Seven for a secret

Spelled Out in Ice

Sun, 02 Sep 2012 21:04:32 GMT

Title: Spelled Out in Ice
Fandom: Teen Wolf
Summary: "And yet we’ve been stealing people for thousands of years. Changelings, human lovers, tithes, what does it matter?"

10,000 words at the AO3

The Sky Receding

Thu, 09 Aug 2012 23:12:51 GMT

Title: The Sky Receding
Fandom: The Amazing Spider-Man
Summary: Penny Parker navigates the waters of relationships, heroics, and the best way to stuff the crotch of a superhero costume.
Notes: Rule 63 fic in which Peter has always been Penny. Post-movie. Title from Counting Crows' "I Wish I Was A Girl."

7,100 words at the AO3

The Light Beyond the Trees

Sat, 18 Feb 2012 01:58:57 GMT

Title: The Light Beyond the Trees
Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon
Rating: PG
Notes: Written for .
Summary: Hiccup, growing up in Berk.

i.

Astrid is eight years old when Valhallarama, the fiercest warrior of the tribe and wife to the chief, dies. The dragons attack, and Valhallarama fights well, but by the next day word has spread through the village that her wound has gone bad.

The day after she dies, just before sunset, Valhallarama is put in a boat with her favorite axe and her shield and set out to sea. Stoick the Vast follows her into the shallows with a torch, and sets the boat alight before the tide pulls it out of his reach. He stands there for a long moment, a massive black shape against the bright fire, and then turns around to return to shore.

Astrid can see from her position in the crowd that Hiccup is crying, steadily but silently. She hears someone behind her murmur that he's being brave, in an approving voice, but he doesn't look brave. Just so sad that he can't even speak.

But by now Astrid has gone to enough funerals – including those for her own parents – to realize that to the tribe, any child mourning their parent is either brave or fierce, depending on how loudly they cry.

Afterwards, when the tribe returns to the Mead Hall for a feast in Valhallarama's honor (or as much of a feast as they can fit in before the dragons attack), Stoick nevertheless sits Hiccup down at the table with all the other kids. He's stopped crying, at least, and the loss is raw and new enough for the whole village that the others go easy on him. Instead of the usual collection of insults and jokes, they don't say anything to him at all.

It's strained, to say the least.

There's no attack that night, and eventually the rest of the tribe filters out of the Mead Hall, the crowd thinning. Snotlout dares Fishlegs to snort milk out his nose, and Ruffnut and Tuffnut are determined to do it first. This leads to a competition, which leads to an asthma attack, which leads to adult intervention and then it's only Hiccup and Astrid left at the table.

Hiccup's fish lays untouched in front of him, and he hasn't spoken a word all night. Astrid can't remember a time when he was so quiet, but her usual fallback discussion topics are killing dragons and weaponry and neither seem particularly appropriate right now. The only other thing she can think to say is "At least she's in Valhalla," and that is definitely not appropriate right now, judging by the overwhelmed look on Hiccup's face.

"The Elder said it's not supposed to snow again this winter," she says, a little desperately.

Hiccup jerks his head up to stare at her, startled after the silence. Then he says, "Oh. That's...good."

"Because we already had so much snow," adds Astrid. "Earlier. This winter."

They fall back into silence, Hiccup once again staring at his plate and Astrid looking anywhere but at him.

All in all, it's an incredible relief when the Viking parents finally decide that it's time for the children to go to bed.

ii.

Gobber has never been one for delicacy, but he tries for it now. It takes quite a lot of effort. "Are you...sure that's a good idea, Stoick?"

"I've thought about this already, Gobber," says Stoick, but he stays seated in the Mead Hall chair, his shoulders slumped. "Hiccup will learn discipline and hard work in the forge. It will be good for him."

"He could learn discipline and hard work on the fire brigade, too," says Gobber. "That would be a better job for the future chief of the tribe..."

Stoick's voice is weary. "The boy just lost his mother, and you want to push him into the heat of battle?"

"He'll be pushed whether he likes it or not, it's just a matter of when," says Gobber. "Do you really think the tribe will accept a chief who's used to sharpening swords and making nails instead of facing down dragons?"

"I'm not saying he won't fight someday - "

"If he doesn't learn how to fight, then he never will - "

"You've seen him, Gobber, he's tiny!"

"Of course he is, he's still a boy. And he won't grow up to be a man unless he has a chance to learn how."

Stoick's eyes narrow, the first real expression Gobber's seen on his stony face since the funeral. And for a face that Gobber’s used to seeing contorted with a war bellow, his - and there’s no other word for it - stoicism has been downright unnerving.

But Stoick just says, "He won't learn anything if he's killed by a dragon. Maybe the tribe won't accept a boy forged in a smithy as a chief. But this way Hiccup will live long enough that we'll find out."

"With all due respect, Chief Stoick," says Gobber, "don't you think you might not be thinking like a chief right now, but like a father?"

"I am his father," says Stoick. "And if I can't protect my son, what hope do I have to protect my tribe?" Gobber opens his mouth to reply, and Stoick cuts him off, standing up. "I've made my decision. Hiccup will be at the forge tomorrow morning to start his apprenticeship." He hesitates, and for a moment Gobber can recognize the old Stoick, from before the funeral, in the look on his face – exasperated, but with a blunted edge of fondness. "Maybe if Hiccup spends enough time around the weapons repairing them, he'll finally be able to use one, or at least pick one up without drawing blood. Or at all."

Gobber decides then and there that Hiccup will be handling nothing but nails and metal joints for at least a year.

"I won't go easy on him," Gobber warns Stoick, and that gets a smile, albeit one that reveals more worried lines around Stoick's eyes than were there before.

"You don't know how to go easy," Stoick says, and that's true enough.

The next morning Hiccup arrives at the forge at dawn, true to his father's words. He is still wide-eyed and unbalanced with loss, and Gobber can see the reasoning in distracting him. Just not in distracting him with sharp objects.

"Welcome to the forge, lad," says Gobber, ushering him in with his left arm, which currently ends in a set of tongs. "Let me introduce you to your new best friend: the nail."

iii.

Even at ten years old, Snotlout is the perfect model of a Viking-in-training. On top of his endless ten-year-old's energy, he's as fierce and driven as an axe to the face, and just about as subtle as one.

So when his dad takes him to Uncle Stoick's house and tells him to go play with his cousin, he isn't particularly excited. Snotlout knows that when he grows up he's going to be the best Viking ever. Hiccup, even at his tender young age, is making great strides at being the worst Viking ever. Snotlout doesn't even make fun of Hiccup when he has to go over to Uncle Stoick's, because nobody's around to laugh at his jokes about Hiccup's face and also Uncle Stoick gave him that Look that one time.

Hiccup is sitting out back behind the house, where the mountain just begins to level off into the village. He's lashing together some sticks in a complicated pattern. It doesn't look deadly, and thus it doesn't look interesting. But for some reason Uncle Stoick and Snotlout's dad think that, as cousins, Hiccup and Snotlout should spend time together so they'd probably be angry if Snotlout went back to the Mead Hall instead.

"What are you doing?" asks Snotlout, and he can see Hiccup's shoulders bow a bit in a wince before he turns around.

"Hi, Snotlout," says Hiccup, about as enthusiastic as a dead fish.

"Whoa!" says Snotlout, staring, "what happened to your face?"

Hiccup's eyes dart sideways for just a second. "Do you mean other than usual?"

"Was it a dragon?" says Snotlout, staring at the inch-long scab on Hiccup's chin. He comes closer, and sits across from Hiccup, leaving room for the twig-thing, whatever it is.

"Kind of," says Hiccup. "A dragon set the house on fire, and the roof kind of...collapsed."

Snotlout has a vision of his cousin, suddenly the coolest Viking to walk the planet, striding out of his burning house, silhouetted by flames as the roof collapses and sends shrapnel flying out and striking him on the chin as he just keeps walking.

Hiccup finishes, "My dad pushed me out of the house before it happened and I hit my chin on a rock."

And it's gone.

"A rock?" says Snotlout.

"It was a sharp rock," says Hiccup.

"Is it at least gonna scar?"

Hiccup looks annoyed. "Probably."

"But that's so cool!" says Snotlout, trying to make the best of the situation. "It's in the perfect place, too – look at it, it's all rugged and daring and - "

"Painful," says Hiccup. "Actually pretty really painful."

"Well, yeah, but you're getting a scar out of it," says Snotlout. "So it's worth it."

"So if I were to say to you, right now, that I would punch you in the face so you'd get a scar, you'd say yes even if it was going to really hurt?" says Hiccup.

Snotlout scoffs. "You couldn't punch me hard enough to scar," he says, and an idea strikes him. "But maybe Tuffnut could. Or Ruffnut, but she might not stop at one."

Hiccup does not look as enthralled by the idea of recruiting a scar as he should. It's times like this that Snotlout wonders if Hiccup wasn't the one found in a basket in the harbor instead of Fishlegs, and then he remembers that Fishlegs is just that weird too.

His attention fully lost now, Hiccup goes back to his little stick whatever. Snotlout watches him carefully lash more sticks onto it, and finally asks, "What is that thing?"

"It's going to be a troll trap," says Hiccup. "See, you put a little bit of fish or something right here, and then when the troll comes in to get it, it trips this and then this part falls down and traps it."

"But trolls are big," says Snotlout, and then, in case Hiccup doesn't get it, "and that thing is tiny."

"It's just to see if the design works before I try to make it bigger," says Hiccup.

"Okay, but why don't you just go find a troll and kill it?" says Snotlout.

"You just said I couldn't punch you in the face and leave a scar," says Hiccup, "so what makes you think that I could kill a troll?"

Snotlout considers this for a moment, then inclines his head in benevolent acknowledgement. Hiccup has a point.

"Well," says Hiccup. "This has been really fun cousin-bonding time, but I think I'm going to go do something else. Anything else. At all."

Perfect. If Hiccup leaves first, then Snotlout can go to the Mead Hall and get punched by Ruffnut without getting a lecture from Uncle Stoick. And if he gets a scar even cooler than Hiccup's, well, even better.

By the time Snotlout gets to the Mead Hall, he's forgotten all about his boring cousin.

iv.

One of the downsides of being on fire duty is that cleaning up and reconstructing afterwards is considered part of it.

It's a summer afternoon, and Berk is balmy enough that Tuffnut doesn't even have his vest on and Ruffnut can feel her toes for the first time since last summer. The mood of the day has shifted from rebuild-the-houses-that-burned-down-in-last-night's-attack to start-sharpening-swords-and-axes-for-tonight's-attack. This means that Ruffnut and Tuffnut get a few hours of downtime to pick the splinters of wood out of each others' hands, the byproduct of a day spent sanding and carrying what will (hopefully soon) become a new roof for their house.

"Ow – watch it, buttbreath!" Ruffnut snaps as Tuffnut removes a particularly long splinter from her palm.

"You wanna do it yourself?" says Tuffnut, flicking the splinter away and giving Ruffnut's head a shove. Ruffnut has him in a headlock in two seconds flat, and Tuffnut stomps on her foot to get out of it, and they settle down again, swapping seats on the rocks on the edge of the village. Snotlout and Fishlegs are still in the village, hammering a wooden dragon's head into the support of Snotlout's house under the watchful eye of his father, Spitelout.

Astrid, on the other hand, is sharpening her axe and pretty much ignoring Ruffnut and Tuffnut like she always does when they aren't actively talking about killing dragons. Sometimes they find her single-minded focus to be funny, or at least jokeworthy, but then they remember seeing her practice her axe throwing and they trade maybe-we-shouldn't glances.

"Last one," says Tuffnut, picking out the last splinter.

"Is it gonna scar?" asks Ruffnut, perking up.

"You wish," says Tuffnut. "Okay, now do mine."

"I could yank 'em, see if I can get some blood," offers Ruffnut. "Get you at least a scab."

"Nah, I'm gonna save my scars for the dragons," says Tuffnut. "You know, try to get one big one instead of a bunch of little ones."

"Lots of little ones make it look like you've been in more fights," says Ruffnut. "Especially if some of them are old."

"But one big one means you really survived something dangerous," says Astrid, looking up from her axe.

"Exactly!" says Tuffnut. "One big one means something – Thor's balls, that hurt! That very much hurt!"

Ruffnut holds up her index finger, one red-stained sliver of wood balanced on it. "Sorry," she says, utterly unrepentant. "Look at it this way – if it's bigger, it must've meant something."

"You're the worst sister ever," says Tuffnut, but his attention is caught by something behind Ruffnut. "Speaking of the worst, it's Hiccup the Useless, the worst Viking ever!"

Ruffnut twists around, and sees Hiccup carrying a hammer that's half as big as he is, Snotlout and Fishlegs following him. Snotlout has that look in his eye that means he's really laying into Hiccup, while Fishlegs looks like he's trying to make himself as small and unobtrusive as possible. Seeing as he's bigger than anyone else in the village other than Stoick the Vast, who is, after all, vast, it's not doing much.

"Oh, hey, guys," says Hiccup. "The gang's all here. So great to see you. As always."

"Hiccup the Useless," Snotlout repeats, an edge of a sneer in his voice. "I like it! Whose house are you planning on destroying tonight, Useless?"

"You know, I didn't really have any plans – I prefer to make it up as I go along," says Hiccup. He hasn't broken his stride, which to be honest is less of a stride and more of a steady shuffle. "Keeps things interesting."

"How many times did you get out and not catch a dragon with one of your little machines last night?" asks Snotlout.

"Maybe you can make a machine to burn down the village for us – it'd save the dragons a lot of time," says Ruffnut, snickering.

"Hey, how many Night Furies have you caught by now?" says Tuffnut.

In her peripheral vision, Ruffnut can see Astrid roll her eyes, but Astrid isn't irritated enough to actually stop them. Ruffnut doesn't blame her for being annoyed, but Hiccup seems used to the teasing by now, and really, he should stop getting the village destroyed if he can't handle people talking about it.

"Maybe you guys should rethink the whole Viking thing and go into comedy instead," says Hiccup, still walking. He says over his shoulder right before he goes over the last hill between them and the village, "You've got a real promising future there, or something."

Ruffnut shakes her head. "Snotlout, you're cousin's weird."

"One of your braids is caught in your helmet's horn," Tuffnut tells her, and Ruffnut mutters a curse and takes her helmet off to untangle it.

"I'll have to remember Hiccup the Useless," says Snotlout, throwing himself down on a rock next to Astrid. "Don't you think that's clever, Astrid?"

The look Astrid gives Snotlout is not at all appreciative of his wit. "He might surprise everyone, you never know."

Tuffnut laughs out loud at that. "Yeah, maybe one day he'll catch a Night Fury."

Snotlout's usual tendency to agree with Astrid just because she's Astrid isn't enough today. "Trust me, Astrid," he says. "There's nothing surprising about Hiccup except maybe how surprisingly bad he is at anything Viking, and there never will be."

v.

Winters have always been the top item on Fishlegs's list of things he would change about Berk, and the blizzard outside is just one example why. It's a raging, blustery snowstorm, with snow that refuses to settle and instead scuttles across the remains of last week's ice storm in waves and fronts. The wind howls a counterpoint to the creaking of the longhouses, and Fishlegs once again curses his timing.

"Well," says Hiccup, hauling Fishlegs's hammer back towards him. "The good news is your hammer is fixed. One of the bolts keeping the rock in was loose." He lets the hammer settle on the ground with a thud, and gives a rueful glance towards the window, where snow is sneaking through the gaps. "The bad news is I think you're stuck here for a while."

Fishlegs looks towards the window, trying not to get nervous. "Do you think anyone knows we're here?" he says. "What if the storm keeps going and we starve to death or have to eat each other? Do you think that's how Gobber lost his leg, that he had to eat it in a blizzard?"

"I...really don't think so," says Hiccup, giving Fishlegs an odd look. "And we're not going to starve to death. Gobber keeps a stash of pickled eels and smoked fish in the back room."

"Oh." Fishlegs calms down a little at that.

"Do you, uh, want some?" says Hiccup. "Fish, I mean."

Fishlegs listens to the shrieking wind and considers how long they might be stuck. "Maybe we should save it," he says. "Just in case." He looks at his leg nervously. It doesn’t look delicious, but who knows, maybe after a few days it would start to look more appetizing. Best not to risk it.

"Right," says Hiccup, and settles in his own stool. The silence drags on for long moments, as Hiccup drums his fingers against his stool uncertainly and Fishlegs looks around the workshop, letting his eyes land anywhere but on Hiccup.

"What's that?" Fishlegs asks eventually, pointing.

Hiccup turns in his stool to look. "Oh, that's – it's machine to, uh, throw a bola. For the Vikings who...might not have the best aim. Or strength. Or height."

"Oh, like you?" says Fishlegs without thinking.

Hiccup's face looks pinched for a moment, but he says, "Pretty much just me, yeah."

On one hand, there's no telling how long Fishlegs and Hiccup are going to be stuck in this smithy and antagonizing Hiccup, whose reputation for destruction in the village is unmatched, is probably not the best idea. On the other hand, the question becomes increasingly obvious... "Haven't you...tried something like this before?"

"But this time it's going to work," says Hiccup, and Fishlegs recognizes the innate Viking stubbornness in his tone.

"...yeah," says Fishlegs. If Snotlout were here, he'd probably make some joke about hasn't it already worked, like, twenty times? I mean, how many Night Furies do you need to catch?, but he isn't, which means that Fishlegs doesn't have anything to prove to him. Instead he doesn't say anything.

"What's it like, being on the fire team?" Hiccup asks.

"Oh my gods, it's so cool," gushes Fishlegs. "We get to see all the dragons up-close and watch them burn the houses down before we go put the fires out. Their fires are all a little different, have you noticed? Snotlout thinks the Monstrous Nightmare's is the coolest, but I think he's selling the Gronckle short. Did you know that it eats rocks? It takes rocks, and eats them."

"That's...certainly intimidating," says Hiccup.

"Your dad said that if we survive until the next round of Dragon Training, I could be in it," says Fishlegs. "He said that my knowledge of dragons would come in handy there."

Well, actually, his exact words were "that weirdo will finally have a use in Dragon Training" and he rolled his eyes while he said it, but Fishlegs thinks he understood what he was really saying just fine.

"You get to be in the next round of Dragon Training?" says Hiccup, and there's a definite hint of jealousy in his voice.

"Uh," says Fishlegs, increasingly aware of the potentially-dangerous territory of this conversation. Ruffnut and Tuffnut have a bet with Snotlout about when Hiccup will start Dragon Training. Ruffnut and Tuffnut put down their best helmets on "never," while Snotlout bet his mace that it would be "five minutes before dying a terrible, fiery death." "Maybe?" he says.

"I'm going to go through Dragon Training," says Hiccup, his face set with determination. "And I'm going to kill a dragon and show everyone."

Fishlegs doesn't have to ask show everyone what. "I'm – sure you will," he lies.

The wind whips up a vicious howl, and the window-shutters shake. This is going to be a very long blizzard.

vi.

The summer solstice is Hiccup's favorite holiday, mostly because it's one of the few times a year that he actually feels warm. In past years, his father has started the bonfire off by giving a speech about how the Vikings of Berk have conquered fire and will conquer the dragons, killing them all, rah, rah, go Vikings, and so on. This year he didn't bother, just lit the tinder and boomed, "I already gave my speech at Snoggletog! Get on with it, then!"

Needless to say, the amount of mead he already consumed at that point is best described as "copious."

Hiccup usually spent the solstice as close to the bonfire as he thought he could sit without stray cinders setting his clothes on fire, especially after that solstice when he was seven which he wasn't particularly interested in revisiting. This was mostly so that he could gather as much heat in his toes and fingers as he could, in the hopes of maybe keeping feeling in them for a few extra days this year, but it never seemed to work.

It was a tradition he continued this year, although it was mostly because Toothless liked the bonfire and had settled down close to it. Most of the dragons had, actually; this is the first year that the solstice on Berk has been celebrated with more than one bonfire. The entire island is dotted with them, circled by dragons, suffusing the whole village with a golden glow and just a slight haze of smoke.

Hiccup leans back against Toothless's ribcage, and Toothless obligingly adjusts his wing so that its joint isn't digging into Hiccup's back. Hiccup pats Toothless's neck in thanks, and Toothless gives a low, pleased rumble, the vibration of it passing from his chest to Hiccup's.

"I was wondering where you were."

Hiccup cranes his head back to look at Astrid, who's standing above him with a look of unmistakable fondness on her face.

"Heyyyy, Astrid!" he says, maybe a little too loudly. "I've been here since the bonfire lighted. Got lit. Lot? You know what I mean. Fire."

"Did your dad let you have mead?" asks Astrid.

Hiccup looks guiltily down at the cup by his side. "Apparently I'm a hero, and heroes get mead," he says. "Just one cup, though." In the interest of fairness, not to mention self-awareness, he adds, "I think that's really all it took."

Astrid smothers a giggle. "I can see that. Do you mind if I join you?"

Hiccup pats Toothless's stomach, eliciting a huff from Toothless. "Sure! Pull up a Night Fury."

Astrid sits down next to him, close enough that their shoulders are just touching a little bit. "I was a little worried when you left the feast early," she says.

"Why?"

"I don't know," Astrid admits. "I mean, Snoggletog didn't go all that well this year - "

"It went fine, once we found our dragons," says Hiccup. "Toothless even gave me my helmet as a present. And a lot of drool. And my fake tail I made for him, but I gave that to him first so it doesn't count."

Toothless growls a little in disagreement, but is either too lazy or doesn't actually care enough to lift his head to look at Hiccup to drive the point home.

"Does not," says Hiccup.

"I just - I know you get overwhelmed sometimes,” says Astrid, and it’s true. And a recurring source of conversation for the two of them. Going from village pariah to village hero and also the only one who actually knows anything about dragons was a little unexpected, to say the least, and sometimes Hiccup just gets the urge to hide in the force and finally perfect that troll trap. Astrid, whose main activity during the day is solitary axe-throwing, gets it, and doesn’t seem to mind talking about it.

“And you've been kind of quiet lately," continues Astrid. "Which is weird, because you're...you."

Hiccup narrows his eyes. "Was that supposed to be a compliment?"

"Actually, yes," says Astrid.

"Oh," says Hiccup. "Okay, then." He frowns. "I haven't been that quiet lately."

"Sometimes you just get this...look in your eye, when you're looking at us," says Astrid. "When we're all with our dragons. It's hard to explain."

Hiccup thinks about it, which at this point in the evening – and his cup of mead – is not particularly easy. He has been feeling something weird sometimes, mostly when he's in the ring with new equipment or strategy ideas with the rest of his class of dragon trainers. There's something about seeing the look on Snotlout's face when he's stroking that spot on Hookfang's snout, right behind her horn where the scales get almost soft, and he looks like he still can't quite believe what he's doing – or when Ruffnut and Tuffnut finally managed to turn both of their dragon's heads upside-down at the same time and keep flying. Or when he sees how Fishlegs gets all gentle with Meatlug's baby dragons, even though they're not nearly as baby as they used to be. Or when he sees Astrid...well. When he sees Astrid.

It's a strange and not unpleasant weight in his stomach and knot in his throat, a lifting of his heart and a sudden feeling of disbelief. Part of it is the knowledge that he did this, he made it happen, and there's more than a little pride there. And there's the way people listen to him now, even Snotlout when he's trying to rile up the new recruits and Hiccup tells him to lay off a bit. It's something in the way they look at him, like he's a person and not a nuisance.

It's how he finally got Toothless and his father to get along, and freezing the moment in his mind when Toothless let Stoick lay a light hand on his snout. Just thinking about it makes the feeling come back, and he tries to identify it.

"I think," he says to Astrid, slowly, "that I'm just happy."

"You're quiet when you're happy?" says Astrid, raising an eyebrow.

"I guess," says Hiccup. "I mean, I don't really have a lot of experience at it, so..."

Something sad flashes in Astrid's eyes, and her expression changes. "Well," she says, her voice light. "I guess the point of experience is that you're always getting more of it, right?"

"I could get used to it," Hiccup admits, and Astrid smiles at him. He inches slightly closer to her, and realizes with dismay that he's still not quite taller than her – so instead of his original plan of stretching an arm across her shoulders, he instead lays his head against her shoulder.

Astrid is still for a moment, and Hiccup can almost feel the uncertainty in her until she leans her cheek against the top of his head.

The weight is back in his stomach, and it doesn't feel like a burden. Instead, it's something solid and unmoveable, a contentment so deep that nothing can shift it.

Yeah. He can get used to this.

Fall, Fear, Catch, Mend

Sun, 08 Jan 2012 18:24:03 GMT

Title: Fall, Fear, Catch, Mend
Fandom: How to Train Your Dragon
Rating: PG
Warnings/Notes: Contains depictions of panic attacks and PTSD. Thanks to chaya, trekkiemage, and bad_vegan for concrit! Also available on AO3.
Summary: For some reason, Hiccup decides that the best way to get over this ridiculous sudden fear of falling is by beating it into submission. With a Night Fury.

Hiccup spends most of the week after he wakes up, well, sleeping. Not straight through, but pretty close. He wakes up a few times a day for an hour or two to take a Toothless-assisted stroll around the village and eat something, or talk to his dad or Astrid or Gobber or any of the surprisingly large number of people who come to visit.

(And, seriously, it hasn't been that long since he was Hiccup, that kid to stay away from in case disaster is contagious. And then there was his brief celebrity status, which was actually really tense seeing as it was also when he was telling the biggest, fattest, pants-on-fire-est lies of his life. It's been a busy couple months, is what he's saying, and there are a lot of people who are acting very differently towards him and it's an adjustment.)

Toothless pretty much doesn't leave his side, which is kind of nice sometimes and kind of annoying other times. This is one of the annoying times.

"Toothless, I am eating. I am eating this soup, and if I'm not eating fast enough for you, that's your problem," says Hiccup, after the tenth time Toothless nudges Hiccup's hand around the spoon.

Toothless gives him a wide-eyed look, then rubs his nose against Hiccup's hand, and Hiccup's irritation dissolves like snow in boiling water.

"I know, buddy," says Hiccup, crossing his free hand over to rub the flat of skin between Toothless's eyes. "I'm not exactly thrilled about being an invalid, either."

Toothless blinks, and his wings move in a very, very careful flap that nevertheless scatters papers all over the floor of Hiccup's room.

"And then we'll be able to go flying again," Hiccup promises, although his stomach sinks a little bit.

Because the thing is, Hiccup thinks part of the reason he's been sleeping so much is because he never gets any rest, and he hasn't gotten any rest because of the dreams. His last memories before waking up are of falling, feeling only the scorching heat against his back and watching Toothless dive towards him in what seemed at the time to be a futile effort, but he doesn't remember the catching part. Which might be part of why he relives the falling every night, the dream ending right when he should hit ground, only he doesn't always wake up – sometimes it just starts again.

And Hiccup loves flying, he really does, but right now he's not too excited about the falling part. The flying he used to do with Toothless was a lot of looping, a lot of tempting fate, and all he can think about now is that in his dream, he knows the sensation of hitting the ground and he does not like it at all.

But this is Toothless, and he wants to fly, and he can't without Hiccup. And Hiccup, well, Hiccup is well aware of the fact that it's his fault that Toothless can't fly.

"Soon, buddy," says Hiccup, his fingers curling slightly against Toothless's hide. "We'll go flying soon."

When Stoick isn't busy being the tribe's chief, he's going out of his way to be extra really nice to his son, which is just weird. But it means that Stoick is so distracted trying to be nice that he doesn't notice how Hiccup's doing. Astrid, on the other hand, has no such distractions.

"Are you okay?" she asks on one of her visits. Hiccup's been awake almost all day, and even though he’s tired, he's pretty sure he’ll be able to get Stoick to let him leave the house for more than an hour at a time soon.

"What, me? I'm just...admiring my scars," says Hiccup. "I should be downright irresistible to the ladies by now, right? I mean, who wouldn't want a piece of aaaaaaall this?"

Astrid rolls her eyes, but her lips curve in what might be a hint of a smile, if Hiccup squints. "You seem tired, still, that's all."

Toothless makes a small noise, and since his head is resting on Hiccup's lap, Hiccup feels the vibration in the top of his leg. The sensation stops just below the knee, although he swears that sometimes he can feel the rest of his leg down there, too. It's really, really weird.

"Well, I did single-handedly defeat a giant evil dragon, risking my life heroically in the process and nearly getting myself killed," says Hiccup. "It kind of takes it out of you."

Astrid still looks worried. "I don't know why you ever doubted you were a real Viking," she says. "You've got the bravado down pat."

"That may be the sweetest thing anyone's ever said to me," says Hiccup, only half-joking. “Anyway, you were saying...?”

“Right,” says Astrid, her face settling back into the determined warrior of the arena. “Your dad says that the Meathead tribe is going to come for Thor’s Day Thursday again this year, and I was thinking that since last year Thuggory and the Meathead boys kept trying to mess with us, we could get back at them this year. With dragons! I’ve been practicing my dragonback axe-throwing, and I’m getting really good at it.”

Hiccup takes a moment to imagine it, Astrid on her Nadder’s back, silhouetted by the sun like a Valkyrie, throwing an axe inches from Thuggory’s nose and saying in a voice filled with the grace of the gods, and that’s for calling him “Hiccup the Useless!”

"But we’ll need to practice,” Astrid continues, “so I'm trying to convince your dad to let you come flying tomorrow," and there's that sinking feeling again. It feels a lot like falling. That is not a helpful thought. "Maybe with me on Stormfly - I thought he might like that better than you flying alone."

Hiccup can feel Toothless bristle with offense, and he lays a hand on Toothless's neck to reassure him. "You named your dragon 'Stormfly'?" says Hiccup. "Don't you think it's a little overdramatic?"

"Don't you think 'Toothless' is a little underdramatic? They're dragons, not puppies," says Astrid.

Toothless growls, and Hiccup pats him. "Hey, see what you're doing? You're irritating my dragon, you...dragon-irritator."

"He has teeth," says Astrid, and really, it's hard to argue with that.

"I think I'm gonna hold out for Toothless anyway, but thanks," says Hiccup, and Toothless instantly relaxes. "I'm not the only one cooped up – in – heeeeeeereeeeee...." The word gets stretched over a yawn, and the concern is immediately back in Astrid's eyes.

"Maybe I should let you get some rest...?" she says, looking very uncertain.

Hiccup would argue, but he can feel his eyelids actually drooping, which is just not fair. "Probably," he mutters. "Sleep is so annoying."

Astrid really does smile at that, and she gives Hiccup and Toothless identical pats on the head before she goes, which is even less fair, and then everything is so boring in the same room that Hiccup's been in for weeks now that there's nothing for it but to go to sleep.

And dream.

For some reason, Hiccup decides that the best way to get over this ridiculous sudden fear is by beating it into submission. With a Night Fury.

"Okay, buddy," says Hiccup, past the tightness in his stomach and his lungs and really all of him now that he's thinking about it, "let's see what this new leg can do."

This new leg can do about three feet and a nose dive.

"Okay," says Hiccup, into the dirt he faceplanted in, "someone obviously forgot to clip in, and someone else obviously forgot that they don't have an ankle to angle anymore, and both of those someones are obviously me."

"Uhhh, Hiccup?" At least that's Fishlegs's voice and not Snotlout. Or one of the twins. That would be really embarrassing.

“Was that supposed to be some new dragon-flying trick?”

"What's he doing, eating dirt?"

"What do you know about eating dirt?"

"I happen to be a dirt-eating expert."

"I've eaten way more dirt than you have!"

"Nuh-uh!"

Not only Snotlout, but both of the twins as well. Great. Hiccup carefully keeps his thoughts away from Astrid, just in case.

"Hiccup?" comes Fishlegs's voice again, closer this time. "What are you doing?"

"Wishing the earth would open up and swallow me whole," says Hiccup.

"What?"

Hiccup raises his head to find Toothless's face about two inches from his. "Having some technical difficulties," Hiccup says, and Toothless snorts, but helps him up anyway.

All of the others are on their dragons, just hovering there, but thank the gods that Astrid isn't with them. "Looks like there are still a few kinks in the old – well, new – leg to work out," says Hiccup, leaning on Toothless. There's an ache beginning to settle in his bad leg, despite the fact that it's gone – Gobber warned him about this, but Hiccup isn't exactly pleased about it. "Guess it's back to the drawing board."

Toothless helps him back to Gobber's workshop. Toothless is, in fact, being so nice that it borders on the suspicious. He even watches patiently, settled down in a corner, while Hiccup examines the tail rig.

The main problem with it is that it's based on Hiccup's old design, which just doesn't work anymore. If Hiccup still had an ankle to pivot, they wouldn't be having any issues, but, well, he doesn't. Now he needs to think of a way to move his whole leg, pressing down or moving it backwards and forwards, instead of rotating to do something.

Toothless inches forward as Hiccup works until he's only a few feet from Hiccup, and of course he leaves destruction in his wake. He snorts out a breath to get Hiccup's attention, and Hiccup looks down at him.

Toothless snorts again, pointing his nose at Hiccup's left leg.

"I've just got a few adjustments to make," says Hiccup, putting down the rig. "It might be a couple days before we can go flying, but – we'll make it back up there."

Toothless looks at Hiccup, then back at Hiccup's leg, one of his ears twitching minutely down at the same time that his eyes go round with sadness – but when he looks up again, it's gone.

"I'm sorry, bud," says Hiccup. "I know it must be tough to be grounded - "

Toothless sits up and gives a low, rumbling growl as he tosses his head.

" - and I'll work on this as fast as I can, okay?"

Toothless's gaze flits down to Hiccup's leg, just for a second, and then he curls up at Hiccup's side. Hiccup can't help but reach out to scratch his head, and this time Toothless's growl is a reverberating, contented one.

"Now if I can work on this without anyone bugging me, we'll be good," Hiccup says, "but it'll still be at least a couple days to get this all finished, okay?"

Toothless's eyes are wide when he looks up, but he just blinks a few times before settling himself back down. Hiccup takes a deep breath, and tries to push down the sick sense of relief he feels at his best friend being stuck on the ground for another couple of days.

Toothless growls at everyone who tries to come into Gobber's workshop for the next couple of days. Including Gobber, who takes it surprisingly well.

"Ah, so he wants some privacy while you mess with all my hard work, is it?" says Gobber, even as Toothless's eyes stay on him, pupils narrowed to slits. "Well, who am I to argue with a dragon?"

"Sorry!" Hiccup calls after Gobber as he leaves. Then he turns to Toothless. "You could be nicer, you know."

Toothless's ears flap unconcernedly, and he makes a short harumphing noise.

"Right, next time I'll be careful what I wish for," says Hiccup, fitting in the last component of the new rig. He sets it down and looks at the result. He can feel the familiar clench in his gut at the thought of flying with Toothless again, of soaring over the ocean, so very far down -

This is for Toothless, though. He can do this for Toothless.

"Looks like it's time for a test drive," he forces out, and Toothless instantly sits up, ears perked. He looks so excited, but – "It's pretty different," Hiccup adds, trying to push enthusiasm into his voice. "We may want to stay close at first."

Toothless's idea of staying close, it turns out, doesn't match up with Hiccup's.

"Toothless, we gotta slow down," babbles Hiccup. He broke out in a cold sweat about when Toothless threw them off the cliff, and he's been clinging to Toothless like – well, like Toothless is the only thing between him and way too many feet of death. "Buddy, this is way more complicated than the other one – aaaugh!" Hiccup jerks his leg, but it only drives them closer to the giant rock outcropping. Toothless banks away just in time, but Hiccup's leg is moving all wrong and the tail is reacting to his every twitch, and there's a lot of twitching right now because even though Toothless is doing his best, his best is very, very jerky.

"Should've done a cheat sheet," Hiccup gasps, and Toothless banks again. Hiccup only manages to bite back a shout by slamming his jaw shut entirely. He's pretty sure he's shaking. A lot.

The trip back to land is a blur, and the next thing he knows, Hiccup is off Toothless's back, standing next to him and leaning heavily on his knees. Toothless is staring at him, and he tries to think of something to say as he sucks in air.

"Okay," he manages to say, "this could use some adjustments."

He unhooks the saddle and the rig from Toothless as quickly as he can, to hide the trembling in his hands, and he folds the whole thing up. "I'll just," says Hiccup, motioning with the bundle. "I'll just get this back and start working on it."

He hesitates, just for a second, because Toothless is giving him a look that's just desolate – but Toothless doesn't move to help him, and Hiccup's been doing so much standing in the forge these days that he manages to walk back on his own.

He can feel Toothless's eyes on him until he passes over one of the many hills of Berk, sinking below Toothless's sight.

In his workroom, he dumps the rig by the door and pulls out a fresh piece of drawing paper. Drawing his thoughts always helps him think, and maybe he can think of some way to fix this that doesn't involve Toothless staying on the ground or Hiccup half-dying of fear every time they fly.

Maybe if he adds more safeties to the rig he won't get as scared. Maybe he can convince Toothless to really stay close at first, and try to do it step by step, working his way up higher until he's back to dashing through clouds without wanting to vomit everywhere.

But then he'd have to tell Toothless, and then what? Then Toothless gets to shuttle him around in baby steps while all the other dragons fly as high as they want, because Hiccup's scared? That's not fair.

Nothing about this is fair.

Hiccup lays his head on the paper, idly flicking his pencil. What if he can't make himself fly again? What if it doesn't go away? What then?

The worst part is, he can still remember what it was like to fly with Toothless before, when it was just them and the sky. When doing a dive made him shout with exhilaration, not terror. He knows how much Toothless loves that kind of flying, and if Hiccup can't give it to him, then...

He turns his head and squeezes his eyes shut against the thought. He'll think of something. He always does.

The worst part about the falling is the knowing that the ground is just waiting. There's nowhere to go but down, and no matter how short the fall is, it feels like forever, because it's all that's left – long seconds of regret and fear and knowing exactly what's coming and that there's nothing you can do to stop it.

Toothless is above him, but he's so far away, there's no way to get back on the saddle and they're at the wrong angle anyway – Toothless is stretching his neck out, his mouth open, but Hiccup can't hear him roar over the all-consuming sound of the fire beneath him, and he doesn't look so toothless now -

"Hiccup!"

Hiccup jerks upright, all his muscles seizing up with tension. Astrid jumps back, startled, drawing her hand off his shoulder.

"Oh," says Hiccup, and wipes some drool off his mouth. "Hi, Astrid. I, uh, guess I fell asleep."

"You were stiff as a board," says Astrid. "What's going on?"

"It's a new exercise that you can do while you're sleeping?" tries Hiccup. Astrid just stares at him flatly, and crosses her arms. “It was nothing, really.”

“Hiccup, you were twitching,” says Astrid, pulling out the extra stool and sitting on it. “And the noise you were making - I thought there was a wounded animal in here!”

“Oh, thanks,” says Hiccup. “That’s really - ”

“You’ve been acting weird ever since you woke up - ”

Hiccup doesn’t think before he snaps, “And how would you know? You never paid attention to me before!”

Astrid’s eyes widen with surprise, and Hiccup looks down. He wants to take the words back, but...they’re kind of true.

“All of a sudden,” he says instead, “everyone’s treating me like some big hero, but I’m still the same Hiccup I was before, and I’m supposed to forget all the times everyone told me to get inside and stop making things worse just because they’re being nice now.”

Astrid slouches a bit on the stool, and Hiccup wonders if she heard “you” instead of “everyone.”

“I know,” she says. “And I’m sorry. We underestimated you - I underestimated you.” She looks down, and rubs the palm of one hand with the thumb of the other. “I think - I think everyone in Berk expects strength to look a certain way, and you’re not really Viking-strong. You’re Hiccup-strong. I don’t think anyone really got that before seeing you in the Kill Ring.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” says Hiccup.

“You should,” says Astrid, with surprising vehemence. “Did you know that you were the first person to really stand up to me? That’s why I didn’t go running to your dad about the dragon’s island when you asked me not to - I mean, part of it was Toothless, but it was mostly you.”

Hiccup frowns. “No one ever stood up to you?”

Astrid shrugs, but it’s a this-totally-doesn’t-bother-me-it’s-no-big-deal shrug that means exactly the opposite. “After my parents died, all the adults in the village just pitied me, and everyone our age looked at me like I was already a proven warrior just because I could hit the knot of a tree with an axe at fifty paces. But you...you were willing to stand up for what you thought was right, against me, against the whole village - even against your dad. In some ways, I think that makes you braver than the rest of us.”

