Disclaimer: Star Trek is copyright Paramount Pictures, original creator Gene Roddenberry. No copyright infringements are meant and no profit is being made from this story.

Title: Sharing

Author: rso

Captain,

I confess that I do not understand your surprise at my presence. These are my assigned quarters. It would be remiss of me not to occupy them. I am already regrettably aware of how thin the bulkheads are.

Your disregard and disrespect for Starfleet legislature, as evidenced by the sodden, shredded document I found dumped in my sink, is of understandable concern. For this reason, I have signed you up for a short course on Starfleet Command Policy. You are required to complete 30 hours with an accredited instructor and pass a written examination. As a result, you will gain three credit points towards your professional learning and thorough grounding in the history and reasoning behind each and every Starfleet protocol. No thanks are necessary.

I have much to say about your stick-figure drawing of myself hanging from a noose. However, I will refrain from criticising what is no doubt your greatest artistic achievement to date. It was unfortunately necessary for me to wash it off the mirror before I began my morning ablutions. I trust you will not be unduly disappointed.

To answer your query, I do not ever tire of addressing your personal shortcomings. Perhaps one day in the future, you will be able to notice them for yourself. The Maslow learning model places a great deal of emphasis on acknowledging one's own incompetence as a key step towards self-improvement.

Please stop examining the contents of my kit.

First Officer Spock

Jim gaped at the note in frank (and rather unwarranted) disbelief.

When he had stumbled into his room early in the morning after leaving Bones' quarters, he had forgotten all about his response to Spock the night before. There was nothing more on his mind than taking a leak and making himself presentable for the day ahead. His mouth tasted like a small rodent had made a nest in it, given birth to some offspring and completely failed to toilet-train any of them. Drinking with Bones usually meant bootleg bourbon with a hell of an aftertaste.

Jim had slipped quietly out of bed without waking his doctor-friend (who would have an early enough start as it was) and unobtrusively made his way through the curving hallways to his own quarters. His beloved, personal, private quarters where the wonders of hot water and a desperately-needed loo awaited him. So of course Jim had no idea what was in store for him. He had entered the bathroom innocently, blinking a little under the bright lights and had been faced with something straight out of a holographic catalogue.

The place was barely recognisable. His (shared) bathroom had always been a nice one, spacious and white-tiled with shiny chrome fittings. Now, however, it was worthy of its own fucking plinth in the middle of a D'luxe VI showroom. It sparkled, it gleamed, it blinded him with its hideous perfection.

All of Jim's rumpled, sodden clothes had been picked up off the floor and sent to god knows where. Jim suspected Spock had burned them. The glass walls of the 'fresher were spotless and all the fittings shone as though newly minted. There wasn't a single drop of water around the sinks and the large square mirror was pristine, flawlessly reflecting Jim's ratty appearance and mussed up hair in cruel detail. The glass shelf below the mirror was meticulously organised. All of his things were neatly lined up – in order of height, for chrissakes – on one side of an imaginary half-way line, lids replaced and labels facing outwards.

Nothing had escaped the tyranny. Looking at it all afresh, Jim felt his skin crawl. He quickly nudged some bottles out of line, scattering them haphazardly and then looked around for something else to fix. Who the hell could live like this? Spock was a complete and utter nutjob. Sure, he was Vulcan (which, as far as Jim was concerned, meant the same thing) and anyone who looked at him could tell came with more issues than the Playboy magazine backlog. From the last fucking century at least. Good grief. Jim turned a box of floss on its side and turned on the tap to let the water splash out a little. The toothpaste and soap he took down to place by the sink. He then took off his shirt and pants and kicked them into a corner, where they nestled comfortably.

There. Jim stood back to examine his handiwork. The place now looked liveable. Natural. Normal. It looked like a bathroom that might actually forgive you for daring to breathe in it, unlike before. Satisfied with his artistic direction, Jim picked up the note again. There was something... something very important there that he had missed, what with his senses being assaulted on all sides by shining surfaces and straight lines. The part where Spock had supposedly enrolled Jim in- what was it again? Starfleet Command Policy? Jim snorted explosively. Yeah, how about no. That was totally not happening. There was no way his First Officer could sign him off for professional learning. Jim could imagine the consequences of such an unfair advantage and they were...

...Pretty damn similar to what was happening right now.

