L E G I I O N

The meticulous way in which the acting CMO is washing his hands in this moment sets Kirk on edge to the point his teeth threaten to burst through his lip. It would be just par for the course to show a blood grin and have to turn around and ask for medical attention from the person he's trying desperately not to strike out at.

It is not M'Benga's fault, yet he still wants to snarl and spit and ask if he's singing happy birthday to himself to know he's done it properly.

They both knew he'd already tried to get in to room two and had been effectively dissuaded by the security posted outside. The fact he was standing here now was a testament to Spock's decision to strand him on a planet versus the brig.

"I want an actual report on his condition, and access to his room. Now."

@legiion

#endeavvor #v / main | to boldly go.#q.#EYYY

The captain is agitated and despite his own calm, he understands it. Resting against the edge of the desk, Joseph just looks at him, sympathetic in a way that he’s never been his counterpart in all this; he isn’t Leonard.

“Doctor McCoy is stable.” He says, a quiet rasp to his voice. By now, he’s been awake for too many hours, jarred out of his sleep when the Chief Medical Officer wasn’t available to take the call. “He lost a lot of blood.”

Joseph taps his sternum once, hard, then digs a piece of metal out of his pocket as he walks over to Kirk, “Took a bullet the chest, for another crewman. But, Leonard is a fighter.”

He drops the bullet into Kirk’s palm.

“Even if he isn’t much for it.”

@endeavvor

@legiion liked for a starter - M'Banga

"Tell me where he is - NOW."

#endeavvor #v / main | to boldly go.#q.#HE'LL BE FINE #maybe

The sound of the sonics fills the space and Joseph doesn’t answer the Captain right away, carefully washing his hands, air drumming at his skin. He understands care, sees it when he looks at Kirk, the anger rushing harder than the vibrations in the sink.

“ He is resting, Captain. ” There’s nothing stained — the blood is gone — and yet he scrubs his hands again, wringing them in a cloth. A doctor’s habit, “ You can find him in room two, when he wakes. ”

@endeavvor

He anticipates her to latch on to what she has just witnessed, the obvious undertone of the order he'd given. So much so, he had already angled himself towards engineering when her words catch and snag at his mind. The bridge. The surprise is evident in his expression, while she may be tapering her emotions, his pot is about full to bursting.

Jim is overwhelmed by her sudden appearance, and his disdain for the lack of preparation had, in part, been for his own sake. He gets a handle on it, clamps it down, and locks it behind steel plated doors.

"The bridge it is." The captain concedes, and returns them to their uneasy silence punctuated only by the sound of their boots on the metal walkway. Instead of showing his earlier hand and turning for the shorter trip, he opts for the longer way around, letting her see the ship in all her glory.

His interactions with the crew in passing are not a show for her. The fondness in which they greet their captain, and the exact moment each reads the tension radiating from him. He is still genuine, still calls them by name, asking about their families, but they are quick to excuse themselves and carry on about their business. Jim hates that for a moment, he cares more about what his mother takes from it all than what he takes away from it himself. That as they slide into the lift that will take the to the bridge, the tips of his ears burn with it.

As they are locked in the small space, they couldn't be farther apart. He's not thinking about the times he stared up at the stars wondering if she was seeing the same ones wherever she was. Or if she missed him as viciously as he missed her, until it created a hole in him that no one could even hope to mend. That it still ached, even now, no matter how much he pretended it didn't. Some things were better left alone, unacknowledged.

He's counting the seconds until they are free while actively watching Winona in his peripheral, not quite sure if he's willing her to remain silent, or break the silence.

"Keptin on ze bridge." Is the greeting they receive from the young navigator, until there's a pause, an unsurety, at the other Kirk's presence. Jim nods to him once, and it is added. "Commodore on ze bridge."

The captain is scanning who is present aside from Chekov. Sulu is ever steady next to the navigator. Uhura at her console, like everyone else, having turned to watch. Avery is still missing, likely in engineering helping Scotty shove things back where they belong, out of sign and out of mind. But the chair stands empty, which means his gaze drags towards the science station, where his first officer is waiting. His first officer that should be in the sciences floor, but is standing ramrod straight, holding his gaze.

A beat too long.

Each one has been introduced formally - rank, name, position, assignment.

"You're free to walk about, see what they are actively working on, but we won't be putting on a demonstration just for dramatics."

@legiion

#endeavvor #v / main | to boldly go.#q.#:D

She takes to the path of the bridge without further pomp and circumstance. Her feet are firm, clapping rhythmically to the deck, her posture straight; from head to toe, Winona is the very definition of Starfleet, rank gleaming off the front of her jacket.

There’s no other conversation needed.

