Please Read Full Warning:
The majority of this chapter was cut a while back from a WIP I'm working on because the subject matter is too serious for the lighthearted tone I have in mind for the WIP.
Please be aware the chapter references an abuse of power and hinted adult themes between an authority figure and someone under their instruction. Nothing graphic or occurring on-screen, but very clear and creepy nonetheless.
If that could at all be triggering for you, please skip this chapter.
Per Starfleet order, we docked at Starbase Epsilon Six for the mandatory yearly inspection tour and were granted brief shore leave for all hands. Regretfully, personal matters necessitated Commodore Parker's early departure from the Enterprise, but the ship remained in orbit for the duration of the scheduled stopover.
Relevant attached documents: Yearly Inspection Report and Recommendations for Constitution-Class Starship Designation NCC-1701, U.S.S. Enterprise, by Parker, Janet R., Commodore, Starbase E6
Also appended: Security report 4341: Updated List of Contraband Refused Passage to U.S.S. Enterprise; Monthly requisition report addendum, non-urgent, by McCoy, Leonard H., Chief Medical Officer: Request for Replacement Desk Lamp; Medical report 981: List of Biohazards Detected in Transporter Feed, Timestamp Stardate 2511.4; Security report 4344: Anonymous Noise Complaint, Location Sickbay, Inner Office
While she understands the appeal to their very young, very energetic crew, Lieutenant-Commander Nyota Uhura has zero intent or desire to take shore leave on the busiest starbase in the quadrant, particularly this time of the shipping cycles.
Even were they not docked here for the primary purpose of some self-important Starfleet bigwig picking apart departmental procedures in the traditional yearly inspection, she would not desert her post when every third idiot beaming back up from the 'base is either sheepishly seeing Medical because they can't keep their hands to themselves for a four-hour leave, or else is trying to smuggle some kind of contraband on board.
Alcohol and foodstuffs, possibly non-regulation jewelry or other trinkets are to be expected, and most officers turn a blind eye to them as long as it's not in alarming quantities that indicate some kind of black market is forming aboard ship. The Captain himself let a couple bottles of expensive ale slide by the last time, since Chekov had wisely bribed him with one of them. But Kirk will, possibly literally, jettison someone out an airlock if they allow a pair of Bozenian hares on board again, and no amount of bribery is going to save them.
But because of this, for almost thirty-six straight hours the primary Communications board has been absolutely non-stop with reports from the Transporter Room, Sickbay, Security, and Ship's Stores & Requisition, all equally at war with each other over whose problems take priority status and whose reports get filed first and who can't find their civilian clothes and is throwing a tantrum in SS&R about it.
Added to this, that the 'Fleet seems to think holding a party every night of the four-day inspection tour is somehow sufficient compensation for having their lives upended and the brass poking their noses into every detail of ship's operations. Given that the social gathering is the responsibility of the ship being inspected, there is really no up-side to it for them other than a slightly less chaotic recreation opportunity for those who have foregone shore leave on the 'base below.
It's a single, very small, stroke of good luck that they were ferrying a half-dozen important but remarkably well-behaved civilians for drop-off here at Epsilon Six. For once, the trip was incredibly smooth, and their visitors both respectful and interesting. A rare occurrence, and one she has actually been delighted with, in what little free time she's had to spend. Tonight, she is enjoying it while it lasts, as Communications is first on the docket to be inspected in the morning. She'll be up before the simulated starbase sun, to make sure all is in order.
But for tonight, she can enjoy a Cardassian sunrise that was definitely not made with cheap synthehol, and let her hair down, both literally and metaphorically. She's had an enjoyable two hours of socializing, and is in the middle of an animated dialogue with the Eridani ambassador's daughter regarding an obscurely nuanced colloquialism, when Captain Kirk himself swoops in beside them, bowing effortlessly in the traditional Eridani greeting.
"I am so sorry, but I need to borrow my Communications Chief for just a second," he says, with that stupidly charming smile that has gotten them out of far more tense situations than a shipboard soiree.
"Of course, Captain!" The young Eridani blushes, but does not appear to be otherwise taken by him, and so Uhura bids her a temporary farewell and follows Kirk a few steps away, where they end up half-hidden from the rest of the room by an oversized potted plant courtesy of the Botany department.
"Please tell me we haven't had a communications crisis while docked over a Starbase, of all places?" she asks wearily.
She has two masters' degrees and a nearly complete graduate study in advanced xenolinguistics by this point, and yet in these particular instances seems to spend most of her time carefully smoothing over translation misunderstandings and diverting guests around conversational minefields. It's annoying, but she doesn't trust a subordinate to do it as well as she does.
