Arena - Chapter Seven
Title: Arena
Author: whatshouldntbe
Universe/Series: Part Three of 'What Shouldn't Be' series, Reboot XI/TOS
Rating: R
Relationship status: first time, slow build K/S
Word count: 17,000+ so far, 112,000+ overall
Plot: The demons of the past will always compromise the promise of the future.
Warnings: always!girl Kirk, angst, action, character death, language, references to past child abuse, rom-com humor, sexual situations, violence, possible amateur world-building
Additional Pairings: Kirk/guy!Rand, Spock/Uhura (terminated relationship), unrequited Kirk/Spock
Summary: During the last six months of her first year into her captaincy, Jim Kirk is forced to revisit her dark past when a rumor surfaces around the ship concerning the suspected whereabouts of Governor Kodos.
Chapter Seven
Thomas Leighton was not a contrite man. He was no believer of anything and he understood that the laws of the universe never worked in anyone's favor, least of all his.
So why exactly is he standing outside of Madame Sekhmet's tent?
Hopelessness will destroy you, Leighton thinks. That's what Riley always said.
"Fate has brought you here, yes?" Madame Sekhmet supposes as she puffs away on her long wooden pipe while she sways in her rocking chair. "You've come for a reason."
"I don't know why I came, alright?" Leighton grumbles as he glances around warily with his one good eye. He doesn't want anyone from the camps to see him doing this. It's no one's business but his own. "I just-I need some answers."
"I can assure you that you have come to the right place," Madame Sekhmet assures as she stands with struggle. The old hag reaches for her cane and she walks inside her tent with much difficulty.
Leighton hesitates. He presses the wrist strapped in a dark red wrist support sleeve to his chest and he rubs his fingers against the fabric with his other hand. He ultimately decides to follow the old gypsy inside and when he enters her tent he finds that she's waiting for him at a table with a crystal ball. The place smells of tea leaves and incense.
Madame Sekhmet gestures to the empty seat on the other side of the table.
Leighton sits down and rest both hands in his lap with a grim expression.
"What can Madame Sekhmet do for you?"
"I don't know."
"Not knowing is no good."
"Well I don't know," Leighton snaps. "The whole point of getting you people here was to find someone."
"Someone from your past," Madame Sekhmet reasons. "You have a longstanding grudge with this man, yes?"
Leighton stiffens in his seat as his one-eyed gaze sharpened. "You could not possibly know that."
"There is a lot Madam Sekhmet knows that she should not," the old gypsy says. "I know that you are of a bitter hate, lusting for revenge against a man who you feel has wronged you. He took your beloved from you, did he not?"
Leighton inhales thickly, as though struck by some invisible force. "Yes," he hoarsely confesses. "He took everything from me."
"No man can take from that which is already freely given," Madame Sekhmet corrects. "What is your business with this man? What do you mean to do? What purpose do you have to bring him here? As if I didn't already know."
"Then why ask?" Leighton snarls. "If you know it all, what is the point of asking me?"
"I'd rather hear it from you," Madame Sekhmet calmly says.
"I want to kill him. I want to kill him and I want James Kirk to suffer for it too," Leighton hisses.
Madame Sekhmet's lips curl. "I don't believe I want her to suffer. I want to scare her-that fear makes her so pretty. She's upset me, but I don't want to hurt her. What loving father wants to cause his child pain?" Her eyes gleam, and suddenly, Leighton can't help but to notice how familiar her eyes seem. "Who are you to decide who suffers, in any case? Stupid boy. Thirteen years and you're still stupid as ever."
The sudden baritone that comes from the old gypsy's throat takes Leighton aback and he can certainly place those cold lifeless eyes. "Kodos?"
"Stupid boy," Madame-no-Kodos snarls. "Did you really think I'd be so easily captured? I've known what you meant to do with me when you took my troupe and I from Earth. But I let you, do you understand? I let you because I knew you would lead me to her."
Leighton blinks before he flushes an ugly purple. "You fucking fuck-"
Kodos curls his finger into the trigger of the phaser he's been hiding under the table the whole time.
Leighton flies back and lands onto the floor with a gurgle. He's not dead, just stunned.
"Can't have you ruining my plans, stupid boy," Kodos says with a disapproving cluck of his tongue. He stands and begins dragging Leighton's unconscious body into the deepest pocket of his tent. When the night comes, he'll have to move the idiot to one of the boxcars. "Don't worry, boy. I won't kill you. I'll have my protégé do it. What a grand reunion that will be-I do hope she's gotten my note."
Kodos cackles as he shoves Leighton into one of his empty chests and locks it. He turns away, picks up the cane and pipe, and walks back to the outside of the tent where he sits into the rocking chair, falling into character again.
Madame Sekhmet smiles and winks at an officer that passes by her tent.
Leighton doesn't stir until much later, but by then, it's too late.
888
Jim wakes up with Spock's name rolling like ocean waves in her mind, and it swells some kind of frothy feeling in the center of her chest. It stalls there like a fixed point almost, because when she wakes up, she doesn't wake up altogether. The sensation is much like being pulled out of the deep end of a pool. First she feels her arm go, then her shoulders, her hips, her knees, her head, her legs, and then the rest follows. The feeling never ceases-her body moving through some kind of thickly tangible haze; all the while her awareness of Spock and his name floats pleasantly in her mind like a feather on an ocean of oil.
And how fitting that we're like that, she dazedly thinks with a tiredly confused, yet pondering grin. I am the feather and he is the oil. How can those things reside together?
Jim eventually succumbs to the rightness of her body when she feels a feather-light touch ghosting over her hip where her Starfleet medical division badge tattoo is. The touch is followed by a light scrape of blunt fingernails tracing the cross found in the center of the tattoo. She shivers-the skin there is extremely sensitive-and she peeks one eye open, straining against the hot sunlight encasing the outside of her tent. It's so bright that it seems like the sun is trying to find its way in. She takes a few moments blinking and adjusting against it all like a newborn that's withdrawn from the darkness of its mother's womb.
When she finds a happy medium for her sight, she flicks her gaze down to where Chapel is at her hip and tracing over the tattoo with an expression of considerable curiosity. Her red painted fingernails flex and jump over her tattooed hip like a set of jumping beans, and she seems to be contemplating the origin of the tattoo, if her expression is anything to go back.
Jim pulls her gaze to her orange tank top, which is bunched under her small breasts (Chapel must have moved it for a better view because Jim doesn't flail in her sleep like that). The elastic band of her underwear is digging gently into her skin, but all she can do is focus on that touch just for a moment.
It's hot, but it's always hot of course-it's not called New Vulcan for nothing. Even still, it is a heat that Jim is getting used to. She finds that it's growing on her. What was once sweltering and unbearable, is now heavily comforting and wholly neighboring like a blanket or a gentle presence.
Could be a good thing, Jim thinks, as she shifts into Chapel's touch subconsciously. If Spock decides to take the job-and I think he will, though I wish he wouldn't-I'll have built up enough tolerance to endure this heat to come and visit him as often as I can or if he'd want me to.
Jim quietly wonders if he would even care or miss her. She'd like to think so-she'd liked to believe he's fond of her in some way. Sometimes she can read it off him like a blind person can read brail on a wall. But other times he just stands there in full form, devoid of any sentiment, and she can't see beyond his physicality.
They've come to some kind of understanding haven't they? Last night was progress, but-so many buts. He's made his reasoning for his continued friendship with her clear, but at the same time she's not sure if its enough to know whether or not he'll be affected in the least by her absence. Did Vulcans miss people or things?
I don't want to think about this anymore, I'll spin myself into an unpleasant mood and that's not how I want to start my November, she silently decides as she concentrates on the curious scrapes and traces of Chapel's red painted fingernails.
Minutes pass before Jim breathes out with an announcing sigh and stretches out like a lethargically limber cat.
Chapel pulls back with a grin. Her eyes are sparkling happily adding appealing depth to her gorgeousness. What's even more charming is that her hair is skewed from sleep. "Good afternoon, Goldie," she says with good manner as she props her chin in her hand and graces her captain with an exquisite smile that could make flowers bloom.
"Good afternoon," Jim returns with a breathy, pleasant smile. She laces her hands behind her head as she continues to gaze down at the curvy nurse sporting hot pink underwear. "What time is it?"
"I believe we're edging into two o'clock," Chapel replies as she rubs at the side of her nose with one hand and she looks at the inside of her other wrist where there is a watch sitting in wait. She nods in a confirming way as she rolls her bottom lip between her teeth and releases it with a wet pop. "But, you know, I think we all slept good after last night, so you wouldn't be the only one starting your Sunday as of now."
"Who says I'm starting my Sunday now?" Jim yawns around a chuckle. She does feel well-rested and blissful. She grins for reasons unknown (even to her) and feels giddy enough to float off into the sky and join the clouds. Oh it's a good day already-she likes that.
"My, aren't you in good spirits this afternoon? I wonder why," Chapel says with a pondering sort of stare. Her pink mouth wiggles thoughtfully as her nose scrunches with her contemplation. Something sharp and hopeful passes like lightening in her inquisitive eyes that it almost startles Jim.
"What?"
"Nothing," Chapel assures as she relaxes her face. "I was just thinking that maybe we should throw more parties. You wear them well."
Jim laughs quick and joltingly, but she doesn't disagree. She shrugs before she rises into a sitting position. "Did you call me Goldie?"
"You're a little slow on the uptake, but yeah, I did. It's my new nickname for you. You're pure gold, Jamie," Chapel clarifies as she sits up on her knees. She sits back on her calves. She pulls her honey colored hair out of her face and does a delicious wink before she goes on to say, "The Bash last night was beyond amazing, with all thanks to you as a DJ."
"I did what I could," Jim says, modestly enough. "But I saw that that was enough, even though I was locked up in that booth for most of the night like a bird in a cage." She scratches the side of her neck as her stomach grumbles, appetite building up. "Where's Nyota?"
