—I must be crazy to be in a loony bin like this.

Dar knew where she was going, but he didn’t. He kept a death-grip on her hand, his eyes blinded by sweat and desperate panic. The rending of metal and pipes—the skin and bone of the great ship sickened him, and he thought perhaps he would never make it, most likely die of a heart attack from all the cigarettes he smoked.

You’re going to fucking die, Jackey-Boy; all because of love—goddamn!

There were other voices now…Scotty, engineers he didn’t know. Their voices were a bleary slur, and Jack stumbled forward.

The blasts were farther away now, less frequent. He thought maybe he was dreaming, maybe they’d been caught up in a fireball and now they were dead. Probably. He closed his eyes shut tightly; there was a hand on his back, stopping him, and he forced his eyes open, blinking them. There was a moment of hesitation, a calm before the storm, and seeing Dar’s frightened  relief made the bitter gall of anger rise up in his throat. He forced a hand across his lips, his breaths, which had come up sharply quieted and he coughed—a hacking smokers cough, one he’d been able to hide with the doctor’s help. He took deep, even breaths, his heaving chest beginning to slow. He wiped his lips again, the sweat on his palm leaving a clammy chill on his cheeks.

“Nice running.”

He let out a desperate laugh at her words.

Another second went by, and Dar didn’t hesitate to pull him close. The explosions faded, and the simple hum of the ship returned, assuring her that things were safe again. “They’re gonna call all the engineers to go fix everything,” she murmured against his shoulder. “I’ll have to go. You can wait for me in my quarters or something. Heck, I’ll even make the trip to the mess hall to spend more time with you. Right now, though, I’m needed.”

She frowned and pulled away slightly. “Are you going to be okay? You should go to the medbay… your breathing didn’t sound too good, Jack. But first, tell me where to meet you, and I’ll be there as soon as I can. I promise.”

( !! It's fine! It's fine, Jack! I'm fine! !!) 

He wiped his brow with the back of his wrist, wiped his lips with the palm of his hand--his shaking hand. 

(god how i need a drink.) 

No, no, by god! 

She brought her hand up to cradle his face, clammy but reassuring and he smiled tentatively, ducking his head to place an unwavering kiss on her forehead. 

(i'll be alright, dar, jesus fuck, i swear--...)

 He shook his head weakly into her shoulder, a solemn "no" to her question. With his arms still around her waist, he felt like a fearful child, whimpering against his mother's breast. 

Get a goddamn grip, Morita. 

She pulled  away from him, even though he wasn't ready for her to go. 

Her comment about medbay, however, made a transient, ghost-like whisper of anger pass before his hazel eyes, but it was gone before he could get a good, head-on look at it. He swiped his hand over his lips, wishing for a dose of Excedrin to releive the beginnings of a throbbing headache

(hangover) 

--just like he used to get--which turned the fear that lapped on the edge of his consciousness into a cranky impatience. He looked down, the vise-grip on his temples pounding out his now steady heartbeat, and he read his watch quickly. Right now he'd be serving the third shift dinner--or at least pretending to-- the replicator

(damn it) 

had beat him to the job, again. He sucked in his bottom lip, letting go of her altogether, to his great sorrow. 

"I'll just go and get some Excedrin

(yeah right, jacky-boy, they won't have some goddamned drug store aspirin in that fancy-ass lab of theirs) 

and make myself some coffee. Don't worry about me, alright sweetheart? Alright?"

He leaned towards her and stole an achy kiss from her lips, weaving his fingers through her fiery hair. He sighed regretfully:

"Ugh, I'd never leave you, baby," he swore, "I'd never fucking leave you if I had a choice." 

He pulled her against him again, then let her go and stepped away. 

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

Jack retraced shaky steps, a bland, sickly grimace on his face. He felt torn in two--half of him cold, half of him hot--right down the center. The turbolift was silent, almost as if she knew to stay quiet. He forced himself to mutter "medbay", his heart still daring to well up in his throat. 

You're having a goddamn break-down, Jacky-boy.

He kept his face calm as the monotone woman relayed the fact that they'd arrived. He cursed silently. 

What kind of time will they have for you? All jitters and headaches. You can take a little blue pill for your smoking when you get back to Mess and it'll all go away, come on, Jack...

But it was too late. A nurse was tugging on his sleeve. 

"What are you in for, Mister Morita?" she asked and her voice was clearly stressed. Around him, turning Jack's fairly weak stomach, were signs of Klingon break-in. He swiped a hand over his lips. 

"Came for my pills--little blue bastards, you know...?" 

He held up his fingers, index and thumb, 

"...er..."

The awkward  silence was topped off by her weary glance and he felt guilt seep into his heart. 

"Mister Morita, I'm sorry, perhaps you're tired of me stressing the fact that maybe your best bet is to just quit smoking altogether..."

He shook his head. He would have none of that, "...besides," she was continuing, "you never come up here when we need you, why do you come now when we clearly don't?" her feign patience seemed thinner now then ever, so he just nodded, turning his heel before anything brash made its way out of his mouth. 

The turbolife was full. When Jack squeezed into the corner, no one even looked at him. He wondered to himself why anyone in their right mind would let him into such a a small space with four or five bridge officers, laughing and chattering. 

What's so fucking funny, anyway? He wanted to spit, but traveled on in silence. At the bridge they cleared off and he was alone, left standing until the woman called out that they were reaching Mess Hall level. Jack quietly decided he'd never go anywhere else, again. 

Just stay in your kitchen, you fucking prick. 

Well goddamn, if it isn’t your fucking favorite person in the world, Jacky-boy.

He smiled curtly at her question.