(Plus, Spock hates these things, and only rarely is he not able to come up with a half-assed excuse to bail five minutes after making a perfunctory appearance, leaving her to fend for herself without a second thought. He's lucky he's cute.)
"No." Kirk's voice is quiet; clearly not wanting to be overheard. "I need you to do something for me."
"Captain?"
"And I need you to not ask me any questions." Blue eyes bore into hers, with zero trace of humor or levity to be found. "Can you do that, Lieutenant?"
"Yes, sir."
Her simple, respectful answer seems to dissipate his tension slightly, which had been her goal. Something's very strange here, and she doesn't like it.
"Good. Do you know Commodore Parker personally, at all?"
Her eyes instinctively flick to the stately woman in question, who is at the moment accepting a small glass of white wine from a server and clearly looking around for the latest object of her not-at-all-subtle attentions.
They've all been on their best behavior around her for the last two days, just because they know why she's here, but Kirk has voluntarily taken on most of that responsibility himself, and hasn't exactly looked unhappy about having the undivided attention of a beautiful woman, even if she's a good twenty years older than he. Parker has been monopolizing him more than he typically allows a visitor to do, and judging from his unusually blatant flirtation, there appears to be at least some mutual interest.
"Not really, but I had a class with her in the Academy, back when she was still a Commander. She taught a semester of Advanced Conjugation in Diplomatic Policy while grounded one year. Why."
"Even better. It won't be completely out of the blue, then."
"Sir?"
"Listen to me carefully, Lieutenant." She is shocked by the intensity in his expression, and nods, wordless. "I need you to make sure she's not left alone with any crewman, until she's done with her inspection and leaving the ship. Can you do that?"
She takes a slight step back, confused. And concerned.
"Can you do it, Nyota."
"Yes, obviously," she replies. She pauses briefly, because she has already promised not to ask questions, and only nods instead. "Yes, I can do it."
"Good. Start now, I have to make a report on the Bridge. I'll be back in twenty minutes."
He's gone around the stupid fern in the next second, laughing on the Commodore's arm the next, and whirlwinding out of the room five seconds later, leaving her staring after him in total confusion.
It's just before 0600 the following morning when she finally drags Spock into Sickbay and through to McCoy's inner office, where they apparently trigger the motion-activated lights into a blinding flash of brightness that swallows the warm glow of a single desk-lamp.
The man himself jolts upright in his chair as the overheads flick on, obviously not having been to bed yet.
"Y'all could knock, you know, or at least bring me coffee," he grumbles, shoving a stack of data-padds to one side and turning off the now-unnecessary lamp. "What time is it?" Something in one of their expressions must catch his attention mid-yawn, because his gaze narrows. "What's going on."
"I do not know," Spock says dryly, making the most sarcastically demonstrative gesture a Vulcan can in her direction with the hand not holding a stack of data-padds. "The Lieutenant was most insistent we stop here prior to beginning our daily responsibilities, despite their imminent plenitude and urgency."
"The Lieutenant is going to sleep in her own cabin for the next two weeks if you don't let her speak for herself," she says sweetly.
McCoy snorts to cover his laughter, but turns serious after seeing her expression. "Talk to me, Lieutenant."
"Do you know anything about this Commodore who's doing our inspections?"
"Parker? Not much, why?"
"I'm not sure, it's just a bad feeling." She fidgets uneasily with a spinning trinket on McCoy's desk. "Do you know how the captain knows her?"
"Jim? He had one class with her at some point, maybe. Something about Negotiating Techniques, his senior year."
"And?"
"He hated it, that's all I know. Not the first class he hated, though. He was too smart for a lot of 'em, and they would only let him test out of so many per semester."
"He hated the material? Or the teacher?"
"Lieutenant, what are you saying, exactly?"
Even Spock looks slightly concerned now, as he well knows she rarely speaks without reason.
"You didn't answer the question, Doctor."
"I don't know the answer," McCoy replies, puzzled. "I vaguely remember him complaining that he hated the class, but that's about it. We were all cramming for senior finals at the time, including your boyfriend's precious Kobayashi Maru. I'm pretty sure he hated me at that point, because he was running on fumes and energy drinks."
"Nyota, what are you suggesting?"
She hesitates, because this is not the kind of thing you can just indiscriminately hypothesize about, not without harming someone involved.
"Computer, maximum privacy mode. Block all surveillance to Chief Medical Officer's inner office for period of fifteen minutes, voice authorization McCoy, Leonard H., alpha one one three three one."
"Authorization confirmed. Audio and video surveillance feed paused for fifteen minutes."
