Captain James T. Kirk

Jim’s gotten himself into plenty of trouble before. As a former pirate, there were plenty of opportunities to make a mess of the situation and find himself in more than one sticky situation. However, this has to be the worst possible situation yet -- and that’s really saying something. When he heard about the monster hunting contract he figured it wouldn’t be a big deal at all. In and out, then he’d get paid. Of course, he hadn’t thought about all the other people that must’ve come before him. 

The monster that’s prowling around the castle is some sort of beast that Jim is wildly under qualified to handle. He’s hidden himself away, but it’s only a matter of time before he’s got to make his desperate escape if he wants to live. Honestly, he’s not even positive what sort of creature it is. 

Have a great day! 

Red alert. The lights and the sirens always make the hairs stand up on the back of Doctor McCoy’s neck, but he moves with no hesitation or show of anxiety as he collects his medical scanner from the top of his desk. Danger is routine out here in the endless void. 

“Doctor McCoy,” Spock’s voice carries from the bridge down to McCoy’s office from the speaker beside his terminal. “Report to the bridge immediately. The Captain has fallen unconscious.” 

“On my way,” he replies curtly, pushing down the sense of dread he feels in the pit of his stomach. He cuts the connection with a tap of his fist while he slings his tricorder over his shoulder, and leaves his office. 

His medbay is buzzing with unspoken tension as his staff once again prepares for the worst. He catches Nurse Chapel’s anxious glance, and assures her as he strides past, “Stand by. Let me see what in the hell’s going on here.” 

He enters the turbolift and states his destination to the tactile interface. “Bridge.” The room begins to move, and after a few apprehensive seconds, Bones pulls his handheld communicator from his belt, flips it open, and addresses the first officer. “Spock. What happened? Is he breathing?” 

“The Captain appears to be merely unconscious. I am uncertain of the cause.” Before McCoy can question further, Spock continues - “Excuse me, Doctor, I am picking up an abnormality in my sensor’s readings.” Spock cuts the connection. 

Wonderful. Just what I wanted to hear.

Leonard raises a dubious eyebrow. “Please tell me you’re joking about bodily harming someone for something as small as peaches,” he asks with a fond huff. Though, Leonard is incredibly warm and pleased that Jim thought of him at this time and wanted to do something to combat the homesickness. 

“I suppose I can take a break now because cobbler is only really good when warm,” Len says as he starts to shut down PADDs and organize his materials. 

Jim grins. “Why, if I did punch a few people to get them would you not eat it?” He’s kidding of course -- he was able to purchase them without much of a problem. He’ll let Bones believe whatever he wants to believe though -- it’s more fun that way. 

Leonard merely watches him for a moment, chewing slowly now the first voracious bites are out of the way, having slaked his desire to get something, anything in his stomach.

“New job,” he repeats once he’s swallowed, eyeing the stranger as though maybe he suspects the kid hadn’t been listening the first time. But he’s got nothing else to do, nowhere else to really go, with half a plate of food and a bottle still in front of him. May as well play nice.

“They needed more hands,” he says with a bit of a one-shouldered shrug. “An’ I’ve got hands to spare.” It’s more than that, and he knows it. He’s only being questioned for curiosity’s sake and likely no small amount of boredom. The doctor’s grown solitary and defensive over time, but reasonably he knows he’ll need to shed some of that if he’s to return to work without incident. 

“Didn’t mean to end up here. M’from Georgia.” When he chuckles, it’s a dry, hollow sound. “Been on a lot’a busses. Trains. Shuttles.  Didn’t really care where I was headed, I just needed t’not be where I was anymore.” 

He raises the burger to his mouth again, raises a brow; “So here I am,” and takes another bite.

It’s no secret that Riverside’s hospital is perpetually short staffed. Truthfully, Jim had only been half listening during his first round of questioning. He’s all tuned in now, determined not to miss a single word. “Noble pursuit, being a doctor. Surgeon, right?” He throws in, just to prove he’s not an idiot.

Jim’s had more than a few people come through the bar just looking to get away from where they were. There are often days he wonders why he doesn’t just do that himself; go bartend in a big city with flashing lights and lots to keep him interested. On nights where he’s being honest, he’ll admit that he’s terrified of being just as uninterested in a bit city as he is here. That nothing will change except the scenery. Most days he just says he doesn’t feel like making the move -- not that he has all that much to move. All the things he cares about could fit in his backpack. 

@cxptxin-kirk​

   It’s a late night, and Sirise is on her way home after one of her many jobs when she sees him. A small figure, highlighted in low light by one of the docking bays, bent over as if in pain. She’s far away enough that she does allow a sigh of exhaustion to seep from her lips. No one’s watching. She can just walk away. No one will know. 

   But – extra practice is never bad, right? 

   The closer she gets, the more she sees. Red blood dripping into puddles before him. Shoulders rising and falling in shallow breaths. From pain, or did he injure something in his chest? 

   “Uh-uh-uh!” Vacillating notes caught in her throat, almost like an excuse me. Just a noise to get his attention before her fingers ran across the bracelet on her wrist and began signing. A luminescent screen appeared by her side… words joined them, gently, as she curled her face into a kind, sympathetic smile. “Hi. I’m a doctor. Can I take a look at that?” 

Jim is always picking fights. At this point it feels as natural as breathing. That self destructive tendency has gotten him into more trouble than he knows how to count. This time he’s certain it’s going to get him killed. The others he’d been fighting away run off at the first sign of life, leaving him hunched over, leaning back against a wall as his legs threaten to give out from underneath him.

He starts to take an account of his injuries, to judge if he should brave going to the hospital, when he hears someone calling out to him. Jim tilts his head up through the pain, reading the words that appear next to her. He knows his face must be pretty messed up with blood. He can feel a lot of pain and his abdomen too; nothing about him can look pretty right now. There’s no reason to believe this woman is a doctor either; she could be here to rob him blind. 

Yet, Jim isn’t in a position where he can really refuse help. “Sure,” He rasps, trying to remain cool and collected despite feeling anything but. He shifts to slide down the wall, putting all his weight back against it once he’s on the ground. 

Being something of a jack of all trades ( or, at least most), Pavel found himself at the Transporter bay today, filling another officer in on the controls. Without prompting on their part the familiar beaming sound had vibrated through the air as one man beamed aboard. A man Chekov had never laid eyes on before but yet was also wearing command gold. But there was something just slightly off about the outfit. A replication of some kind maybe? 

His brow furrowed as he double checked the control panel for the transporter. “Zhis Zhing must be acting up. We vill need to tell Scotty.” The other officer nodded and walked off, leaving Chekov and the stranger. Chekov stood up straighter, authority seeming appropriate in a possibly dangerous situation. “Zhis is U.S.S Enterprise. Who are you?” 

Jim’s ears catch on the Scotty’s familiar name and the familiar accent of Chekov. He keeps the confusion off his face for now, not entirely certain that it’s his crew -- it’s certainly not his ship. However, as the stranger relays what ship he’s on, Jim’s eyes widen a bit on their own. He’s surprised -- he hadn’t expected to hear that he was on the Enterprise of all places. 

“I would never avoid you,” Silas drawls teasingly, removing his gloves and depositing them in a reconstitution bin.  “Not even after that last little adventure you dragged me on – you know, the one where I got spored in the face by an alien mushroom and everything tasted like prunes for a month.”

In truth, he did find himself occasionally withdrawing – not only from Jim, but from most social obligations that often arose in the close quarters of the ship.  Often, it had very little to do with anyone but himself.  “So what are you buying me for lunch?”

Jim couldn’t help the bright laugh that escaped him at the memory. It was only funny because the repercussions weren’t that serious. “Hah. That was an adventure. Never know what you’ll find out there in space.” He grins, hopping off the table and stretching out. 

Some of the tension eased from Spock’s shoulders as the cadet did as she was told immediately. He was still attempting to gauge the situation and come to his own conclusion based on the facts that he was dealt.

He stayed in his place as the man took another step closer to where he was standing in the room. He still didn’t appear to be hostile and he had an air of familiarity about him. Spock remained in his usual stance, hands clasped, as the man seemed to pull himself together, attempting to figure out the situation as well.

