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Title: Sensible to Feeling as to Sight
Author: Jaylee
Fandom: Reboot
Pairing: brief mentions of Kirk/Helen Noel, Kirk/Spock
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 10,297
Summary: “Dagger of the Mind” Reboot style, shaken but not stirred... “Spock, this isn’t what it looks like.”
Disclaimer: The characters are not mine, no matter how much I wish it. No profit has been, or will be, made.
Notes: This was written so it could be considered a follow-up to my rebooted “Naked Time” fic "Inamorato", but like the episode it mirrors, can also stand alone.
Notes 2: Inspired by the conversation between kianspo , verizonhorizon  and myself found here.
Special Thanks: to janice_lester  for the fabulous beta job. As always, she does incredible work. And to daphnie_1  for the wonderful support and encouragement. :-)
Dedication: To kianspo, with love.


Is this a dagger which I see before me
The handle toward my hand? Come, let me clutch thee.
I have thee not, and yet I see thee still
Art thou not, fatal vision, sensible
To feeling as to sight? Or art thou but
A dagger of the mind, a false creation
Proceeding from the heat-oppressed brain? ~ Shakespeare, ‘Macbeth’


Jim was trying not to roll his eyes. Really, he was. And the effort it took to refrain was considerable. He had to keep repeating in his mind ‘your crew is the best there is, each and every one of them is as smart as all hell, every once in a while you can allow the occasional ensign a moment of idiocy.’

Yet even that mantra did little to appease his impatience.

In all fairness, he had been irritated even before the transporter technician had fumbled through beaming supplies down to the rehabilitation colony and beaming the large, square container of ‘classified material’ back onto the Enterprise. It was the principle of the matter. His ship was being used for a milk-run, toting around various supplies like a freaking delivery service when their awesome selves should be out exploring.

He didn’t blame the ensign.  Yeah, he probably should have contacted the rehabilitation colony before attempting to beam down their supplies--you know, like the protocols made clear--so they could lower their shielding device.  That would probably have helped with the delivery part of their mission... but, all sarcasm aside, the ensign was probably bored out of his mind, the way they all were, and had likely forgotten about the shield in his haste to get the assignment over and done with.

So no, Jim certainly couldn’t blame him, there. Not when he was just as eager to leave.

“Well Ensign,” he said with a forced smile of reassurance, “the next time we have to deliver supplies to a rehabilitation colony, you’ll remember about the shield-thing. Practice makes perfect and all that.”  He clapped the frazzled ensign on the shoulder in a show of solidarity before turning to walk, not run, back to his bridge. It was an important distinction; a Captain did not run if he did not have to.  But if his steps were a little quicker than normal in his eagerness, what of it? Spock wasn’t there to tease him about it; Spock was on the bridge, waiting for him.

Spock whose hands, just this morning, had clasped and caressed him, whose heat had surrounded and engulfed him, whose skin had pressed firmly against his as they bumped and ground, pushed and pulled, and tried to pull their bodies into one another as they made love, a chorus of gasps and moans filling the cabin…

Jim had to stop and physically shake himself, willing his dick to back down in submission, grinning the entire while. Man, he had it bad.

It probably wasn’t the best idea to walk onto the bridge with a hard-on. Not just for the poor example it would set, but because it would embarrass poor Spock, who would recognize its cause with less than a millisecond’s glance at him, and also because that type of clear evidence to Spock and Jim’s sex life would annoy Bones to no end… actually, that part would be fun.

It would certainly liven up an otherwise completely dull shift. He could practically hear Bones’s indignant snort, could visualize the exaggerated exasperation on his friend’s face. It was an amusing thought, anyway.

Jim chuckled.

As he walked, the soft baritone of his laughter concealed the noise of a scuffle in the transporter room from his notice.  The sounds of thumping against the walls soon blended with the beautiful harmony of the ship’s engines and the rhythmic thud-thud of his footfalls as he drew further and further away.


“If you two don’t stop making googly eyes at each other, I really will throw up on you this time, Jim, that’s a promise,” Bones grouched from behind the captain’s chair as the Enterprise pulled smoothly away from the Tantalus rehabilitation colony’s orbit.

Jim had been subtly trying, through clever use of eye communication alone, to inquire of Spock ‘whose place tonight, yours or mine?’  But now he threw his Vulcan lover a wink before swerving his chair around so he could roll his eyes at his friend.