"Now – what the hell is going on, Lieutenant?"
"The captain asked me last night to keep an eye on the Commodore, while she's here."
"She is doing our inspections, I'm sure he wants to know what she's thinking so he can strategize accordingly if needed," McCoy points out. "It's a little shady, maybe, but not against any regulation I know of."
"His exact words were to make sure she wasn't left alone with any crewman," she says, terse. "I can think of maybe three reasons he'd say that, none of which have to do with the inspection. And I don't want any of them to be true."
McCoy's face has paled slightly. "You don't think –"
"I don't think anything right now, and I have zero proof, only a weird vibe."
"Your 'vibes' are usually right."
"Well, I'm hoping this is the exception," she says, checking her padd's chronometer. "I have a commodore to shadow at breakfast, then I get to let her tear apart my standard operating procedures in Comms. You're going to have to do the thinking for all of us."
"Right. Spock?"
"I am at your disposal for the next seven minutes, Doctor, but will be able to return shortly after the morning inter-departmental Science meeting at 0800. And my Starfleet clearance is far less likely to generate any flags in the systems during a detailed search."
"Well, get to your meeting and then get your ass back here, Commander. Looks like we got work to do."
When she finally makes it back to Sickbay somewhere around 1130 hours, after turning Parker over to the captain (who, somewhat to her relief, looks relatively unstressed and well-rested) and the Engineering department without a hitch, she takes one look at the two of them and the tentative good feeling dies a painful death. Anxiety wrenches its way from her stomach up to her chest.
"It's bad, isn't it."
"Well, it ain't great," McCoy mutters, without pausing in particularly furious typing.
"It is also highly circumstantial, at best."
"What is."
"She had a reputation during her Academy tenure of being a cougar," McCoy says shortly.
"Ugh. Really, Doctor? That's rooted in outdated linguistic misogyny. I expected better from you."
"Well, the other words I have for her are worse, you want one of those?"
"Point taken." She slumps into an empty chair, nauseated. "How much of one?"
"No one knows, is the thing. Or at least they aren't saying."
"There were rumors only, among the teaching staff. And she was by far not the only ranking staff member who circulated in such rumors," Spock adds, looking uncomfortable. "I dismissed all such rumors as simply that, human gossip, trusting that anything factual would be promptly investigated. I may have been in error to presume this."
"Given human nature, ashal-veh, you probably were, yes. So we have no idea if it's true."
"Not yet."
"What other circumstantial evidence do we have?"
McCoy sighs, and rubs his forehead. "Jim failed her class."
"Bullshit."
"That's what his records say."
"Everyone knew he had the highest GPA across the board of anyone in the Command track, at the very least. He was incredibly annoying about the fact that he came in later than everyone else and was successfully cramming four years into three without his grades suffering."
"I'm aware. It doesn't make a lick of sense to me either."
"Is it…possible, that he simply was so bored as to hate the class and fail due to lack of attendance?" Spock asks, even if it's clearly grasping at straws.
"No. He aced classes he hated. He hated them because they were easy." McCoy gestures vaguely at the computer. "Besides, his attendance was perfect for the first twelve weeks…" He stops, then leans forward. "Then he did start to skip it, actually, you're not completely wrong. Last four weeks, he skipped, and then, well."
Then Vulcan happened, and no one in their graduating class had to take finals at all; the Academy passed them all automatically, because apparently surviving a genocidal massacre is enough life skills for active starship service. Also, 90% of their graduating class had been killed, and they could barely staff the remaining 'Fleet as it was.
"Four absences wouldn't have dropped his scoring enough to fail, though, would it?"
"It would not," Spock agrees. "And there would be multiple attempts made by the instructing faculty to offer additional credit in the interim. It is a requirement to do so, for all Academy teaching staff."
"So she, what, tried to get him to sleep with her, and when he said no, she threatened to fail him?"
"She didn't threaten, she did fail him," McCoy says angrily. "It's right here."
"But no one realized this, because all surviving senior cadets were automatically passed by the Board, out of logistical necessity at that time."
"You think she's still holding a grudge, Spock? That was over four years ago."
"Has she given any indication she's not satisfied on this inspection?" McCoy asks. "Because even if – and it's an if – there's something fishy that happened back then, we have no real indication she's here for anything other than business. Like Spock said, this is all circumstantial, and maybe just coincidental."
"Maybe."
"The captain has been strangely attentive to her, particularly during the last two evenings, one of which was spent at least partially on the Starbase below," Spock says slowly. "Even for him, and even if he is attempting to ingratiate himself due to the inspections, it does appear to be…unusual."
