Log in

Previous Entry | Next Entry

sequel (2): ny

title: NY (3)
fandom: star trek 09
pairing: none .. at least here.
rating: meh. pg13, language?
word count: 1,379
notes: originally i was going to make my bigbang mafia!au, but writing drifters basically sucked the longfic out of me. this is the beginning of the fic, in the same verse as the other two ny-fics (1 and 2). mostly it's jim being a little obnoxious fuck. this doesn't really have any kind of ending, but i do like the beginning, and figure you guys can see the whole blurb. i might come back to this verse, but as usual, doubtful.

James Tiberius Kirk is a particularly destructive individual.

More than anything else, this is demonstrated in his propensity for destroying alarm clocks.

A typical James Kirk morning, in which an alarm clock is required before noon, goes something like this:

Jim has a small bed, you see, despite his desire to acquire a much larger one to impress all matter of men and women who he drags back to it. Of course, it’s something he does less these days (but this is another story), but Jim is a prideful kind of guy, and he likes everything he has and does to be pretty big. A bed’s no exception. Now, when the alarm goes off, Jim tends to roll over and hit it, once, twice, and maybe (on a rare occasion) whack the snooze key for another blessed ten minutes of rest. But ten minutes passes quickly when you’re sleeping, and the second time around rather than hitting it, he performs wide, sweeping motions (“flailing”) that frequently manage to get the clock off the bedside table. It falls, and often crashes loudly against his wooden floor (still shouting its alarm), to which Jim realizes that he needs to reach the floor somehow to turn it off. This tends to result in either a) the grabbing and swinging of the nearest object (such as a lamp, pencil-holder, paperweight, pistol, what have you) or b) a number of fierce kicks.

Suffice to say, he goes through alarm clocks at an impressive rate. Of course, after this technological genocide, Jim finds his blanket yanked off him, himself picked up and dumped onto the floor by his boss (/caretaker/ward/father-figure). By this time, his body has pumped enough adrenalin to reach wakefulness and stay there.

“Fuck you,” he mutters, and this statement is frequently traded in for a number of obscene exclamations pointed at the shoes of the gentleman who’s removed him from his bed. “Fuck you. Die. I hate you. Coffee.”

“Good morning, Jim,” Christopher Pike replies, always totally unmoved by this verbal barrage.

This particular morning is no different.

“You have somewhere to be at 10:30 AM.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m going to pick you up, over my shoulder, and put you in the shower if you don’t go there, right now.”

Jim flops rebelliously back into bed and curls up facing the wall, blanket or no blanket.

So Pike, true to his word, picks the guy up over his shoulder and carries his naked ass down to the bathroom. Having done this a number of times, he’s already aware that he can’t simply drop his second-in-command into a ceramic shower, so he places him gently on the floor, turns the water on, and closes the shower and bathroom door behind him.

“FUCK that is cold!”

And, admittedly, allows himself a satisfied smile.


He showers slowly and runs his hands through his hair and tries to set his brain on straight. He is James Tiberius Kirk (more commonly known as Jim), and this is and has been his home for the past fours years. It became such after he attempted to pickpocket it’s owner (one Christopher Pike), and said owner was very interested in his charm and quick fingers. And now, he’s a jack-of-all-trades kind of guy for a well-organized organized crime syndicate that thinks navy terminology is the best thing to rank your officers with. Hey, if it works for them, it works for him. His (well, Pike’s) smaller circle is called Enterprise and shares its name with the expansive manor that most of them live in. The larger group, Starfleet, maintains that they do nothing but keep the peace and make sure things go all right.

They don’t talk about drugs, hits, prostitutes, what have you.

These three years have given Jim a couple of lessons in bureaucracy. First of all, it’s not proper form to get a pickpocket you meet in the street into your little organization. The guys above (Admiral Barnett, first and foremost) all strongly dislike Christopher Pike for their own petty, political reasons, on top of the fact that he actually has a brain and can see talent no matter where it hides.

Jim thinks Barnett and the rest of them are assholes, because Pike has vision, and they’re just making sure that they stay safely where they are. No mob ever stayed healthy, safe, and in power by hanging out where it was supposed to be, Pike says, and we’re a goddamn mob. We’re not supposed to be satisfied.

So, Enterprise gets all the dangerous missions that might get them all killed, and that makes it even better when they come out victorious every single goddamn time. How can you lose, with something like that, right? How can you lose when you get all the suicidal, adventurous adrenalin rushes? They’ve fucking knocked out two Klingon bastions - other mob fuckers who think territorial bounds mean nothing - and have got eyes on a third.

He dresses quickly (black t-shirt, jeans, gun, fuck-you boots, nothing special) and hurries down to the kitchen. When he gets down there, he pours himself an enormous mug of straight black coffee out of a pot that’s already made. Thank god for small miracles, he thinks to himself, and sits down. He takes a few boiling (ow ow ow blessed coffee) and matches eyes with the various faces giving him accusatory looks. There’s Pike, obviously, looking at him with that usual you are late, I’m not impressed expression. The man looks at his huge cup with an are you serious? kind of face and rolls his eyes at Jim’s smirk.

Then there’s Nyota Uhura. Nyota is kind of like him, in which he means that she, too, has humble beginnings. As far as Jim knows, Pike saw the girl on the street looking hot and speaking French, and he needed a translator and general language-speaker. She’s pretty fucking fierce, both in mind and in body, and damn he wants to fuck her. But she is vicious, and he’s a little concerned at the possibility of getting his dick bitten off.

She’s looking at him with her usual ‘I’m a hot mess’ expression, so, naturally, he moves to sit down right next to her and give her his best fuck-you grin.

On her other side is Spock No-Last-Name. Jim calls him that because he’s never heard anyone refer to the guy by anything but Spock (which isn’t ridiculous enough, obviously!). Spock has dark eyes and a ridiculous hair cut and pointy ears, which Jim assumes were the result of some particularly bad mob crime. He also never smiles, jokes, and speaks like he is from Victorian England or something like that. What’s even creepier is that he manages to pull that off while he’s slitting a throat or putting a sniper round in someone’s head.

“You k now, I bet he’s not very exciting in bed,” Jim says offhandedly as he gulps coffee. “I bet I could --”

“Our sexual affairs are not your business, Cadet,” Spock says, sharply.

“Ease up.” Coffee makes the world rather lovely. “So, Captain. What’s the mission of the day? Klingons again? Something more adventurous, maybe? You’d think that they could make these suicide missions a little more deadly next time…..”

Chris Pike is wearing a dark, snazzy suit, and does not look impressed by the bullshit behavior of his so-called ‘officers.’ “There’s a man I’m interested in recruiting. Yakuza.”

“The admiral will not approve,” Spock replies. He’s wearing a black turtleneck and black pants.

“The admiralty insists that I bulk up my team as much as I can.” Pike moves effortlessly, leaving the kitchen. Silently, Spock, then Uhura, follows him. Jim hesitates a moment, then brings up the rear. “He’s a swordsman.”

“And we’re in the twenty-first century?” Jim pipes up from the back. “A sword?” a

“Don’t be an idiot, Jim. You know how good hand-to-hand is.”


( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
Feb. 11th, 2010 12:23 am (UTC)

This entire universe.

Feb. 20th, 2010 11:37 pm (UTC)
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )