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Say It if You Mean It

Title: Say It if You Mean It
Fandom: Star Trek (2009)
Author: Nnej 
Disclaimer: I own them. Yep. That's right. Go ahead and SUE ME (Just kidding. Please don't. It's not mine). 
Pairing: Spock/Kirk, Spock/Uhura (and a little more on the horizon, but I aint spoilin' it). 
Warnings: Naughty words, het!yay, homo!yay, and don't run with scissors (good warning for all). 
Rating: PG-13 
Summary: Spock thought she was dead; he was sure she was dead. But here she was--T'Pring-- on the USS Enterprise. With what she has planned, he's going to wish she had died. 
A/N: Woo! I would like to say now, the K/S in this is going to be EXTREMELY slow building. If you want quick smex, this is NOT your fic. Also, I wanted to give a huge thank you to my AMAZING beta, proudcockatrice  who everyone should bow to in wonder and awe. Any remaining mistakes are my own, so no blame to the mighty beta :D   


            James T. Kirk was drunk. Drunker than he had ever been in his life, and that was one hell of an accomplishment.  Around him lay the dried out corpses of bottles, shots, and drink glasses like a battlefield with Jim the reigning champion. Today had been a big day, and Jim was unwinding from it with some big drinking. The entire time he had been on stage, instead of concentrating on what Admiral Pike was saying, Jim had been trying to decide which bar he was going to escape to, the minute they were done. There were many options; during his three years in Starfleet he had gotten familiar with almost every bar in the state. If he went to any of his favorites the bartenders would certainly remember his face. They’d know his favorite drinks, the guys hanging around there would call him a hero and get him rounds, and the girls would be plentiful and sexy as hell. But that wasn’t what Jim was looking for. Those bars were the ones he went to after acing exams, outsmarting professorsm or just being happy. They were for celebrating. Jim needed someplace to mourn.

The Drunken Delta was where he ended up—a dive in every sense of the word. With its cracked leather stools, dismal lighting, and almost constantly malfunctioning computers, it had garnered itself a reputation as being the only place miserable enough for someone to comfortably drink away their sorrow in it. No one chatted. No one flirted. The music was kept loud enough to drown out the patrons’ upsetting thoughts and the corners were kept dark enough to allow people to weep without anyone seeing.  It was exactly what he was looking for.

Behind the bar sat a Napean female named Steda who listened patiently to whoever was brave enough to actually tell their story to her. Jim had seen her the minute he walked in and had sat in a booth off in the corner, as far away as possible. He knew Napeans. He knew about their empathic abilities. Jim didn’t want anyone near his emotions; no one else needed to hurt today like he did. Unfortunately, since 85% of the bar patrons were either Starfleet officers or past Starfleet officers (like Steda) and Jim’s concern was needless. Everyone was grieving here; everyone’s mind was stuck in the event of a year ago, when Vulcan and most of Jim’s graduating class were the victims of a Romulan with a vendetta.  Steda herself had been a Starfleet Cadet that fateful day, ready to sail on the USS Farragut before getting  lost in the commotion and missing her shuttle.  Once she got word that almost all of her friends were dead, she had summarily resigned, instead deciding to spend her time tending bar for people as miserable as she was.

                But, Jim didn’t know any of this. And, not to be insensitive, but even if he had known, he wouldn’t have cared. Once he was situated in the booth, Jim started ordering drinks and didn’t stop. His mission was to get drunk. And, goddamn it, he was a Captain now and if he couldn’t get a mission completed, who could? Steda, recognizing who Jim was right away, opened up her secret stash of Romulan Ale for him and then proceeded to watch in both amazement and horror as he downed the entire bottle in an hour and started ordering glasses of Saurian brandy to chase it down with. Admittedly, the bottle of ale had been more than half empty, but still, that was a lot of alcohol for one Human. In all her time as a bartender, she’d never seen someone so unabashedly determined to drink themselves into the floor.  She filled his orders tentatively after that and discreetly pulled up his file. The way the captain was already teetering in his seat didn’t make her optimistic about him walking out of here tonight, so it was best to have his emergency contacts on hand.

In between his second glass of Saurian brandy and a shot of Jack, Jim had a strange moment of clarity in which he wondered what Spock was doing. Earlier in the day, he and his first officer had stood side by side on the stage as Pike dedicated a newly made fountain to those who had died a year ago. Jim had thought it was ridiculous; it was almost the size of a swimming pool and in the center sat a red orb, probably representing Vulcan, that rotated solemnly as the slow-moving water underneath moved it along. Jim had snuck glances at Spock throughout Pike’s speech. If the other man was feeling anything, Jim couldn’t tell; his face was stiff and cold, revealing nothing about what was going on behind it. But right after the ceremony was over, Spock had rented a shuttle with Uhura and set off, probably to find someplace sufficiently isolated enough for them to cuddle or grope fingers or do whatever else they did when they were alone and Spock allowed himself to be vulnerable.

