fic: multiple choice
Title: Multiple Choice
Fandom: Star Trek:XI
Rating: R
Pairing: Kirk/Pike, Kirk+McCoy, Pike+Number One, Delicious Crack/Unapologetic Schmoop
Declaimer: I do not own these characters and court no profits with this fanwork.
Notes: I'm certain this is someone's fault, I'm just not sure whose. I'm going to go with leftarrow, just to be safe.
Summary:
Across one of the walls of Jim's lavish guest quarters is a fresco of sparsely attired aliens soberly counting a basket of severed heads, and presumably, the forcibly removed manhoods of said heads. Pinned above that cheerful depiction of judicial cultural heritage is a poorly hung banner, thoughtfully provided by the Xeno-Protocol Department, which says, in bold authoritative fuschia 'THERE IS NO PRE-MARITAL SEX ON PLANET LX-6.'
On a vividly green not-bear skin rug, Officer McKenna and Lieutenant Riley are smugly flaunting their conjugal rights with unexpected stamina and an impressive display of flexibility.'>
Multiple Choice
Jim Kirk Relationship Test Number 47:
One day while on a cooperative mission with the USS Yorktown - captained by a one Christopher Pike, whose previous captaincy you may or may not have usurped during an intergalactic crisis - you happen upon a warp-capable planet in uncharted space. The usual socio-political shenanigans ensue, complete with the obligatory assassination attempt, and dramatic shirt-ripping which you totally and in no way did on purpose just because you'll take getting half-naked in Pike's company any way you can get it; that would be pathetic on your part, and even if you did (which you didn't), fuck it. You've got a million shirts anyway.
You are enthusiastically blowing said captain when the natives happen to come upon you. They demand, on no uncertain terms, that you and Pike marry or face castration followed by a messy death at sunset.
Pike isn't even all the way buttoned up before you find yourself hearing him ask the heavily armed assemblage of aliens, “Does one of us have to wear a dress?”
Pick One:
A) This is a love story.
B) This is a horror story.
This Test Will Not Be Graded On a Curve
Jim's impromptu bachelor party has taken on a distinctly Bacchanalian flavor, casual nudity and brightly colored drinks of suspicious origin everywhere.
Across one of the walls of Jim's lavish guest quarters is a fresco of sparsely attired aliens soberly counting a basket of severed heads, and presumably, the forcibly removed manhoods of said heads. Pinned above that cheerful depiction of judicial cultural heritage is a poorly hung banner, thoughtfully provided by the Xeno-Protocol Department, which says, in bold authoritative fuschia “THERE IS NO PRE-MARITAL SEX IN THE CHAMPAGNE ROOM ON PLANET LX-6.”
On a vividly green not-bear skin rug, Officer McKenna and Lieutenant Riley are smugly flaunting their conjugal rights with unexpected stamina and an impressive display of flexibility.
Several feet away from them is a slightly more awe-inspiring, if significantly more dressed, spectacle: Spock is slumped in a bone-less heap across Uhura's lap. His hair is a mess and there is a smear of chocolate syrup endearingly smudged across his slack mouth. Some time around the simulated fellatio contest (prompted by the happy discovery of phallic shaped vegetables in the buffet) Spock gave up the ghost and started in on a can of Hershey's chocolate with prim resignation. By his second can he was loudly reciting unbelievably filthy Pre-Reformation poetry in High Vulcan.
He oratory skills garnered several standing ovations and one pair of underwear.
Jim watches Uhura's nimble fingers trace the delicate tips of Spock's flushed ears and feels a wee pang of jealousy. Only she could make blatant molestation look so damn *classy*.
The bridge crew and a good portion of the medical staff are conducting some sort of joint summit in the bathroom. Jim's heard rumors of a massive bubble bath. He'd go on a fact finding mission - intrepid explorer and all that - but his legs and associated higher motor functions have mutinously seceded from the rest of him.
He sent Chekov to investigate in his stead about half an hour ago and so far that cherub faced little bastard has failed to report back.
