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anghraineI posted this on AO3 a little while ago, actually, but wanted it here, too!
Despite having increasingly felt "oh, so everything I've heard about how TOS Kirk/Spock was overblown by fandom was just brazen lies, though otherwise I think I might disagree with about 90% of the fandom at all times" as the show went on—and shipping them like crazy—one of the TOS relationships that I found most endearing (and also surprisingly persistent) was actually a platonic friendship. So, in a shocking twist here at Anghraine dot Dreamwidth dot org (>_>), my first posted TOS fic ended up being a ... gen brotp AU one-shot. I've written more of it, but I posted it as a one-shot because the rest would entail a much longer fic that needs to bake in the drawer for a lot more time.
title: the only ones who can do it
characters: Spock, Nyota Uhura, James Kirk; Dr. Piper
length: one-shot, 2k
stuff that happens: Uhura is the captain of the TOS five-year mission, but not because Spock and Kirk aren't there.
notes*: all of my TOS fic is only for TOS; part of why the show clicked so hard for me was that it felt fundamentally different from other ST I'd seen (the original movies, TNG, AOS etc) to the point that I couldn't reconcile them in my head, even when I like them.
-
Spock did not experience emotions, and therefore, he did not dislike Dr. Piper. But he certainly had little enough respect for him beyond the man’s adequate medical expertise.
“Mr. Spock, I’ve heard you’re going to be first officer to the new captain,” Dr. Piper said, upon interrupting Spock’s breakfast.
Spock took a sip of orange juice. He had discovered years ago that it was one of the few benefits to returning to San Francisco, and he refused to rush the experience.
“To Captain Uhura, yes,” said Spock.
Without an invitation, Piper seated himself in the empty chair opposite Spock.
“Right,” he said. “Uhura’s the first woman to command a Constitution-class ship, isn’t she? And the youngest?”
“Yes,” Spock said.
He did not particularly care about either consideration. He hadn’t met Captain Uhura, but naturally, he’d read everything there was to know about his new commanding officer. She had received a sequence of awards and commendations throughout her years in Starfleet that all appeared entirely merited, and her record was largely spotless, as humans put it. He saw no reason to suppose that either her gender or age—she was thirty-one—would affect her qualifications for command of the Enterprise’s forthcoming mission.
Piper tapped his nails on the glass table, the irregular clicking sound a decided irritant. On the physical level, of course. Registering unpleasant sensations did not constitute emotions, either.
“Well, as first officer, you’ll have some say over other personnel changes,” said Piper. “And you’re still chief science officer, I gather?”
“Both are true, yes,” Spock said, and took a longer, more bracing drink of his juice. He considered also eating more of the falafel he’d ordered, but it was of a lesser caliber than the juice, and Piper had already put him off his appetite.
Piper was now jiggling his leg as well, the clack of his boots joining the periodic click of his nails.
“I’ve got a problem,” he announced. “In life sciences, that is, which makes it your problem, too. Starfleet’s transferred dozens of social scientists into the division for this huge exploration they’re sending us on. More archaeologists, xenoanthropologists, psychologists, you name it—a lot more. New people from all over.”
Spock felt very certain that from all over meant humans from various parts of Earth and perhaps some Terran colonies. He had never served on a vessel in which he was not the only alien, and even he owed his post to the impossibility of splitting him between human and Vulcan vessels. He would not have put it beyond the admiralty to try, had there been any possibility of success.
“Assigning an increased number of experts in the social sciences is entirely logical for this endeavor,” he informed Dr. Piper. “A five-year mission into primarily unfamiliar regions of deep space will benefit from their knowledge, and in all likelihood, advance their disciplines.”
Piper waved this aside. “Yes, yes, undoubtedly. The problem is that I’m not exactly a cat herder.”
“A cat herder,” Spock repeated. For the first time in a year, two months, and six days, his bafflement at the idiom was entirely sincere.
