Characters: Spock, McCoy, Kirk, POV Scotty
Word Count: (this chapter) 2800
Rating: T
Warnings/Spoilers: Spoilers for Spock's Brain.
Summary: Tag scenes for the end of Spock's Brain. Yes, that episode. Serious treatment of that not-so-serious episode.
A/N: I was quite amused to see several of you arguing so loyally against this being the worst of the TOS episodes – take it up with Memory Alpha, people, as I'm on your side here; by no means do I agree that it's anywhere in the running as the worst. *cough cough Alternative Factor cough*
The next chapter here was supposed to be Spock and McCoy, but they quite literally would not talk to each other so they're having a little time out until they want to play nice. Sorry.
One might say that it serves him right, for allowing the debatably brain-damaged party to make the decision instead of the only member of this ship's command chain currently in a reasonably fit state of mind and body. But as they say, what's done is done and cannot be undone, and so it is with mighty resolve and mental request for increase in pay that Lieutenant-Commander Montgomery Scott enters the Enterprise's Observation Deck on this fine ship's evening.
After unceremoniously booting Lieutenant Carstairs and his three liaisons for the evening out of the shadowed alcove nearest the door and ascertaining no other stragglers linger within, he engages a Class Two privacy lock, sealing the deck off from any other such ambitious officers for the moment. This ship is not without recreation rooms, other observation platforms, central socialization areas, and that blasted bowling alley which no one ever uses except the gamma shift lot from Waste Recycling; the crew will survive without accessing this particular area for an hour. This is not a conversation he wishes to have within range of curious ears and eyes.
Finally, he makes his way over to the massive observation windows, only to find the object of his search watching with some amusement in their reflection. Sixteen inches of spotless transparent tritanium, those windows: necessary to withstand the structural pressures of being so close to the top of the saucer section.
"I'm aware that my actions after a mission of this kind are rather predictable, Mr. Scott. But this, I admit, is something of a surprise."
The captain gives him a sidelong glance that is half-curious, half-wary, as he approaches, and that with good reason. This is a job best suited to one of the two idiots in Science blue hashing it out six decks below them at the moment, and Scott has by far drawn the short straw. McCoy's wrath may be legendary among the crew, but 'tis like a summer thunderstorm, gone in a matter of minutes and leaving clean, refreshing calm in its wake; contrastingly, Scott knows from experience, no one can hold an angry grudge quite like Jim Kirk.
"Well, sir. This isna a conversation I wish to have in front of that young man and his…I dunno what they are, 'tis none of my business, but he can do it elsewhere for now."
Kirk smiles, but the gesture does not reach his eyes. He turns back to the observation windows, staring out at the star-scape with an almost wistful expression, and for a moment the room is wrapped in a not-quite-comfortable silence.
A swirl of starlight stutters for just a moment before flickering past the windows; a glitch in the time-delayed simulation matrix on this side of the Observation Deck, which reproduces the view of what their surroundings would look like along their journey in space were they not at warp, all colorful nebulas in the distance and sparkling stars around them. The opposite side of the deck and its solitary window allows for an unfiltered view of the dizzying, inhumanly colorful and intricate patterns of fractured light which result as their warp bubble distorts time and space around the ship. Very few humanoid species can process such a sight without becoming a bit green around the gills, and while Kirk is one of those, Scott knows he prefers the more peaceful, dreamy sight of deep space, a delayed simulation of which whirls about the Enterprise as she drifts through the stars.
He makes a mental note to fix the glitch in the time-delay simulation matrix before Mr. Spock sees it and sends one of his infamous memorandums to Engineering with a thinly-veiled inquiry about whether or not Scott has sufficient staffing or simply a lack of observational skills.
"What's on your mind, Mr. Scott?" Kirk breaks into his thoughts a moment later, with a casualness that is just this side of unnatural. "It must be something pressing, if McCoy let you out of Medical so quickly."
"Ah, well. Sir. Y'might say that, well…the Doctor is a bit occupied at the moment."
"Is he now."
"Aye, sir. And there is a mighty debt owed to Mr. Spock for his distraction techniques, if y'don't mind my saying so, sir."
"Duly noted. I take it that is the reason for this divide-and-conquer strategy, then."
Well, the man is no fool, that much Scott already knew; but moments like this light up that fact even more clearly. One reason this ship runs like a well-primed shuttle engine and has ever since the captaincy turnover is that this one man has a pulse on every single crewman, every single moment of the day, and can out-bluff even the most devious of species without a blink. Kirk is not a man to be trifled with, and he can sniff out a conspiracy faster than any other commander Scott's had in all his years in the 'Fleet.