Jim paused.

Nah. No way.

...Right?

Spock never lied or made idle threats. It was a failing of his, right up there with cracking jokes and considering other people's feelings. Well, Jim liked Spock's jokes. Nobody else ever seemed to notice them, not even Uhura. Jim knew this because the first time he had burst out laughing in one of Spock's cost-benefit analyses, she had whirled on him like a scary tigress defending its young. Claws and everything. She'd been paying rapt attention to her boyfriend's presentation and yet somehow managed to miss Spock's sly remark – so much funnier for being so unexpected. It was almost tragic, Jim thought. Uhura took Spock so... seriously. Probably always had, seeing as Spock had been a professor and she a cadet when they started dating. With the Rupture, it would only have gotten worse.

But that was totally beside the point. Jim was going to end up getting ass-raped by the bloody rule book if he didn't stop mentally dissecting Spock's relationship with Uhura. The subject held a certain morbid fascination for him, sort of like a rotting flesh wound, but he needed to focus on working out how screwed he was right now. Jim tried to remember if responsibility for a Captain's professional learning was some sort of executive perk but kept drawing blanks. He was sure he'd have paid attention to something like that if it came up. It was vitally important to know how many ways your crew could get their revenge on you, particularly in Jim's case. The entire Security department, for one, was probably itching to get him back for his overhaul of their physical training regimen. Jim tapped his blunt fingertips against the sink, thinking hard. There was one very quick way to find out whether Spock was bluffing or not. Jim had the sinking feeling that he already knew the answer to that question. He padded out into his room in his underwear and picked up his PADD from where it lay on the floor.

A blue notification bubble floated on the screen, bouncing gently against the edges of his screensaver.

That was fine. It could be anything. Jim looked at the sender, refusing to get worked up just yet.

It was from Starfleet Academy.

That was still fine. It could be an overdue library fine. It could be that they'd finally found out what had happened in the Lewis computer labs. It could be anything, anything but...

Jim clicked on the bubble impatiently and skimmed through the message. With every word he read, he could feel the urge to throttle his First Officer rise higher and higher. We are pleased to receive... Continuing education... Successful enrolment... The last sentence almost made him break his stylus. We sincerely hope you find the Advanced Command Policy Course a fulfilling and enjoyable experience.

No fucking way. This was not happening, simply because Jim was in a mood to raze the entire Academy to the ground. He was sure he could get Scotty to help him. They had photon torpedoes. It was all good.

Jim couldn't believe it. How could Spock do this to him? It was all right here; the hour requirements, the bloody required reading, the format of the examination. It was to be a written paper, three hours long. "Oh, fuck no!" The last one he had sat, for Concepts in Xenobiology, had left ink stains all over both his hands and given him the writer's cramp from carpal tunnel hell. Forty-one pages he had churned out for that exam. He'd aced it, but that was beside the point. Spock was a complete and utter bastard.

There was Jim's enrolment confirmation under his old Academy identification code. It was almost like being a student all over again except that the message was addressed to Captain Kirk rather than Cadet. Not that it made a huge difference, thought Jim bitterly. Spock was still there, smugly looming over him like a fugly black thundercloud and raining all over his damn parade. Stupid Spock. How the hell had he done it? This message was just a notification from Starfleet and held no clues. Jim scanned the sender information and discarded it as useless. No matter. He could navigate four different backdoors into the Academy server off the top of his head. Jim settled in to hack through the system and locate the application form that had been sent to the Academy. He was very curious to know how Spock had walloped him with this one. Tracing the lines of code to the source document, Jim bypassed a couple of confidentiality matrices and downloaded himself a copy. He waited patiently for it to materialise, gently nudging away the odd patrolling DK bot. And there was Spock's handiwork: a beautiful duplicate of Jim's digital signature, complete to every last microbit. The form had been filled in with all of his personal details as well, though that part was child's play. The art lay in the forgery of the server address so that it seemed like Jim had just picked up his PADD one day and enrolled himself in Command Policy for the fun of it.

Ha.

All right. He had been completely blindsided with this one, but it wouldn't happen again. And Jim knew that the best thing to do with unhappiness was to spread it around. Spock was going down. Jim set note and dataPADD aside on his desk and headed back to the bathroom to see how much of a mess he could make before starting the day.