Piper was already rushing on, his voice picking up speed. “I know medicine, I know biochemistry well enough, I’m good at what I do. And what I do isn’t manage a stable of social scientists who are each convinced of completely different theories and insisting they’re not at each other’s throats between a million different squabbles. And honestly, a mission like this, on a ship like this, needs counselors as well as observers and researchers. I’m not suited to it, Chapel’s got enough to do already—”
Spock spared 3.2 seconds to wonder who, exactly, had thought this man suited to a staff officer’s position. But then, head of life sciences and chief medical officer were not differentiated by much on most vessels. This policy had always struck Spock as irrational, given that the ability to oversee a medical staff was hardly equivalent to the ability to administer a large team of scientists across wide-ranging disciplines in which the life sciences chief would not necessarily have personal expertise. The conflation of entirely different skill sets did strike him as a greater than usual error in this case, however.
“I see,” he said, while Piper squinted at him over the table, shielding his eyes against the clear but hardly overwhelming morning sunshine, even for a human with only one set of eyelids. Spock’s orange juice was brighter. He contemplated the juice for two seconds, then lifted his gaze back to Piper. “You doubt your qualifications for your position with regard to the increased number of social scientists.”
“Not for my position, no!” Dr. Piper exclaimed, his scowl deepening even as his voice rose higher. “This wasn’t part of—”
Spock believed he already had sufficient data to estimate that Piper would not last above six months on the mission. Fortunately, he would be easy enough to replace.
“I take it that no members of the present social science team struck you as qualified to oversee their peers,” he said. “In addition, you’ve suggested that the current personnel lack an adequate number of clinical experts in favor of pure researchers, despite the probable strains of the mission on over four hundred human crew members. I assume you are recommending that appropriate further personnel be transferred to the Enterprise to remedy the situation?”
Piper’s shoulders visibly relaxed as he nodded his head eagerly. Somebody, Spock felt, would be receiving a rather thankless degree of authority, given Piper’s inadequacies when it came to managing other people. But he at least understood his own weaknesses well enough to seek some way to compensate for them before the crew assignments had progressed to a point where such a request could no longer be accommodated. Spock inclined his head.
“It was logical to bring these matters to my attention,” he said. “I will make the necessary requests.”
“Great!” said Dr. Piper. “That’s great. It’s a massive relief to me, I don’t mind telling you.”
“Clearly,” Spock said, and stabbed his falafel. “Did you have any other concerns?”
Piper laughed. “Not at all. I’ll, uh, leave you to your work. And meal.”
Thankfully, he suited actions to words, and hurried further into the city, his figure soon indistinguishable among the uniformed crowds that were always in motion around Starfleet headquarters. Spock banished Piper himself from his mind, but contemplated the challenge now before him. His own personnel recommendations could accommodate five more counselors, he decided, with some minor rearrangements to the security division. He expected no great difficulty in making the request, but the matter of finding someone to manage the large and essential swath of social scientists, both researchers and clinicians, required far more specific qualifications than counseling alone. It also required greater familiarity with what scientists might be qualified than Spock actually possessed.
After precisely an hour of consideration, Spock wrote to a respected superior of his, Commodore T’Vana, an eminent sociologist embedded deep within Starfleet’s administration. As concisely as possible, he detailed the suggested position and requirements, and requested recommendations. He received a refreshingly brief and direct reply forty-seven minutes later, informing him that the request had been approved, official recommendations had passed to Starfleet Command, and he would be immediately alerted once the decision and transfer passed through all official channels.
Logic did not suggest thanking her for performing a necessary task well within her responsibilities. Spock commended her efficiency and left it at that.
Captain Nyota Uhura did not haunt the San Francisco docks and watch the progression of the Enterprise’s refits every day. Every other day, well. It was her responsibility, and she had never shirked her responsibilities. And in a matter of days, it would be her ship.
