WIP_FICS! This is Me jumping on the Wip_Amnesty Bandwagon!

[jade_dragoness]

So wip_amnesty has seduced me with the idea of Spring Cleaning some of my WIPs that I really don’t think I’ll ever finish. Therefore this post with fic split by fandom. This is a post of the shorter wips.

I don’t think I need to point out that any of these are betad, but here’s the warning anyway.

Band of Brothers: Untitled. Rated PG; a/n: Had intended to be Winters/Nixon but never got that far.
*-*-*-*

Winters smiled at the loud cheer and laughter from the group of men gathered in front of the former home of Herman Goering. Men were still walking in and out with bottles packed in the wooden crates left behind.

Several trucks stood ready to carry their cargo away from here and towards their new homes overseas.

Richard Winters acknowledged the drunken salutes and cries of ‘Happy V.E. Day’ from his men with a smile, nod and the occasional return call. He waved away the various invitations to go join the men for a drink or an entire bottle as some were guzzling down and went into the house.

He grin grew at the sight of the some of the men from Easy sneaking up on D company and shaking champagne bottle then spraying it at them. It was an excellent ambush.

Winters walked towards the entrance of the mostly white house. The thick oak doors were open unlike how they had just been this morning. And nearly ran over someone in the small stone hallway.

“Sorry, sir.” Webster grinned at Winters, not bothering to salute his arms full of various bottles of what looked to be wine, vodka and whiskey.

“Carry on,” Winter smiled back. “By the way have you seen Captain Nixon around.”

“Um, yeah, I think I saw him in the whiskey section near the back.”

“Thanks.” Winters, then passed the iron barred door that he had just opened this morning and went in search of the person to whom he had gifted this nearly incomprehensible trove of alcohol.

It seemed like the men were doing a pretty good job of emptying the place out. Most of the walls looked empty. The large portion the men were drinking wasn’t even making that much of a dent in the entire stockpile so most of it had to have been carted out.

Winters walked on the stone floor carefully, there was still debris from the caved in portion of the house. He kept looking into the dark halls but couldn’t find a trace of his friend, until he reached the very end of the hall.

There, sprawled in the shadows where the electrical light couldn’t reach was Lewis Nixon. Various pillows were scattered all over the floor along with various bottles of dark colored glass. Nixon rested back on a blanket and pillow. His bare feet were dug into the soft cushion they were on. A dark green bottle shined dully in his grasp. His entire body was loose and relaxed.

Winters smiled softly at his friend. His soft scuff of his boot against the stone floor caught the other man’s attention.

“Hi, Dick,” Lewis’s grin was wide and sloppy. “Sit down.”

Winters sat next to him. He was unable to curb his smile from getting bigger at the enthusiastic greeting from his friend.

“How are you doing, Nix? Enjoying your gift?”

Nixon leaned over and wrapped an arm around Dick’s shoulder. “You give the best presents.”

“Thanks.” Dick enjoyed the man’s touch. Feeling himself relaxing. Muscles he didn’t even know were tense finally relaxed. He leaned into Nixon, settling himself more comfortably against a brilliant red pillow.

“Only,” the dark tone that entered Nixon’s voice made Winters turn toward him. His friend’s face was close, his dark eyes wide and anguished. “I didn‘t get you anything!”

Winters had lots of experience being able to guess exactly how drunk his friend. And with all the experience he could usually tell how close to losing his control Nixon got.

This was the most out of control he had seen his friend in a really long time. But then this is the first time that Nixon not only got access to a lot of liquor but it was also the first time in a while that fact combined with a really good reason to get drunk.

A quick glance at all the empty bottles just confirmed his belief.

His friend was extremely drunk.

“You don‘t have to get me anything, Lew,” Dick soothed his friend, trying to get the distraught expression off his face.

A familiar stubborn expression settled on Lewis Nixon’s face.

Dick Winters mentally winced. He knew when his friend got that expression that it was nearly impossible to get him to chance his mind.

*-*-*-*

Dresden Files: The Dark. Rated PG; a/n: I totally lost where I was going with this but I still like it. Had intended to make it Marcone/Dresden.
*-*-*-*

I could see the long dark wave approaching with all the height and speed of a movie special effects tsunami.

Not that this was a movie. No, this was all to real and that wave was made up of Dark. It was something that could consume flesh like a vat of hydrochloric acid. Only faster and probably much more painfully.

