Don't believe in no-win scenarios

((OOC Note: Content warnings for trauma, body horror, and upsetting imagery still apply. Necromancy and its consequences are a hell of a thing. Link to Part 2 in the opener if you missed it!))



It feels like months ago they made their plan, and all the while time slips by.

Jim doesn't intend to let this problem linger and yet it's so easy for the weeks to pile up. First they wait for Felix to heal. He's adamant that he must go with to help set things to rights. Stratos insists they at least write to Mathieu to let him know this will be handled. To perhaps appease the college that the mage is doing what he can to get that stolen property returned....

But Stratos and Jim are both men with large responsibilities. They delay when the Tribune must travel for a summit dealing with political tension and new orders in Skyrim. They delay again when quarterly reviews and a minor ion storm throw the Enterprise-A into strained disarray. All the while a man's future hangs in the balance back on Nirn.

The New Year is a quiet one. They celebrate their anniversary, Jim reluctantly agrees to speak over subspace transmissions for a Remembrance Day ceremony held over his birthday. He ignores any more transmissions from his own mother for the time being. It would be easy to go on forever like this. Better for Felix, Jim, and probably Stratos to let Rielle fade until it was nothing more than a nightmare once more. But they can't run forever. Jim Kirk, at least, wouldn't be able to forgive himself. When Stratos sends word that he's back to business at his camp in Skyrim, Jim leaves Alpha shift with his teeth grit.

When he comes back to their quarters it won't be to enjoy a well deserved quiet evening. He'll need to hunt down his husband in the botany labs so they can both get dressed for a trip back home to Bruma.

There's preparations to be done first.

Jim makes sure Tiber's well fed and freshly watered before he sits down at his desk to force down a turkey sandwich he's procured from the replicator. By now Jim's aware of this cycle to know he needs to eat before they start talking about that godforsaken place hidden away in the mountains of Cyrodiil. If he waits there's a good chance he won't have an appetite for a day or more. Being sick and shaky from hunger but unable to eat because of ravaging nausea isn't going to help anyone. Taking a basic and mostly tasteless meal with a strong cup of coffee is easy enough even if Jim's already forcing himself to eat. He might be sick, later. But he'll definitely be less useful if he doesn't at least try to shore himself up ahead of this.

A shift spent mostly on paperwork means the captain doesn't strictly need to clean up but a quick sonic and a change of clothes Feels better. Feels like Jim's in control. In his routine. He shoves their uniforms to one side of the closet once he's changed, revealing the large trunk nestled in the very back hidden mostly from sight. He fishes the key for it from the usual hiding place before squatting down to turn the heavy lock. Lift the solid oaken lid up to reveal the carefully hidden clothing of Felix's world. Jim's careful not to rumple all of their clothes as he fishes out travel wear for both himself and Felix to lay out on their bed ready to change into once Jim brings his husband back to their quarters. All the while anxiety prickles at the edges of his thoughts. Jim slows his breathing purposefully every time he catches himself. He's taking too long to prepare, they shouldn't leave Stratos waiting. What if Felix isn't up for going? What if...

Tiber bunts his head against Jim's leg with a deliberately loud purr until the captain reaches over to give the kneazle a few strokes. "You be good and maybe I'll bring you along to see Stratos later." Jim hasn't missed how fond the Tribune is of the animal, magical or not. He needs to get a move on for now though. Tiber hops up on the desk to watch his bonded turn to the terminal inset next to the door. The kneazle's eyes blow wide, his tail twitching eagerly as the human kicks aside a hollow torchbug thorax when making his way over. Jim doesn't pay the chittery noises behind him any mind as he runs a scan to locate Felix. The Deck-2 labs are usually reserved for Spock's current projects and other Federation-requested testing of samples they collect, so Jim's not terribly surprised to find Felix on Deck-3's smaller botany lab.

"Seems he hasn't charmed Spock into granting him access to the larger labs after all that talk the other day..." Not even the current task can drain all the fondness from Jim's voice. It's easier to focus on his husband of the night before, idly complaining about the issue the head of the Science Division took with his lab findings write up. Helps his hands stay steady. "Don't let Felix leave if I somehow miss him and he beats me back here." Jim comments over his shoulder to the kneazle before excusing himself from their quarters and making his way down to the turbolifts.