At least nothing that doesn’t have to do with the ship. She hardly thinks Jim will be in the mood to speak with her about anything else. He’s just as sharp, just as keen. For all her varied absence in his life, he’s still very much her son even if she’s completely sure that he doesn’t want to hear it.

Spilling out the doors, the bridge crew of the Enterprise easily takes her attention where Jim’s could be anywhere else.

“I was never expecting a show, anyways, Captain.” She breezes, already navigating her way around the outer rim of the bridge. She can tell people are watching, can feel their eyes on her — even the ones that are trying their hardest not to look it — but she bustles on regardless. A finger here, a hand there. Everything is as clean as it looks. As orderly as Jim’s First Officer standing taller than anyone else in the room.

Vulcans.

She expected nothing less here either.

Commander Spock is the third person she speaks with after the helmsman and navigator on duty. The first two work in tandem. Friends, maybe. It’s nothing new with the proximity they’re in. Jim’s second in command is more professional than most, maintaining eye contact, speaking clearly, wholly unintimidated.

He shows her how diagnostics and the sensors work, tells her — without an ounce of exaggeration or posturing — that she’ll find the ship to be in satisfactory condition by the time she leaves. Not a hope. Not a gesture of appeasement. Instead, by the end of her rounds, Winona is beginning to suspect that Commander Spock might have actually challenged her in some way, daring her to claim something out of order.

She fixes bright eyes on her son afterwards, “Well, Captain. Seems your crew was ready to see me after all. Why don’t you lead me to the med bay? ”

@endeavvor

fucklestat

I said to the sun, “Tell me about the Big Bang.”

The sun said, “It hurts to become.”

#endeavvor #:))))#rel. jim kirk

@endeavvor

Standing tall is still significantly shorter than her son, who is staring at her - silently memorizing the details and trying to fit it in to the memories he has of her. Those stretched by childish imagination that made her out to be a giant. Not always a monster. At one time, she had been his sun, the center of his world that he did everything to make life easier for. Kept his head down, quiet, a good child.

She hadn't morphed into something dark and sinister until after Sam left. When he started acting out with no shield to protect him from the beatings. When he realized she wasn't something to be placed on a pedestal, when he realized she was just a woman.

"As my choice in the matter is strictly a formality, I hope my compliance will make this as seamless as possible." His chin dips, a slight nod as they will both know his intention is to get this done and over with and send her on her way. To fuck back off to her side of space and leave him to his.

But as they exit the transporter room, stepping into the bustle of daily operations - a swatch of gold catches his eye. He contemplates it, pawning Winona off on his Lieutenant Commander, and as they make eye contact - as her keen gaze slithers over the form of his mother before coming back to rest on him - she knows it too. It's in the tick of her jaw, and the way she swallows. If looks could kill, it radiates from her as he opens his mouth. "Vitale is my mission specialist, and she is going to advise my senior staff that you're on board doing an inspection. Starting with my Chief Engineer."

Who better put everything back where he fucking found it and be sitting right pretty with his tiny porcelain mug he insists on drinking out of. Jim's thankful for how easily Vitale extricates herself, moving professionally, but swiftly towards the lift.

"Let's get this over with then."

@legiion

#endeavvor #v / main | to boldly go.#they are and that's funny to me #q.

He won’t write.

He won’t answer her hails.

Not when they have nothing to do with Starfleet and holding passing hints at something she used to have. But with upwards of thirty accolades and too many commendations to count, Winona has never been stupid.

She knows he blames her—

—for everything.

A crumbling home. A runaway eldest son and sibling. A stepfather and an ex-husband. Tarsus.

For years, she imagined him looking up at the stars. In the back yard and on swing sets, in the grass or on a motorcycle, sometimes from the inches between a jail cell and the outside.

As she walks the halls of the Enterprise, it’s hard to imagine this would be the outcome of all that heartbreak and pain. For a long time, she encouraged the idea as much as she hated it.

Jail was better than dying in a vacuum. Distance was better than losing the only piece of George she had left. It’s the analogy of a coward, making her out to be a monster. Cemented in her position, she won’t let it show on her face. This is as much a test for herself than it is for him; for the both of them.

Maybe Chris was right about that: he can do this, Winn.

So, she watches him now, watches the way he gives one of his crew a look and so few words — get my ship together — it tells her. It tells they’re loyal. Tells her there are secrets to be found.

It tells her that he might just be a decent captain after all.

She perks an eyebrow, “I think I’d like to see the bridge first.”

@endeavvor

beauty-grace-outer-space

I’m gonna give you all of my love… so rock-a-bye, baby, rock-a-bye.

#muse: winona kirk #oh my god

It's purely psychological - the way everything seems cooler around him the moment she descends the transporter pad. As if she is a demon that has crawled up from the depths of hell.