Hiccup takes a moment to bask in the praise. Then it occurs to him that he might be able to take this conversation in a kissing-direction instead of an asking-questions direction. “Well, you’re pretty brave yourself, so...”

Astrid shrugs. “It’s easy to be brave when you’ve got an axe.”

“It is a very nice axe,” he assures her.

Astrid smiles. “Thanks.” Then her expression turns sober again. “So were you dreaming, just then, or...?”

Hiccup lets out a frustrated groan. “Gods, you’re like a dog with a bone! I bet you poke at your bruises and pick at all your scars, too.”

“Well, it’s only fun - ”

“ - if you get a scar out of it,” Hiccup finishes with her. He tries to smile, to change the subject with a joke, but Astrid just looks at him expectantly.

Eventually he gives up. "I..." He hangs his head. "It was a nightmare."

"A nightmare? About what?"

Hiccup picks up his pencil and fiddles with it, to keep his hands busy. "Falling." Astrid doesn't say anything, and Hiccup says, "I don't think I can fly with Toothless anymore."

Out of the corner of his eye, Hiccup can see Astrid tense. "You're afraid of Toothless?"

"What? No! Why would I be afraid of Toothless?”

“You wouldn’t be! I mean, you shouldn’t be – I mean - ” Astrid falters, then gentles. “You’re afraid of…falling?”

Hiccup lets his head hang forward until it hits his workbench with a solid thud. “I don’t know where it came from,” he says, and gods, his voice is hoarse. “Well, I do, but I don’t know why - when Toothless and I were figuring out the rig, we must’ve fallen a hundred times, and it wasn’t – I mean, it was scary, but it wasn’t this scary, and I don’t know why I can’t...”

He can hear Astrid coming closer to him. She clears her throat, softly, and says, “I used to be afraid of fire.”

Hiccup looks up, frowning. “Now you’re just trying to make me feel better,” he says.

“Well, yeah,” says Astrid, “but it’s true. After my mom died…”

Something tugs in Hiccup’s heart. Astrid lost both parents in the same dragon raid: her father was carried off by a Monstrous Nightmare, and her mother was burned trying to bring it down. Hiccup was stuck in the house the whole time and missed it all, but two days later he heard Stoick and Gobber talking, and Astrid’s mother had only just died. Hiccup had thought about those two days a lot, every time Stoick sailed out to slay dragons, and understood a lot better why the traditional Viking farewell was wishing for a glorious death in battle. Those were probably quick.

“Every time I saw a fire I thought of her,” Astrid continues. “And – what happened to her.”

After a moment, Hiccup says, “But you joined the firefighters.”

“That’s why I did it,” says Astrid. “To show myself that fire was something that I could beat, that I could control, instead of something that could control me.”

“So, step one: take control of gravity. I’ll get on that.”

Astrid gives a look that is less sympathy than thinly-wearing patience. “No,” she says, and Hiccup can hear the pause where she left out calling him stupid, “you have to remind yourself that you can beat it. You have to keep flying until you can remember that it’s not scary. Start small and build your way up until you’re back to normal.”

“Right,” says Hiccup. “Normal. Because I’m so very good at normal.”

Astrid gives him an unamused look that isn’t without sympathy. “You’re a Viking, Hiccup. You have a problem. Now you just have to solve it. And nobody in Berk is better at that than you.”

Hiccup’s personal theory is that that’s because nobody in Berk has as many problems as he does, but he doesn’t say it. He has a feeling that will result in Astrid punching his arm again, and he’s really hoping that they can move past that stage in their relationship because she always manages to get him right where the bruise from the last time was, even if she never punches him that hard. And it’s worth it for the kissing, and the general Astrid-ness. But still, he’d like the kissing part without feeling like he keeps flying into rock spires.

“Maybe…” says Hiccup, and then frowns. “Huh. Maybe if…”

Astrid smiles. “Got an idea?”

The look Hiccup gives her back might even be a ghost of a smile. “I think I might.” Then he looks down at the rig and wrinkles his nose. “But first, this really does need some work.”

“I’ll let you get to it, then,” says Astrid.

“Oh, wait – why’d you come over?”

Astrid pauses in the doorway. “Oh, right,” she says. “I saw Toothless waiting by your dad’s house, and this is the first time you’ve gone somewhere without him, and I wanted to see what was up.”

Hiccup feels a sharp tug of guilt. “He’s just waiting there? Isn’t it…kind of cold tonight?”

“It’s always cold,” says Astrid, and, well, she’s got a point.

Hiccup makes his adjustments quickly – the best thing to do, he figures, is to slim down the whole design and just move his leg instead of trying to mimic a foot. He ends up closer to Gobber’s original design, actually, but as long as it works, he doesn’t really care.

Toothless is indeed waiting in front of Hiccup’s house, curled by the door. He lifts his head when he sees Hiccup, his ears standing bolt up as Hiccup approaches.

Hiccup pauses a few feet from Toothless, who’s looking at him with unusual inscrutability. There’s a moment where Hiccup nearly spills the whole truth, but then Toothless glances down at the rig and shifts his legs beneath him like an impatient dog.

Instead, Hiccup says, “I think I’ve got it figured out,” and Toothless does stand up, leaping forward and just catching himself before he would’ve knocked Hiccup clean over. “I changed the design a little bit, and I think this one should be a lot easier to use,” Hiccup continues, looking out over the ocean – and the sunset.

“Uh,” says Hiccup. “Maybe tomorrow?”

Toothless sags a bit, but paces around Hiccup and thrusts his head into the crook of Hiccup’s arm anyway. Hiccup takes the hint and lays his arm across Toothless’s shoulders and allows his dragon to help him inside.

That night, Hiccup has nightmares so violent that he literally falls out of bed.

Right onto Toothless.

It’s the middle of the night and Toothless is fast asleep – or is until Hiccup lands on him. Then he darts up, staring wildly around for Hiccup.

“Down here, buddy,” says Hiccup, letting one arm fall across his eyes.

Toothless makes a questioning noise.

“The floor just looked so much more comfortable,” says Hiccup.

Toothless snorts in disbelief, but after a moment, Hiccup finds himself surrounded on all sides by warm, smooth dragon as Toothless curls himself around him. He even closes a wing across Hiccup’s chest and legs, like a blanket, and his snuffling breaths ruffle Hiccup’s hair.

“I’ve got a bed, you know,” says Hiccup, and Toothless tucks his tail against Hiccup’s far side with a quiet whuff. Dragons, it turns out, are very, very warm, which is something that Hiccup hasn’t felt much on the island of Berk, and it doesn’t take long for Hiccup to drift off into a calm, quiet sleep.

When he wakes up, all he can remember of his dreams are pastel clouds and the rhythmic rumbling of the wind, which sounds suspiciously like a dragon snoring. Hiccup chooses to take this as a sign, and he and Toothless head for the ocean.

“I’ve got an idea for today, buddy,” says Hiccup, leading Toothless down the cliffside path to Berk’s one sea-level beach. It’s long and winding, but plenty wide, and Toothless is protective enough to maneuver Hiccup onto the inside of the path without any prompting. Which is usually the kind of thing that would annoy Hiccup to no end, but today, he’s pathetically grateful for it, even though he’s feeling more optimistic than he has since the nightmares started. “We can do height anytime, height isn’t hard, but we’ve got to work on maneuvering again. That’s what’s really tough with this leg. So I say we try to go through the rocks as low as we can, so we can really focus on getting the turns down again.”

It’s an excuse that he’s particularly proud of, even though Astrid gave him the idea. Kind of. The rock spires just off the coast are difficult enough to fly through to keep Toothless’s attention and be a challenge, and this kind of fast, low flying should be exciting enough to remind Hiccup’s body how much his mind loves flying, too. And the rocks are tall and varied enough that they can fly through them a hundred times and never repeat a turn, which means they can do this as many times as they need to, going higher and higher each time until Hiccup’s back to normal.

And, really, they do need to work on maneuvering. So it’s a win-win.

Toothless looks back anxiously as Hiccup sets up the rig, and Hiccup is in high enough spirits to give him several good scratches behind his ear-flap.

“Okay,” he says, once everything is set up. He climbs onto Toothless and hooks himself in with a minimum of trembling, which at this point he’s going to consider a win. Then he pats Toothless’s neck. “Ready?”

Toothless gives a roar in reply, and they set off.

This test flight, at least, is much better than their first attempt through the rocks, what feels like ages ago. They don’t fly straight into a single spire, although there are a couple close calls and, yes, all right, maybe even a few scrapes. They even stay low enough that Hiccup ends up just about drenched from ocean spray. By the fifth round through, Hiccup’s feeling good enough that the trembling has all but stopped and tipping his head back to see the tops of the spires doesn’t give him vertigo. By the tenth, it’s like nothing ever happened – he and Toothless are moving in sync again, and they go all the way through without a single problem.

“Yeah!” says Hiccup, pumping his arms.

Toothless roars, snapping his jaws happily, and pumps his wings harder than ever.

“Whoa – ” says Hiccup, pulling his arms down to cling on Toothless’s back as they start to gain altitude. “Toothless, buddy, what are you – no, we’re staying down, remember, what – oh, gods – ”

Toothless gives another contented roar and keeps climbing, clearly thinking this is a treat for Hiccup. Who is at this moment breaking out in a cold sweat. He makes the mistake of looking down and immediately presses his forehead to the leather of his saddle – which is entirely too close, since Toothless is rapidly approaching vertical in his climb.

“Toothless,” says Hiccup, his voice barely a croak, “come on, don’t – this isn’t – ”

Toothless levels out, straining to look over his back to see Hiccup. He hovers as Hiccup takes long, deep breaths, his limbs locked up with fear and his eyes and throat burning with tension.

The sound Toothless makes is confused, and Hiccup manages to pull his head away from the saddle to meet Toothless’s wide, round eyes.

It takes a lot of effort to push the words “Get us down” past the tight knot in his throat, and Toothless hovers for another moment before narrowing his wings in a dive.

Oh, gods, thinks Hiccup, I should’ve said slowly.

Toothless sets them down on solid ground, away from the parts of the island with people in them, and Hiccup slides off his back bonelessly. Toothless doesn’t move as Hiccup sits on the ground, his back against Toothless’s side, and twists his fingers into the dirt to feel its solidity. They sit like that for a few minutes, Hiccup hanging his head, until he can’t avoid talking any longer.

“Toothless, buddy…” he says, feeling his throat tighten up again, this time not with fear. “I don’t – ” He has to force the words out in a rush. “I think you should fly with someone else for a while.”

Hiccup is sitting close enough that he can feel Toothless go very still, and hear the noise he makes even though it’s very quiet and very sad.

“I’ve been trying,” he keeps going, a little bit desperately, “but I just – every time we get up there I can’t move, I just freeze up and – ” His voice cracks, and he clears it before saying with defeat, “I get scared.”

This time Toothless’s low growl is mournful, and Hiccup feels the motion in his muscles and sits up so Toothless can move around to face him. His head is low and his ears are further down than Hiccup’s ever seen them, hanging like a guilty dog’s.

Toothless makes a short, aborted motion with his head, and then slowly uses it to nudge Hiccup’s metal foot.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with my leg,” says Hiccup. “It was – I guess it was the fall, but I – what’s wrong?”

Toothless looks guiltier than Hiccup knew he even could look, and he doesn’t meet his eyes as he opens his mouth. With toothless gums, he closes his jaw around Hiccup’s bad leg, then draws back again, his eyes glimmering with sadness.

Hiccup takes a deep breath to fight off the rising – he can’t even tell what feeling it is - and lets it out again. “I know, buddy. I kind of figured.” Toothless slumps, and Hiccup continues, “But you saved my life, and I’d rather have my life than my leg.” He moves forward and pulls Toothless into a hug. “Seriously. Thank you.”

Toothless lets Hiccup hug him for a moment, then makes a puzzled crooning noise. Hiccup pulls back, looking down.

“It’s…falling,” he says. “Every time we get up there all I can think about is how high up we are and how long it would take to fall, even though I know you’ve got me, and – and you deserve better than a…a coward like me.”

Toothless huffs out an indignant snort.

“You do!” says Hiccup. “You deserve someone who can really take you flying, not someone who can’t even go over the ocean without freezing up! Someone brave, someone like Astrid, who can look fear in the eyes and say, take that, fire! Or…falling…”

Toothless cocks his head as Hiccup trails off.

“I can’t take control of gravity,” says Hiccup slowly, looking at Toothless. “So maybe what I need…is someone who can.” His face sets in determination. “Toothless, how do you feel about doing something really, really stupid?”

“Oh, gods,” says Hiccup. “Oh, gods, okay, this is…this is definitely high enough.” He peeks over Toothless and immediately pulls back. Berk is just a speck below him. “Definitely high enough, Odin help me. Okay. You ready, bud?”

Toothless answers with a reassuring roar.

“All right,” says Hiccup. “Here we go. I’m unclipping my leg now,” says Hiccup, and takes a moment to gather his courage before he does so. “And, uh - ” He swallows reflexively - “and now I’m unclipping the rest of me.” His hands shake violently as he unhooks his safety tether, and he tries to convince himself it’s because of the cold that always comes from being this high up.

“Loki, Thor, and all the gods of people making really bad decisions protect me,” says Hiccup, before taking another panicked breath. “Okay, I’m standing up now.”

His legs won’t move.

“Standing up…right now.”

Fear locks up all of his muscles, and he feels a bone-deep certainty that he’ll never be able to move, right up until the moment that he does.

“Really standing up now,” he says as he braces his metal foot against the saddle, and then starts to put weight on it, pushing himself up.

And then it slips.

Hiccup overbalances trying to right himself, and even though Toothless tilts to try to help him, Hiccup goes tumbling off him towards the sea below.

He’s too seized by terror to even shout as he falls, backwards and headfirst, but he sees Toothless dive after him, a light of panic in his eyes. Hiccup’s stomach is doing somersaults, and all he can think is this was a terrible idea -

And then Toothless is close enough to nudge Hiccup’s bad leg, and Hiccup begins spinning around his stomach.

“Whoa – ” he manages to choke out, as he throws out his arms and legs to right himself, and now he’s falling stomach-first in a giant bellyflop, but he’s stable again, and even being able to see where’s he’s headed, even if it’s in a direction he doesn’t particularly like, makes something in him ease.

“Toothless, get over here – ”

But Toothless is already there, falling in the same spread-eagle position as Hiccup, although not with as much stability. Toothless pulls his wings in a bit to get lower than Hiccup, and then banks in and furls them out again and –

Hiccup lands really pretty painfully on Toothless’s saddle, but he doesn’t waste a moment in hooking his leg into the rig. Then they’re gliding again, well over the sea surface, and Toothless is craning his head to try to see Hiccup.

Who ruffled and shaky, yes, but also beginning to realize that the reality of the fall wasn’t nearly as bad as the dreams.

“Buddy,” says Hiccup, through panting breaths. His whole body is shaking, but as Hiccup leans down to hug Toothless – or as close as he can with a dragon twice his size – it feels a lot closer to exhilaration than to terror. “We gotta practice that.”

Toothless’s roar is loud and overjoyed, and he even lets out a celebratory fireball.

“Oh, come on,” says Hiccup as they fly through it.

They don’t do any more jumping, but they stay airborne for a good few hours, testing the limits of Hiccup’s recovery. The results are promising – now when Hiccup feels a shiver of fear and reminds himself that Toothless will always catch him, it sticks.

When they finally land close to lunchtime, they’ve collected an audience of humans and dragons alike.

“Impressive flying,” says Stoick, beaming with pride.

“Very,” agrees Astrid, from atop Stormfly. She nudges Stormfly closer to where Toothless and Hiccup landed, and says quietly, “Impressive height, too.”

“It was nothing,” says Hiccup with fake modesty, patting Toothless on the neck. Toothless lifts his head, basking in the attention. “Well, no, it was all Toothless.”

“Hey, Hiccup’s flying again!” Fishlegs and his Gronckle make a skidding landing just to the side of Hiccup and Toothless. “Ruffnut and Tuffnut are trying to make a race track around the village.”

“Through the village,” Astrid says, rolling her eyes.

“Snotlout said he’d beat everyone at it,” says Fishlegs, looking at Hiccup with wide, expectant eyes.

“Did he now,” says Hiccup, looking around. The crowd is dissipating, since the show seems to be over, and Hiccup reflexively works the pedal of the rig, pulling out the fake tail fin. “Guess that means we’d better show him we’ve still got it, right, Toothless?”

Toothless’s laugh sounds kind of like a seal, kind of like a creaky wheel, and entirely like a very fast dragon with a competitive streak.

Hiccup meets Astrid’s eyes, and they share a smile. “You ready?” Hiccup asks Toothless, and Toothless bites at the air with anticipation.

They take off, and Toothless, the showoff, adds all sorts of loop-the-loops and unnecessary flourishes. Hiccup, for his part, lets out whoops of excitement, feeling the deep certainty that Toothless will keep him safe settle into his spine.

When Toothless takes them on a dive off one of Berk’s many cliffs after Stormfly, Hiccup can’t feel even the slightest rumbling of fear over the sheer joy and exhilaration, and he lets out a shout of triumph.

It doesn’t take long for Fishlegs, the twins, and Snotlout to catch up to them, but once they do, Hiccup leans in towards Toothless.

“Let’s show them what we’ve got, buddy,” he says, and Toothless takes them spiraling towards the sun, leaving everyone else behind.

Make A Little Birdhouse In Your Soul

Sat, 07 Jan 2012 01:31:23 GMT

Title: Make A Little Birdhouse In Your Soul
Fandom: Once Upon A Time
Rating: PG
Summary: Emma is still adjusting to life in Storybrooke, but Storybrooke is not making it easy.
Warnings/Notes: Written for Yuletide 2011; also available on AO3. Thanks to Ari for the beta!

It's a combination of things, really – that Emma's not used to having a roommate, that Henry's planted this ridiculous Mary-Margaret-is-Snow-White-is-your-mother thing in her brain, or maybe she's just plain cracked under the insanity that is her current life in Storybrooke – but when Emma shuffles past Mary Margaret's room on the way to the bathroom one Saturday morning, she glances in and it looks like Mary Margaret's not breathing.

She's lying on her bed on her back, her arms curled over her chest, and in the dim too-early light, Mary Margaret looks paler than a live person can be. The whole effect makes her look like a corpse laid out for a funeral, and something in Emma's heart contracts in fear.

She watches for a minute, trying to watch the rise and fall of Mary Margaret's chest, but she doesn't see it. All she sees is stillness and how pale she looks and -

"Mary Margaret?" she says, and then again, louder, "Mary Margaret?"

She steps halfway into the room when Mary Margaret opens her eyes, awakening with a deep inhalation. She sits halfway up, and her eyes go straight to Emma, bleary with sleep. "Emma? What's wrong?"

Emma says the first dumbass excuse that comes to mind. "Your alarm didn't go off. I didn't – didn't want you to be late."

Mary Margaret squints at her. "Isn't it Saturday?"

"Oh," says Emma. "Right. I – sorry. Go back to sleep."

There are another couple seconds of squinting, and then Mary Margaret lays back down with a mumbled, "Okay."

Emma continues on to the bathroom, but can't shake the thought that Mary Margaret slept like there should be a glass coffin around her.

ii.

Being a sheriff's deputy in Storybrooke, Maine – which for both its population and its effect Emma is starting to think of as "Crazytown" – is pretty boring. The town's small enough that everyone knows each other and the sheriff's office is a last resort, really more of a formality than an institution. On top of that, when they do get a call, it becomes obvious that Emma's lacking the history and intricacies of the town population to do the disputes justice. She's heard Sheriff Graham say, "This situation's a little delicate, maybe you should just man the phones" so many times that she might make him a t-shirt that says it, or little notecards that he can hand her to save him the trouble. Maybe a coffee mug.

But this? This is just insulting.

The bright orange reflectors of the crossing guard's uniform clash horrifically with Emma's red leather jacket, and she keep thinking a litany of inappropriate places for Graham to shove it. While there's certainly enough pedestrian traffic headed for the Harvest Festival to justify a crossing guard, there's nobody driving, and the closest thing she's done this morning to managing traffic was when she made Ruby and her latest conquest stop necking in the front seat of her car. (She's pretty sure they just moved to the back seat, but she can't see them anymore so she doesn't care.)

She's considering stepping in front of traffic to get out of the rest of the day – a whole day of this, oh god – when she hears a voice behind her.

"What'd you do to piss off the mayor this time?"

Emma turns around to see Ruby, wearing her red scarf draped around her head like a hood and holding a picnic basket.

"Good morning to you, too, Ruby," says Emma. "And it was Sheriff Graham who gave me this job."

"Right," says Ruby, one eyebrow raised, "and I'm sure the mayor had nothing to do with it at all."

"Isn't there anything in this town to talk about that's more exciting than me and Regina?"

Ruby genuinely considers this for a moment. "Honestly? No."

Emma gives her a humorless smile. "Well, I'd say there was some excitement this morning. Just remember – next time you're making out with a guy, don't do it where everyone can see."

Ruby smirks. "I'll make sure to mention it to Eugene." A whole passel of kids run by, towards the Festival, and Ruby watches them go before turning back to Emma. "Do you get to go to the Festival, or do you just have to stand here all day directing traffic?"

Emma gestures around at the empty road. "Well, with all these cars, it's a real safety hazard."

"Ouch." Ruby pulls a muffin out of her picnic basket. "This should help, anyway."

Emma takes it, frowning. "From the diner?"

"Granny always takes the Festival as an excuse to give away food," says Ruby, straightening her scarf. "Have fun."

"Thanks," says Emma, but at least the muffin is tasty.

Mary Margaret doesn't come to the Festival until noon, and she puts her hand to her mouth to stop a laugh when she sees Emma.

"Did Regina set you to this?" she asks.

"Not to my knowledge, but given how many people have asked me that today, I'm starting to think so after all," says Emma. "But I guess if it were her doing, I wouldn't be wearing a vest. She'd just dress me in black, put me in an intersection, and hope for the worst."

"That's not very kind," says Mary Margaret, but Emma can see the laughter in her eyes.

"What's the deal with this Harvest Festival, anyway?" asks Emma. "Is it like Oktoberfest?"

"Considerably less drinking," says Mary Margaret, as Leroy stumbles by, holding an honest-to-god tankard. Mary Margaret reconsiders. "Well. For the most part."

Emma takes a step closer to Mary Margaret and lowers her voice. "Henry's convinced Leroy's one of the seven dwarves. Grumpy."

"It's fitting," admits Mary Margaret.

"I've had to bring him in for D-and-D a couple times, and I don't think 'Grumpy' really suits him," says Emma. "Far as I can tell, he'd have two better names, depending on the time of day – 'Drunk' or 'Hungover'."

Mary Margaret laughs outright at that, before her attention is caught by something over Emma's shoulder. Before Emma can turn and look, Mary Margaret raises a hand, and a bluebird comes to perch on her finger.

"Why, hello," coos Mary Margaret.

Emma just stares. "Did that actually just happen?"

Mary Margaret strokes the down on the bluebird's chest. "I do very well with animals," she says. "And this one's gorgeous, aren't you?" She holds the bird out to Emma. "Do you want to hold it?"

Emma considers the relative merits of bird shit on the crossing guard's vest, but settles on sanity instead. "Uh, no thanks."

Mary Margaret shrugs, and the bird flies off. "I should get going to the Festival," she says. "My kids and I got a booth, right next to the bobbing for apples."

"Let me guess – the mayor?" says Emma, and Mary Margaret nods.

"Apples from her tree and everything."

Emma hesitates, just for a moment, and then says, "You know, I've never been a bobbing-for-apples girl."

"Me neither," says Mary Margaret. "Honestly, it just doesn't seem safe. All the different mouths in the water," she adds, at Emma's look.

"Right," says Emma. "Right – of course."

Mary Margaret frowns. "What did you think I meant?"

"Nothing," lies Emma. "You should probably go, if your kids are waiting for you."

Mary Margaret gives her a look. "I'll see you back at the apartment, then," she says.

"Yep," says Emma. "See you there."

iii.

Luckily, Crazytown has a shrink, and the shrink is in on Operation Cobra.

Maybe thoughts like that are the reason she needs to talk to Archie in the first place.

"You went to Harvard?" asks Emma, looking at the diplomas on Archie's wall.

"Ah, yes," says Archie, from his chair. "Undergraduate as well as graduate school."

"You went to Harvard and now you're a therapist in a small town in Maine and not making hundreds of thousands of dollars by being anywhere else?" says Emma, turning around to look at him. "Now that's what I call a fairytale."

Archie smiles at that, one of his fleeting, indulgent ones. "What can I say, I think I'm just more suited to a small-town way of life. Henry told me you were in Boston when he found you?"

"For better or for worse," says Emma. She wonders if Archie's still sitting to make a statement. Probably – psychologists care about that kind of thing. Then she remembers what Henry told her in those early days, about how nobody had a solid past. "Which House were you in?"

"Adams," says Archie, not missing a beat.

"Did you ever go to that pizza place that was always full of Harvard students?"

Archie smiles again, but there's a curl of a frown to it. "Pinocchio's, yes. I can't help but notice, Emma, that we're talking about me and not about you." Emma doesn't say anything at first, and Archie adds, "Of course, I also have to admit that I'm surprised you came to speak to me at all. You don't strike me as the talking cure type."

Emma crosses her arms, but stays standing. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"Well," says Archie, "you strike me as a woman who has little time or regard for self-reflection. You play your emotions close to the vest and you never look back, and both of those are fairly essential to therapy."

"Maybe I'm just here to talk as a friend."

Archie inclines his head slightly. "Maybe. But then you would've suggested we meet at Granny's, not scheduled an actual session. But instead you want privacy, but not urgently enough to just come right over."

Emma gives up and walks to the sofa. "You're good at this."

"I will take that compliment in the spirit it was intended and ignore the incredulity with which it was said," says Archie. "Now, why are you here?"

"You really did go to Harvard," mutters Emma. Louder, she says, "How much has Henry told you about...about Operation Cobra?"

Archie shifts back in his chair. "Are you asking Archie, or Doctor Hopper?"

Emma stares at him. "Please tell me you're not having a mental breakdown, because this town has enough problems as is."

He laughs. "You misunderstand me. Are you asking me as Archie, Henry's friend and part of Operation Cobra, or Doctor Hopper, his psychologist? Unfortunately, there's a distinction to be made, since Henry is a client and there's confidentiality to consider."

Emma rolls her eyes. "Look, I'm just asking if he's told you what he thinks I am in terms of the fairy tale."

"Oh!" says Archie. "Yes, Snow White and Prince Charming's daughter. Yes." He peers at her from behind his glasses. "And now you're living with Mary Margaret. How is that going?"

"Fine," says Emma. Then, "Weird. A little weird. Maybe."

"I see," says Archie. "And how weird, precisely, are we talking?"

"You know how sometimes you see something and then you can't not see it?"

Archie's pen hovers over the paper uncertainly. "Do you mean literally seeing something, or..."

"This is going to sound stupid," says Emma, "but the other day I saw Mary Margaret asleep and she looked like – I swear to God, she looked like Snow White."

Archie doesn't react to that, which is almost more concerning than if he had. "I see."

"Is this the part where you tell me I'm crazy?"

"Crazy isn't a word that I like," says Archie, and Emma hears, yep, you're nuts. "Have you spoken to Henry recently?"

Emma shakes her head. "Not - I mean, I don't want to discourage him, but I don't want to encourage him, either. So not about this."

"I see," says Archie again. "When you say she looked like Snow White, do you mean that she reminded you of Snow White, or that you thought that she was Snow White?"

Emma leans back in the couch, to better cross her arms. "I guess...I could see why Henry thought it was her. I mean, if she was going to be anyone from a fairytale, I could see why it was Snow White."

"But did you think she was Snow White?"

"No," says Emma, quickly.

Archie raises his eyebrows. "But...?"

"Have you seen her do the thing with the bird? I mean, a bird landed on her finger. What's up with that? That's insane."

Archie winces. "I think you mean 'unlikely' - I can't help but notice that you use quite a bit of vernacular shorthand for mental illness – well, that's neither here nor there." He readjusts his glasses. "I suppose there are two ways that we could see...recent events. On one hand, we have the fact that you've been bonding more with Henry, and he does put a lot of focus on his fairytale theory. It could be that you're spending so much time with him that you've begun thinking in similar ways – in this case, in terms of a fairytale framework. This is not at all uncommon, although it might be a sign that both you and Henry could benefit from taking a break from, ah, Operation Cobra."

"Or...?" prompts Emma.

"Or this is another effect known as the folie à deux, and you truly are beginning to believe Henry's theory about the curse."

Emma doesn't say anything at first, and Archie waits for a response.

"It's...just weird," says Emma, finally. "This whole town is weird."

"Every town has its oddities."

"There are a lot of coincidences," says Emma.

"Like Mary Margaret's fondness for birds?" asks Archie.

"Like that, like John Doe waking up after Mary Margaret read to him..." Emma looks right at Archie. "Like the fact that I lived in Boston for over a year and I never knew a single person, let alone Harvard student, call Noch's 'Pinocchio's'."

That gets Archie's attention. "What are you implying?"

Emma leans forward, uncrossing her arms. "Where was your favorite place to study?" she asks.

"In my dorm," says Archie. "I kept to myself - "

"What was your freshman year roommate's name?"

Archie opens his mouth, but doesn't say anything. He closes it again, looking puzzled. After a moment, he says, "It was a long time ago," but he sounds uncertain.

"Did you get along?" Emma pushes. "Did he – leave wet towels on the floor, or walk around naked, or eat your food? You must've lived with him for a whole year – how do you not remember anything about him?"

Archie shakes himself slightly. "Once again, Emma," he says, the strength returning to his voice, "we're not talking about you."

"I know," says Emma, standing up. "But I think I got the answers I was looking for."

Now if only she could figure out what they meant.

iv.

Like most of the times Emma visits Ashley, Alexandra is crying. Loudly.

"It's okay," says Ashley, ushering Emma through the doorway, "Sean's getting her."

"She's loud," says Emma, for a lack of anything else to say.

Ashley rolls her eyes, but she's smiling. "She's always loud," she says. "I think she just likes attention, and she's figured out that crying is what gets her some."

"Can't say I'm sorry to have missed this part of having a kid," says Emma, following Ashley to the small kitchen table. They're in Granny's bed-and-breakfast, where Ashley and Sean have been staying until they can find another place.

"It's better than being pregnant," says Ashley, shrugging. "God, it feels like the pregnancy lasted forever - at least now time's flying by."

Emma thinks of the clock in the town square. "Right," she says, faintly.

"Can I get you some coffee or something?" says Ashley. "Cocoa? Word is you like cocoa with cinnamon."

"Word spreads fast around here," says Emma.

"Small town, nothing better to do than gossip," says Ashley. Her face twists unhappily, just for a moment. "And judge."

"Hey," says Emma, reaching out and putting her hand on Ashley's. "Screw them, right?"

Ashley smiles again, and it lights up her whole face with pride. "I think that's exactly what I'm doing." Emma smiles back at her, and Ashley continues, "So how goes the deputizing?"

"It's going, I guess," says Emma. "Storybrooke's been pretty quiet lately."

"No more cold wars with the mayor?"

Emma smirks. "Not lately, but give it a day or two, I'm sure something will come up. How's Sean?"

Ashley glances towards the door to the bathroom, the source of Alexandra's cries. "He's trying," she says, her voice somewhat quieter. "He's...used to having his dad around, you know? To doing what his dad says, to getting bailed out by him."

"I take it his dad wasn't pleased with his decision?"

Ashley shakes her head. "Sean's just got to learn to be his own person." She glances at Emma, a smile dancing at the corners of her mouth. "I've been thinking of asking you to have a talk with him. One of your no-nonsense pep talks."

"Pep talks?" repeats Emma.

"Maybe 'pep' isn't the right word," says Ashley. She looks a bit closer at Emma. "You look like you've got something on your mind."

Emma takes a breath. "I've been – wondering," she says. "When everything with Alexandra and Mr. Gold and everything was happening, where was your family? Ruby said you have a stepmom and stepsisters?"

Ashley wrinkles her nose. "We're not in contact," she says. "Not since my dad died, and honestly, not a whole lot before that, either."

"I know," says Emma, "but – what did he do before he died? Professionally?"

Ashley frowns. "I don't know. I was just a kid, and I honestly didn't pay that much attention. A salesman, maybe, or a businessman? We weren't – we had money. At least until Tremaine came."

"Your stepmother?"

Ashley nods. "I don't mind talking about it, but – why are you asking?"

Emma would probably have a better answer if she knew herself. "I'm still trying to get a sense of how this town works," she says. "I mean, how'd you end up moving out of your stepmother's place?"

"It was mutual," says Ashley, her lips pursing. "She hated me as much as I hated her, so even working as a maid here at Granny's seemed like a better option."

"About that – when I checked in here at Granny's, she said nobody'd ever stayed before." Emma shakes her head. "So why'd she need a maid, if nobody stays here?"

"Someone could stay," says Ashley.

"And if nobody ever stayed before, how'd it stay in business?" continues Emma.

"Everyone eats at Granny's - I think the diner pays for the bed-and-breakfast," says Ashley. "What's this really about?"

Emma hesitates for a moment, and then says, "Like I said, I'm just trying to figure Storybrooke out."

"There's not a lot to figure out," says Ashley, sounding uncertain. "I mean, we're just a town."

A town that doesn't make sense, thinks Emma. "You know, I should probably get going. More deputizing to do."

"Right," says Ashley, standing up. "And, Emma – thank you. For checking in." She gives a smile that seems small and bare, like a candle's flame. "For the pep talk."

"Well, if you need another, I'm working on one about the importance of taking shit from nobody," says Emma, and Ashley laughs.

In the end, there's not just one last clue that slips everything perfectly into place. Instead, the camel's back breaks under the sheer weight of the tiny details. The mayor's apples, the thing with the birds, the fact that Mary Margaret looks like a corpse every time she goes to sleep, the sheer frequency with which the phrase "as long as I can remember" is spoken in this freaking town – any one of them would be fine, but taken together, it's just too much.

Henry always seems to know when she's having breakfast at the diner. Mary Margaret is generous beyond belief and her pancakes are pretty much the best thing on earth, but Emma feels almost like she's taking advantage of her. She's paying rent now – she insisted – but the most Mary Margaret will let her do otherwise is put the cinnamon on her own cocoa. Which was still made by Mary Margaret. It's no wonder that she's an elementary school teacher, because there's something unfailingly maternal about her.

And, Emma learned after Back to School Night, pretty snarky, but only sometimes.

But Emma's never been one for charity, and while she can see the clear joy it brings Mary Margaret to have someone appreciate her cooking, sometimes Emma just needs to order her own cocoa and pay for it.

And when she does, Henry is there.

This morning, he plops the book down on the table right in front of her before he sits down.

"I think I found the prince from the Prince and the Raven," he says.

"What?" says Emma.

"The Prince and the Raven," says Henry, and when Emma shakes her head, he sighs. "Nobody's ever heard of it."

Great. Now her kid's a hipster.

"So," says Emma, "I've been doing some asking around."

"About?"

"Operation Cobra."

Henry's eyes widen. "It's a secret!"

"I haven't been asking people about it, obviously," says Emma, and has a moment of realization that she's defending herself to a ten-year-old. "I've just been...investigating."

Henry's beginning to get excited. "And?"

"I'm not saying that I believe that Snow White is my mother," Emma begins, because seriously, she and Mary Margaret are almost the same age, and there's Gilmore Girls and then there's whatever the hell this would be. Other than creepy. That goes without saying.

Henry nods, encouragingly.

"...but I'm willing to conceded that there are things about this town that just don't make sense," Emma says.

Henry legitimately pulls a double-handed fist-pump, throwing up both of his arms with a triumphant "yes!"

Emma stares at him. "Okay, maybe not if you're going to be obnoxious about it."

"I gotta go tell Archie, he has to believe us now!" says Henry, and hops off his seat.

"Kid, wait - "

But Henry's long gone.

Emma sits back in her chair and groans. She'd been aiming for low-key.

Mary Margaret is gone when she gets back to the apartment that evening after her shift, and despite having had a jam-filled popover for breakfast and a bear claw for lunch (and who, she wonders, makes the donuts around here? What fairy-tale creature got stuck with that job, the Keebler elves?), she starts making cocoa.

It's not an addiction. There's just something about Mary Margaret's apartment that, to Emma, is inexplicably linked with hot cocoa with cinnamon.

She makes enough for two, and sure enough, Mary Margaret returns just as Emma's pouring.

"Oh, good," says Mary Margaret when she comes in. "It was either that or the Scotch."

"Who says it can't be both?" says Emma, passing over a mug. "Long day?"

"One day, Billy is going to have to learn how to clean up his own accidents," says Mary Margaret.

Emma winces. "Or stop having them."

"Or that," agrees Mary Margaret. "Although it's the former I'm more concerned about." She takes a sip of cocoa, and lets out a breath. "What about you? Henry was in a very good mood today...."

Emma thinks fast. "I think he's happy that we're spending more time together."

"I don't think Regina is," says Mary Margaret frowning.

Emma has a special smile, one she usually uses on people she's about to cuff. She uses it now. "She's going to have to deal with it," she says, and sips her cocoa. "I'm here for the long haul."

And Never Brought To Mind

Sun, 31 Jul 2011 13:41:15 GMT

Title: And Never Brought To Mind
Fandom: Marvel Adventures: The Avengers
Rating: PG
Summary: Steve gets selective amnesia. Tony hates magic.
Warnings/Notes: No warnings; thanks to Ari for the beta! Can be read as gen or pre-slash.

Tony's actually pretty glad he missed the fight with Nightwitch, both because he really hates magic and it would've been really awkward to have his existence erased from Steve's memory while he was there. Instead, he hears about it afterwards, when he finally gets out of the coding brainstorming session with the guys from the VLA and sees missed calls from pretty much all the other Avengers.

"Don't freak out," says Jan's voicemail, which is a great way to ensure a freakout, "but something's up with Cap. We're figuring it out. Um, maybe – maybe you should steer clear for a while until the figuring out is done. See you back at the Tower."

"We have a situation that is somewhat delicate," says Storm's voicemail. "Captain America was – affected – by Nightwitch."

"Cap somehow got selective amnesia and doesn't remember you," says Spiderman's, which is even worse. "It would be kind of funny, if it weren't so weird."

Tony's not laughing.

He high-tails it back to Stark Tower, albeit in a car since he doesn't have his suit, and even though he rushes out of the elevator he stops dead once he hits the living room, where the rest of the team is sitting – including Steve.

Steve, whose hand goes instinctively to his shield when he sees Tony. Steve, who looks at Tony with wary distrust. Steve, who clearly has no idea who Tony is.

Well. Crap.

"Sorry I'm late," says Tony, a bit breathlessly. Jan is shaking her head and drawing her hand across her throat in a clear "no seriously, quit it" gesture, and Tony ignores her. "I, uh, I heard that..."

He glances at Steve, who clears his throat and stands up.

"You must be Tony Stark," he says, holding out a hand to shake.

It's surreal as hell. It doesn't help that Spiderman is looking between Tony and Steve like all he's missing is a bowl of popcorn.

"I guess I must be, yes," says Tony. He hesitates about the handshake, but Storm is watching with enough concern that he sucks it up and takes Steve's hand. "You know," he says, because he doesn't really know what else to say, "I don't think we've actually ever shaken hands before."

Steve frowns. "We haven't?"

"No," says Tony. "The first time we met, you threw your shield at me."

Steve looks even more concerned.

"Well, you thought I was a Nazi," adds Tony. "And a robot."

"You're not helping your case," says Jan, standing up from the couch. "It was on the sub, when we pulled you out of the ice."

"It was my sub, actually. Well, a Stark Industries sub, so pretty much...mine..."

This is even less comfortable than Tony had thought it would be.

"I need a beer," says Logan, heading for the kitchen. Tony briefly entertains the notion of going with him, but realizes that rampant drinking is probably not the best way to get in Steve's good graces. It's kind of weird, not to be in Steve's graces, good or bad.

"You know what," says Jan, "we should probably – Storm, you and I have that thing..."

"Yes," says Storm. "Spider-Man, weren't you going to go with us?"

"No, I think I'm cool here," says Spider-Man, pitching back on the sofa and kicking his feet up. "I kind of want to see what - "

"Spider-Man," says Storm.

"Right, coming."

Jan shoos them away, and exaggeratedly mouths at Tony to be nice.

And then he and Steve are alone.

