Caption Needed!

Ok, we should get some interesting suggestions for this screen cap from the TOS episode Catspaw...

Nail-Biter!

Well, the poll is closed. Here are the final results:

Snoopy Vs. the Red Baron by The Royal Guardsmen: 5
The Battle of New Orleans by Johnny Horton: 6

So Andrew Jackson edges out Snoopy by just one vote!

Thanks to all who participated--oh, and our new caption contest will be up later today (and I'm hoping a new Spock-McCoy story too.)

~Rose

An Irresistible Challenge

Freshly released from Spiced Peaches:

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan Fiction (Star Trek; Spock-McCoy; Slash)

Rating: PG

Summary: In the wake of The Journey to Babel, Sarek confronts McCoy, demanding to know what lies between the doctor and his son.

…

Goddamn stubborn Vulcans. Now I know just where Spock gets it from—like father, like son. Just try keeping either one of them consigned to sickbay...even after hours of an insanely dangerous surgery. And if that wasn't bad enough, I had Jim on my hands too. He'd managed to get himself stabbed in the midst of all the mayhem.

I released Spock two days ago. That pointy-eared elf refused to stay put after I allowed our fearless captain to return to duties. I wanted to keep both of them for another day, but, as Amanda put it, we'd all had enough of their kvetching. Even Spock was at it...he tried to cover his complaints with logic, but he was bitching and moaning just as much as Jim. And Amanda made sure to point that out to him.

(I'm starting to love Amanda, by the way. Since our own mothers are dead, Jim and I are both planning to adopt her as a substitute. Spock'll just have to learn to share.)

Sarek, meanwhile, was just as annoying as Jim and Spock. His kvetching was slightly more dignified, that's all. But I managed to keep him a bit longer. And thanks to Amanda, I didn't even have to use restraints. But I would've, if that'd been my only choice. The man had nearly died on us; I wasn't taking any chances.

But now I could wash my hands of all three of them—or so I thought as I sank into my chair and leaned back, hoping to catch a quick nap before I started on my reports. But no such luck. Sarek stormed into my office and demanded a private word with me.

All right—'stormed' is the wrong word. He rang and then asked for a word. But despite his polite, even tone, I could tell that this was no request. It was more like he was granting me a royal audience.

But I played along by politely inviting him to take a seat opposite me. He could only be here for one of two reasons, I decided. He might have come to thank me for saving his life—but Vulcans aren't known for showing gratitude. Why thank a surgeon for doing his job? That left only one other possibility: Sarek wanted to know what was going on between myself and his son.

That was going to be damn hard to answer, because I wasn't sure myself. There had been certain, ah, intimacies between us after that fiasco of a wedding of his. All right, all right—'intimacies' might be too mild a term...and God knows we hadn't let up any since that first time. But we'd never discussed where we were going with this. Outside of our cabins, we were business as usual.

We'd been damn discreet too, or so I'd thought. Yeah, Jim-boy knew what was going on—but we never even tried to keep it secret from him. He knew both of us too well. But we could trust him to keep quiet about it. He certainly wouldn't have run and told Sarek.

But here Sarek was, and he didn't look like he meant to say thank you. In fact, he was sizing me up the same way a judge would size up the accused.

"What can I do for you, sir?" I drawled, giving the ambassador my most charming Georgia smile as he took his chair.

"You are involved with my son," he said.

It was not a question. But, hey, at least he didn't beat around the bush. That's one thing I'll say for Vulcans: you always know where you stand with them.

"He's a good friend of mine," I returned. I hated to say that—it felt like a cop-out—but I had no idea how much Spock wanted his father to know. The two had only just begun speaking again after some seventeen years of silence.

"Do not toy with me, Doctor. He is considerably more than that. Your...feelings...for him are quite obvious. I had ample time to observe them throughout my stay in sick bay."

I kept my smile firmly in place, even though I was swearing under my breath. So much for discretion. But maybe it wasn't my fault—Sarek probably had some uncanny way of reading his son. The whole damned race allegedly has some degree of telepathic abilities.

"I don't see how our relationship—or lack thereof—is any concern of yours," I managed.

To his credit, that statement didn't anger him. Of course, it's damn hard to anger a Vulcan. I know how to push Spock's buttons, but it'll take me a while to learn how to push Sarek's. He's not only a Vulcan, after all, but a diplomat to boot. Of course, most diplomats are pricklier than an offended porcupine.

"Vulcan 'relationships' are not a private matter," he informed me. "Spock's mother and I must carefully select a mate for him."

"Yeah, you tried that with T'Pring," I reminded him. "And not only did she dump Spock—she damn near got our captain killed in the process."

He raised his eyebrows at me and then slowly nodded. "T'Pring was an unfortunate choice," he owned. "And I understand, Doctor, that it was your quick thinking and skilled deceit that saved your captain's life and prevented Spock from being charged with murder."

I cocked my head at him, wondering if that was a compliment. At length I decided that it didn't matter. "Mr. Sarek, in light of the debacle of Spock's wedding, I think you've given up any right to make further, ah, arrangements for him. Spock's going to have to find his own way."

Sarek stiffened ever so slightly at that. "Dr. McCoy, to bond with a Vulcan is a serious matter. You would do well to consider whether you wish to subject Spock to the difficulties a marriage between you would no doubt present."

I rolled my eyes. "Neither Spock nor I have said a word about marriage. We haven't reached that point yet. But if it came to that—"

I paused, wondering what it'd be like to marry Spock. I already woke up next to him three or four mornings out of every seven. I already borrowed his clothes when I felt like it—our regulation t-shirts and trousers were the same size. We already argued about my coffee habit. Christ, how much different would marriage be?

It wouldn't be different at all. Getting married would just mean—well, it would just mean that we wanted to make all that permanent, right?

"Why has it not come to that?" Sarek demanded, breaking me out of my thoughts. "Are you toying with my son?"

I stared at him. I hadn't expected him to play the 'protective parent' card. "No, I'm not toying with him," I said.

"Your first marriage was a failure," Sarek pointed out. "You left your wife and your daughter in order to join Starfleet."

I had to take a deep breath to stop myself from clenching my fists. "I suppose I should be flattered that you felt the need to research my background," I told him. "But those bare-boned facts don't tell the whole story."

"What is the whole story?" he persisted.

"None of your damned business," I said. I paused again and looked away. "It is Spock's business—when he asks me, I'll tell him the whole of it."

"You cannot simply walk out of a Vulcan marriage," Sarek informed me. "They are, of necessity, much more binding than the human equivalent. You will not be able to run away a second time."

His voice was almost maddeningly calm. God damn these green-blooded, walking computers. What the hell would it take to get a rise out of this guy?

I rolled my eyes again. "I've already told you that Spock and I haven't gotten as far as talking about marriage. When and if we get there—well, I'll take your words into consideration."

Sarek didn't respond to that. Instead, he allowed a long silence to fall between us. I was the one who finally broke it.

"You wasted some seventeen years not speaking to your son," I said softly. "If Spock and I, uh, bond, are you going to put him through that again? Are you going to shun him just because you don't approve of his choice of a mate?"

"If you thought that I would shun him, would you part ways with Spock now?" Sarek countered.

"No," I answered. "I'd get Amanda on our side and join forces with her to make you see reason."

If I didn't know better, I'd swear that the barest hint of a smile crossed Sarek's lips. "For the record, Dr. McCoy, I never said I disapproved of Spock's choice of mate—or potential choice. I merely wish to ensure that my son does not rush into a bond with a human who is ignorant of the commitment such a bond requires."

