fic: planning ahead
title: planning ahead
fandom: star trek 09
pairing: none | spock + kirk gen
rating: pg13
word count: 2434
notes: prompt here: "Track This
I'd love someone forever and ever if they wrote a fic keeping very much in the tone of the nu!verse that included Spock somehow getting his half-breed heritage thrown in his face and Kirk tearing whoever did the insulting a new one (and perhaps throwing them off his ship and/or marooning them on Delta Vega or something. xD). This is obviously a pivotal moment in the development of their relationship into something not so hostile."
Spock has few friends.
It’s an arrangement that’s always suited him, really, because that means he can devote himself to his studies, to his job. It’s something that he’s always been very comfortable with. He also finds, generally, that those who befriend him end up inevitable disappointed. He’s always been vulcan before human, and human friendships more often than not confuse him on multiple levels, require something he can’t or refuses to give. Nyota, for example, loved him. But vulcan romance (like the vulcans who partake in it) is sedate, not passionate, and Nyota is a passionate woman. They don’t love each other any less - but after a while it doesn’t seem to “click,” as she says. Their relationship feels disjointed at best and foreign at worst, despite the fact that they’ve been dating for nearly two years. She comes to him, one day, and suggests that they take a break.
Spock feels like a failure. Nyota is a stunning example of a human being - of any being - beautiful, generally rational, intelligent beyond measure, and if he can’t fulfill her emotional needs, what can he do? He’s never been able to satisfy them, he knew when got into it, but this one just seems worse, salt on a wound he tries to close.
And that is why Spock doesn’t make friends. Sure, he gets along with everyone, but as much he finds his fellow science officers and subordinates competent, disciplined, intelligent, loyal, and friendly, he would hardly consider them “friends.” And they, he imagines, find him a capable, confident superior officer but not a friend. They respect him, maybe even like him, but he doubts they’d invite him to any social gathering.
He doesn’t mind. He works hard, studies with Pavel Chekov, meditates frequently, checks his orders to the other science crew and checks the orders his captain gives to him.
Captain Kirk attempts to be his friend, because he wants to be everyone’s friend. Spock is on this ship because his elder counterpart suggested, talking about some boding friendship, though to be honest he finds that his captain is too human to be friends with. When the captain has a friendship, he throws everything into it, wants everything out of it - his friendship with Leonard McCoy is example enough. So Spock politely declines the requests his captain throws his way. The captain is popular among his crew, and shockingly close with his senior officers. He’s young and likable, and not afraid to become more captain than friend with the time comes - the quintessential Mr. Congeniality.
It’s no place for a vulcan, especially one who has, in his recent history, done some unpleasant things to that captain. Spock attends the social gatherings out of a sense of responsibility more than anything else. He’s first officer, after all - to interact poorly with the captain could do some pretty terrible things to the ship’s operation.
*
It’s after one of these types of occasions that Spock is met by his captain.
“Spock!” Kirk says, and hurries up to him. They’re in-between missions, floating around in space, really, so he’s taken the time to throw a little gathering regarding the relative success of their last mission. When Spock inquired what “relative success,” means, Kirk just laughed and made some witty comment about how they’re all not dead. “Hey, I barely saw you today. Were you hiding in the corner and looking at results regarding Sulu’s latest plant-tastrophe? The entire point of these kinds of things isn’t for you to hide in the corner. If you coming means you sitting in the corner doing this, you should do it at your lab, where you have all your things.”
Spock folds his arms behind his back and gets a good look at Kirk’s expression: curious, with a side of concerned. “It is my obligation to attend such gatherings, captain. I am your first officer. It is imperative that I remain aware of the ‘social loop,’ even if I have no interest in participating in it.”
“I’m not gonna like you any less if you don’t come - really. If you don’t want to come, don’t. I’ll catch you up on what you need to know,” the captain pats his shoulder, and it takes every force of will not to jerk back instinctively. “Head back to your lab, work on those samples. I’ll handle your exit.”