"So," says Steve, with an obvious effort towards polite conversation, "you own Stark Industries?"

"Well," says Tony, "C.E.O. I handle the business end of things. And some of the design. And engineering. And sometimes promotion. Wait, if you don't remember me, who did you think was C.E.O. of SI?"

"Pepper Potts," says Steve, and Tony chokes a little bit.

"Please," he says, "please don't tell her that. I'll never hear the end of it. Ever."

Steve sounds uncertain – and skeptical. "She's not the team fundraiser, either, then?"

"No – that would also be me. She – you don't think she's Iron Man, too, do you?"

Steve raises an eyebrow. "'Iron Man'?"

"I'll take that as a no, then. Good – that would've been more than my ego could bear." He flashes what he hopes is a self-deprecating grin. Steve appears unmoved.

"And who's Iron Man?"

"Still me. It's kind of – well, it's a suit of armor, but it's also got repulsors in the hands. And in the boots, so it can fly."

"A suit of armor."

"Yeah. It's very high-tech," says Tony, but the words fall flat even to him. "It's, uh. It's pretty strong. It can, you know. Lift stuff. Move stuff. Punch stuff..."

"Uh-huh." Steve crosses his arms, and his eyes narrow. "You'll forgive me for saying this, Mr. Stark - "

"Tony," Tony protests.

" - but I'm finding this all a bit hard to swallow."

Tony's heart sinks. "Look at it this way," he says. "What's more likely – that your memory was messed with, or the rest of the world's?"

Steve makes a noise that's halfway between acknowledgment and skepticism. "I know what I know, Mr. Stark."

"Tony. And apparently not."

Steve isn't quite glaring at him, but the look Tony's getting is definitely a patented I Am Captain America And I Won't Back Down, Gosh Darn It look. Tony's seen it before, but it's usually directed at supervillains, Nazis, and postmodernists. "All I'm saying is that I'll protect my team at all costs."

Now that gets on Tony's nerves. "Oh, and you think I won't?"

"I think it remains to be seen whether this is really your team."

Okay, yes, that stings a bit. Because for every time Iron Man's saved someone's life, either as a part of the Avengers or otherwise, there's a quip in the papers about Tony Stark finding his latest adrenalin rush, or implication that he's just the Avengers' wallet. And hearing these doubts from Steve, of all people... "Look, Cap. I get that things are weird right now. But I am an Avenger, whether you can remember it or not. A founding Avenger, no less." Tony sighs. "I hate magic."

Steve heads back to the couch, watching Tony warily over one shoulder all the way. "I've never seen magic do anything of this magnitude."

Tony can't resist. "Or maybe you just don't remember."

And then his phone rings. Tony takes the call with only a cursory glance at the caller ID, looking back at Steve to gauge his reactions. "What meeting am I missing now, Pepper?"

"Board of Directors," says Pepper, not missing a beat. "You also missed your three o'clock with the particle accelerator engineers and your three-thirty with SHIELD."

"Right," says Tony, still watching Steve. Steve is watching him right back. "Apologize to the LHC for me, tell SHIELD to deal with it because that meeting was unnecessary anyway, and I'll be right there for the Board of Directors." He flips his phone shut, ignoring Pepper's continued tinny – and irritated – voice. "Duty calls," he tells Steve, gesturing with the phone.

"Right," says Steve, with a level of articulation that manages to make the single syllable sound ominous. "Of course."

Tony's not proud of it, but he pretty much flees.

He goes to the Board of Directors meeting, and the rescheduled conference call with Geneva, and then decides that his armor could probably use some extensive upgrades and retreats into his lab.

Every inch of the suit gets polished, every bit of circuitry double-checked, and it still only takes him about three hours and all he can think about is that this is when he and Cap were supposed to be getting burgers.

So instead he starts working on some additions he'd been planning. Well, additions he'd thought about planning. Mostly he just wants to see if he can make it work.

"Tony, have you even had dinner yet? It's almost - "

Pepper always walks in at the most inopportune times, and though Tony hides what he's working on, judging by the look on Pepper's face it wasn't fast enough.

"Tony."

"Pepper."

"What's that behind your back, Tony."

She's using her I'm-not-even-going-to-pretend-to-be-interested voice. That's never a good sign. "I'm just making some upgrades to the armor," says Tony, as nonchalant as he can. "I'm adding some...ground-based transportation systems."

"Ground-based transportation systems."

"Yep."

"Really."

"Yeah."

"Because those looked like roller skates to me, Tony."

Tony gives up, and brandishes the skates. "They're ground-based. They're transportation. And let's face it, if you could have rocket-powered roller skates, you'd do it too." An idea strikes him. "Do you want rocket-powered roller skates? I could make you a suit. I think you'd look really good in it. I bet I could make it couture, get Dolce and Gabbana to design some - "

"Tony."

"Yes?"

Pepper leans against one of the lab tables, giving him a despairing, I-don't-know-what-to-do-with-you, kindergarten-teacher look. "It's almost midnight, and you've been in here for hours. No matter what the two-bit supervillains may think, you're not a robot and you do have to eat. And sleep." She looks him over again, and her nose wrinkles. "And shower."

Tony barely suppresses a surreptitious sniff. "I'm in the middle of something."

"No, you're in the middle of jet boots. Jet boots don't constitute 'something.' And you've got a design meeting with the head of the VLA project in eight hours. Are you actually incapable of checking your schedule, or do you just get a kick out of making me do it for you?"

"Well, I wouldn't want to steal your thunder," says Tony. "You know what, pop it up. Let me take a look at it."

Pepper raises an eyebrow. "Now?"

"Yep. Oh, come on, you're going to give me crap for not checking my schedule, and now for checking it?" He holds out his hand, and Pepper gives in, pulling out a tablet computer and handing it to him.

He looks it over, then taps the screen a couple times. Every appointment with Steve disappears – the sparring matches, the hamburgers, the patrols, the team-leadership meetings, the basketball games...it's kind of disturbing to realize just how much time he and Steve spend alone. His schedule looks downright empty now, and Tony considers for a moment.

"Are the VLA guys still trying to get me out to New Mexico to look at it in person?"

"Well, yes - "

"Perfect. Cancel the design meeting, I hate Skype anyway. They've been bugging me long enough, they can get the real deal." He catches the look on Pepper's face. "What? I thought you'd be happy for me to get them off your back."

Pepper takes back the tablet, and folds it against her stomach. "What are you running away from?"

"I'm not running away from anything," says Tony, but even he can tell how false it sounds.

"Right," says Pepper. "You're just installing roller skates in the suit and running halfway across the country because you feel like it?"

"Well, yes."

"Uh-huh." Pepper looks at him for a long moment, then says, "I'll let the VLA know to expect you." She starts walking out the lab, but stops at the doorway. "You can't run forever, Tony."

"I'm not running," he says, but he's thinking, I don't need forever. Just until the spell wears off.

So he goes to New Mexico. Bruce is running communications when Tony calls, so he doesn't even have to talk to Cap again. Instead, he flies to the middle of nowhere, New Mexico, and climbs a radio telescope or two. He also eats some pie, which is nice, and he really does get a lot done. And, okay, maybe he doesn't check in as regularly as he should, but the Avengers have his number and they can call if anything comes up – the armor is more than capable of flying from New Mexico to New York, after all.

Nobody calls. He's almost relieved, and almost disappointed.

After three days in New Mexico, he figures he can't really put off checking in any longer, and calls Jan.

"Tony," Jan answers, with an irritatingly knowing tone. "How's – Arizona, was it?"

"New Mexico," says Tony. "It's...New Mexico."

"Middle of nowhere, huh?"

"From what I can tell, there isn't a decent cup of coffee in the entire state. How are things back at the ranch?"

"You mean, does Steve remember you yet? Unfortunately, no." Jan sighs. "And I don't think he likes that you disappeared so soon."

"And when you say he doesn't like it..."

"I mean he thinks you're a diabolical supervillain with some bizarre plan to infiltrate the Avengers and he's the only one who knows the truth."

"How very self-righteous," says Tony. "How very Steve."

"Well, you're not exactly here to convince him otherwise," says Jan. "With how fast you got out of town, I'm halfway starting to believe it, myself. Kidding," she adds.

"Not funny," says Tony.

"Little bit funny? No?"

"Any leads on Nightwitch?"

"We've talked to her," says Jan, and now her voice is guarded. "And...she says she can't reverse it. Apparently, every spell is broken a different way, and she doesn't know what this one is."

Tony closes his eyes. Damn. "Have you tried Doctor Strange? A second opinion?"

"He's working on it. Oh, Peter might have something, though."

"Peter? Really?"

"He said to tell you that if something can be remembered, it can come back." There's a rustling sound, like Jan shrugging into the phone. "He said you'd get it."

Tony rubs his forehead. "That's not a lead, it's a Doctor Who quote."

"Well, he was probably just trying to help. Tony, just come back to New York, all right? At least we have coffee here."

"I'm here for work," Tony protests, but weakly.

"Nobody's buying that. Seriously, nobody. Not even the Hulk. This is getting ridiculous. I mean, okay, so Steve can't remember you. We're the Avengers! Weirder things have happened!"

"He thinks I'm a supervillain!"

"Then come back and convince him you aren't! And weirder things have happened than that, too. Just saying."

"Okay, so now I clearly have to come back to convince all of you that I'm not a supervillain. Great."

He can imagine Jan's impish smile from the tone in her voice. "Does that mean you're coming back?"

Tony feels something in him give up in the face of Jan's...Jan-ness. "Let me check the flights."

Between layovers, short notice, the VLA being in the middle of nowhere, and the time difference, Tony leaves at five o'clock in the morning and lands in New York at five in the evening. Pepper meets him at the airport, with a look on her face that tells him exactly how much he's being judged.

"So was it a hot date or a bad case of human decency that brought you back?" she asks him.

"Actually, I realized I was neglecting my jet-boots. Those things can be surprisingly needy."

Pepper raises an eyebrow. "You didn't mention that the roller-skates were going to have jets in them."

"It's a multimillion dollar piece of equipment that can fly, withstand stresses that would make skyscrapers crumble, and run the power grid of a small Carribean island for a year," says Tony. "Why wouldn't the roller-skates be jet-powered?"

Between Jan's pep-talk – if you can call it that – plus the banter with Pepper and losing an entire day to travel, Tony feels almost back to normal when he walks into Avengers Mansion. That lasts about as long as it takes him to walk into the living room, where Spider-Man, Storm, Wolverine, and Steve are playing Scrabble.

"'Lepidoptera' is a word!"

"We're playing Scrabble in English, Peter, not Latin."

"It's proper scientific terminology in any language."

"Dead languages aren't wildcards – oh, hello, Tony. Welcome back." Storm smiles, but glances from Tony to Steve, whose brow has become ever-so-slightly more furrowed as he examines his tiles.

"Tony! How was the VLA? Did you get to see the correlator? Was it gorgeous?"

"It was ancient," Tony tells Peter, resting his briefcase against the kitchen counter. "That's why they're upgrading it. How was everything...?"

"Boring," says Wolverine. Since Wolverine is playing Scrabble, Tony is not surprised.

"I didn't see anything on the news, or get anything over the emergency system, so I figured."

Steve finally looks up from the board. "So, what took you to New Mexico, Mr. Stark?"

It takes all of Tony's self-control not to twitch. "Stark Industries took a contract to upgrade some of the equipment at the Very Large Array radio telescope, and I've been personally seeing to some of the details."

"So personally that you flew halfway across the country when, arguably, your team was in a crisis," says Steve, and now he's using his mild, leading-you-into-a-trap tone.

"The armor is perfectly capable of flying to New York in an emergency," says Tony, trying to keep his own tone even but mostly ending up with clipped.

"You know what, I think we should check 'Lepidoptera', I'll go find a dictionary to check it," says Peter, all in one rush.

"Perhaps we should leave the two of you alone," agrees Storm, and Tony's pretty sure she kicks Wolverine in the shin under the table to get him to leave, too, and then it's just Tony and Steve. Again.

Tony takes a deep breath, and reminds himself that Steve is still Steve, even if he's being stubborn and pigheaded and self-righteous against Tony this time.

"So," says Tony, "Jan told me that you thought I was a supervillain who somehow found a way to insinuate memories of my nonexistent life as an Avenger into the rest of the world."

Steve's lips thin. "Did she."

"Yeah, but – that's not the point." Tony takes a deep breath, and reminds himself of what he practiced on the flight. "The point is, she said I was avoiding you, and I was, so I wanted to apologize."

Whatever Steve was expecting Tony to say, it wasn't that. "Apologize?"

"Yes," says Tony. "Because she was right. I've been avoiding you, and I'm sorry."

Steve stares at Tony for a long minute. "Then why were you avoiding me?"

"Because..." There's no way for this not to be awkward. Tony shrugs one shoulder. "Because we're friends. Or rather, we were. And now we're not. Also, it's weird to be called Mr. Stark."

Steve laughs at that a little bit, and Tony decides to press his luck. "I get that you don't trust me right now, and I wish there were some way that that could not be the case. And I hope that I can show you again that I'm worth trusting. But until then, I hope that we can at least be teammates, because I don't like the idea of you guys going into battle without me."

Steve considers this for a moment, then nods. "All right."

There's still a glint of suspicion in his eyes, but Tony tells himself to just take what he can get and excuses himself to go to his lab.

The good thing about Steve not knowing him anymore, Tony supposes, is that Steve can't tell when Tony's managing him. The thought is not comforting, and Tony lets his head rest against the armor stats display for a moment before moving on.

Things get back to a strange kind of not-normal-enough after that. Steve insists on a one-on-one training session with Tony, to get to know his style, and everything is off: Steve is too gentle with him, pulling his punches, while Tony already knows most of Steve's tricks. The end result is thoroughly unsatisfying for everyone – Tony doesn't even get a good workout from it, and Steve seems disconcerted that Tony kept using Steve's moves.

Movie night is no better. The movie is a fairly safe one, Star Wars: A New Hope, but Steve is utterly transparent in testing Tony the whole time, making inside jokes to see if Tony remembers them. Tony gives up halfway through, and says that he has an emergency Stark Industries budget meeting; the next time Pepper sees him, she does not look impressed.

But the worst is when the whole team meets up for simulations and the Hulk accidentally bloodies Steve's nose.

"Cap always go left!" says the Hulk. "Iron Man go right, Cap go left!"

"Well, this time Iron Man went right, and Cap went right-er," says Peter, which Tony thinks is really not helping.

"Don't worry about it, Hulk," says Steve, pinching his nose to stop the bleeding. "It's nothing – I've had worse. It's not your fault."

But the look he gives Tony doesn't say the same about him.

"That is the way we normally run that drill," Tony says, trying not to be overly defensive.

"I said 'left.'"

"And habit said 'right', because that's the way we did it the past ten times."

"According to you," says Steve.

"Uh," says Jan. "Do you two want to - "

"Yes," says Tony. "According to me. And if we're going to be teammates, then that should be enough."

"Let's not get too hasty - " says Peter.

"No, if Iron Man has something he wants to say to me, he should say it," says Steve, folding his arms across his chest.

"It's obvious to everyone that this isn't working," says Tony. "If you can't trust me to have your back - "

"I can't trust you to follow orders – there's a difference."

" - will you just let me finish? If you don't trust me, then just say so!"

Steve's jaw sets. "Fine. I don't trust you."

Even after everything, it feels like a punch to the solar plexus.

Steve continues. "I think it's suspicious that you just appeared in everyone's memories after a fight with a witch that you weren't even present for. I think it's odd that you disappeared right after appearing. And I think it's questionable that I'm the only one who forgot about you when we were supposedly such good friends."

Tony takes a moment to remember how to breathe, while Jan and Peter trade oh-god-why-is-this-happening looks, and the Hulk looks back and forth between Tony and Steve.

"Well," says Tony, when he can speak again. "I'm glad we've got that cleared up. I have a lot on my plate at the moment, and I think it would be best if I took a leave of absence from the team."

He doesn't wait for a response.

The jet boots get a lot more attention.

"Okay, it was getting ridiculous before, and now it’s just embarrassing," says Jan, when she corners him in the lab the next day. "Will you two talk to each other?"

"We already did," says Tony. "It didn't help. Obviously."

"Tony, come on – there has to be something - "

"Well, apparently not, because unfortunately, Captain America is not only stubborn and holier-than-thou and always knows best, but he's also Captain Freaking America." Tony gives up on the jet boots, strips off his goggles, and lets the wrench in his hand fall onto the work table. "Let's face it, Jan, the team needs Cap more than they need Shellhead. I'll still fund the team and, and help out if you guys need backup - "

"Oh, come on, we both know you couldn't stay away from the team if you tried," says Jan. "And besides, why should you be the one to have to leave the team? Technically, you were here first."

"It's fine," says Tony.

"No, it's not." Jan makes an exasperated noise. "Both of you need to just suck it up and get along."

"I'm not the one having problems, here!"

"Yeah, but you definitely aren't helping."

Tony sighed. "It's just – it feels like we broke up and he got the team in the divorce, but we were never even married."

Jan hesitated. "Is that a hint of wist I detect in your voice?"

Tony gives her a dark look. "Has there at least been any news from Strange?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself?"

Tony looks down and rubs some grease off the back of his hand. "The communications room is down past Steve's."

"You two are impossible," Jan tells him. "And – well. Strange says...there's nothing he can do. He said that it would take a force more powerful than he could harness to undo the spell." She bites her lip. "We may have to consider...this might be permanent."

Tony's head falls forward. "Great."

"Which is why you can't just leave the team," Jan says. "You two are going to have to work it out eventually, right?"

"Right, because once Steve gets a notion into his head, he's so good about being open to other options."

"Either way, this current situation is - " Jan cuts herself off as her Avengers ID starts beeping, and she pulls it out.

"There's some sort of sea monster attacking the harbor," comes Steve's tinny voice. "We need everyone we've got – Avengers, assemble!"

Tony's hand goes to his own ID, which is quiescent. "Go," he tells Jan. "You're needed."

Jan reaches over and puts her hand over his. "You come, too," she says. "Show Steve that you're a part of the team. You heard him – we need everyone we've got."

Tony hesitates. "You go ahead," he says. "I've got to reassemble the boot jets before I can fly anywhere."

Jan makes a face at him. "Fine, but if you don't show up, I'm going to assume that Steve's been right all along and you don't actually exist."

"Ha, ha," says Tony.

It takes him about fifteen minutes to reassemble the boot, and ten minutes after that he's at the harbor. 'Some sort of sea monster' doesn't quite do it justice, because it looks for all the world like Godzilla, but the other Avengers have been keeping it mostly in the water – there's minimal damage to the surrounding buildings.

He looks around for the rest of the team: the Hulk is wrestling with it, Spider-Man is using his webbing to keep several docks from collapsing, Storm is creating whirlpools, Giant-Girl is evacuating unlucky fisherman, and Wolverine is perched on Godzilla's head and stabbing repeatedly. Since Godzilla is about ten stories tall, it doesn't seem to notice.

Cap is talking to the police, probably coordinating the evacuation, which makes sense. Usually in this kind of situation, Cap would be fairly reliant on Tony to fly him closer to the target.

Tony lands a few feet back from him, and Cap gives him a Look and wraps it up with the police.

"Leave of absence?" he asks.

"Tell me you couldn't use another flier," says Tony.

Cap surveys the situation – Godzilla has now noticed Wolvering, and is swatting at him ineffectually – then turns his attention back to Tony. "You any good with giant lizards?"

"If I had a specialty, they wouldn't be it, but I think I can get its attention somehow," says Tony.

Cap nods decisively. "Distract it, and tell Logan to go for the eyes."

Wolverine flies past them, hurled by a finally-victorious Godzilla.

"Right," says Cap. "Tell Hulk to go for the eyes."

"Yessir, Captain America, sir," says Tony, lifting off again. Over the thrum of his jets, he can hear Wolverine swearing.

Godzilla, it turns out, really dislikes the repulsors, and Tony manages to keep him from attacking Hulk long enough for Storm to bring out the lightning, and it turns out Godzilla likes that even less. Hulk gets it right in the eyes, but unfortunately, that's when Godzilla starts staggering – towards the docks.

Storm and Tony try to herd Godzilla back, but it finds a docked sailboat first. Tony is between it and the docks when it lifts the sailboat up and takes aim – right at Cap, who has returned to coordinating and has his back turned.

"Cap!" he yells, and guns it as Godzilla throws.

Even going as fast as he can, he's not going to make it – he might make it to Cap, but not out again, and of the two of them he's less likely to be crushed – and besides, Cap is pretty strong, and better some repulsors than a whole sailboat -

He lifts his hands, repulsors on full, and aims at Cap. He's only a few feet away when he lets loose, and Cap is thrown clear of the sailboat's landing site.

Tony is not. Or at least, when he comes to after who-knows-how-long of disorientation, that's what he figures, because he's beneath the boat, which, judging by the sharp pain in his everywhere, is pretty heavy.

He can hear voices, distantly, and after a few moments he manages to lift the boat off of himself and let it fall again a few feet away, and most importantly not on him.

"Tony!" Jan's giant hand overs by him as he sits up, and when he looks up, he sees her kneeling by him. "Are you all right?"

"Yeah," he says, and it only takes him three staggering tries to stand upright, with the pain in his side and the adrenalin wearing off. "Ow."

"You're bleeding!"

Tony looks down. The armor is cracked and dented, and the reason his side hurts so much is because there's a gash in it where the sharp edge of the bent armor cut him. "Oh, wow, yeah. That's – that's some blood." He opens the faceplate of the suit and gulps fresh air – and then remembers the circumstances of his injuries, and the adrenalin spikes again with worry. "Where's Cap? Is he okay?"

"He's fine, and you really need to sit down or something – we need to get you to a hospital - "

Tony looks around for Godzilla – he's being directed back out to sea by Storm and Hulk, that's nice – and then Steve, who's standing about fifty feet away and staring at Tony with a mixture of confusion, worry, and something else that Tony can't quite identify. Then something clicks, and his expression changes to be even more concerned, which makes sense because now that Tony thinks about it, he probably shouldn't be swaying this much.

That's when he passes out again.

His extensive experience with hospitals means that he recognizes the beeps of the medical equipment and the sanitized-bleach smell before he even opens his eyes. Once he does, he sees that the room is empty, although a glance out into the hall shows him that Steve is standing out there, talking to a doctor.

Steve's okay. The thought is incredibly reassuring.

It only takes a few minutes for Steve to notice Tony staring, and once Tony realizes that he's staring, the weird, floaty feeling makes a lot more sense – he's pretty definitely on some painkillers. Steve gives him a quick smile, and then, from the expression on his face, thanks the doctor before coming in.

"Welcome back," says Steve. "How are you feeling?"

"Did I get hit by a sailboat?" says Tony. "Thrown by Godzilla? Because that's pretty much how I feel."

Steve smiles at him again, and Tony realizes how long it's been since he's seen him smile like that. "You did. You also saved my life."

Tony shrugs carefully. "The repulsors didn't hurt you too much?"

"I'll be sore for a day or two, but that's all." Steve's smile fades, and he shifts with a discomfort that Tony's never seen on him before. "Tony, I just wanted to say – well, I want to apologize, first of all, but you should also know that – well, it looks like the spell is broken." Tony stares at him blankly for a moment, until Steve adds, "I remember you now."

"Oh," says Tony. "Oh."

Steve crosses over to the bed. "I'm sorry for how I treated you – there's no excuse for it."

"You did think I was an evil sorcerer hell-bent on infiltrating the Avengers," says Tony. "Let's face it, with us, these things happen. Don't worry about it."

"Still, I feel like I should make it up to you - "

"No, don't - "

"At least let me buy you a burger."

Tony grins, partly without realizing. "Well, if we're talking burgers, I can hardly say no, can I?"

"Good!" Steve claps a hand on Tony's shoulder. "I guess Strange was right – it did take a force more powerful than he could harness."

Tony feels a strange thrill of excitement. "What?"

Steve grins widely. "Friendship!"

And then disappointment. "Right. Friendship, yeah."

"I should go tell everyone else you're awake," says Steve, giving Tony's shoulder a squeeze before letting go. "Pepper's been really worried."

"She always worries," says Tony, settling himself more comfortably in the bed.

"Oh, and Tony?" says Steve, in the doorway. Tony looks up at him, and Steve gives him one last smile that's almost shy. "Welcome back."

Tony feels something in him warm. “You too, Cap.”

Take the Third Option

Wed, 20 Jul 2011 17:38:35 GMT

Title: Take the Third Option
Rating: R for frank discussion of sex and violence
Summary: Take the Third Option, or, Vulcans Have Prehensile Dicks And Other Misinformation.
Notes/Warnings: Written for trekkiemage as part of her (very belated) Help Japan winnings; this one's for "Hurt/Comfort." This fic deals with pon farr and all the consent issues that come with it, so take that as you will.

i.

Honestly, Jim thinks of the whole thing as a string of dominoes, because it all really started only a few weeks after the Enterprise started its mission, when Spock and Uhura broke up.

"As Second Officer of the ship, it would be improper for me to maintain a romantic relationship with a subordinate," Spock said to Jim, as he and Uhura broke the news to him Apparently they thought that because he was the Captain and he'd had previous knowledge of their relationship, he should know that it was now ceasing. Why they had scheduled a formal appointment and used one of the briefing rooms was beyond him.

"He makes the duty roster, gives out assignments, and if anything happens to you, he'd become Captain, and then it would be even less acceptable," Uhura said.

"But that's stupid," Jim said, "because you two are the most professional people I know and there's no way your relationship would mess anything up. I have full faith in you to - "

"As long as we're in a relationship we can never quite be sure," Uhura said.

"And sometimes the appearance of impropriety can be more damaging than impropriety itself," Spock said.

"I'm not buying it," said Jim, and he wasn't. Uhura's body language was tightly controlled, but the corners of her mouth kept drawing down, and Spock had that tight, pinched expression that meant he was probably miserable. "You two are good together, and you know it."

"Nevertheless," said Spock, and that was that.

ii.

The second domino would be the sudden influx of anatomical information – and misinformation – about Vulcans. Before they were an endangered species, Vulcans could afford to be insular and picky about who they told certain sensitive details to.

But for a lot of the Vulcans who found themselves incapable of returning to Vulcan to their wives, the seven-year itch became a lot more urgent and had to involve being a lot less picky.

So the rumors of pon farr began. At first Jim figured it was just a xenophobic thing – there was a lot of that going around; it made him really, really angry, how many people were saying that the Vulcans had brought the destruction of their planet upon themselves in one way or another – and the rumors were pretty outlandish.

Every seven years Vulcans had to fuck or die. Vulcans could literally die of blue balls. The reason Vulcans were so big on logic was because they were so kinky in the sack. When Vulcans went into pon farr, their penises turned green and prehensile. Vulcans used to have gladiatorial games that had culminated in massive orgies. Having sex with a Vulcan meant a telepathic tie for life, and once you were telepathically linked to a Vulcan they could control your body like a marionette. Having sex with a Vulcan meant you were legally married to them, and Vulcans had no divorce. Having sex with a Vulcan meant a telepathic orgasm that could last for days.

Jim was actually kind of tempted to test that last one out.

But for the most part he ignored them, because fucking or dying every seven years? Vulcans? Come on.

In retrospect, he probably should've paid more attention.

iii.

Though, to be fair, the other reason Jim didn't think pon farr was real was because of the conversation in the infirmary that he had the luck to be privy to. It went like this:

Bones: "So, Spock, what's this I hear about that pon farr thing?"

Spock: Epic death glare.

And that was the whole thing, but Spock had already perfected the death glare, keeping it just blank enough while still maintaining the what-the-hell-did-you-just-say-to-me aura in his eyes. Jim didn't even think about it, never actually made the decision to trust that Spock would reveal that kind of important medical information to the ship's Medical Officer, he just did.

iv.

But it really started when Spock actually went into pon farr. Jim would like to say that he noticed it first, but honestly, he just figured Spock was getting a little bit cranky. They'd been on a deep-space survey assignment for almost a month and everybody was going stir-crazy, from Sulu spending more and more time with his swords and the unfortunate practice dummies in the gym to Crewman Schwarz presenting itself to Bones with a new self-diagnosed exotic disease every five hours. So the fact that Spock was getting tetchy didn't exactly register as out-of-the-ordinary – at least at first.

But after a couple of days of Spock snapping at Jim and correcting Jim and being even more sarcastic than usual at Jim, Uhura cornered him in the mess hall while Spock was on the bridge.

"Something's wrong with Spock."

At this point, Jim had at least noticed, so he said, "Something's wrong with all of us, and it's called being cooped up without shore leave or an away mission for more than a week."

Uhura shook her head. "You're not listening to me – something's wrong with him. Every time I enter a room, he leaves it, unless we're on-duty and then he acts like I don't exist. It's like he can't even stand to look at me."

That made Jim frown. "Usually people get awkward with their exes right after a breakup, not months later."

"I don't think this has anything to do with that. I don't know what it is, but - " She blew out a breath. "I've never seen him act this way."

So Jim started paying more attention, to the lines of tension in Spock's shoulders even when they were just playing chess in Jim's room; to the way his eyes went right around Uhura with a deliberateness that was unmistakable; to the set of his jaw when Jim riled him up, and the way his patience was at best half as long as it usually was, if not shorter.

That lasted all of about two days, before Spock started avoiding him, too.

The problem, it seemed, with letting Spock be in charge of the duty rosters was that the First Officer didn't actually have to interact with the Captain that much when their shifts didn't intersect. The number of emails Jim received from Spock tripled, but all of a sudden he was nowhere to be found.

So Jim decided to start playing dirty, too.

v.

"Erratic behavior is totally grounds for a mandatory medical exam."

"No, it's not, not when the supposedly-erratic behavior is just avoiding you." Bones gave up on the pretense of trying to do work, and dropped his PADD on his desk to meet Jim's eyes. "Maybe he finally realized how infantile you are and got sick of it."

"He's avoiding Uhura, too."

"Again, avoiding an ex-girlfriend doesn't qualify as erratic. Just common sense."

"How do you explain the fact that he's been downright bitchy for the past week, then?"

"We're on a deep-space survey assignment. It's just cabin fever."

"I hadn't realized that cabin fever had crossed the species barrier and affected Vulcans now."

"He's half-human."

"Yeah, but since when is he the half that gets pissy and avoids people?"

Bones just shook his head. "If you can bring me evidence that there might be a pressing medical need, I'll order an examination. But I'm not going to invade Spock's privacy just because you've got a hunch."

Jim made a face. "Fine."

vi.

The pressing evidence came about three hours later, when Jim was doing paperwork and got a call on his comm from Bones.

"I mentioned Spock's pointy ears and he told me that if he heard me spouting off such vile racism again, he'd wring my neck," said Bones, without preamble. "Still want to order that mandatory exam?"

"Well," said Jim, slouching back in his chair, "I don't know if that counts as evidence, per se. Getting upset at being called a green-blooded hobgoblin might just be common sense - "

"Stop gloating. I also checked the food synthesizers – Spock's access codes haven't been used in three days."

Jim frowned. "Spock hasn't eaten in three days? Seriously?"

"That's what the computer says." Bones paused. "Jim, I'm actually starting to get a little worried. I asked around, and other people are noticing his behavior, too. Christine said he threw a bowl of soup at her head."

Jim whistled. "Wow. If he's getting physically violent..." He drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. "I'll track him down and talk to him, see if I can't get him to do an exam willingly. I don't want to have Security drag him through the ship if I can help it."

He found Spock in his quarters, but it took five tries knocking and the threat of using his override codes to get Spock to let him in. Once he did, Jim couldn't help but notice that his quarters were at least five degrees hotter than usual, or about ten degrees above 'spontaneous human combustion' levels of heat.

"Captain," said Spock, his jaw tense. "To what do I owe the - "

"Let's skip the pleasantries," said Jim. "Bones said you threatened to wring his neck. Chapel said you threw a bowl of soup at her head. Uhura said you've been avoiding her, and don't think I haven't noticed that you're avoiding me too, so I'm asking as a friend – what the hell is going on?"

Spock didn't answer for a long minute, and when he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. "I would like to – to request personal leave from my duties."

"Uh," said Jim. "Why?"

Spock stared at him. "For personal matters."

"I'm not here as your captain, Spock," said Jim, taking a step forward. Spock took a step back, almost unconsciously, watching the floor. "I'm here as a friend. Obviously something's up, but if you don't tell me what it is, I can't do anything about it."

"There is nothing you can do, Captain," said Spock, his voice laced with stiffness. "Your concern is unnecessary."

"If it were unnecessary, you wouldn't be chucking soup at people."

"That was – an isolated incident. I will apologize to Nurse Chapel at once. I must ask that you leave."

"Spock - "

"Leave!" It came out almost as a bark, and Spock finally met Jim's eyes – there was tension, but also anger, and fear, and -

And -

And something that Jim was much more used to seeing directed at Uhura.

Spock was trembling. That couldn't be good.

Time for a change of tactics.

"Spock, if you want me gone as a friend, then fine," said Jim, "but as Captain, I need to know what the hell is going on with my First Officer and right now, I gotta say, I'm at a loss."

Spock looked away, like a sullen teenager, but Jim could tell he had him pegged. "It is – intensely personal," Spock said.

"You called an official meeting to let me know when you and Uhura broke up. What could be more personal than that?"

Spock's expression changed minutely at the mention of her name, an almost-flinch. Jim decided to press the issue.

"Look, if you just tell me what's going on, there has to be something - "

"There is not." Spock's normally rigid posture relaxed slightly into a slump. "This is, perhaps, a conversation best had with Doctor McCoy present as well."

vii.

"I am sure," said Spock, slowly, "that by now there must be rumors of pon farr."

Bones leaned forward a bit. "Rumors," he agreed, "but very little in the medical literature, and nothing to back it up..."

"Vulcans may be a scattered people, but that does not affect our wish for privacy. However, with so few...options...left available to us following the – the destruction of our home planet..."

Spock lapsed into silence, staring with uncharacteristic emotion at the briefing-room table.

After a moment, Jim prompted him. "So, pon far...?"

"It is a biological imperative. Every seven years, a Vulcan must return to mate, or die."

Jim tried not to let his kneejerk reaction of oh, shit show on his face. It probably wouldn't help the mood.

"With the destruction of Vulcan, and so a large portion of the population, there have been several potential solutions tested. Those who have surviving mates have had success continuing their relations on the Colony. Others, who were left without their mates, have - joined with other unpaired Vulcans. Some others have ventured outside the species entirely, and found that the pon farr urges are satisfied there." Spock's hands clenched into fists, and he drew them beneath the table. "It...is also said that through meditation and the rites of kolinahr, a Vulcan may pass through the pon farr and be spared its effects. I have been attempting to meditate in hopes that I might avoid it."

"Okay," said Jim, "so, basically, you either have to have sex or meditate enough, or you die."

"As you can see," said Spock, "it is intensely personal."

"I'd like to examine you, to monitor your progress," said Bones. "That may be able to tell us whether the meditation is working."

"There is another possibility," said Spock, with obvious reluctance. "Pon farr has also been known to be stopped by – by violence."

There was a moment as Jim and Bones digested this.

"You know what, we'll keep that in mind, but for now let's keep the 'violence' option below 'sex' and 'meditation' but above 'death', how does that sound?"

"The bonds forged by engaging in pon farr are profound, and I don't expect you to understand them," said Spock, anger sparking again, "but I would like to make clear that giving in to baser instincts and mating is not an option."

Jim and Bones traded looks. "It wouldn't be that hard to find someone willing to have sex with you," said Jim. "Hell, half the women on this ship are already attracted to you, and if you're looking for bonds, well, you're pretty damn bonded with Uhura - "

"That," said Spock, through gritted teeth, "is not an option."

Bones raised his eyebrows. "If it's have sex with you or die, I think she'll understand."

"We are done discussing this."

Bones and Jim traded another look. This one was less confused and more long-suffering.

"As your doctor, I do have to ask," said Bones. "Does there...have to be a partner involved? If it's just sexual gratification you need - "

"Masturbation is insufficient," said Spock, his tone clipped. "If we are done with this humiliation, I have meditation to attend to."

This time, Jim couldn't keep it back. "Right, because that's been working just great so far."

Spock stood up abruptly, pushing his chair back, and for a second Jim thought Spock was going to punch him.

"I will be in my quarters," he said instead. "I do not wish to be disturbed."

He stalked away.

viii.

In retrospect, bringing Uhura in was probably a mistake.

"What is she doing here?" Spock asked in the doorway of the briefing room.

"I thought she might like to have a say about what's going on," said Jim.

"Spock, let's talk about this," said Uhura.

"You could've warned me," said Bones, but he prodded Spock through the doorway anyway.

"I know this is a really uncomfortable situation for everyone," began Jim.

Spock stayed standing, even as Bones sat down across from Uhura. "You betrayed my confidence and did exactly what I asked you not to. I would not use the word 'uncomfortable.'"

"I care about you, and I don't want to see you suffering," said Uhura. "If that means having sex with you - "

"No," said Spock. "As I told the Captain, that is not an option I am willing to consider."

Uhura bristled. "You'd rather die, then?"

A muscle in Spock's neck jumped. "It is unethical to engage in intimacy under these circumstances – if you and I were to – to engage in intercourse solely to save my life from pon farr, then it is at best coercion, and the consent issues - "

"I'm consenting, Spock! I would rather have sex with you than watch you die!"

"And if I do not consent?"

"Nobody can make you," said Uhura, "but if you just think about it - "

"I wish to make my opinions known now, while I am still capable of doing so in a meaningful way," said Spock, his voice flat. "I do not consent to have sex with you under the influence of pon farr, Nyota."

Uhura looked at him. "Spock," she said, softly, "how much worse is this going to get?"

Spock didn't answer.

"If that's what you want," said Uhura, standing up, "then I'm going to honor your wishes. But, Spock, just – think about it. Do you really want to die?"

She was standing very close to him, and Spock put out a hand, as if he were about to touch her shoulder, but then dropped it. "This situation is...far from optimal," he said. "But I refuse to be defeated by an evolutionary relic of a biological imperative."

Uhura watched him for a long moment,d then nodded. "If that's what you want," she repeated.

On her way out the door, she glanced at Jim, her gaze full of regret.

Bones sighed. "So what's the plan now? Meditation sure as hell isn't working."

Jim rubbed his forehead. "Is there anyone else you might consider - "

"Not aboard the ship, no," said Spock flatly. "The issue of rank is far too present."

Jim hesitated, but only for a second. "If it's a choice between having sex with you or you dying, I'd do it. Just so you know. And I have lots of experience with casual sex, so you don't have to worry about it meaning anything."

Spock's eyes flicked upward in the Vulcan equivalent of an eye-roll. "Unless you are ordering me - "

"I'm not ordering, I'm just saying that I would be perfectly willing to lie back and think of Starfleet."

"The...offer," and jeeze, the way Spock said that almost made it sound like an insult, "is appreciated, but unnecessary."

"Right," said Jim, wondering if he should be offended. "Well."

"I believe," said Bones, "that that leaves 'violence'."

ix.

Sulu was pretty much the go-to violence guy aboard the Enterprise due to the combination of his laid-back nature and his advanced combat training. Some of the Security guys were always happy to spar, but if you blacked their eye, they'd take it personally, and if they blacked your eye, they'd never take you seriously again. Sulu, though, was pretty much an expert in rolling with the punches. Also botany, which was kind of weird, but Jim didn't want to ask.

"I'm happy to help in any way I can," said Sulu, stripping off his uniform jacket. "Are you sure just sparring is going to be enough?"

"It's going to be a lot of sparring," said Jim, taking off his own, as well. They'd booked the gym, at least, but from what Spock had told them (in between some pretty snarky comments and mood swings that made Jim wonder if Spock had gotten pon farr from his father's side and PMS from his mother's), they were going to have to do their best to approximate a fight to the death. Which meant a very high sparring-to-safety-equipment ratio.

Which was why Bones was standing by with his field emergency kit.

The only concession they were making to safety was that Jim and Sulu would be taking turns, tapping out when it got to be too much; with any luck, they’d exhaust the pon farr out of Spock and nobody would have to die.

"Spock, you about ready?"

"I do not believe this will help," said Spock, where he was sulking in his corner. "I would prefer to be left to my meditation."

"If I have to order you to punch me in the face," said Jim, "I will. Don't think I won't."

"That will not be necessary, Captain," said Spock, with a disconcerting gleam in his eye as he squared off against Jim.

