Trek/Cabin Pressure fic: SS Gerti, PG
Title: SS Gerti
Fandom: Cabin Pressure / Star Trek crossover
Pairings: Douglas/?, Carolyn/?, Martin/? Two slash, one het, all non-explicit, click if you must know but it's more fun to read it and see [the fic pairings] Douglas Richardson/Chris Pike; Carolyn Knapp-Shappey/Phil Boyce; Martin Crieff/Montgomery Scott (pre-slash)
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Genre: humour, drama
Word Count: Around 6200
Beta: the indefatigable imachar
Summary: The USS Enterprise rescues a stranded SS Gerti. Will Carolyn manage to save Gerti from being sold for scrap? Will Martin survive the shock of meeting his idols on the Enterprise? Will Douglas succeed in hiding his history with Starfleet?
Author's note: Some background details about Starfleet are a little less utopian than in TOS canon. Some lines of dialogue come directly from Cabin Pressure canon. You don't need to know Cabin Pressure canon for this fic to make sense, although it's more fun if you do.
"Captain, we are picking up a mayday call, it looks like a Raven-class freighter in private ownership, identifying itself as the SS Gerti."
"Damn, what are they doing in an ass-end corner of space like this one?" said Captain Kirk. "Sulu, change course to investigate. Uhura, see if you can make contact with their crew."
Kirk swung round in his chair to his first officer. "Spock, why do you think they would have ended up here?"
Spock lifted an eyebrow fractionally in consideration. "We are approaching the free zone. There would be trading opportunities there for a small independent freighter. But economies in the region have been disastrously affected by the elimination of Vulcan. Times are hard. They may be smuggling. Or they may be fleeing a deal gone sour."
"Captain, we have contact, voice only," said Uhura.
"Thank you, lieutenant. SS Gerti, this is Captain Kirk of the USS Enterprise. Identify yourself."
"What! Oh god, ummm... right, yes, right. This is, I mean, I'm Gerti. No, no, I'm not Gerti, I'm Martin. Captain. Captain Martin, no, oh bugger--"
Another voice cut in smoothly over the first.
"Do forgive our captain, Captain Kirk, he's just a little overwhelmed by having to talk to the man who saved the entire Federation. Thank you for that, by the way, jolly decent of you. This is First Officer Richardson of the SS Gerti, we were caught in a meteor storm and our warp engines are damaged beyond our ability to repair. Assistance would be much appreciated."
"Oh, doesn't he have a lovely voice," purred Uhura, adjusting the volume on her headphones. When Spock sent her a reproving look, she just shrugged and grinned. "What? I'm a linguist. I appreciate such things."
"Very well, Mr Richardson," said Kirk. "We'll transport your crew over and bring the ship in by tractor beam. We should be able to get a small ship like yours up and running in a day or so. Prepare to receive instructions from our navigator."
* * *
Carolyn turned to her crew of two plus bonus Arthur. "Right, boys! This is an extraordinary opportunity and one we have to make the most of. Frankly, if we don't, we'll be selling Gerti for scrap at the next spaceport to cover our expenses."
"But mum," protested Arthur, "we can't sell her. Then what'll we fly in?"
"We won't, idiot boy. Listen to me. We are broke. We don't even have the money to pay docking fees at the next port, let alone repair Gerti and survive long enough to find the next freighting contract."
"It's okay, mum. Trust me. Douglas will think of something brilliant, he always--"
"No I bloody well won't," snapped Gerti's first officer. "Arthur, even my good luck and numerous contacts can't compensate for Vulcan being pulverised and the Federation economy spiralling down the toilet. Carolyn, what are you hoping to get off the Enterprise?"
"Well, first prize is clearly a freighting contract. They do use independent contractors."
"Starfleet are a bunch of uptight arseholes obsessed with procedures. I really don't think they are desperate enough to sub-contract to us." Douglas looked around the shabby interior of Gerti's flight deck.
"Thank you for that vote of confidence, Douglas, that's no help at all. Sadly, you're probably right. Although if you do happen to run into anyone you know from before--"
"No," snapped Douglas. "Really, I wasn't with Starfleet long, Carolyn, and it didn't end well. There won't be anyone, believe me. Best not to mention it all."
She regarded him curiously for a moment. "Very well then. So second prize is to get them to do as many repairs as possible to Gerti. Martin, be sure to blame as much as you possibly can on the meteor storm. Right down to the replicator, if you can."
"But that's not exactly true--" protested Martin.
"Martin, you berk, don't you dare let the truth get in the way of getting free repairs for Gerti. Now then, the third prize is anything and everything we can liberate from their vessel. From tools to complimentary packets of mixed nuts, anything that they won't miss and that will make our lives easier."
"But Carolyn, as captain I can't possibly condone--"
"Martin, our replicator has coughed out nothing but that orange concoction and that awful rice surprise for weeks now. This is not the time to be fussy about our morals. So team useless, listen up. Arthur, keep quiet at all times and touch nothing. Martin, try not to make a complete idiot of yourself by sucking up to the Enterprise crew--"
"I do not suck up--"
"Martin, if you don't behave I'll tell them you have the entire Enterprise bridge crew action doll collection, plus bonus CMO, and that you play with them in your cabin!"
Martin subsided into sulky silence.
"Douglas, keep the lid on your damnable cynicism about Starfleet. We don't need to insult our hosts! Now, we are going to concentrate, we are going to be disciplined, we are going to make a good impression. This is the very last chance for Gerti. Has everyone got that?"
* * *
A tinny voice came through Gerti's comms channel. Your ship is under lock from our tractor beam. Prepare for a transporter beam in one minute.
"Oh god, oh god, oh god," muttered Martin to himself.
"I suspect it'll be enough to call him Captain Kirk," remarked Douglas dryly. "Addressing him as God may be going a little too far."
"No! It's the transporter thing. I hate them. I have this a slight abnormality of the inner ear, it's perfectly space-worthy but transporters tend to make me dizzy."
"Beaming in five, four, three, two, one," declared the disembodied voice.
The four crew members of the SS Gerti rematerialised on the beaming pad of the USS Enterprise, where Martin promptly slid to the floor in a faint. An officer hurried round from behind the transporter control deck. Douglas, noting the insignia of Lieutenant-Commander, took a long step backwards.
"Is your lad alright, then?" asked the officer with concern.
"Alright might be taking it a bit far, but he'll doubtless come around," replied Douglas.
The officer knelt down by Martin's side and shook him gently. "The transporter can take some people that way, if you're not used to it."
Martin groaned and slowly opened his eyes. "Oh god, what happened? What landed on me? Who are you?" He peered up at the Starfleet officer. "Oh my god. You're Commander Scott. You invented transwarp beaming. You're my hero. I can't-- This can't--" Martin looked around frantically and then apparently decided the best course of action would be to faint again.
"What did I tell him about not making a complete ass of himself?" hissed Carolyn furiously to Douglas as medical assistance was summoned. Just as the Enterprise's communications officer walked in to see what was taking so long with the guests, Martin came round a second time, with the result that he found himself staring straight up her very short skirt.
"Legs," mumbled Martin. "Lots of leg. Lots of lovely long luscious leg. Hmmm. Died and gone to heaven, clearly." Abruptly it seemed to dawn on him exactly what and who he was happily staring up at. He jerked up into a sitting position, stuttering with mortification, and then promptly had to stick his head between his knees to combat a wave of nausea.
"I do apologise," said Douglas smoothly. "You're a woman, a senior crew member and a hero of the Battle of Vulcan. A bit of a perfect storm for our poor captain."
"Ah! The man with the lovely voice." Martin sat in a humiliated huddle as Uhura, Nyota Uhura, oh god, stepped past him to apparently start flirting with his first officer.
Next to join the crowd in the transporter room was the CMO, waving a tricorder belligerently. "What the devil is this all about? Scotty, can't you get guests on board without leaving them up-chucking their lunch? Mighty fine hospitality we're showing here!"
