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Fic: Captain's Log: Fathers and Sons

Title: Captain's Log: Fathers and Sons
Author: caitri
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG -- Language, discussion of sexuality.
Characters: Kirk, Spock, Spock Prime, McCoy, everyone and the kitchen sink
Pairings: None
Word count: 4,680
Spoilers/Warnings: Movie spoilers.

Summary: Kirk writes about his life in his personal journal. My attempt to reconcile TOS canon with the reboot.

Captain’s Log: Fathers and Sons

I’ve never had a real book before, the kind with pages of cream-colored paper with gilt at the edges, and a binding of what I assume has to be faux leather with an old Earth style compass engraved on the cover. Spock—the one from the future—gave it to me today after the medal ceremony. I saw him standing there, in the back. It wasn’t hard to find him really, because after all he was damn near the only one in the building not in a red uniform.

He’s trying to leave unobtrusively; I call out to him a few times. The other Spock—I want to call him “my Spock” but the older man is “mine” too—well the young one anyway he looks at me for a second, puzzled, and I can see the comprehension on his face. Somehow I’m not surprised the world doesn’t end; I’m thinking, He can so lie,, and I’m running and I catch up to him.

It’s only when I get to him, up close enough to see that little thing he does with his mouth that isn’t and is a smile, that I realize I don’t know what the hell I want to say. I mean, what do you say to a guy from the future who’s your best friend and sort of your lover and all sorts of other things that you aren’t supposed to know because of that whole “emotional transference” bit of the mind-meldy thing? “Hi,” doesn’t cut it now, does it? But luckily he understands, as only he can, and he hands me this.

“I wasn’t sure if it was appropriate to be here,” he says with that little mouth thing again. “But then, I decided I couldn’t miss it for the world.” He looks all happy and proud and heartbroken, and he silently gives me that “live long and prosper” sign, and then he’s gone, and I realize I never did say a damn thing, nor did I figure out what it should be.


It would surprise many people if I told them that up until I was fifteen, I didn’t know who my Dad was. I mean, I knew in the sense that I knew his name was George Kirk, and he had been in Starfleet, and he was dead. But that was about it. Mom didn’t keep pictures of him out where we could see them. I don’t know how much of that was her and how much of it was that fuckhole Frank, but that’s the way it was.

I found a picture of him once when I was snooping, maybe around the age of seven or eight. I was looking around the way kids do when we’re bored and the adults aren’t around. I’d found Frank’s whiskey behind the washer and had flushed it down the toilet and put the bottle in the incinerator because I knew it would piss him off. I was looking in an old closet and I found this box, this little wooden box that looked like the kind that would play music only it didn’t, and it was all banged up and dusty as hell. Inside was a Starfleet medal, shining, and a holo of a man and my Mom. They were young and smiling, and kept hugging each other and laughing, and from the way they were dressed I knew it was their wedding day and they had no goddamn clue what was coming for them. My guts turned to ice when I saw it, and I slammed it shut and pushed it all the way to the back where I had found it, and tried to forget about it.

A couple years later was when Sam ran off and I drove Dad’s corvette off that quarry cliff so Frank couldn’t sell it to buy whiskey or pay off gambling debts or wherever the fuck his money and Mom’s money went to, because it damn well didn’t go where I could see it. Anyhow. After that stunt was when they sent me to Tarsus IV to spend some time with cousins on a colony, and “learn what an honest day’s work was like” according to Frank. And well, that’s all public record now, except no one thinks about it, because everyone tries to forget shit like that.

It was fine for a few months ‘til that fungus came. I liked working outside. I spent a lot of time with horses. God, I loved horses, loved riding them, loved being out in the fields with them checking the crops. For the first time in my life I liked school. The teachers gave me books to read on my PADD, interesting ones. We had a neighbor called Miz Sato who lived next door with her husband. She was retired but she liked to come talk to the kids and school. She recommended a book of poetry, and because it was her recommending it I actually looked it up on the library’s computer. It had this line “All I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by.” I felt something, reading that. I felt it in my bones.