They started off pretty easy, trading and blocking blows, but Jim could tell that Spock was pulling his punches – mostly from the way that Spock hadn't landed a single one yet.

"Okay, okay, hold on," said Jim, backing off after about five minutes. "This isn't working."

"As I predicted," said Spock.

"Not what I meant." Jim glanced over at Sulu and gave him the signal, waving his fingers below his hip before returning his attention to Spock. "You're holding back. This is supposed to be a fight to the death, right?"

"I have no immediate wish to be court-martialed for the attempted murder of my superior, and so I am taking the necessary precautions."

"Yeah, except we've got precautions already in place, and if you keep holding back, you are literally going to die, so let's try this again." Jim lifted his hands in a clear bring-it-on gesture. "Hit me with your best shot."

Spock threw a slightly more genuine punch this time, but Jim still ducked it easily; from the way Spock blocked Jim’s counter, his reaction time wasn't affected, so he had no excuse not to be beating the crap out of Jim right now.

Well, fine. Jim always enjoyed fighting dirty, and if that's what it would take to provoke a reaction, then so be it.

When Spock stepped in with another weak punch this time, Jim sidestepped and, as hard as he could, stepped on Spock's foot. Spock made a noise of pain and surprise, and glared at Jim.

Who just shrugged. "All's fair in love and kal-if-fee."

Spock's eyes narrowed. Jim was both gratified and slightly scared to see that Spock was definitely holding back less when they began again, and within five minutes Spock had him flat on his back on the mats.

Jim pounded on the floor twice. "Sulu," he said hoarsely, "you're up."

Sulu, too, was playing dirty; his practice katana kept Spock occupied for about ten minutes before he, too, pounded out and Jim was back in.

The plan was to keep doing this as long as it took to get it all out of Spock's system, but two hours, two bruised shins, three gutshots, one bloody nose, and what was probably going to turn into a nasty goose egg above Jim's eye later, Spock had barely broken a sweat and both Jim and Sulu had to concede defeat, albeit with very little breath.

"I told you this would not work," said Spock. "I will return to my meditation."

"Okay," said Jim, through gasps of breath. "You do that."

Sulu pushed himself onto his back on the mat. "That," he said, "was embarrassing."

"I don't think your nose is broken," Bones told him. "That's something, at least."

"Are we gonna try this again tomorrow?" asked Sulu. "Because I think that might kill us, and I thought the point of two people was to avoid the actual death part."

"There has got to be a way to fix this," said Jim, massaging his solar plexus. "This isn't going to work."

"I could've told you that," said Bones, slinging an arm over Jim's shoulders. "Sulu, you okay?"

Sulu held up a thumbs-up. "I'm just going to lie here and catch my breath for a while."

"Sounds good. C'mon, Jim, you look like you could use some medicinal alcohol."

"You," said Jim, "are my favorite doctor."

x.

"Maybe it's really about release," said Jim, leaning onto Bones's desk. "I mean, when you think about it, isn't that what fighting and sex have in common? It's that you let go. And when you fight to the death, you're not stopping because you're holding back, but because there's nothing left to fight."

"Are you seriously," said Bones, "trying to psychoanalyze Vulcans? Under the influence of alcohol?"

Jim waved the concern away. "I've only had one shot," he said. "And think about it this way: Spock was fighting two of us, and so not only was he pulling his punches, but he never really got any satisfaction because every time he was close to beating one of us, the other would sub in. Zero-sum game. If you can never win, you can never be satisfied."

"Please stop talking about fighting Spock like it's sex, because he already said he didn't want to have sex with you."

"He said he didn't want to have sex with anyone. There's a difference." Jim laced his fingers together. "So maybe he just needs to win a fight."

"Yeah, let's let him kill you. That's a great plan."

"Or," said Jim, an idea unfolding in his mind, "just let him think he's killed me!"

Bones poured himself another shot. "Right. Let's take our Vulcan crewmember and, dare I say it, friend and the one time we know that he's emotionally vulnerable and not in control of his actions, and make him think that he's not only a murderer, but a murderer of his captain and friend."

Jim considered this. "Dick move?"

"Yes."

"Do we have any other option? How bad is he, anyway?"

Bones sighed. "According to his latest exam, he's got a couple more days. I've talked to him about the progression of pon farr, and, well, he's still capable of rational thought, so it could be much worse." He paused. "I guess it's going to be much worse."

"Then we have to try something." Jim stood up, rubbing his hands. "I've provoked Spock into fighting before. I bet I've still got the knack for it."

"Last time the only thing that kept him from killing you was an audience."

"Then you can stand outside his quarters and I'll scream if I think I'm in any serious trouble."

Bones gave him an exasperated look. "And if you can't scream?"

"Then I'll...signal you some other way. I have to do something, Bones, I'm not going to just watch him die!"

Bones stood up, too. "Fine, but if he actually kills you, I'm putting down your cause of death as 'stupidity.'"

"Sounds fair."

xi.

Jim didn't bother trying to knock this time, and instead skipped straight to using his override code. He figured it was appropriate for the tone he was trying to set, anyway – he may as well start pissing Spock off by invading his privacy.

Spock was in the middle of his quarters, sitting on the floor in a pose that Jim had to admit did look very meditative. He frowned as Jim entered, but didn't open his eyes.

"I do not wish to be disturbed, Captain."

"Yeah, I don't really care." Jim sat down cross-legged across from him. "See, the way I see it, you've been holding back in those fights with me and Sulu and that's why it hasn't been working. You're really going to have to try harder if you expect results."

"And so you have come to antagonize me into fighting more genuinely with you."

"Pretty much."

Spock raised an eyebrow, which was pretty impressive with his eyes still closed. "Captain, as I have made clear multiple times, I believe the path to curing pon farr lies in meditation."

"Yeah, still not buying it. The thing is, there's a lot about me that you don't know."

Spock finally opened his eyes, but just to glare at Jim.

"It's true," said Jim. "For example, I'm a younger brother."

"I am aware of that."

"But there are certain cultural connotations that I don't think you get. As a younger brother, I have extensive experience in annoying the hell out of people. My mother was in Starfleet, which meant a lot of long car rides to San Francisco where I got to perfect my technique. 99 Bottles of Cardassian Ale on the Wall, This Is The Klingon War Chant That Never Ends, I Spy With My Little Geosynchronous Imaging Satellite, I'm Not Touching You...you've seen me be my annoying self, Spock, but you've never seen me be the annoying younger brother. Trust me. You have no idea what's coming."

Spock's eye was twitching now. If Jim weren't anticipating the hurt that would inevitably come out of this situation, he'd be pleased with himself.

"Let me put it this way," said Jim. "I am going to sit here and keep talking at you until you give up and actually start fighting me. Bones is waiting outside in case it gets serious, and I may have pre-gamed it with painkillers, so," he held his arms out wide, "bring it on."

Spock stared at him for a long moment. "You're not going to go away, are you."

"Nope."

Spock's eyes narrowed, and then he stood up. "Fine."

"Good," said Jim, and when Spock threw a punch, he was ready.

The trick, Jim thought, was that last time, Jim and Sulu had started off holding back. This time there was none of that. When Spock punched, Jim sidestepped and placed his elbow just right so that Spock stepped into it cheek-first. Then he hooked Spock's ankle with his own and yanked, leading to Spock tumbling to the ground.

"You're not fighting Captain James Kirk tonight," said Jim. "You're fighting Jim, Sam's younger brother, and nothing is off-limits." Jim grinned. "There's a reason my hair's cut too short to pull."

"You," said Spock, "do not seem to realize that you were not the only person in this room who was involved in altercations as a child."

Spock's knee slammed into the back of Jim's, and Spock hoisted himself up while Jim was recovering. He aimed a kick at Jim's stomach, but Jim caught it at the ankle and twisted, sending Spock staggering into the wall of his quarters; Jim pulled again to try to get him to the ground, but Spock kicked back like a mule, clipping Jim in the collarbone.

Both of them backed off and took a moment to reassess, but that was the last thing Jim wanted Spock to have time to do – he broke the detente with a full-on tackle, slamming himself and Spock back into the wall, but Spock caught hold of Jim's arm and twisted it behind his back. From there, he got Jim into a headlock, and began squeezing. Jim, however, had plenty of experience with this particular situation, and this one didn't even involve noogies.

So he bit Spock's arm, as hard as he could.

Spock let out a noise of pain and let go, and Jim reached up and caught a handful of Spock's hair – the two things guaranteed to escalate both brotherly tiffs and bar brawls were biting and hair-pulling, and Spock was no different.

This time, the noise Spock made could only be described as a roar, and Spock's fist slammed into the side of Jim's face hard enough to make the room spin. Jim let go and fell to the floor, where Spock kicked him in the gut once, then twice.

Jim had come in here to make Spock lose control – and unfortunately, it seemed like he had succeeded.

The memory of an out-of-control Spock beating the shit out of him was one thing, and having it happen again was just reminding Jim how much it had sucked the first time. He tried to catch Spock's foot again as he went in for kick number three, but he was still dizzy from the blow to the head and Spock had the clear advantage when it came to leverage – all he managed to do was deflect it so that he caught it in the ribcage.

Which was when he got the wind knocked out of him.

He gasped, and Spock backed off, hesitating for a moment – which, despite his better judgement, was not what Jim wanted. He grinned, and realized that he could taste blood – when had that happened? - but he managed to choke out, "Seriously, is that the best you've got? Weak."

This time Spock leaned down, grabbed Jim by the throat – and wow, that was getting way more frequent than Jim was comfortable with – picked him up and shoved him against the wall.

Then I'll signal you some other way was beginning to strike Jim as one of his dumber ideas.

Jim's vision was starting to go dark at the edges when the ferocity ebbed out of Spock's face, and Jim dropped to the ground as Spock let him go.

"Well," he said, between coughs, "that was a stupid plan."

"I...apologize, Captain," said Spock. "Do you require medical assistance?"

Jim hoisted himself onto his elbows and took stock. His stomach was going to be bruised, his ribs hurt - were they broken? maybe just bruised, Bones would know - he still hadn't regained his breath, his head, throat, and neck ached, and he had apparently bitten his lip at some point, judging from the blood.

"Nope," he said. "I've had worse in bar fights. No offense, Spock, but you hit like a girl."

Spock crouched down next to him, and put a hand on his elbow to help him sit up fully. "And your edges are too sharp for your own good," he said, and Jim realized that Spock's cheekbone was already beginning to swell. "I believe the effects of pon farr have passed."

"Oh, good," said Jim, shifting position with a groan. "'Cause I don't think I could do that again." He wiped his lip on his sleeve. "See? What did I tell you – you just needed to let go."

Spock's head tilted slightly. "While I see your reasoning, I do not believe that the catharsis of fighting was what succeeded in releasing me from pon farr."

"Oh? Enlighten me."

Spock furrowed his brow, as much as he ever did. "For a moment, it appeared that you were about to asphyxiate, and the possibility of your death seemed almost certain. I believe the – shock of the realization, I suppose, was enough to bring me out of pon farr, as well as - “ Spock hesitated for a moment. “I believe the phrase is ‘deja vu.’"

That made no sense, but the pain in Jim’s head was intensifying into a pulsing, throbbing, stabbing feeling that couldn’t be good, so he decided to move on. "Well, good to know. The next time this happens, you just need to almost kill me. Got it." Jim frowned. "On second thought, the next time you have to fuck or die, how about you just fuck someone? That might be easier."

Spock looked away. "I must admit, I had hoped that being half-human would spare me from pon farr, or at least lessen its effects."

Jim put the pieces together. "So this was your first? Mazel tov."

"Captain, are you...certain that you do not require medical attention?"

Jim groaned again, and put a hand to his forehead. "You know what, you might be right. I told Bones to wait until he heard me screaming, but maybe you should just go get him."

Spock nodded once, and stood.

"Spock?" He stopped, and looked back at Jim. "That stuff you were saying earlier..." Jim trailed off, and Spock raised an eyebrow in encouragement. "It was just that you didn't want to have sex with anyone, right? You'd totally have sex with me."

Spock seemed momentarily at a loss for words, but then he quite clearly and deliberately checked Jim out. "Captain..."

"Yeah?"

"I will assume that you are concussed and we will never speak of this again."

"Right," said Jim, wishing for an ice pack for his head. "Sure. Fine."

maybe I lost my direction (maybe the worst is behind)

Mon, 11 Jul 2011 01:38:41 GMT

maybe I lost my direction
(maybe the worst is behind)

(General notes about the mix: It mainly deals with the most recent and relevant comic arcs, but it does reference and spoil several important classic storylines. It could possibly be read as gen, but it was intended to be slashy and several songs imply a one-sided *cough* regard *cough* from Tony to Steve, if not reciprocated.

Also, the intention with the track art was to do something almost like a fanvid - to provide the images and text that I saw as most relevant given the difficulties of vidding comics and also the fact that I don't know how to vid. For some tracks this worked better than others, but if any of the songs remind you of a scan, please feel free to share it! I am not at all averse to a impromptu scan party threads.)

Zip!

1. Yoü & I - Lady Gaga

Something, something about this place
Something about lonely nights, and my lipstick on your face
Something, something about my cool Nebraska guy
Here's something about, baby you and I

(Ode to the good ol' days of Cap and Steve. Mostly chosen for tone.)

2. Proof - I Am Kloot

Hey, could you stand another drink, I'm better when I don't think
Seems to get me through
Say, could you spin another line, like we had a good time
Not that I need proof
Swell, we're living in a motel, someone's ringing my bell
In a room without a view
Hey, heard you read another book, should I take another look?
Who am I without you?

(Tony, his drinking, and the way it pushes him and Steve apart.)

3. High & Dry - Jorge Drexler covering Radiohead

Two jumps in a week
I bet you think that's pretty clever, don't you boy?
Flying on your motorcycle
Watching all the ground beneath you drop
You'd kill yourself for recognition
Kill yourself to never ever stop
You broke another mirror
You're turning into something you are not

(The real OTP of the Marvel universe is Tony/Self-Loathing.)

4. Downfall - Matchbox 20

I wonder how you sleep
I wonder what you think of me
If I could go back
Would you have ever been with me
I want you to be unleashed
I want you to remember
I want you to believe in me
I want you on my side

Come on, lay it down, I've always been with you
Here and now, give all that's within you
Be my savior and I'll be your downfall

(Civil War. Tony tries to do what Cap would do - to commit - and begs for Steve to join him. But even when it's clear that Steve won't, Tony keeps going.)

5. Battlefield - Jordin Sparks

Can't swallow our pride and neither of us want to raise that flag
If we can't surrender then we're both going to lose what we had
Both hands tied behind our backs for nothing
These times when we climb so fast to fall again (why we gotta fall for it now?)

I never meant to start a war, you know I never want to hurt you
Don't even know what we're fighting for
Why does love always feel like a battlefield?
Guess you better go get your armor

(Flag, armor, and shield metaphors. Let's face it, who didn't hope that Rubicon would end with makeup sex?)

6. Sympathy - Goo Goo Dolls

Stranger than your sympathy, I take these things so I don't feel
I'm killing myself from the inside out, now my head's been filled with doubt
It's hard to lead the life you choose
When all your luck's run out on you
You can't see when all your dreams are coming true
It's easy to forget, and yeah
You choke on the regrets, and yeah
Who the hell did I think I was?

(Tony after Cap's death. Even more explicitly self-loathing, quietly regretful, getting exactly what he thought he was okay with and hating everything.)

7. Remains - Marissa Tancharoen and Jed Whedon

Burn down my home
My memories hardened and are bright as chrome
Good times escape
While every mistake seems to be caught on tape

I will go rolling fast
Arms out in the rain
Feel momentum building ’til
I lift off ground like an airplane
Love ties you down to the pain
A billion eyes are watching, fossilized
They see what remains
Remains

Gave up this town
What waste are we left with when it’s boiled down
Shine light on me
Your image reflected is all you’ll ever see

(Autolobotomy suicide. Tony, in his depression and desperation to assuage his near-Catholic levels of guilt, has moved past passive self-destructive behaviors such as lack of sleep or hygiene and deliberately stripping naked to infect himself with explosive cancer (god, I love comics), and into actively erasing his brain and goading Norman Osborn into beating him to death.)

8. Coming Home - Diddy - Dirty Money and Skylar Grey

I'm coming home
I'm coming home
Tell the world that I'm coming home
Let the rain wash away all the pain of yesterday
I know my kingdom awaits and they've forgiven my mistakes
I'm coming home, I'm coming home
Tell the world that I'm coming home

"A House is Not a Home", I hate this song
Is a house really a home when your loved ones are gone
And n-ggas got the nerve to blame you for it
And you know you woulda took the bullet if you saw it

(Steve's back, and Tony makes his triumphant return as well. But everyone still blames him for...well, everything, ever.)

9. Falling for the First Time - Barenaked Ladies

I'm so chill, no wonder it's freezing
I'm so still, I just can't keep my fingers out of anything
I'm so thrilled to finally be failing
I'm so done, turn me over 'cause it
Feels just like I'm falling for the first time

Anything plain can be lovely
Anything loved can be lost
Maybe I lost my direction
What if our love is the cost?
Anyone perfect must be lying
Anything easy has its cost
Anyone plain can be lovely
Anyone loved can be lost
What if I lost my direction?
What if I lost a sense of time?
What if I nurse this infection?
Maybe the worst is behind

(Steve's back, Tony's back, Thor's back, the Avengers are back, and finally it seems like everything's getting back on track. Mistakes have been made and made up for, friendships are being rebuilt, and for Tony, when he sees Steve with that shield, it seems like everything might be getting better.)

Bonus tracks!

BT 1. Poker Face - Daughtry covering Lady Gaga

I want to roll with him, a hard pair we will be
A little gambling is fun when you're with me (I love it)
Russian roulette is not the same without a gun
And baby when it's love, if it's not rough it isn't fun
I'll get him hot, show him what I got

Can't read my, can't read my, no you can't read my
Poker face

(On one level, it's about Tony's adrenalin-junkie behavior, his tendency to get into awkward S&M situations, his history of abusive relationships, and his proclivity towards injuring/risking himself to save others. On another level, it's really hard to see his expression through the faceplate.)

BT 2. Shape of my Heart - Noah and the Whale

Oh when I look to the shape of my heart,
It's separated only by scars
That cut in and cut out
Oh and leave me without
Oh a heart that functions at all.

And when I look to the shape of the sky,
I give thanks for this hollow chest of mine;
That I no longer feel
The great weight of ordeals
That can make this life so unkind

Oh and if there's any love in me,
Don't let it show.
Oh and if there's any love in me,
Don't let it grow.

(A song for movie!Tony: heart trouble, heart metaphors, and emotional repression, woohoo! GOD I CAN'T WAIT FOR THE AVENGERS MOVIE.)

BT 3. Viva la Vida - Lady Gaga covering Coldplay

It was a wicked and wild wind
Like just The Doors' Love Her Madly and let her in
Shattered windows and the sound of drums
People couldn't believe what I'd become

Revolutionaries wait
For my blonde head on a silver plate
Just a Gaga on a lonely string
Oh, who would ever want to be queen?

I hear Jerusalem bells a-ringing
Roman Cavalry choirs are singing
Be my Chris and I'll be your Gwyneth
My missionaries hiding in foreign trenches

For some reason I can't explain
I know Yves Saint Laurent won't call my name
Never an honest word
But that was when I ruled the world

(Viva La Vida is such a classic Tony song that I couldn't not. Also, I have a theory that Tony's entire life could be expressed as a series of Lady Gaga songs. Also also, they've probably had sex, and it was scorchingly hot. Just saying.)

mukashi mukashi...

Sat, 05 Feb 2011 20:00:46 GMT

(Crossposted to halfamoon, DW, and LJ.)

Princess Tutu is a fandom that I see get attention about twice a year: during halfamoon and Yuletide. Granted, most of my fandoms are Western live-action shows, but I still don't see Princess Tutu getting nearly the amount of love it deserves. I don't know if it's that it's an anime, or that it involves ballet, or that it does not at all shy away from its fairytale aspects, but I'm here to tell you a little bit about why you should give Princess Tutu a chance, even if its name makes you wince.

(Its name makes everybody wince, right up to the very end of the very last episode when you find yourself thinking, "Yeah, there's nothing else it could've been named.")

First things first: If I had to describe Princess Tutu in a sentence, it would be "A magical-girl ballet fairytale that takes everything you thought you knew and turns it upside down, then makes you cry with how perfect it is." So yes, it has magical-girl elements, ballet elements, and fairytale elements, and it is so perfect it might make you cry. (Not gonna lie, I got weepy just putting together this picspam, and I didn't even rewatch any of it.)

Also, keep in mind that I tried to avoid spoilers wherever I could, but a couple of images from later on in the show are presented out of context. Also, I describe very little of the plot, because this is mostly a celebration of the characters.

This is our main character, Ahiru (sometimes translated as Duck):

Ahiru is a ballet student at Kinkan Town Academy (sometimes translated as Gold Crown Town) at some nebulous fairytale time. She is not very good at ballet, because she is clutzy, energetic, and kind of awkward in the best possible way.

Because this is a fairytale, Ahiru is also a duck.

Don't worry, even when she's a duck she's still clutzy, gutsy, and her usual energetic self.

Ahiru has several friends at school, who are slightly ridiculous.

But they don't know that Ahiru is also Princess Tutu, a character from a fairy tale.

When Ahiru is Princess Tutu, she's not clumsy or overenthusiastic; Princess Tutu dances ballet like nobody else can, and her powers of dance and compassion are the key to the mystery behind Kinkan Town and its fairytale.

In terms of other female characters, there's also Rue, the star pupil of Kinkan Town Ballet Academy.

Rue and Ahiru begin to form a strange friendship, wherein Ahiru is overenthusiastic and Rue is slightly perplexed.

Rue and Ahiru also dance together.

Another major female character is Princess Kraehe, who plays an integral part in the mythology of the show - the fairytale of the Prince and the Raven.

This being a show with a title like "Princess Tutu," of course, there has to be at least one ballet-off.

In fact, there are several major ways that problems get solved in this show. One of them is dance.

Another is dealing with feelings.

And the last is swans.

Of course, if you're not convinced, then you could consider how this show is just really, really gorgeous.

If you're still reading this and you're on the fence about whether or not to give this a shot, let me just say that I was right there with you. Once upon a time, I looked at its Wikipedia page and thought, "Seriously?" And then I watched the first episode anyway and thought, "Huh, may as well watch another." And then I watched another, and another, and then there was a plot, and then there was unspeakably beautiful character development, and then season two came around and laughed at me for thinking I knew what to expect and then all of a sudden it was the last episode and I was crying like a baby because it was so wonderfully done.

So give it a shot. If you like fairytales, magical girls, subversion of magical girl tropes, awesome women, talking (and dancing) animals, or really, really good writing, it's worthwhile.

Mon, 16 Aug 2010 02:39:12 GMT

A bandwagon? LET ME JUMP ON IT.

the ❝that's my favorite!❞ meme
A FANFICTION PRAISE MEME

this soapbox seems familiar...

Sun, 25 Jul 2010 00:52:06 GMT

H.R. 4645, the Travel Restriction Reform and Export Enhancement Act, has been reported by its Committee to the full House of Representatives.

H.R. 4635 is a bill that, if passed, will lift all restrictions on travel to Cuba and remove certain restrictions on selling agricultural products to Cuba. Currently, legislation severely restricts American citizens from traveling to Cuba, and the embargo (known in Cuba as el bloqueo - the blockade) makes it incredibly difficult for farmers to sell their products in Cuba. There are several reasons to support this bill: Perhaps the most obvious is that US policy towards Cuba in general has always banked on the Castro regime dying out (sometimes literally) in the next few years...for half a century. Another is that the travel restrictions impinge on the rights of Americans to travel where they see fit, including Cuban-Americans who have no surviving relatives on the island. Opening up agricultural trade to Cuba will not only likely help with the food shortages on the island, but stimulate the economy and open up jobs for Americans.

Please consider contacting your Representative in support of this bill. You can find your representative here; even one email can make a difference.

I am writing regarding S. 428, the Freedom to Travel to Cuba Act. I am Cuban-American, and I grew up thinking that seeing the house where my mother grew up and the land where she was born was an optimist's fantasy. I am one of the few who have had the opportunity to travel legally to Cuba, and to spend time there, and I cannot express how strongly I support this bill.

I am an American, and I am proud to be one, but I am ashamed of our policies towards Cuba. I cannot help but think that they are steeped in imperialism, apathy, and ignorance. Imperialism, as the US has long had a tradition of treating Cuba's attempts at sovereignty as a child's rebellion, as pointless as the proverbial "ripe fruit" attempting to fight gravity's pull. Apathy, as Cuba and news about Cuba are pulled out by the media only when there is no better story to tell than the Communist boogeyman, talking about political prisoners and human rights violations and ignoring the economic chokehold our country holds on theirs and the medical outreach that Cuba is internationally known for. And ignorance comes as a direct result of apathy; it is both damning and frustrating how many people I have met who have no idea that the US even maintains an embargo against Cuba, let alone what that entails. The travel restrictions are similarly unknown.

America is my home, but Cuba is my heritage. When I traveled to Cuba, it broke my heart to speak to Cubans and hear about their families torn apart; it broke my heart to see the poverty and know that a significant portion of it was caused by US policies; it still breaks my heart to know that I may never be able to return there due to the determined corpse of outdated policy that nobody cares enough about to remove. S. 428 has given me hope that someday I might be able to return, and I urge to you continue to support it.

Five reasons why this bill is a good start, but not enough:

1. It only removes restrictions on agricultural products. The embargo against Cuba forbids American companies from selling medicines, medical equipment, technological equipment, clean water, and other goods to Cuba. It also prevents companies or entities from donating many of these goods to Cuba, and penalizes free or open-source websites and technologies that are shared with or accessed by Cuba.

2. It only affects US agricultural products. The Helms-Burton Law allows the US to fine any foreign company that sells anything to Cuba that is more than 10% US components or ownership. This also extends to medicine, medical equipment, technology, and foodstuffs.

3. It leaves the bulk of the embargo in effect. The same embargo that has been denounced 17 consecutive times by the U.N. It's interesting to note that in deliberations for the condemnation, the US representative has walked out every time the Cuban representative has made its case.

4. The US continues to refuse to acknowledge Cuba's sovereignty. Many supporters of the embargo talk about "exporting democracy to Cuba" without stopping to consider that maybe Cubans want to decide their own damn government. The tradition of the US ignoring Cuba's wishes only begins at the Cuban War of Independence...known, rather tellingly, in the US as the Spanish-American War. (Because who cares about the two previous wars, the two-and-a-half years of fighting, or the deaths of almost one-third of Cuba's rural population, Maceo, Martí, and Gomez? The US was there for six months! That's clearly more important! [/bitterness])

5. The US media is quick to talk about Cuba's political prisoners...and not nearly so quick to talk about our own. The Cuban Five have been in jail for almost fifteen years now because the US didn't like an action taken by the Cuban government that the Five had nothing to do with. When's the last time the New York Times wrote an article on Cuban political prisoners? (Two and a half weeks ago, at this writing.) When's the last time they wrote an article about the Five? (Long enough ago that it's not in their digital archive.)

Please feel free to link to this post or ask questions; I am always happy to provide citations. Crossposted everywhere, because this is a subject that is very near and dear to my heart, for obvious reasons.

Este Momento Suspendido En El Tiempo

Sun, 04 Jul 2010 00:59:53 GMT

Este Momento Suspendido En El Tiempo (Or, You And Me And The Doctor Makes Three)

A few things to know before checking it out:

1. Half the songs are in Spanish!
2. It has spoilers for the whole season!

Okay, it's not a truly bilingual fanmix, because I haven't translated the English songs into Spanish. This is because Spanish is a beautiful language and I would hate to butcher it by trying to do my own translations. If there's a demand, I will absolutely try, but, um, keep in mind that I haven't actually generated Spanish since my semester abroad, and that was over six months ago.

All of the songs are in .mp3 format. There's an extended notes file that contains my rationale for picking the songs and full English translations of all the Spanish songs. (These translations were also done by me, so if you see something that looks wrong, it probably is! If you drop me a line, I'll totally fix it.) There's one song, Bounce (Clocks vs. Chicago), that is a mashup and I don't know who mashed it - if you know, please let me know so I can credit! It's a wonderful song, and I love it, but I've had it for ages and I have no idea who made it.

~*~ZIP FILE~*~
(22 songs in a 111 MB zip file; individual songs will be uploaded upon request...!)

1. Eterno, Julieta Venegas

Quiero que sea eterno, eterno
Quiero que sea eterno, eterno
Quiero este momento suspendido en el tiempo

Sé muy bien los leyes que rigen al universo
Todo lo que está vivo cambia a cada momento
Será demasiado pedir, quizás
Pero lo hago igual
No voy a dejar nunca de intentarlo

(I want this moment to be eternal, eternal
I want this moment to be eternal, eternal
I want this moment to be suspended in time

I know full well the laws that govern the universe
Everything that's alive changes every moment
It might be too much to ask, perhaps
But I'll do it anyway
I'll never give up trying)

2. Somos Aire, El Sueño de Morfeo

Es verdad, basta con mirarnos
No cayó en balde el paso de los años
Y es verdad que hay momentos mágicos
Diez mil puertas entreabiertas, esperando una respuesta
Y es verdad
Y es verdad que somos aire
Una vida por delante y a volar

(It's true, just look at us
The passing of the years wasn't in vain
And it's true that there are magical moments
Ten thousand half-opened doors, waiting for an answer
And it's true
And it's true that we are air
One life moving forward and to fly)

3. Polvo de Estrellas, Jorge Drexler

Vale, una vida lo que un sol, una vida lo que un sol vale
Se aprende en la cuna, se aprende en la cama
Se aprende en la puerta de un hospital
Se aprende de golpe, se aprende de a poco
Y a veces se aprende a recién al final
Toda la gloria es nada
Toda la vida es sagrada

(It's worth, one life that which a sun, one life that which a sun is worth
You learn it in the cradle, you learn it in the bed
You learn it at the door of a hospital
You learn it suddenly, you learn it gradually
And sometime you learn it just when it ends
All glory is nothing
All life is sacred)

4. Un Cuento Sobre El Agua, La Oreja de Van Gogh

Y que me cojas de la mano, que susurres que has llegado, que me prometas que a mi lado eres feliz
No haré preguntas, no habrá recuerdos haré que tu pasado sea solo un cuento que sobre el agua un día el viento escribió

(Take me by the hand, whisper that you've arrived, promise me that you're happy by my side
There won't be questions, there won't be memories, we'll make your past just a tale that the wind once wrote on the water

5. No Hace Falta, Julieta Venegas

No hace falta hablar sobre tu pasado
Si eso terminó
Hubo en tu camino una direccion
Te trajo a mi
No tengas miedo de mostrarte
Tal y como eres, es mejor asi
Sin temores es mejor, asi
Sin palabras es mejor, asi

(We don't need to talk about your past
If it's already over
Don't be afraid to show yourself
Exactly as you are, it's better that way
Without fear, it's better that way
Without words, it's better that way)

6. Espacio Sideral, Jesse y Joy

Quisieria darte el mundo entero
La luna, el cielo, el sol, la mar
Regalarte las estrellas
En una caja de cristal
Llevarte al espacio sideral
Y volar como lo hace Superman

(I'd like to give you the whole world
The moon, the sky, the sun, the sea
Give you a gift of the stars
In a crystal box
Take you to outer space
And fly like Superman)

7. Detalles, Chambao

Abriendo bien los ojos
Fijarme en los detalles
Despertar mis sentidos
Fundirme con el aire

Escapar del tiempo y vivir sin miedo
Contemplar la vida y sus misterios
Escuchar el silencio y perderme dentro
Encontrar respuestas en el susurro del viento

(Opening my eyes wide
Focusing on the details
Wake up my senses
Melt with the air
Escape from time and live without fear
Contemplate life and its mysteries
Listen to the silence and lose myself in it
Find the answers in the whispering of the wind)

8. Una y Otra Vez, Jesse y Joy

Mírame
Verás tu también
Sentirás
Que puedes volar
Tómame
No mires detrás
Hoy seré
Tu estrella fugaz
Que despega
Toda esta energía que tu vida me dá
Crece cada día que me haces hallar
Una y otra vez
Como en la mañana si resplandecerá
Este sentimiento que detiene el tiempo
Una y otra vez

(Look at me
Look at yourself, too
You feel like
You can fly
Take me
Don't look backwards
Today I'll be
Your shooting star
That takes off
All this energy that your life gives me
Grows every day that you make me find myself
One and another time
Like how in the morning if you blaze
This sentiment that holds back time
One and another time)

9. Zamba del Olvido, Jorge Drexler

Olvídame
Esta zamba te lo pide
Te pide mi corazón
Que no me olvides, que no me olvides
Deja el recuerdo caer
Como fruto por su peso
Yo sé bien que no hay olvido
Que pueda má que tus besos
Yo digo que el tiempo borra
La huella de una mirada
Mi zamba dice no hay huella
Que dure más en la alma

(Forget me
This zamba asks it of you
My heart asks you
Not to forget me, not to forget me
Let the memory fall
Like fruit by its weight
I know full well that there's no obscurity
That can manage more than your kisses
I say that time erases
The footprint of a glance
My zamba says there's no footprint
That endures more in the soul)

10. Nada Valgo Sin Tu Amor, Juanes

Y es que vale más un año tardío que un siglo vació amor
Y es que vale más tener bien llenito el corazón
Por eso yo quiero que en mi mente siempre tu cariño este bien fuerte
Aunque estemos lejos o aunque estemos cerca del final
Porque nada valgo, porque nada tengo
Si no tengo lo mejor
Tu amor, y compañía en mi corazon
...
Me siento débil cuando estoy sin ti
Y me hago fuerte cuando estas aquí
Sin ti yo ya no sé que es vivir
Mi vida es un túnel sin tu luz

(One year later is worth more than a century without love
It's worth more to have a full heart
That's why I always want your love to be strong in my heart
Although we may be far away, or close to the end
Because I'm worth nothing, because I have nothing
If I don't have the best
Your love and company in my heart
...
I feel weak when I'm without you
You make me strong when you're here
Without you I don't know what living is
My life is a tunnel without your love)

11. A Talk With George, Jonathan Coulton

Time and tide will never care
Not so far from here to there
We just go
So enjoy yourself, do the things that matter
'Cause there isn't time and space to do it all
Love the things you try, drink a cocktail, wear a tie
Show a little grace if you should fall
Don't live another day unless you make it count
There's someone else that you're supposed to be
There's someone deep inside of you that still wants out
And shame on you if you don't let it free

12. Bounce (Clocks vs. Chicago), Coldplay vs. Sufjan Stevens

Confusion never stops (I drove to New York)
Closing walls, and ticking clocks (In a van, with my friends)
Gonna come back and take you home (We slept in parking lots)
I could not stop that you now know (I don't mind, I don't mind)
Come out upon my seas (I was in love with the place)
Curse missed opportunities (In my mind, in my mind)
Am I a part of the cure? (I made a lot of mistakes)
Or am I part of the disease? (In my mind, in my mind)

13. Where the Streets Have No Name, Vanessa Carlton

I want to run, I want to hide
I want to tear down the walls that hold me inside
I want to reach out and touch the flame
Where the streets have no name

14. Rocky Took A Lover, Bell X1

He said they're like headlights in the rearview mirror
They're closer than they seem
And from this gutter we're still staring at the stars
She said you won't go away and shine?
Last night all you did was curse those stars
Because they sang to you of home

15. Kid Things, Counting Crows

Hey what you think
Is you're not getting any younger
And what I know is that
You're not really very old
I know you want to say no, no, no
'Cause it feels much better in the summer
Well, if it ain't warm where you're sitting
Then kitten come on in out of the cold
'Cause all I know is when I'm with you
Then I don't need anything else

16. You Ruined Everything, Jonathan Coulton

I was fine
I pulled myself together
Just in time
To throw myself away
Once my perfect world was gone I knew
You ruined everything
In the nicest way

17. Umbrella, Scott Simons

When the sun shines we'll shine together
You know I'll be here forever
Said I'll always be your friend
Took an oath, I'mma stick it out til the end
Now that it's raining more than ever
Know that we still have each other
You can stand under my umbrella
You can stand under my umbrella

18. Good Lovin', the Rascals

Well I was feeling oh-so-bad
I asked my family Doctor just what I had
I said Doctor (Doctor!)
Mister MD (Doctor!)
Well can you tell me
What's ailing me?
He said, yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yes indeed, all I really need
Is good lovin'

19. I'm Yours / Somewhere Over the Rainbow, Straight No Chaser

So I won't hesitate no more, no more
It cannot wait I'm sure
There's no need to complicate
Our time is short
This is our fate, I'm yours
Someday I'll wish upon a star
And wake up where the clouds are far
Behind me

20. Now My Feet Won't Touch The Ground, Coldplay

Let me go, boys, let me go
Push my boat from the highest cliff to the sea below
Rocks are waiting, boys, rocks await
Swoop down from the sky to catch me like a bird of prey
Singing now my feet won't touch the ground
Now my head won't stop
You wait a lifetime to be found
And now my feet won't touch the ground

~*~HAVE SOME BONUS TRACKS!~*~

Good Lovin', The Who

Well I was feeling oh-so-bad
I asked my family Doctor just what I had
I said Doctor (Doctor!)
Mister MD (Doctor!)
Well can you tell me
What's ailing me?
He said, yeah yeah yeah yeah yeah
Yes indeed, all I really need
Is good lovin'

Transporte, Jorge Drexler

Se trata de un leve pulsar
Que se abre camino hacia tí
Cruzando las estaciones, constelaciones,
Los momentos
Digo que esta vida es llevadera
Sólo porque sientes tú
Lo que yo siento
Donde tu estás
Yo tengo el Norte
Y no hay nada como tu amor
Como medio de transporte

(It's about pushing a lever
That opens the way to you
Crossing stations, constellations
The moments
I say that this life is bearable
Only because you feel
What I feel
Where you are
I know North
And there's nothing like your love
And a form of transportation)

And in case you missed it the first time:
~*~ZIP FILE~*~
(22 songs in a 111 MB zip file; individual songs will be uploaded upon request...!)

Sat, 19 Jun 2010 01:52:40 GMT

What with all the bingo cards going around, I unfortunately still haven't seen the one I REALLY want to see: Science Porn Bingo. I would be all over that.

SO, if you want, comment with something sciencey that you want to see in a fic. If enough people comment, I'll make a bingo card and try to get bingo! Feel free to comment with more than one prompt, although if it's something that's not astronomy, physics, or computer science, a Wikipedia link would be greatly appreciated.

Hopefully this will help me get my fanfic-writing groove back, as it absconded somewhere around halfway through the semester and is still MIA.

Wed, 10 Mar 2010 22:13:17 GMT

Bring your geekiest Trek fanfic prompts to the SciFi Ghetto - accepting prompts for twenty-four more hours! Prompt post is here; FAQ is here; userinfo here.

Fri, 05 Mar 2010 20:16:26 GMT

Bring your geekiest Trek fanfic prompts to the SciFi Ghetto - accepting prompts for five more days! Prompt post is here; FAQ is here; userinfo here.

I'm selling myself again...

Thu, 04 Mar 2010 21:34:20 GMT

...this time for help_chile. Here is my thread; note that this time I'm offering three fics to the top three bidders, minimum length of 1000 words each.

Please consider buying something at this auction, even if it's not me. Other threads are fanmixes/fanvids, fanfic, and fanart/graphics. Also, there's a thread for fanfic en español.

Cassinispam!

Sun, 28 Feb 2010 01:35:10 GMT

Just a quick Cassinispam I put together. Featuring Saturn, Saturn's moons, and a cameo by Jupiter. All pictures taken by the Cassini-Huygens space probe.

Insert "dark side of the Moon" pun here.

I know what you're thinking, but yes, that is a moon. Lol Mimas.

He liked it and he did put a ring on it. So there.

Saturn and its moons: now with 100% more color!

Jupiter needs some love, too. Even if it is over twice as big as all the other planets in the solar system combined.

I have the distinct feeling these things may become weekly, or at least somewhat regular. In case that ends up happening, feel free to let me know other (astronomical) things you'd like to see picspammed - the next one will definitely include the Pleiades, but you never know, I may shake things up and throw some atmospheric halos in there.

Sat, 27 Feb 2010 03:26:47 GMT

scifi_ghetto is now open for prompts!

