[Fic] Mirror Mirrored
ffffffff I never thought I'd write fic again. Much less fic for THIS fandom. This is what shiny does to me. orz.
Title: Mirror Mirrored
Fandom: New!Trek. With some TOS mixed in.
Genre: Gen, primarily Kirk, Bones, and Spock. A few pairing hints if you squint.
Wordcount: 1,500-ish
Spoilers/Warnings: None; some violence and language.
Notes: This is a fic that probably could be worked out into a full plot-type thing … but I honestly don’t have the energy (or the TOS know how) to pull it off. Consider it an exercise in premise rather than plot.
"It was just one girl--"
"Yeah, the only daughter of a monarch you knew was crazy--"
"--and she practically seduced me!"
Life as Captain James T. Kirk is never anything short of exciting. Today's excitement takes the form of a whole hell of a lot of phaser fire, burning through the air at the speed of light and disintegrating the brush behind them. That kind of shit hurts. Jim knows this from first hand experience, and also the scarlet burn poking out from beneath his ripped uniform. "Kirk to -- ow -- Enterprise --"
"Give me that." McCoy grabs Kirk's communicator and tackles him none-too-gently. The impact knocks all the wind out of him, and the bush's thorns make it a very prickly landing, but they're safe, for the moment; the phaser fire shoots harmlessly over both their heads. With a grumble, the doctor sets the communicator aside. "Dammit, Jim. You're in no condition to run, much less run and talk at the same time."
"What, scared I'll trip?" Kirk laughs. Then he winces, unexpectedly. He glances down at himself, bewildered ... until he notices the spreading pool of red along the right side of his shirt. That last phaser blast clearly hadn't missed by as wide a margin as he'd expected.
McCoy's hands are there in the next second, pressing firm against the wound and prompting a sharp yelp from Kirk. "Scared you'll trip, crack your head open, and give me a pile of brains to clean up in addition to this mess," he says. "Now do me a favor and shut the hell up."
And Kirk does. Not because he particularly feels like it -- spite is a many-splendored thing -- but because that pain is searingly close to his lungs, and he's forgotten how to breathe in properly. "Jeez, Bones," he says, gasping a little, "I'll be fine."
McCoy holds Kirk's blood in with one hand and pulls out a bandage with the other. "You call this fine?"
"Yeah, it's fine." Another jolt of pain as the bandage conforms to his side. "With a couple exceptions."
"Dare I ask what 'not fine' is."
"Dead," says Kirk. "Also, shot down."
"You were shot down. Both ways, in fact."
"Okay, just 'dead.'"
The doctor shoots Kirk one of his patented "I-don't-know-why-I-put-up-with-you-but-hell-if-I'll-let-you-die-dammit" looks. It's got to be a requirement for Starfleet doctors, along with a functioning tricorder and the Hippocratic Oath. "You'll hurt less if you talk less," he says as he flips open the communicator. The one he stole from Kirk, that bastard. McCoy's own comm is probably somewhere behind him, lost in the mysterious thornbushes of Epsilon Whatever. "McCoy to Enterprise. Do you read?"
"Spock here." His voice is infuriatingly smooth and calm, especially compared to the sound of phasers shooting overhead. "It seems that diplomacy has been temporarily suspended."
Kirk leans back on his forearms with a groan. "Nice to hear from you too, Spock."
"To hell with the diplomacy, you pointy-eared bastard," says McCoy. "A quick beam up to Sickbay would be appreciated right about now."
The Vulcan's voice shifts, almost imperceptibly; the steel is showing. "You'll have to get to the rendezvous point," he says. "The ship is currently passing through a magnetic storm; we can't risk two teleportations in short succession." A pause. "Will that be possible?"
"I'm waving at you," Kirk says. The scenery is beginning to blur around him; he's too dizzy to focus on anything properly, including the movement of his own hand. "Hey Bones, tell Spock I'm waving at him."
McCoy pauses a moment before answering Spock. "Don't got much choice in the matter, do we? McCoy out."
