh, I think Cell Three ought to be good. Bring them refreshments and anything else we can reasonably accommodate them with right now."
The security detail did not stir.
Jim looked at them quizzically, taken aback by the lack of action from the red-shirted men. He wasn't used to his commands being ignored. But then he remembered the women (how could he have forgotten them in the first place?) and understood.
Spock however, gave the smallest shoulder movement, which could have been an aborted shrug, and repeated the captain's words in his sternest tones; or what Jim knew to be his sternest tones, though to someone less observant, it probably sounded like the slightest variation on his regular voice. If he didn't know better, Jim might think that Spock was avenging the disrespect he'd just received. A simultaneously flattering and mortifying thought.
"You will take these people to Holding Cell Three immediately."
Spock stood a meter from them now, having been advancing on their stilled shapes. As though his presence was a trigger, they began to move.
The men shook their heads, looking like they had emerged unwillingly from pleasant dreams, and moved sluggishly forward. They escorted the man and three women from the room. Jim was surprised by their slow, jerky movements. It had only taken one look from the half-Vulcan to get him going again, and Spock hadn't even been emitting waves of anger then like he was now.
Additionally, Jim did not like the satisfied, knowing look on Leo Walsh's face.
Yeah, something is definitely going on here.
"Captain, this is most unusual. There is something amiss about Leo Walsh and his crew. Their data does not reach a truthful conclusion and they seem to have an adverse effect on you and the crew of which I cannot determine a cause."
Jim's eyes blinked exaggeratedly of their own accord. The Vulcan really didn't see?
"You can't determine the cause Mr. Spock? You're unaffected by our…passengers?"
"A correct summation of what I have just said Captain."
Huh. Well. For the first time, Kirk felt a little bad for Uhura. If the Vulcan really wasn't affected by physical beauty, she must have a hell of a time talking him into bed. Must be quite a departure from her past relationships. He suppressed a smile at the mental image of the headstrong Lieutenant trying and failing to get his First Officer to do her. (If he'd known how close he was to the truth, the captain might have laughed outright.)
So if Spock really didn't see what the problem was, Jim wasn't going to tell him. A little test of his actual indifference to beautiful women. And a bit of payback for all that regulation quoting.
"I'm sure your excellent mind will soon find the answer. In the meantime, let's look up Leo Walsh in the criminal database and see if we can restart Scotty's brain to get working on the crystal problem."
Spock still looked suspicious, if his narrowed eyes were anything to go by, but he helped Jim propel the stunned Scotsman into the corridor.
Jim sighed. Beta Shift hadn't even begun and he was already wading through space mysteries.
Hello again! I kinda love the free formness of writing at the bottom of these, so I'll probably be a nerd and do it. Again, thanks for taking the time to read this and I hoped you liked it.
And since I haven't done it yet... Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or anything wherein, especially not a certain episode of TOS that serves as the story template for this arc. :)