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Chapter Text

Saavik would be loathe to say it, but she is struggling to contain her emotions.

The wash of pride-delight-fear-amusement-boredom-excitement-nervousness-thrill is almost overwhelming, and every few minutes it hits her with a new wave of something . And there certainly are a lot of minutes. The installment has been going on for 2.16 hours now, and with her control already shaking from the emotional onslaught, the length is getting to her.

For the thirty-second time, she looks out into the wide amphitheater to find Spock in the second row. He isn’t smiling, of course, but the glimmer in his eyes is very familiar. Upon their initial meetings, she’d been rather distressed by his growing integration of emotion and logic, but in this moment she finds it reassuring to know that the only other person in the room who should be reining in his effusive congratulations is nonetheless quite proud of her.

“— and swear to uphold the regulations all Starfleet members are bound by—”

Saavik knows she should be listening, but her focus also seems to be failing her. She’s sat through the installments of 7 other captains; she knows how they go. It is a much better use of her time to continue scanning the crowd for familiar faces and assessing the general emotional reaction to her—

A flicker of movement in the back catches her eye and she finds a certain dirty-blonde head scanning the room as it enters. Flustered, hair in a bit of a muss, still in scrubs with a leather jacket thrown over top of her white coat: who else could it be but one Dr. Joanna McCoy.

Saavik’s eyebrows rise and her eyes narrow quite unconsciously. Joanna finally spots her all the way down on the amphitheater stage and her eyes widen comically as she claps a hand over her mouth. It’s just like Joanna to show up to an important event two hours late and think she’s early.

Regardless, Saavik just controls the corners of her mouth from twitching up, letting her gaze drift back over the crowd. Joanna has been so busy lately that even though they’re both on Earth between tours, they’ve barely gotten to meet up. Saavik finds that… quite objectionable. Joanna is one of her oldest friends, and though the prejudices of Starfleet have eased as she proves herself time and again, she still often finds herself at a bit of a loss for companionship.

Admiral Kirk once assured her that this was a common struggle in the higher ranks, but she has seen the way he interacts with his crew, and she doesn’t believe him a bit. Perhaps once he left the field, only venturing into the black on training tours or observations, but she suspects he’d found his truest family once he made captain.

Another flare of excitement-dread-longing passes through her. She has long swore to herself that the only reason she wishes to gain the captaincy is the pure logic of advancement: her skills and proficiency in command would serve the galaxy well in such a position. But here, as the commodore at the podium drones on and on, she recognizes that growing up in close proximity to the tight knit of the Enterprise crew was a balm on her lonely childhood. She allows herself a moment to search out where Joanna has settled herself in the crowd— near Commander Uhura. The former bridge crew and Joanna’s family in particular have been instrumental in her success in Starfleet, and she’s been harboring plans since Joanna announced her medical-track acceptance to the Academy to bring her along as CMO when she herself makes captain. It is a logical choice: an established bond is beneficial to crew morale, and while Joanna is an extremely capable doctor who could have been picked up by any crew, her temper has stymied many potential assignments. Saavik is confident that she can keep the doctor in line, and maintain a positive work environment. After all, Admiral Kirk maintained peace and productivity between himself, Captain Spock, and Joanna’s own father for quite a long time, and, well, he’s Jim Kirk. And if having Joanna as her CMO will mean they are on the same ship, with reason for regular meetings?

Saavik will admit she is taking that into consideration.

She catches her name and returns her focus to the proceedings, quickly catching herself up on the last few sentences. It is time for her to officially relieve the former captain of her ship, one Captain Olivier, and then a short speech, and then they will all be released. She will have perhaps an hour of celebrations before she is whisked off into the depths of the admiralty’s offices to work through the less ceremonious aspects of transferring command of a Miranda-class ship.

She runs through the final 22 minutes of the event on autopilot and finds herself staring out over a sea of clapping hands and smiling faces (with the exception of Spock, and of Joanna, who could only be described as beaming). She takes a fortifying breath and moves into the crowd. Like she’s triggered a release mechanism, everyone in the room starts to move in a swirl of chaos— some toward her, some up and away, some calling to others in the room. She just sees someone jump a row of benches before Spock is in front of her.

“Congratulations, Captain Saavik.”

Despite the Vulcan inflection, she hears the emphasis he places on the title. She inclines her head in response. “Thank you, Captain Spock.”

His hands fall to their customary positions behind his back. “I believe Admiral Kirk expressed interest in hosting a party at our place of residence. He deeply regrets that he was not able to attend the ceremony itself.”

“Please tell the Admiral that I find that suggestion amenable. However, I will be required to be present at a series of meetings with the Admiralty over the next several hours. Shall I assume the Admiral in question will not be in attendance?”

His eyes twinkle a little brighter. “Apparently not. The Admiral does have an admirable, if bemusing, ability to avoid most responsibilities that do not directly pertain to… his area, nebulous as that is.”

Before Saavik can respond, Joanna appears beside them. She’s almost bouncing— something Saavik has come to recognize as a substitute for touching Saavik when she’s worked up. Joanna is an inherently tactile person, but she’s never touched Saavik without express permission or reasoning.

Saavik does appreciate it, though she finds it a strange representation of their friendship that the last time they made skin-to-skin contact was when Saavik had fallen into a patch of alien briars that caused an unbearable burning sensation on a training mission and Joanna had to spread the salve with her bare fingers.

Regardless, in this moment Joanna’s hands are folded in front of her, the long sleeves of her white coat sliding down over her knuckles. Saavik quickly looks back up at her face as she speaks— predictably, an apology. “Oh, Saavik, sorry I was late. My shift ran late and I thought this didn’t start until 4, but I guess I got mixed up— who starts big important events at 2 in the afternoon anyways—”

Saavik quirks an eyebrow at her. “I believe it is safe to assume you do not wish me to relay the events on the Starfleet schedule that do begin at 1400 hours. Perhaps only for this week—”

Joanna rolls her eyes, then reaches up to tighten her ponytail, smirking at Saavik from beneath her arm. “Oh, God, please don’t. Anyway, sorry.”

“Apology accepted, Doctor.”

Spock has been watching them as if they are a particularly compelling Terran tennis match, but at the lull he inclines his head to Joanna in greeting. “Good afternoon, Doctor McCoy.”

“Oh, hey, Spock— uh, Captain,” Joanna amends as the commodore who led the installment passes behind her. “Good to see you, it’s been a minute.”

“Yes. I believe you have been rather busy at Starfleet Medical while between tours?”

Joanna sighs heavily, tucking her hands into the pockets of her coat. “Extremely so. I always thought Dad was just being… well, Dad, when he said he never got a break, but I’ve been running 15-hour shifts with maybe nine hours in between. There’s always some new crisis. Last night, one of the bars just off the Academy campus accidentally dosed 23 cadets and maybe 50 civilians with some rare Risan aphrodisiac. Now that was a trip, between the different anatomies and preferences—”

Spotting another captain weaving her way over to congratulate her, Saavik quickly cuts off that particular story. “Surely there are enough doctors employed by Starfleet that you could take a break for the time you are on Earth, Doctor. Return to your homeland, perhaps, or spend time with friends.”

To her mild surprise, Joanna looks slightly uncomfortable at that, brushing it aside with an attempt at a nonchalant wave before quickly tucking her hand back into her pocket. “Nah, I’m happy to be doing it. Most of the other doctors take that kind of attitude, so the hospitals are actually chronically understaffed, especially when it comes to xenobiology. And thanks to my dad and the Captain here, I’ve got a bit of a head start on that front. And on Romulans, Orions, Andorians, Bajorans, Cardassians, even Klingons…”

“You have made your point, Doctor,” Saavik says drily.

Joanna scrunches her nose at her at the same moment as the approaching captain says, “Saavik! Congratulations— oh, am I interrupting something?”

“No, that’s quite alright, Captain Lopez,” Saavik replies. “It has simply been some time since the doctor and I have seen each other, and we have been catching up. I believe the doctor could use some rest, however.”

