#he Can’t Publish His Article goddamnit

[shotgun--rider]

Rumor

A Jensen x Reader oneshot

Y/N’s never considered how many suspiciously snuggly photos there are of her and her best friend. Then they all come out in a Buzzfeed article, published just in time for everyone to grill her during her solo panel. Now what?

Word Count: 4000

Warnings: Really dumb fluff, everyone’s anxious, Jared and Briana are sick of everyone’s shit

A/N: This is dumb and fluffy and dangerously song-fic territory but it showed up and demanded to be written so here you go. I have no idea if this is actually any good. Enjoy?

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You were the epitome of normal, growing up. You had decent grades, run-of-the-mill hobbies, and an average high school cashier job. You could hop on your bike (and later, borrow your parents’ car) and take yourself to the coffee shop, or to a friend’s, and the only people that  would look twice at you were drivers checking to make sure the kid on the bike didn’t steer into traffic. 

You didn’t win any “most likely to” awards in the yearbook, your college major was undecided for an embarrassing length of time, and your 300-odd Instagram followers were comprised of friends and some polite acquaintances from welcome week. And you didn’t mind. You were perfectly happy to go through your day-to-day without turning heads and making waves. 

That was all before you’d answered an open casting call on a whim, strapped for cash and mostly there because a sparkly website proclaiming “50 Easy Side Hustles!” had suggested spending your weekends as an extra if you lived in a big filming city. Before your three-episode contract in a show you’d never bothered to watch turned into a series regular.

Now, you’re pretty much guaranteed to have your face splashed across the internet every time you stick a toe off the end of your L.A. property line. Even if the paparazzi aren’t there to get you in Page Six with some wildly exaggerated nonsense, a fan somewhere will snap a blurry photo and upload it somewhere for people to shout about you in the comments section. You’ve never gotten used to being tagged in edits of your own face, or watching your follower count creep steadily upwards. You’re just… you. You’ve always been just the normal, average girl from a nothing-special hometown.  

Even after your third year running on Supernatural, you still forget. You still make it all the way to the end of the block before you remember that the person shouting your name is the bodyguard you accidentally abandoned two errands ago. You still get confused when the restaurant wait staff stares at you, still get annoyed calls from your publicist begging you to at least try to appear in fewer coffee shop paparazzi pictures looking like a disgruntled zombie who’s never seen a hairbrush. (Sue you, you can’t be expected to be functional before a cup of coffee.)

You’re a brilliant actress, an unexpected fan-favorite, relatable to everyone in your autograph line...and you’re kind of a terrible celebrity. Unlike certain child models turned actors straight at 18 you may know, this isn’t a world you were trained in. Which is probably why it doesn’t even occur to you that being caught frequently in the company of your best friend might look like something until you’re staring at your own name in a headline on your phone screen, in line at Starbucks before your first panel of the con weekend. 

Y/N L/N’s Secret Relationship With Co-Star Jensen Ackles, howls the bold-printed headline, and you blink stupidly at the letters, uncomprehending, until you realize that someone’s trying to get your attention. “Sorry, what?”

The barista looks impatient, suppressing an eyeroll and starting her spiel before cutting off halfway with a squeak. “Oh, my god, you’re her! I’m sorry, I’m just… you’re literally my favorite!” She’s blushing and stuttering and has a near-death grip on the empty coffee cup she was preparing to write your name on. 

“Oh,” you reply, forcing the fog of confusion from your brain and slapping on a smile. “Hi, you caught me.”

“Can I...um…” the girl reaches into her back pocket and sheepishly produces her cell phone, complete with a flaming pentagram case. “Um, selfie?”

You smile indulgently, leaning over the counter. The fans are one of the best parts, really, and it’s never a hardship to make someone smile. (That is, when they’re not selling rumors and lies to the tabloids, you think grumpily.)

The barista girl pulls back with a wide smile and a full-face blush, and keeps glancing shyly up at you while she punches in your usual order, plus the second coffee Jensen texted you this morning to beg for. “So I guess Jensen’s around here too, then, right?” she asks perkily, taking your card. 

“Uh...sorry, what?”

She shrugs like it’s obvious. “Since you flew in together,”

You blink rapidly, feeling stupid. You’re obviously missing the punchline somewhere. “We, uh...didn’t. I mean...I flew out of L.A.,” you say cautiously. Your home city is already public knowledge, as is the fact that Jensen lives in Austin, and you can’t imagine she doesn’t know this. 

