james t. kirk (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
alwaysadvancing) wrote2013-05-31 08:04 am
alwaysadvancing) wrote2013-05-31 08:04 am
Entry tags:
ooc; ficlets I guess
{not necessarily head canons, just crap I desperately needed to write for whatever reason. I thought I may as well put them here.}
{spoilers obviously, as these ficlets are post Into Darkness canon.}
khan noonien singh; 1,600 words.
“It wasn’t Khan, you know.”
Spock looked up from the data PADD he’d been studying to his captain’s face, bright and warm despite the sterile environment of the hospital room. It had been three days since Jim had woken up and, despite many arguments from his captain to the contrary, Dr. McCoy had been able to pull CMO rank and force Jim to stay on bed rest for at least another week, just to ensure his vitals remained stabilized.
Jim had protested even that for as long as he could, using the example of Thomas Harewood’s daughter, Lucille, and her lasting health to be signs that the extra attention was unnecessary. Naturally, it did very little to persuade the doctor, but managed to make it apparent to Spock that Jim had continued investigating the circumstances revolving the Kelvin Memorial Archive bombing.
And, apparently, had been researching other things as well.
Jim did not continue straight away, apparently waiting for some sort of acknowledgment from his first officer, so Spock raised a single eyebrow. It sufficed, and Jim asked, “How familiar are you with Earth’s history? Specifically that of the late twentieth century?”
“There were multiple historical events that occurred within that century, Captain,” Spock began, but Jim was already shaking his head, a hand coming up to stop him from speaking.
“I’m talking about a war, specifically.”
“There were several of those as well.”
Frustrated, even though Spock was simply stating the truth, Jim closed his eyes a moment before trying again. “The Eugenics War?”
Spock recalled the information easily. “The Augments, advanced superhumans created through genetic splicing and selective breeding, had risen to power by using their superior intellect and strength to hold dominance over what they determined to be less than perfect specimens of humanity. They enslaved most of the human population, conquering over twenty-five percent of the entire planet and its nations until they were overthrown, a mixture of aggression and in-fighting between the superhuman rulers themselves and sheer human resilience bringing about their downfall. The conflict went on for several years, at the cost of thirty million human and superhuman lives.”
“Some say it’s closer to thirty-five, you know,” Jim interrupted, looking satisfied. “But do you know who the last tyrant was? The very last one to be overthrown?”
Spock nodded slowly, finally seeing where his captain was going with this, although the Vulcan was still unclear as to its importance. “Khan Noonien Singh.”
“Right.” Jim pushed aside several of the PADDs laid out on his hospital bed – apparently all but done with what he and Spock were supposed to be doing (that is, filing reports, signing off repairs to the Enterprise, and similarly important items that Jim has abandoned for this train of thought) – until he picked up one in particular, checking it momentarily before offering it to Spock.
An old photograph was waiting for him on the screen. A dark skinned man with darker hair pulled off his face, dressed regally in bright red colors. Prince-like. He appeared nothing more than human, but his gait indicated otherwise, that he held great power, and even though the picture was centuries old and, logically speaking, harmless, Spock could not help but feel some measure of intimidation while looking at the man’s steely gaze.
“Khan Noonien Singh,” Jim repeated, calling Spock’s attention away from the picture momentarily, his brief emotion filed away and forgotten. “For a tyrant, he was considerably well liked, or I should say, well respected. The best of the tyrants.”
Spock could not understand how a tyrant – someone who, by the word’s very definition, rules with cruelty and, to use human vernacular, an iron fist – could possibly be well respected by the very type of people he had once enslaved. Even Jim seemed impressed. The Vulcan’s eyebrows furrowed, but his captain seemed to misunderstand his apparent confusion entirely, and the question went unasked.
“It’s not like we don’t go over it in history class, you know. High school stuff.” He took a moment to turn slightly, reaching back to adjust and fluff his pillow with a few soft punches. It would seem that despite his protests to the contrary, the blood infusion was still taking its toll on the captain, his movements careful and weak. Human. “It only just occurred to me that while in the delightful company of the fugitive John Harrison, he only gave us the first name. Khan. There’s no way anyone would have made the connection with just that alone. It was only a mutual friend of ours who identified him as Khan Noonien Singh, and that’s when I started thinking about it.”
Spock ignored the pointed look he received after that; he would not feel guilty for not telling Jim he had already met his counterpart much sooner and more often than the captain was aware, having assumed that Jim would no longer be under the impression that the duo’s meeting would have any possible baring on the continuation of the universe.
Jim reached over and tapped the top of the PADD in Spock’s hands twice, two fingers. “Obviously, there’s not much of a family resemblance.” He smirked. “Eye color’s all wrong.”