It is a character trait both fascinating and frightening.
Mostly frightening.
However, 'tis certainly not the most frightening thing he has seen aboard this ship in the last three years, and that's a fact.
Unruffled, he shrugs one shoulder with the ease of a man who knows he is in the right, and that his superiors literally cannot afford to lose him; his is the one job aboard this vessel which carries innate job security with it, and they both know it.
"As you say, sir."
"I do not appreciate being ambushed on my own ship, Lieutenant-Commander." Tone calm enough, but tempered with that diamond-edge of command that has made many a younger and less experienced officer tuck tail and run over far less important matters. Aye, and they're throwing titles about again, God help them.
"I'd be happy to take this back down to the planet if y'prefer, Captain."
Kirk looks highly unamused, and a little dumbfounded at his audacity.
"Well I dinna see a third option, sir, not while we're at warp."
"Mr. Scott…"
"Yes, Captain?"
"What. Do you want." The words are gritted out with a measured exhale, as the man turns away from the windows to face him finally, eyes glinting dark in a pale face against the harsh blackness beyond.
"Well, sir. For one thing, to let you know that I've taken the liberty of rearranging the duty rosters so that Mr. DeSalle is not expecting you on the Bridge until beta shift tomorrow afternoon."
A sandy eyebrow inclines slightly.
"And also, if you don't mind my saying so, sir, you look like you could use a good night's sleep. Or three."
Kirk's eyes close in a resigned gesture of fair enough, before re-opening in some amusement a moment later, weary in the glass-reflection.
"Is that all, Scotty?"
"Ah, no sir."
"No, somehow I didn't think so." The captain's look narrows, a pin-point of warning. "Well, out with it, then. Did Spock put you up to this?"
Scott shakes his head, and watches as confusion takes the place of anger and annoyance, chasing each other in rapid succession. "No, sir. Though I wouldn't be surprised if you dinna get something of the same from him, once everything's all wired good and proper again."
It is not exactly the most tactful reminder of the last twenty-four hours, and he regrets the lightheartedness of the remark when all color drains from Kirk's face at the words.
"Sorry, sir."
"No, it's fine." The captain dismisses him with a wave, runs a weary hand down his face. "It's been a long two days, Scotty. Let me guess, you'd like to address the broken regulations in leaving the ship without the four ranking command crew members during a non-Starfleet mission of unknown hostility."
Well, never let it be said Captain James T. Kirk is afraid to confront a problem head-on, or admit to his own faults when they're thrown in his face with all the tact of a Type Two phaser array. Granted, half the time that willingness to confront does result in running headfirst into a neutronium wall, but the man has a backbone and no mistake.
"Well, sir, as Acting First Officer it is my duty to make a report for the ship's log on the affair."
"Of course it is." A brief smile. "I would expect nothing less. And…" Again, the man pales suddenly. "I…I can't even think about making a report right now. I don't know how to dig my way out of this. Scotty, I didn't just walk the line on this one, did I?"
"Ah…no, sir. More like blasted through it at warp factor eight. Just a bit."
A strangled laugh, fragile as syntheglass, shatters through the empty lounge. "Spoken with as much tact as McCoy had a few minutes ago, Mr. Scott."
"Here now, sir, there's no cause to be insulting."
The laugh trails off into something painfully unsteady, and Kirk shakes his head, glancing back for a moment toward the windows. Scott suspects it is not just a passing star-cluster that is reflecting in the man's eyes.
He can see clearly that the captain is exhausted, no doubt mentally as well as physically, and that's no surprise to anyone, given this most recent horror-fest. A gentle push toward the nearest set of overstuffed chairs is met with even less resistance than he would have supposed, and a moment later they are relatively comfortable, ensconced in star-dusted silence.
Finally, Kirk looks up from his steepled fingers, resignation in his eyes. "It's obvious enough, at least to you and McCoy, that I was not thinking clearly here," he says quietly.
"Well, sir." Scott pauses, taps a finger absently on the chair's armrest, and then continues, more cautiously. "You could also make the argument that these were unusual circumstances."
"That is not an excuse."
"Nooooo, but it is a reason." At Kirk's mounting protest, he holds up a hand, silencing the man momentarily. "What you're tryin' to say, sir, or rather get me to say, is that you were emotionally compromised and should have been relieved of duty. Correct?"