Scotty just grinned at the belligerent doctor. "That’ll be right, you’ll sort them out even if it’s just because they’re trying to get away from you."
McCoy glowered at him while waving his tricorder at the guests. "No injuries, no communicable diseases, nothing wrong with him-" He gestured at Martin who was still sitting on the floor, "-that a bit of deep breathing won't cure. However..." McCoy stared curiously at the tricorder screen. "Beginnings of vitamin deficiency in all of you. Your ship's replicator must be out of wack."
"That is just possible," said Carolyn smoothly. "Any assistance in that regard would be much appreciated."
"So this is where the party is," said a voice from the transporter room door. "I was wondering where everyone had gone."
Martin, who had just managed to wobble up onto his feet, jerked his head up, found himself looking straight into the deep blue eyes of Captain James T. Kirk and promptly fell over backwards onto his arse. Kirk grinned at him and offered a hand to pull Martin back up again, taking in the stripes on Martin's sleeve as he did so.
"And you must be the captain. Welcome to the Enterprise."
"No, I’m the-oh. Yes, right, yes, I am the captain, that's who I am. Martin Kirk, you're Captain Crieff, oh god no, uh, sorry, just a bit nervous--"
Kirk gave him an easy smile. "Okay, I'm gonna take Captain Martin Crieff away from all of that. It's a pleasure to have you on board. And your crew?"
"Oh, ah, um... Douglas Richardson, first officer. Carolyn Knap-Shappey, the owner. And Arthur Shappey, the er, ah...."
"Oh I'm all the rest of the crew," said Arthur cheerfully. "Although not the engineer, for some reason no one likes me touching the engines."
"Or the controls, or the wiring, or anything else other than the kettle really," muttered Douglas.
"Ensign Consell will show you to your quarters," said Kirk. "We'll look at your craft in the morning. Normally I'd invite guests to join me for a meal but I'm afraid we have VIPs on board and I'll be dining in private with them. However, I hope I'll see you in the rec room later for a drink."
They began to walk along the corridor in Kirk's footsteps, Douglas slouching defiantly in response to his subconscious urge to straighten his spine and throw back his shoulders. Kirk looked at him curiously. "You remind me of someone, Mr Richardson. Have you ever had anything to do with Starfleet?"
"Oh god no," said Douglas hastily. "All that discipline, not my thing in the least. I much more of a free spirit, couldn't bear taking orders from incompetent idiots with pokers up their arses, just because they're in some chain of command."
"Not a very flattering description of us," said Kirk curiously.
Douglas tried to tone down the angry derision in his voice, refind his usual airy nonchalance. "Oh, you all do a jolly good job, I'm sure, I've just never liked having shit drip down on my head from on-high."
* * *
"May I invite you to our rec room?" said the young ensign politely once Gerti's crew had finished eating an evening meal considerably tastier than anything Gerti had produced for months now. "We have a small bar in there, and it'll be a chance to meet some of the crew in a more informal atmosphere."
They followed him out of the canteen into the maze of corridors, Arthur bouncing with excitement, Martin's head swivelling constantly in awed wonder, Carolyn with a look of beady-eyed calculation as if trying to work what she might be able to appropriate and Douglas mostly just keeping his head down and avoiding any eye contact. They were just entering a junction when they saw the senior bridge crew approaching from their left.
"Ooo, Admirals," whispered Carolyn. "They must be the special guests. Best behaviour, boys!"
"Oh my god, oh my god, that's Admiral Pike," gasped Martin. "The captain who walked onto the enemy ship to buy his own crew time to save the world, oh my god."
"Breathe, Martin," snapped Carolyn, "before you hyperventilate yourself into another faint."
"Good lord, who cares?" muttered Douglas, as he stepped back into the shadows.
Their little group received an absent-minded nod from the VIPs. "Civilians, Jim?" asked Admiral Pike as he passed.
"The crew of that little Raven-class freighter we rescued this afternoon," replied Captain Kirk.
"Right, what were we talking--" Pike stopped abruptly, hesitated, and then turned round to face Gerti's crew. "Douglas? Is that you?"
Douglas reluctantly stepped forward. "Chris. Or should I say Admiral Pike sir?"
The other admiral walked back to stand at Pike's side. "Richardson. It's been a long time." He cooly looked Douglas up and down, taking in the slightly tatty and over-elaborate crew uniform and the two broad gold bands on the sleeve, the narrow third band of captain conspicuous in its absence. "Haven't you done well for yourself?"
"You remember Phil Boyce, don't you?" said Pike. "He's surgeon-general now."
"Of course he is," muttered Douglas, before offering Admiral Boyce his best plastic smile.
"We're heading to the rec room for a drink," continued Pike. "Why don't you join us for one or two."
"Or a dozen or so," said Boyce just loudly enough for Douglas to hear.
The crew of Gerti joined the Enterprise party as they walked on. "Douglas, why on earth didn't you tell me you had contacts in the Admiralty?" hissed Carolyn. "I know you always know someone but I didn't expect it to extend up to this level. Do you know what that could do for our business?"
"Nothing good, trust me," growled Douglas.
"I didn't realise you had any Starfleet connections," said Kirk curiously to Douglas. "You seemed a bit scathing about the whole organisation. So how do you and Chris know each other?"
"Oh, we went through the Academy together," replied Pike casually.
"The Academy?" Suddenly all eyes were back on Douglas, who was saved from having to answer by their arrival in the rec room. The crowds at the bar rapidly moved back to allow the guests of honour access.
"So Douglas, what'll it be?" said Pike.
"Lime and soda."
"Oh really?" queried Boyce, materialising on the other side of Douglas. "And how long has that been going on?"
Douglas turned to him, meeting the stony glare with dismissive nonchalance. "About nine years now."
Boyce looked taken aback for a moment. "Oh. Pity you couldn't have made it a few years longer than that."
Douglas's facade of cool slipped for a moment as he spat back, "Do you think I don't know that?" They were still glaring at one another when Carolyn moved forward to join them. "Admiral Boyce? Carolyn Knapp-Shappey."
"Oh right. And what do you do on your little ship? Crew support?"
"I am the owner and the CEO," replied Carolyn cooly.
"Oh, are you? Well done," replied Boyce.
"What do you mean well done?" said Carolyn, her tone ever more icy.
"I don’t know. Nothing, really," protested Boyce, trying to take a step backwards but finding himself trapped by the bar behind him.
"Well done for running a big scary company across vast sectors of space all by yourself, you clever little lady?"
"No, no, absolutely not. No, no, just-- just a general, you know, good for you."
"I see. So you’d still have said well done if I’d been an ugly, middle aged man in a suit, would you?" demanded Carolyn of a now spluttering Admiral.
Douglas turned back to Pike, trying to hide his smirk of satisfaction, to find the other man grinning at him. "Did your boss just expertly run interference on your behalf?"
Douglas gave a reluctant snort of laughter. "She prefers to keep the bullying of her crew as her own special privilege."
Kirk, having grabbed a beer, came to join them, once again staring curiously at Douglas. "I still can't get rid of the feeling I've seen you before," he said. Douglas, much as he normally enjoyed being the centre of attention, cast around for something, anything, to take the focus off himself. "Chris, how did you end up with this young firecracker as your protege?"
Kirk grinned. "Well, you see, there was this bar. Do you know that Chris can whistle really loudly?" And he was off story-telling with verve, to Douglas's great relief.
An hour later Douglas was still mostly listening to Chris and Jim swop stories. On his one side Carolyn had Boyce pinned down as she lectured him on the sexism inherent in the space freighting business. On his other side Arthur was happily telling Ensign Consell just how brilliant everything about the Enterprise was. Further down the bar Martin seemed to managing to hold a coherent conversation with the chief engineer.
