Regulations (Star Trek TOS, Pike/Number One, G)
The only reason I'm not doing the st_respect thing is because I like pretty much every ship, and wouldn't want to be tied to writing for only one of them. Case in point: I'd never written Pike/One before, but I saw an ad for their team, and shortly thereafter a fic posted for another pairing with the "First Date" prompt. Well... there we are, then. Slightly over 500 words.
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They've spent the last four hours trapped in a small room, having fallen victim to a prank of sorts by the previously unknown beings who had evolved on this uncharted planet. Invited to a celebration of mutual fellowship, in the hope of peace between their two races, the ship's two senior officers had beamed down and been led to a place to wait - only to have the door slam behind them and a field of electromagnetic disturbance spring up, keeping them from being beamed back. Neither of them is worried, however. The field is not quite enough to completely keep their communicators from working, and Spock is on the case; the beings have vanished, perhaps fled to another location on the planet, so it is only a matter of decoding their systems' programming. Both of them have faith in Spock, and they simply wait.
Pike has disliked enclosed spaces since his encounter with the Talosians, but he does not let himself pace. He has, for the most part, remained sprawled casually on one of the chairs provided, though his arms are crossed over his chest in a decidedly defensive gesture that belies the rest of his posture. He has, as well, been muttering intermittently under his breath, complaining mildly about anything and everything other than the fact that he blames himself for having been tricked. Which he does - he always does, she knows, regardless of whether or not there is any basis for it. She reacts, instead, to what he does say.
At the moment, his irritation is focused on the state of his stomach. "A banquet, they said, and instead we've been hours without even the possibility of a snack." He shakes his head, staring at the small ventilation grate high on the wall. "I hope you won't think me unprofessional if I put off the report briefly in favor of some dinner when we get back to the ship."
"Not at all - I agree." As usual, he thinks too little of himself and too much of her, and she makes a suggestion. "Chris," she begins, and he turns to her, puzzled by the easy informality. "Perhaps the both of us could have dinner together once we return."
He pauses, his discomfort with their situation giving way to discomfort with something else, something they've been skirting for some time. "Number One," he says finally. "There are regulations against... certain things."
"And there are regulations against these certain things for a reason," she replies. "For instance, a superior officer misusing his or her power over a subordinate, or a subordinate attempting to obtain favor from his or her superior."
"Exactly," he agrees, and his eyes darken.
"However," she continues, "the first situation does not apply, because it is the subordinate who asked. And I am most certainly not trying to obtain favor from you, Chris." She smiles, light and simple. "I've already earned it."
After a moment, he smiles as well, cautiously, and accepts the hand she offers.
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They've spent the last four hours trapped in a small room, having fallen victim to a prank of sorts by the previously unknown beings who had evolved on this uncharted planet. Invited to a celebration of mutual fellowship, in the hope of peace between their two races, the ship's two senior officers had beamed down and been led to a place to wait - only to have the door slam behind them and a field of electromagnetic disturbance spring up, keeping them from being beamed back. Neither of them is worried, however. The field is not quite enough to completely keep their communicators from working, and Spock is on the case; the beings have vanished, perhaps fled to another location on the planet, so it is only a matter of decoding their systems' programming. Both of them have faith in Spock, and they simply wait.
Pike has disliked enclosed spaces since his encounter with the Talosians, but he does not let himself pace. He has, for the most part, remained sprawled casually on one of the chairs provided, though his arms are crossed over his chest in a decidedly defensive gesture that belies the rest of his posture. He has, as well, been muttering intermittently under his breath, complaining mildly about anything and everything other than the fact that he blames himself for having been tricked. Which he does - he always does, she knows, regardless of whether or not there is any basis for it. She reacts, instead, to what he does say.
At the moment, his irritation is focused on the state of his stomach. "A banquet, they said, and instead we've been hours without even the possibility of a snack." He shakes his head, staring at the small ventilation grate high on the wall. "I hope you won't think me unprofessional if I put off the report briefly in favor of some dinner when we get back to the ship."
"Not at all - I agree." As usual, he thinks too little of himself and too much of her, and she makes a suggestion. "Chris," she begins, and he turns to her, puzzled by the easy informality. "Perhaps the both of us could have dinner together once we return."
He pauses, his discomfort with their situation giving way to discomfort with something else, something they've been skirting for some time. "Number One," he says finally. "There are regulations against... certain things."
"And there are regulations against these certain things for a reason," she replies. "For instance, a superior officer misusing his or her power over a subordinate, or a subordinate attempting to obtain favor from his or her superior."
"Exactly," he agrees, and his eyes darken.
"However," she continues, "the first situation does not apply, because it is the subordinate who asked. And I am most certainly not trying to obtain favor from you, Chris." She smiles, light and simple. "I've already earned it."
After a moment, he smiles as well, cautiously, and accepts the hand she offers.