Jim is trying to decide if this qualifies as desertion or if Chekov is merely the unfortunate casualty of wet t-shirts and the seductive perils of communal hygiene when Bones staggers out of the bathroom. He's sopping wet. Half of his hair is sticking up with soap suds.
Jim watches as Bones stops, sways and peers at his surroundings with exaggerated care. When his eyes land on Jim he begins the laborious process of locomotion. Bones doesn't stalk towards Jim's fortified position on the chaise lounge so much as aim himself at it and fall.
He lands mostly face-first into Jim's woefully unprotected crotch. After the appropriate vocalizations have been made there is some confusion of limbs and a complicated engineering effort - a cooperative system of gropes and heaves - and they eventually pull Bones up onto the couch. He immediately plasters himself up against Jim's entire left side. Bones gets all kinds of hug-y and inclined towards gross violation of personal space when he's drunk, which is awesome. It's also sort of chilly and uncomfortable and Jim's nuts are sore, but Bones' smile is sweetly lopsided and dopey around the edges, so Jim forgives him.
“BONES!” Jim shouts. Bones blinks owlishly, as if hearing Jim from a great, vast distance.
“WHAT?” he shouts back.
“I'M GETTING MARRIED.”
“I KNOW.”
“I REALLY AM.”
“I KNOW.”
After a moment of profound reflection on Jim's future marital status, Bones presses his forehead to Jim's in a show of fraternal solidarity.
Melting bubbles slop off his tilted head and drip sluggishly down Jim's cheek.
Bones is the best. He's a million times better than an invisible friend and a hell of a lot more helpful in a police chase and Jim loves him a lot. Bones doesn't even try to duck or escape when the inevitable happens and Jim messily face-plants into the warm, sheltering crook of his shoulder, the loud, pitiful crying portion of the evening having finally commenced.
*
Jim's manful display of emotional cognizance is briefly interrupted by a cheering thought: introducing himself as Mrs. Pike is going to be a thing of glory and awesomeness forever.
*
Pike has a degree Zoology, not because he is particularly enamored with all manner of furry, scaly and/or slimy animal life, but because a first year cadet named Hamas Turner pissed him off just that much.
Six months into Pike's freshman year at the academy, Turner made a name for himself by loudly proclaiming that Cadet Pike was fellating his way to academic achievement. Pike was *totally* blowing his instructor (including three TAs, his hand-to-hand combat instructor, the president of the Transstellar Semiotics Appreciation Club, and Winona Kirk's strap-on), but that's not at all the point.
The point is, instead of retaliating in a socially conventional manner - say, an ass kicking or blackmail - Pike spent the next three years attending every one of Hamas Turner's classes, destroying the grading curve with serial killer efficiency, proving once and for all, to no one in particular, that Christopher Pike is a cutt-throat mother fucker who will absolutely get a degree he doesn't need, just out of spite.
*
An hour later Jim leaves Bones passed out on the lounge, rosy cheeked and snoring softly, drooling like a freakishly large baby. Jim tucks three red shirts around him, all charitably donated by the Security team. Cupcake plants himself down on the floor next to the couch and very seriously promises Jim that he'll protect Dr. McCoy from the local wildlife. He has a wilted looking bouquet of vaguely penile shaped orchids clutched in one beefy hand. Jim's got no idea how a debased floral arrangement is supposed to defend anyone against marauding bands of drunk Engineers but he appreciates the thought.
Between himself, Janice Rand and a consultation with Scotty, they get the grate to the ventilation duct pried open with a fork, a broken communicator and one of Rand's hair clips. It's a noble sacrifice and Jim kisses her on the cheek before she and Scotty hoist him up into the duct (Jim is operating on none of the cylinders necessary for manly feats of jumping right now).
Jim navigates his way through what feels like half a mile of ventilation before his much lauded genius manages to wrangle him above Pike's room.
*
His exit from the ceiling varies slightly from the suave entrance originally intended.
*
Jim Kirk Relationship Test Number 15:
Pike's quarters at the academy are freakishly, clinically neat. The matching furniture is an inoffensive shade of beige and totally utilitarian in nature, radiating the calculated inhumanity of an anonymous hotel room. The relentlessly perfect perfectness of it kind of makes Jim's nipples itch.