He paused, regarding me steadily. I started blushing. I couldn't help myself. I still felt like a criminal facing judgment. Or, worse, like a kid receiving a lecture from an over-strict parent. And that's probably just how Sarek viewed me: as a promising child who needed a firm hand. It was an impressive authority act—I'll give him that. But he'd best not take it too far.

"It would behoove you, Doctor, to learn more of Vulcan culture before you and Spock—what is the human phrase?—get carried away."

I cocked my head at him. "Is that an invitation?"

"It is," he confirmed. "I would like you and Spock to come to our home on Vulcan as soon as you can arrange to take leave together."

I swallowed. Invitation my ass—that was an order. But, for Spock's sake, it was an order I'd have to put up with. So much for taking a relaxing vacation on some beach somewhere.

I managed a nod. "I'm game if Spock is," I said. And I'll make sure Spock is, I added to myself. Much as I'd prefer a real vacation, I wasn't going to let him pass up this opportunity to spend some quality time with his father.

"Amanda and I will make the necessary preparations," he said as he rose to his feet and nodded at me dismissively. Apparently the royal audience was over.

I sighed and shook my head as he swept out of my office. He was going to make for one hell of an interesting father-in-law. Then all of the sudden I found myself grinning. I couldn't wait to learn how to push his buttons.

I never could resist a challenge.

~The End~

Picture of the Day~Caption Winner!

This time, the glory goes to Igiveup. Gratz!

McCoy with his new Spock-bot: "Whaddya mean, batteries not included?"

The Age-Old Question...

Ok, I've just gotta know. Which, er, 'historical' song do you prefer? Snoopy Vs. the Red Baron by The Royal Guardsmen:



Or The Battle of New Orleans by Johnny Horton...which someone set to a cool Legos scene:



I know, I know! Darned tough choice--they're both classics. Nonetheless, choose one, please, and vote on the poll on the sidebar. And feel free to comment here on your choice--or remain anonymous, as you choose. Thanks!

Eartha Kitt 1927-2008

Although I'm a die-hard Julie Newmar fan, I'll admit that Eartha Kitt was also a wonderfully sexy Catwoman. And I loved her in The Emperor's New Groove, wherein she voiced the evil (and hilarious) Yzma:


And, of course, she sang Santa Baby, worked in theatre and cabaret...she'll be missed!

Lovely Tributes to Majel Barrett Roddenberry

T'Prillah has a lovely tribute to the late Majel Barrett Roddenberry (Nurse Chapel, Lwaxana Troi & the voice of the Enterprise computer) on her DeForest Kelley Forever blog.

I've also seen some gorgeous tribute stories to MBR and her characters. Ster Julie has one called I Am But Silence and Mrs. Picard wrote Incredible Things.

Of course, these tributes only serve to remind us just how much we'll miss MBR...

Picture of the Day~Caption, Please!

Yes, yes--it's a terrible episode. Possibly the worst (although it has some competition for that dubious honor.) Nonetheless, I'm looking forward to seeing the captions we come up with for this shot from Spock's Brain =P

~To Reach This Season~

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Slash Fan Fiction; Holiday Fic (Star Trek; Spock-McCoy)

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Kirk helps Bones see Spock's dual-heritage in a new light.

~

Bones leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "Damn it Jim, I'm not asking Spock to find God."

Kirk grinned, trying to imagine Bones in a relationship with anyone who had, ah, found God. "I think it'd be inconvenient for you if he did—you're too comfortable as an agnostic."

"Exactly," he agreed, smiling a little in return.

The two men were sitting in Kirk's cabin. They were each seated on opposite sides of a table with a bottle of Saurian brandy and two half-filled glasses between them. Kirk picked up his glass and took a long, slow sip.

"But I can't stand to see him ignore and dismiss every part of his human heritage," Bones continued. "He's a Jew through Amanda—it wouldn't kill him to light a menorah once in his life."

Kirk considered that. He understood where Bones was coming from on this—it did seem a shame to watch Spock ignore his human half. Especially around the holidays. If Spock had it his way, he'd skip all the parties and wind up meditating alone in his cabin.

On the other hand, though, he sympathized with Spock as well. It wasn't easy to juggle two contradictory backgrounds. He couldn't blame Spock for choosing his Vulcan half and sticking with it.

"I can't think why Amanda never taught him this stuff," Bones went on, "Why didn't she raise him to celebrate more of his human history?"

Kirk set his glass down and frowned at his friend. "I don't know about that. I think Amanda might have done the right thing."

The doctor narrowed his eyes at him. "You can't mean that, Jim-boy. Would you have wanted your folks to choose either Christmas or Chanukah, instead of raising you on both?"

"Sometimes," he answered.

"Why?" Bones demanded. "One's not better or worse than the other."

"I didn't say it was," Kirk snapped. "Look, Bones, it's not always easy to find your way around two separate heritages. I'm not comparing my situation to Spock's, but even I got tired of trying to figure what the hell I was back when I was growing up."

Bones stared at him. "Was it that big a deal?"

Kirk looked away for a moment and then shrugged. "We didn't belong to a synagogue, we didn't belong to a church, but we celebrated both sets of holidays and managed to annoy both sets of grandparents."

He paused, frowning again. "If I got confused as a kid, and sick of all of it, imagine what it must have been like for Spock. For God's sake, his parents were from two different planets. I think Amanda had to make sure that he got one consistent upbringing—even if that meant shortchanging his human half."

Bones had picked up his own glass, but he set it down slowly at that. "I hadn't thought of it that way," he owned. "Jesus—I suppose I owe that hobgoblin an apology. I've been on his back about this for a while."

"Look, why don't you leave it up to him?" Kirk suggested. "I have a chanukiah here somewhere. I can dig it up. Invite him over tonight to light the candles and have some dinner. No pressure, no presents to worry about—and just the three of us. No big party. But if he says no, let it be."

Bones sighed, but at length he nodded. "Yeah—I'll do that. But leaving it up to him means we probably won't come."

~

Spock was stepping out of his sonic shower when he realized that Dr. McCoy had let himself into the room. Not only that, but the doctor was lounging on Spock's bunk, raising his eyebrows appreciatively at the sight that greeted him.

"You didn't have to put on that robe for my sake," the doctor informed him, his blue eyes dancing with delight.

Spock felt a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. He was relieved that the doctor no longer seemed upset with him, but he forced himself to remain stoic. "You have a remarkably one track mind, Doctor."

"Well, I like to keep my focus," the human explained. "Consider it a form of meditation."

"Indeed?" Spock asked. "Thorough concentration on sex is not a branch of meditation often taught on Vulcan."

"Well, it's not quite a traditional branch," McCoy admitted. "But maybe we should open up a school there dedicated to teaching it—it might be the next big thing. If nothing else, it ought to relieve the stress caused by an overdose of logic."

"I'm sure T'Pau would be delighted with the project," Spock pointed out dryly.

McCoy's eyebrows shot up at that. "Sarcasm becomes you, my love. Very well, we'll set that project aside for now and wait till we can wrap T'Pau around our finger."

"As I believe the human saying goes, that will require us to wait until 'hell freezes over.'"

"Probably. Come'ere you overgrown elf."

Spock complied by taking a seat on the bunk and leaning back against the wall as he wrapped his arms around his mate. He allowed his robe to fall open somewhat, so that the human could rest his head against Spock's bare shoulder and snuggle against his skin.

