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foreverdirt, who wanted Natalie from Sports Night in a Star Trek AU.
Ficlet:: Earth, Renaissance
by Raven
G, Sports Night/Star Trek AOS crossover, gen, 1000 words. Natalie's working week begins with Andorian hoverball.
Monday. Natalie's on a quick jaunt, get-up-get-dressed get first transport shuttle out of New York in the morning, for the annual Andorian hoverball final. By planetrise on Andoria, she's at the base of the stadium watching the teams turn, weave and dart around the great space, and though she's covered it the last four years she's still putting a hand reflexively on her straps, scared she's going to float out of her seat. One day she'll try it, but just watching is enough like flying, for today.
Mid-game break – just enough time to catch the star player drift down towards refreshments. "ch'Thane," she says breathlessly, "rumours abound that you're giving it all up after this. Would you put our minds at rest?"
"It is quite true," ch'Thane says, gravely. Andorians are always grave, Natalie remembers, at least in human terms. "I am considering a new career path. Perhaps politics. I find a time has come in my life where I must turn to more serious choices."
A chime sounds and she drifts away again. Natalie thinks about calling out, but what about this – the speed and freedom of it all, the somersaults in three-dimensional space – but she's too late, and besides, her shoes have floated off.
*
Tuesday. A gymnastics competition on Trill. Natalie got home late last night, but she's up early, perky and well-groomed from the shoulders up so she can do her interviewing over the comm. "Ms. Dax," she says warmly, "congratulations. Anything you want to say in particular about your victory?"
Dax laughs. "It's not just a victory for me. It's a victory for my coach, for my family, for everyone I've been helped by, and everyone I've been."
Natalie grins. "Thanks." From the background, it's early evening where she is; the light's softly failing. "Will you be visiting Earth any time soon?"
"Circumstances allowing," Dax says. "I'm sorry, Ms. Hurley, it's been good to talk to you, but..."
"You have to go, right," Natalie says, easily. "Thank you, again."
The screen shuts off. Natalie wanders thoughtfully back to bed, thinking absently about how pretty Dax is, and then, a prickle in her mind just as she drifts to sleep: what circumstances?
*
Wednesday. Starfleet Academy fields a team for intercollegiate Parrisses Squares, it's hot stuff and Natalie is bouncing on the balls of her feet ready to go. Dana grabs her before she leaves the office, briefs her on what sections and what segments where and when, and then, just as she's about to leave: "It's good, you know. It's good that you're staying on Earth for this. You've been going offworld a lot lately, and it's not worth it, you know?"
No, Natalie thinks, going back to her office to get her things ready for transport. No, I don't know.
*
Thursday is a new sport entirely, a slow-moving, intense game played exclusively on Engramma V, who field sharp-edged discuses through their viscous atmosphere and attempt not to slice their opponents in half along the way. Natalie is heading out there to hang out, watch a few games and figure out if this is something they want to add to the main line-up. She suspects so; Emgrammans are surprisingly adaptable people considering the specificity of their home environment, and they've been coming to Earth in droves in recent years. She thinks it's a good idea to maybe scout for talent, too; find out if any Engramman commentator would like a gig with Sports Night.
She's heading in to see Dana for last minute issues and then stops out in the hallway, because there's somebody in there with her and from the timbre of their voice, it's Isaac. And she's not eavesdropping exactly because she did have an appointment. And the door is open a crack.
"It's a long way," Isaac is saying. "The route there crosses the edge of the Klingon Empire, and there's been all this trouble with the Romulans, recently, and I've been getting memos about non-essential travel. Dana, do you really think we should be sending Natalie..."
Natalie's gone. Natalie's gone from the corridor, gone from the building, gone to the goddamn shuttleport.
*
Friday. San Francisco, and she's got a civilian berth on a Starfleet ship for the morning. Because it's a long way. There's a message waiting for her when she arrives.