On the last day of refits before their mission would launch, with Uhura herself in command, she arrived—as usual—just after sunrise to the observation room with the best view of the ship. Her entire nervous system thrilled at the thought of what the next five years of her life would be, though she was far too much of a professional to show all the excitement she felt. In all honesty, she’d have been nearly bouncing if she had: hardly the image she wanted to project to Starfleet, even before she caught sight of an unfamiliar science officer standing at the window she preferred. She paused, then decided not to disrupt her routine; there was plenty of room at the window, and she wasn’t the only one with a right to be here.
As she strode up to the window, the officer turned to her and almost started, then smiled. He was younger than she expected, not much older than herself, and like her, wore make-up brushed over his face in subtle, naturalistic shades for his coloring, apart from the sharp dark eyeliner and mascara painted around his eyes with a precise hand, not even slightly smeared into the heavy, carefully constructed glow of several layers of toner, foundation, and blush. A small challenge, but one Uhura knew well. He even wore a brighter shine of color blended carefully into his eyeshadow and lipstick as she did, bits of mauve and silver that could easily be missed from a distance, but which brought out mouth shape and eye color.
Interesting, she thought. Not as interesting as her ship, but those were certainly the choices of a man who kept up with the latest fashions and cared about looking good, and didn’t assume spending time and effort on one’s appearance fell mainly to women—not a unique phenomenon, of course, but far from common. Uhura returned his smile without hesitation; his light, mobile attractiveness wasn’t to her personal taste, but his manner was friendly and approachable.
“Good morning. I don’t often see other people here off-duty,” she said, and held out her hand. “I’m Captain Uhura of the Enterprise.”
It was the first time she’d said it, and another thrill shot down her spine.
“Good morning, ma’am,” he replied, firmly clasping her hand. Her quick glance took in the rank braids around his blue sleeves: a full commander’s, surprisingly. “Dr. James Kirk. I’m a new member of your crew, actually, so it’s doubly an honor to meet you.”
“To meet me or to meet her?” Uhura asked as they dropped their hands, both turning back to the Enterprise. The ship gleamed brighter than ever in the soft morning sunshine.
He laughed, tilting his head back to stare at the ship. “Both, I’ll admit. I was just transferred from the Oxford and figured I could get an unofficial look at her before I need to be professional about it.”
“Frankly, I’m here for the same reason,” she said, watching the engineers scurrying about the ship like particularly animated specks of dust. Then she glanced back at Kirk. “You’re the new chief psychologist? I heard that Starfleet was assigning one, and some more specialized counselors. It certainly makes sense for a mission like this.”
“I am,” he said, and then his mouth twitched. “Chief of a lot of things that aren’t quite written down, I gather, but that’s the title. And, yes, I didn’t have any difficulty imagining why the request got made—over four hundred people in deep space for five years? But I certainly feel my luck.”
“Luck?” Uhura shook her head, her gaze drifting over the sleek curves and smooth lines of the ship. Her home for the next half-decade, and she guessed, his as well. She trusted her instincts, and her instincts said he was the kind of person who’d stick it out.
They glanced at each other again. Uhura couldn’t repress a flicker of amusement as she noticed that his eyebrows—only a shade deeper than the dark ash-blond of his hair, and shaped nothing like hers—had risen at exactly the same moment that she arched her own. By the end of the year, they’d hate each other or be friends.
She told him, “This is the Enterprise, Dr. Kirk. Nobody ends up on this ship by luck.”
*notes 2.0: The Uhura-Kirk 60s make-up + bisexuality + hypercompetence brotp is deeply important to me in all universes, tbh.
This AU was inspired by the multiple references in TOS to Kirk's other natural vocation being psychology, had he not gone into command, plus his ongoing close attention to developments in the field. Even though it's explicitly brought up onscreen and his respect for psychology is central to his first (filmed) episode, I had yet to see blueshirt!Kirk (or even academic!Kirk more broadly) as a psychologist, and wanted to explore the idea as I'd imagine it. At the same time, I strongly feel that the crew member most similar to canon TOS Kirk in raw ability, temperament, and even tastes is Uhura, and loved the idea of her rather than Spock (commander voted "Most Likely to Refuse Promotion") as Dr. Kirk's captain.