“Bones, why are you even on the bridge? Shouldn’t you be in sickbay, terrorizing helpless ensigns into submission through eager use of painful hyprospray injections?”

At the same time Spock chimed in with, “Doctor, I fail to see how a term for an unusual ball delivery by a leg-spin bowler in the Earth game ‘cricket’ is applicable to the nature of my recent eye contact with the captain. Perhaps if you explain your use of the word ‘googly’?”

The sound of Spock’s voice was completely deadpan, yet possessing that teasing undertone that Jim was only just learning to pick up on. It was true that he and Spock hadn’t been together that long, and were still technically in the honeymoon stage of their relationship, though it often felt, to Jim at least, that they had known each other forever.

For all that they had started out their mission by jumping down each other’s throats, their relationship had evolved into something indefinable. Like once he had let go of his initial anger and hostility, and Spock had done the same, a switch had been flipped and there was this whole other plain open to them; one that felt like an almost other-worldly sense of symmetry.  

They came from different worlds, possessed far different personalities, and had experienced astronomically different upbringings, but like the corresponding pieces of yin and yang, they just seemed to fit; two polar, contrary forces almost interdependent in the natural world. Such was the way of their command style, such was the way of their relationship.

In other words, he got Spock. Appreciated him. Understood him.  No Vulcan-to-Human Rosetta Stone necessary…. at least he never seemed to need one. Whatever that meant.

He’d never experienced anything like it before in his life, this type of symbiotic relationship, this… synchronicity. Yet with it the code to Spock’s expressions and mannerisms, once cracked, was actually not that hard to decipher. A floodgate had been opened, and if Jim had any say in the matter, it would never again be closed.

It was a common fallacy, both among the ship’s crew and within humanity at large, that Vulcans did not possess a sense of humor. Jim knew otherwise. Well, he knew that Spock possessed one, in the very least, and it often manifested itself when the Vulcan was exchanging jibes with their CMO.

Jim thought Spock hilarious, but he wasn’t about to admit that to Bones.

The sound of Chekov and Sulu snickering, and each trying to muffle it, permeated the bridge, and Jim felt his smile grow, until the chime of an incoming call from the communication station called for his attention.

“Captain,” Uhura called, her tone indicating a sudden alarm that had Jim sitting up to attention immediately, joking with his friend and his lover immediately forgotten.  “I have a Dr. Tristan Adams on line from the Tantalus Rehabilitation Colony.  He says that one of the inmates has escaped and cautions that he may have stowed away aboard the Enterprise through the container we just beamed aboard. He says that the inmate is both clever and dangerous.”

Jim found his gaze meeting Spock’s once more, instinctively seeking him out, only this time he was reasonably sure that his eyes weren’t conveying his usual come-hither stare. No, this time they probably said something along the lines of ‘oh shit’.


“Can’t believe Pike is sending us on a milk run, he said…. This assignment is going to be ever-so-boring, he said…. What are we, delivery men? Are we going to get a tip if we deliver these supplies in a half an hour or less, he said… Jim, anyone ever told you the one about the gift horse and the mouth?”  The doctor’s voice rang out dryly through the tense silence on the bridge.

Jim knew what his friend was doing and he sent him an appreciative glance before playing along.

“Are you still here?” Jim asked, intentionally infusing his voice with exaggerated exasperation. “Are there are there not sick people down in sickbay awaiting your tender mercies, and I use the word ‘tender’ loosely?”  His mind was only half on their tension-diverting play-by-play, his eyes focused entirely on the live feed of security’s pursuit of their stowaway, who was shaping up to be both elusive and doggedly persistent.

“You want me to roam the halls from the bridge to sickbay with an escaped inmate on the loose? One known to be violent? Gee thanks, Jim, I love you, too.”

At that, Jim looked up, and smirked.

“Spock?” Jim asked, smiling sweetly at the doctor while addressing his lover.  “Be a dear and nerve pinch Bones for me? Just to get him to shut-up?”

“Ha, come near me, Hobglobin, and I’ll show you my slide collection of twenty-three known Vulcan  contaminants, and by ‘show' I mean ‘expose’ you to.”

