Title: Judge and Jury
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy
Summary: Kirk tends to forget he isn’t a one-man team, which is why a captain has a crew, to remind him otherwise.

When the bomb explodes, Jim has two things on his mind: coffee and imminent court-martial. The coffee—or lack thereof—is a persistent regret. He shouldn’t have started the day without it, which must be when everything began to go wrong. The court-martial, regretful as one would believe it to be, simply cannot be helped. A man can only suffer so much insult before temper overtakes judgment. Jim is proud of his work, his crew, his ship; of course he is, enough to naturally feel defensive when any one of them is called into question. And of course he has cautioned subordinates against reacting emotionally to inflammatory remarks, has reprimanded them when they don’t, and has endured his share of unfair and unpleasant opinions. But what Admiral Premick said… Those remarks went beyond the pale even for a man of practiced self-control. So Jim regrets the coffee, yes, but not the explosive outburst that may have cost him a career.

Not until, that is, an actual explosion takes place, of sufficient force to rattle the entire ship, tossing Jim to the floor from the short couch where he lay musing upon his fate and fighting off a migraine. He rolls to his feet just as the vibration of the cabin peters out and sprints for the nearest wall comm to cry into it, “Bridge, report!”

No immediate response.

Sweat breaks out along Kirk’s forehead as klaxons kick in, declaring a ship-wide red alert. Jim is just about to abandon his quarters for a headlong dash to the command center of the ship (Premick’s orders be damned!) when Commander Spock’s voice finally reaches him through the wall speaker.

He leans in with a growing sense of dread. “What? Spock, I can’t understand you!”

Something has to be busted in the communications channel, either by inference or from too much background noise. There comes a long pause of silence, in which a horrified Jim thinks the channel has gone dead.

He knocks his fist against the wall in frustration. “Spock!”

Spock returns then, louder though not much clearer to Kirk’s ears. “Captain. Jim…?”

“Here! What was that, Spock?”

Spock is already rushing on to explain. “A denotation occurred on deck eleven, sector B12. Source unknown. Sensors pick up significant damage to deck eleven, minimal damage to decks twelve and thirteen. Multiple injuries reported—”

The speaker crackles and another heart-stopping pause ensues.

“—and, as of now, five casualties.”

Jim’s mouth goes dry. He swallows hard. “On my way.”

“Acknowledged.”

No reminder, no word of caution regarding Jim’s predicament from the ship’s current Acting Captain. The ship is in a crisis, and Jim needs to be on that bridge, in command or not, and both he and Spock know it.

Jim Kirk exits his quarters at a run.

“The Denebians must have planted it,” McCoy says three days later, looking worn thin after the memorial service, the graveness in his eyes augmented by the double bags under them.

Jim shifts his chair, stuck somewhere between restless and weary. “There’s no proof.” No clues of any kind, he adds silently, feeling the fury at a simmer inside him momentarily boil up to the surface.

When McCoy stares at Kirk, he reins the anger in.

“Premick’s going to have your head,” the doctor points out.

Jim expresses a very impolite, single-word opinion of that. “What?” he snaps after McCoy says his name, then immediately regrets the outburst. Closing his eyes, which doesn’t ease the deep ache behind them, Jim apologizes. “Bones, I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.”

“It’s not yours either,” his longtime friend comments. “That’s why we hold meetings like these, to figure out the responsible party.” McCoy looks around the room from his side of the table. “Why’s everyone so late?”

The Ready Room door slides open, admitting a commander who supplies the reason.

“Because, Doctor, I have requested the others remain at their stations—or take a brief respite if they have not yet done so.” Spock stops just inside the threshold, assessing the pinched expression of the seated doctor before adding, “A recommendation you should also take under consideration.”

Kirk isn’t about to waste the energy he has left on small matters. Truth be told, he feels some relief over Spock altering his plans into a more private affair. Between the war-room meetings, damage control, constant reports from every department, and tense touch-points with Starfleet Headquarters, every able-bodied crewman has had some role in the aftermath of the explosion. Every person aboard is exhausted, upset, and very sick at heart over the lost lives.

Jim has to remind himself he cannot feel those losses more keenly than any other, but guilt has a way of amplifying grief.

“I’m fine,” McCoy says, a clear dismissal of the idea.

Jim agrees with Spock. “Overruled. But after. Right now, I need both your insights. Then I will personally escort Bones to his quarters for a nap.”