It’s a clear dismissal, but despite her fast-paced speech, Joanna truly is looking a little worse for wear. There are visible dark circles under her eyes and her glasses are heavily smudged— something she normally would have corrected instantly. Still, Joanna frowns at her. “Ah, come on, Saavik. I’ve got until 6 tomorrow—”

Spock lightly rests a hand on the younger woman’s shoulder. “Doctor, I do believe that the newly commissioned captain has a number of other well-wishers who would like to speak to her. Perhaps we could go and attend her party in her stead.”

Joanna slumps a little. “Yeah, fair. Well, hopefully I’ll see you before you ship out, Captain ,” she finishes with a wink.

As they start to weave through the crowd toward the exit, Saavik feels one last spike of that embarrassing emotional surge from earlier (it is starting to get rather irritating). Before she can think better of it, she calls, “Doctor McCoy! One more moment, if you please.”

Joanna turns back expectantly, hands still in her pockets and stance relaxed.

“I would— well, if you would like— when I am given the opportunity, I would like to appoint you as CMO to my ship,” Saavik finally works out. To her horror, her ears are burning green. “If you find that amenable, I mean. Though perhaps you find your current position satisfactory—”

But Joanna is once again beaming, posture straightened like she’s under inspection. “Please do, Saavik. You know I’d love that, and you’re gonna be the best captain in the fleet. You know I only work for the best.”

“I will see you at the commission meeting, then,” Saavik says. “2200 hours.”

Joanna groans, pushing up her glasses to rub her eyes. “That late? I should take a nap instead of going to your party.”

“It is your choice, Doctor. You do seem to enjoy such parties.”

“I’ll be there, Saavik. Promise you won’t jet off to space without me if I’m late, though.”

The corners of Saavik’s mouth twitch. “I believe I can make that promise, yes.”

Joanna seems loathe to leave now, but Spock’s expectant (and very knowing, to Saavik’s distrust) gaze on her back finally pulls her out the door. Saavik is left alone with Captain Lopez, who is also giving her a look that’s a little too amused for Saavik’s taste.

“The CMO, huh? It was my chief engineer. Brilliant girl, could talk her way out of any fight and clever with her hands. I promised her I’d never leave her behind when I went out into the black, and so far I’ve followed through on that promise. You’d be wise to do the same, Captain.”

“I’m not quite sure I know what you mean, sir.”

The woman’s intense gaze falls as she shrugs, suddenly much more absentminded. This is how Saavik remembers her being in the past, rather lax for someone in a command role. She tends to look down on such unfocused ambition, but at the moment it’s a relief. “Eh, crews are like family, but there’s always a handful you’ll be especially close to in one way or another. People you don’t think you’d make it without. It’s a lonely place, space.”

She chuckles softly at the rather obvious rhyme and wanders off, leaving Saavik to finish fielding congratulations and eventually make her way to the admiralty to start following through on that promise.

Chapter Text

Joanna swears she’s not late by nature. It’s just that there’s always so many things going on, especially now that she’s in charge of a very large medbay— medical records to sign off on, inventory to coordinate and stock, nurses to appoint, three dozen people needing her at every moment. She’s almost looking forward to the moment they launch and her schedule switches from boring bureaucratic stuff to medical emergencies.

The point being, it’s not her fault she’s late for the first officers’ meeting on this new tour, despite the look the captain is giving her. If she wants to leave on time, they’ve got to finish unloading all the hypo cartridges. Unless the captain would like to undergo surgery without the benefit of painkillers or anaesthesia?

Apparently Saavik doesn’t find this scenario sufficiently concerning, because she says evenly, “Doctor, if I may. Lieutenant Commander, have the adjustments to the shipwide lighting been made?”

Lieutenant Commander Aerhi, Chief Engineer, crosses her arms as she begins to debrief. As she speaks, Saavik gets as close to ‘lounging’ as Joanna’s ever seen any Vulcan go— elbow leaning on the armrest of her chair, chin propped on her knuckles. Her gaze is pensive as she nods along to the report, whatever intricate machinations make up her mind working away as she fits all the final pieces into place.

Joanna hasn’t really seen Saavik in uniform since the Academy. Sure, there’d been a few minutes during the installment and here and there on comms, but mostly they only run into each other planetside and in civvies. The uniform redesign had been fairly recent, too— since they’d graduated.

All things considered, this is Joanna’s first chance to really see Saavik in her full captain’s uniform, and she takes the opportunity as the Vulcan gets updates from engineering to take in the sight. She’s got her hair braided and pinned up thoroughly, out of her way; her turtleneck emphasizes the set of her jaw, and her posture under the jacket is thoroughly… professional. It doesn’t sound much like glowing praise, but after years of looking at parades of beings in uniform, Joanna can appreciate someone who wears it well.

Saavik certainly does.

Gradually, Joanna realizes that a. someone is saying her name, b. that person is the captain, c. they’ve now locked eyes, and d. she’s biting her lip while meeting her captain’s stare dead-on. Hastily, she tries to school her expression into one of concentration.

Again, a moment later, she realizes a question was being asked of her and she still hasn’t answered it. She snaps to attention. “Oh. Yes, Captain? Sorry, Captain.”

“It is good to know you are still with us, Doctor. Is the inventory complete?”

Saavik’s face might be a mask, but it’s a mask of exasperation. Joanna smiles. “Yes, sir. My nurses have probably finished it up since I left.”

“Is there anything more you require before we leave space dock?”

Joanna is about to reply with a playful comment when she realizes she’s misread Saavik’s tone (easy to do with Vulcans) and she’s genuinely asking. The woman takes her job very seriously, and a room full of other senior officers and an admiral on the way for inspection on the first day of their new mission might not be the time for ribbing. Or aesthetic appraisal. Trying to seem like she hadn’t just been eyeing up the captain, Joanna quickly runs through her own mental checklist of tasks. “No, sir. I’ll have the final medical approvals for all personnel sent to your PADD by launch.”

Saavik gives a curt nod. “Excellent. Thank you, Doctor. Lieutenant, final security protocol?”

Recognizing the dismissal, Joanna sinks down into a chair and gives the other officers a quick visual survey. She’s seen a few of them around, but they’re mostly people Saavik probably knows from previous crews. To her mild surprise, they’re largely alien and, of the ones whose genders she knows, mostly women— functionally the opposite of most other Starfleet crews. She gives Saavik a warm smile while the captain is turned away. Trust Saavik to immediately go about turning things on their heads just by the nature of her being.

Not that it’ll make her job easier. There is something to be said for trying to maintain generally the same kinds of anatomies on a crew to minimize the variation in accommodations needed, though that’s become an excuse to keep Starfleet human- or humanoid-dominant. Looks like she’ll start having to live up to her boasting about her expertise in xenobiology.

When she looks around again, she finds a young officer studying her closely— a human woman wearing a grey undershirt and an ensign’s pin. She catches Joanna’s eye and startles, looking away quickly. Curiosity piqued, Joanna goes to sit next to her. “Good morning, Ensign—?”

“Sanchez, sir,” the woman says. Her voice is soft, but she’s also probably trying to get Joanna to lower her voice by example. “You’re Dr. McCoy, CMO, right?”

“Yeah,” Joanna responds, obliging and dropping her voice to a whisper. “I’m assuming you’re not serving under me?”

Ensign Sanchez sighs somewhat wistfully. “No, sir. I’m in the research team under Doctor Aerhi.”

“Aerhi— isn’t she the chief engineer?” Joanna asks, squinting over at the tall Haliian woman to the captain’s right. She’s spinning a stylus around her fingers and looking bored. “Is she also running research? I thought it was unusual to hold two positions at once.”

“No, that’s the lieutenant commander. They’re sisters— I think she’s the older one. They joined up at the same time, though. I don’t see the doctor, she was transporting up equipment last time I saw her.”

“I’ll have to chat with her later, see what she’s up to. I thought we were on escort duties for the first few months, since there’s that big Federation summit coming up,” Joanna says, unconsciously mirroring what the lieutenant commander is doing with her own stylus. “I guess we can multitask and pull some research missions while we’re playing nanny.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she sees the ensign glance nervously at the captain. “Come on, Doctor. Escorting might not be the most exciting, but it’s important and necessary—”

“Oh, Ensign Sanchez, you misunderstand,” Joanna grins. “I’m not complaining. Given who Saavik’s parents are, I’ll take any missions that keep her out of the hotseat. Admiral Kirk and Captain Spock may be federation royalty, but I’ve been listening to my dad complain about them my entire life. If I can keep Saavik from sacrificing herself for the greater good in the next six months, I’ll be the best doctor in the ‘fleet.”