Once, he broke in for the singular purpose of moving each and every piece of furniture exactly four inches to left. He also built a castle in the dinning area out of appropriated dishware and used a piece of soap to draw something indecent on Pike's bathroom mirror.
Pick One:
A) This is whimsical and endearing.
B) This is grounds for arrest.
*
The crew of the Yorktown are intriguingly inscrutable to Jim, given to strange customs and odd displays.
None of them are naked and there are no signs of marital carnality having been perpetrated in the name of smug exhibitionism. Instead they have constructed a large fort in the middle of Pike's suite, the orgy-sized bed stripped bare and the cushions of every available surface pillaged in service of the fabrication of a giant nest on the floor, upon which all of Pike's commanding officers are currently lounging with sleepy spinelessness as they pass around a joint of highly illegal substances.
Philip Boyce is tucked up under Number One's arm. Every now and then she raises a Martini glass to his mouth, which he sips dutifully without looking away from his data padd.
When they're not traumatizing the universe with smug acts of lunacy, Pike's crew are seriously chill people.
*
Jim Kirk Relationship Test Number 8:
Pike is not a morning person. Pike is a quietly-set-you-on-fire-if-you-attempt-communication-before-the-ingestion-of-eight-fluid-ounces-of-coffee-person and Jim knows this from personal, dermal regenerator required, experience.
A) This is sexy.
B) This is assault.
*
Jim finds Pike under the dinning room table and, yeah - no, Pike is totally making a bomb out of his tricorder and some handy pieces of silverware.
Jim tucks up next to him, wiggles until he's good and comfortable and then reaches for the bomb-thing, flicking at Pike's petulantly stubborn fingers until he can get to the red and blue wires. Tweaking the appropriate circuitry increases the theoretical bast radius by a good twenty feet.
Pike makes a vague grunt of approval, snatches it back and slips it neatly into his boot.
Jim turns his head, and noses the skin under his ear. Licks.
“Kirk.”
“Hmm?”
Jim's fingers engage in a bit of sneak-thievery with southern most button of Pike's shirt and who can blame them, really?
“I have a bomb,” Pike offers.
“Yup,” Jim agrees and straddles him smoothly, silently congratulating himself on not hitting his head on the underside of the table.
Pike's hum is low and sleepy, like he's just thinking of doing something *meaner* as his nails scratch sharp and bright against the skin at the base of Jim's spine. He hisses, the world going sort of tingly and electric as his belly pools with warmth. Pike's hands grow clever, committing a few indiscretions of their own. Jim's almost entirely sure he came here for something other than this, a vague suspicion of good intentions warring briefly with the way his hips pivot under the weight of Pike's hands.
The first real thrust is largely speculative on Jim's part - he is very drunk - and technically, *technically* this is the same kind of bad idea that got them into this mess in the first place, but Pike makes the barest of moans, hardly even a exhale really, and it lights up every nerve in Jim's body, because that's a dare right there, a fucking challenge. Makes Jim want to rut and mark, lick Pike's teeth and fuck, until he can wrench a real moan out of him.
Pike's smile is vicious, sharp with just the right kind of knowing, like saying show me what you've got.
*
Jim Kirk Relationship Test Number Thirty-Two:
Once upon an Alpha shift that will forever live in infamy, Jim and Pike get into a fight over right-of-way, which would later strike historians as goddamn inexplicable because outer space is more than big enough to accommodate two Federation heavy cruisers. And yet...
“Christopher Meredith Pike,” the bridge of the Enterprise goes silent, and Jim's glare is knife-sharp, bright with all kinds of murderous light, "did you just fucking fire on my ship?"
On the vid screen, Pike *smiles*. "You're in my way, James."
So begins the Great Not-War of 2260.
Pick One:
A) This is a break-up.
B) This is a healthy relationship.
*
"There is NO pre-marital sex on LX-6."
Pike's attention swivels immediately to Number One. Jim isn't offended. He's terribly attractive of course, countless drunk people and his mother have often told him so, but he does not have breasts and Number One's are awesome. So awesome.
It's just another thing to be thankful for, that in all matters coarse and fleshy, Number One does not have a *fuck* left to give.