A flicker of annoyance coupled with a hint of humor passes across the doctor’s face but McCoy doesn’t argue, likely because he knows arguing is a moot point if Jim and Spock stand in support of one another. He changes tactics instead, much to Jim’s dismay.

“I’ll get off my feet if our captain does the same. For a man who isn’t supposed to be on duty, you look spent, Jim.”

“A sensible suggestion, Doctor,” echoes Spock.

Jim grimaces. “Fine. We’ll all nap. The ship can run itself.”

McCoy snorts.

“The ship is capable of operating on auto-pilot.” Spock takes the empty seat at the head of the table.

“I didn’t mean that, Spock,” Jim says, alarmed. “One of us needs to be—” Both McCoy and Spock exchange a look, and Jim realizes, abashed, Spock wasn’t serious either. He clears his throat. “Never mind.”

His officers turn expectantly toward him.

Jim turns the topic back to the most pressing matter, picking up where McCoy left off. “Whether the blame lies with the Denebians or one of our own, the little information we do know points to sabotage.”

“But why set a bomb off after we delivered the party to Deneb V?” McCoy questions.

Spock steeples his fingers. “Yet before we were due to arrive at Starbase Four for Jim’s hearing.”

McCoy’s eyes widen. Jim stills.

Spock’s gaze is like stone. “In such a context, the timing is quite remarkable.”

“Explain,” urges Jim.

“This is only a theory,” prefaces the Vulcan. “As stated, the Denebians’ involvement is merely circumstantial given the attack occurred after their departure and our efforts to identify the exact placement of the bomb, and by whom, are still underway. The Denebians did not openly express any negativity towards this crew or its commanding officers while aboard; yet it is also undeniable, collectively, the crew experienced discomfort in their presence. Subsequently, the Captain is placed on notice following a heated debate with Admiral Premick regarding, oddly enough, the treatment of the Denebian ambassadors.”

“That bastard bated Jim!” McCoy snaps, straightening up. “Premick’s lucky he didn’t come in person—I’d have been the first one to punch him!”

Spock merely goes on, “For an officer temporarily relieved of duty pending disciplinary action or investigation, regulations stipulate that under no circumstances beyond the most exceptional should that officer undertake command. Any action he does take will be intensely scrutinized, including the actions of others which made it possible for him to resume an officer’s duty.”

“Setting off an explosion that took lives isn’t what I’d call exceptional. It’s despicable!”

Jim can almost hear McCoy’s back teeth grinding. He sighs through his nose. “Easy, McCoy.”

The doctor shoots Jim a dirty look. Jim is definitely not foolish enough to do more than suggest Leonard H. McCoy cool his temper—not if he wants to remain in the man’s good graces.

As always, Spock seems less perturbed the more riled McCoy becomes. “We are in perfect agreement in that, Doctor. I merely point out that, as of now, every decision Jim and I have made since the incident will become part of the trial.”

Jim swallows down bile rising in his throat. “A setup,” he summarizes. “But that’s… But why?”

“Anybody who knows Jim knows he won’t sit still if his people are in distress,” McCoy says, paler now. “And you, Spock—it’s on record just how loyal you are to Jim. You’d never tell him to stand down. You didn’t. Good lord, it’s a perfect storm to get the both of you demoted… or kicked out altogether!”

Jim leans toward them, thinking he ought be furious by the mere notion of someone attacking his crew to get to him. For some reason he mostly feels nauseated. “Premick did this?”

Spock inclines his head ever-so-slightly. “Most likely, unless he was used against you. It is relatively common knowledge you do not favor each other.”

McCoy purses his mouth. “Nobody favors that jumping jackass, Spock. The man’s a social pariah and bigot. God knows how he made a career in Starfleet with his xenophobic attitude.”

Here, here! Kirk silently applauds McCoy’s denouncement of Premick’s character. But there are times when a captain has to be the voice of reason simply because it’s his duty to do so.

“We’ll consider this possibility into consideration, Spock, but I don’t want you or anyone else under your direction overextending themselves chasing down a singular theory. We must have facts to make sense of what happened and why. Our prerogative is never to accuse or to indict. If someone goes in my brig, it’ll be with damn good reason.” He slowly releases a breath. “And to be clear, no one but me takes the responsibility for this attack and what comes after.”