Her eyes pop wide with curiosity. “Wait, so you’re not staying with him?”

This conversation is too much for your poor, jetlagged, coffeeless brain. “No?” you try weakly, so far past confused at this point that you might actually be getting a headache. “Why would I…” 

Not that Jensen’s Austin house isn’t lovely, and not that you’d object to staying there, and not that you haven’t stayed there plenty of times before, but you’re pretty sure you’re still missing the point. 

The barista lunges forward over the counter, leaning in to ask in a hushed voice, “Did you guys break up?”

An emphatic “No!” leaves your mouth so loudly that the old man in line behind you starts grumbling. “No, you don’t--” 

“Get a move on,” Old Man grouches in the background. “I don’t care who you are,”

“Oh, good,” the girl cuts you off with a relieved grin. “You guys are so cute, you know? I mean, I kinda figured you had to have something going on, but actually seeing it--it’s going to be so much cuter if Dean and Sierra ever kiss now, oh my god--”

She devolves into a squeal, and the we’re not actually dating dies on your tongue. You have better things to do this morning than correct the misinformation of one teenage barista, so you end up just shaking your head and taking the two cups of coffee wearily. “Right, well, I’ve gotta go, so--” you duck around the old man and beeline for the door before anyone can say anything else. Oh, god, your publicist is so going to kill you. 

***

Jared and Jensen are both in the green room when you make it back to the convention hotel, and you groan softly as you walk into the room. Once Jared hears about your so-called relationship, you’re never going to hear the end of it. Then again, better he hear it from you than find it in the tabloids. May as well bite the bullet now before it comes up in a Q&A. 

“Hey,” you slide up to Jensen’s elbow, holding out the requested coffee cup as a preemptive truce. “So, we’re apparently dating now,” 

Jensen snorts, shaking his head and swapping the coffee cup into his other hand so he can wrap his arm around your shoulders in greeting. “Yeah, I saw that.”

“I think I may have given a barista the impression we’ve had a tumultuous breakup,” you say ruefully, tilting your head up to look at him in apology. “Sorry,”

Jensen’s green eyes are dancing, though, and he throws back his head and laughs, still keeping you tucked close enough that you can feel his whole body shake. “Of course you did, sweetheart,”

It’s pretty much the reaction you expected from Jensen, who’s so used to your antics at this point that he just gives you a fond smile and moves on to damage control. Jared, on the other hand, is...not commenting, and suspicion cuts short your quiet enjoyment of being hugged against Jensen. It took the boys a while to feel comfortable messing with you when you first got on set, but after they figured out you gave as good as you got, they’d never yet missed an opportunity to tease and prank you. 

You squint at Jared warily. “Why aren’t you reacting?”

Jared’s lips immediately start twitching, but he makes a valiant attempt at a mock-concerned face. “Oh shit, sorry. Here, tell me again and I’ll pretend like I’m surprised this time,”

Unwilling to bother unwinding yourself from under Jensen’s arm, you extend a childish foot in the direction of Jared’s shins, scowling at him. He dodges easily, laughing, and tosses out, “Someone should really tell Buzzfeed they’re reporting really old news,”

“Shut up and drink your damn coffee, Padalecki,” you shoot back without any real venom.

“Oh, you mean my hotel coffee? The coffee I got stuck with because you only buy Starbucks for Jensen?”

Jensen straightens up proudly, no doubt making a face at Jared over the top of your head. “Y/N just likes me better. That’s why she’s my best friend.”

You roll your eyes, ducking under Jensen’s arm and a few steps away. “You both suck,” you deadpan, resisting an internal wince at the friendzone. “Now shut up and let me drink my coffee, I have to be on stage in fifteen minutes,” 

And God, but your head is way too scrambled for a panel right now. Fifteen minutes is nowhere close to enough time to get your shit together, and you’re going to have to somehow walk out there and not let everyone know. 

You take a seat halfway across the room, watching Jared and Jensen still standing there, heads bowed together, arguing quietly about something. Jensen’s starting to wear an annoyed expression and he still manages to look beautiful and goddamnit this is how you got in trouble in the first place. 

You scroll listlessly through your phone, a headache beginning behind your eyes, and freeze when you realize that you left the damn article open. The headline photo is a picture of you and Jensen on a sidewalk in L.A., caught mid-conversation with Jensen’s hand on your back and a stupid, dopey look on your face while you stare up at him like he hung the moon. Fuck, you’re an idiot. 