As she finishes, she drops her stylus and has to duck out of her chair to pick it up. She comes up to find Ensign Sanchez smiling down at her before she can school her face into neutrality. “I believe you, Doctor. I should report to the transporter room and see if Doctor Aerhi needs any help. Best of luck keeping us all in one piece.”

Joanna gives her a lazy salute as she leaves and flops over the arm of her chair, giving the rest of the room a bored once-over with the stylus dangling from her fingers. She’s really not sure if she’s allowed to leave just yet, but if she does all that’s in her future is more inventory, and all protests to the contrary she’s not that keen to get back to counting nutrient hypo cartridges.

One way or the other, Saavik seems to be wrapping up. She’s currently having a murmured conversation with her XO, Commander Paxcah; after a moment she gives the Arbazan a brusque nod and turns back to her assembled officers. “I would express my gratitude to each of you for accepting your positions on this ship. I understand I am far from the best assignment you could have taken in Starfleet, as you are all high in your fields. However, I am confident in my own ability to lead over the coming months, and I trust you will do your jobs to the best of your capabilities despite the…” Joanna watches as she pauses for what feels like an eternity, face impassive even as she grapples with something. “Despite the stigma of working with me.”

A flash of anger runs through Joanna, and she can see it ripple through the rest of the room too. Their whole time at the Academy, she watched Saavik take triple the shit anyone else got— a child of Starfleet brilliance, a Vulcan woman, part Romulan. If she’d been anyone else, she’d be an admiral by now. She knows many of the other people in the room have probably seen the same type of crap, given the ‘fleet’s aforementioned horrible track record when it comes to non-human recruitment— hell, she took a fraction of it, and at times she envied Saavik’s bred and nurtured cool over her own parents’ apparently inheritable hot-headed nature, as more often than not mouthing off was what got her sent to the metaphorical and literal principal’s office. No one here was going to object to the “stigma” of working with her.

No one else speaks for a long moment, clearly a little stunned at her bluntness about the nature of her position in the ‘fleet. Finally Joanna leans forward and fixes Saavik with a look that’s hard and warm at the same time— another thing she learned from her father.

“Captain, you know you’re hot shit, we know you’re hot shit. I only work for the best, remember. It’s none of our faults the brass can’t see skill if it doesn’t come packaged in a nice, peach-toned, endoskeletoned box. Now, I’ve got work to do. We’ve all got something to prove to the higher-ups, I’d say, and if it’s all the same to you, I’d like to get started.”

The first officer is giving her an amused, calculating look while the chief engineer openly grins. Between the two of them, they almost balance out Saavik as her eyebrow raises with a deliberation that screams danger . Joanna doesn’t flinch, having been on the receiving end of this exact stare many times after bringing particularly raucous friends into their dorm at the Academy, but she can see a pair she thinks might be the helm and the navigator practically diving for cover. After a second of silence to emphasize her disapproval, Saavik turns her gaze back to her PADD.

“While I do not entirely understand your metaphors, Doctor McCoy, I do understand that our prior relationship might imply that a more casual frame of interaction would be acceptable between us, but I would ask you to refrain from using such crude language outside of… extreme situations. Though I know that may be difficult for you, given your predilection for such expressive terms.”

Despite herself, Joanna feels herself flush at the use of her title in such a stern, commanding tone. She covers by winking at the chief engineer, who’s snickering softly at the exchange, and saying, “Sure thing, Captain. No blue storms on the job.”

“Blue storms, Doctor?”

“Cursing up a storm. Turning the air blue. Surely you’ve heard the expressions, sir.”

Saavik gives her a long, slow blink, like a cat. “I have not. You are excused, Doctor.”

Joanna fights down an almost hysterical urge to laugh. It’s a fine, fine line to walk, the border between her (admittedly warped) sense of professionalism and her existing relationship with Saavik. The captain seems to be striding down it with both feet firmly on the side of formality. She can understand on a logical level that in a crew of this size, it’s wrong of her to expect special treatment, but emotionally… it’s been a long time since she and Saavik have been in the same place for any extended period, even longer since they actually worked together. And the way Saavik had announced she was going to bring her on as CMO? Well pardon her for thinking that was as close to a declaration of affection as she was going to get from a half-Vulcan.

And if she’s being honest, it’s also been a very long time since she’s had a friendship like Saavik’s. She doesn’t know what it is about her that drives other people away, if it’s the rapid career advancement or the loud-mouthed sarcasm or just the famous relatives, but she’d hoped Saavik of all people would understand. She’d hoped that this could be a new start, for herself and her career. No friends means no connections means no good positions means she’s actually been planetside for quite a while longer than her dad or Spock or Saavik realizes, picking up late-night shifts at ‘Fleet Medical to feel like she’s doing something.

Joanna is suddenly very, very tired. She gives Saavik a tight-lipped smile and a nod and makes her way out the door.

She almost immediately runs into one of her nurses, an Orion named Gælan. The man lets out a slightly panicked laugh. “Doctor McCoy! Glad I found you. I need you to sign off on these. Like, right away. We’ve got a backlog on approvals, there’s a lot more crew than expected.”

Joanna takes the PADD and realizes she’s still clutching her stylus. She starts to scrawl her name across one form after another, giving each one a quick once-over. “Don’t Miranda classes usually have small crew complements? This doubles what I was expecting, easy.”

“I don’t know, sir, but since so many are non-human and there’s maybe a dozen that aren’t even humanoid, I’ll try to contact ‘Fleet Medical and get baseline scans for everyone so we don’t have to calibrate for every damn life-form on the ship.”

Joanna scratches her head with the end of her stylus, scanning through the file of a crewmember whose home planet she’s literally never heard of. “Wow, Saavik’s taking this seriously.”

Gælan shrugs, trying to sift through a stack of other PADDs. “Well, I’m not complaining. So far only one person has tried to hit on me since I boarded. One! Do you know how rare that is? I barely get selected for two-week, low-risk training tours, let alone ones like this, and when I do it’s always cause someone thinks it would be fun to have an Orion as their personal nurse.” He suddenly rounds on Joanna, eyeing her suspiciously. “You better not—”

Joanna lets out a short bark of a laugh, then swallows it. “Don’t worry. I’m a Southern belle, born and raised. I wouldn’t dream of propositioning anyone who works under me.”

He seems satisfied, shifting a few PADDs to his left arm. “Good. Didn’t seem like you would, but it never hurts to check.”

“And in all honesty… you’re not my type. If you know what I mean.”

“You’re not mine either, Doctor. Probably best for the both of us.”

Joanna nods, distracted. “I wonder why we’ve got so many crew. Met an ensign who said something about a research team, maybe that’s why we’ve got so many science officers. Before we know it we’ll be overrun with dumbass kids still wet behind the ears who get too excitable about weird plants and come back with unspeakable rashes.”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”

She pulls a face. “You’ll have to ask the captain about that one.”

Now it’s his turn to give a surprised laugh. “The captain ?”

“What, you know another half-Romulan? Apparently they don’t react well to the briars they’ve got on Epsilon Eridani. According to Saavik, they cause an ‘unbearable itching sensation.’ I took her at her word and gave her the biggest dose of antihistamines I’ve ever loaded into a hypo, plus a healthy heaping of calamine lotion. Works on poison ivy with humans, works on alien briars with Vulcanoids.”

He snorts as she finishes up the final papers and passes the PADD back. “I bet she was fun all loaded up on allergy meds.”

“You have no idea. If you tell me you finished inventorying the cartridges I’ll even show you the vids.”

“Of course we did, McCoy. Now pass it over.”

Joanna has a flash of guilt as she pulls out her own personal PADD, shooting a glance at the ready room door behind her, but it’s not like Gælan’s going to report her to the brass or publicly humiliate the captain. He’s one of the few she already knows on board: bit of a wunderkind, doing a residency the first time she finished a tour and started picking up hospital shifts, incredibly hard-working and just a touch of an acid tongue. And in any case, the video of Saavik becoming increasingly confused as she tries to explain the morphology of a Terran flying squirrel without falling asleep is hysterical.

