Archive of Our Own

Part One: Don't Think Twice, It's All Right

Jim had spent his entire life looking up at the stars. To him, space had always meant freedom. His fascination had meant he'd taken the time to learn a lot about it, but there was one inexorable truth that he couldn't really appreciate until he finally reached the stars himself.

Space was really big, and really empty.

"Is there anything interesting on Vulcan ships besides the weapons arrays?" he asked Spock. Well, technically he was asking the ceiling, because his feet were braced on the navigation console and he was tipped back in his chair as far as he could go. But he wasn't given to talking to himself, so....

"You are the one who read a book about them, Jim."

Jim tipped forward again to glare and Spock relented.

"Larger vessels are given to having multiple recreation rooms, I understand, but this ship is too small for such facilities."

"Fuuuuuck," was all Jim had to say about that. It had been two days and he was bored. The computer did most of the flying of the ship, true, but someone still had to be constantly monitoring the bridge, just in case something screwed up. They took turns sleeping but still spent upwards of ten hours a day sitting together on the bridge, for lack of anywhere else to be.

Jim kicked his feet to the floor and got up. "I'm going to look for something to do," he declared.

Spock let him go without a word; he seemed pretty happy to sit at a terminal, reading his way through the databanks. He was probably trying to catch up to Jim in practical knowledge of the ship's systems, as insurance in case Jim died suddenly or was exaggerating his abilities. How heartwarming.

The Arev was a compact ship; besides the bridge, there was a tiny mess hall outfitted with Vulcan replicators, communal bathroom facilities, the captain's quarters with attached office, and five barracks-style bedrooms meant to accommodate two people each. They were both using the barracks room closest to the bridge out of convenience, so Jim hadn't taken the time to look through any of the others yet.

The barracks were all equally and predictably devoid of anything not essential to their existence, but the captain's quarters (besides being very nice for Vulcan digs, and maybe Jim would have to start sleeping in here instead) yielded something promising.

"You play chess?" Jim asked, making his way back onto the bridge with the tri-D chessboard and box of pieces he'd found.

"You play chess?" said Spock, with a hint of incredulity.

Jim felt slightly wounded at that; sure, he was an intellectually inferior human or whatever, but why did all of his skills have to be so shocking? 'Oh, you can read? Oh, you can play chess? Oh, you can break in and out of secure facilities and steal spaceships?' He was going to get a complex, at this rate.

He set down the board on top of the console, in a spot where it wouldn't hit anything important. "Sure," he said. "I learned how from a book. White or black?"

The book remark got the slightly raised eyebrow he was expecting. "Black," said Spock, and fine; if he wanted to give up the advantage, he could do that. Jim hadn't learned chess from a book, anyway.

It was an intense game, but Jim won pretty decisively.

"I request a rematch," said Spock, after staring blankly at his fallen king for a moment.

Jim grinned.

***

Playing chess kept Jim's brain active, especially with Spock doing his damnedest to beat him. He occasionally managed it, too, even though he still played too Vulcan not to fall for Jim's strategy of random moves with no apparent rhyme or reason. But still, they had two weeks to kill, and so it was either playing chess, sleeping, or picking a fight.

By the time they reached the Ferengi outpost, Jim wasn't sure if he ever wanted to look at a chessboard again. Then again, maybe all that chess-playing had prepared him mentally for dealing with Ferengi.

"That's a Vulcan combat cruiser."

"Yes," said Jim smugly, "it is."

The Ferengi--his name was Nor--frowned at Jim. "You're a human, aren't you? From Earth?" He turned to Spock. "And he's obviously a Vulcan."

"He's a Spock," Jim said, "and what difference does it make where we're from?"

"No deal."

"What? Why?" Jim's hands clenched into fists at his sides. "We're not even asking for latinum! We want a trade-in! One that's a very good deal for you!"

Nor hissed softly. "You must think I'm an idiot. We deal with you, the Vulcans find out, this outpost is magically closed down. We're only five parsecs from your planet, human; work it out." He crossed his arms. "No. Deal. I'll do you one favour and pretend I never saw you."

"Fuck you too," Jim growled, stalking off back to the ship.

"Have fun dodging the Vulcans for the rest of your lives! At least it won't be a long time!" Nor called after them.

Chess apparently wasn't enough to keep up with a Ferengi. Maybe they should have been playing Monopoly instead, Jim thought wildly as they plodded back up the ramp of the Arev.

The mood was tense as they guided the ship out of dock. Jim picked a random bearing that wasn't back the way they'd come, sending them away at warp 1 with their tails between their legs, and then sagged in his seat at the helm. Spock remained silent, watching a station on the other side of the room. He tested their connection but Spock was closed off, as he frequently was lately.

Jim wondered, not for the first time in the past two weeks, if Spock regretted coming with him.

After about ten minutes, Spock broke the thick silence. "Where are we going now?" he asked. "Do you have another buyer in mind for the ship?"

Jim buried his face in his hands, rubbing his fingers into his eyes. "No. I don't know."

"Jim," Spock said tersely, "we cannot remain on this ship. Word of our crimes will spread. The Ferengi was right; we are not sufficiently far from Earth or from Vulcan to be safe."

"Jesus, I--I fucking know!" Jim snapped. "Tell me something that's not completely obvious, why don't you?"

Spock's eyes narrowed, but he said nothing. That was all Jim could take, and he shot to his feet, crossing half the bridge in two angry strides.

"What? What is it, Spock? What do you want to say?" he hissed. "Come on, don't spare me; I wanna hear it."

Spock blinked at him, somehow egging him on.

"Don't you pull that reticent Vulcan bullshit on me," Jim said, his finger stabbing the air between them. "I can tell you want to say something, so just man up and spit it out."

Spock got to his feet, but didn't move any closer. "I wonder if it was a serious mistake to align myself with you."

That stung, but wasn't unexpected. He could do better than that. Jim shifted his weight to the balls of his feet and relaxed his knees; he was spoiling for a fight, now. It had been building for a while, and it was going to feel great, if it didn't kill him.

"Don't pussyfoot around, Spock. Tell me how you really feel. Maybe we can pull that stick out of your ass."

Muscles shifted in Spock's face; he was gritting his teeth. He took a small step forward, but the mental shields were still up between them. "You," he said, "are reckless and short-sighted. You are like a child, rushing into dangerous situations without a thought to the consequences or any concern for who else you might endanger in the process. Your 'plans' succeed purely by chance and not any great talent of your own and we will die on this ship before long."

A mirthless smile twisted across Jim's face as he stepped up into Spock's personal space, until they were breathing each other's air.

"Yeah," he said, pressing his hand flat against Spock's chest, "you should have had that lobotomy instead." He punctuated the last word with a shove that sent Spock staggering back several inches.

The next thing Jim knew, he was gasping for air and his entire back screamed with pain from being slammed into the back of the tactical console. Spock's hand was tight around his neck, pressing hard on his throat and pinching off his carotid artery. He blinked and his vision flashed dark around the edges before clearing again. He clawed at Spock's hand but his grip was iron; not the first display of Vulcan strength Jim had witnessed firsthand, but one of the scariest.

He choked, yanking at Spock's thumb, trying to break it. Spock leaned in close; the mental barriers slipped a little and through their skin contact, Jim could feel a hint of strong emotion in him. It was the fringe of a maelstrom of anger and he thought it might suck him in.

Spock's voice was quiet and tightly controlled. "You are fucking infuriating."

Jim's brain tripped over the English swear word and it took him a minute to register that Spock's grip on his neck had loosened. He sucked in a breath and coughed; his throat hurt. "Glad to see," he wheezed, "that you're finally being yourself."

Spock tensed, and Jim was sure he was about to be murdered barehanded. But despite the fingers still gripping his neck, despite the taste of violence still in the air, nothing happened. The mood had shifted very slightly. They were so close together that Jim could feel the heat of Spock's body through their clothes. Teasing through the mental connection to feel the edge of that whirl of anger again, Jim shifted his fingers from trying to break Spock's thumb and very slowly and deliberately dragged his fingernails down the length of Spock's hand.

Spock shuddered, his eyes slipping closed, and Jim marvelled at how long his eyelashes were.

"Yeah," Jim said roughly, not entirely from the damage to his windpipe, "I'm infuriating, but you want it bad."

Spock's hand shifted to cradle the back of Jim's head, gripping the short hair there hard, and he swooped down, crushing his lips against Jim's. Jim shoved upwards, grabbing at Spock's arms as Spock licked his way past his teeth, and they staggered up and away from the console, stopping to cling to each other in the middle of the bridge.

"You," Spock gasped into Jim's mouth, "are illogical."

"Shut up," Jim hissed back, biting Spock's lower lip and thrusting his hands up the back of his tunic to feel the warm, smooth skin hidden underneath.

Spock groaned, worming a leg between Jim's knees and sucking on his tongue.

Jim grinned into Spock's mouth, thrusting once, hard, against his thigh before moving one hand to the back of Spock's head, hooking an ankle behind his leg and tripping him, pushing him down onto the metal deck and delighting in the sound of all the air rushing out of his lungs.

Taking advantage of Spock's temporary inability to speak, Jim pulled away from his mouth and slid down his body, shoving up his tunic to expose his white stomach, flushed green and dusted with hair. Jim mouthed his way along Spock's skin, tasting the cleanness of it as Spock's chest heaved for air, and licked his way down the tight, twitching abdomen before shoving his tongue, hard, into Spock's navel. He gave it a swirl and grabbed at Spock's hips as he shoved upwards with a breathless shout.

Spock muttered something in Vulcan that didn't sound very complimentary; Jim chuckled and nibbled his way down the trail of hair to the fastening of Spock's pants. He undid it quickly, watching Spock the whole time. Spock was staring at the ceiling, breathing hard and reaching out with his hands for any kind of purchase on the floor.

Jim grinned as he took Spock's dick in hand, bracing an arm over his stomach to hold him down.

"You might wanna hang onto something," he said, and swallowed Spock down in one movement.

A hoarse shout filled the bridge and Spock thrust up so hard that Jim nearly lost his balance. It might very well have been the first blow job he'd ever received, but that didn't mean Jim was going to go easy. He sucked hard, swirling his tongue on the upstroke and pulling off just long enough to lick hard at the head before pushing down again, fast. Spock writhed and shuddered, hissing in Vulcan or possibly in tongues, before his whole body tensed and he started drawing deep breaths, and Jim could tell he was almost there. He brushed a knuckle of his free hand back, behind Spock's balls, and pressed firmly at the nerves just as he hollowed his cheeks to suck again. Spock bucked and came, growling out his name, and as Jim swallowed and pulled off, he thought he might come just from the sound of it.