Spock's back looked smug.

No, really. It was positively radiating smugness. Jim spun slowly from side to side in his chair, watching Spock like a hawk. Nobody on the bridge quite liked to get between Jim and his target and they all detoured around the other side of his chair instead. There had been something indefinably cheeky about the way Spock had inclined his head in greeting at the beginning of shift, he decided. Well, not exactly cheeky per se, because that was far too perky a word to apply to any Vulcan. Insolent, perhaps, and entirely too self-satisfied. Jim hoped Spock could still find it within himself to be so cheerful when he found out what Jim had done to his little penguin soaps. It was, admittedly, a petulant thought because Jim had not yet come close to working out suitable revenge for Spock's master stroke of the morning.

"...Captain?"

But he would do it. He would formulate a counterattack of such brilliance that Spock would be routed horse, foot and artillery.

"Captain?"

Then they would see what would happen to Spock's ineffable smugness.

"Captain Kirk!"

"What? What?" Jim snapped his head around and skewered a little blonde ensign with his Spock-stare. She shrank back several inches.

"I- I need you to... Um, that is, this form..." She visibly gathered her scattered wits. "You need to sign this form!"

She thrust it at him, letting go of the PADD the moment Jim had hold of it and twisting her fingers together nervously. He glanced at her and then examined the form. It was from Bones.

"You're Ensign Aredith, aren't you?" he asked, checking off the sub-points that needed his initials.

"Yes, sir!"

"Interning with Doctor McCoy."

"Yes, sir!" Her voice squeaked a little at the mention of her supervisor.

"It must be terrible for you." Jim scrawled his signature in the designated box and began drawing a big loopy heart at the top of the form for Bones to see. Purely to express Jim's love, of course.

Ensign Aredith squirmed where she stood, in agonies over whether to agree or disagree. Jim handed the PADD back and looked her over in a considering manner. She gazed back at him with the transfixed expression of a trapped mouse.

"I'm working with Commander Spock," he said, with awful emphasis.

"...Yes, sir?"

"Yes." Her captain scowled fiercely.

Was something expected of her? she thought frantically.

"Let me tell you something right now. Terrible does not cut it."

The captain drummed his fingers on his arm-rest in thought and she used the reprieve to take some deep, calming breaths.

"You know what, Ensign? I have a really important task for you." His eyes bored into hers, so very blue. And creepy.

"You're going to go down to Med Bay and find my good old friend Doctor McCoy. And then you're going to tell him to approve me for a sparring session tonight. Tell him I don't care how much he bitches and moans about it. Okay?"

He waited for her to nod and then grinned like a shark. "I'm going to need it."

Ensign Aredith saluted mutely and fled, grateful for the first time that she was working under Doctor McCoy and not Captain Kirk.

In his captain's chair, Jim continued swinging from side to side, wondering who would be in the gym when he went down tonight. He already knew it wouldn't be the person he currently wanted to beat up most. Spock never entered the ship gymnasium to Jim's knowledge. Not that Jim kept tabs on him or anything. Please.

He returned to trying to set Spock on fire with his stare.

The shift had carried on much like this for the better part of an hour now, with Jim glowering in his chair and Spock sitting upright in his perfectly pressed blue uniform. Officer Rhuyet had attempted to direct Jim's attention towards a new data cascade, but it was so obviously a transparent ploy to lure him out of his sulk. He had given her a single unimpressed look and turned away. It was the same look that made Bones want to sedate him with something potent and experimental. Officer Rhuyet had simply speared him with an even better unimpressed look, one that tapped into the little-boy centres in Jim's brain and made him feel like he was five years old and smeared with dirt.

It must be the motherly aura she carried around with her wherever she went, thought Jim. She was comfortable and matronly in figure, with dark brown hair rolled up in a sensible bun and the large, serene eyes of a woman who knew full well she was trapped in a ship packed with teenagers and didn't mind at all. She tolerated their dramas, picked up after their messes, soothed hurt feelings and, when required, delivered the most thorough and battering scoldings Jim had ever heard. Amidst the frantic scampering of red-suited ensigns and rapidly beeping consoles, she stood like an imperturbable oasis of calm, manning Internal Systems Control and keeping his Enterprise beautifully untangled and aligned.