Spock tilts his head and heads out. He would be worried, if he ever got worried, that his captain expects something in return for all his emotion. The vulcan knows he can’t provide, and the possibility of letting his captain down hurts only slightly less than already knowing what he did to Nyota.
It’s later in that week, as they’re revving up to head over to Altair VI to be Starfleet’s face, that the captain asks him to play chess again. It’s a strange kind of question, really, because Kirk knows that Spock doesn’t really like games, and Spock doesn’t know who tipped the guy off that on Vulcan they used to have (and still do, on New Vulcan) a similar game that Spock was good at. He doesn’t know yet who tipped the guy off that he was a Grandmaster at Starfleet, but knowing the captain, he dug and dug and dug until he found something of use. Spock’s always admired his persistence, even if that means he ends up being ejected to a hostile planet or strangled over a console. He’s been getting these offers for some time now, though he knows better to accept. It’s not logical to receive while knowing you can’t properly give. Not proper etiquette, either. As first officer, he should be giving far more than he receives.
They’ve still got another day’s preparation to go before they actually go to warp, though, and Spock is jumping back and forth between his two duties like it’s no one’s business. He’s always been good at being two things at once. He likes the pre-mission scramble, where everyone is making sure things are in order, that everyone knows what the plan is.
Kirk makes the offer off-handedly, in between reading seven or eight PADDs and hanging out orders to everyone in the ship, Spock included. It continually fascinates the vulcan how well the captain handles his duties for being so young and inexperienced. If Spock believed in destiny, he would say Kirk was born to lead a ship this big.
“After we’re in warp, we could have a quick game,” he’s saying, once Sulu darts away, muttering about astronavigation and dealing with the Z axis and something about relative physics and Chekov, “You know, just fast enough for me to destroy you.”
Spock arches an eyebrow. “Captain, I am an extraordinary skilled chess player. I would advise against wasteful boasting.”
“If you would actually play with me, it wouldn’t be considered wasteful. Now, here’s your orders, all together alphabetical order like I know you like it. I’d give them to you in person, only Scotty wants me to see whatever the hell he’s got working and I promised I would, and being my second in command, you have a huge list of orders, so I don’t have the time. You get it, right? Good.” Kirk grins at him, hands him the PADD. “Send me a message when you’ve finished that, I have more. And then we’ll chat and play chess. And I’ll kill you. See ya.”
It is an impressive list, Spock admits, as he scrolls through. Mostly basic tasks, the things he has to do every time. But there are a few strange ones, mostly relating to the strange Altair atmosphere. He nods to himself, and heads off.
*
After Altair, Spock finds, illogically, that he better observes the behaviors of his comrades when he is not actively trying to - when he does not feel obligated to. He stops going to the captain’s social gatherings mostly because he doesn’t want to, because he would rather argue physics with Ensign Chekov, or examine one of Chief Engineer Scott’s newest engineering inventions. One day, the ensign suggests they discuss the physics in the little gathering, and Helmsman Sulu joins in, and he realizes somewhat startlingly that he has gotten involved in the crowd; he is part of the interaction suddenly, strangely.
And then, in a startling kind of way, he notes two people are glaring at him.
They’re not his men, he knows - he doesn’t recognize them. They might be from communications, judging by their red garb, but security is another option. He makes a note to ask Nyota about the gentlemen, both human, but lets it go for now.
It’s hard to keep focus, though, when you know you’re being stared at, maybe talked about. He focuses his ears, and even with his improved hearing, he can’t catch what they’re saying. It’s an irritant and nothing more. It’s when he sees them when he leaves, when they block him in the hall, that it becomes a little aggravating.
“You are obstructing the hallway,” he says, though he finds it impossible to believe that these humans don’t already realize that. “Please allow me to pass.”
“Sorry,” one says, and Spock notices the emphasis and resists the urge to roll his eyes. “We were wondering if you could give us a hand with something?”