Jim hoped he was all right. In the year after Nero, the two men had become fairly good friends. Certainly, the Vulcan was no McCoy, but they were getting there. They didn’t talk much, and when they did, it was usually over chess and restricted to ship issues. Still, it was a start and Jim was glad for that. Spock was a good guy and a fantastic First Officer. Jim toasted to the hope Spock was being well cared for and threw back the shot as though it was water.

The drinking continued steadily after that.  As other patrons got up and stumbled away, Jim stayed where he was, nursing his drinks and listening to the loud, banging music. After his fourth Saurian brandy, he ordered a shot of some girly sounding liqueur and threw it back. Instantly, his eyes swam. All the alcohol that he had consumed over the past three hours seemed to strike him all at once. He had been warned that Romulan Ale had a delayed hit. That was part of the reason that it was so dangerous. And, Jim realized with a sardonic smile, he had chased a fourth of a bottle of it with more alcohol than he could count.  For a second, his eyes went dark and he thought he was finally going to pass out, but the moment passed without him. Still, the bar was swirling together into a blur, and the music started to hurt his head. Jim assessed the situation.

He was drunk. Really drunk. Probably so much so that he should start worrying about alcohol poisoning. But still, he wasn’t drunk enough; he still could see the wreckage of Federation ships—ships with classmates, friends, and lovers in them— in his mind. He could still smell the hot air of Vulcan. He could still feel. And feeling hurt.  Mission incomplete,’ he decided as he ordered something. In his dizziness, he wasn’t quite sure what it was. But for all he cared, it could be rubbing alcohol. As long as it shut his mind the hell up. His stomach was churning, his eyes were fogged, and his mind was wrapped up in tragedies long gone. Jim knew this was bordering on suicidal stupidity now, but he was already too far gone to care. He rested his head against the coolness of the table and waited for his mystery drink. Just for a second, he let his eyes close, praying for a moment or two of blessed unconsciousness. But right as he was about to doze off, the bell on the door chimed loudly, announcing that another miserable soul had joined their ranks.

                The new arrival, a Vulcan woman, stood in the doorway of the decrepit bar and, for a second, almost looked disgusted. A few heads turned to look at her as she lingered there, scanning the crowd with determined-looking, dark brown eyes.

                “You going to come in?” Steda yelled over the roar of the music. Jim lifted his head up to see who the bartender was talking to. At first, to him, there were four people standing in the doorway before his eyes focused and they settled into one. Instantly he felt his eyebrows hit his hairline. What was a Vulcan doing in a place like this? Especially an incredibly attractive, Starfleet Vulcan (if the uniform she was wearing was genuine). The woman instantly set her eyes upon Jim’s and set out towards him with purpose. For the moment, he watched her approach and examined her as well as he could with a brain soaked in alcohol.

                She was gorgeous, that much was clear. Her figure was svelte, like most Vulcans, and also like most Vulcans, she had dark, practically black hair, which she kept out of her face in a long ponytail. Her skin was lightly tanned, a sharp contrast to Spock, who was always so fair. In her hand were two PADDs, which she gripped tightly. She made her way over to Jim with the straight-backed, focused gait of someone with a plan. Jim turned his attention to his drink, irrationally hoping she was looking for someone else.

                “Captain Kirk?” she demanded, once she reached him. Jim downed what was left in his brandy glass, but didn’t respond. Steda came by, picking up the empty glass and replacing it with the new drink. From the look of it, it was something fruity. The woman moved in closer.

                “Are you Captain James Tiberius Kirk?”

                Jim was planning on saying ‘Who wants to know, you disruptive harpy?’, but when he opened his mouth to say that, all that came out was, “Whaaa?”

                The woman’s nose scrunched up for a moment, “You appear to be significantly inebriated.”

“You appear to be….to be Vulcan,” he replied back, as though that were a comeback.

“Indeed. I had hoped to find you in a less … mentally compromised… state for this interaction. However, I find myself forced to proceed despite your intoxication. “

Jim stared at her openly, watching as the lines of her face blurred in and out of focus and wondered what the hell she wanted from him.

“You are James Tiberius Kirk, are you not?”

Jim laughed humorlessly. “Don’t…don’t cha watch the news? Imma celebrity! A hero!” He downed his drink as a toast to that, feeling the welcome burn of alcohol on his throat as the world spun dangerously around him with new ferocity.

“Phenotypically, you are substantially similar to other humans of your gender and approximate coloring. I merely wished to confirm, with greater than ninety-nine percent certainty, that you were who I believed you to be, before I continued,” the woman replied quietly. “I have an urgent request to make of you, Captain Kirk.”

