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( general )
Rebuilding the Enterprise is a massive undertaking - not as massive as it would have been three years ago, given the existence of Yorktown and its impossibly advanced construction bays, but this is still a rebuild from complete scratch, far eclipsing even the extensive repairs she's had in the past. And, Jim thinks with a bittersweet (heavy on the bitter) pang, it was probably time for a complete rebuild even if she hadn't been so thoroughly destroyed. Those were no simple patch-jobs after Nero or Marcus - the mileage on the flagship has, frankly, been brutal. A familiar thought: wondering if it's his fault, if the Enterprise would have survived her first five year journey under another captain, or if instead the universe continues to hurl him and his crew on all these collision courses because they're the only ones who can handle them.
He doesn't stay on the starbase for the entire duration of construction, but for long bouts at the beginning and end; he'll know her inside and out this time, every panel, ever nerve, every expanse of glass and insert of cabin carpet. He scratches For Christopher on the floor of the bridge before the final covering goes in, barely a centimeter high, never to be seen by anyone but him.
( +1 )
Hey guess what Yorktown has: bars!! Probably a bunch of them. Jim's not the drinker he used to be, but he's still definitely a drinker. He's also not the Lothario he used to be, either, but you know, old habits.
( +2 )
San Fransisco is Captain Kirk's temporary home for several months, doing guest lectures at the Academy and terrorizing cadets of all kinds. He teaches a month-long survival course, even, which involves dragging a senior class into the woods and scaring the shit out of them with stories of everyone nearly dying all the time up in the black.
( +3 )
It's not like he's on vacation, though. Starfleet Command sends several missions down the tubes and Jim runs them with the same dogged adventurism he runs his ship. Who wants to go check in on a wayward science team?
Rebuilding the Enterprise is a massive undertaking - not as massive as it would have been three years ago, given the existence of Yorktown and its impossibly advanced construction bays, but this is still a rebuild from complete scratch, far eclipsing even the extensive repairs she's had in the past. And, Jim thinks with a bittersweet (heavy on the bitter) pang, it was probably time for a complete rebuild even if she hadn't been so thoroughly destroyed. Those were no simple patch-jobs after Nero or Marcus - the mileage on the flagship has, frankly, been brutal. A familiar thought: wondering if it's his fault, if the Enterprise would have survived her first five year journey under another captain, or if instead the universe continues to hurl him and his crew on all these collision courses because they're the only ones who can handle them.
He doesn't stay on the starbase for the entire duration of construction, but for long bouts at the beginning and end; he'll know her inside and out this time, every panel, ever nerve, every expanse of glass and insert of cabin carpet. He scratches For Christopher on the floor of the bridge before the final covering goes in, barely a centimeter high, never to be seen by anyone but him.
( +1 )
Hey guess what Yorktown has: bars!! Probably a bunch of them. Jim's not the drinker he used to be, but he's still definitely a drinker. He's also not the Lothario he used to be, either, but you know, old habits.
( +2 )
San Fransisco is Captain Kirk's temporary home for several months, doing guest lectures at the Academy and terrorizing cadets of all kinds. He teaches a month-long survival course, even, which involves dragging a senior class into the woods and scaring the shit out of them with stories of everyone nearly dying all the time up in the black.
( +3 )
It's not like he's on vacation, though. Starfleet Command sends several missions down the tubes and Jim runs them with the same dogged adventurism he runs his ship. Who wants to go check in on a wayward science team?
Lucy McClane is... well, that's difficult to quantify. He father is well-known in Starfleet - when Lucy was practically still in diapers he saved the ship he was stationed on from attack. By himself. Barefoot, for some reason. He'd been a hero. But he was also rash, and troubled, and got himself into more sticky messes (and the aftermath's insubordinations) than he really should have. As a result his history was rocky. He'd get dismissed, then called back when someone needed him again. As much as he complained, he always came through in the end. He just has a reputation.