Seeing where Douglas was looking, Kirk grinned broadly. "Your captain is the one man I've met who might be able to match Scotty when it comes to talking for days about the intricacies of nacelles."
"Yes, match made in heaven," replied Douglas laconically. "Martin's much more comfortable with engines and systems than with people."
Pike, who had been quiet for some time, suddenly turned on Douglas. "Do you want to take a walk with me? I could show you some of the ship."
Douglas hesitated, and in that silence Boyce broke off his conversation with Carolyn to turn on them. "Chris! What the hell are you doing?"
"I don't think it's any of your business, Phil," replied Pike tersely.
The tension in their voices brought the conversations around them to a halt, although they didn't seem to notice.
"Isn't it? I was there. I got to pick up the pieces, remember? I have just two words for you. Dishonourable discharge."
The Enterprise bridge crew all stiffened noticeably, casting curious glances across at Douglas.
"And I'll trade you two more," snapped Pike, trying to keep his voice down but his anger and the silence around him allowed it to carry clearly. "Tarsus IV." The two men glared at each other. Kirk, who had become hyper-focused on them as soon as Pike mentioned Tarsus, was now rapidly pulling up information on his PADD.
"You've got to stop molly-coddling me, Phil," continued Pike. "You've been protecting me since the minute I was brought off the Narada. And I appreciate it, I really do, your being there for me through all those fucking awful months of physical and psychological therapy. But it's enough already, you have to back off."
"But why this?" exploded Phil, with a dismissive wave in the direction of Douglas. "For god's sake, you can do better."
"Douglas Richardson! My god, you were Captain Richardson," exclaimed Kirk, looking up from his PADD. "It's a honour to meet you again, sir. An honour and a privilege." The crews of Gerti and of Enterprise watched in astonishment as James T. Kirk, captain of the Federation flagship and hero of the Battle of Vulcan, stood to attention in front of the slightly shabby figure of the first officer of the SS Gerti, who was looking absolutely mortified.
McCoy came over to Kirk's side. "Captain Richardson? As in the USS Valiant? The first ship to reach Tarsus IV?"
"Yeah, but not just the first ship," replied Kirk. "The only ship to break ranks when Starfleet ordered that the rumours about disaster on Tarsus were to be ignored. He basically hijacked his own ship, went to see for himself and when Starfleet still refused to believe him, leaked images to the media, forcing an outcry for intervention. And he brought back the first of the survivors, feral kids he found trying to live on leaves and bark in the woods near his landing site."
He stepped in close to Douglas. "Do you remember me?"
"No, why should--" Douglas hesitated, looking hard at Kirk. "But there wasn't anyone called Jim..." he continued slowly.
"I was calling myself Sam, it was the name of my elder brother who was back on Earth. It made me feel-- braver, I guess, older maybe, slightly more likely to succeed."
"Sam! Christ. You were the one keeping that band of kids together."
"Yeah, you saved us, saved me. Put like that, you saved Earth."
"Don't!" snapped Douglas. "Don't make me into some kind of hero. Everything Boyce has so unsubtly been hinting at is true. Two years later I was dishonourably discharged with all that means, relieved of my command, stripped of my rank and privileges, and expelled from Starfleet--"
"Was it because of Tarsus?" demanded Kirk.
"No it bloody well wasn't. Don't make me a martyr either. I was caught using my ship to smuggle high-value cargos between worlds. But that was really just the official justification. The real reason was that I'd been repeatedly drunk while in command, pissed off my head while in control of a Constitution-class warship. I lost everything, and my Starfleet commission was the least of those losses. There are plenty of heroes in this room, Kirk, but don't look to me."
With that Douglas strode out of the door of the rec room, leaving a shocked silence behind him.
In the end it was Boyce who broke it. "Oh go on Chris, go after him."
Pike looked at him warily. "Five minutes ago you most definitely did not approve."
"Yes, well... You know you want to, and you're right, it's your life. Anyway, I may be wrong." He gave Pike a rueful smile. "It's been known to happen."
Pike briefly put his hand on Boyce's shoulder in a moment of silent communication, and then left the room.
Carolyn turned back on Boyce. "Well, now that we've established that you can be wrong about things, let me tell you how very wrong you are about...."
* * *
"I'm not surprised you're hiding in the viewing room," said Pike to Douglas as he entered the observation lounge with its floor-to-ceiling plexiglass and breathtaking view of the stars set in inky darkness. "But how did you know where it was?"
Douglas continued to stare out in the depths of space. "As soon as I heard you'd have command of the new ship, I studied every schematic of the Enterprise I could find in the popular media." He sighed. "Pathetic, I know. I just wanted to be sure she'd keep you safe."
"Douglas, don't you think it's time to stop running from everything Starfleet?"
Douglas swung round to face him. "What do you want? I don't understand you. Starfleet threw me out and as I remember, I was always the wild boy, you were the one who admired rules. You hated my behaviour in that last year. I really don't understand why you seem to be getting all nostalgic now."
"Hmmm," said Pike, clearly thinking about how to proceed. "Do you know that once they got me back to Earth, I spent over a year in intensive therapy? Physical and mental therapy."
"They promoted you to admiral despite your seeing a shrink?" Douglas sounded incredulous.
"They promoted me because I saw a shrink. Starfleet is a very different place ten years on, Douglas. A lot of that is because of Boyce and the changes he made first as deputy to the surgeon-general and then as surgeon-general himself. A lot of that is because of you, or more accurately officers like you who we lost in the aftermath of traumas like Tarsus IV."
Douglas turned away, once more staring moodily out into space. Pike walked across to stand at his side. "I have a better understanding now of what was going on than I did then. Back then, you couldn't get Starfleet-mandated therapy without signing a form in which you self-declared that you were mentally ill. And once that form was signed your career was effectively ruined. After all, real captains didn't suffer mental trauma. So you were privately praised for Tarsus while being publicly reprimanded, given no help for the trauma and you self-medicated out of a bottle."
"The smuggling was real," said Douglas, sounding sad and tired.
"Yes, in retrospect I think that was you committing suicide on your Starfleet career. You couldn't bring yourself to resign so you pushed them until they threw you out."
"Even you eventually told me I should just pull myself together," accused Douglas after a long silence.
"I did. Even I believed that having a breakdown was a sign of the kind of weakness no officer should possess."
"And you were right! You'd survived far worse," replied Douglas. "You were imprisoned and put under alien mind control twice and you didn't try and drown yourself in the bottom of a bottle of Talisker. Tarsus wasn't that bad."
"No it was much worse," said Pike bluntly. "They were our species, our people. And that does have more impact. Families, children, deliberate slow torture, dying by inches over months. You saw it, you told us and no one believed you. That sort of isolation--" Pike stopped abruptly, wrapped his hands round the rail that ran at waist-height along the plexiglass.
"If I hadn't had therapy after the Narada, I'd have killed myself," he continued remorselessly. "After that I knew anyone can break, it doesn't matter how tough they may be, how well they've been trained. We all break eventually." He turned to face Douglas, hip propped against the railing.
"You feel guilty for failing to be a model captain? I handed over the codes to Earth's protection grid and waited for my entire world to be destroyed."
"That's bollocks!" declared Douglas robustly. "I followed every word of the reports. Once that slug was attached to your bloody brainstem, you had no control."
"But that's not how guilt works, Douglas. I shouldn't have got into that position, I should've found another way to buy time. I can choose to appropriate all blame for myself. Or I can - as you point out - blame the slug. Blame the Romulans. Blame Starfleet for letting captains have the grid codes. Blame every bit of it on someone else. What therapy taught me eventually is that neither strategy works. It happened. I bear some responsibility for it, although not all. But I have to learn to live with it, to let it go, to forgive myself. How much of that have you ever managed to do?"
"Why do you care?" whispered Douglas eventually.
"You left me," replied Pike softly. "I came back from a mission to find you'd been discharged and had vanished with no forwarding address."
"You lived for Starfleet, I figured you'd never forgive me the shame of it all."
Pike sighed. "Much as I wish I could argue, you may be right. I could be an uptight bastard about some things. During those endless hours as a helpless captive on the Narada, waiting for Earth to be destroyed because of me, I had a lot of time to think about my life, what really mattered to me, who mattered to me. And then when I got an unexpected second life after Jim rescued me, I had months of recovery time with little to do but think about what I'd do with this gift. I'd already started hunting through Federation databases to see if I could find you."
Douglas turned to Pike with an uncertain smile. "Really?"
Pike moved closer, put his hand over Douglas's where it rested on the viewing rail. "Really."
Douglas looked down at their hands, and then slowly spread his so that their fingers intertwined. "It won't be the same," he warned. "If you're hoping to uncover that six-pack I was so proud of back in my Academy days, it's sadly long vanished under substantial padding. One way and another, I'm pretty battered. Shades of the ruins of Ozymandius."
Keeping their hands interlinked, Pike leaned over to brush his lips down Douglas's cheek, rubbing against the whisper of stubble. Then he took Douglas's hand and pressed it to his thigh, letting Douglas feel the rigid edge under his uniform pants. "It's an exo-skeleton, the only way I can stay on my feet for more than half an hour at a time. I can't offer you what we had twenty years ago either."
Douglas let his hand slide up Pike's thigh and round his waist to settle in the small of his back. "The sort of athletic shagging we went in for two decades ago would doubtless give me a heart attack today. Slow and sweet would do me just fine." With his other hand, Douglas slowly traced down the side of Pike's face, taking in the lines and the grey hair. "God but I've missed you." He hesitated, hating the vulnerability he could hear in his own voice. "Are you really sure this is what you want?"
"Oh yes!" Pike slid both arms around Douglas's back, pulling them together from chest to thigh. With his mouth just inches from Douglas's he whispered, "I've never been more certain of anything."
Douglas surged forward to close the gap.
* * *
Martin sat sulking at a table in the most remote corner of the canteen, listlessly pushing something resembling a flapjack around his plate. "Why is your face so long?" demanded Carolyn as she sat down next to him. "You could clean the floor with it. Is the breakfast not meeting your demanding standards?"
"It's the two of you," accused Martin as Douglas came in a moment later. "All that talk yesterday about being on our best behaviour and not standing out and not making a fool of myself by sucking up to senior crew, and last night I'm the only one - the only one - who meekly comes back to our guest quarters. Just hours after coming on board and you've all pulled crew members and it's just not--"
"What do you mean the only one?" demanded Carolyn. "Where was Arthur?"
"Oh well, an ensign turned up with him in tow at the end of beta shift. Apparently he fell asleep watching the plasma coolant tanks. They are huge and warm and the colour is brilliant, so he says."
"Oh well, at least it sounds like he had a good time," said Douglas. "Much more interestingly, where were you, Carolyn, and were you having a good time?"
"That is no concern of the mere underlings," replied Carolyn tartly.
"Well, I'll have to interrogate Martin then. When I left she was still busy telling Admiral Boyce how very wrong he was. And thank you for that, by the way, the man is a total ass. So what was happening when you left, Martin?"
"Well, by then she'd progressed to telling him that she'd devastatingly won their argument but there were a few areas where he was still misguided," replied Martin.
"Oh I think I see how this plays out," said Douglas. "So then you go back to his quarters to finish up the argument and at some point the poor man realises the only way to shut you up is to fill your mouth with--"
"Thank you Douglas, that will more than do," interrupted Carolyn. "Although I must say the guest quarters for admirals are very nice indeed. But then I'm assuming you found that out for yourself." She gave Douglas a significant look.
"What do you mean, he found it out--" started Martin. "Oh no, god no, that's so unfair. Did you end up... you know... that... with Admiral Pike?" Martin's voice rose in a horrified squeak.
"It seems our first officer has been holding out on us about his Starfleet connections. I gather from Phil you spent well over a decade warming Pike's sheets between missions," said Carolyn.
"No, this is just not fair," wailed Martin. "How do you two walk onto the Federation flagship and straight into the beds of the two most senior officers on board and I get left all on my own in the guest cabin?"
"Honestly, that surprises me as well," said Douglas. "Although given that's it's you we're talking about, maybe it shouldn't. Still, when I left you were pretty cosy with the chief engineer, getting all hot and sweaty over nacelle designs."
"When I left," continued Carolyn, "Commander Scott was asking Martin to come to his cabin to look at his plans for upgrading Gerti's engines. So what on earth went wrong?"
"Well, I said it would be more appropriate to do it in the morning," replied Martin. "I mean, it's a serious business and better done when we're a bit more sober."
"Oh Martin," exclaimed Douglas and Carolyn simultaneously.
"What?" demanded Martin defensively, "it was the responsible decision, wasn't it? Wasn't it? Oh god, that's not what he meant, is it? Oh god, oh god I messed it up completely."
"Yes you did," said Douglas mercilessly. "You had a chance with a member of the senior bridge crew of the USS Enterprise, the second officer, the man who invented transwarp beaming and got Kirk back onto the Enterprise to save the world. And you blew it. Well done Martin."
Martin laid his head down and then began to thump it systematically on the table top while making small whimpering noises.
"Oh do stop that, Martin," snapped Carolyn. "Starfleet won't be impressed if you damage their property. You'll get another chance."
"To do what? A quickie in the engine room? I don't think he has the guts for that. Don't we get a rapid engine repair today and then get thrown back out into the arse-end of space?" asked Douglas, looking suddenly gloomy.
"You don't know?" Carolyn frowned at him. "Starfleet has need of independent contractors to do freighting work on and around New Vulcan. Most excellently, they have contracted our good selves. We stay on board until we arrive at New Vulcan, while they give us a major upgrade on Gerti's engines and then we start a rolling, and if I may say so, very generously remunerated freighting contract. Things are looking up for us, boys! Martin, you might even get a salary out of this."
"You got all of this out of Admiral Boyce based on one night of shagging? You must be good," said Douglas, looking reluctantly impressed.
"Oh no, this offer didn't come from Phil. It came from Admiral Pike. And it should noted that Admiral Pike will be stationed on New Vulcan for the foreseeable future, to manage the Federation aid programme. I'm not the one who appears to have an Admiral wrapped around my little finger."
Carolyn watched Douglas intently for a moment, and then gave a snort of disgust. "Oh do stop that Douglas. Seeing you sporting a goofy grin of lust is most disturbing. Please recover your laconic cynicism."
"Right. Well." Douglas tried and patently failed to bring his glow of happiness under control.
Arthur wandered into the mess hall, stretching and yawning, and came across to join them. "Isn't it brilliant, mum? The crew and the ship and food and everything. So are we staying?"
"Well, yes we are, dear. Gerti's safe, we've got a freighting contract with Starfleet now. But how did you know?"
Arthur shrugged, more interested in liberating the flapjack abandoned on Martin's plate. "Did Douglas do something clever and now everything’s fine?"
"In a manner of speaking, I suppose I did," said Douglas.
"There you are then! Exactly what I said all along," announced Arthur through a mouth stuffed with flapjack.
Douglas turned back to his captain, who was still resting his head on the table. "So you will get another chance, Martin. No need to throw yourself out of the nearest airlock."
"I'll just screw it up again," moaned Martin. "There's no point in even trying."
"Oh, I'm not putting up with this for the rest of the trip," declared Douglas. "Martin, you have 48 hours to convince the chief engineer that you want in to his rather form-fitting uniform trousers, or I'm taking him to one side and telling him that you're mad with lust for him."
"Douglas, no!"
"Then you'll have to do it first, won't you?" replied Douglas. "Come on Captain Crieff, supreme commander and sir of sirs. Dig down deep, discover your inner Captain Kirk, and get out there and hunt down your man!"
