[closed]

[dow]

Characters: Spock & Jim Kirk
Date: 26/10/13
Location: Around and about, later Jim's pad.
Situation: Spock arrives!
Warning/Rating: N/A

[ This isn't Khitomer, it isn't Parthenon 559 where he last went planetside (which would make marginally more sense) and there's no point even beginning to twist facts to suit theories that the Klingons have had something to do with the kedan influence wherever-this-is, so all in all Spock is immensely frustrated by his arrival without so much as a tricorder to determine the smallest sliver of truth on his own terms. The last thing he remembers is the sight of Jim at the feet of Commander Kor, beaten and unconscious on the Klingon vessel.

To say he's more than a little concerned as he traverses the streets in a bid to uproot information would be the understatement of the 23rd century. ]

Comments

[jirk]

[Jim hates the idea that he's been here long enough to be familiar with this place. Passingly? Yeah, whatever. Big deal. But to the point where he knows, through tedium alone, that there are exactly seven hundred and ninety-three paving stones in this block of street? Yeah. No one should ever know a stretch of road that intimately.

(He spent a lot of time here after his leg was broken and he was hobbling around in Soranik's cast, okay? He used a goddamned cane. His ego didn't like that one iota.)

When it's all said and done, he doesn't do bored well. It doesn't agree with him. Makes him dangerous and reckless and angry at everything, and sometimes he half-feels like he's going to look out a window and see Iowa all over again, and everything that happened-- his ship, his crew, his family, will have just been the result of some screwed up hungover haze. Every day is one he has to remind himself exactly what the Enterprise looks like, what she was built to withstand. And though he'd never admit it, every day he's here it gets a little harder to do.

So he starts work on his dissertation again, put on hold after his captaincy. He's got over three hundred long-hand sheets scattered around his apartment now, the writing so cramped he sometimes has to add extra thoughts in the margins.

But at least it's something to do. He's sitting at one of the outdoor tables at a cafe near his suite, one leg stretched out in front of him, chewing absently on the end of his pen as he considers what else to include. He's come at this from every possible angle now, explaining why captains have just as much reason - more - to know the full and complete capabilities of any ship they command than anyone that serves under them. So that if you're ever alone, you can do the impossible.

I don't believe in no win scenarios.

He closes his eyes briefly, letting his pen tap against his notebook, and then he sighs, gathers everything up and stands. All in a day's work, right? Well, whatever, he's got other things he can be doing. Late shift at Bryn's bar or lap number seven hundred and ninety-four around turtletopia or something.

He stuffs everything into a bag and slings it over his shoulder and through the crowd, sees Spock. Jim stares.

And then there's a sudden flurry of motion as he dumps everything back on the table and sprints after him. There is no mistaking that goofy haircut or the pointy ears that go along with it, even if part of him acknowledges that the kedan are shapeshifters and could look however they wanted and it might not be him at all but it's totally him. He knows it, it's instinct. Come on. How could he not?

Jim knows better than to tackle him outright but he definitely skids to a halt rather further into his personal space than Spock is probably comfortable with and claps his hands to Spock's shoulders.]

Spock! You're here!

[He's stating the obvious and he doesn't even care. Oh my god, best day ever or best day ever?]