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motherfingtitan · 3 years

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Hi! Big fan of your fics. I have a suggestion for one: the basic idea is that the Lower Decks characters (mainly the Warp Core Four) get involved with the ep. "Trials and Tribble-ations" Meet both DS9 and TOS crew in a subtle/not-so-subtle way (PARADOX!). Bonus: They are drawn and animated in TAS Filmation style, with some of them slightly aware. Maybe a bit of Mariner x Boimler? Hope you have fun with the idea.

Time Tribbles

The Warp Core Four decides to go back in time to the Enterprise to do some not-so-scientific research on Tribbles. They come across not one, but two famous Starfleet Crews

Tendi dragged herself to her bunk. She was absolutely exhausted from pulling double shifts in Medbay to make up for the influx of patients. Earlier today, some of the food replicators were producing food at extreme temperatures. They were also uncontrollably spewing food out, and in the case of ten forward, literally spraying boiling nacho cheese. Crew members had been in and out all day with burns. Just as she sat on her bed, she saw Mariner down the hallway. Both of them waved to each other.

"Yo, Tendi, what's up?" Mariner said as she walked up to her.

"Nothing much; I’m just exhausted from all the activity in Medbay. I did see somebody with a nacho cheese burn in the shape of an Orion continent!" She smiled.

"I have something that will cheer you up!" Mariner held up her finger and ran off, going to get her special piece of contraband.

After a few minutes, she returned with a Tribble in hand. It had brown fur and little white patches. She handed the Tribble to Tendi and sat down next to her. The cooing of the ball of fur filled the room.

"Personally, I would prefer getting drunk, but I thought this might be more up your alley" Beckett smiled as Tendi ran her hand through the fur, her eyes lit up.

"This is the cutest thing ever," Tendi squealed. She then spoke in baby talk to the Tribble, "Yes you are, you are the cutest little Tribble on this ship.”

She continued to pet the Tribble for a couple of minutes before finally speaking, "You know, I've always wanted to see a Tribble reproduce. I know that the ones they sell at the pet stores are neutered."

Beckett thought for a second before finally speaking. "Ok, so I got this really cool piece of contraband from the planet we did second contact with a couple of weeks back. I've been testing it, and I think it opens up portals to different times. We could go back in time to see Tribbles reproduce."

"But isn't that against the rules?”

"Yes, but it's for science, so it's probably ok. Come on, let get Rutherford and Boimler."

…

A few hours later, the four Ensigns were in an empty part of the docking bay. All of them were wearing 2260s uniforms. Tendi messed with her holographic disguise, trying to find the right hairstyle. She felt odd with blonde hair and peachy skin, but there was no way she could go back in time looking like an Orion. Enterprise crew members would ask too many questions.

"Bangs or no Bangs?" She adjusted her holographic remote, letting it flip through different hairstyles.

"Definitely the Bangs," Rutherford gave a thumbs up before continuing his excitement-filled lecture about Constitution-class ships. “Did you know that turbolifts were not completely voice-controlled back then? You had to hold down a bar for them to work.”

"Mariner, are you sure we should be doing this. Time travel is against 253.7-" Boimler began before being cut off Mariner.

"Rules, Schmules. Come on, Boims, this could be your one chance to see Kirk in flesh and blood."

"Fine, but I'm keeping you in check," he spoke.

Beckett then pulled out the small blue stone from her trouser pocket. It glowed softly in her hand. She set it down and stated where she wanted to go "Stardate 4523.3, USS Enterprise 1701."

The store glowed brighter until it flashed, opening up a small portal to the other ship. Its corridors were empty, meaning the Ensigns could slip in undetected.

"Ready to do science stuff?" Mariner asked Tendi.

She bounced in excitement, nodding rapidly. Mariner was the first to step into the portal. She felt slight tingles all over her body as she popped out on the other side. The Enterprise looked much different than the ships of her time. The lights had colored tints, and more equipment was exposed. Rutherford came out of the portal next, slightly dizzy but extremely excited to see such an old ship. Tendi and Boimler followed. Once through the portal, it returned to its original gem form.

Boimler slowly stood up, trying to shake off how dizzy he felt. "I feel so stiff and kinda cheap too,"

"You look different," Rutherford pointed out

"Oh god! Am I phasy again?!?"

"No, but your eyes look smaller," Tendi looked at all of them. "We all look kinda different."

"Probably some stupid time travel stuff, come on, let's got find some Tribbles!" Mariner shoved the gem in her pocket and started down the hallway, followed by the other four.

Soon, they came to the main corridor that was bustling with people. The women styled their hair in extravagant bumps and wore earrings. Most wore minidresses, a popular style in the 2260s, but a couple wore the tunic style uniform, just as Mariner was. The sound of boots tapping filled the hallway, and the gold rank bands on the officer sleeve sparkled among the sea of yellow, red, and blue. Perhaps the most striking thing, however, was the lack of aliens. The vast majority of the officers were human, a stark contrast from how diverse the Cerritos was.

Suddenly, Mariner stopped and motioned to the other three to get against the wall. From just around the corner, two very famous Starfleet officers could be heard.

"Is that Kirk?" Boimler asked

Mariner nodded, feeling just as excited as the rest of them but doing an excellent job of hiding it. Kirk and Spock were speaking with someone through the communication unit.

"Bridge to Captain Kirk." A young man with a Russian accent spoke.

"Kirk here." The captain responded

“Mister Baris is waiting on channel E to speak to you, sir."

Mariners’ heart was beating fast. She may have acted like she didn't care, but she did grow up as a Starfleet brat, and though she may have seen Captain Kirk in a holodeck simulation, it wasn't the same as being a couple of feet away from him.

"Mister Baris is coming on." The young man spoke again.

"Yes, Mister Baris. What can I do for you?" Kirk’s voice was pleasant

"Kirk, this station is swarming with Klingons." A man by the name of Baris replied.

"I was not aware, Mister Baris, that twelve Klingons constitutes a swarm."

"Captain Kirk, I consider your security measures a disgrace. In my opinion, you have taken this entire..."

At this point, Boimler had lost focus on that conversation as his eyes drifted to the other side of the hallway. There, a man with a deeper voice and a tall woman spoke. Both looked as if they were doing routine maintenance. The woman kept glancing back at the captain and the first officer.

"I had no idea." The woman began

"What?" The man replied, fiddling with some machinery.

“He's so much more handsome in person. And those eyes."

"Kirk had quite the reputation as a ladies' man."

"Not him. Spock."

Boimler noticed that, just like him, they looked out of place. He continued to listen.

"I can't believe you don't at least want to meet Captain Kirk."

"That's the last thing on my mind."

"Oh, come on, Benjamin. Are you telling me you're not the tiniest bit interested in meeting one of the most famous men in Starfleet history?"

Benjamin? He thought as he slowly went through all the people he knew named Benjamin in his head.

Benjamin Anderson

Benjamin Taylor

Benjamin Sisko

Sisko!

It was Captain Sisko! And the woman next to him must be one of his crew members. Jadzia Dax, maybe? His face twisted in confusion. What was he doing in this time?

"Guys, look!" Boimler whispered and motioned his head to the other side of the hallway.

"Is that... Sisko?" Rutherford asked. "He looks different," he added, still getting used to how everything looked in this period.

"Two famous Starfleet Captains in one day?!?" Tendi bounced on her heels.

"Why is he here?" Boimler looked at Mariner.

"I don't know, something to do with a Tribble and a bomb,"

"A bomb?!"

She shrugged. "Relax, it's on the space station. We will stay on the ship,"

"How do you even know all this?"

"I have my ways,"

The Ensigns decided that it was time to get moving. They didn't want to create too much suspicion by huddling up against the wall. The halls were so crowded, Constitution-class ships were certainly packed, even without the hallway bedrooms of the Cerritos. The colored lights enthralled Tendi. She was so used to sterile fluorescent lights that the soft blues, purples, and yellows were dazzling. She had read about these types of ships, but reading about it and seeing it were two different things.

"Gosh, I love Constitution-class ships," Tendi said.

But there was no response. She twisted her head back and forth, slightly panicking that she had lost her other three friends. She wanted to yell out their names, but that would raise too many questions. She would have to silently slither through the confusing corridors of the ship to find them, all while looking natural. Looking back and forth one more time, she decided to continue forward. Turning down a hallway, she noticed that there was a turbolift at the end. Inside were two men. One was a bulkier man in a red shirt, while the other man with slicked-back hair wore blue with a single strip of gold on the bottom of his sleeve.

"Deck twenty-one. Deck twenty-one. I said, Deck twenty-one." The man in the red shirt said. He's getting more frustrated every time he spoke.

"Maybe if you said please." The other man replied

Tendi remembered from Rutherford’s conversation earlier that turbolifts were not entirely voice commanded at this time. She continued to walk towards the lift.

"Maybe it's jammed. Help me get this wall panel off." The redshirt was starting to open a panel when the disguised Orion walked in. She put one hand on the wall handle and crossed her fingers, on the other hand, hoping that this would work.

"Deck fifteen." She spoke, and the lift started to move. She breathed a secret sigh of relief.

"I won't tell anyone if you don't." The medical man, with a British accent, spoke.

"My lips are sealed."

"Guys, where's Tendi?" Rutherford asks, trying to find one of his best friends.

"Aw Sh*t, we must have lost her" Mariner looked some more. "Tend-"

Boimler clamped his hand against her mouth. "Are you insane? You wanna mess up history?"

"Ok, then how do you want to find her?"

"Constitution-class ships only held about 300 people, so it shouldn't be too hard to find her, especially compared to a Galaxy-class ship," Rutherford suggested.

All three realize that the only way to find their friend was to just walk through the halls and hope they stumble across her. They started down the aisle, maneuvering their way through the mass amounts of people. At one point, Beckett hit somebody with her elbow.

"Oh, sorry." She said

The woman smiled and replied. She was wearing an operations red dress, and her hair was teased on top of her head. Her sleeves bore lieutenant stripes. "It's ok," she said as she walked away. She was making baby noises at something in her hand.

Mariner craned her neck just enough to see that in the lieutenants’ arms was a small Tribble. "It can't be long now."

Tendi saw the first baby Tribble in one of the turbolifts she was taking back down. She was alerted when she heard soft sweet cooing on the other side of the lift, and she couldn't resist. She picked it up, so happy to see an unneutered baby Tribble. At first, she only saw one every once in a while. Maybe one would be stuck to a wall. Another was in an older doctor's hands, and he was scanning it with a tricorder. However, the amount started to multiply, and before she knew it, Tribbles were lining every single hallway. They came and all shapes and sizes. Some were white with gray spots, and some were a beautiful shiny Brown. They stuck to the walls and the ceiling, and cooing filled the hallway, along with the occasional screech when someone stepped on one.

She tried to resist the temptation and only grab one, but every time she turned around, she found herself face-to-face with another ball of fur, and soon she had an entire armful of Tribbles. Curiously, as she wandered about trying to find her three friends, she saw Sisko and that other female officer scanning Tribbles. Both looked frazzled. She realized that they were scanning for a bomb of sorts and remembered that Mariner said it was on the space station, not on the Enterprise.

Speaking of Mariner, she finally found her friends walking towards her in a hallway. The pep in her step grew as she walked towards them.

"They are so cute!" Tendi showed off her arm full of at least ten Tribbles.

"Let's get to a private room, watch how a Tribble gives birth, and then get back to our own time," Boimler continued. "I don't want any time travel shenanigans on my file. It's not very Captain-like."

"Oh please," Mariner replied, "you realize how much stuff was on Kirk's record?"

The four came across an empty meeting room. They all walked in, Rutherford closed the door, and Tendi set one of her many Tribbles on the table. With her pad on hand, she was ready to take notes.

Tribbles reproduce fast, so it was only a matter of time before the one on the table, which Tendi lovingly named Warpy, gave birth. The ball of fur soon went from cooing to screeching as it tensed up half its body. Soon from underneath the adult Tribble, baby Tribbles emerged. Tendi was so excited, but the other three just watched with confused and uncomfortable faces. After she finished taking notes, Boimler suggested they leave.

"I'm going to miss the blonde hair, but I can't wait to have my old body back," Tendi spoke as Mariner pulled out her blue gem.

"Tell me about it; my eyes are the same color as my skin. That can't be healthy," she replied

"Maybe people look like this because of issues with the older technology," Rutherford suggested.

Mariner spoke to the gem the time she wanted to go back to. The portal opened underneath them.

"No one's got any Tribbles, right?" Mariner asked.

All of them nodded, and Mariner was the first to jump through the portal. Rutherford followed, and then Boimler. Tendi turned around one last time to her Tribbles.

"Bye, Warpy," she spoke as she jumped through the portal.

"Much fu*king better" Mariner cracked her back in the Cerritos’ shuttle bay. Tendi glanced over her notes and deactivated her disguise. Beckett came over to her and wrapped an arm around her.

"You had fun?"

"So much, thanks" Tendi smiled.

"How about we change and get some tacos?" Beckett spoke as she walked towards the doors.

"Okie Dokie" Rutherford and the other two ensigns followed.

As they walked to the mess hall, Mariner spoke to Boimler, “Glad you could join us. Ya know, you actually look confident in that old uniform! And kinda charming.”

“Thank you, I feel confident” He did a cheesy smirk.

“Annnnd now it’s gone.” She said, trying to hide the slightest blush.

They continued to their bunks to change. Unknown to Boimler, however, was a small ball of fur stuck to his vintage uniform boots.

Three days later

Ransom woke up for his morning shift at the sound of his alarm. When he reached over to turn it off, he felt a ball of fur right on his alarm clock. Upon opening his eyes, he saw that Tribbles filled his entire room, all cooing.

"Who brought an unneutered Tribble on board!?"

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fizzyxcustard · 4 years

Text

The Right Thing

Masterlist of all fanfics/headcanons/prompts here

Fandom: seaQuest 2032

Pairings: Lucas Wolenczak x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Anxiety, insecurity, age difference (but legal), language (mild)

Word count: 6505 (a longer one)

Summary: You are a Lieutenant aboard the seaQuest DSV vessel, under Captain Oliver Hudson. You have been aboard for two years and in that time have grown very close to Lucas Wolenczak. But not only are you of higher rank, you are ten years his senior (he’s 20). As your feelings deepen and Lucas opens up to you about how he feels, your anxiety rises. Will everyone be judgemental of you for loving a younger man? Others aboard the boat, and shore leave, help you to see how right you and Lucas are for each other.

Comments: If you have any questions regarding this fic and the fandom, by all means message me. I’d love to hear your thoughts and feedback. I will probably try and make graphics for my fics in future if people are interested in reading more of this as I have a full length fic in the works and a prequel one-shot as well. If you would like to be added to my tag list for anything seaQuest related, please leave me a message or comment. The above image shows Captain Oliver Hudson (left) and Ensign Lucas Wolenczak (right) from the show.

Never before had you felt this awkward, torn and utterly disgusted with yourself. Whenever you sat beside Lucas on the bridge, you could feel his stare now and again as he turned his mesmerising blue eyes from the helm monitor. True, you had always had a very deep friendship with Lucas, who was now an Ensign and seemed to be on duty with you more than any other officer, but the tension was becoming too much. He was two months past twenty and you were the wrong side of thirty. However, most people assumed you to be younger than Lonnie, at twenty-one, but no, the years were against you. In fact, you were the same age as Tim O’Neill.

That day was rather uneventful. Your shift passed by without incident. You laughed with Lucas, Jim Brody and Lonnie in the mess hall. But again, you could sense Lucas’ eyes on you.

Captain Hudson was at a UEO summit meeting, leaving Commander Ford in charge. It was always more laid back and chilled when Jonathan Ford took the helm. No complaints, no shouting, no frustration. Ford had been on seaQuest now since her first tour, along with Lucas and Tim. The rest of the crew, including you, came later. All of you missed Captain Bridger, who had been more than just a Captain, but a friend and a fatherly figure.

“Have you got any plans for shore leave?” Lucas asked you suddenly.

You swallowed hard and turned to face him, pulling your headset from off your head. “Not at the moment, no,” you replied. “You?”

This was all your conversations had become now. Idle chit chat. Whereas when Captain Bridger was still your skipper, you and Lucas would spend time together, laughing at stupid movies, listening to music, taunting Tony Piccolo and simply basking in the things of youth.

Lucas knew there was something very wrong between you both; he could sense it. He didn’t have to be like Wendy Smith, psychic; he could see the cold shoulder that you gave him often. He watched you concentrate on your monitor, staring through the glasses that you always wore when on any computer or when writing. The atmosphere had changed aboard the boat when Captain Bridger left, but surely that wasn’t enough to make you grow cold.

When it was time for shift change, you walked off the bridge with Lucas. Both of you strolled slowly, side by side. “Hey, ummm,” Lucas began, stopping in the corridor. “Can we talk?”

“What about?” you asked.

Lucas sighed at the cold, abrupt edge to your tone. “Us….”

“What do you mean us?”

“No…no. It sounded weird, I know. I’m sorry,” Lucas said, silently grilling himself for sounding stupid. “Things just seem weird. We don’t spend time together like we used to, and I guess I…”

“We’ll talk later. In private,” you told him. Officers were speeding past you, starting and ending the shift rotation. It was too open for such a chat. There was a lot that needed to be said. “I’ll come to your quarters about seven. How’s that?”

“Perfect,” Lucas replied with a smile.

As you parted ways, you felt breath catch in your throat. Your hands shook and tears threatened to spill down your cheeks. You felt something for Lucas and you despised yourself, at just over ten years his senior. You were ashamed of it.

It wasn’t until you ventured from your quarters and down the corridors to Lucas’ shared quarters that you realised just how deep his feelings for you ran. You could distinctly hear his voice as you stopped outside the door, which was slightly ajar. The other person, you assumed, was Tony Piccolo.

“You need to tell her, Lucas,” the second voice came. Sure enough, it was Tony.

You waited outside the door, listening.

“I can’t stop thinking about her, Tony.”

“You’ve said that before with girls.”

“This is different. I barely knew Juliana and Sandra. I’ve spent months with her, and when I am with her, it’s like she’s my age. And she cares. I mean truly cares. Probably because she’s just as alone as I am. But lately she’s grown cold towards me. She won’t speak to me sometimes for almost an entire day. There’s no laughing anymore.”

“It’s pretty hard to laugh around here with Hudson in charge,” Tony replied.

You straightened your back and swallowed hard, bracing yourself and tapped on the door.

A few seconds later and Tony appeared. “I’ll leave you two to it. Don’t mind me,” he said, grinning at you. “Go easy on him.” Tony winked at you. All you could do was grimace and then descend the steps down into the main sleeping area which Lucas and Tony shared.

Lucas looked at you, dressed in jeans, Converse and blouse. How could you be the age you were? You looked twenty-two at most. Everything about you enthralled him; your small and discreet tattoos scattered about your body, your quirky sense of humour, the way you cared for everyone and put them before yourself, the odd looking ornaments you kept on your desk and your taste in rock music. Jim Brody had teased many times how your attitude would be suited with Tony Piccolo. But you needed people who were steady and mature.

Things were silent for a short while as you both stood a couple of feet apart, your hands shoved in pockets. Then you broke the silence and looked at Lucas. “I’m sorry if I’ve offended you. It’s just…Maybe I’m being arrogant, I don’t know. But I sense that you like me…”

“And does that bother you?” Lucas asked, his hands growing more and more sweaty.

“I’m a lot older than you, Lucas,” you reminded him. “You’ve only just become an adult, and I know you forget my age when we spend time together. I’m still young in my appearance and ways. Maybe I haven’t grown up myself yet.”

“I think you’re amazing,” Lucas said softly. “Why does age have to be an issue? We’re good together; I know that you know that.”

His words made something pour in your stomach and you closed your eyes, trying to shake the feelings away. “Lucas, no. Stop it, please,” you whispered.

“You have feelings for me, too. I know you do. I can see it,” he said, approaching you.

You felt his arm wind around your waist, edging you closer towards him.

“Stop it!” you cried out, pushing him away. “No means no!”

You left his quarters only moments later, leaving Lucas behind to slam his hands down onto his desk. Leaving seaQuest was the only way this would end. Lucas would move on and meet a girl his own age. And you would transfer to another boat, hopefully to ace your officer exams and get promoted to Lieutenant Commander.

That evening was long as you drowned in your own thoughts. How could Lucas be what you needed? Would he be prepared to look towards marriage and children within the next two to five years? You would be rushing him, forcing him to put aside all the years of adventure and experience to build a family. Because that was what you wanted. If you met the right man, then you would gladly take time away from your career. And Lucas seemed to think that man was him.

Around nine, a knock came to your door. Your heart leapt and you gasped, expecting it to be Lucas. But it was Tony. You knew why he was here; it didn’t take a lot for anyone to put two and two together to see the reason for his visit.

You let Tony in and sat back down in your seat. “I know why you’ve come to see me, Tony. Lucas doesn’t see the shame I feel every time I look at him.”

“I wanted to see how you’re doing, too. I know Lucas isn’t always the easiest person to say no to. In that way, he’s still a kid.”

You sighed. “We’re both still kids in a lot of ways. I’m going to put in a request for transfer. It’s the only way to solve this.”

“But you can’t,” Tony exclaimed. “Everyone loves you, you know that. It wouldn’t be the same without you. You bring a bit of life to this place.”

Tony’s words brought a smile to your face. “Thanks. This place feels more like a family than I’ve ever had anywhere else outside of my actual family.”

“Look, if you two really do like each other then nothing should stop you. Some people might think the age gap is weird, but who cares? You’re both single adults.”

You sighed again and reached for your mug of coffee which had started growing cold. “I want to think about marriage and settling down. Does Lucas want that? It’s something that needs to be thought about. I can’t be responsible for slowing him down. He’s still young.”

“And so are you. Man, you’re talkin’ as though you’re fifty. Come on!” Tony said.

You barely slept that night, constantly tossing and turning, thinking of Lucas, whom you doubted was asleep either. The air was warm and stale, and your heart raced, reminding you of the anxiety which you kept hidden. Being a Lieutenant in the Navy meant that you had been aboard vessels under attack, had nearly drowned and been shot in the leg. But it was your indecision and shame that caused you to panic uncontrollably.

Tears poured down your cheeks as you flung your legs out from the covers. You flicked on the table lamp and staggered sleepily to your chair. Writing always calmed you. In a world of discipline, uncertainty and instability, you felt so alone. Friendships were strong between you and the main crew, but you had become the glue holding them together. You listened often to Lonnie deny her budding feelings for Jonathan Ford; Tony Piccolo opened his heart to you about his unconventional family; Lucas relied on you for stability and companionship. Now was the time that you needed someone.