Ever wondered why there are no fics about your favorite nebula? Why we never see Spock actually doing ~*~science~*~? Why nobody seems quite willing to acknowledge that the Enterprise is a closed system?

Well, prompt away. It can be math, it can be science, it can be coding, it can be as detailed or laconic as you want, so long as it is dorky as hell. Prompts will be open for about one week (until March 10th), at which point it will be run as a Science Battle. Right now it's just Star Trek, but if there's interest in opening it up to other fandoms, I'm totally up for that too.

Five Times Jim Was Neurotically Mothered By His Crew (And...)

Mon, 22 Feb 2010 01:20:15 GMT

Title: Five Times Jim Was Neurotically Mothered By His Crew (And One Time He Mothered Them Right Back)
Rating: PG for mentions of violence
Summary: It says a lot about his life that Jim's no longer surprised to be waking up in sickbay with no idea of how he got there.
Notes: Written for extraonions for help_haiti, who said "I am a big fan of hurt/comfort, Kirk!whump, any kind of story where the other characters are concerned about Kirk, discuss these concerns with each other, and generally hover and mother hen him (either with or without him noticing). You can write me 1,000 words of everyone on the Enterprise monitoring Kirk's emotional state and nutritional intake and making him wear mittens and it will hit every button I have :)." I may have taken this a bit more literally than it was intended. I hope you enjoy it! :D Huge thanks to Ari and Rachel for the beta.

0.

It says a lot about his life that Jim's no longer surprised to be waking up in sickbay with no idea of how he got there.

Admittedly, at first he isn't entirely sure he's in sickbay, because the return to consciousness is slow and sleepy, but typically Bones and Nurse Chapel don't have conversations about his O₂-sats in his quarters, so it's probably a pretty safe guess. When Jim opens his eyes, he sees the familiar sickbay ceiling, and resigns himself to yet another patented Bones-lecture about allergies or concussions or possibly alien STDs.

And then he actually lifts his head, and sees two Spocks, standing with Bones and Nurse Chapel at the foot of his bed.

"Morning," says Jim after a moment, drawing the attention of doctor, nurse, and Spocks alike. "Did I miss something?"

Old-Spock – who really needs a better name than that – nods indulgently at him. "Good morning, Jim," he says.

"Captain," says Spock-Spock.

"Christine, double-check his blood pressure and get a hypo of threnadine just in case," says Bones. "Jim, how're you feeling?"

"Confused," says Jim, as Nurse Chapel rounds his bed to check the display. "How did I end up here this time?"

Bones glances at Old-Spock, who glances at Spock-Spock, who just raises an eyebrow in response before apparently giving in. "What is your most recent memory?"

Jim frowns. "We were on the transporter pad, about to head down to the capitol city of Ujawe IV. Scotty was about to transport us - " A thought seizes him, and he quickly does a limb-check – they're all there. "About to transport us, and then...I woke up here."

The bizarre relay of glances begins again, and Jim gets even more suspicious. "Okay, how long ago was that?"

Bones straightens a bit, uncomfortably. "About a week."

"I lost a whole week?" demands Jim, trying to sit up, but Chapel immediately pushes him back down.

"Stay calm, Captain," she says, and Jim decides not to push her. Partly because he can see the glint of a hypospray in her free hand.

"What about the summit, then?" says Jim. "If it's a week from now – if I missed a week, then what happened at the summit?"

"The summit is still underway," says Old-Spock. "I am here as part of the delegation from New Vulcan, as ambassador."

"Oh, hey, congratulations," says Jim, and Old-Spock - Ambassador Spock – smiles at him again. Both Bones and Spock look somewhat disconcerted by the expression. "Okay, somebody start from the beginning."

Ambassador Spock turns to Young-Spock, Bones, and Nurse Chapel. "If we might have a moment alone...?"

Bones raises his eyebrows, and Christine just rolls her eyes – this is by far not the first time she's been kicked out of her own sickbay. Young-Spock gives the telltale, ever-so-slight hesitation coupled with the minuscule considering tilt of his head that means that he's hesitating, before he nods in assent.

"I must return to the bridge," he says. "Doctor, if you will accompany me...?"

This time Bones flat-out scowls, but Christine leads them all out of sickbay. Jim can hear bits and pieces of their receding conversation:

"I can't indulge their medical curiosity much longer, Commander."

"One would think your capacity for indulgence would be somewhat broader due to your relationship with the Captain."

"Was that the Vulcan idea of a joke?"

"Vulcans do not joke."

"Yeah, next you'll be telling me the sky is blue."

"Not in space."

"Green-blooded ironic son of a - "

Despite the circumstances, Jim can't help but grin a little, and from the expression on Ambassador Spock's face, he was eavesdropping too.

"I kept wondering when you two would start to get along," Jim says, sitting himself up in bed. "Seventeen months in and still nothing."

"If you intend to wait for us to stop arguing, you will be waiting a very long time," says Ambassador Spock, with an upward slant to his mouth that may just be a reminiscing smile. "On the other hand, if you are waiting for us to become friends, you won't be waiting quite as long."

"That's good to hear," says Jim. "I guess the Ujawe are impressed with Bones?"

"As well they should be," says Ambassador Spock.

"True enough," agrees Jim. "The miracles he pulls out of his ass, sometimes I think he could bring back the dead."

Spock raises an eyebrow. "A fascinating choice of words," he says, but doesn't elaborate. "The Yalerites had put a plant on Ujawe IV," he says, and Jim blinks at the sudden change of subject. "They have, apparently, been experimenting with psychic abilities and neural patterns, and had created a prototypical specimen with the ability to impose his own neural patterns on another. For obvious reasons, you were chosen as the first test target."

Jim frowns. "So I was...what, possessed?"

"I suppose that is one manner of phrasing it," agrees Ambassador Spock. "The sophistication of the neural imprint allowed him to access your memories. I believe the intention was for him to murder the Ujawean delegate in full view of the summit, to block Ujawe IV's entrance into the Federation and, of course, create political chaos."

Jim goes still. "And somebody stopped me just in time, right?"

Ambassador Spock nods, and Jim relaxes a little bit. "Although there was a temporary hostage situation."

"Who was the hostage?"

Spock looks at him levelly. "You were. Although I am not a member of your crew, nor in any way affiliated with the Enterprise, I would recommend to you that you tread carefully with your crew for a while. They seem quite...shaken."

"I'm obviously fine," protests Jim, swinging his legs off the bed and standing up. "Look at me – I feel fine, the imprint or whatever's gone - "

"And they all remember watching their Captain hold a phaser to his own head," says Ambassador Spock. "For many of them, you are the only Captain they have ever known. I daresay they've all grown quite fond of you by now."

Jim looks away, weirdly discomfited by the praise. "Any other casualties?"

"Only your dress uniform," says Ambassador Spock, and Jim would swear there's the ghost of a smile in his expression. "Unfortunately, although it served well, it was lost in battle."

Jim somehow manages to keep a straight face. "It will be remembered with honor," he says, before his lips twitch and break his composure altogether. "How long before you learn how to joke?" he adds, outright grinning, before a thought occurs to him. "Hang on – how did I lose my uniform?"

Ambassador Spock shakes his head, but he's definitely smiling now. "I would not want to deprive my counterpart the experience of telling that story," he says, and Jim goes still with horror. "Unfortunately, I, too, must return to the summit."

"I understand," says Jim, sitting back down on the edge of the Sickbay bed. "If it's been a week, then there's only another day, right?"

Ambassador Spock nods. "My shuttle will depart tomorrow morning at oh-six-hundred," he says.

Jim nods back. "I'll be there."

"It is...gratifying," says Ambassador Spock, slowly, "to see the Enterprise becoming the ship I remember. And to see you become the Captain that I recognize – from the history books as well as personally." He raises his hand in the familiar salute. "Live long and prosper."

Jim smiles crookedly, returning it as best he can – his fingers don't seem quite suited to the new configuration. "You, too, Ambassador."

i.

The next set of orders after the summit ends takes the Enterprise to Weshemia, which is a good week's travel away even at Warp Five. Jim is almost glad for the break, since his crew seems to be going a little bit crazy.

"They're good for you," says Crewman Ulrich stubbornly.

"They're green," says Jim, through gritted teeth. "Also, I have an aversion to plants that can grow in Venusian atmosphere, which, in case you've forgotten, is sulfuric acid."

"Sembarini have iron and calcium," replies Ulrich. "Besides, they're already on your plate, and Starfleet Health & Safety regulations forbid us from taking back food that's already been put on a plate."

Jim pulls his plate towards him, trying to ignore the extremely disconcerting way the sembarini roll around on it, knocking into his burger and fries, and decides to be the bigger man and not point out that Ulrich gave him the damn vegetables without asking him. That, and he doesn't think it would help at all.

He makes his way back to the table where Bones is sitting, intent on his PADD, and sits down across from him.

"Sometimes I think half of this crew has no idea what it means that I'm the Captain," Jim says, gesticulating with a fry.

"According to half the Starfleet brass, neither do you," Bones points out, setting aside the PADD. "What's this about?"

"Crewman Ulrich gave me sembarini when I didn't ask for them," says Jim.

"So? They're good for you."

"So, have you noticed that things have been a little weird since the summit?" presses Jim. "Nurse Chapel asks me how I'm feeling every time I pass her in the hallway. Lieutenant Sefarides gave me a belated get-well-soon card, and Verisee made me cookies."

"Those were eighteen-month-anniversary cookies," interrupts Bones. "He gave me some, too."

"People are actually saluting me," Jim continues, undeterred. "I don't know what's going on, but it feels like a conspiracy."

"A get-well-soon conspiracy?" Bones gives Jim his patented you're-losing-it look. "Really?"

"Have you got a better explanation?"

"Actually, yes. You're the Captain – you've led us into dangerous situations a million times before, and hell, this wasn't even the first time you've been a hostage. But this was the first time that there was nobody we could shoot or fight to get you back." Bones shrugs. "So some people might be taking it a little hard."

Jim wrinkles his nose. "I'm not immortal, Bones."

"And there's no one on this ship who knows that better than me – your doctor." Bones shrugs. "But you're damn good at pulling plans out of your ass, and this time you didn't. Now eat your sembarini – you need the iron."

"They look like peeled eyeballs," says Jim.

"Having dissected eyeballs, I can speak with experience when I say that they do not," Bones replies, picking up his PADD again. "Now quit complaining and eat them. They're good for you."

Jim grabs his tray. "I'm going to eat with Scotty."

"That is so lunchroom politics I almost can't believe you," says Bones, even as Jim stands up. As Jim walks away, he could almost swear he hears Bones mutter, "Infant."

He sits down across from Scotty. "Hey, Scotty," he says, ignoring the dirty looks he's sure are coming from his former dinner partner. "How're things in Engineering?"

"Oh, they're brilliant," says Scotty, getting that gleam in his eye, and Jim half tunes out the enthused lecture, keeping an ear out for any words of phrases that might imply that Scotty's upgrades are reaching potentially-lethal levels. Mostly he just eats his fries until something Scotty says catches his attention.

"Sorry, what?" he says.

Scotty points to the sembarini. "Aren't you gonna eat those?"

Jim wrinkles his nose. "Probably not," he admits. "Why – you want them?"

Scotty just gives him this incredibly affronted look, as though he's been personally insulted. "Captain," he says, very seriously, "there are starving Starfleet personnel on Delta Vega who would love sembarini like those."

"Are you serious?"

"Besides," says Scotty, "they're good for you."

ii.

Sparring with Spock turns out to be the best workout Jim could hope for, if only because Spock seems to think that the highest law of Starfleet is Don't Beat The Crap Out Of Your Commanding Officer, Even When He's Leaving His Left Side Wide Open. So Spock always pulls his punches, just enough to make the blow felt but not enough to actually bruise or hurt that most.

Well. When Jim doesn't forget that ducking usually involves moving away from the moving fist and not into it.

"I'm fine," he insists, pinching the bridge of his nose and tilting his head forward.

"The copious amounts of blood would beg to differ," says Spock, still cool as a cucumber for all that he probably just broke his Captain's nose. And for that matter, Jim's eye socket is aching too, weird pulsing pains that mean Jim's going to have a black eye for quite a while, even with all the doohickeys in sickbay.

Also, he just seriously thought "doohickeys," so a concussion isn't off the table either.

"It's just a nose bleed," says Jim, even though it comes out more like "Ib's juss a nose bweed."

"You're staining the gym floor," Spock points out, still unperturbed.

"Cold water and bar soap, it'll be fine." Jim gently lets go of his nose, careful to keep his face tilted forward just in case, but no fresh blood trickles out so he figures he's good to go. "There. See? No more bleeding."

"Nevertheless, I must insist - "

The doors to the gym don't burst open, because of course the automatic sliding doors are physically incapable of such an action, but the sheer enthusiasm that Ensign Chekov has as he barrels in makes it seem like they do.

"Captain!" He stops dead when he sees Jim and Spock in their unofficial physical-exertion clothes, but his eyes widen when he sees the blood. "Captain?"

Jim narrows his eyes. "Sparring accident," he says. "Which you found out about pretty quickly."

Chekov's eyes widen innocently. "Ah," he says. "Well. Yes. I heard shouting and thought it could be a situation that required investigation."

Spock inclines his head all of two degrees and steps forward just a little bit with one foot, so his body is facing more towards Chekov. "There was no shouting," he says. "Although the Captain swore profusely, he did so quietly enough that you could not have heard him from outside the gym."

"And for that matter," Jim continues, "if you heard the shouting right when it happened, why did it take you so long to get here?"

Chekov blinks, then straightens, assuming the posture of an ensign about to tell a huge lie that only sheer audacity will be able to pull off. "Captain, I have been working on a possible lifesigns-monitoring program designed to automatically alert sickbay or other ship authorities when lifesigns parameters exceed recommended levels."

Jim can, unfortunately, see where this is going. "Uh-huh. And what level of development is this little project at?"

"It is still in the beta stages," hedges Chekov.

"So no subjects yet?"

Chekov blinks. "Only one, sir." He clears his throat. "You, sir." He sees Jim's expression and hurriedly adds, "It was the most logical choice, sir – the program as it is currently coded is only feasible to test on one subject, and since you're the Captain and the most important person on the ship and you keep getting injured in different ways every time - "

"Ensign, I believe you are only digging yourself in deeper," says Spock. "Dismissed."

Jim points to the doors as they close after Chekov. "You see what I have to put up with?" he says, only mostly rhetorically.

Spock raises an eyebrow in consideration. "There are many cultures that believe that the amount of trouble we encounter is roughly proportional to the amount of trouble we cause for others," he points out. "That what we are given is what we give...and that most of the trouble we encounter we bring upon ourselves by causing it for others."

Jim glares at him. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"I was simply making an observation," says Spock smoothly. "And you should still go to Sickbay."

Jim throws up his hands in defeat.

iii.

It takes the chess tournament about two weeks later for Jim to figure out what's going on. He knows he's improving, but he can't possibly be improving that much, especially since Spock keeps beating the pants off of him in their private games, and once he figures it out he goes straight to Bones.

"Come on, it's a great idea!"

"It's cheating."

"It's not cheating if they're the ones letting me win."

"Then you go bet on yourself and leave me out of it."

"But then they'll know that I know and it won't work. Besides, I'm not supposed to take part in the shipwide gambling ring – I'm supposed to be a role model."

Bones nearly snorts his coffee out his nose.

"Shut up," says Jim. "The point is, I can't bet on myself, but if you bet on me and then share the winnings, say, fifty-fifty..."

"When I'm the one doing the hard work? No way. Seventy-thirty."

"Sixty-forty."

"You want me to go tell Sulu that you're onto him and everyone else he convinced to let you win?"

"Seventy-thirty it is. Now we just have to wait and see how long it takes them to figure it out."

It takes them three weeks, but once they do, they show no more mercy.

iv.

All in all, Jim thinks the first away mission since what some of the crewmembers have been referring to as That One Time The Captain Got Possessed By Aliens And Tried To Kill Himself (really, they're going to have to think of something pithier if they're going to keep bringing it up – Possessiongate, maybe) is going quite well. It's just a meet-and-greet, with some hand-shaking thrown in for good measure; Starfleet is donating a slightly ridiculous amount of medical supplies to the Jewelled City of Sekharr IV, due to recent volcanic activity in the Sjeleck region, and the Enterprise is just dropping it off, staying for a quick diplomatic reception, and heading off again to check up on a colony on one of the moons of Sekharr VII. Jim brought pretty much his entire senior staff with him except Scotty, who's too busy preparing a care package for the Sekharr VII colonists and bitching (still) about Delta Vega.

Okay, so maybe Bones is a little twitchy, and Sulu keeps going for his phaser, and Chekov may be ever-so-slightly inclined to give the Russian stink-eye to any delegate who attempts to initiate physical contact with Jim (which is a shame, because Delegate Hazzeral is flirting up a storm). But Spock and Uhura are keeping it together, chatting over by the refreshments table over a glass or two of punch.

"I can't wait to get off this planet," mutters Bones, so only Jim can hear him. "Do you know how much paperwork I've got back on the ship? Why the hell did you drag me to this thing, anyway?"

Well, since Jim isn't exactly going to answer that this way, if everything went well, Bones would be able to see that Jim can take care of himself, and if not then Bones would be able to patch him up again, Jim instead says, "This may be the closest thing to shore leave we get for a while – after our visit to the colony we're on Pleiades duty, and while the science department may be creaming themselves to get a better look at a stellar nursery, I predict a whole lot of boredom in our future. Besides, I think Delegate Hazzeral is totally into you."

Bones gives Jim one of his patented Crotchety Southern Doctor Looks, but Jim's attention is caught again by Spock and Uhura. One of the other Jewelled City delegates, Janniyri, is chatting with them, but the minute inclination of Spock's eyebrows and the thinning of Uhura's lips shows that they aren't particularly interested in what he has to say.

"Uh-oh," Jim says, before slapping Bones on the back. "Come on."

" - truly believe that someone so young is qualified to – ah, Captain," says Janniyri, cutting himself off mid-sentence.

"Delegate Janniyri, wasn't it?" Jim smiles. "Sorry to steal my crew back, but we're on a tight schedule – the Sekharr VII colony is expecting us."

"Of course," says Janniyri, with an oily smile. "Commander, Lieutenant. It was...an enlightening conversation."

"I would not describe it as such," says Spock, his eyebrow twitching ever higher.

"Delegate," says Uhura, before switching languages. Jim doesn't know a word of Sekharrian, and Uhura's tone is nothing if not polite, but judging by the increasingly displeased look on Janniyri's face, he's missing out on something deeply entertaining. Of course, Spock is also doing that thing where he manages to exude smugness without actually changing his expression, so that's also tipping Jim off a bit.

Uhura wraps it up, apparently, and inclines her head diplomatically. "Delegate," she repeats, before heading out the door.

Janniyri stares after her, and Spock raises an eyebrow. "I have often been impressed by Lieutenant Uhura's deftness with languages," he says to no one in particular, before turning back to Janniyri himself. "Perhaps we will meet again, Delegate."

"Perhaps," says Janniyri, not with any particular enthusiasm.

They're halfway to the prearranged transporter pick-up when Jim can't hold back anymore. "What the hell did Uhura say to that guy?" he asks Spock quietly, as they walk ahead of the rest of the away team.

"I am not nearly as familiar with Sekharrian language as the Lieutenant, and I would not want to...misconstrue the subtleties of her linguistic choices," says Spock.

"So I need to ask her myself," says Jim.

"It would seem called for."

Jim rolls his eyes, but lets the subject go.

With Spock, anyway. He doesn't corner Uhura in the turbolift as much as just happen to take the same one she's taking on their way to sickbay for their post-away-mission checkups. And if he happens to force the door closed before Bones and Sulu make it on, well. It happens sometimes.

"So, Lieutenant," says Jim, as the turbolift begins moving. "Your conversation with Delegate Janniyri seemed interesting. And unintelligible."

"Only if you don't speak Sekharrian," says Uhura, pointedly watching the current-floor display.

"Which I don't," agrees Jim smoothly. "If you'd care to enlighten me...?"

Uhura looks over at Jim, clearly considering it, and Jim makes sure to put on his best I Am An Official Starfleet Captain Doing Captain-y Things expression. It half-works, since Uhura rolls her eyes but still gives in.

"Delegate Janniyri just wanted to know about your administrative style," she says. "Apparently he's trying to put together a trade fleet, and he needs translators. From the sound of it, he needs just about every type of crew, actually, but I got the impression that he was trying to lure us away from Starfleet."

Jim is glad that Enterprise has already broken orbit, or else he might be tempted to go back down to the Jewelled City and shove his Starfleet-issued boot up Janniyri's ass for trying to steal his crew.

"Really," he says.

"It didn't work," says Uhura.

"Clearly."

"He also cast a few aspersions on your character, experience, and qualifications."

Jim considers ordering the ship to turn around. "Did he now."

"He did."

"And what did you tell him in Sekharrian, then?"

Uhura glances over at him, smirking just a little bit. "That you were rash, reckless, completely lacking in self-preservation instincts and diplomatic abilities, and prone to fistfights and bar brawls."

"Well, thanks for standing up for me."

Uhura steps forward and hits the emergency stop on the turbolift, and actually meets Jim's eyes this time. "I also told him that Sulu's aim with a phaser is unparalleled, Chekov is enough of a transporter genius to make any possible unfortunate accidents all but untraceable, Doctor McCoy's treated you for enough poisons by now to probably be able to kill a man ten times over without leaving a trace, and Spock – well, is Vulcan. Then I told him that none of us could imagine working under any other captain, and we couldn't be prouder to be members of your crew...and if he ever insulted you again, he'd regret it."

She hits the emergency stop again, and they begin moving as she returns to her initial position – staring attentively at the wall.

"You said that," says Jim.

"I did," she agrees.

"Huh," says Jim.

The turbolift reaches sickbay's floor, and the doors open. Jim clears his throat.

"So, Nyota - "

"Don't call me Nyota."

"Understood," says Jim, and follows her out.

v.

Upon reaching orbit at Sekharr VII's moon, Jim is somewhat surprised to find that Spock has, apparently, already packed his Away Team Field Kit. As he kneels by it in the transporter room, waiting for the rest of the away team to join them, he is somewhat more surprised to discover its contents.

"I don't care what Bones says," says Jim, trying his hardest not to roll his eyes, "I'm not allergic to everything."

"Epinephrine has many uses," says Spock noncommittally, checking his phaser, "and yours happened to be the free field kit. It was the logical allocation of extra medical supplies."

"Right," says Jim, narrowing his eyes. "And the high-grade explosives?"

"This mission seemed like it had a high likelihood of their necessity," says Spock.

"We're checking up on a fledgling colony."

"As I said."

"Okay," says Jim. "Fine. What about the mittens?"

Spock holsters his phaser and meets Jim's eyes, raising an eyebrow. "They are typically worn on the hands to prevent frostbite."

"The colonists live in a temperature-regulated facility. In a desert."

"Deserts are perfectly capable of experiencing cold temperatures. In fact, I believe the sudden cessation of volcanic activity on Sekharr VII is not underheard of, and can bring with it temperatures in the negatives."

"And what, exactly, are the chances of that happening?"

Spock considers this for a moment. "From my understanding of the colloquial tradition of 'jinxing' something, considerably higher after that remark."

Jim doesn't stick his tongue out at Spock, because that would be undignified for a Starfleet Captain. But damn if he isn't tempted.

"What's the gravity situation?" he asks instead, hefting the field kit over his shoulder. "I mean, it's a moon, right?"

"Planetary engineers created artificial gravity, to keep the atmosphere from leaking into space," answers Spock. "The gravity is only slightly less than standard. The atmosphere is also standard – the engineering done to the moon was designed to allow for normal precipitation as well."

"Sounds like a feat of planetary engineering," says Jim.

"Revolutionary, for its time – and in many ways, still unsurpassed."

Jim frowns at him. "You took a class or something on it, didn't you."

Spock just raises an eyebrow at him. "Planetary engineering is a standard part of Science Division training."

"Awesome," says Jim. "If I ever need to terraform something, I know who to call."

vi. (and one time he mothered them right back)

It's snowing when they beam down to the colony; the transporter pad is not quite outdoors, but a good walk away from the main city, which is EM-shielded, so they can see the falling snow through the windows.

"Never thought I'd miss precipitation this much," says Bones, walking over to one of the windows.

"Precipitation is rare, but not unheard of here," says the Administrator of the colony helpfully. "You picked a good day to come down."

"At this point, I believe it is only logical for me to remind you that I foresaw this possibility," Spock tells Jim in an undertone.

"Is that Vulcan for 'I told you so'?" asks Jim.

Spock raises an eyebrow. "Yes."

"It feels almost like home," says Chekov wistfully, also looking out the window.

"It looks wet," says Sulu. "Weird."

"Mister Sulu," says Jim. "You've never seen snow before? Really?"

Sulu shakes his head. "San Francisco born and raised. We got a few inches once, but that was before I was born."

"You'll get over it quickly, son," says Scotty darkly. "It loses its appeal once you've been around it for two months."

"Lucky for us we're not staying that long," says Jim.

"The main complex is this way," says the Administrator, leading the way outside the transporter receiving pad.

"Just a second," says Jim, sliding off his field pack. He digs out the mittens and puts them on. "Okay, we're good."

Spock only looks pointedly at the mittens, but even though Jim's almost convinced he's actually going to say 'I told you so,' he doesn't say anything at all. The Administrator leads the way towards the main complex, across the snow.

There isn't all that much accumulation at this point, but it's enough to almost muffle all the noise, creating an eerily full silence. Sulu and Chekov follow the Administrator in the lead, Chekov practically bouncing in the snow; at one point Jim could swear he hears Chekov claim the Russians invented snow. Bones goes next, looking aggrieved as Scotty bitches more or less nonstop, and Jim and Spock take up the rear.

After about a minute of walking, Jim reaches out an arm to stop Spock, and slows down. He looks at the group ahead of them, conspiratorially, then reaches down with his mittened hands and makes a snowball.

"The trick to the perfect snowball," he says, "is to make sure it's just the right consistency. You don't want it too loose, or it won't make it to your target; if you make it too compact, it'll just hurt. When you get it right, you get this really nice kind of exploding action, where it just completely comes apart when it hits – that's what you're aiming for. Now, you also want to make sure that there aren't any chunks of ice in it, because someone could get hurt, and nobody wants that."

Spock raises an eyebrow. "No," he agrees dryly, "I can see how injuries in this simulated battlefield environment would simply ruin the experience for all the participants."

Jim ignores the sarcasm. "Here. Since I'm guessing this is your first time, I made this one for you. Let's see how your aim is."

He pushes the snowball into Spock's hands. Spock stares at it blankly for a moment, then looks at Jim. "Captain," he says, "do you truly intend to have a snowball fight on an official away mission?"

"This is our last away mission for a good couple months," says Jim. "Hell, this is the last time we're going to be planetside – moonside, whatever – for a good long while. So yeah, let's take advantage of this."

"And what will the colonists think?"

"The colonists will think that we're bringing them food and medical supplies, and if we're enjoying ourselves a little, too, what's the harm?"

Spock raises his eyebrow. "Very well, then. Who would you suggest as a target? It would be inappropriate to target a crewmember of a lower rank than myself."

"Bones, then," Jim suggests.

"As the Doctor and I will most likely be serving together under your command for some time, it would be illogical," says Spock, considering the snowball. "Therefore there is only one acceptable target."

And then he lobs it at Jim.

Jim, apparently, got the consistency just right, and it explodes in a puff of snow across his shoulder, up his neck and onto one side of his face. Jim clutches at the impact site disbelievingly, staring at Spock.

"Et tu, Spock?" he demands, loudly enough to make sure the rest of the away team can hear him, before falling face-down into the snow.

There's a moment of confused silence above him, before he hears Bones say, "Did you kill him, Spock?"

"The Captain thought it would be wise to instruct me in the ways of snow-projectile construction," says Spock.

"I've always wanted to have a snowball fight," comes Sulu's voice.

"Really?" comes Scotty's, sounding intrigued.

"I did not find it particularly difficult, and fail to see how it is a worthwhile passtime," says Spock.

"Oh, come on, you totally enjoyed it," says Jim, picking himself up and dusting himself off. "Besides, we can probably write it off to Starfleet as a team-building thing or somethi - "

And that's when Bones nails him with another snowball.

Things devolve rather quickly from there; Spock and the Administrator stand off to one side, but Jim can't quite tell if they're commiserating or commentating. Sulu's aim proves to be ever-so-off, due to the slight changes in gravity, but Bones turns out to have a hell of an arm on him, and it turns out that Scotty apparently spent his entire tenure on Delta Vega throwing snowballs because he ends up being the unparalleled winner, even after Chekov cheats like a dirty bastard and sneaks up on him to jam snow down the back of his coat.

Of course, they have to spend the rest of their mission soaking wet and frankly freezing, but Jim has to say that it's totally worth it, even when a rematch breaks out on the way back to the transporter when they're done.

Once they beam back up to the ship, though, and Jim sees how much they're trailing melting snow, it's not particularly funny anymore.

"Nuh-uh," he says, before anyone can step off the transporter pad, sitting on the edge of the pad. "Shoes off before you go anywhere. Jackets, too – I want them hung up by an environmental control fixture so they dry off. Don't you even think about treading mud all over my ship. Commander Spock, you too – you were walking in the snow just as much as we were." He looks at the transporter technician. "Crewman LeVeau, wasn't it? See what you can do about some hot chocolate – it was pretty cold on that planet, and I think we can all use some warming up."

"Gonna tuck us in, too?" asks Bones, half-grunting as he pulls off his boots and holds them up upside-down; half-melted snow drips out.

"Nah," says Jim, grinning at him. "I know you're all big kids – the hot chocolate's all for me."

Bones just rolls his eyes, but he's grinning.

Fri, 19 Feb 2010 01:55:28 GMT

Ladies and gentlefolk, I present to you a picspam of universal proportions.

"It never gets old."
"Nope."
"It kinda makes you want to..."
"Break into a picspam?"
"Yep."

The Sun is a miasma of incandescent plasma:

The Sun's not really made out of gas, no, no...

Total Eclipse of the Heart:

Hey, it was that or a Twilight reference. I chose the lesser of two evils.

'Cause I'm a rocket man:

Now I'm floating free and the Moon's with me and it's bright enough to light the dark...

Look Upwards...:

...and share the wonders I've seen.

Is there life on Maaaaaaaars?:

If you're humming Knights of Cydonia, don't worry, so am I.

Jupiter, Bringer of Jollility:

Unfortunately, I'm all out of Jupiter puns.

Saturn, Bringer of Old Age:

Saturn also gets no pun-love. This needs to be remedied.

Neptune and Uranus:

While the material here is just ripe for the picking, I'm going to have to go for the Harry Potter reference: Can I look at Uranus too, Lavender?

I'm Your Moon(s):

From out here, it's the rest of the world that looks so small.

Star Light, Star Bright:

I wish I may, I wish I might...

Polvo de Estrellas:

One little star made of nothing, in the periphery of a minor galaxy; one in so many millions, and a grain of dust orbiting around it.

...and dust to dust:

We won't leave footprints, only stardust.

Galaxies:

The galaxy that lived inside your eyes...

You Are Here:

That pale blue dot in the upper-right corner of the middle image? That's Earth. Just a little perspective for you.

Boom de ya da, boom de ya da, boom de ya da, boom de ya da...

(Obviously, if you have any pictures you want to add, please don't hesitate. Science available upon request. Posted publicly here on Dreamwidth and here on Livejournal. Enjoy. ♥)

Thu, 14 Jan 2010 01:02:44 GMT

I'm offering my fic-writing services for help_haiti; I have the Middleman, Star Trek Reboot, Merlin, and Doctor Who listed as the fandoms I can write in, but I'm always open to trying new things, including crossovers and fusions. The starting bid is $1. Please consider perusing the other offers on the comm, or offering your own services; the situation is dire and every little bit helps.

Ship Leave (3/3)

Sat, 28 Nov 2009 15:06:19 GMT

Title: Ship Leave
Rating: PG-13 for violence, references to torture and captivity, and stab wounds
Summary: Two years after embarking on her maiden voyage, the Enterprise returns to Earth for some holiday-season shore leave after a typical mission-gone-wrong. Then things go wronger.
Author's note: Part three of three. This section's wordcount: about 8,000.

The Jefferies tubes are just down the hallway, and Jim loosens the access panel before turning back to Rao.

"Make sure your phaser holster is tight," he says. "We don't want to lose our weapons. The Jefferies tubes echo like a son of a bitch, so we're going to have to be as quiet as possible while we're in there. I'm going down first, and you're following, no arguing, Ensign. If you fall, try to grab me on the way down. While we're going down, if the gravity goes like I think it will, make sure you have at least one hand on the ladder at all times anyway, do you understand? I don't want to be in freefall when the gravity comes back, and I really don't want you to be either, because Pike will kill me."

"Yes, sir," says Rao, now looking slightly green and staring at the access panel. Jim frowns at her.

"You say the word and you're back in the transporter room," he says as gently as he can. "But if you're coming, I need to know that you've got my back. Can you do that?"

Rao's gaze snaps up to his, and she nods. "I'm ready, sir," she says, clearly lying.

Jim hesitates, but removes the access panel anyway. He climbs in backwards and feet-first, feeling carefully for the rungs of the ladder. When his waist is level with the floor, he nods to Rao, who looks down the corridor and gives the signal to Chekov, who (Jim assumes) sends the decoy turbolift. Jim continues down the ladder, and when he's below the level of the floor, he reaches up and gives a thumbs-up; Rao's feet appear above him, and he continues climbing down to give her room.

She's breathing heavily, and it reverberates in the cramped Jefferies tube, making Jim nervous. His palms are sweaty even before he hits the first deck-number painted next to the ladder – one down, twenty-nine to go.

They're twenty-seven decks up when the gravity goes. When it happens, Jim can hear Rao gasp, and see her clutch the ladder in the dimmed red light.

"Okay," Jim whispers up to her, "this is the part where we try to go faster."

He shoves himself down, to give himself some momentum, but keeps his hands on the vertical edges of the ladder. Above him, he can see Rao do the same, although with considerably more care, keeping one hand free to hover above the rungs. It's a good system, Jim admits, and moves his feet closer to the rungs, to jam between them should the gravity return. Part of him almost hopes it will – he's never had to fight in null-gee, and he doesn't particularly feel like starting to do so now.

That's probably what does it, of course. The gravity comes back with a vengeance, about five decks above the server room; Jim manages to cling to the ladder, but his fingers almost slip, although he manages to get his grip settled before he falls. This unfortunately has the added effect of nearly dislocating his shoulder. Rao fares better, having been proceeding with more caution the whole time, which is good – from the feel of it, they're dealing with at least two gees.

The blood drains from Jim's head, and he blinks repeatedly to stay conscious.

"Rao?" he whispers.

"Yessir," mutters Rao. Jim glances up, although the movement makes him dizzy – between her feet, he can see that she's leaning heavily against the ladder, although she has her arms hooked through it at what looks like a painful, albeit secure, angle. He opens his mouth to say something, but is cut off by a distant thud and reverberation.

"I guess they didn't need hostages after all," says Jim eventually, keeping his voice low. When he looks back up, Rao's shaking violently enough that he can see, and a spot of wetness lands on his cheek. She draws in a ragged breath, and he realizes with a mixture of relief and a distinct sinking feeling that she's crying. "...you okay, Ensign?"

Rao doesn't reply immediately. "Just give me a second, sir," she requests weakly, sniffing. "I just - I don't usually mind heights, but..."

Jim glances down. They're only five decks above the server room, but the Jefferies tube goes from the very bottom of the ship to the very top - another design flaw, now that he thinks about it – and he can't see the bottom.

"Don't think about the climb," he suggests. "Give it a minute for the adrenalin to kick in."

She takes another shuddering breath. "I think it already has," she says. "I think that's why I'm shaking so much."

"Okay, then," says Jim, glancing down again. Every second, more altitude lost... "Think about punching Jallidarians in the face. That's keeping me on track pretty well."

Rao chokes out a wet laugh. "It would," she says.

"Okay, Rao – Sara?" He looks up to see her nod. "Sara. I'm not going to lie. I'm sorry you're having second thoughts, but there's really no time. We have to get down there, and we have to do it quick – it's not going to take that long for them to figure out that we weren't in the turbolift, and then they're going to come here. It would be really, really good if we weren't here when that happened, okay?"

"Yessir," Rao repeats.

"Good," Jim encourages. "Now, my hand's off the rung below you, so just pick up one of your feet and move it down one, can you do that?"

"All due respect, sir," says Rao, although her voice sounds stronger now, "you're being very patronizing."

Jim grins. "Let's see some movement, then, Ensign."

Rao's right foot leaves its rung and, oh so slowly, like a half-hearted leap of faith, stretches towards the rung below it. When it finally touches, Rao lets out a breath of relief, and Jim begins his downward climb again.

Another two decks down, there's a dizzying moment when the gravity goes back to normal, and Jim nearly loses his grip on the ladder in surprise.

"Three more decks to go," he calls up quietly to Rao. "You ready?"

"I don't think I've got much of a choice," she mutters, perfectly audibly.

"Nope, not really," Jim agrees. "Come on."

Jim goes down first, and the furthest; the access panel for the deck is on his left, slightly recessed into the wall. He climbs about even with it, and wraps his right arm around the side of the ladder, carefully transferring his phaser from the holster to that hand. With his left, he reaches out to the handle of the access panel, carefully working the panel free while keeping his aim with the phaser. He tilts the access panel forward just enough to get a glance of the hallway beyond it – it looks surprisingly empty of Jallidarians, and for a moment he wonders if they were all wrong, and it really was him, until he sees a shadow waiting on the corridor floor.

An ambush.

Well, less of one now that he knows about it, at least. He carefully lowers the access panel so that it's halfway in the Jefferies tube, but also invisible to whoever's standing there waiting. Getting himself out of the tube quietly is more difficult, as is crouching in the entranceway to the access panel while Rao pulls herself out too, but they both manage it.

They come around the corner with phasers blazing. Jim takes out both of the guards waiting to ambush them before they can even fire a shot, although Rao doesn't get the chance to fire, either. She covers his back as he edges forwards towards the server room – there are at least eight of them, six of them now, but there's no sign of anyone else and it's really pretty disconcerting.

There's another corner between them and the server room, and Jim glances around it carefully, phaser at the ready – but there's nobody guarding it, at least not from the outside. He turns back to Rao.

"Okay," he tells her quietly. "Here's the plan: Shoot them."

Rao waits expectantly, then raises her eyebrows when he doesn't continue. "Is that...it?"

"Pretty much," says Jim. "We need to get the transporter working again as soon as possible, so if you get the chance to get to the computer while there are still some of them fighting – well, the transporter's the highest priority, because then the other priorities will be beamed to the brig. Or possibly into cold vacuum." Jim glances around the corner again – still nobody. "You know earlier, when we thought that I was compromised, and we decided that the safety of the ship takes priority over me?" Rao nods. "That still applies. No matter what happens in there, we need to save the ship, understood?"

Rao steels herself, gripping her phaser tighter although her fingers are still trembling. "Understood, sir."

"If it makes you feel any better," suggests Jim, "picture all of the Jallidarians with the face of someone you really don't like."

"My mother always said to picture them naked," says Rao distractedly. "Although I guess there's a difference between school plays and...well, and going up against six probably-armed and definitely-dangerous aliens with a bone to pick."

"Hey, if you feel more comfortable shooting naked people, try that," says Jim. "I'm not here to judge your lifestyle choices."

That earns a strained smile from her, and Jim sets his phaser to 'maximum stun,' which, he knows from experience, stings like a bitch.

"For England, Harry, and Saint George," Rao mutters, doing the same to hers.

"What?" says Jim.

"Nothing," says Rao. "I don't even remember where it's from. I should check it out, if...when we're done with this."

"Do that," says Jim. He takes a breath, and nods to her. She nods back.

He keeps his phaser out as he crosses to the server room, just in case, and positions himself on the side of the door that'll be in the line of fire first, keeping his thumb on the door override to keep it closed. Rao takes the hint and takes the other side; he lets go of the override, and the door opens.

Chaos erupts pretty much immediately. Rao ends up preceding Jim into the room, charging like a berserker the second it's open. It seems to take the Jallidarians a bit by surprise, and she takes one out pretty much immediately. Jim follows, stunning two on his way, before fire from one of the Jallidarians' phasers hits his own. The pins-and-needles sensation from the nimbus makes him drop it, and he ducks more fire, losing track of Rao in the process.

