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crack_van2011-08-08 04:01 pm
rynne.livejournal.com) wrote in crack_van2011-08-08 04:01 pm
Entry tags:
With My Feet Toward the Stars (let me remember you as you were when you existed) by rinsbane (R)
Fandom: STAR TREK: REBOOT
Pairing: Kirk/Spock, Spock/Enterprise, Kirk/Enterprise
Length: 33k
Author on LJ:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rinsbane
Author Website: Unknown
Why this must be read:
The Enterprise gains sentience.
And if that alone is not enough to recommend this fic, then how about: I'd already signed up to drive the van when this fic was posted, and already had most of my fics in mind, but once I read this one, it immediately had a place.
This fic made me want to cry, but it also made me want to grin madly. It's sad and it's uplifting and it completely blew me away. This is a story about love, in so many of the ways it exists and can be shared, and it's a story about dreams, and all the ways they can be dreamed.
I just...words feel paltry in trying to explain how extraordinary this fic is. Go read it. You won't regret it.
Also: someone on my flist who has no interest in K/S recced this fic. That's how amazing it is.
They are to pass Veshu Prime in a week and pick up the Ambassador and his staff to rendezvous with the U.S.S. Reliant and transfer them to her so that she can finish ferrying them to their destination. “Glorified taxi service,” Kirk says wryly, annoyance bleeding through his humor.
“Captain, are you aware that you are dissatisfied with 62.3 percent of Command’s orders?”
Kirk is taken aback for a moment and then grins. “Surprised it’s not more. I mean, they’re not out here. They sit at their desks all day long.” He comes over to look at the PADD Spock is holding out to him. His shoulder brushes Spock’s, fleeting, imprecise. “So you’re keeping count now, Spock?”
Spock cocks his head. “I have always kept count of you, Captain.” This is what Spock does – he watches and measures and tallies and computes. It has been 39.05 hours since he had an intrusion in his head; before that, he had 209 mental impressions forced upon him that were not his own; he has spent 97.50 hours in meditation since he first became aware of the issue. Kirk has realized that his XO is not at his peak, because in the three days since he visited Dr. McCoy the captain has watched him out of the corner of his eye 1.83 percent longer while they are together on bridge, in the mess, sparring. There is a 10.3 percent chance that the Veshuvan Ambassador and his staff will cause a commotion of some sort while on the Enterprise, and if that comes to pass, there is an 87.99 percent chance that it will revolve around Kirk.
Kirk is studying the information on the PADD. “We’ll have to brief senior staff and heads of department on the more interesting behavior patterns of the Veshu so that they can inform their staff how to behave while our guests are with us.”
Spock watches the play of expressions on Kirk’s face. They shift so quickly that they appear almost not to exist to the untrained eye, but Spock frequently watches his captain so. He must, he has found, because Kirk usually won't stop to take care of himself when he pushes himself too hard, as he often does in his effort to be a successful captain, the youngest of the Fleet and in Starfleet’s history.
“I’m earning this all backward,” he’d said to Spock once, only the evening before last, 38.75 hours ago, just after the mental intrusions ceased but before Spock became aware of their cessation. They were sparring, and Kirk had landed on his back, sweaty and with a bruised lip, Spock leaning over him with his hands still posed to strike. “I didn’t work my way up, I just leapt over everyone else. And hell yeah, I’m the right guy for this job and they’ll have to take me out of here bleeding and raw, but I’m not the only one who fought the Narada that day.”
“You are, however, the one who succeeded,” Spock notes. He straightens.
Kirk is still breathing heavily from their exercise. “Not alone. I have to be – I WILL – do this right.” The look he throws Spock is defiant and determined, with the faintest shades of anger and fear edging it.
Spock cannot look away. He is pinned, held by the conviction of this man, his captain, and considers that he is the one, the only one on this ship of 430 souls other than perhaps Doctor McCoy, with whom Kirk would share this thing, this truth. He does not know what to do, so he offers Kirk a gesture, one which Kirk may not understand – he is not sure how conversant he is with Vulcan culture, but he knows that Kirk knows Vulcans do not touch others with their hands, even if he may not know why.