Just as it finishes up and she sends Gælan off to comm for those baseline scans, the door behind her slides open and Saavik herself steps out. Joanna spins around, trying not to look too guilty. “Captain! I— I want to say sorry for earlier. I was out of line, it looked like I was challenging your command—”

“There is no need for apologies, Doctor McCoy. You were defending me from my own doubts, for which I am grateful. It was… irrational of me to send you away as I did. I can provide the reasoning that I was overwhelmed, but it is no excuse.” Her eyes flash suddenly, eyebrow arching. She looks downright impish. “Although, do you really think you could challenge my command so easily? I have chosen my officers carefully, Joanna. Surely you do not think they would defect to you because I acknowledged setbacks I have faced.”

Joanna tries and probably fails not to look pleased at the use of her first name, but even more so at the return of the balance of their conversation. “You never know. It’s that sweet Southern charm, my daddy always said. I could talk a Klingon out of a chokehold, in Standard.”

“I would like very much to see that.”

“Hmm. Maybe once we actually get to warp. Don’t you have places to be, Saavik ?”

Now it’s the captain’s turn to flush green, all the blood running to her ears. Joanna knows from years of teasing that if she strengthens her accent, she can really get Saavik going— though she still has no idea why. Regardless, the woman stiffens to parade posture and says coolly, “I’ll be sure to call you to the bridge if we encounter any Klingons. Barring that eventuality, please report to the bridge at the beginning of beta shift to check in. Good day, Doctor.”

“Good day to you, Captain,” Joanna responds, playing along. “See you soon.”

Saavik strides off down the hall and Joanna almost falls as she leans heavily against the bulkhead, a grin slowly splitting her face. She hadn’t realized how worried she’d been that Saavik was actually irritated with her until the feeling was gone. She supposes it makes sense that several years of tours where everyone seemed to grow gradually more frustrated with her until she found herself eating alone would translate to concerns in even her oldest, best-established friendships. Good to see she can still depend on Saavik’s strange Vulcan sarcasm to be unable to resist her own irreverent humor.

Joanna pushes herself upright and heads toward medbay to see what other last-minute tasks have been dug up for her. She has a very, very good feeling about this trip.

Chapter Text

Saavik has been waiting for inspection for 44.20 minutes.

She can’t quite find it in herself to be upset. It has been yet another deeply emotionally charged day, and she has taken the extra time in her quarters, meditating as well she can with one ear tuned for the chirp of the comm.

Her hands fit neatly over her knees. Her breathing is even and slow. She feels her pulse thrumming through her, the slight strain in her spine, the flexing of her intercostal muscles. She notes each point of tension present in her body, the stretch in the arch of her foot and the whisper of air over her lip as she exhales. As each emotion approaches her, she considers it without judgement. She finds that she is feeling unprepared to command such a voyage as she is embarking on, despite all evidence to the contrary. She is concerned by the possibility that has occurred to her in recent days that any failure on her part will be considered a failure of Romulus and of Vulcan, and potentially of the many other peoples who she has chosen for her crew. She is pleased with her crew. She is anticipating their departure with a mix of anxiety and excitement. Each of these thoughts she acknowledges and allows to pass on with a slow breath, settling herself back in a space of relative calm. All the better for such a demanding position as she now holds.

She has just returned her awareness fully to the space around her and carefully rolled from her kneeling position to her feet when the comm finally chirps. She goes to press the button before returning to fold up her mat. “This is Captain Saavik.”

“Captain, this is Bridge. We have the Admiral aboard for inspection.”

“Understood. Please send him to my ready room and inform him I will be with him in two point four minutes.”

The comm beeps off as she tucks her mat into its compartment under her bed. She picks up her uniform jacket and boots from where they were placed by the door as she entered and slips them on before leaving her quarters to meet the admiral.

When she reaches the ready room, a slightly flustered communications lieutenant directs her instead to the main observation deck. When Saavik stares at her for a second, she says miserably, “I’m sorry, Captain, he really insisted. I mean, you know what he’s like— well, of course you do, I mean—”

Saavik does know. She imagines it involved some pontificating on her affection for formality over comfort, or something about a need to see the outside— something she’s always found an odd trait of the admiral’s, given the fairly constant evidence that they are, in fact, in space. Regardless, she releases the poor lieutenant and redirects her steps to the observation deck.

Somewhat to her surprise, the man she is looking for is standing quietly in the dark in front of the wide viewscreen, watching Mars spin past in the distance, his hands folded behind his back in a posture that looks both comforting and out-of-place on him. She stops some distance behind him and mimics his posture. “Admiral Kirk.”

He doesn’t face her. “Come now.”

“Father,” she amends. “I was under the impression you were not to inspect my ship, given… suspicions of nepotism among others at Starfleet.”

“Well, we both know you’d pass inspection whoever led it, so I see no threat. And if the brass think Spock and I could’ve raised you so poorly that you’d need intervention on our part to seem fit for command, I’d question whether they knew us, or Vulcans in general, at all. And really…” Finally, he turns to her, a smile deepening the wrinkles around his eyes. “Can’t I come see my daughter before she ships out to the depths of space?”

“Father,” she repeats with some trace of exasperation, “I saw you exactly two weeks ago at the second of the parties to celebrate my captaincy.”

“The first one didn’t count if you weren’t even there,” he points out, then shrugs. “So sue me, I’m feeling a little blue now that you’re actually leaving. And before you say you’ve been on assignment before, it’s not the same and you know it. My girl, a captain! Imagine that.”

“I am sure you did, many times,” she says, but it doesn’t come out as dry as she intended. She resists the urge to clear her throat. “I do appreciate the visit, Father. Shall we proceed with the tour?”

He waves a hand magnanimously. “Like I said, I’m sure you’ll pass with flying colors. I have something to tell you first. Wisdom to impart, one captain to another, that sort of thing. Come, sit.”

To illustrate, he settles comfortably on the bench beside him. Saavik sits primly next to him, perhaps a bit closer than she would to anyone else.

“Look out there. Just… take it in for a minute.”

She studies him for a second, but he is no longer looking at her and she can’t glean anything from his expression. She follows his gaze to the viewscreen, where the view is just sliding past Earth and out into the wider reaches of space.

For a second, she ponders what he could be expecting her to find out there. It is awesome, in the more original sense of the word, she supposes, and certainly still sparks a certain determination in her, no matter how many times she departs planetside gravity. She can sense he’s waiting for something more, though, and after a second he holds out a hand.

“May I?”

She consents, placing her hand lightly in his. At first she can feel only its warmth, still a cherished novelty. Then, as she carefully lowers her mental shields, information and emotion washes through her with enough force to make her gasp.

She takes a second to sort through it. First and foremost, wrapped around both of them, is the presence of his mind— just as warm as his physical being. It is tightly bound to his pride and love for her, which stems not only from this moment but for every moment of her life, reaching back to the days he and Spock first encountered her on Vulcan. Past this is what she decides he truly wants her to see, although the reminder of his devotion to her as his daughter is not unwelcome. It is a map, spreading out all around them, laid over not only the viewscreen but transforming the very walls and air around them into an image of the vastness beyond. The map is dotted with systems and phenomena like a starchart, and although it is somewhat spatially distorted so that the admiral can keep it in his mind, she gets the sense from her own knowledge that it is approximately correct.

What is more amazing, however, is that with each point comes a distinct set of impressions and memories— the admiral’s own, from his visits to that system or surveying of that nebula. Some are tinged with joy and amusement and curiosity, like the Shore Leave planet; others are tinged with anger and frustration and grief. She feels it all, this record of a long career full of triumph and loss, and finally understands what her father is offering her.

“This is what I have,” he says, voice soft again. “In some ways, it is all that I have; in others, it’s but a small fragment of what my career has been. You will have this, and you will have something very different, and you will have something more. I can’t tell you what that will be, but Saavik, I am so glad that you will get to experience it all. Sometimes you lose crew, and that’s always difficult. But every day you gain new, better friends, that make it all worth it. They will become your family, as much as Spock and I are now. And we’ll try our best not to be jealous,” he adds, and she feels his chuckle echo through the meld more than she hears it.