Fandom: Cabin Pressure / Star Trek crossover
Pairings: Douglas/?, Carolyn/?, Martin/? Two slash, one het, all non-explicit, click if you must know but it's more fun to read it and see [the fic pairings] Douglas Richardson/Chris Pike; Carolyn Knapp-Shappey/Phil Boyce; Martin Crieff/Montgomery Scott (pre-slash)
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Genre: humour, drama
Word Count: Around 6200
Beta: the indefatigable imachar
Summary: The USS Enterprise rescues a stranded SS Gerti. Will Carolyn manage to save Gerti from being sold for scrap? Will Martin survive the shock of meeting his idols on the Enterprise? Will Douglas succeed in hiding his history with Starfleet?
Author's note: Some background details about Starfleet are a little less utopian than in TOS canon. Some lines of dialogue come directly from Cabin Pressure canon. You don't need to know Cabin Pressure canon for this fic to make sense, although it's more fun if you do.
"Captain, we are picking up a mayday call, it looks like a Raven-class freighter in private ownership, identifying itself as the SS Gerti."
"Damn, what are they doing in an ass-end corner of space like this one?" said Captain Kirk. "Sulu, change course to investigate. Uhura, see if you can make contact with their crew."
Kirk swung round in his chair to his first officer. "Spock, why do you think they would have ended up here?"
Spock lifted an eyebrow fractionally in consideration. "We are approaching the free zone. There would be trading opportunities there for a small independent freighter. But economies in the region have been disastrously affected by the elimination of Vulcan. Times are hard. They may be smuggling. Or they may be fleeing a deal gone sour."
"Captain, we have contact, voice only," said Uhura.
"Thank you, lieutenant. SS Gerti, this is Captain Kirk of the USS Enterprise. Identify yourself."
"What! Oh god, ummm... right, yes, right. This is, I mean, I'm Gerti. No, no, I'm not Gerti, I'm Martin. Captain. Captain Martin, no, oh bugger--"
Another voice cut in smoothly over the first.
"Do forgive our captain, Captain Kirk, he's just a little overwhelmed by having to talk to the man who saved the entire Federation. Thank you for that, by the way, jolly decent of you. This is First Officer Richardson of the SS Gerti, we were caught in a meteor storm and our warp engines are damaged beyond our ability to repair. Assistance would be much appreciated."
"Oh, doesn't he have a lovely voice," purred Uhura, adjusting the volume on her headphones. When Spock sent her a reproving look, she just shrugged and grinned. "What? I'm a linguist. I appreciate such things."
"Very well, Mr Richardson," said Kirk. "We'll transport your crew over and bring the ship in by tractor beam. We should be able to get a small ship like yours up and running in a day or so. Prepare to receive instructions from our navigator."
* * *
Carolyn turned to her crew of two plus bonus Arthur. "Right, boys! This is an extraordinary opportunity and one we have to make the most of. Frankly, if we don't, we'll be selling Gerti for scrap at the next spaceport to cover our expenses."
"But mum," protested Arthur, "we can't sell her. Then what'll we fly in?"
"We won't, idiot boy. Listen to me. We are broke. We don't even have the money to pay docking fees at the next port, let alone repair Gerti and survive long enough to find the next freighting contract."
"It's okay, mum. Trust me. Douglas will think of something brilliant, he always--"
"No I bloody well won't," snapped Gerti's first officer. "Arthur, even my good luck and numerous contacts can't compensate for Vulcan being pulverised and the Federation economy spiralling down the toilet. Carolyn, what are you hoping to get off the Enterprise?"
"Well, first prize is clearly a freighting contract. They do use independent contractors."
"Starfleet are a bunch of uptight arseholes obsessed with procedures. I really don't think they are desperate enough to sub-contract to us." Douglas looked around the shabby interior of Gerti's flight deck.
"Thank you for that vote of confidence, Douglas, that's no help at all. Sadly, you're probably right. Although if you do happen to run into anyone you know from before--"
"No," snapped Douglas. "Really, I wasn't with Starfleet long, Carolyn, and it didn't end well. There won't be anyone, believe me. Best not to mention it all."
She regarded him curiously for a moment. "Very well then. So second prize is to get them to do as many repairs as possible to Gerti. Martin, be sure to blame as much as you possibly can on the meteor storm. Right down to the replicator, if you can."
"But that's not exactly true--" protested Martin.
"Martin, you berk, don't you dare let the truth get in the way of getting free repairs for Gerti. Now then, the third prize is anything and everything we can liberate from their vessel. From tools to complimentary packets of mixed nuts, anything that they won't miss and that will make our lives easier."
"But Carolyn, as captain I can't possibly condone--"
"Martin, our replicator has coughed out nothing but that orange concoction and that awful rice surprise for weeks now. This is not the time to be fussy about our morals. So team useless, listen up. Arthur, keep quiet at all times and touch nothing. Martin, try not to make a complete idiot of yourself by sucking up to the Enterprise crew--"
"I do not suck up--"
"Martin, if you don't behave I'll tell them you have the entire Enterprise bridge crew action doll collection, plus bonus CMO, and that you play with them in your cabin!"
Martin subsided into sulky silence.
"Douglas, keep the lid on your damnable cynicism about Starfleet. We don't need to insult our hosts! Now, we are going to concentrate, we are going to be disciplined, we are going to make a good impression. This is the very last chance for Gerti. Has everyone got that?"
* * *
A tinny voice came through Gerti's comms channel. Your ship is under lock from our tractor beam. Prepare for a transporter beam in one minute.
"Oh god, oh god, oh god," muttered Martin to himself.
"I suspect it'll be enough to call him Captain Kirk," remarked Douglas dryly. "Addressing him as God may be going a little too far."
"No! It's the transporter thing. I hate them. I have this a slight abnormality of the inner ear, it's perfectly space-worthy but transporters tend to make me dizzy."
"Beaming in five, four, three, two, one," declared the disembodied voice.
The four crew members of the SS Gerti rematerialised on the beaming pad of the USS Enterprise, where Martin promptly slid to the floor in a faint. An officer hurried round from behind the transporter control deck. Douglas, noting the insignia of Lieutenant-Commander, took a long step backwards.
"Is your lad alright, then?" asked the officer with concern.
"Alright might be taking it a bit far, but he'll doubtless come around," replied Douglas.
The officer knelt down by Martin's side and shook him gently. "The transporter can take some people that way, if you're not used to it."
Martin groaned and slowly opened his eyes. "Oh god, what happened? What landed on me? Who are you?" He peered up at the Starfleet officer. "Oh my god. You're Commander Scott. You invented transwarp beaming. You're my hero. I can't-- This can't--" Martin looked around frantically and then apparently decided the best course of action would be to faint again.
"What did I tell him about not making a complete ass of himself?" hissed Carolyn furiously to Douglas as medical assistance was summoned. Just as the Enterprise's communications officer walked in to see what was taking so long with the guests, Martin came round a second time, with the result that he found himself staring straight up her very short skirt.
"Legs," mumbled Martin. "Lots of leg. Lots of lovely long luscious leg. Hmmm. Died and gone to heaven, clearly." Abruptly it seemed to dawn on him exactly what and who he was happily staring up at. He jerked up into a sitting position, stuttering with mortification, and then promptly had to stick his head between his knees to combat a wave of nausea.
"I do apologise," said Douglas smoothly. "You're a woman, a senior crew member and a hero of the Battle of Vulcan. A bit of a perfect storm for our poor captain."
"Ah! The man with the lovely voice." Martin sat in a humiliated huddle as Uhura, Nyota Uhura, oh god, stepped past him to apparently start flirting with his first officer.
Next to join the crowd in the transporter room was the CMO, waving a tricorder belligerently. "What the devil is this all about? Scotty, can't you get guests on board without leaving them up-chucking their lunch? Mighty fine hospitality we're showing here!"
