A Spark of Heavenly Fire (Part 3)
Title: A Spark of Heavenly Fire
Author:
ladyblahblah
Beta:
ninjaboots
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Pairing: Spock/Kirk
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I don't even own my own car. It's very sad. Nothing but the plot and OCs are mine, I'm making no money from this, please don't sue me.
Summary: A transporter incident results in genderswapped!Jim. He reacts . . . pretty much like you'd expect.
Author's Note: This just had to happen okay SORRY I'M NOT SORRY.
Day 26
Jim isn't going to survive. She knows she's not; there's no way she possibly can, no way anyone could. Yes, logic says that there are somewhere in the neighborhood of two hundred women aboard this ship who regularly endure what she's currently experiencing, but logic has no place in her world right now. She curls tighter in on herself and buries her face in the bedspread. Unless logic can somehow take away the agony she's suffering now, it can fuck right off as far as she's concerned.
It's not the worst pain she's ever felt. Over the course of her Starfleet career she's been hit with phaser blasts; she's been stabbed no fewer than three times; she's broken bones and fought through head injuries and endured the raw brutality of naked fists. So no, it's not the worst. But it's immediate. It's happening now, and you know what, objectivity can fuck off, too.
The ache is one that she's never really imagined before: as if her insides are caught in a vise while simultaneously attempting to claw their way out of her body. Natural, Christine had said when Jim had managed to drag herself into sickbay. Unpleasant, I know, but nothing out of the ordinary. She hadn't missed the way Chris's eyes had flicked over to Bones's office, and Jim had slunk out with the cold comfort that at least her friend would know her torment soon enough.
She isn't naïve; it's not as though she didn't have any idea of what menstruation would entail. After all, she's taken biology courses, and she's also dated enough women to know that the textbook definitions barely scratch the surface. But knowing, she's discovering, is a different thing altogether from experiencing. The bloating and discomfort; the way her breasts are swollen and painful; the powerful, bone-deep exhaustion; the mess, good god, of a constant stream of blood escaping from between her thighs; when she considers all of that, she thinks that cramps might actually be the least of her problems.
Then a fresh one hits, and she reevaluates.
She ignores the chime at the door; anyone with an actual emergency will have an override code for the lock, and anyone else can damn well wait. By the third time she hears it, however, she's forced to admit that apparently they won't wait, and she groans as she buries her face in the pillow.
“Come,” she finally manages to rasp out, doing her best to sit up when the door slides open.
“Captain.” Uhura looks as collected and smoothly put-together as always, and Jim would probably hate her a little bit for that even without the hint of smugness that's curving up her lips. “How are you feeling?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?” Jim drops back down to the mattress with a groan. She hears the door slide shut, and Uhura's stifled chuckle.
“Chris said you were in pretty bad shape. She asked if I'd come check on you.”
Jim cracks one eye open in as much of a glare as she can manage. “She sent you here to gloat,” she corrects flatly, and Uhura's lips twitch again.
“Maybe. Most of the women on this ship would probably love to see this, but Chris likes me best.”
“I'm thrilled for you,” Jim groans. “I don't suppose she sent you here with anything actually useful, did she?”
“She said you were either resistant or allergic to most all of the painkillers onboard. Sorry.”
“Yeah.” Jim manages a weak sort of chuckle. “Apparently this new hormone balance fucked me over in more ways than one. Gotta suffer through this old-school. How the hell do people do this every month?”
“Practice,” Uhura says dryly. “Don't worry, you'll toughen up. In the meantime, don't you at least have a heat pack?”
“Didn't do any good.” Jim gestures at the discarded pad that's fallen to the floor. “Just made me sweat on top of everything else.”
Uhura sighs. “You know, I really thought this would be funny, but it's actually just kind of pathetic. Here.” She strides over to the side of the bed and hauls Jim upright. “Come on, up.”
“What are you-”
“I'm helping. And you'd better remember this come promotion time.” Her eyes are sparkling, but her hands are gentle as she eases Jim towards the head of the bed. “Okay, lie back. Good. Now swing your feet up.” She guides Jim's legs until they're stretched straight up, braced against the wall behind the bed.
“You're just doing this to make me look like an idiot, aren't you?”
“Which of us has more experience with this situation, hmm?” Uhura's arched eyebrow would do Spock proud. “Besides, if I were trying to humiliate you I'd pick a more public forum. There's no one here but me, and I already know you're an idiot.”
“Fair enough.” Jim takes a deep breath and frowns. “Huh. This actually isn't bad.”
“It's a trick my grandmother taught me. Not a cure-all, but it'll help keep the pain manageable until it starts to die down. When you think you can handle standing up again, go down to the gym and get in the hot tub-it's much better than a heat pack anyway, believe me.” She stands back, hands on her hips. “You should be okay for now. Should I tell Spock to come check on you when he's finished with his shift?”
“What?” Jim's head lifts off of the bed in panic, and she stares wide-eyed up at a grinning Uhura. “No! Why No.”
“Suit yourself,” Uhura shrugs. She turns to head for the door, pausing only to smirk meaningfully over her shoulder. “Let me know if you reconsider, though. He's got magic hands.”
Craning her body to stare after her, Jim topples off of the bed as the door slides closed.
