Chapter Text
Jim Kirk checked her PADD then did a double take as one document after the next disappeared from her inbox as it refreshed. Quickly, she tapped one before it could vanish with the others. Each line was filled out, the additional information section has a secondary document attached, which detailed the survey mission of the X18-Zeta star system last week. Either she was suddenly being haunted by a very bureaucratic ghost or someone had been doing all of her paperwork for her.
Based on the rigorous and incredibly precise style of completion, she didn’t need to think overly hard about who might be behind it. Besides, only Commander Spock had access to her files. Jim closed out of the document. Only a handful of items remained in her inbox -- requisition forms, requests, personnel paperwork -- all things which required her final signature before being sent back to the Admiralty.
This was exactly why Jim found Spock unbearable. That she’d go out of her way to do Jim’s job like Jim wasn’t perfectly capable of sending an email attachment. Jim knew that she was the youngest Captain in Starfleet history and still only about four months into her first mission but that didn’t mean she’s inexperienced or untested. It didn’t mean that Spock needed to hold her hand and overstep her bounds.
If Jim wasn’t so tired she would have put more effort into sending a scathing message to Spock. As it were, she had been up almost twenty straight hours. The planet-side mission on Calcus-XV had gone sideways when one of the shuttles refused to take-off. Jim had had to spend hours on the comms trying to prevent the young ensigns aboard from panicking while Scotty walked them through repairing the ship. Half of them couldn’t understand the Chief of Engineering’s accent and the others were too sure they were going to die to help with refusing the fuel container to the engine block.
Instead she typed out: ‘Saw you did the paperwork. Thanks.’ Hopefully that would get the message across and Spock wouldn’t try and do Jim’s job for her again.
Winona Kirk never wanted her daughter to be passed over for a job just because she had a feminine name. Winona knew all sorts about a name being a barrier -- what kind of monster saddled their child with a name like Winona? Besides, if the baby wanted to follow her parents into the Fleet, she would need a name her superiors couldn’t sneer down on or patronize her with. So when her late husband George suggested they name their second child Jamie after his grandmother, Winona had put her foot down and insisted they name her James. James was a name a kid could go far with.
Winona Kirk never expected just how far her daughter would go. Never realized that James would burn her way through the stars. Perhaps, later, Winona would regret not giving James a name like Olivia, a safe name, a name that never went to Tarsus and never sat in a jail cell and never had to use a phaser to put an officer out of their misery after their limbs had been blasted off and there was no hope of keeping them from bleeding out. An Olivia Kirk would live in Iowa and dream of space and never be in any danger at all, never live any kind of life.
When James was a young child, before her father died in a transporter accident, before her mother took a post off-planet, before she had been sent off to Tarsus IV, she was the most precocious child Winona had ever met. If there was a game, James would fight to win. If there was a race, James would run as hard as she could, even when the race was against her older, taller brother. She could climb a tree faster than a squirrel, would shimmy up onto the roof of whatever building took her fancy.
It was during these years that she started going by Jim. Sam, who could never really decide if he wanted to be called Samuel or not, had insisted that if everyone were to call him by Sam, James would need to be called Jim. James hadn’t minded -- at the time she had looked up to Sam to an inordinate degree -- and gratefully accepted ‘Jim’. Of course, after they had grown up, they were such different people. Jim and Sam had lived lives as disparate as possible for two people who had been born from the same parents and being only three years apart in age.
When Jim was in her late teens and back in Riverside because Frank was unconscious or gone for enough of day for Jim to engage in whatever delinquent behavior she wanted to, she had dated a girl named Devah. Devah was nice enough, not unattractive. But she was unambitious in a way even Jim couldn’t justify and once she had paused in the middle of a make-out session on her parent’s porch to ask if Jim would ever consider going by Jamie because “You know, it’s cuter. People wouldn’t act all surprised when they realized you were a girl. Also, I hate having to explain all the time that you’re a real girl.”
Jim had proceeded to ask, “What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” and then dumped her.
She stopped dating, no longer interested in having to explain her every life choice to whoever she was currently fucking.
Down on some nameless planet known only by its coordinates, while helping the Science Department gather botanical samples, Jim inhaled an unidentified pollen and had an allergy attack. Spock was immediately at her side like she knew Jim was about to stop breathing. Bones must have packed an EpiPen in the medkit because an instant later she felt the telltale press and prick against her thigh and could feel her airways artificially open back up. Before she could fall to the ground, Spock was lowering her carefully, hands only touching Jim’s shoulder and side, only over her uniform. Right -- touch telepath.
“Captain, are you alright?” Yeoman Erver asked. He was standing a few feet away holding a large plant. He was one of the beefier guys on the ship. Even though he’s in Engineering, if there’s a number of large things to be moved, you wanted him there to lend a hand. Even though Spock was the strongest officer by far, she only had the two arms.
“I have administered the antihistamine, Yeoman,” Spock said cooly. “The Captain is fine.” Spock’s hands were still hovering a bare inch above Jim’s leg, still holding the hypo. She knelt next to where Jim had propped herself off.