Perhaps to him.

Perhaps on the side of dramatic.

"Every Starfleet vessel undergoes inspection when it is docked, in a port, with ample notification to command staff." Which they were, two days ago. Speaking of ample notification, his eyes cut to the lieutenant manning the transport console. They shift nervously as if to say they couldn't have made notification if they tried. "What has the Enterprise done to warrant such a surprise?"

@legiion

#endeavvor #v / main | to boldly go.#:DDD

Standing tall, Winona is a sharp cutout of Starfleet Command, all the way down to her boots. Her hair is loose but not with a hair out of place, her uniform made out of hard angles only rivaled by the sternness of her face.

If that comment was meant to rattle her, Winona has lived much longer as a Kirk to be filed down. Even — especially — by her own son.

“A ship should be in tight order no matter when an inspection takes place, Captain Kirk. Sometimes ample notice is helpful, but it makes things easier to hide.”

She turns around and flashes Jim a smile. It’s probably familiar to extent, more congenial, a shape that he likely flashes to someone else. “Not that you’re hiding anything, right? This shouldn’t be a problem for you.”

@endeavvor

"And I supposed I should be surprised you're here, Commadore."

@legiion

#endeavvor #v / main | to boldly go.#:)

Commodore. Not a surprise, either. Winona breaks away and steps off the transporter pad, already inspecting the inside of the room. The walls are crisp, the familiar smell of stitching atoms fading by the second.

“ Every Starfleet vessel undergoes inspection. The Enterprise doesn’t get any special treatment for being the flagship, Captain. ”

@endeavvor

"I suppose I should be impressed." The Enterprise. It's about time she took a tour.

@endeavvor

#endeavvor #v / main | to boldly go.#oh im not sorry at all

Pavel blinks rapidly against the smoke and forces his unsteady legs forward. Under his breath, he curses his body, his oversight—fucking stupid!—but the bite in his words is sharp enough to drown out the crunch of shattered glass beneath his boots. He barely spares a glance for the mangled bodies around them, for this is how it is, and the only thing that matters now is that they are not dead.

Kirk's order to kill snaps him straight, has him reaching for his own knife, the one that is always strapped to his hip, never out of reach. This knife is one of the few things from the Enterprise he well and truly trusts and with each nick and slice and drop of blood spilled, he trusts it more and more.

After so many years, it feels as comfortable in his hand as a PADD.

The captain's orders leave no room for interpretation—everyone in here—and this is what Pavel has sworn, until Kirk betrays him, to do. To lend his skills. "Yes, sir," he says simply, no questions of why or how or anything else in-between, poised and ready to carry that order out.

Pavel moves carefully through the smoky room, scanning what he can see for any and all possible ways out. Waiting for the flames to be put out and the system's safety features to disengage will take too long. There is no computer terminal anywhere in this room that would grant him access to the system.

But there is often one thing they overlook. He shuffles along the wall, head lifted up above his eye level. "The vents." Pavel stops at the wall to the right of the sealed-off doors. "We can pry them open, get back to the main corridor. From there, we can make our way through."

#ensnchekov #v / main | to boldly go.#C / KIRK #ALT. MIRROR #someone player kill my muse omg #into the queue.

A slow, "Yeah," rolls out of Kirk's mouth. He's distracted, thoughts split between the thrill of escape and the adrenaline that only comes with a specific kind of bloodlust: revenge. It's been a while since someone had a stupid idea like this. Kirk would give them points for trying, he's here, stuck in this room after all. But their would-be assassin's failure is the blood surging through his body, and Kirk is alive alive alive. Moving underneath the vent, he eyeballs the space inside. From where he's standing, it looks like there's only room for one at a time. It's a shit situation, fury stretching into the creases of Kirk's eyes, tightening every muscle in his body. He has a thought as to who might have orchestrated this plot, lets a few names circulate almost disbelievingly - all but one - because it's the last person he'd ever think to do this. In any case, he looks forward to tearing them apart.

"You first." Kirk backs up, free hand grabbing at a wayward desk. He pushes it toward the wall to give Chekov a boost. After the last twenty minutes, Kirk isn't about to get stabbed in the back twice. He blinks at his navigator, "You see someone when you land on the other side, you know what to do. No one leaves this place."

lisbon

#ensnchekov #A / HIKARU SULU #best bros best pals #sulu and chekov <3

He almost protests—he would have—if not for that look on Hikaru's face that tells them they are going to be doing something else fun, something Pavel knows he shouldn't enjoy as much as he does, but he can't help it. He's subtle in the way he glances at the door, catching sight of X'ia entering.

His hands now free, Pavel steeples them together in thought and smiles.