"You noticed that too, huh? I was going to say excessive." McCoy sighs. "I just figured he was using his best weapon to charm her for a couple nights before the most important part of the tour, just in case. You think…"
"He may have reason to keep her under surveillance or away from someone." She rubs her eyes, feeling vaguely sick. "Or both."
"Agreed, Lieutenant. He could simply avoid her until the tour was finished, if he wished, and with no one the wiser. Clearly, it is a deliberate decision."
"But why? There's no way she has leverage now, not after everything that's happened," she says slowly. "Even if she did give us a bad rating or recommend some drastic crew rotation, we're allowed to challenge it and ask for an impartial third party to review, so there wouldn't be much point other than humiliating him temporarily. Is that enough?"
"I do not think so."
"So either he's bein' pro-active and keeping her attention fixated on him, or she's got actual leverage of some kind."
"Or," she adds reluctantly, "we're blowing things out of proportion, and he really is just having a little fun with a beautiful woman, even if she is much older. No one would really judge either of them for it, given how isolating it must be at that rank."
"You don't believe that any more than I do," McCoy snaps.
"No, I don't, but I'm also not going to just go off the deep end when there's no proof! What would her motive be at this point?"
"Typically, this kind of incident indicates a concerning behavioral pattern, not an isolated instance," Spock says, matter-of-fact. "Motive may be nothing more than pressing an unexpected advantage, given that our orders to put in port here were from the Admiralty and not the Commodore herself. Our presence might simply be a coincidental factor. As to leverage, that is yet to be determined."
"I don't see how it could be the inspection itself, based on the appeal process. His reputation, maybe?"
"I'm guessing his reputation made him an easy target back as a student, since he had a higher-than-average sex life with anything enthusiastically consenting, not that I'm judgin' him for it. But I doubt he cares that much about his reputation now, especially since at least half the Board still just sees his appointment as an exercise in nepotism." McCoy taps his fingers absently on the desk, clearly thinking. "Anybody who matters knows he's a damn good captain, and anyone who doesn't know, he doesn't really care about."
"She could accuse him of something," Spock hypothesizes quietly.
"But would she? The 'Fleet is still notoriously slow to act when it comes to spoken testimony in these things, there has to be irrefutable proof of coercion or misconduct according to the 'Fleet code of ethics," Uhura replies. "Even with his reputation, as you put it - she'd have a hard time coming after the Federation's poster boy without overwhelming proof, wouldn't you think?"
"Yeah, it doesn't really track. Besides, I think he'd draw the line now if she was threatening him personally, he doesn't take his own safety seriously enough. It has to be something more important, something she really might have the power to make him lose."
Oh, no. Surely not.
"Nyota, what is it?"
"Leverage, particularly if she's projecting at all. Spock?" She swallows hard, dread curdling in her stomach. "We used Academy-issue data-padds and communicators. When we…"
"When we first started our relationship," Spock finishes, clearly ten steps ahead of her in less than a second. He is even paler than usual.
"I'm not following," McCoy says, glancing back and forth between them.
"We were not engaged in any type of fraternization while the lieutenant was directly under my instruction," Spock hastens to say.
"But I transferred out of his linguistics module mid-senior-year for that exact reason, to start fraternization without regulatory repercussions," she says miserably. "It's not technically against regulation, but it also isn't exactly endorsed by the Board. We didn't really try to keep it secret, either, just quiet. And those communicators and data-padds are auto-synced to the Academy records database, which is accessible by anyone with Priority One clearance."
"So," McCoy says slowly, "out of context or with minor timestamp changes, it might look like…"
"Like I was making inappropriate advances toward a cadet under my instruction, which is grounds for immediate investigation and, potentially, complete dismissal from the 'Fleet." Spock's voice is steady enough, but his eyes are fastened on the desk.
"That's bullshit. I made the first advances, as you call it. Lower-ranking officers have to be the ones to do that, to avoid any appearance of quid pro quo." She shakes her head. "But yes, it wouldn't be difficult at all to change a few things if someone had access. It'd be very easy, to make it look very bad."
McCoy sighs, dropping his head into his hands. "So she's leveraging the one thing he'll die defending. Has died, defending."
"The Enterprise," she supplies bitterly. "She's threatening us, she has to be. Someone, at least, on the crew. Maybe more than one."
"We have absolutely no proof of this, merely speculation and hypotheses," Spock points out quietly. "That is not enough to take action of any kind, particularly when she has been nothing but professional aboard the Enterprise."
"That we know of, so far."
"Correct. In addition, we could be mistaken or only partially correct about her potential leverage."