Clearly an understatement. The man pictured on screen was clearly not the man who they had faced three weeks prior. Spock raised an eyebrow, ignoring his captain’s use of humor in favor of continuing the discussion. “The name ‘Khan’ is also an old Chinese word with similar meaning to the old English term ‘king,’ or ‘ruler,’ and holds a similar connotation in Federation Standard. It is possible that John Harrison merely adapted this word to suit his own purposes, further conceal his own identity, and the identity of—”
“Of his commanding officer, the true Khan,” Jim interrupted, apparently having wanted to make this point all along. “I think it’s entirely possible. What we assumed as a given name could easily have been a title – but even if it wasn’t, why not take the name? Take the name in honor of the Augment prince who conquered most of Asia and the Middle East in the span of a few years?”
It still sounded, vaguely, as though Jim was impressed by this feat, despite it being a barbaric time in which his own race was forced into slavery, even for a short while. Peculiar.
“Twentieth century vessels – that is, nearly any vessel created before warp technology, mandated the use of cryogenic freezing, as we’re aware. What protocol also mandates, according to the research of Dr. Marla McGivers, is that the leader be awoken first, before the rest of the crew, in order to determine whether or not the conditions were optimal and survivable.”
The captain’s research had been extensive indeed. Spock raised an eyebrow. “But that would suggest John Harrison was, in fact, the leader, disproving your entire theory.”
“Well, sure, but whose testimony do we have on the events of Harrison’s waking? His own? Admiral Marcus’? Neither of whom are the best and brightest of humanity, mind.”
“Naturally,” the Vulcan replied, eyes on Jim’s face.
“And anyway, it’s possible Admiral Marcus was able to override the protocol and picked his warmonger out of a hat, so to speak. Harrison did mention it was his savagery, his ruthlessness that Marcus desired for war. He didn’t need the leader; any one of the Augments would do. Harrison fits that bill just fine. He had the grand gift of superiority on his side and could easily take command of any situation thrown at him. Or maybe they were all briefed prior to their cryo to take control of things in the event of a malfunction and Khan wasn’t the one to wake up first.”
“The ‘true’ Khan.”
Jim nodded. “The real Khan Noonien Singh, ruler and dictator number one.”
At the very least, Jim’s theory was intriguing. He had more than enough facts to support it, although, with a glance down to his PADD, Spock would wager the difference in appearance between Harrison and the old photograph of the twentieth century tyrant would be enough. It was not the same man at all. The same… Augment, that is. They would have to contact New Vulcan again, to see once and for all if the man they faced was the same Khan Noonien Singh as Spock’s older counterpart had encountered as well, so many years ago.
Years ago in his timeline, that is. After speaking with his older self, Spock had gotten the impression that he and Jim had happened upon the superhuman far sooner than the elder Vulcan had anticipated.
Spock replaced the PADD at Jim’s feet, head tilted just enough, apparently, to indicate to his captain that he still had questions about Jim’s findings.
“Let’s hear it,” he sighed, a vague gesture accompanying it.
“I am simply curious, Captain. Your logic is sound, of course, but I wonder what bearing it could possibly have on us or the events leading up to the destruction of the dreadnought Vengeance and,” he paused, suddenly wanting to be delicate, “very nearly, the Enterprise.”
“I’m just saying,” Jim replied easily, full attention on his first officer, “that if anyone gets back into those capsules, if anyone finds and wakes up the true Khan?” Jim stopped a moment, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he seemed to consider the possibility. Some measure of fear had darkened his eyes, a reaction more befitting to the notion of a tyrant, though Spock was not thrilled to see it in his captain, to see Jim Kirk hesitate.
“Well. I’m just afraid we won’t know the meaning of the word ‘vengeance’ until then.”
[ crossposted to my tumblr here; and yes, I can't write Spock to save my life, I just wanted this story out ]
carol marcus; 2,000 words.
“I wanted to thank you.”
Jim has been out of the hospital for three days now, but the majority of his time has been occupied with Starfleet Brass, debriefing him and select members of his crew regarding details about the battle between the Vengeance and Enterprise before the former of the two found its way into the streets of San Francisco, literally. The sessions had been mostly redundant, as Spock was, as ever, efficient with his reports of the event that he’d submitted prior to Jim’s waking up, but that’s red tape for you, the captain figures.
John Harrison, Jim discovered shortly after coming to, had been forced back into cryo and locked down with the rest of the Augments with the highest and impenetrable of security systems – Starfleet’s words, of course, but Jim supposed they would have to do. The idea of a repeat performance with any one of the superhumans was one Jim did not like to entertain, and it was with this in mind that Starfleet had unanimously agreed to give the Enterprise and her crew some well-deserved shore leave, right here in San Fran should they choose to stay local.