                Kirk looked at the Vulcan as though she were crazy. He opened his mouth slowly, trying his best to focus on what he wanted to say. He wanted to explain to her that this was the absolute worst time to be asking something of him. That he was in no mood to listen to any request she or anyone else in the world had. And that he, on principle, would probably deny her request if she persisted, simply because she was annoying him.

                “I’m really drunk…” Jim settled on, hoping she would get the message.

                “Yes, that much is clear. Unfortunately, with your ceremonial functions completed, you and your ship will be leaving tomorrow and given mission schedule it is conceivable that this is my only opportunity to speak with you.”

Jim squinted, trying to force his brain into sobering up for a few seconds. It gave him the proverbial finger.

 “Fine. Ya got… Ya got until I pass out. Go.“

                “I wish to join your crew,” she said plainly, as though this was the most common, natural thing to say in a bar. The whole place went silent after that. There was no chattering, no weeping. Even the music jerked to an abrupt stop, leaving everyone in the room with their ears ringing and trying to deal with the sudden silence around them. Jim, looked around to see if anyone else was having this experience. Had he, out of shock, gone deaf? Unlikely. Just as he was about to think that he was hallucinating, he heard Steda kick something behind the bar and the music started up again.

“Ya made the music go ‘way…” Kirk mumbled, his compromised mind impressed with that feat.

“That was merely a coincidence. But returning to my original intention, I wish to confer to you that I come highly recommended, Captain.” She handed over one of the PADDs. Jim looked at it a moment, but only saw smudges where the words should be. He set it on the table and looked at her expectantly.

“Sumer…Summummer… Suzzerize… Oh fuck it. Tell me wha’s on that,” Jim said, shoving the PADD  back towards her.

“It has letters of recommendation from several distinguished professors at Starfleet and three from former professors of mine, from the Vulcan Science Academy.”

“Y’were at the Aience Ascademy?” Jim slurred, losing his battle with the alcohol in his system.

“Affirmative. I was particularly accomplished in the areas of power-generation and was a leader in remodeling matter/antimatter reaction chambers in more efficient ways. Had Vulcan not been destroyed, I believe my experiments would have revolutionized warp travel.”

Jim didn’t really follow most of that, but nodded as best he could, “So yer an engineer?”

“No. I am a researcher. But, I am hoping to be a nurse on board your vessel.”

Jim blinked. Now, he knew he was completely wasted, but he suspected that even if he wasn’t that wouldn’t have made any sense.

“Nurse? Why? You seem t’ be more an engineerin’, science-y sorta girl…”

“That is correct. However, the Enterprise is neither in need of any engineers nor any science officers. What you are lacking is a nurse, so that is the job I am requesting to be given.”

“Oh,” that made a little more sense, “Are ya qualif… quaili… can ya do the job?”

“When Starfleet first opened their doors to Science Academy members, I started taking classes in microbiology, alien anatomy, and medical procedures. I am, as you tried to say, ‘qualified’ for this post.” She handed over the other PADD. “This shows all the certifications that I have acquired over the year.”

Jim was glad the woman was Vulcan and could therefore not lie, because he wasn’t about to verify anything she said at this point. His vision was currently going through a funnel of some sort; no peripherals, just the image in front of him of the beautiful Vulcan female watching him expectantly. Jim knew it wouldn’t be long before he was going to either pass out or die. At this point, he didn’t even know which he preferred.

“Alright… Alright. You can be the nurse on th’ condition you lea’me alone now. Deal?”

The woman nodded and quickly stood up before Jim could change his mind.

“Wait! Wait!”He remembered before she got too far, “Whassyer name? I need ta know yer name soz’I can hit on ya later...”

The woman considered for a moment, like her name was something direly secretive. Finally, she walked a few steps closer so she wouldn’t have to shout.

 “T’Pring. My name is T’Pring.”

She watched him carefully after she said that, almost as though she were expecting some sort of reaction. When none came, she gave a curt nod and left the bar. Jim repeated the name once she was gone, getting to know the feel of it on his tongue.

“T’Pring… Nurse T’Pring…”

He reached out blindly for something to drink, but before he could grab anything, the final shreds of his consciousness finally slid out of his none-too-firm grasp and he crashed headfirst onto the table. With his last bit of thought, Jim wondered to himself if maybe during his life, Spock ever knew a T’Pring.

“Nurse T’Pring… Welcome to the USS fuckin’ Enterprise.

And then the world went black.


Jul. 11th, 2010 10:43 pm (UTC)
Oooh, nice. Can't wait to see how you follow this up.
Jul. 11th, 2010 10:48 pm (UTC)
Luckily, you don't have to wait. It's already posted :D


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