A hasty scroll through the rest of the article reveals more of the same, and you could kick yourself for making your dumb crush so obvious. The photo captions are practically mocking you, labelled with things like “an intimate evening for Ackles and L/N” and, under a picture of the two of you at a beach, “We might be a little mad that the two most attractive people are together”. 

Well, at least now you know what every single question at your panel is going to be about. And somehow you have to figure out how to play this off like it’s nothing. Of course I don’t have a crush the size of a mid-sized whale on Jensen, hahaha, that’s such a hilarious idea! 

Your only saving grace is that clearly, Jensen doesn’t think anything of it. It’s nothing more than a brief joke to him and Jared, and as much as that should bring you relief, it still stings to know that he’s obviously never bothered to think of you that way. And why would he? For all Buzzfeed’s nonsense about you making an attractive couple, Jensen Ackles miles above your league. 

You’re pulled out of your thoughts by Misha sitting down next to you, an easy smile on his face as he nudges your shoulder with his own. “So, welcome to the club,”

Typically, you and Misha are pretty close friends, but your patience is too short this morning for any of his shit. “What club?” you shoot back grumpily. 

“People who the internet have declared in love with Jensen Ackles,” Misha returns, grinning like it’s obvious. 

“Ha, ha. See, except when that happens to you, people think it’s funny,”

“It is funny,”

“Not for me!” you explode, belatedly wincing at your harsh tone. “You and Jensen fuck around on stage and that works for you. If I don’t get my shit together in the next five minutes, I’m getting my name dragged through stupid tabloids and laughed straight off the show because I couldn’t keep my goddamn stupid pathetic crush under control!”

“Hey,” Misha waits until you meet his blue eyes. “That’s not going to happen. Okay? It’s not,”

“Misha--”

“Y/N,” Misha returns firmly. “It’s going to be okay. Jensen would never let anything happen to you. And you don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to.”

You sigh softly, nodding. Rationally, you know he’s right. But mostly, as much as you’re worked up about the panel, your fear is that Jensen is going to be the one laughing at you, and you don’t know how to explain that. “Yeah,” you say dully, just as a convention worker comes forward to collect you. 

“If it’s really going to shit, I’ll come distract everyone,”

“Somehow, I think that would be worse,” you shoot back over your shoulder as you start walking to the stage. Breathe, Y/N. You’re fine. 

You wait for the introductions to finish and take your place on the stage, a slightly breathy laugh escaping into the mic as you look out at the crowd. That is a lot of eyes watching your every move. And they’re on your side, you remind yourself. It’s the fans who’ve been tireless supporters of you and your character, this whole time. 

“Hey, guys,” you clear your throat. “What’s up?”

You chatter for a while about whatever you can think of, telling an edited version of the grumpy Starbucks man this morning and rambling a little about Jared’s latest on-set antics. All too quickly, though, you run out of things to say, leaving you with no choice but to ask for questions. 

At first, to your great relief, they’re pretty tame. You spend a solid few minutes breaking down Sierra’s latest character arc, and the time she’s spending hunting on her own. You do get a few questions about whether she and Dean could get together when she gets back with the brothers, but as long as it stays firmly in the realm of your characters, you’re not worried. 

“And what’s your name?” You ask gently, trying to reassure the nervous young woman at the microphone. 

“Uh, Y/N…”

“I love that name!” you wink at her, rearranging yourself in the chair to be more comfortable. “What do you want to know, Y/N?”

“Uh,” she stutters, her face blushing pink. “You’re my favorite actress, and, I, um,”

“That’s very sweet,” you interject, nodding to encourage her. 

“I just, uh, really want good things for you, and I just wanted to ask if, um, areyoureallydatingJensen?” she spits out all in one breath. “Cause you deserve him,”

You blink, shifting in your seat. You’d arrived at the elephant in the room. Damn. 

“Uh,” escapes your mouth as you frantically try to construct a diplomatic sentence. “No, actually, no, we’re not.” I wish. “The, um, the article was a surprise to us too!” You added a little shrug in as punctuation, trying to play it off. 

“But you guys look so cute together!” Other Y/N exclaims. “He looks at you like--” she cuts off, biting her lip so hard you can see the white from the stage. “Nevermind. Sorry.” 

“No worries,” you assure her casually, like you’re not dying to know what she was going to say. “Next question?”