After finishing your journal entry, you ventured out into the corridors, finding the gentle hum of seaQuest to be soothing. In the mess hall, you poured yourself a mug of coffee from the vending machine and took a seat in the back corner of the room.

“I thought I was the only one who had insomnia,” a voice came.

“What? Oh, sorry,” you apologised, raising your head out of your hands to see Jim Brody.

“You okay?” Brody asked, approaching you. He was dressed in his uniform, obviously in the middle of night shift.

“I’ll survive,” you chuckled wryly.

“You don’t sound very convincing, you know?”

There was a sincerity in Brody’s eyes that you had always been drawn to. He never minced his words or failed in keeping his promises.

You sighed deeply and looked at your untouched coffee. “How do you handle it when you like someone but have your reservations?”

“What kind of reservations?”

“If I tell you something, will you promise not to tell another soul? I’m so ashamed.”

Brody began to look puzzled and slightly nervous. “Umm, okay.”

“Lucas admitted that he has feelings for me, and I know I feel something for him. But the age gap terrifies me, Jim. And you know how sulky he can be when you say no to him.”

Brody smiled and then sighed. “I know you two have always been close, but maybe if you’re feeling uncomfortable, it’s something you need to deal with yourself. You’re both adults and it’s down to you both. Don’t try and seek everyone else’s approval.”

“That’s what makes me ashamed: everyone else’s judgement.”

The shame and embarrassment of your admission made you look away and run your shaking hands through your short hair. It made you think back to the day you had your long locks cut off, which was the day before your first tour on seaQuest. It was an almost boyish cut, but there was no mistaking your femininity.”

“It’ll work out, I’m sure. Thanks for listening, Jim,” you said, forcing a smile.

You remained in the mess hall for a short while longer, sipping your coffee. The tall, broad figure of Dagwood drifted past the door as he cleaned. He never noticed you, but you watched him for a couple of seconds; his attention to his duty was unbroken and unwavering.

Sleep finally took you away a couple of hours later. In the dark of your quarters, you began counting. Gradually your heart rate slowed.

Suddenly your alarm was blaring! Pain rested behind your eyes and in your temples. No doubt it would remain with you for the rest of the day.

After a shower, you got dressed into your uniform and headed for the mess hall for breakfast. The bright overhead lights assaulted your eyes, making you wince.

Lucas, Tony and Lonnie were all sat together to the left hand side of the room. You suddenly felt sick, insanely sick. Tony looked at you, his eyes widening. Thankfully Lucas had his back to you. It was impossible for you to avoid him now; once you were up for duty, you couldn’t go back to quarters until the next shift rotation. On an almost mile-long submarine, and you couldn’t hide.

You grabbed fruit and a mug of herbal tea. With a huge sigh, you approached the table where your friends were, a spare seat having been left between Tony and Lucas.

Lucas swallowed hard and shifted in his seat as your perfume wafted up his nose, mixed with the smell of your sweet-scented hand cream.

“Morning,” you said softly. Your eyes met Lucas’ and you could see the sadness swimming in them.

“You look awful,” Lonnie said. “Are you okay?”

“I didn’t sleep much last night,” you said, forcing another smile. “And it’s caught up with me this morning.”

By now and you could feel your pulse racing, thumping in your head and chest. Your hands were shaking, and you knew the day wouldn’t get any easier. Tony kept watching you as the atmosphere remained tense. Lonnie left a few minutes later, uncomfortable by the silence.

Lucas was looking down most of the time and once Tony had also left, he spoke, but didn’t look at you. “Are you okay?”

“Not really,” you admitted, swallowing hard.

Lucas heard the quiver in your voice and finally looked at you. “I’m sorry,” he said simply.

Almost on instinct, you placed your hand on his. “We’ll be okay. Whatever happens, we’ll be okay. Shore leave in two days. We can talk more then.”

That morning seemed to ease some of the tension between Lucas and you. On the bridge, you began to ease back into your laughter. You temporarily forgot your fatigue and the events of the evening previous. Until Lucas held your gaze for a few seconds longer than usual. Normally you looked away, trying to avert his attention elsewhere, but this time you maintained eye contact and smiled.

Tony smirked to himself, recognising that look anywhere.

The next two days passed without incident. You felt more at ease now and found yourself making jokes out of mundane things. As it always had, it entertained Tony greatly. The two of you played off each other in the mess hall. A lot of your jokes were at Captain Hudson’s expense. To most people, you outwardly seemed more suited to Tony Piccolo, but those closest to you knew better. The bond you shared with Lucas was unlike any other relationship on the boat. Even though you paled into insignificance when it came to Lucas’ IQ, you could both normally tell what the other was thinking with just one smile.

On the evening before shore leave officially started, Lucas remained in his quarters after shift rotation. There was still a deep pain when he saw you. When you turned your head and smiled, your eyes shining bright, he knew that he would love no other smile. Your attention to detail was unparalleled; that was obvious from the drawings of yours which littered your bedside wall. Your mind didn’t store facts, theories and calculations like Lucas’; it was curious, deep, questioning. You observed deeply. Your genius was in colours, shape, emotion, behaviour. Not cold fact like Lucas.

The Navy had taught you to be disciplined, orderly. No more piles of clothes left at the end of your bed or un-pressed clothing that hoped no one would notice. Why had you even enlisted? Was it your wanderlust? Perhaps. Or maybe it was a way to get away from the ordinary world and embrace your difference.

A sudden knock came to your door, a metallic tap.

“Come in,” you called, placing your copy of The Lord of the Ringsback on your shelf.

Lucas entered, not quite sure why he was even visiting.

“Sorry. I was tidying. You okay?” you asked.

“Yeah, I think so,” he replied.

“You think so?”

Lucas sat down on the edge of your bed and looked up at you as you placed your hands on your hips.

“Please don’t do that. You remind me of my mom,” he chuckled.

Somehow, that comment didn’t amuse you quite as much as it did Lucas. It hit a rather raw nerve that you had hoped you had figured out how to manage.

Lucas got up from his spot and stood before you, being slightly taller. “What?” he asked. You turned your head, shame surging through you again. But just then, the gentlest touch came to your cheek. Lucas’ large blue eyes were full of concern and adoration for you. His hand cupped your face and seconds later, you felt his lips against yours. Soft, unsure, but above all, kind. The kiss of a young man, some ten years your junior, was enough to remind you that there was still kindness in the world, especially amongst the male of the species.

Realisation hit you hard in the stomach and you turned from the kiss. You heard Lucas sigh and stepped back. “Have you thought about this properly? We’re at different stages in our lives. You’re just starting out in your adult years to find out what you’d like…”

Lucas cut you off. “You talk as though I have no idea what I want.”

You looked at him sadly, seeing the frustration in his face. “What experience have you had? Do you know if you want to get married? Have children? These are probably things you haven’t even considered yet. I’ve been forced to push it aside because I’m too different.”

Lucas remained quiet, not quite sure what to say.

“Please think on this more,” you said.

“I have,” he said in desperation, his hands cupping your face again. “I want to be with you, and whatever you want, you can have it.” His voice became a whisper and you kissed again.

You woke a few hours later at just after one in the morning. There was a solid warmth against your back and an arm draped over you. The two of you had fallen asleep after an evening of chatter and cuddles under the blanket.

In all the time that you had known Lucas, which was two years, you had never seen him smile so much as he had done that evening. True, since enlisting in the Navy, Lucas had had to grow up somewhat and that change in him had been amazing, going from a boy to a man. A seriousness had settled in him, overriding the boyishness.

You slid out of bed and positioned the blanket back over Lucas. He rolled over and mumbled in his sleep. Something about this still felt wrong. It made you concerned that everyone would see it as predatory. Everything that felt wrong was pushing you to begin writing up that transfer request. Crew from the infamous seaQuest were always welcomed aboard other UEO vessels. The sub still remained the pinnacle of the fleet, highly sought after by new officers for their first tour. A reserve list with thousands of names on had been written up, and if you left, then you’d open a door to someone more deserving of their placement. Allowing Lucas to get close to you had been an abuse of your authority.

“You’re making a habit of this, ain’t you?” Brody laughed, finding you in the mess hall again at an ungodly hour for the second time that week.

“Maybe I am,” you chuckled. “My sleep routine is shot to shit.”

“Did you get things sorted with Lucas?”

“I don’t know,” you groaned. “It still feels wrong. I’m seriously considering putting in a transfer. But I know that Hudson will only take a valid reason before signing off my request.”

“Are you absolutely sure about this?” Brody leaned closer to you across the table.

“I can’t stay, Jim. Things are getting too deep between me and Lucas, and I know that he’s always going to expect something that I can’t give him.”

“I can’t force you to go against what you think is right, but you know we’d all miss you. None of us would want to see you go.”

“I know that, and I thank you so much. You’ve all supported me and I absolutely love working on this boat.”

“Yeah, it is a great place.”

Suddenly, you stopped rigid, eyes wide as Lucas wondered into the room. Brody turned after seeing your expression, and then wished you both a goodnight.

“You okay?” Lucas asked, replacing Brody in the seat opposite you.

“Got a lot on my mind,” you told him.

Lucas reached out and curled his hand around yours. “What’s up? Talk to me.”

Tears filled your eyes and fell down your cheeks. “I can’t do this…I’m sorry…”

“What have I done?” he whispered.

“Nothing. Absolutely nothing,” you sobbed. Your gripped his hand tighter until he came and sat at your side. “You need someone your own age. I’m taking advantage of you with my authority and rank.”

“How are you taking advantage of me?”

“I’m ten years older than you and I’m a Lieutenant.”

“And why should that matter?”

“I…” words were lost.

“We’re both legal age and consenting adults. So does it really matter?” You remained quiet. Then you heard the gentle whisper of your name. “Does it really matter?” he asked again.

“I was considering putting in a transfer,” you said, the words tumbling from your mouth like an avalanche.

“No….no,” Lucas begged, drawing his hand up your face. “Don’t leave me.”

You couldn’t help but kiss his hand and lean into his touch.

“Captain Bridger left. I don’t know if I could handle you leaving, too.” Lucas’ eyes were wide and full to the brim of tears. Everyone in Lucas’ life had left him or cared little, never putting him as their priority.

And you knew then that no matter the outcome of your relationship status, you couldn’t leave. Lucas needed an open ear, heart and mind to express himself to. He’d found that in you.

As everyone prepared their belongings in order to enjoy three days of shore leave, you sat in your quarters with music playing away on your com-link. There was a positive buzz outside your door and foot traffic was loud. It was always the same whenever shore leave was approaching.

A knock came to your door.

Tony appeared. “Mornin’!” he chirped happily. “All ready to go?”

“Yes, I think so,” you replied.

“Lucas told me about your conversation over the transfer. I’m glad you told him you’d thought about it. Are you still considering it?”

You sighed and looked towards Tony. “No, I’ve decided not to leave. Whatever happens, I know my place is here. Lucas has had enough people walk out on him. He needs at least one person to stay.”

“Make sure you’re stayin’ for the right reasons.”

“I thought you wanted me to stay,” you replied with a smile.

“I do. We all do. But you’ve got to want to stay for yourself.”

“Everyone here feels like the friends I never had and the family I lost touch with. Of course I don’t want to leave.”

As everyone began gathering in the corridors to head to the docking bays, you stood between Lucas and Brody, dressed in your shore uniform. As usual, Tony was telling jokes to keep everyone amused.

“Do you ever pause for breath?” you asked, laughing.

“Only when I’m sleepin’, and even then I still talk,” Tony countered.

“He’s right there,” Lucas mumbled.

Shore leave began with all of you checking into a local hotel in downtown just from the seaQuest berth. As usual, the UEO paid for all expenses incurred on shore leave.

Lucas looked on a little suspiciously when you announced that you were next door to Brody and Lonnie, but he was on the floor below. He merely smiled at you, swept a glance to Brody and Lonnie, then disappeared to his own room.

In your room, you placed your bag down on the bed and began inspecting the cleanliness of the place.

You made sure you had a bath before doing anything else. The heat relaxed you and the sweet scent of lavender and jasmine wrapped around you. For a short while and you forgot all the trials in life, all the things that kept you up at night and made you over think. Suddenly, your phone began to chime. With a groan of irritation, you lifted yourself out of the tub, wound a thick towel around yourself and picked up the ringing nuisance from your bed.

“Are you alright? You took a while to answer,” Lucas’ questioning voice came.

“I’m fine. I was taking a bath.”

“Oh, okay. Do you mind if I come and see you?”

“Give me ten minutes to get dressed. I’m in room 712.”

“Okay. Bye.”

He seemed put out somehow. You sensed disappointment in his voice. Did he think you were avoiding him purely because you took time to answer his call? There was definitely a lot that needed to be ironed out between you both.

Lucas came to your room shortly afterwards, holding two paper cups of coffee, probably from the vending machine on his floor.

You thanked him for the coffee and then sat opposite him on your bed. You pulled your leg under yourself and watched him lower his head in that way he always did when he was unsure. “If this is how things are going to be between us now, then I wish they would just go back to how they were,” he said. His voice as pained by the realisation of all the tension he’d placed on your once deep friendship. For a young man who was so intelligent, far beyond that of most people, he held a lot of insecurity and uncertainty. He wore his heart on his sleeve and had never been able to hide his true emotions. There was an honesty and innocence that drew you in. A purity of heart. But also a sadness. If everyone else had abandoned him, how could you be so selfish and do the same thing?

“What’s wrong?” you asked.

Lucas was staring blankly into his coffee. “This. All of it.” He then looked up at you. “The last few days have been hell. I haven’t known what to say or do. And even if you don’t feel anything for me, can we just go back to the way things were?”

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I’ve driven a gap between us out of my own fear. Maybe I felt that backing away would help. Being around each other constantly only makes the feelings deepen. I’ve missed you and I do have feelings for you. A lot of them. I was scared of everyone judging me because I’m older and abusing my authority. I have to be careful, Lucas. Especially now that Captain Bridger is gone. He didn’t push Naval code like Hudson does.”

“I know that,” Lucas said, edging in a little closer towards you. That beautiful scent. It made his deeper instinct ride; butterflies were flapping with ferocity in his gut. “You worry too much about what other people think of you.”

“We’re not civilians, Lucas,” you reminded him.

“What would you have done with your life if you never enlisted?”

You took a sip of your coffee and smiled. “As a kid, I always wanted to be a vet, so I’d have worked with animals more than likely.”

“What made you enlist? You’ve never had that typical Navy way about you.”

“I finished university with a useless degree in English and I saw advertisements at a job fayre. I wanted something new and interesting. I almost failed my initial medical though.”

“Why?”

“I was taking medication for panic attacks. I stopped taking it a week before my examination and never declared it. Who wants a Naval officer who’s always anxious?”

“I don’t believe that at all. You’re probably the most chilled of anyone when we have an emergency.”

You chuckled. “I’ve learned to control it. And I find when I’m leading others, I’m more at ease. I can be calm for other people but not myself.”

That evening, a large group of you decided to head for a sit down meal at a local restaurant. Piano music was playing overhead and the lighting was dimmed, adding to a relaxing atmosphere. The waiter, a hook-nosed Italian man in overly tightly trousers, guided you over to a large, round table in the back corner.

You nudged Brody and pointed to the waiter. “It’s a wonder he doesn’t pop a nut.”

Lonnie and Tony immediately smiled, enjoying the fact that your usual self was coming back to the surface.

The whole meal was laid back, fun and light-hearted. You couldn’t help but notice the subtle glances that were exchanged between Lonnie and Jonathan Ford. Tim O’Neill seemed a little irritated by it, rolling his eyes a couple of times. When you saw Tim be so quiet, it reminded you of Miguel Ortiz, whom you had had a slight crush on when you first came aboard seaQuest. He and Tim had been good friends, and since Miguel’s passing in combat, Tim seemed a little lost at times.

By the time that the meal was over, most of the group had disappeared into the bar. There was only you, Lonnie and Jonathan Ford left at the table, which made you feel like a spare part. You excused yourself and walked out the front door of the restaurant. Chatter and laughter filled the air outside on the veranda. Dozens of people were drinking, eating and enjoying the night time air.

You began to walk, crossing the street and heading onto the empty beach. The chill in the air, the bright, full moon and the sound of crashing waves soothed you. In a hectic world where you were constantly fighting for control, you were now centred. Everything was simple. No worry. No orders. Just the stars, sand and sea.

Lucas looked for you, only to spot you standing on the beach. He could tell you from across the street. Proud shoulders, hands in pockets, bright coloured blouse, bandana in hair. That could only be you.

“You okay?” he asked.

You turned and smiled, then stepped back towards him. You curled your arm through his and put your head on his shoulder. The two of you remained quiet for a few minutes, enjoying each other’s company. To Lucas’ surprise, you took his hand and held it tight.

Tony and Brody looked on from the front of the restaurant.

“If the age gap is their only concern then they’ve got more going for them than most couples,” Brody said.

“He’s definitely lucky to have her.”

By the time you made it back to the bar in the restaurant, you and Lucas were hand in hand. Tony grinned at you both and then cheered, drawing attention from the rest of the crew who were all sat in a booth together.

Laughter ensued almost immediately as all the men, apart from Lucas, began competing in a drinking game.

“One, two, three,” Tony counted, banging his free hand on the table top. All of the participants of the game tossed shots down their throats, then proceeded to continue on with a further two, downing them as quickly as possibly without vomiting. Tim O’Neill gagged, almost propelling his meal from his gut. Jim Brody fell into a coughing fit. Jonathan Ford blinked hard, pushing vodka-induced tears away. Tony merely laughed, playing a drum beat on the table.

You could sense Lucas’ eyes on you as you sat beside each other. His arm was stretched across the back of the seat behind you. His nerves were finally beginning to settle a little, reminding himself again and again that it was still you. You were the same person he had known now for almost two years and had had a bad crush on the whole time. There were so many times that he had imagined how you would feel under his fingertips, the way your lips would taste against his, the sound of your hitched breath as you kissed with passion. And you did not disappoint. All of his fantasies had fallen short of the beauty of reality.

Around midnight and the men of the group were considerably less sober than when they’d arrived for dinner just over four hours earlier. Tony was now daring Brody to go swimming in the sea naked, which the Lieutenant was actually considering to do. Ford and O’Neill were arm wrestling, leaving you to chat with Lucas and Lonnie. A bottle of expensive red wine was on the table. Lonnie sipped from her glass now and again, encouraging you to have a drink, but you never drank alcohol as it only made your anxiety worse.

“I’m going to retire to bed, I think,” you announced.

“I’ll walk you back,” Lucas proposed.

Together, you and Lucas began your short walk back to the hotel. You strolled along comfortably hand in hand. People walked past you, glancing at you for only a brief second before continuing on. No one stared like you thought they would. They were all unawares of the age gap between you both that you always thought was noticeable.

You woke the next morning to bright sunlight shining through the open curtains. Lucas was lying with his back to you. You slipped out of bed and disappeared into the bathroom.

Lucas heard the toilet flush and looked up at the ceiling, smiling. Would you regret the night previously? He hoped so much that you wouldn’t.

“Good morning,” you said with a smile, exiting the bathroom in your pyjamas.

“Morning,” Lucas replied, groggy with sleep and happiness.

You slipped back into bed and rolled over to him, kissing his lips. He seemed to gain more confidence the more that you kissed. The tension was seeping out of your actions the more that you acted on your feelings. Fear was losing its grip on you.

Both of you remained in bed for a short while, until you announced that you were getting dressed to head downstairs for breakfast.

“I’m tired,” Lucas groaned.

“Get up, Ensign. That’s an order,” you chuckled.

“Now who’s abusing their authority, Lieutenant?”

“Well if you’re expecting any kind of repeat of last night then you’re going to have to be well-behaved now, aren’t you?”

“You never seemed the type to subject me to blackmail.”

“I’m going to head down,” you said, putting the conversation back on a serious note. “Do you want me to bring you anything back up?”

Lucas just smiled. “I’ll come down with you.”

When you got downstairs, Lonnie and Commander Ford were already sat at a table for two. You and Lucas made yourself comfortable just across from them.

“How’s the head, Commander?” you chuckled.

“Strangely it’s okay. For now. No quick and sudden movements and I should be fine,” he replied with a smile.

You poured yourself a mug of English tea and began to eat your breakfast which had been served.

Tim O’Neill came half staggering into the large dining area and plopped down on a seat next to Lucas. “Remind me to never drink again,” he groaned.

Lucas looked up at you ever now and again, his blue eyes twinkling with something you hadn’t seen before. Contentment maybe? Or perhaps happiness? Whatever it was, you knew he needed both, and you hoped that you had given that to him.

The rest of that day was fairly eventful, with a visit to the local art museum with Lucas, Lonnie and Commander Ford.

Jonathan Ford couldn’t deny that he was shocked by the sudden and dramatic change in yours and Lucas’ relationship dynamic. His Navy instinct told him that something needed to be said, a warning to you both of potential consequences. But the kind side of him won out. Why try and damage that haze of happiness that was suspended around you both? Once Captain Hudson returned to the seaQuest, a relationship was something that you and Lucas would have to either end or keep secret. No way would Hudson advocate romance on his boat.

At the beach during the afternoon, Tony sat beside Lucas whilst you remained with Lonnie, enjoying an ice cream cone.

“So? What happened last night? Brody told me that you stayed in her room,” Tony enquired.

“Yeah, I stayed with her. What happened is none of your business,” Lucas replied.

“Lucas, come on! You gotta tell me. I didn’t arm you with rubber for nothin’!”

Lucas merely smirked. “Lets just say that it was put to good use.”

“Way to go, my boy!” Tony exclaimed.

“Tony, shut up. She’s only over there,” Lucas growled.

“So, I need details. How was it? Was she good?”

“None of your business,” Lucas hissed and moved away. He approached you and Lonnie, and as he looked at you, he knew there was only one word that could have described the night previously: incredible. No way was he about to disrespect you and discuss your private life with others.

“Can I borrow you for a few minutes?” he asked you.

“Yeah, sure,” you replied, and got up from the warm sand. “Everything okay?”

You both moved away from the rest of the group. “Yeah. I just wanted to be alone with you for a while.”

The two of you took a slow walk down to the water’s edge, the tide returning from its long descent out towards the horizon. Hand in hand, you were silent for a few minutes. The sun’s rays were warm against your back, but a gentle breeze refreshed the air, biting through the humidity. You felt that inner calm come flooding to the surface again. Lucas’ arm wound around your waist and you prayed in silence that this was the right thing for both of you.