*
Jim Kirk Relationship Test Number Twelve:
There are rumors, urban legends really - about Pike and Jim's parents.
It's only ever come up once, the result of too much shore leave and terminal amounts of day time television. Pike was conducting his daily harassment of the shipyard quartermaster via comm when Jim walked in, planted his hands on hips and asked, "Is our relationship a manifestation of displacement or otherwise the result of your internalized attraction to George, fueled by guilt and/or my inappropriately sexualized response to older male authority?"
Pike had responded by silently giving Jim the crazy eyes for about three seconds.
And then he shoved his hand down Jim's pants.
Pick One:
A) This is communication.
B) This is deflection.
C) This is a trick question.
*
The day of the wedding they are miserably hung over and Pike looks like someone who was pushed, threatened and otherwise manhandled despite himself into a clean uniform about three minutes after someone (Number One) scraped him up off the floor.
Jim recognizes this look because it is also his look (Uhura).
*
Five weeks into year two of their five year mission, Starfleet Command loses all communication with the Enterprise.
Pike illegally crosses the neutral zone, and breaks eight Federation laws before the Yorktown finds the Enterprise drifting through dead space, warp-core ejected, the ramscoop of her starboard nacelle mangled, trailing debris behind her.
When Pike beams aboard the Enterprise Jim is waiting for him in the transport room, the side of his face purple and pulpy, command golds mottled black and crimson.
Pike nods at him, "You forgot to duck, kid."
Jim's smile is bloody. "You're late, old man."
*
There's a bit of an awkward moment when they realize no one has the rings, but given the brutal festivities of the night before, no one is exactly surprised either.
Pike ends up pulling the bomb out of his boot, but instead of staging a dramatic and totally badass escape he yanks out the red and blue wires, looping one around Jim's ring finger and the other around his own.
*
Jim Kirk Relationship Test Number One:
You are forty-nine years old when some reprobate asshole kid is primed to take the ship you waited half your life for.
You can have one, but you cannot have both.
Pick One:
A) Jim.
B) The Enterprise.
*
Fandom: Star Trek:XI
Rating: R
Pairing: Kirk/Pike, Kirk+McCoy, Pike+Number One, Delicious Crack/Unapologetic Schmoop
Declaimer: I do not own these characters and court no profits with this fanwork.
Notes: I'm certain this is someone's fault, I'm just not sure whose. I'm going to go with leftarrow, just to be safe.
Summary:
Across one of the walls of Jim's lavish guest quarters is a fresco of sparsely attired aliens soberly counting a basket of severed heads, and presumably, the forcibly removed manhoods of said heads. Pinned above that cheerful depiction of judicial cultural heritage is a poorly hung banner, thoughtfully provided by the Xeno-Protocol Department, which says, in bold authoritative fuschia 'THERE IS NO PRE-MARITAL SEX ON PLANET LX-6.'
On a vividly green not-bear skin rug, Officer McKenna and Lieutenant Riley are smugly flaunting their conjugal rights with unexpected stamina and an impressive display of flexibility.'>
Multiple Choice
Jim Kirk Relationship Test Number 47:
One day while on a cooperative mission with the USS Yorktown - captained by a one Christopher Pike, whose previous captaincy you may or may not have usurped during an intergalactic crisis - you happen upon a warp-capable planet in uncharted space. The usual socio-political shenanigans ensue, complete with the obligatory assassination attempt, and dramatic shirt-ripping which you totally and in no way did on purpose just because you'll take getting half-naked in Pike's company any way you can get it; that would be pathetic on your part, and even if you did (which you didn't), fuck it. You've got a million shirts anyway.
You are enthusiastically blowing said captain when the natives happen to come upon you. They demand, on no uncertain terms, that you and Pike marry or face castration followed by a messy death at sunset.
Pike isn't even all the way buttoned up before you find yourself hearing him ask the heavily armed assemblage of aliens, “Does one of us have to wear a dress?”
Pick One:
A) This is a love story.
B) This is a horror story.