"Lovie's having lunch with Monty," replies Chapel as she wiggles her eyebrows in a lecherous manner and uses her fingers to wipe the space under her eyes clear of smudged mascara.
"No, shut up," Jim utters in amazement as she slaps her hand down over Chapel's.
"Oh yeah," Chapel confirms with a laugh as she lifts Jim's hand and teethes her knuckles playfully. "She's got a hard-on for your Chief Engineer, I'm telling you. Oh but don't tell her I told you that because she would strangle me. But it wasn't like you wouldn't have figured it out eventually anyway-what with the way things are going and all."
Jim shakes her head out of sheer amazement and awe. She uses her free hand to finger comb her fading curls out of her eyes before she says, "What luck. She really deserves it, though."
"Agreed," Chapel chimes as she laces her fingers with Jim and starts to mimic a wave. She is definitely an energetic person by nature. "So I was thinking that since she's going to be all tied up with her future husband, maybe you could come with me to the cultivation dinner being held tonight? I was invited, but I was told I could bring a plus one."
"Cultivation dinner?" Jim echoes with a thoughtful frown. Her mind briefly skims out the definitions for the word and its intended functions. "What's that all about?"
"Well," Chapel begins to explain as she keeps miming the wave with the aid of Jim's arm. "I heard they just completed all the agricultural and horticultural projects for the city. So tonight, they're having a sort of intimate and celebratory dinner for all the botanists and the scientists who were apart of making it possible. And of course Dr. Cruise organized and governed it all, so I think it was by his suggestion that they're having the dinner up on the Enterprise in one of the observation lounges. He's the one that personally invited me and now I'm inviting you because I don't want to go alone."
"And because Nyota was unavailable," Jim points out listlessly.
Chapel scrunches her face cutely before she snags one of Jim's pillows and swats her on the side of the head with it. "Oh just shut up because you know it's not like that. I'm just used to asking Lovie and having her swing with me to places. Now that you've been added to our little duo, I know I can ask you to do things with me as well. Now are you going or not?"
"Well…" Jim drawls as she pulls her hand out of Chapel's and strokes her chin thoughtfully with a mockingly ponderous face. She's kidding of course, but she still wants Chapel to sweat for it. "Hm, I just-you know, I don't know…"
"Spock will be there," Chapel goads with a sly grin tugging at her full lips as she flutters her eyelashes obnoxiously.
Jim's expression sours as she glares and shoves a pillow in the lovely curvy nurse's face. "The nerve of you. What a majestic way to shit on my fun with your unnecessary jeering. I swear, if you and Nyota don't stop it with these tenuous allegations I will just-"
"So that wasn't him I heard dropping you off last night like a man escorting his date home? I mean, it would explain that totally ecstatic smile you woke up with," Chapel continues, despite the fact that she's dodging Jim's swings. "Lovie is right, you two are so obvious and oblivious it's-"
"I will kick you in the face, you pretty fucker," Jim scorns with a frustrated frown that fuels her accurate pillow jabs.
"Yeah, yeah. Are you going or not?" Chapel pants, swatting the pillow away and looking at Jim sincerely now. She quietly says, "Please, please, please?"
Jim throws down the pillow and folds her arms across her chest.
Chapel pouts and cocks her head as she twirls her finger around a strand of her hair. "Please?"
Jim purses her lips stubbornly.
Chapel leans forward and uses her arms to press her voluptuous breasts together as she look at Jim from under her lashes in an efficiently enticing manner. "Please, Jim. I need you," she murmurs with a sultry voice.
Jim sighs when her defenses dip towards arousal and she's forced to throw up her hands in surrender. "Fucking fine, you damn temptress! God, now I know how Bones feels."
Chapel makes an excited sound, claps her hands quickly, and tackles Jim into the cushiness of her comforter with a grateful and suffocating hug. "You are just gold, Goldie, and I love you, and I owe you one. And I swear not to make fun of you and Spock tonight if you guys happen to make googly eyes at each other."
"We do not make-oh my God, forget it. I'll just hold you to that," Jim mutters simply as she pats Chapel on the back with a gentle touch that morphs into something vindictive when she's reminded that her gal pal has nothing but her underwear on. So naturally she threads her small fingers into one of Chapel's bra straps and she snaps it, causing Chapel to shriek in alarm and jerk her body away.
"Rude," Chapel whines as she glares at her captain.
Jim just grins roguishly with satisfaction and shrugs. "What should I wear?"
"Something elegant and refined but not too upscale. These are people we know and people we don't and should. It's a private dinner so it's a bit upscale, but it's formal enough that we don't need to sport ball gowns," Chapel explains as she gathers to her feet and stretches. "Cocktail dresses should do just fine."
Jim just hums and eyes her unabashedly. "We should color coordinate," she decides.
"Let's do dark blue dresses with black heels and smoky eye makeup with gold jewelry," Chapel reasons with the sort of authoritative voice she usually only uses when she's side by side with Bones in the medbay.
Jim likes the overall idea, and it's why she decides not to argue. "What time does it start?"
"Little after eight, I think. But if not I'll just let you know," Chapel promises as she swaggers over to Jim's dresser and starts picking out some clothes. She slips on a pair of Jim's jogging pants and a tank top. "Can I snag these for keeps?"
"Yeah, I don't care."
"You have so many cute clothes, I might have to steal them more often," Chapel says with a grin and a wink.
"Hey, as long as you don't touch my shoes, we're good with that."
Chapel gives her a two-fingered salute after she gathers her costume and powdered wig, and then exits the small marquee with a promise of seeing her later.
Jim just sighs and falls back into the cushiness of her floor bed with a content sigh. She rolls onto her side and closes her eyes with the intent of falling back asleep, but she hears a familiar sniffle and it makes her smile. "Kic'blu, Yaya," she calls, pulling from a Vulcan command she learned off of Spock.
I-Chaya enters through the mouth flaps and circles her bed several times, nosing at the ground and at her comforters with animalistic concentration.
"Come on," Jim says, gesturing to the space beside her. "Kic'blu."
I-Chaya huffs and treks over, sniffing Jim's feet and hands and hair before she licks a hot stripe across Jim's forehead.
Jim winces and gently pushes I-Chaya's snout away. "Why do you always like to do that? Is my forehead that delicious?" she asks, not really expecting a reply.
I-Chaya sits back on her hind legs and cocks her head. She always does this whenever Jim speaks in English. It's because I-Chaya doesn't understand much outside of the Vulcan language.
All the more reason to learn Vulcan, she silently muses.
"I'm sleepy," Jim murmurs as she strokes one of I-Chaya's paws. Her fur is so soft and inviting, much like gentle fleece. "You wanna lay with me?"
I-Chaya cocks her head with incomprehension.
Jim pats at the area above her head.
I-Chaya understands that signal well enough. She's lain with Jim plenty of times before to know what that gesture means. She moves until she's at the head of the bed and she lies on her side.
Jim scoots up and curls against I-Chaya's warm belly with a content sigh, closing her eyes with every intention of falling asleep, which she does for the next three hours to the sound of I-Chaya's gutturally low purring.
She wakes up sometime later, a little after six, and forces herself to get up. She yawns and stretches, spending a few moments to murmur gentle praises to I-Chaya as she strokes a line down her back and tweaks her left ear how she likes.
Jim pats I-Chaya twice before she stands and shimmies into a pair of basketball shorts she stole from Bones. She puts on her flip-flops just as I-Chaya licks the back of her hand and leaves without anything further.
Jim's lips curl into an amused grin as she follows I-Chaya out into the hot sun and watches her huge bearcat companion cross over into the Vulcan camps, no doubt to locate Spock.
Jim goes the opposite way, walking towards the Southern Mountains, and stopping long enough to hail the Enterprise in order to be beamed aboard, which she is a few seconds later.
She gives the officer working the transporter console an acknowledging nod before she swaggers her way to her private quarters, where she plans on hopping in the sonic shower.
After she soaks under the massaging jet spray, and even has a little, ahem, fun with the showerhead (twice), she scrubs her body with the citrus orange body wash she always uses. It has some shampoo and conditioner that comes with it, and by the time she comes up out of the steam and fog, she smells so much like an orange that one would almost think she was one.
Jim wraps her wet body in a duck yellow fleece robe and quickly sets to work with blow-drying her (now) mid-waist length hair. She then slicks it into a mid pony tail with a thin hair tie. Then she wraps a silk neck scarf over her hairline to hopefully press and tame her wild baby hairs.
"Computer. Access PADD music library-authorization code 29440," Jim says as she pulls free one of her sink drawers and grabs her makeup pouches.
"Checking-authorization verified. New instruction required," the computer chimes.
"Select indie playlist entitled 'Pretty Woman'," Jim absentmindedly instructs as she dumps all her makeup on the wide beige countertop.
"Searching-playlist entitled 'Pretty Woman' found. Now playing."
Jim smiles as the beat of familiar indie music starts looping through the ceiling speakers of her quarters and the bathroom. This playlist is what she usually listens to when she's getting ready. It has a desirable effect on her mood, which completes the overall look she's going for.
Jim starts putting on a thin layer of powder foundation, followed by concealer here and there, then some dewy pink blush for a soft, romantic cheek color. She saves the best part for last, which are her eyes and her lips (always a personal favorite of hers to work on). She gives herself some smoky eye shadow and volumizing mascara that makes her cerulean blue eyes pop out strikingly. Then, lastly, she puts on a clear lip-gloss that makes her lips look enticingly wet to really bring things together.
Now that she's dry, she shimmies out of her robe, takes off her silk scarf, goes to the top drawer for some lingerie, and she chooses a tasteful nude-colored set. Grabbing her orange citrus body butter, she spreads the lotion over her skin from head to toe before she waltzes into her walk-in closet to look for an appropriate dress that will suit the night.
Her foot accidently knocks into a pearl white, sparkly glitter shoebox that rests inconspicuously on the back wall of her closet. She frowns curiously and hunches down to pop off the top and peer inside. Her cheeks instantly warm as she slams the top back on and she remembers that it was gag gift from Gaila for her 19th birthday.
