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Tumblr crosspost (25 January 2025)
Femslash Spirk scrap for today (at a point around the end of “The Conscience of the King”):
“I will admit,” said S’paak, “that I do not find the governor’s presumed fate a particularly grievous one, captain. I see no reason that skill at performance should exempt anyone from justice, much less someone guilty of Kodos’s crimes.”
Captain Kirk’s lips curved into an unconvincing approximation of her typical expression. “His skill at performance wasn’t the difficulty, unfortunately.”
S'paak could not help but wonder what Kirk would have done if events had not taken the matter out of her hands. Dr. McCoy could talk with Karidian’s own theatricality about blood and severed heads and vengeance, but Kirk had been cautious to the point of near folly. True, the Jessica Kirk of Tarsus IV had been a girl of thirteen, and the uncertainty of human memory made caution understandable. But the weight of evidence was so clear.
Even so, Kirk—a woman more prone to leveraging emotion than hiding its existence—had not fully succeeded in concealing her true thoughts. At least, not from S’paak. Kirk had gone from uncertain and reluctant to grim, fearless, admirably unfaltering. S’paak guessed that, in the end, Kirk would not have hesitated to personally consign Kodos to the fate he deserved had circumstances allowed for it. That was not an irrational vendetta, however bitter, but deserved and necessary.
“Those difficulties are past,” said S’paak, “thanks to you, with respect to both him and his daughter.”
“Not me alone. But thank you, I think,” said Kirk. She turned slightly away, though not before S’paak observed the uneven inhalation of her next breath, the quick, repeated flicker of her lashes. “Riley deserves more of your sympathy, though. He’s younger than me, lost more, and I ... I’ve always needed challenges to struggle against. Something to overcome.”
“I see no logical reason for starvation to be among those challenges,” said S’paak flatly, “nor the massacre of civilians, least of all when they are sent to death on no pretext except baseless pseudoscience.”
Captain Kirk’s lips curved into an unconvincing approximation of her typical expression. “His skill at performance wasn’t the difficulty, unfortunately.”
S'paak could not help but wonder what Kirk would have done if events had not taken the matter out of her hands. Dr. McCoy could talk with Karidian’s own theatricality about blood and severed heads and vengeance, but Kirk had been cautious to the point of near folly. True, the Jessica Kirk of Tarsus IV had been a girl of thirteen, and the uncertainty of human memory made caution understandable. But the weight of evidence was so clear.
Even so, Kirk—a woman more prone to leveraging emotion than hiding its existence—had not fully succeeded in concealing her true thoughts. At least, not from S’paak. Kirk had gone from uncertain and reluctant to grim, fearless, admirably unfaltering. S’paak guessed that, in the end, Kirk would not have hesitated to personally consign Kodos to the fate he deserved had circumstances allowed for it. That was not an irrational vendetta, however bitter, but deserved and necessary.
“Those difficulties are past,” said S’paak, “thanks to you, with respect to both him and his daughter.”
“Not me alone. But thank you, I think,” said Kirk. She turned slightly away, though not before S’paak observed the uneven inhalation of her next breath, the quick, repeated flicker of her lashes. “Riley deserves more of your sympathy, though. He’s younger than me, lost more, and I ... I’ve always needed challenges to struggle against. Something to overcome.”
“I see no logical reason for starvation to be among those challenges,” said S’paak flatly, “nor the massacre of civilians, least of all when they are sent to death on no pretext except baseless pseudoscience.”
Kirk didn’t look at her, but took another audibly deep breath. S’paak studied her, slightly puzzled that the captain’s personal experience of this atrocity and general intelligence could lead her to so peculiar a conclusion. She was equally baffled by the disagreeable intensity of sensation she felt in her own muscles as she watched Kirk, S’paak’s nerves registering a hot, slightly painful sensation in her throat and chest without cause. Even the observations of her own eyes did not seem altogether trustworthy; the line of Kirk’s figure had not changed from yesterday, yet struck S’paak as smaller and more fragile than ever before. Kirk’s body had not truly changed. Only S’paak’s own knowledge compromised the input of her senses: Jess Kirk could easily have died, at Tarsus IV or in this very ship, within this very hour.