It’s probably the worst decision Jim’s ever heard in his life. As much as he’s been utterly exhausted from everything that’s happened, he finds himself anxious beyond belief – downright antsy, really, likely from such a long time forced by a particularly cruel and hypospray-happy southern doctor into bedrest. Or perhaps it’s from being grounded, especially when he considers a certain lovely chair he has to get back to. Once the Enterprise is re-commissioned that is, and Jim’s face goes sour at the mere thought of his ship, their ship back inside a junkyard where he can’t even look at it. Longingly or otherwise.
It’s been a very depressing couple of days.
So it’s exactly why Jim is happy to find himself on a park bench on a bright, warm day, enjoying a greasy foot long hot dog with none other than Lieutenant Uhura and Carol Marcus. It hadn’t necessarily been a planned outing – well, Jim hadn’t been part of any plan, that is, his meeting up with them was simple coincidence. The women had their arms lined with various different shopping bag handles (items ranging anywhere from high heeled shoes to prominent medical journals) and had apparently just parted ways from Officers Madeline, Darwin, and Rand before the leftover duo figured they may as well grab something to eat while they were still out. Apparently after everything that happened, they had collectively decided they just needed some god damned girl time, as Uhura put it.
Jim can only agree. And not in the way he usually prefers his own ‘girl time.’
Their company is definitely welcome after all of the stern faces around the tables at yadda yadda important Starfleet meetings, and he’s grateful as hell to see some normalcy for a change. He actually wishes, briefly, that he could have joined them sooner, if only just to carry their bags and comment on colors and the latest fashion. At least it would have given him something to do.
The captain wipes at the side of his mouth with his thumb before glancing up at Carol. “There’s no need to thank me for anything.”
“Oh, my gratitude is not for what you think,” Dr. Marcus says quickly, eyes sharp despite the levity of their conversations thus far. She takes a moment to fold the napkin she’d been using on her lap to place it instead atop her leftover food. It’s bizarrely precise, almost clinical considering it’s a picnic. She meets Jim’s eyes again after. “You already have enough commendations and praise for your excellent service in the Vengeance battle, do you not?”
Jim’s return smile is a bizarre mixture of pride and embarrassment that only he could manage, as is the slight nod accompanying it, because Carol and Uhura both know – that is, nearly anyone who is a part of the Enterprise crew knows damn well Jim did what he did not for the sake of medals and acclaim, but for them, for each and every living soul part of his crew, and for the lives they’d lost leading up to it— and he hadn’t exactly intended on living to tell the tale.
“In that case, I’m afraid you’ll have to enlighten me, Doctor,” Jim says, and he’s actually pretty curious about what she might have to say. He eyes at Uhura for any type of clue (he sort of hopes to any remaining spiritual whosit that he did not say anything crazy, embarrassing, and/or life changing to Carol while drugged out on whatever the hell Bones put him on after the transfusion) but his lieutenant offers him nothing, simply looking from him pointedly back to Carol.
“I suppose you could say that you’ve inspired me.” It’s not exactly a surprise that this is when her gaze falters, dropping from Jim’s face to the napkin barrier she’d placed between her and her cold fries. “It’s—it was an idea I once had, the very reason I became a scientist in the first place, actually, enrolled at the Academy. It was put on hold when I discovered my father had thrown himself into arms manufacturing, and I thought I ought to do the same, in my own way, if I ever hoped to discover what he was trying to do.”
“You weren’t a weapons specialist initially?” asks Uhura, apparently as surprised by the revelation as Jim. Carol merely shrugs in response.
“I tackled it as a second major the moment I could. I’m a quick study; I feared I didn’t have much time to waste before my father used them, or worse.”
Considering she’s talking about the only blood relation Jim’s aware of, he’s actually somewhat surprised to hear how easily she utters her father’s name, and so without feeling one could believe she had Vulcan ancestry somewhere down the line. More likely, of course, she’s completely written off the memory of her father, the Admiral, and refuses to take personal responsibility for his sinister ambitions.
Jim has to admire her for that, almost as much as he envies her.
“Or worse,” is all Jim says.
There’s a smile in return, but it’s a sad one, and Carol’s eyes are downcast again. “I thought that maybe I’d been a fool, romanced into science by some crazy idea I’d had as a child, when all that seemed relevant to the chain of command was who could build the biggest firearm, the toughest shields. Starfleet Sciences was quickly becoming a world I wanted no part in. But then you happened, Kirk.”