The funny thing is, she doesn't get angry very often. Exasperated, sure. Ready to stamp on Jeremy's stupid feet, sure. Anger always comes at the wrong times, anyway; when she's dripping from the shower, when the computer's voice is telling her that she needs to pick up her messages now now now, when she's all alone a long way from home and any minute now the screen's going to show her Dana and Isaac, whom she loves, and in this single moment she's so angry she could rise to orbit herself.
"What I do is important," she says, very clearly. "The Romulans kicked our ass. The Klingon Empire hates our guts. I read the news. I know how it works. But what I do is important. Sports are important. Do you think the Federation only does battles and science and politics? I am a Federation citizen and I think sports are important and of our, I don't know, one thousand five hundred member worlds and ten trillion citizens, I think there are enough people who agree to make it worthwhile for me to do my job. And even if there weren't I would still do it, because it is important."
She feels better, after that. Dana looks across the thousands of miles from the screen, and smiles, and Isaac says, "Honey, go."
*
Monday. Dana's standing with Natalie at the window, and they're watching the sailing ships come in – great white birds with enormous spread of sail, and the lights of the city behind them. Engramma Anakal'Twelve is waiting up in orbit, but he'll come down when they've got his hotel room pressurised, and she'll show him the ropes.
"Gorgeous, aren't they," Dana breathes, forgetting that she doesn't think sailing is a real sport. They're going to be shuffling time to fit everything in tonight, but Natalie thinks that's okay. This is her world.
finis.
foreverdirt, who wanted Natalie from Sports Night in a Star Trek AU.Ficlet:: Earth, Renaissance
by Raven
G, Sports Night/Star Trek AOS crossover, gen, 1000 words. Natalie's working week begins with Andorian hoverball.
Monday. Natalie's on a quick jaunt, get-up-get-dressed get first transport shuttle out of New York in the morning, for the annual Andorian hoverball final. By planetrise on Andoria, she's at the base of the stadium watching the teams turn, weave and dart around the great space, and though she's covered it the last four years she's still putting a hand reflexively on her straps, scared she's going to float out of her seat. One day she'll try it, but just watching is enough like flying, for today.
Mid-game break – just enough time to catch the star player drift down towards refreshments. "ch'Thane," she says breathlessly, "rumours abound that you're giving it all up after this. Would you put our minds at rest?"
"It is quite true," ch'Thane says, gravely. Andorians are always grave, Natalie remembers, at least in human terms. "I am considering a new career path. Perhaps politics. I find a time has come in my life where I must turn to more serious choices."
A chime sounds and she drifts away again. Natalie thinks about calling out, but what about this – the speed and freedom of it all, the somersaults in three-dimensional space – but she's too late, and besides, her shoes have floated off.
Tuesday. A gymnastics competition on Trill. Natalie got home late last night, but she's up early, perky and well-groomed from the shoulders up so she can do her interviewing over the comm. "Ms. Dax," she says warmly, "congratulations. Anything you want to say in particular about your victory?"
Dax laughs. "It's not just a victory for me. It's a victory for my coach, for my family, for everyone I've been helped by, and everyone I've been."
Natalie grins. "Thanks." From the background, it's early evening where she is; the light's softly failing. "Will you be visiting Earth any time soon?"
"Circumstances allowing," Dax says. "I'm sorry, Ms. Hurley, it's been good to talk to you, but..."
"You have to go, right," Natalie says, easily. "Thank you, again."
The screen shuts off. Natalie wanders thoughtfully back to bed, thinking absently about how pretty Dax is, and then, a prickle in her mind just as she drifts to sleep: what circumstances?
Wednesday. Starfleet Academy fields a team for intercollegiate Parrisses Squares, it's hot stuff and Natalie is bouncing on the balls of her feet ready to go. Dana grabs her before she leaves the office, briefs her on what sections and what segments where and when, and then, just as she's about to leave: "It's good, you know. It's good that you're staying on Earth for this. You've been going offworld a lot lately, and it's not worth it, you know?"
