Near Family

Did I really...? Why, Yes I Did!

Thu, 12 Nov 2009 06:40:13 GMT

I made an LJ Community!

Inspired by my own obsessive musings and meta/question posts on other comms (the latest of which was pixelmayhem's post on kirk_mccoy asking about Shuttles and Bones' Phobia.

Which is why I'm officially blaming her for my actions. ;D

st_universe A comm to post meta, questions, discussions all revolving around the Star Trek universe and everything in it. Because these types of posts need an official home. ^__^

Not quite finished setting it up yet, so I won't be advertising it to The World of Fandom until this weekend (hopefully ^^').

Additional thanks to re_white for supporting my geeky obsessiveness (I loves you long time), and phantomtravel3r because she works hard on her comm stxi_ficarchive and plowed right into it despite not knowing much about comms. Her example gives me courage!

Dear God...

Wed, 28 Oct 2009 00:14:22 GMT

... I can't believe I'm doing this. Maybe while I've got writer's block for my original fiction I'll get more of my Fanfiction done. ^^'

P.S. re_white, this is all your fault! XP

*

Kink Meme ficlet

Fri, 02 Oct 2009 00:21:04 GMT

Title: Jeans
Author: near_family
Fandom: Star Trek
Characters/Pairing: Jim Kirk and Bones, Kirk/McCoy
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek and I'm not doing this for profit
Notes: Beta'd by the lovely re_white. Written for This Prompt at the Kink Meme.

Summary: Jim catches Bones lounging around in nothing but a pair of old jeans

Jim is standing in the entry to Bones' bedroom, a couple of PADDs in one hand, the other frozen mid-gesture to emphasize a point he's trying to make about something that's probably important. Though, for the life of him, he can't remember what it is. A very small part of his brain, the bit that provides helpful commentary on whatever crazy situations Jim manages to get himself into (sounding more and more like Spock every day), is watching the rest of his brain melt into a hormone infested pile of goo. It finds this reaction fascinating and engages the optic nerves to discover the cause. It promptly bursts into flames.

“Nghh...”

Bones doesn't react to Jim's abrupt change in conversation. He's sprawled out on his bed, attention focused on the PADD he's holding at perfect reading distance above his face. Studying what looks like the weekly summary of Med-bay's operations. His hair is mussed and he's chewing his bottom lip in the kind of distracted way that makes Jim's libido sit up and beg. It's entirely possible that he's just whimpered rather pathetically.

Bones can't hear him though, couldn't hear Jim's earlier chatter or his door slide open either, because he's got a pair of old-fashion ear-buds in, free hand tapping out a beat on his collarbone with his stylus.

His bare collarbone.

The curve of which glows rather nicely in the light provided by the nearby reading lamp. Bones' hand is resting against an equally bare chest, rising and falling as he breaths. Jim follows the line of Bones' forearm with his eyes, down to taunt skin stretched over the muscles of his abs. There's a trail of hair there, leading down into the waistline of Bones' favorite pair of threadbare jeans. They're riding low, revealing the jut of his hips. Jim swallows.

Trust Bones to look more sinful half dressed than most of Jim's past encounters have managed naked. The worst of it is, he's not even trying. Jim is convinced Bones has no idea how appealing he looks right now. He's just relaxing after his shift. Wearing his most comfortable jeans as an incentive to go over a boring report, shirt abandoned to the floor because it irritates him when it rides up. Completely oblivious to the fact that he's radiating casual sex from every inch of exposed skin.

Bones lets out a little huff of air, rocks his shoulders and rolls his hips as he shifts into a more comfortable position. Jim watches the motion, tongue darting out to moisten his lips. He barely registers the sound of his PADDs hitting the floor. Bones, on the other hand, seems to hear it loud and clear.

“Jim!” Bones says, eyes darting up in surprise. He rips the ear-buds out and drops his PADD to the side, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “Didn't expect you for another hour. Hold on, let me grab a shirt.”

The small Spock-voiced part of Jim's brain briefly rallies, prodding the rest into some semblance of order so Jim can mutter an appropriate response. It gets buried (protesting feebly) under a wave of lust induced psychosis when, instead of reaching for the shirt on the floor, Bones crawls across his bed, leaps up and stumbles to his drawers for a clean one. Giving Jim an unobstructed view of Bones' denim clad ass.

It's an amazing ass. Firm and rounded, a perfect contrast to the broad plain of Bones' shoulders and the angle of his trim waist. Just the right curve to fit comfortably against the palm of Jim's hand. Jim knows this because his hand currently has a firm grip on said ass, the other pressed firmly to Bones' shoulder, pinning him against the wall.

“Jim?” Bones asks, glancing over his shoulder, face still lightly flushed.

“You should wear these jeans more often, Bones.” Jim says, nipping at the doctor's earlobe. He rolls his hips forward to illustrate just how much he likes them. A low moan rumbles against Jim's chest. He rewards the sound by sucking on the juncture of Bones' neck and shoulder. Scrapes his teeth over it when he's sure the spot is good and tender. Bones gasps, jerking his hips back in response.

“Bed.” Jim says. He steps back, pulling Bones with him, turns them around and pushes Bones until his legs hit the mattress. He falls back, lands with a thump, and Jim clambers onto the bed after him, straddling his hips. He rips his jersey and undershirt over his head, tossing them to the side and stops a moment to take everything in. The feel of Bones, hot and hard between his legs. The lingering taste of salt and musk on his tongue. The look in Bones' eyes as Jim runs a hand along his ribs and up his chest, equal parts arousal, affection and fluster.

Jim takes Bones' hands from where they're rubbing slow circles on his thighs and pins them above the doctor's head, crushing their mouths together hard enough to bruise. He takes Bones' lower lip between his teeth and tugs, gentle revenge, before kissing a line down his neck to the hollow of his throat.

“A little early for this, isn't it?” Bones mumbles, voice low. Jim can feel the rumble of it as he dips his tongue into the small dent between his collarbones. He smirks as he drops kisses and little bites down Bones' chest.

“Psh! It's never too early for mind blowing sex.” Jim chuckles and brings his hands down to hold Bones' hips still when he squirms as Jim nuzzles just below his navel. “If you didn't want to get jumped you shouldn't have worn these jeans.”

“It's not my fault you insist on molesting me for completely random reasons.” Bones grumbles. But he runs the fingers of one hand through Jim's hair affectionately as Jim kisses the skin just above the waistline of his jeans. Jim sweeps his tongue under the fabric, enjoying the way the muscles jump at the touch. He kisses the skin there once more before pulling away to flick the button open with nimble fingers. He starts to pull the denim away from Bones' hips but stops short, mouth suddenly dry.

“Bones,” Jim rasps, far more aroused by what he sees than he would've thought possible. “You're not wearing underwear.”

He looks up at Bones' face. He's looking up at Jim from under a hand resting over his eyes, as though he's hiding. His mouth is tense, with embarrassment Jim would have guessed but the eyes don't quite fit. There's a little jump in his cheek, as though he's trying to keep from showing what he's feeling. Jim's inner Spock chooses this moment to resurrect itself, flashing half remembered details behind his eyes in blazing technicolor.

Bones telling him to stop by his quarters after his shift so they could finish a discussion they hadn't been able to conclude during lunch. The way Bones hadn't managed to hear the chime of his door or Jim's enthusiastic argument but had picked up on the clatter of a couple of PADDs, no problem. How he'd rejected a shirt within easy reach to preserve his modesty, going for his dresser instead. Crawling across his bed instead of just sliding his legs off the side. Stumbling over nothing, leaning forward to catch his balance. All calling attention to his ass, denim fitting snuggly like a second skin. No surprise at Jim's sudden presence against his back. The way Bones' accent hadn't surfaced once despite the southern doctor's state of embarrassment.

Jim can feel the realization painting itself across his face. Bones watches his reaction and grins, eyes laughing at Jim from under the shade of his hand.

“You scheming bastard!”

*

The Calender got Done!

Mon, 21 Sep 2009 21:59:41 GMT

This entry is more for my own organization.

The calender is done! After three or so weeks with my eyeballs glued to my computer screen the project is done and posted!

I had a lot of fun working on this with kilala10

Part 2 of A Many-Splendored Thing

Sun, 06 Sep 2009 17:37:14 GMT

Title: A Many-Splendored Thing -OR- The BAMF Adventures of Kirk and Sulu PART TWO!
Author: Near_Family written in tandem with re_white
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Characters/Pairings: The Epic Bromance of Kirk & Sulu, with mentions of Mutiple UST (Kirk/Bones and Sulu/Chekov)
Rating: This Chapter is PG-13 for language and stunts of the "Do not try this at home" variety.
Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, own any part of Star Trek.

Summery: "You are James Tiberius Kirk and you do not believe in no-desk-sex scenarios!"

Hikaru Sulu is examining the flowered centerpieces of the feast table and pretending not to be utterly enthralled by the way Chekov is attempting to get the last bits of an Edii delicacy out of its conical container with his tongue. Sulu stares at one particular bloom, yellow with streaks of brilliant blue trailing in towards its pistils. Watches as a strange, six-winged insect buzzes around it for a moment then lands on the inner curve of one petal. He's vaguely disturbed by the fact that - when the flower snaps shut, trapping the insect and swallows - he can't help but think of the way the Russian across from him is sucking down those confections and what else Sulu would like to see him swallow.

“Sulu! You should try these.” Chekov chirps from the other side of the table. “They are so good. A little bitter but wery creamy and-”

“Oh hey! Is that the Captain? I should really go talk to him about, um, getting one of these centerpieces for study and, and... yeah. Excuse me.” Sulu stutters, jumps up and jogs toward the edge of the feasting area where Kirk is chatting with Commander Spock. He tries not to think about Chekov's startled expression.

“Chekov really likes those little pastry things, doesn't he?” Kirk says with a smirk when Sulu comes to a stop beside him.

“Oh God, don't even start.”

“As I was saying Captain-”

“Jim.” Kirk interrupts, looking amused. “Parties don't count as on duty, Spock”

“Yes, Captain. This is, however, a celebration of a successful trade agreement. A ritual which the Edii hold in great esteem. In which we are the representatives for the United Federation of Planets. We are, therefor, operating in a official capacity. Proper etiquette and forms of address should be observed.”

“Whatever floats your boat, Commander. Whoa!” Kirk does a double take at something off to the right, past Spock's shoulder. “Do you guys see what I see?”

Sulu and Spock turn to look out past the feast tables to a small hill lit by the glowing spheres the Edii use as lanterns. There's movement as some of the adolescents from the area climb up a structure built at the top, placing spheres on small recesses as they ascend, lighting it up for the feasters to see.

“If you are referring to the tower the younger Edii men built earlier this afternoon from tree cuttings, then yes. It is also in my field of vision.”

“I wonder what they're up to?” Kirk asks.

They watch as some of the teenagers spread leafs and mulch out on the steep incline in front of the tower. Others from the gathering are starting to turn towards the hill to watch as well. When the group is done with their preparations they call something up to those at the top of the two story, wooden structure. One Edii at the top picks up what looks like a coiled vine from the platform and examines it closely. It seems to meet with his approval because he ties one end around a double jointed ankle, yells out an oscillating whooping sound then dives head first off the tower.

The gathered Edii let out a deafening cheer as the man's vine snaps tight about halfway down the incline, his head mere inches from the ground. The vine recoils, pulling the man up to land safely further up the hill. He jumps to his feet, raising his hands above his head to accept the crowd's cheers and whistles then detaches the vine from his leg. Allowing those on the platform to pull it up again.

“Lieutenant Sulu?”

“Yes, Captain Kirk?”

“Are you thinking what I'm thinking?”

“Yes, sir. I do believe I am.”

“Awesome.”

------------------

“Two concussions and a sprained ankle! What the hell were you thinking?” McCoy yells as he stalks towards them baring a hypospray.

“It seemed like a good idea at the time. OW!” Kirk slaps a hand over his neck where Dr. McCoy has injected him with an anti-inflammatory. Sulu chuckles from the safety of his own Bio-bed then tries to scramble away when McCoy darts at him with remarkable speed. He's not fast enough.

“Ow... What did you do that for?” Sulu asks, rubbing his own neck. “I didn't sprain my ankle!”

“I suspect you have chronic swelling in your brain!” McCoy drawls sarcastically, glaring at him. “Probably around the frontal lobe which would explain your epic lapse in judgment.”

Sulu hears the hiss of the main doors over Kirk's wheezing laughter.

“Hello Sulu! Ai, and Keptin and Dr. McCoy also.” Chekov says, coming into Sick-bay. He looks a little guilty as he makes his way towards the Bio-beds. “We got one of the centerpieces from the Edii for you, Sulu. Only it tried to eat Lieutenant Mathews' fingers on the way back in the shuttle, so he chucked it out the airlock. But I have brought you pastries to make up for it because you did not get to try them! We can share, da?”

Kirk snickers.

*
*
*

It's sunny and hot. The water, a funny blue-purple color because of the unique algae they've come to collect on their way to Pax ST3 , looks really good to Sulu right now. Except the only ways to get to the river from this side are through a swampy field of razor like grass even the locals steer clear of and a cliff too high for anyone but a professional diver to attempt. Maybe not even a professional.

“What do you think, Crikta-tak? One more sample of this patch here and then we can go inside, out of this heat.” Sulu says, looking up from an open patch in the field. The K'tukiq scientist he's been gathering samples with glances over their box of jars and tubes and nods.

“I think so, Sulu-tak.” Crikta replies with a smile. It's not a natural expression on a K'tukiq. Their residual beaks make it difficult to do and the jagged ridges which serve as teeth are a bit unnerving to look at. But they've learned a reasonable approximation of the expression to aid in communication with the many federation species who rely on facial cues to gage intent. And while Sulu appreciates that they made the effort, he still prefers the more natural ruffling of the colorful feather-down across Crikta's head and shoulders that signals the K'tukiq's affable mood.

“Excellent.” Sulu sighs, twisting the cap on the last sample jar and placing it in the box. He stands and rolls his shoulders, then turns and makes his way carefully down the small path through the razor-grass. Crikta follows close behind him.

“There isn't much we can do with these until Tyt'k-tak returns with the replacement parts for the incubator.” Crikta says, coming up to walk beside Sulu as they enter the grassy yard around the lab buildings. Crikta greets a passing K'tukiq researcher with a whistling trill (Sulu just waves) then turns back to face him. “We should go swimming instead of sitting around inside like grubs.”

“That would be amazing but how would we get to the river?” Sulu holds the door open when they reach Lab 3 then follows Crikta inside. The environmentals are mediocre at best but even the moderate drop in temperature is welcome. Sulu furrows his brow in concentration as he pronounces the more tricky K'tukiq name. He still doesn't get it right. “Tytik-tak has the Skimmer. There's no way we can walk through that marsh without loosing a limb.”

Crikta lets off a few bursts of shrill hooting. Sulu isn't sure if Crikta's laughing at the way Sulu butchered the other scientist's name or at his comment about the razor grass. “Not through the grass, Sulu-tak! Over the cliff. Some of the researchers from Lab 4 are going up there not long from now. We could join them.”

“I don't know.” Sulu helps Crikta unload their samples into the incubator, dormant at the moment. He wipes some sweat from his forehead with his sleeve. “That shale is way too slick for me to climb down and I'd break a leg trying to jump off.”

“Not climbing, Sulu-tak, or jumping either. Well, mostly not jumping.” Crikta puts his long hands together, palms to the floor, and spreads his fingers out like wings. “We use... what's the Standard word? Shiii... they are like gliders. Only for falling, not for flying.”

“Parachutes?” Sulu ventures.

“Ck! No, I have seen parachutes. These aren't the same.” Crikta tips his head and whistles softly in thought. He clicks his tongue and shrugs when he can't think of the right word. “It doesn't matter what it's called in Standard. Tur!ka is our word. They slow your fall. You jump off holding them and let go, maybe 8 or 9 meters from the water. Then you can turn them over and use them as rafts! Our cliff is a good hight for beginners.”

“Well...” Sulu says, looking around the room. It's clinical and lukewarm with nothing much to occupy his attention. There really isn't any question about his decision. He's got the itch now. An itch for cool water and the adrenaline high he only seems to be able to experience while doing something that should, under normal circumstances, get him killed. And it's been a while since he got to have any fun like that. Not since he raced Kirk through Engineering on hover-stretchers 'commandeered' from Sick-bay. Speaking of- “Why the hell not? Do you mind if I invite Kirk-tak'quek along too? I think he'd really enjoy the experience.”

“Of course! He is welcome to come as well.” Crikta says, his feather-down ruffling happily. He pauses a moment as they head towards the door and leans in close. “We are all pleased that you try to use our honorifics, Sulu. But perhaps you should address your Captain by his Standard title instead?”

“Oh, man.” Sulu groans, smiling a little in embarrassment. “I really butchered that one, didn't I?”

“Yes. Tak'qk means 'soring high'. Tak'quek means 'shit flinger'.”

“Oh, God. No wonder the project director was giving me weird looks.”

Crikta hoots so loudly, dust falls from the ceiling.

---------------------

Kirk and Sulu are standing close to the cliff's edge, looking down at Crikta and a few of the other K'tukiq scientists in the water below. Sulu can feel his blood rushing and he can hear Kirk's fingers tapping rhythmically on the handles of his Tur!ka in excitement. The K'tukiq gliders are shaped a bit like half-cylinders with structural ribs and are incredibly light. After watching Crikta and the others demonstrate the proper technique Sulu can't wait to try it. But they've only got one shot at this, until Tyt'k gets back with the Skimmer. They have to make it count.

Crikta calls up at them and the scientists still up on the cliff twitter enthusiastically. Sulu looks over at Kirk. They exchange wide grins, Sulu nods and Kirk gives a count of three. They jump, holding the Tur!ka above their heads.

The water is rushing up to meet them. Not as fast as it would if they were falling freely but faster than Sulu expected from watching the K'tukiq who jumped before them. He has just enough time to think: K'tukiq. A race of avian descent. Avian. Bird-like. Hollow bones. OH SHI- before they hit the water.

---------------------

“This was supposed to be a minor detour in our flight plan. A scientific pit stop. No crushing jaws, no phaser burns, no anthropomorphic scenery. You were collecting algae for God's sake! So how is it that you are now in my Sick-bay, half-drowned with multiple fractures?” Dr. McCoy punctuates his last statement by popping Kirk's shoulder back into its socket. “Was the algae sentient? Did it have a symbiotic relationship with a two ton, aquatic grizzly bear? Was it wafting hallucinogenic fumes? Did you jump off a cliff thinking you could fly?”

“Well, we weren't hallucinating and flying wasn't really what we had in mind.”

“You're fucking kidding me, right?” McCoy looks up from the Osteo-regenerator he's programming to mend Kirk's broken ankle to stare at him incredulously.

“We were participating in a cultural exchange, Bones.”

“In my experience, cultural exchanges don't involve broken bones or hysterical aliens molting all over my Sick-bay.” McCoy growls out, walking over to run a tricorder over Sulu's broken leg.

“God. I feel really bad about that.” Sulu says, feeling incredibly guilty about the state the K'tukig researcher was in before being led out into the hall by a soft spoken nurse. “Crikta's such a nice guy, he really shouldn't have had to deal with this shit.”