How could I have forgotten I had it though? I was sure I threw it out but, Jim carefully thinks on it. But I don't get gifts often and I wouldn't have thrown this one out, no matter how outrageous but-well, I should at least use it once before I really throw it out.
The color of her cheeks deepens as she pulls out the gummy textured dildo with bumpy grooves. She swallows as she turns it on (it lights up and sends shockwaves of vibrations up and down her arm) and glances at her wristwatch quickly. Three minutes is all I need, she quietly figures as she scuttles to her bed. She knows her body well enough that reaching climax on her own is a piece of cake.
Fifteen minuteslater, Jim crawls out of her plush bed with shaking thighs and a natural orgasmic flush spread across her body. She tries to blink away the glazed look in her eyes as she cleans and stores the amazingly complex and accurately precise sex toy back to its box for safekeeping and future use.
"Gaila, you absolute angel," Jim mutters tremblingly as she pats the glittery shoebox. "I don't know why I didn't use it sooner, or why I never thanked you for it." She pats the box fondly once more before she stands and stretches, even though her limbs feel like quivering jelly. She goes back to searching for some appropriate attire for the evening.
Jim comes across her one-shoulder, bandage dress that's compromised of dark blue sequins and stops right above her knees. When she slips it on, she's glad to see that it fits her small shape and gives the illusion of an hourglass form she surely does not have. She tucks her feet into some black leather pumps and puts on a gold bracelet with matching dangly earrings and a juicy couture garden party ring on her left index finger.
The music suddenly pauses, and the computer says, "Communiqué request-origin: Riverside, Iowa."
Jim frowns, and her mood instantly dips as she clicks her way over to her work desk and sits down in front of her desk monitor. She yanks open her top drawer on the right and pulls out some nail polish before she accepts the link.
A worn and pale looking Frank fills up the screen. There are grim age lines etched into his face, and his hair is thinning. Age is biting into him and it doesn't look flattering.
Never thought it would anyway. Never really cared, Jim thinks as she shakes her nail polish and looks at him with a blank and expectant look.
He says, "Hello, Jim."
"Frank," Jim greets him back with stiff formality. She untwists the top from her royal blue polish and begins to paint her newly blunted fingernails. "To what do I owe this little pleasure?"
Frank doesn't say anything at first. He looks belligerently crestfallen. It's almost as if he doesn't know who he is or who she is. He blinks slowly and focuses on her, then he explains, "I've been trying to reach you for months now, but it wasn't going through. I suppose that was purposeful. Didn't stop me from trying or praying that I'd find a way to you."
Jim keeps her face carefully blank and calm. It had been purposeful. Frank's been on her shit list for years now. Of course she'd flag any notifications or means of communication from him as spam. What could he possibly want now? "I don't have any money for you if that's what you want," she says, rather crossly.
"I, uh-" Frank rubs at the back of his neck uncomfortably. He's wearing a burnt sienna colored button down shirt with a yellow tie. He looks chaotically put together. "I'm in this program and I have to follow a system. One of the steps is to ask for the forgiveness of the people I've hurt."
Jim maintains her silence. She adds another coat of paint to her nails.
"I know that nothing I could ever do or say will make up for all the wrongs I've done against you and to you, but, I would like to try," Frank says with unsettling sincerity. He fidgets and fumbles with his tie. His brown eyes are different-he doesn't seem-something's not the same. "I want to tell you that I am sorry. I'm so sorry for how I treated you and all the things I did. All the drunken fights and destruction-I'm sorry about it all. I pray to God every night that He delivers you from the pain or trauma I charged you with. There are things I wish I could take back and I know I can't but you have to know that I-"
"Who is she?" Jim suddenly asks. She can't take this. She can't play this game with him.
Frank just stares at her with a small measure of sadness and reserve. He fumbles with his tie again. It makes him look vulnerable and human.
Jim despises the gesture. This isn't who he really is. He must want something. He has to. "Who is she?" she demands. "Who's the bitch that fucked you sober-helped you find God?"
"Don't be cruel," Frank begs and Jim could almost laugh at that request. He clears his throat and tugs at the collar of his shirt. He's growing paler by the second. "I know you're mad at me-"
"You don't fucking know a thing," Jim calmly corrects.
"You're right," Frank quickly agrees. "But please, Jim-I'm really trying."
"Trying what?" she hisses impatiently as she angrily twists the top back onto the bottle of nail polish. "I don't get this act you're trying to pull. If you want some money just say so."
"It's not about money," Frank promises, desperately. His eyes are swollen with despair and it makes Jim sick. "I don't-that's not what I'm looking for."
"Fine," Jim says. She doesn't believe him.
"There's something I need to tell you. There's something you should know-something I should have said so long ago. There is-"
Her door chimes, cutting him off abruptly.
"I have to go," Jim says as she flicks her gaze over to her door. "I don't have time to play pretend with you. You should try this performance on someone else because you're not fooling me."
"It's not a performance!" Frank cries, and oh God, are those real tears? "You're the closest thing I ever had to a daughter and I want-"
Jim slams her fist into the desk, causing it to shake and Frank to startle. "Don't you fucking dare," she warns coldly as she glares at him. "Don't, you fucking, dare."
Frank swallows quietly as his eyes go sad. Tears slid down his hollow cheeks as he robotically fumbles with his tie again. "I'm sorry. Jim, please. I'm so sorry. Give me a chance to-"
"Goodbye, Frank," Jim monotonously utters and kills the connection. Her fingers tremble and curl tightly towards her palm before she exhales. She shakes her head and stands to her feet as her door chimes again. She blows at her wet fingernails and answers the door.
Chapel is waiting on the other side with an eager smile and a dark blue, floor length, strapless chiffon dress. Her hair is fixed up elegantly and she has small gold stud earrings on with a matching bracelet and necklace. Her smoky eye shadow is more of a deep blue that coincides with her lipstick and nail polish. "Well hello there, Captain Sexy. You look hot and-pissed," she observes as she eyes Jim. She crosses her arms and holds on to her elbows. "What happened? What's the matter? Who should I knife?"
"It's-nothing. I don't want to talk about it. Come do a shot with me so I can shake it off," Jim requests as she turns into her quarters and walks to her minibar.
Chapel gracefully follows without so much as a question and she joyfully clinks her shot glass with Jim's when the time comes. She throws it back like a champ and even suggests that they do one more just to be safe. Her gaze drops to Jim's hips. She smirks and says, "You little minx. Turn around."
Jim frowns but she turns until her back is facing Chapel.
"Oh wow," Chapel laughs. "Your ass is tense. You've been touching yourself haven't you?"
Jim chokes and whips around. "How the fuck could you-"
Chapel makes a tsking gesture with her finger. "I'm a nurse, Goldie. Head nurse. Plus I know a few things since I double majored in universal medicine and sexology back at the academy, which makes me especially informed about the female anatomy of all species. After my five year on this ship I'll be properly certified to open up my own clinic to practice as a OB/GYN."
A nice rosy blush blooms across the bridge of Jim's nose. That only happens when she's really embarrassed and intrigued by something.
"Don't be ashamed, Jim. It's all perfectly healthy," Chapel assures sincerely, which does not help Jim's flush.
"I found an old, um, toy in my closet and I got kind of carried away," she admits.
"Show me," Chapel eagerly demands.
Jim pulls her into the walk-in closet and unmasks the glittery shoebox.
Chapel's eyes gleam as her smirk widens. "Well, well. Someone certainly loves you. This is a Rabbit Puncher. It learns your, ahem, vaginal walls and targets the most sensitive pleasure areas. Orion-made and still the best of the best out there even though it was made four years ago. I have three of them myself, different colors for different days."
Jim tries to act surprise, she really does. She just ends up shrugging and putting the box away. Her flush has finally died. "Any alcohol I have tonight will go straight to my head now, I'm sure," she states with a slim knowingness. "I'm always a lightweight after I've squeezed a good few too many orgasms from my body."
"I'll look out for you if you do," Chapel promises. She drags Jim out of the closet and back to the minibar for one last round. "These science dinners can be quite boring, I hear," she announces ineptly. "Lucky I have you to keep me entertained and explain all the smart topics that are bound to fly over my head."
"Oh shove off, Christine. You're sharp as a razor," Jim argues as she loops her arm with hers and guides her out the door.
Chapel leads the way as she throws Jim a flattered grin. "So glad you think so high of me, but I have to tell you, Goldie, that if it's not anything pertaining to the medical field, I'll have a hard time keeping up," she reports.
They arrive to the dinner right at the time that they should. It's being held in the third observation lounge, one of the second largest lounges on ship, and the room is a mix of exotic flowers, candlelight and a hefty plot of rounded tables covered in white cloth, porcelain plates, silverware, and wineglasses. The bodies in the room number in the fifties, and they're all dressed in suits and cocktail dresses as they mingle under chandelier lights.
Plates of food are being set in front of everyone by some of the kitchen servers.
"Fancy," Jim murmurs to Chapel, who snickers and navigates her to a table located at the front of the lounge. Its inhabitants are comprised of Dr. Cruise, Spock and other officers that Jim doesn't recognize.
Upon their arrival, all the men stand politely.
This gives Jim a chance to see what Spock is wearing.
Spock is dressed in dark Vulcan formal wear with colors of chestnut brown and black (it comprises of silk trousers and a silk high collar jacket that closed to the right with a dark, wedge-shaped accent, running from the left shoulder across the chest, and at his waist was a belt with an elaborate buckle). He looks really nice in them.
Dr. Cruise, who is wearing a suit with burgundy colors and a bowtie, is in the middle of a heated debate with a junior officer across from him.
Jim and Chapel take the empty seats beside Dr. Cruise, which are across from Spock and a female officer wearing a devil red cocktail dress that was so tight it fit her form like a second skin. She had a pixie cut hairstyle and pristinely gorgeous super model facial features that made her look as snobbish and pretentious as she seemed.