Lucy isn't brand new. She graduated the academy at the top of her class but since then she's been ping-ponged around between postings and assignments because no one seems to believe she's calmer and more in-tune with taking orders than her father, no matter how much she protests the idea. She doesn't have heroics under her belt to get her a solid assignment. She blames John, perhaps unfairly, and because of this their relationship is often on the outs. She tries to distance herself from him, from his name, going so far once as to briefly change her registration to her mother's maiden name, Gennero.
Problem is, she really is exactly like her father. Sure, she's willing to do anything to get the job done, but there's an idea that floats around about an inability to maintain order in her vicinity. She works hard. It's just that being in the wrong place at the wrong time runs in the family. Which is why she's surprised to be given the assignment she is - with who she is, but she thinks that maybe shoving her toward Captain James Kirk is some kind of last-ditch effort at maybe you'll take her. Checking in on a wayward science team isn't supposed to be much of an issue - shouldn't be, anyway, hopefully - but somehow she still has a sense of nervous energy about her despite hardly being fresh out of the Academy.
Maybe things will actually go right. For once.
Lucy isn't brand new. She graduated the academy at the top of her class but since then she's been ping-ponged around between postings and assignments because no one seems to believe she's calmer and more in-tune with taking orders than her father, no matter how much she protests the idea. She doesn't have heroics under her belt to get her a solid assignment. She blames John, perhaps unfairly, and because of this their relationship is often on the outs. She tries to distance herself from him, from his name, going so far once as to briefly change her registration to her mother's maiden name, Gennero.
Problem is, she really is exactly like her father. Sure, she's willing to do anything to get the job done, but there's an idea that floats around about an inability to maintain order in her vicinity. She works hard. It's just that being in the wrong place at the wrong time runs in the family. Which is why she's surprised to be given the assignment she is - with who she is, but she thinks that maybe shoving her toward Captain James Kirk is some kind of last-ditch effort at maybe you'll take her. Checking in on a wayward science team isn't supposed to be much of an issue - shouldn't be, anyway, hopefully - but somehow she still has a sense of nervous energy about her despite hardly being fresh out of the Academy.
Maybe things will actually go right. For once.
Edited 2016-08-08 06:08 (UTC)
And at most of his classes, there's a gentleman in a rather strange looking version of the Starfleet uniform who settles into the back, leaning into his seat thoughtfully as he listens. He seems somewhat serious for the most part, but every once in a while, he cracks a smile and even at times, an all out grin.
It's not like Jim tells Command Send me the crazy ones, it's cool-- and not the opposite, either; he doesn't say much of anything about the pool new members of his crew comes from, figuring he's annoying TPTB enough as it is on a regular basis. Up front, anyway. He's demanded certain recruits back after transfer and kicked other ones out, all ordinary crew management business. Unordinary is the fact that he knows names, faces, favorite drinks, Academy grades, dating woes, of all one hundred and fourteen of them.
He knows Command thinks it was smugness, the fact that he hadn't lost a single crew member in all that time, and not the fierce, hard-won pride it was. Not pride in himself. Pride in everyone. And then the USS Vengeance happened (what a name), and Krall... no, Edison. Hundreds lost, both times. Now, welcoming aboard new additions (replacements) to the crew is a sobering experience.
The construction break gives Jim a unique opportunity to meet and vet potential transfers before they're locked in - though honestly, he's not much inclined to fuss with what's made its way to his (virtual) desk. On (digital) paper it's the usual mix of excellent cadets scoring well enough to warrant time on the flagship and proactive junior officers being put to more demanding work. He's not sure exactly where Ensign McClane falls on that particular spectrum just yet, but he figures by the time they've made their hike to the remote viewing cabin where Doctor Mills should be, he'll have figured it out.
"I bet this guy's an asshole," he muses after a few minutes of silence. Who else gets punted out to the sticks when you're already in the sticks? Aren't scientists supposed to all get along? Nerd bonding, or something.