There's nothing to duck behind, though, so he decides to just go for it. He successfully tackles a Jallidarian, feeling as much as hearing the crack as the Jallidarian's head impacts the deck, and he rolls off as quickly as he can, standing back up, his heart beating quick from the adrenalin.

There are two left, although only one has a phaser, and Rao seems to be taking care of him. The other is advancing menacingly on Jim – he's not particularly tall, but he's thick, and Jim knows this won't be easy.

The Jallidarian throws a punch, but Jim ducks under and delivers an uppercut to his jaw – which in retrospect was a mistake, because he took his eyes off the Jallidarian's foot, which nails him right in the stomach.

The pain is incredible, like fire, and it takes Jim a second to figure out why the hell it hurts so badly when he's been kicked in the stomach before. He gets it, though, when he puts a hand where it hurts and it comes away bloody.

Shit, he thinks, Bones is going to kill me.

And then the Jallidarian is advancing again, and he stops thinking, just moves.

He doesn't duck quite in time, and receives a punch right on his cheekbone, knocking him off his feet; then another kick to his stomach, and another. If the Jallidarian has noticed that his boot is coming away bloody, then he doesn't care, or maybe considers it an advantage.

This isn't the first time Jim's been beaten up by a Jallidarian isolationist, but it definitely pisses him off more this time than last time. He uses the anger as motivation, and manages to catch the Jallidarian's foot the next time he goes to kick, wrenching it up as hard as he can, and the Jallidarian topples over like a logged tree.

Jim leans against the wall to stand up, as the Jallidarian reaches for one of his fallen allies' phasers. Jim gets to it first, and picks it up, pointing it at the Jallidarian. It's set to kill, he notices. How interesting.

"Didn't your parents ever teach you to never kick a man when he down?" Jim asks, his hand level. He waits until the very last moment to change the setting to 'stun' before shooting him.

Then he looks around. Rao is lying on the floor, hopefully just unconscious, although her attacker is also out some distance away. He appears, for once, to be the last person standing.

"Rao?" he hisses at her. No response. He takes a step closer to her, and the world tilts – but he can't help but notice that her neck is at an angle best described as 'bad.'

Priorities, he reminds himself.

He staggers over to the computer console, and tries to focus on it, despite the way it appears to be swimming in front of his eyes. Eventually it becomes clear enough – or at least, not-blurry enough – that he can read it, and he keys in the necessary commands to enable the transporter again and turns on the emergency frequency.

"Kirk to Chekov," he says. "You there?"

"I'm here, sir," says Chekov, and the Jallidarians disappear in the transporter's rings of light.

"Good," says Jim. "I think we need a medic. Probably more than one." He squints at the console. "And someone to get the ship back into a stable orbit."

"Understood, sir," says Chekov, as Jim's legs give out from under him and he sits down heavily next to the console. The blood is soaking through his uniform now, dripping onto the floor, and he doesn't remember there being quite this much blood last time.

He leans his head against it and closes his eyes, but opens them when he hears the familiar sound of the transporter again, and sees Nurse Chapel leaning over him.

"He's alive," she calls, and Jim struggles to sit up a bit more, craning his neck to see Rao.

"Rao - ?"

"We need a backboard," calls another medic, somewhere beyond Nurse Chapel.

"She's fine," says Chapel, clearly lying. She takes out a hypospray.

"She's not - " begins Jim, before Chapel cuts him off again.

"I have to admit, I'm seeing the merit in Doctor McCoy's approach," she says, and Jim is unsurprised when he feels the hypospray pinch his neck.

He wakes up in sickbay, although there are a lot more people present than he would've anticipated.

"Good morning," says Winona, smiling down at him from her chair next to his bed.

"What part of 'try to take care of yourself' was beyond your comprehension?" demands Bones, standing above him with a hypospray.

"Uncle Jim!" says Joanna happily, throwing herself across his chest. Bones, luckily, extracts her quickly, and carries her out of sickbay.

"What happened?" Jim asks Winona muzzily. "The server – did we - ?"

"You did," Winona confirms. "Christopher used his override code to put the Enterprise back into orbit. Doctor McCoy insisted on returning to the ship and treating you himself when he found out."

Jim looks down at his stomach. "I reopened it?" he asks grimly.

"Oh, yes," says Winona. "And apparently broke a promise to Doctor McCoy. He wasn't very happy. Although I gather that Joanna is ecstatic about getting to be in space, and in all fairness, it's more like 'a Jallidarian's foot reopened it' than you, strictly speaking."

"Joanna's a good kid," mumbles Jim, his eyes slipping closed.

"Oh no you don't, you bastard," says Bones, a few seconds later, thwapping him on the leg. "Wake up. How do you feel?"

"Like shit," says Jim, opening his eyes again. "And hey, I'm a little stabbed, here. Can't I at least take a nap?"

"No," says Bones curtly. "You said you weren't going to rip yourself open again."

"There were exigent circumstances." Jim frowns. "Jallidarian exigent circumstances?"

"They were," Winona confirms. "Apparently, the isolationists you escaped from on the planet got worried about their...reputation. So a bunch of them came after the Enterprise in a shuttle to, if not finish the job, then to make it look as though the job had been finished."

Jim blinks heavily. "So you're saying," he says, "that all of this was the work of perfectionists?"

"I'd say 'completionists' is probably more accurate," says Winona, "but yes. The reason they came after you is because you were, quite literally, the one that got away."

"Everybody wants me," says Jim. "It's just part of my allure."

Winona looks up at Bones. "Is this what you meant by 'powerful painkillers'?" she asks him.

"No," says Bones. "He's always like this."

"No," says Jim indignantly. "You gave me the fuzzy drugs!"

"Maybe a little bit is the painkillers," Bones allows, before turning back to Jim. "As soon as you're in your right mind, we're going to have a talk about what and what not to do while recovering from stab wounds. Again."

Jim turns to Winona, and confides, "He does this every time."

"Apparently you need it," says Winona, looking amused and resettling herself in her chair.

"I don't know why I bother," says Bones, throwing his hands up in the air as he leaves.

Winona smiles down at Jim. "Go to sleep," she tells him. "I'll be here when you wake up."

He looks at her for a long moment. "Really?"

"Yes, really," she says, smoothing down his blanket.

Jim lets his eyes close, then opens them again suddenly. "Rao?" he demands.

"She's going to be fine," says Winona, pointing to one of the beds behind her with her thumb. "They broke her neck, but not too badly."

Jim blinks again. "I didn't realize that a broken neck was one of those things that had degrees of badness."

"Well, you learn something new every day." Winona covers his hand with hers, and squeezes it lightly. "Now go to sleep."

He's considerably more coherent the next time he wakes up, and Winona is, indeed, still there – albeit asleep. Admiral Pike is sitting next to her, though, reading a PADD, although he puts it down when he sees that Jim is awake.

"Welcome back to the land of the living," he says, smiling faintly. "You look like hell."

"Thanks, sir," says Jim. "What time is it?"

"Eleven-hundred hours," says Pike. "Over twenty-four hours since your tussle with the Jallidarians. Who, I might add, have given full confessions. Apparently, the backup to their backup plan was to martyr themselves. They were quite disappointed to hear that the Federation prefers incarceration – somehow living in a Federation penal colony was not quite what they had in mind."

"And the crew?" asks Jim. "Any casualties?"

"Just a few scrapes and broken bones, with the exceptions of you and Ensign Rao," says Pike. "And apparently, even the two of you will be out of sickbay in time for the Winter Reception."

Jim grins. "So Bones won't have any patients to get him out of it? Speaking of which – where is he?"

"I believe he's having lunch with his daughter," says Pike. "She's very good at getting him out of sickbay."

"I can imagine," says Jim, glancing over at Rao. She's sleeping, her neck in a brace, in a bed on the other side of sickbay. "She did well," he says, nodding at her.

"She doesn't think so," says Pike, looking over at her too. "I'm glad she got the experience, though. Too many cadets or ensigns get a certain image of what being in a combat situation is like. Personally, I think she should be promoted for retaining full control of her bladder. I have a hundred stories of lieutenants who couldn't have managed that."

"No offense, Admiral, but I still think she's wasted on a desk job."

"I think I'm beginning to agree," says Pike, before looking back at Jim. "You did good, too, Captain."

Jim shrugs, not meeting his eyes. "I let them get to me," he says. "They had me buying what they were selling just as much as anyone else, and I should've known better."

"And you beat them anyway," Pike reminds him, before checking his chrono and grimacing. "Well, I have a meeting about a mistletoe emergency that I don't think I can put off any longer, and since you're awake, I don't have to feel bad about leaving your mother alone."

People come and go for the rest of the evening and the next day – Winona leaves eventually at Jim's insistence, to shower and sleep in an actual bed. Bones is in and out with Joanna, who at least keeps him from using his typical vocabulary when lecturing Jim about how to take care of himself after being stabbed. Even Gaila stops by, to continue her inventory, and informs him that Spock is still planetside.

"When he heard what happened, he wanted to come back aboard," she says. "But everything was over by then, and since Pike's onboard and outranks...well, pretty much everyone, there wasn't a need for an Acting Captain. He was very disappointed about that."

"Hah," mutters Jim, keeping his smile to himself.

Rao wakes up around dinnertime, but Jim waits until Nurse Chapel is done fussing over her before he talks to her.

"You doing okay, Ensign?" he calls.

Rao gives a stilted movement that Jim guesses is an attempt at a nod. "I'm fine, sir," she says, sounding mostly cheerful. "Doctor McCoy says I'll be out of here in another day or so."

"Did they really break your neck?" Jim asks, wincing in sympathy.

"Fractured," Rao corrects him. "And it's not the first time it's happened. Semifinals my junior year, some bi - " she glances over at him and abruptly changes her word choice as he wonders how many painkillers she's on – "fellow athlete from Alpha Centauri fouled me and broke my arm. I had to take exams in that brace." Her upper body moves from side to side, and Jim realizes that she's shaking her head. "But I broke her leg the next year, so it's okay."

Jim begins to laugh, then stops, grimacing. "Okay, no more being funny, and that's an order."

"Understood, sir," says Rao, smiling slightly.

"What'd you think of your first ship posting?" asks Jim, grinning in anticipation.

Rao's smile slips away. "Is it - " she asks falteringly. "Is it always like this?"

"On the Enterprise?" Jim considers. "Yeah, pretty much. Well, no, that's not fair. Sometimes it's Klingons. Or Romulans. Or Tribbles."

Rao frowns at him. "Tribbles?"

"Don't ask. The point is, yes, it is. Not on other ships, I don't think – especially not survey ships or anything like that, but if you ask me, if we're not pissing someone off, we're doing something wrong."

"That's – very counterintuitive, sir," says Rao.

"It is to the Starfleet Admiralty," Jim agrees, before sitting up a bit more to get a better look at her. "Speaking of which, and ship postings – the Enterprise ships out in another two weeks. How would you like to be on her?"

Rao looks like nothing so much as a deer in the headlights. "I'm – I'm honored, sir," she stutters, "but Admiral Pike said not to poach his - "

"I can talk to Admiral Pike," says Jim.

" - I only graduated a year ago," Rao continues desperately. "And I think he likes having me as his assistant."

Jim narrows his eyes at her. "That was weak, Ensign."

"I know, sir," says Rao meekly.

"You can say no, you know."

"Not really, sir." Jim opens his mouth to protest, and Rao just does the strange, braced half-shrug again. "It's true. When someone officially turns down an offer to serve on the Federation's flagship, other captains start to wonder why." She pauses for a moment, and then adds, "I don't mean to offend you, sir, but it seems like serving on the Enterprise takes a particular brand of crazy, and I just don't think I have it."

Jim looks at Rao, her neck broken from having rushed eight known-to-be-dangerous alien threats armed with only a phaser and lacrosse experience, and feels his mouth twitch. "Oh, I don't know about that."

"I should've known it would happen," Rao adds. "On this ship, anything's possible. Did you know, sir, that you're the only ship in the whole fleet to have issued a commendation for Bravery In The Face of Large Reptiles?"

"Oh, I believe it," says Jim. "That's part of why I think none of the other ships are doing their jobs. Either that, or severely underappreciating their crews." He looks at her again, and shrugs. "Well, Ensign, should you change your mind, our shuttle bay doors are always open."

"Duly noted, sir," says Rao. "Permission to go to sleep, sir?"

"Now you're just being snarky."

Two days later, Bones finally lets Jim leave sickbay, sending him back to his quarters with another warning to take care of himself and the ever-present threat of enforced sedation. Jim tries to sleep at first, despite the fact that it's barely fifteen-hundred hours, but despite the painkillers he can't. Eventually he gives up, crossing to his computer console.

"Computer," he says. "Locate Commander Kirk."

"Commander Kirk is in her guest quarters," says the computer. Jim doesn't bother thanking it this time, just heads straight there.

The door opens for him pretty much immediately, so Jim assumes that means she's awake – and she is, sitting on one of the couches and reading her PADD. She looks up as Jim enters, and smiles.

"I didn't realize Doctor McCoy had let you out of sickbay," she teases.

"Apparently, when I actually do what he tells me to, he lets me out sooner," says Jim, shrugging. "I'll have to keep that in mind for next time."

"Or," says Winona, "you could just try not getting stabbed."

"I don't know," says Jim dubiously, sitting down in a chair across from her. "That seems a bit radical."

Winona's mouth twitches. "I suppose for your style of captaincy it is," she agrees. "What brings you here directly from Doctor McCoy's tender mercies?"

"I was, uh," says Jim, grimacing a little. "I was hoping we could talk."

Winona looks surprised. "Oh? What about?"

"About Jallidar," he admits.

Winona's eyes widen, but she resettles herself attentively. "Okay," she says cautiously.

Jim looks down at his hands for a moment, unsure of where to begin. Then he decides to just start talking, because otherwise he never will.

"They mostly used drugs," he says. "That's what the three days in sickbay were really for – just getting them all out of my system. There were lots of them, apparently, which is why it took so long. They had it down to a science – hell, they've probably been brainwashing aliens longer than I've been in Starfleet. They caught us as we were coming out of the shuttle, about to make the preliminary greetings, and knocked us all out – me, Spock, and Bones. We woke up in a cell. Spock and Bones were chained to one of the walls, but I wasn't – we couldn't figure out why at first, although I guess now that it was just to throw us off. Besides, they'd already started drugging me - I wasn't much of a threat. They took me out of the cell every now and then, about six or seven times total, I guess, for interrogation and to administer more drugs - I don't remember much about that." He looks at Winona. "Did the Jallidarians say where they got the access codes? I kept meaning to ask."

Winona keeps her expression level, but barely. "From you."

"I thought so," says Jim, before continuing. "That wasn't what they were after, though. They just wanted to drive me as crazy as they could. The interrogations were bad enough, I guess, but just sticking me in that cell with Spock and Bones, drugged and paranoid – that was what did it. I started doubting everything. Why the hell were Spock and Bones tied up, while I was left free? Why weren't they getting drugged or interrogated, too? Every time the Jallidarian guards came in, they ignored the two of them – which must have taken some training, because Bones cursed them out every time and Spock just sat there looking really menacing, but he's really good at that. It turns out they were drugged, too, just a little – which explains a few things. The whole time they were just acting...off, just a little bit, like they were being impersonated by really, really good actors but still weren't quite them. Or at least, I thought so. Towards the end, things got worse – colors started looking wrong, too, and I could've sworn that Spock had a red bruise. That's when I started getting really paranoid – and when I found the knife."

He clears his throat. "It must've been there for a while, or maybe they planted it sometime – they would've had to do it without Bones or Spock noticing, because they were pretty damn surprised to see it. From what we gathered afterwards, the plan was to make sure that I was really, truly, homicidally crazy before sending me back up to the Enterprise." He pauses. "By now, I was completely out of it. Convinced that Spock and Bones weren't real – or maybe Jallidarians, trying to get more information out of me – or maybe just figments of my imagination. I wasn't completely clear on that. I did know that it was pissing me off pretty royally, and Spock was just being all logical and Bones was being Bones but it just felt wrong - and then I found the knife."

He pauses again. "They were shackled to the wall. I was free and really angry. There was no way they could've fought me off, but they kept trying to talk me out of it, to convince me they were real, but that just made me angrier. Spock in particular kept trying to get me to give him the knife – he said he could use it for leverage and rip the chains out of the wall, which is what he did, later. Bones just kept saying my name before every sentence, like he was trying to talk me off a ledge, which I guess he was, kind of. The more they argued the angrier I got, but I guess some of what they said got through, because I remember thinking that if there was even the slightest chance they were right, I couldn't risk them – not any members of my crew, but especially not them. And then I thought – this is all a dream. And you can't die in a dream, you just wake up." He looks up at his mother, and smiles bitterly. "It made sense at the time, I swear."

"You stabbed yourself," says Winona quietly.

Jim nods. "Yeah. Surprised the hell out of me, too. I expected to wake up in sickbay the second the knife hit skin, and instead it just hurt like a bitch. I fell close enough to Spock that he could pull the knife out, and he broke out and broke Bones out, so at least I didn't bleed to death like I probably would have otherwise. Everything's fuzzy after that – Bones said I lost a lot of blood, and I'm not surprised. He also said it was another three hours before we were rescued by Sulu's team."

Winona shudders.

"The worst part was – there were no voices. Nobody inside my head telling me to kill them. I could tell something was wrong the whole time, obviously, but I thought it was everything else. It never occurred to me that it was me that was the problem. And when they attacked again, once they planted just that little seed of doubt, it never occurred to me that I wasn't the problem. They got to me, both times - I was just as compromised this mission as I was last time."

Winona shakes her head. "No, you weren't," she says.

"I was," Jim insists. "They changed how I thought - "

"You weren't compromised either time," says Winona, cutting him off. "They tried to turn you against your crew, and you beat them. Through unorthodox and probably masochistic means, sure, but you still beat them. And then when they came back for you to try again, you beat the fuckers again."

Jim feels his eyebrows raise, apparently of their own accord. "Did you just say - ?"

"The point is," says Winona loudly, "you won. And that's all that matters."

"But if I hadn't won?"

"That's a pointless rhetorical exercise, and you know it," says Winona, before standing up and crossing to him. "I am so, so proud of you. I don't say it enough, but I am." She pulls him into a hug, and he doesn't resist.

They talk almost all night, about everything and nothing – how Sam is, how the Eddington is, how the Enterprise is, how ridiculous the bunting is. It's not something Jim's used to, but it's nice enough that he thinks it might be something he'll be able to learn.

The bunting, as it turns out, is red, green, and white, covering almost every available inch of wall space. The Winter Reception is held in one of the larger recreation rooms, which is usually used for diplomatic purposes when the need arises. Jim arrives on the early side, escorting his mother; he's wearing his dress uniform, uncomfortable though it is, and she's wearing a similar one, albeit in a considerably more attractive shade of blue than his own chartreuse.

Bones is already there, standing uncomfortably by the fruit-and-vegetable platters as Joanna stuffs her face. Jim smothers a grin, and leads Winona over.

"You look like you're having fun," he says.

"I hate you," says Bones passionately. "Why did you agree to host this damn thing?"

"Oh, maybe because someone kept bitching at me to try to get leave in December, and this was the only way to do it?" says Jim. "Besides, Jo seems to be enjoying herself."

Jo, hearing her name, looks up from using two chunks of pineapple on toothpicks as toys. They appear to be jousting one another. She grins.

"Uncle Jim! Dad said you ripped yourself open."

Jim shakes his head. "No, the aliens did that, sweetie."

"Yeah, he just helped," mutters Bones. "God, I wish there were Scotch at this thing."

"Sounds like my idea of Christmas spirit," Jim agrees sotto voce.

Winona grins, then straightens, touching Jim's arm. "It looks like Christopher's here," she says. "I'll be back - I want to hear the story of how he strongarmed the decorators into going to Christmas colors after all."

Jim nods, and watches her cross the room as he pours himself a glass of punch.

"Your mother's quite the woman," says Bones.

"Yeah," says Jim. "I guess she is."

"Captain!" Jim turns around to see Sulu, crossing towards him and grinning. "I heard there was some excitement while we were on leave."

"Not that exciting," Jim disagrees. "Jallidarians again. Getting kind of old, actually."

"I'm sorry I missed it," says Sulu sincerely. "It sounded like fun."

"Eh, not really," says Jim. "Although it did make me think of requiring zero-gee training for all personnel."

"Now that sounds like fun," says Sulu, grinning again.

"Hikaru!" Chekov comes up behind him, slapping him on the shoulder before noticing Jim. "Captain! I did not think you would be out of sickbay already, sir."

"I'm perfectly fine, thanks," says Jim. "And I didn't want to give Bones an excuse to miss all the fun, right, Bones?"

Bones scowls at him.

"I'm glad you're better, sir," says Chekov earnestly, as Ensign Rao catches up to him. Her neckbrace is nowhere to be seen, although she's holding herself stiffly.

"Captain," she says respectfully. "Doctor McCoy." She looks down at Joanna, and her polite smile becomes a full-fledged grin. "Hey, Jo."

"Sara!" says Jo happily. "Have you tried the pineapple?"

"Sara, this is Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu," says Chekov, drawing her attention back to him. "Hikaru, this is Ensign Sara Rao."

"Oh, you must be the one who bum-rushed the Jallidarians," says Sulu, eyes twinkling. "Pavel won't shut up about you. Your neck looks okay, though."

"It was nothing," demurs Rao, although she looks pleased.

"Spock's here," says Bones quietly in Jim's ear. Jim looks where Bones is indicating, and sees Spock surrounded by all four Uhura sisters, in variously colored dress uniforms – each Starfleet discipline has a current record set by an Uhura. Spock himself looks calm, controlled, and perfectly poised, and Jim is impressed at how well he's keeping up.

"He survived," Jim notes, sipping his punch. Like the punch served at all official Starfleet occasions, it's excessively sweet and entirely nonalcoholic. Jim makes a face.

"Yes, he did," says Bones. "You owe me a bottle of Romulan ale."

"What? When did we make that bet?"

"Two days before he left," says Bones.

Jim narrows his eyes at him. "Two days before Spock left, I'm pretty sure I was still bedridden."

"You insisted."

"And sedated."

"A bet's a bet," says Bones, shrugging.

"Fine," says Jim, deciding not to mention that a bottle of Romulan ale was going to be his Christmas present anyway.

"Dad!" Joanna tugs on Bones's sleeve. "Did you hear? Sara's going on a ship too!"

Jim raises his eyebrows, but Bones just smirks. Rao ducks her head.

"I was reassigned to the Eddington," she says. "Science division."

Jim's jaw does not drop. Not visibly, anyway. "What?"

"I just heard yesterday," says Rao, just about glowing with happiness. "We ship out in a week. That reminds me - " She looks around. "I should go see Admiral Pike." She turns back to Jim and Bones, nodding to each of them. "Captain. Doctor. Later, Jo."

Sulu and Chekov trail after her to where Pike is deep in conversation with Winona, although apparently nothing serious – Winona says something, leaning in to touch Pike's arm lightly, and he throws his head back and laughs.

"I can't believe," mutters Jim darkly, "that now I have to worry about my own mother poaching personnel from me."

"I'm pretty sure she was never actually yours," says Bones, although he sounds amused. "Besides, look at how they're talking. Your mother's got him wrapped around her little finger."

"You'd think an Admiral would be strong enough to hold out," says Jim, before taking a sip of punch as petulantly as he can.

"Careful," says Bones. "That could be your future stepfather you're talking about."

Jim chokes.

He's still sputtering in a mixture of indignation and asphyxiation when Spock finally comes over to join them.

"Captain Kirk, Doctor McCoy," he says, inclining his head. Jim's suddenly deeply reminded of Rao – the same careful attention to protocol. Spock pulls it off better, though.

"Have fun on leave?" asks Jim, trying for innocent but mainly getting hoarse.

"Indeed," says Spock. "Nyota's sisters are very intelligent. I found the conversations very stimulating."

"Exhausting?" translates Jim.

"Quite," says Spock. "I understand things were considerably less intellectual here onboard?"

"Knocked in a few heads," Jim agrees. "Saved the ship. The usual. Oh – have you seen Scotty?"

"We were aboard the same shuttle from spacedock," says Spock. "Last I saw him, he was by the helm. Weeping. I don't suppose alien intruders can be blamed for that particular mess?"

"Nope," says Bones cheerfully. "Just Jim's mom."

"I met her earlier," adds Spock. "She seems to be quite a capable officer. I expressed surprise to her that she would have a son such as yourself," he says, indicating Jim, "and she laughed."

"She probably thought you were joking," says Jim. "Or she agreed. One or the other."

There's a band playing now, on the far end of the room – a Christmas carol, from the sound of it, although Jim thinks he can hear some nautical terminology.

"I had best return to Nyota," says Spock, sounding actually a little sorry. "I'm – pleased to see that you're recovering well, Jim."

Jim raises his eyebrows, but Spock seems sincere, so he decides to go for a little honesty himself. "I'm glad you're back on the ship," he says, but before the mood can get too serious he adds, "If only because I really need someone to delegate all the paperwork to."

Spock looks almost aggrieved, before brightening almost imperceptibly. "Of course, Captain," he says. "Although I must remind you, my leave doesn't expire until tomorrow. If you'll excuse me."

Bones shakes his head after Spock as he heads back to Uhura. "He almost sounded like he meant it, too," he says. "I'll never understand him."

"He's not that bad," says Jim, but Joanna interrupts him.

"Dad! Mom's here!"

Bones sees Jim's look, and shrugs. "I could hardly stay with her for free for a week without inviting her, now could I?" he asks. "Come on, Jo, let's go show your mom the ship."

"Have fun," Jim calls after him. "And steer clear of the bridge if you don't want to get an earful from Scotty!"

Bones waves impatiently at him over his shoulder as he takes his daughter to see his wife, and Jim lets himself drift towards one of the back corners of the room. The band's still playing, and a few people are even dancing. From his vantage point, Jim can see Sulu and Chekov talking to Rao – or rather, listening to Rao, who, judging from the hand motions, seems to be recounting her brave and single-handed takedown of all twenty Jallidarians. Chekov, who should really know better even if he's not contradicting her, is listening with rapt attention, and Sulu seems just as absorbed.

On the other side of the room, Spock is surrounded by all the Uhura sisters. The three of them that Jim doesn't know, though, seem to be talking amongst themselves, while Lieutenant Uhura – Nyota – is talking quietly to Spock. He says something to her, and she smiles, laying a hand against his cheek. Spock, very gently, cups it and holds it there, before they both drop their hands.

Some distance away, Winona and Pike are talking. Jim can't tell what the topic of conversation is, but he can see the enthusiasm in Winona's own gestures and the clear joy in Pike's eyes as he nods encouragement to her. Just behind them, Bones, Jo, and a woman – who must be Joss, by process of elimination – are standing at the windows. Joanna is tugging on Joss's shirt, trying to get her closer to the glass, while Bones is watching the two of them fondly.

Not bad, for a Christmas party, Jim thinks. Except for all the people who aren't his crew and don't belong on his ship.

Jim downs the rest of his punch in one gulp, and puts the glass on the edge of the refreshments table. He successfully makes it through the room without running into anyone who might try to pull him into a conversation, and he figures he can cite having come down with a bad case of recurring stab wound to anyone who bitches at him for ducking out early.

The door, though, is another story; he quite literally bumps into Scotty on his way out.

"Sorry, sorry – sorry, Captain," says Scotty, grabbing one arm to make sure Jim doesn't fall over.

"It's fine," says Jim tightly, having learned that Scotty's elbow is exactly even with Jim's scar. "Good to see you, Scotty."

"Good to see you too, Captain," says Scotty, beaming. "I don't suppose you know who jerry-rigged the secondary power supply to the helm console, do you? It's brilliant! I don't know why I didn't think of it sooner. I think I can rustle up a subroutine to do it automatically even in cases of - "

"That would be my mother, right over there," says Jim, pointing. "She's the Science Officer for the Eddington – knock yourself out. I think you'll have a lot to talk about." He pats Scotty on the shoulder and brushes past him, trying not to think malicious thoughts about Pike's chances of becoming his stepdad with Scotty talking nonstop at his mother.

At first he walks without any particular location in mind, just letting his feet take him where they will. The music from the reception fades quickly, drowned out by the familiar hum of the ship. There's something comforting about just wandering, but eventually he comes to a turbolift and has to make a decision, although it's not a hard one.

Just as he'd expected, there's nobody in the Observation Deck. The Earth hangs gibbous in the middle of the observation windows against the backdrop of the Milky Way, close enough that Jim can make out the continents, and the sparks of light on the night side of the terminator that mark cities. The sun's setting over San Francisco, he realizes; if he looks closely, he can see the clouds tinged pink and orange.

He stays there for a while, watching the sunset slide across the Pacific, then turning his attention to the stars beyond it. There are a lot of them, and he's no stellar cartographer, but he amuses himself for a while trying to guess which ones he's been to.

Impossible to give up, he thinks to himself. Sounds about right.

He loses track of time again, but eventually he hears the door behind him slide open. He doesn't turn around, but Bones comes to stand at his left, leaning against the railing.

"Where's Jo?" asks Jim.

Bones makes a face. "With Joss, asking Admiral Pike why her daddy's not a good enough doctor to cure paraplegia. Precocious is one thing, but professional criticism from a nine-year-old is another."

Jim tries not to smirk. "She's precocious as hell," he agrees instead.

"She says she wants to join Starfleet," says Bones. "I figure she's got plenty of time to come to her senses."

Jim does laugh at that. "Good luck with that," he says.

"Yeah," says Bones, a bit more pensively. He stares out at the Earth. "Hell of a thing."

"Yeah," Jim agrees quietly, before looking down at his hands. "Sorry I was an ass," he says.

"Apology accepted," says Bones promptly.

Jim frowns. "You were supposed to say, 'no, Jim, don't worry about it, you weren't an ass at all.'"

"I'm a horrible liar. You'd see right through me," says Bones, and Jim chuckles. "Although to be fair," Bones continues, "you're a lot less of an ass these days than when you were a cadet."

"Thanks, I think," says Jim, still smiling.

"How're things with your mom?" asks Bones seriously. "You okay?"

Jim thinks for a minute. "Yeah," he says eventually. "We talked for a while when I got out of sickbay."

"About Jallidar?"

"About a lot of things, including Jallidar." Jim touches his stomach, very briefly. "And I think I've decided...it could've been worse."

"What a revelation," says Bones dryly, but he doesn't say anything else for a while, just stands with Jim watching the Earth go by.

After a few minutes, the door slides open again, and this time Spock enters.

"Get tired of the Uhura sisters?" asks Bones.

"Actually, I was sent to ensure that the Captain hadn't, I quote, 'torn himself open again,'" says Spock, standing on Jim's right. "Admiral Pike appeared quite concerned."

"Oh, I bet," says Jim.

"I have also been informed that the Federation trial for the Jallidarians that boarded the Enterprise has been set," Spock adds. "Admiral Pike suggested that we delay our departure to attend."

"Nah," says Jim. "We've wasted enough time on the Jallidarians. Let the Admiralty worry about them."

Jim can see Spock raise an eyebrow in his peripheral vision. "I would have thought you might desire emotional closure, after the events of the past two weeks," he says.

"I think I got enough closure kicking their asses," says Jim, keeping his eyes on the stars. "Besides, there's got to be something more important for us to do than stick around here. Places to go, people to see, that sort of thing."

"Indeed," says Spock, sounding pleased. "I will inform Admiral Pike of your decision."

He still makes no move to leave, and eventually Jim says, "Thanks."

Bones glances over at him. "For what?"

"For everything," says Jim simply.

"I find that to be insufficient," says Spock. "You have earned our loyalty, respect, and even friendship a hundred times over, and it is illogical to give thanks for what has been duly earned."

"What the Vulcan means," says Bones, "is 'you're welcome.'"

Spock doesn't disagree.

"Moon's rising," Jim observes after a moment. It's true; the muted crescent of the dark side of the moon, illuminated by earthshine, is just visible on the outer limb of the night-side of the Earth.

"It is indeed," Spock agrees.

"Not a half-bad view," says Bones, and together they watch the moon rise.

Ship Leave (2/3)

Sat, 28 Nov 2009 15:04:27 GMT

Title: Ship Leave
Rating: PG-13 for violence, references to torture and captivity, and stab wounds
Summary: Two years after embarking on her maiden voyage, the Enterprise returns to Earth for some holiday-season shore leave after a typical mission-gone-wrong. Then things go wronger.
Author's note: Part two of three. Word count for this part: about 8,000.

He stumbles back to his quarters, acutely aware of the ever-increasing time since his last painkiller. He's barely by his bed when his comm chimes, and he lets out a wordless noise of frustration before slapping it.

"What?"

"Uh. Chekov here, Captain," comes Chekov's tentative voice.

"Yes, what is it, Ensign?"

"You have a call, sir?" It comes out as a question, not a statement.

Jim frowns. "Have you eaten dinner yet?"

"Yes, sir," says Chekov, sounding relieved to finally have good news to deliver.

"Then why the hell are you on comms right now?"

"Ah," says Chekov, "Sara did not believe me when I told her about our mission to K7. So I thought I would show her the records, under Starfleet Regulation six point zero-zero-two, permitting non-secured information sharing for purposes of - "

"Chekov," says Jim.

"Captain?"

"Do you really think I care if you're showing a fellow Starfleet officer non-classified information about how you beat up a bunch of Klingons?"

"...no, sir?"

"Patch the call through to my quarters. Kirk out."

Bones's face appears on Jim's comm, and Jim suddenly regrets not having asked Chekov who it was first.

"Jim!" says Bones, looking actually somewhat happy to see him.

"Uncle Jim!" says a younger, sweeter voice, and the nine-year-old Joanna McCoy is hoisted onto Bones's lap.

"Jo wanted to say hi," says Bones.

Bullshit, Jim doesn't say, because he does have some sense of restraint. Instead he pastes on a fake smile. "Hey, Jojo. How's school?"

Joanna wrinkles her nose. "Boring," she says. "They won't let me do geometry. They say it's too advanced."

"Joss's working on getting her into an advanced program," says Bones. "Don't know where the he – where she got the knack for math, since it certainly wasn't me."

"Dad can't even do long division," Joanna confides.

"Here, go help your mom clean up so we can start making dessert, I'll let you know when we're done so you can say bye," says Bones, and Joanna's face lights up again for the two seconds she remains on-screen. Bones looks after her, a warm glow to his face that isn't usually there. "Joss let me stay with them while I'm planetside," he adds. "I've never been so glad to cancel a hotel reservation. Turns out me and Joss get along a hell of a lot better when we're not in the same sector of the galaxy two out of three years." He turns back to the vidscreen, and his customary scowl returns. "Good God, man, what happened to you? Chapel told me you were doing better."

"I was," says Jim, grimacing. "I went too long between painkillers. I'll be fine." He immediately goes for a subject-change. "How's Jo doing? Other than being held back by school, obviously."

"You," growls Bones, "are entirely transparent sometimes, you know that? Try your tricks on someone else. What's going on? I thought you were going to be resting."

"So did I," says Jim darkly. "We've got surprise guests." He very briefly weighs the possibility of lying to Bones, but his mother shows no signs of leaving anytime before the Winter Reception, so it would be an exercise in futility. "Admiral Pike and my mom."

Bones's eyebrows fly halfway to his hairline. "Your mom? I thought she was across the galaxy."

"Funny story," says Jim, "so did I. Apparently she pulled some strings to get leave when she found out which ship was hosting this year's Winter Reception."

Bones makes a face at the mention of the event. "God, don't get me started on that dog-and-pony-show." His expression turns more serious. "How's that working out? Do you need reinforcements?"

"Bones," says Jim, equally seriously, "Chekov's handling – pretty much everything right now, actually. Do you think he'll hesitate for one second if I order him not to let your ass on the ship for the next five days?"

Bones sighs. "No," he says, "you've got him wrapped around your damn pinky but good."

"Damn straight," says Jim.

"But if your mom's there," says Bones, "you should think about talking to her. Christine said you'd refused a counselor - "

"Do you really expect me to let a Starfleet-certified headshrinker poke around my brain?" asks Jim sharply. "Also, don't you all have anything better to talk about than me?"

"No," says Bones, "and right now you aren't letting anyone within ten feet of your brain. Not talking about it isn't dealing with it, Jim, it's not dealing with it, and if you're not going to talk to me or Spock about, then you should still damn well talk to someone!"

"And what is it about my relationship with my mother that makes you think she'd be a prime candidate? Our lengthy and resounding silence over the past few years? The literal lightyears that've been between us since I was five? Just because she walks in here saying she wants to have an actual relationship doesn't mean I owe her anything." Jim sets his jaw, and waits for a response as Bones shakes his head slowly at the comm.

"I've got a radical suggestion," says Bones. "Maybe she actually cares."

"She didn't before. I don't see what's different now."

"Just because she couldn't be there doesn't mean she didn't care!"

"If she really cared she would've been there!" says Jim, louder and more forcefully than he'd intended. Bones looks as if he's been slapped in the face, and Jim abruptly comes to his senses. "Shit – Bones – "

"She cares, Jim, but God alone knows why – you can be a real ass sometimes," says Bones.

"Daddy! Everything's ready!"

Bones turns in the direction of Joanna's voice. "You want to come say bye to Uncle Jim first?" he calls.

There's the sound of distant footsteps drawing nearer, until the top of Joanna's head comes into view. Bones obligingly pulls her back up into his lap, and she waves ecstatically at the comm.

"Bye, Uncle Jim! See you at the Christmas party!"

Bones waves a bit too, albeit with an ironic twist to his mouth. "Remember what I said."

"The last part?" asks Jim, trying for a joke – it falls flat anyway.

"All of it," says Bones, reaching forward to turn off the comm. He stops his motion, adds, "But especially the last part," and then continues. The comm shuts off, the image blinking out.

Jim sags, letting his head fall into his hands, before the tugging across his abdomen reminds him of the painkiller that he has yet to take.

Sleep doesn't come easy; in his half-waking, wandering thoughts, Jim weighs his mother returning to his life and actively caring about him versus the possibility that the whole world is a lie, and when he finally does fall asleep, it's with one hand clutching the dully aching remnant of his wound.

His dreams are incoherent but vivid, sharing patterns of blood spatter – mostly a series of sensory impressions. The warmed metal of the knife against his palm. The torque it exerts against his hand when he slashes, twisting in his grip, and the way it slips back a little bit in the blood when he stabs. Colors, skewed and wrong – Spock bleeding red, Bones bleeding blue, uniforms changing shades without warning. He sees Scotty's face, first of many, mouth opened with surprise even as the blade slashes across his neck. Sulu next, a quick insertion through the ribs before he has time to raise any alarms. The breathtaking certainty that the world is wrong, and the only way to correct it is to destroy it, bring the setpieces crashing down around his ears and maybe the real world will lie behind it -

The thought is still in Jim's head when he wakes up - the world is wrong - and everything in his room is cast in an eerie red glow. For a second he really can't breathe, his stomach twisting in a way that has nothing to do with his half-a-week-old stab wound, and he has a moment of near-panic because he's out, he got out, it was a lie but he's out now -

A strange, shapeless blob floats into his field of view, and he recoils, or tries to – he ends up just twisting in midair, because he's floating about three feet above his bed.

"What the fuck?" he demands, although the facts begin slotting into place much more easily. The internal gravity's off, obviously, and the reason everything looks red is because some idiot designer thought that the best way to illustrate a red alert would be to have the lights literally turn red. Jim makes a mental note to track down the designer in Hell and teach him a few things about subtlety, preferably in unsubtle ways.

He hits his comm. "Kirk to anyone. Somebody respond!"

He waits for a response, only to be cut short by the sudden return of gravity. The impact with his bed is not too bad, luckily, as he manages to twist to avoid unfortunate pressure on his torso. The strange blob from earlier settles over him – his blanket. He tears it off his head and hits his comm again.

"I repeat, this is Captain Kirk, I want a status report from someone – anyone!"

Still nothing – the comms must be down, he decides. He stands up with a groan, and considers the pros and cons of painkillers: being able to function without doing his best impression of a hunchback in pain, or...well, there are really no downsides, are there? He grabs the painkiller container from his bedside, popping it open and swallowing one in a swift motion before he sets out for the bridge.

He's halfway down the first corridor when the gravity cuts out again. This time, at least, he has some idea that it could happen, and so manages to maneuver himself to stay on the floor; with a little effort, he continues his way towards the bridge, although he probably looks like a madman – arms and legs outstretched to the walls, inching himself forward on his back in a kind of upside-down akimbo soldier's crawl.