“There is nothing that would please me more,” Spock answered, stoic, as usual, although there was a light in his eyes that indicated to Jim that he got it -- the reason behind their comedic impromptu -- and he was willing to play along. “And I do not believe that even a Vulcan nerve pinch would prevent the doctor from engaging in what you humans call ‘whining’. Due to the frequency with which he engages in the practice, and his tremendous skill at it, I am almost convinced that it operates separate from his conscious mind. Much like a Terran chicken remaining briefly capable of motion after its head has been removed from its body. And doctor, I do believe exposing crew members to viable diseases is unethical. Did you not take an oath to prevent such practices?”

“Spock, there are some things just damn worthy of losing my license over.”

“There should be laws governing the amount of testosterone allowed in a single room,” Jim heard Uhura mutter under her breath from her work station, although a quick glance in her direction confirmed that there was a slight smile on her lips, the worry that had been evident in her dark eyes giving way to genuine amusement.

And when Jim heard Sulu quietly chuckling from his station, he knew that he, Spock and Bones had been successful in their attempts and felt his own smile grow.

The release of the tension that had been building up in the bridge crew’s cumulative shoulders lasted all of one minute before it became rather abruptly and cruelly undone by the sudden arrival of a phaser wielding madman aboard the bridge.

Though he wasn’t proud of it, Jim’s first impulse was to laugh, because the appearance of the guy? So cliché he could be an extra in a reenactment of a twentieth century horror film. His hair was disheveled, his eyes were crazy, and he was mumbling incoherently under his breath. It took supreme effort to reign in that first impulse to make way for the second… adrenaline, a rush of it, the kind of rush he received whenever any member of his crew was threatened.

There was no way he was going to let this… nutcase, hurt anyone in his presence. No way. No how. It’d be over his dead body. Jim stood slowly, so not to alarm their intruder, and inched his way toward the turbolift door.

An instinctive glance towards Spock, whose gaze met his and, briefly, held, had their strange understanding flaring to life once more. Spock knew which action Jim wanted him to take.

“Asylum,” the madman rasped, the word barely recognizable as Jim turned, his attention snapping back to the deranged lunatic in front of him.

“At gun point?!” Jim asked, not bothering to hide his incredulity. “Is that phaser set on kill? Because if so, you make a persuasive argument. Why don’t you hand over the phaser, and then we’ll talk asylum? No one has to get hurt, here.”

Jim locked and held the man’s gaze, buying Spock time to make his stealthy way behind them.

The man opened his mouth, obviously struggling to formulate a reply, just as Spock reached up to grab his neck in a pinch. The man fell towards Jim in a dead faint, his body heavier than Jim expected as he adjusted to keep them both upright.

For a moment, as he struggled to remain standing with the dead weight of the escaped inmate pressing against him, Jim met Spock’s eyes to convey another message.

‘Thank you.’

A slight nod, and a fierce gleam in the dark eyes relayed Spock’s response of, ‘Unnecessary, I would have done it whether you asked it or not. I did not like him pointing a phaser in your direction.’

And at that Jim felt his heart soar.

“It's still hard for me to have a clear mind thinking on it,” Jim quoted under his breath, knowing Spock would hear him.. “But it's the truth even if it didn't happen.”

“Kesey,” Spock murmured, “’One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest‘… an interesting sentiment.”

Jim smiled. It thrilled him whenever Spock got a random pop culture reference to Earth literature and it had been a private joke/challenge between them ever since Spock had made a random reference to Dumas’ ‘The Three Musketeers’ when a weird space pathogen had spread like wildfire through their crew, making its victims act inebriated. Since that day Jim kept dropping random quotes whenever a situation called for it and so far Spock had yet to miss a one.

They were such geeks, the two of them.  They really were.  It was completely awesome.

“Well, how convenient is it that the man came to us, huh? Dontcha just love it when the enemy literally falls right into your hands?” Jim asked his crew at a louder volume, forcing himself to break out of his ill-timed reverie.  He tried not to laugh at the chorus of groans that followed his proclamation.


Three hours later, perched once more in his chair, Jim eyed his CMO and First Officer with growing annoyance as they reported their findings on the medical condition of the Enterprises’ impromptu visitor. 

Bones and Spock were, without a doubt, the two most important men in his life, hell, the two most important people, regardless of gender. One he adored like a brother, and the other he coveted with an untold passion that surprised even him. But he’d be damned if they weren’t also the two most stubborn individuals he’d ever had the pleasure of knowing.