For the first time in my whole life I was happy.

Then that fungus came and you could just watch the crops dying, and everyone getting thinner, because rations got cut and cut again. And then there was that day when the Governor Kodos declared martial law, and split the colonists up. I had grown tall and strong while I had been on Tarsus. Guards with phaser-rifles sent me one way, and my cousins the other. I was twelve, but I looked older, and when the Governor’s next words came out, we all knew what was going about to happen.

“Survival depends on drastic measures. Your continued existence represents a threat to the well being of society. Your lives mean slow death to the more valued members of the colony. Therefore, I have no alternative but to sentence you to death. Your execution is so ordered, signed Kodos, Governor of Tarsus IV.”

Old Miz Sato had found Aunt Jean (who wasn’t really an aunt, but that doesn’t matter, I loved her and she was an aunt) and the two women were holding hands in the confusion of it all. They were right next to the guards when they were shot. I tried to run to them but it was all slow motion. I saw the phaser beams go right through their heads, brain matter and skull bits flying to the ground and then their bodies crumpling. There was more screaming and more people falling, and I knew this was happening all over the whole goddamn colony. There was a roar in my ears and I knew I was screaming, and then a guard was pushing me back and I was fighting, or trying to, and then the butt of a rifle was in my face and everything went black.

Afterwards, the supply ships came in. Too late, but they came. They arrested the guards who had killed people and the Governor died in a fire he set himself, or at least that’s what they told me. They gave us ration packs to build our systems up gently, so we didn’t gorge from too much food and die of shock, and it tasted like dust and ashes in my mouth, and I was sent by myself back to Earth, and Mom and Frank.

It was a few years later when I was in juvie for—well I forget for what honestly. Not much because I was only there three days that time, and the therapist was trying to figure out what the hell was wrong with me (post traumatic stress disorder and bipolar depression were two theories, the latter because I was a pretty bipolar kid back then, because who wouldn’t be after all that?) and it was she who told me about my Dad. (She was also the kind of therapist who believed that if the problem wasn’t physiological, then it had to be about Daddy issues. Luckily for her, I fit the bill, or at least she thought I did.)

“Tell me about your Father,” she said. Her name was Dr. Kurtz by the way.

“Frank’s not my Dad,” I grumbled. “He’s an asshole.”

“I’m not talking about Frank. I’m talking about your Father.”

I didn’t know how to answer. I’d forgotten about that box in the closet, but I remembered it now. “He was in Starfleet. He’s dead. His name was George.” I thought some more. “He got medals.”

I could see her eyes widen, and I didn’t know why. But I had surprised her. “You’re George Kirk’s son?” she asked me, all shocked like she couldn’t believe it. I thought she was nuts, and said so. She went away then, presumably to a computer to check me out, and yup, I was George Kirk’s son alright. She put his file on the computer in my cell that night, and I read about Dad, and the Kelvin, and the Romulans.

I thought about a ship of my own, and knew that that desire had been his too, only it had killed him in the end.

So. Dad was a hero, and here I was in juvenile detention with all the punk-ass small-time thieves and the emotionally disturbed and shit. Things clicked in other places too: how Mom was never home, most likely because she blamed me for not being with Dad when he died. I looked in the mirror, and knew that I was looking like him more and more every day. Fuck. I didn’t want to be me then. And I gave up inside for a while. That’s not captainly, but it’s true.


Fast-forward. I met Pike. I liked Pike, instantly. The minute I heard that whistle that made dozens of people freeze, including the steroid-ridden asshats in uniforms who were beating the shit out of me at the time—the minute I heard that I knew that whoever was ordering these people around was somebody special.

Pike. Captain. Goddamn. I’dve done anything to be him right then, forever, if I could. Of course I’d die fifty times in a row before admitting that to a single soul, but that’s something else.

Pike. There’s even something to the name, I swear.