I also love the canon dynamic between TOS Kirk and Uhura in general: the appropriate layer of professionalism on both sides, including him readily apologizing to her on the bridge, but also the deep well of intense platonic affection and overriding concern for each other that I was surprised (and delighted!) to find such a persistent note in the show. So I also loved the idea of Captain Uhura and Dr. Kirk as a bit of a campy spin on Picard-Troi, but with their own dynamic as contemporaneous peers and (in their own way) ride-or-die bros.
Despite having increasingly felt "oh, so everything I've heard about how TOS Kirk/Spock was overblown by fandom was just brazen lies, though otherwise I think I might disagree with about 90% of the fandom at all times" as the show went on—and shipping them like crazy—one of the TOS relationships that I found most endearing (and also surprisingly persistent) was actually a platonic friendship. So, in a shocking twist here at Anghraine dot Dreamwidth dot org (>_>), my first posted TOS fic ended up being a ... gen brotp AU one-shot. I've written more of it, but I posted it as a one-shot because the rest would entail a much longer fic that needs to bake in the drawer for a lot more time.
title: the only ones who can do it
characters: Spock, Nyota Uhura, James Kirk; Dr. Piper
length: one-shot, 2k
stuff that happens: Uhura is the captain of the TOS five-year mission, but not because Spock and Kirk aren't there.
notes*: all of my TOS fic is only for TOS; part of why the show clicked so hard for me was that it felt fundamentally different from other ST I'd seen (the original movies, TNG, AOS etc) to the point that I couldn't reconcile them in my head, even when I like them.
“I’ve got a problem,” he announced. “In life sciences, that is, which makes it your problem, too. Starfleet’s transferred dozens of social scientists into the division for this huge exploration they’re sending us on. More archaeologists, xenoanthropologists, psychologists, you name it—a lot more. New people from all over.”
Spock felt very certain that from all over meant humans from various parts of Earth and perhaps some Terran colonies. He had never served on a vessel in which he was not the only alien, and even he owed his post to the impossibility of splitting him between human and Vulcan vessels. He would not have put it beyond the admiralty to try, had there been any possibility of success.
“Assigning an increased number of experts in the social sciences is entirely logical for this endeavor,” he informed Dr. Piper. “A five-year mission into primarily unfamiliar regions of deep space will benefit from their knowledge, and in all likelihood, advance their disciplines.”
Piper waved this aside. “Yes, yes, undoubtedly. The problem is that I’m not exactly a cat herder.”
“A cat herder,” Spock repeated. For the first time in a year, two months, and six days, his bafflement at the idiom was entirely sincere.
Spock felt very certain that from all over meant humans from various parts of Earth and perhaps some Terran colonies. He had never served on a vessel in which he was not the only alien, and even he owed his post to the impossibility of splitting him between human and Vulcan vessels. He would not have put it beyond the admiralty to try, had there been any possibility of success.
“Assigning an increased number of experts in the social sciences is entirely logical for this endeavor,” he informed Dr. Piper. “A five-year mission into primarily unfamiliar regions of deep space will benefit from their knowledge, and in all likelihood, advance their disciplines.”
Piper waved this aside. “Yes, yes, undoubtedly. The problem is that I’m not exactly a cat herder.”
“A cat herder,” Spock repeated. For the first time in a year, two months, and six days, his bafflement at the idiom was entirely sincere.
-
Spock did not experience emotions, and therefore, he did not dislike Dr. Piper. But he certainly had little enough respect for him beyond the man’s adequate medical expertise.
“Mr. Spock, I’ve heard you’re going to be first officer to the new captain,” Dr. Piper said, upon interrupting Spock’s breakfast.