#seaquest #seaquest dsv #seaquest 2032 #Lucas wolenczak #captain Oliver hudson #Jonathan brandis #Michael ironside #Lucas wolenczak x you #Lucas wolenczak x reader #Lucas wolenczak x fem!reader #reader insert #lieutenant lonnie henderson #commander Jonathan ford #lieutenant James brody #dagwood #Tony piccolo #lieutenant Tim o'neill

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hedwigstalons · 4 years

Text

High Expectations - Ch20

I’ve been a little quiet for a bit because illness hit me hard (although thankfully not for too long). I’m back though and I bring another chapter of the beast that keeps on growing.

Extra thanks to @willow-salix who had to deal with my post-fog writing going back a few stages and who helped beat this into some sort of coherency.

Earlier parts: One, Two, Three, Four, Five, Six, Seven, Eight, Nine, Ten, Eleven, Twelve, Thirteen, Fourteen, Fifteen, Sixteen, Seventeen, Eighteen, Nineteen

AO3 chapter link

Chapter Twenty

The mood in the plane was buoyant and the air was charged with testosterone and bravado. The transport flight was filled with Air Force personnel and their destination was Fort Hood, Texas. Scott hummed absently, his fingers drumming out a little beat on his knee, feeling relaxed for the first time in weeks, normally being a passenger on a flight made him agitated as he itched to be in the pilot’s seat but today was different.

The Army was the designated host of this year’s United States inter-service sports tournament and Fort Hood was the location where, for the next few days those selected to represent their respective services would compete in their chosen sports.

The tournament was supposed to be a friendly coming together of the various United States forces plus the various World Security Patrol branches, and for the most part it was friendly although it would be a lie to suggest there wasn’t a certain amount of posturing and goading underneath the surface. For those taking part it was a chance to uphold the honour of their chosen service and score some one-upmanship, for those like Scott who had been selected before it was also a chance to settle old scores.

For Scott it would be a blessed interlude between missions; after his last assignment he was in desperate need of some R&R but with taking leave off the cards this came a close second for allowing him to decompress and see the good side of military life. It would be a chance to indulge in some physical activity that he didn't have to think too hard about, recently his life had been nothing but one exhaustive mission after another. For once he was happy to be free from the burden of command for a while, his primary mission now was to run fast, fight hard and add as many points as possible to the Air Force tally.

His thoughts turned to last year’s competition; he’d done well and never placed lower than fifth in any of his events despite one Seaman Jeffries of the World Navy tripping him in 1500m, an action that by rights should have seen the man disqualified. Unfortunately the rankings were upheld with Jeffries placing second while he had struggled to regain ground and claim fifth. The injustice still rankled and he wondered if he would have to face the nefarious Jeffries again this year.

“Sir,” Scott called across to the Major who had been designated at team captain and was in charge of the Air Force contingent, “do you have a copy of the events list I can take a look at?”

“Sure Tracy, I brought some spares just in case” Major Ellis replied, passing a sheaf of papers across the aisle. “You’re up on the Wednesday afternoon for your track events and then Thursday afternoon for the martial arts. See any familiar names?”

“One or two” Scott replied as he checked out the list of competitors. “The US Army have put Moran in the hurdles again. I’d love to beat him this time and wipe that smug smile off his face. I’ve never met anyone so gloating.”

Having scrutinized the running order and competitors for his own events, no Jeffries, thank God, Scott began idly flicking through the rest of the programme. As he scanned the lists he spotted a familiar name, wanting confirmation of his suspicions he pulled out his phone and sent a message.

How far out of Fort Hood are you?

About 40 minutes came the response. This was quickly followed by How did you find out? Everyone at home promised not to tell you. I wanted it to be a surprise. If it was Alan I’ll kill him.

Competitor list. See you soon.

Scott let out an involuntary chuckle knowing Gordon would be mad at giving himself away and thus depriving himself of the element of surprise in any pranks he had planned.

“What’s tickled your funny bone?” asked Ellis.

“It looks like you’re going to get to meet my kid brother.”

“Really?” Ellis asked curiously, opening up his own copy of the events list. “Is he on the other flight?”

“No, Gordon isn’t Air Force, he joined WASP.”

“You’ve got a brother in WASP? That’s a bit of a polar opposite to the Air Force. I bet that didn’t go down too well at home.” Scott had worked hard to build his own reputation but it was still well known who his father was and the Air Force pedigree he was following. “Is he another sprinter like you?”

“Dad took a little persuading” a frown furrowed his brow at the memory of Gordon’s journey into WASP; ‘a little persuading’ really didn’t do it justice but he wasn’t going to have the family’s dirty laundry aired in public, “but WASP was the natural choice really, Gordon’s a swimmer.”

Major Ellis found the relevant page and looked over the listings. The name Ensign G. Tracy leapt off the page again and again within the WASP entries.

“He’s all over the pool like a rash! Talk about putting all your eggs in one basket. Is he really that good?”

“You evidently don’t follow swimming that much. I should’ve realised WASP would jump at the chance to put him on the squad. It’s not often anyone gets to field an Olympic medallist.” He couldn’t help the smile that split his face at the thought of seeing his brother swim again for the first time since the Games. Gordon had dedicated so many years to his sport and had achieved glittering success that gave Scott a rush of pride at the memories.

In the confined space of the plane their conversation was beginning to attract attention.

“What’s that about an Olympic medallist?”

“Dunno, ask Tracy.”

“Hey, Tracy, who’s got a medal?”

“My brother, Gordon.”

“You’re kidding!”

While Scott’s own unit might have been well versed in his sibling’s success story the competitors were pulled from across the Air Force, most of them complete strangers before boarding the flight. There was a flurry of movement as a couple of people pulled out their phones and plugged the name into a search engine. By now most of the plane was taking an interest. It didn’t take long for someone to dig out one of the news reports; Gordon’s Olympic win had taken place less than two years previously and coverage was easy to find.

“Here, listen to this.”

Team USA continue their race to the top of the medals table with a successful day in the pool. The crowning glory came from Gordon Tracy, a rising star in the swimming world, who not only achieved gold in the 200m butterfly but set a new world record in the process. This achievement is made more remarkable in that Tracy is just 17 years old.

“That’s your brother! And now he is on the WASP team? Heck Tracy, can’t you do something like hide his trunks so the rest of us stand a chance?” one of the Air Force’s own swimmers exclaimed.

“No can do. There is no way I’m sabotaging my own brother and don’t any of you think of trying anything either. If you had ever met Gordon you would know that wouldn’t work anyway, he would probably just do the race butt naked.”

xoxoxox

Gordon gazed listlessly out of the window of his own transport flight, the clouds forming an unbroken blanket below them, the vista bland and uninspiring. After 4 fours in the air he was feeling bored, cramped and fed up. He’d started the flight all keyed up at the thought of competing again but the long hours in the company of strangers was starting to wear thin. For one thing there was too much trash talking for his liking, he’d never gone in for the verbal sparring side of sport but it seemed his companions very much viewed the other services as the enemy at this event. It wasn’t an attitude he had encountered elsewhere in WASP and he hoped the bad mouthing would be constrained to these few days, it also wasn’t behaviour he could join in with in good conscious and so he had stayed quiet and kept himself to himself, trying to get back into competition mode after so long off the elite circuit. A vibration in his pocket startled him and he pulled out his phone.

How far out of Fort Hood are you?

Without thinking he typed About 40 minutes and hit the send button. Only when it was too late did it register who had sent the original message and he realised his mistake. He had wanted to surprise his oldest brother, the one who was hardest to meet up with due to their differing military commitments. He’d been able to tell the wider family about his selection during his period of leave over Alan’s birthday but with Scott away on his mission he’d been able to keep the news secret from his eldest sibling.

How did you find out? Everyone at home promised not to tell you. I wanted it to be a surprise. If it was Alan I’ll kill him.

Competitor list. See you soon.

Well, he supposed Scott would have found out in a few hours anyway and at least this way they would both be looking out for each other. He wasn’t quite sure of the format of the event or how easy it would be to break away and hunt down a member of one of the other services.

xoxoxox

Gordon wasn’t sure what he had been expecting from competition or from Fort Hood but it looked like finding Scott wasn’t going to be easy. Outside of their own events the personnel were able to watch the competition but there was very little free time beyond that. Even if he could get away, finding his brother was going to be like finding a needle in a haystack; the different services were billeted all over the base and by the end of the first day all he knew was that WASP was sharing a dorm block with the Coastguard Service and a mess hall with the US Navy.

Not that he had much time to brood, the swimming was taking place on the first day of the competition proper and after a hurried breakfast Gordon found himself hustled towards the pool.

He was looking forward to the chance of some competitive swimming again. The specialist training on the Merlin had been intensive and the extended time beneath the waves had ignited a passion for marine biology but the cramped space of a submarine had hardly been conducive to physical exercise. This competition would give him the opportunity to indulge in his first passion, he just hoped he was up to the task having been entered into far more events and across a wider range of disciplines that he was used to.

Aside from his trunks lacking the Team USA branding the competition was much like any other Gordon had attended. A fair crowd had filled the viewing gallery but Gordon couldn’t tell if Scott was amongst those in dark blue. Events were called, heats were swum (and usually won) and Tracy was once again a name to be reckoned with in the pool. It felt good to be cleaving through the water again. Despite not being in peak condition for swimming he was still in fine physical form over all and the muscle memory from all those races past carried him along to victory time and again. The main difference to his usual style of competition was the lack of medal ceremony at the end and at the conclusion of his last race Gordon was able to wend his weary way back to the changing rooms where he flopped down on a bench.

Pressing his shoulders against the cold tiles, eyes closed and head tipped back, the last of his energy was spent. It had been a long time since he’d pushed himself to those lengths in the water and normally his race card was rather more sparse, one elite athlete among many, each responsible for their own specialisms. The problem was, despite the high physical standards demanded by the military, elite athletes were in short supply and his pool times had placed him as primary candidate across more events than he was really comfortable taking on but he hadn’t felt able to say no to his superiors this early in his WASP career.

He concentrated on his breathing, listening to the hum and chatter of the other competitors around him, a cluster of WASPs gloating about their healthy position in the league table were his nearest companions. He knew he ought to be getting dry, knew he ought to be digging out the tracksuit he’d been issued for the event, but his limbs felt leaden. He wanted to be collapsed on his bunk but that involved moving and right now moving felt an impossible task.

“Gordon, eat something.”

He sensed a dimming of the light levels through his eyelids as a figure stepped between him and the harsh lights of the changing room. The voice was commanding but his eyes stayed firmly shut and his body refused to obey.

The figure in front of him was causing quite a stir but then that was typical of Scott. He tended to exude an attitude as though he owned a place and this evidently wasn’t going down well with the WASPs around him who bristled with resentment at the young figure in Air Force blue invading their section of the changing rooms. There were muttered jibes, reminiscent of those from the flight over, but the intruder wasn’t giving the WASP delegation the rise they so clearly desired. Having failed in their goading one of his team mates decided to square up to the man they evidently viewed as the opposition.

“And who the hell are you to order us around, flyboy?”

Scott’s eyes glittered at the challenge, a warning look that Gordon would have recognised from his own childhood had he been fully cognizant of the situation, Scott was not in any mood to be pushed.

“That’s Captain to you” there was a pause as he took in the insignia worn by the other man, neither were in traditional uniform but the competition sports kit still had a place for rank slides; after all, the military thrived on hierarchy “Chief Petty Officer, although I accept you may not be familiar with the rank structures of the other services”

Scott turned his attention back to his brother, ignoring the WASP who was now brisling after being firmly put in his place. He was well aware of the animosity being directed towards him but his focus was his sibling, not some jumped up sardine with a chip on his shoulder. He’d been concerned at the amount of events Gordon had pulled, and now, seeing his brother in the aftermath, he knew that concern had been justified. The figure in front of him was breathing a little too shallowly for comfort and hadn’t moved from the moment Scott had spied him from across the changing room. It had been a long time since he’d seen his brother swim himself to this level of stupor, years of competing had made Gordon pretty well attuned to his bodily needs, but evidently today he had neglected his post-race routine.

Gordon had gotten as far as taking off his swim cap but no further, water dripped down his torso from the flattened hair that was still slick from the showers. Even accounting for his time under the waves his skin was far paler than Scott was used to seeing. He’d come down with the intention of congratulating his brother on his success in the water but now his primary concern had turned to Gordon’s basic wellbeing.

Scott knew he had to get his blood sugars back up again. He grabbed his brother’s kit bag and rooted around in the end pocket. He allowed himself a small smile of triumph as his fingers closed around the packet of glucose tablets it appeared his brother still had the sense to carry. He extracted two tablets from the tube and, crouching down in front of his brother, placed them in Gordon’s palm before closing the lax fingers over them.

“Gords, you still with me? You need to get these into you.”

He paused while Gordon’s body processed the order, then let out a little breath of relief as the arm jerked up and Gordon began to suck on the tablets.

He hadn’t seen his brother crash this bad since he was about twelve. An early promotion to senior squad had seen the pre-teen eager to please his new coach while trying not to show anything that could be construed as weakness by his new and much older team mates and so the kid had forgone his post-race refuel. The result then had been Gordon turning a grim shade of grey and falling off the medal podium in a dead faint.

With the glucose tablets administered Scott turned his attention back to Gordon’s kit bag and pulled out a celery crunch bar, a firm favourite for the swimmer. He opened it and placed it in Gordon’s now empty hand. This was evidently an imposition too far for the WASP already disgruntled at being put in his place by the young captain.

“With all due respect Sir” there was a distinct sneer behind the formality “there’s no eating allowed in the changing rooms.”

If Scott’s eyes had glittered before, now they blazed with anger and contempt. Rising from his crouch in front of Gordon, he drew himself up to his full height and positively loomed over the belligerent WASP.

“With all due respect I would have thought you would rather your team mate got his blood sugars up, or does your first aid training not cover hypoglycaemia?” He took a step towards the WASP, encroaching into the man’s personal space in a clear display of dominance. “Not that you seem to be acting as a team right now. Would half of you even be here if it wasn’t for the relay events, or maybe you tried to enter him for all four legs of that at well?”

With the glucose hitting his blood stream Gordon became more aware of the increasing commotion around him. Voices that had once been jubilant now had a dangerous and angry edge and…yes...most of the anger seemed to be coming from Scott.

Something tripped blearily in his brain; what on Earth was Scott doing here and why did he suddenly feel so cold? Amber eyes cracked open and he forced his head open off the wall. The movement was clocked by Scott who was back in front of him in an instant.

“Hey Fish, you back with me?” All traces of anger had gone as he turned his attention back to his Gordon, the Air Force Captain replaced by the brother of old; the caregiver with the ready supply of band aids, ice packs and gentle admonishment as he presented yet another injury for inspection.

“Yeah, I’m...I’m good.” He looked down in confusion at the crunch bar in his hand, not entirely sure how it had got there, but took a bite anyway. “Guess I should have known better than to skip refuel.”

“Yeah, you should”

Yup, that was the Scott he knew from Kansas. Gordon felt like he was 9 years old again, being told off for being an idiot in the same ‘I told you so’ tone that had made it quite clear that of course jumping off the shed roof or using the frayed rope swing had been a bad idea.

“Yeah, thanks for that” A snort, an eye roll, and a re-emergence of the same attitude common to his past nine year old self.

“You’re okay now though, right? You’ll finish your bar and get dressed? Glucose tabs are back in the end pocket if you need more.”

“I’m fine, honest.” Okay, the slight whine was a little too much like a kid but he was tired and there was something about Scott’s familiar care that had him regressing 10 years. He forced protesting muscles to obey and hauled his back off the wall, rolling his shoulders to try and loosen the muscles that were rapidly seizing up. He tried to suppress a groan at the exertion, he wasn’t quite ready to try standing until after the crunch bar was finished but he also knew Scott would not be pacified until he saw some sort of response. The skeptical look he was given showed that Scott still wasn’t entirely convinced. Mustering up his remaining energy he returned the look with a grin which seemed to appease the elder Tracy.

“Hmm”, Scott didn't sound like he believed him but couldn't argue it, “well, get dry and get your kit on. You did good out there. I’ll be on the track tomorrow afternoon; I’ll see you there.” Without waiting for an answer Scott turned and exited the changing rooms.

The departure of the Air Force officer was followed with an outburst of grumbling from the WASP delegation.

“Asshole. Who the hell does he think he is, ordering us around?”

Gordon still hadn’t found his footing among the other swimmers, or the wider WASP delegation. He might be the highest ranking of those at the pool but he was also by far the youngest and with the shortest amount of service under his belt by a country mile. Rank structures overall seemed to be treated differently during the competition and these particular team mates seemed to have little regard for authority. He was conscious that a wrong move now could make life distinctly unpleasant for him, he might never see these men again after the competition was over but he still had to get through several more days in their company. He decided to play it for what it was; Scott being an irritating older brother.

“That was Scott. I think he got the whole older brother thing hard wired in at birth.”

“You’re related to that?” There was a contemptuous sneer aimed at Scott’s retreating form that set Gordon’s hackles raising but he knew sniping back would be an error.

“Yup. Of course, I got blessed with the good looks while he got the height.” He flashed a grin, trying to diffuse the tensions.

“Is he always such a jerk?” a Seaman sat to his right piped up, finding his voice now the imposing Captain was no longer practically standing on his toes.

Gordon shrugged; evidently the tensions were still there. “Only when he needs to be. I should’a thought to grab the glucose tabs myself after that many races. It’s been a while since I hit the pool competitively.”

There was a slight shuffling from the other swimmers, signs of guilt at not looking out for the young Ensign that had carried the team. Scott’s words about the rest of them only being there to make up the numbers for the relay, while not wholly accurate, weren’t far off the truth. They were all back in their dry kit while Gordon was still in his trunks, his skin still pale from the exertion even if his eyes had regained some brightness.

“Anyway,” he scruffed at his hair before drying off the rest of his body ready for dressing, “I need some real food after that and then I need to find out where the track events are being held.”

A snort. “Well we’ll be watching the shooting tomorrow. You can join us, or are you really going to do what big brother tells you?”

There was a challenge in the tone but Gordon was feeling more alive again and less tolerant of their needling. “I’m not going because he told me to, I’m going because he’s my brother and I want to. In my family we support each other and Scott, well, he’s done a lot for me.”

Decision made and allegiances stated he swung his kit bag over his shoulder and headed out to find some food.

#High Expectations #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Scott Tracy #Gordon Tracy #Military brothers #Family comes first #swimming

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qt-caity · 3 years

Text

Star Trek Secret Santa 2020

A fic for @saritaadam for @startreksecretsanta for the prompt of “TOS Sulu, Chekov, and Uhura on their own adventures.” Thanks to @that-one-curly-haired-chick and @wreckx for looking it over for me.

“I’m still not sure I get it, “Chekov whispered under the latest round of applause and laughter.

Sulu was already prying the Russian’s communicator out of his hand and sliding it towards the middle of the table. “Not much to ‘get’ here, pal. Just hope you aren’t unlucky.”

Moments ago, when Chekov had been hovering in the doorway of the recreation room to see a group of senior officers huddled around a ring of communicators on a table, his first impressions were those of a cult. The deck officer who glanced up and immediately asked “You in?” did little to assuage that. Yet Chekov was smart enough to know that you could hardly afford to alienate other crewmembers in the early days of your first assignment. If the four hundred something people on this ship were all members of some secret cult, well, it was time for him to learn its laws.

Luckily, Lieutenant Sulu had recognized him and immediately waved him over to sit by him, persuading the others to let him have one round to watch before joining in the fun.

Unfortunately, Chekov was still confused as to what this fun was.

“Is this something for all in Starfleet? A game everyone plays?”

Sulu smiled and shook his head. “Only we’ve got Uhura. It’s basically a free show, Pavel. The price is just—” His words faded as the bosun whistle on the wall panel sounded.

“Kirk to Sulu.”

“Shit.” Sulu groaned.

Uhura rose gracefully to a chorus of cheers and groans, which quieted as she reached the panel.

“Kirk to Sulu.”

“Nyota, be kind,” Sulu begged before he was promptly shushed by the rest of the table.

Uhura gave a wink before extending a graceful finger to the comm. “Sulu here.”

Chekov blinked. The last round that he’d witnessed, he’d assumed Uhura was just answering comms in silly voices for fun. Knowing that her voice was now a perfect impersonation of Sulu’s. . . well, apparently that was the price of the show.

“Sulu, regarding our course to Agaron PrimeI. If we were to make a stop at the Canopus first, how much would that delay our arrival?”

The table exploded into a muted explosion of giggles as every eye turned expectantly towards Sulu, who had sprung into action. Two fingers, then six, then four. A jabbing finger. Eight fingers. His hands held close together, then spread far apart.

Chekov looked at him as if he’d lost his mind. Uhura kept her cool gaze. “Did you say Canopus, Captain?”

Two, six, then four fingers. Three jabbing motions. Eight fingers, A decidedly frustrated and sarcastic spreading of the arms.

“Yes, Canopus. How long, Sulu?”

A pause. “I’m sorry sir…I’ll need time to work that out.”

“Hmmm. I see. See that it doesn’t take you too long to find a calculator, Lieutenant. Kirk out.”

“TWENTY SIX SOLAR DAYS,” Sulu burst out as soon as the red light on the wall dimmed. “IT’S FOUR POINT 8 LIGHTYEARS, AVERAGING 5.4 WARP, CALCULATED IN THEIR LOCAL TIME, THAT’S TWENTY SIX SOLAR—”

“Don’t tell her, laddie,” chuckled Scotty as the rest of the table burst into laughter. “Sounds to me like you’ve got a call to make.”

Sulu slumped in his chair and dejectedly sipped his drink. “One more round. The captain already thinks I can’t do warp equations at the ready. Five more minutes won’t damage my reputation any further.”

“I’d spend that time practicing your charades,” Uhura added lightly as she came behind Sulu’s chair. “No sun? No days? I’m not a mind reader, you know.”

“Just a life ruiner,” Sulu muttered darkly, but his mouth twitched as he brought his glass to his lips again.

“I do think that I’ve only one more round left in me, so before you all—" Uhura frowned as one of the communicators on the table buzzed with its whistle. “Is that…Pavel’s?”

Chekov’s heart sunk. “Da.” His shiny communicator stood out in the ring of dingy dull devices. “Yes, it’s mine.”

Everyone else reached out to pocket their device, murmuring in surprise as Uhura stayed put behind Sulu.

“That’s not fair to me, he’s only just got here!”

“You’ve had seven days, Nyota! You mastered Klingon barroom slang in half that time.”

“We do tell everyone you’re the best at this, you know.”

Uhura crossed her arms. “I’ll have you know Klingon barroom slang is quite easy to pick up once you’ve mastered one particular expletive. I’ve hardly gotten to spend any time with Pavel so far!”