“We’re sure you’d put at least half an effort into it,” adds the other, with a small sneer. “Go halfway with us. Maybe offer us a hand and a half.”
“Unless you’re feeling a little green today, that is.” The first is a little taller than Spock, and the half-vulcan is more annoyed than threatened at the way he looks down his nose at his superior officer. “But you’re probably not green with envy.”
“Leave the guy alone. He doesn’t even know where he belongs, you know?” The second laughs. “I mean, one homeworld gone and the other nothing like him, what’s a guy like him to do? Starfleet, I guess, right?”
At that, Spock’s lip finally curls and his eyes finally narrow, barely. He squares his shoulders and folds his arms behind his back, then look sat both of them. “If this is an attempt to devalue me due my mixed heritage, I would note that it is a terrible attempt, and would suggest that you report to Doctor McCoy for practice on insulting me. I would also add, however, that these insults have no effect on me what-so-ever and are, in essence, futile. Now, as your senior officer, allow me to pass.”
The men aren’t moving, and Spock finds himself at loss. He hardly desires to simply shove them out of his way. Luckily, he hears shoes behind him, and a voice that belongs to, if nothing else, an exceptional problem solver.
“Is there a problem, gentleman?” The captain says, and he’s wearing a grin too big for his face, as if he hardly desires an answer to his question. “Or are you guys simply chatting up Commander Spock in the hall because he’s such a good conversationalist? Trust me, I know.”
“Oh, we’re just on our way.” The second redshirt shrugs to himself, not so smug with his clever puns anymore. Spock feels a sense of cool satisfaction. The men turn to depart but they’re either deaf or not very smart, because Spock knows he can hear the men talk as they leave, and he’s pretty sure Kirk can too.
“Halfbreed,” one murmurs, and Spock’s spine goes rigid. He feels that white-hot burn of anger in his head, under his fingernails, at his heart. It’s only brief, though, as it should be, before he quietly pushes it off to the side. Kirk glances at him, frowns, and sets his jaw. Spock watches, still, as his captain taps the shoulders of the one who spoke.
“Excuse me,” he says.
“Yes, Captain?”
Kirk decks him without hesitation - just one perfectly clean, solid punch in the face. Spock startles.
“If you ever,” The captain is saying to the remaining man, his voice a cool, angry hiss - all captain-business, no cheerful man - “insult Spock, who is, I would note, your superior officer in such a manner again, I will see that you are transported to the most godforsaken region I can find. On my ship, we treat people equally, regardless of what their blood says about them. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure his mix makes him a far better officer than you could ever be.” he takes a step into the man’s personal space. “Are we clear, Ensign?”
“Yes, Captain,” the man murmurs, not looking him in the eye.
“Good.” Jim pats the man on the shoulder. “Come on, Commander. You owe me a game.”
“That was unnecessary, Captain,” Spock replies as they walk away. “I am more than capable of repelling threats to my person, and I am not affected by insults, especially ones so poorly delivered. Although your protection is appreciated, it is not required.”
“Spock, I’m not going to let some guys talk shit on you.”
“I do not know how to reciprocate such unnecessary and over-exaggerated gestures.”
At that the captain laughs. He slings an arm over Spock’s shoulders, but drop it when the vulcan noticeably tenses. Instead, he just flashes one of those big smiles, a genuine one. “You don’t have to reciprocate, Spock. I mean, I guess vulcan friendships are different, but I don’t want to you running to my rescue or decking assholes in my name - well, okay, it would be a little cool to see you do that. But mostly, if you’re just as good of an officer as you’ve been so far, that’s more than making it up to me. You’re great, Spock. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Spock pauses. Kirk looks at him.
“And about what they said about homes?” He continues, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You’ve got a home, you know. So do I. It’s here. We weren’t any real good fit for planets anyway, were we?” A little laugh. “So, chess?”
Spock presses his lips together and ignores the possibility of inevitable disappointment. “That would be enjoyable, Captain.”