The next one up is another young woman, this time much bolder in her question. “But if you were given the opportunity, would you date Jensen Ackles?” 

God, Chuck, literally anyone please kill me. “I don’t know how to answer this without getting in trouble,” you finally laugh nervously. “This is a dangerous question,”

The audience all laughs loudly, some of them throwing out comments and suggestions. “In the interests of not getting killed in my bed tonight,” you say lightly when they’ve quieted. “I’m going to skip that question,”

There’s really no saving you, though. After that first question, it’s like a dam has broken and everyone wants to know about your relationship with Jensen. What do you think of his house in Austin and does he cook for you and what do you do between takes and where’s your favorite place to go together. Someone even asks if you’re hooking up even if you’re not dating, which you’re positive turns your face completely purple before you get through redirecting that fan. 

An hour later, you stagger off the stage mentally exhausted and thoroughly grumpy. 

“Ouch,” Briana sympathizes, sliding up beside you as you grab a water bottle in the green room. 

“Can’t wait for my dumb red face to trend on Tumblr,” you mutter, wondering darkly if you could just jump out one of the windows. 

Briana laughs like she knows something you don’t, and rubs a hand over your back soothingly. “Come on, let’s get you out of your head before your photos,”

The two of you end up on a walk a few blocks from the convention hotel, fresh coffees in hand and Briana chattering away while you nod along. It’s not that you’re tuning her out, exactly, you’re just...overwhelmed. You do, however, notice when she stops talking. 

“Are you listening to me?” she looks at you sharply.

“Sorry, B,” you mumble. “Got distracted. What?”

Briana shakes her head with loving exasperation. “I asked what you’re wearing to karaoke tonight,”

“I’m probably not going to--” you start.

“Oh, no you don’t. You can’t leave me there alone,” Briana interrupts, folding her arms across her chest. 

“What do you mean, alone? Kim and Rich and literally everyone will be there,”

“You are not allowed to skip karaoke.” Briana says firmly, and you suddenly know how her daughter must feel when she’s misbehaved. “Besides, Jensen’s singing with Louden Swain beforehand. Don’t you want to see it?”

“Fine. But I’m wearing this,” you gesture to your plain black top and jeans. To be honest, you’re not sure if you actually do want to see Jensen perform, or bother with the rest of karaoke night. Mostly you just want to crawl into bed and put the covers over your head and pretend that you haven’t been making a fool of yourself all morning, but Briana is a force of nature when she wants something. 

She smiles excitedly at your acquiescence, pulling out her phone for a moment to type something before you start heading back. 

You nudge her teasingly with your elbow. “Your phone more exciting than me?”

Briana just slides it away hastily before you can read more than Jared’s name over her shoulder. “Just taking care of something.”

There’s something she’s not telling you, but you don’t feel like digging right now. You’re just focusing on getting to the end of this convention without spilling all your secrets and looking like an idiot. 

By the time you’re sitting down in the seats for Louden Swain’s set, your face is indeed all over Tumblr. (You always deny having the stupid app, but sometimes a girl’s gotta know what people are saying about her and her hot costars.) There’s comments full of stupid speculation that you’re hiding your relationship, including a whole thread about how you’re clearly hiding your secret threesome with Jensen and Misha. Great. 

“Uh, okay,” a familiar voice snaps you out of your thoughts. Jensen’s on stage in front of the microphone, holding his guitar. “This was not part of my original plan, so...if this goes badly, it’s all Jared and Briana’s fault.”

The crowd laughs good-naturedly as your gaze snaps immediately to Briana. Infuriatingly, your friend just shrugs. 

“This is a cover of a song neither of us wrote,” Jensen continues, gesturing between himself and Louden Swain behind him. “But I thought it could be fitting,”

He’s nervous, you realize, watching the way he’s fiddling with his guitar strap while he talks. But you have no idea what he’s doing. And you have no idea why he didn’t tell you. The two of you always know what stupid thing the other person is planning, especially stunts in front of the fans. But clearly not this time. With a sinking sense of dread, you wonder if maybe he does hate you a little bit after today, and that article. Maybe that’s why he’s not talking to you. You swallow hard against the sting in your throat, and Jensen starts playing. 

The opening chords are definitely from a country song you vaguely recognize from the radio, and you wonder why this is Jensen’s choice over one of his own songs. 

“Girl, you know I've known you forever / How many nights we hung out together,”

Across the room, Briana has an enormous smile on her face.