He knows Command thinks it was smugness, the fact that he hadn't lost a single crew member in all that time, and not the fierce, hard-won pride it was. Not pride in himself. Pride in everyone. And then the USS Vengeance happened (what a name), and Krall... no, Edison. Hundreds lost, both times. Now, welcoming aboard new additions (replacements) to the crew is a sobering experience.
The construction break gives Jim a unique opportunity to meet and vet potential transfers before they're locked in - though honestly, he's not much inclined to fuss with what's made its way to his (virtual) desk. On (digital) paper it's the usual mix of excellent cadets scoring well enough to warrant time on the flagship and proactive junior officers being put to more demanding work. He's not sure exactly where Ensign McClane falls on that particular spectrum just yet, but he figures by the time they've made their hike to the remote viewing cabin where Doctor Mills should be, he'll have figured it out.
"I bet this guy's an asshole," he muses after a few minutes of silence. Who else gets punted out to the sticks when you're already in the sticks? Aren't scientists supposed to all get along? Nerd bonding, or something.
The extensive rebuilding of the Enterprise ought to be a time to breathe, and perhaps back to back meetings, commissions, diplomatic visitations, reports, consultations still constitute as downtime when you consider the kinds of adventures that mark up the terrain of Spock's Starfleet career under Jim's captaincy. Suffice to say they all find ways to keep busy, together and apart. For instance: the day that Spock arrives on Yorktown after accompanying a diplomatic envoy to the Vulcan colony is met with administrative settling, catching up on paperwork, an interception by Nyota, a debrief as to his last venture, and a subsequent assignment for a routine six month check-in on a science excursion bordering the neutral zone. An assignment that would put him amidst familiar faces once again.
Ergo, awaiting the construction of the Enterprise is not, in fact, a time to breathe, but on his way through the docks, Spock finds one anyway. The ship has made astounding advances in the time he has been away from Yorktown, and he stands in place as he regards the impressive shape of what would be, a tall, serene presence in the bustle of the space station.
In isolation, a twinge of sentiment is analysed, filed away, buried. Probably no one saw it.
Ergo, awaiting the construction of the Enterprise is not, in fact, a time to breathe, but on his way through the docks, Spock finds one anyway. The ship has made astounding advances in the time he has been away from Yorktown, and he stands in place as he regards the impressive shape of what would be, a tall, serene presence in the bustle of the space station.
In isolation, a twinge of sentiment is analysed, filed away, buried. Probably no one saw it.
'Rather strange' is a day ending in y around these parts, but that doesn't mean unfamiliar uniforms attached to familiar places are routine enough to go unnoticed.
It takes Jim more days than he'd like to be able to catch up - his superiors are really working his time on Earth down to the last minute - but he does, eventually, catch up. He falls in step alongside the other man one day after his lecture is dismissed, though for a while, he says nothing.
Eventually,
"Q didn't send you here, did he?"
Well.
Jim can't help that his tone of voice has too many layers. Wry exasperation, buried, darker ire over the subject of his inquiry, but there's unmistakable relief and fondness. Like he's speaking to someone he already knows.
It takes Jim more days than he'd like to be able to catch up - his superiors are really working his time on Earth down to the last minute - but he does, eventually, catch up. He falls in step alongside the other man one day after his lecture is dismissed, though for a while, he says nothing.
Eventually,
"Q didn't send you here, did he?"
Well.
Jim can't help that his tone of voice has too many layers. Wry exasperation, buried, darker ire over the subject of his inquiry, but there's unmistakable relief and fondness. Like he's speaking to someone he already knows.
...and he has never seen a man look as offended in that moment as Benjamin Sisko looks right then. Because, I'm sorry, did you- did you just- did you just ask if Q-
He makes a noise somewhere between a grunt of displeasure and an actual growl before lifting his chin.
"No," he says firmly, "Q most certainly did not send me. I sent myself, thank you very much. Though I'm curious as to what gave you the idea that he did."
He makes a noise somewhere between a grunt of displeasure and an actual growl before lifting his chin.
