3,664AN: Welcome back, toonsters! …er, trek…ers…
Anyway, hi! Thank you for all your lovely reviews =3 They make me very happy! A few concerns were raised, but mostly you seem like you're ready to tuck down with me for a while and see what happens. That's awesome, because I can assure you that every single attribute I give a character has an explanation. I could pass down a dissertation on Atlas!Jim versus TOS!Jim, because I know exactly where and why they diverged and the ripple effect of that change, but I can't tell you or I'd spoil the surprise. D= (And I—I took the road less traveled by, and that has made all the difference.)
However, regarding Super Jim vs. well-isn't-he-comparatively-normal Spock: It's the POV, I'm afraid. Spock isn't going to do anything awesome and then think to himself how kick-ass he is. He's Vulcan, after all. If he found the cure for all diseases, he'd just be kind of like, "It was a logical conclusion based on the information at hand" and the "eat it, bitches" would be communicated through eyebrows alone.
Furthermore, a lot of changes happened while he was offworld, poking around space for a new home for his people. I'm using him—kind of shamelessly—to explore the adaptive behaviors of the Academy students who managed to survive Nero's Starfleet massacre. Specifically Jim. In fact, pretty much this entire story is Spock discovering Jim while finding his own place in a crew that shouldn't have formed for another ten or so years and simultaneously learning to work with a man who should have been broken in by a decade of other people's leadership styles before ever meeting Spock. Pretty much the entire command crew went directly from being bright-eyed, impressionable Academy students to having control of the freaking flagship. All those years of being ground down, of having the polish firmly knocked off, of learning to bend their necks to the whim of orders or bureaucracy or red tape or just spite. All of that skipped, so that now we have a ship crewed by geniuses and prodigies, commanded by a genius and prodigy who has no issues letting them try their crazy ideas because he's pretty much a walking crazy idea himself.
God. The sheer potential of this situation sometimes renders me speechless.
EDIT: Son of a monkey, I forgot to add the line breaks. GRR.
Part II
When Spock arrived at the garden at exactly 0700, Kirk was already waiting for him, the sling bag across his shoulders, a cup of steaming coffee in one hand and a PADD in the other. He manipulated the touch-screen using his thumb for a few seconds before noticing Spock's presence, at which point he looked up with a large grin.
"Good morning," the cadet greeted, shoving the PADD into a side pocket of the bulging satchel. "Ready to get started?"
"Indeed," Spock agreed placidly, hands resting at the small of his back. "What is the first order of business?"
"Well, see," Kirk admitted, motioning vaguely with his coffee, "that's why Wednesdays are so crazy. I've only got two standing appointments, and they're hours apart."
"May I inquire after the nature of these appointments?"
"Admiral Archer takes a block of my morning." Kirk pulled a different PADD from the zippered pocket that ran the length of the bag's back, scrolling through a few pages before handing it to Spock. "It's kind of a brunch timeframe, from 1000 to 1145. What I do then isn't…" He motioned again, with his free hand this time, as though to pull the appropriate phrase from thin air. "The appointment isn't exactly essential to Starfleet's operation, so if you have somewhere else to be around then, I completely understand. In fact, I encourage it."
Spock studied Kirk for a quiet moment before glancing down at the PADD. It was the day's schedule, huge blocks of empty space broken by a section marked ARCHER and another at the end of the day, 2100 to 2300, designated CREW. "To what does this second appointment refer?" he asked, relinquishing the PADD. His hands gravitated to their usual resting place as he catalogued vague embarrassment on the cadet's face.
"That's…not exactly Academy business either," he hedged.
Spock waited him out.
"Alright," Kirk sighed after only a small handful of seconds. "So every Wednesday, a bunch of the cadets who served on the Nero mission get together and try to drink Scotty under the table. We can't, by the way."
"You attend this meeting every Wednesday?" the Vulcan wondered, trying to understand Kirk's logic. Did he know all those cadets had requested to serve with him? Was it an attempt to ingratiate himself?
"When I can," Kirk agreed. "Apparently Chekov pouts when I have to miss, and Uhura bugs me about it for days afterwards because he's got a really effective pout, so it's easier in the long run to just be there and avoid the fallout."
Faced with a statement like that, Spock hardly knew where to begin. Pouting Russian geniuses and Uhura willingly and routinely sharing a meal with Kirk? "If I may," he attempted at last.
Just then, the distinctive buzz of a communicator wailed from Kirk's bag. The cadet stuffed his PADD back in its pocket, rummaging for the source of the noise. "Kirk here," he called, flipping the unit open.