“So what you’re trying to tell me,” he said, rubbing his temples to stave off an approaching headache, “is that you think there’s something going on with this stowaway of ours, this Van Gelder, who isn’t really an inmate seeking asylum, but rather Dr. Adams’s Assistant – Dr. Adams being the Federation’s who’s who man for rehabilitation psychology --  recently gone insane? Something going on other than the man being utterly batshit crazy, that is, and incapable of holding a coherent conversation?”

He wondered if the incredulity in his tone would help change their answer, though he wouldn‘t put any credits on it. Yet how in the hell was he supposed to tell Starfleet that the Enterprise was going to stay in orbit over Tantalus so Jim could investigate the practices of the Federation’s leading psychiatrist?

That ought to go over ever so well. Especially since Jim was the youngest Captain ever, and one who’d had absolutely no experience when they first set out on their five year mission. As much as it vexed him to dwell on it, there were those out there who weren‘t entirely convinced he had the wherewithal to captain the Federation‘s flagship and he absolutely hated giving those nay-sayers ammunition to use against him.

The pain from his headache was rapidly increasing.

“That’s right, Jim. The man is up there rambling about a machine and an experiment and Dr. Adams being behind it. I think it’s worth investigating.”

“I concur,” Spock added, and if Jim wasn’t so distraught over the idea that he had to investigate the equivalent of a Psychological Titan, he would have cracked a joke on Bones and Spock finally agreeing on something. As it was, though…

“Gee, we have on our hands an insane man who is prone to incoherent rambling? Rambling?! Who knew? What a new and amazing phenomenon! Let’s alert the medical journals to this absolutely shocking side-effect of madness, shall we? Oh I know, I‘ll do you one better, let us take insane guy‘s word over that of the most renowned psychiatrist in the Alpha Quadrant. Stellar idea. Why didn‘t I think of that? Are we sure this madness isn‘t catchy?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jim could see the edges of Spock’s lips twitching, as if he were struggling to hold back a smile. Bones, however, well used to Jim’s particular brand of facetious, was distinctly unimpressed.

“Fine, if you’re going to be a smartass about it, I will put it in my log. And if I put it in my log, guess who has to address the issue in his own? I’ll give you a little hint: he’s blond, eats way too much junk food, is allergic to anything and everything, and thinks he’s a comedian.”

“Fine, Bones, you win. I’ll investigate. But just for the record? You’re such a pain in the ass.”

It was possible, Jim knew, to adore someone profusely yet also desire to strangle them. Vigorously.

Yet even though he was hugely annoyed, he also knew his friend was right. It was his duty, as a Starfleet Captain, to investigate anything potentially sinister and harmful going on within a Federation-funded facility. Duty was one thing he would never intentionally blow off, no matter how unpleasant.

“The feeling’s mutual,” the doctor drawled, flashing a triumphant grin. “So, cards tonight?”

“Yep, I’ll bring the chips and dip,” Jim answered, nodding to his friend as he commed to alert Dr. Adams that they were coming down.

Funnily enough, Dr. Adams seemed fine with Jim visiting his facility, which had Jim questioning the necessity of an investigation, yet again.

They were wasting precious time, time that could be better spent pursuing their next mission.

“’Kay, that wasn’t the tone of a man who had something to hide. Bones, at what point is insane just insane? You know, an apple is an apple is an apple, no matter if it’s in a pie, in a dumpling, or on a stick? What does Van Gelder have to do to prove he’s a few beans short of a cup of coffee? Dance around the Enterprise, claiming to be Teddy Roosevelt and trying to dig the Panama Canal through the bulkheads?”

“Kesselring,” Spock murmured, when Jim had paused to take a breath, “’Arsenic and Old Lace’.”

The peaceful timbre of Spock’s voice diffused Jim’s rapidly escalating irritation somewhat. His Vulcan lover had this weird calming effect on him, even when Jim was at his most irrational. This ability to take him out of the moment, however briefly, to reflect on what was going on and take in the larger picture. It was just another aspect of their unusually complementary dynamic. Jim didn’t quite understand it, but he appreciated it, and it served its purpose; he felt his shoulders lose their tension and his heart rate slow.