I shouted a warning.

“Ramirez! Grab Murphy! Molly shield Sanya!”

Ramirez was already moving and raising a shield before I finished shouting. Molly plastered herself at big Russian’s side her face tightening with concentration until a blue nimbus of energy surrounded them both. I was relieved at the sight of it. And grateful we worked so hard on strengthening her shield work.

I turned and grabbed Marcone and dragged him as close to me as possible. I gave silent thanks that Hendricks had been too injured to join us because I had to make this shield tight. It had to consume as little energy as possible since I had no idea how long this Dark wave would last. And the bigger the surface area the higher rate of energy consumption.

Marcone instantly caught on to my plan before I had to say anything and wrapped his arms around my waist, holding me tight.

I raised my shield, a silver sphere, around us. Just in time too. For the wave of dark energy hit us. Sickeningly cold and flashing purple light all around and the sound. Ugh. Like a buzzing chainsaws cutting through an electrical guitar that screamed the entire time.

I made the shield as opaque and sound proof as I dared. I wanted to know if the others would be alright so I couldn‘t make it block out everything completely, though I could easily.

“What is that?” Marcone asked, his voice was tenser than I’d heard him sound in a good while. Not since the first time I had managed tick him off by being my normal mouthy self at our first meeting.

Marcone’s entire body was tightly wound as if to spring into action at the first threat that presented itself. But there was nothing he could attack here. I bet that pissed him off. Even against other supernatural things I’d fought, with Marcone at my side, he’d always been able to do something. From flinging a knife through a rope while dangling in mid-air to shooting the hell out of some Stone Age super-ghouls. He brought something to the table.

Here he could only rely on me not to screw it up.

“The Dark. It‘s somewhat similar to a substance known as Deathstone. At least that‘s the closest comparison I know of,” I answered. “Only it‘s been spread out like dust upon the air, fine tiny particles that can kill anything. Well anything that‘s not behind a shield, or dead already like a spirit. It‘s actually part of the spirit world. This part of the NeverNever blends with the other side and the Dark is a barrier that surrounds that weak spot. Like a moat. Nothing living can get past it without a shield of some sort. And that‘s just for the edges. Further in not even a shield can save you. It‘s a place intended for the dead and disembodied.”

I shut up as a spectacularly loud shriek blasted at my side.

Crap… were there spirits out there? I peered into the blackness but it still solidly opaque. It would make sense if there were. If the Dark was the moat then there should also be some sort of guards out there as well. It’d not like they had to worry about having their flesh consumed by fog’s evil cousin.

Marcone just tightened his grip on me. I tried not to wince. Marcone kept in shape and was pretty strong. Between his grip and the bruises on my back from getting slammed into a wall earlier it was all I could do not to yelp.

Marcone seemed to realize that from the way I had tensed up for he relaxed his hold, actually letting me breathe.

“Look, all we have to do is wait it out. The wave acts a lot like a real wave, it will recede,” I said.

Marcone gave me a look which was more startling than threatening at this distance, “You‘re assuming that this isn‘t the approaching high tide.”

Huh. Okay, I hadn’t thought of that. While I was pretty sure I could hold my shield up for a good while, since this sort of metaphysical shield didn’t consume the large quantities of energy the way my wrist shield does, but it wasn’t something I wanted to test out by having to hold it up for hours on end.

Then there was Molly. She was getting better and better with her focus but she was still miles away from the kind of control she needed to pull off holding a shield for longer than thirty minutes. I had directed her at Sanya because I was pretty sure that Sanya would shore up her defenses somehow, and maybe even extending it to longer than an hour. Knights of the Cross always got a little extra help from above. But if the Dark Wave lasted longer than their luck could hold…

It didn’t bare thinking about.

“Let‘s hope not,” I said grimly.

It wasn’t like I could go looking for them either. The Dark around us was living up to it’s name and if I tried wandering around in it aimlessly there was too much of a chance of either ending up even deeper in it to the point that my shield failed, or we’d get too far away from the others when it finally receded.

With the bad guys after us? Splitting up was not an option.

I wished that I had a radio that I could use to call the others, and mentally cursed the fact that technology went haywire around wizards. Malfunctions that usually ended up in explosions.

*-*-*-*

Dresden Files: The Party. Rated: PG; an: In this one I also lost where I was going with it. I think that the plot thread in my head felt too OCC. Another one that had been going the Dresden/Marcone route."
*-*-*-*

I tugged at the collar of my tuxedo and grimaced.