"Mr. Kirk!" an older female voice crowed in a chipper British accent. "Prompt as usual!"
Kirk grinned. "I do my best, Commander Pearson."
"Quite right! Listen, spot of bother here in the AV labs with a new program we got from one of those trial-basis civilian contracts. Wondered if you couldn't pop by for a tick, have a quick peek at the code before our communications cadets take a crack at it. I know it isn't your specialization, but you've been such help lately I thought I might at least ask."
"I'll head over right now," the cadet promised.
"Good man! Pearson out, then."
"So it begins," Kirk laughed with a grin for Spock.
It took him less than an hour to locate and correct the coding error leading to Commander Pearson's program malfunction, during which time Kirk received and scheduled an additional three service calls.
("The engine's kind of making a put-put-put when it should go just, like…vrrr. I called the engineering department, but you know how backed up they get these days. Do you have a minute?"
"Since the tech aids are booked solid for the next three lifetimes, we tried to troubleshoot it ourselves. Now there's just this blue screen. Do you have some time later?"
"Then the whole unit burst into flame. I don't suppose you could give it a once-over?")
"And that," Kirk said succinctly as he ended the most recent comm for help, "is why Wednesdays are crazy."
"Have the actual repair and service departments collapsed in my absence?" Spock wondered as they made their way toward the simulations hanger. What sounded like a cascade failure in the cooling systems had caused the inoperability of several entry level simulations the freshmen class needed to prepare for exams. Instructors and students alike were panic stricken as finals loomed close.
"Most of the really good techs have been reassigned to Starships until cadets can be graduated into their positions," Kirk explained, filling another slot in his previously loose schedule. "This Wednesday thing is my own fault, anyway."
"In what capacity?"
Kirk grinned at the phrasing. "Well, right before you left, when personnel was kind of thin on the ground, a bunch of us started to just fix things when they went haywire instead of putting in work orders. We're all regretting that now, of course, since it snowballed into shit like Wednesday." He shrugged a little sheepishly. "The Academy's gotten shameless about squeezing every last drop out of anyone stupid enough to volunteer services. It's kind of horrifying and amazing at the same time. I mean…damn. Talk about utilizing resources." He nudged his elbow into Spock's as they walked, grinning when the Vulcan glanced at him. "I wouldn't be surprised if even you got sucked into the cross-departmental helping game before long, you poor unsuspecting untapped resource."
Before Spock could do more than quirk an eyebrow, the communicator chirped again.
Kirk rolled his eyes and answered with a brief, "Kirk here."
"Kirk, my boy! I've heard you've got an extra shadow today."
The cadet smirked at Spock. Told you so. "I do, sir. Commander Spock is with me by Admiral Barnett's order."
"Very good. I don't suppose you would loan him to the senior chemistry lab…? Temporarily, of course. One of the instructors is running late today and we could use a proctor for her exams. I wouldn't normally bother Commander Spock, but our division's a bit rundown with the flu today. It's just for a moment, an hour at the most."
Kirk looked questioningly at Spock, who inclined his head a degree in agreement. "I wouldn't exactly call it loaning," the cadet relayed, "but Commander Spock is on his way now."
"Wonderful! We'll return him in perfect working order before you even notice he's gone. We won't even need to mention it to Admiral Barnett, hmm? Very good! Stevens out."
"I guess time's up for now," Kirk observed, shifting his bag. "Good luck escaping the chem lab."
"I am quite familiar with the specific requirements of proctoring a fellow instructor's exam," Spock said mildly. "My presence should not be required beyond the timeframe of a single class period, at which point I will endeavor to continue my observations of your Wednesday. Unless," he qualified with a slightly challenging glance, "you have nothing further to show me?"
"Oh no," Kirk laughed, "Wednesdays get much worse than this."
"Then after my appointment," Spock promised, "I shall find you."
"Feel free to try." The cadet glanced at his watch. "If you get loose anywhere between 1000 and 1145—which, by the way, I wouldn't put money on—I'll be at Admiral Archer's residence."
"For the appointment that is not essential to Starfleet's operation," the Vulcan recalled.
"Yeah." Kirk sighed. "And let me say right now how absolutely thrilled I am that you, of all people, might bear witness to it." He shook his head to dismiss the topic. "Anyway, Archer's place is your best bet for catching me. If we miss each other after that, well…" He arched an ironic brow, lifting his busy communications unit to wiggle it slightly. "You could always comm me."
"I doubt very much I will be required to resort to such measures," Spock observed, "but I will nevertheless bear it in mind."