"No," he says firmly, "Q most certainly did not send me. I sent myself, thank you very much. Though I'm curious as to what gave you the idea that he did."
The worst part of Lucy's issues are that she knows why it's happening. If she were blissfully unaware that she was being shipped around because people think she's nuts, she wouldn't have to care. But it just makes her angry and frustrated in turns. She wants to get in good, somehow, somewhere, but there's always some reason. She thinks she probably just rubs a lot of people the wrong way. If this opportunity works out though, she'll be glad enough for it. Which is an understatement. She doesn't seem like she fits in with either group quite well enough, like a slightly oval block trying to fit into a perfectly round space. Almost, but not quite.
She's a little worried she'll fuck this up, honestly. She sure as hell isn't going home with her tail between her legs even if she does, but it still feels like her last chance at proving that she really can before someone tries to lock her into a dead-end desk job someplace that she won't be a liability. When he speaks her reply is automatic. "Thankfully, Captain, I'm used to dealing with assholes." Wry. Thankfully it doesn't sound like she's talking about her earlier commanding officers. Probably. She has the same kinds of speech patterns as John too, which is usually funny for anyone familiar with him in any capacity since the same quips coming out of a twenty-something woman with hair is something people seem to think is amusing.
He probably is an asshole though, she thinks. It isn't as though Lucy minds having to slough out to this fabled viewing cabin in the middle of nowhere but it's still a little much picking their way through, like they've tried to get him as far out of the way as possible. She understands the sentiment. "Well, either an asshole or one of those real reclusive types." Married to science and unable to socialize with anyone, or a jerk. Or both. Both's a possibility. Now she genuinely wonders which option it is, and some of that nervousness seems to have left her or at least gotten sorted away somewhere invisible as they continue.
But seriously, maybe she should not continue talking because it always gets her in trouble.
She's a little worried she'll fuck this up, honestly. She sure as hell isn't going home with her tail between her legs even if she does, but it still feels like her last chance at proving that she really can before someone tries to lock her into a dead-end desk job someplace that she won't be a liability. When he speaks her reply is automatic. "Thankfully, Captain, I'm used to dealing with assholes." Wry. Thankfully it doesn't sound like she's talking about her earlier commanding officers. Probably. She has the same kinds of speech patterns as John too, which is usually funny for anyone familiar with him in any capacity since the same quips coming out of a twenty-something woman with hair is something people seem to think is amusing.
He probably is an asshole though, she thinks. It isn't as though Lucy minds having to slough out to this fabled viewing cabin in the middle of nowhere but it's still a little much picking their way through, like they've tried to get him as far out of the way as possible. She understands the sentiment. "Well, either an asshole or one of those real reclusive types." Married to science and unable to socialize with anyone, or a jerk. Or both. Both's a possibility. Now she genuinely wonders which option it is, and some of that nervousness seems to have left her or at least gotten sorted away somewhere invisible as they continue.
But seriously, maybe she should not continue talking because it always gets her in trouble.
That reaction is in actual fact glorious. So much so that Jim exhales in a rush, artfully hidden tension leaving him in a snap-- he laughs, loud, and has to pause to bend over and press his hands against his knees for a brief moment. "Well, thank god for that," he says in a half-groan as he straightens back up, semi-hysterical laughter only hanging around in his voice for a few words before he manages to shake it off.
"No reason. Don't worry about it. Everything's fine-- why are you here? And watching me, specifically."
Amazing, really, the emotional gamut his demeanor can run in a matter of seconds; he ends on sincere curiosity, hoping the other man's not in some kind of trouble.
"No reason. Don't worry about it. Everything's fine-- why are you here? And watching me, specifically."
Amazing, really, the emotional gamut his demeanor can run in a matter of seconds; he ends on sincere curiosity, hoping the other man's not in some kind of trouble.
Alas.