Spock and McCoy don’t seem fond of that final remark but, having expected as much, Jim simply raises a hand and waits until their protests subside. “I won’t repeat myself, gentlemen.”

Another silent exchange occurs that excludes him, and this one might be slightly mutinous. No matter, Jim is bound and determined: it’s his ship, governed by his orders, and therefore his responsibility.

He rises to his feet, motioning to Spock and McCoy to follow him as he rounds the table. “Spock, I believe you solicited us to engage in a brief respite. Will whiling away an hour together in the Officer’s Lounge suffice?”

Spock cocks an eyebrow. “If it precedes another hour of rest.”

“And if the first hour includes whiskey,” adds McCoy.

“Done,” Jim says, and the three men exit the conference room together.

Jim presses his mouth flat. “I acted as honor demanded, Admiral.”

Premick turns an unhealthy shade of red, and the rest of the tribunal seated to either side of the old man appears resigned to the outburst to come.

“It’s insolence you gave heed to, Kirk, not honor!” rages Premick. “How dare you defy the chain of command! Your actions are impudent, intolerable—rogue!”

“My ship was in a crisis, in danger,” Jim snaps back. “What did you want me to do? Call you up and grovel for clemency first?”

Premick slams his hands down on the table and leaps to his feet to shake a finger at Kirk, which would probably be in Kirk’s face if they weren’t separated by half a galaxy. “I’ll see you stripped of your captaincy!”

“Sit down, Harris,” the admiral in charge of the tribunal says. She faces Kirk with a shake of her head. “You acted out of turn, Kirk. When you disregard the bylaws of this institution, you disrespect what it stands for. However, we here are not unmindful of the situation you found yourself in, and some of us—”

Premick explodes. “You can’t be serious!”

She shoots her colleague a withering look. “—can sympathize with your feelings. No captain wishes to see the suffering of his or her crew and be made to stand aside. But feelings and duty do not always align, particularly at a time when your duty is not to act at all.”

But of course Jim has never been good at keeping to the sidelines, and that’s no secret. “I submitted my contention with the charges against me, Admiral.” Offscreen, his hands curl into fists against his chair’s arms. “I should have never been relieved of my command from the beginning. Because of Admiral Premick’s bias—”

“Brat!” snarls Premick.

“It’s Captain,” corrects Kirk him coldly.

“Enough, both of you! Premick, you will be escorted from the Hall if you cannot contain yourself. And for the last time, sit down!” The lead admiral turns her attention to Kirk again. “Premick’s actions will weigh heavily in whether or not this investigation proceeds to trial. For your sake, Captain Kirk, we have decided to treat your actions in response to the Enterprise’s attack as a separate case. We’ll keep you apprised of next steps. Dismissed.”

Kirk’s viewscreen darkens. He releases all his pent-up aggravation in one great huff of air.

He should feel lucky, he supposes. By splitting the investigation from his deliberate refusal to follow Command protocol in the attack’s aftermath, surprisingly the tribunal seems only to want to discipline him for the latter. Which means, he hopes, that Premick receives some punishment of his own for needlessly taking a key officer out of commission at a crucial time.

He leans forward and prompts his chin upon a fist. If Spock’s theory is correct, Premick’s efforts are for naught—and that has to be biting the man’s rear. But there is still no evidence, though Scotty and his team have finally narrowed down the timeline of the bomb’s placement to an hour before the Enterprise left dock with the Denebian party. A terrifying thought—that unbeknownst to anyone the ship carried an explosive for nearly a week. To complicate matters, no one has heard much from the Denebians beyond a mild surprise that their team of diplomats so narrowly avoided disaster on the way home.

Jim doesn’t know. He simply doesn’t know.

When the buzzer to his cabin sounds, he pushes away from his desk to greet his guest. “Found something?” he asks as Spock steps inside the room.

“Negative.” Spock looks to the switched-off computer screen, a wordless question in his eyes.

Jim shakes his head slightly. “I won’t be tossed out on my ear, at least. But don’t concern yourself with it, Spock. The crew comes first.”

“Since when is the captain not part of the crew?”

Jim almost laughs. “Watch it, mister. You’re starting to sound like McCoy.”

“I see no reason for insult, sir.”

He flaps his hand at his second-in-command, mood lightened, then settles himself on his couch, waiting until Spock has occupied the nearest armchair to ask, “Am I justified in what I did, Spock?”