“Call me Jim,” Jim says, and smiles.
fandom: star trek 09
pairing: none | spock + kirk gen
rating: pg13
word count: 2434
notes: prompt here: "Track This
I'd love someone forever and ever if they wrote a fic keeping very much in the tone of the nu!verse that included Spock somehow getting his half-breed heritage thrown in his face and Kirk tearing whoever did the insulting a new one (and perhaps throwing them off his ship and/or marooning them on Delta Vega or something. xD). This is obviously a pivotal moment in the development of their relationship into something not so hostile."
Spock has few friends.
It’s an arrangement that’s always suited him, really, because that means he can devote himself to his studies, to his job. It’s something that he’s always been very comfortable with. He also finds, generally, that those who befriend him end up inevitable disappointed. He’s always been vulcan before human, and human friendships more often than not confuse him on multiple levels, require something he can’t or refuses to give. Nyota, for example, loved him. But vulcan romance (like the vulcans who partake in it) is sedate, not passionate, and Nyota is a passionate woman. They don’t love each other any less - but after a while it doesn’t seem to “click,” as she says. Their relationship feels disjointed at best and foreign at worst, despite the fact that they’ve been dating for nearly two years. She comes to him, one day, and suggests that they take a break.
Spock feels like a failure. Nyota is a stunning example of a human being - of any being - beautiful, generally rational, intelligent beyond measure, and if he can’t fulfill her emotional needs, what can he do? He’s never been able to satisfy them, he knew when got into it, but this one just seems worse, salt on a wound he tries to close.
And that is why Spock doesn’t make friends. Sure, he gets along with everyone, but as much he finds his fellow science officers and subordinates competent, disciplined, intelligent, loyal, and friendly, he would hardly consider them “friends.” And they, he imagines, find him a capable, confident superior officer but not a friend. They respect him, maybe even like him, but he doubts they’d invite him to any social gathering.
He doesn’t mind. He works hard, studies with Pavel Chekov, meditates frequently, checks his orders to the other science crew and checks the orders his captain gives to him.
Captain Kirk attempts to be his friend, because he wants to be everyone’s friend. Spock is on this ship because his elder counterpart suggested, talking about some boding friendship, though to be honest he finds that his captain is too human to be friends with. When the captain has a friendship, he throws everything into it, wants everything out of it - his friendship with Leonard McCoy is example enough. So Spock politely declines the requests his captain throws his way. The captain is popular among his crew, and shockingly close with his senior officers. He’s young and likable, and not afraid to become more captain than friend with the time comes - the quintessential Mr. Congeniality.
It’s no place for a vulcan, especially one who has, in his recent history, done some unpleasant things to that captain. Spock attends the social gatherings out of a sense of responsibility more than anything else. He’s first officer, after all - to interact poorly with the captain could do some pretty terrible things to the ship’s operation.
*
It’s after one of these types of occasions that Spock is met by his captain.
“Spock!” Kirk says, and hurries up to him. They’re in-between missions, floating around in space, really, so he’s taken the time to throw a little gathering regarding the relative success of their last mission. When Spock inquired what “relative success,” means, Kirk just laughed and made some witty comment about how they’re all not dead. “Hey, I barely saw you today. Were you hiding in the corner and looking at results regarding Sulu’s latest plant-tastrophe? The entire point of these kinds of things isn’t for you to hide in the corner. If you coming means you sitting in the corner doing this, you should do it at your lab, where you have all your things.”
Spock folds his arms behind his back and gets a good look at Kirk’s expression: curious, with a side of concerned. “It is my obligation to attend such gatherings, captain. I am your first officer. It is imperative that I remain aware of the ‘social loop,’ even if I have no interest in participating in it.”
“I’m not gonna like you any less if you don’t come - really. If you don’t want to come, don’t. I’ll catch you up on what you need to know,” the captain pats his shoulder, and it takes every force of will not to jerk back instinctively. “Head back to your lab, work on those samples. I’ll handle your exit.”