The look she gave him now said, "I am waiting for you to realise that you are being ridiculous. I can wait very, very patiently. Meanwhile, the longer it takes you to grow up, the more embarrassed you are going to be about it." With a flick of her eyes towards the Science station, she managed to add, "And Spock is going to laugh at you. You don't want Spock to laugh at you now, do you?"

Because Jim really was very fond of her and not because he cared about what Spock thought at all, he straightened up in his chair and tried to stop glaring at his First Officer.

It was very difficult. Spock was so damn pleased with himself, he was practically humming.

Jim almost thought he could hear it.

That was strange. Jim shook his head a little to clear it and frowned in concentration. The hum was still there, an added harmonic which coloured the atmosphere around him a little. It wasn't unpleasant or anything, just... odd. Jim surreptitiously looked around to see if anyone else was hearing things. Chekov and Sulu had their heads bent together, discussing a complicated star chart Chekov had floating above his console. From the look of the angles between the gleaming lines, it was the space around Cardassian Prime. Uhura had a hand up at her ear-piece, lovely head cocked to the side in her trademark listening pose. The seated officers on the left and right bays seemed as industrious as ever. Jim focused on the gentle thrum and became certain it originated from Spock. How, he had no idea because the officers closest to Spock remained oblivious.

Jim narrowed his eyes. He was getting the distinct impression that he wasn't hearing this hum with his ears. As he watched, Spock stood from his station and crossed to the bridge library terminal. Jim noticed that the thrum changed in quality when Spock was further away, but still remained. Since it wasn't too distracting and apparently restricted to Jim alone, he resolved to put it out of mind. It wasn't like it was the first time he had gotten strange vibes from Spock. These vibes simply reminded Jim that he had some revenge to plan. Forget Spock being mad at him about the bathroom and Vulcan mating thing – that was totally swept under the rug in the wake of Starfleet Command Policy. Advanced Starfleet Command Policy, at that!

"Captain, something appears to be troubling you." Spock appeared by Jim's chair and regarded him serenely with his hands clasped behind his back. Of course, that was just a big fat evil facade to hide Spock's evil ways and his bad habit of enrolling people into crappy classes.

"No. Really?" Jim suffused his voice with as much sarcasm as he could, knowing that Spock was impervious to the normal amount.

"Yes, Captain."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Now, I wonder what it could possibly be?" he asked sweetly.

"Perhaps it was the large amount of alcohol you consumed with Doctor McCoy last night," Spock replied placidly. "A most inexplicable and self-destructive activity. Are you aware that his beverages can adequately function as a laboratory disinfectant?"

Temporarily derailed, Jim paused. "Huh. You know, I'm not too surprised about that. I think I'll pick next time and just listen to him complain."

"That is not the point, Captain."

"I'm sorry, you had a point? Didn't you just come up here to say that I wasn't my usual glorious, sunshiny self today?"

"Indeed. It is apparent that something has managed to... upset you. I came here to advise you to put aside your personal concerns and focus on your duties as the commanding officer on alpha shift."

"Right. As part of your duties as First Officer on alpha shift, I suppose."

"Yes, Captain."

"And where in your duties does it say to alphabetically organise my shampoo bottles, huh?"

Somebody on the bridge snorted. Jim suspected it was Sulu, whose shoulders he could see shaking slightly in the corner of his vision.

"It is the duty of all Starfleet personnel to ensure that their quarters are always kept in irreproachable condition. Presentation and order is part of military discipline. As you seem to have gone through your training with no knowledge of this requirement, I had hoped to explain through example. It is an effective technique, especially when used for instructing infants and juveniles."

"Yeah, let me know how that works out for you, okay?"

"My projections were similarly unpromising."

Jim choked, hit with mental images of Spock solemnly charting out his captain's progress in toilet-training with the same focus he brought to his scientific research.

"Seriously, Spock? You are such a geek. What the hell did you do, tally the number of times I left the toilet seat up and plot a little graph against time?"

Spock did not deign to reply, which was telling enough. Jim laughed delightedly.

"You totally did! That's almost sweet, Mr Spock."

"Your conclusions are extremely illogical, Captain."

"Your face is extremely illogical."

Spock almost, but not quite, rolled his eyes. Jim grinned, counting that as a win.

"Captain, that is not a valid response."

"It totally is. It tells you everything I want to say in a fabulously concise manner."