I really hated wearing this monkey suit.

Well, that wasn’t actually accurate. I have fond memories and not so fond memories of the last time I wore one of these getups. No, what I really hated was the reason I had to wear one in the first place.

Gentleman Johnnie Marcone was throwing a party. And lucky me, not only was I invited. I had to show up to represent the White Council since the party was being held in celebration of Marcone becoming a free holding lord and all the major supernatural players in the area were being invited.

And as one of the actual signers that supported Marcone’s gain of his position there was no way for me to wiggle out of going.

Marcone, himself, had underlined that very fact by having his goon, Hendricks, part body-guard part rabid attack dog, deliver the invitation in person to my office.

Then he refused to leave until I called the number on the card and confirmed my RSPV.

I stilled sulked over that little bit of blackmail whenever I was reminded. It’s not like I wanted a hulking, growling red-headed Cujo scaring off what little customers I had. I suspected that Hendricks felt the same about being stuck in my office. Hell, the man practically dialed the phone for me, and held it up for me to talk into.

I had thought briefly about shoving him out my office with my magic but there was no reason with him just standing there, growling, hovering and none too subtly pushing the phone in my direction. And I really didn’t want to piss off Marcone that way. Attacking one of his people would get me finally buried in my waiting open grave, no matter how satisfying it would be.

So, I’d reluctantly made my R.S.V.P., to Marcone himself.

Hey, I was just as surprised when I realized that he was the one who’d picked up the phone. I was pretty certain that a secretary of some sort would be the one taking in the reservations and not the man, himself. It had thrown me off-guard enough that I agreed to show up as the representative of the White Council and not even making a token attempt at grumbling about it.

It, also, made me more than a little nervous about showing up at this party. Yeah, okay, I was sort of used to Marcone talking an unhealthy amount of interest in me. Unhealthy to me at least. I couldn’t show up at one the places he owned without him also dropping by, if only to try to prevent me from causing damage. Or burning down the building. Whatever.

Which was one of the reasons that this personal invitation made me jittery with nervousness. Marcone usually wanted me to stay away from his places because of the tendency of buildings, in my proximity, of getting blown up or burned down. His insistence that I actually show up at this shindig was making me think not-so-pleasant thoughts of traps. And the morons who walked blindly into them.

Only the knowledge that such a thing wasn’t actually Marcone’s style was what kept me from bolting to Florida for safety or just raising the wards in my apartment and huddling in my bed until the entire night was over.

If Marcone ever really wanted to take me out. I wouldn’t even get a warning or a hint of the approaching danger. And I definitely wouldn’t be strong-armed into attending a party.

I tugged at the bowtie around my neck and sighed. I knew it was crooked and the little shaving mirror I kept in my bathroom wasn’t really adequate for fixing it. And I couldn’t help but fiddle with it, though I was probably making it worse.

It was more than time to go. I was going to arrive so fashionably late, there was a chance the party would be over by the time I walked in.

And with that hopeful thought, I gathered my leather coat and debated bringing my blasting rod or my staff with me. I decided on my staff and dug out my wand that I hadn’t used in forever, as both of them could be hid easily within my coat.

I petted Mouse and scratched behind his ears before leaving.

“If I‘m not back by morning send in the cavalry,” I told him solemnly. His grinning face and lolled out tongue was reassuring. At least he didn’t sense I was in mortal danger.

Maybe, the most dangerous thing I’ll face tonight is overindulging on the hor'devours.

Ah, who was I kidding. With my life, I’ll be happy if I make it through the night without something trying to eat me as the main course.
*-*-*

By the time I found a parking spot for the Blue Beetle and managed to get my self sorted out it was a quarter ‘til midnight.

The party had been raging for a couple of hours at least. Hopefully this meant I could sneak in without getting too much attention. With the number of supernatural beings in attendance, and with quite a few of them wanting my skin for a throw rug, the last thing I wanted was to make a big deal about my presence.

So that plan was to sneak in, deal with whatever Marcone wanted me here so badly in the first place for, tell him no, maybe even a hell no if I was feeling especially annoyed, and then sneak out again. Considering how my life usually runs it shouldn’t have surprised me that my plan turned to crap the moment I stepped inside.

That son of a bitch actually had someone announcing the name of his guests as they walked in. Like one of those medieval parties where the guy sounds off the name in a loud sonorous voice just as the person actually walks onto the floor.