"Of course I remember Starbase Two," he says in a tone that suggests what do you take me for, "how could I forget? You would think he was meeting someone himself with how excited he got, like he was lucky enough to know a big ship secret."

Pavel turns his head a little, watching as X'ia makes their way to the replicator. They spare only a quick glance Pavel and Hikaru's way, acknowledge them with a nod, a friendly smile. He wilfully continues, "It is tactical, Hikaru, and I will take your five chips and even raise you five more. Ten says they are meeting with that cute girl who is usually on Delta—Lieutenant Motayne."

He hums. "Why would you think it's the flight deck? What have you heard?"

#ensnchekov #v / main | to boldly go.#C / SULU #pls look at these besties

Those gears are turning. From the corner of the mess, Sulu waves at X'ia, resting his knuckles on his chin. Pavel's got a keen eye whether anyone else knows it. Set up on the bridge, Sulu would like to think they both do, tucked away behind everyone else. This could be something they could take with him. People watching. "I've never seen him so riled up," he says, thinking back on Scotty. It seems like forever ago now. But they're good memories; all of it is. "The look on his face. It was like he'd figured out warp twelve that morning."

He shifts his attention on their present goal, foot crooked on the floor. Another smile graces his face; leave it to Pavel to up the stakes on the first go. "Ten?" Sulu swivels and curls closer to the table, "Alright, deal. But you're crazy if you think it's Motayne. You didn't see all the changes to the shuttle schedule? Three, Pav. Three. In two days. When's the last time you saw X'ia fly anything? It's, uh," Sulu's snapping his fingers, "Igrit. From the hangar bay."

comic-art-showcase

Spider-Man by Dan Mora

#A / PETER PARKER #it's me inserting other stuff since star trek has taken over my rp rn

It is not fine, Pavel notes, but the captain is like a wild thing in this regard, ready to show in blood and fury how very wrong they were for assuming otherwise. He has survived worse on the Enterprise. It is a game here, one he knows well, has played since he was young, and so he knows when to hold his tongue and when to shout.

Pavel coughs instead against the smoke and wipes a dirty sleeve against the bleeding wound on his forehead, hissing as he does. "Or, this was not an accident," he mumbles, seemingly in-tune with Kirk's unspoken thoughts.

Somebody will pay for this when the smoke settles and he will have a hand in it. Anger coils in the pit of his stomach; anger at himself for not realising something was wrong, anger at whoever was responsible for this, too cowardly to show their face.

His legs are pitifully shaky, but they support his weight well enough. The adrenaline helps with the rest, dulling most of the pain he will likely feel later. He will have to check the brunt of his injuries over at another time, see what he can patch and what he can ignore. None of this will require the doctor's touch if he can help it.

"Yes," Pavel says, because that is the only acceptable answer. "We cannot stay. Someone will come looking." If this was his plan, he would want confirmation somehow. "If there was one, there will be other traps set. What do you want to do, sir?"

#ensnchekov #v / main | to boldly go.#C / KIRK #ALT. MIRROR #i am so sorry you have to deal with this guy

It goes without saying that Kirk is pissed. His eyebrows are mangled, eyes wide open as he bulls his way through debris. There are more dead bodies in the mix, under desks, on top of a thousand blades of glass, a single shoe cocked sideways on the tile. Kirk pushes past it all, tension making lines in his neck. Whoever set up them is going out, and slowly; that's a promise. But it won't be enough. Pinging for an exit, Kirk is already half-day dreaming about when he finds them. It's not a matter of if. He can taste it, a distant satisfaction like pure gold in his veins, coagulated behind his teeth. "No shit." Kirk glances back at Chekov for a blink. Feeling around his fatigues, he produces his dagger, gripping it so tightly, it's become a part of him, standing against the fire. All the doors have sealed automatically to contain the flames, the windows shuttered with durasteel gates. Kirk doesn't believe in no-win scenarios. He won't die now. Not when he's got a rat to drown.

"We're going back to my ship, Chekov. And we're killing everyone in here."

His ears are ringing from the aftermath of the blast, but the captain's voice still cuts through the noise from somewhere far away, and Pavel does not need to see his face to know the anger that he will find there, that dangerous, cold glint like steel in the depths of his eyes.

Pavel's face stings, peppered with cuts and gashes from displaced debris and he can feel blood trickling down his forehead, just above his left eye. He grits his teeth and shuffles closer, stumbling slightly until his body's equilibrium rights itself. He tastes metal.

"Captain," he says slowly, his accent heavy in his confusion, "something was rigged to explode when we stepped over it. This area was supposed to be safe—already checked." That was what their intel had said, anyway, and Pavel is not so foolish to think they were sloppy in their work. He would not be, if this was a task that fell to him.

"How badly are you injured?"