This girl comes from money, Jim silently muses as she takes a hefty sip of the white wine in her glass as all the men seat themselves once more. Her mind glazes slightly. Something tells me we're not going to get along. She was born with a silver spoon and I've had to use my hands.
Spock flicks his dark gaze over to her and he spends a moment observing her attire with an indecipherable expression. His scrutiny lasts longer than it normally would and Jim can almost read what he's thinking by the way his eyebrow twitches, but it's a near thing. He returns his gaze to the female officer beside him before she can really figure anything out.
But what am I trying to figure out? Jim wonders as she clears her wineglass and gestures to a server for a refill. It's the alcohol that's twisting my thoughts. I won't take them too seriously-it's nothing.
Spock glances at her once or twice more before he deftly centers his gaze on the female officer beside him, who appears to be monopolizing his attention with superficial conversation and a sharp smile.
"I saw that," Chapel whispers lowly as she switches their plates at Jim's request. She takes the beef entrée while Jim gets the fish.
"Saw what?"
"Don't play with me. You know what." Chapel takes a moment to gesture to her own eyes with a pointed look.
Jim cheeks warm as she takes another quick sip of her favorite brand of wine. She glares sharply at the curvy nurse when Chapel gives her a soft kick under the table. "You promised to be on good behavior," she hisses.
Chapel gives a careless shrug as she picks up her half-full wineglass and takes a sip of the red wine inside. She sets it down just as gracefully before she places a napkin on her lap and starts cutting into her dinner.
Jim follows her lead and pretends that she isn't glancing at Spock every so often or that he isn't doing the same.
"Captain Kirk!" Dr. Cruise exclaims jovially with that endearingly thick Italian accent.
Jim jumps as though she has been caught and she coughs quickly to cover it.
Chapel snickers quietly beside her.
"I had no idea you would be joining us," Dr. Cruise explains with frank seriousness. He spread his palms out and says, "Though I assure you that had this arrangement been of my doing, I would have made it my every intention of inviting you. But as things are, I had invited Christine in hopes that you would join as well, but only in hopes. I couldn't really be sure."
"It's fine. I'm happy to be here. Congratulations to you and yours for the horticultural and agricultural project completion," Jim commends with a friendly smile.
"Ah yes, but I owe half of that praise to Commander Spock. He assisted me greatly," Dr. Cruise praises.
Jim flicks her gaze over to Spock, who straightens his shoulders with Dr. Cruise's commendation and meets her eyes with something unobtrusive and equivocal. She thinks about saying something, but she can't because she feels oddly nervous for some reason. She ends up fumbling with her wineglass for a second, jerking it into a toasting gesture (that everyone awkwardly echoes) before taking precise sips that maker her feel warmer and unsteady than she already is.
Spock watches her closely as he takes graceful sips from his glass, and that just doesn't help matters.
What is going on with us? Jim wonders as she meets his gaze audaciously. This is-new. Strange.
Dr. Cruise gently claps his hand over Jim's shoulder and says, "I'm sure you're familiar with Science Officer Hoyt and Science Officer Dell."
"Not as much as I would like to be," Jim replies easily enough and gives the junior officers a gentle smile.
They nod in return with a timid smile and wide curious looks.
"And this is our lovely student worker, Cadet Leila Kalomi-who is also responsible for tonight's arrangements," Dr. Cruise introduces, gesturing to the pristine female with catty features beside Spock.
Leila smiles sharply. "I've heard a many great tales about you, Captain Kirk. I have to say that I'm thrilled to finally meet the woman associated to the name," she airily states, the friendliness of her tone not reaching her coldly calculating blue eyes.
Jim carefully thinks on her response before she says, "All good things I hope?"
"More than," Leila vaguely assures and studies Jim's profile with ambiguous contempt. "You're giving the rest of us females an ideal to strive towards. Be proud of that."
"Should I?" Jim carefully questions.
"Oh certainly. After all, it is so hard to find such a proper female role model," Leila commends with blank sincerity.
It's like playing verbal chess, Jim decides. She says, "I'm sorry to say that I haven't heard enough about you. How long have you been with us?"
"Six months," Leila explains as she crosses her legs and cuts into a piece of steak delicately. Her body language is all wrong. "It's been quite an experience too."
Jim feels as though Leila is talking through her and not to her. "Space travel often is," she faintly replies.
"Oh, yes. I've learned all sorts of useful things," Leila merely responds as she lifts her ocean blue eyes with a cunningly enigmatic smile that Jim isn't fond of. "Though I'm sure there's more I can learn, given the right time." She flicks her gaze to Spock, who is cutting into his vegetarian platter. "And with the right person."
Jim's not sure what they're talking about anymore. She only knows that she doesn't like the way Leila is looking at her and Spock.
"But enough about me," Leila abruptly announces, changing forms suddenly and taking on the spirit of a hosting housewife. It was rather frightening how good she was at it. "We were talking religion before Christine and Ms. Kirk joined our repertoire."
You're using that word wrong, Jim thinks at her as she stabs at a green bean and a piece of fish before she lifts it to her mouth.
"I believe we left off with Dr. Cruise, who seems to think that the existence of plants is enough living proof that there is a higher power," Leila politely reminds, stating it in a way that made it seem as though she were a referee in a boxing ring chiming the bell to begin the match anew.
"But is it not proof enough?" Dr. Cruise exclaims, punctuating his words with the tip of his fork (he seldom did things in subtle gestures it seems). "How marvelous are the designs of nature! It does not exist on its own. Why, a great mind thought upon them to make them so."
"But for what reason?" Officer Dell questions in complaint. He's cutting into a glazed piece of chicken. "Just to be as it is? How much thought is there in that? That's like me being responsible for the finest four course meal known to man and then throwing it all in the sea, uneaten. What was the point of it all?"
"Beauty. That's enough thought to make sense of. All of it is quite marvelous," Officer Hoyt offers by way of explanation with a sharp English accent that Jim finds pleasant enough. "Beauty is a pleasure in many ways."
Leila looks to Spock, who wordlessly declines from making a comment, and she frowns, thwarted.
Jim carefully watches Leila's expression as she observes Spock with a higher form of computation that is both unnerving and suspect. What do you want with him, she silently wonders as she chews.
"Beauty is relative," Chapel points out, stirred to the debate as if she couldn't help herself. "Nature has its reasoning behind it. It certainly fits in the grand scheme alone. I just don't think you can consider nature without considering the rest. But do I believe in God? Yes. I do. I just can't explain the reasoning behind my faith."
"All that we see now is the work of a higher mind," Dr. Cruise adds between chews. "Look at your hands, look at the stars. Look at anything and tell me that that isn't the work of greater."
"Perhaps so, but why does the existence of one thing qualify as the work of a deity? Am I, as a creator of a new piece of machinery or some kind of concoction or the discovery of something new, worthy of elevation and piety?" Officer Dell intones with impatience not aimed towards either of them. He seems tired of the conversation already.
"You put it in such terms and of course that leaves space for doubt," Officer Hoyt retorts after he sips his wine. "Religion is as much about faith in the unseen and the unknown."
"This is also true," Leila lightly agrees as she submits an opinion. "But the grand question here is the existence of a entity." She gracefully chews before she dabs at the corner of her lips with her napkin. "We are told that we are made in God's image, but as we can see, that image is comprised of male and female, of Orion and Vulcan, of love and hate. Is God, too, these things? What delights Him, I wonder, if such a being does exist? To what purpose does he create all manner of life without ever giving evidence of himself fully, and yet asks for our love? Or is it, perhaps, that the gods we look for sit right before us now. What if we are the very gods that we chase after?"
The table falls completely silent, and a wave of background conversation washes over them, followed by the clinking of forks and knives.
Leila's sharp gaze rests on Jim for an unnerving two minutes. She says, "Well what say you, Ms. Kirk? Where do you stand in this debate?"
All eyes suddenly tack onto Jim.
"I'm the type to toe the line," she simply clarifies.
"Oh you'll need to give us more than that," Leila says with a firm stare. "Are you a woman of faith or doubt?"
"I toe the line," Jim patiently repeats. "I believe in choice. Choice to believe and choice not to believe."
"What do you believe in?" Leila presses.
"I'm not sure until I come to it," Jim says.
"Right now, we're at religion. Do you believe in that?"
"I can't completely dismiss the idea of religion, but at the same time I'm not entirely convinced," Jim admits as she meets everyone's gaze. "I'm open to the concept of God and therein any definable classifications, but I don't understand all the basic facts anymore than I ever have. That's where I fall short. I mean, sure I fly through time and space and meet beings of all shapes and forms and race-but is it enough to convince me completely? Not entirely. But I believe that faith has its role and that there are things we can't explain. After all, rivers, ponds, lakes and streams-they all have different names, but they all contain water. Just as religions do-they all contain certain truths."
"Well put," Dr. Cruise praises and lifts his wineglass to her and there is a murmur of agreement. "I do believe she has mediated the argument. Let's talk on more pleasant things."
Leila doesn't seem particularly thrilled with this turn of events. "I suppose we should finish our meal before we challenge ourselves with thicker conversation," she advises.
A quiet comes with the meal and the dessert, and when all is finished and the plates are taken away, and glasses are filled anew, Leila decides that the whole room should participate in a game of jeopardy.
She comes off as bit of a control freak to Jim.
"The trick here, dear friends," Leila sweetly explains as she stands where all occupants of the lounge can see her in her skintight devil red dress. "Is that we will only be investigating science and botanical related topics. The bonus question, which should decide which table is the winner, will be of a different subject entirely. But you won't worry about that until the time comes. Now-" She takes a moment to clap her hands together with a scheming grin that's all teeth. "Let's begin."
Jim shares a look with Chapel.
Chapel scrunches her nose apologetically and drinks down her glass of wine.
Jim forgoes participating in the game in favor of watching. Though she doesn't pay much attention-she's too busying wondering why Spock hasn't uttered a word all evening.