Gravity comes back and disappears again three more times before he makes it to the bridge, once even maintaining a strange half-gravity. The bridge itself is completely empty, all the consoles blank and powerless, including the main viewscreen. He gets himself into the captain's chair just as the ship loses gravity again.

"Goddamnit, why didn't they put a seatbelt in this thing," he mutters, clutching the armrests of the chair to keep himself in it. Another thing to bring up with the ship's designers, clearly.

Gravity reasserts itself, and Jim immediately tries the emergency shipwide comms. "This is Captain Kirk, all hands report to stations immediately, I repeat, immediately you guys – as soon as you get to a comm, call the bridge." A faint echo from the corridor outside tells him that the shipwide comms are indeed working, which is a mercy, and Jim waits.

It takes only a few seconds for the first call to come in.

"Captain, this is Gaila - I don't know if you're getting this, but I'm in sickbay, please respond."

Jim calls up sickbay's internal comm immediately. "Gaila, this is Kirk, I read you. What's your status?"

"Oh, thank God, I thought the comms were down," says Gaila, sounding relieved. "Well, visual isn't working, obviously, and something's playing merry hell with the gravity here - "

"Up here, too," says Jim. "I woke up three feet above my bed, like something out of a horror movie. Besides, the artificial gravity's shipwide."

"The artificial gravity system's shipwide," Gaila agrees, "the same as the atmospheric system is, but just like individual decks or sections can get depressurized - "

"That's a happy metaphor, thanks," says Jim. "Is anyone else with you?"

"It's just me right now," says Gaila. "But I sure as hell hope someone gets here soon - I can't imagine somebody hasn't gotten hurt by now."

"Are you hurt?"

"No, but I'm an engineer, not a doctor – as soon as anyone comes here with so much as a sprained wrist – Christine? Oh, thank God. Nurse Chapel's here."

"Captain, is that you?" comes Christine Chapel's voice.

"Nurse Chapel, are you hurt?"

"No, but Crewman Biggs is with me, with a broken fibula at the very least. I have no intention of leaving sickbay for the foreseeable future, so anyone who's injured can be sent – oh, for Christ's sake." Jim secures his grasp on the captain's chair as the gravity fails again. "Is there any way to fix this damn thing?"

"Working on it," says Jim tightly. "Gaila, you still there?"

"Aye, aye, Captain," says Gaila. "Just watching the equipment I just inventoried float its way into chaos. I've had nightmares like this."

"Thing is, Gaila," says Jim, "with the skeleton crew we've got, you're the most senior engineer aboard. Meaning that you're Acting Chief Engineer in a time of crisis – like, say, right now. I need a status report, ASAP."

"Well, at a glance, I can tell you that power's not the problem."

Jim glances at the dark, empty screens and readouts all around him. "Really? Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like the problem is that everything's off." He lets out a slight whuff of pain as gravity turns back on. "Some of it intermittently, I admit, but - "

"Power's definitely a problem," Gaila agrees, "but not the central one – we're looking at a software issue, not hardware. The artificial gravity system doesn't work off the main power lines, or even auxiliary – it's a self-sustaining system, with levels of entropy and inefficiency so low as to be negligible unless you're looking at a timescale of decades. But it's still governed by programming, same as everything else on this ship – the only way to get at the power and the gravity at the same time is through the code, and that's not Engineering's department."

Nurse Chapel's voice, again: "Well, whose department is it, then?"

Jim grits his teeth. "Spock's. Gaila, I want you - " He hesitates, weighing the advantages of Gaila at the bridge against the risks of taking a turbolift three decks with unstable and unpredictable gravity. "Gaila, I want you to stay there. See if you can patch into the system and figure out what's going on. If the gravity and power are being messed with, there's no telling what else might go wrong. Kirk out." He switches off that frequency, and immediately the computer chimes another incoming transmission – three, in fact, and Jim remembers that the shipwide systems can only have one frequency open per comm. Damn.

He keys in the overhead frequency. "Let me rephrase that," he says. "Ensign Chekov, Admiral Pike, and Commander Kirk, page frequency 662." He does so himself, and immediately hears a welcome voice.

" - said to call bridge, so we call the bridge, he says 662, we call 662, and if he says to jump off cliff, we say how high of a cliff sir!" comes Chekov's voice, clearly agitated.

"Uh, no cliffdiving today, Ensign," says Jim, blinking.

"Sir!" says Chekov, clearly surprised. "No – the – the cliff is metaphorical, sir."

"What are our orders, sir?" comes Rao's voice.

Jim frowns. "Where are you two?"

"My quarters, sir," answers Chekov immediately, this time slightly embarrassed. "We were, ah, discussing your leadership style. Sir."

"Right," says Jim. "Your quarters are, what, three decks down from the bridge?"

"There's a turbolift if you need me, Captain," says Chekov.

"Turbolifts are too dangerous in variable gravity," says Rao. "Unless you want to go splat against the ceiling when suddenly the force exerted on the lift isn't being counterweighted by the ship's artificial gravity."

"She's right, Ensign," says Jim. "Stay there for now. If I need you in the bridge, we'll - "

"Jim?" Winona's voice comes onto the frequency. "Are you all right?"

"I'm fine," says Jim. "Where are you?"

"In my guest quarters," she says. "I didn't want to try using the turbolifts - "

"Good call," says Jim. "Are you any good at coding?"

"You think this is a coding problem?" she asks. "Well, I guess that would make sense, if it's affecting the artificial gravity and power both. How was our orbit? Do we have to worry about degradation?"

"We had reached stable orbit – the thrusters were only being used for occasional modifications," says Chekov. "We'll have to worry about dying of old age before we worry about our orbit decaying."

"That's comforting, Chekov, thanks," says Jim. "Mom – Commander - whatever, can you see what you can do about the code?"

"I would," says Winona, "except that I took a look at the computers earlier. The Enterprise works on a different operating system than any of the other ships I've served on – it looks like a new version, but it's completely incomprehensible."

"The Enterprise is the beta for the system," Rao says. "And Admiral Pike has already received several strongly-worded complaints to that effect from the Science Department here."

"Including Spock?" asks Jim, curious despite himself.

"Yes," Rao admits. "His was very...polite."

"Sounds like Spock," Jim agrees. "Okay, so you can't fix it. Damn." He drums his fingers against the arms of the captain's chair, then abruptly stops as the ship loses gravity. Again. "Oh, god damn it. Okay, Mom – stay where you are. Tie yourself to the bed, whatever it takes – if you get hurt...Pike'll have my ass."

Winona snorts. "True."

"Chekov, Rao – work on getting shipwide computers back up, but stay on your deck. I don't want any of you falling down any turbolifts – that's one cliff that's staying firmly metaphorical, am I clear?"

"Crystal, sir."

Jim checks his chrono. "Where the hell is Admiral Pike?" he wonders.

"Speak of the devil, and the devil, he shall appear," comes Pike's voice.

Jim stares at the light of his comm. "How long have you been on this channel?" he demands.

"Just long enough to hear the best straight line I've ever been given in my life," says Pike. "Where do you need me?"

Jim hesitates. "You're the ranking officer in this situation," he says slowly. "Technically, you're in command."

"It's your ship," Pike points out.

"It's your fleet," Jim counters.

"That means I get to delegate. This one's all yours, Captain."

Jim nods to himself. "Right. Okay." He clears his throat. "Our first priority should be fixing the turbolifts. I'm ordering a complete evacuation of decks thirteen and twenty-six by shuttles and transporters respectively. In the meantime, Rao, your priorities are going to be getting the computers to turn on – after that, make sure all life support systems are online and functioning properly, and then get to work on the turbolifts, if they aren't already fixed. Admiral Pike, which deck are your guest quarters on?"

"I'm not evacuating," says Pike firmly.

"I'd like to point out that you gave command to me," says Jim.

"One of the privileges of outranking you is that I can make you give orders to everyone else and ignore you when you try to give them to me," says Pike. "I'm on deck thirteen – I'll oversee the evacuation by shuttles. How many evacuees should I anticipate?"

"Good question," says Jim grimly. "Off the top of my head, I can think of about fifteen, but without the computers online I can't check the skeleton crew by deck."

"I'll expect around fifteen, then," says Pike. "Make the announcement."

"Yes, sir," says Jim wryly. "Everyone else, unless you're directly paging another area of the ship, keep this frequency open – the emergency comms will override it anyway. Chekov, your quarters are on twenty-six, right?"

"Captain, I will be more useful on the ship," says Chekov, his voice strained.

"I agree," says Jim. "But first you're going to work your transporter magic and evacuate the deck. Everyone's got their orders – let's get this done. Keep me posted."

"Understood, Captain," says Chekov.

"Yes, sir," says Rao.

"All right, Jim," says Winona, with surprisingly little debate.

Jim switches back to the overhead. "Everyone, this is the Captain speaking. As you can probably tell, we're having some trouble with our artificial gravity, and at the moment we don't know what other systems are affected. Turbolifts are officially off-limits – so far the gravity's only been switching between on and off, but we don't want to risk trying to operate the turbolifts in six-gee with people inside. I'm ordering evacuations on decks thirteen and twenty-six by shuttle and transporter – all personnel from those two decks are to report to the shuttle bay or transporter room immediately. Everyone else will be evacuated as soon as the turbolifts are dealt with. Senior staff are working on the problem – for now, everyone needs to stay at their stations and try to keep things from falling apart. Kirk out."

He switches off the overhead comm just as the gravity returns, and he winces as the half-an-inch fall jostles his still-sore stomach. Then he looks over at the helm, and gets an idea.

He's always been a fairly good hacker; the Kobayashi Maru was hardly the first time he'd gotten into supposedly-secure Starfleet programs. The issue here seems to be more that nothing will turn on in the first place, making coding something of a moot point; he's about ten seconds away from taking apart the helm itself when the first update comes in.

"Bridge, this is Admiral Pike."

Jim crawls out from underneath the helm and sits up. "Admiral, this is Kirk. What's going on? It hasn't been long enough to evacuate."

"No, it hasn't been," Pike agrees. "The shuttle bay's been decompressed."

Jim raises his eyebrows. "What?"

"Evacuation by shuttle's no longer an option, and I think this also rules out the possibility of an accident. The shuttle bay is designed to maintain compression in case of an emergency – this has to be deliberate."

Jim swears under his breath. "Which means this just got a lot more complicated."

"Exactly," Pike agrees.

"So what do you think are the chances of the transporter still working?"

"Slim to none."

"Let's see." Jim switches back to 662. "Ensign Chekov, this is the Captain, please respond."

Jim catches the end of a Russian curse. "Captain, yes, I am here. Something has significantly reduced the range of the transporter – am trying to compensate, but it does not want to - " He breaks off with another curse. "This should not happen!"

"Chekov, I want you back with Rao," says Jim. "You need to get the computers back - "

"Jim, what the hell's going on?" demands Winona. "The transporters aren't working, Pike just told me that the shuttle bay's decompressed, the gravity's gone all to hell - "

"Mom - " Jim hisses out a breath in frustration. "Just – not now, okay?"

"Captain – the range of the transporter has been limited, but we could still attempt to beam within the ship...?" suggests Chekov timidly.

"And beam someone right into a bulkhead," mutters Rao perfectly audibly.

"If you were trying it, perhaps," snaps Chekov. "I know this ship like the back of my hand - "

"Kids!" barks Jim. "Argue later, fix things now! Something weird is going on with my ship and I want to know what it is!"

Rao and Chekov both mutter apologies.

"Okay," comes Gaila's breathless voice, "I've got Sickbay systems up and running."

"How'd you do that?" asks Jim.

"I disconnected the network connection," says Gaila apologetically. "The room's not on the wireless network, since it's shielded from EM interference. It's not going to work anywhere else. But anyone who's hurt can be sent here now – we're having the same gravity issues as everyone else, but our machines aren't going to malfunction and we've got our own secondary generator."

"So you can't tell what's causing all this?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," says Gaila.

"Right," says Jim. He raises his voice a little. "Chekov, you said that you could beam within the ship?"

"Uh," says Chekov. "Da, yes, is possible, but not directly from a third location to sickbay – would have to be the third location to the transporter room to sickbay."

"Fine." He switches back to the overhead. "Attention all personnel. Any and all injured crew members should contact the transporter room – Ensign Chekov will transport you to sickbay for treatment. Use the emergency frequencies in the comms built directly into the ship – personal comms are not, I repeat, not functioning. Kirk out." He flips a switch on the console of the captain's chair, muttering to himself, "Jesus Christ, this job is like herding cats."

"Herding captains is worse," comes Pike's voice. Jim glances down at the console and sees that he did not, in fact, turn the comm off like he'd meant to, but instead switched to the open frequency.

"I can only imagine, sir," manages Jim. Then he frowns, and turns towards the familiar sound of a transporter, and sees his mother materialize in the middle of his bridge. "Mom? What the hell are you doing?"

"I thought you could use a hand, so I asked Ensign Chekov to beam me here," says Winona, heading towards the helm.

"Chekov," says Jim threateningly, directing his voice towards the comm on his chair.

"She said she could help!" says Chekov.

"You need a science officer," says Winona, ignoring them both. "I happen to be both qualified and present, which puts me ahead of most other possible applicants. How many science personnel are on board right now, not counting the ones working on hydroponics for the party?"

Jim puts off answering as long as he can. "Three," he says finally.

"There you go, then," says Winona. "I hope you're not going to ask me for character references or anything, because we really don't have the time."

"It would be hypocritical of him," says Pike. "I know for a fact he didn't ask Spock for them."

"What are you doing?" Jim asks Winona, as she ducks beneath the helm console.

"A little trick I picked up in my time aboard the Jumpcannon," says Winona. "Or maybe it was the Endeavor. There's a smaller power supply built into each individual console, to keep it running in case of smaller-scale blackouts from combat damage, but if this is a coding problem like I think it is, then it could be that each console got a shut-down message before the power cut, meaning that the power supply should still be full." She begins tugging out various wires, crossing them and un-crossing them. "We could get a good couple minutes of access before it runs out. And," she adds, "I apologize in advance to your chief engineer and helmsman, because this is not going to be pretty when I'm done with it."

"I'm sure he won't mind," Jim says absently, "he already lost his poker game."

"What, dear?" asks Winona.

"Nothing," says Jim quickly. He crosses to the helm and ducks halfway under before his torso protests; he stays crouched there until Winona pulls herself out from beneath it.

"There," she says, and Jim stands up again – only the helmsman's console is on, and it's glowing much dimmer than usual, but at least it appears to be working.

"Not bad," says Jim, examining it. "Okay, first things first - " He opens the trajectory projection.

Winona glances over his shoulder. "Jim," she says slowly. "Does that inward spiral mean what I think it means?"

"That's impossible," says Jim. "The orbit was stable – it shouldn't be decaying this fast - " He taps on the screen a few more times, and stares some more. "Okay, that's not right," he says. "Our velocity had a couple more zeros behind it."

"Can you check the engine's logs?" suggests Winona, and Jim does so, before cursing.

"There," he says, pointing at the last entry. "An impulse burst, decelerating us." He frowns. "But who gave that order? There wasn't anybody on the bridge – with the skeleton crew as light as it is, nobody's assigned to gamma shift..."

"Just because nobody's assigned doesn't mean nobody's there," Winona points out.

"But it was under an hour ago," says Jim. "About the same time that the gravity started to go. There's no way anyone would risk the turbolifts, and I didn't see anyone in the corridor - "

"And the order didn't necessarily have to come from the bridge," adds Winona.

"True," says Jim darkly. He walks back to the captain's chair, sits, and changes frequencies again. "Gaila, you there?"

"I'm here," comes the reply. "The fact that we're not tapped into the network means that we can't access any computers outside, well, this one - "

" - I'm working on it!" says Rao.

" - or any data from before the system went down – which was at around oh-four-hundred hours this morning."

Jim glances back at the dimmed console. "But you can access information stored before then?" he asks.

"Oh, yeah," says Gaila. There's a bloodcurdling scream in the background, and Gaila adds, "Sorry. Lieutenant Otero dislocated her shoulder – Christine had to pop it back in."

Jim winces, and Winona hisses in sympathy.

"Can you see whose authorization code was used to give an order for an impulse burst at oh-three-fifty-two?" he asks. "Or was that after it stopped storing data?"

"No, that was about two minutes before," says Gaila, and Jim can hear her tapping, although it could, he supposes, equally be Pike, Chekov, or Rao.

"Sir," says Chekov quietly, "I cannot help but notice – has been a while since the gravity has gone, yes? Maybe it is a good thing?"

"Feels like the calm before the storm," says Pike.

"Feels like it's gonna be a big one," Jim agrees.

"...was only a thought," mutters Chekov defensively.

"Okay, I've got - " Gaila breaks off, sounding puzzled. "That doesn't make any sense," she murmurs.

"What? Gaila, you got something?" Winona looks over at Jim expectantly.

"I – maybe," she says. "It's telling me – it says that the authorization code used was yours, sir."

Jim freezes. "What?"

"The Captain's authorization code," says Gaila uncertainly. "That's – it's what it says here, sir."

Sir, Jim thinks distantly. Weird how people get more respectful when they're telling you the last thing you want to hear.

"Someone got his code...?" says Chekov, in a very small voice.

"No," says Jim dully. "I don't think so." He clears his throat, over the roaring in his ears. "Admiral Pike?"

"Yes, Captain?" says Pike wearily.

"I hereby resign my commission," says Jim, "under the suspicion that I've been compromised."

There's a moment where it feels like no one breathes; Jim can see his mother's eyes widen, and hear Chekov's sudden intake of breath.

"Compromised?" Winona repeats.

"The Jallidar isolationists were experts at conditioning," says Jim numbly. "They had it down to a science. Every time an off-world official came to the planet, they were kidnapped, held, and eventually sent back to their ship, which inevitably didn't make it back to its destination. At least," he adds, "not with any survivors. Apparently they thought it sent a stronger message than just sabotaging the ships themselves."

"They conditioned you?" asks Winona, looking horrified.

Jim looks at her, eyes bleak. "Have you got a better explanation for all this?"

"But Commander Spock said you'd broken through it," protests Chekov. "And Doctor McCoy and Nurse Chapel said - "

"We're looking at empirical evidence that suggests otherwise," says Rao, then, more softly, "I'm sorry."

Jim's not entirely sure if she's talking to him or Chekov.

"Captain Kirk," says Pike heavily, "your resignation is accepted. Ensign Chekov, can you get a lock on him?"

"I will not send my captain to the brig," says Chekov stubbornly.

"I was going to say 'sickbay,' Ensign," says Pike. "I think at this point it's better if we keep the Captain sedated until all this is figured out."

"Oh," says Chekov. "I. Yes."

"I guess this is your can of worms now, Admiral," says Jim, refusing to meet his mother's eyes.

"Don't expect me to thank you for it," says Pike. "Assuming we survive."

"Chekov," says Jim, finally looking up. Winona's staring at him disbelievingly. "Whenever you're ready," he finishes hoarsely, and the bridge disintegrates around him.

Chekov is standing at the transporter controls, next to Rao. Both of them looked worriedly at him as he materializes, and Chekov comes around the controls.

"Sir," he says urgently, "I don't believe it was you. You wouldn't do anything to hurt us - "

"You're right, Chekov," says Jim, cutting him off. "I would never deliberately do anything to harm my ship or my crew."

Chekov catches the emphasis, and looks away.

Rao clears her throat. "Coordinates are set for sickbay," she says quietly.

"No offense, Ensign Rao," says Jim, "but I'd prefer if Chekov handled this one. He's done it before."

Chekov nods, still looking at the floor, but crosses back behind the console. "I would like to state for the record," he says, "that I still do not believe it was you."

Jim swallows thickly. "Noted," he says. "And thanks."

Chekov glances up, and nods once, sharply.

"Engage," says Jim.

And nothing happens.

Rao frowns. Chekov frowns harder and presses the button again, more forcefully. Jim gives it a second.

"Everything all right over there, Ensigns?" he asks.

"Uh," says Chekov. "Yes. That is, no."

"How the hell did that happen?" says Rao.

"What the hell did happen?" asks Jim.

"The transporter's range has been altered again," says Chekov.

"To what?"

"Approximately half a meter." He looks up at Jim. "The range was more than that when we beamed you here, Captain."

"Seeing as I wasn't standing right over there, I believe you," says Jim, stepping off the transporter pad. "Admiral Pike, are you there?"

"I'm here," says Pike. "I have to say, this is a pretty convenient failure of equipment."

"Admiral, please believe it was not me," says Chekov. "I would cover my tracks much better."

"He really would," says Jim.

"And could not be the Captain, either," adds Chekov stubbornly. "Unless he can jerry-rig equipment with his mind, and if anyone on the ship could do that, it would be Scotty, not him." He glances over at Jim, and shrugs. "Sorry, Captain, but is true."

"It could've been a pre-programmed subroutine, or an AI-directed virus," says Winona. "I'm sorry, Jim, but I don't think this gets you off the hook."

"Me neither," says Jim darkly. "Ensign Chekov, do you have your phaser on you?"

Chekov's eyes widen, and Jim adds, "I just want you to set it on stun and be prepared. We don't know what – what they could make me do."

Chekov looks relieved, and sets his phaser on stun. "Do not want to find out if shooting Captain is still considered mutiny if on Captain's orders," he mutters to himself.

Jim looks at Chekov, and debates lying to him and telling him everything will be okay. Chekov's nervous, definitely – these days his accent only gets this thick when he's either drunk or convinced they're all going to die – but Jim is getting surer by the moment that this is going to end badly.

"I think we need to get a clearer idea of what, exactly, is going on," comes Winona's voice. "Right now, we don't have a lot of information."

"Here's how it looks to me, given the information we have," says Pike. "We're a bit pressed for time, so you'll excuse my frankness. The Jallidarians captured Captain Kirk, along with Doctor McCoy and Commander Spock, with the intention of influencing Captain Kirk to return to the ship and kill everyone aboard. Although Captain Kirk appeared to break free to the conditioning on Jallidar, it's still possible there was another subconscious layer there, in case he should escape. Captain Kirk returned to the Enterprise, where the conditioning took hold and he enacted the sabotage, creating the situation we're now in."

"It still doesn't make sense," argues Winona. "I barely know the ship at all, and if I were trying to sabotage it, I'd just begin the orbit degradation and cut power entirely – then there'd be no chance of a rescue. And Jim knows the ship a whole hell of a lot better than I do – Jim, if you really wanted to bring the Enterprise out of the sky, right now, could you?"

Jim grimaces. "Probably," he admits.

"Then why the hell are we still up here?" asks Winona. "This whole thing is too complicated. Why mess with the gravity or the coding at all, if you have the full authority to go ahead and order the ship on a collision course without the computer asking a single question? Or to order the warp core to lose its own containment? Why worry about the transporters, or the shuttles – or for that matter, if it was Jim, why didn't the sabotage occur the first night he was out of sickbay? Or the first night he was conscious? Why now?"

"Maybe I'm an incompetent subconscious saboteur," says Jim. "Or maybe my subconscious is fighting the programming and leaving loopholes."

"Conveniently leaving loopholes that nevertheless somehow manage to close themselves as soon as we can actually use them?" Winona presses.

"Deliberately breaching the warp core requires voice-print authorization," muses Chekov. "Ordering a change of course requires voice-print authorization. Ordering an impulse burst only requires an authorization code."

"An impulse burst doesn't count as a change of course, even in a gravity well?" says Winona skeptically.

"Not under the current operating system," says Rao. "I'll, um. Make sure to file a bug report about that."

Chekov continues. "And nobody knows the ship better than the Captain – everything that is happening now feels like someone is poking around the systems, trying to figure out what does what."

"From what I was given to understand," adds Pike thoughtfully, "the previous victims of the Jallidar isolationists left the ships entirely intact, only killing the crew. Why change that now?"

"Maybe they never had to resort to Plan B before," says Rao.

As the argument continues, Jim sits down on the edge of the transporter. He feels useless, or worse – helpless. Every second the ship loses altitude, possibly because of him, and he can't help but shy away from every thought that crosses his mind, uncertain of whether it's actually him thinking it. The frustration is almost overwhelming, and he wants to punch something, but he can't tell if it's his usual impulse or something more sinister, sliding through his mind and using him like a puppet.

He feels...defeated.

"Captain?"

He looks up and sees Chekov, looking worried, and it occurs to him that that probably wasn't Chekov's first time trying to get his attention. Rao, standing next to him, looks similarly skittish, although she's also watching Jim warily, like she can't quite tell if he's friend or foe.

Welcome to the club, Jim thinks.

"If there's even a chance that I'm a threat," he says, "we can't risk it."

"But it does not make sense!" wails Chekov.

"I'm tempted to agree with Ensign Chekov," comes Gaila's voice, sounding strained. "He's right – things just don't add up."

"Like what?" says Jim, trying to rein in his sudden impatience. "The gravity? The way the orders came down?"

"No," says Gaila patiently. "Like the fact that there are eight more lifesigns aboard the ship than are accounted for by the skeleton crew and our visitors."

Nobody speaks for a long moment. Then Jim manages a shocked, "What?"

"They may not be on the ship," Gaila admits. "Or might not have been until recently. It could be that they were in a shuttle trailing behind us, in the lee of our warp – if they did that, they could get by with using virtually no power output, and we wouldn't be able to detect them. Of course, with the search radius I used for the portable lifesigns detector, it seems a lot more probable that they're actually on the ship at this point."

"Where did you get the lifesigns detector? I thought you weren't connected to the network," says Rao.

"I'm not," says Gaila. "There's a portable one in the emergency medkit here in sickbay - I figured if I got it working, we could check to make sure the whole crew's accounted for, just in case. Of course, now we don't know for sure – we weren't expecting more lifesigns."

"They're on the ship?" breathes Jim. Then he gets angry. "Those bastards are on my ship?"

"Do you know where they are?" Winona asks.

"The emergency lifesigns detector is only supposed to be used to determine how many survivors need to be rescued," says Gaila. "It's not connected to the network, and it doesn't have any schematics – it's not supposed to be used onboard the ship, since that's what the ship's lifesigns detectors are for."

"It was bad enough when I thought the bastards were just in my head, but they're on my ship?" Jim snarls.

"We don't know it's Jallidarians," says Rao, although she sounds uncertain.

"No, you're right," says Jim. "It could be one of those other races we've visited within the past week with a vested interest in killing everybody onboard."

"It would explain a few things," says Winona. "The reason the attack's been so incompetent is because they're unfamiliar with our systems. The gravity issues could be an accident – if they don't know what they're doing - "

"It's a very convenient accident, though," says Gaila. "Doing exactly the act of sabotage that keeps the crew confined to their deck, since who's going to risk the turbolifts or Jefferies tubes when the gravity could come or go at any moment? And most people wouldn't even dream of risking transporting within the ship – only Chekov."

"Is not that hard," Chekov mutters, smugly.

"So maybe they do know what they're doing," Pike allows. "Why reduce the range of the transporters, instead of just sabotaging them altogether?"

"Because the shuttle bay's decompressed," says Winona. "That means they can't use it, either. But if they know where their shuttle is, and have a transporter pad there - "

"You think they were going to use our transporter to get off the ship?" asks Jim.

"It makes sense," says Rao. "They left it up as long as they could, but once they realized that we were still using it anyway, they made it useless again – but still running, so that they don't have to do an entire system restart, which would take too long. If they've got control of the main computers, they can change the range back whenever they want."

"So they get onboard, cut the power so that we don't know we're falling, cut the gravity so we can't leave our deck, cut comms so that nobody else can tell us we're falling..."

"Starfleet Command won't be expecting a known friendly ship to suddenly fall out of the sky without any warning, especially not when it and pretty much everyone else is on leave," adds Pike. "And especially not on gamma-shift."

"Even if they did figure it out, a ship as massive as the Enterprise, what can they do?" says Winona. "Without any help from onboard the ship itself, you put in a lot of force and still get relatively little acceleration, and when you're trying to keep yourself in orbit, too, you're definitely not going to get a the sort of force required, to say nothing of the damage you'd incur on your own ship if you tried."

"How did they get control of the main computers?" wonders Chekov. "Or the Captain's authorization code? Perhaps they altered the readout so it said the Captain's quarters?"

"How much of your three days on Jallidar do you remember, Captain?" asks Pike.

Silence falls, thick and uncomfortable. Eventually Jim admits, "Not a whole lot. It – wouldn't surprise me if that's how they got the code."

"But you wouldn't - " begins Chekov, before a severe look from Rao quells him.

"Ensign," says Pike, "if you're ever in an interrogation situation, and I hope to hell you never are, remember this afterwards – everybody breaks. Everybody. It's just a matter of time."

Jim keeps his gaze away from Chekov. "Gaila, what's the easiest place aboard the Enterprise to access the main computers?"

"If you're trying to get both the gravity and the power, it's still a code issue," says Gaila. "Which means it has to be the server room. That's the only way to get both and maintain this level of control."

"The server room," repeats Jim. "That's...way on the other end of the ship."

"Thirty decks away from you," Gaila agrees. "Thirty decks down."

"Okay," says Jim. "So the question now becomes, risk the Jefferies tubes or take the turbolift?"

"Captain," says Gaila. "Jim. I just want you to know that Christine's done with all her patients, so she came over here and has been listening, and she doesn't look particularly pleased with the idea of you going."

"Chekov, do you still have that phaser?" asks Nurse Chapel dangerously.

"There are eight of them, Captain," Pike says. "And there's only one of you."

"Someone needs to go or we all go splat," says Jim. "Call me strange, but I kind of don't want to go splat."

"Sir, you can't go alone," protests Chekov.

"He's right, sir," says Rao, before taking a deep breath. "I'll go with you."

Jim stares at her. "Yeah, no," he says. "Have you got advanced combat training?"

"I led the Starfleet Academy Women's Lacrosse team to Interplanetaries four years in a row, sir," says Rao firmly. "We were undefeated all four years."

"Nobody's going down there," interrupts Winona. "One on eight - "

"Two on eight," says Rao stubbornly.

"Three," says Chekov.

"Ensign, I'm ordering you to no," says Jim. He turns to Rao, considering. "Four years of women's lacrosse?"

"Yes, sir," says Rao, her expression tight but fearless.

"Then I'm coming too," says Winona.

"No, you're not," says Jim. "For one thing, you're three decks above us – that's three more decks of potential death to navigate."

"Captain," says Pike, "I'd like to remind you that you resigned your commission."

Jim pauses. "Oh. Right." He clears his throat. "Well, I don't think I'm compromised any more, if that makes a difference."

"Can we really be sure of that, though?" asks Pike.

"Oh, believe me, Admiral," says Jim, his eyes glinting. "I'm way, way too pissed off to be compromised."

There's another short silence, until Pike says, "Ensign Rao, how would you like some practical experience in a combat situation?"

"I would like it a lot, sir, thank you," says Rao.

"Very well, then," says Pike. "Captain Kirk, I've changed my mind. Your resignation is no longer accepted."

"Thank you, sir," says Jim, and something occurs to him. "Right, here's the plan. I'm taking the turbolift down to the server room, alone – quiet, Ensign, I'm not done yet. I'm taking the turbolift down to the server room, as a Trojan horse – offer to surrender, distract them until I can get the transporter working again. Chekov, you beam Rao in and any other reinforcements that might be useful, and we kick their asses. How does that sound?"

"It sounds like the worst plan I've ever heard," says Winona. "You can't possibly be serious."

"If it doesn't work, you can say I told you so." He hesitates, and then adds, with emphasis. "I suggest we maintain radio silence. Kirk out." He turns off the frequency, and turns to Rao and Chekov, who are both staring at him.

"Sir," says Rao eventually, "that plan is suicide."

"Which is why we're not doing it," Jim agrees. "If they have control of our main computer system, then why the hell have we been assuming that our communications are secure? I should've thought of it earlier. Rao, you and I are taking the Jefferies tubes down. Chekov, you're going to hotwire one of the turbolifts to go down there on its own – they'll probably turn off the gravity, to strand us between decks, but since we'll be in the Jefferies tubes - "

"And if they turn the gravity up to crush you?" asks Chekov, eyes wide.

"Then the turbolift's still empty, and we'll just be really, really careful in the Jefferies tubes," says Jim. "I'm hoping they'll want to keep us in case they need hostages."

"Forgive my saying it, sir, but that's not particularly comforting," says Rao, looking pale.

Jim looks at her, surprised. "What makes you think that anything about this is going to be at all comfortable, Ensign?"

She looks even more disconcerted.

"Chekov," says Jim, switching back to Captain-mode. "Rao and I are going to try to take them by surprise and get the transporter working again. As soon as it's back up, you're going to beam them to the brig, and beam Rao and I out of there, you understand?"

Chekov does not look particularly pleased. "Still do not like this plan."

"Have you got a better one?" asks Jim. "Here, does Lieutenant Remedios still keep an extra phaser beneath the console?"

Chekov checks, and hands over the resultant weapon.

"Rao, you got one of your own?"

"Yes, sir," says Rao, her voice shaking a bit. Jim glances at her.

"You think you're gonna be okay for this?"

"I'm fine, sir," says Rao firmly, standing up straighter.

"You sure?"

"Your asking me if I'm sure is not making me any surer, sir," she snaps.

"Duly noted," says Jim, setting his own phaser on stun. "All right. Let's go."

Ship Leave (1/3)

Sat, 28 Nov 2009 15:01:02 GMT

Title: Ship Leave
Rating: PG-13 for violence, references to torture and captivity, and stab wounds
Summary: Two years after embarking on her maiden voyage, the Enterprise returns to Earth for some holiday-season shore leave after a typical mission-gone-wrong. Then things go wronger.
Author's note: I have no idea if "ship leave" is an actual term, but "shore leave" as a title didn't make any sense and also I'm pretty sure it was already taken. Due to severely limited and insanely expensive internet access, I won't be able to reply to comments or make changes, although of course concrit and/or pointing and laughing at silly typos are always appreciated, as is lavish praise. (For similar reasons, virtually no research went into this fic, so all the messed-up deck numbers are all my own fault.) Word count for this part: about 8,500.

Bones looks surprisingly apprehensive about leaving the Enterprise for somebody with aviophobia. "A skeleton crew's never enough, for this ship," he says sourly, even as Jim guides him towards the shuttle bay. "Just wait, somebody's going to fall and die and I'm not gonna be around to patch it up - "

"You've done enough patching," says Jim firmly. Another crewman, duffel bag slung over one shoulder, nearly runs into him, in her rush to get off the ship – she pulls back just barely in time, even managing a half-hearted salute and a murmured, "Sir," but the surprise still makes Jim stand up a bit straighter and the damage is done. It takes all his willpower not to put a hand to the still-tender line across his stomach, but he manages to keep his expression relatively clear, just a slight thinning of his lips. Bones catches it anyway.

"If you rip yourself open again - " he begins to threaten.

"I'm not going to rip myself open," says Jim, "for Christ's sake. And your shuttle's not going to fall out of the air – no more than it's designed to, anyway – and your daughter is definitely going to recognize you. Now get your ass off my ship and on the ground before I have to make it an order."

Bones gives him a look like he's just sucked on a lemon. "I can override you."

"When we're talking about medical reasoning, sure," Jim agrees. "When we're talking about you being a mother hen - "

Bones throws up his arms. "Fine, fine, I know a lost cause when I see one. If you're so damn determined to get yourself killed ignoring my sound medical advice - "

"Now you really do sound like my mother," says Jim, grimacing. He stops, and Bones with him, by the door to Shuttle Four. "Have a great shore leave, and give Joanna my love."

Bones takes the offered hand, albeit grudgingly. "You're still more than welcome to join me," he says. "You know how much Jo loves you, God knows why."

"I'll see her at the party," Jim reminds him, and Bones makes a face showing exactly how much he's looking forward to that particular social event.

"Goddamn waste of – yeah, I guess." Bones gives his hand one last squeeze, before hoisting his own bag up. "See you in a week, then."

Jim tosses off the sloppiest salute he can manage while still leaving it recognizable, and grins when Bones rolls his eyes. Then Bones is turning around, in the shuttle – gone.

Jim does his best not to sigh in – relief, maybe, at constantly having this latest wound rubbed raw (metaphorically speaking), or possibly melancholy at seeing his best friend go.

Well, one of his best friends. He checks his chrono, and turns to head back to the bridge.

"Jim!" He turns right back around again at the shout, careful not to twist. Bones is sticking his head out of the shuttle. "At least try to take care of yourself!"

Jim manages a twist of his lips that probably looks like a smile, from this distance, and waves back, pointedly. Bones looks dissatisfied, but disappears again, and this time Jim does put a hand to his stomach.

It stays there, hovering protectively, as he walks through the half-lit corridors of the ship. December, unsurprisingly, is a particularly requested time for shoreleave, and since the Enterprise's latest mission was disastrous in a way that for once did not involve actual damage to the ship, the orders came down to maintain orbit, to save the more sought-after gates at the spacedock. Jim doesn't mind – the power output is minimal, and since the ship was just retrofitted and inspected five months ago, it makes sense to leave the more valued space for the ships that need it.

And besides, it makes avoiding the brass that much easier.

He pauses outside of Stellar Cartography, accessing one of the comm-panels to check who's left. Sulu's already gone, having shipped out on the first shuttle to San Francisco; Scotty left earlier this morning, bound for Scotland via the Cardiff shuttleport. Uhura and Spock are still listed as on-board, just as Jim suspected they would be, although they're scheduled for the shuttle to the Cairo hub in half an hour.

"Computer," says Jim, "locate Commander Spock."

The computer chimes. "Commander Spock is on the bridge."

"Yeah, thought so. Thanks, Computer."

The computer gives a more confused chime this time, but Jim ignores it and heads towards the bridge.

Spock is at the Science Officer's station, at least, and not in what Jim jealously thinks of as his chair. He's got his comm badge on, though, and is speaking into it as Jim approaches him from behind.

" - top priority. Without replicators, the Winter Reception will be much more difficult to – Captain." Spock breaks off abruptly and nods at Jim.

"Spock," says Jim. He inclines his head pointedly at the comm badge, and Spock gets the message.

"We will continue this conversation later, Lieutenant," he says into it, before turning it off. "Captain?"

"Spock," Jim repeats. "Still working?"

"There is much to be done," Spock says. "There have been several anomalies reported in the replication system, and as the Enterprise has been selected to host the Starfleet Winter Reception this year, even a minor malfunction could prove severely problematic."

"And yet I have this strange recollection of a particular bit of paperwork darkening my desk," says Jim. "I think it said – no, I'm actually pretty sure – 'request for shore leave.' And I do believe I granted it. To you."

Spock's expression stays carefully measured. "I thought it might be more prudent for me to stay. Given your convalescence."

Jim narrows his eyes. "I think I can push papers just fine with a stab wound, Commander." He's aware of a sudden silence in the room, a shift of attention of every ensign at a station from what they should actually be paying attention to, to this vastly more interesting conversation.

Spock, having never been one to hold back his opinion just because of an audience, raises an eyebrow. "Perhaps it is not only your physical well-being I am worried for."

Jim can feel a muscle working in his jaw as he considers the situation and weighs the advantages of bitching Spock out against the disadvantages, which honestly aren't coming to mind. "If you think I'm not fit for duty," he says tightly, "then by all means tell Starfleet Command and let them decide."

"You misunderstand me," says Spock. "My concerns are not as your First Officer, but as your friend."

That deflates Jim pretty well. "Admit it," he says, much more lightly, "you just want to get out of meeting Uhura's family."

The general feel of the room's interest immediately changes from concern to hunger. Out of the corner of his eye, Jim can see Chekov, one of the ship's most notorious gossips, give up on pretense and turn to listen better.

Spock's nostrils flare, a blaring sign of disapproval – from him, anyway – but he seems to recognize the tonal shift as the peace offering it is. "I have to admit, the stories I've heard of her sisters make them seem...formidable."

Intimidating, thinks Jim. Ha. "Then shouldn't you use this time to prepare yourself?"

"Quite possibly." Spock stands, and takes off his comm badge, carefully placing it at his station. "Permission to disembark?"

"Granted," says Jim, half-smiling crookedly. "Have fun, and tell Lieutenant Uhura's sisters that her ruggedly handsome, dashingly brave, and very available superior says hello."

Spock raises an eyebrow. "I," he says, "am off-duty. You can forward whatever messages you wish – yourself." He gets an ever-so-slightly pained expression on his face, and adds, "I hope you will at least try to keep the ship in one piece, in my absence."

