Dirty Laundry (1/?)
Title: Dirty Laundry (1/?)
Rating: PG-13
Characters: J. Kirk OC
Disclaimer: Characters and canon belong to Paramount, Roddenberry, Abrams and many others, but not me. All rights reserved. No copyright infringement intended. No profit is made by the author.
Summary: She murmured to her guest for a few moments in a patter meant to put him at ease before the on-air interview began. The entire Federation was salivating to get a good look at the young captain and hear his story
A/N: This story is loosely a follow-up to one I wrote a few years ago entitled “Home”, the premise of which was the arrival of the Enterprise crew back on Earth after the events of the first movie. And while not necessarily a story begging for a sequel, there was one thread within it which has always niggled at the back of my mind - that is Kirk being pushed by Starfleet Media into the spotlight in the wake of the destruction of the Narada; forced to do interviews and press. This story is the imaging of his first big interview.
As a result of main focus of the story being that first interview, it is dialogue heavy.
The title was inspired by the Don Henley song. “I make my living off the evening news; Just give me something, something I can use; People love it when you lose, they love dirty laundry.”
Arianna - known on over a dozen different worlds by only her first name - was obsessed with controlling every aspect of her program. As such, her staff was unfazed to see her stroll into the hair and makeup department, ostensibly to greet her guest, but also to verify that every little detail of his appearance met with her approval.
“Jim!” She pasted a welcoming smile on her face and strode forward with outstretched hands toward the young man seated before a large, lighted mirror.
“Is it okay if I call you Jim?” She caught Jim Kirk’s hand between both of hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “We’re just thrilled and honored that you chose our program for your first interview,” she cooed with practiced sincerity.
Arianna had begun her career as a hard-hitting journalist who had broken important stories throughout the Federation. Her no-nonsense ability to get to the heart of a story had made her a household name on any number of planets. Now, a celebrity in her own right, she had been given her own bi-weekly program and in recent years had turned her attention to being the first to interview world leaders, celebrities, and other personalities making big news.
They didn’t get any bigger than this, she thought, as she murmured to her guest for a few moments in a patter meant to put him at ease before the on-air interview began. The entire Federation was salivating to get a good look at the young captain and hear his story.
She patted a reassuring hand on his shoulder and took her leave. With a meaningful tilt of her head, she beckoned the stylist from the room.
“I’ll be right back,” the makeup artist assured Kirk, and with a flip of his purple streaked hair, followed his boss into the hallway where she was already speaking with a young Starfleet officer.
“I know Starfleet is looking at Kirk’s appearance on my show with hopes that he will inspire a recruiting drive among the youth populations of the Federation so I assumed you would send him over in dress reds. After all, who can resist a good-looking young man in uniform? But I have to admit, your choice is brilliant.”
All three glanced through the open door at the man seated inside. Kirk, unaware of their scrutiny, was engrossed in reading something on the tablet in his hands. Arianna and the makeup artist nodded approvingly at his appearance in the casual uniform of the corps of cadets. Charcoal trousers were paired with a black pullover shirt. The knit fabric clung lightly to the leanly defined muscles of his torso and the short sleeves revealed strong arms and hands. The academy insignia embroidered in dull gold thread on the breast pocket and etched onto the brass buckle of his belt gave the uniform a military flair while the three-button placket was left open at the throat offsetting the rigidity with a sense of casual comfort.
“He’s gorgeous,” the makeup artist noted. “People are going to love this guy.”
Lieutenant Tamra Dexter of Starfleet Media Affairs nodded in agreement. She had lobbied hard with her commanding officer to abandon the dress red uniform in favor of this more relaxed look and wished Commander Parsons had been nearby to hear Arianna stand in agreement with her choice.
“Just take the shine off,” Arianna counseled the stylist. “Don’t cover those bruises. They tell a story of their own.”
A faint frown briefly marred the smooth skin of Lt. Dexter’s forehead. She wasn’t sure that she wholly agreed with the other woman. She squinted at the subject of their scrutiny and after a moment’s contemplation, could see the point being made. The dark circles under his eyes and the lines of exhaustion bracketing his mouth, as well as the faint traces of bruises on his cheekbone, jaw and encircling his throat lent a gravitas to his appearance that would be reassuring to older viewers while his youthful features would appeal to the potential recruits that Starfleet was desperate to reach.
With a nod of agreement, the stylist left them to return to his charge. Arianna murmured politely to the young officer and prepared to return to her dressing room to complete her own preparations.
“Arianna… do you have a moment?”
The talk show host stifled an impatient sigh.
“Anything for Starfleet,” she gushed through a forced smile.