“I get that a lot,” comes the instantaneous reply, because Jim feels out of his element enough to pull up his bravado like a worn, comfortable jacket. Uhura rolls her eyes so hard Jim can actually feel it – or maybe that’s just her kicking his shin under the picnic table.
“I’m sure you do,” continues the doctor, unfazed. “You were – I apologize, I have no idea how to say this delicately, but you were dead, Kirk. I saw you myself, lifeless on a slab in Medical, and yet here you sit today, good as new. Rebirth—that is, the notion of creating life from death is the very same the idea I’d had as a little girl.” She licks her lips, hesitating briefly. “I wanted to thank you for reminding me of that fact.”
Jim figures saying ‘you’re welcome’ is probably inappropriate, so instead he asks, “What exactly was your idea?”
“Space is certainly big, no one can argue that, but modern terraforming can only do so much in the face of overpopulation and food shortages. There are so few suitable planets in any given system for the process; I believed it to be entirely inadequate. I thought, ‘what about the ones no one can use? Why can’t we do anything about them?’ I wanted to be able to take a dead or dying planet, something inhabitable by any means, and revive it somehow, make it suitable for human life. Humanoid life, I mean. Somewhere for any type of people to live prosperously. I became a scientist to figure out how to make that a reality.”
“And my miraculous return is what got your scientific groove flowing again?”
“So to speak.”
Jim shrugs, dismissive. “In that case, you really should be thanking Bones. It was his idea.” He pauses. “And his tribble. Have you thanked the tribble?”
“Tibby,” Uhura interjects, startling Jim entirely because, with some measure of guilt, he’d forgotten she was even there. He frowns.
“Tibby the tribble? Really?”
“Tibby is short for Tiberius.”
“That actually makes it worse.”
“He’s quite popular with the crew, you know,” adds Carol, and her bright, teasing smile is very unfair considering she’s trying to make Jim seem like some kind of supernatural being who can return from the dead at will. “I think you’re right; it would be a shame not to thank Tibby for his efforts.”
“Please don’t call it that,” Jim groans, a hand flying up to rub at his temple as the women share a laugh at his expense. He wonders, briefly, if this is what Bones feels like. He straightens shortly after, however, doing his best to get his face to looking something close to serious again. “So you’ll be returning to your roots, then?”
“Hanging up the weapons specialty? Gladly.”
“So I guess this is the last we’ll be seeing you for a while, hm? It’s lab time, and all that?”
There’s no trace of shyness, only warmth when she replies, “Actually, Captain, I was hoping for your permission aboard the Enterprise, once it’s fit to fly again. Only for a little while, that is, and only if you’ll have me.”
“I’d be happy to.” Uhura’s eying him suspiciously, but surprisingly, his intentions are entirely innocent. To prove it, he adds, “You’d be a welcome addition to the team, Dr. Marcus, and I’m sure the rest of the science officers would be happy to assist you with your research.”
“Thank you, I’d love that.”
“It can even be longer than a little while, assuming the rest of my senior officers are on board with that.”
Uhura certainly doesn’t look like she takes issue to it, though in truth Jim doubts any of them would. Whatever Spock’s weird animosity was toward her during the previous mission has dissipated entirely, though Jim can’t exactly put a finger on why, or what brought about the hostility in the first place. Vulcans.
Despite that, Carol’s smile is a small one as she shakes her head. “I’m afraid I would only need to stay on as long as it takes to get to the planet Regula, whenever it’s convenient for you to head to that system. My father had a research station posted there, and I plan to commandeer it in the name of regenerative science.”
It’s Jim’s turn to smile this time. “Fair enough. We’ll make it to Regula sometime within the five years of our mission, I’m sure.”
“I wouldn’t want you to go out of your way, Captain.”
It’s not until later, once Jim gets his wish and actually gets bag-duty after all, that he leans over to Carol inside of the crowded shuttle station and asks, “What do you think you’ll call it, once your research is complete? I’ll have to know what to look for in a few years when you get testing started.” He pauses, suddenly smirking. “How about ‘Operation: Rebirth?’ ‘Planet Phoenix?’ Or the ‘Kirk Effect?’ That’s better. I’m particularly invested in that one. Or maybe—”
“I was thinking Project Genesis,” Carol interrupts smoothly.
Jim’s eyebrows do their best to meet his hairline. “That’s awfully ambitious of you, doctor.”
But the woman isn’t daunted in the least, a confident smile slipping across her beautiful face. “Well, of course, Captain Kirk. Are we not meant to, as you would say, boldly go?”