Jim lets him go for a while, actually; he spies his first officer when he's en route to engineering with breakfast for Scotty and Keenser, who of course haven't taken the same breaks from Yorktown as everyone else. He's spent a lot of time down there himself, watching her knit together with steel and plasma. You're an engineer at heart, an instructor at the Academy had told him once, and he didn't know what to say; sure, he gets it, he really gets the science and machinery and the metal muscle and art of it all, but he feels pulled in so many directions. Every direction.
"I thought about getting you a 'Vulcan Mocha'," says a familiar voice, edging into roughness from his typical sleep deprivation, "but I don't think it was actually Vulcan."
He comes to stand beside Spock and offers the man a covered up of plain black coffee. Boring and utilitarian, like Jim drinks it.
Jim lets him go for a while, actually; he spies his first officer when he's en route to engineering with breakfast for Scotty and Keenser, who of course haven't taken the same breaks from Yorktown as everyone else. He's spent a lot of time down there himself, watching her knit together with steel and plasma. You're an engineer at heart, an instructor at the Academy had told him once, and he didn't know what to say; sure, he gets it, he really gets the science and machinery and the metal muscle and art of it all, but he feels pulled in so many directions. Every direction.
"I thought about getting you a 'Vulcan Mocha'," says a familiar voice, edging into roughness from his typical sleep deprivation, "but I don't think it was actually Vulcan."
He comes to stand beside Spock and offers the man a covered up of plain black coffee. Boring and utilitarian, like Jim drinks it.
Edited 2016-08-08 07:42 (UTC)
Jim resolutely does not laugh, but if she happens to catch the brief look he casts over to her, she might pick up on the fact that he's fine with the way she's speaking. Maybe even entertained. You know-- for now. Serious and formal situations are wholly different cans of worms compared to following your captain's lead on talking ambiguous shit.
"Usually the reclusive ones don't join Starfleet." The Federation has plenty of other organizations that aren't quite so paramilitary and mission-oriented, after all, though none with the same kind of ubiquity. "What do you think about the survey work they're doing? Seems like a lot of effort for something that should be getting the M-class planet rubber stamp."
"Usually the reclusive ones don't join Starfleet." The Federation has plenty of other organizations that aren't quite so paramilitary and mission-oriented, after all, though none with the same kind of ubiquity. "What do you think about the survey work they're doing? Seems like a lot of effort for something that should be getting the M-class planet rubber stamp."
Spock glances side along as Jim steps into his periphery, with the proffered coffee granted more attention with a side-eye of some scepticism. "You surmised correctly, captain. Coffee and its many iterations are a human conceit, and the components that determine a mocha would be inappropriate for me to consume while on-duty."
He knows what a mocha is. He dates Nyota, aware of cafe adventures and her lengthy orders that result in products as rich as the language that describes it.
Dated.
To be determined.
Nevertheless, he takes the coffee, if on a delay. He can get behind something boring and utilitarian, at the very least, off-guard just enough in his reminiscing up at the shadow of the as yet unchristened vessel. He uncaps it, investigatory.
He knows what a mocha is. He dates Nyota, aware of cafe adventures and her lengthy orders that result in products as rich as the language that describes it.
Dated.
To be determined.
Nevertheless, he takes the coffee, if on a delay. He can get behind something boring and utilitarian, at the very least, off-guard just enough in his reminiscing up at the shadow of the as yet unchristened vessel. He uncaps it, investigatory.
Thankfully, despite all evidence to the contrary, Lucy usually manages to keep herself in line for serious and formal situations. Maybe not so much when shit hits the fan, but most of her "personality" problems stem from just being too much in situations like these. She does catch the look and the set of her shoulders relaxes. Just a little. Relieved.
"That's true," she agrees, but then she's considering the implications of the survey work. Thoughtful's good because it keeps her brain occupied; when she speaks again it's something keener, openly attentive. "I don't know if saying I'm curious is the right word for it, or even interested." Skeptical, maybe, but she doesn't say that. "It definitely seems like a lot of effort, among other things, to put out for this work. I have to wonder what they think they're looking for, mostly. What I mean is, what on this planet is worth that kind of venture when normally it wouldn't be a consideration?"