Kirk opened his mouth to respond, rolling his eyes skyward instead when his comm unit chirped again. "Later," he reiterated, grinning at Spock one last time. He flicked the buzzing device open with practiced ease as he jogged away. "Kirk here."
At barely half past eight in the morning, with the majority of the campus only now rousing for the day, crazy of a Wednesday seemed an unusually prolific sort of understatement.
Admiral Archer's residence sat on a plot of land reserved for high-ranking Starfleet officials. The house itself was rather smaller than many of the other nearby accommodations, resulting in more undisturbed land. As most of Starfleet knew, Archer used the additional free acres to breed dogs. He'd gone so far as to build an entire kennel in his backyard for the sole purpose of whelping beagles, which Spock knew intellectually but could not understand.
Another thing Spock did not understand was why, exactly, Cadet Kirk spent one and three-quarters hours with Admiral Archer on a day as busy as his Wednesday appeared to be. Especially since Kirk himself admitted the appointment was non-essential to Starfleet operations. What could possibly excuse it?
The answer was puppies.
At 1120, Spock found Kirk in the yard behind Archer's kennel, surrounded by half a dozen young, wriggling beagles, all vying for his attention. He stuck his hand in a pocket, producing a selection of treats he used to coerce the pups into a series of commands that they obeyed readily, if sloppily.
"Not what you were expecting, I'll bet."
Spock turned to discover Admiral Archer standing at his side, eyes on Kirk and the young dogs. "Owing to a lack of established situational parameters," the Vulcan corrected blankly, "I had no expectations upon my arrival, sir."
"Still," the admiral insisted, smiling faintly as one of the dogs squirmed onto its back by Kirk's leg, demanding a belly rub. When he knelt to comply, the others rushed him in a tumble of ecstatic yelps. "Puppies."
"…Indeed."
For a long moment, they watched in silence as Kirk regained control of the beagles through a masterful blend of firm commands and the offering of treats. "He's repaying a favor," Archer explained at last.
Spock glanced at him but didn't reply.
The admiral never took his eyes from his dogs. "The engineer Kirk picked up on Delta Vega was there because I put him there. Scott lost me my prized dog." Archer's mouth ticked in annoyance. "I'd have let that Scottish bastard freeze until doomsday if Kirk didn't want him so badly. 'Don't think of it as losing a beagle,' he tells me." Archer shook his head in exasperation as he recalled the memory. "'Think of it as Starfleet gaining a Scotty.' Ballsy son of a bitch. It's a wonder to me no one's killed him yet. I don't even like terriers," he added to Spock with something like indignation.
…What did any of this have to do with James Kirk training beagle puppies?
Archer sighed, shaking his head again. "Kirk's got some kind of background in dogs, and I don't have the time lately to properly train the litter. So he suggested a trade. He'd train them to consistently obey basic commands, and I'd clear Scott for duty as chief engineer on the Enterprise. It's a good trade," he admitted, "if not quite as satisfying as the thought of Scott on Delta Vega."
After a few beats of silence, Spock settled his hands at the small of his back. "If I may make an observation, sir," he requested mildly. Archer inclined his head. "Regardless of any personal arrangements made between you and the cadet, the potential negative impact of this situation upon Starfleet likely outweighs any perceived benefits. The Academy has demonstrated a need for Cadet Kirk's skills that precludes his use as a dog trainer. Furthermore, Mr. Scott's own aptitude for engineering is much better utilized here than on Delta Vega, which logically demands his release from any punitive detail he might have previously been serving."
Archer faced Spock, his expression reflecting mild annoyance. "You've missed the point."
Surprised, the Vulcan met Archer's gaze. "Sir, I assure you that my observations in this matter are based upon the facts as you presented them and are therefore quite logical."
"Spock. I cleared Scott for duty aboard the Enterprise the day Kirk requested it."
"…Then it would appear, as you said, I have indeed 'missed the point'," Spock replied. "Perhaps you might enlighten me. Why is Cadet Kirk training canines when the Academy has need of him?"
Archer turned back to Kirk. "The problem with that boy," he said in a low voice, "is that he's something of a rare breed these days. He's very good at a lot of things we desperately need people to be good at right now. We're demanding more of him than any of his contemporaries, which isn't fair to him, and we know that the same way we know we can't afford to stop doing it. We also know that even though he's besting every challenge we throw at him, he's going to collapse if he doesn't get some space to breathe. The stubborn cuss just never schedules any. So when his psychotic doctor friend started complaining to the Admiralty about Kirk's workload, we took matters into our own hands." Archer glanced sidelong at Spock to see if the Vulcan could connect the dots on his own.