"If you merely wanted to tell me that you have the mental sophistication of a five year old, I assure you that there is no need."

"What? That's like the third time you've- Where the hell do you get off on comparing me to a kid, huh?"

Spock opened his mouth to reply. Jim hurriedly raised a hand to stop him, having recalled a number of similar incidences.

"No. No, Spock. Leave it. It was a rhetorical question."

Spock nodded in understanding. "Nevertheless. Whatever has managed to inconvenience your charmed life, I believe it best for you to put aside your grievances for now. A Captain must set an example for his crew."

Jim gave him a foul look. Spock's expression was so damn saintly, one would never guess that he had broken six different interplanetary laws that morning.

"Nobody asked you, Spock," he retorted. "Go back to squirming in unholy glee or something."

Spock's features paused for a moment, as though they didn't know how to arrange themselves. Everyone on the bridge exchanged looks with each other and then stared at Jim.

"What?' demanded Jim. "Don't look at me, look at him! He's been giggling to himself in his little Science corner since shift started!"

There was a small, uncertain silence which Sulu bravely took upon himself to break.

"He's been sitting there quietly, Captain," ventured Sulu cautiously.

"Without making any noise," he added, just in case Jim didn't know what quietly meant. "He definitely was not... um ...giggling."

Sulu pronounced the word hesitantly, stumbling over its association with someone like Spock. Across the bridge, faces broke into wide grins which were rapidly covered by hands, PADDs, hooves. Jim saw red. It was like they thought they were being subtle.

He opened his mouth to begin ranting á la McCoy. Oh, is that so? That's right, is it? Spock's a model of virtue and I'm a crazy Captain making wild accusations, right? But thankfully, his brain ran ahead of him and he stopped. Of course it was a wild accusation. For all intents and purposes, Spock was just as quiet and forbidding as always. Jim already knew nobody else was hearing Spock's happy vibes. Hell, he probably wasn't hearing them either. The little hum could be left over from Bones' disinfectant-grade bourbon. Jim subsided unhappily back into his chair.

Spock had taken the opportunity to discreetly slide back into his place. Jim saw Uhura try to catch Spock's eye with a commiserating grin ("Haha, isn't Jim an idiot") but Spock resolutely focused on his screen, spine held rigidly tense. The hum was gone now, too.

There, thought Jim, satisfied. A minor hallucination. He would settle down, get some work done, confiscate Bones' stash. Thank goodness the bridge crew already knew he was insane at times.

It was Scotty who had first brought this to Jim's attention, contentedly chatting away in his abrupt Scottish burr as they both worked on the replicators.

"Captain, I just want you to know – no matter what them clots in the admiralty say aboot you an' the way you handled the Narada, all me Engineering lads and lassies are standin' right by you," Scotty said earnestly, groping for his pliers.

Jim handed them to him, hiding a grin. "Thanks, Scotty. How hard did you have to drill that into your recruits?" Scotty's loyalty, Jim had found, was a formidable thing,

"Nae, most of them knew already. Rewire this, will ye?" Scotty disappeared under the bottom panel, his words floating up as he continued. "Half the recruits are hero-struck, half are terrified you'll notice them. Now, your central command team. They've got their heads screwed on right."

Elbow-deep in circuitry, Jim grunted as he pulled out a thick cable. Scotty obligingly elaborated. "They know you're a wee bit unstable but I cannae imagine they wouldnae follow you into the sun."

"That I highly doubt, Scotty my man. Not everyone's like you. Uhura, for example, hates my guts."

"Aye, she's a bonny lass eh?"

"Don't even go there."

At that point, a small electrical fire broke out and scorched a hole in the elbow of Scotty's jacket before they managed to extinguish it.

"Look at that! I've had this jacket since Delta Vega. Mebbe Keenser will fix it. Wee fella's a dab hand with a needle." Scotty inspected the edges of the hole unhappily, holding his sleeve up to the light.

"Um. Really."

"Aye. Ye wouldnae thought, but people surprise you." Scotty then muttered darkly under his breath, "Like Spock and Uhura."

Jim really couldn't argue there.

Thinking about his Chief Engineer, Jim decided to take a look at the figures Scotty had been concerned about earlier. Granted, he had been concerned because he was sure he could triple outputs through a series of semi-legal modifications. Jim beckoned to a hovering ensign and took the PADDs she held, determined to lose himself in work for a couple of hours. He opened the first report and sank into an efficiency analysis of the Enterprise bussard collectors.

