Out There Waiting
Feb. 4th, 2018 11:38 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerI realized a small narrative change that would make 2009 make 900% more sense.
Main Points:
Star Trek (the 2009!movie verse) Cambion AU
Summary: Jim gets a call from Number One...
Word Count: 1407
Rating: Gen
Main Points:
Star Trek (the 2009!movie verse) Cambion AU
Summary: Jim gets a call from Number One...
Word Count: 1407
Rating: Gen
“Captain.” Jim doesn’t realize that he’d even answered the call, but when he turns to see Number One on the other end, he understands that he probably didn’t if Phil’s stories of her computer prowess were any indication.
“I’m sorry your time with Chris was cut short,” he offers. He loves wearing the command gold, but he isn’t even doing that right now—all of his current shirts are either mangled beyond repair or in the wash that he’d been putting off, and he’s halfway through shrugging on one of the black long-sleeved undershirts which honestly are a little more comfy. (They still have the rank insignia on them, though, which is a good thing because the whole uniform re-design thing that Starfleet seems to be going for to boost PR isn’t really helping all that much. None of the short-sleeved shirts have rank on them and that’s especially an issue with, say, Uhura who hasn’t stopped chewing his ear off about it. He’s thinking about getting together a shipwide meeting, probably in shifts since they won’t all fit, and making an announcement about, say, some sort of standard rank jewelry that they can wear or something because in a crisis the ensigns need to know rank and none of that is really important right now with Pike’s Number One staring at his bare chest.)
It’s not often that he’s at all embarrassed about his body, or half-dressed states (in fact, that time he’d shown up for the combat class in boxers was pretty amusing), but even he gets that this isn’t appropriate right now. She coughs politely, an amused gleam in her eye, and he quickly pulls the shirt down.
She waits a moment or two for the heat in his cheeks to die down before she speaks. “I’m sorry, Captain. I realize this is unexpected, and perhaps an inconvenience…?” she trails off, and he shakes his head firmly, sitting down at his table and pouring himself a cup of coffee that—Rand had gotten him some fresh. And hot. He’ll have to remember to thank her. It’s maybe a little more bitter than he likes, but most of the time he doesn’t have time to add all the stuff he’d like, and when he’s running on more willpower than sleep he’ll take what he can get. “…But that happens to be the nature of the job. Starfleet has more of a claim to our time than we do ourselves.”
He inclines his head, acknowledges the point, even as he smiles a little at the thought that no wonder Pike liked the woman when she was more than his match.
“I trust you are in good health, mentally and physically?” she continues.
He still has nightmares about that, but it’s been months, and between the support of his crew and the words of M’Benga, he’s getting to the point where he trusts himself again, which—honestly, if he can’t trust himself, how can he expect his crew to do the same? It’s a better place to be. “I don’t think I’ll ever look at orgies the same way again,” he admits. Or, well, wide open spaces, or freedom. Just as dangerous, just as much with the possibility to cause a panic attack as being restrained with ropes, and he doesn’t think he’s ever going to be able to have sex outside again. Though that last part might be a good thing, honestly, with the number of alien planets they visit.
She smiles a little. There’s something cold, Vulcan about her, but he’s been dealing with that as his First Officer for so long he’s beginning to understand, as much as he understands people that don’t think like he does. That don’t think about sex as much as he does. “If there is any way I can contribute, don’t hesitate to ask.” He lets himself be touched by the offer, smile genuinely, before she continues. “Though next time, I would appreciate it if you would inform Chris sooner rather than later. Giving him time to think about it only let his imagination run wild and he worked himself up into quite a state.”
He winces. “Trust me, I’m starting to get it through my thick head how similar we are. I won’t do it again.”
“Good.” She nods efficiently and moves on. “That is not, however, why I called. Admiral Marcus and Section 31 have no intention of sharing this information with you; they are, however, unable to control me.”
Jim blinks up from his coffee, feeling a little uneasy. It’s one thing to hate Starfleet all your life, to think that their PR is just a bunch of baloney not even a dog would eat, to dislike it because it took away your mother and got your father killed and then glorified his sacrifice as if it had anything to do with them. It’s another to wonder, suddenly, when he’s pledged himself and started growing out of old hatreds and childish vendettas whether, actually, he’d been onto something, way back when. If there’s a dark side, if they’re not all trying their best and just making mistakes because they’re…well. He’d say ‘only human’, except that isn’t really the case anymore; hasn’t been for ages now. “You’re probably not supposed to be telling me this, are you?”
“Which is why we did not have this conversation, Captain,” she agrees. “It is not as if it is the first secret you keep…” She holds up one hand as he starts and spills the burning coffee on his hand. M’Benga’s probably going to chuckle at him, but it’s okay. He deserves it. He jumps up to grab for a towel and pats his arm and the table. She looks sympathetic. Not like your average sympathetic, but he’s been dealing with Vulcans. “I don’t know your secret, only that you have one. Chris didn’t share without your permission.”
He relaxes a little. “He’s good about that. Not that I don’t trust you, but I don’t know you that well.”
“Which means you don’t trust me,” she responds easily, and it takes him a moment to realize that it’s utterly true. It hadn’t occurred to him before. “I understand, because Chris was the same way. You deserve to know this, however. Our scientists have completed a preliminary examination of the Red Matter.”
Instantly, his spine is uncomfortably straight. He hadn’t expected results yet, let alone to hear about them, but he supposes it has been some months—no, nearly a year since the Narada incident. “Did they?”
“The red matter distorts time. They still haven’t figured out the exact mechanism or substance involved. Time was rewound for Vulcan until it became a cloud of gas and dust. A nebula has since formed in the area. They speculate something similar happened to the inhabitants. The space-time distortion also causes a gravity well, which I believe you experienced,” she explains, and he focuses on that, on paying attention and not losing focus. He takes a sip of coffee, and it helps.
She pauses. “Do you need some time?”
He shakes his head. Captains aren’t just Captains when it’s easy. “Where did they find the red matter?” A part of him wants to giggle or roll his eyes at the name. It’s stupid and definitely not something a Vulcan would have come up with, but on the other hand it might be what they’re stuck with. Just like a lot of things.
She raises an eyebrow. He’s decently sure that she’s impressed. “It just appeared near Romulus. Ambassador Spock never figured out how or why, but studying the red matter was more pressing than the investigation into how it appeared.”
He feels a shiver up his spine. “It’s not…it’s not natural, is it? Or if it is, it doesn’t naturally exist near Romulus…”
“They never found that out,” she says, but his mind is whirling. If some race has figured out how to control time…if they tried to destroy Romulus…what did they want? Are they back in this time frame, too?
She says something, but he doesn’t hear it right away. It takes her a moment to get his attention. “Yeah, sorry. That’s very important information. I…I appreciate knowing. I’m not sure I can be of help, but…”
He’s pretty sure he sets the cup down before she notices his hand shaking.
“You appreciate knowing the truth,” she responds, and cuts off the feed.
“I’m sorry your time with Chris was cut short,” he offers. He loves wearing the command gold, but he isn’t even doing that right now—all of his current shirts are either mangled beyond repair or in the wash that he’d been putting off, and he’s halfway through shrugging on one of the black long-sleeved undershirts which honestly are a little more comfy. (They still have the rank insignia on them, though, which is a good thing because the whole uniform re-design thing that Starfleet seems to be going for to boost PR isn’t really helping all that much. None of the short-sleeved shirts have rank on them and that’s especially an issue with, say, Uhura who hasn’t stopped chewing his ear off about it. He’s thinking about getting together a shipwide meeting, probably in shifts since they won’t all fit, and making an announcement about, say, some sort of standard rank jewelry that they can wear or something because in a crisis the ensigns need to know rank and none of that is really important right now with Pike’s Number One staring at his bare chest.)
It’s not often that he’s at all embarrassed about his body, or half-dressed states (in fact, that time he’d shown up for the combat class in boxers was pretty amusing), but even he gets that this isn’t appropriate right now. She coughs politely, an amused gleam in her eye, and he quickly pulls the shirt down.
She waits a moment or two for the heat in his cheeks to die down before she speaks. “I’m sorry, Captain. I realize this is unexpected, and perhaps an inconvenience…?” she trails off, and he shakes his head firmly, sitting down at his table and pouring himself a cup of coffee that—Rand had gotten him some fresh. And hot. He’ll have to remember to thank her. It’s maybe a little more bitter than he likes, but most of the time he doesn’t have time to add all the stuff he’d like, and when he’s running on more willpower than sleep he’ll take what he can get. “…But that happens to be the nature of the job. Starfleet has more of a claim to our time than we do ourselves.”
He inclines his head, acknowledges the point, even as he smiles a little at the thought that no wonder Pike liked the woman when she was more than his match.
“I trust you are in good health, mentally and physically?” she continues.