This Test Will Not Be Graded On a Curve
Jim's impromptu bachelor party has taken on a distinctly Bacchanalian flavor, casual nudity and brightly colored drinks of suspicious origin everywhere.
Across one of the walls of Jim's lavish guest quarters is a fresco of sparsely attired aliens soberly counting a basket of severed heads, and presumably, the forcibly removed manhoods of said heads. Pinned above that cheerful depiction of judicial cultural heritage is a poorly hung banner, thoughtfully provided by the Xeno-Protocol Department, which says, in bold authoritative fuschia “THERE IS NO PRE-MARITAL SEX IN THE CHAMPAGNE ROOM ON PLANET LX-6.”
On a vividly green not-bear skin rug, Officer McKenna and Lieutenant Riley are smugly flaunting their conjugal rights with unexpected stamina and an impressive display of flexibility.
Several feet away from them is a slightly more awe-inspiring, if significantly more dressed, spectacle: Spock is slumped in a bone-less heap across Uhura's lap. His hair is a mess and there is a smear of chocolate syrup endearingly smudged across his slack mouth. Some time around the simulated fellatio contest (prompted by the happy discovery of phallic shaped vegetables in the buffet) Spock gave up the ghost and started in on a can of Hershey's chocolate with prim resignation. By his second can he was loudly reciting unbelievably filthy Pre-Reformation poetry in High Vulcan.
He oratory skills garnered several standing ovations and one pair of underwear.
Jim watches Uhura's nimble fingers trace the delicate tips of Spock's flushed ears and feels a wee pang of jealousy. Only she could make blatant molestation look so damn *classy*.
The bridge crew and a good portion of the medical staff are conducting some sort of joint summit in the bathroom. Jim's heard rumors of a massive bubble bath. He'd go on a fact finding mission - intrepid explorer and all that - but his legs and associated higher motor functions have mutinously seceded from the rest of him.
He sent Chekov to investigate in his stead about half an hour ago and so far that cherub faced little bastard has failed to report back.
Jim is trying to decide if this qualifies as desertion or if Chekov is merely the unfortunate casualty of wet t-shirts and the seductive perils of communal hygiene when Bones staggers out of the bathroom. He's sopping wet. Half of his hair is sticking up with soap suds.
Jim watches as Bones stops, sways and peers at his surroundings with exaggerated care. When his eyes land on Jim he begins the laborious process of locomotion. Bones doesn't stalk towards Jim's fortified position on the chaise lounge so much as aim himself at it and fall.
He lands mostly face-first into Jim's woefully unprotected crotch. After the appropriate vocalizations have been made there is some confusion of limbs and a complicated engineering effort - a cooperative system of gropes and heaves - and they eventually pull Bones up onto the couch. He immediately plasters himself up against Jim's entire left side. Bones gets all kinds of hug-y and inclined towards gross violation of personal space when he's drunk, which is awesome. It's also sort of chilly and uncomfortable and Jim's nuts are sore, but Bones' smile is sweetly lopsided and dopey around the edges, so Jim forgives him.
“BONES!” Jim shouts. Bones blinks owlishly, as if hearing Jim from a great, vast distance.
“WHAT?” he shouts back.
“I'M GETTING MARRIED.”
“I KNOW.”
“I REALLY AM.”
“I KNOW.”
After a moment of profound reflection on Jim's future marital status, Bones presses his forehead to Jim's in a show of fraternal solidarity.
Melting bubbles slop off his tilted head and drip sluggishly down Jim's cheek.
Bones is the best. He's a million times better than an invisible friend and a hell of a lot more helpful in a police chase and Jim loves him a lot. Bones doesn't even try to duck or escape when the inevitable happens and Jim messily face-plants into the warm, sheltering crook of his shoulder, the loud, pitiful crying portion of the evening having finally commenced.
*
Jim's manful display of emotional cognizance is briefly interrupted by a cheering thought: introducing himself as Mrs. Pike is going to be a thing of glory and awesomeness forever.
*
Pike has a degree Zoology, not because he is particularly enamored with all manner of furry, scaly and/or slimy animal life, but because a first year cadet named Hamas Turner pissed him off just that much.