“My boys are laughing and tap me on the shoulder / Making a motion like, ‘Could y'all get any closer?’” He punctuates the words with a little scowl in Jared’s direction. 

“There's a rumor going 'round about me and you / Stirring up our little town the last week or two / So tell me why we even trying to deny this feeling / I feel it, don't you feel it too? / There's a rumor going 'round, and 'round, and 'round / What d'you say we make it true?”

There are a lot of people suddenly making noise around you as they come to the same realization that you are, but you’re frozen in your seat. The rumor is you. He’s talking about you. Jensen’s singing for you. And you should be elated but your mind is stuck on a loop of what the fuck there’s no way this is real. 

You don’t even realize that the song is over until everyone is clapping and you’re still stuck staring with embarrassingly wide eyes, Jensen up on stage with an embarrassed dusting of red across his face and a slowly deflating expression. 

“Hey,” Jared’s elbow digs hard into your ribs suddenly. “Please do something. I can’t take any more of him like this,”

“What--oh--shit!” spills out of your mouth as you stand hastily, your phone tumbling off your lap. “I’m just gonna--”

By some miracle, you make it through the crush of people and around to the backstage area, your heart racing unevenly in your chest. You have no idea what you’re supposed to say, or if Jensen will be there, or if you’re even interpreting this right. Maybe it’s all just wishful thinking. No, Jared wouldn’t have encouraged you if that were true. Would he?

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you end up plowing straight into Jensen’s chest, his arm sliding automatically around your waist as you wobble off balance. “Shit, I’m sorry!”

He steadies you, green eyes searching your face with a flicker of vulnerability. “Hey,”

“Hey,” you whisper back. You have no idea what happens now.

With his free hand, Jensen rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Look, if that was too much--”

“No!” you shake your head quickly. “I’m sorry, I was just...processing. I...it was really sweet, Jen,”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you confirm. “I just… me? Are you sure?”

“Why not you?” Jensen’s face wrinkles in confusion. He moves both hands to your waist, the warmth of his skin bleeding through your thin shirt as he tugs you closer. “Y/N,” 

There’s something in you screaming that you might not get to do this again, that he’s going to come to his senses, that the whole thing is a dream, and before you can second guess yourself you launch yourself up onto your tiptoes and kiss him. 

Your arms go around his neck while Jensen wraps you up tighter against his chest and it’s not fireworks, or earth shattering, or anything so dramatic. His mouth moving against yours just feels like home and love and of course. Of course you were going to get here, of course it was going to be like this. 

Jensen lifts you off your feet for a moment before breaking the kiss, and he looks just breathless and flushed enough that you’re equal parts proud and turned on. 

“Of course it’s you,” he murmurs, one hand under your chin to tilt your head up to him. “Of course I love you. You’re my best friend.”

------

Something ate my taglist! If you want to be tagged, please message me!

[vivithefolle]

“Hermione, you may be good at feelings and stuff...”

I was going to post this but first I wanted to check if the title quote was accurate. As a result, I was redirected to this article on Google. I decided to postpone my fact-checking and publish this now because we need to demolish the utterly bullshit notion that “Hermione Granger is awesome at feelings”. Find the original answer on Quora here.

Hermione does understand human feelings - she’s not a robot, she’s not completely removed from human beings. Hermione can understand that someone is sad, or angry, or upset.

But too many people overestimate how good she is at feelings.

Hermione reads as that person who’s just read a psychology book and is now trying to psychoanalyse everyone around them because They Have The Knowledge Now:

‘Look,' said Hermione patiently, ‘it’s always you who gets all the attention, you know it is. I know it’s not your fault,' she added quickly, seeing Harry open his mouth furiously, ‘I know you don’t ask for it ... but – well – you know, Ron’s got all those brothers to compete against at home, and you’re his best friend, and you’re really famous – he’s always shunted to one side whenever people see you, and he puts up with it, and he never mentions it, but I suppose this is just one time too many ...'

That famous argument Hermione unknowingly prolongs!

There’s something we have to remember about this: we, as readers, could witness Ron and Harry’s argument firsthand.

We, as readers, are limited to Harry’s POV, but that POV also allows us to know a fair few things about Harry and how he sees the world.

“Listen,” said Harry, “I didn’t put my name in the goblet. Someone else must’ve done it.” Ron raised his eyebrows. “What would they do that for?” “I dunno,” said Harry. He felt it would sound very melodramatic to say, “To kill me.” Ron’s eyebrows rose so high that they were in danger of disappearing into his hair. “It’s okay, you know, you can tell me the truth,” he said.