“Yes, give the lady a break, please. It’s not like I have any noticeable accent to copy,” Chekov added helpfully, wondering why so many people broke out into snickers again.

“Sorry, Nyota. Your own rules, after all,” said Sulu firmly, gracefully reaching across and holding the communicator over his head towards Uhura.

“Sore loser,” Uhura muttered, but opened the communicator anyway and took a deep breath. “Chekov here.”

A mutter of approval circled the table at the reveal of Uhura’s first Russian accent. Not half bad, Chekov admitted to himself. She did sound like she came from St. Petersburg instead of Moscow, but he could take that up with her later.

“Ensign Chekov, this is Mister Spock.”

Whispers of excitement now. Sulu glanced over in time to see Chekov’s mouth beginning to open, and quickly slapped his hand across it. “Rules, Pavel.”

“Yes, Mister Spock.”

“Ensign, I am calling regarding our latest discussion that we had about the—”

Uhura’s eyes met Chekov’s, which were widened in shock. Hurriedly, she cut Spock off. “Da.”

“You know to what I’m referring?”

“Yes.”

“And you are prepared?

“…Da.”

A muffled scream came from behind Sulu’s hand, and other officers had to lean forward to keep Chekov from thrashing out of his chair. Uhura grimaced. “Vell, actually…”

“All can be arranged in more detail the next time we meet, Ensign. I look forward to seeing you at 1900 hours. Spock out.”

Sulu quickly withdrew his hand before it could be bitten off as the Russian threw himself out of his chair and gestured wildly towards the whole table. “CRAZY, ALL OF YOU. INSANE!”

“I tried to keep it neutral! I said ‘Da!” Uhura offered defensively.

“A WERY IMPORTANT ‘DA.’” Chekov broke down into a string of Russian which, if Uhura’s face was any clue, followed a drastic line of thought.

“Pavel, Pavel…” Sulu awkwardly stood next to the frantic ensign and grabbed his shoulder. “I know you just got here, and Mister Spock can seem…well, he’s a lot at first. But whatever you promised, Uhura can help you with it.” He looked up to meet Nyota’s glare. “Uhura and I can help you with it.”

********************************************************************************************************

Sulu broke into what he hoped looked like a nonchalant jog as he followed Chekov down the hall. Uhura was keeping a much more leisurely pace behind, taking the time to greet every crewmember they passed.

“Pavel,” Sulu hissed after having to apologize to the fourth redshirt that Chekov nearly plowed into. “You said that you--Uhura--agreed to present your research to Mr. Spock tonight. We can help you finish, you’ve got plenty of time!”

Chekov slowed in front of a laboratory door, nervously looking up and down the corridor, and even taking a peek into an adjacent Jeffries Tube. Uhura gracefully ducked her head to hide her smile. “Research is done, only....too much.”

“Pavel, I don’t--” the door whooshed open and behind him, Sulu heard a particular Klingon expletive.

“Pavel, you’ve only been here a few days!” Uhura cried in dismay, looking at the parts spread across the floor. “This looks like you spent months dismantling this!”

“Well, I guess I can’t make fun of Riley for his lab accident anymore,” Sulu said lazily, picking up a piece of circuitry to inspect. “Remind me to never introduce you to him.”

“This is serious!” Chekov was practically vibrating between the different corners of the room. “I was finishing my research and the machine was slow, so I try to improve it, but then it jammed, and I thought if I took it apart I could find problem--”

“You know who would be best equipped to fix this?” Sulu murmured to Uhura. “One Mister Spock.”

“Oh, hush,” Uhura scolded over Chekov’s wounded cry. “There’s always Mr. Scott. He was just with us, I can go--”

“No, no, no!” Chekov pleaded, his eyes wide. “No senior officers. Nobody important. I cannot risk having the first thing on my record be a demerit!”

“Or an invoice,” Uhura added lightly.

“Thanks for the compliment, Pavel. But neither of us are engineers.”

“Speak for yourself.” Uhura plucked the circuit out of Sulu’s hands. “I’ve done emergency surgery on my array to at least hide most of the damage here.”

“Fix it enough so that some other poor soul will come and break it next. Sneaky.”

Chekov looked as though he were about to faint. “It’s not my intention to--”

“We’re just kidding, Pavel. Grab a hyperspanner. If we’re going to let Mr. Spock in here in time, we’d better hustle.”

********************************************************************************************************

When Mr. Spock entered the environmental sciences lab at 18:58, he found a more sociable scene than he was anticipating.

“Lieutenant Uhura. Mr. Sulu,” he nodded. “What brings you to this part of the ship?”

“Just getting to know the new Ensign, sir. We’ll be out of your way now. Uhura, would you like to join me for dinner?”

“Of course, Hikaru.” Uhura grasped Chekov’s hand for a moment, before placing it firmly on the center of the console plate, giving it an extra press before leaving to follow Sulu. “STAY confident, Pavel, and good luck.”

Sulu waited until they were a whole corridor away before letting his head roll back with a sigh. “He’s going to be trouble.”

“All the good ones are.” Uhura and Sulu reentered the same rec room as before just as a bosun whistle sounded from the wall panel.

“Uhura! I’ll wager my Enolian spice wine that you can’t fool whoever’s on the other end of that one!”

Uhura only paused for a moment before shrugging and making her way over. Sulu shook his head, dumbfounded. “You never learn, do you?”

“Be a dear and fetch my dinner and I’ll share some of the wine with you.”

“Yes, ma’am” Sulu saluted and made his way over to the replicators. He was about to punch in his order when he saw a figure duck behind a receptacle. Curious, he peeked around.

Captain Kirk was hunched over his communicator. “Ensign, you sound unwell. Should I call Sickbay?”

Kirk looked up to glance across the room and immediately met Sulu’s gaze. He smirked, put a finger to his lips, and winked before speaking again. “You really sound congested, Ensign. Don’t make me make this an order.” He then leaned away from the communicator to whisper to Sulu, “Keep quiet about this and I’ll keep quiet about the spice wine.”

“Aye, sir,” Sulu whispered back and turned back to the replicator. The new Ensign might be a handful, but he would fit right in on this captain’s ship.

#star trek #tos #uhura #chekov #sulu #star trek secret santa #star trek secret santa 2020 #fanfiction #fic #my stuff #personal post

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theoriginalladya · 4 years

Text

Destiny’s Fate (update) (main story)

Chapter: On Approach

Word Count: approximately 2700

Story Summary: Once united in all things, Destiny has guided John and Jane Shepard to separate, divergent paths; however, both know the future holds a far greater threat than the rest of the galaxy is willing to acknowledge. Can they join together one last time to complete the mission they started together, or will Fate deal them a final losing hand …

Chapter Excerpt:

Kaidan entered the war room and started scanning the area automatically. The roster listed six on duty at the moment. A quick tally assured him all were present and accounted for. That set his mind at ease, somewhat, and he moved into the room.

It wasn’t that he was a stickler for everyone being at their post all the time during shift. He was well aware there were times duty pulled a person away or directed them to a different part of the ship. But ever since the Collector attack on the SR1, it had become a habit to know where everyone on duty was at a given time, especially when serving on a ship, just in case an emergency evac was needed. There was no particular threat at the moment, not to the Normandy, at least, and anyone coming to the War Room specifically had to get through the security checkpoint first, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t be cautious. He didn’t blame himself, or anyone else in particular, for what happened to the SR1. Joker had done what he could, he understood that. But losing twenty-one people when it might have been avoided with a better escape plan …?

He tried to push those thoughts away. It was a challenge, but with his duties as XO he needed to be prepared. He was supposed to worry about these types of things, have an eye out for any difficulty they might face. And with the war on and the threat of attack by the Reapers at any moment despite the IFF they had, he wasn’t about to stop any time soon. Especially now that the Normandy was about to take on the role of personal political escort to the turian Primarch.

“Major Alenko, sir?”

Kaidan turned to find one of the ensigns approaching. He recognized her from the group he’d recruited off the Citadel. Stevens, if he remembered right. She handed him a datapad, saluted quickly, then turned back to her station on the far side of the room once he dismissed her. Looking through the information, he discovered it was an update on the war in the currently known theaters of operation. None of it was good. With a sigh – he had a feeling he’d be doing a lot of that during this war – he tucked the pad into a pocket of his fatigues then went about the rest of his business. If he was going to provide Jane with the most complete update possible, he needed more information, and that would require additional sources...

#Destiny's Fate #ShepShep #ladya writes #Mass Effect Fanfiction #Jane Shepard #Kaidan Alenko #Liara T'Soni #when the muses attack

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rohad93 · 4 years

Text

Sea Glass: Ch 3

18+

“Up ahead Cap’n!” The barrelman called from the crow’s nest, pointing off at the horizon.

Yellow climbed back up to the helm, snatching the spyglass from her first-mates outstretched hand.

She held the spyglass up to her eye and could see the merchant’s vessel. It was easy to spot, its hull was painted a vivid red that stood out starkly against the endless blue of the ocean and sky.

The ship was docked about two-hundred yards out from a large island and Yellow frowned.

Why had they docked in the middle of the route? There was nothing out here except this island, and a lone merchant ship in too often pirate-infested waters, should have known better than to stop for any length of time on the open ocean. There were very few reasons for a merchant vessel, a small ship that held few cannons and crew, to stop where it was dangerous.

Usually, only when a man died would a ship dock to bury the soul, lest the foul rot infect the ship, but only if the voyage was going to be more than a few days from land, otherwise most ships waited until they docked.

That, or if the ship was damaged and no longer capable of sailing; broken masts, torn sails, leaks, and the like.

While she couldn’t tell if the ship was leaking the rest of it seemed in fine condition.

Her mouth screwed up in thought as she lowered the spyglass. Something about this didn’t sit right with Yellow.

“Captain, The Menagerie is fast approaching!” The call came down from up in the rigging and Yellow cursed, hand around the brass of the spyglass tightened into a white-knuckle grip. If she didn’t move now the decision would be made for her when Blue swooped in on the much swifter Menagerie.

The sloop was smaller and faster and thus by proxy, more maneuverable than The Cluster, a carrack, a much larger, heavier, and slower ship.

It also carried more crew, cargo, and most importantly, cannons. The Cluster was a fortress on the sea. It had been Yellow’s plan from the start when she had acquired the vessel. Where most pirates prioritized speed for a quick getaway or catching up to the larger cargo ships that carried valuables across the ocean to Europe, Yellow had opted for a full offense.

She had to sacrifice speed but gained the ability to plow straight through most problems with heavy cannon fire.

A strategy had that had made her one of the most well-known pirates in the Caribbean. Something she did not intend to let Blue trample all over with her games, or whatever this was she suddenly found herself entangled in. She unconsciously ran her tongue over her lips.

The spyglass snapped close with the scrape of metal; the decision made.

“Stay the course!” she called and a chorus of “Aye captain!” sounded back at her.

Today more then ever she needed to make a statement, to her crew and to Blue.

She wasn’t going to let Blue run roughshod over her with her mind games or her body.

The blonde exhaled sharply, pocketing the spyglass and stomping back down the steps.

“Ready the cannons and prepare to board!’ she called out, walking toward the bow, pulling out her pistol, and checking both barrels were loaded. She had fired at a seagull that had been sitting outside the window of her quarters the day before; it had been annoying her.

Satisfied with the state of her gun she slipped it back into its holster before checking her sword once done she stood at the bow, trying to let the sound of the wind and water as they cut through it take some of the tension out of her shoulders.

Something about this bothered Yellow and she couldn’t put her finger on it. If she didn’t know better, she might think her now muddied thoughts about Blue was probably what it was.

She frowned, crossing her arms over her chest.

That was probably exactly what it was. She’d let the damnable captain manage to crawl under her skin. She was much too fixated on what had transpired last night, rather than the task at hand.

Yellow scowled at the ocean in front of her as the bloody red merchant ship grew steadily closer on the horizon.

They needed to make this quick. Board, subdue the crew, get the valuables and get out before Blue had a chance to get there.

Simple, in theory.

Once a ship realized who they were dealing with they didn’t normally offer up to much resistance, and even when they did Yellow had proven time and time again why it was better to just let her have her way than to lose your head over it.

“Joe!” She looked over her shoulder.

“Cap’n?” The bald boatswain jumped to attention, dropping everything else.

“Gather up the boarding party.”

“Aye, Cap’n!” He scurried away and Yellow turned toward the stern, teeth grit at the ever-approaching form of The Menagerie.

As they slowly pulled alongside the merchant ship, cannons at the ready, the yawning pit of uneasiness in Yellow’s gut grew.

Not a soul was on deck. It looked as if it had never been boarded to start with.

Gangplanks were thrown down and she, along with twenty men boarded the other ship. Its sails flapped quietly in the breeze, the only sound on the ship besides the heavy footfalls of her crew as they scoured the deck.

~ ~ ~

“They’re boarding already…,” Rose said, looking through the spyglass and watching The Cluster, still a little way off as they climbed across to the merchant ship.

“What?” Blue asked, finally coming out of her quiet contemplation of the sea to look at her from her place leaning against the railing. “I didn’t hear any gunfire…” She stood up straight, eyes turning toward the two small dots she knew were the ships in question on the horizon

“Because they didn’t fire. The merchant ship is docked at that island and didn’t fire either…” Rose lowered the glass to look at her, the worry clearly written on her face.

Something about all of this made Rose uneasy and she told Blue as much as she took the spyglass out of her hands to look at the two ships in the distance.

Blue pursed her lips as she lowered the glass.

Rose had always had a keen sense when it came to these things. She had never been able to explain it and Blue had never questioned it because very rarely was she wrong…

But it was still a possibility and Blue had a point to make, to herself and Yellow.

Though she wasn’t entirely sure what that point was yet. She just knew that she needed to do this.

“Keep the course.” She turned to look at Holly, who nodded.

“Aye Cap’n”

“Blue…,” Rose started, biting her lips.

“It’ll be fine, Rose,” she assured the younger woman with a gentle smile but the thief’s stomach only twisted up more at her words.

~ ~ ~

“There’s no one here, captain…” a deckhand observed and the blonde frowned at the obvious statement.

"Check the hold," Yellow ordered as she walked around on deck. It was eerily quiet. The gentle flapping of the sails in the wind hammered the silence home. The hair on the back of her neck was standing on end. Several large crates sat scattered across the deck as if the cargo had been thrown on board and then the ship cast adrift on its own.

What was going on here?

Everything about this set her on edge.

“Only thing in the hold is cargo, Cap” One of her gunners popped his head out of the hold.

“Bring it up, load everything onto the ship, quickly!” she barked. She wanted off this ship and to be away from here as quickly as possible, and no longer just because Blue would be here soon.

Everything about this set her her teeth on edge.

Within an hour they had all the large crates on deck and were just starting to move them aboard The Cluster when The Menagerie sailed up on the other side of the merchant ship and Yellow scowled.

From this position, all her cannons were of little use unless she wanted to completely blast thorough the merchant ship first, which while in theory was possible would take time and all of their ammo.

Something Blue was well aware of.

“To arms!” she snapped as the crew of The Menagerie lowered their planks and began to board the ship. Swords slid from their belts and pistols were cocked in anticipation.

It seemed like the entirety of The Menagerie’s crew was now standing across from them on deck, they parted for Blue as she came sauntering across with a smirk, her sister trailing behind her.

“Well, if this isn’t a pleasant surprise.” She smiled coyly at the other captain as she stepped onto the deck with a quiet thump of her boots. “Fancy meeting you here, Yellow.”

“Cut the shit, Blue,” Yellow snarled and the smile fell away from Blue’s face. Evidently she had pushed a little to hard last night if Yellow was still in this sour of a mood. “This is ours, so shove off,” she growled, pistol locked and loaded in her right hand, though it stayed down at her side.

Blues lips pulled into a frown as she and Yellow shared a long unwavering look before she finally sighed, breaking the stare.

“Well, we are pirates… we’ll just take it.” In a flash, she’d pulled the dual pistols from her waist, aimed right at the gold rogue whose arm had whipped up at the first sign of movement.

The two caused a chain reaction of pistols cocking and daggers being pulled free of their hiding places on both sides.

The air was still and tense as the two stared each other down, a certain trepidation all around, this was the most serious the two had ever engaged each other. Pride had guaranteed their face-off here, neither willing to back down.

Yellow swallowed thickly, finger locked tightly around the trigger.

The loud crash of wood made them all jump as the crates scattered around the deck burst open and men with muskets jumped out, leveling their weapons on the pirates.

Their dark blue and gold uniforms told Yellow immediately what was happening as they spread to try and better surround the stunned pirates.

It was a trap

The tip she’d been given was bait to lure her, and by extension Blue, who was well known to appear after Yellow often enough your chances were fifty-fifty of getting them both.

Movement in the corner of her eye made her turn to look to see two galleons flying the white ensigns of the royal navy from their masts, coming around the bend of the island and heading straight for them.

A man dressed in a royal navy officer uniform appeared, a piece of parchment in both hands

“By order of the governor of port royal and the royal navy, Captains Marigold Faust, Ciel Doyle and their crews are hereby under arrest and ordered to surrender immediately!” He informed them, looking at the two captains with obvious contempt.

Blue and Yellow glanced at each other.

Time was of the essence.

“I’d rather die,” Yellow sneered, and before anyone could blink had fired off a shot straight into the neck of the officer, who dropped to the ground, blood spurting from the new hole in his throat, bedlam erupting all around them before he even fell dead on the deck in a widening pool of blood.

Shots rang out in deafening blasts all around them as all sides began to fire, creating clouds of smoke that they used to their advantage, getting in close and gutting the royal navy sailors.

Yellow blocked a bayonet from impaling her with the barrel of her pistol, pushing it away long enough to whip the weapon around and bludgeon the man in the side of the head with the solid wood handle.

Somewhere behind her Rose had buried her dagger into a sailor’s ribs as he grabbed for her sister, who was to busy shooting a man advancing with a saber in the chest to notice. A well-placed foot slammed into his midsection, knocking him over the railing, the splash going unnoticed among the shouts and blasts of gunfire on every side

“Back to the ship!” Yellow ordered once they had whittled down some of the opposition.

“Go, pull up now!” Blue flagged her crew back toward The Menagerie. They had to get out of here before the galleons got to them and they were sitting ducks away from their cannons.

Most of the crew had already made it back to the ship when Rose turned to join them, only for a hand to dig into her curly locks and yank her backward.

She cried out, dropping her dagger as she was pulled back and whipped around to face a navy sailor.

“Where ya think you’re going ya damn sea whore?” He yanked at her hair, ripping a louder scream from her throat that caught Blue’s attention.

“Rose!” she yelled, running toward her.

Blue wasn’t the only one who had noticed.

A saber came slashing down and the sailor screamed as his arm was severed at the elbow and blood came gushing out, splattering Rose, but his scream was short-lived as Yellow pivoted her arm upwards, slicing his head clean off. It rolled across the deck as his body fell into a heap with the others.

Amber and cerulean locked for the briefest of moments before Yellow turned away to sever another limb.

Blue grabbed the thief’s arm and pulled her toward the ship.

“We have to go, now!” The Menagerie was already beginning to slowly move forward.

The two galleons were going to be upon them soon but Yellow had stayed to ensure all of her crew got off and lost her window by saving little Rose Doyle, now, with grim realization, there were enough navy sailors between her and The Cluster that she knew she’d never make it back.

“Shove off!” she yelled and Jasper who had been making her way back to the gangplanks stopped dead, but the look Yellow was sending her was clear and she quickly ran to the helm.

A handful of minutes later The Cluster was pulling away, the gangplanks falling away and dropping any navy sailors attempting to board the pirate ship into the sea.

They weren’t going to make it...

That was the thought in Blue’s head as they ran toward her ship that was slowly pulling away. The crew standing at the railing calling for them.

She knew what she had to do.

As they hit the edge she reached back and fisted both her hands into her sister’s blouse and flung the girl with all her might across the ever-widening chasm between the ships.

She flew, and wouldn’t have made it were it not for the deckhands hanging from the railing that grabbed her arms as she sailed past them. They quickly dragged her aboard.

“Ciel!” Rose screamed as Blue stood on the edge of the merchant ship while The Menagerie pulled farther and farther away.

With one last look, she squared her shoulders and turned back to where Yellow was still fighting off the last of the navy sailors. The Cluster was moving away and it seemed the golden pirate had accepted that.

It looked like they would be going to Davey jones together.

So be it.

She threw herself back into the fight until she was back to back with the tall blonde, who was panting, blood oozing from several cuts on her face.

They were surrounded at bayonet tip.

Yellow looked beyond them to see one of the galleons was about to board them and then they really would be finished. The other had decided to chase the much slower Cluster. She couldn’t help but smirk at that.

Once they were back in open water The Cluster would decimate the other ship and they had managed to kill enough of the officers on this one that the other galleon would be to busy with them to offer aid.

“I’m open to any ideas…” Blue glanced at Yellow over her shoulder, holding her sword in one hand and her empty pistol in the other like a club.

“Kill as many as possible before you go down…” Yellow’s gravely voice hit her ears and she couldn’t help but choke out a laugh.

“For once, I think we’re in agreement,” she mumbled lunging forward to stab one who got to close, kicking the fighting off again, but once the gangplank of the galleon lowered it was over.

With her sword shoved into the neck of one officer someone behind her grabbed Yellow’s arm and jerked her back, three more quickly piled on, shoving her to the ground and holding her limbs. Her sword jerked from her grip and her hat falling off somewhere.

She heard Blue cry out somewhere behind her, followed by the sound of struggling.

She snarled and struggled but then a boot came down and her world went dark in a shower of pain and stars.

#bellow diamond #yellow diamond #blue diamond #pink diamond #Au #pirate AU #fic

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kneipho · 5 years

Photo

Title: Squeeze (Part 2/4: Hot Soup by kneipho, 2004) A ST: Voyager fanfic. Updated and reposted by request for Fanfic Anon

Thank you. It is nice to be remembered.

–

Notes: “Squeeze” takes place after “Mortal Coil,” but before, “Thirty Days.” Contains mild spoilers for, “The Learning Curve,” with special acknowledgment to, “Microcosm.”

Summary An away mission goes awry.

Link to Part 1

Disclaimer: Star Trek and all of its subsequent incarnations, (including Voyager ) are the property of CBS Corporation and Paramount Pictures. No characters belong to me. No profit made. No harm intended.

–

Squeeze, 2/4: Hot Soup

He panicked at first. When he could not find his footing in the darkness, Commander Chakotay went a little wild. He thrashed around aimlessly for a few seconds or so, his hardy appendages slowly turning about like the rusty arms of an abandoned windmill before reason kicked in. He was not dead —not dying. He was alive —alive and slowly paddling about in some sort of quasi-gelatinous substance in the dark.