Abruptly, Kirk finds hismelf being pulled to his feet. His good arm flops across McCoy's shoulders while his feet fumble along the ground. "I thought you didn't want me running anywhere."
"You're not. I am," McCoy says, and they hurry together, the doctor all but dragging Kirk along for the ride. Another burst of phaser fire crackles past their heads; Kirk can't tell if the Epsilonians have found them again or if it was just a lucky shot. "Pick up your feet, dammit."
The ground blurs past at a frightening pace. Kirk might have lost consciousness once or twice; the next thing he knows, he's got his feet on solid stone. Scotty and Uhura are both waiting for them. "What in the blazes are y'playin' at?" Scotty demands. "Not that I'm arguin' with all this excitement, but--"
"--it was supposed to be a diplomatic mission," finishes Uhura. And before Kirk can tell her exactly what he thinks of their 'diplomatic mission,' she gets out her communicator. "Informing the transporter team now, Dr. McCoy."
"Four to beam up," Kirk mumbles into McCoy's shoulder. "Make it so."
He can't see McCoy's half-exasperated, half-concerned look, nor does he see the flash of the transporter beam. But part-way through, he realizes that something is wrong. There's a tug and a surge, and the whole damn trip is taking several seconds when it should have taken less than one.
When they finally materialize, Kirk hits the floor hard.
He observes, with some degree of pride, the red now staining the bottom of his transporter. Serves the damn thing right for being slow.
*
This time, Spock doesn't take any chances. He hovers next to Chekov and the transporter controls, keeping a firm eye on both the ensign and the transporter pad itself. Theoretically speaking, there is no logical reason behind his presence here. The ship has beamed personnel through magnetic storms any number of times; only once has the process brought unwanted counterparts aboard the Enterprise.
And yet, Spock stands in the transporter room with his hands folded neatly behind his back, waiting for the worst. A "gut feeling," according to the human expression. "Transporting now," Chekov says, manuevering the nobs and levers that make up the transporter controls. The vague silhouettes of Kirk, McCoy, Uhura, and Scott appear on the pad.
For a brief moment, Spock is certain that his caution is unfounded, that nothing will happen after all. But that moment stretches; Chekov mutters something in Russian, pushes dials, and the quartet still fails to materialize. "Ensign," begins Spock, his brows furrowing--
They appear. Spock relaxes a fraction of an inch, then tenses straight back up again. Point the first: Kirk is seriously injured and on the floor as well, when he sounded perfectly intact just moments ago on the communicator. Point the second: all four of them are significantly (and startlingly) younger. Even Bones isn't quite as lined around the edges as he usually is, even if his brisk bedside manner hasn't changed any. He immediately motions for Spock to help him. "Dammit, don't just gawk," he says as he lifts Kirk’s semi-conscious form off the floor. "This idiot got himself nailed by a--"
The doctor stops. Behind him, Scotty all but lunges at the transporter controls. "Oi! What the hell did y'do to my ship?" he says, dismayed. "Get them dials and knobbly bits offa there!" And Uhura -- Uhura is staring at Spock with a very strange expression indeed. If not for the Captain currently bleeding all over the place, Spock would have been most...intrigued.
But the Captain is bleeding. And groaning, though eyes are still squeezed shut and he barely seems conscious at all. Of the four, he seems the youngest somehow; his face is much, much softer than the Kirk that Spock knows. "Are we there yet?"
That snaps McCoy back to the task at hand. "Quitcher whining," he says. "You're going down to sickbay, and you're gonna stay there til you stop leaking." He follows that statement up with a glare in Spock's direction. The Vulcan knows that look well; it usually accompanies a “green-blooded hobgoblin” or similarly colorful (though often technically correct) epithet. Or, in this case, a demand for some kind of explanation.
Spock would be interested in one as well. But at the moment, the Captain is the more pressing concern. When they finally lay him down on a cot, he groans again. “Be rougher next time,” he mutters, blinking his eyes open. “You’re too gentle.”