Part 2
Author: whatshouldntbe
Universe/Series: Part Three of 'What Shouldn't Be' series, Reboot XI/TOS
Rating: R
Relationship status: first time, slow build K/S
Word count: 17,000+ so far, 112,000+ overall
Plot: The demons of the past will always compromise the promise of the future.
Warnings: always!girl Kirk, angst, action, character death, language, references to past child abuse, rom-com humor, sexual situations, violence, possible amateur world-building
Additional Pairings: Kirk/guy!Rand, Spock/Uhura (terminated relationship), unrequited Kirk/Spock
Summary: During the last six months of her first year into her captaincy, Jim Kirk is forced to revisit her dark past when a rumor surfaces around the ship concerning the suspected whereabouts of Governor Kodos.
Chapter Seven
Thomas Leighton was not a contrite man. He was no believer of anything and he understood that the laws of the universe never worked in anyone's favor, least of all his.
So why exactly is he standing outside of Madame Sekhmet's tent?
Hopelessness will destroy you, Leighton thinks. That's what Riley always said.
"Fate has brought you here, yes?" Madame Sekhmet supposes as she puffs away on her long wooden pipe while she sways in her rocking chair. "You've come for a reason."
"I don't know why I came, alright?" Leighton grumbles as he glances around warily with his one good eye. He doesn't want anyone from the camps to see him doing this. It's no one's business but his own. "I just-I need some answers."
"I can assure you that you have come to the right place," Madame Sekhmet assures as she stands with struggle. The old hag reaches for her cane and she walks inside her tent with much difficulty.
Leighton hesitates. He presses the wrist strapped in a dark red wrist support sleeve to his chest and he rubs his fingers against the fabric with his other hand. He ultimately decides to follow the old gypsy inside and when he enters her tent he finds that she's waiting for him at a table with a crystal ball. The place smells of tea leaves and incense.
Madame Sekhmet gestures to the empty seat on the other side of the table.
Leighton sits down and rest both hands in his lap with a grim expression.
"What can Madame Sekhmet do for you?"
"I don't know."
"Not knowing is no good."
"Well I don't know," Leighton snaps. "The whole point of getting you people here was to find someone."
"Someone from your past," Madame Sekhmet reasons. "You have a longstanding grudge with this man, yes?"
Leighton stiffens in his seat as his one-eyed gaze sharpened. "You could not possibly know that."
"There is a lot Madam Sekhmet knows that she should not," the old gypsy says. "I know that you are of a bitter hate, lusting for revenge against a man who you feel has wronged you. He took your beloved from you, did he not?"
Leighton inhales thickly, as though struck by some invisible force. "Yes," he hoarsely confesses. "He took everything from me."
"No man can take from that which is already freely given," Madame Sekhmet corrects. "What is your business with this man? What do you mean to do? What purpose do you have to bring him here? As if I didn't already know."
"Then why ask?" Leighton snarls. "If you know it all, what is the point of asking me?"
"I'd rather hear it from you," Madame Sekhmet calmly says.
"I want to kill him. I want to kill him and I want James Kirk to suffer for it too," Leighton hisses.
Madame Sekhmet's lips curl. "I don't believe I want her to suffer. I want to scare her-that fear makes her so pretty. She's upset me, but I don't want to hurt her. What loving father wants to cause his child pain?" Her eyes gleam, and suddenly, Leighton can't help but to notice how familiar her eyes seem. "Who are you to decide who suffers, in any case? Stupid boy. Thirteen years and you're still stupid as ever."
The sudden baritone that comes from the old gypsy's throat takes Leighton aback and he can certainly place those cold lifeless eyes. "Kodos?"
"Stupid boy," Madame-no-Kodos snarls. "Did you really think I'd be so easily captured? I've known what you meant to do with me when you took my troupe and I from Earth. But I let you, do you understand? I let you because I knew you would lead me to her."
Leighton blinks before he flushes an ugly purple. "You fucking fuck-"
Kodos curls his finger into the trigger of the phaser he's been hiding under the table the whole time.
Leighton flies back and lands onto the floor with a gurgle. He's not dead, just stunned.
"Can't have you ruining my plans, stupid boy," Kodos says with a disapproving cluck of his tongue. He stands and begins dragging Leighton's unconscious body into the deepest pocket of his tent. When the night comes, he'll have to move the idiot to one of the boxcars. "Don't worry, boy. I won't kill you. I'll have my protégé do it. What a grand reunion that will be-I do hope she's gotten my note."
Kodos cackles as he shoves Leighton into one of his empty chests and locks it. He turns away, picks up the cane and pipe, and walks back to the outside of the tent where he sits into the rocking chair, falling into character again.
Madame Sekhmet smiles and winks at an officer that passes by her tent.
Leighton doesn't stir until much later, but by then, it's too late.
888
Jim wakes up with Spock's name rolling like ocean waves in her mind, and it swells some kind of frothy feeling in the center of her chest. It stalls there like a fixed point almost, because when she wakes up, she doesn't wake up altogether. The sensation is much like being pulled out of the deep end of a pool. First she feels her arm go, then her shoulders, her hips, her knees, her head, her legs, and then the rest follows. The feeling never ceases-her body moving through some kind of thickly tangible haze; all the while her awareness of Spock and his name floats pleasantly in her mind like a feather on an ocean of oil.
And how fitting that we're like that, she dazedly thinks with a tiredly confused, yet pondering grin. I am the feather and he is the oil. How can those things reside together?
Jim eventually succumbs to the rightness of her body when she feels a feather-light touch ghosting over her hip where her Starfleet medical division badge tattoo is. The touch is followed by a light scrape of blunt fingernails tracing the cross found in the center of the tattoo. She shivers-the skin there is extremely sensitive-and she peeks one eye open, straining against the hot sunlight encasing the outside of her tent. It's so bright that it seems like the sun is trying to find its way in. She takes a few moments blinking and adjusting against it all like a newborn that's withdrawn from the darkness of its mother's womb.
When she finds a happy medium for her sight, she flicks her gaze down to where Chapel is at her hip and tracing over the tattoo with an expression of considerable curiosity. Her red painted fingernails flex and jump over her tattooed hip like a set of jumping beans, and she seems to be contemplating the origin of the tattoo, if her expression is anything to go back.
Jim pulls her gaze to her orange tank top, which is bunched under her small breasts (Chapel must have moved it for a better view because Jim doesn't flail in her sleep like that). The elastic band of her underwear is digging gently into her skin, but all she can do is focus on that touch just for a moment.
It's hot, but it's always hot of course-it's not called New Vulcan for nothing. Even still, it is a heat that Jim is getting used to. She finds that it's growing on her. What was once sweltering and unbearable, is now heavily comforting and wholly neighboring like a blanket or a gentle presence.
Could be a good thing, Jim thinks, as she shifts into Chapel's touch subconsciously. If Spock decides to take the job-and I think he will, though I wish he wouldn't-I'll have built up enough tolerance to endure this heat to come and visit him as often as I can or if he'd want me to.
Jim quietly wonders if he would even care or miss her. She'd like to think so-she'd liked to believe he's fond of her in some way. Sometimes she can read it off him like a blind person can read brail on a wall. But other times he just stands there in full form, devoid of any sentiment, and she can't see beyond his physicality.
They've come to some kind of understanding haven't they? Last night was progress, but-so many buts. He's made his reasoning for his continued friendship with her clear, but at the same time she's not sure if its enough to know whether or not he'll be affected in the least by her absence. Did Vulcans miss people or things?
I don't want to think about this anymore, I'll spin myself into an unpleasant mood and that's not how I want to start my November, she silently decides as she concentrates on the curious scrapes and traces of Chapel's red painted fingernails.
Minutes pass before Jim breathes out with an announcing sigh and stretches out like a lethargically limber cat.
Chapel pulls back with a grin. Her eyes are sparkling happily adding appealing depth to her gorgeousness. What's even more charming is that her hair is skewed from sleep. "Good afternoon, Goldie," she says with good manner as she props her chin in her hand and graces her captain with an exquisite smile that could make flowers bloom.
"Good afternoon," Jim returns with a breathy, pleasant smile. She laces her hands behind her head as she continues to gaze down at the curvy nurse sporting hot pink underwear. "What time is it?"
"I believe we're edging into two o'clock," Chapel replies as she rubs at the side of her nose with one hand and she looks at the inside of her other wrist where there is a watch sitting in wait. She nods in a confirming way as she rolls her bottom lip between her teeth and releases it with a wet pop. "But, you know, I think we all slept good after last night, so you wouldn't be the only one starting your Sunday as of now."
"Who says I'm starting my Sunday now?" Jim yawns around a chuckle. She does feel well-rested and blissful. She grins for reasons unknown (even to her) and feels giddy enough to float off into the sky and join the clouds. Oh it's a good day already-she likes that.
"My, aren't you in good spirits this afternoon? I wonder why," Chapel says with a pondering sort of stare. Her pink mouth wiggles thoughtfully as her nose scrunches with her contemplation. Something sharp and hopeful passes like lightening in her inquisitive eyes that it almost startles Jim.
"What?"
"Nothing," Chapel assures as she relaxes her face. "I was just thinking that maybe we should throw more parties. You wear them well."
Jim laughs quick and joltingly, but she doesn't disagree. She shrugs before she rises into a sitting position. "Did you call me Goldie?"
"You're a little slow on the uptake, but yeah, I did. It's my new nickname for you. You're pure gold, Jamie," Chapel clarifies as she sits up on her knees. She sits back on her calves. She pulls her honey colored hair out of her face and does a delicious wink before she goes on to say, "The Bash last night was beyond amazing, with all thanks to you as a DJ."
"I did what I could," Jim says, modestly enough. "But I saw that that was enough, even though I was locked up in that booth for most of the night like a bird in a cage." She scratches the side of her neck as her stomach grumbles, appetite building up. "Where's Nyota?"