He still has nightmares about that, but it’s been months, and between the support of his crew and the words of M’Benga, he’s getting to the point where he trusts himself again, which—honestly, if he can’t trust himself, how can he expect his crew to do the same? It’s a better place to be. “I don’t think I’ll ever look at orgies the same way again,” he admits. Or, well, wide open spaces, or freedom. Just as dangerous, just as much with the possibility to cause a panic attack as being restrained with ropes, and he doesn’t think he’s ever going to be able to have sex outside again. Though that last part might be a good thing, honestly, with the number of alien planets they visit.
She smiles a little. There’s something cold, Vulcan about her, but he’s been dealing with that as his First Officer for so long he’s beginning to understand, as much as he understands people that don’t think like he does. That don’t think about sex as much as he does. “If there is any way I can contribute, don’t hesitate to ask.” He lets himself be touched by the offer, smile genuinely, before she continues. “Though next time, I would appreciate it if you would inform Chris sooner rather than later. Giving him time to think about it only let his imagination run wild and he worked himself up into quite a state.”
He winces. “Trust me, I’m starting to get it through my thick head how similar we are. I won’t do it again.”
“Good.” She nods efficiently and moves on. “That is not, however, why I called. Admiral Marcus and Section 31 have no intention of sharing this information with you; they are, however, unable to control me.”
Jim blinks up from his coffee, feeling a little uneasy. It’s one thing to hate Starfleet all your life, to think that their PR is just a bunch of baloney not even a dog would eat, to dislike it because it took away your mother and got your father killed and then glorified his sacrifice as if it had anything to do with them. It’s another to wonder, suddenly, when he’s pledged himself and started growing out of old hatreds and childish vendettas whether, actually, he’d been onto something, way back when. If there’s a dark side, if they’re not all trying their best and just making mistakes because they’re…well. He’d say ‘only human’, except that isn’t really the case anymore; hasn’t been for ages now. “You’re probably not supposed to be telling me this, are you?”
“Which is why we did not have this conversation, Captain,” she agrees. “It is not as if it is the first secret you keep…” She holds up one hand as he starts and spills the burning coffee on his hand. M’Benga’s probably going to chuckle at him, but it’s okay. He deserves it. He jumps up to grab for a towel and pats his arm and the table. She looks sympathetic. Not like your average sympathetic, but he’s been dealing with Vulcans. “I don’t know your secret, only that you have one. Chris didn’t share without your permission.”
He relaxes a little. “He’s good about that. Not that I don’t trust you, but I don’t know you that well.”
“Which means you don’t trust me,” she responds easily, and it takes him a moment to realize that it’s utterly true. It hadn’t occurred to him before. “I understand, because Chris was the same way. You deserve to know this, however. Our scientists have completed a preliminary examination of the Red Matter.”
Instantly, his spine is uncomfortably straight. He hadn’t expected results yet, let alone to hear about them, but he supposes it has been some months—no, nearly a year since the Narada incident. “Did they?”
“The red matter distorts time. They still haven’t figured out the exact mechanism or substance involved. Time was rewound for Vulcan until it became a cloud of gas and dust. A nebula has since formed in the area. They speculate something similar happened to the inhabitants. The space-time distortion also causes a gravity well, which I believe you experienced,” she explains, and he focuses on that, on paying attention and not losing focus. He takes a sip of coffee, and it helps.
She pauses. “Do you need some time?”
He shakes his head. Captains aren’t just Captains when it’s easy. “Where did they find the red matter?” A part of him wants to giggle or roll his eyes at the name. It’s stupid and definitely not something a Vulcan would have come up with, but on the other hand it might be what they’re stuck with. Just like a lot of things.
She raises an eyebrow. He’s decently sure that she’s impressed. “It just appeared near Romulus. Ambassador Spock never figured out how or why, but studying the red matter was more pressing than the investigation into how it appeared.”
He feels a shiver up his spine. “It’s not…it’s not natural, is it? Or if it is, it doesn’t naturally exist near Romulus…”
“They never found that out,” she says, but his mind is whirling. If some race has figured out how to control time…if they tried to destroy Romulus…what did they want? Are they back in this time frame, too?
She says something, but he doesn’t hear it right away. It takes her a moment to get his attention. “Yeah, sorry. That’s very important information. I…I appreciate knowing. I’m not sure I can be of help, but…”
He’s pretty sure he sets the cup down before she notices his hand shaking.
“You appreciate knowing the truth,” she responds, and cuts off the feed.