"I'm sorry I've been pushing you about the holidays," McCoy said suddenly. "We don't have to go to the holiday party and I'll stop hassling you about a menorah."

Spock raised his eyebrows at that, wondering what had brought about this change in the doctor. But the doctor, apparently, had decided to answer that himself.

"Look, Spock," he said. "I come from a long line of Southern Protestants. If a Methodist married a Baptist it was a big deal in my family...and that's about as adventurous as we got. I don't have the slightest idea of what it must be like to come from two completely different cultures. Given that, I had no right to push you to observe human traditions."

He paused for a moment and seemed to collect his thoughts. "Jim invited us over tonight to have dinner and light the Chanukah candles, but there's no pressure. We don't have to go. And if we do go, we don't actually have to light anything—"

"I do not object to going," Spock interrupted. "Nor do I object to joining the crew at the holiday party."

"You had lots of objections before," McCoy pointed out, shifting a little so that he could glance up at him.

"I objected to celebrating the holidays as if they are my own," Spock corrected. "They are not. But I do not object to celebrating them with you and Jim...or even the rest of the crew."

McCoy grinned. "Fair enough. Let's get dressed and head over there. The sooner we finish, the sooner I can get you back here and unwrap you."

~

Kirk glanced over at his two best friends as he set up the chanukiah. Both men were relaxed now, he noted with approval. Any squabbling between them must have been amicably settled. And he took full credit for that.

"Hey Jim," Bones called out from his seat, "what's that famous Jewish prayer? The one that's thankful that we all made it to this moment alive?"

Spock cocked his head at him. "I believe that is the gist of the Shehecheyanu."

"Yeah, it is." Kirk confirmed, grinning and thinking that it was a miracle these two had made it to this moment without killing each other.

"In fact," he continued, "we'll say a Shehecheyanu right now, in honor of the fact that we're lighting the candles for the first time this year: Barukh atah Adonai, Eloheinu, melekh ha'olam shehecheyanu v'kiyimanu v'higi'anu laz'man hazeh. Amein. Blessed are you, Lord, our God, sovereign of the universe who has kept us alive, sustained us, and enabled us to reach this season. Amen."

"I'll say Amen to that," Bones said.

"As will I," Spock added, looking fondly at his lover despite his Vulcan austerity.

Kirk shook his head at the pair of them as he prepared the Shamash—the helping candle—for its duties. "Happy Chanukah, you two."

~The End~

Picture of the Day~Caption Winner!

We had so many great entries that it was almost impossible to choose! Nonetheless, this one had me laughing till I was hoarse. (Or maybe that was the bronchitis...) Anyway, here goes. This week, Julianna keeps her crown as Caption Queen:

Spock: Hey, Jim, throw me some lube before you leave!

No Excuses

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan Fiction (Star Trek, Spock-McCoy, Friendship Fic)

Rating: PG

Summary: Bones gets his chance to lecture Spock in the wake of Amok Time.

~

Spock entered sickbay with no visible emotion on his face, but internally he was dreading the visit. Such dread was illogical—but it would be even more so to lie to himself.

This would be the first time since his failed marriage ceremony that he would face a physical. And McCoy was no longer ignorant of the Pon Farr. The doctor would be checking and double-checking to make certain that Spock was no longer suffering any ill effects from the blood fever. Spock had to fight to keep his cheeks from flushing in embarrassment.

Worse, the doctor would have quite a bit to say about Spock's prior secrecy on the subject. And Spock could think of no argument in his own defense.

"Hey Spock," McCoy said, looking up at him from the desk in his office. "Grab a chair—I'd like to talk to you for a bit before we get started."

Spock nodded, knowing that this 'talk' would be a thinly disguised lecture. A glance around sick bay confirmed his fears. Apart from the doctor and himself, it was empty. McCoy, apparently, wanted the freedom to express his quite justified anger.

Spock seated himself uncertainly, but made sure to give every outward appearance of composure. "We seem to be alone, Doctor," he ventured.

McCoy nodded. "Yeah. Spock, from now on, I'm going to make sure we have as much privacy as possible when you come for examinations. That way—well, it'll be easier for you if there's anything you need to tell me in confidence."

This time Spock did blush—and he was sure that the sudden green tint to his face was not lost on McCoy. He looked away in embarrassment, but then forced himself to meet the human's eyes.

"You are upset, Doctor, that I did not explain the blood fever to you."

McCoy regarded him steadily, but took his time about answering. At length he sighed. "Spock, I'm your physician. Your health and well being are my responsibility. Now you left me entirely in the dark. I knew that the chemicals your body was pumping into your system were killing you—but I couldn't figure out what was causing them."

"You did eventually figure it out, Doctor."

"Yeah—no thanks to you. Spock, why didn't you tell me what was going on?"

"The blood fever is not discussed with non-Vulcans—"

But McCoy shook his head. "That's not an excuse. First of all, when you accepted a position aboard the Enterprise, you knew damn well that there was no Vulcan healer at hand. You knew you'd have to trust yourself to a human doctor."

The human paused and sighed. "Secondly, Spock, you know that whatever we discuss about your medical condition is strictly between us. Do you honestly think I'd violate our doctor-patient confidentiality?"

Spock felt himself swallowing. "Doctor, I—I," he broke off and looked away again.

"Do you?" McCoy pressed.

Spock shut his eyes and shook his head. He knew full well that the human was trustworthy.

There was a long moment of silence. "All right," McCoy said at last. "I can only think of one other reason that would make you refuse to confide in me. Did you think—did you think that I would tease you unmercifully? That I would try to embarrass you?"

Spock opened his eyes as he forced himself to turn back to the doctor. "The thought had crossed my mind," he said dryly, "But—"

McCoy let out a string of curses, cutting him off. "Spock...oh, God damn it. Spock, listen to me. I know that I—that I poke fun of your logic and your green blood and your pointed ears. But I never meant any of that seriously." He paused, reconsidering that. "Well, maybe the logic," he owned, "but not the rest. Look, I respect you, I admire you and I'd never insult you in earnest. I've always meant it affectionately."

The human paused again and sighed. "If my idiot remarks made you think that I'd be looking to embarrass you—"

"Doctor, you did not allow me to finish," Spock interrupted. Then he paused, collecting his thoughts. He had not expected a heartfelt apology from McCoy. If he were human, he would have been oddly touched by it.

"I did fear that you would make some 'idiot' remarks," Spock explained at last, "but that is not the reason that I neglected to confide in you. I have always recognized the affection in your insults—and therefore your remarks have never troubled me. On the contrary, I find our sparring stimulating."

McCoy stared at him. "Are you certain?"

Spock nodded. "Yes, Doctor."

The human was visibly relieved. "Well, thank God for that. But if you knew I wouldn't violate your confidence, and if you knew I wouldn't try to embarrass you, then why wouldn't you tell me what was going on?"

"Because of my own ill-judged stubbornness," Spock confessed. "It was no fault of yours, Doctor. Vulcans have traditionally shrouded the blood fever in secrecy; I took that to an extreme—a life-threatening extreme. I regret that I did not display better judgment."

McCoy stared at him. "Are you sure that it had nothing to do with the way I've been treating you?"

Spock felt his eyes soften. "I could not ask for better treatment from any physician, Vulcan or otherwise. You are highly emotional, Doctor—and both too gruff and too sentimental—but you are astonishingly competent despite these shortcomings."

