Day 47: Greenhouse [4th Shift]

[mitase]

Entering the greenhouse was almost like coming home, and Hanatarou had been looking forward to this shift for that reason. Everywhere else in the building was strange and confusing (and often dangerous) but in here was the familiar scent of soil and sun-warmed plants with the musty sort of enclosed-space smell overlaying it. His expression turned

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[hes_deadjim]

[Jim ♥]

McCoy wasn't exactly glad to part ways with his roommate when the intercom went off and lunch rolled about. Hayes wasn't bad, as company went. He could do worse, in fact, he had before. Plenty of times.

It just helped when the doctor didn't manage to put his own foot in his own mouth at the same time. Even now, he couldn't help but still feel a twinge of embarrassment.

Maybe I am a little relieved, he silently admitted. It was going to be doubly awkward since he was temporarily living in the same room with the man. He still had dinner shift to go through, after all. There was a lot he didn't know about Hayes' reality back home. He'd say the chances were pretty good that he'd suffer a repeat of before. Maybe he could just bury himself in writing up his logs: he did have to write down one for ZEX, then wrack his brain some more to come up with any possible explanation to what was going on. At the very least, his Spock would find the records fascinating at least. Then there he needed to prepare for tonight, except he wasn't entirely sure what to expect.

In the meantime, he'd had a quiet lunch, most of which was keeping an eye out for the rest of the crew and their eating habits. That shift was over almost as soon as it came. He was going to get whiplash if this kept up.

McCoy didn't resist the nurse's guidance. He hadn't been to the greenhouse yet, so there was no point in pretending he wasn't interested. Maybe they could find something useful. He knew a few plants with medicinal properties. They could get some clue as to where this was, or at least, where this wasn't, if the plants were anything to go by.

He was sorely disappointed when he got there. Wasn't anything distinctly alien about it. Or the plants. If he hadn't seen the native fauna a few nights ago or personally witnessed the extraordinary ability to yank a man clear across the galaxy, he'd almost think this was Earth. He wasn't much of a gardener, but, as he turned a pot, he could see that they bore all the signs of Earth flora.

There was a familiar shape lurking at the edge of his vision. McCoy looked up, then grinned a little. The captain was nearby, touching a leaf with his hand. McCoy watched him for a moment then cleared his throat.

"Afternoon, Jim," he said. He reached out, tilting another pot towards him. "You know, I never figured you to have a green thumb. The you I know picks at his greens as if it'll poison him the next second."

[doneinthree]

Kirk broke into a grin at that distinctive voice, and maybe also at the image of his older self with the same aversion to broccoli as he'd had at five years old. "Don't worry. I haven't been in the botanical science labs since they banned me last year."

He let go of the sprig to turn to his friend, all wry amusement as he took in the scene of mostly grown men in happy face shirts being forced to play with trowels. Bones looked well enough, at least, not that the previous night had left them much opportunity to get into trouble.

"Anyway, you were the one getting on my case about gaining weight," Kirk pointed out, "so why not leave the salad for Vulcans?"

[hes_deadjim]

There wasn't any stopping that surprised look on his face. "What in hell did you get banned for?" McCoy blurted out.

Jim didn't exactly always do things by the book, but he'd never heard of his captain being banned from anything in the academy. Then again, he might not have even told him if he had. Now a good portion of him curious as to what had happened and how. He'd always found botanists a quiet bunch. Shut them off in a lab full of plants, a greenhouse and some equipment and they were happy as clams. So how did one even get banned from a botanical science lab in the first place?

Now he wasn't so sure he wanted to know the answer.

Kirk suddenly decided he knew what was best for his intake needs. McCoy resisted rolling his eyes skyward. Considering the man's lapses in his own health, often because he insisted on wearing himself thin to take care of the crew, the doctor found it hard to believe he had a sudden change of heart.

"Because, Captain, those greens are a part of the nutritional requirement for a healthy human male," he said pointedly. "Now I'm not saying Vulcans have the right idea: in my book, a man can't exist on greens alone. But you still need some."

[doneinthree]

Kirk couldn't help but laugh, because that was exactly the reaction his McCoy had had when he'd learned about the kinky botanist incident. Admittedly, not his finest hour, as Kirk had made an honest effort at behaving once accepted into Starfleet Academy, as much for Pike's sake as his own. There was just a little too much rebel in him to not want to break out when people boxed him into George Kirk's golden boy reputation. And maybe a little attention-seeking as well. Even Jim couldn't deny all his insufferable moments in the last three years.

"I may have been caught... doing something with... someone in the lab where it wasn't strictly safe to do that kind of thing," Kirk responded vaguely, although he expected Bones would be able to fill in the gaps. Despite his refreshing ability to sound genuinely incredulous every time Kirk pulled something, Bones still knew him too well. "You know, the typical."

While Kirk continued to look amused, there was a bit of sheepishness in his smile. It was the title - while "Captain" rolled off McCoy's tongue with unironic ease, it only served to remind Kirk that he was no longer just a carefree cadet joking with his best friend. For all their history, Bones considered him his captain, and the other Kirk probably didn't handle that by reminding people of his propensity for screw-ups. Funny how a single word from the right person could both humble and inflate your ego.