Six months into Pike's freshman year at the academy, Turner made a name for himself by loudly proclaiming that Cadet Pike was fellating his way to academic achievement. Pike was *totally* blowing his instructor (including three TAs, his hand-to-hand combat instructor, the president of the Transstellar Semiotics Appreciation Club, and Winona Kirk's strap-on), but that's not at all the point.
The point is, instead of retaliating in a socially conventional manner - say, an ass kicking or blackmail - Pike spent the next three years attending every one of Hamas Turner's classes, destroying the grading curve with serial killer efficiency, proving once and for all, to no one in particular, that Christopher Pike is a cutt-throat mother fucker who will absolutely get a degree he doesn't need, just out of spite.
*
An hour later Jim leaves Bones passed out on the lounge, rosy cheeked and snoring softly, drooling like a freakishly large baby. Jim tucks three red shirts around him, all charitably donated by the Security team. Cupcake plants himself down on the floor next to the couch and very seriously promises Jim that he'll protect Dr. McCoy from the local wildlife. He has a wilted looking bouquet of vaguely penile shaped orchids clutched in one beefy hand. Jim's got no idea how a debased floral arrangement is supposed to defend anyone against marauding bands of drunk Engineers but he appreciates the thought.
Between himself, Janice Rand and a consultation with Scotty, they get the grate to the ventilation duct pried open with a fork, a broken communicator and one of Rand's hair clips. It's a noble sacrifice and Jim kisses her on the cheek before she and Scotty hoist him up into the duct (Jim is operating on none of the cylinders necessary for manly feats of jumping right now).
Jim navigates his way through what feels like half a mile of ventilation before his much lauded genius manages to wrangle him above Pike's room.
*
His exit from the ceiling varies slightly from the suave entrance originally intended.
*
Jim Kirk Relationship Test Number 15:
Pike's quarters at the academy are freakishly, clinically neat. The matching furniture is an inoffensive shade of beige and totally utilitarian in nature, radiating the calculated inhumanity of an anonymous hotel room. The relentlessly perfect perfectness of it kind of makes Jim's nipples itch.
Once, he broke in for the singular purpose of moving each and every piece of furniture exactly four inches to left. He also built a castle in the dinning area out of appropriated dishware and used a piece of soap to draw something indecent on Pike's bathroom mirror.
Pick One:
A) This is whimsical and endearing.
B) This is grounds for arrest.
*
The crew of the Yorktown are intriguingly inscrutable to Jim, given to strange customs and odd displays.
None of them are naked and there are no signs of marital carnality having been perpetrated in the name of smug exhibitionism. Instead they have constructed a large fort in the middle of Pike's suite, the orgy-sized bed stripped bare and the cushions of every available surface pillaged in service of the fabrication of a giant nest on the floor, upon which all of Pike's commanding officers are currently lounging with sleepy spinelessness as they pass around a joint of highly illegal substances.
Philip Boyce is tucked up under Number One's arm. Every now and then she raises a Martini glass to his mouth, which he sips dutifully without looking away from his data padd.
When they're not traumatizing the universe with smug acts of lunacy, Pike's crew are seriously chill people.
*
Jim Kirk Relationship Test Number 8:
Pike is not a morning person. Pike is a quietly-set-you-on-fire-if-you-attempt-communication-before-the-ingestion-of-eight-fluid-ounces-of-coffee-person and Jim knows this from personal, dermal regenerator required, experience.
A) This is sexy.
B) This is assault.
*
Jim finds Pike under the dinning room table and, yeah - no, Pike is totally making a bomb out of his tricorder and some handy pieces of silverware.
Jim tucks up next to him, wiggles until he's good and comfortable and then reaches for the bomb-thing, flicking at Pike's petulantly stubborn fingers until he can get to the red and blue wires. Tweaking the appropriate circuitry increases the theoretical bast radius by a good twenty feet.
Pike makes a vague grunt of approval, snatches it back and slips it neatly into his boot.
Jim turns his head, and noses the skin under his ear. Licks.
“Kirk.”
“Hmm?”
Jim's fingers engage in a bit of sneak-thievery with southern most button of Pike's shirt and who can blame them, really?