Fact: they had a situation. Bones was the chief medical officer, and a close friend; his instincts told him that something sinister was going on here. Personal feelings on the matter aside, he had to alleviate those concerns beyond a reasonable doubt, no matter how unnecessary he, himself, might consider an investigation and the use of the Enterprise’s resources it entailed.

Jim shook his head, clearing the cobwebs, and for the first time since Bones and Spock had entered the bridge after spending a worrying amount of time trying to get answers out of their prisoner, he allowed himself to smile, turning his head so he could meet, and be consumed by, a pair of beautiful brown eyes.

“Yeah,” he answered, “you got it. And I wasn’t even trying to be intentional with that one.”

Spock’s response was a raised eyebrow, which seemed to say… ‘you doubt my reading repertoire of literary works’.

Jim chuckled, and held up his hands, palms facing out in surrender, to convey his own response of: ‘I would never’, all the while holding Spock’s gaze.

“Oh for the love of God, would the two of you stop it already?! This neurotic form of foreplay of yours is just plain nauseating. And what is with the eye sex? Can’t the two of you save this for private?” Bones requested in his most exasperated tone, the jolt from the initial sound of it forcing Jim and Spock to break their reverie.

And Jim felt his smile grow wider. Yes, he had a duty to investigate Tantalus, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t have his own bit of fun while doing it.

“No, no we can’t and I’ll tell you why. You need to suffer as I will suffer as I’m trying to compose the Tantalus report for the admiralty. So not only are Spock and I going to flirt shamelessly in front of you, at every conceivable opportunity, dropping literary references like there was no tomorrow, but we’re both going to your gathering tonight to do much of the same. We might even get really frisky and make out, the Vulcan way, which, you know, involves the use of hands.  Lots and lots of hands.”

It was difficult to determine who was more mortified by this, the doctor or Spock, though Jim remained unrepentant. Spock had supported McCoy’s assessment when the two of them approached him with Van Gelder’s ramblings, they were both responsible for his current headache.

“You’re an evil man, Jim Kirk,” the doctor replied.

“No need for flattery, Bones, I already said I’d investigate,” Jim replied, winking. “Speaking of which, since this whole thing is your bright idea, you’ll be responsible for assigning someone from your department to accompany me to the planet. I want the most qualified behavioral specialist on your team, whether or not you can spare them.”

A rather malicious, formidable grin spread across the doctor’s face at his request.

Jim was certain that didn’t bode well for him.


Bones was so going to pay. In fact, there had never been another man in existence who was going to pay more than Leonard McCoy.

Jim’s revenge would be sweet, oh yes, it would; it was his new number one priority in life. He would plot and he would scheme and in the end the good doctor would have his comeuppance.

But first he had to survive the awkwardness of having his lover face down Bones’s quote, ‘most qualified behavioral specialist available aboard the Enterprise’.

“Hello, Captain,” came a breathy greeting from atop the transporter pad. “I’m Dr. Helen Noel. We’ve met before. Remember me? From the Christmas party?”

Oh, yes, Jim remembered that party. Well, sort of.  There had been spiked eggnog involved.

The sultry tone to Noel’s voice combined with the bedroom eyes, come-hither stance, and uniform dress cut so short it couldn’t possibly adhere to regulation, wouldn’t be lost on a man who was blind, deaf, or had never before met a woman. Unfortunately for Jim, his Vulcan lover actually possessed extra sensory perception.

Jim didn’t have to turn and look at Spock to know that his First Officer was wound so tightly he could spring, the vibes he was receiving from him screaming loudly, clearly, ‘James Kirk, you’ve got some explaining to do.’

“Uh… right. Yes, I remember. That thing we had in the past. In the very, very past. Could you, uh, excuse us for a moment?” Jim requested as he grabbed his First Officer’s arm and dragged him just outside the transporter room, not bothering to wait for Noel to reply. He wanted privacy for what he was sure to be one of the most awkward conversations of his adult life.

Up until this point he and Spock had carefully skirted around Jim’s rather successful wild-oat sowing phase. He didn’t like his previous behavior thrown in Spock’s face, even if circumstances with this particular instance had never gone beyond intense flirting, and maybe a little petting, especially when his relationship with Spock went so far beyond -- meant so much more than -- anything Jim had ever experienced. It was like comparing Klingons with Bolians.

He supposed it was long past time to convince Spock of that, though he was having a hard time coming up with the exact words he needed to relay it all.