This is about the time, Sulu suspects, that Dr. McCoy decides to set his broken tibia the old fashioned way.

*
*
*

They stumble into Sick-bay, tripping over their own feet, leaning on each other for support and giggling. The dark skinned nurse at the Duty-desk - she's got pretty hair Hikaru thinks, curly and bouncy but with too much ebony and not enough caramel – stands up, one hand covering her smile as she looks them over.

“Shh, shushy, shh, shh.” Jim says, one finger pressed to his lips. He continues in what he probably thinks is a whisper but which is actually a voice loud enough to carry quite well in the sparsely manned Sick-bay. Hikaru finds this incredibly funny. He buries his giggles in Jim's shoulder in his own attempt to remain stealthy. “We have to be quiet, Nurse Lady. Cause if Bones finds out what we did this time he's going to go monkey poo all over the place. Monkey. Poo. So shhhhh...”

The Duty Nurse is biting her hand and shaking from the effort to keep her laughter from spilling over. There's a clatter in the distance, rather like a PADD being abandoned, and the scrape of a chair across sanitary floor tiles. The Duty Nurse rolls her eyes towards the CMO's office and dives into the nurse's crash room in the interest of self-preservation. Dr. McCoy comes storming out of his office not two seconds after.

“Oh. My. God!” He exclaims in utter disbelief, taking in their many bruises and ripped uniforms.

“Bonesy!” Jim yells happily. As though he hadn't been dead set on avoiding the CMO's attention just seconds ago. “We won, Bones! Me and Sulu! Those Garrisods thought they could totally whoop us with their flashy bouncy balls and their games with no rules, but we showed them! Me and Sulu, we're like ball stealing legends. We're, like, the most awesome thing since Chekov programmed the transporters not to beam small, suspiciously shaped objects around the ship. We're hot.”

“What the hell is wrong with you?” McCoy asks, grabbing them each by an ear and hauling them towards a pair of Bio-beds. “Are you trying to get yourselves killed?”

“No way! That wouldn't be cool. At all.” Hikaru says, flopping down on one bed. “It's all about taking it to the edge, man. But you can't fall over. Cause then you'd never get back to the edge again. Ya know?”

McCoy looks up from his tricorder, shifting his eyes from Jim to Hikaru and back as though he's reprocessing the last couple minutes of conversation.

“Are you both high?” He asks.

“You know, I thought that whole wafting incense thing was kinda suspicious.” Jim muses.

“Oh, for crying out loud.”

“It's like an embrace, man. Like a lover.” Hikaru says dreamily. He's on the cusp of a moment, now. Like real philosophical stuff. He can feel it. “Only you can't sink too far into it or she'll smoother you. But it's totally like that, you know. Like you're racing along, or falling, or whatever and you can hear your blood screaming in your ears. And you're almost there. You're almost sinking too far, you're almost falling over the edge. And then you come back out of it and you're all like... whoa, and it's like... like...”

“Orgasmic.”

“Yeah.”

“Jesus. Is that what this is for you two?” McCoy says, taking one last reading with his tricorder and then tossing it aside in disgust. “Some weird-ass foreplay? You go get yourselves beat all to hell and then get off on it later? Jim, this really isn't a healthy direction for any relationship to take.”

“Psh! Sulu couldn't handle me.” Jim smirks as he runs his eyes over the doctor's body. “You, on the other hand, totally could. You sexy man-beast, you.”

“You say the dumbest shit when you're high.” McCoy rolls his eyes and turns towards the nurse's crash room, and thereby misses the way Jim's face crumples as he walks away. “Where the hell are my nurses?”

“He didn't mean that, man.” Hikaru says, reaching out to pat Jim's head and nearly falling off his Bio-bed. “You're really great. You know? Really, really great.”

“All I want is for that man to fuck me over his desk. Or, you know, the other way around.” Jim says, staring at the door to the crash room forlornly. “That's not too much to ask, is it? Maybe I'm aiming too high.”

“No!” Hikaru says firmly. He gets up and drapes himself over Jim and his Bio-bed, squeezing his shoulders and wagging one finger under his nose. “You are James Tiberius Kirk and you do not believe in no-desk-sex scenarios!”

“That's right!”

“Yeah!”

“Yeah!”

They stay like that for a few moments, basking in their newly discovered resolve in favor of desk-sex and Jim getting some. Hikaru licks his dry lips, marvels at the feeling of it and decides to share this observation with Jim.

“My tongue is wet. Really wet.”

“Yeah? Mine too.”

“No really, feel this.” He says, then licks a wet stripe up Jim's cheek.

“Oh, dude! That's so weird!”

“Yeah it is!”

“I wanna try.” Jim says, grabbing Hikaru's face in both hands and licking over his chin and across his mouth. “You taste salty.”

There's an explosion of girlish laughter from the other side of Sick-bay. The Duty Nurse has come back out of the crash room, followed by McCoy, and is leaning over her desk to keep from falling over. McCoy is looking at them with eyes slightly wider than normal.

“I really don't want to know.” He says. He turns to the nurse, who is pulling herself together. “Nurse Terry, please escort the Captain to a recovery room while I take a closer look at Lieutenant Sulu. Give him some water and a blanket and then lock him in there. He's much too high to be allowed to wander around the ship.”

“Ah... Bones!” Jim calls over his shoulder as Nurse Terry leads him away. “This is mutiny! A Coup d'etat! I expect some really awesome make-up sex for this later.”

McCoy grumbles something under his breath and lifts Hikaru's hand. He starts poking at Hikaru's bruised wrist with a little more force than is probably called for.

“Ow! Why are you always hurting me, man?” Sulu whines.

“When Jim came up to you and said: 'Hey, lets go play ball with a species twice our size. And wouldn't it be awesome if we did this high.' What did you say?” McCoy is looking him dead in the eye. There's a little muscle twitching at the corner of his mouth and Hikaru gets this weird idea that Jim's future possibilities of desk-sex may just hinge on Hikaru's answer to this question. He tries to make it a good one.

“To be fair, we didn't know about the incense thing, but I sort of figured: This is Jim, right? He's always got a plan. So I just rolled with it.”

McCoy blinks at him, lifts up one hand and smacks his palm against Hikaru's forehead.

“Ow....”

“That's why I hurt you!”

“I don't like your hands. Jim always goes on and on and on about them like a teenage girl but I don't like them.”

“What?”

“...I'm hungry.”

*
*
*

End Part 2

kilala10 drew Sulu licking Kirk for me!!! She is made of awesome. ^-^

A Many-Slendored Thing

Sat, 29 Aug 2009 19:22:53 GMT

Title: A Many-Splendored Thing -OR- The BAMF Adventures of Kirk and Sulu
Author: Near_Family written in tandem with re_white.
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Characters/Pairings: Epic Bromance of Kirk & Sulu, with mentions of Mutiple UST (Kirk/Bones and Sulu/Chekov)
Rating: This Chapter is PG-13 for language
Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, own any part of Star Trek.

Summery: "It's a swing set. How much damage can they do?"

It's 0100, station time, and they've just been kicked out of the only bar in Bracken ST12.

“Why is it,” Kirk says to no one in particular. “That out of seventeen different mining stations-”

“Nineteen, Keptin.” Chekov corrects.

“-that out of nineteen different mining stations in the Brack-Oflee asteroid belt, we get sent to the one staffed mainly by Baptists?”

“My mom's side of the family is Baptist.” Lieutenant Mathews says a bit dreamily, but mostly drunk.

“I'm not saying they aren't a nice group of people, Cupcake.” Kirk says, reaching out to pat the Lieutenant's shoulder. He misses, which sends both himself and Sulu (who has the Captain's other arm draped across his shoulders) off balance and into a wall. They bump into Mathews on the rebound. The three men manage to stay up-right and continue down the corridor leaning against each other for support. Chekov follows a little off to the side. “I'm just sayin', they could do with some more booze is all.”

“We could have had more if you hadn't hit on the bartender's husband.” Sulu points out. He's not nearly so drunk as the other two but he's got that relaxed expression that means he's more than a little tipsy.

“I couldn't help it,” the Captain whines. “I'm drunk. Is one of those thingies. You know? It just happens.”

“Like when random objects get randomly beamed up random people's asses and Scotty is nowhere to be found?” Mathews asks.

“No, no, no. Is natural. You don't think about it. Body has a mind of its own.” Kirk stumbles as he looks up at the ceiling trying to find the right word. The group comes to a halt just off an open plaza to accommodate their Captain's current inability to walk and think at the same time.

“A reflex?” Chekov prompts.

“Yeah, one of them.” Kirk smiles and looks back down, into the plaza. “Hey! A playground!”

Chekov follows the Captain's gaze out into the dimly lit area. There is a playground of sorts, back towards one corner. It has a slide, a swing set and some monkey bars that look like they've been put together using spare bits and pieces from various station systems.

Mining stations weren't really designed with families in mind, the general assumption being that most of the workers would be single or newlyweds, looking to build up a credit cushion for the future; or professional miners who weren't interested in starting a family. And for the most part that's what miners tended to be. They just didn't always stay that way. From the looks of it, this community had expanded to include families with children and had considerable affection for their youngest residents. Despite the thrown together look the playground was well built and given pride-of-place on a raised foundation with real-

“Grass...” Mathews murmurs.

“Yeah.” Kirk sighs.

“It's beautiful.”

“Steady on there, Lieutenant Cupcake.”

“When I was little,” Sulu states firmly, with the air of someone imparting an important insight. “My sisters and I used to have contests on the swings to see who could come closest to spinning themselves right up over the bar. We never could manage it.”

There's a pause while they all consider this.

“Betcha I could do that.” Kirk says in that special tone of voice that means he and the pilot are about to do something monumentally stupid.

“Twenty credits says I do it first.” Sulu replies then makes a mad dash towards the swings, Kirk hot on his heels. They hit them still running and there's a brief tangle of limbs and chains and cursing before they're properly seated. They push off and pump their legs, working themselves up to the point where their heads are nearly above the bar on the back-swing.

“Those twenty credits are as good as mine, Lieutenant Tiny!”

“Oh. You are going down, Captain Man-Whore!”

“Oh, God! They're going to DIE!”

“Why am I always being stuck drinking with the light-weights?” Chekov asks, feeling more than a little exasperated with the whole situation.

“He's gonna kill me...” Mathews whimpers, covering his eyes then peeking through his fingers. “The Captain'll break something and there'll be blood everywhere and McCoy's gonna have fucking kittens and the rest of the guys won't have my back at all, cause we're all so fucking scared of him!”

“Чего вы сказали? ” It doesn't really seem to matter that Chekov has switched to Russian in the face of that startling confession. Mathews doesn't seem to need Chekov to be an active participant in the conversation.

“You don't understand!” Mathews cries. “I'm Security! I'm supposed to keep that idiot safe! Only he's got the survival instincts of a gerbil and I'm drunk and he's drunk and there isn't a phaser setting for shit like this!”

“It is a swing set, Lieutenant.” Chekov deadpans, speaking loudly so he can be heard over the trash talk coming from the swings and Mathew's paranoia. “You have not seen them on shore leave? They jump off cliffs, and climb rock walls, and race down canyons on glorified hull paneling! They once tried to catch Uruvian spiny-jackals with their bare hands because they saw locals doing it. Never mind the locals have scales on their hands! They are stupid! They don't think about safety parameters, or how the numbers in your head say 'exceed this speed, over rotate this percent, angle too wide, this margin of error is difference between adrenaline high and signal termination'. No! He is a pilot. He is inwincible! He is blind and not seeing how he breaks you!”

“Anyway,” Chekov catches his breath, face hot, starring fixedly across the plaza to avoid Mathew's startled expression. “This is nothing. It is a swing set. How much damage can they do?”

Kirk has gotten to the point where the chains on his swing slacken slightly at the hight of his arch, causing it to jar when they extend fully again as the swing falls. He takes this as a personal affront and tries to pump his legs harder.

“What if they really do go over?” Mathews asks, his voice still a little high.

“They can't. There isn't enough centripetal force to keep the chains from going slack when they get too high.” Chekov assures him. “The swing will just keep falling down. It is impossible for it to go over.”

Sulu seems to have remembered that particular point as he's not pushing his own swing to that stage. He's stopped trading barbs with Kirk now that the Captain has become so frustrated with his own lack of progress. Instead Sulu's adjusting his grip on the chains, inching his hands up as he keeps his arch steady. He's watching the bar now and Chekov is wondering what he's up to when he acts. On his next swing back, Sulu pulls himself up with his hands, sets one foot onto the seat letting the other move with the motion of the forward swing. As he approaches the top of the next backward arch he pushes off with his foot, twists the other around the chain and reaches out with his hands. He grabs the bar, using his momentum to push his body forward, swinging his legs up and slightly apart as he balances himself in a handstand on top of the swing set, the swing dangling from one leg by its chain.

“Oh, you fucking cheater!” Kirk laughs as Sulu bends his leg out to kick the swing over the side. The pilot is grinning like a mad man as he lets himself fall back, letting go as he swings around the bar, out into a back flip. Chekov lets out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding when Sulu manges to land on his feet, taking a few flailing steps forward but not falling.

“That will be twenty credits thank you very-” Sulu gets out before one of the chains on Kirk's swing breaks with a deafening snap. Sending the Captain flying straight into Sulu and pushing them both off the playground's platform, tumbling across the floor.

“Holy shit, Ensign Jail-bait! Comm Sick-bay!”

Chekov groans.

*
*
*

Our Adventure Continues with: Cultural Exchanges

*

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream, Part Three

Sun, 23 Aug 2009 20:29:47 GMT

Title: To Sleep, Perchance to Dream. PART 3
Author: Near_Family
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: PG-13 for language
Summery: The Alien equivalent of BFF and the consequences thereof. SICK-BAY Shenanigans.
Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, own any part of Star Trek
Notes: As always love for my Beta re_white

---

It takes a few minutes for Sulu to realize he's awake. He has a moment of relief after his brain works through the logic of: I'm awake now, therefor I wasn't awake before, which means I must have been asleep, thank God, no more The Price is Right ever again, EVER. Then it occurs to him that the last thing he remembers thinking is whether he should be excited or gut-wrenchingly nervous that Chekov is slowly leaning towards him and coming to the conclusion that he's too tired to be either. He opens his eyes.

“Why is the ceiling moving?”

“Because you're on a stretcher, Lieutenant.” Dr. McCoy manages to make Sulu's rank sound less like “lieutenant” and more like “dumb ass” than should really be possible. He's walking alongside of Sulu taking a reading with his tricorder and, apparently, not liking what he sees. “When, exactly, were you planning on coming down to Sick-bay to tell me that you haven't slept in, what? Two days? Three?”

“If I didn't sleep tonight?” Sulu ventures. Dr. McCoy gives him a scathing look. “I didn't think it was that much of a problem. And it wasn't on your list.”

“From now on everything is on the God-damned list. You do realize sleep deprivation is a Federation recognized form of torture, right? You're in the Command division, aren't they supposed to teach you this shit?”

“It slipped my mind.” Which is a blatant lie. He remembers quite well that particular lecture from the academy. The instructor had seemed to take a weird sort of pleasure in describing the many ways a captured Starfleet officer might be “persuaded” to divulge classified information. He knows how serious sleep deprivation is. But the prospect of explaining that every time he tried to sleep his mind was flooded with thoughts of his best friend was enough to make him put off a trip down to Sick-bay until it was absolutely necessary. His mind snaps back into focus at the thought of the young navigator. “Where's Pavel?”

“Up ahead.” McCoy replies, shooting him an odd glance. “He's awake but most of what's coming out of his mouth is in Russian. Not a lot of help. He'll be in Sick-bay by now.”

“What do you mean he's in Sickbay? What happened?” His initial embarrassment at the thought of fainting in front of his friend is replaced with concern.

“You both passed out in the turbolift. Seems like the whiz-kid is just as moronic in this respect as you are.” Sulu doesn't have enough energy to hold that statement against the doctor.

“You know, I can walk-” Sulu says, as they approach the doors.

“Not gonna happen.” And that's the end of the discussion.

They enter Sick-bay and head for a ring of Bio-beds on the left. His stretcher is maneuvered alongside of one. The doctor has gone over to the head of Chekov's bed to examine the display screen so Sulu takes the opportunity to dart up and get onto the bed himself while the nurses lock the stretcher into a stationary hover. The first nurse, Schaltz he remembers, roles her eyes and activates the Bio-bed's monitoring system while the second hurries away with the stretcher.

“Right, we're going to monitor your neural readings for the next hour.” McCoy says, typing a few commands into the Bio-bed display. “I'm going to ask a few questions, which you will answer completely to the best of your knowledge, and then both of you will attempt to sleep naturally.”

“Yeah, okay.” Sulu says because he figures cooperating now will probably make things easier. He's seen the uncooperative method first hand via one James T. Kirk and it never seems to work out.

“Chekov, I'm gonna talk to Sulu first so you've got some time to clear your head.” The Ensign nods and closes his eyes. His cheeks are tinged a little red with embarrassment, Sulu notices.

“Okay, first of all. When was the last time you got a full night's sleep?”

“Three days ago.” He can feel the glare McCoy is directing at him.

“Lovely. Have you been able to sleep at all since then?”

“Nope. I've zoned out a couple of times. But, um, besides the turbolift I haven't slept at all.”

“Any black out periods, where-”

“Dre'getk to Sick-bay!”

“Here!” McCoy says after Nurse Schaltz activates the nearest wall comm.

“On our way with three patients. Two with dislocations and one- well, we think most of the tendons have popped loose in his right arm.”

“Acknowledged. Chapel! Thompson! With me in surgery. Ahkmar and Richards help get the other two fixed up.” McCoy turns to Sulu as the Sick-bay jumps into action. “We'll finish this later. Try to sleep. Schaltz, you have the floor.”

“Yes, sir.”

Over the next few minutes Sulu watches as the medical staff prep for their incoming patients. There's a kind of organized chaos that makes Sick-bay seem more like a bee hive or an ant's nest than a group of individual, highly trained human beings. They speak only a few words at a time, each focused on their own tasks, weaving in and around each other hardly paying attention to what's going on around them but always managing to move exactly where they need to without inconveniencing anyone else.

When the doors slide open Sulu isn't really surprised to see two trauma nurses leading Scotty and two of his engineers inside. The two red shirts have one arm a piece bound against their chests and are led off to the circle of Bio-beds on the right. The Chief Engineer, looking a little tipsy from pain killers with his own arm immobilized, is led off to surgery. Sulu can hear Scotty and McCoy exchange words before the operating room is sealed. Something about gravity, temporal distortion and cockamamie schemes tying up the Sick-bay. McCoy sounds exasperated while Scotty sounds triumphant.

After that things settle down. He can hear the nurses talking the two engineers through the process of getting their shoulders popped back into place and he doesn't envy them one bit. Sulu chances a glance towards his friend. Chekov still has his eyes closed, brow furrowed, and is breathing deeply as though he thinks if he concentrates hard enough he can will himself to sleep. Sulu smiles and suppresses a laugh.

He turns his gaze to the ceiling and wonders whether either of them will manage it. Sulu figures they've each gotten to the point of passing out from sheer exhaustion considering what had happened in the turbo lift but now he can't seem to keep his eyes closed. He tries and then his mind drifts to thoughts of what Chekov would sound like if he really was asleep instead of just attempting to be. How loud would he breathe? Would he snore or mumble to himself as he dreamed? What would it have felt like to have his head resting on Sulu's shoulder?