Jim had posed a similar question of McCoy when the doctor swung by his quarters before the update call with the tribunal. He has a sneaking suspicion Spock will say much the same McCoy did—but for the sake of putting himself at ease, he would rather have their raw honesty to weigh against his own opinion of his actions.

Spock looks at him now as if he knows precisely what Jim is concerned with, but nonetheless the Vulcan requests politely, “Please be more specific.”

“Should I have followed regulations? Stood aside while you and the rest dealt with, well, everything?” He swallows. “Spock, did I… Were you upset by my overtaking your command?”

“Those are mutually exclusive questions, Jim. To answer the latter, negative. There is no order which I might give which could not be improved by your advice. Why then should I not simplify matters for all by allowing you to have the last word?”

Jim flushes. “You give me more credit than I deserve.”

“I think I give that which is equal to your abilities, Jim.”

“Thank you, Spock. I—” He clears his throat. “—won’t forget what you said.”

Spock crosses his arms over his chest. “To address your first concern, I would be remiss not to chastise you for overstepping your authority when regulations clearly state an officer relieved of duty is to remain so until he is reinstated. However I did tacitly, if you will, reinstate your position in order to leverage your experience in a moment of crisis. Therefore I would need to reprimand myself for poor judgment as well—or excuse us both.”

“I wasn’t aware Vulcans made poor judgments,” Jim jokes.

“They do not,” confirms Spock.

Jim smiles. “Then logically we must be excused.”

“Obviously.”

Kirk relaxes back into the couch cushion, a smile of fondness still aimed at the commander. “Even if I’m demoted back to lieutenant, I’ll stay on this ship just to watch your flawless logic in action.”

“A demotion seems unlikely.”

Spock says that so matter-of-factly, Jim cannot help but believe him.

The Vulcan adds, “I suspect the tribunal is not prepared to deal with the repercussions of taking such an action.”

He frowns. “What repercussions?”

But Spock merely blinks and says, “Midday is near. If you have not accepted Dr. McCoy’s invitation to dine together, I suggest you do so quickly. The Doctor tends to adjust your meal card is proportion to his ire.”

Jim jumps up from the couch, having forgotten all about that invitation sitting in his message queue. There will be time later to figure out what Spock meant (as though the Admiralty could be shaken of anything!). Priority always lies with the person who controls the food intake.

Across the cabin, Spock seems to content to watch Jim fuss with the computer terminal until they must depart for the cafeteria.

Good news and bad news reach Kirk together. He has a moment to pump his fist in the air in triumph as he reads through Giotto’s findings from a copy of the security footage of sector B12, the original version of which had been erased. Kirk had reached out to a contact on the starbase where they met the Denebian ambassadors, betting that the ship’s network had been connected to the starbase for a routine backup of their database while docked and under repairs. The bet proved fruitful—and yielded a suspect. He needs to congratulate Chief Engineer Scott too, who had also voiced a quiet suspicion about one of the starbase’s engineering lads who assisted Scott’s team in the ship’s repairs. The engineer had stolen away from his designated sector on deck eleven during the distraction of the ceremony for the Denebians’ arrival and planted the bomb, then destroyed the security of the deck through a nearly undetectable computer virus but which the ship’s brilliant science officer has been able to glean leftover traces of in order to determine the footprint of its origin to belong to a computer lab in Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco, Earth.

So, here is the evidence they have been after all along, and the investigation of a young terrorist and the search for the underlying insider threat within their organization is about to begin.

And it needs the right overseer, thinks Jim, as he transmits all this data to the head of the tribunal, and only her. His gut says he can trust her. If his gut proves wrong, there will be others he can involve. Starfleet isn’t immune to corruption, but it isn’t overwhelmed by the disreputable and dishonorable yet. The balance is still in the favor of good men and women, and Jim makes it his business to know who they are.

Having completed this task and set certain events in motion, Jim retrieves the next missive waiting his review on his data padd.

And sends that padd crashing to his desk seconds later.

It can’t be. They didn’t. His eyes have tricked him!

He picks the padd up again and reads the same sentence again, then puts the device down more gently onto his desk.

His teeth clench.

They did.

“Computer,” he barks, “where are my senior officers?”

Jim is about two seconds away from strangling the man in front of him.

But Leonard McCoy looks at him as if there’s nothing he could possibly be upset about and takes a sip from the tumbler in his hand.