“It was before we hooked up, back when you hated me…” is what came out, completely involuntarily, and Jim could only cringe at how defensive it sounded.

Oh yes, Bones was going to die.

Spock simply raised an eyebrow.

“Hatred is illogical. I have never hated you.”

“Bullshit. You hated me and you know it. Or, at the very least, you were incredibly annoyed by me. There was a point, early on, when I wondered if I could do anything right in your eyes. I was overwhelmed and stressed and in over my head and feeling utterly alone on this goddamned ship, and that’s when I started chatting Helen up at our Christmas party. It meant nothing, Spock, I swear.

Again Spock’s face remained brittle, his voice utterly emotionless.

“You are aware, yes, that there are regulations against fraternization with those under your command who are too far below you in rank? If Dr. Noel had the inclination, she could file sexual harassment charges against you. As it is even the relationship between the two of us, with both of us being close in rank and privilege, exists in what you humans would call a ‘grey area’.”

Jim winced at the sting. The thing was, he did know that, and he had also known, at the time, that engaging in teasing flirtation with Helen wasn’t the sharpest move to make. But to have Spock remind him of regulations, something the Vulcan hadn’t practiced since their early days of working together, when he had been certain that Spock had disliked him, hurt something deep inside.

He couldn’t help his flinch.

“I know, okay? It wasn’t my proudest moment. Trust me when I say it is not anything I plan to repeat. One because I do know better, and two because I wouldn’t want to risk what we have between us over something stupid like that.”

Spock visibly softened, his brown eyes gentling.

“I did not hate you, Jim. I felt many things for you. I still do. All of them turbulent. I could not make sense of them. In many ways I still cannot. Yet none of those feelings were hatred. I could never hate you.”

And just like that, Jim felt his world brighten. It amazed him just how much better one little reassurance could make him feel, both physically and mentally.

He held out his two fingers for a Vulcan kiss, delighting in the tingling sensation that jolted from his finger tips up his arm as their skin made contact.

“I feel the same,” he whispered softly, as he turned to head back to the transporter room to proceed with his investigation, Spock close on his heels.

It was after he had stepped on the transporter pad, shortly after giving the final instruction for the beam out, that he heard Spock recite…

“’Such, I have long known, is the paradoxical law of all sentiments having terror as a basis.’”

“Poe,” Jim replied with a grin, “’The Fall of the House of Usher’.”

“Poe? I am unfamiliar with the works of Poe,” Helen said from beside him, obviously puzzled over what quoting the words of a long dead author had to do with anything.

“You and I would have never worked out,” Jim told her as the transporter beam made the world blur around them.

His last sight aboard the Enterprise was the light that danced in Spock’s eyes as he nodded to Jim in farewell.


Jim’s first thought after beaming down and gazing around Tantalus was that if Bones ever pushed him to the point of insanity, as he’d been trying to do for almost four years now, this was the asylum he wanted to be sent to. The colony looked more like a resort than it did a rehabilitation facility. The building was modern and artistically designed, and there was a courtyard with gardens spilling forth a delightful profusion of blossoms and scents, and all of this beneath warm and brilliant sunlight. All it needed was the melodious choir of nightingales filling the afternoon sky, and he’d be looking into timeshare options.

As it was, the picturesque splendor of the place aside, he could hardly wit to get off this rock and back to the job he actually loved.  And it would be nice to escape this woman who just couldn’t seem to take a hint.

No meant no. God. And telling someone that the two of you would have never made it, well, that meant no, too. In fact, that meant hell no.

“Doctor, I know you said transporting did funny things to your equilibrium, but I think we’re both steady now. You can take your hand off my shoulder,” Jim told her, trying to keep his voice as polite and free of annoyance as he could.

Spock would have been proud of his restraint.

“Oh, right, sorry Captain,” the doctor replied with a blush, clearly embarrassed at being called out.

What in the hell did the woman expect? It wasn’t as if he was going out of his way to be friendly, in fact, if anything he had probably been a little more standoffish towards Noel than his naturally affable demeanor usually allowed. But the thing was, this thing he had with Spock was so precious to him. He’d never met anyone who understood him so well. He was a little bit paranoid that he would somehow find a way to screw it all up. And given that he had no prior experience with the particular phenomenon of wanting someone by his side for as long as life and Jim’s lucky streak would allow, he felt that his admittedly exaggerated vibes of ‘back off, bitch’ were just a little bit justified. Especially since the woman in question seemed to be deliberately ignoring all of his signals.