The human grinned, clearly mollified. "Thank you. I'll take that as high praise. Now, will you promise to confide in me from now on? No matter how embarrassing you might find your condition—and even if you violate some Vulcan taboo by describing it?"

"I promise, Doctor."

"Good," McCoy said, satisfied. "Now get your green-blooded ass on the examination table. Let's make certain that your body has healed itself from all the strain it's been under."

Spock opened his mouth at the reference to his 'green-blooded ass,' but somehow he managed to bite back a sharp retort. "Yes, Doctor," he said at last.

Both men rose to their feet and Spock meekly followed McCoy to the table. The sharp retort was still on his tongue, but he let it die there.

Under the circumstances, McCoy deserved to have the last word.

~The End~

A Spock-McCoy-Kirk-Natira Screen-Shot in Need of a Caption...

I love this cap from For the World is Hollow and I Have Touched the Sky...there's so much going on! Ok, any suggestions?

Never Parting

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Slash fan-fiction (Star Trek; Spock-McCoy)

Rating: R (It's probably PG-13...but just as a precaution)

Summary: In the aftermath of Star Trek VI: The Undiscovered Country, Bones tries to protect Spock and make the Vulcan see reason...

~

Bones sank down onto his bunk, grateful that all the excitement had died down. Well, almost all the excitement. Kirk, being Kirk, had ignored the command to return to space dock in order to be decommissioned--but that couldn’t last forever.

The doctor sighed, wondering what he would do now that his career aboard the Enterprise was really going to end. Kirk, he knew, meant to take advantage of full retirement. It was almost impossible to imagine Kirk retired, but the captain insisted that was what he wanted. It wasn’t, of course--retirement would frustrate the hell out of Jim--but Bones somehow managed not to point that out to his friend.

As for Spock…Bones paused as an affectionate smile played on his lips. That green-blooded hobgoblin might retire from Starfleet, but he still had a long life in front of him; much longer than his human friends. Full retirement was out of the question. Spock hadn’t reached any decisions yet, but Bones knew just what would happen. Spock would finally follow in his father’s footsteps, becoming an official diplomat.

Just then the call button to Bones’ cabin rang. Speak of the pointy-eared devil. Bones knew instinctively that Spock stood without.

“Come on in,” he called, pulling himself to a seated position.

Spock walked in majestically, donned in his Vulcan robes. He looked like some kind of bloody royalty. How did he pull that off?

“Doctor,” he said, by way of greeting.

“Hey Spock,” Bones returned, nodding at the nearest chair. “Have a seat.”

The Vulcan glanced at the chair, but then ignored it. To McCoy’s surprise, he took a seat on the bunk instead, right next to the doctor.

Bones raised his eyebrows at that, but decided not to read too much into it. That would be dangerous--that would bring him to the very emotions he’d been trying his damnedest to suppress. So he ignored Spock’s nearness and just shifted a bit so that he could lean back against the wall.

“What’s up?” he asked, willing his sudden erection to die down. Not that it worked. Damn thing had a mind of its own.

Spock proceeded as if he hadn’t noticed McCoy’s discomfort. Which, hopefully, he hadn't.

“You are well, Doctor?”

“After that little vacation Jim and I took on Rura Penthe, you mean?” Bones asked, cocking his head at the Vulcan. “I’m just dandy, thanks. But next time I’ll stick with Risa.”

Spock regarded him steadily. “I am sorry. I never foresaw such consequences to this mission.”

Bones rolled his eyes. “It’s not your fault, Spock. You can blame Chang and Cartwright and Valeris and everyone else in the conspiracy. You just wanted peace--I can’t fault you for that. And neither can Jim. Besides, you came to our rescue. Though we’re damned lucky that your viridium patch trick worked--I hate to think what would have happened if the Klingons had robbed us of our uniforms.”

“I’d have attempted to use the bond between us to locate you and the captain instead,” Spock explained. “A clumsier method, perhaps, but it may also have proved effective.”

Bones stiffened at that--he couldn’t help it.

His reaction was not lost on the Vulcan. Spock sighed. “Doctor, however much you dislike this bond, it would have been foolish to ignore it in such circumstances.”

“Damned Vulcan priestess,” McCoy said as he leaned back even further and put his hands behind his head. He was even more determined to ignore his erection now. “You’d think with all their rituals and mind probes they could have separated us properly. I may not have your katra any longer, but I still have your thoughts and memories.”

“And I yours,” Spock agreed. “And if you would accept that, rather than fighting it constantly, you might discover that there are advantages to the link between us.”

“Well, if I’m ever stuck in Rura Penthe again, I’ll keep that in mind,” Bones snapped.

Spock stared at him for a long moment and then rose to his feet. “Perhaps now is not the best time to discuss this, Doctor.”

But Bones already regretted his outburst. “Spock, wait,” he said, grabbing hold of the Vulcan’s arm.

Spock took no offense at the intimacy; he merely seated himself back on the bunk.

“It’s not that I mind a link between us,” Bones tried to explain, still keeping a hold on Spock’s arm. “It’s just that--look, I don’t like thinking that you’re stuck with my memories whether you want them or not.”

“You are likewise ‘stuck’ with my memories, Doctor.”

“Yeah, but you’ve got your Vulcan disciplines to spare you embarrassment.”

Spock’s eyes softened. “You have not once attempted to embarrass me by what you have learned from my memories. Are you afraid that I mean to embarrass you?”

“Of course not,” Bones said. “But just knowing what you know about me--damn it, Spock.”

There was a long moment of silence. Spock knew just how attracted Bones was to him. There was no possibility that he didn’t know. Hell, he probably knew just how aroused Bones was now. He must know.

“You speak of your feelings for me,” the Vulcan said at length.

Bones shut his eyes and somehow managed to nod. “Yeah. I’m sorry Spock. I never meant for you to find out. I never meant to--to make you uncomfortable.”

Spock reached out and took hold of McCoy’s chin. “Your feelings have not made me uncomfortable. On the contrary, I have cherished them.”

Bones released Spock’s arm. “But you don’t return them,” he pointed out. “Let’s not pretend that you do. You can let go of me now.”

Spock came as close then to letting out a frustrated sigh as Bones could ever remember. “Doctor,” he said, letting go of his chin, “why do you insist on misunderstanding me? No, I do not have the same feelings for you that you have for me. I will never experience the emotional rollercoaster that you accept as a natural part of your existence. Nonetheless, I am not now--nor have I ever been--indifferent to you. You have long been a thorn in my side…and you have long been as indispensable to me as breathing.”

McCoy stared at him, dumbfounded. “Spock--”

“If you insist on some giddy human emotion from me, Doctor, you will always be disappointed,” Spock continued, cutting him off. “But if you can accept the measured devotion that I do have to offer, I think…I think you will find that we are well suited as bond-mates. And you will understand that you have nothing to fear from this bond.”

Spock paused and his eyes took on almost a tender look. “We have wasted much time. That is as much my fault as it yours. But I almost lost you at Rura Penthe. In light of that, I do not wish to allow any more opportunities to pass us by.”

McCoy narrowed his eyes at him. “Spock, what the hell are you offering me? Look, you’re already one of my two best friends. If that’s all you want from this bond--”

“I am offering you a full-fledged relationship, Doctor. I wish to be your friend, your lover--your partner.”

He spoke the words so quietly and dispassionately that it took McCoy almost a full minute to discern their meaning. “My partner?” he repeated.

“Yes.”

