Path: newsspool2.news.atl.earthlink.net!stamper.news.atl.earthlink.net!elnk-atl-nf1!newsfeed.earthlink.net!newsswing.news.prodigy.com!prodigy.net!news.glorb.com!postnews.google.com!z14g2000cwz.googlegroups.com!not-for-mail From: lyrastarwatcher@yahoo.com Newsgroups: alt.startrek.creative Subject: NEW TOS: Silent Stars 1/1(K/S)[G] Date: 8 Dec 2004 18:43:53 -0800 Organization: http://groups.google.com Lines: 248 Message-ID: <1102560233.307825.30990@z14g2000cwz.googlegroups.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: 66.82.9.69 Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1" X-Trace: posting.google.com 1102560239 1301 127.0.0.1 (9 Dec 2004 02:43:59 GMT) X-Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com NNTP-Posting-Date: Thu, 9 Dec 2004 02:43:59 +0000 (UTC) User-Agent: G2/0.2 Complaints-To: groups-abuse@google.com Injection-Info: z14g2000cwz.googlegroups.com; posting-host=66.82.9.69; posting-account=D8HexwwAAAAddv6E-B1vxF09heETnbMG Xref: news.earthlink.net alt.startrek.creative:161486 X-Received-Date: Wed, 08 Dec 2004 18:44:00 PST (newsspool2.news.atl.earthlink.net) Title: The Silent Stars Go By Author: Lyrastar Series: TOS Rating: G Codes: K/S Contact: Lyrastarwatcher at yahoo dot com or www.geocities.com/lyrastarwatcher Disclaimer: Paramount. Summary: From the Slash Advent Calendar 2002 at THE SILENT STARS GO BY "I am still looking forward to some shore leave on some lovely little...planet." Jim Kirk passed the padd back to the young ensign and sank heavily down into the command chair. With the giant organism dead and Spock's shuttle safely on the hangar deck, his body finally gave in to the perils of the day. He felt the quivering of utter exhaustion begin in his legs and rise to his stomach. He squelched it for the moment. He was still the captain; he wouldn't give in until he could be assured that his ship, his people were all secure. Just for a moment, he let his eyes hang low. He slipped into absolute blackness. The waking nightmare returned with full horror. The stars were gone! With a jolt he snapped his head back and opened his eyes. The familiar starfield of deep space once again drifted across the viewscreen. Sheepishly, he looked around. His officers were all focused on their stations, busy carefully ignoring the center seat. That included one officer Kirk had not noticed make his reappearance. Gripping the armrests of the command chair, he pushed himself up and over to the science station. Resting one hand on the rim of Spock's chair, he draped himself casually over the station--and over his officer. "Mr. Spock," he said with a calculated smile, "welcome back." "Thank you, Captain. Coordinating damage reports now. While shuttlecraft systems will require extensive repairs, Enterprise proper is largely undamaged. No critical systems involved." Spock spun to face his dangerously close captain. Hands folded in his lap, Spock's face betrayed nothing but consummate professional capability. With a twinkle in his eye, Jim let him have this round. Absurdly, Spock's utterly impassive public demeanor gave him as much satisfaction as any ebullient reunion would have, maybe more. The Spock of their intimate moments would remain for his eyes only. It would be their secret. "Sickbay to captain," McCoy's voice broke through the moment. "You're late for your appointment, Jim." "Later, Bones," Jim answered. "We're still cleaning up here. I have things to do." "Well frankly, Captain, sir, between the effects of that dammed zone and the drugs I've had to pump into everyone, I'm a little busy myself and number one on my list is to see to the welfare of the commanding officer before those stimulants either wear off or blow him to bits! You have five minutes to get in here, or I'll send the medics up to bring you down forcibly. McCoy out!" The transmission cut off abruptly. "Please go, Captain." Spock regarded him, his demeanor utterly unruffled. "I have been informed that I am next on the good doctor's agenda, and I do not believe that his temperament will improve by being kept waiting." On yellow alert, Jim asked sotto voce, "You all right?" His face spoke unabashedly of the grief they had narrowly avoided this day in a way that his voice never would. Jim couldn't begin to explain how the Vulcan's face shifted. It was as serene as ever, and yet Jim knew with certainty that Spock too was most acutely aware of what they had come so close to losing--of what they risked each and every day, and of how much more precious it made each moment together seem. "Quite all right, Captain." The Vulcan inclined his head. "I am not in need of medical attention, however I suspect I will find my next period of rest most agreeable." For this Spock was rewarded with one of Jim's patented smiles. Was it only nineteen minutes ago that he had known that he had seen it for the last time? Death was nothing, but to be parted from this man was everything. He turned back to his station before the rest of the bridge could bear witness to his loss of control. Surak himself could not have stood fast against that man. Round II went to the captain. Jim smiled with perfect comprehension. With a gesture that could have been casual but both knew was not, Jim trailed his fingers lightly across the blue-clad shoulders as he turned and headed for the lift. He made it to sickbay hoping to reach a biobed before his body gave out entirely. Bones stopped him at the door with a hand against his chest. "Hold on, Jim. I've got a full house in there. Have a seat at the desk." Grateful, Jim slid in just in time. "I don't know what you were so worried about," McCoy muttered as he passed the scanner over his patient. "You can't kill a Vulcan--only short circuit them. In fact, he'll probably want to go back several more times-- run a heuristic study on the metabolic effects of the zone or some such nonsense." His voice held all the familiar acerbity, but his hands were uncommonly gentle as he held Kirk's arm to administer