Flawed Paradise
Aug. 14th, 2022 08:46 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
madimpossibledreamerMain Points:
Star Trek (the 2009!movie verse) AU follow up to The Power of Teamwork
Summary: This one was an AU where Kirk was half-human and could shapeshift. It's a fanfic sibling to the Cambion AU or maybe a prototype.
This one is a riff on This Side of Paradise.
Word Count: 1083
Rating: Teen
warning: not in depth, but Tarsus is mentioned, also racism/speciesism
shipping: unclear whether actually dating jim/bones or just a mutually unconfirmed crush, definitely spock/uhura
Generally, Leonard’s feeling pretty fine these days, though the usually confident Captain—Jim—lookin’ so pale and scared makes him feel a touch of unease. He’s got to fix this, for Jim’s sake as well as his own. He’s had time to think about the Captain’s proposition, and he likes the idea, but space, really, what had it done for Jim? It’d done nothing but steal the ones he loved from him. He’d be much happier here, assuming Leonard can fix this. He’d love to leave all his schooling behind, but he’s got one more task to perform, to protect the man he loves. “Maybe it’s somethin’ else he’s allergic to,” he suggests unhappily. Prettyboy’s allergic to plenty of things that’re good for him, why not somethin’ else? Normally no human would be allergic to so many medicines, but a private part of Leonard maintains, “…’t’s probably the alien in 'im," he continues, and is slightly unsettled further by the green-blood giggling at him.
He crouches down next to Jimmy, who scuttles away from him like a disturbed spider. “What’s botherin’ you, Jimmy my boy?” he asks, calm and patient and charismatic. He didn’t bother, much, but he’d been forgetting his manners for years.
He reaches out to check Jim’s pulse, and the Captain screams in response. “No!” He’s glaring now. “Don’t you dare touch me,” Jim hisses in anger.
Leonard freezes, hand midair. “We’re just tryin’ ta help, darlin’,” he states softly, letting his voice drawl even more in a way he knows is calming to many of his patients on board. It doesn’t work.
“That’s how it starts—that’s how it always starts…” he mutters, curling up even more. “They’re always friendly and they mean well and they think they’ve found Paradise, but I can’t trust it. I’ve seen what happens. It’s always the same.” He swallows before looking at Leonard venomously, “They always think you’re a freak.”
For one, horrible second, he thinks about abandoning the blond-haired captain he’d fallen for despite himself. Jim’s problematic, too much work, standing in the way of his happiness—
But no. Paradise is a place, sure. The simplicity of country life in Georgia, as simple as anything in their time gets, anyhow, with the return of family farms in the years following the war after humanity could spread out to the stars, and mint juleps, and the taste of a fresh peach, and a lazy Sunday to just relax in the heat with the ones you care about. But people you care about, even that green-blooded hobgoblin and the obsessive Scotsman and his stubborn mechanic friend and glib-tongued, sharp lady and fellow doctor with an odd sense of humor and all the rest of the crazy people on this crazy boat, that’s what you really need with you to truly make a place Paradise. He hopes Jim didn’t feel too much of the emotions just how—he’s not proud of them—or if he had, that it hadn’t hurt him too much.
Somehow, deep down he’d known he’d had a problem, that he hadn’t treated the aliens on the sheet the same, despite alien races having been known in the Federation since before he was born. He’d known, but he hadn’t wanted to admit it, despite anything Jim or Spock said. Petty of him, really, but then, in his small place in Georgia, they’d barely accepted the second wave of African immigrants, let alone people that didn’t even look human. Seems that now he’s got to face it, if Jimmy’s going to be happy.
“You treat us the same if we’re patients,” Spock states, still sounding completely amused, “…but if there’s no emergency, you begin to act on your speciesism once more.”
He feels discontent stir within him. A problem he can’t fix, not with how broken he is, not with how broken Jim is. He’s just playing at being doctor, really; he’s never been good at it.