Point the third: this Kirk's eyes are a bright, electric shade of blue.
Fascinating.
Title: Mirror Mirrored
Fandom: New!Trek. With some TOS mixed in.
Genre: Gen, primarily Kirk, Bones, and Spock. A few pairing hints if you squint.
Wordcount: 1,500-ish
Spoilers/Warnings: None; some violence and language.
Notes: This is a fic that probably could be worked out into a full plot-type thing … but I honestly don’t have the energy (or the TOS know how) to pull it off. Consider it an exercise in premise rather than plot.
"It was just one girl--"
"Yeah, the only daughter of a monarch you knew was crazy--"
"--and she practically seduced me!"
Life as Captain James T. Kirk is never anything short of exciting. Today's excitement takes the form of a whole hell of a lot of phaser fire, burning through the air at the speed of light and disintegrating the brush behind them. That kind of shit hurts. Jim knows this from first hand experience, and also the scarlet burn poking out from beneath his ripped uniform. "Kirk to -- ow -- Enterprise --"
"Give me that." McCoy grabs Kirk's communicator and tackles him none-too-gently. The impact knocks all the wind out of him, and the bush's thorns make it a very prickly landing, but they're safe, for the moment; the phaser fire shoots harmlessly over both their heads. With a grumble, the doctor sets the communicator aside. "Dammit, Jim. You're in no condition to run, much less run and talk at the same time."
"What, scared I'll trip?" Kirk laughs. Then he winces, unexpectedly. He glances down at himself, bewildered ... until he notices the spreading pool of red along the right side of his shirt. That last phaser blast clearly hadn't missed by as wide a margin as he'd expected.
McCoy's hands are there in the next second, pressing firm against the wound and prompting a sharp yelp from Kirk. "Scared you'll trip, crack your head open, and give me a pile of brains to clean up in addition to this mess," he says. "Now do me a favor and shut the hell up."
And Kirk does. Not because he particularly feels like it -- spite is a many-splendored thing -- but because that pain is searingly close to his lungs, and he's forgotten how to breathe in properly. "Jeez, Bones," he says, gasping a little, "I'll be fine."
McCoy holds Kirk's blood in with one hand and pulls out a bandage with the other. "You call this fine?"
"Yeah, it's fine." Another jolt of pain as the bandage conforms to his side. "With a couple exceptions."
"Dare I ask what 'not fine' is."
"Dead," says Kirk. "Also, shot down."
"You were shot down. Both ways, in fact."
"Okay, just 'dead.'"
The doctor shoots Kirk one of his patented "I-don't-know-why-I-put-up-with-you-but-hell-if-I'll-let-you-die-dammit" looks. It's got to be a requirement for Starfleet doctors, along with a functioning tricorder and the Hippocratic Oath. "You'll hurt less if you talk less," he says as he flips open the communicator. The one he stole from Kirk, that bastard. McCoy's own comm is probably somewhere behind him, lost in the mysterious thornbushes of Epsilon Whatever. "McCoy to Enterprise. Do you read?"
"Spock here." His voice is infuriatingly smooth and calm, especially compared to the sound of phasers shooting overhead. "It seems that diplomacy has been temporarily suspended."
Kirk leans back on his forearms with a groan. "Nice to hear from you too, Spock."
"To hell with the diplomacy, you pointy-eared bastard," says McCoy. "A quick beam up to Sickbay would be appreciated right about now."
The Vulcan's voice shifts, almost imperceptibly; the steel is showing. "You'll have to get to the rendezvous point," he says. "The ship is currently passing through a magnetic storm; we can't risk two teleportations in short succession." A pause. "Will that be possible?"
"I'm waving at you," Kirk says. The scenery is beginning to blur around him; he's too dizzy to focus on anything properly, including the movement of his own hand. "Hey Bones, tell Spock I'm waving at him."
McCoy pauses a moment before answering Spock. "Don't got much choice in the matter, do we? McCoy out."