S’paak did not express any of this outwardly, of course, but sometimes she found the raging wars of Vulcan’s past easier to understand than was usual for her. If there had been no other way to protect the captain, S’paak would not have hesitated to snap Kodos’s neck, nor regretted it afterwards.
“You do have a way of cutting to the point,” said Kirk, turning back with a faint smile. Her eyes were very bright, and less clear than S’paak had generally found them—not out of the newfound limitations of S’paak’s own senses, she guessed, but the human propensity towards tears at difficult times, which this certainly must be considered. But perhaps that was unjust. She had never once seen Kirk cry, and the captain’s face was dry enough, though she continued to blink at odd times and speeds.
“Dr. McCoy would put it differently,” said S’paak.
Kirk did not laugh, but her smile deepened. “Good thing I’m not Bones, then.”
“I quite agree,” S’paak said. “Speaking of the doctor, you should probably go to Sickbay. I believe Dr. McCoy had yet to discharge Lieutenant Riley when you prevented the assassination attempt, and the lieutenant was taken back to Sickbay afterwards.” She paused, searching Kirk’s face. “Captain, you yourself don’t appear to have had the rest that humans normally require. Dr. McCoy might be able to assist you.”
“Thanks,” Kirk said dryly, but she appeared to take the suggestion seriously enough, her brows drawing together in thought. After several seconds, she said, “I don’t think anything Bones could give me would help, and Riley’s going to be fine. Physically, anyway, and ... I’ll go talk to him in a few minutes. Just not yet.”
S’paak nodded, watching the captain fold her arms and glance around the galley, her gaze not appearing to focus on anything in particular. She thought about asking if Kirk wanted her to go, or required anything else, then rejected the idea. The captain was entirely capable of expressing either sentiment if she wished to. It appeared that instead, she wished for S’paak to stay, no matter how silent and remote she must seem, all the more in the context of such horror.
That was enough for S’paak. She said nothing else, and stayed.
S’paak did not express any of this outwardly, of course, but sometimes she found the raging wars of Vulcan’s past easier to understand than was usual for her. If there had been no other way to protect the captain, S’paak would not have hesitated to snap Kodos’s neck, nor regretted it afterwards.
“You do have a way of cutting to the point,” said Kirk, turning back with a faint smile. Her eyes were very bright, and less clear than S’paak had generally found them—not out of the newfound limitations of S’paak’s own senses, she guessed, but the human propensity towards tears at difficult times, which this certainly must be considered. But perhaps that was unjust. She had never once seen Kirk cry, and the captain’s face was dry enough, though she continued to blink at odd times and speeds.
“Dr. McCoy would put it differently,” said S’paak.
Kirk did not laugh, but her smile deepened. “Good thing I’m not Bones, then.”
“I quite agree,” S’paak said. “Speaking of the doctor, you should probably go to Sickbay. I believe Dr. McCoy had yet to discharge Lieutenant Riley when you prevented the assassination attempt, and the lieutenant was taken back to Sickbay afterwards.” She paused, searching Kirk’s face. “Captain, you yourself don’t appear to have had the rest that humans normally require. Dr. McCoy might be able to assist you.”
“Thanks,” Kirk said dryly, but she appeared to take the suggestion seriously enough, her brows drawing together in thought. After several seconds, she said, “I don’t think anything Bones could give me would help, and Riley’s going to be fine. Physically, anyway, and ... I’ll go talk to him in a few minutes. Just not yet.”
S’paak nodded, watching the captain fold her arms and glance around the galley, her gaze not appearing to focus on anything in particular. She thought about asking if Kirk wanted her to go, or required anything else, then rejected the idea. The captain was entirely capable of expressing either sentiment if she wished to. It appeared that instead, she wished for S’paak to stay, no matter how silent and remote she must seem, all the more in the context of such horror.
That was enough for S’paak. She said nothing else, and stayed.