I didn’t get a couple of steps in after showing my invite at the door before:

“The Wizard Harry Dresden, Warden of the White Council!”

Talk being a show stopper. Damn near everyone in the place turned to look at me.

And the looks were not friendly.

I stiffened my spine and glowered back. I reminded myself that I was here under hospitality rules. Which meant that I couldn’t actually be attacked by any of these beings, without Marcone getting very mad at them.

But then I couldn’t attack them either. Damn it.

I really wanted to pull out my blasting rod. Even without evoking fire it would have made me feel a lot better. But that would have been tantamount to pulling out a gun. Even the move was threatening even if you never shot anything.

So, I just narrowed my eyes and made sure to note who was looking especially hostile at seeing me. Those where the ones I was going to avoid, that was certain.

Surprisingly enough there were actually some friendly faces in the crowd.

Billy and Georgia. What the hell were does guys doing here?

Having spotted them, I could see other members of their vigilante werewolf pack scattered around the crowd.

Billy and Georgia stepped forward to greet me.

The smile that I gave them was genuine.

“What are you guys doing here?”

“It‘s good to see you, Harry!” Billy said, and clasped my hand in his, tugging me forward for a solid, back-thumping hug.

*-*-*-*

Merlin: Untitled; Rated: PG; a/n: I lost motivation in this one, poor kidnapped Merlin.
*-*-*-*

Merlin woke up with his head pounding hard enough to make him instantly wish he could be unconscious once again. He tried to groan from the pain of it but something was muffling his mouth.

This realization made his eyes snap open and he tried to struggle up only to realize that he was tied up. A gag covered his mouth and muffled his startled protests. His feet and hands were both tied up, his arms were behind his back and even his knees had been tied together with rope.

Who’d ever had caught him, did not want him to have any chance at escaping.

He looked around, trying to see if he recognized his location, but the clearing he was in looked like any other clearing you could find in the forest on the outskirts of Camelot. Or any other part of Albion.

He had no idea how far, or close he was to the castle.

He tried to wiggle free, only to finally notice that the ropes holding him were also tied to the tree nearest him. Whoever had caught him, was taking great pains to make sure that he didn’t escape, he thought worriedly. That didn’t bode well.

His eyes widened again as he sees a group of ten men walk into the clearing. They looked rather a lot like Kannan’s men. They had the same rough look and wore similar banged up armor with dark leathers.

“You‘re awake. Good,” said one of them. Not the biggest man of the group, but his dark eyes held a cool, ruthless intelligence that made Merlin think he was the leader. It also made his worry rise to newer heights, more worried than he should have been considering he had his magic.

“I‘m rather disappointed at how easy you were to capture,” the man continued, looking down at Merlin and prodding him with the tip of his dirty boot. “I would have thought the prince‘s catamite would have some means of protection.”

Merlin protested as much as he could behind his gag. Catamite?! What in the world did these men think he did for Arthur?

At no point did his job as Arthur’s manservant include…that!

“Nrugh!” Merlin said, trying to convey that. Whoever they thought they had grabbed. They had the wrong person!

The leader looked amused. Merlin narrowed his eyes at him.

“Pick him up,” he ordered. “We need to get moving. I want us at the camp site before dawn.”

Merlin watched as the biggest of the group unlashed him from the tree.

This is when Merlin focused, reaching for his magic, only to whimper as his headache doubled in intensity. Pained lanced into bursts of light behind his eyes, forcing him to close them. Merlin couldn’t contained a low whimper.

“So, you are the magic user,” the man said coolly. “Don‘t try that again. The witch we got that rope from said that your magic will be forced back on you. We don‘t want to end up with a dead hostage, do we?”

He tried to move away but he was grabbed by the waist and slung over the big man’s shoulder. He tried to kick but his tied up legs made that impossible.

Then the groups started moving.

*-*-*-*

Merlin: Why Are There Always Explosions. Rated: PG; a/n: I found the idea for this to be rather hilarious but I ended up stuck with writer‘s block.
*-*-*-*

It was times like these that made Arthur wish he’d never rescinded his father’s ban on magic.

The aftershocks from the explosion from Merlin’s quarters were still shaking the castle to the foundations, as Arthur buried his face in his hands and sighed in exasperation.

The royal guards that had been standing at the sides of his throne, cautiously got up from where they had thrown themselves to the floor while rushing for cover under the small table Arthur had been using to sign orders. It had only taken a knight being hit by falling masonry that one time for everyone in the castle to get jumpy. Never mind that the knight had been wearing his helmet and escaped with only a ugly purple bump, and a dazed expression.

Arthur shot the guards by his knees a narrowed eyed look of disgust, and they sheepishly crawled out, dusted themselves off and straightened themselves back into their at attention stance, all while trying to radiate an air of nonchalance.

He opened his mouth to order a new goblet of wine since his had taken a spill when a second explosion rocked the castle and nearly sent him tumbling to the floor, his quick reflexes were the only thing that saved him from that indignity.

“That‘s it!” he shouted as he straightened to his feet. Arthur pushed the crown back, where it had fallen over his eyes and growled. “I have had enough!”

He slammed the doors to the great hall apart in his anger as he stalked out. Servants scrambled to get out of his way as Arthur growled curses as he made his way through the hallways of Camelot.

Merlin had set off his last explosion! Once he got his hands on him…Merlin wasn’t too powerful to not get sent to the stocks. As his king it was well within Arthur’s power to order it. Even is no one dared to toss rotten fruit at him, Arthur would do it himself if he had to!

With narrowed eyes, Arthur got to the door that led to Merlin’s room and was set to pound on it when he noticed pink smoke start to spill through the bottom of the closed door and into the hallway. His surprise made him drop his anger and backpedal out of its path.

The last time he’d accidentally inhaled the smoke of one of Merlin’s ‘experiments’, Arthur thought he’d been turned into a frog. He actually hadn’t been transformed, but he’d spent all day ribbiting and trying to chase down insects with his tongue. Once he had been returned to normal, Arthur had spent most of the night picking cricket legs and dragonfly wings out of his teeth.

Merlin hadn’t enjoyed it either, because after Merlin stopped laughing like a fool, Arthur had ordered him to eat exactly as many insects as Arthur had consumed. Arthur had deeply enjoyed the faces Merlin had made as he had choked down his platter of live crickets.

“Merlin, you idiot!” Arthur shouted at the door.

The door opened and Merlin stumbled out, coughing out plumes of pink smoke.

“Arthur-coff-coff- I almost- coff- know what I did wrong-coff-,” choked out Merlin. His last cough sent a perfect ring of smoke up into the air.

Arthur took a step back as the smoke ring sailed right by him, enlarging as it went until it dissipated.

“Really? Was if before or after you nearly brought the castle down around my ears?” Arthur asked dryly.

“After. Unfortunately, I think I added too much unicorn hair to the mix, I-” Merlin cut himself off, and started smiling at Arthur.

Arthur gave Merlin a wary look. “Well, it’s stopping right now. No more explosions. The kitchen staff is starting to wear the cooking pots on their heads instead of cooking with them because of their fear of getting hit with falling objects. I‘ve reached my limit. Enough.”

“Whatever you want, sire,” Merlin answered cheerfully.

Arthur paused. It took all his self-control not to gape at Merlin. When was the last time Merlin had answered to any of his orders so agreeably? What the hell was in that smoke Merlin had breathed in?

“Well, good,” he said, caught off-guard and his eyebrows climbing up. He was used to getting more of an argument out of his advisor. This easy agreeability was disturbing. Arthur narrowed his eyes at Merlin in suspicion.

Merlin just kept smiling. It made Arthur incredibly uneasy.

“Be sure to clean up whatever mess you made,” Arthur continued. “The Stewart has told me that the servants all refuse to even enter your rooms after that nonsense with the chambermaid and the flying sheets.”

“But I apologized,” protested Merlin, still with a smile on his lips.

“Do it anyway,” ordered Arthur, and he turned to leave.

“As you wish,” Merlin said.

Arthur rolled his eyes, absently straightened his crown, and marched back to the great hall, still grumbling under his breath.
*-*-*

Over the next few days, Arthur was rather relieved that Merlin had ceased to explode anything in his rooms. The castle hadn’t been shaken even once, and the servants started to lose their ‘About to Dive for Cover’ look. All in all, things were settling down. Everything was becoming perfect.

Except that Merlin was acting even more bizarre than usual.

At first, Arthur had thought that it was Merlin simply being Merlin. If there was anything Arthur had learned over the years when it came to him, it was that Merlin will act strange, brave or bewildering, or simply moronic beyond belief at very random times and he‘ll never know which it will be. Not even being the King of Camelot meant that he would get his answers as what was causing Merlin to act the way he was.

But this was an utterly different level of weird.

For one thing, Merlin wasn’t being as argumentative as he normally was, he was being unusually agreeable and it was making Arthur very uncomfortable. He hadn’t realized how much time he spent mentally drawing up rebuttals to Merlin’s arguments to the courses of action that Arthur undertook until then. He knew that he valued Merlin’s counsel. Arthur wouldn’t have appointed him a Court Advisor if he wasn’t confident that Merlin would provide excellent service in that area.

Even after all these years, Merlin may not be able to keep a room tidy but he was more than capable of providing reasonable advise and more importantly, getting Arthur to think his ideas through. Merlin still didn’t hesitate to call him a prat. Though he had adjusted his favorite insult of ‘prat’ to ‘king prat’. Arthur considered it an improvement, as he got to call Merlin the Court Idiot.

It was disconcerting that Merlin hadn’t even subtly insulted him even once in the last few days. If Arthur hadn’t been certain that Merlin was too powerful to be attacked by a sorcerer without kicking up a fuss to draw the attention of half the castle, he would have thought him be-spelled, or cursed.

Then Arthur remembered the oddly colored smoke that had come from Merlin’s room last time he’d shaken the Camelot‘s foundations.

Was it possible that Merlin had be-spelled himself?

Arthur considered the possibility and had to admit to himself that the chance was greater than any other of Merlin doing exactly that.

Merlin had once grown wings on his ankles because he thought it would give him speed like the Roman god, Mercury. All he’d done was to give himself more of a reason to trip over his own feet. Arthur had nearly laughed himself sick every time Merlin took a header onto the floor or wall or even people.

Arthur still cherished the memory of when Merlin had tripped during a feast and had ended up with his head falling into a bowl of pudding. The sight of Merlin’s expression as the pudding slid down from his hair and onto the floor, leaving slimy trails on his court robes had nearly killed Arthur from laughter.

It had been the last straw that finally convinced Merlin to get rid of the wings.

The only doubt that Arthur had about the idea was Merlin doing that to himself by accident. Merlin was the clumsiest man that Arthur had ever met, but when it came to his magic he did have a tight control over it. Merlin was too powerful for him to be anything else.

The idea of Merlin being out of control made him uneasy. He didn’t fear Merlin but he’d be lying if he didn’t have respect for the sheer amount of power that Merlin could call with a flick of his fingers or blinks of glowing golden eyes.

“Sire.”

Arthur jumped and spun at once, his hand gripping the dagger that never left his side.

*-*-*-*

Transformers: Back to the Warzone. Rated: pg-13; a/n: I was too slow with this and was jossed by the second movie which is too bad because I really like the idea of the Lennox family with an added Ironhide.
*-*-*-*

It was barely three months after the whole mess with the Decepticons that things finally started to settle down for Will Lennox into something resembling a normal life.

He’d attended too many funerals, burying too many friends and good soldiers during those months to really enjoy the time he had away from Qatar.

Will only had a few days to finally get to spend the kind of hours he wanted with his little baby girl when the letter arrived in the mail.

The letter from the Army recalling him back to active duty.

“Oh, no.” Will set the letter down and lowered his head onto his hands. He thought he’d get more time. He was tempted to hide the letter from Sarah but he knew it wasn’t a good idea.

He lifted his head and read it again. The words didn’t change. All they told him was that he had a week left before heading back to the war. He would be returning to Qatar. That base there was still being rebuilt but there was still too great a need for experienced soldiers in that area.

Finally, after several minutes he stood and went looking for his wife. He found her in the baby’s room, putting his princess down to sleep.

All Sarah had to do was look at his face. She knew that look. She said, “No. Not yet.”

“I‘m sorry, honey,” he whispered. She ran to him and wrapped her arms around him. He hugged her back just as tightly.

“Where?” she asked, her voice heavy with fear.

“Qatar, again.”

Will could feel the tension in her body lessen a bit. In some ways Qatar was better than some postings he could have gotten.

“When?”

“A week.”

Her grip on him grew painfully tight, but that core of inner strength, of unbreakable steel that had been the main reason he’d fallen head over heels for her made itself known.

Sarah stepped back. Her face was set in her determined, I’m-Gonna-Kick-So-Much-Ass face, that had always made Will very nervous and insanely proud.