[ also here. I desperately wanted a nod to Project Genesis, more stuff for Carol to do, and a fic that included some of the badass Enterprise ladies going shopping. Jim's definitely inviting himself next time. ]
{spoilers obviously, as these ficlets are post Into Darkness canon.}
khan noonien singh; 1,600 words.
“It wasn’t Khan, you know.”
Spock looked up from the data PADD he’d been studying to his captain’s face, bright and warm despite the sterile environment of the hospital room. It had been three days since Jim had woken up and, despite many arguments from his captain to the contrary, Dr. McCoy had been able to pull CMO rank and force Jim to stay on bed rest for at least another week, just to ensure his vitals remained stabilized.
Jim had protested even that for as long as he could, using the example of Thomas Harewood’s daughter, Lucille, and her lasting health to be signs that the extra attention was unnecessary. Naturally, it did very little to persuade the doctor, but managed to make it apparent to Spock that Jim had continued investigating the circumstances revolving the Kelvin Memorial Archive bombing.
And, apparently, had been researching other things as well.
Jim did not continue straight away, apparently waiting for some sort of acknowledgment from his first officer, so Spock raised a single eyebrow. It sufficed, and Jim asked, “How familiar are you with Earth’s history? Specifically that of the late twentieth century?”
“There were multiple historical events that occurred within that century, Captain,” Spock began, but Jim was already shaking his head, a hand coming up to stop him from speaking.
“I’m talking about a war, specifically.”
“There were several of those as well.”
Frustrated, even though Spock was simply stating the truth, Jim closed his eyes a moment before trying again. “The Eugenics War?”
Spock recalled the information easily. “The Augments, advanced superhumans created through genetic splicing and selective breeding, had risen to power by using their superior intellect and strength to hold dominance over what they determined to be less than perfect specimens of humanity. They enslaved most of the human population, conquering over twenty-five percent of the entire planet and its nations until they were overthrown, a mixture of aggression and in-fighting between the superhuman rulers themselves and sheer human resilience bringing about their downfall. The conflict went on for several years, at the cost of thirty million human and superhuman lives.”
“Some say it’s closer to thirty-five, you know,” Jim interrupted, looking satisfied. “But do you know who the last tyrant was? The very last one to be overthrown?”
Spock nodded slowly, finally seeing where his captain was going with this, although the Vulcan was still unclear as to its importance. “Khan Noonien Singh.”
“Right.” Jim pushed aside several of the PADDs laid out on his hospital bed – apparently all but done with what he and Spock were supposed to be doing (that is, filing reports, signing off repairs to the Enterprise, and similarly important items that Jim has abandoned for this train of thought) – until he picked up one in particular, checking it momentarily before offering it to Spock.
An old photograph was waiting for him on the screen. A dark skinned man with darker hair pulled off his face, dressed regally in bright red colors. Prince-like. He appeared nothing more than human, but his gait indicated otherwise, that he held great power, and even though the picture was centuries old and, logically speaking, harmless, Spock could not help but feel some measure of intimidation while looking at the man’s steely gaze.
“Khan Noonien Singh,” Jim repeated, calling Spock’s attention away from the picture momentarily, his brief emotion filed away and forgotten. “For a tyrant, he was considerably well liked, or I should say, well respected. The best of the tyrants.”
Spock could not understand how a tyrant – someone who, by the word’s very definition, rules with cruelty and, to use human vernacular, an iron fist – could possibly be well respected by the very type of people he had once enslaved. Even Jim seemed impressed. The Vulcan’s eyebrows furrowed, but his captain seemed to misunderstand his apparent confusion entirely, and the question went unasked.
“It’s not like we don’t go over it in history class, you know. High school stuff.” He took a moment to turn slightly, reaching back to adjust and fluff his pillow with a few soft punches. It would seem that despite his protests to the contrary, the blood infusion was still taking its toll on the captain, his movements careful and weak. Human. “It only just occurred to me that while in the delightful company of the fugitive John Harrison, he only gave us the first name. Khan. There’s no way anyone would have made the connection with just that alone. It was only a mutual friend of ours who identified him as Khan Noonien Singh, and that’s when I started thinking about it.”
Spock ignored the pointed look he received after that; he would not feel guilty for not telling Jim he had already met his counterpart much sooner and more often than the captain was aware, having assumed that Jim would no longer be under the impression that the duo’s meeting would have any possible baring on the continuation of the universe.
Jim reached over and tapped the top of the PADD in Spock’s hands twice, two fingers. “Obviously, there’s not much of a family resemblance.” He smirked. “Eye color’s all wrong.”