To all the friends of the happy grooms, PINpoint messages have already been sent weeks ago inviting them to expect quite the street party arranged in the commons of the Nexus. Guests have been invited to bring an appetite--both for food and for a social adventure. Nirnish weddings are public affairs, after all. While the ceremony has had to be somewhat sequestered for the sake of keeping the existence of Other Worlds a secret, neither Felix nor Jim would want to leave out their interdimensional friends entirely. Having a reception party arranged in the Nexus became the natural plan of action.

Overnight large sections of the Commons are transformed via diligent craftsmanship and quite a lot of magic from those who’ve volunteered. Lanterns representing the Divines are hung along every lamp post, bringing at least the idea of warmth even if the flames are too small to heat their surroundings alone. Bardic tunes carry in the air as readily as the scent of food and drink. Past banners of red and black, blue and white the people gather.

For both grooms this is nearly a continuation of the day before. They’ve had the chance to sleep off the nerves of their ceremony. Today is entirely for celebration--uninhibited celebration at that. No more minding what is said and isn’t. No more pretending to be anything other than who they are. Jim’s traded out his Nirnish finery for a suit and tie, garments he’s much more familiar with. Felix is staying with his native clothing; though he may have dressed down a little from his wedding clothes, the conjurer’s dressed in fitted breeches and his best fur-trimmed coat and boots, the soft hide dyed blue to match his tunic. By their side sits the conjurer’s spectral wolf familiar, ears pricked at the gathering.

As the guests find their ways over it will be easy to spot their friends amidst all the decor along with many other avenues with which to enjoy themselves….

Greetings
Food and Drink
Music and Dancing
Bonfire Entertainment
Party Games

((Links to all relevent wedding Prose can be found Here!))

Yorktown, Starfleet Base.

For the surviving crew of the former USS Enterprise this fragile snowglobe softly spinning out in the black this station transformed from an objective to be protected into a home for the last year. The unexpected break in the crew's five year mission has been a relief for some and an agonizing wait for others. For one man currently weaving through a steady stream of foot traffic for an 'afternoon' commute carrying a dress uniform hat underneath his arm it's been a bit of both columns. He skips the last step outside the Starfleet Command building and offers a distracted but friendly smile toward everyone who greets him.

There's no time for idle chatter today. Especially not with the Tellarite lieutenant who looks as likely to chomp her own tusks in twain if she doesn't get to argue with her commanding officer right this second. It's her way of saying hello but honestly there just isn't the time for it right now. A casual trading of friendly barbs gets him through the entryway without fuss. He keeps a brisk pace through the halls, deflects a rather direct compliment about his dress uniform in record time as he heads for the third floor of the building. Taking the stairs is quicker than waiting for a lift. Crucially, it's also easier to dodge people who would want to chat. An unmarked door at the end of the hall hisses open with his credentials and every head inside turns his way.

"Bones--! You found it! Where..?" Captain James Tiberius Kirk has never been this jittery in all the years Leonard has known him, though he seems to relax incrementally with his best friend once more at his side. Leonard stifles the urge to roll his eyes and huffs the softest of chuckles instead before holding out the hat for Jim to take. The CMO can count on one hand how many times Jim's been in his dress uniform, even fewer times that they both have at the same time.

"Never mind that right now, Jim. You look two seconds away from vibrating right outta yer damn skin. Y'never even brought it to the office. It was in your apartment." Frankly the fact that Leonard H. McCoy is here and not out of breath is damn impressive so far as the good doctor is concerned. He really isn't appreciated nearly enough. Today though, he thinks Jim can be forgiven for it.

"I did advise that you check there first before coming here, Jim." The captain's first in command tuts softly but Bones is convinced there's a quirk of a smile playing at Spock's own blank features as well. None of them are all that accustomed to dealing with Jim like this and it's honestly as much endearing as it is frustrating. Of course, the latter is all either of them will admit to later unless it's to tell on the other. Well, Bones will admit to it. Spock will insist that is the appropriate emotion if Vulcans had them. Which they do not.

"Yeah--I just, I know. Do you know where I put--" Jim's dragging his hand through his hair for the umpteenth time in the last hour. Though Spock is quick to pull his hand away and fix it before tugging the captain's hat on to stop him from fussing with it.

"Right here. Admiral Beckett is waiting."
"To hell with the Admiral, he's keeping Felix waiting."

Bones none too gently nudges Jim toward the door. He and Spock trail behind while they continue on up the hallway and around the corner until the corridor opens up into a quiet lobby with floor to ceiling windows staring out at the entirety of the base below (and above) them. But most importantly, to the outline of the Enterprise-A barely visible from this height in the docking bay below the reflecting pools just outside the building. Two dark haired men stand at the window, one of them pointing out various landmarks while the taller of the two nods with an absent pause between the words murmured into his ear and his reply.

