spock: logic is sexy

The WIP meme

Seen various places.

Post a snippet of all the WIPs you can find on your computer.

He sidles up to the bar and pulls out a stool with his toe, watching her out of the corner of his eye. Nothing about her suggests she wants to talk to anyone, much less a man, but he's Jim Kirk - what the hell else is he going to do at the end of a day like today? When his beer comes, he inclines it toward her, and he's surprised to see she looks a little relieved when she catches his eye. Okay, then, Jim thinks, maybe she does want a little company. He's about to scoot over closer when he catches a glint of gold fabric beneath the sleeve of her leather jacket. He watches as she lifts her glass, and sure enough, more of her sleeve pulls back, revealing four thick, white captain's stripes.

Leonard. How could she have forgotten? He is sprawled on the floor behind her, blue shirt covered with blood. Her fault. It was her job to keep the crew safe, and instead, she'd blown her cover and led him into harm. And now he's trapped in a hole belowdeck, bleeding out slowly -- or quickly, for all the knows -- and she's got no supplies, no way to call for help, and she wasn't cut out for this. Even in the war, she'd never had to watch someone die like this.

If they lose a team member in this, it ought to be her. If an alien invasion is coming, the world needs Jack and Suzie more than it needs her.

He doesn't ask for their stories but he listens to them anyway. They -- he only thinks of them as they, he can't really afford the names -- went to prison, got sick, died, lost eyes, lost wives, buried daughters, mourned sons. Sometimes they tell him directly; mostly they don't. They tell each other, in whispered conversations in the CIC and tearful reunions in the corridors. But he listens to them all without really seeming to because it's penance. He let them go and he left them behind; he deserves this portion of their pain.

And Kara's.

Which is exactly why he avoids it. At first, he'd listened for her name amid the whispered conversations. If anyone had survived all of that, if anyone had been giving the Cylons hell, it would have been her. But he hears her name only rarely, only in the quietest of whispers.

And then Tosh stopped looking for herself in films until the day her mother disappeared. It was a Saturday night. She set her shopping bags on the porch and fumbled for her keys, but the door gave way under the lightest pressure of her hand. The kitchen light was on, and the nabe pot was on the stove, but the burner was off. Music echoed through the house, and her mother's overflowing purse was slung over the back of a chair. But Toshiko knew the house was empty.

Her hands shook; her knees quivered. Still, she ran through the rooms, shouting, "Oka-san!" in a thin, reedy voice that reminded her of dark nights when her younger self had called for comfort from nightmares.

When she reached her mother's bedroom, she collapsed in a shaking heap by the bed and sat without crying until the sun vanished beneath the horizon. Then she stood, strangely calm, and searched the closets and the attic without admitting that she was looking for her mother's body.

USS Farragut, NCC-1981, no survivors.

First, she makes Gaila's bed, smoothing her hands over the comforter and fluffing the pillows the way her mother had once done after she was finished. It makes her feel strangely peaceful inside, like taking care of Gaila's things could somehow compensate for not being able to smooth down Gaila's curls or fasten her uniform jacket over her body.

For a split second, Sulu remembers the captain's lifeless body bobbing in the water on Kedros II, and Kirk seizes the opportunity to punch him in the face. Not hard, but it still hurts. Sulu steps backward for a second to shake off the dizziness and the pain instead of lunging for Kirk's midsection like he should. The captain frowns and rests a hand on his shoulder.

Nyota staggered down the hall toward her dorm room, trailing mud with every step. Normally, she would have taken her dirty boots off at the door and cast a disapproving eye at anyone who failed to do the same, but after four hours slithering through a rainforest on her belly, she needed all her energy just to get home. Absently, she rubbed the small, tender marks on her face, souvenirs of the sparks that had showered her when the communications array had exploded. Her arms and legs were covered with tiny scratches, stings, and small trails of blood left behind by leeches, but none of these things were the worst part of her day. What she could not get out of her mind was the scornful look on Admiral Sato's face.

At first, she had imagined that they would adopt. But there were no Vulcan orphans in need of a loving -- or logical -- home. Family ties were strong here; if a grandparent was not alive to raise the children, an aunt or an uncle was, and failing that, a first or second or third cousin.

"No Vulcan would deny shelter to a relation, no matter how distant," Sarek told her, not unkindly.

"Do unto others as you would have them do unto you," she answered dimly.

"It is logical," Sarek agreed, settling onto the couch beside her. She tried not to let her disappointment show. How could she complain that her husband's species was so compassionate that they left not a single child without a home?

"There will be alternatives," Sarek told her. She would have hated him for his calm words if not for the kindness in his eyes.

"Indeed," she answered, and found that she could not mock her husband's grave tone without a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth.

And Sarek was right; there were alternatives. While Earth itself had few children to adopt, thousands of children on outlying colony worlds waited for a home. The government of Andor allowed parents of other species to adopt, and the Federation Refugee Counsel sought homes for young girls rescued from Orion slavers.

Damn. That is a whole hell of a lot of unfinished stories. And I didn't even include the random ones I started for my h/c bingo card that will never see the light of day.

In other words, my Torchwood exchange story is driving me absolutely insane because I simply cannot tell if it is good or not.
Oh, these are all so intriguing!

(Because some other nerd will say it if I don't : captains have three stripes, admirals have four.)