Goo. He was swimming in chunky, liquid goo. Chakotay expelled a rattletrap sigh. Obviously, something had gone wrong during the transport. Where the hell are we?

Shouting into the comm-link of his space-suit, he attempted to hail the captain, ears adjusting to a continual clamoring gurgle that seemed originate from all around. He repeated the exercise several times to no avail, then switched channels and called out for Harry.

“I’m here, Sir!”

A shimmer of light passed over his face. He aimed his wrist torch toward the radiant glow to find Harry Kim floating, ghost-like, less than three-hundred centimeters away.

Chakotay nodded toward the floating ensign, and redirected his torch —in oval and counter-clockwise; starting above his head and ending down below his feet. It was a slow process; the bemired atmosphere hampering his movements, impeding the operation. We’re housed in some kind of chamber, he postulated, squinting about in the murky dim.

The area was sizable, but not enormous, roughly circular and less than twenty square meters all the way around. He could barely make out the impression of borders and was unable to analyze the texture of the walls. Harry was also endeavoring to scan the area, possibly to discover a way out. Janeway was nowhere in sight. “Maybe she made it back to the ship.”

“I’m sorry, Sir?”

Chakotay hadn’t realized he had spoken aloud. “Looks like the captain made it back to the ship.” The utterance rang with more conviction than he actually felt.

“I hope you’re right.” the ensign replied. “Commander, something’s wrong with my tricorder.”

“Mine, too.”

“I can’t get any decent readings.”

“Keep trying anyway.”

“Aye Sir. Sir?”

“Yes?”

“Do you have any idea where we are?”

“No. Well, maybe. I can’t say with certainty, but I think we may have transported into the mineral quagmire we were investigating on the surface.” Harry made a face. Chakotay continued, “From the looks of things, we may be inside one of the those enclosed pockets of sludge we detected below the top layers of the marsh.” ”

“Great. That would explain… the decor.”

“Be grateful we can’t smell anything through our suits.”

“If you’re right about our location… all we have to do is rupture the top… of the pocket’s membrane… and then make our way… to the surface.”

Chakotay’s eyes lifted from his tricorder. Harry was panting, his skin green. “Check your oxygen levels, Mr. Kim,” he ordered. “Now. ”

“Oxygen levels are… within… normal levels…”

“Mr. Kim?”

“Ohhh boy.”

“Ensign! Are you all right?”

“Commander— ”

“Speak up. Are you going to be ill?”

“I feel… dizzy.”

“You look like you want to retch, son. I told you not to eat before we went out on this mission. Mom didn’t pack you of change of clothes.”

“And I thought we left…Tom… Paris… s-safely behind.”

“Watch it, now. You’re crossing the line.”

“S-sir!” The word formed between chattering teeth.

“What is it?”

“I, I’m hot. I feel really hot and… my skin…is c-crawling.”

“This climate must be affecting your suit’s environmental settings. Can you adjust the controls?”

“I th-think s-so.” Kim was visibly shivering, his body quaking with active tremors.

Chakotay paddled over and put his arm firmly around the ailing officer.

“You’ll be all right, Harry. We’ll figure a way out of this.”

There was a sharp crack, an unexpected, thundery sound, reminiscent of a rock smashing into paned glass. Chakotay flinched, staring wordlessly as the transparent panel of Kim’s headgear mysteriously crepitated, fissuring above the cheekbone to the edge in a weird spider-web shaped pattern. The young man’s face had reddened into an extreme flush, cheeks marbling over with streaks of white, giving them the look of raw steak.

Kim stiffened under the commander’s arm and fainted. Chakotay tightened his grip, the muscles in his arm and chest contracting into hard coils as he swallowed the bile rising from this belly. He forced his focus on the fissures. They were extensive but blessedly shallow. The helmet had not compromised, but it only a matter of minutes before the face-plate fully ruptured and collapsed.

It wasn’t long after, he realized they were sinking; being drawn down in an intermittent swirl of current he had been too distracted to notice. He released his grip briefly; reclaiming an arm as Kim began to sink —and pulled. Chakotay kicked with all his might, propelling upward; his movements hampered in the alien gumbo, battling to drag the unconscious man up behind him.

There was a second loud ‘crack.’ Chakotay’s vision clouded. He smelled and acid and… puke. His muscles began to tremble. His face itched. His head was growing light and his veins tickled abnormally —as if something foreign were wriggling inside them, fighting to get out.

Suddenly, he couldn’t move. Kim’s body began to convulse. The commander couldn’t hold him.

This was bad. They needed to get out of there.

–

End Part 2 (Back to Part 1)

#squeeze #fanfic request #fanfic anon #star trek #star trek voyager #kneipho

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thelionshoarde · 5 years

Note

Voltron legendary defender, Shance, "Hey Beautiful. Oh $hit, wrong beautiful!" (You don't have to censor the swear if you're comfortable using it)

THIS IS SO LATE, but your prompt inspired an au where the galra never pick up the kerberos team and now shiro has to deal with being back home, not being as over adam as he thought he was, sick again for the first time in a while, and with the WHOLE WORLD now aware of his disease because sanda is a dick! And also most definitely some adorable shance. (or at least, i consider it adorable. there will be duck videos!!!) a thousand pardons for the tardiness, i kept waiting until i finished the whole fic but i’m hella slow and i just keep ADDING THINGS instead

anyway, this is JUST the scene with your prompt in it lol

psa: i focused mostly on ms rather than polio when researching for shiro’s disease, but 1) i need to do a lot more research and 2) i have no personal authority or experience over this topic (tho i do have some experience with chronic illness), so while i am trying to be respectful and realistic about what shiro in this circumstance might be dealing with, please remember that i know nothing about anything, thank you

“Hey, Captain!” called a grinning engineer, coveralls down about her waist. “Good to see you up and about!”

Ah.

Shiro let his shades fall down, slapping against the sides of his nose with gentle pressure. He angled a grin and a wave, and said, “Hey yourself,” and was content to shove his hands into the pockets of his jacket and amble on over toward a big beauty all by herself on the far side.

He had been hoping not to be recognized.

More than that, he had been hoping not to be recognized in direct correlation to his disease. It wasn’t as though it weren’t a part of him, obviously -- he had to deal with it, he had to adjust the world around him to factor it in. It was there, always. But there had been a reason he’d kept it so under wraps. Shiro preferred when it was only ever acknowledged as an afterthought -- he wanted people to see him, not some version of him distorted by sickness.

At least the ‘ships were still beautiful and the summer breeze nice. He made it through the rest of the ‘yard without incident, taking a slow, curving path toward what looked to be a Corona Class vessel. Bulky, heavily shielded, made to withstand longer bouts of radiation than most of the fighters. Her cargo bay was a massive belly on the back half of her fuselage; she had to be hell on turns. And she was just as beautiful close up as she’d been at a distance. Even with his sunglasses on half of the ‘ship was a glare of sun on metal too bright to see through. It didn’t bother him; he knew a good freighter when he saw one.

Shiro came to an unsteady, grateful stop in the shadow of her nose, trying to ignore the way the world had slowly started spinning lopsided on its axis on the way over. He really should have brought his cane, but also: fuck his cane.

“Hello gorgeous,” he called up to the cockpit, nearly as bulbous as her cargo bay.

To his surprise, a voice called back: “You flatterer!”

Startled, Shiro took a step backward and nearly lost his footing, muscles not quite responding how they ought. Damn. He hadn’t realized there was anyone here. The ‘ship had been quiet the whole way over, and -- oh.

That was a torso and head rearing up from the cockpit, the top of which was apparently popped.

Shiro hadn’t been able to tell with the sun shining through the quartz glass at this angle. Ohhh shit, Shiro thought, embarrassed, as the person leaned down over the side of it and laughingly said, “I could say the same to you, Captain! I did not expect to see you here.”

“I didn’t mean you,” Shiro muttered, but he had a feeling his voice had carried with the wind because the shadowy blob nearly twenty feet overhead snickered a little. So Shiro said, louder, “I was talking to the ‘ship. I can’t even see you.”

“Just a minute and I can fix that!” the voice said, cheerily enough.

Shiro squinted through his shades, still embarrassed, and watched as the figure disappeared back into the ‘ship. The cockpits on freighter class vessels were only released for maintenance or in the case of critical emergencies out in the black. That high up in the air it wasn’t feasible to get in and out of in anything less than zero-G. A moment later and the cargo door dropped open with a creaking groan beneath the ‘ship’s high-mounted tail.

Shiro considered turning around and wandering off the way he’d come. But --

He had left the apartment because he couldn’t stand to be there, trapped. He had never felt trapped inside a spacecraft, though, even one that was grounded. And what was one person versus a whole Garrison full of them, which he’d have to traverse again if he wanted to leave. He’d been stopped only once on the way out here, yes, but there was no telling how many might stop him a second time.

And besides. He was pretty certain he wasn’t going to be able to make the walk without issue, if the numbness spreading through his shoulder, now, was any indication.

Fuck, this was awful. What was the best option here? Suddenly he felt tired all over again, weary and worn down, hating how something once so simple had become so complex. He’d just wanted to see the damn spaceships. Fuck this relapse, and fuck himself for not putting on the damned pump when his doctor had told him to.

“Hey, Captain!” the voice called once more, peering out at him, crouched absurdly halfway down the lowered ramp. “Do you want to check my girl out or not?”

The grin smudging against the corners of his mouth in response to that casual, boasting question was all the reason Shiro needed to feel better about staying right here, at least. Hands in his pockets, Shiro carefully ambled on over to the back half of the ‘ship, working hard to keep it natural looking. “Corona Class, right? I recognize the body type, but I didn’t realize there were any still in active use. There were only, hm… three? Before I left for Kerberos.”

“Yup. Helen’s the last one standing. And she’s been refitted, too, so she’s super sexy. I bet you’ve never seen anything like her.”

Snorting, Shiro finally came around aft and put a cautious foot up on the heavy metal of the cargo door, converted into a ramp here where it had thumped into the ground. “I bet I haven’t,” Shiro agreed peaceably enough. He always enjoyed it when pilots were a little in love with their ‘ships. Somehow it made him trust them more.

“Come on, come on, get up here! I never thought I’d get to show off for Captain Shirogane, I’m about to pee myself in excitement here, come on.”

“Whoa,” said Shiro, brows skyrocketing and finding a hand thrust down to help him up the ramp. The sight made something tighten inside his chest, and it was on the tip of his tongue to protest that he didn’t need any help, thank you, he knew his way around a fucking freighter. But then he followed that hand up to the man it apparently belonged to and recognized him.

“Oh,” said Shiro, startled. “You’re -- Ensign Maine, right? From the uh. The press conference?”

The ensign had risen from his crouch and come to stand sideways, staring back into the belly of the ‘ship. His hand was wiggling in impatience, and considering his past experience with this particular ensign, Shiro had the sudden, strong impression that it hadn’t been held out in deference to Shiro’s potential delicacy, and instead simply because he was eager to get Shiro in and started on the tour and this was the compromise to coming down, grabbing Shiro by his jacket, and hauling him bodily up the ramp.

Huh.

Shiro was about to go ahead and take that hand, because he could probably use the help even if he didn’t want it, and this kind of offer was far more palatable than his first assumption. But at the question, the ensign squawked, swinging around to face him. Standing farther up the incline as he was, it put him taller than Shiro, and his eyes were dark and wide, mouth gaping open in ridiculous, dramatic affront. “Maine,” he said, indignant. “That -- totally not my name, oh my god. Have you thought -- ? Agh! And all this time I’ve been so excited that I actually talked to you and you didn’t even know my name, what --”

Shiro reached up and snagged the ensign’s hand in his, tugging hard, just to get him to shut up. And also maybe because he wanted to. Just a little. Smirking, Shiro said, “I still remember you. Sorry I got the name wrong. What is it?”

He would have looked for himself, but for whatever reason this ensign seemed determined to make it impossible to see the damned name sewn onto his clothes. He was in orange again today, but this time it was a dirty coverall, the upper portion shrugged off to revealed toned biceps and forearms and what appeared to be a firm chest beneath a too-tight white undershirt. Happily, it was still just bright enough on the ramp that Shiro hadn’t had to take off his sunglasses, so the guy wouldn’t be able to tell where Shiro’s gaze was lingering. He let himself appreciate the way the ensign’s bicep bulged like a softball as he took Shiro’s weight, standing firm.

Nice.

“McClain,” said the man, now grinning down at him. It was a very white grin, big and bright in a lean, handsome face, and Shiro finally reached up to twitch his sunglasses atop his head, because Ensign McClain was officially pretty enough for eye-candy and -- yep, those eyes were blue, dark and a little wicked with that glint in them.

“Nice to meet you, Ensign McClain,” Shiro said.

McClain waggled his brows and drew Shiro a little closer, up half a step onto the ramp. “The pleasure, Captain,” he teased, “is all mine. Trust me on that one.”

#a thousand apologies for a great many things #up to and including the length of that author's note lmao #thank you for your prompt!!#shance #shance au #i honestly love this story #but it's moving VERY SLOWLY #i hope this isn't too awful out of context???#vld #shiro #lance #it's been TOO LONG since i posted up some shance #my fic #cynoftheend

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grandtheftstarship · 5 years

Text

Below Freezing (Pavel Chekov x Fem!Reader) [Request!]

*Gif not mine*

"Well the transporter is broken so we’re stuck on this cold planet alone together guess we’d better cuddle for warmth" with Chekov please” -anon

Hi there anon! Thanks for your request :)

Sorry for slow updates, school has been kicking my ass :( I’m really mad because I wrote this super good the first time and then my power went out and it didn’t save so now it’s not as good :(.

Send in a request!

Word Count: 1900+ Warnings: Fluffy AF, the ending is a bit rushed but that's ok

You were late and you couldn’t believe it. It was your first away mission on the Enterprise and you were running so late, all because you couldn’t find your stupid botany kit in your lab. Your boots thudded rhythmically down the white halls, dodging people left and right, barely muttering a quick “’scuse me’” as a cacophony of ‘Hey’s and ‘Watch it’s’ followed behind you.

You nearly collapsed in relief as you rounded the corner and the transporter doors came into view. You slowed to a stop as you burst through them, huffing and out of breath.

“Ensign!’ Kirk greeted, walking over to you. “Ready for your first mission?”

You nodded enthusiastically, trying to steady your breathing. “Yes, sir.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but was interrupted by someone else crashing through the door. You weren’t the only one who was late.

“дерьмо (shit),” he gasped. “I’m so sorry keptin, I-”

“It’s fine, Chekov,” the captain hushed him, grabbing two large parkas folded neatly from a nearby console. “You two are going to want these.”

He pushed one bundle in your arms and the other in Pavel’s. You sent Jim a quizzical look.

“The planet’s temperatures drop below freezing once the sun goes down. We’re hoping the mission will be finished before then but better safe than sorry,” he explained, reading through the mission requirements on a padd. You nodded.

You quickly glanced around the room, realizing that you were still missing a member of your team. “Captain, where’s Ensign Faust?”

Jim looked up. “Oh, he called in sick unexpectedly last night. It’s just the two of you today.”

You stiffened. You noticed Chekov freeze next to you as well. You started panicking. You were terrified. Not of Pavel, you had a crush on the ensign for a while, but of being alone with him. You had only interacted in group settings, always surrounded by a comfortable amount of friends where the threat of possible embarrassment was very low. Now that it was just the two of you, failure was nearly imminent. Before you could figure out how to get out of the mission, Jim looked up from the padd and motioned towards the transporter.

“Alright, you guys are cleared. Good luck,” he started walking out of the room. It was your last chance to protest, but something held you back. You mumbled a thanks and moved towards the transporter pad, unease and despair bubbling up in your stomach.

“Energize.”

Oh, no no no. дерьмо. He was internally screaming, cursing his luck to the high heavens. He knew, oh god, he knew he was going to make a fool of himself within the next hour. He was terrified. Not of you, he had a crush on you for months, but of slipping up in front of you. He had only talked with you in group settings, a close friend always nearby for emotional support, but now he was going to be alone. Alone with you. He wasn’t sure he was going to be able to even function.

The narrow window of escape he saw as Kirk left the room was missed as a million thoughts zig-zagged through his brain and before he knew it he was standing on the face of the white planet next to you. The climate was mild, leaving him wondering how they were going to need such heavy coats.

“Don’t forget your goggles, Pav,” your sweet voice said softly, causing his heart to drop suddenly.

“R-right,” he stuttered, digging through the pockets of the large coat and pulling out the protective glasses. He tugged them on, the blinding terrain easing into a muted grey landscape. It was breathtaking nonetheless. “Wow.”

“Pretty, isn’t it?” you looked around, in awe of the foliage. Chekov stood there, unaware that he was staring at you as you got to work, pulling out your botany kit and taking samples. He shook himself out of it, pulling his tricorder out of his small satchel. Nearly fifteen minutes later, Pavel began noticing the temperature starting to drop. It was a few degrees at first, but it suddenly dropped several."Hey, I'm done," you came up behind him. He jumped slightly, but you pretended not to notice. "Me too," he replied, glancing back down at his tricorder. The temperature had gone down twenty degrees. You shrugged on your coat behind him, shivering slightly. Chekov did the same, suddenly very glad that they had brought them along.

"Keptin," he spoke into his communicator. "We have finished the mission. Two to beam up."

"Locking on to you both now," Jim replied. He was relieved. He hadn't done anything stupid, yet, and the mission had gone by smoothly. If only he could get off the rapidly cooling planet sooner and into a nice, warm shower.

"Chekov? [y/n]? Are you guys still down there?" Jim's voice came through a bit static-y. You leaned over Pavel's shoulder, speaking into the small device. "Yes, captain. Is there a problem up there?"

“Somt- ... interfe- sig- trying-” and with that, the signal was lost and the communicator went dead. Your eyes met his and worry dropped like a rock in your stomach.

Shit.

You sat awkwardly next to Pavel, shivering even through the warm coat around your shoulders. In the span of about ten minutes since you lost contact with the Enterprise, the temperature had dropped twenty degrees. The light was slowly fading and the landscape morphed from a blaring white to a soft grey, allowing a few stars to peek through the sky. You were a bit anxious, fear had rooted itself in your core after you swore you heard something shriek off in the distance, and it caused you to tremble a bit more.

Since the mission was only meant to last a bit over an hour, nobody informed you about any, hostile or not, lifeforms on the surface of the planet. You clutched your survey kit closer to your chest. You were a botanist for god’s sake. Your specialty was plants, not warding off hostile aliens. You weren’t a hero-warrior goddess that would courageously protect (and hopefully woo) Pavel. You were just a shy botanist who wasn’t even cleared to carry a phaser during an away mission.

You shook as a freezing breeze swept over the landscape, somehow able to go straight through your coat. You felt Chekov shift beside you and before you knew it his arm was around you pulling you into his side. Despite the cold, your cheeks flared up. You considered moving away from him but his body heat was nearly to die for. You were just getting comfortable when the horrible shriek split the almost-serene terrain a second time. You froze, feeling Pavel do the same. The sun had dipped behind the rolling white, now grey, hills, but it was still bright enough to see them. And the thing hurtling down one.

“Pav,” you shakily raised your hand to point at the figure speeding towards you. “What’s that?”

Without a word or hesitation, he grabbed your hand and booked it in the other direction. It made that horrible sound again, taking chase. You ran faster than you had ever run before, adrenaline pushing your muscles to the limit. Pavel pointed to a small opening at the base of the small mountain you were running towards and you understood. That was when you made the mistake of looking back. The creature was hideous, at least ten feet tall and it’s large boar-like head had huge protruding fangs dripping with saliva. It was only some-15 yards away. That was when you tripped. You flew forwards, hands catching your fall and you felt the skin break. Pavel barely missed a beat, scooping you up in his arms the second you hit the ground and continuing his sprint for the small cave. You squeezed your eyes shut, hearing the thing’s breath only feet away.

He dove into the small opening, accidentally tossing you on the cold floor of the cave. The thing screamed, feeling though the small hole with its clawed feet but it wasn’t strong enough to break through the stone. Chekov was laying next to you, arm stretched out protectively over your chest, breathing heavily but staying quiet even after the horrible thing went away in search of an easier meal.

“Oh my god, are you alright?” he still grasped one of your hands, inspecting the cuts riddling your palm. “I’m so sorry, I-I couldn’t get a grip on my phaser fast enough and I dropped it somewhere.”

You shook your head. “No, it’s okay! We’re safe now.” You looked away from his worried face bashfully. “Thanks for saving me when I fell.”

It was his turn to shake his head. “It was the gentlemanly thing to do. I don’t know what I would do if I had let it get you.”

You blushed at his words, fiddling with a loose thread on your jacket. “Thank you. If only I hadn’t lost my kit. I was really excited to study them.” You frowned at the grey dust coating the floor.

“Actually...”

You looked up, a smile spreading on your face as he held up or kit.

“Oh my god, thank you so much!” you jumped on him, engulfing him in a hug. It was too late when you noticed what you had done. You pulled away quickly. “S-Sorry.”

He chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t worry about it, it’s fine. Here you go.” He handed you the kit.

“Thanks,” you beamed up at him. He returned it, getting up and looking around the very small cave.

“There are some vines to make a fire with,” he said, tearing some of the dry plants from the walls. “And guess what.”

“They’re white, aren’t they?” you giggled.

“You got it,” he replied, breaking the longer ones into smaller pieces. He arranged them on the floor, lighting them with his backup phaser refill.

“Whoa,” you gasped as the fire breathed to life, flickering in shades of grey. “I’ve never seen white fire before. It’s kinda like we’re in a black-and-white movie.”

He nodded. “Yeah.”

He waited a moment before getting up again and pushing a small-ish boulder in front of the doorway. “Better safe than sorry.”

You nodded. He sat back down next to you, trying to warm himself by the fire. The light was completely gone now, and the temperatures were even colder. It was definitely below freezing. You knew the only way to keep from getting hypothermia was to share body heat.

“Um, Pav?” your voice sounded small.

“Yeah?”

“Uh, do you want to... share body heat?” your face warmed, unable to meet his eyes.

“Sure.”

You looked up, surprised. “Really?”

He nodded, grinning. “Yes, I’m sure.”

You returned the smile, shrugging out of your coat and laying it on the cold ground for something to lay on. Chekov unzipped his as well, laying down beside you and throwing his oversized parka on top of you both. He let you snuggle into his side, wrapping his arms around you with his head resting just above yours. It was here where you felt at home, cuddled up in his side. Without being able to control yourself, you moved your head, your face only inches from his. His eyes flickered down to your lips and back to your eyes. You moved closer, allowing him to close the gap. The kiss was chaste and sweet, conveying thoughts without needing to say them.