It wasn't strictly a logical situation, so the admiral wasn't quite surprised by Spock's continued lack of understanding.
"I make Kirk come here," Archer explained succinctly, "because dogs are therapeutic and calming. He has twice-weekly 'advisory' meetings with Pike for nearly the same reason. A person has to vent somehow. If pups and Pike are what it takes to keep that boy functioning at full strength, well…I don't mind his being here."
"I see." Though clearly Spock didn't, not quite. "Is the cadet aware of your underlying intentions? Or those of Admiral Pike?"
Archer shrugged. "Who knows? If he does, he hasn't said as much. Although I'd bet not. He hasn't protested coming here or seeing Pike, and if he ever got it into his head that we were 'wasting him time' with useless meetings, you can be sure he'd make noise about it."
"…I see," the Vulcan murmured, eyes trained on Kirk.
This time, Archer thought he just might.
Later, when the appointment was over and Spock walked with Kirk to the cadet's next distress call, the Vulcan had to restrain himself from a litany of questions regarding Kirk's interpretation of the situation with Archer. Kirk seemed aware of Spock's self-imposed reticence but couldn't appear to decide whether he wanted to break the silence or let it stand.
His struggle, somewhat predictably, didn't last long. "Alright," he sighed, adjusting the strap of his heavy bag. "I can hardly stand your suspense. What do you want to know?"
Which was all the permission Spock required.
"How did Admiral Archer come to know you had, as he put it, 'a background in dogs'?"
The cadet hitched one shoulder in a careless shrug. "My first year, one of his dogs escaped. Malcolm," he specified with a curious half-smile, "his prized beagle. I found him and ended up keeping him a whole weekend before seeing the missing dog announcements. He learned some new tricks while I had him, and I guess it stuck with Archer. He let me visit the dogs starting then, but I only got a hand in training them over the past few months. Breeders tend to be finicky about stuff like that."
"Where did you acquire your proficiency at canine obedience programming?"
Kirk glanced away, mouth drawn into a thin, unhappy line. "It's something I picked up when I was younger."
Spock considered that response, turning it over thoughtfully. "From a breeder local to your place of birth?" he asked for clarification.
"No." Kirk's shoulders tensed as he seemed to draw in on himself. "There weren't any breeders in my hometown, and I wasn't born there. I just picked it up around. Anything else you wanna know?" he added in an obvious attempt to redirect the conversation.
Fascinating. Why would the cadet find such a mundane topic discomforting? Spock studied him through a covert sidelong glance for a long moment before replying. "…Is Mr. Scott aware that you procured his freedom from exile by agreeing to train a litter of beagles?"
Kirk shuddered. "No," he said immediately, glancing around to see if anyone on the commons had overheard. Spock's eyebrows migrated toward his hairline. "And you aren't gonna tell him, either."
"What would be the logic behind withholding the information from Mr. Scott? Human emotional bonds are often strengthened by such examples of devotion."
"I'd never live it down, that's why!" He motioned firmly with one hand, cutting through the sharing-is-caring idea with a decisive swipe. "Scotty and I can bond over something else. Like booze. That seems to be working so far."
Spock catalogued the cadet's expressions for later study as they moved across the campus at an increasingly brisk pace. "You are…quite emphatic about this."
Kirk frowned thoughtfully at the sidewalk, wondering which tactic would be most effective in making the Vulcan keep Archer's dogs under wraps. "Obedience training isn't exactly in keeping with the notorious badass angle I'm working here. In fact," he added with a winning smile as the perfect argument presented itself, "such conflicting reports regarding my behavioral patterns would probably just confuse people, and there's so much of that going on around me naturally that it'd be positively illogical to toss baby beagle training into the mix too. So let's just never speak of it again."
Spock lifted one eyebrow, leveling a doubtful sidelong glance on the cadet.
Kirk stubbornly maintained his charming smile.
They might have continued on that way indefinitely had a small gaggle of second year cadets not noticed them and called, "Mr. Kirk!" with obvious relief.
"Ha!" Kirk crowed, grinning at Spock as though he'd won something. Then he turned his dazzling expression on the cadets, who faltered to a man under the undivided attention of those blue eyes. "Hey kids. What's up?"
"Uh…" The ringleader glanced his friends, obviously struggling to remember his initial problem. He blinked with a thoughtful frown, then started in recollection. "Oh yeah!" His expression turned pleading and desperate. "We have a Theories of Command Structure final on Friday and the last three chapters of the text might as well be written in Greek. Can you help us?"