He'd barely taken his weight off of Spock's legs when he was shoved onto his back. His head knocked against the deck, but he barely felt it because Spock's eyes were almost black and he looked like he was ready to devour Jim, or pulverize him, or maybe just fuck him into the floor. Jim gasped, and when Spock's hand dragged down his torso and wormed into the front of his jeans, he scrambled to help get the button open.

Spock squeezed him hard, forcing a moan from Jim, and even as he started to pump with merciless pressure and slowness, his hand went to Jim's face, his touch warm and dry against the sweat collecting at Jim's temples. And then he was inside, and there was lust and passion and still a lot of anger, and Jim lost all control of his vocal cords at the feeling, twisting and bucking in Spock's grip. He had no idea what was coming out of his mouth but his lips never stopped moving, and probably most of it was obscene or primitive-sounding.

It hurt when he came, a white-out behind his eyelids, and he melted into the cold metal underneath him, shaking. Spock's fingers slid away from his head, the intensified feelings receding, but not all the way. He had the vague impression of Spock rolling off of him, to sprawl on the deck at his side; he kept his eyes shut, just breathing until he could draw air without a shudder.

Finally, the aftershocks were gone, and he just lay there bonelessly, feeling how hard and uncomfortable the deck was but not caring. Spock seemed to be about the same beside him; in fact he knew he was, because they weren't even touching and he could still clearly feel the rolling waves of lazy bliss, where the anger had burnt itself out. Before, Spock's feelings had come through faintly, as if from a long distance, or through static. Now, they were intimate whispers inside his head.

"New plan," Jim announced. "We use this ship to go start a war with the Romulans."

Spock didn't swear out loud, but he didn't need to. "Jim," was all he said, his voice weary.

Jim sat up. "I'm plotting a course for the Neutral Zone."

***

They lasted about six days on that bearing, until they approached a system with a commercial space station.

"We're stopping at this station for a bit," Jim said, adjusting the nav system and gesturing for Spock to drop them out of warp.

"Why?" said Spock, as his fingers flew over the console; he was already getting to be adept at manning the helm.

Because Jim was going crazy with boredom, with nothing to do all day except play chess with Spock or figure out the ship's systems. Because he wanted to talk to other people for a while, people who actually talked and even laughed. Because he really wanted a drink and Vulcan replicators didn't make booze. Because he and Spock hadn't so much as fooled around since the time they'd had sex on the bridge, since they couldn't sleep at the same time and Spock wasn't up for another round on the deck while they should have been keeping an eye on things, and maybe when they were docked he could finally jump him again.

"Because I want to hear the rumour mill, see if the Vulcans are coming after us," he answered, guiding them in.

Spock might have had an answer to that (Jim hoped he hadn't picked up on his lie of omission), but the communications terminal beeped with a transmission from the station and he had to go answer it, leaving the helm to Jim. Jim took a deep, calming breath as Spock talked to the station administration, registering them under fake names. An alert came up on his screens when the magnetic locks of the dock grabbed the ship, and he stepped back from the controls and stretched like a cat as they were guided slowly in.

"Airlocks engaged and pressurized. Have a pleasant stay," the person on the other end of the comm link chirped, before disconnecting.

Jim spun on his heel and grinned at Spock, giddy with joy over a break from the ship.

"Supposing that the Vulcans are pursuing us, and are alerted that their missing ship is here?" Spock asked.

"We're almost halfway to Romulan space, and you could pass for Romulan," Jim said with a shrug. "We could disappear on this station pretty easily until they left or we could escape."

"But what about your plan?"

"I have many plans." He swooped past, seizing Spock's elbow on the way off the bridge.

When Spock realized they were heading for the crew quarters, he slowed. "You wished to explore the station and collect intelligence on our situation," he said uncertainly. Jim could only really tell Spock was uncertain because those tentative, confused thoughts were in his head, but he was sure that the actually visible emotions would come, someday.

In the meantime, Jim could do extra to cover for Spock's lack of emotional expression. He turned to face Spock, projecting dirty thoughts and leering at the same time. "The station will still be there in an hour. Or two."

Spock glanced down the corridor. "The captain's cabin has a spacious bed," he mused.

"And many other flat surfaces," Jim agreed, pulling Spock's arm.

***

The club was packed with beings of all descriptions, drinking, fighting, dancing, writhing. Jim had never seen anything like it; the air itself was intoxicating. He pushed through the crowd to the bar, Spock following close in his wake and trying to touch as few strangers as possible. It was kind of loud for talking, so Jim was unsurprised when Spock's thoughts invaded his head.

This environment is impossible to interview people in. Why not a quieter location, such as the shopping or restaurant districts?

Jim reached back to grab Spock's hand, giving the fingers a little squeeze. He couldn't respond in the same clear way, but Spock obviously didn't get that there was more to learning information than just asking people. Apparently the gist of his thoughts got across, because Spock raised an eyebrow at him. Jim smirked and jerked his head toward the bar. They had no money that would be good in this part of the quadrant, but that had never stopped him before.

He squeezed up to the bar between two stools, one side occupied by a Klingon and the other, he realized with a double-take, by a human.

"Are you from Earth?" he shouted over the music, grinning down at the guy.

He got a scowl in return. "Who's asking?" the guy snapped from behind his drink.

Jim grinned wider. "Jim Kirk," he said, offering a handshake.

The guy looked at it but didn't shake, taking a sip of his extremely potent-looking liquor instead.

"If you're not gonna offer me your name," said Jim, "I'll just have to make one up. You look like a 'Skippy' to me."

Another scowl. "McCoy," the guy said finally.

"Got a first name to go with that?"

"Got nothing but my bones and this bar stool."

"Well, Bones, what brings you to this station? You're a long way from Earth."

"Speak for yourself, kid; I'm on shore leave. How the hell did you get this far out?"

Jim spared a happy little thought for whichever deity was crazy enough to be looking out for him (this earned him a vague tendril of puzzlement from Spock, who was off somewhere behind him). Five minutes in this joint and he'd already found someone who worked on a Vulcan ship.

"That's not important," he said with a wave of his hand. "How long have you been on leave?"

Bones had apparently decided he wasn't interesting enough to be suspicious of, or annoying enough to get rid of. "Four days. Got three left," he said easily.

"Heard any interesting news from home? I get curious."

"Those pointy-eared fuckers never tell me shit if they can help it, but no."

"Not a fan of our Vulcan lords and masters?" Jim asked, giddy excitement building in him.

He got an incredulous look. "Those arrogant, self-righteous, green-blooded pricks? They can all die in a fire and I'd roast goddamn marshmallows on it," Bones snarled. "They only let me on that damn ship because their doctors wouldn't stoop to learning to treat their human lackeys, and they couldn't find a logical way to convince themselves I'm not the best in my goddamn field. Sometimes," he hissed, on a booze-fuelled roll now, "when they're really stretched thin, I get the fucking 'honour' of being allowed to treat some of the sick Vulcans. Fuck the Hippocratic Oath, if they had any real logic, they wouldn't let me within ten feet of a Vulcan with a hypospray in my hand."

"Oh," Jim said nonchalantly, slouching against the bar. "I only ask, because I stole a spaceship from them about three weeks ago."

Bones stared at him. "I haven't heard a peep about that, not even in passing," he said, putting down his glass. "You still got the ship?"

Jim sized him up, wearing his best poker face as he debated whether to tell all. "It's docked at the green deck," he said.

"No shit. You dumping it and vanishing?"

"Thought I might go start a war with the Romulans, first, as a little parting gift," he said, fighting the way the corners of his mouth were trying to twitch into another grin.

"You're a fucking idiot," Bones said with conviction.

Jim pouted. "You don't wanna tag along, then?"

His new friend went silent, staring down at his glass. He picked it up and knocked back the rest with the ease of long practice, and then was silent some more.

"Yeah," he said finally, "okay," and got up from his stool. "I'll have three days before they miss me, anyway."

Bones led the way, and with a mental tug at Spock, Jim followed him through the press of bodies and out of the bar. Jim's ears rang a little in the comparative silence outside, and he paused to take the chance for his first good look at Bones under bright lighting. He looked like a thirty-something, going on fifty-something. Stress and alcoholism, Jim would bet. Still, he'd be a character to have around. And apparently a pretty good doctor, too.

Bones was staring over Jim's shoulder; he glanced back but there was only Spock, who he spared a wink for.

"Jesus Christ," Bones said after a moment. "You never said you brought one with you!"

"One what?" Jim asked, biting back the shit-eating grin that was fighting its way out.

"A Vulcan, you mental degenerate."

Jim shrugged. "He's not a Vulcan, he's a Spock. And he's with me. You've got nothing to worry about." He raised his eyebrows in a challenge. "Is this going to be a problem?"

"My initial encounter with Jim was in a detention facility on Earth," Spock said, startling him.

Bones looked disbelieving. "Are you trying to tell me they locked up one of their own?"

"As a matter of fact, I am half-human." Apparently having spared all the attention for Bones that he was willing to, Spock turned Jim to face him. "Am I correct in understanding that you wish for this man to join us in our mission?"

"He's from Earth," Jim said, "and we could use the extra hand."

Spock lowered his voice a little. "Jim, he appears to have addiction problems and an unconscionable lack of anger management skills."

"I can hear you," Bones said.

"He'll fit in great." Jim clapped Spock on the shoulder, giving him an affectionate squeeze. "Ready to go, Bones?" he asked. "I think this has been a successful visit."

Bones shot a look toward the bar. "Hang on," he said. "I should probably go find Scotty and tell him I'm taking off."

"Who's Scotty?"

"Human engineer off my ship. We take leave at the same time, share a shuttle. Vulcans don't do shore leave; our ship's still out in the black. They oh-so-generously tend to send us to this station when we're due for R&R. Gimme a minute." He disappeared back into the bar with a nod to the Klingon bouncer.

As soon as Bones was gone, Jim felt the full force of Spock's displeasure.

"What?" he said. "I started talking to him because he works on a Vulcan ship! He hasn't heard a word about us, by the way. And he's a doctor. Who knows Vulcans. I call that win-win."

The only response he got was a frisson of annoyance. In retaliation, he wrapped his fingers around Spock's and presented him with a particular memory of their christening of the captain's cabin earlier. He smiled with satisfaction when Spock's cheeks flushed green and let go of his hand with a light caress.

Bones emerged from the club a few minutes later, arguing with a drunk-looking Scottish man. A gorgeous human waitress trailed along behind them; Jim's eyes were immediately drawn to her cleavage, which was displayed to full advantage.

"Look," Bones said, "there they are," and led the way over to Jim and Spock, who were sharing feelings of bemusement.

"This is Scotty; he wants to come, too."

Jim was speechless.

"Right, look," Scotty said, his accent thick, maybe thicker from drink. Jim spared a moment of amusement for the fact that the Vulcans apparently sent the two ship alcoholics to take leave together, maybe to get rid of them. "I'm an engineer. Ship operations, especially warp drives and engine performance, with a wee bit of specialization in transporter technology. What kind of ship have you got?"

"Shariel-class fighter," Jim said, thrown off-balance. "Takes a crew of ten."

Scotty's eyes lit up. "Those girls have some great kick to them. What's her max warp?"

"We've gotten her up to nearly warp 8," said Jim.

"Och, I can get you over 8, easy. A little time for some modifications, I think we can coax her up to 8.5, 9."

A drunken mad scientist. Jim could feel Spock's annoyance and apprehension building. "Well," he said, "we'll be dumping the ship once we've done what we set out to do, so I don't know that there's much time for modifications. I do like the sound of warp 8, though."

The waitress, who had been hanging back somewhat, suddenly looked interested. "Where are you going?" she asked.

"Where no one has gone before," Jim said jokingly. "Who're you?"

She looked him up and down. "You can call me Uhura."

"She's with me," Scotty said.

"You're leaving early, aren't you," she said to Scotty. "And you're not going back to Earth or your ship, either. Take me with you."

"You want to leave your parents?" he asked.

"I want off this goddamn station, and I know my best chance when I see it," she insisted.

"All right," Jim said, before it got out of hand. "What do you have to offer my crew?"

Your crew? Spock thought at him, startled.

She straightened, crossing her arms over her chest and giving him a look that probably made most men whimper. "I speak English, Klingon, Ferengi and three dialects of Romulan." She glanced at Spock. "Some Vulcan, too."

Jim let out a low whistle. This girl was a piece of work. "Can you fight?"

"I can kick your ass," she shot back smartly.

"I better not say no, then. Spock?" The Romulan ability--and probably the Klingon and Ferengi, too--were not to be taken lightly.

"As you say," Spock said, "we would benefit from a larger crew, given the size of the ship and the distance yet to travel."

Jim wanted to kiss him, hard and dirty, for the compromise, but they were in public so he held himself back. "All right," he said, bouncing a little on the balls of his feet, "to the green deck. Let's get gone."

"Give me an hour; I'll meet you there," Uhura said, giving Scotty a quick peck on the cheek before running back inside the bar.

Bones and Scotty shared a look. "We're gonna go get some supplies before we leave, too. We'll be there before she is."

When they were alone once more, Spock looked at Jim. "We should begin the process of undocking, while we wait," Spock said. "There is paperwork to be done, and we should not skip the safety checks before takeoff, this time." He raised an eyebrow to punctuate his point.

"Yeah, okay, fine," Jim agreed. He was okay with the thought of going back aboard, now that he might not have to spend every waking minute on the bridge. The thought of sharing sleeping time with Spock sounded good, too. Even the sleeping part.

*************************************

Part Two: To Boldly Go

Apparently most of the supplies Bones and Scotty had been talking about were alcoholic in nature, given the case of Saurian brandy they brought back with them, but Bones had also picked up some medical tools he'd figured wouldn't be aboard the ship, and Scotty some mechanical bits of unknown origin or purpose.

Uhura arrived promptly after an hour, carrying a duffel bag and wearing casual clothes that covered up a lot more of her.

"Your tits," Jim said sadly. "They're gone!"

She cocked an eyebrow at him. "You thought I was going to come aboard in that whore suit? I was so glad to change out of it that I nearly took the time to burn it, too." She patted her chest, just above her breasts. "They're still here in spirit, but I hope you memorized the view because you won't be seeing that again."

"I live in hope!" Jim called after her as she disappeared into the barracks Scotty had already claimed.

Spock appeared beside him, arms crossed.

"What?" Jim asked. "Jealous? I'm just window shopping." He leaned in to cop a feel off of Spock's ass. Spock stiffened and tried to glare, but Jim could feel the surge of heat between them. He bit his lip. Later. They still had to launch the ship.

"Dammit, Jim!" Bones barked as soon as Jim set foot on the bridge. "I'm a doctor, not a pilot!" Scotty had roped him into helping with the last of the pre-flight checks and firing up the impulse engines.

"You're doing just fine," Jim assured him, wandering over to look over his shoulder. "We don't have enough people to specialize jobs, anyway."

Bones swore some more as Jim left him to check in with Spock on the paperwork issue.

"The false names we gave them seem to be sufficient," Spock said, "but they are concerned about our manifest."

"What manifest?"

"Precisely."

Jim chewed his lip. "Big problem?"

"I am attempting to appease the administrative personnel to whom I am speaking."

Jim nodded. "We'll keep going as we are; let me know how that goes."

Uhura walked on the bridge just then and immediately moved to help Spock deal with the station and the absent manifest.

"We're ready to launch, Jim," Scotty said from the helm, where Bones was still swearing, but more quietly. "Waiting on the all-clear."

"Oh, fuck," Uhura said suddenly from communications. "They're going to ground us for an inspection, now."

Jim gave her a wild look. They'd all be arrested and probably hauled back to Earth. "This isn't routine, is it?"

"They're giving us a really hard time, considering the kind of people this station usually attracts," she said.

Jim locked eyes with Spock. The Vulcans had to be onto them, or the station had gotten suspicious and contacted them, and they were being stalled till the nearest Vulcan ship big enough to detain them could get here. "Can we go right now, Scotty?" he asked.

"I might be able to disengage the maglocks and airlock remotely," he hedged.

"You might, as in, you're going to?"

Scotty jogged to another station and started pulling up screens. "Give me five minutes."

"I'll give you one, maybe two."

"You don't ask for much," Scotty said, typing faster.

Jim paced, and finally went over to join Bones at the helm. Bones glared at him, and he smiled back weakly.

"All right," Scotty said, "that's done it, I think."

Jim reached past Bones for the impulse engine throttle. "Hang onto something," he said, and gave the engines sixty-five percent power. The ship lurched out of dock; alarms went off outside. Jim flicked a few switches for the warp nacelles. "Ready, Bones?" he asked, pushing the impulse to full power as they hurtled out of the port and into traffic.

"The station is hailing us, saying that security will be sent to disable the ship," Spock called.

Jim pointed at the warp drive control with his free hand as he manoeuvred them into an open lane, and leaned over to navigation to choose a bearing in the general direction of Romulan space. "On my mark," he said, "punch it."

An alarm went off over at tactical; Scotty jogged over to look. "We're being pursued," he said. "Weapons are armed."

Jim grinned. "Now, Bones!"

He held his breath and crossed his fingers as Bones grabbed at the control and shoved it forward. The stars on the viewscreen smudged into a white blur and when the displays calmed down, they said they had just reached warp 7.8. Everyone sagged in relief that they were still alive and not in custody.

"Not bad," Scotty said, checking their speed. "A little TLC from Montgomery Scott, and she'll be in great shape."

"I need a drink," Bones muttered.

***

Several hours later, Jim and Scotty were in the mess hall, discussing how to make the replicators do meat dishes, when Uhura walked in, got some kind of soup, and sat down.

"So," she said, "Romulan space?"

Jim remembered that she'd come along basically just for somewhere else to be. "Yeah," he said. "The Neutral Zone, at least. We'll go from there."

"You're trying to pick a fight between the Romulans and the Vulcans."

Either she was astute, or his plan was obvious, or both.

"Why?" she asked, tucking into her soup. Scotty shot her a worried look while she was distracted.

Jim leaned back in his seat. "Don't you want Earth to have a chance at liberation?"

She shrugged a shoulder. "I'm not really 'from' Earth. I was born on a mining scout ship in the Aldebaran system. My parents settled at that station when I was six and I've been there ever since."

"Well, you don't have to help," Jim said. "We could drop you off somewhere."

She shook her head. "Just try not to get us killed," she said. "I have a long list of things to do with my life, and I've barely gotten started on it."

Jim blinked at her, then got up. "Sure thing. I'm, uh. I'm going to go check on Spock and Bones on the bridge," he excused himself, dumping his tray into the recycler and leaving them in peace.

***

Jim tried his best over the next week to come up with an actual plan for once they arrived in the Neutral Zone, but even though their destination came closer and closer (especially since Scotty had nudged their warp factor up to 8.3), the only thing that kept coming to mind was Uhura's words, playing on a loop. He was starting to panic.

"Spock," he said quietly one night, after two long, anxious hours of staring at the dark ceiling. It looked like he was heading into his second night in a row of insomnia.

Spock was normally a light sleeper, unless Jim had tired him out a lot before bed. He grunted an acknowledgement.

Jim rolled over onto his side and groped for words. "We're Vulcan-married now, aren't we?" he asked. It wasn't what he'd meant to say; he decided quickly to just go with it.

Spock shifted to face him, nothing but faint sounds and then warm breath teasing against his skin in the dark. "What is the matter?" he asked bluntly.

Damn his ability to see through bullshit. Jim stuck to his unexpected line of questioning anyway, not to be deterred now. "That time on the bridge. You mind-melded with me. And now you're kind of in my head all the time. We're Vulcan-married. Am I right?"

Spock was silent for a while. "It was uncharacteristically impulsive," he said finally. "I am sorry we did not discuss it beforehand."

Jim wasn't sure he bought Spock's impulsiveness as 'uncharacteristic', whatever Spock himself chose to believe, but that wasn't the point to argue right now. Spock's slightly evasive answer was as good as a 'yes'.

"Are we stuck with each other now?" he asked, trying to keep the plaintive note out of his voice.

"It is technically reversible, but we would require the services of a Vulcan mind-healer to do it."

That was pretty much out, at this point.

"Jim," Spock said, and now tendrils of concern were filtering through to him. "Do you wish to sever our mental connection?"

Jim blinked. "No! No, nothing like that."

There was a rustle of sheets, and Jim felt body heat radiating along his front as Spock shifted closer. "Something is wrong; I can feel your anxiety," Spock said, his tone decisive. "Since it is late and I am now awake, I insist you tell me what precisely is the matter."

Jim winced, aware that he was now sending off waves of guilt, but Spock dismissed them, laying a warm hand on his bare arm. Now Jim could tell that he was concerned and maybe a little desperate to know what Jim's problem was.

Jim sighed. "Do you still regret coming with me?"

Spock's hand smoothed its way down his arm. "You are referring to what I said during our argument." He was quiet for a moment, thoughtful. Jim waited nervously for him to continue. "You are capable of behaving in a staggeringly illogical manner which does tend to obscure your motives. However, you have a not inconsiderable intellect and your tactical abilities are not to be underestimated, either."