“I have a bomb,” Pike offers.
“Yup,” Jim agrees and straddles him smoothly, silently congratulating himself on not hitting his head on the underside of the table.
Pike's hum is low and sleepy, like he's just thinking of doing something *meaner* as his nails scratch sharp and bright against the skin at the base of Jim's spine. He hisses, the world going sort of tingly and electric as his belly pools with warmth. Pike's hands grow clever, committing a few indiscretions of their own. Jim's almost entirely sure he came here for something other than this, a vague suspicion of good intentions warring briefly with the way his hips pivot under the weight of Pike's hands.
The first real thrust is largely speculative on Jim's part - he is very drunk - and technically, *technically* this is the same kind of bad idea that got them into this mess in the first place, but Pike makes the barest of moans, hardly even a exhale really, and it lights up every nerve in Jim's body, because that's a dare right there, a fucking challenge. Makes Jim want to rut and mark, lick Pike's teeth and fuck, until he can wrench a real moan out of him.
Pike's smile is vicious, sharp with just the right kind of knowing, like saying show me what you've got.
*
Jim Kirk Relationship Test Number Thirty-Two:
Once upon an Alpha shift that will forever live in infamy, Jim and Pike get into a fight over right-of-way, which would later strike historians as goddamn inexplicable because outer space is more than big enough to accommodate two Federation heavy cruisers. And yet...
“Christopher Meredith Pike,” the bridge of the Enterprise goes silent, and Jim's glare is knife-sharp, bright with all kinds of murderous light, "did you just fucking fire on my ship?"
On the vid screen, Pike *smiles*. "You're in my way, James."
So begins the Great Not-War of 2260.
Pick One:
A) This is a break-up.
B) This is a healthy relationship.
*
"There is NO pre-marital sex on LX-6."
Pike's attention swivels immediately to Number One. Jim isn't offended. He's terribly attractive of course, countless drunk people and his mother have often told him so, but he does not have breasts and Number One's are awesome. So awesome.
It's just another thing to be thankful for, that in all matters coarse and fleshy, Number One does not have a *fuck* left to give.
*
Jim Kirk Relationship Test Number Twelve:
There are rumors, urban legends really - about Pike and Jim's parents.
It's only ever come up once, the result of too much shore leave and terminal amounts of day time television. Pike was conducting his daily harassment of the shipyard quartermaster via comm when Jim walked in, planted his hands on hips and asked, "Is our relationship a manifestation of displacement or otherwise the result of your internalized attraction to George, fueled by guilt and/or my inappropriately sexualized response to older male authority?"
Pike had responded by silently giving Jim the crazy eyes for about three seconds.
And then he shoved his hand down Jim's pants.
Pick One:
A) This is communication.
B) This is deflection.
C) This is a trick question.
*
The day of the wedding they are miserably hung over and Pike looks like someone who was pushed, threatened and otherwise manhandled despite himself into a clean uniform about three minutes after someone (Number One) scraped him up off the floor.
Jim recognizes this look because it is also his look (Uhura).
*
Five weeks into year two of their five year mission, Starfleet Command loses all communication with the Enterprise.
Pike illegally crosses the neutral zone, and breaks eight Federation laws before the Yorktown finds the Enterprise drifting through dead space, warp-core ejected, the ramscoop of her starboard nacelle mangled, trailing debris behind her.
When Pike beams aboard the Enterprise Jim is waiting for him in the transport room, the side of his face purple and pulpy, command golds mottled black and crimson.
Pike nods at him, "You forgot to duck, kid."
Jim's smile is bloody. "You're late, old man."
*
There's a bit of an awkward moment when they realize no one has the rings, but given the brutal festivities of the night before, no one is exactly surprised either.
Pike ends up pulling the bomb out of his boot, but instead of staging a dramatic and totally badass escape he yanks out the red and blue wires, looping one around Jim's ring finger and the other around his own.
*
Jim Kirk Relationship Test Number One:
You are forty-nine years old when some reprobate asshole kid is primed to take the ship you waited half your life for.
You can have one, but you cannot have both.
Pick One:
A) Jim.
B) The Enterprise.
*