But he’s stubborn. Death might be staring him in the face and he’ll still fight it. What a wonderful thing, that Paradise will have no need of doctors. But he won’t complain about Jimmy being his last patient, not if he can fix this, bring Jimmy finally to peaceful content.
“Maybe Paradise ain’t perfect, but we can work at it, try to improve it,” he admits. “I’m getting better, and I’ll try to further improve for you two. You’re important. I like xenobiology, but I’ve always had bad scores on bedside manner. The abstract I’m interested in. People are hard. But they don’t have to be. These spores make everything easier.” He reaches out again, and this time Jim doesn’t shrink away, but his expression is still disturbed.
“Easier, yeah. You don’t have to think.” Why was he so against relaxing?
“I can confirm, Captain, it is much easier. Nyota prefers the change,” Spock confirms, and while without the influence to be better he would’ve been upset about the First Officer backing him up, now, he merely welcomes it.
Jim snorts, but fortunately he seems to be closer to his usual mindset than the terrified version he’d been before. “It’s easy not to think. Just let someone—or something—else dictate how you think, how you behave. You won’t even complain when you’re told to line up for the slaughter.”
The idea is…troubling, to say the least. But even more so, the conviction, the haunted, faraway look in his eyes—Jim’s speaking from personal experience.
“Perhaps Dr. Helen Noel could be of assistance in overcoming this trauma,” Spock suggests, and pained blue eyes glance in the direction of them both.
“Somehow, I don’t think anything would really help with the memories of Tarsus IV.”
Leonard’s memories get a little hazy at this point. He regains consciousness halfway through, “…all right, Bones?”
He groans. He’s never gone from sober to hungover so quickly. “Don’t know why you put up with me.”
The Captain smiles, still looking tired. “Don’t you know, Bones? It’s because we love you.”
“You are not entirely unpleasant,” Spock agrees with a look in his eyes that suggests he’s in pain as well.
It’s like the Captain to casually bring up Tarsus IV. It’s also like him to act like one of the biggest cults disguised as a mere Federation agricultural outpost complete with genocide and mass suicide wasn’t such a big deal.
Star Trek (the 2009!movie verse) AU follow up to The Power of Teamwork
Summary: This one was an AU where Kirk was half-human and could shapeshift. It's a fanfic sibling to the Cambion AU or maybe a prototype.
This one is a riff on This Side of Paradise.
Word Count: 1083
Rating: Teen
warning: not in depth, but Tarsus is mentioned, also racism/speciesism
shipping: unclear whether actually dating jim/bones or just a mutually unconfirmed crush, definitely spock/uhura
“Doctor, what is wrong?” The Vulcan seems to be raising one of those eyebrows at the Captain, shivering in a corner.
Generally, Leonard’s feeling pretty fine these days, though the usually confident Captain—Jim—lookin’ so pale and scared makes him feel a touch of unease. He’s got to fix this, for Jim’s sake as well as his own. He’s had time to think about the Captain’s proposition, and he likes the idea, but space, really, what had it done for Jim? It’d done nothing but steal the ones he loved from him. He’d be much happier here, assuming Leonard can fix this. He’d love to leave all his schooling behind, but he’s got one more task to perform, to protect the man he loves. “Maybe it’s somethin’ else he’s allergic to,” he suggests unhappily. Prettyboy’s allergic to plenty of things that’re good for him, why not somethin’ else? Normally no human would be allergic to so many medicines, but a private part of Leonard maintains, “…’t’s probably the alien in 'im," he continues, and is slightly unsettled further by the green-blood giggling at him.
He crouches down next to Jimmy, who scuttles away from him like a disturbed spider. “What’s botherin’ you, Jimmy my boy?” he asks, calm and patient and charismatic. He didn’t bother, much, but he’d been forgetting his manners for years.
He reaches out to check Jim’s pulse, and the Captain screams in response. “No!” He’s glaring now. “Don’t you dare touch me,” Jim hisses in anger.
Leonard freezes, hand midair. “We’re just tryin’ ta help, darlin’,” he states softly, letting his voice drawl even more in a way he knows is calming to many of his patients on board. It doesn’t work.
“That’s how it starts—that’s how it always starts…” he mutters, curling up even more. “They’re always friendly and they mean well and they think they’ve found Paradise, but I can’t trust it. I’ve seen what happens. It’s always the same.” He swallows before looking at Leonard venomously, “They always think you’re a freak.”
For one, horrible second, he thinks about abandoning the blond-haired captain he’d fallen for despite himself. Jim’s problematic, too much work, standing in the way of his happiness—
But no. Paradise is a place, sure. The simplicity of country life in Georgia, as simple as anything in their time gets, anyhow, with the return of family farms in the years following the war after humanity could spread out to the stars, and mint juleps, and the taste of a fresh peach, and a lazy Sunday to just relax in the heat with the ones you care about. But people you care about, even that green-blooded hobgoblin and the obsessive Scotsman and his stubborn mechanic friend and glib-tongued, sharp lady and fellow doctor with an odd sense of humor and all the rest of the crazy people on this crazy boat, that’s what you really need with you to truly make a place Paradise. He hopes Jim didn’t feel too much of the emotions just how—he’s not proud of them—or if he had, that it hadn’t hurt him too much.
Somehow, deep down he’d known he’d had a problem, that he hadn’t treated the aliens on the sheet the same, despite alien races having been known in the Federation since before he was born. He’d known, but he hadn’t wanted to admit it, despite anything Jim or Spock said. Petty of him, really, but then, in his small place in Georgia, they’d barely accepted the second wave of African immigrants, let alone people that didn’t even look human. Seems that now he’s got to face it, if Jimmy’s going to be happy.
“You treat us the same if we’re patients,” Spock states, still sounding completely amused, “…but if there’s no emergency, you begin to act on your speciesism once more.”
He feels discontent stir within him. A problem he can’t fix, not with how broken he is, not with how broken Jim is. He’s just playing at being doctor, really; he’s never been good at it.
But he’s stubborn. Death might be staring him in the face and he’ll still fight it. What a wonderful thing, that Paradise will have no need of doctors. But he won’t complain about Jimmy being his last patient, not if he can fix this, bring Jimmy finally to peaceful content.
“Maybe Paradise ain’t perfect, but we can work at it, try to improve it,” he admits. “I’m getting better, and I’ll try to further improve for you two. You’re important. I like xenobiology, but I’ve always had bad scores on bedside manner. The abstract I’m interested in. People are hard. But they don’t have to be. These spores make everything easier.” He reaches out again, and this time Jim doesn’t shrink away, but his expression is still disturbed.
“Easier, yeah. You don’t have to think.” Why was he so against relaxing?
“I can confirm, Captain, it is much easier. Nyota prefers the change,” Spock confirms, and while without the influence to be better he would’ve been upset about the First Officer backing him up, now, he merely welcomes it.
Jim snorts, but fortunately he seems to be closer to his usual mindset than the terrified version he’d been before. “It’s easy not to think. Just let someone—or something—else dictate how you think, how you behave. You won’t even complain when you’re told to line up for the slaughter.”
The idea is…troubling, to say the least. But even more so, the conviction, the haunted, faraway look in his eyes—Jim’s speaking from personal experience.
“Perhaps Dr. Helen Noel could be of assistance in overcoming this trauma,” Spock suggests, and pained blue eyes glance in the direction of them both.
“Somehow, I don’t think anything would really help with the memories of Tarsus IV.”
Leonard’s memories get a little hazy at this point. He regains consciousness halfway through, “…all right, Bones?”
He groans. He’s never gone from sober to hungover so quickly. “Don’t know why you put up with me.”
The Captain smiles, still looking tired. “Don’t you know, Bones? It’s because we love you.”
“You are not entirely unpleasant,” Spock agrees with a look in his eyes that suggests he’s in pain as well.
It’s like the Captain to casually bring up Tarsus IV. It’s also like him to act like one of the biggest cults disguised as a mere Federation agricultural outpost complete with genocide and mass suicide wasn’t such a big deal.