You broke away. “We should do this more often.”

He chuckled. “Yes, we should.”

He kissed your forehead and you moved your head back down to his shoulder.

“But for now, sleep.”

#star trek #pavel chekov #star trek aos #star trek reader inserts #star trek x read #pavel chekov x reader #pavel chekov reader inserts #star trek x reader #pavel chekov aos x fem reader

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tibbygetsrekt · 5 years

Text

TMW you got a new f/o and you just kind of go ham creating content.

no content warnings apply other than possible diabetes.

The stack of paperwork never seemed to lessen, Smoker’s hand scrubbing over his face as he let out a groan. He could understand if perhaps he was a slacker like other Captains, but he wasn’t. To be honest, he had a sneaking suspicion that someone was foisting their paperwork off on him, knowing he would do it. Teeth grinding on his cigars, he reached out for the next slip of paper and paused.

It was off, at first his tired eyes couldn’t place what was wrong with it. But then he did, his cheeks flushing as he re-read the form four times before slamming a hand down on it as if someone else was in the room. After a moment, sitting in his chair with his eyes closed as he counted to twenty, Smoker lifted his hand and read the form again.

Name: Tiberius Morningstar Personnel Number: 086917 Rank: Ensign Date of request: smudged Requisition Request: HIGH IMPORTANCE! I, Ensign Morningstar, request the use of one Captain Smoker for nap time. I find myself unable to sleep and would appreciate the comforting presence of my superior officer to assist me in returning to some semblance of peak condition after obtaining forty or more winks. At this point in time, I may or may not be a danger to my fellow man, as well as myself, or a certain Captain’s sanity as I am beginning to feel slightly manic. I would also like to request that a more powerful fan be moved into my quarters as two sleeping bodies generate more heat than one.

It was signed with a flourish, and a small xo tucked in the tail of the g. Incredulous, his fingers tensed, wanting to crumple the ridiculous thing. But he couldn’t bring himself to do that, instead shoving it into the breast pocket of his jacket.

He couldn’t believe that they had- No, wait he could. It wasn’t so far fetched considering the reimbursement requests they’d put in for the items needed for their mischief. The bar tabs they’d submitted and marked down as medical reimbursement form. Claiming that it was ongoing treatment, though the doctor who had prescribed the treatment had been too smudged to read.

At the very least, he had the assurance that no one else had read the form. Tiberius tended to tuck their forms into his paperwork while they were… It wasn’t bothering, but it wasn’t helpful. His cheeks flushed again as his mind idly toyed with the idea that each time Tiberius came to his office unbidden they were flirting. He wouldn’t put it past them.

Fingers skimming along his jacket over the pocket with the note, Smoker pulled another form from the pile. Blinking a few times to bring it into focus, rubbing his eyes, he tried not to gnash his teeth in frustration. He had not been sleepy until reading that form, as a matter of fact, he'd only been frustrated. But now he was struggling against a yawn, losing, and then feeling his jaw crack.

Aggressively shoving away from his desk, he stood and stretched with a low noise in his throat as other things cracked. How long had he been hunched over his desk? Walking around it, and out the door, he ignored the startled personnel that watched him pass. Long strides carried him down hallways until he stopped in front of a door and stared at the whorls in the wood.

He was expected, wasn’t he? Technically? There hadn’t been a date or time on the requisition form, his mouth opening as another yawn snuck out, his hand lifting to rest against the door. Fingers curling, he rapped them sharply and felt ridiculous when he realized that he’d started slouching. Straightening his spine, and squaring his shoulders, he waited and then knocked again.

“Ensign Morningstar!’ Still no answer, and he felt uncertainty trickle low in his belly, reaching out for the doorknob.

To be honest he was expecting to find an empty room, but instead found the ex-pirate sprawled on top of what looked like one of his jackets, which was spread over a mound of pillows. It was… cute. Slipping inside the room, he gently closed the door and moved to stand next to the bed.

“Ensign!’ He called, loathe to reach out and wake them with a shake.

But the bed looked inviting, and so did the sleepy curl of their fingers as they gripped the fur collar of his jacket. Which he needed to figure out how they’d gotten a hold of it, his own quarters were locked at all times, even when he was in them. Watching them nuzzle the fabric, and the smile that lazily curled their lips as they breathed in through their nose made his cheeks heat. He should go, if they had finally managed to get to sleep disturbing them would be cruel.

“Smo-kun?’ One eye cracked open, slowly shifting to look up at him as the smile slowly broadened to a grin. “Oh! You got my form…’

If it wasn’t for the fact that it was very obvious they were too tired to do anything, Smoker would have blamed the rush of blood to his head on them. But they were struggling to sit up, rubbing at their eye with the heel of their hand. Still smiling. Absently rubbing a hand over his chest where his heart was pounding, Smoker stared down at them as he gnawed on his cigars. Their already curly hair was a bunched near their shoulder, their other hand reaching out and taking hold of his jacket to tug at him.

“You okay?’ They asked muzzily. “You look like you’re about to tip over.’

“I’m fine!’ He snapped, embarrassed to have been caught staring, red-cheeked as he lifted his eyes and stared instead at the wall over their head.

“Please?’

Grip tightening, the ex-pirate staring up at him. When they realized he wasn’t going to come down to them, they stood up and leaned against him, arms wrapping around his middle with a content sigh. If necessary they would fall asleep just like this, Smoker wouldn’t let them fall over. Cheek nuzzling against his skin, they couldn’t help another sleepy noise escaping him as his scent filled their nose.

“You smell good.’

A low grunt is all they received as a response, making them turn their head and tilt their head to look up at him. Smoker still wasn’t looking at them, and if his face got any redder he might pass out. Pleased with themself, Tiberius returned to nuzzling against his chest, feeling the fur collar brushing against their forehead.

“I didn’t mean to wake you.’

“You stood over me and yelled…’ feeling a rumble in his chest as he coughed they struggled not to laugh out loud. “You did, not that I’m mad about it. I miss you.’

“We saw each other in the mess hall this morning…’

But his arms wrapped around their shoulders, a smile tugging at his lips feeling them go on tip toe and press closer. Glancing at the ends of his cigars and seeing they’d burned themselves out, he pulled them out to toss them into an ashtray. They didn’t smoke, but there were ashtrays strewn about their quarters anyways. Something that amused him, but also made him feel a little warm in his chest.

Feeling the body pressed against him slump, Smoker felt a flicker of alarm. But after catching them before they fell, he realized that they’d fallen asleep leaning against him. Throat tight at the implied level of trust, he sat down on the bed and chuckled as they cuddled closer on his lap even as he tried to adjust his hold on them.

“You’re going to fall, honey.’ He muttered, watching as they grabbed one side of the fur collar and held on tightly. “.... I don’t like sleeping sitting up.’

He was joking, though it came out sounding like a genuine complaint. Tiberius’ eyes opened, blinked a few times and then closed again as they shifted on his lap to cling to him like a reverse backpack. Unable to stop himself, he laughed and wrapped an arm around their waist as he scooted farther onto the bed and lay down. There were too many pillows in the way, his body wriggling trying to move them as Tiberius clung to the front of him.

“Stop… that is not nap conducive.’

“Why do you have so many pillows?’ He’d ask how but wasn’t sure he wanted to know that answer.

“You’re not always here.’ They groused.

Reluctantly moving, they slid off to one side and started half heartedly tugging at the pillows under him. He wasn’t much help, staring at them wide eyed until they sloppily kicked at him. Arching his back, they managed to get most of the pillows out of the way, and immediately cuddled close to his side after shoving at his jacket to get it out of the way. Eyes rolling, Smoker shifted and managed to work his arms out of his jacket despite the handicap of sleepy Ensign clinging to him.

“I didn’t realize I was supposed to be.’

“What?’

“Be here, all the time.’ He felt their head lift, and used his hand to push it back down as he stared at the ceiling.

“Wait! What are you- oh!’

“It would be highly inappropriate.’

“Probably.’ They conceded, though their shoulder lifted and fell in a shrug.

“But if it means that you sleep more often than wreak havoc, I may have to risk it.’ Ignoring their laughter, his hand smoothed down their arm to wrap around their ribs. “Though I swear you plot even in your sleep.’

“.... I do sometimes, actually.’

He wanted to be surprised, really he did, but it made a certain amount of sense given just how cleverly they managed to bring hell but somehow not be caught. The only reason he knew it was them was because he knew them. No tangible proof however, and never a single witness to give a concise or helpful answer. It was awe inspiring but also slightly terrifying.

“Speaking of plotting,’ Smoker felt them tense. “Where did you get one of my jackets?’

“Oh that!’ Relaxing again, they nuzzled his chest with their cheek. “I made a copy of your key weeks ago to sneak into your quarters to nap. Then thought it’d be less nerve wracking to just take a jacket to sleep with in my own quarters.’

“You…’ he paused, taking in a deep breath and let it out slowly before trying again. “You broke into my quarters to nap?’

“Sometimes.’ They didn’t sound the least bit repentant. “No one would look for me there.’

That was against so many different regulations, Smoker’s head ached, his teeth grinding as they slowly squirmed and shifted until they were half laying across his chest.

“You can write me up later, okay babe?’ One hand lightly patted his cheek, resting against it to stroke their thumb against his cheekbone feeling the tenseness in his jeans under their fingers. “Or we can discuss some sort of punishment. But you need sleep. I need sleep. Shhhh.’

“I cannot believe you illegally obtained a key to the private quarters of your superior officer to make use of his effects to-’

“That’s nothing.’ They interrupted, their hand moving to cover his mouth. “Yell at me later.’

“Why? What else have you done?’ Voice muffled by their hand, he glared down at them when they smiled in response.

“I’ll make you a list. Later.’

At the mention of a list, Smoker let out a soft choked noise. He shouldn’t be surprised, he thought for the hundredth time. And yet there he was, and arm wrapped around them to keep them close even as he wanted to shake them until their brain cells connected properly. Faulty wiring was the only excuse he could think of that would cause someone to find such joy in that much chaos. There was a limit, and they hadn’t seemed to reach it, if their behavior was anything to go by.

“Later.’ He finally ground out from between gritted teeth. Taking a breath in and holding it, before letting it go as well as some of his frustration. “.... ………. I don’t like sleeping on my back.’

“Smoker!’ They whined, their hand shifting to cover half his face with their fingers spread.

Before he could reply, they moved off him and shoved at his ribs, squirming beneath his arm until he rolled onto his side. Another nudge until he was half on their stomach, Tiberius’ cheek resting on his shoulder blade, arm draping across him.

“Now can we sleep, please? You look terrible.’

“Wh- Excuse you?’

“One more word and I’m going to bite you.’ They grumbled, knee hooking his waist as they shifted closer.

A part of him was almost too indignant to care, head half lifted before falling again, grabbing another pillow to tuck between his arm and cheek. If it was anyone else it would be safe to bet that it was an idle threat. But knowing Tiberius, more specifically a sleepy Tiberius, it was a promise. Wordlessly grumbling as he got comfortable, he was amused to feel their lips press a kiss against his shoulder once he stopped moving. Moments later their breathing slowed, falling asleep quickly though their grip on him didn’t lessen. And he didn’t mind it, his own eyes closing with a sigh. He’d read them their rights later, a nap wasn’t a terrible idea after all.

#( an angel craving chaos a demon seeking peace )#tibby’s library ;; f/o fics #unprompted fluff no one asked for #i haven't even fully finished the self insert information in a doc yet #like i laid it out already to luna and lix #but ??? asldkjgaf fucking Smoker you guys #i'm rekt

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alladeline · 6 years

Text

Broken Datapads- Prologue

Summary: You are an agent of the First Order Security Bureau, trying to make your way back into the galaxy after the death of your loved one. A broken datapad and perhaps luck connect you with the distinguished General, Armitage Hux.

Warning(s): mention of death

A/N: This is my first ever prompt, inspired by a German film I watched a few months ago. I also am inspired by a few very close friends ❤🌻 I also kept the reader gender neutral 😊 for nsfw parts, I will try to write both genders, or neutral

Numb. You felt so numb. No tears, no pain, just absolutely numb when you received the news on your datapad.

He was gone, killed on some distant planet that meant very little to the Order. You would never feel his warm, soft touch, hear your name roll of his tongue like a sweet melody, or look into his bright eyes again. The love of your life was snuffed out, leaving you in the dark vastness of space, and your own mind.

You threw yourself into your work as an agent of the Security Bureau, spending countless hours working overtime to keep yourself from returning to an empty, cold bed. However, your superiors had noticed your exhaustion, the dark circles under your eyes. They decided to move you out of the field, saying your mental state could comprise any mission you were assigned. Instead, they had assigned you to desk work, equally as important, but much less rigorous and a bit mundane.

That was fourteen months ago. Fourteen long months since you even dared to let yourself think of him, his name, anything having to do about him.

“Come on (y/n), you will feel much better if you just stop denying yourself of any affection” your friend sighed, handing you a warm cup of caf.

You graciously took the cup, letting the comforting, hot liquid touch your lips before you pulled away. A small frown graced your lips as you looked up at your fellow agent. “I wouldn’t even know where to start…I just..” your voice trailed off.

“I understand how much you miss (SO’s name), but denying he didn’t even exist cannot be healthy….I am worried about you, (y/n)” your Chiss friend spoke, “ You even transferred here…away from the destroyer he worked on. He wouldn’t want you to feel this way, you know that”

She was right, you needed to stop denying how large of a role your significant other played in your life. You needed to acknowledge his death, his passing. However, you had absolutely no idea where to start. You didn’t even fully know if you were ready to move on.

Armitage Hux cursed under his breath as he picked himself up off the black tiled floor of the Bridge, trying to ignore the dull ache in his lower back. He definitely heard a crack, but thankfully when he slipped his hand into the pocket of his great coat, he discovered it was only his datapad. It was shattered, but nothing that couldn’t easily be replaced. He must have gone through at least twenty datapads between interacting with not only the Supreme Leader, but Kylo as well. Well….Millicent also played a role in destroying at least one or two. The orange tabby had an instinctive habit of pushing things off tables, desks, anything really.

“What are you all looking at?? Get back to work!” the redhead barked as he dusted himself off. Stars, he was going to need a nice glass of whiskey and a hot shower. Being pulled around by Snoke was a common occurrence, but definitely not a welcomed one.

“You, ensign, go fetch me a new datapad and have it on my desk before the end of my shift” Hux pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

This definitely was not the best start to his shift, but certainly not the worst either. It was just inconvenient, especially considering he would need to be assigned a temporary code until all his files could be transferred off the damaged one.

“Broken datapads, such a nuisance”

#general hux #armitage hux #hux #first order #star wars #general hux x reader #general hux x you #broken datapads #star wars imagine #tlj #tfa

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enterprisetrampstamp · 6 years

Text

I know what you’re doing

Written for @doodlingleluke for @sapphicstartrek‘s fanwork exchange!

She's in uniform.

There are birds chirping, sunlight beating warm across her shoulders, and Deanna's mellow, floral perfume drifting through the air from where she walks, just half a step to the right and a step forward from Tasha. Her hair is pulled up in a messy bun with some kind of ornate clip that screams "gift from Lwaxana", and her blouse leaves her olive shoulders bare, falling loosely over the curves of her hips to layer over skirts that swirl around her ankles. It could be--any spring day on Earth, back on the beautiful grounds of the Academy, except that Tasha's still in uniform.

She really, really shouldn't take off the outer jacket so that she's just in a tank top and trousers and can more easily pretend this is a date. She really, really shouldn't.

"Warm, isn't it?" she asks, tugging at the zipper, and Deanna tosses a smile back over her shoulder.

"Sorry, I programmed it that way. I could always--"

"No need," Tasha blurts, too fast and too loud and too--

Deanna's eyes crinkle at the corners as her smile broadens, and she ignores the embarrassment that she must be able to practically taste in the air. She's so kind and as warm- warmer, even- as this not-spring day in the holodeck.

"I needed this," she says instead, a longing sort of sigh in her voice as she tips back her face to the sun, long throat exposed.

A sign of trust--that Tasha won't tear it out. Or that she won't... Do something else. It's obviously not an invitation, that's for certain.

Tasha tears her eyes away to busy herself with folding her jacket over her forearm. She could drop it somewhere and it would just be there, waiting in a corner of the deck whenever they turned off the program, but that just feels wrong.

"It can be draining, being the sole counsel for an entire ship," Deanna continues. "I needed a day off, and thankfully the captain was willing to give me one." Her eyes sparkle as she adds, "And willing to give me my friends one at a time for an hour or two, here and there, to keep it from being a lonely day off."

Tasha huffs back at her, shoving her hands into her pockets. "See, but I know what you're doing," she teases. "We've all been refusing your kindly worded memos recommending we take a vacation day or two, so you're trying to rub this in our workaholic faces so we're just oh-so-tempted to take our own."

Deanna shrugs, clasping her hands behind her back and spinning off into the field of wildflowers. "I can neither confirm nor deny," she insists, but the smile in her eyes is full of mischief.

"You know what they say," Tasha calls after her, "'All work and no play makes Jean Luc a dull boy.'" Deanna's answering cackle sparks through the air, and Tasha ducks her chin as she grins.

It's a lovely, lovely day; there are fake birds chirping somewhere in the holographic distance, and a sun that can't burn her skin beats warm across her bare shoulders. She's allowed to enjoy this, for the twenty minutes she has left before a meeting with Worf and her other Lieutenants. She just can't enjoy it too much.

(She fails; it's over too soon.)

"Thank you for coming with me, darling. It would've been no fun to wander through the holodeck like that alone." Deanna's fingertips brush over Tasha's elbow, her red lips curling into a smile, and there's something that hurts about how pretty she is. A sharp knife of want with a thin edge of jealousy, stuck deep in Tasha's stomach.

"Any time," she agrees.

Maybe she can't stop that smitten look from reaching her eyes, but she does keep her voice calm and smile warm-but-not-too-warm. It's a tightrope that she walks everyday; she can't help but be grateful that Deanna hasn't called her out on the inappropriate crush that she can undoubtedly sense rolling off of Tasha in waves.

("Crush", like Tasha's any of the thousands of people who took one glance at that waterfall of curls or the graceful arc of her hands and thought Deanna was beautiful enough to crave. She'd be over it by now, if that's all that this was.)

(But she doesn't even really want to think about the other thing, so.)

(Crush.)

The silence has dragged on a moment too long, Tasha shamelessly drinking in the quiet intensity of being the center of Deanna's focus, and it needs to end.

"Well, I'll see you around," she says, starting to walk away--or at least she means to say it. It comes out with slight uptick, a question, a hopeful curl of the air through her vocal cords--less neutral, and more... desperate.

("Well, I'll see you around?")

Deanna's smile broadens, her dark eyes lighting up once more with mischief. "Is that a promise?"

"Um--"

"Because," Deanna continues, and she falls into step and threads her arm through Tasha's rather than let her walk away red cheeked with embarrassment, "it wouldn't do for the Enterprise's Chief Security Officer to renege on a promise, would it?"

"Obviously," Tasha says, uneasily. She wants to play along- she would, usually, because she tries so hard to not let herself revert to the stone-faced, paranoid ensign she was when she first entered Starfleet- but there's a canary-eating tilt to Deanna's grin. It's putting her off-balance.

"Good." Deanna lets go, folding her hands neatly behind her back and coming to a stop. "Then I'll see you around."

Tasha stands there for a moment, broadcasting confusion on every frequency, but Deanna doesn't say anything else. Slowly, rolling the words across her tongue like the taste of them will help her understand what just happened, Tasha repeats, "I'll... see you around."

She backs away hesitatingly, a little furrow between her brow, and then- with a smart heel-turn- Tasha's walking away as quickly as she can without breaking out into a run.

Sometimes, she feels like she doesn't understand any more about people than Data does.

***

Tasha can feel Beverly's scrutiny between her shoulder blades, and it's making her tense. The sly smile, the smug twinkle in those blue eyes--ever since Tasha finished telling the story of the previous day's post-holodeck scene. She'd glanced back, once, and she's regretted it ever since.

"Stop looking at me like that," she says, her voice like steel, and Beverly has the audacity to hum in response. Tasha holds herself straight and unflinching through sheer force of will, when her instincts are telling her to hunch and glare and snarl.

"Like what?" Beverly asks in return; her voice is doing that neutral, motherly thing that she normally saves for Wesley or a frustrating patient.

"Like you know something I don't," Tasha sneers, turning on her heel to walk backwards and fixing Beverly with the glare she's been keeping in reserve for the better part of the last ten minutes. Knowing things is her job, just as much as jumping in front of phaser fire is. She doesn't like to be out of the loop, or off balance, or--

"Oh, honey; I do."

--patronized.

"Bye," Tasha says, pointedly, and veers sideways.

"Shit!" Beverly's curse follows her down the hallway.

She rushes to catch up, muttering a few more things under her breath that she'd probably ground her son for repeating as she does it. Her fingers brush against Tasha's elbow, a request for her to slow down and an apology all at once, and- with a disgruntled wrinkle of her nose- Tasha obliges.

They stop in the middle of the hall--the Enterprise's engines whirr somewhere below their feet, and a passing ensign swerves around them, the ear canals of her species politely closed and her six eyes trained on the floor. If only the very human, very nosy majority of the ship were so deferential to the personal lives of their commanding officers.

"Look," Beverly says, and her voice has gone from motherly to exasperated, "Deanna? Her little 'promise to see me later' bit? A very non-subtle invitation for you to ask her out."

"No."

"So just--" Beverly rears back, an affronted look on her face, and she snatches her hand in to her chest. "What do you mean, 'no'?" she demands, and Tasha shakes her head pityingly.

"Deanna... knows how I feel," she explains, as patiently as she can. "She knows it would be a sure thing if she ever made a move, but she hasn't, so--"

"So she doesn't want to take advantage of things she hasn't been able to avoid sensing and rush you into a relationship she doesn't know you're actually ready for." Beverly gives her a kind smile and a gentle slap upside the head; Tasha almost hears it more than feels it. "She respects your privacy, you idiot."

"No, she--"

Beverly's eyebrows shoot up. "She doesn't respect your privacy?"

"No!" Tasha scowls, crossing her arms over her chest. "Of course she does." Deanna knew more about her than anyone else on the ship, but it was all information freely given, to thoughtful eyes and expectant silences. The mere thought that she--it was absurd. "That's not what I was protesting, and you know it!"

