Should've gone to Sally-Ann's

Disclaimer I don't own 'em and I'm not making money off 'em.

A/N Futurefic. We're in the non-reboot universe and this is TATV neutral (accept it, reject it, the story works either way).

They'd ended up in the 602 club as usual, of course. Leaving the Academy the Tutors had been so certain. Today they would make their stand, anywhere but there again. They'd debated amongst themselves on the way to the flat weighing up the other options. There was O'Reilly's, the Irish themed bar beloved of returning starship crews, or the Gluttonous Toad, full of wide eyed cadets and wider eyed tourists, or even the mysterious J'a'Non, with its drapes and hints of strange spices and blue skinned, antannaed owners. But when they were finally stood there watching the old man step carefully down from the front door of his flat to the street below they knew, in their heart of hearts, where they would go. It was the only bar the old man would tolerate.

He must see something different when he looks round this place, thought Meyer. Either that or he's going blind as well as deaf.

"The usual?"

Meyer looked up from his reverie to see Davids standing at the edge of the table looking at him expectantly. Meyer nodded. Davids' attention moved on, taking orders from the others.

At least the chance of running into the cadets in here was minimal. Almost non-existent, in fact. Almost but not quite non-existent. Meyer had heard from another Tutor at the Academy of some first year cadets who had turned up in a small gaggle one Friday night. They'd wanted to see the famous 602 club. Apparently this place had been quite the hang-out when Starfleet was young. Looked like they hadn't done much to it since those days either. Maybe that was why the old man liked it. In a world of change the 602 club was constant, its decor gently fading with its clientele. The cadets had had one drink and then left. The Tutor hadn't seen them in there since. Meyer supposed they frequented the Toad, or Sally-Ann's or some other fashionable bar.

A glass of beer appeared in front of him. Meyer looked up to see Lewis leaning over the table to place a similar glass of something obscure and room temperature in front of the old man.

"I swear they keep stocking this stuff just to keep him happy," Lewis grumbled, but he did so quietly.

The old man accepted his drink with a sharp nod, then raised his glass, catching Meyer's gaze for a moment before averting his eyes.

Cheers, Meyer thought. He sipped at his drink, watching as the old man gazed out on the other customers.

On the adjoining table the talk was of the politics of the Academy. Why had the higher-ups passed Commander Rice over in favour of Lieutenant Commander Kholi? Surely anyone could see Rice was the better engineer? But Kholi played the game better, it was decided, schmoozed with the right Academy officials. Meyer wasn't so sure. Kholi seemed to connect with the cadets in a way Rice didn't. People and particle converters, cadets and components, officials and osmotic enhancers....

The inevitable advancement of the politically adept at the expense of the truly able, the group concluded.

We tell ourselves the same thing every week. Meyer thought.

He suddenly found himself looking into the assessing eyes of the old Tutor. He blinked, realising he had been staring at the man for the last few minutes. Looking without seeing. Meyer shifted uncomfortably under the old man's gaze. The Tutor's face was impassive. Whatever the man saw, he wasn't giving anything away.

Meyer averted his eyes, embarrassed.

On the adjoining table the conversation had moved on.

"They're reassigning the Captain of the Enterprise," announced Kwassi.

Meyer watched as the grizzled lump in the corner turned two piercing blue eyes to the conversation and wondered, not for the first time, if the former Tactical tutor wasn't, perhaps, quite as deaf as he was supposed to be.

"What about Pike?"

The conversation continued, the participants oblivious to the quiet attention from the corner.

"They're promoting him. Fleet Captain. He's being given Starbase eleven and five fully crewed Intrepid class starships."

"Damn. Doesn't the man have enough influence, already?" grumbled Lewis.

"Who gets the post?"

Meyer almost jumped when he realised the question had come from the man in the corner. The rest of the group turned.

"Christopher Pike is being promoted, Commander" Davids spoke in a loud voice as one would speak to a slightly senile old relative. "They've made him Fleet Captain and given him a Starbase and five ships."

The group began to turn back to continue the conversation among themselves.

"But who gets the captaincy of the Enterprise?"

I should have realised, thought Meyer. The only question that really mattered to the old man - who had the captaincy of the Enterprise. Never mind that this wasn't the ship he served on. Never mind that that was sat in dry dock, on permanent display to every school child and had been for at least eighty years, a relic of humanity's first days in space. Never mind that most of that crew were dead and long gone.

Meyer flicked his eyes to Kwassi, waiting.

"Kirk, I think," said Kwassi, at length. "James T. Kirk."

"Kirk..."

Meyer could see the old man searching his memory. He imagined him slowly hauling his way through some ancient card index of all the cadets he'd taught. In his mind's eye this filing system was cutting edge new when the NX-01 was launched. Ossified by time into some bizarre living fossil. Obsolete but stubbornly refusing to acknowledge it.

"Kirk." The card system seemed to have turned up some kind of file. "Natural leader. Brilliant tactician." The old man's face twisted slightly. "Impulsive. Absolutely no sense of conduct becoming an officer."

Meyer braced himself and watched as the rest of the group did the same. The old man was renowned for his very firm opinions on "conduct becoming an officer". Meyer supposed they'd done things differently in the early days of Starfleet. Still, a lecture from Commander Reed (retired) on officer etiquette was not a welcome occurrence at any time, still less at a quiet drinks on a Friday night.

To his surprise the old man gave a curious half smile.

"They couldn't have made a better choice."