Here, we’re the only ones privy to a specific thought Harry is having -

He felt it would sound very melodramatic to say, “To kill me.”

Which allows us to go “damn it Harry, there’s been no less than four attempts on your life already, Ron being privy to no less than three of them, what makes it melodramatic this time and this time only?”

Then we read this:

Ron’s eyebrows rose so high that they were in danger of disappearing into his hair. “It’s okay, you know, you can tell me the truth,” he said.

And we’re like “god damnit Ron, he’s telling you the truth!! Why won’t you believe him when the past three years you’ve basically accepted anything Harry told you as being the truth??” (granted it is good that Ron thinks for himself, being an independant human being and all, but boy did he pick a terrible time for it)

And so when this happens:

“Yeah, okay,” said Ron, in exactly the same skeptical tone as Cedric. “Only you said this morning you’d have done it last night, and no one would’ve seen you… I’m not stupid you know.” “You’re giving a good impression of it,” Harry snapped. “Yeah?” said Ron, and there was no trace of grin, forced or otherwise on his face now.

We’re left saying “Noooooooo! This could all have been avoided had Harry and Ron partaken in a mutual agreement to properly communicate their feelings!!”

As readers, we witnessed the fight firsthand. We were in Harry’s head. But we were not in Ron’s.

We have Harry’s feelings on the matter; we don’t have Ron’s. But if we carefully read Ron’s lines, we can get an idea.

“Well… no one else got across the Age Line,” said Ron. “Not even Fred and George. What did you use --- the Invisibility Cloak?” “The Invisibility Cloak wouldn’t have got me over that line,” said Harry slowly. “Oh right,” said Ron. “I thought you might’ve told me if it was the cloak… because it would’ve covered both of us, wouldn’t it? But you found another way, did you?”

So, Ron is immediately working off the assumption that Harry did get past the Age Line. That he did manage to trick the Goblet into accepting his name.

Again, as readers, we know that this isn’t the case, since Mad-Eye Fakey explained to us that the Goblet may have been Confunded… But we’re readers. We accompany Harry and see everything he goes through. We know the Goblet was Confunded, something Albus Dumbledore hadn’t thought of or even saw coming. How can we expect Ron, a fourteen-years old boy with much less experience and knowledge than a man more than a century old, to deduce that the Goblet was Confunded?

So, Ron is working off his assumptions, and since he only knows the Goblet as “an impartial judge that is made of magic and is always correct”, he can only assume that Harry found a way to get his name in it.

And, interesting thing, Harry doesn’t deny it.

“The Invisibility Cloak wouldn’t have got me over that line,” said Harry slowly.

There’s nothing about “I didn’t put my name in the Goblet” here. Harry just tells Ron that the Invisibility Cloak couldn’t have been used. But he doesn’t deny Ron’s accusation.

Therefore Ron’s belief that Harry did put his name in the Goblet is quickly reinforced. Harry didn’t deny anything.

And here we have the reason why Ron is angry:

“I thought you might’ve told me if it was the cloak… because it would’ve covered both of us, wouldn’t it? But you found another way, did you?”

Ron thinks that Harry went behind his back.

To us readers, who have followed Harry all this time, it’s a ridiculous notion. But Ron isn’t the reader, following Harry’s every step. To us readers, Ron is being unreasonable, but inside the story, Ron is working off the only things he has. And as Sherlock Holmes once said, "When you have eliminated all which is impossible, then whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth."

And yes, we as readers think it would be impossible for Harry to betray Ron… Just like we once thought that Scabbers was a normal rat until we read the third book, just like we thought the Heir of Slytherin must have been a Slytherin until it turned out to be a Slytherin and his Gryffindor puppet, just like we thought that Snape was trying to kill Harry when it was really Quirrel.

You see? You see how it works? Ron isn’t privy to what we know. Ron can’t come to our conclusions because Ron didn’t know. He couldn’t know.

… Goddamnit I keep getting sidetracked -

So anyway!! Ron couldn’t know because Ron isn’t the reader blah blah blah the same thing works for Hermione also!!

Hermione wasn’t privy to Ron and Harry’s argument, the way we readers were!

Hermione was left to work off, you know it, assumptions!