And now he's staring at the ceiling again, eyes wide open. He blinks once. Then again. He decides there really aren't little blue insect people crawling across the pristine white panels because when he really thinks about it he's not actually seeing them. Sulu thinks that if he's dreaming while he's still awake he should probably just put his dignity aside and beg a nurse for a sedative.

Sulu's just about convinced himself that Nurse Schaltz will disregard McCoy's instruction that they try to sleep naturally if he can get Chekov to make puppy eyes at her when he hears a whimper coming from Chekov's Bio-bed. When he looks over his friend's eyes are still squeezed shut and he's still breathing deeply, but it's the shorter, more intense breathing of someone in pain.

“Chekov?” Sulu asks, watching as his friend shifts awkwardly but doesn't seem to have heard.

“Pavel?” He says, a little softer but still loud enough to carry. That gets his friend's attention. Pavel turns his head and opens his eyes just wide enough that Hikaru can see blue through his lashes. They're damp, he realizes and watches a tear spill over onto pale skin.

He's up in an instant, standing beside Pavel's bed before the navigator even finishes wiping the offending moisture from his cheek with a frustrated curse.

“What's wrong, Pavel? Are you okay?” Hikaru asks, putting a hand down on his friend's Bio-bed to steady himself.

“Mmm. Hurts.”

“What does? I'll get a nurse-”

“Nyet. Ai...” Pavel mutters something under his breath, rolling his eyes up as he tries to remember the Standard words he wants to use. “Sore, just sore.”

“Yeah, okay.” And he does understand. Hikaru has experienced the sort of dull ache you can get after too many nights spent awake instead of sleeping. He'd get that way studying into the early hours of the morning during finals week back at the academy. Before he got his act together and started actually studying instead of cramming. “Hey, I was just going to go ask Nurse Schultz if she could see it in that shriveled-up-sorry-excuse-for-a-heart of hers to knock us out with the good stuff. Think you could use your Russian Jail bait powers of awesome for the good of the team?”

Hikaru chuckles when Pavel wrinkles his nose in fake disgust. He can see that Pavel's trying not to smile and not really succeeding. Hikaru reaches out to ruffle his friend's sandy curls, simply because he knows Pavel can't stand it when people do that.

When he opens his eyes he's on the floor, staring up at the underside of what is very likely Pavel's Bio-bed. His head and hip hurt a bit but other than that he seems to be fine.

“Hikaru?” Pavel's muffled voices calls from somewhere above him.

“'M okay.” Is Hikaru's not so intelligent reply. He reaches up to grab onto the side of the bed and heaves himself up. Pavel is staring at him with a dazed expression as though he's really not sure what just happened. Hikaru isn't sure either but he thinks now is probably a good time to lie down. He looks at his own Bio-bed, all of three feet away, and decides that's really not going to happen.

“Fucking screw it. Move over, okay?” He asks, and Pavel does. There's room enough for both of them with Pavel laying on his side so Hikaru sits down on the mattress and lays back. The last thing he sees is Pavel moving his hand to rest on his shoulder.

-----------------------------

Bethany Mapel is feeling a little out of place. Which is just silly, she knows, because Sick-bay isn't any different during Alpha shift. Not like the rest of the ship, which is brighter during the “daylight” hours than during the later shifts, because the Medical staff still needs to see what they're doing even if it is the Witching Hour. So there's no reason to feel like she's in unfamiliar territory even if there are more people about.

She's keeping herself busy, secretly glad she wasn't called into surgery when the Engineers came in because she can't predict the CMO's needs nearly so well as she can Dr. Landers' or even Dr. M'Banga's. She's running through a list of scheduled appointments when she hears a ping from the monitoring station next to her. She gives it a quick once over, Bio-bed 7 has registered the absence of it's occupant. Nurse Mapel glances up and can just see one of the two command officers who, from his general position and downward focus, must be standing by the bed of the second officer. He looks tired but doesn't appear to be wobbly on his feet so she types in a confirmation of the Bio-bed's status and gets back to the scheduling. Someone has apparently booked the CMO to give the Captain his physical twice and that's just sloppy book keeping.

About a minute later a double ping sounds from the monitoring station. That's more disquieting than the single anomaly ping so Nurse Mapel abandons her spreadsheet to examine the read out from... Bio-bed 8 this time. The neural graph is highly irregular though not so unnatural as to cause a general alarm. She collects her tricorder from her station and goes to investigate.

What she finds is rather embarrassing.

It's not that she hasn't had to deal with crew members crawling into a patient's Bio-bed in the small hours of the morning, because that's not so rare an occurrence as to be at all surprising. It's more that these aren't the small hours of the morning and there are two patients in one bed, neither of whom has had a proper diagnostic done. Which means the neural readings from the Bio-beds will need to be analyzed and they won't be of any use at all if there's two neuro-patterns being recorded on top of each other. Which means Nurse Mapel can't walk away to sigh dreamily at her station or giggle and gossip about it with Nurse Owen because he's still working Delta this week. Nurse Mapel will, at some point, need to-

“So. Were you going to take care of this, or should I?” Nurse Mapel lets out a strangled squeak and juggles her tricorder back into her grasp, pressed firmly against her considerable bust. She turns and looks down.

“Nurse Schaltz!” The Third Lieutenant of the Nursing staff is petite and almost fragile in appearance, like a porcelain doll. Her stature is misleading in the most unfair of ways as the woman is stern with a tongue like a lash. At the moment Nurse Schaltz has her steely eyes focused on the two helmsmen but still manages to inflict the considerable weight of her authority on Nurse Mapel.

“I-”

“Well, come on. Let's get these two moved.” Nurse Schaltz says, uncrossing her arms and walking to one side of the bed. “McCoy will snark at us in the most obnoxious manner if we don't have proper neural read-outs by the time he's done in surgery.”

Nurse Mapel hesitates for a moment, clicks her mouth shut, then sets her tricorder down at the foot of the bed and makes her way to the opposite side. The young ensign (Chekov she recalls hearing, Chekov and Sulu) looks peaceful curled on his side, arms draped loosely around the other man's shoulder and bicep. He really does need to sleep if the circles under his eyes are any indication but Ensign Chekov and Lieutenant Sulu really do need to be properly situated to get the best readings. Still, she feels bad about it when she rests her hands on his shoulder and side and starts rocking him gently.

“Ensign Chekov, this is Nurse Mapel. I need you to wake up now. Just for a bit.” She says softly bending over a few inches from his ear, watching for any signs of wakefulness. Her effort doesn't seem to have any effect so she starts rocking him with a little more force. There's still no reaction, not even a flicker of the eyes. She brings one hand up and taps lightly against his cheek. When that doesn't work she pinches it, feeling vaguely unprofessional. She watches a little longer for a response then decides to ask for some input.

“Nurse Schaltz, he doesn't seem to be- Nurse Schaltz?” The shorter woman has both of Sulu's cheeks gripped firmly between thumbs and forefingers and is pulling at them in short, sharp jerks. She arches an eyebrow at Nurse Mapel's flabbergasted expression and switches to flicking the man's nose.

“Nurse Schaltz, is that really, um, professional?” Nurse Mapel asks in a small voice. Her superior ignores her, takes a step back and leans down so her face is just to the side of the patient's head.

“Lieutenant Sulu, the Botany lab is on fire.” She states in a firm, clear voice then pulls back sharply, as though she expects the man to bolt up at that instant. Her expression changes from confidently expectant to puzzled. “Huh.”

Nurse Schaltz tilts her head to one side, then to the other and seems to contemplate her options. Nurse Mapel looks on in silently horrified fascination as she dips her hand into her side pocket, pulls out her PADD, whacks Lieutenant Sulu sharply upside the head with it then studies his face closely.

“Nope. Nothin'.” The shorter woman states, popping her head up to look around the Sick-bay. She chews her lip as she scans the room then grins as she spots what must be either her newest method or her next victim. “You, Crewman Dickerson! Come over here a minute.”

Nurse Mapel looks over her shoulder to see one of the Med-techs look up from his station. His expression is mildly worried but he stands and walks over. She's never met him before but she's seen him running diagnostics on the equipment, he always looked like a nice guy. Nurse Mapel feels rather sorry for him.

“What can I do for you Nurse Schaltz?” He asks, running his hand over short cropped red hair in what is very likely a nervous gesture.

“Right, Dickerson. You've got some good meat on your bones,” Dickerson nods in the face of Nurse Schaltz's sheer determination despite all evidence to the contrary. “I need you to pick up Lieutenant Sulu, here, and get him back over to Bio-bed 7. Think you can manage?”

“No, not really.” Is his reply, after giving the unconscious lieutenant a long look. He seems pretty embarrassed by it and adds, “I could probably lift the Ensign, though.”

“Okay. I suppose that will have to do. We'll just make a note on the readouts that they switched Bio-beds.”

Nurse Mapel steps to one side to make room for Dickerson who smiles shyly at her. Nurse Schaltz gives him a nod to get on with it and he maneuvers his arms underneath the ensign's legs and shoulders. He shifts his hands a bit to get a better grip, rolls the limp body into his chest and lifts. He staggers a bit under the dead weight but regains his balance pretty quickly. It's at that moment that the ensign whines rather pitifully and opens his eyes.

“Now, they decide to wake up.” Nurse Schaltz mutters under her breath. Lieutenant Sulu is stirring as well. He stares blurredly at them, snaps his head to the side as Ensign Chekov mutters something incomprehensible and narrows his eyes.

“The fuck are you doing?” He snaps at Dickerson.

“Lieutenant Sulu,” Nurse Schaltz says, sounding mildly aggravated. “We need you and the Ensign in separate Bio-beds in order to obtain useful data. One of you needed to move and as you were both unconscious it was easier to pick up the Ensign than you. However, if you're feeling up to it, we would appreciate it if-”

This is as far as Nurse Schaltz gets. Ensign Chekov has been, up until this point, struggling weakly to get back down while trying to lace together something resembling an Intergalactic Standard sentence. Dickerson, looking anxious, has been glancing back and forth between the two nurses, looking for all the world as if he simply can't react to the situation without direction. Nurse Mapel watches with growing alarm as the ensign snaps something that sounds like a curse, tenses up and lets out a high keening wail as he bursts into tears.

“Put him down you fucking moron!” Lieutenant Sulu yells.

“Lieutenant! Calm yourself. Dickerson take the Ensign to-” Nurse Schaltz starts to say, waving a hand at Dickerson trying to direct him.

“No! He's exhausted so why can't you just-” Lieutenant Sulu protests and starts to lever himself up.

“Stay where you are!” Nurse Schaltz says more firmly this time.

“No! Put him down-” Lieutenant Sulu tries to lunge toward Dickerson but is tackled by Nurse Schaltz. “Ow! Let go of me, bitch!”

“Stop resisting.” Nurse Schaltz yells while twisting one of the lieutenant's hands back towards his wrist in a restraining hold, her other hand pressed against his chest. Dickerson looks like he's going to collapse at any moment, like he would have before now if his entire body wasn't frozen rigid with mortification from holding a cursing, crying officer in the middle of a Sick-bay fully staffed during Alpha shift. Nurses and Med-techs are darting up from their stations to see what the commotion is. Nurse Mapel is in the middle of this fiasco when all she wanted to do was sit quietly with her spreadsheets and keep her head down so she could finish this rotation and get back to the familiar solitude of Delta shift and now she's starting to hyperventilate.

“SHUT UP! YOU TWO JUST SHUT UP! AND YOU, DROP HIM! DO IT NOW!” Nurse Mapel shrieks hysterically.

There's a loud thump followed by a total and complete silence that is it's own special level of humiliation. Nurse Mapel brings her hands up to cover her mouth as she looks to Nurse Schaltz in utter horror. The other woman is staring at her with wide eyes. She still has her restraining grip on Lieutenant Sulu who doesn't appear to be struggling anymore.

“That. Didn't happen.” Dickerson whispers horsely, moving his gaze to the ceiling, away from the Bio-bed where he's dropped the ensign in a heap.

“What in the hell is going on?” Nurse Mapel wants to fall through the floor, wants it to open up and swallow her, because the CMO has just walked into the circle of Bio-beds still wearing his surgery scrubs. He's arching an eyebrow at them in a way that is, frankly, incredibly intimidating.

“I'm sorry, sir. I'm sorry- I'll just-” She says, voice unnaturally high and starts to turn back to her station where she can hide in her time tables.

“No, stay here. The rest of you, get back to work. This is Sick-bay not a circus side-show.” Dr. McCoy says with a pointed look around the room. As the rest of the Med-staff get back to their own duties he shifts his attention to Dickerson and the two nurses. “Schaltz, what in the blazes happened in here?”

“The officers were messing with the neuro-readouts by occupying the same Bio-bed. Nurse Mapel and I couldn't wake them so we called Crewman Dickerson over. He'd just picked the Ensign up-”

“No, I didn't.”

“-When these two woke up. Lieutenant Sulu was uncooperative and was especially so when Ensign Chekov started crying-”

“No, he didn't.”

Nurse Mapel rests a hand on Dickerson's shoulder and gently pushes him down onto Bio-bed 9.

“-Which is when the... outburst occurred.”

The CMO doesn't respond right away. His eyes flicker from Nurse Schaltz to Nurse Mapel, who blushes crimson, to Dickerson, who has his eyes squeezed shut, to the two officers on the Bio-bed.

“They seem to be unconscious again.”

“Yes, sir.” Nurse Schaltz's confirmation is followed by another moment of contemplation by Dr. McCoy. Then he nods his head in Dickerson's direction.

“I want you to pick the ensign up again.” Dr. McCoy runs a hand over his face when Dickerson whimpers in response. He calls over his shoulder. “Thompson, come over here for a second.”

Thompson, a large man with dark eyes, looks up from where he's cataloging the supplies used in the Chief Engineer's emergency surgery. He straightens and walks over to stand beside the CMO. “What'cha need, Doc?”

“We're testing a hypothesis. Pick up Ensign Chekov, will you?” Dr. McCoy says, gesturing to the sleeping man on the Bio-bed.

“Sure thing.” Thompson walks around Nurse Mapel with a nod and stands beside the bed. He bends down, scoops Ensign Chekov up and straightens. There's a brief moment where nothing happens and then the Helmsmen start to stir.

Lieutenant Sulu has just opened his eyes and Ensign Chekov has started to gasp in a choked sort of way when Dr. McCoy says, “Right, put him down.”

Thompson lowers Chekov back down to the Bio-bed. His head hits the pillow just as he starts to groan pitifully but the sound is cut off half way through. Dickerson lets out a relieved little sob.

“You all right, Buzz?” Thompson asks, looking back.

“He's had a rough time of it.” Nurse Mapel says. Nurse Schaltz sighs in exasperation.

“Okay, lets do that again.” Dr. McCoy says.

Thompson bends over again, lifts the ensign just as easily as he did the first time. There's less of a delay before Chekov and Sulu react this time.

“Damn it, what's-” the Lieutenant says as he looks from Dr. McCoy to Ensign Chekov, who's squirming in Thompson's grip. One of the Ensign's arms falls to the side, hand coming to rest against Lieutenant Sulu's chest. They both go still.

For a few moments no one moves. They just look from Chekov, to Chekov's hand, to Sulu and back again. Then Dr. McCoy reaches out slowly, takes a bit of the ensign's sleeve between his thumb and forefinger as though it were in some way distasteful and lifts his arm a few inches into the air.

When the two men start to stir again he lowers it back down. They quiet immediately.

He repeats this several times.

“Okay, put him down.” Dr. McCoy says when he's satisfied that the reaction is consistent. Thompson lowers the Ensign back down onto the Bio-bed. The only sound is the doctor grumbling something to himself as he wraps one arm around his chest and rests the other against it, fist held loosely against his lower lip.

They're all starring at the two helmsmen and Nurse Mapel is getting a little antsy. The CMO has a look on his face that she frankly can't read but she suspects that it promises only unpleasant things for the future. Dr. McCoy's comm chooses that moment to chirp at them.

“Kirk to Sick-bay.”

“Yeah, Jim?” Dr. McCoy says, holding the comm up to his scowling face.

“Sulu and Chekov haven't dropped by down there, have they? They're both supposed to be on the Helm today, only they're not here and we're getting nothing from their quarters.”

As the captain talks the CMO's expression has gone from what Nurse Mapel is willing to classify as 'Elaborate and Involved Cursing Imminent' to what can only be described, though she almost can't believe it, as pure, unadulterated glee. He closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, looking for all the world like he's really savoring this moment.

“Bones?”

“I told you so.” It's stated slowly, with careful enunciation. There's a pregnant pause before the captain replies.

“... So, when I said never, what I meant was-”

“Turn the God-damned ship around, Jim.”

---

End Part 3

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream. Part Two

Wed, 19 Aug 2009 03:31:09 GMT

Title: To Sleep, Perchance to Dream. Part Two
Author: Near_Family (who doesn't get a cookie because she put this off so long)
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Rating: PG-13
Summery: The alien equivalent of BFF and the consequences thereof
Disclaimer: I do not, in any way, own any part of Star Trek
Notes: As always, much love to my beta re_white who is always encouraging and tells me to get shit done. ^^

– Day One –

Chekov is running.

What he should really be doing is helping sort through the new star field readouts in Stellar-Cartography.

People tend to think of the Astrologation department and it's three sub-sectors as removed from the activity of the rest of the ship. As a quiet place full of quiet academics waltzing their way through equations and graphs, whose idea of heart pounding excitement is a round robin thought experiment expounding on the Theory of Relativity as it relates to Warp Theory and the possibilities of the interactions between the two. In reality Astrologation is noisy and always busy, always behind. The idea of a System Map is highly misleading. The notion that it's all drawn out, nice and neat, and doesn't change except for what's added along the edges as Star Ships venture further out couldn't be farther from the truth. System Maps are merely visual representations of data, mass and velocity, linked to equations, all alive and interacting and changing. There's always something new because you're not looking out over a valley or an ocean but over light years, hundreds of thousands of light years. So Stellar-Cartography is constantly adjusting their models for the location, velocity and physical state of stars and planets as their view of them skips from the long past, to the near past, to the present. It's beautiful and exhilarating and terrifying because if you miss anything, a new sun or a dying sun or a planet, if your model is off by even half a percent, you could fall out of warp into the center of a Class B sun where you thought there was just empty space.

It's important and Chekov is good at it but he can't sit still. It's his day off and he can spend it running around the recreation deck if he wants to.

He half hears other crew members shouting ahead to warn those further down the hall that he's coming at them fast. He doesn't think about it, barely even sees the floor and the walls as he sprints along them. He's trying to exhaust himself. He didn't sleep at all last night but that was okay because today is his day off. It won't be okay tonight, if the same thing happens, he has to man the helm tomorrow. He's tired but at the same time he's restless.

He's trying to exhaust himself. He's trying not to think about laughing eyes and callused hands holding his as the world spins around them.

Chekov keeps running.

– Day Two –

Sulu is watching 20th century game shows because he is just that desperate.

He's gone two nights without sleep now and nothing he's tried has made the least bit of difference. He's run through his kata, various fencing maneuvers, tried drinking tea and warm milk, stayed in a handstand until his vision got spotty and has even tried counting sheep. Sheep. He's never even seen them in real life.