Bones took a deep breath. “Are you offering this only because you’re stuck with the bond anyway? Are you just making the best of a bad situation? Are you figuring that as long as we’re forced into the intimacy of this link, we might as well enjoy some sex?”

Spock cocked his head at him. “Are you afraid the sex will not be enjoyable?”

Bones started at that and then chocked back a laugh. “No--no it’s not that. Spock, if it hadn’t been for this bond, would you still want this?”

There was another long moment of silence. Bones found himself holding his breath as he waited for an answer.

“As I said, Doctor, I have never been indifferent to you,” Spock said at last. “However, had it not been for this bond between us, I do not know if I would have surmised your feelings for me. Moreover, during our first five-year mission, I do not believe I would have felt myself capable of dealing with human emotions on such an intimate level.”

He paused and gave Bones a look that almost melted the good doctor. “However, this bond has taught me that I have no need to fear your human passions…any more than you should fear my Vulcan logic. Indeed, you are not so illogical as you pretend to be. Nor am I completely devoid of emotion. We have much more in common than either of us imagined.”

Bones sprang up suddenly and began to pace the room. He couldn’t afford to be that close to the Vulcan. Spock was offering him everything he ever wanted--but he couldn’t bring himself to believe it. He had to give that green-blooded hobgoblin every out that he could think of.

“Spock, in the normal course of things I’ll die before you. Quite a while before you.”

“Whether I lose you as a full-fledged partner, or lose you as one of my two best friends, the grief will be unbearable, Leonard.”

Bones nodded. He couldn’t argue that. Nonetheless, he could still think of more outs. “And if I know you, you’ll finally become a diplomat, just like your father. I won’t be accompanying you on every mission, Spock. I’ve been lying here thinking about what to do with my life after I step down from the Enterprise. I--I don’t intend to retire from Starfleet. I think I’ll just switch from active duty on a starship to research and medical development.”

“You have always been a gifted researcher,” Spock owned. “No doubt you could obtain permission to conduct some of your research at the Vulcan Science Academy.”

Bones grinned. “That’s true--I suppose I can put up with that desert planet again for our sake. But there will still be long periods apart, Spock. We won’t exactly be spending every minute together.”

Spock stood up and walked over to him. Bones meant to back away, but somehow his body refused to obey orders. So he didn’t resist--not even as Spock placed his hands on his waist, drawing him closer.

“Doctor, we can never be parted from one another, no matter how many miles might come between us.”

McCoy nodded slowly, taking that in. “I suppose I knew that already. That fact scares the hell out of me--you couldn’t get away from me even if you wanted to.”

Spock grabbed him by the chin again. “You are an infuriating human,” he said, pulling the doctor so close that McCoy could feel the heat from his breath. “I have no desire to escape from you. And I do not need you to protect me from you.”

Bones shut his eyes, letting his mouth be drawn ever closer to the Vulcan’s. “I’m a lousy partner. I have two failed marriages to my credit. You have no idea what you’re getting into,” he warned.

“On the contrary, I know precisely what I’m getting into. We have no secrets from one another.”

McCoy’s arms went around him and their lips met. They did little more than brush against each other, and yet Bones felt his whole body come alive in response. God help him, he wanted this overgrown elf. He would die if he couldn’t have Spock now--he would just shrivel up and die.

“One last chance, Spock,” he whispered. “One last chance to get out while you can.”

But he felt Spock’s lips again--and he felt his own body flare up in response. Sweet Jesus--he couldn’t let the Vulcan go now.

You’re a goddamned fool, Spock, he thought as he savored the taste of the Vulcan. But I’m done trying to make you see reason.

And maybe that was just as well. McCoy had always known that reason was overrated.

He just never expected Spock to agree with him.

~The End~

Shadowed Glass, Chapter Two

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Original Fiction (Historical-Fantasy)

Rating: PG

Copyright: J. Rosemary Moss 2006.

Special Note: This is a completed story I wrote and published a couple of years ago~it'll take me a while to post all the chapters, but at least I won't have to worry about not finishing it! However, I'm just going to post a teasing intro to each chapter here, so as not to take up too much room. Just follow the link to the whole chapter on my Livejournal. Thanks!

~

Caroline followed the man out of the agora and onto the city blocks. They wove their way through a number of leather-working shops and tent-makers until they reached the building where he kept rooms. Tools and animal hides were strewn about his workspace. A small desk stood in the corner, covered with sheets of papyrus. She strained her eyes but could not make out the writing from where she stood. Bookkeeping, perhaps?

Read More...

Picture of the Day~Caption Winner!

I shall call him...mini-me.

We had some excellent entries--check them out in the comments here. But I had to go with Seiya's...it made me smack my head and say, "Why didn't I think of that?"

Gratz, Seiya!

Shadowed Glass, Chapter One

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Original Fiction (Historical-Fantasy)

Rating: PG

Copyright: J. Rosemary Moss 2006.

Special Note: This is a completed story I wrote and published a couple of years ago~it'll take me a while to post all the chapters, but at least I won't have to worry about not finishing it! However, I'm just going to post a teasing intro to each chapter here, so as not to take up too much room. Just follow the link to the whole chapter on my Livejournal. Thanks!

~

Vincent was pulled into consciousness by the shrill ring of his cell phone. Moaning, he rolled over to the side of his bed and, without opening his eyes, rummaged through the top drawer of his night table until his hand located the offending instrument. With an expert flick of his finger he shut it off.

Not ten seconds later it started ringing again.

Still keeping his eyes shut he reached for the phone and, after a moment of fiddling, removed its batteries.

Another ten seconds and it rang again.

Vincent was vaguely aware now that he was dreaming. With a hoarse swear he reached over, grabbed the phone and brought it to his ear. “This had better be important,” he said.

Read more...

Picture of the Day~Another One Just Crying for a Caption

Hi all!

I've missed my blog these past couple of days...but I intend to remedy that with a new story (to be posted, probably, tomorrow morning) and a new picture in desperate need of a caption. How about this one, wherein Q presents himself as an expert witness in a trial?


Come on...suggestions?

Picture of the Day~Caption Winner!

You said you were taking me somewhere romantic, Doctor--and we end up in a cave?

Hehe...this was fun folks. We'll try again with a new pic on Wednesday. Meanwhile, thanks to Julianna for submitting the winning caption--and a bunch more that had me laughing out loud =)

Not For the Timid

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan-fiction (Star Trek: The Next Generation, Picard-Q)

Rating: PG

Summary: Q teaches Picard a painful lesson in Q Who--a lesson that not only cuts Picard down to size, but shows him just how ruthless a teacher this entity is...

~

Picard stared at Q. The entity had just rescued the Enterprise with a snap of his fingers.

But the Borg had killed eighteen of Picard’s crew—and Q had done nothing to prevent it. Those people had died just so that Q could teach him a lesson in humility. Just so Q could show him that he had best re-think his hubris. Just so Q could prove to him that humanity was not prepared for the enemy to come.

Picard swallowed, but somehow stopped his voice from shaking as he spoke. “I understand what you’ve done here, Q—but I think the lesson could have been learned without the loss of eighteen members of my crew.”

Q was unimpressed. “If you can’t take a little bloody nose, maybe you ought to go back home and crawl under your bed,” he taunted.

Picard started at that. So those eighteen were truly dead. Q had no intention of restoring them to life with another snap of his fingers. For the first time Picard realized—not just intellectually, but in his very soul—that Q was something…something other.