"Alright, Doctor. My meals will be well-balanced from now on," Kirk promised, intending to at least stick to this for as long as it took to get Bones off his back about it. Fortunately, eating well wasn't difficult to manage in this place.

[hes_deadjim]

From the soured look on McCoy's face, he'd gotten the general idea all too well. Jim was a sensualist: he knew he was attractive to about ninety percent of sentient species in the known parts of the galaxy, both humanoid and non-humanoid, and he wielded that knowledge according. Pretty indiscriminately in McCoy's opinion. Sometimes it felt like a tool. He'd mark it down as a special form of diplomacy unique to Kirk if he could.

But compared to what he'd heard before, and what he knew now, Jim had mellowed out quite a bit. He had to. There was a certain degree of professionalism and tact needed to be a starship captain. Jim had managed to (mostly) narrow down when to flirt and when not to pretty well. Yet it was one thing hearing about a few of his past exploits with a cushion of years between it, and then hearing it from Jim as if it was yesterday.

"I'm not surprised," McCoy told him. He couldn't say he fully believed Jim about balancing his meals. That's what observation was for, and he fully intended to make use of it. If he took patients at their word all the time, he'd have twice as many cases when they came back worse off from their own misdiagnosis.

"Starfleet doesn't look well upon officers misusing facilities like that. Why doesn't it surprise me that you're a tomcat in just about any universe?"

[doneinthree]

"You say that like it's a bad thing." Kirk beamed innocently at him, but there was no hiding the smugness in his grin. Even without his own colourful romantic history, Bill had provided him with quite the mental catalogue in which an older him locked lips with one beautiful humanoid female after another. And sometimes more than simple kissing: scattered throughout the fictional memories were scenes of himself as a man in love - not many, and with none of them appearing to last. Kirk wasn't sure how to feel about that. He'd never had a relationship he could properly describe as "true love," and hadn't seen himself as the marrying type anyway.

By twenty-five, his own father had married, raised one son and had another on the way, all without giving up his Starfleet career. Of course, he hadn't been the captain until the last eight minutes of his life. Did any part of the other James Kirk regret trading that in for the Enterprise and the privilege of commanding its crew?

Maybe, maybe not. All Jim knew is that he'd do anything to get himself back on his ship, and back to the supposedly "destined" course of his life. Escape first, he reminded himself. One thing at a time. "Although it hasn't been as useful as you'd think," he added, looking over McCoy's shoulder to where some of the staff was explaining how to pot seedlings. "I've been trying, but it's like the nurses here were trained to resist flirtation."

He suddenly smirked.

"Or maybe Southern charm and an M.D. is more their type. How about it, Bones?"

[hes_deadjim]

It was on the tip of his tongue:'it is a bad thing!' mostly because there was a time and place for it, and sometimes, not all the time, it felt like Jim forgot it or decided to wing it. In McCoy's professional opinion, he and Spock could be thrown into some God-forsaken jail and Jim would somehow manage a way to make it with one (or two or three) of the resident female population while trying to break them out. It also always fell on him to make sure Jim didn't catch something life-threatening after the ordeal. And just like his love affair with Lady Luck, the captain continually defied the odds and remained clean.

McCoy just managed to restrain himself from voicing that out loud, but the look on his face said enough. Of course Jim tried his luck with the nurses. What was surprising was that it didn't work. He could count on one hand the number of times the captain had been turned down.

"Or they actually know a smidgen of professionalism," he replied. There was that whole matter of not sleeping with patients. Although he couldn't deny a number of the nurses in his department had moon-eyed over Jim at one point or another anyway.

McCoy thought back to that handsome nurse earlier, the one who'd denied his initial claim to see his attending doctor: the one that hadn't even been assigned to him yet. He hadn't exactly tried talking with her on anything outside of a professional level, but who knew?

"Women do appreciate a certain charm, Jim. Not everyone's going to fall for that 'sweep them off their feet, ask questions later' tactic you use," McCoy said. "It happens more often than you think."

[doneinthree]

"Hey now, I'm very interested in asking questions!" Kirk protested, blue eyes taking on a wounded look so theatrical that it was difficult to take him seriously. Nonetheless, questions were the bread and butter of his strategies for talking to women - questions such as "how about I get you a drink?" or "aren't you going to tell me your name?" or "maybe you and I should go somewhere more private?"

...Okay, fine, that last one wasn't really a question. Was flattery more his bread and butter? Or just persistence?

If Kirk's somewhat doubtful expression suggested that he considering Bones' point, it lasted only a second. After all, of the two people here, one was divorced and single, and the other was James T. Kirk. "If the problem is charm, Bones, I don't think I'm lacking. More likely it's that they think I'm delusional, which is... well, not always a deal breaker."

The only woman he'd met so far who seemed like she'd be in any position to help him was Dr. Kisugi, and she was even more unresponsive than the nurses. At least the nurses smiled sometimes. In any case, he would soon be better served focusing on something other than the fairer sex.