"We'll buy you lunch!" one of his friends added frantically.
Kirk turned to Spock, who was distracted by an incoming distress call from the science department. "Welcome to Wednesday," the cadet said with a grin when Spock glanced up. "Now that they know you'll respond, they'll probably keep you hopping. Tell you what," he offered, shifting the weight of his bag from one shoulder to the other, "why don't I comm you the location of tonight's dinner? You were part of the crew, after all. That way you can catch up with Uhura and everyone and I don't have to feel like I'm dragging you all over campus for no reason."
Spock visibly hesitated. It wouldbe nice to speak with Uhura again, especially under relaxed conditions. But Dr. McCoy had also been part of the crew…
"Think about it," Kirk prompted, clapping a hand against Spock's shoulder in farewell. "Come on, kiddies," he continued to the cadets, corralling them toward the nearest eatery. "Let's go work out the best way to cheat the hell out of that final."
Though the younger cadets all snickered, Spock was shocked by the statement. Surely Kirk wouldn't discuss such a matter in front of one who had in recent memory triggered a formal investigation into his academic conduct!
Kirk glanced back at Spock only once, registering his vague alarm with a triumphant laugh. Spock realized he was being, as Humans might say, "messed with".
…So much for Kirk's promise of a warning.
After parting ways with Kirk, Spock's day descended into madness the likes of which he had never experienced. His presence, once established as fact, was demanded by a vast majority of the Academy's departments almost simultaneously. When Kirk's formal invitation to dinner arrived, Spock began to use it as a kind of shield to save him from further hours of endless multitasking.
"My presence is required elsewhere during that time period. Apologies."
"I must decline your request to assist in fungi cultivation. I have a previous engagement."
"A long-standing invitation prevents me from tutoring your entire class on the finer points of basic mathematics, but perhaps you might turn your attention to the textbook that has been in your possession for the entirety of your tenure at this academy."
Due in whole to the Kirk factor, the dinner was neither where nor what Spock had expected. The directions led him to a hanger deep in the heart of the engineering department's territory. Inside, graduating cadets and a smaller selection of regular Starfleet officers were clustered around several metal picnic benches, food and drink spread in pockets where the population density was greatest. The once-crew of the Enterprise had broken itself along division lines, though several individuals floated group-to-group with haphazard ease.
One of these individuals was, of course, James Kirk. Even as Spock watched, Kirk wandered from a table made of security personnel to sit between Chekov and Sulu at a table that was heavily layered with large sheets of paper. He bent his head to listen to Chekov, nodding periodically as his bearing became gradually more excited. When Chekov fell silent, Kirk grinned broadly at Sulu, who matched his expression exactly. Then they all three leaned over the papers spread across the table, plotting in eager whispers.
It was…not an entirely settling scene.
Dr. McCoy, who was sitting with Uhura at an otherwise empty table, seemed to reach a similar conclusion. His eyes narrowed as he studied Kirk, and he set down his bottled drink with something alarming like malicious intent. Uhura glanced between McCoy and the trio of unsuspecting conspirators for a moment before covering her mouth with a single slender hand.
If she thought it would hide her amusement, she was badly misinformed.
McCoy, standing in a single irritated motion, either didn't see her or chose to ignore the enjoyment she was clearly deriving from the situation. He strode over to Kirk, looming behind him with both hands planted on his hips, fury dark on his face.
Spock stepped to Uhura's side, nodding once to acknowledge her smiled greeting. When her smile melted into a smirk, they both turned their attention to the predicament building one table over behind Kirk's back.
"This is going to be great," Uhura murmured to him, low enough that only Vulcan ears would catch it. "Sulu and Chekov have been able to avoid getting on McCoy's bad side so far, but it was really only a matter of time."
Spock lifted an eyebrow and waited.
After a minute of eavesdropping, McCoy's expression had gone thunderous. It was Sulu who noticed him, pulling out of his intense discussion with Kirk and Chekov mid-word. His slack-jawed horror alerted the others, who turned immediately to locate the source. Kirk only shut his eyes on a long sigh, but Chekov threw his torso over the papers, using his crossed arms as an additional barrier, eyes wide and panicked in a pale face.
For a moment, no one moved. Then Kirk laughed brightly, giving Chekov's shoulder a fond shake. "Next week," he said, "we work on subtlety, okay? Relax. When we're in real trouble, you'll know it."
Chekov didn't look convinced, but he moved willingly enough when McCoy shoved him off the papers.