“It will be difficult, at times. You will doubt yourself, because I know you, and you’re a lot like me, and I doubted myself every day. But never let it get in your way. You have a job to do, just like everyone else on this ship. It’s just a job, in the end, and it doesn’t make you better or worse than anyone else, but in the end, you were the one chosen to do it. And it’s a doozy in a way science or security isn’t, as valuable as they are.

“Because in the end, you are responsible for all of this. The judgement calls will ultimately come to you to make the right decisions. And I trust you. If that means anything, I trust you. But you also don’t have to do it alone. You might feel a little unmoored right now, and there will be days like that for a while, days when you’re acutely aware of how small you are and how much is out there, both matter and empty space. But eventually, you’ll find that your crew has grown to trust you just as much as you and I both do, because you’ve earned it. You’ve made a big step by hiring the people you did, people who’ve gotten the short end of the stick just like you have, you’ve earned their loyalty because you trust them when no one else will. You’ve still got work to do, and one day, you’ll realize that you’re not lonely anymore. You’re home.”

Once again, it almost overwhelms her, the flood of smiles and laughter and fragments of conversations and fleeting touches. They’re all so familiar to her, too— the crew of the Enterprise , her own extended family just as they are Kirk’s. She breathes in the smell of Uhura’s perfume, the wide sweep of Sulu’s smile, the rhythm of Chekov’s accent.

And Spock, always Spock, beside and behind and before them, cool acquaintance giving way to friendship and then to a bond so deep it reverberates even now. Love and humor and pain (pain that echoes in her as it brushes against her own memories of Spock’s funeral and all subsequent events), all encapsulated in one tall Vulcan.

Finally, Admiral Kirk lets go, his hand settling on her knee. It leaves Saavik feeling strangely bereft. “Your crew is your family. But there may be someone who becomes the light, the star in the void. They will draw you to them. I think perhaps… You feel the pull already. Listen to it. Do not resist, or if you do, do not resist too long. The time you spend isolating yourself to work through what you feel logically , as I know you will, is only time wasted. This is not something logical so much as it is fundamental. Follow, and you cannot err.”

She considers him for a long time, taking in every detail of his face. She can see within a younger man, someone who believed himself invincible, someone who nonetheless doubted and feared himself. She can see now someone who has not quite left either belief behind. In this instant, she feels her love for him, as deep and abiding as his for her. He who took her in when she was young and hurting. He who nurtured and challenged her, who comforted her through the cruelties of this universe, who stepped— and steps— aside to let her go where she must.

Also, somewhere out there, she feels the pull he spoke of. It is faint and aimless, but unmistakable, even as it differs from his. She looks to her boots, taking all this in, storing it away as neatly as she can for its scope and sheer humanness.

“Thank you, Father. That was unexpected, but not unappreciated. Indeed, you have soothed some of my concerns about our departure.”

He grins broadly, all his quiet contemplativeness falling away. “Of course. It’s the least I can do for my favorite daughter. Now, I believe we have an inspection to complete, Captain, if you would.”

She shakes her head. He is mercurial as always, and grandiose as ever. “Of course, Admiral. Let us proceed.”

In a final, somewhat unprofessional display of affection, he hooks his arm through hers as they exit. She does not protest, though she does avoid making eye contact with the lieutenant from earlier, who seems to be avoiding her gaze just as studiously.

“On deck two are the shuttles and excess lab equipment…”

Chapter Text

Joanna would be the first to tell you that she has no love lost when it comes to horses.

Forgive her for being a little nervous around beings that are essentially primitive touch telepaths and also prey animals with big teeth and long legs with just one too many joints. She understands that some people use some of these characteristics to form very strong bonds with their horses, but she is not and has never been a horse girl. If something’s going to read her emotions, she’d rather it do so from her face than from her aura or pheromones or whatever. It’s not like she’s particularly repressed. She’s an open book. She’d just like you to read the book rather than sniff the pages to absorb their knowledge.

Nevertheless, she will take any, and she means any, opportunity to see Saavik encounter something that rattles her steadfast veneer (though she’d also take any opportunity to see her period, since she always seems to be so busy , what with being commanding officer over dozens of crew and all). It’s not that she likes seeing the brilliant young starship captain flustered, per se. It’s just that it’s rather endearing when the Vulcan gets caught off guard and has to think on her feet. They've been out and about in the galaxy for a little over two months now, and the captain could do for some shaking up of her routine.

And ever since a particularly tumultuous winter holiday gathering in Georgia, Joanna has harbored deep inside her heart of hearts the knowledge that horses make Saavik deeply, deeply uncomfortable.

It makes sense, if you think about it. Vulcanoids are also touch telepaths, but they are highly intelligent and controlled, obviously. They make horses nervous because horses can’t read anything off them, and horses make them nervous because horses can’t help but project and reflect every sliver of fear they encounter. According to seventeen-year-old Saavik, it’s “mentally draining and physically taxing” for both Vulcan and horse. Better they stay separate.

Fortunately, if Saavik allows some of her distaste to slip through, Joanna can argue that technically, the wildlife on Beta Carver II are not Terran horses. Sure, they’re beasts of burden that share many of the same morphological traits as horses, including manes and tails, but they also have horns and cloven hooves and four eyes to provide a wider and more accurate range of vision— all of which have led Joanna to conclude that they’re even more demonic than horses on Earth, not that she’d say as much to Saavik.

One way or another, the diplomats they’re soon to escort to Starbase 1 for the Federation Summit have extended an offer to a day of riding, and the chief anthropologist has strongly suggested they go. In addition, they've been instructed to wear not uniforms but “whatever clothing is utilized for riding” on Earth and Vulcan.

Apparently the anthropologist did not deem it necessary to inform the diplomats that horse riding had largely fallen out of fashion on the former four centuries ago, and had never been common practice on the latter.

Still, Joanna has another trick up her sleeve from that long-ago, ill-fated trip. She’s grown just enough in the intervening years that the sleeves containing that trick are a little short, but they close around her wrists well enough.

She takes one last look at herself in the mirror and can’t help but smirk. The expression is arresting with the top half of her face covered in shadow, though she accidentally breaks into a grin and ruins the effect.

The captain’s gonna have a goddamn heart attack.

It’s not really fair, she thinks as she checks her chrono and dashes for the transporter room. It was Gǣlan’s idea when she told him about their previous equine outing— though she kept the embarrassing details to herself, as she still feels a little bad for having told him about the thorny incident. He seemed hysterically amused by the idea of her showing up to a diplomatic meeting in what amounts to old Western wear. Coincidentally, they’ve been pulling boring-as-hell milk runs for two weeks now, and everyone’s getting a kind of cabin fever that she can’t hypo away. She’s happy to help relieve boredom in another way.

It’s also her father’s fault for complying so quickly when she requested the patterns for the clothes. His sigh was so loud it turned into crackling, eardrum-bursting static, but before she’d even told him she loved him and ended the comm, her PADD was binging with four files labelled “hat,” “plaid,” “jeans,” and “boots.”

Ultimately, the only involvement she had in this plan was in feeding those files into the synthesizer and ordering the outfit. And then putting it on her body, she supposes.

Saavik has already beamed down to the planet when she arrives— unsurprising given that she’s almost two full minutes late and the captain would have energized precisely at their designated time. Aerhi— Lieutenant Commander, not Doctor— is at the transporter controls, leaning against them and reading on her PADD.

She glances up when Joanna enters, then sets the PADD on top of the console and starts flipping switches. “Hey, Doctor. Alright, let’s get this boat floating.”

Joanna takes her place on the pad just as the engineer’s gaze flies up to her again, taking in her riding boots and jeans, the red plaid shirt layered over a borrowed undershirt, the large silver belt buckle, and her hat, pulled down low over her eyes. Even though she’s pretty damn committed at this point, Joanna can feel the flush spreading across her face at the scrutiny. She tries to replicate her smirk, though it’s a lot harder without a mirror.

Fortunately, the engineer’s so far seemed tolerant of antics onboard— in fact, Joanna’s pretty sure she saw her playing with one of the main replicators in the mess a few days ago. The woman just shakes her head, rubbing at a stain under her eye. “Man… it’s your funeral. Have fun, stay safe, make good choices. 3… 2… 1.”