"Hell, I said some nasty things on social media during my divorce that could be on the table, if she's that dedicated to shit-stirring. It could really be any of us."
"We still have a lot of looking to do, and less than ten hours to do it in. That's not a lot of time."
"It'll have to do. And I'm just putting it out there, I'd really like to resolve this in a way that doesn't end with me in the brig, Spock. But it's an option. I have access to a hell of a lot of bio-weapons, and the knowledge that comes with 'em."
"Your court-martial, Doctor, while supremely entertaining, would not be a satisfactory outcome for the captain, as he is inordinately fond of you for reasons beyond my comprehension. I have another plan for consideration."
McCoy snorts, grinning. "Love you too, Spock. Let's hear it."
One more day, less than sixteen hours now, and it will be over, finis, hallelujah and amen.
He just has to smile, nod, laugh, flatter and flirt a little, and figure out a strategy for abandoning ship, so to speak, if tonight goes as she clearly has planned. Get through the farewell banquet and whatever follows, and then he'll be free and away. With any luck, she'll have a little too much of that fine Saurian brandy Scotty was able to filch for him from the Starbase and will fall asleep before she means to, just like last night, and he'll be able to laugh it off in the morning and send her on her way with no one the wiser. Easy-peasy.
It's not great. But honestly, he's done worse, and in those cases done it for an actual, official mission – ordered to by Starfleet Command. That's the really awful thing. He'd take a potential HR nightmare any day over that ill-advised Romulan infiltration scheme they had to do last winter cycle, that was just thoroughly unpleasant for everyone concerned. And that wasn't the first time they've had a morally gray mission to carry out in the name of a supposedly peaceful 'Fleet.
It does seem that every year, things get more dicey with the Federation's interpretation of the Prime Directive or other ethical codes, and he dreads the day he'll be given an order he just cannot conscience – or worse, the day one of his officers is given such an order. He will not conscience that.
But until then, it's a miracle he won't argue with that they aren't alone in this briefing room for more than ten seconds, because her perfume is making him want to hurl. As the door chimes, Parker heaves a regretful sigh and slides slightly further away from him, withdrawing her hand just as it opens fully.
He blinks in some surprise as Spock enters first instead of Scotty. He was expecting his Chief Engineer, given they were supposed to be meeting to schedule the Ops tours in the hours remaining until the banquet tonight. Scott does follow, but there's no real reason for Spock to be…well, shit.
Dread starts to creep up his spine when his CE is followed closely by McCoy, Sulu, Chekov, and finally Uhura, who studiously avoids all eye contact and not-at-all-subtly steps in front of their young navigator. She might as well be physically screaming a red alert.
Two can play at this game, though, and he will not tip his king if he is not yet checkmated. He clears his throat, offering them an easy smile. "Gentlemen, we have business with Mr. Scott and a very tight schedule this afternoon, can whatever this is wait until tomorrow?"
"Negative." Spock looks calm enough, but there's a really weird, brittle edge to his voice that is completely foreign. "My apologies, Captain, but the matter is urgent."
He swallows, and forces a lighthearted tone. "All right, what can I do for you, Mr. Spock?"
"Not you, sir."
Parker raises a shapely eyebrow, looking vaguely bored as she leans back in the chair, one leg crossed over the other and swinging slightly. The very picture of relaxed authority. "Indeed? What can I do for you, Commander?"
Spock takes two steps forward and leans down to place a data-padd in front of her. "You will depart the Enterprise now, Commodore. And you will file a completed inspection report with Starfleet Command before you do so."
"Really?" Parker looks much amused, though not as surprised as Jim would have expected. "Are you quite sure about that, Professor?"
"I presume you are with this incorrect titular address referencing your intent to make public the fact that I unwisely began a romantic relationship with a student while in tenure at Starfleet Academy?"
No, no, no. His hands tighten around each other, knuckles white against the silvered expanse of the table.
"If that is the incident to which you are referring, Commodore, you may be interested to know that I sent a full disclosure to the Board just this afternoon, detailing the incident's timeline and accepting any retroactive censure they deem necessary."
Horrified, he can fairly feel dread seeping in like some kind of vampiric shadow, choking and cloying and draining the blood from his face. "Spock, you can't –"
Spock sends him a look which is equal parts pissed-off and fond. Taken aback at its unusual intensity, his voice sticks in his throat.
Parker, to her credit, doesn't so much as blink an eye.
"Additionally, and tangentially related, you may wish to peruse the contents of this file before further discussion of the matter." Spock nods toward the untouched padd on the table.
"Really." Parker inspects a manicured nail with a look of tolerant amusement. "And why would I do that?"