The phrase is a damning one, to command careers everywhere; and just the hint of it has been enough to split up command teams across the 'Fleet, ground good men to desk positions, destroy otherwise stable relationships. It is a command crew's death sentence, and a captain's worst nightmare.
He can see that nightmare reflected now against the starlight, glinting and fearful and all but resigned.
"Is that your opinion as Acting First Officer, Mr. Scott?" Kirk asks quietly.
"Begging your pardon, sir, but if I was to report that rubbish every time someone on this blasted ship broke a regulation trying to save a crewman's life we'd all have been grounded before we passed Alpha Centauri our first year out, m'self included. Psh."
A smile quirks briefly at the captain's lips, but he looks pointedly across the intervening inches. "This is not the same, and we're both aware of that, Scotty."
"Aye, sir, that we are." He leans back, and shrugs. "And if anyone on board has a problem with that, then they can bloody well transfer off this ship, because it's just that which makes this command team the success it is, and this ship the beacon of hope she is, thank y'very much."
Kirk shakes his head ruefully. "Your loyalty is commendable, Scotty. But if I am emotionally compromised to the point of endangering this ship and our mission, then –"
"Sir. I have seen this ship in all kinds of compromising positions, and in all kinds of dangerous ones. I have also seen you make decisions between saving this ship, and saving members of her crew; and in each case, when the choice was necessary, you have made the correct decision to save the ship. Those circumstances did not apply here."
Kirk frowns.
"This mission held no danger to the ship, sir; if it had, I would never have agreed to beam down with Doctor McCoy. I dare many things, Captain, but I take no chances where the life-blood of this ship is concerned. If I'd thought y'were putting the ship in danger by going to Sigma Draconis in the first place, I would have said so. I have, in fact, more than once, as we both know."
"Yes, you have. But not under circumstances like this."
"If you mean calling you out on your personal life affecting your, shall we say, deviation from our official mission, Captain? That's none of my affair, an' you're the one who has to answer to Starfleet Command for it, not I. That's the only aspect of this mission which differed from any other, and there was no danger to the ship in that."
The captain shifts uneasily, still looking unconvinced, and Scott sighs. "And, begging your pardon, sir, but the rest of us care about the Commander too, y'know."
"I wasn't implying otherwise."
"You are not the only man who disregarded regulation knowingly, sir. We all wanted the same thing, Jim."
"I suppose you're right, but…just the same." A measured exhale, and he can fairly see the tension starting to dissipate as Kirk straightens in his chair, looking slightly more himself. "I need to know that if such a situation ever occurs, you will call me out on it. I mean it, Scotty."
"Yes, yes, I have no problem causing a squabble when needed. But do not take the entire responsibility of this ship upon yourself. You are only one man, Captain."
Kirk's eyes glint with humor. "And this is your official and entirely unbiased opinion, I take it?"
"Ehh. 'Tis your Vulcan's job to be unbiased. I am but a poor substitute, Captain." He grins as the man laughs, springing to his feet with more energy than he has shown all evening. "No doubt I'll be hearing about the lack of factual content or some such rubbish in my official report, but that's as may be, sir."
"Well, I for one am grateful for your expertise today. And for your candor, Mr. Scott."
"Aye, sir. It's one for the books, that's for sure and certain."
"You're telling me." Kirk shakes his head, stifling a yawn. "We will be fortunate if Command even believes what I end up sending them. And if they do, somehow I doubt they will be of the same opinion as you in regards to the regulations."
"Well, sir, I stand by what I said. And no bureaucrat in a padded desk chair could ever understand the best way to run a starship, especially this ship. We've nothing to be ashamed of."
"You seem far more certain of that than I, Mr. Scott." For just a moment, the man looks young, so very young – Scott often forgets how young Kirk really is; most starship captains are a decade his senior – and very unsure.
It's almost endearing, until he remembers that the man single-handedly took down his entire Engineering staff in last week's poker tournament and rooted out the ensign who was cheating while doing so, ruthlessly transferring him on the spot to Science Lab Three where he'd have direct Vulcan supervision for the next four weeks.
That, was a punishment indeed.
"Aye, well, I have slept and eaten in the last forty-eight hours, and something tells me you have not."
"You've been taking lessons from Spock in nagging, Mr. Scott."
"Well, sir, it is apparently in the job description for Acting First Officer."
"Touché."
"Might that be the reason you suffered the wrath of our good Doctor McCoy?"
"That, among other things. He was in rare form. And had none of your tact, Scotty."
"Well, we canna all be perfect, sir."