"Oh no," the doctor insisted as he studied whatever scheme now lay bare before him. He jammed a forefinger into Kirk's shoulder. "No, Jim. I don't know what you're planning, but no."
Kirk grinned winningly at Chekov. "And, see, here's today's final lesson. Take notes," he suggested, "because this is what real trouble looks like."
"You don't get to have cohorts!" McCoy snarled, ignoring Kirk's aside completely. Chekov, meanwhile, was obediently taking notes while Sulu attempted to covertly roll up the evidence of their plan. McCoy swatted his hands away with a scowl, turning his head slightly to better inspect the document. "Why do you have maps of— Where is this? Is this topographical?" he demanded of Kirk. "Are you dabbling in topography now?"
Kirk made a dismissive motion. "Don't be silly, Bones. I have no interest in boring old topography."
"Oh." McCoy looked suspicious but relieved. "Good, 'cause I can't take—"
"This is ocean topography," the blue-eyed cadet clarified, sweeping an arm over the whole mess in illustration, "and Chekov looked it up when he was running weather reports. That's these printouts here, in case you were wondering."
"God damn it, Jim!"
"But it's such a great idea!" Kirk insisted, swinging one leg over the bench so he could spread his hands imploringly. "And Sulu's really excited about it, aren't you, Sulu?" Sulu grinned. It did nothing to assuage the doctor's ire. "Not to mention all the research Chekov's done. We couldn't just waste all that effort, could we?"
"This man is a walking disaster!" McCoy informed the other two cadets in furious accusation. "He nearly got himself killed crossing the commons in fair weather armed with nothing but a cup of coffee while surrounded by med students! A flea vaccine could do the job! He doesn't need your help!"
Sulu and Chekov traded an uncomfortable glance, obviously reluctant to call the doctor's fury down upon themselves but equally unwilling to abandon their plan. "…You know, actually, Doctor," Chekov offered carefully, gathering up several printouts to offer them to Bones, "the research supports a fairly reasonable probability of success without injury."
Bones stared at the teen in outraged accusation. Et tu, Chekov? "You're enablers," he hissed threateningly, "and I won't have it!"
Kirk rose fluidly from his seat, wrapping an arm around his friend's shoulders to steer him away from his cringing "enablers." "You're just sore 'cause you didn't get an invite," he teased gently.
McCoy allowed Kirk to tow him back toward his original table but didn't relax so much as a single muscle.
"Come on, Bones," Kirk cajoled softly, squeezing him once before releasing him with a comforting thump on the back, "it'll be fun."
"It'll be dangerous."
"You can bring your med bag," Kirk promised. He looked up, presumably with the intent of grinning at Uhura, but noticed Spock first. His expression lit in delight, blue eyes bright with a smile. "Spock!" he greeted, pulling McCoy onto the bench next to him as he sat.
Spock mirrored the action, taking his place by Uhura. "Good evening, Cadet Kirk."
"It's Jim here," Kirk insisted, grin shifting over to Uhura, who rolled her eyes.
But she was smiling, too, and Spock wondered where her animosity had gone.
Some of it, apparently, had migrated to McCoy, who scowled openly at Spock. "What's he doing here?"
Kirk looked at Bones askance. "Well," he said slowly, "you see, a couple of months back, Spock was part of this ridiculously dangerous Federation-saving mission wherein he served aboard the Enterprise with—"
"I know that!" McCoy growled. "But what's he doing here?"
Kirk frowned, projecting a general air of confusion. "This is a crew reunion, Bones. Spock is crew. I don't see the problem."
McCoy looked positively incredulous.
"Yes, and I must thank you for the invitation, Jim," Spock added before anyone could comment further. McCoy's incredulity turned into shock with the Vulcan's casual form of address. Uhura had to turn away to disguise her laughter. "On that topic, I would like to extend my gratitude that you would allow me to accompany you throughout your day. It was of great benefit to my understanding of the Academy's changes, though you experienced no similar advantage."
Kirk brushed the sentiment off with an easy wave of his hand. "Not everything has to be about benefit. Who knows?" He grinned, leaning his forearms against the table. "Maybe I just wanted someone to suffer through Wednesday with me."
"…You are aware, of course," Spock observed after a moment, "that the satisfied desire for companionship is, in itself, a benefit.
Kirk laughed. "See, that right there, that's exactly what I'm talking about. You're a riot."
McCoy frowned thoughtfully at his friend. "Just how much did you have to drink before I got here?"