So now he's watching Wheel of Fortune and Jeopardy on his day off. When he'd normally be doing something interesting like cataloging the saplings the Tetrites had given them as an apology, or sparring with Anders from Security, or asking Chekov if his day at the helm without Sulu has been just as agonizingly boring as Sulu's day at the helm without Chekov was and hoping to God he passes out soon because if he's rambling this much after two nights without sleep he's likely to fly them straight into a black hole tomorrow if he doesn't sleep tonight.

Alex Trebek reveals 'Literature' for 600 as “The author of Eugene Onegin and father of modern Russian literature”.

“Twentieth century as modern Lit. huh? Hey, I know this one! Who is Alexander Pushkin, right?” Sulu makes a little fist pump when he's revealed to be correct, thinks how pleased Chekov would be to hear that Sulu has remembered something about the history of the nation his friend is so proud of, realizes what he's just done and buries his head in his hands. “God, I'm so screwed.”

*

Jim is almost exactly where he wants to be.

It's been a few days, what with one thing or another. Bones has been busy with inventory and requisition forms and then there was the Tetrite incident and the report on the Tetrite incident and, really, could Star Fleet paperwork be any more repetitive? So, it's been a few days and Jim has needs. In cases where he's been spending his nights fantasizing instead of doing he tends to come out with one insistent, usually quite specific, Need. This time, his Need involves a desk, a swivel chair and Bones calling him Nurse Kirk. Jim is almost exactly where he wants to be.

The trick is convincing Bones that he wants Jim where Jim wants Jim.

It shouldn't be too hard as they're already half stumbling in that general direction. Bones has his hands under Jim's shirt, stroking his skin, while Jim buries his hands in the doctor's hair, pulling a bit to adjust their angle so he can kiss deeper, to adjust their course. And there, the backs of Bones' knees hit the chair and he's falling back into it. Jim slides more gracefully into his lap and starts fumbling to get his friend's belt open. Bones breaks the kiss.

“Jim, we're not having sex in the damn chair.”

“Sure we are. Chair sex is hot.” Bones hasn't stopped stroking Jim's sides so he can't be that adverse to the idea. All Jim really needs to do here is lead Bones through the familiar territory of contrary, half-assed arguments so Bones can maintain that facade of responsibility and pretend he's not just as interested in seeing how far they can make the chair slide across the floor.

“It has wheels, Jim. That's not hot, it's dangerous. I've got a perfectly good bed we can use.”

“Which is why we've got this handy desk here for me to hold on to.” That's a no on the chair slide then. Still, Bones' hands are rubbing small circles on Jim's back and he's not moving to stand up, so the night isn't a total bust yet.

“I'm too old for this shit. I swear, I just about threw my back out when we had sex against the wall last week.” Bones grumbles, but it's muffled by the skin of Jim's neck where he's leaving little bites and wet kisses.

“You're thirty-two, you did not and you know it, and I'll be doing all the work this time. Honestly, this totally turns you on. Admit it.” Bones doesn't answer, which is just fine because Jim doesn't need him to at this point. He's finally gotten the stupid belt off but Jim leaves Bones' pants buttoned for the moment. He likes to make Bones ask for it after he's put up a fight. Instead he brings his hands to his own hem line and pulls his yellow jersey and black undershirt over his head. It's an open invitation for Bones to move his hands up over Jim's abs and chest. He digs his fingers into blue jersey as Bones slides one hand along his ribs, rubbing a thumb over a stiff nipple with the other.

“Yeah, just there. Mmmm, love your hands Dr. McCoy.”

“Jim?” Bones pauses, his mouth barely an inch from Jim's collar bone, breath hot on his skin.

“Nurse Kirk, please.” There's a pause, then quite firmly Bones says:

“Hell. No.”

“Oh, come on! I've had a long week. The yeomen have been on my ass about the rotation roster and the helm's been radiating weird ass tension for the past two days. Can we please have some fun with this?” Jim realizes he's said something disastrous for his libido when Bones pulls back and rests his arms on Jim's thighs, his hands hanging off to either side.

“The helm. As in, Sulu and Chekov.” It's not a question.

“You know I've got more helmsmen than just those two, right?”

“Jim.”

“No! Bones! They've got post plant-side jet lag. They're embarrassed cause they got caught acting like teenage girls. They're sexually repressed and need to jump each other already. Just like you need to jump me.”

“You know, for the amount of times you've been fucked over by alien voodoo, you don't take it at all as seriously as you should. Those two are going to show up in my Sick-bay any day now and when I say 'I told you so' you don't get to whine about it.”

“I don't whine and if I do it's because you're paranoid. If those two end up in Sick-bay because of 'alien voodoo' I'll never bug you about blowing me on the bridge during Delta shift again. Sex now?” Bones gives him a long look then relents.

“Fine, but I'm not calling you Nurse.”

“How about Cadet?” Jim asks, takes another swing at it when the response is a raised eyebrow. “Ensign?”

“When did you develop an authority kink?”

“When you threatened to black-list me for away missions if I didn't stop avoiding my next round of immunizations.”

“I can't do a God-damned thing without your mind heading south, can I?”

“You love it.”

– Day Three –

Chekov is late.

He'd glanced up at the chronometer to find he was supposed to be at the helm ten minutes ago and dashed out his door, not even bothering to replicate a power bar. He could almost be happy about it if he could convince himself he'd slept in but he knows he'd merely lost time while staring at the same place on his wall trying to bore himself into blacking out. If his brain wasn't actively engaged, does that still count as sleep? He doesn't think so.

Chekov rounds the corner to see the turbolift doors just starting to slide closed. He picks up his pace and calls out. “Ожидание! Пожалуйста, я последний! Ai! The doors!”

A hand whips out to hold them, followed by a head. Sulu smiles tiredly at him as he slides in. The pilot removes his hand from the entry and the doors close with a hiss. “Hey, sleep in?”

“I wish.” It's about all the reply he can manage at this point. Sulu hums his sympathies from his spot against the doors. Chekov thinks that looks infinitely better than standing on his own so he leans back as well. And because Hikaru looks so warm when he smiles like that, and because he's loosing his inhibitions and common sense as well as his ability to speak Standard, Chekov lets his body slide so he can rest his head on his friend's shoulder.

*

McCoy is waiting for the turbolift to come back up from the residence decks.

He's left Chapel in charge of Sick-bay so he can head up to the Bridge to make a few quick observations. It's not that he doesn't trust Jim to make accurate judgments on his crew's health, as far as their capacity to perform their duties goes. It's just that Command's idea of “fit for duty, for a few more hours anyway” tends to match up perfectly with Medical's idea of “should have been in Sick-bay hours ago, you morons”.

To be fair, Jim is usually pretty good about that sort of thing when it comes to anyone besides himself. But Jim wasn't really in any position to judge the situation objectively last night when he'd brought it to McCoy's attention. And considering their... activities, it's not at all surprising that McCoy forgot to bring it up later that evening for a more articulate description of the situation.

So now he's headed up to the bridge for a first hand look at any unusual behavior Sulu and Chekov might be exhibiting. If it ends up looking like it really is just personal matters he'll leave well enough alone and deal with any teasing Jim cares to make about “southern mother hens” at lunch. And if not, he'll be there to drag their asses down to Sick-bay.

He's watching the tracker on the wall, the turbolift is only a few floors away, when his comm goes off.

“Chapel to Doctor McCoy.”

“Here. What do you need?”

“Engineering has isolated Grav-Mag Beta proxy and will be starting their experiment in ten.”

“Let's hope life doesn't get too interesting today.” The turbolift is one deck below. McCoy takes a step back in case anyone on board needs to get off on his deck.

“If wishes were fishes Sick-bay would be swimming right about now. Troy and Dre'getk are already headed-”

This is where McCoy stops paying attention.

It's not because Chapel is telling him things he already knows, or because he's taking a moment to run through an internal list of training stats for the two trauma nurses who've been assigned as Sick-bay's first line of defense against the inevitable chaos that follows in the wake of Scotty's most insanely brilliant ideas. He's stopped paying attention so he can drop to his knees to check for signs of breathing and a pulse from the two helmsmen who've just slumped over backwards, unconscious, as the turbolift doors slid open.

“Doctor? Are you there?”

McCoy snatches his comm up from the floor where he dropped it.

“I need two stretchers at lift Tau 3, patients unconscious with regular breathing and heart rate.”

“On their way.”

*

Continue to Part Three

*

What the Heart Sees

Thu, 13 Aug 2009 02:00:52 GMT

Title: What the Heart Sees
Author: Near_Family
Fandom: Star Trek
Pairing: Bones/Kirk
Rating: PG-13
Summery: Uber short prompt summery: Some mishap causes people to look at Jim and see him as the person they love most.
Disclaimer: Star Trek and its characters are, in no way, mine.
Notes: This was written for This prompt at the Kink Meme

If all diplomatic missions could go this well Kirk will be a happy captain.

“Thank you again, for your hospitality, B'Teng.” Kirk throws the Al'Lerites' leading representative one of his most winning smiles. “Your planet is beautiful and your people have been very generous to my crew. They really needed something like this.”

“It was our pleasure, truly!” B'Teng says, gesturing expansively. Everything about the man is expansive, from his burly form and vividly colored robes to his open expressions and boisterous personality. Kirk can't remember the last time he met someone so honestly enthusiastic about everything. “My people look forward to further exchanges with the Federation.”

“The Federation would enjoy that as well.” They continue to walk in companionable silence, through a garden of trees and hanging planters overflowing with bright flowers and into a long gallery. The walls are covered with maps of Al'Ler's various nations and paintings of the many representatives which speak for them in the planet's Chamber of Voice. Which, from what Lieutenant Commander Maedde has told him, is a kind of council of international and interplanetary relations. “I have a question for you, B'Teng, if you'd humor me.”

“Of course! Ask me anything you will, Captain.” The Al'Lerite pauses in their tour of the room and turns to face Kirk.

“It's been a long time since Earth, my own planet, has had separate and sovereign countries.” Kirk pauses to consider his next words. He doesn't want B'Teng to think poorly of Earth and Human beings in general and given the nature of the general Al'Lerite temperament, he might find certain information abhorrent. But then, Kirk thinks looking up into B'Teng's open face, the man has been nothing if not accepting the last week. Even seeing some of his crew's more interesting quirks. Kirk decides the best option is to be just as open with B'Teng as he's been with them. “To be honest, a lot of that time they spent at war in one form or another. Even our early attempts at planetary cooperation were little more than tools the stronger nations used to force their will on the weak. We didn't really start changing that until First Contact with the Vulcans. But your planet is so peaceful. You work things out so well even with something so derisive as separately governed nations. How do you do it?”

The entire time Kirk spoke, B'Teng's expression hadn't changed, except for a slight softening of his eyes. As he ends his line of question B'Teng closes his eyes and rumbles deep in his chest, his furry crest quivering. Kirk has never seen this particular display but he recognizes it from Maedde's briefing as deep sorrow.

“It is the way of those just born, to rend their own hearts open and bleeding.” He says, opening his eyes to gaze unblinking at Kirk. The statement has the feel of a proverb about it, and Kirk looks back at B'Teng without blinking to show he understands that he's just been given something sacred. “This thing is in Al'Ler's past too, long ago. Though not so long as we would like. We do not see our borders as things that divide us but as things that unite us. If we were one nation, if we saw ourselves as one and the same, what reason would we have to understand each other. When we know we are different, think differently, want different things, we must make that effort. We rarely agree, but we understand the feelings, the thoughts behind our disagreement. So when the Council of Voice comes to a consensus every nation knows it is what we considered to be, to truly be, in the best interests of all involved. Perhaps this would not work for Humans or for Earth, but it works well by Al'Ler.”

“Thank you.” Kirk says and means it. He doesn't get many opportunities like this, to be given this kind of deep insight into another species. It's weird, but in a way he thinks he understands himself better for it. It's because B'Teng was a part of this experience that he shares what he does next.“I want to understand my crew the way you understand your own people. They have a fierce loyalty to me, after everything that's happened, especially the Narada incident. But I want to know, really know, that I'll always do what's best for them, not just what I think is best. I want to know that I really deserve that loyalty.”

“Ah! I have something for you then.” B'Teng grins and starts digging through his robes. A few moments later he makes a satisfied burble from deep in his throat and pulls out a small bag hanging from one of his claws. He picks out the knot holding it closed and dips two long fingers inside. When he pulls them out there's a small pile of shimmery powder dusting his fur. “This is a very special mixture, the recipe is a family secret guarded very closely. My dear sister won't even tell me the ingredients! Apparently, I cannot be trusted to keep my fangs from clicking and my tongue from flapping.”

He stage whispers the last part, though there's no one around to 'accidentally' overhear, then throws his head back and laughs. Kirk can't help but laugh with him, the Al'Lerites seem to laugh at everything and even though Kirk doesn't really understand what's so funny half the time, their humor is contagious. Given the serious turn their conversation had taken, Kirk would have laughed at anything just then. He laughs up to the point when B'Teng blows that shimmery powder right in his face. Then he's wheezing. B'Teng's hearty slaps on the back double him over.

“You say you wish to better understand your crew so you might be a good Captain to them. And in wanting this you are already worthy of their admiration. With this mixture in your skin, your crew will look on and see their Captain as the one they love most. Much understanding will come from this!” Gongs start sounding in the background and B'Teng looks up with a sad sigh and gives Kirk one last swat across his shoulders. “Prayer is being called, my friend. I wish I could stay to see your departure but the Holy One waits for no one. Safe travels for you and your fine ship. I hope fortune steers you to this world again.”

Kirk watches the grinning Al'Lerite stride across the room, his claws clicking on the tile floor, and exit through one of the many arched doorways leading out of the gallery. Slowly, he lifts one finger and runs it down his face. It comes away with a new sheen to it. Well, damn. Bones is just going to love this.

“Commander Spock?” Kirk speaks into his communicator, still staring (pretty stupidly he's sure) at his finger.

“Yes, Captain?”

“We've got our course plotted for our next engagement, right?”

“Yes, Captain.”

“Good. As soon as I'm on board get us going at warp four.”

“Understood.”

“Scotty, beam me the hell outta here.”

“Aye, Cap'n!”

The familiar pull of the transporter permeates his body in the swirl of light that surrounds him. The weathered gallery fades out of his vision and is replaced by the clean lines of one the Enterprise's many transporter rooms. Scotty glances up to confirm his captain's presence, flashes an amused smile then activates the comm on the transporter controls. Kirk finds the exchange much more reassuring than is probably good for his ego.

“The Cap'n is aboard Commander Spock, all personnel are now accounted for.” Kirk has returned his attention back to his hand while Scotty makes his report and shuts down the platform. There's a tingling sensation across his face as he watches the shimmer fade from the pad of his finger. Which he really thinks can't possibly be a good sign. “A bit anxious to be away are w- GREAT SCOTT!”

“Holy shit! The hell Scotty?” He snaps his head up to see what's got his chief engineer freaking out, only to see the man looking at him with an expression that quite clearly indicates the man thinks he's gone completely, stock raving mad.

“Oh, tha's... Ugh.” Scotty falls back into his chair, still staring transfixed at Kirk and lets out a small, hysterical laugh that's really more of a whimper. “I think I need a wee bit of a lie down, Cap'n.”

“What? Why-” B'Teng's little speech comes back to him just then. “That damn powder. I can't believe this shit.”

Kirk pauses for a second then looks Scotty over suspiciously. “Ah, hell... You didn't, you know, just fall in love with me, did you?”

“I, what? No. Why would ya think that?” The engineer's voice cracked a little at the end.

“B'Teng said this powder shit he blew in my face would make people see me as the one they loved most.”

He looks a little bewildered at Kirk's explanation then shakes his head in disbelief. “Heh, well now. I do pride myself in puttin' my heart an' soul inta my work, but tha's just depressing.”

Scotty gives him one last worried look then makes his way toward the exit in a bit of a hurry. Kirk stumbles off the platform after him, just barely catching the engineer's muttered 'I need ta get out more' over the hiss of the automated doors. He turns to follow Scotty down the hall, mouth opened to call after him, wanting to get some answers when a another voice calls out, half surprised and half questioning.

“Spock?”

Kirk turns at the sound of Uhura's voice, she's facing him but his first officer isn't anywhere to be seen. She looks back the way she came, ponytail whipping with the quick movement. Then turns back to look at him, clearly confused. She takes a hesitant step forward. “Weren't you just...?”

“Spock should be on the Bridge, Lieutenant. If you'll excuses me I really need to... Uhura, you okay?” If her jaw wasn't attached to her head, Kirk is sure it would be hitting the floor.

“Are the transporters malfunctioning again?”

“What? No, they're fine. At least I think they're fine. Why?” Instead of answering Uhura strides forwards, grabs Kirk by the arm and drags him in front of the transporter room, pointing at his reflection in the metal doors. What should be his reflection, except that it's wearing science blue, has pointed ears and a weird-ass bowl cut that would look ridiculous on anyone but a Vulcan. Which he now appears to be.

“Oh, shit. How the?” He looks down at himself but his jersey is still command gold. He looks back up at the reflection, watching as he frantically runs his hands through his first officer's severe hair cut which still feels like his own. “I don't, but I don't look like that! I'm not, I'm still me! I still sound like me.”

He's practically whining but he's not sure he really cares at the moment. Uhura looks just as confused as he does. She reaches up to smooth out what she apparently sees as Spock's ruffled hair and Kirk watches their reflections as Uhura's hand passes straight through Spock's head before landing on his own, her wrist sticking out just below Spock's hair. She jerks her hand back instantly.

“Some kind of illusion.” She says a little weakly.

Kirk turns away from the doors and snaps his communicator open. “Kirk to Sick-bay!”

“Dammit, Jim. You don't have to yell.” And even though Bones sounds irritated with his general idiocy, the sound of his friend's voice brings Jim down from Totally Freaking Out to just Moderately Panicked in an instant.

“Bones! Listen, B'Teng, you remember him? He blew this powder in my face and at first I was fine. Then I felt all tingly. And then Scotty freaks out and Uhura thinks I look like Spock cause it makes you see the-” He stops abruptly while a few things click into place in his head. “Oh, my God. My chief engineer has a crush on my fucking ship.”

“... Jim? Are you high?”

“NO!”

“He's not, Len.” Uhura says, and Jim wonders when they went to a first name basis. “I don't know about the last bit, but if it wasn't the Captain's voice coming out of his mouth I'd swear to you I was standing next to Spock.”

“Nyota? Okay. Jim start over from the beginning. What happened?”

“B'Teng blew powder in my face. His exact words were 'they will see their Captain as the one they love most'. Uhura sees me as Spock, only when I look down I still look like myself. So it's just some kind of illusion.”

“Right. Come straight to Sick-bay for decontamination. Lieutenant, please escort the Captain so he doesn't get into any more trouble.”

“Hey, it's not like I do this shit on purpose!”

“Ya coulda fooled me.”

They pass several crew members on the way to Sick-bay but as most of them are preoccupied with their duties Uhura only has to make the No you're not loosing your mind, the Captain just got hit by alien voodoo again speech once. When they arrive the med staff are just finishing adjusting the settings on the de-cam unit. Two nurses are laying out equipment for tissue and blood samples which is how Jim knows the day has officially hit rock bottom. They look up at the sound of the doors and both blush furiously. There's a moment of confusion as they reach for the same PADD, some incomprehensible apologies where they both avoid looking at the other and then one dashes off to the crash room while the other makes a brake for a tech station. So maybe the day won't be too bad after all.

“Right, so we've got everyone briefed on this then?” Bones is standing near the tech station where Blushing Nurse B has taken refuge with his back to Jim. Chapel is standing in front of him with a stack of PADDs and an attentive expression.

“Yes. Gamma shift and parts of Delta are in their sleep cycle, but they'll see the Priority Two when they wake up.” She looks down at the PADDs and selects the third in the stack, glances over it and holds it out for the CMO's inspection. “This is everything we could find on recreational, ritual and illegal substances in powdered or granular form known to exist on Al'Ler. The list is fairly extensive.”

“Right. Once we get a sample off the Captain we can cross reference chemical signatures and symptoms. See if we can narrow things down.” Bones says as he examines the PADD. Chapel is nodding an affirmative when she glances over his shoulder. She goes pale and her mouth makes a perfect “o” as the rest of her pile crashes to the floor. Bones catches her before she can follow them.

“So, yeah. We're here.” Jim says, feeling a little awkward.

“So I gather!” Bones doesn't look toward them as he half guides, half carries his head nurse to a bio-bed and gets her seated on it. He holds her steady with a hand on her shoulder and fans her face with the PADD he'd been reading. She has a hand pressed over her heart and her lips are moving so fast Jim thinks even Uhura wouldn't be able to recognize what she's saying. “Dammit, Jim, now I'm afraid to look at you.”

He does anyway, turning slowly, eyes focused around his knees then traveling up to Jim's face. For a moment he looks confused, then his mouth goes slack in shock and he tilts his head just a bit to one side like he can't believe what he's seeing.

“Bones?”

“Oh. Sweet. Jesus.” He falls back into the chair by the side of Chapel's bio-bed, fanning forgotten for the moment. There are some gasps from the remaining med-techs working on the de-cam unit, who have shifted their attention to whatever caused that kind of reaction from their CMO, namely, Jim. One of them starts to giggle uncontrollably and is lead off by a worried looking colleague.

“Disconcerting, isn't it?” Uhura says from beside him. She walks to the bio-bed, takes the PADD from Bones' slack hand and starts fanning Chapel, who still looks pretty pale. Jim's not quiet sure what to do at this point. He's managed to incapacitate most of the available medical staff and his best friend is starring at him like his world has ground to a screeching halt. He figures now is probably as good a time as any to bring up one of his more pressing concerns.

“So, about those tissue samples... you really don't need to do those right?”

“Tissue samples? Jim, I'm having a bit of a moment here!”

“Yeah, but I'm just saying... Wait.” Jim looks his friend over. Emotional whiplash is a good look for Bones. It makes all his limbs go loose, washes the tension out of his shoulders as all his energy is focused on keeping himself from going into psychological shock. If it weren't for the look of utter disbelief on his face his overall posture could have been casually seductive. Jim is curious, really needs to know, who's face his friend is seeing right now.

“Hey, Bones. Who do you see when you look at me?”

“What? I- what?” His voice has gone a little high at the end and Jim can see the white all around his hazel-green irises.

“Ahhh, Bonesy! You don't have a crush on one of your nurses do you?” Jim teases and laughs at the doctor's 'are you fucking shitting me' expression. He can't help teasing a little more. “Or is it one of my yeomen? Are you going to need an escort when you visit the bridge? Hey, Bones, you'd say something if it was me, right? Don't be shy, the Jim Kirk fan club would accept you into their expansive bosom with-”

“Joanna. I see Joanna.” Jim could seriously kick himself right now, and from the look Uhura's giving him she seems to really want to help with that. But there's a sudden flash of her hand sticking out of “Spock's” forehead and Jim knows he can't keep himself from asking, because that little detail will eat away at him if he doesn't.

“She's like, seven though. Shouldn't her head be around here?” He gestures somewhere just above his navel.

“She's older. I guess... I guess when she'd understand...” Why her Daddy left her is the unspoken end to that sentence. He looks lost, blinks and wrinkles his eyebrows like he's just realized what words came out of his mouth. It's physically painful to see him like that. Jim doesn't need to see Uhura's steely glare or the way Chapel's gone all tear-ily maternal in her CMO's general direction to know he's just made a total jack ass of himself. He rakes his mind trying to find something to pull his friend out, to lighten the mood.

“So, yeah, those tissue samples. Your nurses have gone into hiding rather than face the hotness that would be their lesbian love affair. So we can skip that bit, right?”

Bones groans and runs his hand down his face. “Remind me, when Joanna reaches dating age, to force her to wear potato sacks and never wash her hair. I'm gonna need a gun. A really big shotgun.”

“Pffh, Bones! You're on a star ship. You've got photon torpedoes and a whole security force to be your shovel team. But seriously. Focus.” Bones blinks, looks up at him and scowls.

“What did you say about my nurses?”

“Excellent. Glad we're on the same page.”

In the end he still had to give the tissue samples.

It could have been worse though. After giving Chapel her break early Bones had retrieved his AWOL nurses to collect the samples. The CMO eventually had to take them himself as his nurses kept mistaking each other for their captain. Even if Bones hadn't been able to look him in the eye the whole time the lead up had been worth it.

Kirk is walking down the hall on his way to the terbolift, having been ordered by Bones to stay in his own quarters until Spock can come up with a good way to debrief the crew on the situation. He's not particularly happy about it but given the circumstances it's probably a good idea. Bones had originally wanted Kirk to say out of the way until the medical staff worked out what he'd been exposed to and how to reverse the effects, but there had been no way Kirk would agree to that. They had no idea how long that would be and he'd probably go stir crazy before they worked out a solution.

He's just thinking that he isn't looking forward to eating replicator food for dinner this evening when he hears someone approaching from around a corner. He stops, wondering if he should make himself scarce, but really where is he supposed to go? It's too late now anyway, whoever it is has just about made it to his hall, is rounding the corner and looking up.

Chekov's face breaks out into an ecstatic smile, there's no shock and no mortified embarrassment, which is a refreshing change from Sick-bay. Kirk is curious now, to find out who Chekov sees.

“Hikaru! I was expecting you to still be working on that botany experiment!” His navigator chirps, there's really no other way to describe it, excitedly at him. “I was wanting to ask you, if there is time after second Rho Shift, maybe we could run the Gwarly sim again? We can do a much better time, I think.”

“Lieutenant Sulu? Really.” Kirk says, amused. He really should have seen that one coming considering the amount of time the two spent exchanging messages on their consoles while they were supposed to be working.

“Keptin?” Chekov asks, forehead wrinkling in confusion. “Why do you look like Sulu?”

“Why indeed.” Kirk replies, grinning widely. He strides forward and claps a hand on Chekov's skinny shoulder. “You know, piloting sims really aren't very romantic. Try star gazing off the observation deck instead.”

He walks off, leaving a gaping Chekov behind him and fighting the urge to laugh. As he passes a nearby intersection he spots a silhouette out of the corner of his eye. He pauses to take a glance and really does laugh now.

“Flowers! Now we're headed in the right direction. At ease Mr. Sulu.”

When Kirk makes it back to his quarters he lets out a sigh of relief. Any thoughts that his current situation would be in any way fun, entertaining, or humorous have been thoroughly abandoned. Ensign Thomson pulling him into a vacant science lab for a spontaneous make-out session had been enjoyable up to the point where he'd had to explain that, no he wasn't crewman Smitt and then reassure her that, no he wasn't going to hold her actions against her. It hadn't gotten any better after that. He'd had his ass pinched by a lieutenant old enough to be his mother, seen a young engineer he didn't recognize burst into tears right in front of him, and dealt with the aftermath of a science officer going pale at the sight of him and promptly throwing up all over the floor.

Stripping off his command jersey, Kirk makes his way to the replicator, letting the shirt fall to the floor. He'll clean up later. He puts in a request for a ham and turkey sandwich with fries and then makes his way to the bathroom. His morning things are still scattered over the counter, the cabinet door is open and his towel has dried on the floor. He'd been in too much of a rush to get down to the planet for his final meeting with B'Teng to bother with being neat. He'll clean that up later, too. For now he turns on the faucet, splashes water over his face and runs his hands over his neck and through his hair.

He's going to have to come up with some way to keep from getting mixed up with other crew members, if his experiences with Uhura, Chekov and Thomson were anything to go by. The ship-wide announcement of the situation should take care of the rest. Well, not really take care of it because, God, even knowing what to expect can't prepare someone for seeing a dead loved one. But maybe they could at least avoid more tears or vomit in the halls.

Taking a deep breath, Kirk turns off the water and dries his hands and face on the towel from the floor. He folds it haphazardly and drops it on the toilet seat before reaching out to close the cabinet. He gives his reflection an absentminded glance and freezes, his hand still on the mirrored door.

He hadn't really thought about what his reflection would look like when there wasn't someone around for the Al'Lerian magic powder to act off of. But if he had stopped to consider it, he would have concluded that his own reflection wouldn't look any different than it normally did. But the face in the mirror doesn't belong to him.

It belongs to Bones.

But not Bones because Bones isn't there.

The Not-Bones reflection is looking back at him, eyes wide and full lips parted in shock. He's got a five-o'clock shadow and his normally well groomed hair is tousled. Instead of his science blues he's wearing a threadbare t-shirt that shows off his shoulders. He looks fucking gorgeous, this Not-Bones, like he's been thrown down and thoroughly fucked. The grass stains on his arms and the fluffy white dandelion seeds caught in his hair only add to that impression. And the thought of Bones having sex out in the open where anyone could just walk by and see is the hottest thing Jim can imagine. The way he'd look, eyes blown, head thrown back and mouth gasping, moaning--

And the realization hits him, reaches into his chest and squeezes, because he remembers where he's seen this Bones. His head was thrown back and his mouth was gasping, but he's laughing not moaning. The memory is so vivid, Jim sees it all perfectly. It's summer, their classes over for the week, the sun is warm and the grass is soft. Bones is holding his little girl, come to visit for the day -only a day-, over his head and laughing, really laughing from his heart. Jim had never heard it before, has barely heard it since. It was beautiful. And then he's spinning, seeds drifting around them from the clump of dandelions -make a wish, Daddy- she's got clutched in one hand. And she's shrieking with the kind of all encompassing joy that only a child can experience. Except maybe Bones can feel it too, just then, holding her close to his chest because he's got this smile like his life is just perfect right then, like he's really in love with the world-

Jim's hand hurts.

From yanking the cabinet door open, he realizes. He's gasping for breath, leaning against the counter for support and staring at an aspirin bottle like it's the only thing keeping him grounded because if he doesn't, he has to deal with the fact that his face is wet again. There's a chime from the replicator. His sandwich is ready but he ignores it.

He's not hungry.

He has a couple of PADDs with “Captain James T. Kirk” typed in large, easy to read letters hanging from his neck and he feels like an idiot.

He's pacing in his ready room because he can't stand being on the bridge anymore. He's spent two days trying to pretend that his Alpha team aren't avoiding looking at him (all except Spock who thinks avoidance of an issue is illogical), or that Sulu and Chekov aren't spending their time utterly silent both verbally and technologically. Which is such shit because if anyone should have bounced merrily from friendship to something more it should have been those two, but now they don't even look at each other.

And, God, the view screen. Twenty feet filled with the black of space, the reflection of the entire bridge, faint but there. The way the body in the captain's chair, his chair, kept flickering was driving him nuts: From Chekov to Uhura to – Bones, in his sweatpants, hair ruffled, the way he looked waking up on a Saturday morning back in the dorms – yeoman Baits to someone's gray haired grandmother to – Bones, scrubs wrinkled and stained with blood, just off a five hour emergency surgery and looking relieved it's over but with that satisfied glow in his eyes, he'd done good today – Sulu to a little boy missing his front teeth to – Bones, in his science blues – Spock to Bones to Ensign Andrews to Bones to a wife, Uhura, Bones, a child, Bones, Chekov, Bones, Sulu, Bones, a mother, Bones, Spock, Bones, Bones, Bones, Bones, Bones-

“This fucking SUCKS!”

“I'm afraid I don't understand the metaphor.”

“Holy shit, Spock! Way to sneak up on a guy.” Kirk rests his hip against his desk and peaks out from between his fingers at his view screen. His reflection has shifted into Uhura with Spock's entry into the room and he feels truly pathetic at his own relief. “Okay, what's up?”

“Captain, a fixed three-dimensional directionality is not applicable in space. One could safely say that everything and nothing is up.”

“What I meant was, what are you doing here?”

“A report came from medical after you vacated the bridge.” Spock states simply. “It seems they have exhausted their list of possible substances which you could have been contaminated with. None have produced a match.”

“Well, I can't say I'm surprised. B'Teng said it was a family recipe. I kinda hoped they'd find something though.” There's a tense silence from Spock's direction and when Kirk turns to ask about it he sees that his first officer's right eyebrow has nearly disappeared into his bangs. “What'd I say?”

“Captain, that particular piece of information would have likely been very useful before now.”

“What information? I-” And he realizes now what Spock means. In the whole decontamination process, somewhere between Chapel nearly fainting and Bones giving him the 9th degree while staring determinedly at his PADD, he'd forgotten to mention the secret recipe aspect of the equation. “Well shit.”

“Something of that nature would be unlikely to enter Star Fleet's registry. As such, we could have saved quite a lot of time if we had known.”

“Yeah, I got it.” Kirk sighs, rubbing his hands over his face. “Okay, I know we wanted to avoid getting a hold of B'Teng in case he finds our lack of enthusiasm offensive but we really need some information here. Maybe we can convince his sister to throw us a bone.”

“I will discus the best approach for phrasing our request with Lieutenant Uhura and Lieutenant Commander Maedde. If the Captain would ascertain from Dr. McCoy what information would be of the most use for his team?”

“You know, I'm pretty sure there's a regulation somewhere that says the First Officer is supposed to take on all the really dangerous missions so the Captain can live to fight another day.”

“You're position on such regulations has been made abundantly clear in the past, Captain.”

“... Dammit.”

Kirk types in the door code to Bones' quarters and walks right in because damn if he's going to stand in the hall waiting to be let in. He can't take seeing another member of his crew doing a confused double-take today, and if one more person walks into a wall with their mouth hanging open he's going to scream. He jerks the PADDs hanging from his neck off and throws them at the couch, walks through the partition into the bedroom without bothering to see where they land. He can hear water running in the bathroom.

“Bones? Chapel said you came back here-” He does a double take of the bathroom, of Bones splashing water over his face, of the razor lying by the sink. “Were you shaving?”

“Yes, Jim. I've been so tied up trying to figure out how to fix you I forgot to take the damn beard suppressant.” Bones says, wiping his razor dry before tucking it away in its case.

“I can't believe you use one of those ancient things.” Jim slides through the door and behind Bones' back, it's a tight squeeze between the shower and the sink and he can feel the heat coming off his friend's back. “Shouldn't you be ranting about blood poisoning from razor nicks or something?”

“Those dissolving foams make me feel like a damn fool. Nothing can replace a good razor, and I keep mine clean and sharp. What are you doing?” Jim stops examining Bones' freshly shaved jaw and wipes the last bit of shaving cream off the bottle's nozzle. He brings his finger up to the bottom corner of the mirror and draws a face. The move is sufficiently inane and juvenile to fool his friend into thinking that had been Jim's purpose for their close quarters, to make Bones forget the thoughtful look Jim had directed at his earlobe.

Hopefully.

“There, shaving cream smiley. Your routine is now complete.” Jim smirks, hesitates, then glances up to catch the sight of Bones rolling his eyes in the mirror, and screams.

“HOLY FUCK!”

His shock propels him back, crashing into the shower door before it registers the sudden pressure of his body and slides open. Jim collapses in a heap on the stall floor, breathing hard. He'd been mentally preparing himself, almost subconsciously, for what he would see if he ever looked into a mirror while around Bones. Ever since his CMO had told him who he saw when he looked at Jim, he'd been psyching up for it. Had been willing himself to bury the hurt (God, his little girl, how can he be jealous of that?) ever since he'd looked into his own mirror and seen Bones' face. All so he could show a real delight at seeing his best friend's daughter as she would be. He'd been ready for, had expected with such a certainty, a striking young woman with hazel eyes.

He hadn't been prepared to see his own face smirking back at him.

“Jim?” Bones is bending over, reaching to help him up. His normally gruff voice is laced with worry.

“You fucking liar.”

Bones' hand stops halfway and now he sounds confused. “What?”

“That wasn't Joanna. The reflection.” Bones looks confused for a moment longer then his face registers his shocked understanding. “Yeah, guess I forgot to mention that.”

“Jim-” There's pain there, but he hurts too, has been hurting for days, so he really doesn't care at this point. Jim gets up, slaps Bones' hand aside and pushes past him out into the bedroom. “Jim, please, I didn't mean to.”

“Didn't what?” Jim snaps, whipping around to face him. “Didn't mean to love me?”

“I didn't mean to lie to you.”

“You could have told me to fuck off! You didn't have to say it was her, you didn't have to say that!”

“I was expectin her! When I looked up and saw you, how do you think I felt? I didn't know. Not until then, I didn't know.”

Jim blinks and few times and swallows. Takes a deep breath and says in a small voice, smaller than he's ever felt. “I didn't either.”

“Of course ya didn't, Jim. If I didn't, how could you?”

“No! I mean, what I meant was- Shit.” He takes a breath, then another, decides his nerves can just go fuck themselves, grabs Bones by the his shirt and smashes their mouths together. It's desperate and messy but it makes everything seem so much better. Bones' lips are moving against his, soft and warm, then pull away.

“Jim?”

“It works on me, too. When I'm alone. I see you.” He pulls them back, sucking and biting. Moves his hands down, over his chest to his hips, pulling his shirt up to get at warm skin. Bones is running his own hands over Jim's arms, firm soothing strokes, then up into his hair to cradle his head. He pulls them apart and Jim moans at the loss.

“Shhh, slow down darl'n. This ain't a race.”

“God, I know, I'm so bad at this. I tried to push Sulu and Chekov along and now they won't even look at each other.” Bones pulls Jim forward to rest their foreheads together and chuckles deep in his chest. “Stop laughing! This is serious, Bones.”

“They showed up in Sick-bay ta tell me how weird you were actin. Got most of the way through their story when Spock made his announcement. They were pretty mortified. Chekov ain't eighteen for another month an they didn't want no one ta know till then.” It takes a moment for the words to sink in. When they do Jim jerks back and stares into Bones' smiling eyes.

“Those sneaky little bastards!” Bones laughs outright at that. Jim thinks there are much better things for his mouth to be doing than laughing at him and pulls it back against his own. But Bones pulls away again. Not for long, though. Soon he's pressing chaste kisses against Jim's cheek, then his temple, gently over both eyes, his hands carding through his hair. Jim has kissed and been kissed by a lot of people. He's felt clashing teeth and bruised lips against his own, open mouths mapping his body. None have ever felt like this.

Bones' breath is ghosting over his mouth again when Jim's communicator goes off.

“Shit. Spock must be paging me.” He pulls back and flips his comm open to see the time. Yeah, he really should have gotten back to the bridge by now.