‘Look,' said Hermione patiently, ‘it’s always you who gets all the attention, you know it is. I know it’s not your fault,' she added quickly, seeing Harry open his mouth furiously, ‘I know you don’t ask for it... but – well – you know, Ron’s got all those brothers to compete against at home, and you’re his best friend, and you’re really famous – he’s always shunted to one side whenever people see you, and he puts up with it, and he never mentions it, but I suppose this is just one time too many...'

The bolded parts, I think, are things Ron himself confided in Hermione.

Hermione is an only child, she wouldn’t realize that there is such a thing as “competition between brothers”. She may have one day asked Ron why he was so difficult with Percy, and Ron told her about how he dislikes Percy’s attitude and how it makes him feel so much more pressured to live up to his brothers, etc.

Or they could have talked together about Harry like they’re wont to do, and as Hermione confides her jealousy when it comes to Harry’s ease in Defense Against The Dark Arts, Ron confides in how he wishes he could be popular and cool, the way Harry is.

Hermione didn’t mean to prolong Harry and Ron’s argument; she just worked off her assumptions, and just like Ron when he’s working off his own assumptions, got it wrong.

Then, another instance of Hermione-the-aspiring-psychologist happens in Order of the Phoenix:

“Don't you understand how Cho's feeling at the moment?" she asked. "No," said Ron and Harry together. Hermione sighed and laid down her quill. "Well, obviously, she's feeling very sad, because of Cedric dying. Then I expect she's feeling confused because she liked Cedric and now she likes Harry, and she can't work out who she likes best. Then she'll be feeling guilty, thinking it's an insult to Cedric's memory to be kissing Harry at all, and she'll be worrying about what everyone else might say about her if she starts going out with Harry. And she probably can't work out what her feelings toward Harry are anyway, because he was the one who was with Cedric when Cedric died, so that's all very mixed up and painful. Oh, and she's afraid she's going to be thrown off the Ravenclaw Quidditch team because she's been flying so badly." A slightly stunned silence greeted the end of this speech, then Ron said, "One person can't feel all that at once, they'd explode.”

Just look at that! Am I reading Harry Potter or Psychology Today?

Well, obviously, she's feeling very sad, because of Cedric dying.

Yeah, I think Harry and Ron can figure that one for themselves, thanks.

Then I expect she's feeling confused because she liked Cedric and now she likes Harry, and she can't work out who she likes best.

This kind of echoes Hermione’s situation with Viktor and Ron. Swap the names and you can see that Hermione wouldn’t have to think too much to imagine how Cho would feel.

Then she'll be feeling guilty, thinking it's an insult to Cedric's memory to be kissing Harry at all

I suspect that Hermione might feel guilty for her kiss with Viktor, not because she feels it’s an insult to Ron - he hadn’t really gone out of his way to make his feelings for her known until after the Ball, after all - but she may be feeling guilty for stringing Krum along. Although the fact that she’s also using Krum’s name to bait Ron into a jealous rage later in that scene shows that if she feels guilty, she certainly isn’t letting it stop her from playing mind-games with Ron.

and she'll be worrying about what everyone else might say about her if she starts going out with Harry

They’re at a school after all, the rumor mill goes fast. Hermione herself was victim of it last year when Rita Skeeter slandered her and made her look like she played with both Harry and Krum’s heart. She speaks from experience there.

And she probably can't work out what her feelings toward Harry are anyway, because he was the one who was with Cedric when Cedric died, so that's all very mixed up and painful.

I love the “so that's all very mixed up and painful”, understatement of the century!

Oh, and she's afraid she's going to be thrown off the Ravenclaw Quidditch team because she's been flying so badly

……….. I doubt Cho was thinking about that when she was kissing Harry, though. Why would she think about Quidditch when she’s doing… something completely unrelated?

And then we get to the famous

A slightly stunned silence greeted the end of this speech, then Ron said, "One person can't feel all that at once, they'd explode." "Just because you've got the emotional range of a teaspoon doesn't mean we all have," said Hermione nastily, picking up her her quill again.

(why have Romione shippers latched onto this quote, it’s here, it’s clearly written “nastily”, why do you guys act like it’s awesome or cute or witty when it’s just plain mean)

Anyway when Ron is saying

"One person can't feel all that at once, they'd explode."

He’s actually right.

Because what has Cho been doing all that time?

Crying.

What has Harry been doing all throughout the book?

Yelling, screaming, being generally aggressive.