Anyhow. I’d gotten the shit beaten out of me and he’d cleared everyone off, and he comes back with this look on his face. Now I’ve seen all kinds of looks on men’s faces in bars: the looks they have when they try to pick up women, the ones they have when they succeed and fail; the ones where they’re trying to pick up men, too, and the ones they make when men are trying to pick up them. And then there’s the looks when they’ve just been sucker-punched, and when they see it coming, and when they’ve lost and when they’ve won. Pike’s look was an awful lot like that last one, but not at first. At first he looks like he’s just gotten hit in the gut, hard. And the funny thing is how it starts to change, and he gets this little boy on Christmas look to him.

“They could’ve knocked me over with a feather when they told me who you were,” he tells me.

“And who’s that?” I said, because I’m only half listening at this point. I don’t know why he’s looking at me that way and I’m not sure I like it. It’s a warm look, if that makes sense. Like the way I imagine a parent would look when they’re welcoming their kid back home.
And we talk, and he wants me in Starfleet. I’d heard the pitch before, in school. The recruiters would come in their gold or blue uniforms, and usually there’s kids in cadet red too. I guess that’s what they were doing here in Riverside fucking Iowa. Explains a lot. But he’s talking, and he starts getting pissed when he realizes that I have no intention of buying what he’s selling. Then he hits low:

“Your Father was Captain of a starship for twelve minutes. He saved eight hundred lives, including yours. I dare you to do better.”

So. I spend the whole night riding around. I go out to the shipyards. They’d been building that new ship for a couple years at that point, and it was going to be a few more before she was space-worthy. She’s not even named yet. But I looked at her, and I said to myself: she’s going to be mine.

That next morning I’m on that shuttle to the Academy. I don’t look back. This drunk guy sits next to me. “I might throw up on you,” he says. He looks like he’s been through hell. His name is Bones, he says. He doesn’t throw up on me, but when we get to San Francisco, he stumbles out into the light, just to the side, and throws up but good on the side of that shuttle. I held his stuff for him out of the way and then helped him inside the processing office, where they issued us serial numbers and made us ID chits and gave us physicals on cold tables before sending us off to register for classes.

Bones was the first friend I ever really had. It sounds lame and cliché and a whole bunch of other things, but it’s true. He was sort of like what I would have wanted Sam to be like as a brother, if Sam had ever stuck around enough. Bones was a doctor; he’d been burned in a divorce, and he had a little girl and an ex-wife in Kentucky. He was burned so bad he never once looked at a woman in the Academy, not unless she was sick—then she was interesting. I don’t know how he felt about men, but I did hear how his Dad was a Baptist minister in some backwoods part of Georgia.

We went there once, on a furlough. I tagged along because Bones told me if I didn’t go he’d end up drinking by himself, and that never worked out good. We took a transport shuttle out there, left San Francisco in the morning and landed in Georgia darn near before we’d left port timewise. Then a second, smaller shuttle to that town called Toccoa. It was everything you’d imagine a town even smaller than Riverside to be: big ugly churches, a handful of haphazardly cared-for old homes, and a gaggle of ugly new things made cheap.

“You grew up here?” I asked in disbelief. The disbelief was because, after the inevitable fight with the family, we’d gone looking for a bar, and to get to one that was even open we had to cross county lines. Lot of work for a beer if you ask me.

Bones gave me that bug-eyed testy look. “Why?” he asked. “Wonder why I left?”

“No,” I said. I didn’t wonder at all. There was a sign across the street in a yard built up with kudzu leaves. It said in faded paint, Take Georgia Back. “Take Georgia back from what?” I asked, bewildered.

“Who knows,” Bones shrugged, and we left. The second times things went better, and we spent the afternoon with his kid, a cute little girl named Joanna, called Jo. She wasn’t a girly kid—she wanted us to play football with her, and we did, but gently, because she was six. We let her win, too, and Bones presented her with a red and black football helmet that said Go dawgs! on it. Georgians. Obsessed with church, football, and alcohol, in that order. I thought that would explain Bones, but it didn’t.


About the Academy. Obviously that’s where we met Spock, our Spock. But before that we had three years on our own. Pike’s dare rang in my ears. I’d told him I’d make Captain in three years and by God I meant it too. That first night I looked at the records of my fellow classmen. Lots of valedictorians, salutatorians, prizewinners, geniuses. Starfleet took the best of the best, and I had some serious catching up to do. I hit the books, and I hit them hard. I only slightly neglected my previous extracurricular activities, and I tried not to piss off too many people on purpose. I mostly succeeded, too.

I say mostly because I made one enemy. He was a third year midshipman named Finnegan, a cocky Irishman who loved practical jokes. My first run-in with him was my first day of class. You see, in the first years’ barracks we had old-fashioned doors, the kind that swung open and had knobs and the like, including real keys you could use. It made it easy for cunning cadets to make copies, go in and out of one’s rooms with a minimum of fuss. My theory is it made it easy for officers to root out the ne’er-do-wells and boot them at their earliest convenience. How they missed Finnegan, I don’t know.

So it’s the first day of class and there’s about three dozen cadets of both sexes heading to the main lecture hall from the barracks. The buildings were fairly close, and all we had to do was take an elevator or run down three flights of stairs, go out the door, cross Cochrane Plaza, and there we were. Most of us took the stairs, impatient and too excited to wait for one of the elevators. You had to go through one set of swinging doors to get to the stairwell, and then there was another at the bottom. To make room for the door you had to go around a corner past the stairwell, and that was how you got outside. I was among the first towards the bottom, when I felt my foot slide on something. I caught myself on a railing, one arm reaching out instinctively to stop those behind me. There was a female cadet who wasn’t so lucky, a pretty Orion girl—she slipped and twisted her ankle, falling down with a thud and a yelp of surprise. The steps were painted black, but there was a tell-tale sheen on that last step, and on my right boot.

“Grease,” I said, loudly. There were giggles, just out of sight around that corner and I could hear the slight sound of the door swinging as someone left before they got in trouble; behind me, there were murmurs of confusion and irritation. Someone was helping the Orion cadet to her feet; she was limping. I followed the laughing sound out the building, fast, and that’s when I saw him for the first time: Finnegan.

“Wee fishies best be careful,” he said. He smiled; it was an ugly look. I wanted to beat him to a pulp just for even having a smile like that.

“That’s once,” I said. “I’m counting.” That’s all, and people heard me. More murmurings.

“I heard he was in prison and they let him out if he promised to only kill Klingons,” I heard one cadet say.

“No,” said another. “He’s in the Mafia. Captain Pike owes his family a favor.”

I supposed being a dangerous man was preferable to being a drunkard, and let it lie. I got through my first day of classes, and met Bones for dinner in the mess hall that night.

“I had no idea I was befriending a felon,” he said dryly by way of greeting, plonking his tray down next to mine.

“I’m not a felon,” I said. I was nervous but trying not to show it. Bones’s good opinion of me mattered, even then.

“Killer?” he said. “Assassin? I heard that the Andorians wanted to pay you to take out Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan but your price was too high.” That one I hadn’t heard, and then I saw his eyes and knew he was teasing me.

“The Andorians tried to pay me with their ale,” I said. “I only accept Saurian brandy in trade.”

“Do you take Bourbon?”

“I’ll consider it under advisement,” I said, and we laughed, and that was that.


I did well in all my classes; I’m a fast learner and always have been. I did extra credit for the instructors that took it, and my second year I was one of the teaching assistants for Professor Okuda’s Introduction to Xenolinguistics course. The other TA was a guy named Gary Mitchell. Nice guy, but we didn’t talk or hang out that much, at least until Finnegan reared his ugly mug again. This time, it was serious. He thought it would be funny to hassle some Denobulan cadets. Now, Denobulans are an easy-going race, and young ones are easily panicked. Their defense mechanism is to bloat their facial features, kind of like Terran blowfish. Well I don’t know what Finnegan did exactly, but there were five Denobulans with their facial ridges all forked out, and he and one of his cronies were laughing like mad, and I couldn’t take it any more.