He might argue with Q, he might reason with Q, he might anger Q, he might inspire Q’s compassion or even…even a love of sorts. But he could not relate to Q man-to-man. Q was no mere mortal. He was an ancient being—no, an eternal being—and he viewed humanity from a cosmic perspective.

The Borg were an unimaginably dangerous enemy. If it took eighteen innocent lives to prove that point, then Q was more than willing to sacrifice them. But why had Q wanted to prove that? Merely to score a point against Picard?

The entity had done humanity a favor. Perhaps he had done it for the wrong reason—but, nonetheless, the Federation would have some warning about the Borg.

Or had it been for the wrong reason? Picard chided himself for his arrogance—this same arrogance that Q had set out to destroy. Why should he think that Q’s interest extended no further than himself? It was possible…just possible…that Q had acted on behalf of all humanity.

But the thought of Q as the advocate and protector of humanity frightened him almost as much as the thought of Q as capricious and indifferent. On the contrary, it frightened him even more. If Q were merely indifferent to humans, he might grow weary of these games. But if Q were working toward some higher purpose for humanity, he would never give up on them—and he would pursue his purpose with utter ruthlessness.

From Q’s cosmic perspective, the ends would always justify the means. And eighteen innocent lives would remain, for him, an unfortunate and unavoidable ‘bloody nose.’

All that flashed through Picard’s mind in an instant—but none of it was lost on Q. The entity leaned in ever-so-slightly.

“It’s not safe out here,” he said, giving Picard a look that somehow combined compassion with mockery. “It’s wondrous, with treasures to satiate desires, both subtle and gross. But it’s not for the timid.”

And with that, Q disappeared. Picard swore under his breath. He was no closer to understanding the entity. But at least now he had an inkling of just how little he understood.

If nothing else, Q had kicked him out of his complacency. Now Picard would have to do the same to the Federation.

~The End~

Picture of the Day~Caption, Anyone?

This screen shot is just crying for a caption...Spock and Bones have a, um, slightly more serious disagreement than usual. (Either that or there's going to be a passionate kiss.) Slashy and non-slashy suggestions both welcome!

An Irrestible Challenge~My Spiced Peaches Entry

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan Fiction (Star Trek; Spock-McCoy; Slash)

Rating: PG

Summary: In the wake of The Journey to Babel, Sarek confronts McCoy, demanding to know what lies between the doctor and his son.

You can find the story here in the latest issue of Spiced Peaches. I hope you enjoy!

New STAR TREK XI Trailer with Leonard Nimoy!

Thanks for pointing this out, Igiveup! You have to wait till the end for Nimoy:

I Have Failed!

On October 31st, I had a folder full of notes, research and outlines that was to become my NaNoWriMo novel. (It was a cool, slashy murder mystery set in the Manhattan of the 1850's.) You know the deal--write a 50,000 word novel over the course of a month and leave off the editing. But it didn't happen. I have failed.

For the record, I have never once completed NaNoWriMo. But this was probably my most conspicuous failure: I wrote, I think, about 300 words of the novel. Sigh.

But I will not despair. I still have that folder full of notes, research and outlines. It may yet turn into a novel...just wait till next year!

Love and Tofu

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan Fiction (Star Trek, Spock-McCoy, Slash)

Rating: PG

Summary: In this drabble, McCoy shows his appreciation to Spock when the Vulcan attempts to celebrate an old American holiday with him.

~

McCoy grinned at Spock. Who’d have guessed that the overgrown elf would insist on a private Thanksgiving dinner? This wasn’t supposed to be a romantic holiday, after all.

But there was nothing wrong with a romantic dinner—except that this one would be vegan. Tofu turkey had never been a favorite of McCoy’s, but Spock was trying so damn hard that he’d have to force himself to eat it. He could always fill up on the real thing later.

Bones shook his head a little as he stared down at the tofu. My God, he realized, this must be love.

~The End~

Two Little Words

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan Fiction (Star Trek; Spock-McCoy)

Rating: PG

Summary: When he can't find the words, Spock grasps for some other way to express his gratitude to McCoy. This takes place between Star Trek III: The Search for Spock and Star Trek IV: The Voyage Home.

~

"Doctor?"

Spock watched as McCoy glanced up at him, cocking his head. The doctor was sitting on his bed with an old fashioned terran book in hand. His room was plainly but comfortably furnished: the Vulcan priestesses had clearly attempted to anticipate the human’s needs.

Both men were patients at this facility; both were subject to the invasive mind probes of the Vulcan healers. Spock did not have to guess how little Dr. McCoy enjoyed these procedures; he was keenly aware of the doctor's displeasure.

It was no fault of the healers. They were merely attempting to restore the two men to independence. But Spock knew that he and McCoy would never be completely free of each other. The healers themselves had admitted as much.

"Come on in," McCoy invited, growing tired, no doubt, of the Vulcan's silence. "It's good to see you—we've hardly spoken. What's up?"

Spock took a tentative step inside. "You are having difficulty sleeping, Doctor," he managed.

It was not a question—and McCoy did not take it as such. He flashed Spock a wry grin as he tossed his book aside. "What's wrong? Is my insomnia keeping you up too?"

Spock nodded.

"My apologies," McCoy said. "With all this meditation your damn healers recommend, I suppose I'll learn how to protect you from it eventually."

Given the doctor's extreme hostility to the 'damn healers' and their teachings concerning meditation, Spock did not think that likely. However, noting the expression on McCoy's face, he refrained from estimating the odds. Instead he stood there awkwardly, not quite knowing what he wished to say.

There had been a certain awkwardness with Jim as well, but not to this extent. True, Spock had spoken little to the Admiral, but there had seemed less need for words. Somehow the friendship between them had been enough. And Jim seemed to understand Spock's reticence and unexpressed gratitude; just as Spock understood Jim’s grief for the loss of his son.

Yet it was not that Dr. McCoy did not understand him. There was little that McCoy did not understand of Spock now—and little that Spock did not understand of him. Spock grasped for some logical cause of this awkwardness, but could not find one.

McCoy sighed and rolled his eyes. "Did you come in here to complain, Spock? I'm sorry for keeping you up—but I don't know what to do about it at present."

No, he was not here to complain; Spock knew that much. It went against his Vulcan training, but he wanted to thank the doctor. That notion could not be entirely foreign to Vulcans, for his father had thanked Jim. Spock merely wanted to assure the doctor that he knew and appreciated all that he had gone through on his behalf. It should have been simple to say as much, but Spock found his lips frozen.

Spock was still sorting through his memories, still trying to make sense of the jumble. Some memories were his own; others belonged to McCoy. It would take…it would take some time to separate them.

But one memory stood out: Spock inflicting his katra upon McCoy. He remembered pinching the proper spot between McCoy's neck and shoulder, thereby rendering him unconscious. He remembered the mind meld that he had forced upon the doctor.

At the time it had seemed logical; or so Spock had convinced himself. McCoy was his friend, he was at hand, and he was trustworthy. Moreover, for all their arguments, there had always been an underlying empathy between the two men which seemed to render McCoy a likely candidate.

But Spock had put the doctor at grave risk. His katra nearly drove McCoy mad. If Kirk and Sarek had not figured out what had happened…if McCoy had died trying to recover Spock’s body…or if the ritual to separate Spock and McCoy had gone awry…

And there was the invasion of McCoy's privacy. Just as Spock had no secrets from the doctor, the doctor no longer had any secrets from Spock.