“I don’t know what you’re fussing about. I’m not fussy about it. I’m retiring early!”

Jim latches onto the doctor’s arms to give him a solid shake. “Quitting isn’t retiring!”

McCoy looks down at his tunic in dismay where some of his celebratory mint julep has splashed onto it. “Semantics, Jim-boy. Leaving is leaving. ‘Sides, I’m not the only one, so why are you coming after me?”

“You’re the first one I found.”

McCoy starts to chuckle.

Jim switches tactics, letting go of his CMO (though not for much long, what on earth is happening?) and dragging out a stool to perch next to McCoy instead.

“Bones,” he says, still shocked, appalled even, since he read that list of resigned commissions. “Bones, nothing about this is funny. Will you stop laughing?”

“You’re being overdramatic,” McCoy says with a final snort of amusement.

“Me!” Jim sputters. “Half my crew just tendered their resignation!”

McCoy lifts a finger. “Ah, but did we?”

Kirk’s mouth hangs open.

“It’s conditional, Jim,” his friend goes on. “A… threat, I guess you could say. We’re some of the best officers in ‘Fleet, if I do say so—and Spock agrees. I say if you want to hit ’em hard, hit ’em where it hurts. Those bastards think they can just toss your career down the drain over some stupid powerplay? Well, the rest of us will gladly go down with you.”

Jim rubs a hand over his mouth, still staring at McCoy.

The doctor shrugs, then, and glances away, beckoning to someone nearby to bring over more drinks. “It’s a good thing you came to me first, I guess. Go ahead, fuss all you want. I don’t plan to mind it, Jim, because I know I’ve done the right thing. You won’t upset me.”

Jim’s hand goes from his mouth to his hair, where he pulls at it in disbelief. “You’re out of your mind—all of you! Who would even think up such a thing?”

“Spock,” McCoy answers promptly.

Jim grabs a drink before the drinks are even set down on the counter and downs all of his in one go. Afterward he mutters, “How can I yell at Spock?”

“You can’t. Like I said, good thing you’re here and not wherever he decided to hide. You tell that stubborn Vulcan he can’t quit, and he’ll just punch up a shuttlecraft and be gone before you can blink.” McCoy pauses momentarily, then goes on somberly, “Don’t fight us on this, Jim. We’re not stupid. We’re loyal. Just think of yourself as damned lucky to have folks who will lay down on the tracks for you.”

“I do, Bones. Every day. I…” He blinks back a prick of tears. “I don’t want to be on this ship without you.”

McCoy places a hand on his arm. “That’s how we feel. The entire crew. So let some of us take the risk of proving that to the tribunal. I guarantee they will understand our message.”

Jim looks into his tumbler, wishing he had one swallow of fiery liquor left. He sighs. “If it backfires, I won’t stand by.”

“Of course you won’t,” McCoy agrees, amused again. “That’s why you’re in this mess in the first place.”

Jim turns to his friend, pretending to be very aggrieved. “You said it wasn’t my fault!”

“Eh.” McCoy shrugs then winks. “But if I’m warning you now, if I don’t get to dream of my retirement for at least a few more days, somebody will feel my wrath!”

With a swell of fondness, Jim slides an arm across the doctor’s shoulders. “I won’t spoil your dream, Bones. I’ll just ask you to postpone it a bit longer.”

McCoy harrumphs, but his response holds no heat. “All right, Captain.”

“Now,” Jim says too sweetly, “where is our Vulcan hiding?”

Message incoming.

From: Admiral Wilhemina Paris, Chairwoman of Starfleet Justice Department

To: Captain James T. Kirk, commanding officer of the USS Enterprise

Captain Kirk, after much deliberation, the tribunal has reached a verdict of not guilty on the count of mistreatment and undue pressure against the Denebian delegation. Deneb V did not wish to make an official statement regarding the matter; however, based on the review of your logs, the testimonies from your senior officers, and the confirmation from Chief Medical Officer McCoy that you are medically and psychologically fit for command, it is clear the act of relieving you of your command was unfounded. We apologize on behalf of Command, and rest assured repercussions shall fall upon those who ill-use their power. Your command is restored. Your record will not reflect this incident.

Respond with your official acknowledgment and acceptance, and this case is closed. It is my sincere hope you and I do not meet under such circumstances again, Kirk. Know that your future depends upon it.

-Fini

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