“I turned up some additional information on Mr. Kirk that I think you’ll find interesting.”
“Thank you, but I think my researchers and I have what I need.” Arianna prayed for the patience to deal with overeager, overstepping, young media consultants. She raised a hand to dismiss the other woman and turned again to leave.
“I’m sure you’ve been very thorough,” the young lieutenant demurred. “We wouldn’t have thought to send him to anyone but you for his first interview, but, of course, every news program in the Federation wants to get their hands on him…”
Arianna spun around and pinned the other woman with a narrow-eyed stare. She didn’t like being threatened.
“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “Send it to my assistant’s hand-held.”
“I’m sorry,” Dexter apologized with patent insincerity. “It’s your eyes only, or not at all.”
The older woman covered the distance between them with two long, angry strides and held out an imperious hand for the lieutenant’s PADD.
“Fine,” she growled. “Let me see.”
Dexter watched with ill-concealed satisfaction as the superior expression melted away from the talk show host’s face to be replaced by gape-mouthed disbelief.
The older woman dragged her gaze away from the data displayed on the device in her hand.
“Are you sure of this?” Barely suppressed excitement tightened her voice.
“Starfleet keeps impeccable records.” Dexter fought to keep her expression remote, but could not wholly erase the trace of smugness now creeping into her own tone.
“And you didn’t give this information to anyone else?”
Arianna reached out and wrapped her hand around the other woman’s arm in an urgent grip.
“We’re live in less than ten minutes. There’s no way for me to verify this.” Her fingers tightened warningly. “I cannot go on air with something like this unless you’re absolutely positive it’s true.”
“I am one hundred percent sure,” Dexter promised. Glancing around, she lowered her voice. “Look, between you and me, I’m on a short list for promotion. I’m not going to pretend that a good word from you wouldn’t go a long way to moving my name to the very top of that list.” She widened her eyes meaningfully. “I wouldn’t steer you wrong.”
Arianna closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Opening them, she ran her gaze over the data again.
“Send it to my personal hand-held.” She gave the lieutenant the code generally held for well-placed sources and trusted colleagues.
“I’m going to finish getting ready.” Arianna laid a companionable hand on Dexter’s shoulder and graced her with a brilliant smile. “We’re going to make history tonight.”
Note: This story is not completely written though a good chunk of it is done and a large portion of the rest exists in outline form and in my head.
Rating: PG-13
Characters: J. Kirk OC
Disclaimer: Characters and canon belong to Paramount, Roddenberry, Abrams and many others, but not me. All rights reserved. No copyright infringement intended. No profit is made by the author.
Summary: She murmured to her guest for a few moments in a patter meant to put him at ease before the on-air interview began. The entire Federation was salivating to get a good look at the young captain and hear his story
A/N: This story is loosely a follow-up to one I wrote a few years ago entitled “Home”, the premise of which was the arrival of the Enterprise crew back on Earth after the events of the first movie. And while not necessarily a story begging for a sequel, there was one thread within it which has always niggled at the back of my mind - that is Kirk being pushed by Starfleet Media into the spotlight in the wake of the destruction of the Narada; forced to do interviews and press. This story is the imaging of his first big interview.
As a result of main focus of the story being that first interview, it is dialogue heavy.
The title was inspired by the Don Henley song. “I make my living off the evening news; Just give me something, something I can use; People love it when you lose, they love dirty laundry.”
Arianna - known on over a dozen different worlds by only her first name - was obsessed with controlling every aspect of her program. As such, her staff was unfazed to see her stroll into the hair and makeup department, ostensibly to greet her guest, but also to verify that every little detail of his appearance met with her approval.
“Jim!” She pasted a welcoming smile on her face and strode forward with outstretched hands toward the young man seated before a large, lighted mirror.
“Is it okay if I call you Jim?” She caught Jim Kirk’s hand between both of hers and gave it a gentle squeeze. “We’re just thrilled and honored that you chose our program for your first interview,” she cooed with practiced sincerity.
Arianna had begun her career as a hard-hitting journalist who had broken important stories throughout the Federation. Her no-nonsense ability to get to the heart of a story had made her a household name on any number of planets. Now, a celebrity in her own right, she had been given her own bi-weekly program and in recent years had turned her attention to being the first to interview world leaders, celebrities, and other personalities making big news.
They didn’t get any bigger than this, she thought, as she murmured to her guest for a few moments in a patter meant to put him at ease before the on-air interview began. The entire Federation was salivating to get a good look at the young captain and hear his story.
She patted a reassuring hand on his shoulder and took her leave. With a meaningful tilt of her head, she beckoned the stylist from the room.