Spock tilts his head and heads out. He would be worried, if he ever got worried, that his captain expects something in return for all his emotion. The vulcan knows he can’t provide, and the possibility of letting his captain down hurts only slightly less than already knowing what he did to Nyota.
It’s later in that week, as they’re revving up to head over to Altair VI to be Starfleet’s face, that the captain asks him to play chess again. It’s a strange kind of question, really, because Kirk knows that Spock doesn’t really like games, and Spock doesn’t know who tipped the guy off that on Vulcan they used to have (and still do, on New Vulcan) a similar game that Spock was good at. He doesn’t know yet who tipped the guy off that he was a Grandmaster at Starfleet, but knowing the captain, he dug and dug and dug until he found something of use. Spock’s always admired his persistence, even if that means he ends up being ejected to a hostile planet or strangled over a console. He’s been getting these offers for some time now, though he knows better to accept. It’s not logical to receive while knowing you can’t properly give. Not proper etiquette, either. As first officer, he should be giving far more than he receives.
They’ve still got another day’s preparation to go before they actually go to warp, though, and Spock is jumping back and forth between his two duties like it’s no one’s business. He’s always been good at being two things at once. He likes the pre-mission scramble, where everyone is making sure things are in order, that everyone knows what the plan is.
Kirk makes the offer off-handedly, in between reading seven or eight PADDs and hanging out orders to everyone in the ship, Spock included. It continually fascinates the vulcan how well the captain handles his duties for being so young and inexperienced. If Spock believed in destiny, he would say Kirk was born to lead a ship this big.
“After we’re in warp, we could have a quick game,” he’s saying, once Sulu darts away, muttering about astronavigation and dealing with the Z axis and something about relative physics and Chekov, “You know, just fast enough for me to destroy you.”
Spock arches an eyebrow. “Captain, I am an extraordinary skilled chess player. I would advise against wasteful boasting.”
“If you would actually play with me, it wouldn’t be considered wasteful. Now, here’s your orders, all together alphabetical order like I know you like it. I’d give them to you in person, only Scotty wants me to see whatever the hell he’s got working and I promised I would, and being my second in command, you have a huge list of orders, so I don’t have the time. You get it, right? Good.” Kirk grins at him, hands him the PADD. “Send me a message when you’ve finished that, I have more. And then we’ll chat and play chess. And I’ll kill you. See ya.”
It is an impressive list, Spock admits, as he scrolls through. Mostly basic tasks, the things he has to do every time. But there are a few strange ones, mostly relating to the strange Altair atmosphere. He nods to himself, and heads off.
*
After Altair, Spock finds, illogically, that he better observes the behaviors of his comrades when he is not actively trying to - when he does not feel obligated to. He stops going to the captain’s social gatherings mostly because he doesn’t want to, because he would rather argue physics with Ensign Chekov, or examine one of Chief Engineer Scott’s newest engineering inventions. One day, the ensign suggests they discuss the physics in the little gathering, and Helmsman Sulu joins in, and he realizes somewhat startlingly that he has gotten involved in the crowd; he is part of the interaction suddenly, strangely.
And then, in a startling kind of way, he notes two people are glaring at him.
They’re not his men, he knows - he doesn’t recognize them. They might be from communications, judging by their red garb, but security is another option. He makes a note to ask Nyota about the gentlemen, both human, but lets it go for now.
It’s hard to keep focus, though, when you know you’re being stared at, maybe talked about. He focuses his ears, and even with his improved hearing, he can’t catch what they’re saying. It’s an irritant and nothing more. It’s when he sees them when he leaves, when they block him in the hall, that it becomes a little aggravating.
“You are obstructing the hallway,” he says, though he finds it impossible to believe that these humans don’t already realize that. “Please allow me to pass.”
“Sorry,” one says, and Spock notices the emphasis and resists the urge to roll his eyes. “We were wondering if you could give us a hand with something?”
“We’re sure you’d put at least half an effort into it,” adds the other, with a small sneer. “Go halfway with us. Maybe offer us a hand and a half.”
