Ramble!fic wherein Pike is tapped for babysitting duty (1/?) (Pike POV, 952 words, R, Pike+Ex+Dog)
Somebody, somewhere, wanted Pike babysitting Joanna. Here's part one of that story, since I typed it up months ago and it's at a good stopping point. The rest of it will follow at some point. Probably. Maybe. Whatever.
My work ethic will return eventually, I promise. :x
Pike POV, 952 words, R for language, Pike + The Ex aka The XO + Pike!Dog aka Naja
"Run that by me again?" Chris says.
Naja, reacting to the urgency in his tone, bumbles around under the desk for a few seconds before getting herself oriented to rest her chin on his thigh.
"I need you to look after Joanna for a few hours," says Haprin. Her voice is different over the comm. It's been flattened, not stripped of depth so much as soil, cool and tightly packed.
"This is very short notice, Haprin," he says. Naja snuffles until he lays his hand heavily on her neck.
"Yes, it is," Haprin answers, and there's a bold silence during which she does not mention that she was sent to the Riverside shipyard on equally short notice. Chris apologized at the time, but it was unavoidable that she go in his stead. How was Chris to know two weeks ago, when the walk-through was scheduled, that today he'd be too lazy? More importantly, Uncle X is coming to the States this weekend for an inspection of the distribution centers. If Chris pays his familial respects sufficiently, Uncle X will stop whining about ungrateful prodigal sons and Chris won't have to schlep all way to the ranch in Scotland.
"Isn't there someone else?" Chris asks, but he knows Haprin wouldn't be asking him if there were. The clinic isn't understaffed, but with patients still laid up from the outbreak last week, there's no way McCoy's getting out of his shift early. Kirk is heading out on a field training exercise; Chris spent too much time bullying Kirk into signing up and 'respectfully persuading' the trip commanders to let a first-year cadet on the roster to jeopardize it now. Kirk could do the exercise next year, but by then he'll have covered the main survival strategies in class. Chris doesn't like that. It's not realistic.
"There isn't, sir. I apologize," Haprin says. Her list of viable babysitters is as terse as the rest of her. Chris suspects that Kirk wouldn't be on it if he weren't living in McCoy's pocket, and McCoy wouldn't tap Chris for babysitting of his own volition, that's for sure. He's been sour ever since he first contacted Chris, asking cagey questions under pretext of recruitment, and if Chris gave a crap about anything other than getting the best of everything for his ship-including medical staff-he'd try to figure that one out. For now, it's sufficient that Haprin and her ex-husband have their paranoia synchronized well enough to trust each other's judgment. Chris considers suggesting that they use their bottomless congeniality to make some new friends, but he'd rather not poke the bear today.
Instead he says, "So, you're really going to trust me with your kid."
There's a brief pause, probably because Haprin has to stop and think about what the fuck this 'trust' shit is. "I have no choice," she answers.
"Oh stop, you're embarrassing me." Chris lays on the sarcasm but really, this is an improvement. Seven years ago he had to swear total fealty and compliance just to hold the newborn and even then, Haprin hovered. Chris suspects that the only thing that kept her from snatching the infant back was the awkward fit of the Reserve Corps blues on her newly acquired bulk. Chris would think that was a tidy metaphor for her transition to domesticity but even in civvies, clothes are incidental things. A uniform doesn't transform her the way it does other people. She's just Haprin, a living emblem of torque.
"Joanna will be on her best behavior," Haprin assures him, and it's only deference to the chain of command that stops her from saying, And you'd better be, too.
"I'm sure we'll get along fine," Chris says, even though the closest applicable experience he has is with the 18-24 set, and that's a stretch. For one thing, a seven-year-old isn't going to crowd into his space as if she's irresistible, just like Kirk and countless other cadets have done.
Actually, Joanna will probably do exactly that. It had better be sexless, though, or Chris will personally see that someone is arrested.
Chris digs his fingers into Naja's ruff and reaffirms his preference for quadrupeds. They are easily plied with foodstuffs, forgive most trespasses if you rub their belly, and, if all else fails, you can sit on them until they calm down (incidentally, Chris gets on with Kirk quite well, despite his species.)
"Kirk reports to the shuttle pad at 1700," Haprin says. "Will you be in your office shortly before then, so he can drop her off?"
"Affirmative," says Chris. "I'll be here all evening; I want you to hook up a live feed for me, so I can watch the walk-through."
"Yes, sir," says Haprin, with a total lack of surprise which would rankle if Chris hadn't realized five minutes after ordering her up to Iowa that he's a stupid ass for passing up any opportunity to fiddle with the innards of his half-finished ship. At least Engineer Fleischer touches her the way he would. Hell, he'll admit Fleischer's a thousand times better; she can slide a swizzle stick beneath a skein of wiring with a practiced slyness that reminds him of his mother in the abattoir, coaxing meat away from bone.
Haprin wants to run the numbers before they make it official, but Chris trusts his instincts; Fleischer will make a hell of a Chief Engineer.
