"You know who else doesn't believe in the no-win scenario?" Jim rears up out of his seat and slams his hand down on the table.
The glasses tremble. Hikaru doesn't, slumped backwards in his chair, moving nothing but his face. "Besides an idiot-savant pretty boy captain?"
"Hence the else." Jim leans over the table, trying to supplement his loom with captainly gravity. This is important. "And you're one to talk about pretty boys, Hi-karu-karu-karu."
Hikaru rolls his eyes, swatting Jim's hand away from his hair before Jim even realizes he's reaching. "So, enlighten me about your fellow sufferer of delus-z-" He gets a little tangled up for a second, and the z-shaped 's' he stutters makes Jim giggle.
The way he crosses his eyes as if he could see his own tongue makes Jim roar with laughter and collapse across the table. "Batman!" he gasps out, his ribs aching. "Batman, Batman doesn't believe in the no-win. Batman has a plan for everything."
"Batman nothing," Hikaru scoffs, flourishing the glass in his hand. "Superman can knock him into orbit with one punch."
A woefully colorless sheen slops across its base, so Jim manfully ignores that base and untrue statement, for the moment. "Hey, you're empty," he says, grabbing the bottle and gesturing with it. Hikaru's eyes open up wide, dark and intriguing and okay alcohol tends to make Jim kind of horny, but this is an important discussion they're having. He fills Hikaru's glass, spilling only a drop or fifteen, and gives his a top-up slosh, puts the bottle down as carefully as Bones could ever wish him to, and says, "Also, you are wrong. Wrongity wrong. With wrong sauce. And a wrong cherry. A cherry so wrong it can't even be popped."
Hikaru squinches his face into a moue. "You're drunk, Captain," he informs Jim rather primly, then knocks his glass back. No wonder it keeps being empty. His throat bobs kind of biteably, but Jim gets twin sinking feelings, that if he tried it that might be some kind of bad that ended up with Hikaru kicking his ass or demanding a transfer or both, and that if he tries to move he'll fall off the table and maybe out the viewport.
So he just grips the table with his free hand and says, "Yeah, so? I'm still Jim and you're still wrong. Batman could take Superman any day. He could totally make Supes his bitch anytime he likes. He's got plans."
"And Superman can fly," Hikaru counters; then his face smooths out as he murmurs, "fly," again, and he looks all dreamy and reverent, like he does sometimes at the helm. Jim wonders if he looks like that other times too, and makes a mental note to get Checkers all liquored up and ask sometime. And another not to call his wunderkind navigator 'Checkers' to his face.
Hikaru's eyes refocus into a sharp glare, and Jim realizes he's been caught staring. What was the last thing he said? Flying, yeah. "So?" he counters, good and truculently. "Batman can fly, too-ooo." Hikaru narrows his eyes into sharp slivers of suspicion. "His cape can become a -- a glidey thing. I saw it once."
Hikaru actually growls, which is so hot Jim might have just moaned a little, maybe. Hikaru doesn't notice, since he's too busy slamming himself to his feet, swaying somewhere between a wobble and a dance. "That's not the same at all!" he cries, launching himself at Jim. The table goes over with a giant resounding crash.
By the time Chekov and Bones come running in, suspiciously soon afterwards, Jim and Hikaru have dragged each other from the wreckage and are laughing on the floor, wrapped in each other's arms.
I thought of the opening line, and then...
The glasses tremble. Hikaru doesn't, slumped backwards in his chair, moving nothing but his face. "Besides an idiot-savant pretty boy captain?"
"Hence the else." Jim leans over the table, trying to supplement his loom with captainly gravity. This is important. "And you're one to talk about pretty boys, Hi-karu-karu-karu."
Hikaru rolls his eyes, swatting Jim's hand away from his hair before Jim even realizes he's reaching. "So, enlighten me about your fellow sufferer of delus-z-" He gets a little tangled up for a second, and the z-shaped 's' he stutters makes Jim giggle.
The way he crosses his eyes as if he could see his own tongue makes Jim roar with laughter and collapse across the table. "Batman!" he gasps out, his ribs aching. "Batman, Batman doesn't believe in the no-win. Batman has a plan for everything."
"Batman nothing," Hikaru scoffs, flourishing the glass in his hand. "Superman can knock him into orbit with one punch."
A woefully colorless sheen slops across its base, so Jim manfully ignores that base and untrue statement, for the moment. "Hey, you're empty," he says, grabbing the bottle and gesturing with it. Hikaru's eyes open up wide, dark and intriguing and okay alcohol tends to make Jim kind of horny, but this is an important discussion they're having. He fills Hikaru's glass, spilling only a drop or fifteen, and gives his a top-up slosh, puts the bottle down as carefully as Bones could ever wish him to, and says, "Also, you are wrong. Wrongity wrong. With wrong sauce. And a wrong cherry. A cherry so wrong it can't even be popped."
Hikaru squinches his face into a moue. "You're drunk, Captain," he informs Jim rather primly, then knocks his glass back. No wonder it keeps being empty. His throat bobs kind of biteably, but Jim gets twin sinking feelings, that if he tried it that might be some kind of bad that ended up with Hikaru kicking his ass or demanding a transfer or both, and that if he tries to move he'll fall off the table and maybe out the viewport.
So he just grips the table with his free hand and says, "Yeah, so? I'm still Jim and you're still wrong. Batman could take Superman any day. He could totally make Supes his bitch anytime he likes. He's got plans."
"And Superman can fly," Hikaru counters; then his face smooths out as he murmurs, "fly," again, and he looks all dreamy and reverent, like he does sometimes at the helm. Jim wonders if he looks like that other times too, and makes a mental note to get Checkers all liquored up and ask sometime. And another not to call his wunderkind navigator 'Checkers' to his face.
Hikaru's eyes refocus into a sharp glare, and Jim realizes he's been caught staring. What was the last thing he said? Flying, yeah. "So?" he counters, good and truculently. "Batman can fly, too-ooo." Hikaru narrows his eyes into sharp slivers of suspicion. "His cape can become a -- a glidey thing. I saw it once."
Hikaru actually growls, which is so hot Jim might have just moaned a little, maybe. Hikaru doesn't notice, since he's too busy slamming himself to his feet, swaying somewhere between a wobble and a dance. "That's not the same at all!" he cries, launching himself at Jim. The table goes over with a giant resounding crash.
By the time Chekov and Bones come running in, suspiciously soon afterwards, Jim and Hikaru have dragged each other from the wreckage and are laughing on the floor, wrapped in each other's arms.