As Bones would say, I beat Finnegan ‘til the bruises didn’t show no more.

It was no surprise they called me in for questioning. What was a surprise was that Mitchell went. Mitchell was squeaky clean, a real by-the-books kind of character, so everyone was shocked when he testified. “Finnegan had what was coming to him. If Jim Kirk didn’t do it, someone else would have,” he concluded. “Less neatly,” he added.

And out went Finnegan.

That wasn’t the last of it though. They put me in for counseling sessions with this young psychologist named Dr. Elizabeth Dehner. Cool as ice, she was. She wanted to talk more about my post-traumatic stress disorder, and why my past made me feel powerless so that I had to resort to violence, but I wasn’t that interested. I met her once a week for six weeks, and then my bill was clean again. But Mitchell was another friend of mine by then. A year before I graduated he tried to set me up with a friend of his, a lab technician named Carol Marcus. Nice girl, but it didn’t work out that well.

I got on better with Janice Lester, who was in the new Women’s Command Program. She wanted a captaincy as much as I did, maybe more. It had only been in the last few decades that women could be starship captains, but females still made up the minority of command classes, so they had this new program. I knew vaguely that Uhura whatever-her-first-name was in it, too. Janice and I were hot and heavy for a year, and then it was over. The sad part was, neither of us truly missed the other, afterwards.

That was when I met Gaila. She was Orion and beautiful. She was like a womanly me as far as conquests went, too. (And for the record: everything they say about making love to an Orion girl? Absolute fact.) She talked in her sleep, which I thought was endearing. She studied computer systems and would probably be a hell of an engineer some day. She was also an assistant to one Commander Spock.

I’d taken the Kobayashi Maru two times and had lost. I can’t stand to lose. I’m a survivor first but a winner foremost, if I set my mind to it. I had to beat that test. Had to. And honestly, it was only dumb luck about Gaila working for Spock and all. I have no problem cheating a cheat, but I would never use a woman like that. Or a man for that matter. Not that way.

I was thinking about the test hard one day when a dog ran up to me with a tree branch, crazy hopeful that I was game for some fetch. It was one of Admiral Archer’s beagles; Aramis, it looked like. (The Admiral’s dogs were allowed free reign of the campus, because, hell, would YOU say no to the founder of the Federation?) The dog looked at me in that sad way spoiled dogs have, and before I knew it we were playing a few rounds. Then the dog ran away, and I saw Archer in the distance, walking with his friend T’Pol. It was widely rumored the two were lovers, even though he was ancient in human years, and she just past middle age for Vulcans. But love is a funny thing.

Anyhow. The test. That was how I met Spock, and then the rest is damn near public record too. Except for the part about my Spock, the one I met on Delta Vega.

He’d apologized about the emotional transference. I’m not certain he knew how much else I had picked up during that brief, fragile meld. I mean, I didn’t see huge hunks of the future, but I saw little things. I saw what I knew to be my apartment one day—in San Francisco, cluttered with antiques and books. Spock had spent a lot of time there, apparently. I saw so many of the friends and colleagues I’d made on our adventure as real adults, and then us all settling into middle age and gray hairs: Bones, Uhura, Scotty, Sulu, Chekhov. Me. But above all I saw Spock, really saw him, if you know what I mean.

He loved me.

Not just in the pelvic, twenty minutes of joy and I’ll see you in the morning, sort of way, but deeply. I knew that without me, he was unbelievably, painfully alone. And likewise. A friendship that will define you both. That was putting it mildly.

And in the end, there was just this bit of a promise. That if we were to survive Nero and the Narada and the red matter, things were going to be so. Fucking. Awesome. And I believe that.