Clearly an understatement. The man pictured on screen was clearly not the man who they had faced three weeks prior. Spock raised an eyebrow, ignoring his captain’s use of humor in favor of continuing the discussion. “The name ‘Khan’ is also an old Chinese word with similar meaning to the old English term ‘king,’ or ‘ruler,’ and holds a similar connotation in Federation Standard. It is possible that John Harrison merely adapted this word to suit his own purposes, further conceal his own identity, and the identity of—”
“Of his commanding officer, the true Khan,” Jim interrupted, apparently having wanted to make this point all along. “I think it’s entirely possible. What we assumed as a given name could easily have been a title – but even if it wasn’t, why not take the name? Take the name in honor of the Augment prince who conquered most of Asia and the Middle East in the span of a few years?”
It still sounded, vaguely, as though Jim was impressed by this feat, despite it being a barbaric time in which his own race was forced into slavery, even for a short while. Peculiar.
“Twentieth century vessels – that is, nearly any vessel created before warp technology, mandated the use of cryogenic freezing, as we’re aware. What protocol also mandates, according to the research of Dr. Marla McGivers, is that the leader be awoken first, before the rest of the crew, in order to determine whether or not the conditions were optimal and survivable.”
The captain’s research had been extensive indeed. Spock raised an eyebrow. “But that would suggest John Harrison was, in fact, the leader, disproving your entire theory.”
“Well, sure, but whose testimony do we have on the events of Harrison’s waking? His own? Admiral Marcus’? Neither of whom are the best and brightest of humanity, mind.”
“Naturally,” the Vulcan replied, eyes on Jim’s face.
“And anyway, it’s possible Admiral Marcus was able to override the protocol and picked his warmonger out of a hat, so to speak. Harrison did mention it was his savagery, his ruthlessness that Marcus desired for war. He didn’t need the leader; any one of the Augments would do. Harrison fits that bill just fine. He had the grand gift of superiority on his side and could easily take command of any situation thrown at him. Or maybe they were all briefed prior to their cryo to take control of things in the event of a malfunction and Khan wasn’t the one to wake up first.”
“The ‘true’ Khan.”
Jim nodded. “The real Khan Noonien Singh, ruler and dictator number one.”
At the very least, Jim’s theory was intriguing. He had more than enough facts to support it, although, with a glance down to his PADD, Spock would wager the difference in appearance between Harrison and the old photograph of the twentieth century tyrant would be enough. It was not the same man at all. The same… Augment, that is. They would have to contact New Vulcan again, to see once and for all if the man they faced was the same Khan Noonien Singh as Spock’s older counterpart had encountered as well, so many years ago.
Years ago in his timeline, that is. After speaking with his older self, Spock had gotten the impression that he and Jim had happened upon the superhuman far sooner than the elder Vulcan had anticipated.
Spock replaced the PADD at Jim’s feet, head tilted just enough, apparently, to indicate to his captain that he still had questions about Jim’s findings.
“Let’s hear it,” he sighed, a vague gesture accompanying it.
“I am simply curious, Captain. Your logic is sound, of course, but I wonder what bearing it could possibly have on us or the events leading up to the destruction of the dreadnought Vengeance and,” he paused, suddenly wanting to be delicate, “very nearly, the Enterprise.”
“I’m just saying,” Jim replied easily, full attention on his first officer, “that if anyone gets back into those capsules, if anyone finds and wakes up the true Khan?” Jim stopped a moment, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he seemed to consider the possibility. Some measure of fear had darkened his eyes, a reaction more befitting to the notion of a tyrant, though Spock was not thrilled to see it in his captain, to see Jim Kirk hesitate.
“Well. I’m just afraid we won’t know the meaning of the word ‘vengeance’ until then.”
[ crossposted to my tumblr here; and yes, I can't write Spock to save my life, I just wanted this story out ]
carol marcus; 2,000 words.
“I wanted to thank you.”
Jim has been out of the hospital for three days now, but the majority of his time has been occupied with Starfleet Brass, debriefing him and select members of his crew regarding details about the battle between the Vengeance and Enterprise before the former of the two found its way into the streets of San Francisco, literally. The sessions had been mostly redundant, as Spock was, as ever, efficient with his reports of the event that he’d submitted prior to Jim’s waking up, but that’s red tape for you, the captain figures.
John Harrison, Jim discovered shortly after coming to, had been forced back into cryo and locked down with the rest of the Augments with the highest and impenetrable of security systems – Starfleet’s words, of course, but Jim supposed they would have to do. The idea of a repeat performance with any one of the superhumans was one Jim did not like to entertain, and it was with this in mind that Starfleet had unanimously agreed to give the Enterprise and her crew some well-deserved shore leave, right here in San Fran should they choose to stay local.