“You are indeed.” What has he been expecting? It didn’t take long for the Vulcan to answer his own question as the man spoke again. The sentence rang in Spock’s ears until it clicked into place for him and he narrowed his eyes slightly in thought. Somehow, they had gotten someone from a different universe.. a different Enterprise. This assessment wasn’t far-fetched as it had happened before, though he didn’t appear to be from the mirrored universe.

He only watches as the man steps forward, introducing himself as- Well. Spock hadn’t completely expected that, but he supposed that it made enough sense. He nodded in understanding and crossed his arms, something he usually did when thinking of what to do next. “I do believe that your suspicions are correct, Captain. I assume you know who I am already, then?”

{ @cxptxin-kirk }

“Commander Spock,” Jim replied, with more formality to his tone than he’d normally give when addressing his Spock. They’ve moved into something different, with Jim often just using ‘Spock’ to address him. However, that feels wrong to do here. He doesn’t really know this Spock at all. 

He glances around the room, feeling the weight of everyone’s gaze. His eyes settle back on Spock. As much as he’d prefer to discuss these things in private, he can understand Spock’s weariness about doing such a thing. “You don’t seem nearly as surprised as I would’ve thought. None of you do.” Jim frankly, would be more shocked, if Ambassador Spock hadn’t come from whichever dimension he was from and informed them about those truths about the universe. 

Jim knows the Enterprise like the back of his hand. When he steps off the transporter and into the bay, it only takes him moments to realize that the ship he’s stepped out onto is not his own. While everything feels similar, it’s not the same. Somehow, he’s beamed onto another ship. He hopes it’s a friendly atmosphere. Even though the people gawking him are wearing Starfleet uniforms, Jim is loath to trust that easily. 

“If you’ve got nothin’ else to do.” It sounds rude and harsh, but there’s a subtly to the way he says it that suggests maybe it’s only a sense of humor so dry and sarcastic that it takes a practiced ear to appreciate it. 

The burger, at least, is accepted with a satisfied expression and a pleased sound of appreciation once he takes a bite. Leonard’s been eating garbage lately, if he remembers to eat at all, and despite how simple and basic this is, it hits the spot just right. The doctor polishes it off maybe a little quicker than is strictly warranted, but once teased with real sustenance, his body will accept nothing less than the whole of it. When there’s nothing left save for the last sliver of bun in his hand, he looks up at last from his plate, only to see the young barkeep still hovering nearby.

Leonard would go mad here, he knows that. So little to do, so little to keep his hands busy and his mind occupied, surrounded by rows and rows of bottles. He’s tempted to ask the kid how he can do it, but knows logically that his own strife is not universal. 

“Thanks,” he says quietly, popping the last morsel into his mouth and reaching for his glass to wash it down. At least now with something in his stomach to soak up all the bourbon, he’ll likely make it hours more before needing to lie down. 

Jim’s taken off guard by the gruff tone at first before he grins, chuckles, and grabs the bourbon. “Well, I’d make a pretty shitty bartender if I couldn’t find a way to fit you into my very busy schedule.” He takes the top off the bottle and pours another glass. He leaves the bottle near, figuring this stranger will need more. 

His grin widens at the pleased sound he makes. Chip makes a mean burger, and the owner spares no expense for food -- says the food makes a place just as much as the drink does. There’s a good reason Murphy’s is miles beyond every other shoddy bar in town. “Pretty good, right?” Jim should probably order something for himself soon. He rarely packed a lunch, preferring to eat a hot meal over a cold, unsatisfying sandwich.  

While the stranger eats, Jim cleans up the nonexistent mess on the bar. He’s not supposed to do sudoku puzzles while there are customers at the bartop. Besides, he’s still hoping to pull something out of this stranger. Jim’s itching for a good story or two, or even a bad one. Just some new bit of information to keep him going. He thrives on gossip, although he doesn’t share the secrets he learns. That’s another reason Murphy’s is so popular -- a bartender that knows how to keep secrets.