“Right, I should probably head back to Sick-bay.” Bones looks him over, eyes flicking from his eyes to his hair, over his mouth, he leans in for one last kiss before turning away.

Jim heads into the bathroom to try and make his hair look less like he's just been fucked into his CMO's mattress, even if that's not, regrettably, what actually happened. Bones is rummaging through his drawers just outside the door, trying to find a clean jersey, so when he looks into the mirror he sees his own face staring back at him. And now that his insides have unknotted themselves and he isn't about to have a heart attack at seeing his own blue eyes he really sees his own reflection through his best friend's eyes.

“Hey, Jim? What did you come in here for in the first place?” Bone's asks, voice muffled as he pulls on a shirt. “You mentioned Chapel, didn't you?”

“Yeah, I forgot to tell you guys, that powder B'Teng used was some kinda super secret family recipe.” Jim replies, not taking his eyes off his reflection for a second. Not even to see the way that muscle in his CMO's temple twitches. “Spock wants to know what info you need if we can convince B'Teng's sister to talk to us.”

“A what? Three days, Jim! Three! I'm gonna kill you.”

“Yeah, yeah. Love you, too.” Jim grins and his reflection grins back, wearing his ratty old leather jacket and a pink windbreaker folded over one shoulder, dandelion seeds dusting his hair.

The End

To Sleep, Perchance to Dream

Sun, 02 Aug 2009 02:28:00 GMT

Title: To Sleep, Perchance to Dream
Author: Near_Family
Rating: PG (this chapter)
Pairing: Sulu/Chekov, with appearance from others (poor Bones)
Type: Chapter story (WIP)
Summery: The alien equivalent of BFF and the consequences thereof
Disclaimer: Star Trek not owned by me, I'm just playing
Notes: Lots of love to my Beta Re-White. The title is from her (because she's obsessive like that and gives me a look when I give my stories normal, clear-cut titles ^^)

They don't get many nights like this, especially not planet-side. There's music and dancing and food in strange colors that tastes much better than it looks. The natives are friendly, much more trusting and open than Pre-Warp Earth likely would have been to an alien presence in their sky and at their table. Not that there are any tables in the immediate vicinity. There are plenty of benches and cushions scattered around the courtyard, though. Just close enough to the fire pits for their occupants to benefit from the warmth while leaving plenty of room for the dancers.

Sulu is out of breath and just a little dizzy as he falls onto a large cushion under some kind of ornamental tree, a laughing Chekov plopping down next to him. They have a friendly game of push and shove before they grudgingly decide, lips twitching as they exchange teasing glares, that the seat is big enough for the both of them. Sulu's never been much of a dancer, always felt a little awkward going through the steps. Which is just plain weird coming from an avid fencer. But he had found it hard to refuse the pull on his sleeve, inviting him out into the glow of the fire.

Especially when the hand pulling him had belonged to a grinning Russian genius trembling with excitement over the whirling colors and rising music. The other dancers had made room for them with easy smiles, made welcoming gestures, hands brushing along their arms, over their hair, coxing them, encouraging them. There were no steps to follow, they spun and twirled and turned their own path amid the smiling faces and colored cloth flowing like water around its wearers. Sulu had felt like a child again holding tight to Chekov's hands, feeling the same simple elation he'd shared with his sisters spinning in their apartment in San Francisco trying to be the last one standing, falling to the floor to watch the room turn around them. He'd grinned and laughed and hadn't been embarrassed at all when they tripped all over each other trying to mimic the fancier spins of the other dancers.

He's still laughing now, silently in his mind, watching Chekov watching the dancers, mimicking their movements with his hands, with his wrists. He's never been able to sit still. Sulu tilts his head back, staring up through the thin, spindly branches of the tree at the sky. He watches a star move behind one wispy cloud and then back out into the open. He briefly entertains the thought that it's the Enterprise spinning slow and graceful with a purple-blue planet as her partner. He knows it's not. The Enterprise is in a parking orbit somewhere above them and the moving star is very likely one of the Tetrite's own weather satellites. But he likes the imagery.

He's about to turn his attention back to the courtyard when the planet's moon, slightly pink in color, comes out from behind a cloudy blanket. He watches, intrigued, as the spear like buds of the tree shiver and then gasps outright when they fall open into pearly crystalline starbursts blushing peach in the moonlight. He feels Chekov shift beside him, hears his soft murmur of appreciation at the sight of the night blooms. Sulu reaches up, cupping one flower in his hand to angle it towards them. The stem detaches from the branch easily, though he hadn't meant it to. Bringing it down to face level he examines it closely, voicing his discoveries aloud because they're just that fascinating. An inner and an outer Corolla, one a multiple of three the other a multiple of five, the petals soft and velvety. Neither a monocot or a dicot, or maybe it was both. No stamen, but two slender pistils in a spiraling helix. Gynoecium only. A female flower, a female tree.

He's ready to jump up and search, eager to see the male counterpart when he hears an amused little hum coming from his friend. He glances over and Chekov is giving him that look he only wears when he's thinking 'My swashbuckling, stoic, ass-kicking pilot is secretly a total nerd and that will never stop being funny'. Sulu mock-glares, spinning the flower between his fingers before snapping his hand up to tuck the flower into the Russian's curls. He makes an indignant noise, nose wrinkling and eyes crossing as he glares at the offending decoration placed in his hair like he was some lovestruck country girl. And Sulu knows his navigator would never forgive him if he knew just how adorable Sulu thinks he looks like that.

Later, when Sulu is giving his report of the 'incident' on the planet's surface, he will only be able to describe the startling and shrill exclamation that broke that playful moment as “SQUEE”.

--------

“Did you, at any time, feel lightheaded?”

“No.”

“Any visual or auditory hallucinations?”

“No.”

“Were there any glowing orbs or mist?”

“No.”

“Did they have you ingest anything?”

“Yeah, that sweat scented tea they had at the dinner. It wasn't any different.”

“You can't be sure of that. You! Yes, yes you. I want a sample of whatever you gave these two. Don't give me that look, I know you can understand me!”

“Bones-”

“Were there any candles or incense burning, or dishes of scented oil or similar.”

“Um, no.”

“Was there anyone claiming to be a god or deity of some sort?”

“No.”

“Was there any mention of sacred, holy, mystical or otherwise ethereal soil, artifacts or persons?”

“No...”

“Any nubile, vestal virgins?”

“What? No.”

“Really, Bones-”

“Did you touch or were you made to touch any ritual objects?”

“No.”

“Were you touched in an invasive manner, sexually or otherwise?”

“No!”

“Bones! Jesus, would you stop already?” Kirk yells, then turns to make soothing gestures at the group of startled Tetrite officials standing in an adjoining colonnade. After a moment they focus their attention back amongst themselves, giving the Starfleet officers the privacy McCoy had requested for their conversation. Turning back again, he gives the doctor an exasperated look. “Seriously, you're freaking out a bit.”

“Excuse me, Captain,” Dr. McCoy bites out in a low growl while he continues to wave his tricorder over Sulu's body. Scowling at the view screen he resets the calibrations and starts scanning Chekov instead. “But I need to be thorough. This freaky, alien ritual shit usually happens to you, so forgive me if I'm a little snappy while I adjust.”

“Doctor, we're fine.” Sulu says, receiving a sharp look from McCoy. “They didn't do anything to us. We touched hands, Chekov and I, not the Tetrites. We shared a bowl of tea, there was some chanting. Nothing weird happened.”

“What kind of chanting?”

“Oh my God, Bones.” The captain groans sliding a hand over his eyes. “Sticks and stones, man.”

Whatever argument the doctor was about to present to the contrary was interrupted by the appearance of Lieutenant Uhura striding into the room holding a lacquered bottle and looking mildly irritated. She gives the Tetrite officials a short bow, waits for it to be returned than crosses the distance between the door and their group with a quick stride. She hands the bottle to Dr. McCoy with an aggravated sigh.

“One of the runners was waiting out in the hall with that. He seemed a tad nervous about bringing it in. I can't imagine why.”

“There, you've got your alien tea, their scans check out okay- and don't give me that look Bones, you'd be throwing fits if there was anything wrong with them- can we move on?” Kirk asks. McCoy rolls his eyes and the captain turns back to Uhura. “Lieutenant, what did the Grand Poobah say about this whole incident? I'm hearing things about flowers, did we trample someone's garden or something?”

“The Tetrite Master of Ceremony regrets any misunderstanding or undue stress his subordinates' actions may have caused,” Uhura says with a bit of irritation over correcting the captain's accidental-on-purpose botching of the alien's title but quickly slips into the rhythm and tone she adopts when trying to explain an important concept that doesn't translate well across languages. “He wants to make it clear that their actions were undertaken in good faith and that it never occurred to them that we might be troubled by those actions.”

“Understood.”

“They seemed to think Sulu and Chekov would be particularly open to exchanges of that type because of... previous interactions? He didn't really go into detail about that.” She pauss and looks in their direction, arching an eyebrow in question.

“We were dancing.” Chekov supplies and Sulu feels himself blush when Kirk snickers. “There was lots of spinning.”

“Oh! Well, that actually makes sense then.” Uhura explains when they all turn to her in confusion. “The spinning, it correlates to the significance of the flower. That's what seems to have triggered the whole thing, the flower Chekov had in his hair.”

“Wait. You were putting flowers in your hair? Seriously?”

“It was Sulu.”

“Traitor.”

“Gentlemen, please take this seriously. The flower represents companionship to the Tetrites, because of the way the pistils, the two things in the center, curve around each other." Uhura continues, twisting her index fingers to mimic the flower. "I think the dance may mimic the flower and hold the same significance. A kind of deep connection, a compatibility between two people. There are very intense undercurrents in the symbolism but in a positive way. It's difficult to explain.”

“Keptin, my mother would not be pleased with me if I got married by accident.” Sulu can't help but chuckle at the earnestly worried look on the navigator's face.

“Sorry, Ensign. That's just one of the risks you take as a Starfleet officer. Along with spontaneous cloning and alien induced pregnancies. Didn't you read the fine print?” That gets a small smile out of Chekov and an amused snort from the doctor.

“It wasn't a marriage ceremony, the Master of Ceremony was very particular about that.” Uhura assures them. She gestures with her hand as she tries to find the right words to explain. “He said couples who marry later sometimes do this ritual too but that it doesn't have anything to do with that in and of itself. It's a show of dedication between two people but doesn't seem to have any legal consequence. Like wearing BFF rings or carving your initials onto a tree.”

“BFF?” Chekov asks.

“Best friends forever.” Sulu supplies without thinking. He shrugs defensively at Kirk's second snicker of the night. Captains really shouldn't snicker. “What? My sisters had tons of those things.”

“The point is,” Uhura cuts in before Kirk can say something inappropriate. “The whole thing was done for fun because they thought Sulu and Chekov would enjoy the exchange. They didn't expect us to freak out when we saw them getting dragged off.”

“Right. Okay, is there anything else you want to brow beat the Tetrites out of, Bones?” Kirk asks turning to his CMO. McCoy gives him an exasperated look but replies that there wasn't anything else he needed. Kirk nods and flips open his communicator. “Spock, I'm having McCoy, Sulu and Chekov beam up now. Uhura, myself and the rest of the away-team are going to stick around and try to smooth things over with the local Big-Wigs. We'll beam up later.”

“Understood, Captain.”

“Come on, Lieutenant. Lets make sure we haven't scarred the Tetrites for life.” Kirk says, heading in the direction of the officials who have been waiting patiently for their private discussion to be over. Uhura follows close behind.

“Transporter One, three to beam up.” Dr. McCoy orders into his own communicator with a sour twist of his mouth. “God, I hate these-”

“- things.” He finishes after they've re-materialized on the transport pad. Sulu shares an amused smile with Chekov behind the doctor's back. The CMO's dislike for the transporters is well known among the primary bridge crew.

“Well now, Doctor. Did ya bring me a little something from the surface?” Scotty smiles good naturedly from behind the controls.

“No such luck, Mr. Scott.” McCoy grumbles, stepping down and towards the doors. “This stuff is considered a bio-hazard until it's been analyzed. It's not alcoholic anyway. You two, with me to Sick-Bay please.”

“Well, good riddance to it then.” Scotty calls to their backs as the door slid shut. They follow McCoy down the halls to Primary Sick-Bay. They don't see a single face along to way, not surprising as there generally aren't many people walking the halls during Gamma shift. Though when they enter Sick-Bay there are a fair few number of nurses ready to carry out any instructions McCoy might throw out.

“Nothing to add to the Long List of Tomfoolery tonight ladies and gentlemen, not yet anyway.” The CMO calls out with a pointed glance back at the helmsmen. “Nurse Jenkins, take blood samples from Tweedledum and Tweedledee while I check in with M'Benga, will you?”

McCoy waits just long enough to see the nod of a red-headed nurse with big eyes before ducking into an office on the left. Nurse Jenkins gives them both a smile that is somehow sympathetic and amused at the same time while leading them to a bio-bed.

“So what happened with you two, then?” She asks, preparing two hypodermics.

“There was a misunderstanding over a flower.” Sulu provides and winces as his blood is drawn. Jenkins arches a thin eyebrow, lips twitching, but doesn't enquirer further. Chekov watches with interest as his own blood is extracted into a second vial, the sight of which makes Sulu a little queasy.

“Thank you, Jenkins.” McCoy has returned from whatever business he had with M'Benga and takes the vials from the nurse. She nods to the doctor and then to the two helmsmen and heads back to her station. They wait patiently to be dismissed while McCoy examines the samples.

“Right, I'm going to run this by the guys in Chemics,” Dr. McCoy growls, gesturing with the bottle of Tetrite tea in one hand and their blood samples in the other. He fixes Sulu and Chekov with one of his more intimidating glares, as though he can bore his instructions straight onto their brains with his eyes. Sulu is reasonably convinced the Doctor thinks a gold tunic is some kind of Starfleet indicator for reckless stupidity instead of a color reserved for command. “You two come straight to Sick-Bay if you experience vomiting, dizzy spells, black outs, discoloration, mood swings, loss of appetite, lapses in memory, flash-backs, psychic abilities, alterations in age, or a sudden change of gender.”

“But not a gradual change of gender?”

“Out.”

--------

Sulu spends a restless night in his quarters. He uses half of his remaining water allowance for the week taking a real shower that does nothing to calm his mind. He gets up an hour after he first lies down to stretch. The exercise is a useless effort without the meditative state that seems to stay just out of reach. He's watered his plants twice, reviewed the next mission three times and answered every message on his PADD when 0700 hours comes around. By the time he finishes breakfast in the mess he's managed to convince himself that the sleepless night had nothing to do with the feel of soft hands pressed against his or the glow of firelight in blue-gray eyes.

Continue to Part Two

*

Bloody Bits and Peices Ch. 5

Sat, 01 Aug 2009 21:49:45 GMT

Title: Beneath the Lid
Author: Near_Family
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: PG-13
Summery: Yumichika has a very special box
Disclaimer: Not owned by me in any way
Notes: This is cross-posted at FF.net and The Ambiguously Gay Duo ---> http://community.livejournal.com/yumikkaku/ But using the wrong LJ account! *Face-Desk*

Yumichika has, carefully hidden amongst the smooth silks, the painted screens, the polished woods and gleaming lacquers of the one space in the division compounds that is uniquely his, a small wooden box. It’s remarkable, in this space of artful elegance, for its plainness. The wood is neither polished nor rare. There is no lacquered design, no jade or mother of pearl inlay. It has no carved decoration, no fanciful legs to rest on, no intricate hinges or lock. It’s simply a plain but well crafted wooden box, each part fitting perfectly against the other, durable and functional. It contains Yumichika’s most precious possessions.

Ikkaku knows about it, he’d constructed it in the first place, back in the early days of their partnership when he’d first discovered his aptitude for wood work. Even so, he’s never seen what’s inside. He isn’t interested anyway. Though if asked he’d probably say that it’s where Yumichika keeps all the pretty little gifts he’s gotten from past admirers.

Yachiru’s made it her mission in life (along with eating enough candy to make her sick, something she’s heard of but has yet to experience) to find it and bust it open. Her reasoning being: Funny-brows likes pretty things, many pretty things are also shiny, whatever’s in the box must be very pretty, and therefore also very shiny. Yachiru likes shiny. This is all the reason she needs.

Zaraki makes a point of not speculating about the poof’s personal life. EVER.

Given that, he’d probably be just as surprised as the other two if they were ever to discover what was really inside Yumichika’s plain wooden box. The contents aren’t all that shiny or expensive and none of it was given in an attempt to win his affections. Most of it isn’t even all that pretty. They might remember some of what they would see, though it’s more likely they wouldn’t as none of it was very important at the time.

Zaraki might remember a scrap of cloth, carefully rolled to prevent wrinkles, brightly colored and just a little gaudy. He might remember the day a bald stranger, high on blood lust, challenged him and on being defeated demanded to die (and the companion who watched, seemingly calm and indifferent but with eyes too intent).

Ikkaku might remember the crude wooden comb propped up in the back, carved after weeks of listening to his friend complain about how his long hair would tangle and get in his eyes during a fight. Its shape is rough and undecorated except for a crudely carved flower (really only lines dug into the wood), a response to Yumichika’s request for something prettier. If Ikkaku remembered it at all he might notice that the wood is a good deal smoother than it was after he finished the last cut on the fucking flower, as if polished by soft hands after many years of handling.

Yachiru might remember a brittle twig of small brown flowers, once a brilliant red, tucked against a seem in the lid. She might see in her mind’s eye an expansive field with plants matted down by blood and gore. She might recall the feel of their soft peddles as she ripped them from the ground so that Yumichika’s hair would match the shiny, sticky red across his face and kimono which didn’t show up against his dark strands.

Zaraki might remember the little brass bell, bent and twisted, no longer able to ring. He might recall his daily struggle to affix it on his topmost spike interrupted as Soul Society’s youngest shinigami, hyper from too many candies, stole it from his grasp. He might remember chasing his top officers, unwilling participants in Yachiru’s game of keep-away, through buildings and streets and quite a few walls. Laughing maniacally all the way, only to find once he’d caught them that their combined reiatsu had crushed it beyond repair.

Yachiru might remember a bit of rag unraveling near the bottom (perhaps if she held it to her cheek and closed her eyes), stained by travel and dirt, all that’s left of a warm blanket. She might remember the smell of wood and smoke, the feel of dirt beneath her bare feet. She might recall her first glimpse of Seireitei’s walls, white as the snow nearly melted clean away, from beneath its coarse cloth.

Ikkaku might very well remember the most recent addition, an onigiri wrapper from the living world. The events that followed the rooftop meal of which only the wrapper remains are certainly vivid in his memory. The high of the fight, the thrill of using his Bankai, of finally fighting to his very limit, of looking death in the face are all easily recalled and savored. And one hazy memory resting gently below, of a smile and lavender eyes, quiet relief.

Yumichika remembers it all very well. And so, every so often he opens the box. Running his fingers over these items and others he reminisces and smiles softly. He might take that carefully rolled scrap of kimono and, laying it out flat, think on all those moments his life changed before his eyes. He might run the wooden comb through his hair, now short, and remember Ikkaku’s eyes, fierce and full of fire. He might hold the flowers carefully, far too fragile to weave into his hair now, or the twisted bell which sounds so flat and ugly with the metal bent and laugh quietly to himself. He might hold the rag to his face, breathing deeply, and hum old lullabies stained with blood.