“Hey, that’s not logical, babe—you’re in my territory now, isn’t that right?”

You’re not cut out for this work, Jackey-Boy.

She returned to her work, and Jack let her hands drop. He sighed a little, to himself, mostly.

“Been thinkin about you an awful-fucking-lot,” he admitted, and grinned a little, following her a few steps to lean casually against the pipe, trying to take in as much of her pretty face as he could. The concentrated but beautiful grimace on her face, as she worked despite him, made him laugh and he gently tugged the wrench from her hands, bumping her from her place with his hip, “—get outta here, baby, lemme help; just a sec—…” Reaching up he undid the faulty bolt and prying it away looked down at her again, nearly prideful. He leaned down to return her tool, but with a foxy grin on his face he managed to steal a tiny kiss from her lips. To keep himself from embarrassment he quickly picked up his sentence from where he left off:

“…—hell, I mean, what kind of man would sleep when there’s a pretty thing like you clogging up the drains in his mind?” he rubbed the back of his nose with his soiled hands, wiping the excess grease onto his shirt. She turned from him at that moment, when another red shirted engineer rushed to Dar, and they exchanged a few hasty words. As he watched her turned back, he felt his face flush over the kiss, but pushing it out of his mind told himself to stay cool.

 He chuckled darkly as she mocked the engineer with her tongue and turning back to the pipe shrugged, “Mess Hall’s been pretty goddamned grey the past few days,” he sniffled, blinking as she reviewed her new assignment, and shook his head, “hell Dar, I’ve been in space seven goddamn years, I’m not even an Ensign,” he gave her a laughing glance, “shit, I should be callin you ma’am and telling you how your hair looks exceptionally beautiful—which is does, by the way…”

He shrugged off her worry about Klingons. While he didn’t want her to fret, he knew she had much more responsibility then he did, after all, and that was harrowing. For a moment he was silent, stepping back to watch as she worked skillfully away at the pipe.

“I’m not worried,” he admitted, kicking at nothing near his feet, “I mean…fuck, how many times has Captain Prick pulled us out of the shit before? Those Klingon bastards should just learn to fuck off if you ask me,”

It was simple enough—but not really. He knew as much as anyone it wasn’t that simple. Dar’s question about the woman left Jack nonplussed, but he caught on.

“wh-who—oh, that,” he threw his hands into his pockets, but not before wiping his lips with the palm of his hand, “nah, when I’m finished here I’ll go and sleep, maybe. She asked for authorization and I had nothing so I bullshitted my way through,” he wiped his lips again, the wanting of a drink brought a thick, black despair—would he ever have an hour when the craving for a drink wouldn’t surprise him like this? He laughed a little uncomfortably, “hell Dar, she was an old bat,”

He grinned again, even as he felt the chill of his past alcoholism fade. Hell, he couldn’t help the way his eyes scrunched when he looked at her. She made him happy.

She was turned completely away from him now, and he snorted when she mentioned being flocked by women.

Yeah-fucking-right, flocked by ladies my ass, I’m a menace.

“I repel them,” he corrected sternly, but with a joking edge, “I’m like a godda—…”

I have to find Scotty. I have to make sure he’s okay. I have to run. I have to evacuate the rest of the engineers and - 

Jack was kissing her. She couldn’t close her eyes and appreciate the feeling, no matter how much she wanted to. Dar knew this was his way of telling her everything would be okay - or was it? Eyes drawn wide, lips reciprocating the kiss as best as she could, Dar listened for the sound of phasers in the distance and heard Scotty instead.

Reluctantly (but swiftly), she pulled away from the kiss.

“We - we have to go, Jack.”

The sounds were so loud, so harrowing, and she had to cover her ears at one point to keep from yelling. With Jack at her side, Dar raced down the opposite corridor, away from the explosion and away from impending doom. She knew Scotty was down this way; she had to make sure he was safe.

More explosions. Dar saw swarms of people with phasers in their hands run past them and towards the fight. She stumbled once, but the sound of Scotty’s voice nearby spurred her to get up again.

Every once in a while, she made sure to look over her shoulder and assure that Jack was still there.

If they hurt him? God forbid.

When they finally found Scotty, the explosions and sounds of a battle were dying down. He explained that many of the head crew had hurried down there, and the enemy was nearly destroyed.

Dar instinctively took Jack’s hand and squeezed it, a wave of gratefulness washing over her. She glanced up at him.

Dar knew where she was going, but he didn’t. He kept a death-grip on her hand, his eyes blinded by sweat and desperate panic. The rending of metal and pipes—the skin and bone of the great ship sickened him, and he thought perhaps he would never make it, most likely die of a heart attack from all the cigarettes he smoked.

You’re going to fucking die, Jackey-Boy; all because of love—goddamn!

There were other voices now…Scotty, engineers he didn’t know. Their voices were a bleary slur, and Jack stumbled forward.

The blasts were farther away now, less frequent. He thought maybe he was dreaming, maybe they’d been caught up in a fireball and now they were dead. Probably. He closed his eyes shut tightly; there was a hand on his back, stopping him, and he forced his eyes open, blinking them. There was a moment of hesitation, a calm before the storm, and seeing Dar’s frightened  relief made the bitter gall of anger rise up in his throat. He forced a hand across his lips, his breaths, which had come up sharply quieted and he coughed—a hacking smokers cough, one he’d been able to hide with the doctor’s help. He took deep, even breaths, his heaving chest beginning to slow. He wiped his lips again, the sweat on his palm leaving a clammy chill on his cheeks.

“Nice running.”

He let out a desperate laugh at her words.

Star Trek

Star Trek

star trek

Star trek

STAR TREK

Trek Star

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