Author:
ladyblahblah
Beta:
ninjaboots
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Pairing: Spock/Kirk
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I own nothing. I don't even own my own car. It's very sad. Nothing but the plot and OCs are mine, I'm making no money from this, please don't sue me.
Summary: A transporter incident results in genderswapped!Jim. He reacts . . . pretty much like you'd expect.
Author's Note: This just had to happen okay SORRY I'M NOT SORRY.
Day 26
Jim isn't going to survive. She knows she's not; there's no way she possibly can, no way anyone could. Yes, logic says that there are somewhere in the neighborhood of two hundred women aboard this ship who regularly endure what she's currently experiencing, but logic has no place in her world right now. She curls tighter in on herself and buries her face in the bedspread. Unless logic can somehow take away the agony she's suffering now, it can fuck right off as far as she's concerned.
It's not the worst pain she's ever felt. Over the course of her Starfleet career she's been hit with phaser blasts; she's been stabbed no fewer than three times; she's broken bones and fought through head injuries and endured the raw brutality of naked fists. So no, it's not the worst. But it's immediate. It's happening now, and you know what, objectivity can fuck off, too.
The ache is one that she's never really imagined before: as if her insides are caught in a vise while simultaneously attempting to claw their way out of her body. Natural, Christine had said when Jim had managed to drag herself into sickbay. Unpleasant, I know, but nothing out of the ordinary. She hadn't missed the way Chris's eyes had flicked over to Bones's office, and Jim had slunk out with the cold comfort that at least her friend would know her torment soon enough.
She isn't naïve; it's not as though she didn't have any idea of what menstruation would entail. After all, she's taken biology courses, and she's also dated enough women to know that the textbook definitions barely scratch the surface. But knowing, she's discovering, is a different thing altogether from experiencing. The bloating and discomfort; the way her breasts are swollen and painful; the powerful, bone-deep exhaustion; the mess, good god, of a constant stream of blood escaping from between her thighs; when she considers all of that, she thinks that cramps might actually be the least of her problems.
Then a fresh one hits, and she reevaluates.
She ignores the chime at the door; anyone with an actual emergency will have an override code for the lock, and anyone else can damn well wait. By the third time she hears it, however, she's forced to admit that apparently they won't wait, and she groans as she buries her face in the pillow.
“Come,” she finally manages to rasp out, doing her best to sit up when the door slides open.
“Captain.” Uhura looks as collected and smoothly put-together as always, and Jim would probably hate her a little bit for that even without the hint of smugness that's curving up her lips. “How are you feeling?”
“Do you really want me to answer that?” Jim drops back down to the mattress with a groan. She hears the door slide shut, and Uhura's stifled chuckle.
“Chris said you were in pretty bad shape. She asked if I'd come check on you.”
Jim cracks one eye open in as much of a glare as she can manage. “She sent you here to gloat,” she corrects flatly, and Uhura's lips twitch again.
“Maybe. Most of the women on this ship would probably love to see this, but Chris likes me best.”
“I'm thrilled for you,” Jim groans. “I don't suppose she sent you here with anything actually useful, did she?”
“She said you were either resistant or allergic to most all of the painkillers onboard. Sorry.”
“Yeah.” Jim manages a weak sort of chuckle. “Apparently this new hormone balance fucked me over in more ways than one. Gotta suffer through this old-school. How the hell do people do this every month?”
“Practice,” Uhura says dryly. “Don't worry, you'll toughen up. In the meantime, don't you at least have a heat pack?”
“Didn't do any good.” Jim gestures at the discarded pad that's fallen to the floor. “Just made me sweat on top of everything else.”
Uhura sighs. “You know, I really thought this would be funny, but it's actually just kind of pathetic. Here.” She strides over to the side of the bed and hauls Jim upright. “Come on, up.”
“What are you-”
“I'm helping. And you'd better remember this come promotion time.” Her eyes are sparkling, but her hands are gentle as she eases Jim towards the head of the bed. “Okay, lie back. Good. Now swing your feet up.” She guides Jim's legs until they're stretched straight up, braced against the wall behind the bed.
“You're just doing this to make me look like an idiot, aren't you?”
“Which of us has more experience with this situation, hmm?” Uhura's arched eyebrow would do Spock proud. “Besides, if I were trying to humiliate you I'd pick a more public forum. There's no one here but me, and I already know you're an idiot.”
“Fair enough.” Jim takes a deep breath and frowns. “Huh. This actually isn't bad.”
“It's a trick my grandmother taught me. Not a cure-all, but it'll help keep the pain manageable until it starts to die down. When you think you can handle standing up again, go down to the gym and get in the hot tub-it's much better than a heat pack anyway, believe me.” She stands back, hands on her hips. “You should be okay for now. Should I tell Spock to come check on you when he's finished with his shift?”
“What?” Jim's head lifts off of the bed in panic, and she stares wide-eyed up at a grinning Uhura. “No! Why No.”
“Suit yourself,” Uhura shrugs. She turns to head for the door, pausing only to smirk meaningfully over her shoulder. “Let me know if you reconsider, though. He's got magic hands.”
Craning her body to stare after her, Jim topples off of the bed as the door slides closed.