"I don't know anything." Beverly holds her hands wide, a challenging light in her eyes. "I thought I knew that you were too oblivious to your own emotions to even realize that you wanted to ask her out; frankly, I should've realized that you'd just figured out a noble reason to chicken out of doing it."

Tasha's blunt fingernails dig into the skin of her palms as she steps forward--she's shorter than Beverly, but she leverages every molecule of the white hot rage pounding in her veins to make it seem like she's not. "I know what you're doing," she snarls. "You're a bad actress, and you can't double-dog-dare-me into doing something I don't want--"

"You do want," Beverly snaps.

"No, I don't--"

"You do."

"Fine!" Tasha shouts.

She immediately takes a step back, forcing herself to relax her hands, forcing herself to modulate her voice. Beverly is uncowed- she knows Tasha's temper burns bright but short, even if she were the type to ever give ground- but that doesn't change the science blues peering curiously down the hallway to see what the commotion's all about.

"Fine," she repeats, carefully, and a brief glare sends the nosy geologists running. "Fine, I have... a crush, but Deanna doesn't want me to act on it. That's abundantly obvious. Not to mention how inappropriate it would be for two bridge officers to date--"

This, out of everything, throws Beverly off-balance. "Why?!?"

"Conflict of interest during a crisis," Tasha answers immediately.

"Oh, honey."

"Stop saying that!"

"I'll stop saying it when you stop deserving it." Beverly catches Tasha's arm before she can do more than roll her eyes--she knows she's about to walk away again. "Hey, no, look at me. No matter your intentions, there's going to be an unhealthy power dynamic at play if you date someone of a lower rank. So if you can't date another bridge officer, Tasha, then you can't date anyone. And I'm no counselor, but when you're up in space with no particular end of mission in sight? I'm pretty sure it's unhealthy to refuse yourself any romantic or sexual contact if those are things you're at all interested in."

Tasha grinds her teeth, breathing the recycled air of her ship deep into her lungs as she refuses to look at Beverly. "I'm really not interested in continuing this conversation."

After a moment of hesitation, her elbow is released. "Thank you," she says, terse, and strides away.

***

She smells the chocolate, first.

It's how she knows for sure that it's Deanna at her door, fifteen minutes after a shift that found Tasha snappish and rude for its entire length; it's why she only hesitates for a moment before calling, defeatedly, "Come in."

Deanna has a brownie in each hand, and a wry smile on her lips. "Breaking your promise already?" she says. She sounds hopeful, like she wants Tasha to laugh; when she doesn't, Deanna sighs.

She settles next to Tasha on the bed, her legs tucked up to the side, and carefully transfers one of the brownies and its protective napkin onto Tasha's stomach. "Beverly told me the gist of your argument," she admits, as Tasha pinches off the corner between her thumb and her index and ring fingers.

Brownies aren't her favorite food. Honestly, she doesn't have much of a sweet tooth at all--but Deanna believes, firmly, in the healing powers of chocolate, and this bad mood has clung too stubbornly to go away on its own. Tasha figures she might as well give the brownie a try.

She glances up at Deanna--dark eyes full of understanding, curls cascading freely down over one shoulder. Her shoes are carefully hanging off the edge of the bed, keeping dirt away from the sheets. She’s so thoughtful it hurts, as much as yesterday’s smile had.

"I'm surprised you aren't off in the holodeck." Deanna waves a hand- the one not cradling her own brownie to her chest- and a wry smile twists at the corners of her mouth. "Punching things."

Breath in, breath out. Begrudingly, "I figured Bev would tell you," Tasha mutters. "And that you'd want to talk."

"I'd also be fine with listening," Deanna offers, with a grin and a teasing little nudge of her elbow.

"Maybe next time." Tasha lifts her brownie towards Deanna as if in a toast, and then ever-so-elegantly shoves half of it in her mouth. (Deanna snorts, in a way that sounds almost painful, and it most certainly does not elicit a smile from Tasha, thank you very much.)

They sit in companionable silence for a few minutes as they eat their brownies and Deanna thinks. Tasha knows she's thinking, because there's a little frown at the corners of her lips that even the chocolate is failing to smooth away. She doesn't bother to try and guess where this is going before Deanna speaks--except when it comes to dealing with her mother, Deanna knows how to say what she means in the way that she means it.

"Beverly wasn't wrong, you know," she finally admits, a thread of embarrassment hidden under her nonchalant tone. (Tasha makes a noise to encourage her to continue, because she doesn't know how else to respond.)

"I wanted to be cautious about assigning meaning to what I sensed,” Deanna explains, gesturing loosely with her free hand. “And when you never said anything, I assumed that I was... sensing what I wanted to sense.” She trails off for a moment, then adds, rushed, “I did. Want to. That’s what the teasing was about yesterday.”

“God.” Tasha lays her hand over her eyes, a hysterical laugh threatening to bubble up. “We’re useless.”

Deanna does laugh, a sharp bark of mirth as she slouches down on the bed as well. “To think, we advise the captain on matters of--”

She breaks off into a gasp as Tasha rolls, abruptly, onto her side and kisses her. It’s messy--she misses, mostly, catches the corner of Deanna’s mouth more than anything else, and her cheeks flood with heat.

“I, um, sorry--”

A fist clenches in Tasha’s t-shirt, catching her before she can pull more than a few inches away. “Don’t be,” she promises, ducking in for another kiss--a proper one, that tastes like chocolate and lipstick and mint toothpaste. Her lips are so soft; it’s a good distraction from the brownie crumbs being ground into her sheets.

When they pull apart, Deanna asks, “Changed your mind about conflict of interest?” with a hint of nervousness in her dark eyes. As if Tasha could possibly walk away from this- from her- now.

Tasha shrugs, flopping back down onto her back next to Deanna. “I have the CMO’s medical opinion that not dating you would be bad for my mental health,” she points out.

#tasha yar #deanna troi #femslash #sapphicstartrek #a tramp stamp original #fic tag #i wrote this #i forget which i used on this blog if either?#i meant this to be cute and fun and overdramatic and............ well #one of those things happened #troisha

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writesandramblings · 6 years

Text

Secret’s End - Chapter 6

“Fruit of the Poison Tree”

Table of Contents

A/N: Sometimes the missions you don’t go on are as important as the ones you do.

<< Ch. 5 - Laugh It Off Ch. 7 - If You Never Ask >>

Ensign Zahra Hasimova shook like a leaf. There were pieces of security officer on her face. There were pieces of security officer on her face.

It was supposed to be a simple historical survey, cataloguing some cave paintings left by a primitive species, a few hours of fresh air and sunshine and then back to the confines of the ship. The creators of the cave paintings had gone extinct several thousand years ago. From what, they did not know, but Hasimova suspected the answer to that question was directly related to the bits of security officer on her face.

Now it made sense, Saru’s ganglia.

“Could be anything,” said Dr. Channick, scanning the valley with her eyes more than her tricorder. “Viral contagion, supervolcano blocked out the sun, their choice of building material.”

Channick, Hasimova, and a security officer were standing on a rocky outcropping partway up a cliffside near the end of a ravine. A picturesque valley of trees and fields stretched out in front of them, seemingly untouched by industry or society.

The truth was hidden in plain sight. The rock in this region—and across much of the planet—featured abundant veins of cinnabar, a striking red mineral classically used on Earth to produce the color vermilion.

Cinnabar was also notable for another reason: it was as deadly as it was beautiful, with high concentrations of mercury. The locals, oblivious to the risks, had used the material extensively in their architecture, creating towns that, in their heyday, must have been startling gems of red jutting up from the landscape. A few thousand years of sedimentary deposits later and the only signs left of these structures were areas of unusually poor plant growth, like the treeless void of grass in the valley below. The locals were long gone but the poison remained.

“Maybe they had a limited diet and starved when there was a blight,” continued Channick. Offering medical theories as to the fate of the natives was her flimsy justification for getting off the ship and enjoying the scenery.

The security officer waited for them to finish taking in the view and offered Hasimova a hand down. She smiled in thanks and he smiled back.

They picked their way along the wall of the ravine, deposits of gravel crunching beneath their feet. A broad smear of silty mud ran through the ravine’s center, suggesting that when it rained, the whole area became a river of significant depth and danger, with rapids and undercurrents capable of dragging a person under and slamming them into the rocky walls with enough force to pulverize. At present, the greatest danger was to their uniforms. The security officer’s shoes and pants were already caked up to the knees from some earlier muddy crossing. Channick and Hasimova had beamed down onto the same side of the ravine as the cave and were spared the need to repeat this indignity.

The cave was a gaping maw in the wall. It had likely formed as the result of an eddy forcing enough water against one spot to form a depression in the rock. After a millennia of repeated flooding, the depression had grown into a pocket, then a cavity, and finally a wide, open chamber with broadly sloping walls, its apex a good twenty feet above their heads. It possessed the slight chill and faintly clammy smell of a place that knew no sun.

A second security officer greeted them from inside, their escort’s partner. “Take a look,” she said, shining a light up onto the ceiling.

The paintings were high along the ceiling and walls. Strange humanoid figures, gesturing as if in welcome, or perhaps warning, because a wave was not a universal hello. The figures highest up were full-body while the ones further down were cut off at waists and knees, the pigment on the lower half of the walls long since washed away.

There were abstract markings, too. Spirals and burst shapes, a pattern of diamonds perhaps intended as constellations. Hasimova imaged them and made a note to compare the patterns against stars visible in the planet’s night sky.

“Pax is gonna be so jealous,” said the male security officer. Hasimova smiled to herself. She might have suggested Paxton accompany them, but his shift had not yet started and she wanted to be the one to index the paintings. Being assigned to the bridge as an ensign was an amazing opportunity she intended to make the most of. When these images went back to Starfleet’s archives, her name would be listed on the files and her analyses would be the initial launching point for further investigation.

“There’s one in every crew,” Channick remarked under her breath. Hasimova looked over at the security officers. The female officer was eating a protein bar. She offered her partner half and he predictably declined. The current generation of Starfleet-issue protein rations was infamous for its unpalatable flavor profile and equally long shelf life. Many people thought a willingness to eat the bars increased your chances of away team duty. Even this was insufficient incentive to convince most officers to eat the rations outside of anything but the most dire of survival situations. A friend of Hasimova’s had eaten one on a dare and declared it “pure poison.”

“I’m gonna go do some more scans,” said Channick, which was probably code for going hiking. “Try not to fall on a rock or have a medical emergency.”

“Just pictures,” promised Hasimova.

The female officer volunteered to accompany Channick. The doctor declined the company and repeated her warning not to cause any medical emergencies.

“You be careful,” said the woman. “Watch out for the Jabberwock.”

“If I find any lifeform bigger than a rabbit, it’ll be a miracle.”

“Yeah, this planet is pretty dead,” noted the male officer.

“Saru didn’t come down. You should’ve seen his ganglia.”

There had been, prior to the initial beam-down, an incident. Standing in the transporter room, moments away from mission commencement, a ganglia reaction had frozen the Kelpien in place. This was not the first time it had happened, either. Three previous incidents of varying severity had necessitated replacing Saru on the away team roster at the last moment. Today marked the fourth.

Channick was entirely dismissive of the suggestion. “He thinks every planet is dangerous. It’s an evolutionary reaction to stress, it doesn’t mean anything.” A reaction sometimes strong enough to merit a medical exception, but Channick’s data had yet to reveal a conclusive correlation between the ganglia and mission outcomes. Most missions entailed some level of danger and occasionally the danger was fatal to someone. Saru’s ganglia in no way guaranteed a fatal outcome. She intended to talk to him about the issue this afternoon because enough was enough.

“Still,” said the woman. “Keeps your comms open.” Channick feigned a salute and exited.

Hasimova continued her imaging. It wasn’t enough to just get the pictures, she also took detailed material scans. The redder pigments contained cinnabar, of course.

The male officer wandered over to join Hasimova. “Do you think they looked like us?”

“Humanoid, at least, Beyond that, I can’t say.” The paintings were too crude to have any discerning features.

“Stop bothering her, Hack,” called the women.

“I’m not! Am I?”

Hasimova smiled. Hack had a thick head of dark brown hair, bright brown eyes, and a square jawline. “No.”

“See? We’re just having a conversation.” His partner rolled her eyes and went to stand guard nearer the entrance. “You’ll have to forgive Geri. They don’t train us security officers in manners. They think it’ll interfere with our ability to fight off threats.”

“Oh? So what do they train you to do?” asked Hasimova coyly. None of Hack’s subsequent boasts had anything to do with Starfleet training programs.

He was outlining an escapade involving drinking most of the available alcohol in a small Icelandic town when there was a thud from the cave entrance. Geri was on the ground, already in the process of trying to get back up. Hack rushed to her side.

“I just... had a sudden wave of vertigo,” said Geri.

“I’m on my way back,” said Channick over the comms.

“I think I’m okay.”

“Probably that protein bar you ate,” suggested Hack.

“Probably,” said Geri, sounding unconvinced.

“I told you not to eat—”

Something pulsed across the surface of Hack’s skin, like a wave of subdermal fire. He started to fall.

He did not hit the ground. His skin seemed almost to glow and then suddenly there was a wet, sucking sound as the surface of his body exploded in a spray of fat and muscle and every other element of soft tissue, the force sufficient to shred his uniform. Most of him landed on the ground, but enough of him landed on Hasimova and Geri that calling the spread of slime and cloth at their feet a human corpse was not accurate in the slightest.

Hasimova stood there, shock-still, her mouth open, feeling the dribble of viscous fluids down the side of her face.

“Doctor!” shouted Geri. “He exploded!”

A moment later, so did she, with the same pulsing ripple of energy across her skin.

Hasimova did not close her mouth fast enough. All the many words of her communications training failed her. Over the comms, all Channick could hear was her screaming.

“A parasite,” concluded Channick back in the relative safety of sickbay. “In the mud of the streambed. It was underground, so it didn’t show up on surface scans. Wouldn’t normally be a problem, but...”

Geri and Hack’s legs had been coated in mud from crossing the ravine. Hidden within the silty particles were hundreds of desperately hungry microscopic parasites. Exposure to a new food source switched them from a dormant state to one of rapid reproduction. Coupled with the human immune system’s failure to identify the parasites as a form of invasive tissue, the parasites had been able to lay millions of eggs in their new hosts. The human circulation system did the rest, spreading the eggs across every corner of the human body.

This situation was not intrinsically fatal. It turned out the parasites were easily filtered out by the transporter’s protocols once identified, but the security officers had been down on the planet for a few hours, enough time for the things to reproduce en masse. Then, when the density of eggs was at a critical mass, an enzymatic reaction caused all the eggs to hatch at once.

“Is this what wiped out the native population?” asked Georgiou.

“Maybe. Chances are the natives weren’t affected by them the way we are. The DNA of the parasites has an... explosive reaction to human DNA.” Even if there had never been any pieces of security officer on Dr. Channick, the sight of Hasimova standing there covered in splatters from both was not easily forgotten.

“It is unfortunate you were not there,” said Georgiou.

Channick bit her lip. The reaction had been so immediate, her presence would not have made any difference whatsoever. The real misfortune was that Channick had been playing archaeologist and scanning the geology of the area with her tricorder rather than the officers.

“I will have to put this on your record.”

“I understand, captain.”

Georgiou considered her chief medical officer. None of them had identified the danger in time to avert this disaster except perhaps Saru. “Perhaps we should put more stock into Saru’s ganglia.”

“Yes, captain,” said Channick.

“Do not worry. You have an exemplary service record. That this mistake has cost the lives of two of my crew is a tragedy, one that we will prevent in future. It will not end your career.”

With that, Georgiou left Channick to mull things over. Channick was having a hard time deciding what felt more insulting to her, the suggestion she cared about her career in the wake of this or the idea that it could have been predicted by Saru.

The correlation to Saru’s ganglia remained unclear. Yes, Saru’s reaction prior to the mission had been extreme enough to excuse him from beaming down on a seemingly routine task and two people had subsequently died, but on a hunch, Channick tested the parasite’s DNA on a sample of Kelpien DNA. It was entirely nonreactive. Whatever danger Saru had been sensing, it had not been danger to himself.

Inconclusive, she decided. And tragic.

There remained a question as to the parasite. The nearest computer terminal was blinking with a prompt inviting her to name the newly-discovered species for the report. There was no way she was going to name it after herself. The victims deserved a memorial, but there was something macabre in the idea of naming something for the first people it killed, and also the question of which officer to name it after. Ensign Harold Tackett had died first, but Lieutenant Geraldine Combs was higher-ranking and had a longer service record. Channick pressed a finger to record a prompt response but remained indecisive. “Com-Tack’s parasite?”

This was how the seventh planet of the Tonnata system came to be mistakenly labeled as “Comtax” for the next six months until someone in stellar cartography corrected it, and the parasite was labeled as “Comtaxan” in an even smaller error that never was.

It was normal for Saru to feel like all eyes on the ship were upon him, but today there seemed to be evidence to support this. Furtive glances, hushed whispers, and he could easily imagine what they were saying. He knew they were going to die.

If only he had. He knew something was wrong before the away team left the ship, but as with so many other times his ganglia reacted, he did not know why until after the tragedy. His ability lacked any clear prescience. Always there was an edge of uncertainty.

Despite this, Georgiou had taken him aside at the beginning of his shift to inform him that from now on, he should keep her appraised of his gangliar reactions. “You are a more potent force than I realized,” she said, and he thanked her and swallowed the fact he was more embarrassed by his ganglia than anything else. Captain Georgiou would never flinch in the face of death the way he did. Perhaps, he told himself, he could take solace in the fact his affliction could be of use to the captain. The idea was mildly reassuring.

His ganglia were not being particularly reassuring right now. The sensation of being watched was uncomfortable enough his only intention on his mid-shift meal break was to secure a serving of blueberries and retreat to a quieter place to eat them. He stood waiting in line for his turn at the food dispenser, his gaze stalwartly on the floor.

“You sick freak!” screamed Hasimova from the far side of the room, accompanied by the rough bray of a chair scraping across the floor. Saru’s head jerked up.

Hasimova was standing next to a seated Paxton, two trays of food on the table. Hers contained three-quarters of a sandwich and his a bowl of oatmeal. Hasimova’s hand jerked with uncertainty. Then she grabbed the bowl of oatmeal, upended it into Paxton’s face, and stormed out.

On the far side of the mess hall, a lieutenant commander from Paxton’s shift slowly clapped. Ignoring the derision, Paxton wiped oatmeal from his face and flicked the clumps onto his tray. Most of the congealed mass of food had landed in his lap by way of his chest. He did what he could to remove it. Another lieutenant at the next table offered him her napkin in pity.

Wiping down the chair, Paxton picked up both of the food trays and brought them to the service area. Then he came and stood behind Saru in line.

“Lieutenant,” said Saru uncertainly.

“Lieutenant Saru,” said Paxton, disarmingly neutral.

“Is everything alright?”

“Um,” said Paxton, squinting. “Are you asking because you want to know or are you just being polite?”

The answer was that Saru was being polite, but to say as much would ruin the intent. Saru sidestepped the question. “Ensign Hasimova seemed to be in distress.”

“I did get that impression.” It could have been a joke, but Paxton’s expression was grimly intent.

Saru reached the front of the line. He placed his order with the computer. A moment later, Paxton did the same at the adjacent dispenser when it became available. “Oatmeal. Bananas and cinnamon.” Their orders appeared at the same time and they both started towards the main entrance, awkwardly halting as they realized their destination was the same. Saru motioned for Paxton to go first.

This was all the encouragement Paxton needed to initiate a conversation. “Was it bad that I threw away Zahra’s sandwich? I didn’t think it was right to leave it there on the table. But maybe she’ll come back for it.”

Somehow, Saru doubted Hasimova was going to return to the mess hall anytime soon. “I do not think it matters. There is no shortage of... sandwiches.”

“Good point. I wonder how long I have to wait until I can apologize.” Paxton began to eat his oatmeal as he walked.

“That would depend on what you need to apologize for.”

“I asked her what it looked like when Hack died.”

Saru maintained his stride despite the somersault his mind took. “Why would you ask that?”

“That’s...” Paxton’s brow furrowed. “If I could see what it looked like, then it would be like I was there.”

Saru slowed to a stop. “I almost went on the mission.” He reached a hand up towards his head, fingers hovering inches away from his ganglia slits.

“Why didn’t you?” It seemed like Paxton was the only person on this ship who did not know.

“I sensed death.”

“Oh.”

They stood there, uncomfortably still and silent until Saru asked, “Why would you wish to see death?”

Paxton shoveled a spoonful of oatmeal in his mouth and gulped it down, “It’s not that I want to see death, it’s that I wish I could’ve been there with Hack. He’s my friend. If I can picture it in my imagination, then at least in some part of my brain, I was there.”

Humans were really alien, Saru decided. He knew firsthand the visuals of his kin being butchered as food and that was something he would rather not have seen. He resumed walking and Paxton followed his lead. “The reality of the situation would likely not be the comfort you imagine.”

“Maybe. But not knowing is worse.” They arrived at the aft turbolifts and waited. “I was thinking of asking the captain if I could go to the memorial service.”

“I am sure she would allow it.”

“He has a sister, Evelyn.”

There was nothing really to say to this statement of fact. Saru offered the vaguest of platitudes. “I am sorry for your loss.” The turbolift arrived. A crewman stepped off. Saru and Paxton stepped on. “Deck five.” Paxton said nothing; his quarters were on the same level.

It was a short ride. Not short enough—the sense of shared confinement drove Paxton to resume talking as Saru tentatively ate a blueberry.

“He was my best friend. I wasn’t his, but he was the best one I had.” The lift doors opened.

“Perhaps you should speak to someone,” advised Saru, exiting the turbolift with a single graceful stride.

Paxton did not move immediately. “I’m sorry. I’m being weird and bothering you and you don’t even know me. Sorry.”

Saru stood outside the turbolift, staring at Paxton, trying to contextualize this behavior. It was very different to the reactions Morita and Yoon had displayed over the death of a man, by Morita’s own admission, they barely knew. It was also markedly different from Paxton’s confident exuberance a week ago when he had assailed Saru on the subject of the lului language. There was something tragic in the loss of that innocence. “You are... not bothering me.” It was an awkwardly difficult statement to make, since it was untrue.

Paxton exited the lift then, gaze downcast. The door closed behind him and the turbolift hummed off to its next destination. “It’s fine, I know I’m annoying. The common denominator in my lack of friendships is me.” Despite the body language, his voice was entirely unsentimental, verging on introspectively curious. “My reactions are a little... off. Eventually the novelty of my weirdness wears off and people realize they’d rather hang around with someone who falls within ‘acceptable social parameters.’” He used the hand with the spoon in it to mime half a set of air quotes. “And then they disappear. I wonder if Hack...” He fell silent. Contemplating whether or not the sole person he still labeled a friend would have ceased being his friend if only he had lived long enough was an immensely depressing train of thought.