"Because if you do not, the file in question will be sent to your husband, your lover on Rigel Nine, your other lover here on Epsilon Six, your adult daughter on the Tokyo, the largest tabloid currently based in Terra's San Francisco, and the Academy tenure committee. In addition to every member of the Board, of course."
Parker slowly uncrosses her legs.
"To save you the trouble of assimilating the details," Spock continues, as calmly as if he were delivering a status report. "Let us simply say, I believe your account will prove far more urgent than mine, when it comes to the prioritization of disciplinary action by the Admiralty."
Dear god.
"Is that so."
"Most definitely. My relationship with Lieutenant Uhura, however unwise it might have been at the time, was both technically within regulations and completely consensual."
"What exactly are you accusing me of, Mr. Spock."
"I make no accusations. I merely deliver written testimony and photographic evidence: from six former Academy cadets, now retired from Starfleet, two crewmen currently serving aboard the Potomac, and three crewmen of the Enterprise. One of whom was directly propositioned by you, and went to Captain Kirk with his concerns the night of your arrival."
How the hell had they tracked so many people down in so short a time? It's way worse than he assumed, and he probably should have known better.
"I suspect I need not enumerate for anyone in this room, the threats which were issued when Captain Kirk addressed the matter with you the following morning. He is not as expert as he believes in scrubbing Security footage from the Enterprise records."
Yeah, he definitely should have known better.
"To how many parties I deliver this information, is completely up to you. Ma'am."
Incensed, Parker swivels in her chair, putting Jim on the receiving end of a dangerous glare, razor-sharp with unspoken danger. It's stupid and it's instinct and it's half-remembered childhood trauma that never got addressed, but he flinches. Just a tiny bit. Unnoticeable to anyone not looking his direction.
The chair squeaks damningly under him.
"The captain was not complicit in any detail of this investigation, Commodore." Spock's interjection is sharp enough that her eyes cut back to his First in mild surprise. "You may direct all questions and needed clarifications to me or our Second Officer, Lieutenant-Commander Scott, as it was he who located the footage in question."
Parker does finally open the file, and scrolls for about three seconds with one long polished nail, before her face pales.
"I trust you understand the severity of these testimonies. Even if the statute of limitations has passed in the Academy matters, their public knowledge would most certainly remove you from long-term tenure consideration permanently. And the statute of limitations has not expired for pressing charges over your…previously undisclosed activities, on our sister ship. The affected crewmen of the Potomac were quite willing to testify, when they were informed you had shifted your focus to the Enterprise."
"Then you've dug your own grave too, Commander. I will see to that myself." She's fairly spitting fire, but Jim can clearly see whatever is in that file, it's scared her shitless.
Spock looks vaguely amused at the emotional outburst. "I accept that as a possibility. But I do have time-stamped evidence proving there was no inappropriate fraternization in my own affair. I am forced to speculate whether you can produce the same, given the…details, of these testimonies."
Parker's face flushes angrily.
"Y'might also consider which is more valuable to Starfleet Command." McCoy's interjection is a lazy, molasses-like drawl of unadulterated contempt. "A human commodore with a wanderin' eye for almost underage crewmen, or the only Level Eight Certified Comms officer and the only remaining Vulcan scientist in the whole damn 'Fleet."
Uhura elbows him sharply, to which McCoy only shrugs, completely unrepentant.
"That will do, Doctor."
Ignoring the muttered response, Spock straightens as if to military attention. The look he directs across the table is calculatingly deadly, and it's absolutely the scariest thing Jim's seen in years. And he's died, so that's saying something.
"Commodore. You seem to have been operating under the assumption that with the untimely death of Admiral Christopher Pike, Captain Kirk had no one left in Starfleet willing to fight for him. I am certain it is clear to you now, how gravely you miscalculated."
Parker's lips thin into a sharp dash of repressed fury; but she's too smart to show much more emotion against another ranking officer, particularly in front of witnesses.
Particularly these witnesses. Jim doesn't blame her there.
Spock hands her a second padd, this one an official reporting unit. "The inspection, Commodore. I have taken the liberty of preparing the report for you, to avoid any possibility of retaliation against the Enterprise. Your signature is all which remains."
The woman's look could strip tritanium alloy, but she scrawls her initials in an angry, whiplash gesture that causes the padd to beep a warning. Spock glances briefly at it, hands it back to Sulu for a more thorough check, and reaches for the damning evidence padd, flicking another window up and returning it in one fluid gesture.
"And your personal resignation from the Starfleet Inspection Board, effective immediately."