That sounded like it may have been quite a compliment. "Okay," Jim said.

Spock's thumb rubbed softly against his skin. "I do not regret coming into space with you," he said. "Although some of your decisions may be questionable, such as bringing Leonard McCoy aboard."

That was a clear opening for joking and letting the topic rest, but Jim still felt restless, like something was gnawing at his insides. "Uhura said...." he started, but trailed off uncertainly.

He could feel Spock's full attention settle on him, even though he was mostly unable to see his face. It was an intense feeling of being scrutinized, the full force of Spock's concentration penetrating even the darkness. "What did she say?" Spock prodded.

Jim sighed. "Nothing. I'm just worried that we're going to fail. I feel responsible for the lives of these people now, and what if anyone dies? That's all on me."

Jim was abruptly pushed onto his back; Spock pinned his wrists alongside his head and leaned down over him until their breath mixed in the tiny space between them. "We will not fail, Jim. No one will die, and that is because you care enough to be concerned about our safety. Your plan will be successful."

Warm lips met his and Jim kissed back, pushing his head up to meet Spock's and squeezing his eyes shut. Spock broke the kiss and rolled off of him, back into his warm spot where he burrowed under the covers.

"Sleep now," he said quietly.

Jim blinked up at the ceiling, smiling faintly as exhaustion finally began to claw at his brain.

***

After nearly a month in space with his new crew, Jim stood at the helm of the ship, watching the nav console over Spock's shoulder. Finally, Spock uttered the words he'd been waiting for and dreading.

"We are half of one light-year from the Romulan Neutral Zone, Jim."

Jim breathed in deeply. "We're going to drop out of warp just outside and go on impulse engines from there," he said, already reaching for the controls to cut their speed. "Uhura, get ready to raise our shields as soon as we hit sublight speeds."

"Got it," she said, tapping at buttons on the tactical console.

Bones walked in just then, having just gotten up. "Are we there yet?" he grumped.

"Affirmative, Doctor," Spock said. "We are there."

Spock's amusement tickled at Jim and made him smirk a little as he cut the power to the warp nacelles. He watched the blur of stars on the viewscreen slow to smudges and then abruptly become points of distant light again, as they dropped out of warp and the impulse engines kicked in.

"Shields are up," Uhura said.

"Now what?" Bones asked, crossing his arms over his chest and looking at Jim from his spot in the middle of the bridge.

Jim licked his lips. "Now we put the photon torpedoes on standby and saunter our way into the Neutral Zone," he said. "An armed fighter apparently on a scouting mission should constitute an act of war for the Romulans, I'm guessing. They're a paranoid bunch."

"I dunno, Jim; I think they may be a wee bit too paranoid for this to work. I've heard they're not the 'shoot first' type," Scotty said from the tactical station, where he was checking on the weapons array.

"Well, I guess we're going to find out firsthand. Here we go, boys and girls." Jim gave the impulse engines seventy percent power and they cruised over the border into the Neutral Zone.

"Uhura, check the scanners," he said. "Let us know if anyone comes to say hi."

The ship pressed forward unhindered for a while, advancing a few thousand kilometres without any hint of having been noticed by Romulan patrols. Then an alarm went off at tactical.

"Two Romulan ships just dropped out of warp. We're within their range of fire." The comm station beeped and Uhura ran over to pick up, stuffing the earpiece in her ear. She stared into the distance and frowned as she listened.

"They're telling us to leave or they'll fire on us," she said eventually.

"If we fire on them," Jim began.

Scotty cut him off. "Their weapons range is larger than ours, Jim, and our shields won't hold up that long under concentrated fire."

"There is a ninety-seven percent chance that they will destroy us if we engage them," Spock agreed. "It is not a wise course of action."

Jim grimaced. They'd come all this way. "I don't think this is enough of an act of aggression to start a war, just hanging out here," he said.

"They're getting agitated, Jim," Uhura said. "Make up your mind."

Spock looked at him. We must retreat from this confrontation, he said through their mind-link.

Jim could see his point, and was getting amped up just sensing the anxiety coming off of him, but he was curious to see how far this game of Chicken would go if he let it. They could find out if Romulans really did shoot first, sometimes.

A sensor alarm went off.

"They just fired a warning shot off our stern," Scotty said.

Bones stormed over. "Fuck, Jim! Let's go!"

Jim stared at Bones, who was glaring with all he had, fists clenched at his sides; he darted looks at Uhura and Scotty, who were watching him too with airs of urgency and maybe annoyance. He didn't need to look at Spock, warm and solid behind him, because his face never gave away what his thoughts could about what he was feeling, and he was just as keyed-up as everyone else. Jim was struck with indecision.

"I--"

And then his brain just shut down, and he stood helpless, like an animal watching oncoming headlights.

Spock grabbed him by the arm. "Give us a moment. Hold our position," Jim faintly heard him say, as if from a great distance. Then Jim was being pulled off of the bridge, he realized vaguely, blinking as they emerged in the corridor. Spock looked left and right and then hauled him into the mess hall, shoving him up against the bulkhead right next to the door.

They were in here because it was closer than their room, Jim heard Spock's thoughts say. Hopefully no one would follow them, and Jim agreed, because he thought Spock was about to chew him out for his shitty planning skills.

He was pretty surprised when Spock didn't start quietly bitching, and instead dropped to his knees, tugging at the fastenings of Jim's pants.

"What," he started, but Spock took him in hand, and the unexpected touch--and intensified connection through their skin contact--shocked all words from him, and he just thudded his head back against the bulkhead, locking his knees to keep from sinking to the deck. Spock began to pump his hand and Jim breathed out through his nose as he went hard.

Speech seemed like a lot of work, so he tried to use the mind link instead. What the hell are you--we should be on the bridge--

His feeble protests were swatted away. Spock wrapped a hand around the base of his erection and took Jim into his mouth.

"Oh my--" he blurted out, maybe loud enough to be heard by the others. He clamped his mouth shut, nearly biting his tongue, and settled for moaning. Spock was going to town. He seemed to be enjoying it, too, if the feelings flooding through to Jim were any indication. Jim looked down and groaned loudly at the sight of Spock's lips around his cock, at the way his cheeks hollowed as he sucked, hard.

Jim thrust forward a little, unintentionally, and as his hips were shoved back against the bulkhead he buried his fingers in Spock's soft, straight hair.

Jim, Spock thought, with a twist of his tongue that made Jim gasp. Spock gave one last, hard suck and then hummed around his cock and Jim could barely think a warning at him before he was coming. Spock backed off a little to keep from choking and sucked him dry, and as soon as he was done he got to his feet in a businesslike way and started tucking Jim back into his pants.

Jim just sagged against the bulkhead, breathing hard.

"What the fuck?" he managed eventually.

Spock leaned in and kissed him, hard and quick. "Back to the bridge," was all he said. He stepped back and combed his fingers through his hair, which Jim had messed up thoroughly.

Right. The bridge. They needed a plan. Jim straightened without wobbling and led the way back, his brain in overdrive.

The deck surged underneath them just as they reached the doorway to the bridge. Jim lost his balance and flailed into Spock, who caught him. An alarm started going off.

"Shit!" Jim yelled, launching himself off of Spock and through the doorway. Everyone was clinging to consoles for balance and punching frantically at buttons. Finally the alarm shut off and Bones sighed loudly, wiping his hand down over his face.

"Shields took all the damage," Scotty said tightly. "They're down to thirty percent power. Another hit and we're vapour."

Bones chose that moment to whirl on Jim. "Where the hell did you go?" he demanded. Then he took in Jim's slightly rumpled appearance, and when Spock walked onto the bridge with green-tinged lips and still-messy hair, Bones' eyes went wide. "Jesus Christ, you two! Was this really the time?"

"Indeed, Doctor; I believe that it was. When the mind is panicked, rational thought is near impossible to achieve. One must be calm to perform under pressure; Vulcans use meditation to accomplish this." Spock cast a glance at Jim, who blinked back. "I am developing a theory that Jim responds best to other methods."

Bones stared incredulously at Spock for a moment before turning to face Jim. "Are you calm?" he asked mockingly. "Or do you need another round? Because it'll have to be a quickie if you don't want us to blow up."

"I have a plan," Jim said, instead of answering the question. "Spock! Uhura! Are Vulcan and Romulan similar? Will those Romulans be able to understand Vulcan?"

Spock's confusion was fleeting. "The languages are not mutually comprehensible, though similarities exist. They should have translators on board capable of dealing with the Vulcan language, however."

"Fantastic." Jim pointed at the comm station, where Uhura was still standing, listening to continued threats from the Romulan ships. "I want you to open up a subspace channel that they should be able to intercept, and transmit a message in Vulcan for me."

"A message to whom?" Spock was already crossing to the comm station to relieve Uhura.

"It doesn't matter where you aim it. I just want them to hear it. Ready for the message?" At Spock's nod, Jim began. "'Confirming Arev's arrival in the Neutral Zone. Payload is primed. Enemy contact has been made and we are exchanging fire. Chances of reaching Romulus to finish our mission now estimated at four percent. Advising that detonation of payload will render surrounding space for half a parsec impassable for at least fifty years due to extreme radiation. Chances of early detonation of payload in the Neutral Zone, upon taking further enemy fire, estimated at eighty-seven percent. Arev requesting backup.'"

Spock blinked at him, and so did everyone else, but when Jim raised his eyebrows, Spock obediently opened a subspace channel and transmitted the message in Vulcan.

"It is done," he said after a moment.

"Now what?" Bones growled.

"Now we wait," Jim said. "Keep an eye on the scanners."

There was a tense silence for several minutes as they all watched the Romulan ships. Finally, both ships disappeared from the scanner display, one right after the other. Jim let out a breath he hadn't consciously been holding.

"They've jumped to warp," Scotty confirmed.

"Let's get the fuck out of here before they change their minds and come back," Jim said, making for the helm console. "Think that was a hostile enough overture for the Romulans to run away with?"

"It was likely more than sufficient," Spock said, plotting a course back into communal space. His voice was free of nuance but warm feelings floated into Jim's mind, feelings of pride and admiration.

"You're out of your goddamn mind, Jim," Bones said, dropping into a chair. "How did you even expect that to work?"

"I didn't expect anything," Jim said. "I was just hoping it would work. If you're going to bluff, wrap it up in a convincing package." He guided the ship into warp and when it was settled on a course at maximum warp, he turned to face the rest of his merry band of misfits.

"And now that we've miraculously survived that encounter," Uhura said, spinning around slowly in the communications chair, "what's next, oh fearless leader?"