"That's true," she agrees, but then she's considering the implications of the survey work. Thoughtful's good because it keeps her brain occupied; when she speaks again it's something keener, openly attentive. "I don't know if saying I'm curious is the right word for it, or even interested." Skeptical, maybe, but she doesn't say that. "It definitely seems like a lot of effort, among other things, to put out for this work. I have to wonder what they think they're looking for, mostly. What I mean is, what on this planet is worth that kind of venture when normally it wouldn't be a consideration?"
Edited 2016-08-08 08:35 (UTC)
"That's a very good question, McClane." And, clearly, one that's on Jim's mind. There's been no hint that he's found anything to be worthy of closer inspection so far, but maybe it's not surprising that he's considering such an uncharitable angle so soon - he has dealt with more Starfleet corruption than possibly any other captain in history.
There's a post up ahead informing them of how far away their destination is, but Kirk stops short before walking back a meter or so. He crouches down. Huh. There's an awful lot of shrubbery over here, but it looks like it's covering a footpath; only slightly worn-in, but still. He glances over his shoulder. "Don't mind a detour, do you?"
There's a post up ahead informing them of how far away their destination is, but Kirk stops short before walking back a meter or so. He crouches down. Huh. There's an awful lot of shrubbery over here, but it looks like it's covering a footpath; only slightly worn-in, but still. He glances over his shoulder. "Don't mind a detour, do you?"
No surprises lie in wait within the cup. It's not even from a chain, but the nondescript offerings of the communal mess hall in the officers' barracks here at the HQ. So much of him is volume and flash, weaponized extroversion, that it's easy to forget Jim Kirk is a kid from Nowhere, Iowa, raised in a bare bones, workaholic Starfleet officer's household. Simple things as a comforting baseline holds true, despite the chaotic turn his childhood took (not that anybody besides one Doctor McCoy knows anything about that; Jim's never let on, and most of it's been sealed in an iron-clad juvenile record anyway).
There's no need to fill the air with smalltalk. Sometimes, he can just shut up, too.
After a while,
"Have you ever very nearly made a fatal error, like almost slipping off a ledge because you weren't looking, and you're left with that... unhelpful adrenaline that's not actually fight-or-flight, because it's relief as much as it is terror?"
There's no need to fill the air with smalltalk. Sometimes, he can just shut up, too.
After a while,
"Have you ever very nearly made a fatal error, like almost slipping off a ledge because you weren't looking, and you're left with that... unhelpful adrenaline that's not actually fight-or-flight, because it's relief as much as it is terror?"
There's a moment of sudden clarity where the simple idea of having a commanding officer that doesn't dismiss any misgivings she has as ludicrous or shut her down is kind of astounding. But it makes sense, in this case. It's still nice to be on the same page as someone for once. This time when she feels like there's some tension leaving her, she hadn't even realized it was there.
But Lucy pauses when he does, watching him and immediately noticing what he has. She stays close, and by the time Kirk's looking back at her, she shrugs and shakes her head. "Can't say I'm the type to mind a detour, Captain." Of course she's not. She'll still be deferring to his lead, obviously, but she's clearly just as intent as he is to find out what's actually going on.
Hopefully nothing too absurd, but she's not sure either of them have that kind of luck.
But Lucy pauses when he does, watching him and immediately noticing what he has. She stays close, and by the time Kirk's looking back at her, she shrugs and shakes her head. "Can't say I'm the type to mind a detour, Captain." Of course she's not. She'll still be deferring to his lead, obviously, but she's clearly just as intent as he is to find out what's actually going on.
Hopefully nothing too absurd, but she's not sure either of them have that kind of luck.
The raised eyebrow turned on him at that moment said, quite eloquently, that he did not for even an instant believe that there was no reason, that he shouldn't worry about it, and that everything was fine. Everything was never fine.
