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singularityTitle: Swashing Buckles, Righting Wrongs: From the Fabulous Adventures of Captain James Significant Pause Cook, 2/?
Author:
possibly_thrice Rating: Let's say R for now. Will rise, haha.
Pairing: Pike/Kirk. I AM SO VERY UNPREDICTABLE, ISN'T IT AWESOME?
Summary: Prompted by
st_xi_kink . Kirk never meets Pike or Uhura, and runs off with a broken-heart-crazed McCoy to be a pirate. For a moment, it seems as if there will be an actual plot. Then I reveal that I'm actually just doing this to set up angsty Captain Pike/Pirate Captain Jimmy dubcon. Part One is here.A/N: Well, it's a... little funnier this time. Tonal incompatibility ftw. At least, if you're me. I'm told my sense of humor is a little whacked. I can't imagine why they'd say something like that, but there you have it.
“…my name is James Tiberius Kirk.“
It’s a damn good thing Uhura is holding him up. Pike can’t even make sense of the words, the voice so much like George’s, but unnatural and sweetened by thick irony. ‘Cook’ is a shadowy figure who hasn’t had enough direct conflicts with the Federation for them to have gathered solid information about him; he works in tandem with another man, Bones is the nickname, at all times, Pike knows, probably the fellow at his elbow now, but otherwise there’s no consistency to his crimes except that he doesn‘t get caught. And part of Pike -- the treacherous part -- thinks that Winona Kirk was known for her unpredictability, back at the Academy. Some things run in the blood. Morals were not apparently one of them, he thinks, bitter and horrified at once, his nails digging into his palms.
James Kirk disappeared from the records three years ago, not long after he moved out of her house. Involved in a road accident. Presumed dead.
Christ.
“What do you want?” Pike says, because he can‘t exactly ask How the hell did you of all people end up here? What the hell did I do to deserve this, after the rest of this ridiculous day?, because he’s so tired and the protocol for dealing with children-of-dead-legends-turned-thieves escapes him, momentarily, or maybe not momentarily, has drained out of him like honey through sackcloth.
Kirk taps his chin, mock-thoughtful; he could almost pass for a Starfleet cadet pouring over his notes, slouched elegantly across the controls. “Well, now,” he says, “let me see. I like your ship, you know.”
“Thank you so much.”
“And I was thinking,” Kirk continues, “since I helped you destroy the Narada, and all -- oh, don’t look so surprised, do you see any other banged up scuttle buckets in the area? I think not. Anyway, I was thinking, without me the Earth would pretty much have blown it, right? Starfleet owes me and my loyal crew.”
Pike folds his arms across his chest, although his ribs are less than happy about it. It’s probably true, on the most technical of levels, that Kirk helped save the Earth, but it’s not like he’s going to admit that. “Grateful as I am for your assistance, I’m not sure I’d go that far. Get to the point.”
“I think,” Kirk says, “that Captain Cook of the Enterprise has a nice ring to it.”
There’s an audible change in the quality of tension filling the bridge, as Uhura stiffens behind him and the pilots look up with matched, feverish eyes, and Spock, who by rights should be in the sickbay, regards the screen with palpable dislike that cuts deep into his still, orange-bruised face.
“I don’t think,” Pike says, flatly, glad enough to draw on the force of their resentment, “that you understand your circumstances, Captain Kirk of the… Serenity. Our weapons systems, at least, have survived --”
“Was that a ‘no’, officer?” Kirk says. “Pity. I’m not sure the lower decks will last out another beating in her state, and most of your crew certainly won‘t. But if that’s what it takes --” and he makes as if to cut off the comm.
“Wait,” Pike says, although he hates himself a little for the desperation that creeps in because he will not -- because the Fleet cannot afford to lose any more cadets, any more than they can lose this ship. And if he is to be perfectly honest inside his own head, the likelihood of their winning this battle is not as certain as he‘d like to make out; most of the senior staff is half-conscious, on autopilot, and he himself can’t stop replaying historic holovids of his old hero (his old friend) in his head, bright lines on the red insides of his eyelids when he blinks.
The other man moves at that same instant to grip Kirk’s arm and hiss something under his breath. Inaudible, but Pike is willing to be that it’s what are you doing?
“Fascinating,” Spock murmurs. He shares a look with Pike. Kirk’s probably bluffing. Let him be bluffing.