Jim gave her a mock glare. "I don't think I like your insincere tone, Ms. Uhura," he said. He nonchalantly leaned his weight back against the edge of the console, his ankles crossed in front of him and his arms crossed over his chest. "Short-term, figure out how to fix the shields and double-check for other damage from the hit we took. Long-term, I guess we keep an ear out to see whether we've managed to provoke a war between the Romulans and Vulcans, and see what we can do to help Earth out some more. We also need to ditch this ship before anyone catches up with us."

Uhura frowned, pondering the facts, and everyone else just watched her and Jim, apparently content to let them do the thinking. Since she'd likely spent the most time in space out of the group, Jim waited for her, too.

"We're near a Klingon space station," she said finally. "We could go there."

"What?" Jim said. "No. No Klingons. I refuse to deal with them. They probably wouldn't deal with us, either, even if I wasn't completely opposed."

"All right," she said, her eyes wide. "Keep your panties on. What about the Ferengi? They're all over this sector."

"We attempted to deal with the Ferengi before encountering you three," Spock interjected. "We were, as you can see, unsuccessful."

"You were near Earth, though, weren't you?" she asked.

When Jim nodded, she carried on. "I thought so. The Ferengi out here are much more... fiscally open-minded. Anyway, a couple of them owe me a favour. They'll give us a trade for this ship, no problem."

"How the hell did you get Ferengi indebted to you?" Bones asked in amazement.

Uhura shook her head. "Don't ask. Just trust me. They'll be good for it."

"Well, okay then," Jim said. "If you say so."

She got up from her chair and strode over to the navigation controls. "I'm pretty sure I know where they'll be these days," she said, reaching past Spock to punch in a destination.

***

The Ferengi they were looking for apparently ran a shipping business at a large commercial hub, orbiting Mu Arae. The hub had beaming technology, so they left the ship in spacedock, grabbed the few things they wanted to hang onto (mostly Uhura's belongings, and the chessboard, and Bones' and Scotty's remaining booze) and beamed down to the hub arrival area, against Bones' protests.

"I'm not sure my liver came down with me," Bones complained as they stepped off of the transporter pad; he was prodding cautiously at his midsection.

"Look at the bright side," Uhura said cheerfully, "no cirrhosis for you!"

Jim and Scotty laughed; Spock quirked an eyebrow and maybe allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch upwards. Bones scowled.

After stopping to ask some kind of station greeter for directions, Uhura led the way through the bustling crowds, hanging onto Scotty's hand and letting the others trail behind. Jim looked around eagerly as they walked, soaking up the sights and sounds; Uhura's station had been a little backwater, compared to this place.

Beings of all descriptions filled the decks, packed so closely together that they had to push through the masses of people. This didn't endear the place to Spock, who stuck close to Jim to avoid touching strangers. They passed Andorians, Tellarites, Klingons, Ferengi, Orions, humanoids of dubious origin, and creatures that Jim had never even read about, with tentacles and extra legs and colour-changing skin and a million other exotic features. All of these species milled around, interacting with each other, as Jim and his crew pushed their way through a clothing market, a food market, a jewelry exchange, a restaurant district, and finally a subdued (but still busy) business district, filled with industrial corporation offices, shipping companies and interstellar financial firms.

Uhura stopped them in front of a nondescript shipping company storefront. "This is it," she said, before pushing through the door to the cool interior. Two Ferengi sat behind desks, going through paperwork, and looked up at their visitors.

"Zek, Goss," Uhura said, nodding at each of them in turn, "how have you been? Well, I hope." She smiled brightly at them.

Zek dropped his stylus; it rolled off of the desk unheeded. "Nyota Uhura?" he said, blinking. "You're a long way from home," he managed after a moment.

"Funny how that happens, isn't it? I was in the neighbourhood and thought I'd drop by and see how you two were doing." She perched on the end of Zek's desk, crossing one leg over the other.

"Well, we're just fine," Goss said hesitantly from his seat.

She leaned forward to tickle at Zek's ear with one manicured finger. "I have an offer for you boys that you won't be able to refuse," she purred.

Zek purred back, closing his eyes a bit as she stroked his ear. Jim watched in bemusement and saw Scotty fidget in his peripheral vision.

"I never met an offer I couldn't see myself refusing," Goss said, crossing his arms but watching her ministrations on Zek.

"Well, you won't be able to refuse this," she said, sitting up and folding her hands in her lap, "because you owe me, and I'm calling that debt in."

Zek spent another second looking blissed-out before her words apparently sank in. "Oh shit," he said.

Goss growled something in Ferengi, which Uhura responded to flippantly. Jim crossed his arms and watched with interest as the exchange led to a ten-minute, three-way argument, conducted entirely in Ferengi. Jim raised an eyebrow at Scotty, who shrugged, leaning against the wall and watching Uhura with a smile on his face.

Finally, the argument, or negotiation, or whatever it was, was over, and Uhura was smiling while Zek and Goss looked like they were having twin ulcers. Uhura hopped off of the desk and sauntered back over to the group, looking extremely pleased with herself.

"I traded the Vulcan ship for a warp-capable Andorian one, around the same size. I also managed to get us some supplies and some Ferengi universal translators in the deal. They even guarantee the ship has a clean record."

That was way better than Jim had hoped for, or could have managed himself. He squeezed both her shoulders. "I could kiss you. But I'll let Scotty do it, because I don't want to get punched."

"Meet us at the transporters at the end of the business day; we'll show you your new ship," Goss said reluctantly.

"Always a pleasure, gentlemen," Uhura said with a wave.

They walked back out onto the promenade, looked around a bit, and then stood in a huddle.

"Will the ship be stocked with these supplies for us?" Jim asked.

"That was part of the deal."

He rubbed his hands together. "In that case, let's have a look around the station. Wanna stick together, or split up?"

Uhura looked thoughtful. "We have a couple hours until the end of business, I think."

"Excellent," Jim declared. "I propose we all go off and do our own thing and get away from each other for a while, before getting back on a very small ship and being cooped up together in space for like another month."

"Best plan I've heard from you yet, Jim," Bones said, clapping him on the back. "I'm going to the bar."

"I'll join you," Scotty said immediately. "Coming, lass?"

"If it keeps you two from getting too drunk to find your way back to the transporters," Uhura consented. "See you, Jim, Spock," she called over her shoulder as they sauntered off to find a bar.

After watching them go, Jim turned to Spock, who looked back at him expectantly.

"Walk with me?" Jim asked.

"Certainly."

They set off at a leisurely pace, going in the direction they hadn't been yet. On the other side of the business district was another block of cafés and restaurants, which seemed to act as a buffer for the entertainment area on its other side. Although there were still lots of people in the entertainment district, compared to the rest of the station it seemed to be quieter, at least until most of the residents finished work. There were clubs with glaring light and pounding music spilling out the doors, gaming establishments that were constantly busy, holo simulators of all kinds, and a few places that looked a lot like brothels.

"We've found the classy part of town," Jim said delightedly, looking around as they walked. They were close enough that their shoulders kept bumping, and finally he seized Spock's hand, lacing their fingers together and letting their arms swing just a little as they walked. The little shudder that Jim could feel from Spock--just because his hand was being touched and Jim's fingers were caressing just a little bit, that little show of feeling--was intoxicating.

"Indeed we have," Spock said smoothly, taking in their surroundings with a raised eyebrow.

They strolled a little more and stopped to look up at a fountain that towered above their heads, spraying a fine mist of water in their faces as they got right up close to it. Jim shut his eyes for a second, enjoying the feeling.

"Uhura sure had those Ferengi twisted around her little finger," he said eventually.

"A most appropriate expression," Spock said.

"I wonder what she did that left them owing her so big."

"Perhaps they are merely scared of her."

Jim laughed, but it caught in his throat when he turned to look at Spock. Spock's hair and skin glistened with the spray from the fountain, which was ridiculously attractive, but even more shockingly, he was smiling, just a little.

Spock gave him a quizzical look. "Is something wrong?"

Jim blinked, giving himself a little shake. "It's just... you're smiling. I've never seen you do that."

Spock turned back to look at the fountain, but humour still played at the corners of his mouth. "I am experimenting with allowing my emotions freer expression," he said. "I have essentially ceased the Vulcan practice of meditation, as of one week ago. Traditionally, it allows one to compartmentalize emotion and prevent its display or influence, and I find that I no longer wish to do that." He shot a quick glance over at Jim, wry humour seeping through their touch. "You may still find me generally more reserved than most humans."

"That's good," Jim said, unable to suppress his own grin, "or the shock might kill me." He pressed a little closer. "That sounds pretty brave, to give up control like that. I'm here for you, you know that, right?"

Spock's thumb traced along his hand, softly. "I know."

"Come on," Jim said, stepping away and tugging at Spock's hand. "We have like an hour and a half left and I'm not done looking around this station yet."

"I am coming," said Spock.

******************************************

Part Three: Throw Away the Rudder

Bones and Scotty had used their free time to get a little buzz going, and they'd also managed to find another case of liquor somewhere, which they carried between them.

"Alcohol wasn't part of the supplies deal," explained Scotty.

Uhura rolled her eyes and Jim grinned at her.

"Your friends here yet?" he asked.

She started to shake her head, but something behind Jim caught her eye. "Speak of the devil," she said, "there they are."

Zek and Goss stomped over, still looking pained. "This way," Zek said, gesturing for them to follow. They made their way to a transporter pad operated by another Ferengi. Goss exchanged a few words with the tech before waving them all up onto the pad. Jim saw Bones grit his teeth as the beam started to break them up into their component particles.

Jim blinked, and then they were on the bridge of a small ship. "Here you go," Zek said, gesturing broadly. "She's fully stocked for immediate departure."

"Zek, is that you?" someone called from around a corner.

Jim shot a look at the Ferengi. "Who was that?"

"Consider him a special bonus offer," Goss said, and then the Ferengi were beaming back to the station again, before Jim even had time to swear at them.

A--well, a child walked onto the bridge, wiping at his fingers with a dirty rag. He looked around. "I missed them, didn't I?" He was clearly from Earth, and he had a thick, Russian accent.

"Who the hell are you?" Jim asked, not sure what else to say.

"Pavel Chekov," the kid said promptly, his grin almost splitting his face. "You are the new people who bought this ship, yes?"

"You knew about us?"

"Oh, yes. Zek sent me up an hour ago to start the pre-flight checklists and check the manifest. We are ready to go."

"We?" Jim said weakly.

"I am part of your crew now! Thank you; I have been trying to get off of this station for six months."

Jim closed his eyes and felt Bones' hand land on his shoulder, a gesture of support. "How old are you, kid?" he managed to ask.

"Seventeen, sir," Chekov said brightly, pronouncing the V like a W. Jim looked down at the floor; Spock projected calming thoughts at him and Bones' fingers tightened on his shoulder.

"I am on my own," Chekov continued, sounding kind of uncertain, for which Jim was probably to blame. "I have been moving from ship to ship, station to station, since I was thirteen. I know more than anyone about warp drives."

"I doubt that, laddie," Scotty grumped.

"All right," Jim said, as much to himself as everyone else. "Let's just... get out of here. We're probably lucky this is the worst curveball those Ferengi threw at us."

Andorian ship controls weren't radically different from Vulcan ones, except for everything being in Andorian. With help from Chekov, who apparently did know his way around a ship as well as understanding some of the language, they managed to break away from the spacedock without incident and set off into the black on impulse power.

"All right," Jim said, once they were a safe distance from the station, "let's go to warp 2."

Spock engaged the warp drive.

Nothing happened.

Jim breathed in. "Spock?"

"I will try again." But still nothing happened; the warp drive was broken.

"Chekov, did you know about this?"

"No, sir. I have not been on this ship before today. The warp drives are not technically on the pre-flight checklists."

Scotty got up and marched over to the doorway, taking Chekov by the shoulder as he passed. "Come on then, laddie; you can be an extra pair of hands while we sort this nonsense out. Let's find a spanner," he said, dragging Chekov off the bridge to go find the engine room.

Jim collapsed into a chair and considered the dangers of speaking too soon, as they crawled through space at sublight speed. Goddamn Ferengi.

***

After the first two hours of pacing a hole in the deck of the bridge, Jim followed Bones' helpful suggestion (delivered only slightly above normal volume) that he go find something else to occupy his time instead of annoying everyone else. He took Spock to go inspect the ship's replicator, loading it with the carbon compound typically used as a base material and then checking the programming to see if it could make anything they'd want to eat. Turned out it was all still Andorian food, which was not remotely appetizing to most humans, and so Jim and Spock passed a moderately entertaining afternoon and evening by reprogramming the selections with Earth food (and some Vulcan).

After that, Jim was bored, irritable and anxious again. It took a day and a half to repair the warp drives; Jim spent most of his waking hours in that period antagonizing Bones for sport. Finally, Bones intimated that he had some powerful sedatives handy, if Jim needed one, so he decided to back off. When Scotty and Chekov finally returned to the bridge, dirty from head to toe and looking exhausted from working without sleep or much food, Jim could have kissed them both.

"She should work fine now," Scotty assured him, "although I wouldn't mind an opportunity to replace some of those parts, when we can. Shoddy Andorian craftsmanship," he muttered. Then he clapped Chekov on the back. "Pavel here was a lot of help to me; he's pretty good with warp nacelles, after all."

"I told you," Chekov said proudly. "I have practically grown up in engine rooms; these things become simple."

"All right," Jim said, "we can keep him. Now let's get this thing going!"

Uhura obligingly engaged the warp drive and took them up to warp 2. They let out a collective sigh of relief when it actually worked and didn't turn the ship into a fireball.

"Well," Scotty said, wiping grease off of his forearm, "what now?"

Everyone turned to look expectantly at Jim. He hoped he wasn't blushing from the sudden attention.

"Now," he said, "it would probably be a good idea to find another station and collect some intelligence on whether the Romulans took the bait or not. Having the universal translators from the Ferengi should make that a lot easier."

"Romulans?" Chekov asked, and Jim remembered they had a stranger in their midst, someone not linked to them by the harrowing experience in the Neutral Zone.

Chekov frowned around at them. "You have been dealing with Romulans? Is this related to the recent business with them?"

"What business?" said Jim, maybe a little more sharply than he'd meant to.

Chekov quailed a little at the tone but answered him. "In the last week, there has been news of... what is that word... skirmishes! Skirmishes between Romulans and Vulcans in the local sectors. Apparently the Romulans have been attacking Vulcan ships, large science vessels and things like that." He shrugged. "It is too early, I guess, to tell what is going on."

Excitement boiled up in Jim's chest, filling him with nervous energy. He crossed his arms to contain himself. "Just in the past week?" That would coincide well with their little adventure. He shared looks with Spock and Bones, enjoying Bones' grin and Spock's raised eyebrow.

"Yes, I think so," Chekov said, still oblivious. "News has been coming in through subspace communications and from some visitors to the station." He looked at Jim, sizing him up (which was disconcerting to be on the receiving end of, from a teenager). "You know something about this," he said.

"The Romulans are going to go to war with the Vulcans," said Jim. "That's all you really need to know. Possibly safer for you that way."

Chekov's eyes widened. "Are you sure it will be war?"

"Pretty sure. Nothing we can do now except wait and see how it plays out. Anyway," he said, rubbing his hands together, "now that we have that little piece of information, our path seems clear to me." He looked around; everyone still looked expectant, and Uhura a little skeptical. He straightened his shoulders. "Is everyone staying?"

"Well, Scotty and I certainly can't go back to Earth now," Bones said. "We defected almost two months ago. Our pictures are probably right next to yours on some wanted poster," he drawled. "And I think you're stuck with the kid, here."

"I told you my name," Chekov said a little indignantly.

Jim smothered a grin. "Uhura, are you sticking around?"

She shrugged one shoulder. "Barring some crazy scheme coming out of your mouth, I am."

"Thank you for the show of confidence. Okay, so we need an income of some kind. We know which way the wind's blowing; the quadrant's going to be caught up in this war, either on sides or in the crossfire. I say, make hay while the sun shines." He grinned. "Let's get into the shipping business."

"Cargo runs?" Bones said, his tone acidic.

"We have a ship," Jim said. "It's easy money."

"Famous last words."

"You have a better idea, Bones?" Jim asked.

Bones scowled.

"Jim," Spock said, "how are you intending to acquire clients for this... enterprise?"

Jim was thinking on his feet; he hoped Spock didn't catch on that he hadn't done any prior planning on this at all. "We go find a smaller station or outpost and ask around if anyone's got something that needs to go from A to B. For insurance, we take half our fee in advance. Then rinse and repeat. No problem." He put on his most charming smile.

Spock was still so skeptical that Jim could actually see traces of it in his expression. Maybe it was that not-meditating thing.

Uhura sighed. "Well, why not. I know a small system near here with an outpost, half-residential, half-commercial. What harm can there be in trying it out?"

It was support from an unexpected quarter, but Jim would take it.

***

Jim whistled as he sauntered from the bridge to the mess for some dinner. He was in high spirits, his business plan having worked; they'd found a client on Uhura's backwater outpost who wanted some supplies picked up from a system four days away. Ten strips of latinum up front, and another ten on delivery. Easy money, he thought with relish as he swung through the door of the mess and made for the replicator.

"Jim," came a voice from behind him. Jim did his best not to jump out of his skin and turned to see Spock in a seat, eating plomeek soup.

"Hi," he said, a little too loudly. He'd had no idea Spock was there. "I kind of thought you were in the engine room, hanging out with Scotty."

"I just left the engine room for an evening meal break; I believe he is still working."

Jim ordered a ham sandwich and coffee and slid into the seat across from Spock with his food.

They ate in silence for a while, Jim sort of enjoying the quiet companionship and the neverending novelty of having Spock's presence just there, steady and available all the time, in his own way. He liked the fact that they could sit comfortably without talking. But it was too good to last, because there was a growing air of restlessness and anticipation, and then finally Spock set down his spoon.

"Jim," he said, and Jim put down his sandwich, swallowing his last bite, because he knew what was coming.

"We should arrive at our destination today, at 2030, ship's time," Spock continued, his face serious and solemn.

"That's what I hear," said Jim after a moment, picking at the crust of his bread.

"I continue to have reservations about this--"

"I know," Jim cut him off. "So you've been saying for the last four days."

One eyebrow arched. "The logical response," Spock said slowly, deliberately, "when a message goes unheard, is to repeat its contents until satisfactory acknowledgement is received."

Jim looked up sharply from mutilating his food. Spock looked placid, but there was an edge to his manner. "Well, you're coming through loud and clear." He stood up with a scrape of chair legs, grabbing his tray to dump in the recycler. "Kirk out."

He didn't even make it to the doorway before his arm was hauled back and he was spun around to slam against the bulkhead, caught under the press of a strong hand on his shoulder. Jim blinked at the intense look he was receiving, trying to suppress memories of the last time Spock had shoved him up against the bulkhead in the mess.

"My concerns are valid and I would prefer that you do not merely dismiss them, particularly as they are a matter of our safety, and most importantly to me, your safety." Spock's fingers tightened in his shirt. "Therefore, you will hear all of my argument even if I must make you a 'captive audience' to ensure that it happens. Am I being perfectly clear?"

Jim, a little wide-eyed, nodded mutely.

Apparently satisfied that Jim wasn't going anywhere, Spock eased up his grip a little, but left him pinned against the bulkhead. "I am not confident in the complete honesty of our client, as regards the terms of this transaction."

"We're getting a bar of latinum for a week-long round trip and next to no work," Jim protested.

"That is exactly my point. We are being overpaid, given our experience. If he expects us to return."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Yes, okay, he spent ten strips to send some strangers off to die. That makes sense. And he'll pay the balance, because we'll have his cargo to hold ransom for it otherwise."

"Jim, think," Spock said sharply. "This is a journey of a distance that he could conceivably cross himself, with access to any kind of warp-capable ship. And yet he is willing to overpay us to do it for him. If this cargo is valuable then our fee may not be extravagant. But if it is something valuable which he somehow could not retrieve on his own, then perhaps ten strips of latinum, thrown away on a retrieval attempt with unknown chances of success, is also, as you would say, 'a good deal'."

Jim was disgusted to realize that maybe Spock had a point, if a paranoid one. "And?" he said. "We're not running off with his latinum without even setting foot on this planet."

Spock's mouth tightened into a thin line. "We must arrive armed, if we are going to at all."

"Armed?" Jim blurted. "Spock! We're picking up a little bit of cargo, no big deal. We don't need weapons."

"We arrive with self-defense, or not at all."

"You're being ridiculous."

"You may chastise me all you wish, when we are back on the ship and alive."

Jim glared.

Spock's eyes narrowed right back.

"Fine," said Jim finally, throwing up his hands. "We'll go in armed. Happy?"

"Overjoyed, I assure you," Spock said flatly, releasing his shoulder and preceding him out of the room. He was probably going to look for the small stash of weapons that had been among the supplies they'd gotten from the Ferengi.