It’s probably the worst decision Jim’s ever heard in his life. As much as he’s been utterly exhausted from everything that’s happened, he finds himself anxious beyond belief – downright antsy, really, likely from such a long time forced by a particularly cruel and hypospray-happy southern doctor into bedrest. Or perhaps it’s from being grounded, especially when he considers a certain lovely chair he has to get back to. Once the Enterprise is re-commissioned that is, and Jim’s face goes sour at the mere thought of his ship, their ship back inside a junkyard where he can’t even look at it. Longingly or otherwise.
It’s been a very depressing couple of days.
So it’s exactly why Jim is happy to find himself on a park bench on a bright, warm day, enjoying a greasy foot long hot dog with none other than Lieutenant Uhura and Carol Marcus. It hadn’t necessarily been a planned outing – well, Jim hadn’t been part of any plan, that is, his meeting up with them was simple coincidence. The women had their arms lined with various different shopping bag handles (items ranging anywhere from high heeled shoes to prominent medical journals) and had apparently just parted ways from Officers Madeline, Darwin, and Rand before the leftover duo figured they may as well grab something to eat while they were still out. Apparently after everything that happened, they had collectively decided they just needed some god damned girl time, as Uhura put it.
Jim can only agree. And not in the way he usually prefers his own ‘girl time.’
Their company is definitely welcome after all of the stern faces around the tables at yadda yadda important Starfleet meetings, and he’s grateful as hell to see some normalcy for a change. He actually wishes, briefly, that he could have joined them sooner, if only just to carry their bags and comment on colors and the latest fashion. At least it would have given him something to do.
The captain wipes at the side of his mouth with his thumb before glancing up at Carol. “There’s no need to thank me for anything.”
“Oh, my gratitude is not for what you think,” Dr. Marcus says quickly, eyes sharp despite the levity of their conversations thus far. She takes a moment to fold the napkin she’d been using on her lap to place it instead atop her leftover food. It’s bizarrely precise, almost clinical considering it’s a picnic. She meets Jim’s eyes again after. “You already have enough commendations and praise for your excellent service in the Vengeance battle, do you not?”
Jim’s return smile is a bizarre mixture of pride and embarrassment that only he could manage, as is the slight nod accompanying it, because Carol and Uhura both know – that is, nearly anyone who is a part of the Enterprise crew knows damn well Jim did what he did not for the sake of medals and acclaim, but for them, for each and every living soul part of his crew, and for the lives they’d lost leading up to it— and he hadn’t exactly intended on living to tell the tale.
“In that case, I’m afraid you’ll have to enlighten me, Doctor,” Jim says, and he’s actually pretty curious about what she might have to say. He eyes at Uhura for any type of clue (he sort of hopes to any remaining spiritual whosit that he did not say anything crazy, embarrassing, and/or life changing to Carol while drugged out on whatever the hell Bones put him on after the transfusion) but his lieutenant offers him nothing, simply looking from him pointedly back to Carol.
“I suppose you could say that you’ve inspired me.” It’s not exactly a surprise that this is when her gaze falters, dropping from Jim’s face to the napkin barrier she’d placed between her and her cold fries. “It’s—it was an idea I once had, the very reason I became a scientist in the first place, actually, enrolled at the Academy. It was put on hold when I discovered my father had thrown himself into arms manufacturing, and I thought I ought to do the same, in my own way, if I ever hoped to discover what he was trying to do.”
“You weren’t a weapons specialist initially?” asks Uhura, apparently as surprised by the revelation as Jim. Carol merely shrugs in response.
“I tackled it as a second major the moment I could. I’m a quick study; I feared I didn’t have much time to waste before my father used them, or worse.”
Considering she’s talking about the only blood relation Jim’s aware of, he’s actually somewhat surprised to hear how easily she utters her father’s name, and so without feeling one could believe she had Vulcan ancestry somewhere down the line. More likely, of course, she’s completely written off the memory of her father, the Admiral, and refuses to take personal responsibility for his sinister ambitions.
Jim has to admire her for that, almost as much as he envies her.
“Or worse,” is all Jim says.
There’s a smile in return, but it’s a sad one, and Carol’s eyes are downcast again. “I thought that maybe I’d been a fool, romanced into science by some crazy idea I’d had as a child, when all that seemed relevant to the chain of command was who could build the biggest firearm, the toughest shields. Starfleet Sciences was quickly becoming a world I wanted no part in. But then you happened, Kirk.”