"Lovie's having lunch with Monty," replies Chapel as she wiggles her eyebrows in a lecherous manner and uses her fingers to wipe the space under her eyes clear of smudged mascara.
"No, shut up," Jim utters in amazement as she slaps her hand down over Chapel's.
"Oh yeah," Chapel confirms with a laugh as she lifts Jim's hand and teethes her knuckles playfully. "She's got a hard-on for your Chief Engineer, I'm telling you. Oh but don't tell her I told you that because she would strangle me. But it wasn't like you wouldn't have figured it out eventually anyway-what with the way things are going and all."
Jim shakes her head out of sheer amazement and awe. She uses her free hand to finger comb her fading curls out of her eyes before she says, "What luck. She really deserves it, though."
"Agreed," Chapel chimes as she laces her fingers with Jim and starts to mimic a wave. She is definitely an energetic person by nature. "So I was thinking that since she's going to be all tied up with her future husband, maybe you could come with me to the cultivation dinner being held tonight? I was invited, but I was told I could bring a plus one."
"Cultivation dinner?" Jim echoes with a thoughtful frown. Her mind briefly skims out the definitions for the word and its intended functions. "What's that all about?"
"Well," Chapel begins to explain as she keeps miming the wave with the aid of Jim's arm. "I heard they just completed all the agricultural and horticultural projects for the city. So tonight, they're having a sort of intimate and celebratory dinner for all the botanists and the scientists who were apart of making it possible. And of course Dr. Cruise organized and governed it all, so I think it was by his suggestion that they're having the dinner up on the Enterprise in one of the observation lounges. He's the one that personally invited me and now I'm inviting you because I don't want to go alone."
"And because Nyota was unavailable," Jim points out listlessly.
Chapel scrunches her face cutely before she snags one of Jim's pillows and swats her on the side of the head with it. "Oh just shut up because you know it's not like that. I'm just used to asking Lovie and having her swing with me to places. Now that you've been added to our little duo, I know I can ask you to do things with me as well. Now are you going or not?"
"Well…" Jim drawls as she pulls her hand out of Chapel's and strokes her chin thoughtfully with a mockingly ponderous face. She's kidding of course, but she still wants Chapel to sweat for it. "Hm, I just-you know, I don't know…"
"Spock will be there," Chapel goads with a sly grin tugging at her full lips as she flutters her eyelashes obnoxiously.
Jim's expression sours as she glares and shoves a pillow in the lovely curvy nurse's face. "The nerve of you. What a majestic way to shit on my fun with your unnecessary jeering. I swear, if you and Nyota don't stop it with these tenuous allegations I will just-"
"So that wasn't him I heard dropping you off last night like a man escorting his date home? I mean, it would explain that totally ecstatic smile you woke up with," Chapel continues, despite the fact that she's dodging Jim's swings. "Lovie is right, you two are so obvious and oblivious it's-"
"I will kick you in the face, you pretty fucker," Jim scorns with a frustrated frown that fuels her accurate pillow jabs.
"Yeah, yeah. Are you going or not?" Chapel pants, swatting the pillow away and looking at Jim sincerely now. She quietly says, "Please, please, please?"
Jim throws down the pillow and folds her arms across her chest.
Chapel pouts and cocks her head as she twirls her finger around a strand of her hair. "Please?"
Jim purses her lips stubbornly.
Chapel leans forward and uses her arms to press her voluptuous breasts together as she look at Jim from under her lashes in an efficiently enticing manner. "Please, Jim. I need you," she murmurs with a sultry voice.
Jim sighs when her defenses dip towards arousal and she's forced to throw up her hands in surrender. "Fucking fine, you damn temptress! God, now I know how Bones feels."
Chapel makes an excited sound, claps her hands quickly, and tackles Jim into the cushiness of her comforter with a grateful and suffocating hug. "You are just gold, Goldie, and I love you, and I owe you one. And I swear not to make fun of you and Spock tonight if you guys happen to make googly eyes at each other."
"We do not make-oh my God, forget it. I'll just hold you to that," Jim mutters simply as she pats Chapel on the back with a gentle touch that morphs into something vindictive when she's reminded that her gal pal has nothing but her underwear on. So naturally she threads her small fingers into one of Chapel's bra straps and she snaps it, causing Chapel to shriek in alarm and jerk her body away.
"Rude," Chapel whines as she glares at her captain.
Jim just grins roguishly with satisfaction and shrugs. "What should I wear?"
"Something elegant and refined but not too upscale. These are people we know and people we don't and should. It's a private dinner so it's a bit upscale, but it's formal enough that we don't need to sport ball gowns," Chapel explains as she gathers to her feet and stretches. "Cocktail dresses should do just fine."
Jim just hums and eyes her unabashedly. "We should color coordinate," she decides.
"Let's do dark blue dresses with black heels and smoky eye makeup with gold jewelry," Chapel reasons with the sort of authoritative voice she usually only uses when she's side by side with Bones in the medbay.
Jim likes the overall idea, and it's why she decides not to argue. "What time does it start?"
"Little after eight, I think. But if not I'll just let you know," Chapel promises as she swaggers over to Jim's dresser and starts picking out some clothes. She slips on a pair of Jim's jogging pants and a tank top. "Can I snag these for keeps?"
"Yeah, I don't care."
"You have so many cute clothes, I might have to steal them more often," Chapel says with a grin and a wink.
"Hey, as long as you don't touch my shoes, we're good with that."
Chapel gives her a two-fingered salute after she gathers her costume and powdered wig, and then exits the small marquee with a promise of seeing her later.
Jim just sighs and falls back into the cushiness of her floor bed with a content sigh. She rolls onto her side and closes her eyes with the intent of falling back asleep, but she hears a familiar sniffle and it makes her smile. "Kic'blu, Yaya," she calls, pulling from a Vulcan command she learned off of Spock.
I-Chaya enters through the mouth flaps and circles her bed several times, nosing at the ground and at her comforters with animalistic concentration.
"Come on," Jim says, gesturing to the space beside her. "Kic'blu."
I-Chaya huffs and treks over, sniffing Jim's feet and hands and hair before she licks a hot stripe across Jim's forehead.
Jim winces and gently pushes I-Chaya's snout away. "Why do you always like to do that? Is my forehead that delicious?" she asks, not really expecting a reply.
I-Chaya sits back on her hind legs and cocks her head. She always does this whenever Jim speaks in English. It's because I-Chaya doesn't understand much outside of the Vulcan language.
All the more reason to learn Vulcan, she silently muses.
"I'm sleepy," Jim murmurs as she strokes one of I-Chaya's paws. Her fur is so soft and inviting, much like gentle fleece. "You wanna lay with me?"
I-Chaya cocks her head with incomprehension.
Jim pats at the area above her head.
I-Chaya understands that signal well enough. She's lain with Jim plenty of times before to know what that gesture means. She moves until she's at the head of the bed and she lies on her side.
Jim scoots up and curls against I-Chaya's warm belly with a content sigh, closing her eyes with every intention of falling asleep, which she does for the next three hours to the sound of I-Chaya's gutturally low purring.
She wakes up sometime later, a little after six, and forces herself to get up. She yawns and stretches, spending a few moments to murmur gentle praises to I-Chaya as she strokes a line down her back and tweaks her left ear how she likes.
Jim pats I-Chaya twice before she stands and shimmies into a pair of basketball shorts she stole from Bones. She puts on her flip-flops just as I-Chaya licks the back of her hand and leaves without anything further.
Jim's lips curl into an amused grin as she follows I-Chaya out into the hot sun and watches her huge bearcat companion cross over into the Vulcan camps, no doubt to locate Spock.
Jim goes the opposite way, walking towards the Southern Mountains, and stopping long enough to hail the Enterprise in order to be beamed aboard, which she is a few seconds later.
She gives the officer working the transporter console an acknowledging nod before she swaggers her way to her private quarters, where she plans on hopping in the sonic shower.
After she soaks under the massaging jet spray, and even has a little, ahem, fun with the showerhead (twice), she scrubs her body with the citrus orange body wash she always uses. It has some shampoo and conditioner that comes with it, and by the time she comes up out of the steam and fog, she smells so much like an orange that one would almost think she was one.
Jim wraps her wet body in a duck yellow fleece robe and quickly sets to work with blow-drying her (now) mid-waist length hair. She then slicks it into a mid pony tail with a thin hair tie. Then she wraps a silk neck scarf over her hairline to hopefully press and tame her wild baby hairs.
"Computer. Access PADD music library-authorization code 29440," Jim says as she pulls free one of her sink drawers and grabs her makeup pouches.
"Checking-authorization verified. New instruction required," the computer chimes.
"Select indie playlist entitled 'Pretty Woman'," Jim absentmindedly instructs as she dumps all her makeup on the wide beige countertop.
"Searching-playlist entitled 'Pretty Woman' found. Now playing."
Jim smiles as the beat of familiar indie music starts looping through the ceiling speakers of her quarters and the bathroom. This playlist is what she usually listens to when she's getting ready. It has a desirable effect on her mood, which completes the overall look she's going for.
Jim starts putting on a thin layer of powder foundation, followed by concealer here and there, then some dewy pink blush for a soft, romantic cheek color. She saves the best part for last, which are her eyes and her lips (always a personal favorite of hers to work on). She gives herself some smoky eye shadow and volumizing mascara that makes her cerulean blue eyes pop out strikingly. Then, lastly, she puts on a clear lip-gloss that makes her lips look enticingly wet to really bring things together.
Now that she's dry, she shimmies out of her robe, takes off her silk scarf, goes to the top drawer for some lingerie, and she chooses a tasteful nude-colored set. Grabbing her orange citrus body butter, she spreads the lotion over her skin from head to toe before she waltzes into her walk-in closet to look for an appropriate dress that will suit the night.
Her foot accidently knocks into a pearl white, sparkly glitter shoebox that rests inconspicuously on the back wall of her closet. She frowns curiously and hunches down to pop off the top and peer inside. Her cheeks instantly warm as she slams the top back on and she remembers that it was gag gift from Gaila for her 19th birthday.