No, Natalie thinks, going back to her office to get her things ready for transport. No, I don't know.
Thursday is a new sport entirely, a slow-moving, intense game played exclusively on Engramma V, who field sharp-edged discuses through their viscous atmosphere and attempt not to slice their opponents in half along the way. Natalie is heading out there to hang out, watch a few games and figure out if this is something they want to add to the main line-up. She suspects so; Emgrammans are surprisingly adaptable people considering the specificity of their home environment, and they've been coming to Earth in droves in recent years. She thinks it's a good idea to maybe scout for talent, too; find out if any Engramman commentator would like a gig with Sports Night.
She's heading in to see Dana for last minute issues and then stops out in the hallway, because there's somebody in there with her and from the timbre of their voice, it's Isaac. And she's not eavesdropping exactly because she did have an appointment. And the door is open a crack.
"It's a long way," Isaac is saying. "The route there crosses the edge of the Klingon Empire, and there's been all this trouble with the Romulans, recently, and I've been getting memos about non-essential travel. Dana, do you really think we should be sending Natalie..."
Natalie's gone. Natalie's gone from the corridor, gone from the building, gone to the goddamn shuttleport.
Friday. San Francisco, and she's got a civilian berth on a Starfleet ship for the morning. Because it's a long way. There's a message waiting for her when she arrives.
The funny thing is, she doesn't get angry very often. Exasperated, sure. Ready to stamp on Jeremy's stupid feet, sure. Anger always comes at the wrong times, anyway; when she's dripping from the shower, when the computer's voice is telling her that she needs to pick up her messages now now now, when she's all alone a long way from home and any minute now the screen's going to show her Dana and Isaac, whom she loves, and in this single moment she's so angry she could rise to orbit herself.
"What I do is important," she says, very clearly. "The Romulans kicked our ass. The Klingon Empire hates our guts. I read the news. I know how it works. But what I do is important. Sports are important. Do you think the Federation only does battles and science and politics? I am a Federation citizen and I think sports are important and of our, I don't know, one thousand five hundred member worlds and ten trillion citizens, I think there are enough people who agree to make it worthwhile for me to do my job. And even if there weren't I would still do it, because it is important."
She feels better, after that. Dana looks across the thousands of miles from the screen, and smiles, and Isaac says, "Honey, go."
Monday. Dana's standing with Natalie at the window, and they're watching the sailing ships come in – great white birds with enormous spread of sail, and the lights of the city behind them. Engramma Anakal'Twelve is waiting up in orbit, but he'll come down when they've got his hotel room pressurised, and she'll show him the ropes.
"Gorgeous, aren't they," Dana breathes, forgetting that she doesn't think sailing is a real sport. They're going to be shuffling time to fit everything in tonight, but Natalie thinks that's okay. This is her world.
finis.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
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on 2010-07-02 10:47 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2010-07-03 11:48 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2010-07-02 11:27 pm (UTC)(Emony Dax! I LOVE YOU!)
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on 2010-07-03 11:48 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2010-07-02 11:33 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2010-07-03 11:49 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2010-07-03 01:03 am (UTC)YAY NATALIE!!!!
I have always wanted to see more of the civilian Federation. Thanks for giving us a peek.
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on 2010-07-03 11:50 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2010-07-03 03:35 am (UTC)no subject
on 2010-07-03 11:50 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2010-07-03 02:48 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2010-07-03 11:51 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2010-07-09 05:28 pm (UTC)♥ Natalie
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on 2010-07-10 10:33 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2010-07-27 05:39 am (UTC)no subject
on 2010-07-27 11:57 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2010-07-27 06:55 am (UTC)no subject
on 2010-07-27 11:57 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2010-07-27 03:29 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2010-07-27 11:57 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2010-07-28 12:51 pm (UTC)