Yorktown is a lot to take in for anyone, but especially for someone who has never before stepped foot on another world. Even the ship and its shape is only the vaguest bits familiar to Stratos Caelus from pictures he's had shared with him. His short time seeing the Enterprise was from within after all. At the time he was more interested in all the space just beyond the hull. Perhaps it's a blessing that space cannot be so easily glimpsed from beyond the artificial sky of Yorktown because this is truly a harrowing culture shock to his system already. He stands in a perfect disguise with all of the same military bearing as the Starfleet officers they've walked by getting up here because it is much easier to close himself off and exist in an overwhelmed fog than it is to try and take it all in right now.

There will be time for questions later.

"Captain Kirk!" The admiral claps a faux leather folder shut at the officer's approach and it's enough to drag Stratos and his brother's attention from the window finally. Stratos doesn't stifle his grin at how sharply Felix turns either. Neither of them even noticed the footsteps approaching, though Jim and his two head officers weren't exactly being quiet. His baby brother in an Earth made suit and tie facing the man they've already told their father would be joining their family.

"Sorry to keep you waiting, Admiral." Jim nearly doesn't tear his gaze away from Felix in time to turn that statement toward Beckett. Compared to the man who looks like he's waltzed his way off of a fashion cover, Admiral Beckett is rather much more ordinary. He's a heavier set dark skinned man who could have been broader and more solid than Stratos once before all that muscle softened up with age and a promotion that kept one away from action. Jim closes the distance between them and offers a salute before taking the man's hand in a shake instead once formalities have been dealt with. "I really appreciate you taking time out of your day like this."

"Nonsense, Kirk. It's an honor to be presiding. Your fiancé expressed how important this was to be kept quiet and unassuming until you could have a proper ceremony back home. Your situation being what it is, I think this is probably the easiest course of legal action. I've got the paperwork here. Your IDs checked out, obviously. All that's needed is a signature from each of you with your witnesses present." Beckett opens the folder again and gestures to all of them to gather over at one of the small tables near the windows.

"Your Admiral was telling me all about the proper Starfleet traditions a normal fleet ceremony would have, you know." Felix leans over and nudges Jim in the arm with his elbow before his words fail him at the table. Laid out bare next to Jim's own Identification is his own, each of them with the stamp of clearance resting atop the data in plain ink. His own new life as officially recognized as Jim's own. The marriage licence itself is such a simple thing compared to that but the weight the single document carries...

"What, you want the flags and the saluting and all that pomp and circumstance?" A chuckle escapes Jim slowly without him seeming to realize it's fleeing him in a breathless titter. "Captain James Tiberius Kirk strutted around like a country hen in his gear while you're forced to watch entirely too much tradition and ceremony that has nothing to do with the wedding?"

He nearly drops the pen then, but Spock deftly catches it before it can roll off the table and hands it back to Jim without a word. Leonard nods toward his best friend. Best get on with it.

"Oh gods no. I'd be bored to tears. No offense, Admiral." And Beckett's laugh relaxes the hand Stratos placed on Felix's shoulder for a moment.

"None taken, none taken! If you're marrying Kirk, I already know you're not one to stand on airs and rest on the way things have always been done." He offers then both a warm smile for a sight he certainly never thought he'd get to see. There's always been rumors about Jim Kirk but anyone in command who knows him has known for years the only thing he loves is the job. Not even a love for the endless black can stop a man from seeking company forever.

He looks so much like George Kirk in this moment, all of twenty-four when he married now-Commodore Winona Kirk in their own dress uniforms fresh out of the Academy together. The same glowing smile lighting up the same starlight blue eyes when he passes the pen over to Felix and murmurs something that makes all of them laugh standing around the table. Admiral Beckett takes off his hat and bows his head. George Kirk never got to see his younger son but here he stands with his captain's braids swearing his life to someone with the same fervency George once showed in Jim's mother.

"Is there anything else needed...?" Jim's first officer clasps his hands behind his back and turns a serene face toward the Admiral. A look the man who must be Felix's next of kin meets as he holds back from asking much the same thing if the Admiral had to guess.

"I suppose we ought to let the captain kiss his husband shouldn't we?"

Bones drops a heavy sigh and a groan before the suggestion's even done. As charming of a suggestion as that is, those two do not need any encouragement. He's about to say as much before Spock catches his gaze and shakes his head.