"Now look," she snarls, the words dripping with poison. "I will –"
"You will sign it, Commodore. And if you step foot aboard a Federation starship in a position of such authority again, it will be the last time you do so."
"Are you threatening me, Commander?"
"Yes," Spock says bluntly.
Parker splutters for a second.
"The resignation. Now. Or these files will leave the Enterprise even before you do. Either way, you have less than one minute."
Jesus. If Spock ever mutinies for some reason, Jim doesn't stand the ghost of a chance. He's legitimately terrifying.
Parker finally shoves the padd back across the desk in a graceless gesture of forced surrender.
"That should be satisfactory. You have my thanks, Commodore."
She snorts and cuts him off with a rude gesture. "As I've capitulated, I assume I have your guarantee that those files will not leave this ship's intranet?"
"You have my word as a Vulcan, for we do not lie. I will not view them again, add to them, or transfer them to anyone, officially or otherwise."
Parker stares him down, clearly judging his truthfulness, but finally gives a curt nod, satisfied. Behind them, Uhura steps away from the wall-comm, and a moment later the door opens. Three female redshirts walk in, a little confused but alert and ready nonetheless.
"Lieutenant Hadley, the commodore must unfortunately take her leave of the Enterprise early, due to an unforeseen personal matter. Please escort her safely to Transporter Room One and see to her accommodations on the starbase below." Spock's voice is brisk, professional, and somehow entirely missing the subtle menace it had held ten seconds ago.
The foremost Security officer salutes sharply. "Aye, sir. If you'll follow us, Commodore?"
Parker stands, and looks down her nose with razor-sharp contempt. "You've been conveniently quiet while your people do your dirty work for you, Captain. I don't know why I'm surprised, you never were much more than a pretty face with unresolved mommy issues. Do you have anything to say about this?"
"I do, actually." He looks up her, and smiles dangerously. "Get the hell off my ship. Ma'am."
He sees the three redshirts' eyes widen, but they're each too good an officer to otherwise show shock, merely gesturing toward the door as Parker rounds the table. She's clearly furious but unable to really do much about it other than invade Spock's personal space as she sweeps past inches from his nose, whereupon he simply raises an eyebrow with a look of bored revulsion, as if he is inspecting a new strain of deadly pathogen in the bio-labs and is Not Fascinated.
"This way, if y'please." Scotty, bless him, fairly shoves the woman out of the room, flanked by the Security officers, and flicks Jim a brief smile before the door closes behind them.
Heavy, suffocating silence drops like a lead blanket, and he only now realizes his hands are shaking slightly on the polished tabletop. He pulls them nonchalantly into his lap, and exhales in something way too loud to be anything but a dead giveaway.
McCoy cautiously rounds the table toward him. "Jim?"
He manages to formulate words on the second attempt. "Gentlemen, you just made a very nasty enemy."
"Pretty sure she made half-a-dozen nastier ones," McCoy replies, as both hands come to rest, firm and warm and grounding on his shoulders, squeezing gently. The doctor flicks a genuinely admiring look at Spock over Jim's head. "For the record, I'm real glad you're on our side, Commander."
"Da, it was wery impressive." Chekov fidgets uncomfortably for a moment, and finally slides into the seat beside him, looking sad and earnest and altogether heartbreakingly young. "I am sorry I put you in this position, Keptin. I should have made official report."
"No, no. We're not doing this," he replies immediately, reaching over to firmly grasp the poor kid's wrist, shaking it slightly for emphasis. "Ensign, you did exactly what you should have done, and I'm glad you did."
"Much as I hate to admit it, he's right. Lord knows who she'd have gone after next, and they might not have felt comfortable blowing the whistle, particularly to the one of maybe three people who had a chance of doing anything about it in time." McCoy's hand tightens almost painfully on his shoulder.
Sulu clears his throat. "Mr. Spock…Lieutenant Uhura. What's going to happen if the Board decides to, well. Address your most recent message, sir?"
"We discussed it, just in case. Worst case scenario, they'd transfer one of us," Uhura says. "Probably me, given the lack of seniority and my relevance to our primary mission, scientific exploration. It's unlikely, but I'm prepared for the possibility."
"Over my dead body." Jim's voice is remarkably steady, considering how absolutely incandescent with rage he is at the idea. "Don't look at me like that. No one falls on their sword for me on this ship - not now, not ever."
"If you don't want one of us falling on a sword, then don't use yourself as a shield. Sir." Uhura shrugs at his incredulous look. "What. You think you're the only one willing to watch the galaxy burn in order to protect this crew?"
McCoy leans down slightly over his shoulder. "She's right, Jim. We built this thing together, all of us - but it's balanced on you. I dunno how many times I have to say it before you believe it, but you're not expendable."