"Curiosity. The last time I got to meet you, we didn't have much time to talk."
"Curiosity. The last time I got to meet you, we didn't have much time to talk."
What's the point of even having a crew if you don't listen to their opinions? More often than not, Jim doesn't personally have the answer to a problem. It's his willingness to aggressively think-tank, listen, and put things into motion that gets shit done; qualities most other captains seem to lack. Maybe it's that they don't have the balls to push non-typical solutions, maybe it's about misplaced pride. My crew is why I don't believe in no-win scenarios, he'd told an omnipotent entity bent on messing with his head, once. And it's true.
Investigation into the covered path reveals well-arranged uprooted shrubs, obviously put there deliberately to try and obscure the side route. Jim takes off, making sure Lucy's in step with him. There's no immediately apparent reason to be on guard, but he's still alert-- this could easily be the trail to the science crew's equivalent of Makeout Point, but it could also, you know, not be. Best to stay aware.
Investigation into the covered path reveals well-arranged uprooted shrubs, obviously put there deliberately to try and obscure the side route. Jim takes off, making sure Lucy's in step with him. There's no immediately apparent reason to be on guard, but he's still alert-- this could easily be the trail to the science crew's equivalent of Makeout Point, but it could also, you know, not be. Best to stay aware.
Edited 2016-08-09 00:29 (UTC)
That look slides off Kirk like eggs off Teflon, willfully oblivious. Yeah, something batshit crazy definitely happened, but he's not going to go detailing it right here in an Academy hall. Or possibly ever.
Interesting, though. The last time he remembers meeting Benjamin Sisko, they did have time to talk - not leisurely, and not about anything good, but he'd spent enough time in that dismal future being smuggled this way and that to come up with what he felt was a pretty good read on the man. Even met his kid. Between that and the uniform, he knows whatever's going on is even weirder than it looks at first glance.
"Do you have time now?" Jim nods an invitation for the other man to follow him. "The brass put me up in some half decent digs while I'm here."
Interesting, though. The last time he remembers meeting Benjamin Sisko, they did have time to talk - not leisurely, and not about anything good, but he'd spent enough time in that dismal future being smuggled this way and that to come up with what he felt was a pretty good read on the man. Even met his kid. Between that and the uniform, he knows whatever's going on is even weirder than it looks at first glance.
"Do you have time now?" Jim nods an invitation for the other man to follow him. "The brass put me up in some half decent digs while I'm here."
Smalltalk and companionable silence both could rank on a scale of time wasting activities that the robotically productive among us may choose to eschew, but without anything pressing for Spock to bring to Jim's attention, he is available to indulge in the latter, for the time that it lasts. Normally, there is a blackness to behold, a cold vacuum separated by glass. There will be again, soon enough.
The coffee offers very little in the way of nutritional value, and tastes a little like something died. He's tempted to ask what the point of it is by the time Jim breaks the silence with--
Something Spock judges to be figurative. Gamely;
"An experience that is often as emotional as it is physiological. I imagine for beings who have not yet mastered the division between these two components, that the former would linger beyond the latter."
The coffee offers very little in the way of nutritional value, and tastes a little like something died. He's tempted to ask what the point of it is by the time Jim breaks the silence with--
Something Spock judges to be figurative. Gamely;
"An experience that is often as emotional as it is physiological. I imagine for beings who have not yet mastered the division between these two components, that the former would linger beyond the latter."
"You'd imagine," could be agreement, and Jim takes a slow sip of his coffee, reminding himself that no, Vulcans don't lie, but they can dodge questions. He wonders if Spock even realizes he hasn't answered, though. Probably not. Probably a topic beneath him, despite the fact that Jim thinks he's better at splitting his heart and his body than his first officer-- something he's aware would get him the eyebrow arch to end all eyebrow arches were he to mention it.