And Spock had not asked permission. There had been no time. He had assumed that the doctor would have agreed, no matter the risk. But looking back at that moment, Spock realized just how much he had taken for granted in that assumption.

Suddenly Spock realized why he had come tonight. This was the first time since the Fal-tor-pan…since the ritual that he was alone with the doctor. This was McCoy's first opportunity to express his anger at Spock in privacy. It seemed only right and fitting to give the doctor a chance to do so.

If McCoy would only explode at him, Spock would know how to respond. However fragmented his memories might be, he knew that he was accustomed to emotional responses from the doctor. Given such a response, Spock would find his voice. He would even find the words to express his gratitude—however human such an expression might be.

But there was no explosion. Why? Even with his jumbled memories, Spock could recall bitter, cutting remarks from the doctor on little provocation. Where were those remarks now? The doctor had every right to them, considering what Spock had subjected him to.

One thing, at least, had not changed: the doctor was growing impatient. "Spock,” he asked, “are you going to say something, or are you going to stand there glowering down at me?"

"I am not glowering, Doctor," Spock objected.

"Well, you're giving a damn good impression of it," he retorted. Then he paused to roll his eyes. "Christ, Spock, don't just stand there. Come here and sit down."

Spock ignored the irrational religious reference as he made his way to the bed and took a seat beside the doctor. But he did not stop staring at McCoy. He was searching for the anger that should be blazing in his eyes.

It was not there. "You—you are not angry." Again, it was not a question.

"About what? This whole katra thing?"

Spock stared at him, wondering how the doctor had managed to refer so offhandedly to the burden of carrying Spock’s very soul—not to mention the pain of the ritual that followed and the danger along the way.

“Yes,” he said dryly. “The ‘whole katra thing.’”

The doctor shrugged. “Could’ve been worse,” he drawled. “Next time, though, just ask me for a kidney.”

Spock raised his eyebrow at that. “Why should I require one of your kidneys? Vulcan anatomy—”

But McCoy’s laughter cut him off. To Spock’s astonishment, the doctor nearly doubled over before resting his head on Spock’s shoulder. Then he flung his arms around Spock, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Oh God, Spock, I’ve missed you,” he said, still laughing.

Spock permitted the embrace and even managed to return it, although he was still bewildered by the doctor’s actions. He had expected anger and biting irony from McCoy—or at least exasperation—not this warmth and affection.

“Doctor,” he began, keeping his arms around the human, “I—” he paused again, trying to form the words of gratitude. But again, his lips seemed frozen. “I—”

“Oh, shut the hell up, Spock,” McCoy said, still holding him. “I know what you’re trying to say and I don’t give a damn if you speak the words out loud or not. You’re welcome—and I’d do it all over again if you ever needed me to.”

His grip was almost painful, Spock noticed. It was as if the doctor feared losing him again. Spock knew he should speak now, but he could manage only a nod.

“But you owe me,” McCoy continued. “If I ever need a kidney, I expect you to donate yours.”

“That is illogical, Doctor,” Spock reprimanded. “Kidney transplants are a thing of the past. And even if they were not, no kidney of mine would ever be compatible with your—”

“Oh for the love of—don’t you think I know that?” McCoy asked. “Christ Almighty, I hope you have a higher opinion of my medical skills than that. I don’t care—I want it anyway.”

“But it would do you no good.”

“On the contrary, it would bring me immense satisfaction,” McCoy assured him, “even sitting in a jar.”

Spock suspected that the human was—what was the terran word? Teasing. But it was difficult to tell. Perhaps before the events surrounding the Genesis planet, he would have been better able to discern the doctor's meaning. Nonetheless, he allowed the subject to drop.

At length Spock felt McCoy’s grip on him loosen. The human had finally drifted off to sleep, with his head still resting on Spock’s shoulder. Spock sighed, but decided that it would be illogical to disturb the doctor when he’d had so much difficulty sleeping of late. So instead of attempting to break apart, he merely shifted so that he could lean back against the wall.

Soon Spock was shutting his own eyes and resting his chin on top of his friend’s head. He was pleased with his decision to remain, despite his customary dislike of such intimate contact. It was one way, perhaps, to show his gratitude.

And, despite the doctor's distressing lack of logic, he might appreciate the undisturbed sleep more than an incompatible kidney.

~The End~

Clip of the Day~Why is this so funny?

I have no idea why I'm laughing so hard--except that this is just too adorable. That said, I can't explain why it sustains my interest the full 46 seconds:

Picture of the Day~Karl Urban as McCoy

Thanks Julianna, for pointing this out! And yes, I agree--it does look like Urban is carrying Kelley's katra, lol. I'm just hoping against hope that his Bones has lots of screen time in the new flick and lots of interactions with Kirk and Spock...especially Spock, of course ;)

P.S. No, Urban doesn't have blue eyes. That pains me--but I'm trying to get over it.

Clip of the Day~The New Star Trek XI Trailer

Well, I'm still optomistic about this film, but I hope they haven't reduced the big three to the big two...I've seen a lot more of Kirk and Spock than of Kirk, Spock and McCoy. Sigh...

Meanwhile, check out the new trailer at Star Trek XI. What do you think?

A Closed-Mouth Hobgoblin

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Slash Fan Fiction (Star Trek; Spock-McCoy)

Rating: PG-13

Summary: In this drabble, Bones is furious about a little secret Spock has kept...this takes place during the episode Journey to Babel.

~

Why didn’t he tell us? Those are his parents. His parents!

God damn it, he doesn’t trust us. What did he think would happen? Did he think Jim and I would tease him? Did he think we’d say something to embarrass him? How could anything we would have said been worse than allowing Sarek and his wife to realize that Spock hadn’t mentioned their relationship?

You know, there are times when I’d like to take that closed-mouth hobgoblin right over my knee—damn it, now I’m fantasizing.

But it’s a damn satisfying fantasy. I think I’ll stay there awhile.

~The End~

Grrrr--First Prop Eight, Now Marc & Cliff!

I am thoroughly disgusted. I'm still in shock that Proposition Eight passed in California... although my shock is giving way to bitter disappointment. Here's a heartfelt commentary from Keith Olbermann about this vote. (Thanks for the link, Melinda!) He has no personal stake in this issue, but he speaks passionately about standing up for love.

I haven't watched Keith Olbermann much, but I'll make a point of catching him from now on.

Meanwhile, there are rocky times ahead for Marc and Cliff on Ugly Betty. Ok, it's probably shallow of me to have this on the same post, but I'm heart-broken to think this relationship might be over. (And I'm starting to feel like there's no good gay news!)

Forgive him, Cliff! He was out of his head!

Complacency

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan Fiction (Star Trek: The Next Generation; Picard-Q)

Rating: G

Summary: In this drabble, Picard reflects on the painful lesson Q has taught him in the episode Q Who.

~

Eighteen of my crew dead. Why? So Q could kick us out of our complacency. I grant him the necessity of that lesson—but did it require eighteen lives?

He looked almost amused as he responded. If I can’t stand a bloody nose, he said, go home. This is a wondrous universe, but not a safe one.

I ought to be furious with him. I’m outraged by the loss of life. And yet some part of me accepts that he sees a larger picture than we humans do.

God help us, but it’s possible that Q knows what he’s doing.

~The End~

Clip of the Day ~ If All Movies Had Cell Phones...

I saw a link to this video over on Shakespeare Geek: imagine how differently certain movies (and tv shows and plays) would have gone if only there'd been cell phones...

Picture of the Day~An Historic Election!