How could I have forgotten I had it though? I was sure I threw it out but, Jim carefully thinks on it. But I don't get gifts often and I wouldn't have thrown this one out, no matter how outrageous but-well, I should at least use it once before I really throw it out.
The color of her cheeks deepens as she pulls out the gummy textured dildo with bumpy grooves. She swallows as she turns it on (it lights up and sends shockwaves of vibrations up and down her arm) and glances at her wristwatch quickly. Three minutes is all I need, she quietly figures as she scuttles to her bed. She knows her body well enough that reaching climax on her own is a piece of cake.
Fifteen minuteslater, Jim crawls out of her plush bed with shaking thighs and a natural orgasmic flush spread across her body. She tries to blink away the glazed look in her eyes as she cleans and stores the amazingly complex and accurately precise sex toy back to its box for safekeeping and future use.
"Gaila, you absolute angel," Jim mutters tremblingly as she pats the glittery shoebox. "I don't know why I didn't use it sooner, or why I never thanked you for it." She pats the box fondly once more before she stands and stretches, even though her limbs feel like quivering jelly. She goes back to searching for some appropriate attire for the evening.
Jim comes across her one-shoulder, bandage dress that's compromised of dark blue sequins and stops right above her knees. When she slips it on, she's glad to see that it fits her small shape and gives the illusion of an hourglass form she surely does not have. She tucks her feet into some black leather pumps and puts on a gold bracelet with matching dangly earrings and a juicy couture garden party ring on her left index finger.
The music suddenly pauses, and the computer says, "Communiqué request-origin: Riverside, Iowa."
Jim frowns, and her mood instantly dips as she clicks her way over to her work desk and sits down in front of her desk monitor. She yanks open her top drawer on the right and pulls out some nail polish before she accepts the link.
A worn and pale looking Frank fills up the screen. There are grim age lines etched into his face, and his hair is thinning. Age is biting into him and it doesn't look flattering.
Never thought it would anyway. Never really cared, Jim thinks as she shakes her nail polish and looks at him with a blank and expectant look.
He says, "Hello, Jim."
"Frank," Jim greets him back with stiff formality. She untwists the top from her royal blue polish and begins to paint her newly blunted fingernails. "To what do I owe this little pleasure?"
Frank doesn't say anything at first. He looks belligerently crestfallen. It's almost as if he doesn't know who he is or who she is. He blinks slowly and focuses on her, then he explains, "I've been trying to reach you for months now, but it wasn't going through. I suppose that was purposeful. Didn't stop me from trying or praying that I'd find a way to you."
Jim keeps her face carefully blank and calm. It had been purposeful. Frank's been on her shit list for years now. Of course she'd flag any notifications or means of communication from him as spam. What could he possibly want now? "I don't have any money for you if that's what you want," she says, rather crossly.
"I, uh-" Frank rubs at the back of his neck uncomfortably. He's wearing a burnt sienna colored button down shirt with a yellow tie. He looks chaotically put together. "I'm in this program and I have to follow a system. One of the steps is to ask for the forgiveness of the people I've hurt."
Jim maintains her silence. She adds another coat of paint to her nails.
"I know that nothing I could ever do or say will make up for all the wrongs I've done against you and to you, but, I would like to try," Frank says with unsettling sincerity. He fidgets and fumbles with his tie. His brown eyes are different-he doesn't seem-something's not the same. "I want to tell you that I am sorry. I'm so sorry for how I treated you and all the things I did. All the drunken fights and destruction-I'm sorry about it all. I pray to God every night that He delivers you from the pain or trauma I charged you with. There are things I wish I could take back and I know I can't but you have to know that I-"
"Who is she?" Jim suddenly asks. She can't take this. She can't play this game with him.
Frank just stares at her with a small measure of sadness and reserve. He fumbles with his tie again. It makes him look vulnerable and human.
Jim despises the gesture. This isn't who he really is. He must want something. He has to. "Who is she?" she demands. "Who's the bitch that fucked you sober-helped you find God?"
"Don't be cruel," Frank begs and Jim could almost laugh at that request. He clears his throat and tugs at the collar of his shirt. He's growing paler by the second. "I know you're mad at me-"
"You don't fucking know a thing," Jim calmly corrects.
"You're right," Frank quickly agrees. "But please, Jim-I'm really trying."
"Trying what?" she hisses impatiently as she angrily twists the top back onto the bottle of nail polish. "I don't get this act you're trying to pull. If you want some money just say so."
"It's not about money," Frank promises, desperately. His eyes are swollen with despair and it makes Jim sick. "I don't-that's not what I'm looking for."
"Fine," Jim says. She doesn't believe him.
"There's something I need to tell you. There's something you should know-something I should have said so long ago. There is-"
Her door chimes, cutting him off abruptly.
"I have to go," Jim says as she flicks her gaze over to her door. "I don't have time to play pretend with you. You should try this performance on someone else because you're not fooling me."
"It's not a performance!" Frank cries, and oh God, are those real tears? "You're the closest thing I ever had to a daughter and I want-"
Jim slams her fist into the desk, causing it to shake and Frank to startle. "Don't you fucking dare," she warns coldly as she glares at him. "Don't, you fucking, dare."
Frank swallows quietly as his eyes go sad. Tears slid down his hollow cheeks as he robotically fumbles with his tie again. "I'm sorry. Jim, please. I'm so sorry. Give me a chance to-"
"Goodbye, Frank," Jim monotonously utters and kills the connection. Her fingers tremble and curl tightly towards her palm before she exhales. She shakes her head and stands to her feet as her door chimes again. She blows at her wet fingernails and answers the door.
Chapel is waiting on the other side with an eager smile and a dark blue, floor length, strapless chiffon dress. Her hair is fixed up elegantly and she has small gold stud earrings on with a matching bracelet and necklace. Her smoky eye shadow is more of a deep blue that coincides with her lipstick and nail polish. "Well hello there, Captain Sexy. You look hot and-pissed," she observes as she eyes Jim. She crosses her arms and holds on to her elbows. "What happened? What's the matter? Who should I knife?"
"It's-nothing. I don't want to talk about it. Come do a shot with me so I can shake it off," Jim requests as she turns into her quarters and walks to her minibar.
Chapel gracefully follows without so much as a question and she joyfully clinks her shot glass with Jim's when the time comes. She throws it back like a champ and even suggests that they do one more just to be safe. Her gaze drops to Jim's hips. She smirks and says, "You little minx. Turn around."
Jim frowns but she turns until her back is facing Chapel.
"Oh wow," Chapel laughs. "Your ass is tense. You've been touching yourself haven't you?"
Jim chokes and whips around. "How the fuck could you-"
Chapel makes a tsking gesture with her finger. "I'm a nurse, Goldie. Head nurse. Plus I know a few things since I double majored in universal medicine and sexology back at the academy, which makes me especially informed about the female anatomy of all species. After my five year on this ship I'll be properly certified to open up my own clinic to practice as a OB/GYN."
A nice rosy blush blooms across the bridge of Jim's nose. That only happens when she's really embarrassed and intrigued by something.
"Don't be ashamed, Jim. It's all perfectly healthy," Chapel assures sincerely, which does not help Jim's flush.
"I found an old, um, toy in my closet and I got kind of carried away," she admits.
"Show me," Chapel eagerly demands.
Jim pulls her into the walk-in closet and unmasks the glittery shoebox.
Chapel's eyes gleam as her smirk widens. "Well, well. Someone certainly loves you. This is a Rabbit Puncher. It learns your, ahem, vaginal walls and targets the most sensitive pleasure areas. Orion-made and still the best of the best out there even though it was made four years ago. I have three of them myself, different colors for different days."
Jim tries to act surprise, she really does. She just ends up shrugging and putting the box away. Her flush has finally died. "Any alcohol I have tonight will go straight to my head now, I'm sure," she states with a slim knowingness. "I'm always a lightweight after I've squeezed a good few too many orgasms from my body."
"I'll look out for you if you do," Chapel promises. She drags Jim out of the closet and back to the minibar for one last round. "These science dinners can be quite boring, I hear," she announces ineptly. "Lucky I have you to keep me entertained and explain all the smart topics that are bound to fly over my head."
"Oh shove off, Christine. You're sharp as a razor," Jim argues as she loops her arm with hers and guides her out the door.
Chapel leads the way as she throws Jim a flattered grin. "So glad you think so high of me, but I have to tell you, Goldie, that if it's not anything pertaining to the medical field, I'll have a hard time keeping up," she reports.
They arrive to the dinner right at the time that they should. It's being held in the third observation lounge, one of the second largest lounges on ship, and the room is a mix of exotic flowers, candlelight and a hefty plot of rounded tables covered in white cloth, porcelain plates, silverware, and wineglasses. The bodies in the room number in the fifties, and they're all dressed in suits and cocktail dresses as they mingle under chandelier lights.
Plates of food are being set in front of everyone by some of the kitchen servers.
"Fancy," Jim murmurs to Chapel, who snickers and navigates her to a table located at the front of the lounge. Its inhabitants are comprised of Dr. Cruise, Spock and other officers that Jim doesn't recognize.
Upon their arrival, all the men stand politely.
This gives Jim a chance to see what Spock is wearing.
Spock is dressed in dark Vulcan formal wear with colors of chestnut brown and black (it comprises of silk trousers and a silk high collar jacket that closed to the right with a dark, wedge-shaped accent, running from the left shoulder across the chest, and at his waist was a belt with an elaborate buckle). He looks really nice in them.
Dr. Cruise, who is wearing a suit with burgundy colors and a bowtie, is in the middle of a heated debate with a junior officer across from him.
Jim and Chapel take the empty seats beside Dr. Cruise, which are across from Spock and a female officer wearing a devil red cocktail dress that was so tight it fit her form like a second skin. She had a pixie cut hairstyle and pristinely gorgeous super model facial features that made her look as snobbish and pretentious as she seemed.