He blinks back a truly overwhelming wave of emotion, because he definitely does not deserve them, any of them. "Fine. I hate that you got involved, I hate it so much, I can't even tell you. But I – I'm grateful."
Gods, what he wouldn't have given to have someone in his corner like this when he was (even more) young and stupid and so very, very alone.
"Transporter Room to Commander Spock."
"Spock here, go ahead."
"Sir, the Commodore has safely transported back to the Starbase. An' I've taken the liberty of blocking her transporter code entirely, she wouldn't be able t'come back if she tried."
"Acknowledged, and well done, Mr. Scott. We will meet you in Recreation Room Four shortly." Spock turns from the comm and nods to Uhura, whose face lights up in a positively sharklike smile. "You may proceed, Lieutenant."
"What are you doing?"
"Sending those files. Obviously."
Horrified, and a little in awe, he can only stare at her.
"Spock said he wasn't going to send them, I made zero promises."
"Nyota, she has kids. You can't just –"
"Relax, they're only going to the Board and Tenure Committee, not the tabloid and her family; and we redacted the names of the crewmen from both ships. They'll be routed anonymously through enough obscure subspace channels that no one will ever suspect; and she won't be able to point a finger at any particular party aboard the Enterprise or the Potomac without opening the door for a full-scale investigation."
That's good, at least.
"She'll be able to pivot in her career just fine, but it's highly unlikely she'll be put back in a position where she can abuse her power. And she'll definitely lose any shot she has at an instructor position when she retires."
He exhales slowly as the tension he'd been holding starts to drain away. It's pretty clear that they've only sighted the tip of a very awful iceberg here, and knowing no other ship is going to hit it, makes the relief almost euphoric. He feels more like himself than he has in days.
"She isn't going to have the chance to go after anyone else," McCoy adds quietly. "And…Jim, I'm so sorry I didn't figure it out, way back when."
"Not your fault, Bones. How would you have even known?"
"I'm still sorry."
He shrugs, an easy gesture of resignation. "You know what my reputation was like, guys, and I definitely cultivated it on purpose. It came back to bite me, that's all. Literally no one would have believed me back then. Hell, I wouldn't have believed me. I was kind of an awful human being, you know that."
Uhura steps forward, and leans on the table with both hands, looking him in the eye. "We do know that. We also know that's not true anymore, and even if it was, it wouldn't make this okay. Please tell me you know that."
His smile turns warmer, more genuine. "Why do you think I asked you to shadow her, and not just the first female Security officer I saw at the party?"
"Damn it, Captain." She sighs, ponytail falling over her shoulder as she shakes her head. "You knew I would dig deeper."
"Not necessarily. But I know you always hear what isn't being said, as much as what is. I was banking on that, in case I really needed an escape plan."
She's still clearly upset.
"I was not banking on…this, and where the hell did that come from, that was fucking terrifying and I will gladly watch it on replay the rest of my life." He gestures vaguely up and down in Spock's direction, and receives the faintest of Vulcan smiles in return. "But yeah, I figured sending up a flare was the thing to do when I wasn't completely sure what to do next. And I was right. I trust you, all of you."
"Sir?" Sulu folds his arms, and gives him a very clear I'm not mad, I'm just disappointed look. "With all due respect. Use your words next time. Less than 48 hours in, preferably."
Uhura's barely stifled giggle does much to break the tension, and he cracks a genuine grin, for the first time in four days. "Duly noted, Mr. Sulu."
"Sir."
"But seriously, do I need to make some calls about you two?"
"Negative."
"You're sure?"
"Captain. The Commodore herself cited the Enterprise in her inspection report as an exemplary display of peak officer efficiency, and in fact strongly recommended the crew rotation be maintained as-is."
He stares incredulously at his First Officer, who only blinks back at him. Sulu whistles under his breath.
"Besides," Uhura adds. "Spock was being truthful, he did send a full disclosure to the Board this afternoon."
"…And?"
"Really, Captain, you should read these things you sign off on." She points her stylus at Jim like she's the conductor of a particularly dysfunctional orchestra and he's an off-key bassoonist on his last warning. "The Engineering inspection report clearly notes a systemic flaw in the deflector dish circuitry that can affect how long it takes messages to get through subspace in this sector of the galaxy. Particularly around somewhere as busy as Epsilon Six."
"Indeed."
"Da. Mr. Scott said it has been known to take hours, sometimes days."
"Weeks, even."
"Years," Uhura agrees cheerfully. "Any follow-up questions for the report, sir?"
"Not a one, Lieutenant. Not a single one."