Scotty just grinned at the belligerent doctor. "That’ll be right, you’ll sort them out even if it’s just because they’re trying to get away from you."
McCoy glowered at him while waving his tricorder at the guests. "No injuries, no communicable diseases, nothing wrong with him-" He gestured at Martin who was still sitting on the floor, "-that a bit of deep breathing won't cure. However..." McCoy stared curiously at the tricorder screen. "Beginnings of vitamin deficiency in all of you. Your ship's replicator must be out of wack."
"That is just possible," said Carolyn smoothly. "Any assistance in that regard would be much appreciated."
"So this is where the party is," said a voice from the transporter room door. "I was wondering where everyone had gone."
Martin, who had just managed to wobble up onto his feet, jerked his head up, found himself looking straight into the deep blue eyes of Captain James T. Kirk and promptly fell over backwards onto his arse. Kirk grinned at him and offered a hand to pull Martin back up again, taking in the stripes on Martin's sleeve as he did so.
"And you must be the captain. Welcome to the Enterprise."
"No, I’m the-oh. Yes, right, yes, I am the captain, that's who I am. Martin Kirk, you're Captain Crieff, oh god no, uh, sorry, just a bit nervous--"
Kirk gave him an easy smile. "Okay, I'm gonna take Captain Martin Crieff away from all of that. It's a pleasure to have you on board. And your crew?"
"Oh, ah, um... Douglas Richardson, first officer. Carolyn Knap-Shappey, the owner. And Arthur Shappey, the er, ah...."
"Oh I'm all the rest of the crew," said Arthur cheerfully. "Although not the engineer, for some reason no one likes me touching the engines."
"Or the controls, or the wiring, or anything else other than the kettle really," muttered Douglas.
"Ensign Consell will show you to your quarters," said Kirk. "We'll look at your craft in the morning. Normally I'd invite guests to join me for a meal but I'm afraid we have VIPs on board and I'll be dining in private with them. However, I hope I'll see you in the rec room later for a drink."
They began to walk along the corridor in Kirk's footsteps, Douglas slouching defiantly in response to his subconscious urge to straighten his spine and throw back his shoulders. Kirk looked at him curiously. "You remind me of someone, Mr Richardson. Have you ever had anything to do with Starfleet?"
"Oh god no," said Douglas hastily. "All that discipline, not my thing in the least. I much more of a free spirit, couldn't bear taking orders from incompetent idiots with pokers up their arses, just because they're in some chain of command."
"Not a very flattering description of us," said Kirk curiously.
Douglas tried to tone down the angry derision in his voice, refind his usual airy nonchalance. "Oh, you all do a jolly good job, I'm sure, I've just never liked having shit drip down on my head from on-high."
* * *
"May I invite you to our rec room?" said the young ensign politely once Gerti's crew had finished eating an evening meal considerably tastier than anything Gerti had produced for months now. "We have a small bar in there, and it'll be a chance to meet some of the crew in a more informal atmosphere."
They followed him out of the canteen into the maze of corridors, Arthur bouncing with excitement, Martin's head swivelling constantly in awed wonder, Carolyn with a look of beady-eyed calculation as if trying to work what she might be able to appropriate and Douglas mostly just keeping his head down and avoiding any eye contact. They were just entering a junction when they saw the senior bridge crew approaching from their left.
"Ooo, Admirals," whispered Carolyn. "They must be the special guests. Best behaviour, boys!"
"Oh my god, oh my god, that's Admiral Pike," gasped Martin. "The captain who walked onto the enemy ship to buy his own crew time to save the world, oh my god."
"Breathe, Martin," snapped Carolyn, "before you hyperventilate yourself into another faint."
"Good lord, who cares?" muttered Douglas, as he stepped back into the shadows.
Their little group received an absent-minded nod from the VIPs. "Civilians, Jim?" asked Admiral Pike as he passed.
"The crew of that little Raven-class freighter we rescued this afternoon," replied Captain Kirk.
"Right, what were we talking--" Pike stopped abruptly, hesitated, and then turned round to face Gerti's crew. "Douglas? Is that you?"
Douglas reluctantly stepped forward. "Chris. Or should I say Admiral Pike sir?"
The other admiral walked back to stand at Pike's side. "Richardson. It's been a long time." He cooly looked Douglas up and down, taking in the slightly tatty and over-elaborate crew uniform and the two broad gold bands on the sleeve, the narrow third band of captain conspicuous in its absence. "Haven't you done well for yourself?"
"You remember Phil Boyce, don't you?" said Pike. "He's surgeon-general now."
"Of course he is," muttered Douglas, before offering Admiral Boyce his best plastic smile.
"We're heading to the rec room for a drink," continued Pike. "Why don't you join us for one or two."
"Or a dozen or so," said Boyce just loudly enough for Douglas to hear.
The crew of Gerti joined the Enterprise party as they walked on. "Douglas, why on earth didn't you tell me you had contacts in the Admiralty?" hissed Carolyn. "I know you always know someone but I didn't expect it to extend up to this level. Do you know what that could do for our business?"
"Nothing good, trust me," growled Douglas.
"I didn't realise you had any Starfleet connections," said Kirk curiously to Douglas. "You seemed a bit scathing about the whole organisation. So how do you and Chris know each other?"
"Oh, we went through the Academy together," replied Pike casually.
"The Academy?" Suddenly all eyes were back on Douglas, who was saved from having to answer by their arrival in the rec room. The crowds at the bar rapidly moved back to allow the guests of honour access.
"So Douglas, what'll it be?" said Pike.
"Lime and soda."
"Oh really?" queried Boyce, materialising on the other side of Douglas. "And how long has that been going on?"
Douglas turned to him, meeting the stony glare with dismissive nonchalance. "About nine years now."
Boyce looked taken aback for a moment. "Oh. Pity you couldn't have made it a few years longer than that."
Douglas's facade of cool slipped for a moment as he spat back, "Do you think I don't know that?" They were still glaring at one another when Carolyn moved forward to join them. "Admiral Boyce? Carolyn Knapp-Shappey."
"Oh right. And what do you do on your little ship? Crew support?"
"I am the owner and the CEO," replied Carolyn cooly.
"Oh, are you? Well done," replied Boyce.
"What do you mean well done?" said Carolyn, her tone ever more icy.
"I don’t know. Nothing, really," protested Boyce, trying to take a step backwards but finding himself trapped by the bar behind him.
"Well done for running a big scary company across vast sectors of space all by yourself, you clever little lady?"
"No, no, absolutely not. No, no, just-- just a general, you know, good for you."
"I see. So you’d still have said well done if I’d been an ugly, middle aged man in a suit, would you?" demanded Carolyn of a now spluttering Admiral.
Douglas turned back to Pike, trying to hide his smirk of satisfaction, to find the other man grinning at him. "Did your boss just expertly run interference on your behalf?"
Douglas gave a reluctant snort of laughter. "She prefers to keep the bullying of her crew as her own special privilege."
Kirk, having grabbed a beer, came to join them, once again staring curiously at Douglas. "I still can't get rid of the feeling I've seen you before," he said. Douglas, much as he normally enjoyed being the centre of attention, cast around for something, anything, to take the focus off himself. "Chris, how did you end up with this young firecracker as your protege?"
Kirk grinned. "Well, you see, there was this bar. Do you know that Chris can whistle really loudly?" And he was off story-telling with verve, to Douglas's great relief.
An hour later Douglas was still mostly listening to Chris and Jim swop stories. On his one side Carolyn had Boyce pinned down as she lectured him on the sexism inherent in the space freighting business. On his other side Arthur was happily telling Ensign Consell just how brilliant everything about the Enterprise was. Further down the bar Martin seemed to managing to hold a coherent conversation with the chief engineer.