Kirk placed his hands on his hips, face becoming more serious, and remembered his injuries for the first time when he felt the bandages pull. "Oh, something odd: they rebandaged my chest this morning - before I woke up, so I didn't see anyone do it, but they look new." The idea of being reclothed and operated on while unconscious would probably never stop creeping him out. "How much do you think we actually sleep, anyway?"

[hes_deadjim]

From the look on McCoy's face, he'd just pinned down 'asking questions' as an euphemism. Jim never just asked questions. There was always something more going on underneath it. McCoy always thought that was one of the earliest mistakes people tended to make when it came to judging the captain's personality hastily; at least the ones that saw him outside of a command atmosphere. They thought Jim was just going to be another attractive human, who was interested in women and a good Romulan ale and that was it. McCoy knew better. He'd seen the man numerous times under crisis or delicate diplomatic situations, remain standing where others would've buckled long before, and then seen the private doubts, fears, and worries under all that.

There was more going on than met the eye.

McCoy cocked an eyebrow at him. "You have charm, captain, but you don't have a lick of subtlety and timing. Some women appreciate a different approach than the James Kirk style."

It wasn't entirely true, Jim had some. His idea of an effective approach, however, was to shock and awe the woman with his charm and looks from the get go and let everything fall into place after that. McCoy preferred a little more lighthearted flirting than bum-rushing right in. "But I suppose an unstable mind might have a little to do with it."

McCoy looked back at the plants, picking out the species he thought he knew, even as Jim quickly grew serious. It was a good question. Was it him, or was time passing differently here? It certainly felt like it.

"Hard to say. Could be anything from thirty minutes to two hours. maybe even five or six." Nine might be pushing it, even though he had no way of checking. It hadn't felt like the nights were a consistent length. If they were on the same number of hours Earth was, if they were going for an Earth-like place, then nine hours didn't seem like it had enough room to fit in there. Either way, he actually felt like he'd gotten all nine hours sleep between night and morning. His body did at least. "It'd help if we actually knew how they were knocking us out."

[doneinthree]

Kirk merely smiled at the complimentary description of his flirting strategy. Bones wasn't wrong - subtle behaviour was rarely part of his approach, in love or war, but he'd never had much cause to change this, as the "James Kirk style" did work. Of course, the fact that it even worked for Jim could probably be credited to his name and classic good looks. Attitude carried the rest. "Maybe you have a point, doctor," he replied in a clearly humouring tone.

To the least, he could see how subtlety worked on Dr. Kisugi the next time he saw her. Any strategy was fair game as long as it paid off. He suspected Landel held the same opinion, only his end goals were a lot more unfathomable than Kirk's.

"Gas would be the easiest: pump it through the vents, get all of us at once." He unfolded his arms to start pacing in the small corner they'd claimed, but slowly, his voice low. His gaze turned upwards as he talked, studying the structure of the greenhouse. "If it's a drug, it's one without an odour... or a sound when it's released, or visual signs, or even make me feel any different before I'm out. It might as well be one of Spock's neck pinches without the pinch."

And what a pleasant wakeup that had been. Although he did vaguely remember needing to be chemically sedated before getting loaded into the escape pod, and hypospray injections always had an unpredictable effect on him. He frowned, not seeing anything about the greenhouse that looked out of place.

"And it seems it doesn't matter where you are when the night closes. People have apparently gotten over the walls and away from this place, only to wake up in their beds next morning. But they do use drugs sometimes - a nurse hit me with an old-style hypo a few days ago, and I could barely hold a pen for hours."

[hes_deadjim]

They were all good guesses, although he didn't see how a visual sign was possible at the moment. It would work have to somehow appear to everyone all over the grounds, and he hadn't seen any way to transmit something, much less anything that was in common all over the place.

Why did it also sound like Jim had first-hand experience with one of those nerve pinches of Spock's? McCoy studied Jim for a moment, trying to see for any clue as to what happened and finding none so far. He was highly tempted to just outright ask, except now wasn't the time.

Later, he thought. He got the feeling it had to make for an interesting story.

The doctor nodded. "I agree, it could be any of those. Maybe we can find a way to counteract it." 'Course, that was assuming that these people played under all the rules they knew. Space was a large place, a seemingly endless frontier. He'd signed on for a five-year mission, but there was absolutely no way they could chart every new life form or phenomena in the galaxy. They might make a tiny dent, about as much as pricking at a frozen lake with a pin.

He thought back to Clark's case. In all his years in the field, he'd never seen anything like it. He was equally at a loss to explain how it was even possible.It was moments like those were you felt just how much humanity had to learn as a species. They'd accomplished a lot, abolished money, their wars, made it out to space. The Enterprise herself and her crew were proof of that. But for all their advancement, along came something bigger and more advanced than you.

It was always a humbling experience. Or it would be if it didn't feel like they were being tossed around by that something.

The doctor listened silently as Jim continued. He looked thoughtful.

"The old-style syringe might be a frame of reference for us, so we can understand what they're doing on our own level," McCoy suggested. He'd seen something similar a few times before, but he didn't believe that their captors were as primitive as they looked. "They probably think our lower human brains can't handle it otherwise," he added dryly.