“I get that a lot,” comes the instantaneous reply, because Jim feels out of his element enough to pull up his bravado like a worn, comfortable jacket. Uhura rolls her eyes so hard Jim can actually feel it – or maybe that’s just her kicking his shin under the picnic table.
“I’m sure you do,” continues the doctor, unfazed. “You were – I apologize, I have no idea how to say this delicately, but you were dead, Kirk. I saw you myself, lifeless on a slab in Medical, and yet here you sit today, good as new. Rebirth—that is, the notion of creating life from death is the very same the idea I’d had as a little girl.” She licks her lips, hesitating briefly. “I wanted to thank you for reminding me of that fact.”
Jim figures saying ‘you’re welcome’ is probably inappropriate, so instead he asks, “What exactly was your idea?”
“Space is certainly big, no one can argue that, but modern terraforming can only do so much in the face of overpopulation and food shortages. There are so few suitable planets in any given system for the process; I believed it to be entirely inadequate. I thought, ‘what about the ones no one can use? Why can’t we do anything about them?’ I wanted to be able to take a dead or dying planet, something inhabitable by any means, and revive it somehow, make it suitable for human life. Humanoid life, I mean. Somewhere for any type of people to live prosperously. I became a scientist to figure out how to make that a reality.”
“And my miraculous return is what got your scientific groove flowing again?”
“So to speak.”
Jim shrugs, dismissive. “In that case, you really should be thanking Bones. It was his idea.” He pauses. “And his tribble. Have you thanked the tribble?”
“Tibby,” Uhura interjects, startling Jim entirely because, with some measure of guilt, he’d forgotten she was even there. He frowns.
“Tibby the tribble? Really?”
“Tibby is short for Tiberius.”
“That actually makes it worse.”
“He’s quite popular with the crew, you know,” adds Carol, and her bright, teasing smile is very unfair considering she’s trying to make Jim seem like some kind of supernatural being who can return from the dead at will. “I think you’re right; it would be a shame not to thank Tibby for his efforts.”
“Please don’t call it that,” Jim groans, a hand flying up to rub at his temple as the women share a laugh at his expense. He wonders, briefly, if this is what Bones feels like. He straightens shortly after, however, doing his best to get his face to looking something close to serious again. “So you’ll be returning to your roots, then?”
“Hanging up the weapons specialty? Gladly.”
“So I guess this is the last we’ll be seeing you for a while, hm? It’s lab time, and all that?”
There’s no trace of shyness, only warmth when she replies, “Actually, Captain, I was hoping for your permission aboard the Enterprise, once it’s fit to fly again. Only for a little while, that is, and only if you’ll have me.”
“I’d be happy to.” Uhura’s eying him suspiciously, but surprisingly, his intentions are entirely innocent. To prove it, he adds, “You’d be a welcome addition to the team, Dr. Marcus, and I’m sure the rest of the science officers would be happy to assist you with your research.”
“Thank you, I’d love that.”
“It can even be longer than a little while, assuming the rest of my senior officers are on board with that.”
Uhura certainly doesn’t look like she takes issue to it, though in truth Jim doubts any of them would. Whatever Spock’s weird animosity was toward her during the previous mission has dissipated entirely, though Jim can’t exactly put a finger on why, or what brought about the hostility in the first place. Vulcans.
Despite that, Carol’s smile is a small one as she shakes her head. “I’m afraid I would only need to stay on as long as it takes to get to the planet Regula, whenever it’s convenient for you to head to that system. My father had a research station posted there, and I plan to commandeer it in the name of regenerative science.”
It’s Jim’s turn to smile this time. “Fair enough. We’ll make it to Regula sometime within the five years of our mission, I’m sure.”
“I wouldn’t want you to go out of your way, Captain.”
It’s not until later, once Jim gets his wish and actually gets bag-duty after all, that he leans over to Carol inside of the crowded shuttle station and asks, “What do you think you’ll call it, once your research is complete? I’ll have to know what to look for in a few years when you get testing started.” He pauses, suddenly smirking. “How about ‘Operation: Rebirth?’ ‘Planet Phoenix?’ Or the ‘Kirk Effect?’ That’s better. I’m particularly invested in that one. Or maybe—”
“I was thinking Project Genesis,” Carol interrupts smoothly.
Jim’s eyebrows do their best to meet his hairline. “That’s awfully ambitious of you, doctor.”
But the woman isn’t daunted in the least, a confident smile slipping across her beautiful face. “Well, of course, Captain Kirk. Are we not meant to, as you would say, boldly go?”
[ also here. I desperately wanted a nod to Project Genesis, more stuff for Carol to do, and a fic that included some of the badass Enterprise ladies going shopping. Jim's definitely inviting himself next time. ]