As Joanna materializes on the ground, the first thing she notices is the persistent buzz of insects. She stands on the edge of a clearing that houses the equivalent of a stable, surrounded by extremely tall trees that remind her of redwoods, but brilliant yellow foliage contrasted against light green bark. Squinting up from under the brim of her hat, Joanna can see that the leaves are swarming with similarly-colored bugs. She shudders involuntarily as one skitters down a trunk nearby and quickly walks to the center of the clearing.

It takes her a second to spot Saavik, standing next to Commander Paxcah. The captain apparently had advance warning about the bugs, because she’s wearing a light blue jumpsuit of sorts that covers most of her body. Where her head is uncovered, she’s supplemented with swathes of tulle-like net. All in all, the two of them will make a spectacularly ridiculous-looking envoy. Fortunately, Paxcah’s just wearing regulation pants and an undershirt.

She’s kind of hoping Saavik will give her a nice double take, but she really should know not to expect so much. She approaches in a lull in the conversation, when the Carverans have gone to bring out their mounts. It takes a second for the captain to see her, occupied with a discussion with the first officer. Finally, she turns and fixes Joanna with an even stare and a quirked eyebrow.

Sensing her moment, Joanna slouches down, letting the shadow cover her whole face but her lazy grin, and drawls, “Howdy, Cap’n.”

Saavik looks her up and down, and though she gives no indication of it, Joanna knows she recognizes this outfit. Her gaze moves back to the doctor’s face and she crosses her arms. “Your culture was a mistake.”

Paxcah lets out a snort and quickly turns it into a cough. Joanna just smiles wider. “Aw, you may not have loved it the first time, but you can’t tell me it’s not hot now. Come on, Commander, back me up.”

“Oh, you can sort this out between yourselves,” the commander says, quite reasonably. “You do look good, Doctor, I will admit. The… the buckle is a bit much, though.”

Joanna glares down at it. “Goddammit. I knew it. I thought, you know, with the dogwood pattern maybe it would offset the tackiness, but… you’re right, you’re right.”

“Tackiness, Doctor?” Saavik asks. “It’s metal.”

“You know, tacky, gaudy, campy, extravagant, flamboyant… well, now we’re getting into different connotations, I guess. A few more flowers and maybe I’d have made it into camp instead of tack.”

“I am unfamiliar with these descriptors. What makes camp preferable to tack?”

Joanna tilts her head to look at the sun filtering through the golden leaves and yellow bugs. “Oh, you know. A certain flair.”

“I believe, Captain,” Paxcah supplies, “that in Terran terms, it’s gayer.”

Joanna spins to point at her. “Yes! That’s it. Exactly. Knew I liked you.”

The first officer just shakes her head, and the captain just blinks long and slow (though is that a green tinge to her cheeks, or a trick of the light?). The Carverans are approaching with their demon-horses on intricately beaded leads, but before they’re in earshot, Saavik mutters, “Do not encourage her, Paxcah. I can only take one campily dressed officer at a time.”

“You’re the one dressed like a beekeeper,” Joanna shoots back in a whisper.

Before either officer can respond, the three of them are being hoisted up onto the backs of the creatures and guided to a wide path on the far side of the stable, clearly designed for several people riding side by side.

Unfortunately, this means their demon-horses are not trained to walk nose-to-tail, which Joanna already had trouble with, but flank-to-flank with each rider controlling their own mount, though sandwiched by the Carverans. They’re barely twenty strides into the forest and Saavik has just resumed conversation with the head diplomat (though she looks a bit stiff) when Joanna overcorrects on her steering and rides directly into the associate diplomat to her right, making them weave almost into a tree.

Even she knows when it’s time for some tact, so she quickly straightens out and lowers her gaze to the diplomat’s feet, as she’s been taught is a show of deference here. “My apologies. I’m— we’re really not accustomed to riding.”

The being makes a rasping sound she hopes is a laugh. “It’s of no concern, Healer. We cannot expect all our visitors to be skilled riders, now can we? You are fortunate to have even the form for our kind of riding.”

She inclines her head. “A good point. I will try to act like I’m a surgeon who uses her hands in her daily life, at least.”

The diplomat rasps again. And Joanna does manage it, for the most part. That doesn’t mean she doesn’t swerve a little from time to time, of course, but up until they’ve looped around and are almost back to the clearing, she manages to stay mostly in line without playing bumper cars, and even relaxes enough to offer insights to an explanation of the medical and scientific advancements that will be discussed at the Federation summit.

Which means, of course, that just as the break in the trees comes into sight, a couple bugs get shaken out of the trees by a breeze. One bounces harmlessly off the brim of her hat, but another catches on her shoulder and two others land on her mount, startling it. It takes off at a panicked trot ahead of the group as she twists in the saddle and flicks the beetles off one by one, trying to force the pricks of their feet and the click of her nail against their shells out of her mind.

Once the threat is gone, she quickly and admirably steadily pulls back on the reins, but the damn demon-horse just takes a sharp turn, cuts across the line, and she has to turn again to keep them from running off the path. Saavik says, “I had just thought, she’s been doing so well.”

“I’m a doctor, not a cowhand,” Joanna grumbles as she tugs the reins again, trying not to let the fear stirring in her gut project in her aura/pheromones/whatever or her face.

“You might have tricked me,” Saavik says, and is that almost a human colloquialism Joanna just heard? Almost a joke?

She opens her mouth to comment, but as she passes behind the others with the intention of returning to her place, her mount takes the opportunity to release its frustrations by biting Saavik’s on the ass.

Before Joanna can change tack to warn her, the already-uneasy creature rears up. Saavik immediately stiffens, her knees squeezing tight to its wide body and feet pressing into the stirrups as she tries to keep her balance. Unfortunately, as in Earth riding, this is an indication that it should move faster combined with a signal to stop; it responds to the tension by bucking instead, throwing the Vulcan over its head.

Also unfortunate are its horns, which catch Saavik’s right pants leg and tear a six-inch gash in it. Instantly, it stains a dark teal color. She sprawls hard on the packed soil as the demon-horse bucks again, and again, its freaky hooves getting closer to Saavik’s body each time.

Joanna has time to process all this input because everything seems to be moving in slow motion, especially since she can’t fucking do anything. Her demon-horse’s ears are pinning and flicking up, over and over, and it’s dancing on the spot, so there’s no way she’s jumping down without help. The third diplomat finally dismounts and calms Saavik’s mount, but Saavik is sitting up painfully slowly and she isn’t facing Joanna, so she’s got even less to go on for her physical state than usual. Paxcah is in a similar situation to Joanna, and looks none too happy about it. Best of all, the horses are feeding off all the distress in the air and getting more and more riled up themselves.

Saavik finally shifts so she’s sitting straight, the fabric of her clothes twisted and wrinkled around her, and blows a strand of hair out of her face under her veil. Her expression is tightly controlled as she probes at her leg, but she can’t keep her jaw from clenching as her fingers brush across the scratch.

“Whoa, whoa, hold it!” Joanna yelps. “Stop touching!”

She gestures frantically for one of the other Carverans to help her out here. The one she ran into earlier hurries over and runs a soothing hand over the four-eyed muzzle of her mount, so she takes the opportunity to swing her leg over and drop gracelessly to the ground. Her hat jars free, hanging behind her by its stampede strap.

As she stumbles to a crouched halt beside the captain, she’s relieved to see that the cut is long but shallow, and the area around it isn’t too inflamed. Still, she bats Saavik’s hands away and yanks out her tricorder. “No bacteria, virii, or fungi… no poisonous compounds. Okay, just sucks, then, but it won’t be killing you anytime soon.” She hovers her hand over the wound. “Damn. Heat-reactive compound… bet that feels like a fevery bitch right now.”

She feels more than sees Saavik’s eye twitch at that, as she’s too busy finding her dermal regen unit, rejecting it, and digging out some sterilized bandages. “Don’t want to close it up completely with that compound still in there… we’ll flush it back on board.”

Saavik says tightly, “Understood. I will conclude this meeting. You may return to the Nereid .”

Joanna gives her a look, winding the bandages around her leg. “I’m not leaving when there’s a crewmember injured. That’s… literally my job.”

The backs of her fingers brush against the captain’s exposed skin as she passes the roll of gauze between her hands and the woman gives a sharp little shudder. “Sorry,” Joanna murmurs.