“I’ll start setting the regular plans in motion. You need to start packing”

Will grinned at the commanding tone, “Yes, dear.” But as he turned to go, Sarah reached out and caught his elbow.

“Will, what are you going to tell Ironhide?”

His eyes grew huge and shocked. Will stared at his wife in sheer disbelief.

“Err…,” he gulped. Will said tentatively, “I don’t suppose you could tell him.”

Sarah crossed her arms and glared at him, “He‘s your truck. I‘m not telling him. I love you, but that‘s not my job.”

“But sweetie…” Will trailed after his wife as she moved past him and out the baby’s room. “You know how insanely protective he‘s been the last few weeks. He wouldn‘t even let me clean out the gutters without hovering about a foot away, certain I was going to lose my balance at any moment and break my neck. I nearly did just from being startled at how close he got.” Sometime in the last month, Ironhide had gotten it into his head the idea of humans only being a few steps above spun sugar when it came to their fragility. And he kept trying to drive Will absolutely crazy with his protectiveness.

“Your truck, your truck,” Sarah sing-songed. They both stopped before a window that let them look out to where Ironhide idled, looking like a regular truck instead of the huge alien robot he really was.

William Lennox, decorated Captain of the US Army, whimpered pathetically, “Oh, crap.”
*-*-*-*

“What do you mean I‘m not going?” Will glared up at Ironhide. “Of course, I‘m going. That‘s the orders!”

“You‘re not going.” Ironhide’s voice rumbled like thunder. “You have duties here. You are human and much too delicate to be going into war.”

Will sputtered. “Delicate?!” That was never a word he’d ever heard described to him. Ironhide was going too far!

He narrowed his eyes at the Autobot and wondered if he could get the SecDef to okay him ordering some SABO rounds to shoot Ironhide! That would show the robot who was the delicate one around here.

He’d taken down a Decepticon practically single-handed. And Ironhide thought he was too delicate for war? Fuck that!

*-*-*-*

Star Trek: Three Rules a Starship Captain Must Follow, the Fourth is Solely for Those Named Kirk. Rated: PG; a/n: another one of those fics where I found myself slamming my head against a block that wouldn‘t move.
*-*-*-*

It had been less than three hours since Jim had received the com call from Starfleet Headquarters asking him to meet with Captain - no now Admiral - Pike and he was waiting to been seen. He’s already been here for five minutes and he thinks if one more minute goes by he’ll go crazy.

It has been nearly twenty-four hours since the same group of Admirals that had shown up the Academy to deal with his charge of cheating had informed him that his actions had so indebted him to them, to all the Federation, and that he could make his call about his next posting.

Jim hadn’t hesitated and asked for the captaincy of the Enterprise.

The expression that those Admirals had made, oh, Jim still cherished the shock and outrage even now.

But, hell, they’d asked.

And right now, after sitting in that captain’s chair, there really wasn’t anything that Jim wanted more.

The Enterprise.

She was meant to be his. The older Spock from the alternate future had only solidified his belief until it seemed that the need for her captaincy thrummed under his skin with so much power it nearly overrode his need for air.

“The Admiral will see you now,” the yeoman who was manning the desk chimed to him in a voice that reminded him of Christmas bells.

He grinned, wide and exited and followed her - or his, he couldn’t really tell- hand into Pike’s office.

“Admiral!” he said. “The place looks good!” Jim glanced around the wood paneling and still empty walls.

“Hmm,” said Pike neutrally. “My things haven‘t been unpacked yet.”

“At least it‘s a great view,” Jim said. And off to the side, a wide window showed the Golden Gate bridge curving away into the bank of fog rising from the San Francisco Bay.

“Yes, there s that,” agreed Pike.

“So,” Jim sprawled on the chair across Pike’s desk. “Why am I here?”

Pike chuckled and shook his head. Then he gave Jim a sardonic look.

It made Jim straightened up. Just a bit.

“You‘re here, because it has fallen to me to break the tie,” Pike said.

Jim straightened further. His mind raced.

“About me, and the Enterprise,” Jim said with certainty. He was now ramrod straight in the chair. His hands tightening on the arms. His heart started racing.

“Yes,” Pike said. “I feel fairly responsible. I did appoint you the first officer when I left for the Narada. There were other, more senior officers I could have picked, but I picked you. From cadet to first officer. And only because you were right about warping into combat.”