Spock took a sip of orange juice. He had discovered years ago that it was one of the few benefits to returning to San Francisco, and he refused to rush the experience.
“To Captain Uhura, yes,” said Spock.
Without an invitation, Piper seated himself in the empty chair opposite Spock.
“Right,” he said. “Uhura’s the first woman to command a Constitution-class ship, isn’t she? And the youngest?”
“Yes,” Spock said.
He did not particularly care about either consideration. He hadn’t met Captain Uhura, but naturally, he’d read everything there was to know about his new commanding officer. She had received a sequence of awards and commendations throughout her years in Starfleet that all appeared entirely merited, and her record was largely spotless, as humans put it. He saw no reason to suppose that either her gender or age—she was thirty-one—would affect her qualifications for command of the Enterprise’s forthcoming mission.
Piper tapped his nails on the glass table, the irregular clicking sound a decided irritant. On the physical level, of course. Registering unpleasant sensations did not constitute emotions, either.
“Well, as first officer, you’ll have some say over other personnel changes,” said Piper. “And you’re still chief science officer, I gather?”
“Both are true, yes,” Spock said, and took a longer, more bracing drink of his juice. He considered also eating more of the falafel he’d ordered, but it was of a lesser caliber than the juice, and Piper had already put him off his appetite.
Piper was now jiggling his leg as well, the clack of his boots joining the periodic click of his nails.
“I’ve got a problem,” he announced. “In life sciences, that is, which makes it your problem, too. Starfleet’s transferred dozens of social scientists into the division for this huge exploration they’re sending us on. More archaeologists, xenoanthropologists, psychologists, you name it—a lot more. New people from all over.”
Spock felt very certain that from all over meant humans from various parts of Earth and perhaps some Terran colonies. He had never served on a vessel in which he was not the only alien, and even he owed his post to the impossibility of splitting him between human and Vulcan vessels. He would not have put it beyond the admiralty to try, had there been any possibility of success.
“Assigning an increased number of experts in the social sciences is entirely logical for this endeavor,” he informed Dr. Piper. “A five-year mission into primarily unfamiliar regions of deep space will benefit from their knowledge, and in all likelihood, advance their disciplines.”
Piper waved this aside. “Yes, yes, undoubtedly. The problem is that I’m not exactly a cat herder.”
“A cat herder,” Spock repeated. For the first time in a year, two months, and six days, his bafflement at the idiom was entirely sincere.
Piper was already rushing on, his voice picking up speed. “I know medicine, I know biochemistry well enough, I’m good at what I do. And what I do isn’t manage a stable of social scientists who are each convinced of completely different theories and insisting they’re not at each other’s throats between a million different squabbles. And honestly, a mission like this, on a ship like this, needs counselors as well as observers and researchers. I’m not suited to it, Chapel’s got enough to do already—”
Spock spared 3.2 seconds to wonder who, exactly, had thought this man suited to a staff officer’s position. But then, head of life sciences and chief medical officer were not differentiated by much on most vessels. This policy had always struck Spock as irrational, given that the ability to oversee a medical staff was hardly equivalent to the ability to administer a large team of scientists across wide-ranging disciplines in which the life sciences chief would not necessarily have personal expertise. The conflation of entirely different skill sets did strike him as a greater than usual error in this case, however.
“I see,” he said, while Piper squinted at him over the table, shielding his eyes against the clear but hardly overwhelming morning sunshine, even for a human with only one set of eyelids. Spock’s orange juice was brighter. He contemplated the juice for two seconds, then lifted his gaze back to Piper. “You doubt your qualifications for your position with regard to the increased number of social scientists.”
“Not for my position, no!” Dr. Piper exclaimed, his scowl deepening even as his voice rose higher. “This wasn’t part of—”
Spock believed he already had sufficient data to estimate that Piper would not last above six months on the mission. Fortunately, he would be easy enough to replace.