But now he holds the onigiri wrapper tight and trembles where no one can see him.

Bloody Bits and Peices Ch. 4

Sat, 01 Aug 2009 19:35:23 GMT

Title: Two Worlds
Author: Near_Family
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: PG
Summery: A drabble about how Yachiru views her world
Disclaimer: Not owned by me in any way
Notes: posted at FF.net too

Yachiru’s world is divided into two parts: the part where she is Fukutaichou, and the part where she’s Yachiru.

In Fukutaichou’s world she can walk all over her subordinates, often quite literally. She gives orders to Funny-brows and Cue-ball and the response is “Yes, Ma’am!”. She helps with training and enforces discipline. She leads Hollow raids and kills her fair share. She’s a sugar loaded, hyper, pink ball of terror.

Yachiru’s world is a much more private place. It exists mainly in the private quarters and Ken-chan’s office. When she gives orders the response is usually something like: “Candy? Not until you clean your plate and, while entertaining, piling your vegetables on Ikkaku’s head doesn’t count” or “Nice try, runt”. Funny-brows becomes Nee-chan (though Yachiru hasn’t called him that since he cut his hair) who teaches her kanji, washes her face and brushes her hair. Cue-ball becomes Ikki-miki (a nick-name for which Yumichika will never be forgiven) who lets her sleep in his lap and plays games with her. Yachiru has tea-parties with Yumichika, draws pictures and asks Ikkaku anything that pops into her head because it’s so much fun to accuse him of making up the answers. And if she asks just right (Ken-chan! Ken-chan! Ken-chan! Ken-chan! Keeen-Chaaaaaan!) she gets a story before bed complete with all the voices.

And while she’s still a sugar loaded, hyper, pink ball of terror, she’s their’s. And that makes all the difference.

Bloody Bits and Peices Ch. 3

Sat, 01 Aug 2009 19:29:05 GMT

Title: Lucky
Author: Near_Family
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: PG
Summery: So, who's doing the dishes?
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the laptop I typed this on
Notes: posted at FF.net too

The Luck-Luck dance started out as a fool-proof way of pissing Yumichika off.

Their wanderings through Rukongai hadn’t been all fun and games, or blood and mayhem as the case may be. Meals had to be made, dishes cleaned, and clothes washed. By mutual decision (after Yumichika refused to bandage Ikkaku’s wounds for a week in retaliation) these chores were to be assigned to the loser of a small contest. They had started out with Rock, Paper, Scissors which only served to escalate the problem as new objects were added to ensure a win on their respective parts (Katana which loses to Rock but beats Paper and Scissors, Fan which beats Katana and Paper but loses to Scissors and Rock, Sake which beats Fan, Paper and Rock but loses to Katana and Scissors, etc). Eventually they abandoned this method when Yumichika invented Fist which wins against everything by knocking Ikkaku out cold.

They tried riddles and guessing games after that. It worked fairly well. Until Ikkaku insisted that by remaining silent he hadn’t been outwitted because he’d never, in fact, attempted to answer. This resulted in a small feud which started with Yumichika bringing back Rock, Paper, Fist for the evening and ended with Ikkaku pinning him against a wall followed by an embarrassing misunderstanding with the man they’d ‘convinced’ to let them use his spare room for the night.

They eventually settled on throwing dice. They changed the game every night knowing this combined with the inherent randomness of dice would keep the contest fair. The outcome depended largely on luck. Something Ikkaku seemed to have quite a bit more of than Yumichika who, despite his suspicions, couldn’t figure out how Ikkaku could possibly be cheating. His obvious irritation and careful observation of his friend’s every move was a constant source of amusement for Ikkaku who never missed an opportunity to tease him about it. Eventually Yumichika accused him flat out of cheating and demanded Ikkaku confess how he was doing it. Ikkaku replied with a slightly drunken “It’s because I’m lucky!” followed by an early version of the luck-luck dance and an empty sake bottle being broken across his head.

Yumichika’s initial reaction didn’t deter Ikakku from perfecting and using his new dance at every opportunity. Much to Yumichika’s annoyance, and later Ichigo and Ganju’s confusion.

Bloody Bits and Peices Ch. 2

Sat, 01 Aug 2009 19:25:44 GMT

Title: Night at the Inn
Author: Near_Family
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: PG
Pairing: Ikkaku/Yumichika, sort of
Summery: A humorous misunderstanding
Notes: posted at FF.net too

The first time Ikkaku kissed Yumichika it was by accident. In fact, it had been Yumichika who had kissed him.

Their little gang had stopped at an inn for the night. Having fought some bandits earlier that day (not because they were good Samaritans, they weren’t, but because jumping out of a bush and yelling “your money or your life!” at Zaraki Kenpachi gets filed as a request for assisted suicide and is handled as such) they could afford it. Besides, Yumichika had been complaining for days about needing a decent bath and, unfortunately, Yachiru liked him too much to kill off.

Ikkaku had spent the early night looking for fights in the local bars. All he’d gotten were drunken brawls and as the night went on he had only gotten more and more irritated. Eventually he’d gotten fed up and decided to head back earlier than he’d intended, though still late enough for most of the lights at the inn to be extinguished. He’d just slid the door shut to the room he was sharing with Yumichika when soft hands took hold of his face, guiding toward a pair of lips that began moving passionately against his own.

He found out later, after a shouting match and a black eye (his), that Yumichika had mistaken him for a potential fling he’d met in the common room. He’d invited the man to come up that night thinking Ikkaku wouldn’t be back until much later.

Ikkaku wasn’t amused. Neither was Yumichika. Zaraki thought it was funny as hell.

Bloody Bits and Peices Ch. 1

Sat, 01 Aug 2009 19:22:26 GMT

Title: They Fight
Author: Near_Family
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: PG
Summery: The different fighting methods of the four officers of 11th
Disclaimer: So not mine

Watching Zaraki fight is like watching a wrecking ball being used to hammer a nail into a wall. The nail defiantly goes into the wall; at least, you assume it has as most of the wall seems to have disappeared. The idea of Zaraki loosing is like the idea of tracing your finger around the outside edge of a circuit only to find that it’s also the inside edge. It makes your brain hurt. Zaraki wins because loosing isn’t a conceivable option.

Ikkaku fights chaotically. Like a typhoon his attacks rain destruction at random, powerful, intense, but without focus. An opponent without discipline is easily defeated. But as you pull away from the immediate action and into the whole it becomes clear that all movement, all destructive force, spirals around a central core. Order within chaos. Ikkaku wins because by the time his opponents realize this it’s usually too late.

Yumichika is flexible, agile, and above all, graceful. When he finds a worthy opponent (not often as Ikkaku likes to steal all the best ones) Yumichika doesn’t so much fight as dance. His movements flow like water, one into the other without beginning or end. Yumichika loves beauty therefore everything he does must be beautiful. Yumichika wins because his opponents fail to realize that beauty can be deadly.

Yachiru is powerful and fast as lightening but that’s not why she wins. Yachiru wins because it’s such a shock when a little girl with cotton-candy hair comes flying out of nowhere and lops your head off.

It’s that last bit really, no one ever recovers.

Paperwork

Sat, 01 Aug 2009 19:18:45 GMT

Title: Paperwork
Author: Near_Family
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: PG
Summery: Things get boring for Yumi when paperwork needs doing.
Disclaimer: I don’t own Bleach or any of its characters. They belong to Tite Kubo.

Days spent in 11th division were never uneventful. With its members fixated on the rush of battle, and influenced by massive egos, the 11th had dispensed with excuses for competition long ago (because really, competition is an end in itself).

All this made for a barracks and training ground that were always a riot of noise. Comparatively, the current activities of 11th’s third seat seemed out of place. Not that paperwork was an unusual activity for the seated officers of the Gotei 13, it was just that bureaucracy didn’t really fit the atmosphere of the 11th. Or, more accurately, it was the way Ikkaku went about this particular duty that didn’t fit. He sat quietly amidst stacks of carefully organized paper, arranged by the amount of attention they would require and their relative priority. Each stack had its place in the hierarchy and would be examined and completed in turn. He had a system, it was a good system, it got things done. Ikkaku was content to step back from the world and devote all his attention to completing this particular chore with meticulous care as long as…

“The Hell?! Wha… that was there for a reason, damn it!”

…no one messed with the system.

“I have to sit somewhere, Ikkaku, it was in my way.” Yumichika quipped, moving the offending stack to a more convenient location and settling down in its place. They were in Zaraki-taichou’s office, had been for the entire morning, and the monotony of the day was beginning to tax Yumichika’s nerves.

“It’s called a floor.” Ikkaku responded.

“Without a pillow or a mat? My hakama will get dirty.” He huffed.

“Well, if you’re goin’ to take up space, at least do somethin’ useful.” Ikkaku muttered pointing at the next stack in line. From his current angle Yumichika could make out enough of the writing to tell it had to do with such mundane matters as stationary supplies and the like, not at all interesting.

“I’d love to, really” Yumichika cooed, looking over his shoulder and batting his lashes teasingly. “But I’m babysitting.”

“I’m not a baby, Funny-brows!” Yachiru called indignantly from amidst her drawing supplies waving a crayon at him for emphasis. She’d been spread out on the floor coloring most of the morning, throwing crayons at Ikkaku (which he caught, often without looking up) between pictures when she couldn’t think of what to doodle next.

“Of course not, Fukutaichou. Is that Taichou killing a Hallow? The streams of blood are a nice effect, very colorful.” Placated, the girl went back to her drawing and Yumichika made a mental note to find more red crayons, they got used up so fast.

Things settled for the moment he reached up the sleeve of his kimono and extracted a rose hued sucker. It had come from Yachiru’s stash but she had so many it likely wouldn’t be missed. Pulling off the wrapping he put it in his mouth. It tasted like strawberry and was beyond sweet, the sort of candy his Fukutaichou was fond of. Pulling it out again he twirled it between his lips, knowing the candy would stain them in an alluring fashion.

“How long do you think he’ll be gone this time?” Yumichika turned to look back at Ikkaku but he was looking down at the paperwork despite having asked the question. He put the sucker back in his mouth, thinking.

Their Taichou had been wandering off sporadically ever since that boy and his friends had left. Sometimes he’d only be gone for a few hours, other times he’d be gone for days. Every time Zaraki was pursuing the same goal: to learn his zanpakutou’s name. At first the three had followed but quickly learned their presence wasn’t in their best interests. Even Yachiru had become wary of the fluxing reitsu and random destruction as Zaraki became frustrated in his attempts to get his zanpakutou’s attention. Eventually, after Yumichika was nearly knocked unconscious by an exceptionally strong burst of reitsu, they stopped following whenever their Taichou went off. Instead, they spent the time he was gone going through the paperwork and attending to the division.

“He seemed particularly determined this morning.” Yumichika observed, pulling the sucker out with a soft pop. Remembering how Zaraki had stormed into his quarters early that morning to thrust a still sleeping Yachiru into his arms and then leave without a word, he added, “He’ll probably be gone at least a few days, maybe longer.”

“He’s doin’ it all wrong.” Ikkaku sighed, starting in on a new stack. He frowned at the first form. “What the hell are petty supplies, what the hell are they for?”

“Dare you to tell him that.” Yumichika replied, licking his sucker delicately.

“Do I look stupid?” Ikkaku growled, signing the form and tossing it on the Out pile.

“Hmmm…” He hummed and smiled as he pulled the sucker back into his mouth with his tongue.

“What, you calling me stupid?”

Yumichika turned and raised his eyebrows as if to say ‘Who, me? I didn’t say anything’ and pulled the sucker out slowly, sucking off the juice. Ikkaku was glaring at him, but that look hadn’t affected him for years, not in the way Ikkaku meant it to. He placed the sucker back in his mouth, resting it on top of his tongue and twirled it around, lips parted.

“Would you knock that off?” Ikkaku grumbled taking another form off the stack.

“Why?”

“Because it’s distracting.”

“Distracting?” Yumichika purred.

“As in: annoying as hell.” Ikkaku growled back.

“Really?” Yumichika smirked. Deciding to push his luck, he leaned back over a small stack of paper. Resting his head on whatever form his friend was going over, one hand above his head, the other holding the sucker to his lips. He hoped the arching of his back over the paperwork looked prettier than it felt. “Are you sure?” he murmured before licking the red candy at his mouth.

Ikkaku didn’t say anything. His expression giving nothing away. Yumichika was just wondering whether he’d misjudged the other’s mood when a blue crayon hit Ikkaku between the eyes. He blinked once then shot out of his chair. Sitting back up, Yumichika watched him storm across the room, pick Yachiru up and head toward the door.

“Maki-Maki’s got bubble gum hidden up his sleeves. Sick ‘em.” He said, tossing the happily shrieking girl out the door before slamming it closed. A little surprised, Yumichika watched Ikkaku turn and stalk toward him.

“Why did you tell her something like tha- mmph!” He was cut off as Ikkaku pulled him off the desk and kissed him, almost harshly. A few moments later the sucker fell, unnoticed, to the floor.

“If you wanted attention, you coulda said so.” Ikkaku muttered, kissing down his neck.

“Mmmm… but teasing you is far more entertaining.” He replied, letting his head fall back and arching just so.

Not long after, the paperwork, so painstakingly organized and arranged, joined the sucker on the floor.

End

Through the Eyes

Sat, 01 Aug 2009 19:15:19 GMT

Title: Trough the Eyes
Author: near_family
Fandom: Bleach
Rating: pg-13
Disclaimer: I own nothing, I'm just playing

Notes: This has been posted to FF.net but I wanted it to be in my writing lj too. Also---

I was just sitting back letting my mind wander around Bleachdom when this popped into my head. I can’t remember reading any fic written from this point of view so I thought I’d give it a go. ;)

Disclaimer: Bleach and its characters belong to Tite Kubo.

He was – word, what was it? – aching. No, something close. It was tugging, painful, deep inside. A need… he needed. So hard to think. So hard to… since the emptiness bore through. He was… what. The word. He was -

Ravenous

Yes. Ravenous. He hadn’t eaten, not in ages. Too dangerous. Too many… things, auras. Strong ones. Coming, going, ripping at the world. Too many.

But he needed, wanted so badly. He reached, feeling, searching… there. Not so far. Away from the tall… what? Buildings. Yes, too dangerous to hunt among the buildings. Strong. Too strong. Maybe, but… too late. He was running, claws digging up dark soil, twigs snapping against his mask.

The anticipation, glorious, he could feel his fur rising. To rend and tear, oh so long since he’d last left that – the smell of it! – that lingering stain of blood. Closer, he was getting closer. He slowed. Just ahead, a clearing, his prey.

Crouching, looking through the last bits of brush and twigs separating him from his meal. Three of them. Two at the other end, standing close, not paying much attention to the third. The third, closer, much closer. Smaller than the others, was a thing – cub, foal, larva, - child. Singing to itself and ripping up flowers. Pretty child. Pretty little child with tender meat, sweet, so sweet and juicy. He shuddered.

They were strong, made his mouth water, saliva dripping off his jaws. Strong, but not the dangerous kind. Not the ones with dark cloths and the things, sharp, fangs they wore at their hips. Not those. If he pounced, if he was fast – and he was, so very fast – he could snap it up, crunch its bones, be gone before the other two could reach him.

So hungry, maddening. His legs were twitching, he needed to. He leapt. Racing, claws ripping out turf, panting. Nearly there, the others hadn’t even moved. The child, his focus, it filled his vision. Jaws snapping open, angling to rip. The child only moments away, turning, eyes wide. Gone.

It was – the word. It was –

Pain

“Look, Baldy! It’s a puppy!”

“Damn it! Don’t call me that!”

“Yachiru! Stop playing with that Hollow, please. It’s ugly. Besides, you don’t know where it’s been.”

(In case there is some confusion, they’re in Faux bodies. Hence they don’t look like Shinigami to our Hollow friend.)

11th vs. 4th

Sat, 01 Aug 2009 19:10:03 GMT

Title: 11th vs. 4th
Author: Near_Family
Rating: PG
Summery: An exploration of the relationship between 11th division and 4th division
Disclaimer: I do not own Bleach or any of its characters, I'm just playing with them
Notes: This has been posted to FF.net. I just wanted to put things in my writing lj too.

Relations between the 11th and the 4th divisions had a history which many members, especially of the 11th, weren’t aware of. Prior to the arrival of Zaraki and his small band, interactions between the two groups hadn’t been much different than between that of any other division and the 4th. The current air of general malice among the majority of the 11th toward the 4th was an unintended side affect of Ikkaku, Yumichika, and Yachiru’s early interactions with the healer shinigami. The only influence Zaraki had had on relations was his obvious annoyance during his time spent in the General Relief Station. As any time spent being healed was time he wasn’t able to fight, something that always put him in a bad mood.

The first few weeks were rather busy for the newly seated officers of the 11th. Having gained their positions due to Zaraki’s defeat of the previous captain and never having attended the Academy, they weren’t readily accepted as legitimate members of the Gotei 13. It was especially hard for the other shinigami to accept that a child, barely more than a toddler really, had been made a Fukutaichou. Their general reaction had been to laugh, (“Hey, isn’t she a cutie?”) and pat her on the head. But Yachiru disliked being patronized and her general reaction was a spirited attempt to bite the offending hand off.

This didn’t go over well.

Ikkaku and Yumichika, on the other hand, had to deal with the more traditional attempts at intimidation and threats of violence (which tended to end up as actual violence because, it was their thinking, if you were going to make promises like that, you had better keep them). Their first encounter had been a traditional bar brawl. The two had gone out for sake to celebrate their good turn of fortune and had only had a few glasses before a disgruntled shinigami from another division had made his move. Having mistaken the new 5th seat of 11th for a woman (later Yumichika would cut his hair, irritated with this common mistake) he decided a little sexual harassment was in order. Running a hand down Yumichika’s back he implied that the only reason the 5th seat was in such a high position had to be the possession of considerable assets and why not give a demonstration? Yumichika threw him through a window and things had only gone downhill (or uphill, depending on your perspective) from there.

Between prying Yachiru off of various body parts, and treating the participants of nearly daily brawls, the 4th division saw a considerable amount of the new officers. At first the timid healers weren’t sure what to make of them. How do you react to a pair who bring their own victims in for treatment and then reminisce about the higher points of the fight while receiving their own? How do you explain to a toddler that she can’t gnaw on her subordinates, not even if they deserved it - or if she had a tooth coming in – no, not even by accident – no, there were no exceptions – yes, we’re sure - absolutely positive – look, will you stop if we give you a sucker? …oh dear…

It was a couple of weeks after they’re arrival, watching a pair of 4th division healers negotiate with Yachiru over the amount of candy it would take to get her detached from the leg of a particularly offensive member of the 3rd, that Ikkaku realized most shinigami tended to ignore members of the 4th completely. It wasn’t simply that they didn’t talk to the shy healers or interact with them. A hall with a member of the 4th in it was empty; they often got jostled and trampled in crowds. Members doing chores didn’t even exist as far as other shinigami were concerned. When they were noticed it was because they were doing something ‘wrong’, they were being yelled at and degraded. And the 4th put up with it, never talked back and never defended themselves.