Abruptly, Kirk finds hismelf being pulled to his feet. His good arm flops across McCoy's shoulders while his feet fumble along the ground. "I thought you didn't want me running anywhere."
"You're not. I am," McCoy says, and they hurry together, the doctor all but dragging Kirk along for the ride. Another burst of phaser fire crackles past their heads; Kirk can't tell if the Epsilonians have found them again or if it was just a lucky shot. "Pick up your feet, dammit."
The ground blurs past at a frightening pace. Kirk might have lost consciousness once or twice; the next thing he knows, he's got his feet on solid stone. Scotty and Uhura are both waiting for them. "What in the blazes are y'playin' at?" Scotty demands. "Not that I'm arguin' with all this excitement, but--"
"--it was supposed to be a diplomatic mission," finishes Uhura. And before Kirk can tell her exactly what he thinks of their 'diplomatic mission,' she gets out her communicator. "Informing the transporter team now, Dr. McCoy."
"Four to beam up," Kirk mumbles into McCoy's shoulder. "Make it so."
He can't see McCoy's half-exasperated, half-concerned look, nor does he see the flash of the transporter beam. But part-way through, he realizes that something is wrong. There's a tug and a surge, and the whole damn trip is taking several seconds when it should have taken less than one.
When they finally materialize, Kirk hits the floor hard.
He observes, with some degree of pride, the red now staining the bottom of his transporter. Serves the damn thing right for being slow.
*
This time, Spock doesn't take any chances. He hovers next to Chekov and the transporter controls, keeping a firm eye on both the ensign and the transporter pad itself. Theoretically speaking, there is no logical reason behind his presence here. The ship has beamed personnel through magnetic storms any number of times; only once has the process brought unwanted counterparts aboard the Enterprise.
And yet, Spock stands in the transporter room with his hands folded neatly behind his back, waiting for the worst. A "gut feeling," according to the human expression. "Transporting now," Chekov says, manuevering the nobs and levers that make up the transporter controls. The vague silhouettes of Kirk, McCoy, Uhura, and Scott appear on the pad.
For a brief moment, Spock is certain that his caution is unfounded, that nothing will happen after all. But that moment stretches; Chekov mutters something in Russian, pushes dials, and the quartet still fails to materialize. "Ensign," begins Spock, his brows furrowing--
They appear. Spock relaxes a fraction of an inch, then tenses straight back up again. Point the first: Kirk is seriously injured and on the floor as well, when he sounded perfectly intact just moments ago on the communicator. Point the second: all four of them are significantly (and startlingly) younger. Even Bones isn't quite as lined around the edges as he usually is, even if his brisk bedside manner hasn't changed any. He immediately motions for Spock to help him. "Dammit, don't just gawk," he says as he lifts Kirk’s semi-conscious form off the floor. "This idiot got himself nailed by a--"
The doctor stops. Behind him, Scotty all but lunges at the transporter controls. "Oi! What the hell did y'do to my ship?" he says, dismayed. "Get them dials and knobbly bits offa there!" And Uhura -- Uhura is staring at Spock with a very strange expression indeed. If not for the Captain currently bleeding all over the place, Spock would have been most...intrigued.
But the Captain is bleeding. And groaning, though eyes are still squeezed shut and he barely seems conscious at all. Of the four, he seems the youngest somehow; his face is much, much softer than the Kirk that Spock knows. "Are we there yet?"
That snaps McCoy back to the task at hand. "Quitcher whining," he says. "You're going down to sickbay, and you're gonna stay there til you stop leaking." He follows that statement up with a glare in Spock's direction. The Vulcan knows that look well; it usually accompanies a “green-blooded hobgoblin” or similarly colorful (though often technically correct) epithet. Or, in this case, a demand for some kind of explanation.
Spock would be interested in one as well. But at the moment, the Captain is the more pressing concern. When they finally lay him down on a cot, he groans again. “Be rougher next time,” he mutters, blinking his eyes open. “You’re too gentle.”
Point the third: this Kirk's eyes are a bright, electric shade of blue.
Fascinating.