Two years of captaincy have been more than enough to teach Jim to never ask certain rhetorical questions, tempting though they may be, so the phrases "what could possibly go wrong?" and "what's the worst that could happen?" don't pass his lips. Instead he says, "Well, no promises, but I'll do my best to make sure that our stable orbit around a known, friendly planet doesn't go horribly wrong."

Chekov turns back to his station, and mutters something in Russian beneath his breath. Judging by the tone, it probably translates to, "We're doomed."

"Very well," says Spock, clearly thinking along the same lines as Chekov. "Our return shuttle is scheduled for a week from today. If any complications arise..."

"Sorry, Spock," says Jim. "You're stuck with the sisters for your whole stay. Anything comes up, we'll call Starfleet Command."

Spock nods his assent, and, with only one hesitant backwards glance, leaves the bridge. Jim does sigh this time, and settles himself in the captain's chair. "Chekov," he says. "When do the last shuttles of off-duty personnel leave?"

"The Cairo shuttle is the last, sir," says Chekov.

Jim peers at the back of his head, thinking back to the leave-requests. "You're not going downside?" he asks.

"No, sir," says Chekov. "My parents relocated to Gliesse during my sophomore year at the Academy."

"No cousins? Aunts, or uncles?"

Chekov looks displeased. "Many, sir. None within ten years of my age, in either direction. I would rather stay up here. Is quieter. And warmer," he adds, before hesitating. "What about you, sir? You're not taking any leave?"

Jim shrugs. "No. My brother and his wife emigrated years ago, and my mother should be halfway across the galaxy right about now. She's Starfleet, too." He lets out a breath. "Our leaves don't coincide, much."

"Ah," says Chekov, before falling silent.

Jim looks around the rest of the bridge. Half of the stations are empty; most of the ones that aren't have been repurposed for party planning. Chekov gets to play science officer, communications officer, navigator, and pilot today, it seems, although at least he's been spared the debate on what constitutes "festive" colors for bunting versus "fraught with religious implications" colors.

Jim kicks his heels up, wistfully wishing for a footrest or ottoman, and threads his fingers behind his head, careful not to stretch his torso too much. The painkillers he's been on since the latest mission reassert themselves, forcefully, and he yawns.

"Any orders, sir?" asks Chekov.

"Nah," says Jim. "Just keep the orbit stable. Maybe play a game of solitaire. I myself can see a nap on my horizon."

Chekov grins at him. "Understood, sir. Yes, sir."

Jim didn't actually intend to make good on the napping threat, but he wakes up some time – his chrono says an hour and a half – later, having drooled on his own shoulder. He feels muzzy-headed and sleepier than he had been upon falling asleep, and scrubs his face with his hand.

The lights on the bridge have been dimmed to half-power, and Chekov's the only one still working. Well, 'working' – from the illumination from his console, Jim can tell he's playing some kind of card game.

"Solitaire, Ensign?" he asks, his voice raspy with sleep.

Chekov jumps a bit, but answers. "Poker, sir."

"Well, then. Carry on." Jim stands up carefully, slowly unhunching himself. "I'll be in my quarters if anything comes up."

"Understood, sir."

Jim hesitates at the door to his quarters, but opens the door anyway. It's exactly as he left it – eight days? - ago, before the mission to Jallidar IV, his dress uniform laid out carelessly over one chairback in anticipation of the diplomatic reception that never happened.

He checks the timeline in his mind, just to make sure, but it fits: three days in captivity, three more out of commission, and another two confined to sickbay for observation – and only Bones's absence keeping him out of there, now.

Just three days. It felt longer.

The dull ache left over from surgery reminds him that it's time to take another painkiller, and he does so before crawling into bed, mindful of his scar and other assorted fading bruises.

This time Jim feels much more refreshed when he wakes up, and a glance at the time shows him why – he's been sleeping for eight hours. It's officially the next day.

He pulls himself out of bed and, on a hunch, checks the list of the skeleton crew. Christine Chapel's name is on it, listed as Acting Head of Sickbay, and Jim debates whether to put her on his list of People To Avoid or People To Just Get It Over With And Find. He compares what he knows about Nurse Chapel to how much his scar itches, and puts her on the latter, though he takes the time to at least shower and shave, first.

The first person he sees in Sickbay when he walks in half an hour later is actually not Nurse Chapel, but Lieutenant Gaila, sitting cross-legged in front of one of the cabinets and surrounded by equipment, a PADD leaning carelessly against her knee.

"Gaila!" says Jim, grinning at her. "You didn't request leave?"

Gaila twists herself around to match Jim's grin with a blinding one of her own. "Captain! No, I've already seen Earth - I thought I'd save my leave for something that's actually exciting."

Jim puts a hand above his heart. "I'm wounded," he says. "Still – inventory?"

"It's due by the end of January, but I thought I'd get a head start on it while we weren't in the middle of a crisis," says Gaila. Jim nods – Gaila's the most senior engineer assigned to Sickbay, to keep all the various medical equipment functioning in top-form. If she wants to work overtime, Jim of all people – a frequent patient – is not going to complain.

That doesn't mean he can keep an inviting smirk off his face. "And here I thought you just wanted to play doctors and nurses."

She smiles back at him, sweetly. "We're not cadets any more, Captain. I'm saving up all my leave for somewhere that I don't have to worry about the chain of command."

Jim barely bites his tongue in time to stop himself from making a joke about chains of an entirely different sort.

"What about you?" she asks. "You getting any?"

Really, Jim reflects, that's what he loves about Gaila – her frankness.

He points to his stomach. "No vigorous activity for a while," he says. "Doctor's orders."

"Oh, there's plenty of ways to get around that," says Gaila matter-of-factly. "As long as she doesn't mind giving you a free ride." She smiles again, impishly. "So to speak."

God, her dimples are gorgeous. Jim returns his attention to the conversation, and shrugs. "Like you said – chain of command. It complicates things."

Gaila nods, her red curls tumbling around her face. "We should make our leaves line up sometime, then. Blow off some steam."

"Have I mentioned I love the way you think?" asks Jim.

"Frequently, and often in the throes of passion," Gaila says matter-of-factly. "Now are you going to let me get back to work, or keep distracting me with sex talk?"

"Right," says Jim, snapping back into Captain-mode. "Have you seen Nurse Chapel? I think I owe her an appointment."

"She should be back any minute now," says Gaila. Jim carefully levers himself onto one of the beds, and Gaila keeps talking over her shoulder, inventorying as she does. "I hear Nyota took Spock to meet her family."

Jim snorts, then grimaces – bad idea. "Yeah. I've heard stories about her sisters, too – they're downright legendary." He frowns. "Hey, did you ever meet them?"

"Oh, yes," says Gaila, holding up a distinctly gynecological instrument to inspect it for wear and tear. "The stories are all true. Of course, they think I'm a horrible influence on her – that's why I didn't go back to visit, too." It's her turn to laugh. "I wish I could see the look on her mother's face when she finds out about pon farr."

Nurse Chapel arrives soon after that, although she looks surprised to see Jim in sickbay of his own volition.

"Captain!" she says. "Doctor McCoy gave me the impression I'd have to hunt you down and sedate you to get you back in here."

Jim shrugs. "I thought I'd save you the sedative."

"I appreciate the effort," says Nurse Chapel. "Lie down, if you would."

Jim sits through – well, lies through – the examination with nary a complaint. Nurse Chapel is nothing if not brisk and efficient, and considerably less prone to cursing than Bones, and eventually she pats him on the shoulder.

"You're healing nicely," she tells him. "Sleeping a lot?"

"Enough," hedges Jim.

"Good," says Chapel. "In this case, there's no such thing as too much, understood? You got sliced open – your body's expending a lot of energy to knit you back up again."

"So doctor's orders are to be as lazy as possible?" asks Jim.

"If you want me to put it in writing, then so be it," says Chapel primly. "In the meantime – I...read the mission reports filed for the latest mission, and if you feel the need to speak to a Starfleet counselor, I can make it happen. Sir."

Jim stares at her, his mouth suddenly dry. "I haven't written any mission report yet," he says.

"No, sir, but everyone else involved didn't spend five days in the infirmary," says Chapel. "The offer stands, for – for as long as you'd like. It is procedure, sir."

"It's also voluntary, if I recall correctly."

"You do, sir." Jim can see Gaila watching the conversation with unashamed curiosity, out of the corner of his eye. Chapel's sudden use of 'sir' hasn't gotten past him, either. "But it's procedure to offer."

"Well, you can mark it off your checklist, then," says Jim, pushing himself up into a sitting position. "I decline. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to go get some actual work done."

He ends up back in the captain's chair, looking at his PADD. There are all sorts of arrangements for the Winter Reception to be approved, but the idea of actually reading through report upon report of the endless bunting-color debates is daunting at best. Chekov is at the conn, at least, once again playing poker against the computer; Jim checks on a whim to see if he's playing the network-wide game. He is, and Jim smiles as he hacks the system just enough to hide that he isn't a computer-generated opponent.

The best part is that he can watch Chekov's frustration grow from behind him, to say nothing of all the tiny little tells that Chekov isn't bothering to hide since the computer can't see them. It's possibly cruel, but Jim prefers to think of it as a test of Chekov's situational awareness, and begins timing how long this can go on.

They're bother interrupted in their game by the computer chiming.

"Uh," says Chekov, frantically switching away from the game, "sir, we...apparently have a request to come aboard."

Jim frowns, and puts aside the PADD. "From who? And why?"

Chekov checks the request, frowning. "Encryption is Class One, sir – an Admiral. Reason is listed as a tour of the ship."

Jim rolls his eyes. "What the hell are we, here, a pleasure-cruise? Don't answer that. Permission granted." He stands up, groaning. "Send the message to all decks to make everything as pretty as possible – we've got tourists."

Only bunting as an alternative could make Jim willingly present himself to the Starfleet admiralty, but as bunting is the alternative, Jim heads down to the shuttle bay to greet the guests, leaving the conn with Lieutenant Otero; Chekov, apparently bored with being beaten, follows him to the bay.

"You don't think this is a surprise inspection, sir?" he asks. "I believe Mister Scott has been making some adjustments that could be - "

"If it were a surprise inspection, we wouldn't know about it until it was already over," says Jim. "And besides, Scotty's 'adjustments' have all gone through me."

Chekov raises a skeptical eyebrow. "Really, sir?"

"If anyone asks, yes." They arrive at the shuttle bay, but the admittance light is red, signifying vacuum; a few minutes later, as the bay repressurizes, it changes to green, and the door opens.

Jim leads, and Chekov follows him in, straightening his uniform as he does. The shuttle is from the spacedock, giving no clues to which admiral it contains. Just in case, Jim waits with his hands clasped behind his bag, his feet together – a pose that should be just formal enough for one of the tightasses, but casual enough for one of the very few admirals without an active grudge against him.

The shuttle's ramp slowly lowers, and Admiral Pike floats out, still in his hoverchair. There's an assistant with him, trailing closely behind, but Pike is smiling.

"Captain Kirk," he says, taking in Jim's pose. "At ease, if that's what that's supposed to be. I thought I might come take a look at the old girl, see how she's doing."

"Admiral Pike," says Jim, returning the smile and moving forward to shake his hand. "You're always welcome on this ship, you know that."

"Good," says Pike, keeping his grip on Jim's hand. "Because I brought a personal guest."

"I suppose that's my cue," says another voice from the shuttle – warm, dry, and distinctly female. A woman steps out onto the ramp, wearing civilian clothes and a grin that threatens to burst off her face. "Hello, Jim."

Jim just stares. His mother always did know how to make an entrance.

Winona Kirk comes to stand next to Pike, putting her hands on Jim's shoulders – his hand slips from Pike's numbly as she takes him in. "God, let me look at you. How long has it been?"

"A...while, I guess," says Jim, once he's able to talk again. "What are you doing here? I thought you were out at Chiron Beta Prime - "

"I requested leave for the holidays as soon as I heard you were going to be back planetside," says Winona.

"How?" asks Jim. "We didn't know until a few weeks ago – there wasn't enough time - "

"I had an inside source," Winona admits, turning her smile on Pike, who nods graciously.

Chekov shifts uncomfortably behind Jim, and he's brought back to himself. He clears his throat. "Ensign Chekov, you already know Admiral Pike," he says, and Chekov stands at attention for him. "I'd like to introduce you to my mother, Commander Winona Kirk, Science Officer aboard the Eddington." He glances at her. "Or so I thought."

Winona frowns. "I'd hoped for a warmer introduction."

"I would've hoped for some warning," says Jim, without thinking. "Like, any."

Winona stiffens. "If this is a problem - "

"No – it's – no problem," says Jim, backpedaling. "It's just – currently my entire senior staff with the exception of myself and Ensign Chekov here are Earthside, and we weren't exactly planning on taking visitors. The guest quarters - "

"Jim," says Winona, "I came God-knows-how-many lightyears to see you and your ship. I don't care about guest quarters or party planning - I care about you. If you need to stick us in the engine room with sleeping bags, then so be it."

"I would highly discourage it, sir," says Pike's aide quickly, and Pike hides a smile behind one hand.

"I'd certainly like a tour, though. The way Christopher's been talking about this ship," adds Winona, "I half-expect to see the Fountain of Youth installed next to the warp drive, tended to by the Virgin Mary and a sentient rainbow."

That, at least, gets a smile out of Jim. "Scotty can make some miracles, all right, but I don't think a sentient spectrum is one of them."

"At least, not one that could pass the Turing test," mutters Chekov, under his breath. "A unicorn, perhaps, if it was cybernetic and powered by warp."

Winona began her career in Stellar Cartography, so Jim makes the observation deck the first stop. It turns out to be a good choice, since Earth's moon is just floating into view, scarcely bigger than it would be on Earth. The sight is breathtaking, even for Jim – maybe especially for Jim, since his mother's been doing this literally since before he was born.

He feels something in him relax as he gazes out the window, his eyes tracing the thick band of the Milky Way.

"It never gets old," says Winona, quietly.

"The day it does is the day I retire," says Pike in return. "It's good to know that day's not here yet."

Jim thinks of all the other admirals, and their opinions of him. "I hope it never comes, sir," he says fervently.

Pike glances at him, and Jim can tell he knows his reasoning. "Your concern is touching," Pike murmurs.

Jim gives him a shit-eating grin in return.

He takes them to Stellar Cartography next, not even bothering to pretend this little tour is for Pike – Pike commanded the damn ship, after all, however briefly. Winona is appropriately impressed with the level of tech, and Jim can't help feeling like he's five years old again and bringing back the latest crafts from kindergarten - Look, look what I did, Mom! On the whole, Jim supposes it's better than his inner moody teenager, who would no doubt try to drive the Enterprise off a cliff, if there existed one large enough.

Chekov and Pike's aide trail behind them, chatting about whatever it is subordinates chat about, as Jim takes his mother and superior officer through the ship. He doesn't realize his mistake until they're already approaching sickbay, and there's no way to avoid it.

"Ah, yes, the illustrious sickbay," sighs Pike as they pass it. "Somehow it doesn't surprise me that you were smuggled onto the ship through it – you certainly spend enough time there now."

"Yes, I heard you were injured on your latest mission," says Winona, taking her cue. "I take it there's a story there?"

This, at least, Jim is expecting. The question takes him wrong-footed somehow anyway. "Most of my missions end that way," he says, avoiding the question. "I prefer to think of it as my command style. Hands-on."

"Clearly some things never change," murmurs Winona.

Pike's frowning. "How long were you in sickbay? Commander Spock's report implied it would be a while."

"Nurse Chapel cleared me already," says Jim defensively.

"And Doctor McCoy?" asks Pike. "Isn't he still your Chief of Medicine? I like his style."

"You mean, his tendency to sedate me at the drop of a hat?" asks Jim.

"I can't count the times I wished I'd adopted that as my childcare policy," says Winona. Behind her, Chekov chokes back a laugh. As it would be too obvious to turn around and glare at him outright, Jim glares at the wall until he's satisfied that the gist of it will somehow be passed along to Chekov.

"Doctor McCoy is my Chief of Medicine," he agrees begrudgingly. "He's also got a nine-year-old daughter on the planet – he was one of the first crewmembers to request leave, and of everyone, he's earned it."

"Especially recently, I'd been given to understand," says Pike. "How many hours were you in surgery, after the Jallidar mission?"

Jim grits his teeth. "Honestly, I don't know. I was anesthetized at the time."

"Surgery?" Winona raises an eyebrow.

"It was supposed to be a courier mission," says Pike. "Not even diplomatic – not really, just a semi-formal reception." He looks pointedly at Jim, and waves his hand as though bequeathing the rest of the story to him.

Jim reminds himself that cursing out a superior would probably be a bad career move, and he keeps his eyes away from Pike or his mother as he speaks. "It turns out that Jallidarians have – well, had – a small but, uh, enthusiastic isolationist faction. Militant isolationist faction, I should say. They got the drop on us right after we'd delivered the paperwork – me, Bones, and Spock. The rest of the away team got away, at least." He clears his throat to cover his hesitancy – he's still not entirely sure how far he's going to go with this story. "They had us for three days, before Sulu and everyone else managed to track us down and extract us, but the extraction was – messy. I got a little stabbed." There – everything he said, completely true. Honest? No. But true, at least, and peripheral details shouldn't matter too much.

He glances at Pike. Spock's report, no doubt, was perfectly clear and precise, without a minute unaccounted for. But Pike says nothing about Jim's omissions, just purses his lips thoughtfully, and Jim decides it's time to change the subject.

"Here's the hydroponics lab - "

They don't linger too long, there – the lab is full of technicians, some sent from the spacedock to help prepare the massive quantities of fresh fruits and vegetables for the Winter Reception, all of whom look overworked and underpaid.

The bridge ends up being the last stop, and Jim, in an unusual display of tact, manages to make their destination perfectly clear in advance, in case former-Captain Pike should want to avoid it. Pike makes no move to do so, however, and they all pack into the turbolift together.

Lieutenant Otero stands at attention when they enter, but stops short of a salute – until she sees Admiral Pike.

"Sir," she says, before the corner of her mouth twitches anxiously. "Sirs," she corrects herself.

"At ease, Ensign," say Jim, Winona, and Pike simultaneously. Winona and Pike smile at each other, while Jim resists the temptation to roll his eyes.

He considers pointing out the areas of interest on the bridge - that's where my First Officer tried to strangle me, and that's where he knocked me out before having me thrown overboard, and that's the panel that exploded when we got into that scuffle with the Klingons six months back, here, let me show you the scar...

Upon reflection, he decides that's probably a bad idea. Not only because Chekov's half-finished game of poker is still visible on the console.

"Welcome to the bridge," he says eventually. "It's...the bridge. Like most other bridges, I guess, except better."

"Is this the Science Officer's station?" asks Winona, from Spock's usual chair. "May I?"

"Why not?" Jim shrugs, and Winona sits in Spock's chair, looking over the consoles and the tech.

"Nicer than the Eddington's," she mutters.

"Newer than the Eddington's," Pike points out. "Enterprise was just brand-new when she was taken out on her maiden journey two years ago – almost exactly two years ago, isn't that right?"

"Two years come February," Jim agrees. "But some Starfleet offices list the official maiden voyage as March – the first voyage it wasn't staffed by trainees."

"No, just fresh-faced recent graduates," says Pike's assistant enviously. Jim looks at her, and she smiles sadly. "I was a year too late. I tried to petition for an assignment on the grounds of academic qualification, but there wasn't enough time before the fleet left - I had to wait and graduate with my class anyway."

Jim, who graduated from Starfleet Academy in three years, decides that in this case the best thing to say is nothing.

"Are these planetary atmospheric spectrometers?" asks Winona, still prodding around Spock's station. "They come standard now?" She shakes her head disgustedly. "I have got to requisition a retrofit."

"How do you determine if a planet is habitable, if not through spectroscopy?" asks Lieutenant Otero from her station, frowning.

Winona and Pike both look over at her with identically-raised eyebrows. "Back in my day," says Pike, "we went and looked."

"Asking politely usually works," Winona adds.

Lieutenant Otero looks surprised, but wisely chooses to keep her criticisms of such barbaric practices to herself.

Winona stands up again. "Well, this has been most educational. And jealousy-inducing." She smiles at Jim. "I don't suppose we could see your quarters?"

The five-year-old in Jim, who never quite went away, freezes in terror at the unanticipated room-inspection. The rest of him does the same.

Winona laughs. "Sorry, I just wanted to see the look on your face." She crosses back over to Jim and lays a hand on his cheek. "I'm perfectly certain your room is clean."

Thank God Spock isn't here. He'd never hear the end of it.

"That was needlessly cruel," says Pike, although he's also clearly stifling a smile. So is Chekov, now that Jim's looking. Damn, this might get back to Spock after all. Pike's aide is studiously blank-faced, though, and very pretty now that Jim notices.

"Sorry," he says to her. "I didn't catch your name - " he looks at her insignia, and adds, "Ensign...?"

"Ensign Rao, sir," she says, still poker-faced. Jim wonders if he can get her in on his and Chekov's game.

"If you try to steal one of my hand-picked personnel," says Pike casually, "I'll bust you down to Ensign before you can blink."

"I thought the Admiralty was supposed to be above such base threats," says Winona.

"'The Admiralty' is made up of men who are nothing if not flawed," says Pike.

"Well, clearly at least some of them have taste, if they made Jim a captain," says Winona. Jim stares at her.

"You know, most of the time when that gets brought up, it's a point in favor of the flaws," Pike points out idly. "Although I have to admit, the Enterprise's record this past two years is rather astounding, if only in repair bills."

Jim gets a hold of himself, and clears his throat. "Starfleet ships aren't meant to stay in mint-condition," he says. "If they're not getting dirty, they're not doing anything, and I'm pretty sure that's not what we get paid to do."

"Or not do," says Rao quietly.

"Ah, Captain," says Chekov quietly. "Would you like me to call ahead to the officer's mess for them to prepare dinner?"

Jim checks his chrono, surprised, but it is indeed that time. "Yeah, sure. Thanks, Ensign."

Chekov smiles rather smugly at Rao, and rushes off to contact the officer's mess. Jim frowns after him, but if the past two years have taught him anything – well, other than to not antagonize irritable Klingons – it's to not try to figure out what the hell his crew's doing.

"Ah, ship food," says Pike wistfully. "I have to admit, of all the things I thought I'd miss when I got promoted, ship food wasn't one of them."

"You do miss it?" asks Winona, surprised.

"Sometimes," admits Pike. "There's something very freeing about knowing that no matter what you order, it's all going to taste the same."

Jim smirks. Pike has a point.

"What's the Eddington been up to these days?" Jim asks Winona, as they begin the slow walk to the officer's mess.

Winona shrugs. "We're mostly a survey ship, as I'm sure you know. We spent a few months parked by a variable star that was being, shall we say, excessively variable - "

"Variable stars are predictable, though," Rao puts in. "I mean, they're supposed to be, anyway – aren't they a standard candle?"

"Not this one," says Winona. "That's why we were studying it. We got it figured out eventually, of course – it was just a unique property of its hydrogen shells. One of my lieutenants got a very nice paper out of it."

"Good," says Rao, sounding jealous.

"Definitely," agrees Winona. "Can you imagine the uproar if Cepheids were disproved as a standard candle?"

"I shudder to think," says Rao. "We wouldn't be able to trust any distance estimates outside the galaxy."

Jim leans closer to Pike. "And you've got her playing desk-jockey?" he asks quietly.

"We can't pick our first assignments, Captain," says Pike mildly, before glancing back at him. "Well, most of us can't, anyway."

Jim staunchly refuses to be ashamed of his initiative.

Chekov is waiting in the officer's mess, which is surprisingly empty – the crew may be skeleton, but there's no way they aren't hungry. Jim frowns at him, and Chekov just smiles disarmingly at him, then gives Rao a look that clearly says: Bring it.

Jim glances over at Rao, who's glaring poisonously back at Chekov. There's a brief scramble at the table – there isn't a space for Pike's hoverchair, and Rao and Chekov both try to get Pike to sit at the spot they cleared. The tussle attracts Winona's attention as well as Pike's, and Jim narrows his eyes at both subordinates.

"Chekov," he says, and pulls the Ensign aside. "What the hell's going on?"

Chekov glances over at Rao, but just for a second. "What do you mean, sir?"

"Don't try that I-have-no-idea-what-you're-talking-about bullshit on me," says Jim. "I practically invented it."

"Ensign Rao took Commander Kirk's suggestion of sleeping arrangements more seriously than anticipated, sir," says Chekov, staring carefully ahead. "She suggested that the Enterprise would not be a suitable place for the Admiral to stay."

Jim raises his eyebrows. "She insulted the Enterprise."

Chekov hesitates. "Not...quite so bad as that, sir. But she implied it!"

"Right," says Jim. "In that case..." He grins. "Carry on, Ensign."

Chekov smiles, fiercely competitive, just for a second. "Aye, sir."

Jim goes back to the table, where Winona and Pike are already seated, and sits. Chekov hovers just behind him, standing at attention.

"May I get your meals, sirs? Ma'am?" he says formally.

Pike raises his eyebrows, and glances at Jim, who just shrugs. "Ah..." he says. "Surprise me."

"Me too," says Winona, frowning slightly. Chekov nods, and heads over to the replicator, Rao close on his tail.

"Do I want to know?" asks Pike, eyebrows still raised.

"I believe," says Jim, "that my Ensign and your Ensign are trying to out-useful each other. And my Ensign is very competitive."

Pike grins. "Ah. Well, then."

A vaguely uncomfortable silence falls. Sitting down, Jim is beginning to realize, was a mistake; his last painkillers were hours ago, and the dull ache in his abdomen is reasserting himself. He's losing his forward momentum, and a Jim Kirk at rest tends to stay at rest...

He breaks the silence after about a minute.

"So," he says. "I hadn't realized you two knew each other."

"We served on the Kelvin together," says Winona, idly inspecting the surface of the table.

"Your father and I worked together quite a bit," Pike adds. "And the Kelvin was not an excessively large ship – eight hundred people that you saw every day - "

"Especially given...what happened. We all sort of banded together, after that," says Winona. "United in the face of tragedy, and whatnot. Though I have to admit, Christopher wasn't one of my former shipmates who babysat you."

Jim glances at Pike, in a mixture of alarm and relief. "That's...good."

"Mm," says Winona, as Chekov returns with three trays of food. He sets one down in front of each of his superior officers, and stands at attention again.

"Chekov - " says Jim. "Aren't you going to eat with us?"

Chekov shakes his head. "The guest quarters are not prepared, sir," he says. "I thought I would take care of that."

Jim stares at him. "You do realize that food's not optional, Ensign."

"I know that, sir."

"Where's Ensign Rao?"

Chekov twitches, just a little. "In the guest quarters, sir."

Jim ducks his head a bit to hide his smile. "Right. Dismissed, Ensign."

Chekov stands at attention, briefly, before leaving.

"He's very..." says Winona, looking after Chekov.

"Young?" suggests Pike. "How old is he now, Captain? Twenty?"

"Nineteen, for another couple months," says Jim. All three dinners are identical – spaghetti with meat sauce, garlic bread, and a side salad with – Jim has no idea how Chekov managed this - lettuce that's actually crispy. Jim momentarily toys with the idea of reassigning Chekov to work on the replicators full-time. "He's also one of the damn smartest kids I've ever met. He's got transporting moving targets out of gravity wells down to an art, by now."

"I remember hearing he was the one who caught you and Sulu when you took that tumble off the Romulan drill," says Pike.

Jim nods. "We're lucky to have him," he says honestly.

"Didn't you give him a citation a few months ago? For brawling?" asks Pike.

"Well, yeah," Jim admits. "Klingons. It was on K7, right on the border – we had a little trouble with...well, it doesn't matter now. Chekov's a good kid, and loyal – one of the Klingons started badmouthing, the usual, and he took it a little too seriously."

"I think he rather imprinted on you, like a baby duck," says Pike. "You were his first commanding officer, after all."

"Technically, sir, I believe that would be you," Jim points out. "I was just...a close second."

"He was part of the original trainee crew?" asks Winona.

Jim nods. "Most of the crew is," he explains. "It worked just fine on the first mission, after all."

"Almost the entirety of the senior staff, too," Pike adds. "Something which the Admiralty has worried over endlessly, I might add."

"Good," says Jim. "That means we're doing our jobs."

"Who's your Science Officer?" asks Winona, curious.

"Commander Spock," says Jim. "He's also my First Officer. Lieutenant Uhura is Communications Officer, Ensign Chekov is the Navigator, Lieutenant Sulu the Helmsman – they're the senior bridge staff. Then Bones is in Sickbay, and Scotty in Engineering."

"Scotty as in Montgomery Scott?" asks Winona, eyes wide and amused.

"Well – yeah – how do you...?"

"Montgomery Scott as in Admiral Archer's beagle Montgomery Scott?" Winona repeats, now on the verge of laughter.

Jim breaks into a grin. "I didn't realize he had such a reputation."

"I didn't realize he'd finally gotten off Delta Vega," says Winona, shaking her head.

"That was just one of the many rabbits your son pulled out of his hat two years ago," says Pike. "Despite the fact that most of us at Starfleet weren't even aware there was going to be a magic show."

"About that," says Winona, focusing her attention on Jim again. "I'm sorry I couldn't come to your graduation, or your promotion ceremony. With the delays and lags, we didn't even hear about it until it was all over, and by then you'd shipped out again."

Jim shrugs, trying to keep the sudden, gnawing bitterness at bay. "It doesn't matter," he says. "I'm used to you not being there."

Winona sits back in her chair, stung. Even Pike looks surprised, and Jim belatedly bites his tongue. God, his stomach hurts again.

Winona is the first to recover, although she clearly is still feeling maternal. "How are you doing, here?" she asks. "Do you like the Enterprise?"

Jim pointedly does not think, If you actually ever wrote me letters or tried in any way to communicate, you wouldn't have to ask. Instead, he says, "Yeah. She's – she's a good ship. I couldn't ask for better."

Winona's eyes soften, and Pike relaxes again.

Jim even smirks a little bit – an odd sort of smirk, half-genuine. "It's weird," he admits. "Technically, I outrank you."

Winona returns it with a crooked smile of her own. "Oh, you've always thought you outranked us – all adults, really. It's just that now your internal worldview reflects reality – or rather, reality reflects your internal worldview. Greg could never get his head around that."

"Ah," says Jim, his smile twisting. "And how is – Greg?"

"I wouldn't know," says Winona coolly. "I haven't spoken to him since the divorce."

"Good," says Jim. "He was an ass."

"Is," says Winona. "He's not dead." She sighs. "Of course, he wasn't an ass, either, when I married him."

"I disagree," says Jim. "He just hid it better, when you were around."

"Maybe I should let you two - " begins Pike, just as Chekov enters again, Rao right behind him.

"Sir, sir, ma'am," he says breathlessly, "the guest rooms are prepared."

"Well," says Jim, standing up, "you two must be tired after such a long day - "

"I was hoping we could talk for a little bit," Winona tells him pointedly.

"I don't want to keep you from your beauty sleep - "

"Jim," says his mother.

Jim hesitates, then turns to Pike. "Admiral," he says. "I suppose I'll see you in the morning." He turns to Chekov. "Ensign, can you take Admiral - "

"Yes, sir," Chekov says instantly.

"I can do that, sir," says Rao.

"I know how to get there faster," says Chekov.

"I was paying attention when we came back," says Rao. "I know how to get there just fine."

"I took you the long way," says Chekov. "Ha!"

"Are you sure he's nineteen?" Winona murmurs to Pike, barely audible to Jim.

"Cheater," Rao shoots back venomously.

"And theoretically, Ensign Rao is twenty-three," Pike mutters back. "Competition seems to bring out their inner children."

"You can both take him back," says Jim tiredly. "Just as long as he makes it there."

Rao and Chekov continue arguing, and as the door to the officer's mess closes, their petty jibes echo down the hallway.

Leaving Jim alone with his mother.

Winona's still seated, so Jim sits across from her, warily.

"So," he says. "What do you want to talk about?"

Winona just looks at him for a long minute, before shaking her head as if to clear it. "Whatever you'd like. Tell me about your senior officers – your friends?"

Jim hesitates at this – it sounds so very playground-politics, when she puts it like that, then shrugs. "Yeah, I guess. Bones and I knew each other at the Academy. Spock and I met...also at the Academy, but under different circumstances." He hesitates. "Did you ever take the Kobayashi Maru?"

Winona frowns. "No, but your father did. Why?"

"I took it three times," says Jim. "And the third time, I won."

Her face clears. "Ah. Yes. I heard about that."

"I bet you did," says Jim. "Spock programmed it that year. Chekov, Sulu, and Uhura were all assigned to the Enterprise as trainees for the first mission, and then Scotty I met on Delta Vega – it's...kind of a long story."

"When Spock threw you off the ship for mutiny?"

Jim stares at her. "How did you - "

"I've been keeping tabs on you, obviously," says Winona. "You're my son, Jim. Of course I've been watching, reading the mission reports."

"You could've sent a letter," says Jim. "Or a vid, or – anything."

"You could have, too," says Winona, fiddling with her napkin. "I'm not – I'm not saying I haven't made mistakes."

"Bit of an understatement," mutter Jim, not meeting her eyes.

"I'm saying that I want to make up for it," continues Winona forcefully. "I'd hoped you could understand, now. Space is..." She waves a hand, as though trying to encompass the entire universe. "It's impossible to give up. You're Starfleet now – can't you understand?"

"Then why the hell did you have kids if you were just going to dump them on the nearest planet?" demands Jim. "What the hell was the point?"

"That was never the plan," says Winona sharply. "Your father and I – we were going to stay in Starfleet as long as we could, until you and Sam were too old to be allowed on the ships, and then get civilian work somewhere more stable – a space station, or civilian survey ship. But then George died, and it all just seemed impossible – do you know how many civilian jobs offer extended family healthcare, like Starfleet? Or provide childcare?" She shakes her head. "I did the best I could. It wasn't much, but – but look at you, Jim!" Her eyes are teary, now, but glittering with pride as well. "I never dreamed - I always knew you could do anything you wanted if you just applied yourself - "

"Spare me the 'you have such potential' talk," says Jim, through gritted teeth. "I've heard it so many damn times, I can recite it from memory."

"That's surprising, since you never seemed to listen," snaps Winona, before taking a deep breath. "Sorry, that was uncalled for."

Jim doesn't disagree, even though he knows he should. "So, what. Now that I'm a Starfleet captain you want to be a part of my life again, is that it?"

"I've always wanted to be a part of your life. You're just too good at pushing people away."

"I don't push people away!" protests Jim.

Winona raises an eyebrow at him. "When you were eleven, you had a sleepover every weekend and friends from school over every day. By the time you were twelve, your social life was nonexistent."

"That's because everybody thought I was the weird kid who drove his dad's car off a cliff."

"That might have something to do with how you drove your father's car off a cliff," says Winona. "Or did that never occur to you?"

"I didn't realize this was going to be an interrogation," says Jim tightly.

"I'm not trying to interrogate you, I'm trying to talk to you," says Winona, exasperated. "You're not exactly the easiest person to – Hell, to be in the same room as! But I'm trying, here, because you're my son and I love you."

Jim doesn't say anything, just deliberately doesn't meet her eyes. There's another lengthy silence.

"If we're clearing the air," says Winona eventually, "then I should admit something. I had been planning to surprise you at the Winter Reception, not here, but then Christopher got the mission reports from Jallidar IV - "

Jim stiffens immediately, and the motion, though slight, makes his wound twinge painfully. "What the hell does this have to do with that?"

"From what he told me, 'messy extraction' is an understatement. I just want to – to talk to you, to make sure you're okay." She looks at him for a moment. "And you're not doing a very good job of pretending you're dealing with it."

"I'm fine," Jim bites out, standing up. "It's late."

Winona doesn't stand immediately, but keeps looking at Jim, her brow furrowed. She looks – well, 'concerned' doesn't cover half of it. Eventually she rises to her feet, and comes around the table – Jim doesn't see the hug coming, but she's got her arms around him before he can move away, and his habits from childhood override his habits from any Starfleet Advanced Combat training. He just stands there and lets himself be hugged.

"I'm very glad - " begins Winona, before hesitating. "I'm very glad you came back from Jallidar," she finishes, and steps away from him. "I'll find my own way back to the guest quarters," she tells him. "You should sleep. You look - " She stumbles over her word choice again. "You look beat."

She leaves before he can come up with an answer to that.

Tue, 10 Nov 2009 15:52:21 GMT

Dear Yule Goat,

I've been spending a more or less internetless semester abroad, and I've been having a pretty hard adjusting to the culture shock; because of this, as far as these requests go, the happier the better! Seriously, there's no such thing as too fluffy or ridiculous, as far as I'm concerned. Angst is okay so long as it has a happy ending, and the same goes for hurt/comfort. There are a couple cliches that never fail to make me happy – mind control, time loops/time travel/time manipulation in general, AUs, amnesia, five-things fic – and so inclusion of any of those is never a bad thing, although I am quite frankly very easy to please.

Avengers/New Avengers

I was one of the people who came into this fandom via the Iron Man movie, so Iron Man remains one of my favorites; I really love the dynamic between him and Captain America. Obviously, Tony-bashing is thus not preferred. Angst isn't really my thing, nor character death, so obviously I'd prefer something pre-Civil War, although fixits make me happy, too – the happy ending is the key. I'm more familiar with New Avengers than old-school Avengers, but I'm really open to anything! I love gen and day-in-the-life stories, especially when they deal with the ridiculous "super"-villains that the Avengers have to deal with twenty times as often as they have to deal with Dr. Doom or Ultron. (Although if you can work in someone – probably Spiderman – comparing Ultron to GLaDOS, I will love you forever.)

I also think there isn't nearly enough fic about the women of the Avengers – Carol Danvers and Janet Van Dyne are two of my favorites, along with Wanda (possibly not an option for New Avengers, obviously). If somebody were to write a fic that would be essentially what would happen if the Wasp finally got her own solo book, I would die of happiness – I love that she's the bubbly fashion-designer and the best damn chairperson the Avengers have ever had (although clearly Cap's the best in the field).

I'm also familiar with Mighty Avengers, at least pre-Secret Invasion, and I happen to quite like the team dynamic there. References to the events of the first arc are always welcome and make me giggle.

Middleman

Middleman is one of my favorite fandoms – hell, one of my favorite fictional works, period. There's really no character that I don't love unbelievably, so if you got this request because of this prompt, it's...pretty much impossible for you to go wrong. I love the ridiculous plot elements, and how ridiculous the Middleman himself can be without even realizing it, and how unbelievably badass Wendy Watson is...I pretty much love everything. Triple points for working in jokes about Cuban and/or Cuban-American culture – those jokes always make me laugh the hardest. I'm a fan of case-fics, but I'm a real sucker for character development.

The things I would love to see in a Middleman fic would be: lots of character interaction, lots of snark, the bizarre thematic references, the unbelievably weird villains, the datelines, or...pretty much anything. I realize that this request is the shortest, but, well, that's because when it comes to Middleman, I'm really very easy. I do tend towards gen, though, especially in the Wendy/Middleman relationship, but Wendy/Lacey or Wendy/Tyler is fine with me.

Princess Tutu

Oh MAN Princess Tutu. I discovered this fandom literally one week after Yuletide signups last year. There's pretty much nothing I don't love about Princess Tutu, too – the use of fairytales, the way you think you understand what's going on and then season two hits, the way the characters are developed, the fact that Princess Tutu herself is essentially a ballet-and-feelings superhero – but one of my favorite things in the whole damn show is the dynamic between Fakir and Ahiru...but the issue with Princess Tutu is that I can't pick favorites because I honestly love all the characters so damn much. I love the dynamic between Rue and Mytho, especially in season two and in light of the finale; I love the minor characters, from Pique and Lilie to Autor; I love the way everyone interacts; I love love love the ending, even though my fingers itch to change it (thus post-finale fixit or not-fixit are both fine by me).

In terms of fic that I'd like, I...honestly can't decide. Missing-episode heart-shard fics, set in either season, would be more than fine by me, but I also like character studies or just general wackiness even if they don't involve heart shards, and obviously something structured more like the season two episodes is also fine. I have an unholy love of Pique and Lilie and Neko-sensei and the general ballet hijinks that tend to ensue, but that in no way diminishes my love of the big four. In short, much like the Middleman, I am easy when it comes to Princess Tutu.