Congratulations Barack Obama!

Clip of the Day~Get Out and Vote!

Listen to Jon Stewart & Stephen Colbert--make sure you vote!

I've already done my civic duty. I went at 6 am this morning, right when the polls opened. It felt like such a momentous occasion that I said the Shehecheyanu just before I pressed my choices. Whatever happens, this is going to be one heck of an election!

This isn't a political blog, but I don't mind sharing that I voted for Obama. But even if you're (gulp) a Republican, you should still vote =P

And then you should watch Indecision 2008 on Comedy Central tonight--it's bound to be fun!

Picture of the Day~Lovely Pic of Bale

Here's another beautiful shot of Christian Bale:

Unexpected Comfort

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan Fiction (Star Trek: TNG, Picard-Q)

Rating: PG

Summary: Q offers his brand of comfort to Jean-Luc in the wake of a tragedy.

~

Picard stared down at the corpse of the young ensign. He was laid out in sick bay, soon to be prepared for burial. He looked strangely alive lying there, as if he would awake at any moment. But that was an illusion, Picard thought bitterly. In truth, the lad was dead--and he was dead for no good reason.

The boy had not given his life in battle; he’d had no opportunity for such heroics. Instead, he’d been killed by an aneurysm that Dr. Crusher could not even account for. A freak occurrence, it seemed.

“Upsetting, isn’t it, mon capitaine?”

Picard’s eyes shot up at that. Q had materialized opposite him. He was standing on the other side of the body, dressed in an elaborate suit of mourning that would have been appropriate on earth in the late Victorian era. He even wore the black gloves and top hat to match. And he carried a handsomely carved walking stick.

Picard took a deep breath and forced himself not to roll his eyes at the entity. “What do you want, Q?” he asked, somehow keeping his voice even.

“Why, merely to comfort an old friend,” Q answered, raising an eyebrow.

Picard took another deep breath and managed a small smile. “Thank you,” he said. “But there’s little comfort you can offer, I’m afraid, in the face of such a senseless death.”

“Why Jean-Luc,” Q chided, slanting his eyes at the captain, “surely you don’t doubt that the Almighty Himself can offer comfort under any circumstances?”

This time Picard did roll his eyes. “You are not God,” he insisted. “And if you were I wouldn’t want comfort from you--I’d want to call you to account!”

Q rubbed his hands together in delight. “That’s the spirit! Ooh--what next? Shall I manifest to you as a voice from a whirlwind?” He paused to adopt a mock-thundering tone. “Where were you, Jean-Luc, when I created the multiverse and your pitiful little earth? And where were you when I set the stars in motion and the planets spinning? Do you think that you, a puny biped without a shred of cosmic perspective, are entitled to call Me to account?”

Another reluctant smile escaped Picard at this adaptation from the Book of Job. He almost envied Job at the moment. However much that character had suffered, at least he had his opportunity to put the Almighty on trial, so to speak, for all the injustices of life.

“As I recall, Q, that voice from the whirlwind was not displeased with Job,” Picard pointed out, “despite Job’s presumption.”

“No, He wasn’t,” Q agreed. “But neither could He explain to the puny human why things happen the way they do--and Job came to accept that. Charming story, isn’t it?”

“‘Charming’ isn’t quite the word I’d choose,” Picard returned dryly, turning his attention back to the boy.

Q sighed and snapped his fingers, transforming himself back to his customary uniform. Apparently he’d grown weary of the Victorian outfit.

The entity stared down at the corpse and furrowed his brow. Then he stroked the boy’s hair with what appeared to be genuine tenderness. “It does seem a waste, doesn’t it?” he mused. “For a such a pathetic race, your kind is surprisingly endearing.”

“He was a promising young man,” Picard said softly. “Now if you’ll excuse me, Q, I must send word to his family.”

“Of course you must,” Q agreed, moving to the captain’s side and placing an arm around his shoulders. “But I’ll remain with you, Jean-Luc. I wouldn’t dream of deserting you in your hour of need!”

Picard inhaled sharply. “That is quite…unnecessary, I assure you.”

But Q shook his head condescendingly, as if he knew best. Picard opened his mouth to protest, but suddenly found himself seated at his desk.

“There,” the entity said as he took a chair opposite the captain. “Now you can figure out what to say to the boy’s loved ones. I’ll sit right here, quiet as a mouse, ready to lend you whatever succor you require.”

There was a sharp retort on the tip of Picard’s tongue--but somehow he couldn’t bring himself to utter it. In the face of such a pointless tragedy, he decided, he needed all the comfort he could muster.

Even if it came from Q.

~The End~

Clip of the Day~The Raven

A treat for Hallowe'en: Christopher Walken narrating Edgar Allen Poe's The Raven. Thanks, Joe, for pointing this one out!

Clip of the Day--Taken Out of Context...

Okay, this is one of those scenes that deserves to be taken out of context! Prepare yourself for an intimate look at Picard and Q:

Cyber Mourning

While I was visiting my brother this weekend, we learned that a World of Warcraft pal and fellow guild member unexepectedly passed away. How do you react to that? We didn't know what to do, so we posted condolences on our guild site while trying to get over the shock.

I know some guildees in real life, but I didn't know 'Fort' outside the game. Yet I know his voice from chatting over Venti; I know what it was like to raid with him and hang out with him. I know what a great guy he was and how generous he was...all without having met him face to face.

I didn't know much about him in real life. I've found out from his obituaries that he was a beloved teacher and that his school was hit hard by his death. Heck, I must have known that he was a teacher--surely it came up at some point.

I don't know exactly how to mourn in cyberspace...but I do know how terribly we'll all miss Fort. I suppose, in the end, we didn't have to meet him face to face to understand what a dear man he was.

Clip of the Day~Is there such a thing as too gay?

Lol--this is a priceless bit from Ugly Betty...

Mid-term Headache

Well, I got A's on two out of my three midterms, but I may have just failed the last one. Ever have one of those tests where nothing on it is what you anticipated or studied for?

Wait--that wasn't entirely the case. I believe I did well on one section, but none of the essays were what I expected. Worse, I'm dealing with a professor who seems to dislike my writing style. (Ok, I'm going to be arrogant enough to throw this in: how is that possible? My other profs love my writing style. How can this one prof be immune to my grooviness?)

I'm giving myself a pep talk at the moment, assuring myself that the world doesn't come crashing to a halt even if I fail this damn course. I haven't quite convinced myself yet, but I'm getting there.

Meanwhile, I'm going to throw myself into my writing to get the agony out of my system...

~Rose

Picture of the Day~Christian Bale as John Connor

I had to look twice, but here's CB as John Connor in the upcoming TERMINATOR-SALVATION:

These Blue Eyes

by J. Rosemary Moss

Genre: Fan Fiction, Star Trek (Spock-McCoy)

Rating: G

Summary: This drabble (exactly 100 words!) takes place after STAR TREK III: THE SEARCH FOR SPOCK. Spock may not quite recall McCoy yet, but he remembers the good doctor's eyes...

~

My memories may be fragmented, but I know these blue eyes. I know how they will sharpen to confront a medical conundrum. I know how they will brim with laughter over some incomprehensible human joke. I know how they will flash when offended by ‘cold’ logic.

Their owner carried my katra. I’ve been told that I did not explain this burden to him; that I did not give him a choice. And yet there is no reprimand in these eyes: there is only a wry humor and a warmth that I cannot fathom.

But he is not affronted. He…understands.

~The End~