the spray. The hypo hissed into his deltoid. Jim started to rise. His knees buckled before he made it halfway up. He crumpled unceremoniously back into the chair. Bones glanced at him out of the corner of his eye. "You know, Dr. Kirk, you might want to sit still a few minutes to let your body detoxify and adjust to the lower adrenaline levels." He tucked the hypospray neatly away and plopped down on the edge of the desk looking all but spent himself. "But far be it from me to tell you what to do. I'm just a simple country doctor." Jim tried to summon enough energy for a glare, but his eyelids had a different idea. He lowered his head to the desk, thankful for even the brief respite. "Jim," McCoy said quietly after a minute, "it should have been me, you know." "Hm?" Kirk mumbled. Even lifting his head seemed like too much effort. McCoy continued, "I should have gone. It was my idea, my area of specialty. It should have been me." He spoke the words evenly, like a doctor delivering a terminal diagnosis. No emotional tirade or his usual distancing rancor, just the simple, painful facts. "If he had died--" "I thought you noticed, Doctor, no one's dead." Jim's clipped tone indicated that the subject was closed--at least for him. McCoy would not be silenced. He said very softly, "If there were no other reason, I would have gone to keep you from having to send him." For this, Jim lifted his head. In the depths of exhaustion he pulled a small smile from somewhere. "I know. And I also know he'd never permit it. That's why I love you both." This time Kirk did make it to his feet. The fatigue seemed less heavy somehow. Patting his old friend on the shoulder, he straightened and returned to his Bridge. Minutes later Jim stood on the threshold of the turbolift surveying his domain. He took the moment to study his officers, his people. They had given them their trust, their heart, their soul, their all. It was nothing less than miraculous. How could he have ever thought anything else? How could he take any of this for granted? Humbled, he reassumed the center seat. The central viewer was filled with the gentle rhythm of the passing stars, reassuring the Bridge that all was again as it should be. Lost in thought, he felt more than heard Spock slip around to stand behind him. "Spock," he asked, without turning from the viewer, "do you ever stop to look at the stars?" "Affirmative, Captain. Astronomy observations are taken routinely; I provide direct supervision at least once a day, other duties permitting." "Not study them, Spock, just look at them. How they twinkle and shine against the cold void of space. We see them everyday, take them as something so basic, so fundamental so much a part of our daily existence, that we don't ever really look at them any more. But they are so very beautiful. "Do you ever just stop to admire them? Or the brilliant colors of the planets spinning against the black? Or the shifting beauty of the clouds cloaking and uncovering their world?" "I have done so once." The memory returned full force. Spock saw himself once again lying with his head in her lap. She stroked his hair; the spores stroked his mind. Violations of the body were standard issue for field personnel. Violation of the mind, of his Vulcan soul, now that was something else. It had taken him weeks to reconcile the alien influence with his concept of himself--who he was, who he would be--who he could be. "For the first time in my life, I was happy," he had told his captain then. What he did not say on that day, was whether or not he would have it be the last time. At that moment, he had not yet decided. All the teachings of Surak, all the tenets of modern day Vulcan argued against it. But he was also a scientist. The very nature of science was investigation of previously unknown quantities, was it not? Would it not be illogical to refuse to investigate these possibilities? Less than two months later he had decided that it would. Decided, he had gone to Jim's cabin and turned his back on Vulcan and its regiments of non-emotion forever. "And?" Kirk probed with a quirky smile. "While there were some redeeming features, I would not choose to repeat that exact experience," Spock said. "Mr. Spock, I don't think you have a romantic bone in your whole body." Jim waited for the inevitable playful rejoinder, but there was only silence. Puzzled, he twisted around. Spock's face was unreadable, but uncharacteristically his hands rested not behind his back, but lightly on the top of the command chair. Jim searched his face and saw nothing but fierce control. Later for that. Later, in private. Right now they had a starship to command. Jim settled back in the seat, his shoulder pinning the fingertips, not accidentally. Lost in thought, Jim gazed at the screen, the shifting starfield, the stars that had heralded their freedom. In all the long days and months and years that he had spent in space he had had occasion to think of the stars as friend, mother, challenger, jailer. In all that time he had never seen them as deliverance--until today. He had never been a religious man, not in the conventional sense. But there was something about those stars. "Spock, through all of mans' history, the stars have been a focus of constancy. Ancient people considered the stars to be the home of the gods, the root source of everything important. Mariners trusted their lives to the stars--used them to steer the way to glory and adventure, then safely back home again. It's even said that a star guided the first followers across the desert to bring them to their savior. "Can you imagine what it would be like? To cast your fate unto the stars--no turning back, all or nothing. To leave everything you have behind and to simply trust that the stars will lead you to home, life, happiness, salvation?" "Yes," Spock replied looking straight ahead at the starfield. Or perhaps at the man centered in the foreground. "I can." ~Lyra November 2002 NewMessage: