Fic: A Good Man, Ch 4
The first time Starfleet decides to take the new cadets on a big field trip (what are they, kindergarteners?) to space dock and show off one of their shiny new flagships, Leonard just about shits himself in the shuttle. He tries not to catalog all the things that could go wrong, he tries not to look out the window (why do they even have windows? All the better to get sucked to into space, my dear, the Big Bad Wolf cackles), he tries not to think about solar flares or engine failures or fuel explosions. Nope, not thinking about it all.
When the goddamn thing lifts off the ground (was that a jolt? Is that normal?) and launches into space, Leonard tells himself to breathe deeply, close his eyes. He is not in space. He’s on some beach. Somewhere warm. There’s blue water and solid ground, mostly in the form of sand. He’s got a drink in his hand and he’s sitting in the sun. Not in space. Then Jim has to obnoxiously poke him in the arm and ask what’s wrong. What the hell does he think? It aint natural for a man to be off the ground. If men were supposed to fly, they’d have wings, damnit! Jim’s all ease and good humor, not nausea and mortal fear for his life. Yeah, Leonard’s exaggerating a little, but a man’s allowed to be dramatic sometimes.
He opens his eyes for half a second to see Jim staring out the window, totally enthralled by the sight of space. There aint nothing to see, as far as Leonard’s concerned. But the expression on Jim’s face reminds him of the time he went to visit the Notre Dame and stared at the huge Rose Window. Awe, humility, wonder. Those are all written on Jim’s face, as though space itself was his cathedral. That moment, Leonard knows that men were meant to have wings. They just had to find their own-to dream of the sky and long for that cold freedom.
He half expects Jim to be running all over the ship like a lunatic, exploring every crevice and being the smart aleck smartass that he is. But he’s not. Jim’s subdued but not quite reverent, as he walks through the ship and takes in the sight. He’s at the back of their tour group and doesn’t hear a word that the guide’s saying. His thoughts are far away, but his eyes are burning with an intense light that Leonard’s rarely seen in people who aren’t running a high grade fever. Some of the other cadets are giving Jim weird looks, but Leonard gives him the space he needs. He’s just thankful that for once in his life, the boy’s not runnin’ his mouth a mile a minute.
It’s like Cinderella though, without the glass slippers and prince and hullabaloo. Jim finally snaps out of it the when they get to the bridge and Leonard has no idea what the guy’s thinking. A few of the kids ask the guide if they can have a spin the captain’s chair, and she lets them. They’re a rowdy bunch, climbin’ all over the thing as though it were a jungle gym. Jim stays away as if it had leprosy. He just kind of wanders around, looks at the different screens, make a few comments here and there to another guy walking with him. And there’s a surprise visit from one of the higher ups. How nice. The boys and girls stand at attention, the woman in the sleek black uniform (who turns out to be the new First Officer of the ship) says some vague blather about Starfleet, and answers questions. She’s human, as far as Leonard can tell, but she calls herself Number One. Ridiculous name, in his opinion.
This ship, she explains, is the U.S.S. Farragut. It’s in space dock for some minor system repairs. It’s scheduled to go on a one year scientific mission, then it’s due for some major infrastructure and engineering overhauls. Someone mentions the Enterprise, and why isn’t this ship down on earth getting rebuilt from the ground up? The Farragut, she says in that oh so cool, calm voice of hers, is a much younger ship than the Enterprise. It’ll undergo a similar process ten years from now. For now, they’re here for maintenance and repairs, then it’s off to another mission.
Does she like being in space that long, someone asks. The question elicits a rare smile (not that Leonard’s been keeping track. She is a fine lookin’ woman) and that’s an answer in and of itself.
“You get used to it,” she simply says, like the whole thing’s a goddamn enigma.
Somehow, she manages to notice Jim. Leonard knows (and so probably Jim knows too) by the way she gives a start and does a subtle doubletake that this woman knew George Kirk. Don’t say anything don’t say anything don’t say anything he wills.
“Cadet Kirk?” she asks.
Jim stiffens, clearly expecting some sort of comment like “you look so much like your father” (um, okay?) or “how’s your mother doing” (she passed away) or “your father was a fine man we hope the fruit doesn’t grow too far from the tree” (thank you with grit teeth). “Yeah?”
“Kindly refrain from leaning on that ledge. It is not yet-“ Jim manages to crash to the floor in a spectacular fashion “-stable.”
Jim scrambles to his feet, refusing the various outstretched hands. He glares at Number One, then the expression vanishes as he turns on his smarmy grin.
But she’s already assessed to make sure he’s got no injuries, doesn’t make a big deal out of the whole thing and moves on to talk about other things (damn, that woman is good). The rest of the trip, Jim rubs his elbow and radiates more nervous energy than a coiled spring. He’s real twitchy on the shuttle ride (Leonard tries hard not to look at Jim, as all that jiggling and shaking makes him even more nauseous) and he looks like he’s about to make a run for it when Leonard, still sick to his guts, grabs Jim’s arm.
“How about some drinks? It’s on me.”
“Nah, I don’t really feel like it. Thanks though.”
“Come on, Jim.”
“I’ve got this test I gotta study for,” he scratches his head and shifts from foot to foot. Damn, but this boy’s got the worst tells when he lies. Leonard’ll have to teach him a thing or two.
“Dinner then. I’m as hungry as a bear, and that replicator stuff was awful. Worse than the ground ones.”
“I thought they were okay.”
“Are you kidding me?” Leonard gets out of the seat and they walk out shoulder to shoulder. “I’ve tasted mucus with more flavor than that gravy.”
“What? That’s just gross, Bones,” Jim makes a face. “They make you eat mucus to become a doctor?”
“Jesus Christ, Jim, there’s not enough money in the world to make me do that kind of thing! I was talkin’ about my own. You know, phlegm and all.”
The pointless conversations lasts them all the way to the restaurant (huh, wouldya look at that? We’re right in front of your favorite restaurant. Now let’s go in and get some proper victuals). By the end of the meal, Jim’s laughing and doing something idiotic, the waitress is flirting with them both, and Leonard’s had some fried chicken and peach cobbler. It aint Mom’s cookin’ (it aint Jill’s cookin’ neither, a voice whispers), but damn if this aint the good stuff.