Around the bridge, consoles whirred quietly and glowing lines flashed through touchpads. The muted lights brought every officer's features into sharp relief, highlighting sculpted brows and cheekbones and carving shadows where facial contours dipped inwards. Chekov and Sulu returned to their gleaming star chart, conferring in low voices. Uhura's station trilled with the odd incoming message as she scanned subspace frequencies. Regulations required an open line be kept for emergency signals and the standardised hailing frequency. All others needed to be scanned every fifteen minutes for deviant peaks, a quick task which she performed flawlessly. Red-uniformed ensigns entered and left the bridge silently, carrying out errands and running messages.

The bridge was designed like a glimmering, high-tech nest, enclosed and secure. The ambient lighting was always kept low and the viewscreen, with its vast expanses of black space and stars, dominated the area. The white panels curved around the walls like the coils of a polished seashell, and the Captain's chair was placed right in the heart of this arrangement. At times, Jim felt that right here was where he came closest to feeling at peace. It was somewhat ridiculous that he needed to launch himself into space in order to feel somewhat grounded inside. With his constant clamour of anger and inspiration quieted by the bridge atmosphere, Jim worked steadily; blue eyes flicking rapidly through forms and stylus tapping to a staccato beat.

When shift turned over, he might not have even noticed but for the scheduled staff briefing. Spock appeared once more by his elbow with a PADD in hand. "Your requested report on the Cardassians, Captain, divided into subsections and organised by the date each discovery about the species was made."

This drew Jim out of the zone. He blinked a few times and then smiled, forgetting he was currently mad at Spock. "Great, Spock. Thanks. We'd better get going to Briefing Room 3, huh?"

Spock nodded woodenly and turned to follow Jim into the meeting.

It was senior staff only, so most officers were leaving the bridge for their downtime. Jim entered the briefing room and beamed at everyone seated around the conference table: Sulu, Chekov, Uhura, Scotty, a few senior liaison officers and what Jim assumed to be specialists in various fields, as they all wore blue. McCoy entered a moment later, dodging Jim's welcoming swat and successfully retaliating before sitting down next to Scotty. The two of them got along surprisingly well. Jim had even come across them drunkenly belting out love ballads together in their respective accents. He had immediately joined in of course despite being completely sober, fabricating a passable Irish brogue and looping an arm around each of their necks. The expression on Spock's face when he walked in on them was a cherished memory of Jim's. He glanced at Spock now, suddenly remembering that he had a bone to pick with the guy. Jim narrowed his eyes. Right after this meeting, Spock was not going to know what hit him.

Sulu had set up the projection screen already. Jim nodded at him and took his place before it, standing at ease.

"We all received the announcement about our mission to Cardassian Prime yesterday. This is our first meeting to discuss what, exactly, we are going to do when we get there. Our objectives are clear. One, we need to attend the Detapa Festival as Federation emissaries. Two, we need to report on the Cardassian political climate for Starfleet intel. And as a questionable, far-flung objective number three, we need to secure Cardassian... if not allegiance, then at least antipathy towards Klingons and Romulans."

Jim held the attention of the room with no problem, being well-accustomed to scrutiny of all kinds. The hearing that Spock called wasn't the only one he'd had to attend, after all.

"We need to decide which crew members to appoint as part of the initial greeting, main diplomacy team and entourage. Once this is settled, those crew members will need to focus on preparing themselves to represent Starfleet on Cardassian Prime."

Jim nodded to Prof. Derry of Cultural Relations, a small bookish man who spent his days holed up in an office lined floor to ceiling with shelves of paper. It was a sign for the professor to give his presentation on power and etiquette in Cardassian society. Jim moved to sit down, only to be interrupted by Lieutenant Uhura.

"Captain?"

"Yes, Lieutenant?"

"Is that all you're going to say? You haven't even touched on the volatile political climate or warned anybody about how sensitive and downright dangerous the mission really is."

Uhura was steadily working herself up. "You haven't mentioned any of the difficulties we'll encounter and you talk about what we have to do like it's just nothing! A trip to the corner store to get milk!"

She obviously believed he had no idea what he was doing. Jim couldn't blame her, but he certainly could aggravate her a bit more. He dropped nonchalantly into his seat and lounged back with a lazy grin.

"Well, let's see what we know, Lieutenant. The Cardassians control a large system and are a powerful, prideful species in their own right. We have some limited trade agreements and a history of miscommunication which infrequently explodes in armed scuffles. There isn't a single Cardassian in Starfleet, vice versa, and they don't approve of tourism in their system. There is no way to get in uninvited. We know crap all about them other than what can be found in records of previous diplomatic endeavours and they don't care to facilitate any exchange of information. Have I got it right?"

Uhura glared at him, cheeks heated with irritation. He could practically see the expletives running through her mind – in seventeen different languages. She was a brilliant, brilliant lady but then, so was Jim. Except, you know, he wasn't a lady. He was the captain. And he had his crew covered.

"The participating Enterprise members will be thoroughly briefed, I promise." He held her gaze for a moment so that she knew he was being serious. "Everyone in this room has done their homework so they know what's going down. Professor Derry? You can start your presentation now."

Jim settled in his seat as Prof. Derry began to speak in an excruciating monotone, trying to ignore the assessing way Spock was staring at him.

"Good afternoon, Captain."

"Captain."

"Good afternoon, sir."

Jim nodded at the crew members who greeted him, trying to look like he was headed off on business rather than prowling around Deck 9 in search of Spock. Haha. The Search for Spock. That could almost be a holovid title or something, thought Jim. It had a certain ring to it. But then, somebody would have to care enough about Spock to go looking for him. Maybe the vid could just be about a pack of wild Delta Vega beasts hunting down Spock in an arctic wilderland. They could catch him and eat him or something. Jim remembered the freaky star-shaped jaws he had almost come into contact with and grimaced. Nah. Perhaps the beasts could just chase Spock around for a bit. He could escape their grasp by jumping across a crevasse, maybe slip on some ice. Bump his head and wake up with no memory. Spock could forget that he was a cold, cruel bastard and then maybe he would actually be pleasant to have around. Jim considered this scenario for a moment, then summarily dismissed it. It was the bastard Spock he was looking for, thanks all the same. And there! A ramrod straight posture and criminally ugly bowl cut!

"Hold up! You with the pointy ears!"

Spock turned and raised an eyebrow, taking in the sight of Jim frantically weaving through corridor traffic to catch up with him. The way cleared as new ensigns recognised the red-faced man to be their captain and moved aside. Jim marched up to Spock and poked him in the chest.

"I presume you were referring to me, Captain."

"Yeah I was referring to you, smart-ass. Who else? If you think you can just race off right after the meeting, you've got another thought coming. What the fuck is this, huh?"

"It appears to be your dataPADD, Captain."

"Cut the bullshit, Spock. You bloody enrolled me in Advanced Command Policy. Me! In Advanced Command Policy." Jim furiously jabbed at the Academy notification for emphasis.

"I believe you require it, Captain."

"Oh no Spock. No. I most certainly do not. Fix it."

Spock cocked his head to the side questioningly. "Fix it, Captain? Surely you would be just as capable of fixing it as I. After all, the enrolment is under your name and signature."

There was a long pause as Jim turned this over in his mind. His enrolment had been tendered. It had been accepted. The paperwork had been filed and the census date was... yesterday. In fact, the census had closed barely an hour after Spock had sent in Jim's application. Jim stared at Spock, appalled. It was dawning on him that his First Officer was a truly terrifying opponent.

"I think you will find, Captain, that you will simply have to 'grin and bear it'."

Jim swallowed.

"Okay. Fine. Just fine." He took a deep breath.

"Tell me, Spock. How many people do we have onboard qualified to teach this retarded course?"

"One, Captain."

Jim's stomach sank like a stone. "And... who would that person be?" Oh gods no.

There was a glint in Spock's dark eyes.

"That person would be me, Captain."

Fuck.

Hoo boy. Let's see. Six months since last update. I can explain! Or, I can just grovel. Grovelling is good. Please forgive my lapse... tell me if this chapter is up to standard... unload torrents of abuse at me until you feel better... whatever you like. I am open to anything you want to send my way!

May I also extend a huge thank you to Anon, who picked up something I'm still bashing myself over the head about. =]

-xox-