“Yes?” Kirk says, fluttering his eyelashes. “Now you’re willing to hear me out, is that it?”
“I am not about to hand over the Enterprise,” Pike says. The image flickers a little, and Kirk visibly leaks assumed calm, loses that forced charm, the set of his jaw hardening. “But we can negotiate other compensations, we can make contact with Starfleet Command, and if they recommend, which they will, I could obtain partial amnesty for you --”
“Captain?” the kid, Chekov, says.
“What?” Pike demands, not a little annoyed; he’d whip around, maybe glare, only he suspects he’d overbalance. “What is it?”
“We are being fed a loop,” Chekov says, biting his lip. “I do not know, how this Kirk is manipulating our system, but the image, is not video…”
And even as he says it the projection starts to ripple, nauseatingly.
“Damn,” Pike says, sitting down; if he‘s going to have to command another battle, which is the only reason for this masking he can think of, he‘s not going to do it on his legs, strung through with a wobbling ache. “Damn, damn, damn. Close the link.” Chekov is already shutting down the holo, which shudders out of existence to reveal the pirate ship halfway through re-arming, its haphazard metal contours glowing green.
He should have expected this.
But he thought, on some level, that Kirk‘s son wouldn‘t pull this kind of trick --
“All weapons on ready. Shields up. Looks like we‘re just going to have to fight our way out,” he says grimly.
There is a chorus of yes sirs that hurts his ears, and they are moving, fast and painfully sharp for all that none of them, not one of these soft-skinned unprepared students -- soldiers -- has slept in the last thirty hours. For a few seconds: a controlled chaos, sunbursts of pain in his hands as Pike tightens his hold on the armrests and bellows orders that he barely understands.
He’s not sure how much more adrenaline he has left in him but for as long as he’s riding this wave, everything heightened unnaturally in his vision, the sound layering into white noise that in turn becomes a deafening, surreal silence, he can just about manage to hold the threads together. He feels detached, hanging like a loose end in a dream.
Aim to disable warp and weapon capacities only, he hears himself think, and wonders, privately, that no one questions the rapid words he‘s vomiting all over them, so deeply flawed on a grander scale. No one so much as raises an eyebrow, when the Serenity buckles under fire, vulnerable, its odd lopsided shape uncurling, and isn’t finished off, when the Enterprise narrowly avoids a series of photons without retaliating in full measure.
Probably they don’t have energy to spot his hesitations, his terrible split-second delays, the lulls where he blacks out, ever so briefly. And it gets easier to not consider the fact that this is Kirk; the next time -- well, okay, the next time after this -- he’ll be able to do what has to be done and --
Of course, it’s then that Kirk and a handful of other pirates materialize, quite impossibly, in front of him.
For a heartbeat, everyone freezes, pirates included; possibly they weren’t expecting to land on the fucking bridge. Then, at the same time as the crew starts to move in unison, like a wall, Kirk darts forward and hauls Pike out of his seat. Moving like a snake, he jams the tip of the phaser under Pike‘s chin, tilting his head up.
Everyone freezes. Again. Except for Pike, who kicks Kirk in the shin without qualms. (A little late, that last clause, but better late than never.) He’s really rather tired of being dragged about, all things considered, and he scrapes at Kirk’s fingers on his shirtfront, jerks away.
But it doesn’t do him any good; Kirk just takes it, doesn’t stumble or loosen his grip, the bastard. He does catch Pike a blow to the jaw with the hand holding the gun, which is, painful, yes, very, not least because someone has already done it today, although damned if he can remember who or what it was just now.
The world lurches and Pike finds himself slumping sideways, although Kirk, to no one‘s great surprise, drags him approximately upright and turns him to face his stunned crew, the phaser still very pointedly, ahaha, hovering near his temple, where he can just see out of the corner of his eye that the light is flashing red. Great. Also, somewhere in the last twenty seconds his arms have been pinned to his sides. Fantastic.
Also, he’s fairly sure that any strength panic lent him has bled out.
“I like this ship!” one of the pirates says, with a Scottish lilt, and very cheerfully. “It’s exciting.”
There’s a pause.
“I was only saying,” the pirate says, slightly less cheerfully, but no less lilting.
“Put your weapons down and your hands up,” Kirk snaps. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you clever ladies, gentlemen, and respectably logical entities what will happen to Captain Pike if you do.”