I think if my Dad were here, he would like Spock, or the Spocks. Both of them. I hope so. I’ve been Captain, officially, for a few hours now, but I’ve saved the world once. I want to do it again. With Spock—-I know I can.

I’m happy, and I’ve got so many people and things to live for.

It’s going to be great.

Gratuitous Notes and Reconciliations

This whole fic was designed to reconcile TOS canon with XI canon. Also, because Kirk started talking to me and wouldn’t shut up til I started typing. Blame him.

I got on the anti-Frank bandwagon, I admit. But for him to have pissed off two kids that much—something wasn’t right.

The Alan Dean Foster novelization calls Sam “George” except then he got written out in the final draft of the actual movie, so he’s back to “Sam” now as far as I’m concerned.

The events of Tarsus IV are discussed in the TOS episode “The Conscience of the King.” Apparently unused material from Star Trek: Enterprise notes that Yoshi Sato died there with her husband.

Bones is from Toccoa, GA because that’s where Deforest Kelley was born. Because I was, too, I thought that scene would be fun. Also, Kelley’s Dad was a Baptist minister.

Finnegan is referenced in the TOS episode “Shore Leave.” Kirk Prime always wanted to beat the snot out of him. I thought it only fair that XIKirk have the honor.

Gary Mitchell and Elizabeth Dehner appeared in the TOS episode “Where No Man Has Gone Before.”

In that same episode, Mitchell reminds Jim of “that little blonde lab technician” he set him up with—the one Jim “almost married.” Some speculate that woman was Carol Marcus, who appeared in films II and III.

Janice Lester appeared in an extremely different light in the TOS episode “Turnabout Intruder.”

The Foster novelization describes Gaila talking in her sleep, and how Kirk used this to beat the Kobayashi Maru.

It’s not just that I’m obsessive (though I am): It’s that I’m thorough.


( 20 comments — Add your .02 )
Jul. 8th, 2009 11:06 pm (UTC)
I love how you melded together aspects of both cannons. I especially like the first part where he barely even knows about his father. Really nicely written and I love the various Enterprise characters making appearances as well.

I'm attempting a Taurus IV fic myself at the moment, although my take on how Jim ends up there and what happens there is a bit different.
Jul. 9th, 2009 04:20 am (UTC)
Awesome! I look forward to reading that! :)
Jul. 9th, 2009 01:50 am (UTC)
This is absolutely brilliant. Especially since you did so much painstakingly detailed research. I thought I was the only one ananl enough to go to that much trouble. As usual, I'm adding this to my mjemories.
Jul. 9th, 2009 04:21 am (UTC)
*blush* Thanks.

In fairness, I didn't do that much research. I just have an obsessive knowledge of TOS Trek. It just comes in handy sometimes!
Jul. 9th, 2009 02:40 am (UTC)
I love this frank look at Kirk's life from his POV and love how you've slotted the two cannons together. Well done!
Jul. 9th, 2009 04:21 am (UTC)
Thanks!!!!! :)
Jul. 9th, 2009 04:58 am (UTC)
Neatly done! You reminded me of so many TOS details I'd all but forgotten about Kirk. It's been over 15 years since I've sat down and watched ST:TOS episodes. Reboot!Kirk is much more of an emotional mess--in a good and fun to read way-- than Prime!Kirk, lol. Let's face it, he has *issues*.
Jul. 9th, 2009 11:10 pm (UTC)
I agree. He's more fun to write than Kirk Prime, or as he is otherwise known "Captain Awesome."
Jul. 9th, 2009 05:40 am (UTC)
Ooh, this is a fantastic blend, and I love the idea of doing it by having Kirk writing a journal. That came off really well.