“I take it that no members of the present social science team struck you as qualified to oversee their peers,” he said. “In addition, you’ve suggested that the current personnel lack an adequate number of clinical experts in favor of pure researchers, despite the probable strains of the mission on over four hundred human crew members. I assume you are recommending that appropriate further personnel be transferred to the Enterprise to remedy the situation?”
Piper’s shoulders visibly relaxed as he nodded his head eagerly. Somebody, Spock felt, would be receiving a rather thankless degree of authority, given Piper’s inadequacies when it came to managing other people. But he at least understood his own weaknesses well enough to seek some way to compensate for them before the crew assignments had progressed to a point where such a request could no longer be accommodated. Spock inclined his head.
“It was logical to bring these matters to my attention,” he said. “I will make the necessary requests.”
“Great!” said Dr. Piper. “That’s great. It’s a massive relief to me, I don’t mind telling you.”
“Clearly,” Spock said, and stabbed his falafel. “Did you have any other concerns?”
Piper laughed. “Not at all. I’ll, uh, leave you to your work. And meal.”
Thankfully, he suited actions to words, and hurried further into the city, his figure soon indistinguishable among the uniformed crowds that were always in motion around Starfleet headquarters. Spock banished Piper himself from his mind, but contemplated the challenge now before him. His own personnel recommendations could accommodate five more counselors, he decided, with some minor rearrangements to the security division. He expected no great difficulty in making the request, but the matter of finding someone to manage the large and essential swath of social scientists, both researchers and clinicians, required far more specific qualifications than counseling alone. It also required greater familiarity with what scientists might be qualified than Spock actually possessed.
After precisely an hour of consideration, Spock wrote to a respected superior of his, Commodore T’Vana, an eminent sociologist embedded deep within Starfleet’s administration. As concisely as possible, he detailed the suggested position and requirements, and requested recommendations. He received a refreshingly brief and direct reply forty-seven minutes later, informing him that the request had been approved, official recommendations had passed to Starfleet Command, and he would be immediately alerted once the decision and transfer passed through all official channels.
Logic did not suggest thanking her for performing a necessary task well within her responsibilities. Spock commended her efficiency and left it at that.
Captain Nyota Uhura did not haunt the San Francisco docks and watch the progression of the Enterprise’s refits every day. Every other day, well. It was her responsibility, and she had never shirked her responsibilities. And in a matter of days, it would be her ship.
On the last day of refits before their mission would launch, with Uhura herself in command, she arrived—as usual—just after sunrise to the observation room with the best view of the ship. Her entire nervous system thrilled at the thought of what the next five years of her life would be, though she was far too much of a professional to show all the excitement she felt. In all honesty, she’d have been nearly bouncing if she had: hardly the image she wanted to project to Starfleet, even before she caught sight of an unfamiliar science officer standing at the window she preferred. She paused, then decided not to disrupt her routine; there was plenty of room at the window, and she wasn’t the only one with a right to be here.
As she strode up to the window, the officer turned to her and almost started, then smiled. He was younger than she expected, not much older than herself, and like her, wore make-up brushed over his face in subtle, naturalistic shades for his coloring, apart from the sharp dark eyeliner and mascara painted around his eyes with a precise hand, not even slightly smeared into the heavy, carefully constructed glow of several layers of toner, foundation, and blush. A small challenge, but one Uhura knew well. He even wore a brighter shine of color blended carefully into his eyeshadow and lipstick as she did, bits of mauve and silver that could easily be missed from a distance, but which brought out mouth shape and eye color.
Interesting, she thought. Not as interesting as her ship, but those were certainly the choices of a man who kept up with the latest fashions and cared about looking good, and didn’t assume spending time and effort on one’s appearance fell mainly to women—not a unique phenomenon, of course, but far from common. Uhura returned his smile without hesitation; his light, mobile attractiveness wasn’t to her personal taste, but his manner was friendly and approachable.