"I'm surrounded by comedians," Jim remarked sagely to Uhura, who started to laugh again. He stood before anyone else could be antagonized. "I'm gonna get some food. Requests?" he offered.
When he was gone, Spock turned his attention to Uhura, ignoring the doctor as he muttered to himself crossly and rolled a cold bottle of beer between his hands. "I had not anticipated your opinion of Cadet Kirk undergoing substantial change while I was away," he said, the real question lurking quietly in his observation.
Uhura made a thoughtful sound, her gaze tracking slowly to where Kirk stood, arms loaded with food as he leaned over Scotty's shoulder, already deeply engaged in another schematics debate. He shifted his haul to point at a particular modification, hardly noticing when some of the food tumbled out of his hold.
"He isn't what I expected," she admitted abruptly. "When we got back to Starfleet Command after the Nero incident, I thought he'd trade on his role as the Federation's savior." She rolled her eyes at the memory of a thousand reporters from a dozen worlds all clamoring for an exclusive. "It wouldn't have exactly been difficult."
"No," Spock agreed mildly. Any of those who had served upon the Enterprise could have made a small fortune in personal appearances in the aftermath of Nero.
Not one of them had.
"And then, just after you left, we all started to realize how much trouble the Academy was in." Uhura's expression washed with pain. Her eyes dropped from Kirk, settling on the dented tabletop beneath her fingertips. "Most of our class died. A bunch of the student teachers and instructors, too. At first, no one really knew what to do, how to keep going with so much of the support structure gone, or how to just…get from day to day. Then," she recalled, a faint smile bowing her mouth, "in one of the command classes, the projector broke. Instead of calling for someone else to fix it, Kirk stood on his desk and did it himself. And instead of waiting for a substitute instructor who didn't quite know the subject material, Kirk moved through the lecture notes and taught it on his own. So his classmates started to do the same kind of thing all over campus." Uhura shrugged, lacing her fingers together as she lifted eyes dark with pride to Spock's. "It turned viral within a week. Every surviving senior cadet began standing up, stepping forward. I'm teaching most of the introductory xenolinguistics courses now."
"Admirable," Spock noted, looking over the senior cadets in the room. They were happy and boisterous as the cadets of his own class had been so close to graduation, but there was a gravity, of sorts, that lingered in their faces. They sat straighter, speaking to commissioned officers with self-assurance that usually took years to develop.
The results, no doubt, of Admiral Barnett's "baptism by fire." Spock wondered, with a deep sense of fascination, what kind of officers these cadets would become.
"It hasn't been easy," Uhura concluded with a slight shrug, "but it was…simple, in a way. There was a need, and it was one we could fill, so we did. I expected Kirk to start a rebellion when I realized how few instructors had survived." She laughed, shaking her head, and settled her eyes on the grinning profile of James Kirk. "He started a revolution instead, and dragged us all in after him."
"Not like you didn't go willingly," McCoy snarked, pointing the mouth of his beer bottle toward her in a weary motion. "Not like we all didn't." He shook his head, taking a long pull off the bottle. When he set it down, it was empty.
Uhura tipped her head in acknowledgement. "So I wanted to know who this Kirk guy was," she added to Spock, referencing back to his original unspoken question, "that we would follow him so willing. The more I found out, the more curious I became, and then he started these crew reunion dinners…"
"And what," Spock posed delicately, "are your observations?"
McCoy scowled at him, but Uhura just made another thoughtful sound, cradling her chin in one delicate hand that she propped on the table. "Have you noticed anything…odd about him? Particularly in the way he moves?"
The doctor threw his hands in the air. "Oh not this again!"
Uhura flushed slightly, rolling her eyes and spreading her hands in a helpless gesture. "Come on, McCoy, you can't honestly expect me to believe him. There has to be another explanation. A rational explanation."
Spock's eyebrows lifted toward his hairline. "I presume we are speaking of Cadet Kirk?"
"Jim," McCoy stressed. "If you're going to be here, you have to at least call him Jim."
"Jim," Spock amended accordingly. He wondered why McCoy didn't make the same demand of Uhura but didn't press the matter. "What explanation has Jim given that does not meet your standard of rationality?"
"He speaks Russian," Uhura said, the words an accusation. "I overhead him talking to Chekov about a month ago, and he's completely fluent."
"Was he unwilling to relate the circumstances of his developing such a proficiency?"
"That's the problem!" Uhura spread her arms, expression incredulous. "He says he learned it in the circus!"
"There are circuses in Russia," McCoy pointed out, though he was smirking as he said it, making it seem like he was goading her more than anything else.