Seeing where Douglas was looking, Kirk grinned broadly. "Your captain is the one man I've met who might be able to match Scotty when it comes to talking for days about the intricacies of nacelles."
"Yes, match made in heaven," replied Douglas laconically. "Martin's much more comfortable with engines and systems than with people."
Pike, who had been quiet for some time, suddenly turned on Douglas. "Do you want to take a walk with me? I could show you some of the ship."
Douglas hesitated, and in that silence Boyce broke off his conversation with Carolyn to turn on them. "Chris! What the hell are you doing?"
"I don't think it's any of your business, Phil," replied Pike tersely.
The tension in their voices brought the conversations around them to a halt, although they didn't seem to notice.
"Isn't it? I was there. I got to pick up the pieces, remember? I have just two words for you. Dishonourable discharge."
The Enterprise bridge crew all stiffened noticeably, casting curious glances across at Douglas.
"And I'll trade you two more," snapped Pike, trying to keep his voice down but his anger and the silence around him allowed it to carry clearly. "Tarsus IV." The two men glared at each other. Kirk, who had become hyper-focused on them as soon as Pike mentioned Tarsus, was now rapidly pulling up information on his PADD.
"You've got to stop molly-coddling me, Phil," continued Pike. "You've been protecting me since the minute I was brought off the Narada. And I appreciate it, I really do, your being there for me through all those fucking awful months of physical and psychological therapy. But it's enough already, you have to back off."
"But why this?" exploded Phil, with a dismissive wave in the direction of Douglas. "For god's sake, you can do better."
"Douglas Richardson! My god, you were Captain Richardson," exclaimed Kirk, looking up from his PADD. "It's a honour to meet you again, sir. An honour and a privilege." The crews of Gerti and of Enterprise watched in astonishment as James T. Kirk, captain of the Federation flagship and hero of the Battle of Vulcan, stood to attention in front of the slightly shabby figure of the first officer of the SS Gerti, who was looking absolutely mortified.
McCoy came over to Kirk's side. "Captain Richardson? As in the USS Valiant? The first ship to reach Tarsus IV?"
"Yeah, but not just the first ship," replied Kirk. "The only ship to break ranks when Starfleet ordered that the rumours about disaster on Tarsus were to be ignored. He basically hijacked his own ship, went to see for himself and when Starfleet still refused to believe him, leaked images to the media, forcing an outcry for intervention. And he brought back the first of the survivors, feral kids he found trying to live on leaves and bark in the woods near his landing site."
He stepped in close to Douglas. "Do you remember me?"
"No, why should--" Douglas hesitated, looking hard at Kirk. "But there wasn't anyone called Jim..." he continued slowly.
"I was calling myself Sam, it was the name of my elder brother who was back on Earth. It made me feel-- braver, I guess, older maybe, slightly more likely to succeed."
"Sam! Christ. You were the one keeping that band of kids together."
"Yeah, you saved us, saved me. Put like that, you saved Earth."
"Don't!" snapped Douglas. "Don't make me into some kind of hero. Everything Boyce has so unsubtly been hinting at is true. Two years later I was dishonourably discharged with all that means, relieved of my command, stripped of my rank and privileges, and expelled from Starfleet--"
"Was it because of Tarsus?" demanded Kirk.
"No it bloody well wasn't. Don't make me a martyr either. I was caught using my ship to smuggle high-value cargos between worlds. But that was really just the official justification. The real reason was that I'd been repeatedly drunk while in command, pissed off my head while in control of a Constitution-class warship. I lost everything, and my Starfleet commission was the least of those losses. There are plenty of heroes in this room, Kirk, but don't look to me."
With that Douglas strode out of the door of the rec room, leaving a shocked silence behind him.
In the end it was Boyce who broke it. "Oh go on Chris, go after him."
Pike looked at him warily. "Five minutes ago you most definitely did not approve."
"Yes, well... You know you want to, and you're right, it's your life. Anyway, I may be wrong." He gave Pike a rueful smile. "It's been known to happen."
Pike briefly put his hand on Boyce's shoulder in a moment of silent communication, and then left the room.
Carolyn turned back on Boyce. "Well, now that we've established that you can be wrong about things, let me tell you how very wrong you are about...."
* * *
"I'm not surprised you're hiding in the viewing room," said Pike to Douglas as he entered the observation lounge with its floor-to-ceiling plexiglass and breathtaking view of the stars set in inky darkness. "But how did you know where it was?"
Douglas continued to stare out in the depths of space. "As soon as I heard you'd have command of the new ship, I studied every schematic of the Enterprise I could find in the popular media." He sighed. "Pathetic, I know. I just wanted to be sure she'd keep you safe."
"Douglas, don't you think it's time to stop running from everything Starfleet?"
Douglas swung round to face him. "What do you want? I don't understand you. Starfleet threw me out and as I remember, I was always the wild boy, you were the one who admired rules. You hated my behaviour in that last year. I really don't understand why you seem to be getting all nostalgic now."
"Hmmm," said Pike, clearly thinking about how to proceed. "Do you know that once they got me back to Earth, I spent over a year in intensive therapy? Physical and mental therapy."
"They promoted you to admiral despite your seeing a shrink?" Douglas sounded incredulous.
"They promoted me because I saw a shrink. Starfleet is a very different place ten years on, Douglas. A lot of that is because of Boyce and the changes he made first as deputy to the surgeon-general and then as surgeon-general himself. A lot of that is because of you, or more accurately officers like you who we lost in the aftermath of traumas like Tarsus IV."
Douglas turned away, once more staring moodily out into space. Pike walked across to stand at his side. "I have a better understanding now of what was going on than I did then. Back then, you couldn't get Starfleet-mandated therapy without signing a form in which you self-declared that you were mentally ill. And once that form was signed your career was effectively ruined. After all, real captains didn't suffer mental trauma. So you were privately praised for Tarsus while being publicly reprimanded, given no help for the trauma and you self-medicated out of a bottle."
"The smuggling was real," said Douglas, sounding sad and tired.
"Yes, in retrospect I think that was you committing suicide on your Starfleet career. You couldn't bring yourself to resign so you pushed them until they threw you out."
"Even you eventually told me I should just pull myself together," accused Douglas after a long silence.
"I did. Even I believed that having a breakdown was a sign of the kind of weakness no officer should possess."
"And you were right! You'd survived far worse," replied Douglas. "You were imprisoned and put under alien mind control twice and you didn't try and drown yourself in the bottom of a bottle of Talisker. Tarsus wasn't that bad."
"No it was much worse," said Pike bluntly. "They were our species, our people. And that does have more impact. Families, children, deliberate slow torture, dying by inches over months. You saw it, you told us and no one believed you. That sort of isolation--" Pike stopped abruptly, wrapped his hands round the rail that ran at waist-height along the plexiglass.
"If I hadn't had therapy after the Narada, I'd have killed myself," he continued remorselessly. "After that I knew anyone can break, it doesn't matter how tough they may be, how well they've been trained. We all break eventually." He turned to face Douglas, hip propped against the railing.
"You feel guilty for failing to be a model captain? I handed over the codes to Earth's protection grid and waited for my entire world to be destroyed."
"That's bollocks!" declared Douglas robustly. "I followed every word of the reports. Once that slug was attached to your bloody brainstem, you had no control."
"But that's not how guilt works, Douglas. I shouldn't have got into that position, I should've found another way to buy time. I can choose to appropriate all blame for myself. Or I can - as you point out - blame the slug. Blame the Romulans. Blame Starfleet for letting captains have the grid codes. Blame every bit of it on someone else. What therapy taught me eventually is that neither strategy works. It happened. I bear some responsibility for it, although not all. But I have to learn to live with it, to let it go, to forgive myself. How much of that have you ever managed to do?"
"Why do you care?" whispered Douglas eventually.
"You left me," replied Pike softly. "I came back from a mission to find you'd been discharged and had vanished with no forwarding address."