Saru looked at the bowl of berries. “I believe you are describing the normal rise and fall of social relationships. Friendships are largely based on proximity. A change in shift, posting, or interests, and it becomes very difficult for either party to maintain the requisite interactions to continue as ‘friends.’”

Paxton looked up. “Really? It’s not just me?”

The rigid lines of Saru’s face seemed to soften slightly. “Entirely not.”

Encouraged, Paxton set off down the hall and Saru did the same, catching up to the much shorter human in all of two steps. Despite the improvement in Paxton’s demeanor, his conversational bent remained bleak. “It doesn’t change the fact everyone leaves in the end. It’s inevitable. You can’t fight the future.”

Saru tilted his head. “The future is not yet determined.”

“Isn’t it, though? The present is the culmination—the logical conclusion of all the events of the past. Our decisions are based on our experiences, so given the same history prior to this moment, we will always choose to do exactly what we do, the way we do it.”

Lalana had said something similar to Morita and Yoon. Events are a cumulative result of all events which came before them. Paxton’s interpretation of the sentiment was a little more extreme.

It was an extreme Saru had encountered before, in a science course at the Academy. He had not been brave enough to voice his own opinion at the time, but in the years that followed, he had developed a response and was now prepared to present it. “Determinism is a philosophy which fails to anticipate the unpredictability of quantum mechanics. If the atomic reactions which govern the firing of neurons are random, then it is possible for a multitude of outcomes even given identical circumstances.”

Though Paxton had not been in the class with Saru, he had also had this discussion before and jumped right to a counterargument also mentioned in Saru’s course. “Assuming the randomness of quantum reactions is sufficient to overpower the psycho-neurological programming on the macro level.”

“An unresolved question of scale,” allowed Saru. “If I may, there is a relevant analogy on the macro scale. If we were merely a product of our genetic programming, then I would not be on a starship. I believe in free will, Lieutenant Paxton.”

“So people have a choice and choose to tell me I’m a freak?” Saru had not foreseen this consequence of his assertion. He was at a loss as to how to respond. Paxton stopped in front of one of the dozens of doors along the corridor. “This is me.”

Saru said the only thing he could think of in reassurance. “Ensign Hasimova was in distress. I am certain she did not intend to refer to you unkindly.”

“It’s okay. It isn’t the first time someone’s called me a freak or a robot and it won’t be the last. Water off a duck’s back, right?” This time, the words were resilient, but the tone verged on upset. Paxton’s emotional state was consistently opposite the content of his remarks. “I’m gonna change. Thanks for walking with me, lieutenant.”

“We were going in the same direction,” said Saru, downplaying the charity. He was unsure what the idiom about the duck meant and had no interest in learning the particulars.

“Then I guess it’s a friendship of proximity. Beep boop!”

Saru stared.

“Sorry,” said Paxton, smiling weakly. “Robot humor. See you later.”

“Lieutenant—”

Paxton froze with his hand on the door controls.

“It would be advisable to attempt an apology to Ensign Hasimova tomorrow. You should never leave an apology too long.”

“Okay. I’ll do that.”

The door closed. Saru stood alone in the hallway, wondering at the whole conversation. Even if Paxton failed to meet the definition of proximal friend rather than mere acquaintance, Saru hoped his words had provided some consolation to the other lieutenant. He hated the thought of anyone around him suffering as a result of a misunderstanding. He set off towards his own quarters to finish the rest of his break in peace.

There was another possibility. Perhaps most people did form enduring social bonds and Saru was as odd a duck as Paxton because neither of them had much in the way of long-term friendships.

Maybe it was for the best. Deep space exploration was a high-risk undertaking and having friends meant potentially losing them in a very permanent sense.

In light of Georgiou’s newfound admiration for Saru’s ganglia, Channick debated the merits of calling the Kelpien in, but at the end of the day she was the ship’s chief medical officer and she had her own conscience to answer to. “Lieutenant Saru to the medbay.”

Saru arrived with wringing hands and worry written across every inch of his posture. “Dr. Channick, is there something wrong? My latest medical scan, I thought there might be an abnormality—”

Channick held her hand up for silence. “Your scan was fine. That isn’t why I called you in. Lieutenant, I need you to hear something, and I need you to really take it in, understand?”

Saru’s head jerked in alarmed confusion. It sounded like he was in trouble.

“Your ganglia. You had a bad reaction before this last mission and didn’t go down, and I signed off on that. The mission turned out to be dangerous, yes, but every mission is potentially dangerous. Every moment in time is potentially dangerous. I want to make one point here, and that is what would have happened if you had gone down to the planet.”

Saru recalled Lalana saying something similar during the battle with the pirates. There is nowhere in the universe which is safe. He found himself thinking of the lului regularly, wondering where she was in the universe and what she was doing, but far be it for him to bother her.

Channick picked up a biological sample dish. It contained a quantity of dirt. She opened it. “Put your hand in this.”

Saru tentatively complied. It was just dirt.

“This dish contains the parasites that killed Lieutenant Combs and Ensign Tackett.”

Saru’s hand jerked back. His whole body pulled away, his limbs tensing as he fought the urge to leap blindly backwards. Only one thing kept him in place. For all that he knew he should be afraid, nothing in his instincts had alerted him to danger.

Channick closed the dish. “No ganglia, right? Because this parasite isn’t dangerous to you. Just the people around you, provided we fail to take precautions.” She pulled the medical gloves from her hands and dropped them into the nearest receptacle.

The tension abated. “The danger I sensed, the coming of death... It was not my own.” It wasn’t always. Saru’s ganglia were perfectly capable of reacting on behalf of others, as they clearly had in this instance. “Perhaps if I had stopped them from going down to the planet...”

Channick took a deep breath. This was not the point she was trying to get across to him. “Saru. You are the most cautious and thorough science officer on the whole ship. When most people would logically stop looking for something, you keep checking. That’s why I know, if you had been down on that planet, you would have found the parasite.” She imagined Saru would have checked under every stone, leaf, and twig and still balked at the idea of issuing an all-clear.

Realization seized Saru. He clasped his hands and straightened to his full height. That made it even worse. There were two ways he might have prevented their deaths. “I am... more responsible than I realized.”

“No, don’t go there. The responsibility is mine. I should have had this damn conversation with you weeks ago. I’m your doctor and I could have run my own scans down on the planet. None of this is on you. Besides, we can’t change what happened.”

Channick seemed to be taking all the blame on herself. Saru knew what Lalana would have said on the subject, that no one person was more responsible for any given outcome than another, but it seemed to him that of the thousand, tiny million interactions that had led to the deaths on Tonnata VII, more than a few of them belonged to him and Dr. Channick, and Saru’s rejection of Paxton’s determinist philosophy further meant the two of them could have changed things if only the past were changeable.

Saru folded his fingers gracefully together. The past was over and done. “But we can change what happens going forward.”

There was something in the way Saru said it, an unusual certitude to his tone. Channick relaxed. Most of the crew had mixed feelings about their resident Kelpien and his many idiosyncrasies, but Channick knew there were several ways to define intelligence and her favorite was “the capacity to exceed evolutionary instinct.” For all his fears and struggles, Saru was a highly intelligent officer.

“Wash your hands,” she told him. “Those parasites will kill most anyone else here.”

The third planet orbiting Bepi 113 was a maelstrom of trionium gas and electrically charged particles. Drifting a safe distance away, the Shenzhou was witness to an impressive display as ribbons of plasma discharged across the atmosphere in a pattern not unlike the way the genetic incompatibility had danced beneath Ensign Tackett’s skin—a similarity known only to Ensign Hasimova, who repressed a shudder as she observed the phenomenon from her post on the bridge. Her nominal acceptance of Lieutenant Paxton’s apology had not extended to providing him the requested description.

There was no way to beam down through the atmosphere to investigate the anomalous readings coming from the planet’s surface. They would have to take a shuttle. As the away team donned EV suits and the engineers triple-checked the shuttle reinforcements, Saru could not repress the violent reaction of his ganglia.

The ensign beside him eyed the ganglia nervously, reminded of Tackett in an entirely different way. This felt like the prelude to Tonnata VII all over again.

It was hard to miss the staring. “Do not concern yourself, ensign,” said Saru.

“But...”

“If there is danger, then I will assist in handling it.”

The ensign relaxed. If Saru was willing to go down there, there was no reason for any of them to be worried.

There was plenty of reason, of course. The ensuing chaos of another mission gone dangerously awry entirely justified the appearance of the ganglia, but when the unstable electrical field produced a series of dangerous plasma waves that threatened to fry the shuttle and strand them on the surface or worse, Saru deflected the waves away from their position by polarizing the trionium gas around the shuttle, rendering it anathemic to the charged particles, and they all made it back to the ship in one piece.

Chapter 7

#Star Trek Discovery #fanfiction #Captain Philippa Georgiou #Captain Georgiou #USS Shenzhou #Saru #Commander Saru #Star Trek #EOTW #philosophy #determinism #away mission #Tonnata VII #Comtaxan parasite #fanfic #ganglia #free will

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ciceroprofacto · 6 years

Text

42-“I swear it was an accident.”

11-“Don’t you dare throw that snowba-, goddammit!”

70. “You’re so beautiful.”

“And what about you?” John’s hands dropped away from his boots, leaving one half-unlaced, hanging open comically.

“About me what?” Alex said.

“Are you to be a second translator?”

Watching John’s expression shift from hopeful to doubtful to despondent as he dodged the subject, Alexander quickly realized his friend wanted collaboration more than he could say. And, he knew should be blunt about this now, but he had also tried to be blunt multiple times and always failed to say it- that he doubted Congress would allow the post of Inspector General to be all that John expected it would- that he couldn’t commit his time to this endeavor while he had a pre-existing duty to the upcoming Quartermaster General where he could be sure his efforts would have an impact, and that he didn’t have as much to give to the post as John expected…

But, perhaps it felt too good to be overestimated. Or, perhaps he was too foolishly kind to turn his back on his friend’s desperation, but he did not only care for John when he showed vulnerability like this. He was familiar with the desire to mingle work and play- to want a friend to ride along and map the path. Still…if he committed to any additional projects, he would only let John down- and he’d rather leave his friend alone than unsatisfied.

It would be insulting to refuse the offer without a reason, and Alex couldn’t explain why he didn’t want John to share his work with Greene- which is what would inevitably follow if he made an excuse of his responsibilities to the quartermaster department. But, John was capable of capturing his thoughts through implication and the careful selection of familiar words-

So, “I am sure you’re more than capable on your own,” he said. It had been five months since October, since John had actually needed his help with his work- and the nature of his work had certainly changed since then. Navigating military politics was very different from mapping a path through the woods to deliver orders…

“Well, I would like your company,” John said.

Alexander had to turn away and look down, his face feeling ridiculously hot, but such was the control John had over him. At least John remembered- at least he knew, Alex did want this partnership, or…whatever it was. Even if he couldn’t have it now- with these particular tasks, he found himself promising to set aside time and attention to John’s ideas while he packed up his papers to report to the work he’d already begun.

He said a hasty ‘good night’ to his friend before setting out with his most recent orders for Greene and his records of camp’s current inventories.

Working with General Greene always felt like an honor in the same way that working with General Washington might- if Washington maintained a similar temper. Greene was clever, well-read, and attentive to Alexander’s ideas without condescending, reminding him of his place unnecessarily, or splitting hairs over every slight misstep. While Alex could understand the need for perfectionism in their Commander, it was refreshing to be trusted.

He intuitively knew that Washington saw potential in him, but General Greene would tell him exactly what he saw.

While they had camped at Morristown the previous winter, Alexander had spent as much time as he could, interrogating General Washington’s favorite advisor about his logistical ideas. In the shadow of the Commander in Chief, General Greene was a true hero. If not for his foresight, arranging provisions for twenty-thousand men to be collected along the backroads to Philadelphia, the army would have starved upon it’s retreat from New York.

When it became difficult to deny the part of himself that reveled in the freedom of privacy, Alexander often wished that he’d accepted the opportunity to work on General Greene’s staff rather than Washington’s, away from the attention such a post inevitably drew.

As if to emphasize the loss of that opportunity, Major Clark was in the General’s office when Alex entered.

He straightened up to render a formal greeting, but Alexander waved it away, moving directly to General Greene with his report and Washington’s recommendations. His assistants, Pettit and Cox were working at a table near the office’s fireplace, and Greene passed the inventory report to them while he read over Washington’s note.

“The Congressional Committee wrote another report with our recommendation for your assignment,” Alexander said, “But, you’re the only name on the list now.”

The sour expression that earned was understandable given the General’s firm stance against this post, ‘chained to a desk for the rest of the war!’ he had raved more than once.

“Have you secured the contact with Colonel Hughes?” Clark said from the General’s side.

Alex turned his attention, “We spoke at-length while I was in Albany, but we shouldn’t rely on the northern army to provide any wagons or forage- he also warned against using raids to secure provisions from the countryside, but you already know my stance on that issue…”

Clark gave half a shrug of agreement.

“Nevertheless, Head of Elk is secure for purchasing or impressing wagons.”

Greene nodded, “Good,” he said. “Good, and I’ve sent an emissary to Commodore Hazelwood for any sailors he can spare for small craft, so when you reply to Hughes, ask him what contacts he has to shipping companies. Commissary Biddle wrote up a plan to collect two-hundred thousand bushels of grain, and I’m determined to make it work. If we’re holding the Schuylkill, we ought to use it for something.”

Major Clark spent a few minutes writing out notes for their use of Head of Elk and Hazelwood’s sailors, incorporating Biddle’s plan from a letter that Greene had retained, and occasionally asking the General’s guidance.

Alexander felt himself transported back in time to the year before, when Clark was actually performing the duties of his assigned position as General Greene’s aide de camp. While Alex had been doing his best to deliver plans to General Washington’s staff, Harrison and Tilghman and Reed were men who were both his social superiors and so highly-qualified that every audience he got with one of them required weeks of effort, working his reports through the proper lines of communication.

Knowing Alexander well and fondly, and taking credit for a secretive mission that they had completed together, Clark accepted the post on General Greene’s staff that Alexander hadn’t wanted, and from there, provided a wonderful shortcut and a welcome companionship.

Alex had made so many decisions in those three months of winter, he wasn’t sure which one he was second-guessing anymore.

It didn’t take long to collect General Greene’s report for Washington along with a request for a team to reconnoiter the Schuylkill for viable landing sites for supplies. When the work was done, Alexander collected his bags and put away the notes, bid General Greene’s staff a good night, and headed out into the dark and the snow.

He hadn’t yet made it to the road when a voice called for him from behind.

He turned, clutching his bag about his shoulders.

Clark was trudging after him, still pulling his long coat onto his arms as he walked. Alexander waited, stepping backwards a few paces until Clark fell into step beside him, probably sensing that he wanted to get home and go to bed as his work called for late nights and early mornings.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Clark said simply. “More specifically- I need to ask…” he trailed off, uncharacteristically hesitant. Alexander glanced at him, slowing to a stop. Clark closed the last button on his coat and stuffed both hands into his pockets for warmth, stepping into Alex’s path in front of him. The implication of the motion- putting himself in Alexander’s way, was not lost on him. “It’s about Ensign Cope- the one that Laurens wanted me to trail.”

Alex frowned, but quickly willed away the expression. “Laurens was working with you while I was gone. That’s within his discretion.”

Clark raised a brow at that response.

But, Alexander owed him nothing. Clark was not his agent- he predated Alex’s work for General Washington. He had started his spy work for himself, and Alex was sure that’s how he would end it, but Clark was a fixture in the shadows for as long as Alex had known him, and no matter what they had accomplished there together, they would always be equals.

“You obviously knew Cope was an agent,” Clark said, “but you didn’t task anyone to trail him…”

“I knew we didn’t need to.”

“Or, you didn’t want anyone to.” The tone of Clark’s voice was disarmingly neutral as Alexander knew it could be. It was the voice he’d use when he wasn’t completely sure of a theory but was confident enough to explain it and hope that his subject gave themselves away. Sure enough, he leaned closer and lowered his voice, “My only question- what did you fear they would find?”

Alexander didn’t have to answer that and gave a flat expression, half-way between impatient and bored, then turned to walk away.

He made it several steps along the wooded trail on the edge of the field by Greene’s headquarters- then a cold knock of something hard smacked over his shoulder, spraying ice over the exposed part of his neck and chin.

He turned, appalled and wet.

Clark’s hands were raised in a preemptive surrender “I swear it was an accident!” he said. “I was aiming for the trees beside you…what’re you…no-”

Alexander had already crouched down and started scooping ice into his palms, squeezing it down into a compact ball, wanting it tight- so it would hurt.

“Don’t…” Clark said, backing away and bobbing on his feet, ready to run away, “Don’t you dare throw that snowba-” it smacked into his mouth, spraying the shrapnel of ice into the collar of his coat, “goddammit, Hamilton!”

Alex wanted to laugh- until Clark was running at him, then he turned to bolt, but the man caught him by the hip and their ranged battle became a wrestling match. He grunted and struggled, increasingly frustrated. “Get- off!”

“Why’d you let Cope go?” Clark demanded, talking through clenched teeth and trying to force Alexander’s hands down into the snow.

“I told you!”

“No! You knew him- I know you did!” the spymaster insisted. “William Leary!” Alexander struggled harder at the mention of that name, too angry to consider what his renewed rage might say to someone clever as Clark was. He managed to throw his old companion off and roll them over, pinning his arms. “I got access to every agent in that city after you left,” Clark said, “and no one was tracking that name- no one! So, how did you know to investigate William Leary’s house!” he said. He grunted and twisted out of the hold.

“You weren’t so curious about my methods when I was giving you credit for rooting out Matthews and Hickey,” Alex growled, struggling to pin Clark down again and failing, somehow falling into this anger.

“Because you were alone, Alex!” he said, squirming away, leaving muddy ruck marks in the snow. “You were so alone and small, so what did it matter? Look at us now…”

“What is that suppose to mean?”

“You’ve got John! And General Washington- his entire family looks to you now, so if you’re still colluding with people like Cope-”

“I was never colluding with him.”

“No, you were just fucking him.”

In a moment of surprise, Alex lost his grip in their struggling and Clark flipped him over onto his back, pushing his hands into the cold dirt. It was obvious what the man thought of him now, and while he wasn’t far off from the mark, “It’s…not like you think.”

“No?”

Needing some leverage in this position, Alex dropped his legs to the ground and gave up the struggle. “No. I got one name from him, and that’s all. Why are you so concerned about my methods? Are you a moralist spy now?”

That earned the frown that Alex had wanted, and Clark loosened his grip on his wrists enough that, when his arms lay in the dirt it was because he left them there of his own volition.

“Is all this also because I was so alone…or is it because you are?” he said, gentling his tone. He wasn’t sure why he was inviting this conversation- besides perhaps to escape a less-favorable one, but he wasn’t sure where this discussion would lead and there were too many possibilities to consider it a safe topic.

When Clark sat back on his knees and let his hand rest against Alex’s chest, the possibilities were narrowing in a worrisome direction.

Alexander wasn’t sure he cared anymore.

“You and Laurens…” he said slowly. “He’s…he is truly one of the best people I’ve met in this army. Genuine and just…good.”

Alex watched him warily, noting how his tone felt like he was being complimented.

“I wouldn’t do anything with him, and really you’d have nothing to worry about from me.”

“No…you don’t have to…”

“You truly are so beautiful…” When Clark’s hand stroked up the column of Alex’s throat to caress a cheek, Alex flinched away with his entire body, and the man recoiled so hard he removed himself from Alexander’s lap. “I only mean- there’s no need to waste your time being jealous over him.”

“I’m not jealous,” Alex said, frowning. He realized this wasn’t a denial- which is what he should be giving. He should be firmly establishing his innocence against every crime Clark was accusing him of having committed or wanting to commit. But, instead, he felt the sorrow his old companion was inflecting, and he wanted to give whatever reassurance he could.

He wasn’t jealous of Laurens with Clark. No, he wasn’t foolish enough for that. Even if John did have desires for this man, “He’ll never act on what he wants.” Alex was well-familiar with Laurens’s disgust with the idea of men buggering each other in the shadows. John would always be a creature of the light.

“That’s true,” Clark said simply.

And, there was no vindication in that admission. Clark had known John while Alexander was away… John’s chastity- their mutual disappointment.

Meade had a theory that John had a girl that broke his heart- he would never join conversations about ladies and his recent stance against wives was appalling. Alex had always assumed Francis was a man, but he had to reconsider, unsure whether John had ever specified the sex of his friend in Europe. Francis may as easily be a Frances, and if this theory was true, Alex couldn’t ignore the implications against John’s judgment of his own heart…

He had to know he couldn’t love a woman…

“You and I…” Clark was keeping his distance, but Alex looked at him and sat up on his elbows. His voice had drifted off at the right moment to make his meaning heavy and obvious. “Did I imagine that…?”

Alex would have scoffed if he didn’t know he had walked himself directly into this, and so was left to wonder at himself for allowing it, and had to reconsider the things he convinced himself to be true about their relationship. He had always considered Clark a confidant, someone who could know his ugliest parts and could be trusted to help him hide them.

It was beginning to form- the truth taking shape that, if he could ever make a life in the shadows, it would probably be with this man.

He pushed up and knelt in front of the man, touching his face with a gentleness that had once been foreign to his fingers- the sort of tenderness that had only ever met John’s skin. He leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to the man’s mouth, sure that it was little enough to be forgiven.

“You didn’t imagine anything, but…” Alex felt frustrated with himself in a new and uncomfortable way. Recently, he had been so frustrated with the part of himself that made these sorts of things easy- the part that cast doubt on why Laurens wanted him because confusion would guide anyone to the easiest path. But now, Alex wanted that freedom back- the simplicity of not caring for himself, or for anyone- like this. A year ago, this wouldn’t have been a problem- if he had known Clark wanted this, if Clark hadn’t just gotten married and acted so pleased with it, there would have been no qualm.

Now, what did it mean to actually like the person he wanted?

Clark seemed to understand what the hesitation meant, where it was coming from- or rather, who was causing it. He reached up to touch Alex’s hand and stand up, pulling his old friend to his feet. “Well, if you change your mind…you’ll know where to find me.”

Which was true, and for someone as elusive as Major John Clark- meant something.

#it got long but #I'm hitting all the birds with one stone #ficlet #SOA #Song of Alexander

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