“Thank you for your concern,” Jim croaked and immediately regretted it as her throat stings. Had it really been so long since she’d last had an attack that she had forgotten that it hurts like a bitch if you try and talk right after?
Spock stood. “Captain, you should beam back to the ship so Doctor McCoy can make sure there hasn’t been any permanent damage.” Before Jim could disagree and argue that she really was fine, Spock was already calling back up to the ship. “Lt. Commander Scott. Please beam up the Captain and alert Doctor McCoy that she has experienced an allergic episode.”
Jim wanted to tell Spock off for just packing her back up to the ship but her voice caught in her throat and Scotty was as efficient as she ever was at beaming Jim back to the Enterprise.
There was nothing quite like sitting in the Captain’s chair and looking out at the viewscreen as the stars blurred and passed by. There was the feeling of power that inherently comes with sitting in the center of the room, slightly raised up, but there was also the thrill of exploration, where the rest of the ship and the room faded away and only the inky black yonder remained. Jim didn’t think she could ever go back to Iowa after knowing what’s out here.
“Chekov, status report,” Jim drawled. She had a meal break coming up soon but she didn’t want to leave if something interesting was going to happen soon.
The young, Russian Ensign answered in her thick accent without turning around. “Captain Kirk, we still have thirty-four hours until we reach Epsilon IX at the current Warp 4.” Then under her breath she whispered something to Lt. Sulu who had to smother peals of laughter. Jim ignored them, resigning herself to quiet contemplations on the vastness of space.
“Captain,” Spock said, “Perhaps it is time for you to -- as the colloquialism goes -- take lunch? Clearly your presence is not currently required on the Bridge.” Jim did not give Spock the dignity of turning around, seething while facing forward instead. What could possibly be wrong with Spock? Ordering Jim around like she was a child, like she couldn’t take care of herself or choose when to step away from the Bridge.
Well Jim wouldn’t give Spock the pleasure of following her orders, even if Jim was starting to feel hungry. “Commander, I think I’ll be fine where I am for the time being.” That would show her, that would -- assert her dominance as Captain? Jim wondered if maybe she overreacted to simple concern, but then again was concern even a feeling Vulcans felt?
An hour or so later, when Jim dismissed Uhura for his meal break, he said, “Captain, do you want me to bring you anything back?” Jim shook her head. She refused to give in now. “Are you sure?” he insisted.
“I’m fine, Uhura,” Jim assured him. “No need to carry food halfway across the ship.”
By the end of Alpha Shift, Jim would eat her PADD if she could. She must have never spent all of a shift on the Bridge if there wasn’t some kind of emergency. She had worked through her backlog of paperwork and then got a head start on the current mission report. Then, having nothing better to do, she had spent hours scrolling through news headlines. When the news couldn’t hold her attention any longer, she wondered if maybe she could draw and spent a long time trying to figure out how to depict the blur of the stars on the view screen before she gave up and admitted she probably didn’t have the artistic knowhow to sketch the Bridge properly. If anyone was going to draw the Enterprise, she would have to be damn good to even get close to representing how completely awe-inspiring Jim’s ship really was.
Sulu turned to her as she gathered her PADD to leave. “Did you leave at all today?”
“Oh, I was super busy,” Jim said. “Food just kind of slipped my mind.” Food had not slipped her mind but Jim was probably an intergalactic expert in ignoring the gnawing ache of hunger. “I’ll probably just go grab something now.” Before anyone can question her, she practically ran into the turbolift.
Spock reached the lift at the same time and having no option, Jim boarded with her, letting the doors close on the two of them. After stating her destination, Spock turned to Jim and asked, “Why did you abstain from eating, Captain? Until today you have maintained a regular schedule.”
“As I told Sulu, I wasn’t hungry,” Jim said, defensive. “Besides, I don’t really see how it’s any of your business whether I eat or not.”
The Vulcan looked startled in the way that Vulcans can: Her forefinger twitched minutely and she side-eyed the exit to judge if she could force her way out if worst comes to worst and Jim showed any emotions. “I meant no offense, Captain. I have noticed that most crew members experience a 32.83% increase in productivity when they split their shift with a break.”
Right, like Jim wasn’t angry already. Now Spock was telling her that she’s ineffective because she spent one shift without a snack. “I would tell you that your worry is unwarranted in my case but I assume worry isn’t an emotion that Vulcans feel,” Jim practically snarled back. The lift doors opened and Jim rushed away before she has to face up to the fact she was just incredibly rude to her First Officer.
After eating as much food as her replicator would spit out for her without alerting Bones that she was binging, Jim composes the most apologetic message she can. “Sorry about earlier. Blood sugar must have been lower than I thought. I shouldn’t have said that. Your concern for the crew is admirable and you are a highly efficient First Officer.”
A reply shows up almost immediately after Jim sent her’s. “Captain. You have nothing to apologize for. However, your apology is still much appreciated. If you find yourself so overloaded with work as you did today that you neglected to eat, do not hesitate to delegate some of those tasks to myself as I had nothing so pressing that I couldn’t have lent my assistance.”