This girl comes from money, Jim silently muses as she takes a hefty sip of the white wine in her glass as all the men seat themselves once more. Her mind glazes slightly. Something tells me we're not going to get along. She was born with a silver spoon and I've had to use my hands.
Spock flicks his dark gaze over to her and he spends a moment observing her attire with an indecipherable expression. His scrutiny lasts longer than it normally would and Jim can almost read what he's thinking by the way his eyebrow twitches, but it's a near thing. He returns his gaze to the female officer beside him before she can really figure anything out.
But what am I trying to figure out? Jim wonders as she clears her wineglass and gestures to a server for a refill. It's the alcohol that's twisting my thoughts. I won't take them too seriously-it's nothing.
Spock glances at her once or twice more before he deftly centers his gaze on the female officer beside him, who appears to be monopolizing his attention with superficial conversation and a sharp smile.
"I saw that," Chapel whispers lowly as she switches their plates at Jim's request. She takes the beef entrée while Jim gets the fish.
"Saw what?"
"Don't play with me. You know what." Chapel takes a moment to gesture to her own eyes with a pointed look.
Jim cheeks warm as she takes another quick sip of her favorite brand of wine. She glares sharply at the curvy nurse when Chapel gives her a soft kick under the table. "You promised to be on good behavior," she hisses.
Chapel gives a careless shrug as she picks up her half-full wineglass and takes a sip of the red wine inside. She sets it down just as gracefully before she places a napkin on her lap and starts cutting into her dinner.
Jim follows her lead and pretends that she isn't glancing at Spock every so often or that he isn't doing the same.
"Captain Kirk!" Dr. Cruise exclaims jovially with that endearingly thick Italian accent.
Jim jumps as though she has been caught and she coughs quickly to cover it.
Chapel snickers quietly beside her.
"I had no idea you would be joining us," Dr. Cruise explains with frank seriousness. He spread his palms out and says, "Though I assure you that had this arrangement been of my doing, I would have made it my every intention of inviting you. But as things are, I had invited Christine in hopes that you would join as well, but only in hopes. I couldn't really be sure."
"It's fine. I'm happy to be here. Congratulations to you and yours for the horticultural and agricultural project completion," Jim commends with a friendly smile.
"Ah yes, but I owe half of that praise to Commander Spock. He assisted me greatly," Dr. Cruise praises.
Jim flicks her gaze over to Spock, who straightens his shoulders with Dr. Cruise's commendation and meets her eyes with something unobtrusive and equivocal. She thinks about saying something, but she can't because she feels oddly nervous for some reason. She ends up fumbling with her wineglass for a second, jerking it into a toasting gesture (that everyone awkwardly echoes) before taking precise sips that maker her feel warmer and unsteady than she already is.
Spock watches her closely as he takes graceful sips from his glass, and that just doesn't help matters.
What is going on with us? Jim wonders as she meets his gaze audaciously. This is-new. Strange.
Dr. Cruise gently claps his hand over Jim's shoulder and says, "I'm sure you're familiar with Science Officer Hoyt and Science Officer Dell."
"Not as much as I would like to be," Jim replies easily enough and gives the junior officers a gentle smile.
They nod in return with a timid smile and wide curious looks.
"And this is our lovely student worker, Cadet Leila Kalomi-who is also responsible for tonight's arrangements," Dr. Cruise introduces, gesturing to the pristine female with catty features beside Spock.
Leila smiles sharply. "I've heard a many great tales about you, Captain Kirk. I have to say that I'm thrilled to finally meet the woman associated to the name," she airily states, the friendliness of her tone not reaching her coldly calculating blue eyes.
Jim carefully thinks on her response before she says, "All good things I hope?"
"More than," Leila vaguely assures and studies Jim's profile with ambiguous contempt. "You're giving the rest of us females an ideal to strive towards. Be proud of that."
"Should I?" Jim carefully questions.
"Oh certainly. After all, it is so hard to find such a proper female role model," Leila commends with blank sincerity.
It's like playing verbal chess, Jim decides. She says, "I'm sorry to say that I haven't heard enough about you. How long have you been with us?"
"Six months," Leila explains as she crosses her legs and cuts into a piece of steak delicately. Her body language is all wrong. "It's been quite an experience too."
Jim feels as though Leila is talking through her and not to her. "Space travel often is," she faintly replies.
"Oh, yes. I've learned all sorts of useful things," Leila merely responds as she lifts her ocean blue eyes with a cunningly enigmatic smile that Jim isn't fond of. "Though I'm sure there's more I can learn, given the right time." She flicks her gaze to Spock, who is cutting into his vegetarian platter. "And with the right person."
Jim's not sure what they're talking about anymore. She only knows that she doesn't like the way Leila is looking at her and Spock.
"But enough about me," Leila abruptly announces, changing forms suddenly and taking on the spirit of a hosting housewife. It was rather frightening how good she was at it. "We were talking religion before Christine and Ms. Kirk joined our repertoire."
You're using that word wrong, Jim thinks at her as she stabs at a green bean and a piece of fish before she lifts it to her mouth.
"I believe we left off with Dr. Cruise, who seems to think that the existence of plants is enough living proof that there is a higher power," Leila politely reminds, stating it in a way that made it seem as though she were a referee in a boxing ring chiming the bell to begin the match anew.
"But is it not proof enough?" Dr. Cruise exclaims, punctuating his words with the tip of his fork (he seldom did things in subtle gestures it seems). "How marvelous are the designs of nature! It does not exist on its own. Why, a great mind thought upon them to make them so."
"But for what reason?" Officer Dell questions in complaint. He's cutting into a glazed piece of chicken. "Just to be as it is? How much thought is there in that? That's like me being responsible for the finest four course meal known to man and then throwing it all in the sea, uneaten. What was the point of it all?"
"Beauty. That's enough thought to make sense of. All of it is quite marvelous," Officer Hoyt offers by way of explanation with a sharp English accent that Jim finds pleasant enough. "Beauty is a pleasure in many ways."
Leila looks to Spock, who wordlessly declines from making a comment, and she frowns, thwarted.
Jim carefully watches Leila's expression as she observes Spock with a higher form of computation that is both unnerving and suspect. What do you want with him, she silently wonders as she chews.
"Beauty is relative," Chapel points out, stirred to the debate as if she couldn't help herself. "Nature has its reasoning behind it. It certainly fits in the grand scheme alone. I just don't think you can consider nature without considering the rest. But do I believe in God? Yes. I do. I just can't explain the reasoning behind my faith."
"All that we see now is the work of a higher mind," Dr. Cruise adds between chews. "Look at your hands, look at the stars. Look at anything and tell me that that isn't the work of greater."
"Perhaps so, but why does the existence of one thing qualify as the work of a deity? Am I, as a creator of a new piece of machinery or some kind of concoction or the discovery of something new, worthy of elevation and piety?" Officer Dell intones with impatience not aimed towards either of them. He seems tired of the conversation already.
"You put it in such terms and of course that leaves space for doubt," Officer Hoyt retorts after he sips his wine. "Religion is as much about faith in the unseen and the unknown."
"This is also true," Leila lightly agrees as she submits an opinion. "But the grand question here is the existence of a entity." She gracefully chews before she dabs at the corner of her lips with her napkin. "We are told that we are made in God's image, but as we can see, that image is comprised of male and female, of Orion and Vulcan, of love and hate. Is God, too, these things? What delights Him, I wonder, if such a being does exist? To what purpose does he create all manner of life without ever giving evidence of himself fully, and yet asks for our love? Or is it, perhaps, that the gods we look for sit right before us now. What if we are the very gods that we chase after?"
The table falls completely silent, and a wave of background conversation washes over them, followed by the clinking of forks and knives.
Leila's sharp gaze rests on Jim for an unnerving two minutes. She says, "Well what say you, Ms. Kirk? Where do you stand in this debate?"
All eyes suddenly tack onto Jim.
"I'm the type to toe the line," she simply clarifies.
"Oh you'll need to give us more than that," Leila says with a firm stare. "Are you a woman of faith or doubt?"
"I toe the line," Jim patiently repeats. "I believe in choice. Choice to believe and choice not to believe."
"What do you believe in?" Leila presses.
"I'm not sure until I come to it," Jim says.
"Right now, we're at religion. Do you believe in that?"
"I can't completely dismiss the idea of religion, but at the same time I'm not entirely convinced," Jim admits as she meets everyone's gaze. "I'm open to the concept of God and therein any definable classifications, but I don't understand all the basic facts anymore than I ever have. That's where I fall short. I mean, sure I fly through time and space and meet beings of all shapes and forms and race-but is it enough to convince me completely? Not entirely. But I believe that faith has its role and that there are things we can't explain. After all, rivers, ponds, lakes and streams-they all have different names, but they all contain water. Just as religions do-they all contain certain truths."
"Well put," Dr. Cruise praises and lifts his wineglass to her and there is a murmur of agreement. "I do believe she has mediated the argument. Let's talk on more pleasant things."
Leila doesn't seem particularly thrilled with this turn of events. "I suppose we should finish our meal before we challenge ourselves with thicker conversation," she advises.
A quiet comes with the meal and the dessert, and when all is finished and the plates are taken away, and glasses are filled anew, Leila decides that the whole room should participate in a game of jeopardy.
She comes off as bit of a control freak to Jim.
"The trick here, dear friends," Leila sweetly explains as she stands where all occupants of the lounge can see her in her skintight devil red dress. "Is that we will only be investigating science and botanical related topics. The bonus question, which should decide which table is the winner, will be of a different subject entirely. But you won't worry about that until the time comes. Now-" She takes a moment to clap her hands together with a scheming grin that's all teeth. "Let's begin."
Jim shares a look with Chapel.
Chapel scrunches her nose apologetically and drinks down her glass of wine.
Jim forgoes participating in the game in favor of watching. Though she doesn't pay much attention-she's too busying wondering why Spock hasn't uttered a word all evening.
Part 2