Jim didn’t say a word. These were all things he knew, and had gone over a million times since the Enterprise had returned to Earth, in multiple briefings and in his own mind.

“So, the other Admirals decided since I had more personal knowledge of you than any of them, it would fall to me to decide if you should achieve the rank of captain,” continued Pike.

Jim’s lungs felt heavy. Quietly, he asked, “Why are you telling me this, sir?”

“Because, I already know what I‘ll pick and I wanted to tell you myself,” said Pike.

Jim swore black spots were swimming through his vision.

“I told you once that I thought you had a something that Starfleet needed, something it had lost and that it needed to find for it and the Federation to survive. Your actions against Nero proved that I had been right.”

Jim nodded jerkily, delight making him suddenly dizzy. Or maybe it was the lack of air.

He forced himself to start breathing.

“Analysis of all the reports submitted to HQ proved that you were the crucial factor that saved the Earth. If you hadn‘t sent the ship after Nero, they would have destroyed the Earth before the rest of the fleet even had the chance to gather together, let alone the time needed to find out what was happening. As many as five or six other planets would have been destroyed before the Narada was stopped,” continued Pike. “Our best intelligence analysts have reported that even that battle would have resulted in the complete destruction of 64% of all the ships in the fleet.”

“Holy shit,” breathed Jim. He’d known that the Narada could inflict a pounding. The loss of all those ships at Vulcan had demonstrated that fact without a doubt. But the fleet was well over four score of ships, of various weight classes ranging up to heavy cruisers. And they wouldn’t have been caught so off-guard, like the ships who’d warped into Vulcan space.

“And that number doesn‘t even take into the account the number of casualties or ships that were simply damaged,” Pike said quietly. “Do you see now, why the Admiralty is willing to give a man, who hasn‘t even spent a decade in Starfleet, who hadn‘t even technically graduated from the Academy-”

“I will in a week,” protested Jim.

Pike gave him a look.

Jim subsided.

“And yet, they are willing to give you the rank of captain and the command of, not just any ship, but the flagship,” concluded Pike. “And now, I‘m asking you why you want it.”

Jim rubbed his head with a hand.

“Because, she‘s supposed to be mine,” Jim said after a long moment. “Because, sitting at the captain‘s chair is the first time, in a really, really long time, that feels like that’s where I belong. Where-” Jim lost his words. He tried again, “She’s where I can be the best that I can be.”

Pike raised a brow. “You could have asked for a posting on it. Such as the first officer.”

“I don‘t do well with authority. Especially if I think they‘re wrong,” Jim said dryly.

Pike huffed with silent laughter. “Yes, I know. I read that report too.”

Jim grinned, and his neck ached with phantom pain. He rubbed it and looked bemused at Pike’s sudden grin.

“So, I‘m getting the Enterprise?” Jim asked. He needed to hear the words.

“Yes, she‘ll be yours.”

Jim whooped and would have danced if Pike wasn’t eyeing him so soberly.

“There‘s more to being a Captain than sitting in the chair. You already know that. You also, know something that‘s even more important and usually takes command officers years to understand. That sometimes the regulations need to be broken. But-!”

Jim calmed down.

“There are still rules that every Captain needs to follow. Protect your people. Listen to them. Never start a war-”

Jim opened his mouth.

Pike cut him off, “- but you can end it.”

Jim grinned smugly. “I can do that.”

Pike now was giving him a steely stare that nearly made Jim squirm.

“I‘ve met that older Spock, the one from the future that would have been,” Pike said abruptly.

“Oh,” asked Jim neutrally.

“I had been having a bad day, while still in the hospital,” explained Pike. “He stopped by to see me. He showed me my fate in that alternate universe. What once would have been.”

Jim said nothing.

“Let‘s just say that it made me grateful that my injuries were not worse,” continued Pike.

“He did the-” Jim raised a hand to his face.

“The mindmeld, yes,” said Pike. “And that a lot of what he showed me also helped me make my decision to let you have the Enterprise. If you end up being half the Captain he thinks you‘ll be… then it will be worth it to give you this chance.”

Jim nodded jerkily. He had no words, but rather a deep feeling at gratitude for that Spock.

“Which also lead me to something else,” Pike continued. “Something that normally I‘d keep my nose out of, but I think it‘s too important for me not to mention.”
*-*-*-*

End of WIPS!

In case any is wondering, the chance of me continuing any of these? Is nearly at 0.