“Good morning. I don’t often see other people here off-duty,” she said, and held out her hand. “I’m Captain Uhura of the Enterprise.”
It was the first time she’d said it, and another thrill shot down her spine.
“Good morning, ma’am,” he replied, firmly clasping her hand. Her quick glance took in the rank braids around his blue sleeves: a full commander’s, surprisingly. “Dr. James Kirk. I’m a new member of your crew, actually, so it’s doubly an honor to meet you.”
“To meet me or to meet her?” Uhura asked as they dropped their hands, both turning back to the Enterprise. The ship gleamed brighter than ever in the soft morning sunshine.
He laughed, tilting his head back to stare at the ship. “Both, I’ll admit. I was just transferred from the Oxford and figured I could get an unofficial look at her before I need to be professional about it.”
“Frankly, I’m here for the same reason,” she said, watching the engineers scurrying about the ship like particularly animated specks of dust. Then she glanced back at Kirk. “You’re the new chief psychologist? I heard that Starfleet was assigning one, and some more specialized counselors. It certainly makes sense for a mission like this.”
“I am,” he said, and then his mouth twitched. “Chief of a lot of things that aren’t quite written down, I gather, but that’s the title. And, yes, I didn’t have any difficulty imagining why the request got made—over four hundred people in deep space for five years? But I certainly feel my luck.”
“Luck?” Uhura shook her head, her gaze drifting over the sleek curves and smooth lines of the ship. Her home for the next half-decade, and she guessed, his as well. She trusted her instincts, and her instincts said he was the kind of person who’d stick it out.
They glanced at each other again. Uhura couldn’t repress a flicker of amusement as she noticed that his eyebrows—only a shade deeper than the dark ash-blond of his hair, and shaped nothing like hers—had risen at exactly the same moment that she arched her own. By the end of the year, they’d hate each other or be friends.
She told him, “This is the Enterprise, Dr. Kirk. Nobody ends up on this ship by luck.”
*notes 2.0: The Uhura-Kirk 60s make-up + bisexuality + hypercompetence brotp is deeply important to me in all universes, tbh.
This AU was inspired by the multiple references in TOS to Kirk's other natural vocation being psychology, had he not gone into command, plus his ongoing close attention to developments in the field. Even though it's explicitly brought up onscreen and his respect for psychology is central to his first (filmed) episode, I had yet to see blueshirt!Kirk (or even academic!Kirk more broadly) as a psychologist, and wanted to explore the idea as I'd imagine it. At the same time, I strongly feel that the crew member most similar to canon TOS Kirk in raw ability, temperament, and even tastes is Uhura, and loved the idea of her rather than Spock (commander voted "Most Likely to Refuse Promotion") as Dr. Kirk's captain.
I also love the canon dynamic between TOS Kirk and Uhura in general: the appropriate layer of professionalism on both sides, including him readily apologizing to her on the bridge, but also the deep well of intense platonic affection and overriding concern for each other that I was surprised (and delighted!) to find such a persistent note in the show. So I also loved the idea of Captain Uhura and Dr. Kirk as a bit of a campy spin on Picard-Troi, but with their own dynamic as contemporaneous peers and (in their own way) ride-or-die bros.
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on 2026-02-01 12:20 am (UTC)Also, every narrative comment about Spock not feeling emotions was so funny, he's trying so hard to pretend his irritation isn't emotional. <3
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on 2026-02-02 01:41 am (UTC)I've written a bit c. "Dagger of the Mind" since naturally there's a lot to do with the Kirk-Uhura team up and psychologist-on-psychologist violence, but it is a complex AU, so it tends to take awhile to percolate. But thank you!!
Spock is a ton of fun to write, unsurprisingly, but his hypocritical bitchiness is the funnest part. :D
Yay!
on 2026-02-01 05:24 am (UTC)It looks like part of the beginning got duplicated.
If you feel like writing more of this, I'd love to see it. I have added it to my list of Best Fanworks found in 2026.
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