Jim barely resisted the urge to throw her PADD against the wall, mostly because she didn’t want Spock to hear and knock on their shared bathroom door and ask if she was alright. Clearly Spock figured out that Jim hadn’t been doing anything for the majority of the shift and was passive aggressively letting her know because Vulcans could never be outright with anything. Jim was perfectly capable of doing her own work, even when the workload was heavier than it had been today.
Eventually all problems end up in Medbay and Jim’s issues with Spock were no different. Jim rolled into Bones’ office a few days after the ‘lunch incident’, all smiles and winks to the medical staff who were so used to Jim’s unnecessary presence that a few even deigned to stop their very important work and smile back. Bones was seated at her desk, pouring over a new BioMed journal, sipping a mug of steaming coffee. When Jim entered, she closed the journal, leaded back in her chair, and took a long draw from her mug.
“What can I do for you today, Jimmy?” she asked. “Because surely you didn’t come visit simply to tell me what a great job I’m doing down here -- healing people, whipping up miracle vaccines.”
“Bones, you’re the best doctor this side of the Neutral Zone and you know it,” Jim replied. She sat down across of her friend with a sigh. “I’ve come about a more personal issue.” Before Bones could protest, she added, “And I want you to tell me what I should do, as my friend.”
“Go ahead,” Bones said. “But I think I know what you’re here about.”
“Oh,” Jim said. Had Spock told Bones about how Jim had skipped eating for about eight hours to prove a point? Was Spock’s hatred of Jim obvious enough that even Bones could see it from four decks away? But Jim wasn’t here about any of that today, not directly. Jim had shown up because she had a major realization. “I think I’ve figured out why Spock hates me.”
Bones shook her head. “I’m not the hobgoblin’s biggest fan, believe you me, but trust me when I tell you that I don’t think hate is the right word for how Spock feels about you.”
“That’s kind of what I realized. I don’t think that Spock hates me personally, maybe just dislikes me or whatever the Vulcan equivalent of dislike is. I think the reason Spock acts the way she does is because of cultural difference between Vulcans and Humans. Vulcans might be weird secretive about every aspect of their lives but I was reading an article which mentioned how strict their family structure was and I realized that Spock is like this because Spock doesn’t approve of a woman being in charge of a starship,” Jim explained.
Before Bones could agree and applaud Jim for her amazing deduction, the red-alert alarm went off. “Go up to the Bridge,” Bones said. “We can finish this conversation another time.”
The Admiralty had no respect for Ship Time or for Jim getting a full night’s rest. Komack called sometime around what Jim’s body insisted is 0300 and Jim had to roll out of bed and pull a uniform shirt over her tank-top. She continued wearing her soft sleep pants because the camera only catches from her rib cage up and she was still too asleep to go rooting through her dresser for actual pants.
“What can I do for you, Admiral?” she asked, trying to appear as awake and alert as possible even though her head suddenly felt like it weighed three times as much and her eyelids were making a very good case as to why they should be closed.
Komack cleared his throat and read off of his PADD, “The Enterprise has been assigned a mission of the utmost importance for continued peace between the Federation and many of our neighbors. Along with a number of other ships, Kirk, you will be transporting a retinue of diplomats and ambassadors to the conference at Babel II. Change your course heading to Starbase 3 immediately. More information about exactly who you will be transporting will be sent to your ship in the next few hours. Expect about thirty.”
“And our current survey?” Jim asked. “Our Science Department says we’re currently on track to finish in a week. I could forward you the preliminary reports. Certainly there are ships better suited to an Ambassador’s taste than the Enterprise.” Jim didn’t add that she hasn’t had to report a single injury or death while they’ve been in orbit around a small moon with unusually high volcanic activity, having only to turn the ship’s scanners at the satellite and let the computers do most of the work. She wished more missions involved watching chains of volcanoes rising and falling over the course of hours down on the Observatory deck.
“Diplomacy comes first, Captain,” Komack replied. “Surveys can wait until there aren’t politics to deal with.” He set down his PADD - he must have been seated at his desk back in San Francisco. “Besides, the Enterprise was requested for this mission. Komack out.”
With a sigh, Jim commed up to the Gamma shift Bridge crew. “Kirk here. Pilot, set course for Starbase 3, Warp 5.”
Whoever was on duty quickly acted, even telling Jim, “ETA is 15 hours, Captain,” before she had to ask for it. That was the kind of efficiency she appreciated.
There was a knock on the bathroom door and the sound of Spock clearing her throat. Sooner or later Jim would have to tell her about their new mission so she let her First Officer in. Spock was wearing a regulation black t-shirt and black sweats, looking far more formal and put together than Jim wearing her wrinkled command golds.
“What’s up, Spock?” Jim asked, pulling the uniform shirt back off.
“I just received our new orders,” Spock said. “I thought it would be logical to wake you.” She held her own PADD in her hand.
Jim shook her head. “I just got off the call with Komack. He told me everything I need to know, all about the Ambassadors --” She yawned and loses her train of thought. Spock just stood there silently. “Right. I think I should go back to sleep so I’m at least a little bit functional tomorrow. Is there anything else you need?”
“If Admiral Komack has already shared information with you, I will not keep you up any longer,” Spock said. “Good night Captain.”