“I’ll be right back,” the makeup artist assured Kirk, and with a flip of his purple streaked hair, followed his boss into the hallway where she was already speaking with a young Starfleet officer.
“I know Starfleet is looking at Kirk’s appearance on my show with hopes that he will inspire a recruiting drive among the youth populations of the Federation so I assumed you would send him over in dress reds. After all, who can resist a good-looking young man in uniform? But I have to admit, your choice is brilliant.”
All three glanced through the open door at the man seated inside. Kirk, unaware of their scrutiny, was engrossed in reading something on the tablet in his hands. Arianna and the makeup artist nodded approvingly at his appearance in the casual uniform of the corps of cadets. Charcoal trousers were paired with a black pullover shirt. The knit fabric clung lightly to the leanly defined muscles of his torso and the short sleeves revealed strong arms and hands. The academy insignia embroidered in dull gold thread on the breast pocket and etched onto the brass buckle of his belt gave the uniform a military flair while the three-button placket was left open at the throat offsetting the rigidity with a sense of casual comfort.
“He’s gorgeous,” the makeup artist noted. “People are going to love this guy.”
Lieutenant Tamra Dexter of Starfleet Media Affairs nodded in agreement. She had lobbied hard with her commanding officer to abandon the dress red uniform in favor of this more relaxed look and wished Commander Parsons had been nearby to hear Arianna stand in agreement with her choice.
“Just take the shine off,” Arianna counseled the stylist. “Don’t cover those bruises. They tell a story of their own.”
A faint frown briefly marred the smooth skin of Lt. Dexter’s forehead. She wasn’t sure that she wholly agreed with the other woman. She squinted at the subject of their scrutiny and after a moment’s contemplation, could see the point being made. The dark circles under his eyes and the lines of exhaustion bracketing his mouth, as well as the faint traces of bruises on his cheekbone, jaw and encircling his throat lent a gravitas to his appearance that would be reassuring to older viewers while his youthful features would appeal to the potential recruits that Starfleet was desperate to reach.
With a nod of agreement, the stylist left them to return to his charge. Arianna murmured politely to the young officer and prepared to return to her dressing room to complete her own preparations.
“Arianna… do you have a moment?”
The talk show host stifled an impatient sigh.
“Anything for Starfleet,” she gushed through a forced smile.
“I turned up some additional information on Mr. Kirk that I think you’ll find interesting.”
“Thank you, but I think my researchers and I have what I need.” Arianna prayed for the patience to deal with overeager, overstepping, young media consultants. She raised a hand to dismiss the other woman and turned again to leave.
“I’m sure you’ve been very thorough,” the young lieutenant demurred. “We wouldn’t have thought to send him to anyone but you for his first interview, but, of course, every news program in the Federation wants to get their hands on him…”
Arianna spun around and pinned the other woman with a narrow-eyed stare. She didn’t like being threatened.
“Fine,” she said through gritted teeth. “Send it to my assistant’s hand-held.”
“I’m sorry,” Dexter apologized with patent insincerity. “It’s your eyes only, or not at all.”
The older woman covered the distance between them with two long, angry strides and held out an imperious hand for the lieutenant’s PADD.
“Fine,” she growled. “Let me see.”
Dexter watched with ill-concealed satisfaction as the superior expression melted away from the talk show host’s face to be replaced by gape-mouthed disbelief.
The older woman dragged her gaze away from the data displayed on the device in her hand.
“Are you sure of this?” Barely suppressed excitement tightened her voice.
“Starfleet keeps impeccable records.” Dexter fought to keep her expression remote, but could not wholly erase the trace of smugness now creeping into her own tone.
“And you didn’t give this information to anyone else?”
Arianna reached out and wrapped her hand around the other woman’s arm in an urgent grip.
“We’re live in less than ten minutes. There’s no way for me to verify this.” Her fingers tightened warningly. “I cannot go on air with something like this unless you’re absolutely positive it’s true.”
“I am one hundred percent sure,” Dexter promised. Glancing around, she lowered her voice. “Look, between you and me, I’m on a short list for promotion. I’m not going to pretend that a good word from you wouldn’t go a long way to moving my name to the very top of that list.” She widened her eyes meaningfully. “I wouldn’t steer you wrong.”
Arianna closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Opening them, she ran her gaze over the data again.
“Send it to my personal hand-held.” She gave the lieutenant the code generally held for well-placed sources and trusted colleagues.
“I’m going to finish getting ready.” Arianna laid a companionable hand on Dexter’s shoulder and graced her with a brilliant smile. “We’re going to make history tonight.”
Note: This story is not completely written though a good chunk of it is done and a large portion of the rest exists in outline form and in my head.