Jim leads Felix away from the table until they're next to the windows. His left hand inches up Felix's neck, fingertips tracing the line of Felix's jaw with reverent softness. With his right hand he slips off his hat as he leans forward and presses the softest of kisses onto his husband. Murmurs the only two words that seem at all appropriate against the mage's lips.

"Welcome home."

((Bonus Image Prompt for April))

Even in Spring the air in Skyrim carries a crispness to it. The warmth from the sun still has to pierce through the dense pine forests and compete with the sharp breezes that remind those who walk in the soggy thawed ground that mother nature could rear her head at any time and quash this reprieve from the cold if she so felt like it. Jim thinks her name might be Kynareth here, but it's really only a guess based on the books he's slowly but surely paging his way through in his evening Cyrodillic studies.

Stratos' camp buzzes with activity even in the early morning hours fresh from the dawn. Breton knights and Imperial battlemages mending armor or going through morning drills against the practice dummies. Unpacking crates of weapons and armor and inspecting them carefully. Stewards tending to the fires where cooking potatoes, rabbit, and leek waft on the breeze with the smoke. By now Jim's a familiar enough face that he gets a nod of the head and a murmured 'captain' in greeting from any passers by but otherwise no trouble for being here.

It's become something of a habit for Jim since he's been 'grounded' in Yorktown. Tiber has long since wriggled free from Jim's cloak and started chasing dartwings and butterflies in the grass while Jim sits at a low bench and fastens his bracers and arm guard. Strings his bow, checking for any signs it needs to be replaced. Shoulders his quiver before getting up and walking up range from the targets set up on the edge of camp.

Nocking the arrow serves as Jim's focus. Honing in on the feel of the fletching against his fingers and tuning out the noise of the Imperial Camp surrounding him. Jim relishes every draw of the bow and the power he feels in his arms when he gets the arrow to its anchor point next to his mouth. When he first picked this up years ago as a hobby with a friend from the Nexus teaching him it was laughable how easily he'd tire after loosing only a handful of arrows with varying degrees of success. It's not as easy as those hot shot archers make it out to be, but the challenge was well worth the reward.

After their trek through Bruma Jim stayed away from his bow for a few months. Bad memories and a lack of free time ate away at what had become one of his favorite exercises. There was a focus to it and a thought process that his tactician's mind craved like a drug. Just existing in Skyrim and its steep hillsides and mountainous terrain was enough to get his Cardio in. Archery filled in strength training and picking up a useful skill for Tamriel. He was never going to be a soldier, a tradesman, or a mage but with a lot of practice and a bit of lessons from those more experienced than Jim he was at least becoming decent as a hunter. Survival skills were already things Jim had thanks to a combined love of the outdoors and terrible life experiences. Being able to properly use a bow went a long way in a place like this.

Every arrow loosed is a puzzle solved. The captain's fingers don't even begin to ache until he's down to the last of the arrows in his quiver. His shots quicken as his arms begin to burn with fatigue. The strain to hold his draw is too much when he's down to these last few attempts. Jim's aim starts to shake when he reaches the last arrow and it goes wide of the rest of his clustered arrows, lodging itself into the tree instead. He's breathing heavily by now. Has to take a moment to catch his breath before Jim can head down range to collect the arrows.

Jim's been so focused on the targets he nearly jumps out of his skin when an arm slides round his shoulders and pulls him back ever so slightly.

"It's not noon yet, why are you awake?" Blue eyes scowl over his shoulder at Felix and earn a chuckle from the Imperial along with the shrug of his shoulders. Felix knows Jim isn't actually cross. Just annoyed at having been caught looking less than cool for even a moment.

"Your little terror decided to 'gift' me dead bug parts on my face as a morning present." Felix's eyebrow game has gotten much stronger over the years spent learning from Starfleet's best. Jim finds himself looking around for the golden furred kneazle and can only suppress a laugh seeing him chomping one of the dartwings he's been content chasing all morning.

"He wanted to help stock your alchemy stores, clearly."

"Mmmh. I could do without them in our bed." Jim feels Felix huff as the breath messes with his hair. The food cooking at the fire smells heavenly suddenly. Jim can see Stratos heading their way from the other side of the camp and he wonders for the first time if this is what having a home feels like apart from the ship. He grins back at his fiance before waving his future brother-in-law over and this, Jim is certain, must be what family is. This sense of belonging.

It is a good breakfast.