Saavik tugs at her clothes, trying to straighten them without moving her leg and touching Joanna again. “Doctor. I am fine. Commander Paxcah will still be planetside should any further issues arise. There is no further need for your… particular brand of intercultural exchange, though I appreciate your presence.”

Paxcah is currently helping the Carverans bring the demon-horses back to the stables. Joanna watches her for a moment, then sighs and gets to her feet, dusting off her jeans in a move that makes her feel like a real cowgirl. “If you say so. G’day, Saavik.”

Feeling the mood take her, she does a rather extravagant hat tip. This time, she sees Saavik take her in, hat to boots. Is it just her, or does her face relax slightly?

“We should know better now than to go riding together, Doctor. This is two counts against it.”

“I can’t tell if you’re talking about the incidents or the outfits.”

Saavik’s eyes narrow. “We do not speak of that incident. Or this one.”

Joanna places a hand to her chest in mock injury, then extends it to Saavik. She ignores it and pushes herself up, testing her weight. Her expression remains blank as she says, “I believe you were right. It does hurt like a ‘fevery bitch.’”

“I’m pretty sure you just keep me around so you can quote me when you want to say something improper,” Joanna mutters, trying not to grin. She settles her hat back over her hair, absently smoothing it with one hand. “Well, if you’re sure you’re good, I’ll head out. I’m more than ready to be away from those demon-horses. Don’t do anything stupid while I’m gone, though. I’ve already screwed up plenty for both of us.”

“Demon-horses?”

Joanna freezes where she’s started to leave. That was supposed to be a personal nickname. “Oh, you know. Horns, cloven hooves, lots of eyes…”

“Doctor, were you not one of the ones to convince me that this trip was a diplomatic necessity? Did you not imply that it would also be enjoyable, and insist on accompanying me?”

“Well, I’m sure Paxcah had fun watching us both make fools of ourselves.”

“But you did not find it enjoyable yourself.”

It’s a bit easier to muster up a squinted glare from safely under her hat. “Now that’s none of your business.”

Saavik meets her eyes and Joanna’s really determined to win this staring contest, but it’s not fair because Vulcans live in the desert so of course their eyes don’t need half the amount of tears human eyes do. Eventually she has to blink, and it definitely has nothing to do with how knowing this stupid Vulcan’s stupid dark eyes are or how her stupid eyebrow is cocked just at the right obnoxious angle.

Finally, the captain’s gaze shifts away as she, too, wipes her hands primly on the blue fabric of her pants and says innocently, “Commander Paxcah and I are dining together tonight, if you would like to join us, Doctor. After you check my injury, naturally.”

Joanna manages a smirk and a casual wave over her shoulder as she turns away. “‘Course, Captain. Glad you still appreciate my presence.”

“Always, Doctor,” and maybe it’s just that she’s not looking and it’s always hard to pick up Saavik’s inflections when you can’t see her eyes, but she sounds shockingly sincere.

Resisting the urge to look back until she’s all the way to the beam-up point, Joanna finally spins around and parks herself in almost perfect parade rest— just sliding her right leg out the tiniest bit so her stance is a tiny bit too wide. She flips open her comm, still grinning at Saavik’s bemused expression from across the clearing.

“All good, Doctor?”

“Yeah. One to beam up. Thanks.”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

Joanna pauses, channel still open, and calls across the clearing, “Maybe my culture was a mistake, Captain, but this trip sure wasn’t. Energize.”

The last thing she sees before the transporter beam swirls around her is Saavik’s eyebrows dropping dangerously. It’s absolutely worth it, even if she almost gets disinvited from dinner.

Chapter Text

It is quite some time before Saavik becomes aware of the state of her CMO, and for that she is displeased with herself.

For several days after the second incident that will not be discussed, Joanna is as irritating and teasing and grumpy as always, but seemingly more enthusiastically than usual. Saavik has mostly seen her out of her element in the past few weeks, but when she comes down to medbay for her three-month physical, the doctor is cheerily snapping at nurses and patients alike, moving around in a whirlwind of charts and snapping gloves. The whole crew goes in for physicals over the span of a week or so, and naturally, they’re running behind.

Having arrived early, Saavik wisely takes a seat by the door and watches.

“Lhar, get Saralu in room 3, I’ll be in soon. Darwin, I’ll meet you in room 2 once I get this lot sorted. Gǣlan, take Rashad in 4. I trust you, just send me the forms for approval when you’re done.”

This is accompanied with a wink at the Orion nurse that Saavik cannot parse, but he gives the doctor a smile and guides the helmsman into the farthest exam room. With the current batch of appointments dispatched to be taken care of, Dr McCoy swirls to a halt at her computer terminal and suddenly notices Saavik by the door.

She straightens, blowing a stray curl out of her eyes. “You should know better than to show up early by now.”

“I remain hopeful you might operate with some punctuality, Doctor, though overwhelming evidence to the contrary may make such wishful thinking illogical,” Saavik says drily.

Dr McCoy’s face suddenly splits into a wide grin and she shakes her head, bending over the monitor again. “Lord knows we can’t have that. I’ll be with you when I get through with Darwin. Wouldn’t want to make you less than punctual.”

Saavik inclines her head, but the doctor doesn’t even look before she’s flying off down the hallway.

The physical turns up some slight variations in scans that McCoy insists are nothing to be worried about, but something she wants to get ironed out— likely something to do with Saavik’s mixed heritage, so her autonomic responses are off from Vulcan normal. Nothing that needs adjusting now, so they make an appointment for a few days later, after the rush of exams.

In the interim, the Nereid is assigned a series of research stops for its secondary mission. Saavik has little to do with the researchers— they’re mostly serving as a mobile lab and ferry service for the teams of geoscientists and ecologists— so she’s in her quarters filling out reports on their last few diplomatic escorts when her comm beeps.

“Transporter room to Captain, the landing party just requested emergency beam-up and med team. We’re bringing them back now.”

“Acknowledged. I will be down shortly,” Saavik says, and heads to the transporter in quick strides.

Apparently, this particular planet had been of interest due to its thermal abnormalities, but the surface that had read as stable before the party was dispatched was subject to swiftly changing magma tides. A section had collapsed, and the combination of aerosolized debris, heat, and quaking ground had resulted in serious injuries to almost every member of the party.

It is a busy several days after that. Saavik spends much of her time reviewing danger assessment protocols with the scientists. It is unexpectedly time-consuming, as the head of the mission turns out to be more interested in her findings than in the risks of her methodology. In between debates, she’s careful as always to sleep the minimum number of hours necessary and eat at semi-regular intervals to preserve her efficiency and health.

Finally, she informs Doctor Aerhi and Lieutenant Saralu in no uncertain terms that if she hears of one more breach in protocol, she will be assigning Commander Paxcah to oversee every one of their away teams, regardless of how mundane they might seem. Paxcah had been, in her terms, “just as pissed” as Saavik about the injuries that technically occurred under her watch, and agreed that it fell under her purview as Chief Science Officer to make sure all preventable injuries are prevented, whether with or despite the scientists’ intervention.

Saavik would disagree with the assessment that she was “pissed,” but she does feel a certain relief that this crisis has passed. When her follow-up appointment with Doctor McCoy arrives, she turns the conn over to her First and heads to Medbay without a second thought.

She doesn’t expect the doctor to be on time, but she is mildly surprised to find the ward largely empty, with the exception of a few recuperating researchers and a nurse. The latter is absorbed in a computer terminal and hasn’t noticed her entering.

“Good afternoon, Nurse,” she says softly.

Despite her tone, he startles and swings around to face her. A patient in the biobed to his left snorts without looking up from the PADD in her lap, and he gives her a level glare. “Good afternoon, Captain. How can I help you?”

“I take it the doctor is currently occupied?”

He scans the room. “Huh. Last I saw her, she was doing rounds. That must’ve been—” he glanced at the wall chrono. “—damn, an hour ago? You see where she went, Lucia?”

The woman glances at Saavik. “She finished with Gkar and said she was going to do paperwork in her office. If she left, I didn’t see her.”

Saavik inclines her head in thanks. “Should I interrupt? I do not imagine she would mind the disruption.”

“Go for it,” the head nurse shrugs. “She’s always bitc— complaining about the paperwork these fools conjure up, I’m sure she’d much rather see you.”