But this is what he has to give. He holds out his hand for Kirk to grasp and pulls him up.
With My Feet Toward the Stars (let me remember you as you were when you existed)
Pairing: Kirk/Spock, Spock/Enterprise, Kirk/Enterprise
Length: 33k
Author on LJ:
rinsbaneAuthor Website: Unknown
Why this must be read:
The Enterprise gains sentience.
And if that alone is not enough to recommend this fic, then how about: I'd already signed up to drive the van when this fic was posted, and already had most of my fics in mind, but once I read this one, it immediately had a place.
This fic made me want to cry, but it also made me want to grin madly. It's sad and it's uplifting and it completely blew me away. This is a story about love, in so many of the ways it exists and can be shared, and it's a story about dreams, and all the ways they can be dreamed.
I just...words feel paltry in trying to explain how extraordinary this fic is. Go read it. You won't regret it.
Also: someone on my flist who has no interest in K/S recced this fic. That's how amazing it is.
They are to pass Veshu Prime in a week and pick up the Ambassador and his staff to rendezvous with the U.S.S. Reliant and transfer them to her so that she can finish ferrying them to their destination. “Glorified taxi service,” Kirk says wryly, annoyance bleeding through his humor.
“Captain, are you aware that you are dissatisfied with 62.3 percent of Command’s orders?”
Kirk is taken aback for a moment and then grins. “Surprised it’s not more. I mean, they’re not out here. They sit at their desks all day long.” He comes over to look at the PADD Spock is holding out to him. His shoulder brushes Spock’s, fleeting, imprecise. “So you’re keeping count now, Spock?”
Spock cocks his head. “I have always kept count of you, Captain.” This is what Spock does – he watches and measures and tallies and computes. It has been 39.05 hours since he had an intrusion in his head; before that, he had 209 mental impressions forced upon him that were not his own; he has spent 97.50 hours in meditation since he first became aware of the issue. Kirk has realized that his XO is not at his peak, because in the three days since he visited Dr. McCoy the captain has watched him out of the corner of his eye 1.83 percent longer while they are together on bridge, in the mess, sparring. There is a 10.3 percent chance that the Veshuvan Ambassador and his staff will cause a commotion of some sort while on the Enterprise, and if that comes to pass, there is an 87.99 percent chance that it will revolve around Kirk.
Kirk is studying the information on the PADD. “We’ll have to brief senior staff and heads of department on the more interesting behavior patterns of the Veshu so that they can inform their staff how to behave while our guests are with us.”
Spock watches the play of expressions on Kirk’s face. They shift so quickly that they appear almost not to exist to the untrained eye, but Spock frequently watches his captain so. He must, he has found, because Kirk usually won't stop to take care of himself when he pushes himself too hard, as he often does in his effort to be a successful captain, the youngest of the Fleet and in Starfleet’s history.
“I’m earning this all backward,” he’d said to Spock once, only the evening before last, 38.75 hours ago, just after the mental intrusions ceased but before Spock became aware of their cessation. They were sparring, and Kirk had landed on his back, sweaty and with a bruised lip, Spock leaning over him with his hands still posed to strike. “I didn’t work my way up, I just leapt over everyone else. And hell yeah, I’m the right guy for this job and they’ll have to take me out of here bleeding and raw, but I’m not the only one who fought the Narada that day.”
“You are, however, the one who succeeded,” Spock notes. He straightens.
Kirk is still breathing heavily from their exercise. “Not alone. I have to be – I WILL – do this right.” The look he throws Spock is defiant and determined, with the faintest shades of anger and fear edging it.
Spock cannot look away. He is pinned, held by the conviction of this man, his captain, and considers that he is the one, the only one on this ship of 430 souls other than perhaps Doctor McCoy, with whom Kirk would share this thing, this truth. He does not know what to do, so he offers Kirk a gesture, one which Kirk may not understand – he is not sure how conversant he is with Vulcan culture, but he knows that Kirk knows Vulcans do not touch others with their hands, even if he may not know why.
But this is what he has to give. He holds out his hand for Kirk to grasp and pulls him up.
With My Feet Toward the Stars (let me remember you as you were when you existed)