Jim shook himself all over and then decided to replicate another sandwich before heading to the bridge, to oversee their arrival at the planet and watch the atmospheric entry. Chekov was a decent pilot (better than Jim, it had to be said), but his youth made Jim nervous, and even with Scotty hopefully present on the bridge to help him through the landing, Jim wanted to be there, just in case. Not that he had any particular expertise, especially with non-Vulcan ships, but being present at least felt like doing something.

They were in orbit around the planet and Chekov was just double-checking the coordinates of their surface destination when Spock came back on the bridge, stopping beside Jim. Loosening his fingers from where they made dents in the skin of his own crossed arms, Jim let his hands drop and brushed their knuckles together. He got a crackle of anxiety and tense worry through the touch and found himself struggling to mask his automatic reaction. But he left his hand where it was, and Spock's fingers eventually curled around his. The grip tightened as they began their descent through the atmosphere, hopefully on the right trajectory, and Jim smiled in spite of his own anxiety as he watched the viewscreen.

To Chekov's credit, the ship only bounced once, just a little, when they made contact with the ground.

"Thanks," Jim said to Spock, who had grabbed his shoulders to keep him from doing a faceplant when the ship lurched suddenly.

The corner of Spock's mouth twitched up a little. "We have arrived in the designated location. Shall we disembark?"

"Yeah," Jim said. "Come on, guys, we have a package to collect. Not you, though," he said, pointing at Chekov and freezing him in mid-step. "I need you to stay on the ship."

"Why?" the kid burst out, looking insulted.

Because you're too young to endanger, Jim thought. "Because someone needs to keep it warmed up for a quick takeoff again, and you're good at that stuff," he said. "This is an in-and-out kind of job. Back before you know it," he said with a wink.

He mentally nudged Spock for a tally of their weaponry: two Ferengi phasers and a Klingon disruptor rifle. Not bad, he supposed.

"All right," he said, when the whole landing party had walked off the bridge to get ready to disembark, "who's a good shot?"

"I thought we were just 'picking up a package'!" Bones said, glaring.

"Yeah, well. We're not entirely sure if asking for it nicely is going to work. So we have a couple weapons. Just in case; quit giving me that look, Bones."

Bones scowled.

"What've we got?" Uhura asked, crossing her arms.

"Two Ferengi phasers and a disruptor," Spock said.

She nodded. "I can take a phaser."

"Look," Scotty said, "I'm a bloody terrible shot. Don't look at me."

"I'm a fucking doctor," Bones added. "Do you really think I'm going to shoot people?"

"Fine," Jim said, "Spock and I can take the other two. Okay?" He directed the last word mostly at Spock, who inclined his head slightly.

I will take the disruptor, he thought at Jim. I believe the recoil is quite strong for non-Klingons, but I am stronger than a human.

Jim accepted that and waited for Spock to pass out the weapons. "We ready?" he asked, once he'd strapped on his phaser. When there were no objections, he hit the release for the cargo ramp.

It opened slowly, clanking a little, and as the ramp settled on the dirt outside a gust of scorching wind blew inside the ship, bringing particles of sand with it. Jim wished for sunglasses against the glare as he walked off of the ship, because the sun was so bright that it felt like someone was shining a light right in his eyes. The ground was hard-packed sand, and heat seeped through the soles of his shoes. The others followed with a clank of shoes on metal, and stopped in a line on either side of him.

"Charming," said Uhura, looking around at the vast, baking nothing.

They were a kilometre away from the only visible settlement, squat, dull buildings interspersed with terraforming domes that glinted like stars in the sunlight. It was going to be a fun little walk. Jim set off at the front of the group, already starting to sweat.

Spock was the only one who looked comfortable when they reached the settlement, twenty minutes later. Luckily, the lifeforms there looked as dusty and sweaty as the human members of Jim's crew did, so he didn't feel too ashamed to sigh in relief when they stepped into some slightly cooler shade. This put them in front of a group of large, hairy, burly men who all looked like they could have been part-Klingon.

"Who're you and what do you want?" one of them grunted. The rest all turned to glare at Jim, waiting for the answer.

"We're, uh. We're looking for a guy named Warok Tor. You know him?"

The lead goon smirked and jerked his head at the building behind him. "In the bar."

And with that, it was as if they didn't exist. Jim shrugged at Bones, who was arching both eyebrows in bemusement, and led the way into the bar.

Jim had always vaguely wanted to be in one of those movie-type situations where the hero walks into a noisy, crowded bar and dead silence falls as soon as he sets one foot inside the door. It had always seemed like the most badass of dramatic entrances, to have all eyes on you when you walked into a room, tasting that air of wary hostility toward a newcomer, waiting for you to make a move.

But there is a difference between theory and practice, and when it actually happened, he froze in the doorway, scared shitless. Was everyone on this planet built like a brick wall?

The bartender, wiping a dirty glass with a dirty rag, broke the silence. "What do you want, foreigners?"

Jim had a feeling his translator had substituted a much kinder word than the guy had actually said.

"Warok Tor?" he said, grateful that his voice stayed steady even though Spock's presence (and Klingon disruptor) at his back was just about the only thing keeping him on his feet and inside this bar.

A particularly huge guy off to Jim's right stood up, his chair scraping on the floor loudly. "I'm Warok Tor," he rumbled, crossing his arms.

Jim opened his mouth, paused, and was relieved when Spock's calm voice spoke for him. "We have been commissioned by Felor Brackt of the Epsilon Cygni IV outpost to accept a package from you, for delivery to him."

"Really?" Tor said, as if this was the funniest thing he'd heard all day. "Well, how about you do me a favour, and accept a message for Felor from me."

Eight other guys stood up and they all drew phasers.

Jim drew his phaser and dove behind a table. "I fucking hate it when you're right, Spock," he hissed, as a shot went over his head, heating the already scorching air. He smelled ozone.

"Sometimes I hate it when I am right, too," Spock answered, before leaning around the edge of the table to return fire. The disruptor kicked like a draft horse, as promised, but Spock took the recoil without a flinch.

Jim looked for the other three and saw that they'd upended another table, Bones and Scotty hiding behind it while Uhura fired her phaser over the top. He caught Bones' eye and gave him a thumbs-up; Bones gave him the finger.

"What are the odds that we can call a ceasefire and explain that this was all a huge misunderstanding?" Jim asked.

"One hundred seventy-three thousand, eight hundred fifty-nine to one," said Spock, pulling back behind their table sharply as someone started firing at his exposed parts.

Jim hummed thoughtfully and peered over the top of the table, switching his phaser to a high stun setting and shooting one of Tor's posse in the neck. The man dropped like a rock, knocking over two chairs and shattering some of the few remaining unbroken glasses on the way down.

"Okay," he said, firing at another one and missing before taking cover again. "What's Plan B?"

"I am following your lead," Spock said.

"Goddammit! No, you're not! You saw this coming, so don't even tell me you didn't come up with a plan!"

"Jim, it is impossible to predict likely outcomes in situations like this. There are too many variables to account for in a reliable manner, and as time progresses, the probabilities will change."

Jim took a deep breath and shot someone in the leg while he was thinking. "What are our likely options right now?"

"This rifle has a fully automatic setting. Fascinating," Spock said, using it to fire a controlled burst of covering fire before answering the question. "At this juncture, we have a fifty-nine--pardon me, fifty-two--percent chance of dying in this altercation."

Jim blinked at the self-correction, but then Spock's thoughts supplied an explanation: the automatic setting on his rifle changed the odds somewhat in their favour. How comforting.

"There is a fifteen percent chance of our disabling Tor, the ringleader, and thereby ending the fight in our favour. I also believe that the bartender has some type of firearm behind the bar which he is considering using, in which case there is a ninety-five percent chance that he will use it on us."

"What are the odds of Tor bowing to our superior firepower, giving up peacefully, and letting us have what we came for?"

"Two-point-four percent."

Jim absorbed that. "Fuck." He thought for a moment. "Okay. Cover me."

"What are you doing?" Spock demanded.

"Just... follow my lead. For real, this time. Now, get with the covering!"

Dark thoughts came Jim's way, but Spock obediently leaned over the top of the table and started firing bursts at the other side of the bar. Jim took a deep breath, patted Spock's thigh for good luck, and then scrambled out from behind their cover to go join Uhura at the other table. He was a little slow in his mad dash, because a phaser shot caught him in the leg as he went to dive behind the new cover. There was a pinch, and then a moment of blinding pain, and then his leg went numb from the stun blast.

"Jim!" she said, hauling him over by the collar of his shirt. "What the hell are you doing? Do you have any idea?"

"I'll bet you that ten strips of latinum that he doesn't," Bones said. "Jesus Christ, you're bleeding, Jim!"

"I'll live; it didn't hit an artery," he said, swallowing hard. "Look, new plan," he said. "We have to use shock and awe on them. Scotty, have we got anything handy that you can build a bomb out of?"

"A bomb?" Scotty squeaked. "What the--"

But Jim just gave him a patient stare, so Scotty's engineer brain kicked in and he started looking around. "I might get a wee explosion out of some bits to hand. We don't need a big one indoors, anyway, unless you want to bring down the building. You don't want to do that, do you?" he asked nervously.

Jim shook his head.

"Okay," Scotty said slowly. "Right. I need one of your phasers. The power cell, actually."

Jim and Uhura exchanged a look, and then Jim handed over his.

"Find me a bottle of liquor too, please," he said, already ripping apart the casing.

"You gonna drink it?" Jim said.

"I'd love to, but I need it for accelerant."

An unbroken, half-full bottle of something clear and hopefully not water lay on the floor several metres behind them. Jim scrambled toward it on his hands and good knee, keeping his head low and hoping Uhura and Spock were keeping everyone's attention focused on them.

"Here," he said, rolling it across the floor ahead of him as he dragged his ass back.

Scotty had bits of the phaser spread out on the floor around his knees and set Bones to splicing wires together for him as he worked feverishly. Jim leaned against the battered table, his heart pounding in his chest, and kept an eye on Spock as he waited. The noise of phaser blasts was continuous and the table rattled under Jim's back whenever it took a hit, steadily heating up. He hoped it wouldn't catch fire, or they were done for.

"Fuck!" Uhura cried suddenly, ducking to the floor.

"What? Are you okay?" Jim demanded.

"I'm okay," she said, breathing hard. "They missed me."

Jim swallowed and darted a glance over at Spock to double-check that he was still in one piece. He thought that maybe if Spock was hurt, he'd know through their mind-link, but that was only a theory. He thought he'd rather not test it, either.

"I'm done," Scotty said after what felt like an eternity. He held up a contraption wired into the liquor bottle.

