Night 53: M61-M70 Hallway

[arc_wrench]

Well! For once Landel said something worth listening to: revealing a potential weakness for exploitation! Now! What to do with it. What should he do to completely ruin Landel's bright and shiny plans for a wonderful day, toppling them like a small meatbag kicking over a carefully-constructed sand structure, making sure to get the constituent

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M66

[doneinthree]

It was in his closet when he went to grab his coat.

Normally, Kirk could get himself equipped and out the door within the first minute after the intercom announcement. Tonight, however, that minute was spent staring at the new clothes hanging in his closet, the only items not rendered in dull shades of grey. Even in the dark, there was no confusing that deep gold for Landel's greys - nor even could he confuse the black of the long-sleeved undershirt and pants, and the shining boots neatly arranged on the floor underneath.

He knew what they were. He'd been wearing the tee, pants and boots the last moment he remembered before appearing here, except now everything was improbably pressed and spotless, as if issued fresh from the supply depot. (Somehow, he doubted even the best of 23rd century dry-cleaning technology would've saved the clothes he'd been wearing during the Narada incident.) But that gold shirt, with the three stripes glinting on the cuffs - Kirk hadn't seen that particular item on anyone else except Pike. And yet. Even without touching it, he knew that the shoulders and sleeves were perfectly tailored for no one else but him.

Captain James T. Kirk.

His hand tightened on the handle of the closet door. Was this a joke? Why now? Kirk honestly hadn't been bothered by the fact that only Bones and Spock had been given their uniforms, since it wasn't as if he needed to look the part in order to do the job - at least, he hadn't been bothered until the shadow had tried to make a point about it. What makes you think you deserve to wear that shirt? it had taunted him, in a voice that was both his and not his. What makes you think you deserve to call yourself-?

Kirk was tempted to shove it away out of spite, but when his hand lifted from the closet door, he found himself rubbing the fine material of the shirt between his fingers. Well, this at least was a cut above the cheap clothing the Institute forced on them. If only for the sake of practicality, wearing the uniform might protect him from getting his shirts slashed up all the time...

"Oh, who are you kidding?" he muttered as he pulled the clothes off their hangers. A minute later, he was dressed, and Kirk had to admit: it felt good. He looked good. He might not go as far to say that he was born to wear a captain's uniform, but...

Right. Rendezvous with Uhura. Kirk spun on his (black military-issue rubber) heel, grabbed his supplies and left.

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