It was karma. That had to be it. Bones was right.  He had been an outrageous flirt.  And this was what he got for it. He made a mental note to donate some credits to charity and plant a few trees in the ground the next time he was dirt-side, just to create a sense of cosmic balance in his personal universe, before he turned to greet the approaching and famous Dr. Adams with his best ‘I am Captain Kirk, hear me roar’ grin. The grin that said, he hoped, ‘don’t fuck with me, why did your assistant feel the need to escape to my ship and why is he, a doctor, suddenly incapable of forming complete sentences’?

Dr. Adams didn’t seem affected by it one iota, much to Jim’s disappointment.

“Captain Kirk, Dr. Noel, how wonderful to meet you both. Welcome to Tantalus, I hope you will find your visit… reassuring,” the psychiatrist greeted, perfectly posed, perfectly amiable. Jim thought him full of it. As a full-fledged bullshitter, thoroughly educated in all the many ways of bullshit, Jim knew bullshit when he smelled it, and this Dr. Adams, no matter how renowned, was positively reeking of it.

He hid it well, but the good doctor did not like them here, this Jim knew. Why that was, however, it was too soon to determine.

“Allow me to introduce one of our rehabilitates, and our current facility coordinator, Lethe.”

The woman Adams introduced looked every inch the role model for good little Vulcans everywhere. Her face and her eyes, were completely blank. There was no spark, no personality. Nothing. Nada. Zip. And as she greeted them with an entirely monotone voice, completely devoid of any sort of inflection that would indicate there was a cognizant human being hiding in that body somewhere, Jim became convinced that Bones had been right, there was absolutely no joy here in Mudville. (‘That was for you, Spock... Thayer, ‘Casey at Bat’.’)

“Oh, the pleasure is all mine, I’m looking forward to this tour. It’s quite the place you have here,” he said, while thinking, ‘how’s that for bullshit, Adams?’

“Oh, I can’t wait either. I’m very excited to be here, Dr. Adams. I read your article on…”

Jim tuned Noel out, silently thanking her for distracting Adams while Jim took a closer look at Lethe. He had yet to see so much as a blink from her. The woman stood unnaturally still. She could have easily been just a realistic looking statue adorning the courtyard.

“So, how do you like working here?” Jim asked her in a friendly tone.

“Working gives me purpose,” Lethe answered. Again no inflection; her voice was utterly emotionless. Spock’s grandmother T’Pau, the most stringent Vulcan Jim had ever met, would thoroughly approve of this woman.

“But do you get enjoyment from it? You know, pleasure?” Jim asked pointedly.

“It gives me purpose,” came the robotic response.

Jim shook his head in frustration.

Right, so he had Renfield up on his ship, and a Stepford wife down here ‘coordinating’… oh, that wasn’t creepy to an almost ridiculous degree, not at all.

He was never doubting Bones, or Spock, again. Ever.

“Excellent, shall we start?” Jim heard Dr. Adams ask, just finished with his conversation with Dr. Noel.

Outwardly, Jim nodded his consent. Inwardly he thought, ‘oh yes, let’s.’

Part 2


( 5 comments — Leave a comment )
Jun. 10th, 2010 11:41 pm (UTC)
Just have to say 'before he turned to greet the approaching and famous Dr. Adams with his best ‘I am Captain Kirk, hear me roar’ grin' is hilarious.
Jun. 15th, 2010 01:21 am (UTC)
*beams* Thanks so much! I'm so glad you liked that line. (I'll let you in on a secret... it's one of my favorites, too). ;-)
Jul. 3rd, 2010 06:46 am (UTC)
this look amazing so far!! at last i could read it!!!
Jul. 8th, 2010 08:23 pm (UTC)
Awesome! I'm so glad you've finally had the chance to. :-)
Dec. 24th, 2010 03:31 am (UTC)
“Fine, if you’re going to be a smartass about it, I will put it in my log. And if I put it in my log, guess who has to address the issue in his own? I’ll give you a little hint: he’s blond, eats way too much junk food, is allergic to anything and everything, and thinks he’s a comedian.”

Oh. God!! And I am expected to go on an reading instead of dying for too much laughing?? =))
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