"You lived for Starfleet, I figured you'd never forgive me the shame of it all."
Pike sighed. "Much as I wish I could argue, you may be right. I could be an uptight bastard about some things. During those endless hours as a helpless captive on the Narada, waiting for Earth to be destroyed because of me, I had a lot of time to think about my life, what really mattered to me, who mattered to me. And then when I got an unexpected second life after Jim rescued me, I had months of recovery time with little to do but think about what I'd do with this gift. I'd already started hunting through Federation databases to see if I could find you."
Douglas turned to Pike with an uncertain smile. "Really?"
Pike moved closer, put his hand over Douglas's where it rested on the viewing rail. "Really."
Douglas looked down at their hands, and then slowly spread his so that their fingers intertwined. "It won't be the same," he warned. "If you're hoping to uncover that six-pack I was so proud of back in my Academy days, it's sadly long vanished under substantial padding. One way and another, I'm pretty battered. Shades of the ruins of Ozymandius."
Keeping their hands interlinked, Pike leaned over to brush his lips down Douglas's cheek, rubbing against the whisper of stubble. Then he took Douglas's hand and pressed it to his thigh, letting Douglas feel the rigid edge under his uniform pants. "It's an exo-skeleton, the only way I can stay on my feet for more than half an hour at a time. I can't offer you what we had twenty years ago either."
Douglas let his hand slide up Pike's thigh and round his waist to settle in the small of his back. "The sort of athletic shagging we went in for two decades ago would doubtless give me a heart attack today. Slow and sweet would do me just fine." With his other hand, Douglas slowly traced down the side of Pike's face, taking in the lines and the grey hair. "God but I've missed you." He hesitated, hating the vulnerability he could hear in his own voice. "Are you really sure this is what you want?"
"Oh yes!" Pike slid both arms around Douglas's back, pulling them together from chest to thigh. With his mouth just inches from Douglas's he whispered, "I've never been more certain of anything."
Douglas surged forward to close the gap.
* * *
Martin sat sulking at a table in the most remote corner of the canteen, listlessly pushing something resembling a flapjack around his plate. "Why is your face so long?" demanded Carolyn as she sat down next to him. "You could clean the floor with it. Is the breakfast not meeting your demanding standards?"
"It's the two of you," accused Martin as Douglas came in a moment later. "All that talk yesterday about being on our best behaviour and not standing out and not making a fool of myself by sucking up to senior crew, and last night I'm the only one - the only one - who meekly comes back to our guest quarters. Just hours after coming on board and you've all pulled crew members and it's just not--"
"What do you mean the only one?" demanded Carolyn. "Where was Arthur?"
"Oh well, an ensign turned up with him in tow at the end of beta shift. Apparently he fell asleep watching the plasma coolant tanks. They are huge and warm and the colour is brilliant, so he says."
"Oh well, at least it sounds like he had a good time," said Douglas. "Much more interestingly, where were you, Carolyn, and were you having a good time?"
"That is no concern of the mere underlings," replied Carolyn tartly.
"Well, I'll have to interrogate Martin then. When I left she was still busy telling Admiral Boyce how very wrong he was. And thank you for that, by the way, the man is a total ass. So what was happening when you left, Martin?"
"Well, by then she'd progressed to telling him that she'd devastatingly won their argument but there were a few areas where he was still misguided," replied Martin.
"Oh I think I see how this plays out," said Douglas. "So then you go back to his quarters to finish up the argument and at some point the poor man realises the only way to shut you up is to fill your mouth with--"
"Thank you Douglas, that will more than do," interrupted Carolyn. "Although I must say the guest quarters for admirals are very nice indeed. But then I'm assuming you found that out for yourself." She gave Douglas a significant look.
"What do you mean, he found it out--" started Martin. "Oh no, god no, that's so unfair. Did you end up... you know... that... with Admiral Pike?" Martin's voice rose in a horrified squeak.
"It seems our first officer has been holding out on us about his Starfleet connections. I gather from Phil you spent well over a decade warming Pike's sheets between missions," said Carolyn.
"No, this is just not fair," wailed Martin. "How do you two walk onto the Federation flagship and straight into the beds of the two most senior officers on board and I get left all on my own in the guest cabin?"
"Honestly, that surprises me as well," said Douglas. "Although given that's it's you we're talking about, maybe it shouldn't. Still, when I left you were pretty cosy with the chief engineer, getting all hot and sweaty over nacelle designs."
"When I left," continued Carolyn, "Commander Scott was asking Martin to come to his cabin to look at his plans for upgrading Gerti's engines. So what on earth went wrong?"
"Well, I said it would be more appropriate to do it in the morning," replied Martin. "I mean, it's a serious business and better done when we're a bit more sober."
"Oh Martin," exclaimed Douglas and Carolyn simultaneously.
"What?" demanded Martin defensively, "it was the responsible decision, wasn't it? Wasn't it? Oh god, that's not what he meant, is it? Oh god, oh god I messed it up completely."
"Yes you did," said Douglas mercilessly. "You had a chance with a member of the senior bridge crew of the USS Enterprise, the second officer, the man who invented transwarp beaming and got Kirk back onto the Enterprise to save the world. And you blew it. Well done Martin."
Martin laid his head down and then began to thump it systematically on the table top while making small whimpering noises.
"Oh do stop that, Martin," snapped Carolyn. "Starfleet won't be impressed if you damage their property. You'll get another chance."
"To do what? A quickie in the engine room? I don't think he has the guts for that. Don't we get a rapid engine repair today and then get thrown back out into the arse-end of space?" asked Douglas, looking suddenly gloomy.
"You don't know?" Carolyn frowned at him. "Starfleet has need of independent contractors to do freighting work on and around New Vulcan. Most excellently, they have contracted our good selves. We stay on board until we arrive at New Vulcan, while they give us a major upgrade on Gerti's engines and then we start a rolling, and if I may say so, very generously remunerated freighting contract. Things are looking up for us, boys! Martin, you might even get a salary out of this."
"You got all of this out of Admiral Boyce based on one night of shagging? You must be good," said Douglas, looking reluctantly impressed.
"Oh no, this offer didn't come from Phil. It came from Admiral Pike. And it should noted that Admiral Pike will be stationed on New Vulcan for the foreseeable future, to manage the Federation aid programme. I'm not the one who appears to have an Admiral wrapped around my little finger."
Carolyn watched Douglas intently for a moment, and then gave a snort of disgust. "Oh do stop that Douglas. Seeing you sporting a goofy grin of lust is most disturbing. Please recover your laconic cynicism."
"Right. Well." Douglas tried and patently failed to bring his glow of happiness under control.
Arthur wandered into the mess hall, stretching and yawning, and came across to join them. "Isn't it brilliant, mum? The crew and the ship and food and everything. So are we staying?"
"Well, yes we are, dear. Gerti's safe, we've got a freighting contract with Starfleet now. But how did you know?"
Arthur shrugged, more interested in liberating the flapjack abandoned on Martin's plate. "Did Douglas do something clever and now everything’s fine?"
"In a manner of speaking, I suppose I did," said Douglas.
"There you are then! Exactly what I said all along," announced Arthur through a mouth stuffed with flapjack.
Douglas turned back to his captain, who was still resting his head on the table. "So you will get another chance, Martin. No need to throw yourself out of the nearest airlock."
"I'll just screw it up again," moaned Martin. "There's no point in even trying."
"Oh, I'm not putting up with this for the rest of the trip," declared Douglas. "Martin, you have 48 hours to convince the chief engineer that you want in to his rather form-fitting uniform trousers, or I'm taking him to one side and telling him that you're mad with lust for him."
"Douglas, no!"
"Then you'll have to do it first, won't you?" replied Douglas. "Come on Captain Crieff, supreme commander and sir of sirs. Dig down deep, discover your inner Captain Kirk, and get out there and hunt down your man!"