“Unless you’re feeling a little green today, that is.” The first is a little taller than Spock, and the half-vulcan is more annoyed than threatened at the way he looks down his nose at his superior officer. “But you’re probably not green with envy.”
“Leave the guy alone. He doesn’t even know where he belongs, you know?” The second laughs. “I mean, one homeworld gone and the other nothing like him, what’s a guy like him to do? Starfleet, I guess, right?”
At that, Spock’s lip finally curls and his eyes finally narrow, barely. He squares his shoulders and folds his arms behind his back, then look sat both of them. “If this is an attempt to devalue me due my mixed heritage, I would note that it is a terrible attempt, and would suggest that you report to Doctor McCoy for practice on insulting me. I would also add, however, that these insults have no effect on me what-so-ever and are, in essence, futile. Now, as your senior officer, allow me to pass.”
The men aren’t moving, and Spock finds himself at loss. He hardly desires to simply shove them out of his way. Luckily, he hears shoes behind him, and a voice that belongs to, if nothing else, an exceptional problem solver.
“Is there a problem, gentleman?” The captain says, and he’s wearing a grin too big for his face, as if he hardly desires an answer to his question. “Or are you guys simply chatting up Commander Spock in the hall because he’s such a good conversationalist? Trust me, I know.”
“Oh, we’re just on our way.” The second redshirt shrugs to himself, not so smug with his clever puns anymore. Spock feels a sense of cool satisfaction. The men turn to depart but they’re either deaf or not very smart, because Spock knows he can hear the men talk as they leave, and he’s pretty sure Kirk can too.
“Halfbreed,” one murmurs, and Spock’s spine goes rigid. He feels that white-hot burn of anger in his head, under his fingernails, at his heart. It’s only brief, though, as it should be, before he quietly pushes it off to the side. Kirk glances at him, frowns, and sets his jaw. Spock watches, still, as his captain taps the shoulders of the one who spoke.
“Excuse me,” he says.
“Yes, Captain?”
Kirk decks him without hesitation - just one perfectly clean, solid punch in the face. Spock startles.
“If you ever,” The captain is saying to the remaining man, his voice a cool, angry hiss - all captain-business, no cheerful man - “insult Spock, who is, I would note, your superior officer in such a manner again, I will see that you are transported to the most godforsaken region I can find. On my ship, we treat people equally, regardless of what their blood says about them. As a matter of fact, I’m pretty sure his mix makes him a far better officer than you could ever be.” he takes a step into the man’s personal space. “Are we clear, Ensign?”
“Yes, Captain,” the man murmurs, not looking him in the eye.
“Good.” Jim pats the man on the shoulder. “Come on, Commander. You owe me a game.”
“That was unnecessary, Captain,” Spock replies as they walk away. “I am more than capable of repelling threats to my person, and I am not affected by insults, especially ones so poorly delivered. Although your protection is appreciated, it is not required.”
“Spock, I’m not going to let some guys talk shit on you.”
“I do not know how to reciprocate such unnecessary and over-exaggerated gestures.”
At that the captain laughs. He slings an arm over Spock’s shoulders, but drop it when the vulcan noticeably tenses. Instead, he just flashes one of those big smiles, a genuine one. “You don’t have to reciprocate, Spock. I mean, I guess vulcan friendships are different, but I don’t want to you running to my rescue or decking assholes in my name - well, okay, it would be a little cool to see you do that. But mostly, if you’re just as good of an officer as you’ve been so far, that’s more than making it up to me. You’re great, Spock. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Spock pauses. Kirk looks at him.
“And about what they said about homes?” He continues, shoving his hands in his pockets. “You’ve got a home, you know. So do I. It’s here. We weren’t any real good fit for planets anyway, were we?” A little laugh. “So, chess?”
Spock presses his lips together and ignores the possibility of inevitable disappointment. “That would be enjoyable, Captain.”
“Call me Jim,” Jim says, and smiles.