Uhura wrinkled her nose. "James Kirk did not run away and join the Russian circus. It's the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard."
"What is Cadet Chekov's opinion on the matter?" Spock asked politely. When they both stared at him, he lifted one eyebrow. "Surely a native Russian would be able to pinpoint the general region from which Cadet Kirk—Jim's instructor hailed."
"That doesn't help," Uhura sighed, swiping the beer McCoy dug out of a cooling unit by his feet. He scowled but fetched himself another. "I can break down the regional quirks myself. He's got bits and pieces of nearly everywhere he tosses in just when I think I've got it nailed. Frustrating." She took a long drink, making a soft sound of appreciation. "I'd ask Chekov straight out where he thought Kirk picked it up, but it wouldn't help."
"Is Cadet Chekov untrustworthy?" Spock asked.
Uhura laughed warmly. "No, he's a good kid. Kind of a sweetheart. But he'd say the sky was green if Kirk told him to."
"Jim would never ask Chekov to lie for him," McCoy insisted, frowning at his beer.
"How can you be sure of that?" Uhura wondered.
McCoy smirked, tipping his bottle in a tiny salute. "BecauseChekov would say the sky was green if Jim told him to."
"So we can't ask Chekov," Uhura repeated, lifting her bottle in acknowledgement of McCoy's point, "which is why I thought I'd see if you noticed anything, Spock. Because he wasn't part of a Russian circus. He wasn't," she insisted when McCoy opened his mouth.
"Let's ask him," the doctor suggested, smirking again.
Uhura rolled her eyes. "He isn't going to say anything new, and what he usually says isn't convincing me."
"Yeah," McCoy agreed, twisting in his seat to scan for his wayward friend, "but your face when he's going off in Russian is just— " He cut himself off with a long and impressive string of expletives.
Uhura followed his gaze and winced. "Damn," she sighed. "Them again. Isn't he off duty for the night?"
"With them," McCoy snarled, such genuine hatred on his face that Spock was almost startled, "he's never off duty." He shoved himself away from the table, stalking across the room.
James Kirk stood by the farthest doorway of the hanger, arms still filled with food, face blank as he read a PADD given to him by a black-clothed courier. When he was finished, he nodded once, and the messenger snapped a quick salute before leaving.
McCoy cornered Kirk moments later, arms crossed to contain his fury as he scowled. Jim shrugged somewhat helplessly. They returned to Spock and Uhura, McCoy radiating impotent rage while Kirk merely looked resigned.
"Sorry, guys," he said, dumping his food and drink on the table. "Looks like I gotta go. Duty calls. Sulu," he added in a louder voice, "Chekov!" When they glanced over, he grinned, a cocky expression. "Tomorrow, 0600?"
They returned the grin, more excited than anything else, and Chekov offered a thumbs-up.
Jim gripped McCoy's shoulder, giving it one firm shake. "Think positive, man. Sometimes I just sit around."
McCoy scowled, shrugging off the comfort. "And sometimes you tear ligaments. Or get concussions. Or lose half your weight in blood."
Kirk offered a cockeyed smile. "That's why you think positive." Before anyone could retort, Jim was gone, jogging from the building with his expression hidden by shadows.
The doctor swore again, in several languages, some of which even Spock didn't recognize. Uhura winced twice.
"He'll be okay," she murmured when McCoy wound down.
The doctor glared at her for a beat. "He's gonna get himself killed," he snarled. "He'd just better not come crawling to me what it happens!" Then he stood from the table in a jerky motion. "I'm gonna get my kit ready." When he stomped away, the cloud of fury around him was so obvious that cadets tripped over each other getting out of his way.
After a thoughtful pause, Spock regarded Uhura. "May I inquire after the nature of Jim's apparent predicament?"
Uhura bit her lip, picking at the label on her beer. "He's helping out." She wrinkled her nose as though smelling something foul. "Filling a need. We're not really sure with what because it's so classified he can't even hint about it, but… Sometimes," she explained with a frustrated shrug, "when he comes back from helping them, he's injured. Not all the time, but enough. Whoever or whatever they are, they're dangerous."
"If the requests are known to be potentially detrimental to his health," Spock asked, "why does Jim not simply refuse them?"
For a long moment, Uhura was silent, face pinched with worry as she tore the label from its bottle. "Because at the beginning," she whispered, "he promised to help everyone who needed it. Anyone who asked. And these people…they keep asking. So he won't refuse them." She looked up at Spock, shrugging with a painful expression. "He can't. Because he promised."
Occasionally, that Kirk factor was…quite a terrible phenomenon.