It was disgusting. Ugly, Yumichika decided. The 4th did all the boring, but entirely necessary, tasks and healed anyone without compliant and the other divisions, the idiots, didn’t even have the decency to show a little gratitude. After all, Ikkaku and Yumichika reasoned, if the 4th didn’t do these tasks that meant that they would have to do them which meant less time for training and fighting. And you couldn’t get as much fun out of a fight if you were being held down by old injuries. So, really, the 4th was doing everyone a favor.

Never being ones to overlook such favors, the three were compelled to show their gratitude, albeit in unique ways. Yumichika never stopped talking. Mostly a running critique, usually with some form of praise, though with Yumi it was hard to tell. Ikkaku joked and teased and generally made a ruckus. And because he wanted the submissive 4th to grow a backbone he never let them back down. Yachiru insisted they play games with her. Her favorite was tag, she was always it. Slowly the shy healers (after much quiet debate) came to the conclusion that, no they weren’t being targeted and that the general havoc the trio created was in some strange way a form of thanks.

Around the same time, the 11th as a whole was coming to the revelation that they were becoming the strongest division of the Gotei 13. After the first couple of weeks the weak of heart and body had transferred out in hordes. Those remaining looked in awe at the psychotic power of their captain, the huge turnover of opponents their 3rd and 5th seat went through and the strange ability of their lieutenant to send grown men running in terror. These qualities became a matter of pride, and an odd kind of hero worship began to emerge where the 11th attempted to emulate these characteristics. Members started presenting themselves in ways meant to make them more intimidating. Seeking out fights, and becoming easily provoked, their opponents were given no choice but to fight or run. Mitigation was no longer an option. And because his subordinates saw their Captain as practically invincible they strived to be as well, avoiding the 4th division whenever possible.

But with all the fights they were starting it was only a matter of time before someone would need a bone set or a gash sewn shut. During their stays in 4th division headquarters the fight happy shinigami couldn’t help but notice how their top officers interacted with the puny healers. And because most of the 11th trained under the three officers and not alongside them, they didn’t have a good understanding of their officers’ mindsets. So the 5th seat’s endless chatter and critiques were full of disdain. The 3rd seat’s jokes and rowdy behavior were torments and pranks. The lieutenant’s games were a rein of terror. The 4th were too weak and timid to be worth fighting but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be bullied. So the 11th spent their time there being as obnoxious as possible.

As time passed this view of things solidified and was unquestioned among the lower ranks. It was this mentality that allowed a squad from 11th to leave Hanatarou to a potentially horrible fate at the hands of hostel invaders without guilt. And it was this mentality that had the 11th drinking and posturing in the middle of an infirmary.

The fight was finished and Seireitei was now short three captains. 11th had taken heavy damage at the hands of Ichigo and his group and were now recovering, but mostly causing trouble, in 4th division headquarters.

Ikkaku was in his own personal hell trapped between a sparkly, flirtatious Yumichika on one side and Risa (who was supposed to be checking him over for cracked bones and bruising but was actually being bubbly and cooing over his friend’s hair) on the other. Risa was one of Yumichika’s favorite healers for the sole reason that she’d gasped and babbled about what a lovely shade of lavender his eyes were the first time they’d met. He’d been sure to snatch her the moment they came in and now Ikkaku had to put up with their endless, pointless chatter.

“Ahhh, Risa-san, your nails look so lovely today!”

“That’s so nice of you to say, Yumichika-san! I had free time earlier this week, so I got a manicure.”

“Those are so wonderful, I haven’t got mine done in ages.”

“But your hands always look amazing!”

“Hey! Remember me? Crater in the floor ringing any bells?” Ikkaku snapped, not being able to take anymore of that girly shit.

“Ah! Of course, my apologies.” The girl blushed getting down to business. “Hold still, please. This should only take a few minutes.”

“You’re no fun, Ikkaku.” Yumichika pouted. “Just because that boy dodged and you got hit by mistake, you’re so grumpy!”

“Whatever,” he grumbled. Looking around the room he felt his mood lift. The division was going all out with this visit. Bottles of sake were being passed around and a group was singing drunkenly and off key across the room. He could see Yumichika wincing beside him as they tried and failed at harmony. Jokes and friendly jeers were thrown casually from one member to another. The healers made their way from one shinigami to the next juggling their supplies while avoiding swinging arms and empty sake bottles, good-naturedly ignoring teasing and taunts.

The rest of the day was definitely looking up, Ikkaku thought as some younger members of 11th started playing keep-away with a healer’s bandages.

“There, all done!” Risa chirped patting his shoulder. “No major damage, just don’t get blasted into the floor again for the next week or so, ok?”

“Don’t worry, Risa-san!” Yumichika laughed as Ikkaku glowered at the two of them. “I’ll take good care of him, ne Ikkaku?”

“You try to baby me and I’ll-” He was cut off when a particularly scrawny member of the 4th landed, sprawling at his feet.

“Ya fuckin’ worm! I said I didn’t need any of your shit!” A burly shinigami yelled, red in the face. Ikkaku recognized him. He’d been transferred in recently for fighting and insubordination, his previous officers thinking 11th could knock him down a notch. He’d come strutting into the training grounds a couple weeks ago looking self-important and cocky. He didn’t look so cocky now with his feet dangling above the ground and Ikkaku’s fist wrapped around his throat.

The room went silent.

“You okay, kid?” He asked the little healer, not taking his eyes off the man hanging from his grip. Ikkaku noticed the guy’s face was starting to turn purple.

“Ah! Y-yes, I’m fine!” He heard the kid squeak from behind him. Ikkaku nodded and loosened his grip so the other could breathe.

“What’s your name?”

“Kotsuga, sir!” The man rasped.

“Right, Kotsuga.” Ikkaku sneered. “I don’t know how things were done in your old division and I don’t really care. But in the 11th we treat the 4th with a little more respect.”

“B-but, but-” Kotsuga sputtered. “they’re weak, pathetic! They’re beneath us, they said so!”

“They?” Ikkaku questioned. “Who the hell’r you talkin’ about?”

“Them!” Kotsuga wailed, indicating the group he’d been sitting with. “Everyone in the barracks!”

Ikkaku blinked, not sure to what the make of this information. He’d always thought that Yumichika, Yachiru and himself had set a pretty clear example of how the 4th should be regarded. The way their subordinates acted seemed to indicate that they’d understood.

“There seems to have been a misunderstanding in regard to intentions. How ugly.” Yumichika sighed, abandoning his seat on the cot to stand a little behind him.

Ikkaku thought about this for a moment and then things clicked. Morons, he thought.

“Yo, Risa.” He said out load. “Who heads the squad that does chores at 11th?”

“Oh, ah, Tashiyo-san.”

“Tell Tashiyo and his squad to take a month off, 11th will do their own chores.” Ikkaku said, letting Kotsuga fall to the ground. The statement was greeted by groans and protests from the whole room.

“Shut up!” Ikkaku yelled and drew Houzikimaru. All noise, all movement stopped. “4th does all the shitty jobs so you don’t have to. Heals your injuries so you can keep fighting. You’re going to do all their work at headquarters until you appreciate that! Got it?”

“B-but, I was just doing what they told me to! I’m new, I shouldn’t get punished!” Kotsuga’s voice came from somewhere near Ikkaku’s feet. The man was a coward, Ikkaku decided, and was about to do the Gotei 13 a favor by gutting him when Yumichika’s slim hand took hold of his wrist.

“You’re so right, Kotsuga-san!” He cooed, coming around from behind Ikkaku. “Don’t listen to Ikkaku, he’s so grumpy today. You won’t be doing any chores, I promise.”

“The hell?” Ikkaku growled, confused.

“No, you’ll be doing something much better suited to your personal qualities.” Hearing this, Kotsuga’s expression lifted considerably, and then fell. “Yachiru’s been restless lately, she needs a new playmate.”

Ikkaku grinned.

End

In Praise of Surfaces

Sun, 20 May 2007 06:08:14 GMT

The title is taken from 52 Flavors (link to community in previous entry)

Title: In Praise of Surfaces
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Characters: Yachiru, Mentioned: Zaraki, Ikkaku, Yumichika
Pairings: Teany-tiny, microscopic, practically not there Ikkaku/Yumichika
Summery: Some things that Yachiru likes
Disclaimer: Bleach & Charaters owned by Tite Kubo

Yachiru likes the feel of wood.

The floor of Zaraki’s office was worn smooth to the touch. In the days of his predecessor, officers and the unseated alike would walk freely through its doors. Coming on business or to exchange a few words or just to sit quietly to one side watching as people came and went, content to take in their taichou’s aura. Their woven shoes had worn away the rough edges and polished its many boards until, on a sunny day, they nearly glowed with warm, soft light.

The office saw far fewer visitors these days. Not because discipline was any stricter, interactions in 11th were far from formal, but because few were brave enough to disturb Zaraki-taichou while he was concentrating on the paperwork. As a result Yachiru could spread her paper and crayons in a wide circle around her small body, able to survey here drawings critically wearing an expression similar to her adoptive father’s as he contemplated the stacks of paper on his desk. It was her “I’m doing important things like Ken-chan” face. Unbeknownst to Yachiru she was actually mimicking Zaraki’s “Why can’t I just burn this shit” face.

Yachiru likes the feel of cloth.

Despite her youth and small stature the pink-haired lieutenant of 11th division was more than capable of keeping pace with Zaraki on foot. Very few people were aware of the girl’s swiftness though as she went nearly everywhere latched to her captain’s shoulder. Things just didn’t look right to Yachiru if she wasn’t seven feet in the air with the breeze in her face and cloth under her hands. The sensation of travel in her mind was never the feel of cobbles or dirt under her feet, but the feel of cloth on her hands.

The texture had changed over the years. In the beginning, the beginning because before Ken-chan there wasn’t anything that really mattered, it had been coarse and the weave inconsistent. As they traveled, a blur of red blood and screaming, the cloth would grow thin and be replaced. Then it would be thinker and fuzzy, or old and itchy, sometimes finer, so fine it was hard to hold to. But for a long time now it had been the smooth, cool cloth of a captain’s coat. But these differences didn’t mean much to Yachiru because really nothing had changed. As long as she had her place, clinging tightly to a massive shoulder high above the ground with the feel of cloth, nothing ever would.

Yachiru likes shiny objects.

Ikkaku’s head reminds her of boiled sweats. Maybe it’s because of the shape, maybe because of the way it shines in the sunlight. Maybe she’s just so fond of candy that anything remotely similar makes her mouth water. Sometimes when Yachiru is bored she looks at the shine on his head and thinks of all the tasty candy that shines like that. And sooner or later Ikkaku catches on and looks at her with narrowed eyes and asks why the hell she’s looking at him like that damn it! all irritated and indignant. And she wonders why he doesn’t yell at Funny-brows like that because she knows he stares too. But she doesn’t point this out because Pachinko’s starting to get annoying and now there’s really nothing else to do but bite until he gets the point.

San nin

Sun, 20 May 2007 05:54:56 GMT

San nin.

It means three people in Japanese. This is about 11th division and the three people they aren't ashamed to back down from.

Fandom: Bleach
Rating: PG
Characters: 11th, Zaraki, Unohana, Ikkaku, Yumichika, Yachiru
Warnings: none
Disclaimer: Bleach and it's characters are the property of Tite Kubo.

To live is to fight. The blood of your enemy is your life-water. The battle-cry, your daily bread. Your sword is your lover; the division, your brothers. Battle is what it means to be alive.

These words, if ever by some bizarre twist of fate any of the division were inclined to poetics, fit the 11th perfectly. They were the strongest, the fist of the Gotei 13. Fighting was their purpose and to its members loosing in battle was the same as death. To loose without dying was personally shameful, to back down from a fight was cowardice.

Despite their fixation the shinigami of the 11th were not suicidal, as some might be led to believe. There were, in fact, three individuals within Seireitei that its members saw no shame in backing down to. They weren’t even ashamed to occasionally stop everything and run for their lives if confronted.

The first was their Captain. Zaraki Kenpachi had never given them the opportunity to back down from a fight with him. None of them would have made an interesting fight, he knew it and they knew it, so why bother? But that didn’t stop the subtlety played out reassurances, which weren’t-anything-of-the-sort-cause-only-panseys-say-that-kinda-shit, that should the situation ever arise no one would blame them for running off like a little girl. Though, of course, they’d never hear the end of it. Apathy only went so far.

The second was the 4th division captain, Unohana Retsu. The 11th avoided the headquarters of her division whenever possible. But if they did end up in their care it was normal practice to prank, bully and torment its members without mercy. After all, they were weak and not really worthy of the title of shinigami. They were, quite simply, officially designated targets.

Even so, their Captain was one of the most terrifying sights any member of the 11th could ever encounter. Gentle, kind, and motherly Unohana-taichou would smile reassuringly, quietly reaffirming them of her dedication to their health, how she took a personal interest in each and every one of them. And somehow, that loving, warm smile reminded them very much of their own captain’s leering insanity.

She had them by the balls.

For her, there was absolute obedience. Even Zaraki-taichou understood that in this case it was far better for his subordinates to submit without complaint.

And as for the third…

“Total chaos.”
“…”
“Really, she’s like a psychotic, sugar coated, fluffy pink ball of total destruction.”
“Yumichika…”
“Hmm?”
“Shut up and hand me a bandage.”

end

Hurrah! New fandom!

Fri, 18 May 2007 00:39:58 GMT

Have officially been sucked into the anime Bleach. I LOVE 11th division, so halarious.^^

I've decided that I need to write Ikkaku/Yumichika because they so don't get enought love. Shunsui/Ukitake are also very smexy. *glomps*

Will actually be posting soon.

Writing Prompts

Tue, 11 Jul 2006 00:17:36 GMT

When I start posting my writing and stories some of the bits you will see will have been inspired from writing prompts.

Writing prompts are wonderful little things that can help you learn about your characters, how they interact with other characters, the kinds of situations they get into and generally get the creative juices flowing. Personally I love them. Here are some livejournals that have lovely writing prompts.

http://community.livejournal.com/31_days/profile
--- I love this site! They have a new set of writing prompts each month and they're usually really creative. You can get the prompts for past months by clicking on the months link below in their Archives. This will take you to a page that lists everything posted on the page that month. Somewhere in there (usually at the end) is the post listing that month's prompts. I highly recommend this site.

http://community.livejournal.com/52_flavours/profile
--- This site has 52 writing prompts. While this isn't the same magnitude as 31_days. They've got some good prompts listed there.

http://community.livejournal.com/30_kisses/profile
--- 30 prompts in English and Japanese! Woot.

These should be useful for anyone that wants to explore their own original characters, explore fandom characters, or just get your wheels turning. Don't be shy, become a member of one or more of these sites! Read what others have written and get feedback on your own pieces. Each site has it's own rules though, so make sure you read and understand them before you join.

As a last note here are some writing prompts Nee-chan (neithisdreaming) and I have come up with. I'll try to add more in the future.

1) Nightmares
2) A butterfly flaps it’s wings and the world moves
3) The least common denominator
4) “Would you believe…”
5) This rose’s thorn.
6) My other Me
7) Heaven and Hell are one and the same
8) “Have you ever been in love..? Then you know.”
9) You believe it in your head
10) Like the curve of a woman’s hip
11) Sweat under the lace
12) Every step is but a small one
13) All the world’s petty justice
14) Lick your teeth
15) A powdered cheek and painted lip
16) The low roll into nothingness
17) A thing vaguer than flesh
18) Girls who do
19) But hold me fast and fear me not
20) A thing so false as to be true
21) Laugh and lie down
22) Quoth the Raven, “Bugger off, ya angsty bastard!”
23) The preverbal shit has hit the fan.
24) Hanging stars
25) Boys who wear eyeliner and girls in boots.
26) Play for fun. Play to win. Play for keeps.
27) The meek won’t inherit the Earth, but they get a lovely consolation prize.
28) Skin like burnet sienna
29) This would be your classic “Oh, shit” moment. Act accordingly.
30) This would be you.
31) “What, exactly, is the definition of the word ‘bugger’?”
32) Angels are terrible.
33) Evil has never been so cute.
34) Dogs smell in color.
35) Your darkest voice.
36) Lake Ophilia
37) Mother tongue
38) Professional Thinker for hire
39) The nicest Bastard you ever met.
40) Easy people
41) That’s nice, dear. Now where are your pants?
42) Iron red garters.
43) Seven ways to kill you with a tooth pick.
44) Black button eyes
45) The difference between the scorpion and the eagle.
46) To bare and be silent
47) Barefoot Casanova
48) Why there must always be a dark side to the moon.
49) How constellations are born
50) A world in your eyes
51) They were taught how to make Gods and made slaves instead.
52) Late fruit of the tree, a breath away from withering
53) I cry dry tears
54) I have nothing against you and everything against what you stand for.
55) Lotion is better than soup and here’s why
56) The world came to an end, but no one noticed. They rarely do.
57) Where stories come from
58) They keep the Secrets
59) Even in sorrow, anger, and fear they cannot help but sing.
60) Golden light cascades in summer
61) She dreamt of mountains
62) Footprints left in stone
63) A woman with child kneels to no man
64) If angels could dance
65) Memory of the great oak
66) What the blue bird saw
67) Blessings be on this house
68) Time is a circle and memory runs both ways
69) A rose that blooms in winter
70) He was born ancient and died young
71) What a rich man wants and a poor man has
72) Arms like ivy
73) The first step to witchcraft is knowing when not to use it
74) Jesus was a commie, Muhammad was a hypocrite and Moses was just nuts, but who am I to judge?
75) My God is your God, but your God is not mine
76) Forget the dog, beware of children
77) 101 uses for tofu and none of them edible
78) Long-leggy Beasties
79) How to survive a harpy
80) Song of the silent
81) The dark side of the sun
82) Life after life
83) Boxes full of nothing
84) The Richter scale doesn’t go high enough
85) The scary ones don’t look it

General disclaimer and warning

Sun, 09 Jul 2006 03:49:35 GMT

This is my First entry. For those of you (*blink* Wait... there's someone reading this? Other than me? ...weird...) who don't know what this journal is about read the user info page, or journal info page, or whatever that thing is called.

General Disclaimer: Most of this is fanfiction. I don't own the characters or worlds mentioned! They are owned by the authors/creators of the fandoms mentioned. Don't sue me, I'm a college student, I have no money. I don't want to include a disclaimer on each entry so here’s the thing, if it happens to be an original piece (as in a product completely of my own making) I'll say so. If not I'll just put "Disclaimer: Not mine" at the top before the cut and that will be that.

General Warning: Some of stories will contain mature content. I don't expect to write any graphic descriptions of sex or violence but there may be mentions of adult concerns and themes. Fowl language will also show up occasionally. My writing isn't particularly dark, gruesome or angsty but it isn't pink fluff either.^^ I'll put a warning on anything I think needs it, they'll generally look like:

Warning: language, mild violence, mentions of sex (whatever applies basically)

If you don't care just skip the warning. If I think it's important I'll capitalize it.

Also, if homosexuality freaks you out you probably don't want to waste you're time reading anything I write. One of my big stories I have planned has a same sex couple in it and it's also a major subject in one of the fandoms I like. So turn back now if bothers you, I won't tolerate flames on the subject.

Other than that just enjoy. ^^