It seems odd he would specify her, but Saavik steps into the office regardless. Slightly distracted, it takes her until the door slides shut behind her and plunges the room into darkness to realize there are no lights on, not even the glow of a computer.

“Doctor McCoy?” she murmurs, moving forward cautiously.

When there is no response, she says, “Computer, lights to ten percent.”

In the dim light, she can see the outlines of cabinets, a cot, two chairs, and the desk. On its far side, the silhouette of a tangle of hair is visible, slumped over the surface.

A spike of fear shoots through Saavik, but she quells it quickly. Carefully moderating her heart rate, she comes closer to investigate. The doctor’s breathing is steady, making a strand of hair flutter in front of her face; one arm is tucked under her head and the other is thrown wide, fingers curled loosely around her discarded glasses.

Saavik is somewhat taken aback. It has been many, many years since she last saw Joanna sleeping, since childhood lakeside vacations and late-night sleepover conversations, and she looks far younger than she does with her glasses and energetic, acerbic veneer firmly in place. Shamefully, the captain wonders for a second if she still has that smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks.

It’s too dark to see, and a moment later Saavik has shaken herself. Only now does it occur to her to wonder why her CMO is so deeply asleep while on duty. Now thoroughly irritated with herself for her lapse in professionalism, she gently shakes Doctor McCoy’s shoulder, careful not to brush her bare neck over her collar.

“Doctor.”

Joanna McCoy grumbles herself into consciousness. Her fingers loosen, and Saavik snatches her glasses from her hand before they can fall. Joanna looks up at her blearily, squints through her hair, reaches up to push away her bangs, and realizes her glasses are gone. Saavik hands them to her and she shoves them on, poking herself once in the eye before they’re settled.

“Cap’n. Follow-up. Right. Give me jus’ a minute, I got your chart around here somewhere…”

Saavik watches as Joanna pushes herself upright and starts picking up PADDs, glaring at them, and setting them back down. “May I enquire as to the necessity of this appointment? Would it place my health at risk to reschedule it, perhaps to tomorrow?”

A PADD slides off the desk with a clatter and Joanna swears as she swivels to grab it. “No, I got it, you’re here, we’ll just…” She pauses for a second, staring straight ahead with the PADD in hand, then swings back around to her computer, never looking at the captain. “Baseline scans, right? Yeah, it’ll be quick…”

“I believe it would be a better use of your time to rest, Doctor.”

“No, no, ‘s fine. Jus’ give me a minute, dammit, I jus’ woke up.”

Her accent is thicker than usual with sleep, making her seem much more like her father. Hiding her amusement, Saavik puts a hand on Joanna’s covered wrist as she reaches to turn the terminal on. “When did you last rest? In your quarters.”

Joanna considers for a second, then scowls, essentially confirming what Saavik could have gathered from shift clock-ins. “Don’t matter. Gotta keep you damn fools from dying in goddamn volcanos. Dumbasses… alright, c’mere, I can scan you right here—”

“Do not force me to make it an order,” Saavik says. “You cannot function in your role on this ship if you do not take care of your own needs.”

“I take care of myself fine,” Joanna snaps, starting to look more alert even as she’s fumbling with a tricorder.

“Doctor McCoy.” An edge is starting to build in Saavik’s tone, a warning. “If we enter an emergency situation and you are unable to make strong judgement calls due to sleep deprivation and, I expect, hunger, you put us all at risk. I am instructing you to rest now, while we are between orders.”

Joanna ignores the threat in her tone, syncing a scanner with the tricorder. “And I’m instructing you to get your ass around this desk so I can do a two-minute scan, Captain . I’ll sleep when my shift’s over.”

“Will you,” Saavik says coldly. “You were on five consecutive shifts due to the medical crisis, and when the crisis had been handled, you took the following shift. You have been on duty for almost 48 hours. You must see why I do not believe you.”

Leaning on the desk, Joanna took her glasses off to rub at her eyes. “The rest of my staff had to rest just as much as I did. I’ve gone longer than this without a shift off. You know as well as I do, senior staff are always on duty.”

“As I have said, that is not an excuse for neglecting your personal care. Please return to your quarters for the remainder of this shift and the duration of the following.”

The doctor looks up at her, hand flexing irritatedly before her. “What will you do if I say no, report me?”

For a second, Saavik does consider it. Her CMO truly is causing risk by performing less than optimally, and besides that, she is being insubordinate and annoying. However, a report would result in an investigation of the CMO’s capability to serve, and this would be time-consuming, cumbersome, and unnecessary.

“No,” Saavik decides. “I will find another way to get you to comply.”

Joanna opens her mouth to argue, her eyes flashing angrily in the dim room. Before she can speak, Saavik has rounded the desk and is slinging her over her shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Joanna lets out a squeak, then a much louder yell of protest.

“Really? This is your solution? Really?! ”

It is surprisingly easy both to carry her towards the door and to ignore the fists pounding on her back, though she imagines if the doctor were truly attempting to escape, she would make this considerably more difficult. “It seemed preferable to bringing you up for disciplinary action,” Saavik tells her.

They exit the office into Medbay, where both Nurse Gǣlan and Ensign Sanchez are looking shocked and delighted and trying valiantly to hide it. Over her shoulder, Saavik sees Joanna wilt slightly, pressing the hand still holding her glasses to her forehead.

“You’re really gonna carry me all the way to Deck Four like this?”

The head nurse locks eyes with Saavik behind Joanna’s back. Saavik nods at him. “I do not see a reason to release you. It seems likely that you would continue your irrational attempt to work yourself to exhaustion.”

Gǣlan returns the nod, then shakes his head, looking back to his work. Joanna catches the movement as they pass. “Oh, yeah, because this is rational,” she snaps, gesturing wildly at her suspended body with her glasses.

“Perhaps you will keep this in mind next time you consider such an action.”

There are very few people in the corridor at this time, so when they reach the turbolift only a few crewmembers have passed them. Saavik can tell by their chastened looks that Joanna has twisted to send glares at anyone approaching, and despite her lingering irritation with the doctor’s behavior, she can’t help but picture what they must look like— the captain carrying her CMO down the hall in the middle of shift. If not for Joanna’s slow return to lucidity, she likely would have left her to pick up sleep when she planned to; her exhaustion seemed to be more acute than even five shifts would force, making Saavik suspicious that the slew of check-ups in the days prior had contributed to McCoy’s state.

Speaking of, the doctor has slumped considerably, pinching the bridge of her nose and grumbling semi-coherently about all the work she had yet to do and the indecency of her treatment. Saavik says, “You did not seem to be accomplishing much when I entered your office.”

“It was a power nap! I would have been up and running in like ten more minutes.”

“While I am accustomed to your tardiness, there was nothing to indicate that your… delay was temporary. Forgive me for being concerned for your well-being.”

She can tell she’s made a mistake when Joanna starts a sentence and almost immediately aborts it with a huff of breath. After a frozen beat, she mutters, “Knew you cared.”

“Is it surprising to find that the captain is invested in the health of her CMO?” Saavik says shortly. They are approaching the doctor’s quarters, and while the weight is starting to pull at her, she finds herself unwilling to leave Doctor McCoy to her own devices. “I find myself much more assured to your security when you are under my direct supervision.”

“Yeah, because you’re so careful,” Joanna says ominously. Saavik finally sets her down outside her door and she stumbles into her footing. “Mark my words, soon I’ll be the one forcing you to slow the hell down for your own good. I’m not the only one with a martyr complex around here.”

“I look forward to it,” Saavik says blandly.

“Yeah, yeah,” the human grumbles.

“Check your comm for your next scheduled shift when you awake. In the meantime, your head nurse will take command of sickbay.”

The door slides open and Joanna shuffles inside. “I know, Gǣlan will do fine. You might as well get him to do your scan, since you’re already off conn. I’ll see ya in the morning, I guess.”

Saavik watches as she ruffles her hair and turns into the room and feels an odd bloom of warmth in her stomach. “I believe the human expression is ‘sweet dreams,’ Doctor.”

The woman looks back over her shoulder, studying her captain for a long moment with a gaze that is a little too alert for Saavik's taste. Vulcans do not get self-conscious, she tells herself.

“That it is. G’night, Saavik.”

“Goodnight.”