Bluffing is the word for it, all right, much good it does them. It’s just as well that Kirk didn’t go the whole loaf and say don’t nobody move, he thinks dizzily, or Spock’s very literal interpretation of grammar would have gotten Pike killed. Or something. He’s gratified to note that they look at him for some kind of confirmation or reassurance; he’s less gratified by the fact that when he shakes his head, slightly, trying to communicate that now is not the time to act according to Starfleet direction regarding hostage situations, they pause but then proceed to ignore him and disarm in a clatter of plastic on plastic.
“Right. Commander, end the attack on my ship. Now, please.”
Spock meets Kirk’s gaze evenly, or at least Pike assumes he’s meeting Kirk’s gaze evenly, not, say, staring at a spot two inches to the left of Kirk’s ear, and leans over the comm while Sulu rolls out of the way. “General announcement: to all branches,” he says, quietly, “abort engagement. We have been infiltrated by Captain Kirk and his collaborators, who have taken Captain Pike hostage and forced Acting First Officer Uhura and myself to concede control of the Enterprise; the battle is effectively lost. Spock out.”
“Good,” Kirk says. “Good. Would have been better for you if you’d just surrendered gracefully while you had a chance, but… good. Navigator, set the course for Earth.”
Sulu blinks. “We are closer to another Federation planet near the Neutral Zone,” he begins, in a reasonable tone. At first glance, that would make more sense, too. But the more Pike considers, the more he gets the sickening feeling that Kirk has no intention of being sensible.
“I said Earth. I want to negotiate with Starfleet High Command, see. The way I figure it, the lot of you, and particularly Captain Pike here, will make eloquent arguments as to why I deserve to be given the Enterprise for my valiant services. Or something. Not to mention complete amnesty for me and everyone associated with me,” he goes on. “Except for K’rin. I never did like her. It. Whatever. Where was I? Oh yes. And new warp drives would be nice, along with what other parts it needs. After all of which has been provided, you’ll be shuttled down! Until then, well, I’m sure we’ll all get on. Any questions? Not you,” he finishes, when Pike starts to speak.
A long, uncomfortable silence blooms as the bridge crew stares and the other four pirates fidget.
“Are you mentally unstable?” Spock says at last, slowly.
“That’s ‘are you mentally unstable, sir?’” Kirk says. “And on the contrary, I’d think the way I just outwitted all of you proves that I am very stable.” He glances at Uhura, who appears to be trying to set him aflame with her gaze alone, and Spock, in whose forehead a ripe emerald vein is twitching, and Sulu, still plastered with dust from, hell, from a vanished planet. “Okay, maybe not very stable. Stable, anyway. Stabler than you.”
“Defensive,” mutters Sulu, who is somewhat belatedly growing on Pike.
“How did you beam through the shields?” Chekov says, expression earnest as a very earnest thing. “Even at the reduced levels, they should have been sufficient for to prevent transport.”
Kirk takes a moment to parse the accent, or maybe to parse just how tiny and incongruous Chekov is, with his long boyish face and his ludicrous curls, and then says, “I’m not giving up all my secrets. But let’s just say I have a very good engineer. Isn’t that right, Scotty?”
One of those who accompanied him winks in Pike’s peripheral vision. “Yes indeed, sir.”
Pike blinks. That’s a fairly ragged but recognizable uniform the man has on, such a vivid, muddy red. “Why are you -- you’re a Fleet engineer?”
“Not anymore,” Scotty says. “No offense meant, sir, but Captain Kirk here has done a lot more good by me than Starfleet. Got me off Delta Vega, he did.”
Pike winces. That’s the problem with shoving troublemakers off to isolated outposts; it often has exactly the opposite of the intended effect. Scotty has crazed eyes, the eyes of someone who’s spent too long staring at sheets of ice to feel much of anything in the way of loyalty to concepts and ideals. There goes that plan.
“Any other questions?” Kirk says.
“You really think you’re going to get away with this?” Uhura inquires.
“Yeah,” Kirk says, “I do. Doesn‘t it show? Now, I‘m going to escort Captain Pike to his quarters, where he won‘t cause any trouble, and then we‘ll see about getting my new ship, ah, ship-shape, huh?”
And Pike can hear the wink.
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Date: 2009-06-21 04:31 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-06-21 01:55 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-06-21 08:12 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2009-06-21 09:04 pm (UTC)