There is no further elaboration. Jim's not sure if he actually feels like trying to poke his friend into understanding what he's talking about - he's gotten pretty good at it, he feels, but sometimes the mental sensation of hitting his head against a willfully obstinate wall becomes tiring. You know, fondly. Sort of.
There is no further elaboration. Jim's not sure if he actually feels like trying to poke his friend into understanding what he's talking about - he's gotten pretty good at it, he feels, but sometimes the mental sensation of hitting his head against a willfully obstinate wall becomes tiring. You know, fondly. Sort of.
Know what's in bars? - Nyota, sometimes, usually with Jim. Like now, leaning her elbows up against the high standing table they've acquired (there aren't chairs, because they have not yet accepted that they're too old for dance clubs, but they are upstairs overlooking the floor where they can actually hear themselves), a few empty shot glasses scattered across it and the half-empty glass she's still drinking from when she opens with -
"Spock might ask you what the bro code is."
"Spock might ask you what the bro code is."
Really, his way is better. It brings a crew more tightly-knit and feeds into trusting the captain more - the fact it works is just proof positive. This isn't the time to focus on it, though; she can think about how James Kirk isn't a typical dictator of a captain later, when they're not on an active mission. For now, she focuses on keeping in step with him and looking out for something - anything - of interest that isn't, in fact, science crew making out in the middle of nowhere. Or potentially going to kill them. Best to think about all possibilities.
As they move down the path and it's no longer visible from the main one it begins to get a little less meticulously covered. It also widens out but not much, and it's still too faint to have been used for too long. Eventually there's an actual clearing ahead and her brow furrows a little, just slightly. From here it doesn't look like much, but that doesn't mean anything. At the edge she pauses but it's only briefly, crouching with her elbows on her knees to eye the border between path and clearing and scrutinize it at about ankle height. If there's anything hidden it won't help, but it's better than barging in without even looking first. It's like she's looking for strange edges, seams. Anything strange.
As they move down the path and it's no longer visible from the main one it begins to get a little less meticulously covered. It also widens out but not much, and it's still too faint to have been used for too long. Eventually there's an actual clearing ahead and her brow furrows a little, just slightly. From here it doesn't look like much, but that doesn't mean anything. At the edge she pauses but it's only briefly, crouching with her elbows on her knees to eye the border between path and clearing and scrutinize it at about ankle height. If there's anything hidden it won't help, but it's better than barging in without even looking first. It's like she's looking for strange edges, seams. Anything strange.
"-I have definitely explained the bro code to him," Jim answers, immediate and serious, because he handles all situations with the exact amount of gravity they deserve. "Four times, probably. But he was always looking at me like I was speaking another language and he was trying to figure out what planet the word 'brohcoed' came from."
He knocks back the shot portion of his boilermaker (because you can take the delinquent out of rural Iowa, and so on) before leaning his forearms on the table, snagging his beer bottle with the ends of his fingers, almost idle. Jim knows he's here because Spock is being even more of a dick than usual, but he also knows that Spock really and truly tries his best. But he knows that Nyota knows he knows. You know, finally.
"So." So. "Did he come clean or did Chekov crack?"
He knocks back the shot portion of his boilermaker (because you can take the delinquent out of rural Iowa, and so on) before leaning his forearms on the table, snagging his beer bottle with the ends of his fingers, almost idle. Jim knows he's here because Spock is being even more of a dick than usual, but he also knows that Spock really and truly tries his best. But he knows that Nyota knows he knows. You know, finally.
"So." So. "Did he come clean or did Chekov crack?"
Jim waits when Lucy crouches down-- he's been on enough insane adventures that he's not skittish, but he's also been on enough insane adventures to know not to second-guess a security's offer's caution, no matter her rank or percentage of green-ness. Not that he thinks Lucy is inexperienced: the opposite, he thinks she should probably be a rank higher than she is, given mileage, but that's probably the cost of being bounced around between commands.
"It's really even," he murmurs after a while. The circumference of the clearing.
"It's really even," he murmurs after a while. The circumference of the clearing.
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