"Call me when you're ready," Chris says. "Pike out." He hits the disconnect button, then looks down at Naja, who shoves her cold, wet nose into his palm. "Good dog," he murmurs. He skritches her behind the ears to soften her up before asking, "How do you feel about little girls?"
My work ethic will return eventually, I promise. :x
Pike POV, 952 words, R for language, Pike + The Ex aka The XO + Pike!Dog aka Naja
"Run that by me again?" Chris says.
Naja, reacting to the urgency in his tone, bumbles around under the desk for a few seconds before getting herself oriented to rest her chin on his thigh.
"I need you to look after Joanna for a few hours," says Haprin. Her voice is different over the comm. It's been flattened, not stripped of depth so much as soil, cool and tightly packed.
"This is very short notice, Haprin," he says. Naja snuffles until he lays his hand heavily on her neck.
"Yes, it is," Haprin answers, and there's a bold silence during which she does not mention that she was sent to the Riverside shipyard on equally short notice. Chris apologized at the time, but it was unavoidable that she go in his stead. How was Chris to know two weeks ago, when the walk-through was scheduled, that today he'd be too lazy? More importantly, Uncle X is coming to the States this weekend for an inspection of the distribution centers. If Chris pays his familial respects sufficiently, Uncle X will stop whining about ungrateful prodigal sons and Chris won't have to schlep all way to the ranch in Scotland.
"Isn't there someone else?" Chris asks, but he knows Haprin wouldn't be asking him if there were. The clinic isn't understaffed, but with patients still laid up from the outbreak last week, there's no way McCoy's getting out of his shift early. Kirk is heading out on a field training exercise; Chris spent too much time bullying Kirk into signing up and 'respectfully persuading' the trip commanders to let a first-year cadet on the roster to jeopardize it now. Kirk could do the exercise next year, but by then he'll have covered the main survival strategies in class. Chris doesn't like that. It's not realistic.
"There isn't, sir. I apologize," Haprin says. Her list of viable babysitters is as terse as the rest of her. Chris suspects that Kirk wouldn't be on it if he weren't living in McCoy's pocket, and McCoy wouldn't tap Chris for babysitting of his own volition, that's for sure. He's been sour ever since he first contacted Chris, asking cagey questions under pretext of recruitment, and if Chris gave a crap about anything other than getting the best of everything for his ship-including medical staff-he'd try to figure that one out. For now, it's sufficient that Haprin and her ex-husband have their paranoia synchronized well enough to trust each other's judgment. Chris considers suggesting that they use their bottomless congeniality to make some new friends, but he'd rather not poke the bear today.
Instead he says, "So, you're really going to trust me with your kid."
There's a brief pause, probably because Haprin has to stop and think about what the fuck this 'trust' shit is. "I have no choice," she answers.
"Oh stop, you're embarrassing me." Chris lays on the sarcasm but really, this is an improvement. Seven years ago he had to swear total fealty and compliance just to hold the newborn and even then, Haprin hovered. Chris suspects that the only thing that kept her from snatching the infant back was the awkward fit of the Reserve Corps blues on her newly acquired bulk. Chris would think that was a tidy metaphor for her transition to domesticity but even in civvies, clothes are incidental things. A uniform doesn't transform her the way it does other people. She's just Haprin, a living emblem of torque.
"Joanna will be on her best behavior," Haprin assures him, and it's only deference to the chain of command that stops her from saying, And you'd better be, too.
"I'm sure we'll get along fine," Chris says, even though the closest applicable experience he has is with the 18-24 set, and that's a stretch. For one thing, a seven-year-old isn't going to crowd into his space as if she's irresistible, just like Kirk and countless other cadets have done.
Actually, Joanna will probably do exactly that. It had better be sexless, though, or Chris will personally see that someone is arrested.
Chris digs his fingers into Naja's ruff and reaffirms his preference for quadrupeds. They are easily plied with foodstuffs, forgive most trespasses if you rub their belly, and, if all else fails, you can sit on them until they calm down (incidentally, Chris gets on with Kirk quite well, despite his species.)
"Kirk reports to the shuttle pad at 1700," Haprin says. "Will you be in your office shortly before then, so he can drop her off?"
"Affirmative," says Chris. "I'll be here all evening; I want you to hook up a live feed for me, so I can watch the walk-through."
"Yes, sir," says Haprin, with a total lack of surprise which would rankle if Chris hadn't realized five minutes after ordering her up to Iowa that he's a stupid ass for passing up any opportunity to fiddle with the innards of his half-finished ship. At least Engineer Fleischer touches her the way he would. Hell, he'll admit Fleischer's a thousand times better; she can slide a swizzle stick beneath a skein of wiring with a practiced slyness that reminds him of his mother in the abattoir, coaxing meat away from bone.
Haprin wants to run the numbers before they make it official, but Chris trusts his instincts; Fleischer will make a hell of a Chief Engineer.
"Call me when you're ready," Chris says. "Pike out." He hits the disconnect button, then looks down at Naja, who shoves her cold, wet nose into his palm. "Good dog," he murmurs. He skritches her behind the ears to soften her up before asking, "How do you feel about little girls?"