Particularly loved the Tarsus IV section (... because it's Tarsus!), though the idea of Jim not really knowing who his father was for so long is a really great one as well, and the Academy stuff was delightful and really fun to read. Great job!
Jul. 9th, 2009 05:45 am (UTC)
Nicely done!
Jul. 9th, 2009 06:05 am (UTC)
I loved this! You even brought in Kodos. Awesome. Thank you.
Jul. 9th, 2009 02:22 pm (UTC)
I could never be considered a Trekkie/Trekker - I never watched TOS (seeing a re-run episode as a child, Shatner creeped me out, Nimoy was too bizzare then), saw a bit of TNG (it was ok), & Enterprise was my fav (watched pretty much the whole series) - but I know enough from various sources to have a somewhat patchy picture of Trek. The way you segued (sp?) together is nicely done. Even before reaching your end notes I knew there was a lot of research & balled-up pieces of paper (so to speak) involved. It shows, & I thank you for that. It doesn't hurt either that your writing style is awesome.

And for the record, I watched Star Trek XI five times not 'cos it's nu!Trek filled with hotties, but 'cos it's nu!Trek filled with hotties & a good story & excellent directing & editing. The Spork is an added benefit. XD
Jul. 9th, 2009 11:12 pm (UTC)
Wow, thanks.

*coff* The sad part is...there wasn't way much of research involved. Due to too much TOS watching during the formative years, I kind of know this stuff better than anything else.
Jul. 9th, 2009 05:34 pm (UTC)
Absolutely brilliant! I loved reading it, so thanks for sharing~ (and that's far too mellow to express the enjoyment, but right now there's a dorky smile on my face jamming communications with my brain...)
Jul. 28th, 2009 04:19 am (UTC)
I loved this more than you can know. Reconciling the two timelines is a personal goal of mine and you did a great job. (There's one thing I want to mention, hopefully without offending you. I wouldn't, except you said you're obsessive and so am I and this is a personal pet peeve. It's a mind meld, not a melt.)

I loved how I could recognize all the characters, even without yuor notes. Go TOS fans! They fit really well into the new universe. And the fact that Jim didn't know who his dad was until later? Absolute gold. I haven't seen that interpretation before.
Jul. 28th, 2009 02:08 pm (UTC)
Thanks!! :)

Thanks also for pointing out my typo--doh! I will go back and fix that. Looking it over I also have some others--oh me.

But TOS rocks!
Oct. 5th, 2009 09:17 am (UTC)
You really had me until this dumped me right out of the story ...

Pike’s dare rang in my ears. I’d told him I’d make Captain in three years and by God I meant it too.

Kirk told Pike that he would graduate in three years, not that he would make captain.

This is a really good fic, so please, fix this?

Edited at 2009-10-05 09:17 am (UTC)
Oct. 7th, 2009 01:50 am (UTC)
Ooh, good catch. Thanks!

Although now I want to wank it so that Jim's the kind of guy who would "hear" three years = captain instead of officer.

(Question: Can you fanwank yourself? Weird.)
Apr. 27th, 2010 09:25 am (UTC)
I found a link for this series the other day and i must say i am glad i did. This was such a great start to it. I liked the melding of the TOS and Reboot verses, you put it together nicely.

Two points of criticsm... You wrote that Kirk said he'd become a captain in three, he actually told Pike he would graduate in three years in stead of four. And you wrote that McCoy told him he was called Bones, they never made it clear how the name started but i imagine it was Kirk who took it from McCoy's line in reference to his wife... "She took everything, even the planet all i have left is my bones!"

Again the two issues aren't big deal, they barely register when reading, but i am a stickler for small things like that in my own stories, so i thought you might like to know.

I am now eagerly moving on to the next story in the series;-)
Apr. 27th, 2010 01:43 pm (UTC)
Aww, thank you for reading!! :)

Yeah, those are two mistakes I made in the draft that I later decided actually fit from Kirk's point of view--he would be told "graduate" and hear "captain" because he's that desperate to prove himself, plus he's just facing a hostile class of cadets. And while the rest of the universe may think McCoy's name is Leonard, to him it will always be Bones. :)
( 20 comments — Add your .02 )

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