"Is this gonna pack a punch?" Jim asked, eyeing it.

"I don't envy anyone standing right next to it when it goes off," Scotty said diplomatically.

"Good to know," said Jim, taking it from him carefully. "Do we have to arm it? Is there a delay? Or will throwing it set it off?"

"Should be a three-second delay on it."

"Should be?"

"He built the fucking thing from bits on the floor in about five minutes, Jim!" Bones exclaimed. "What do you want from him? Throw it quickly!"

Jim opened his mouth to reply but decided to leave it; Bones didn't seem to do well under extreme pressure. Instead, he poked his head around the side of the table to scope out the other side of the room. Three of them were down but the odds still sucked. Jim saw with delight that Tor was off to one side, before someone aimed a phaser at him and he had to hide again.

"Everyone cross your fingers," he said, arming the bomb and launching it over the top of the table, toward the opposite end of the mob from Tor.

The blast shot chunks of the furniture all around the room, and their cover table was shoved back a few inches, vibrating with the staccato of hundreds of glass shards and sharp pieces of wood driving into it. Jim winced and was fiercely glad for the table. They all waited, breath held, but there was only groaning to be heard. No more phaser shots came their way. Jim slowly raised himself up, peering across the room, and saw only Tor and one other guy still standing, although 'standing' was a generous term. There were small fires burning around the room and more blood than he would have liked to see, but hey, fifty-two percent chance of dying. It wasn't his fault that these guys hadn't heard about not shooting messengers, he reminded himself.

Jim stood up, leaning hard against the table to support his dead leg. Spock and Uhura rose gracefully with him to train their weapons on Tor. The guy was braced heavily on what was left of a chair, glaring at them through blood that ran from a cut on his forehead.

"So," Jim said, "about that package."

***

"I can't even believe we all nearly died for something the size of a breadbox," Bones growled, supporting Jim on one side while Spock held him up on the other. It was a very long, hot kilometre back to the ship, Jim thought. His leg was getting pins and needles now and it was the last thing he needed, on top of a phaser wound in his calf. Sand seemed to be blowing into the most tender parts of the wound. Spock's touch was soothing, though, and so was Bones' bitching, in a way.

Scotty and Uhura were carrying the crate between them, as it was heavy for its size. "This was in no way worth twenty fucking strips of latinum," she growled.

"Tell me about it," Jim said tightly. Oh, thank god, they were nearly back. He could see Chekov's faint outline at the cargo bay door, waiting for them.

The kid's eyes widened till Jim could see the whites of them, and he ran to help drag Jim's sorry, half-numb ass up the ramp. "What happened?" he asked.

"Don't ask. You don't even want to know," Jim groaned.

"Med bay is this way," Bones said, pointing to the right, past the mess, once they were back aboard.

"Allow me," Spock said, and before Jim could protest, he was scooped up against Spock's chest.

"I could have made it in there on my own," he protested.

"It is not wise to aggravate your injury more than is absolutely necessary," Spock said.

"You couldn't even put me in a fireman's carry?" Jim whined, but Spock ignored him as he swept into the med bay behind Bones.

"Throw him on the table," Bones said, pointing behind him as he started washing his hands. His tone was utterly businesslike.

This, Jim realized, was Bones as Dr. McCoy. He blinked in surprise as Bones turned around, gloves on his hands and holding a hypospray.

"I hate injections," Jim started.

"Well, then this is a good lesson in why you shouldn't get yourself shot," Bones said, stabbing him in the thigh with it. "That was a sedative," he added, before everything went black.

***

When Jim woke up, it was a day later and they were back out in space, returning to the outpost where he was going to beat Felor Brackt unrecognizable. At least, that was the plan so far; it was still in the early stages.

As he regained consciousness and shook off the brain-cobwebs, Jim quickly learned another lesson in why he shouldn't get shot ever again: Spock and Bones were both a pain in the ass when he was injured.

"Let me out of this bed, Bones," he said.

"I have one more scan to do."

"I was shot in the leg, and there was only tissue damage. My tissue is healed. You don't need to scan me."

"Sorry, Jim, I keep forgetting that you're a licensed and qualified doctor and know what you're talking about. Shut up for five minutes and let me do this, and then you can go off and be an idiot some more."

Jim could have kept up that argument, and it might have been fun, but it would have taken longer than five minutes and there was always the chance that Bones would sedate him again, so he gave in gracefully and allowed the scan.

"Oh, Dr. McCoy, will I ever walk again?" he cried dramatically when the scan was finished.

"I hope you get shot in the head next time, so I don't have to deal with you afterwards. Get out of here."

Jim hopped off the bed and promptly ran into Spock, right outside the med bay.

"You have been released?" he asked, looking Jim up and down as if there were going to be bones poking out of his skin anywhere.

"I'm all fixed, Spock. Calm down. We on course?"

"Yes."

"Awesome. Chess? Something more fun?" He waggled his eyebrows.

"I think chess is a sufficient level of fun for someone in your condition."

"It was just my leg. I don't have to use my leg, you know."

He had to concede that argument too, but at least he won the chess game.

***

When they were docked at the outpost again, Jim cracked his knuckles and bounced a little on the balls of his feet.

"Stay on the ship, Chekov," he said, before the kid could even open his mouth.

Chekov sulked in his chair. "Seventeen is practically adult, you know."

"No, it's not. Sorry, but you'll get it when you're older," Jim said, waving over his shoulder as he sauntered off the bridge, between Scotty and Bones.

He wasn't even limping anymore, thankfully, which he hoped would help him look more imposing. That, and the phaser he was going to shove down Brackt's throat. He strapped it on around his waist gleefully. They had enough for everyone to go in packing now, after liberating a few from Warok Tor's group of misguided individuals.

"Don't forget yours, Bones. I mean it. You don't have to use it; just wave it around a little if the need arises," he said.

"That's what she said," Uhura sang.

Jim doubled over laughing just as he was about to hit the cargo bay door release, and wound up missing it by several inches.

"Allow me to assist you," Spock said blandly, reaching past him to press the button.

"Thank you, dear," Jim said, smirking some more at the raised eyebrow that earned him.

The outpost was busy; it must have been the middle of the day shift. Jim led the way through the crowd, making a beeline for the bar they'd first found Brackt in. He wasn't there, of course, but Uhura and her breasts quickly got directions from one of the regular barstool residents and they managed to corral him just as he was walking out of his apartment.

"Felor! Buddy! How's it going?" Jim asked brightly.

Brackt jumped, the tentacles under his arms waving nervously.

"You know," Jim said, sauntering right up close and leaning a hip against the doorway, "your friend Warok is a real nice guy. We had a great talk. Mostly about how close you guys are." Everyone else pressed in around them to close the circle, hands resting casually on their phasers. Jim saw how Brackt looked at every single one before making eye contact again.

"Warok Tor is--" he started, but Jim held up a hand to silence him.

"Let's not talk about that," he said instead, his voice still friendly. "Instead, let's talk about finishing the deal. We got your package for you! Through rain, snow, sleet, hail, all that, you know. And we'd love to give it to you, since I'm sure it's very important. Then you can pay us the balance of our fee, and everyone goes home satisfied."

"Oh?" Brackt said, tentacles waving more hopefully now.

"But there seems to have been some miscommunication as to the nature of this assignment," said Jim. "We neglected to notify you that we charge an extra fee for potentially dangerous deliveries, and you neglected to notify us that this delivery was potentially dangerous. No problem; that's easily cleared up. You can come collect your crate from our ship if you pay the balance of what you still owe, which will be thirty strips of latinum."

Brackt went pale and opened his mouth to protest, but Uhura switched off the safety on her phaser while still examining the nails of her other hand. He shut his mouth again, tentacles sagging in defeat.

Jim smiled. "Pleasure doing business with you. Be sure to tell your friends about us!"

***

They all shared a celebratory drink in the mess before leaving dock, setting aside five strips of latinum for engine repairs and divvying up the other thirty-five among them.

"To our first successful delivery! And to the spoils of capitalism!" Jim said, standing up and raising his glass.

There was a cheer all around and they slammed back their drinks, even Spock (although he said alcohol had no effect on him and refused to tell Jim what actually would get him drunk).

"Jim," Bones said, grinning from good feelings and the beginning of a buzz, "I have to say, what you said to that fucker Brackt? That was masterful."

"Well, Bones, I have a firm belief in customer service."

"To Jim!" Scotty said, refilling all the glasses. "Service with a smile that shows all his teeth!"

Jim laughed and drank to himself, enjoying the waves of amusement coming from Spock.

Chekov emptied his glass (like any good Russian) and set it down firmly. "If we are to be a business, we need a name," he said.

"And business cards!" Bones said gleefully.

"We'll hand them out to our enemies," Uhura agreed, giggling into her glass.

"They have a point, Jim," said Spock. "Is it not a point of human folklore that a ship with no name is bad luck?"

"It's actually changing a ship's name that's bad luck, I think," Scotty said.

"Probably bad luck not to name one, too," Uhura countered. "Most things to do with ships are bad luck."

"If Spock's believing in bad luck now, he's really let his hair down," Bones said.

Jim took a long sip of his drink, savouring the taste as he thought. The idea crept up on him quietly, and he smiled when he caught hold of it. Something Spock had said at the outset of their new business venture. It fit well, somehow.

He stood up again. "All right," he said. "I've got it. A name for the ship. Something that humankind has been naming ships for centuries."

Everyone looked at him attentively and he raised his glass. "I hereby christen this vessel the Enterprise." He poured a little liquor out on the deck.

"I like it," Bones said.

"Fascinating. I had hypothesized that you were incapable of liking anything," Spock said.

"Speak for yourself," Bones returned, raising his glass, but he was grinning.

"All right," said Jim. "Let's launch this thing before we all get too drunk to navigate."

"These same concerns relate to my choice not to become intoxicated myself," Spock said.

"Well, be proud that I'm thinking ahead and saving you the trouble."

They trooped to the bridge, glasses still in hand, and whizzed through the pre-flight checks to undock from the outpost. Spock took the helm, apparently not confident in anyone else's sobriety, and manoeuvred them into an open lane to set out for the black once more.

"Where to, Jim?" Scotty asked.

"To the next station that'll take us," Jim said. "War is brewing and I smell money to be made."

"Aye aye, Captain."

Jim grinned. "I like the sound of that."

Uhura rolled her eyes. "You would."

"All right," Scotty said, "I've laid in a bearing for a system near Klingon space. A week at warp 7."

Jim threw himself into a chair, balancing his glass on the arm. His ship. The Enterprise. And his crew, his friends, Spock. Freedom.

"Punch it," he said.

THE END