Cho is bursting into tears. Harry is exploding in anger.

Ron is right: one person can’t feel all that at once. They get overwhelmed, and so they do something, anything to get those feelings out. Because our brains can only handle so much repression and bullshit, they have to let loose sometimes.

Hermione’s analysis is partially right, because she has been somewhat in Cho’s situation and she can relate somewhat.

You’ll notice that she makes no mention of Cho’s desperate desire to know what happened to Cedric, or of the need for closure. That’s because Hermione can’t relate to this side of Cho’s feelings.

In Half-Blood Prince, we get another very “Hermione reads Psychology Today” moment:

“I’d much rather have Tonks in the family,” said Ginny. “At least she’s a laugh.” “She hasn’t been much of a laugh lately,” said Ron. “Every time I’ve seen her she’s looked more like Moaning Myrtle.” “That’s not fair,” snapped Hermione. “She still hasn’t got over what happened…you know… I mean, he was her cousin!” Harry’s heart sank. They had arrived at Sirius. He picked up a fork and began shovelling scrambled eggs into his mouth, hoping to deflect any invitation to join in this part of the conversation. “Tonks and Sirius barely knew each other!” said Ron. “Sirius was in Azkaban half her life and before that their families never met –“ “That’s not the point,” said Hermione. “She thinks it was her fault he died!” “How does she work that one out?” asked Harry, in spite of himself. “Well, she was fighting Bellatrix Lestrange, wasn’t she? I think she feels that if only she had finished her off, Bellatrix couldn’t have killed Sirius.” “That’s stupid,” said Ron. “It’s survivor’s guilt,” said Hermione. “I know Lupin’s tried to talk her round, but she’s still really down. She’s actually having trouble with her Metamorphosing!”

The end of the book eventually reveals that Tonks was pining for Lupin all this time. Whether or not you ship it is irrelevant in this case, what is interesting is Hermione’s analysis.

“She hasn’t been much of a laugh lately,” said Ron. “Every time I’ve seen her she’s looked more like Moaning Myrtle.” “That’s not fair,” snapped Hermione.

So, obviously, it wouldn’t be Hermione if she didn’t have a go at Ron for being “insensitive” first - not caring that Ron might just be making an observation and not a criticism of Tonks’ character.

“She still hasn’t got over what happened…you know… I mean, he was her cousin!” […] “Tonks and Sirius barely knew each other!” said Ron. “Sirius was in Azkaban half her life and before that their families never met –“ “That’s not the point,” said Hermione.

… well actually Hermione, yes, that’s exactly the point. Ron logically points out that Tonks might not really have been very attached to Sirius, simply because she didn’t know him very well. And he’s right! We have another example of a character who doesn’t feel much about people he’s “meant” to grieve: Harry himself!

Harry doesn’t really feel a sense of loss regarding his parents. He doesn’t miss them. He never really knew them. He idealizes them, sure. He imagines what they did based on pictures of them, yes. But he doesn’t feel their loss like he feels Sirius’ death, for example; and that’s normal, because he has no memory of them, and therefore has no feelings associated with them! That’s a tragedy in itself, of course. But Harry doesn’t suffer from his parents’ loss as much as, say, Ron will suffer from Fred’s death. Because Ron has known Fred his whole life; Ron has countless memories of Fred; Ron can truly, really miss the person Fred was. Harry can only miss the idea he has of his parents.

Aaaanyway I’ve gotten off-topic -

“She thinks it was her fault he died!” “How does she work that one out?” asked Harry, in spite of himself. “Well, she was fighting Bellatrix Lestrange, wasn’t she? I think she feels that if only she had finished her off, Bellatrix couldn’t have killed Sirius.” “That’s stupid,” said Ron. “It’s survivor’s guilt,” said Hermione.

Oh, look at that! A term found in psychology books!

“It’s survivor’s guilt,” said Hermione.

Hermione’s theory assumes a few things:

that Tonks had a very strong relationship with Sirius (Hermione justifies this one by claiming that they’re cousins, ignoring that you can very well have cousins that you never meet even once for several reasons)

that Tonks would feel personally responsible for Sirius’ death, instead of knowing it was a distinct possibility (she’s an Auror after all)

Hermione believes she’s found an explanation to Tonks’ depressed mood in the form of survivor’s guilt; she doesn’t reach a conclusion based on her observations, she instead takes a possible conclusion and then extrapolates arguments that fit in with said conclusion. Sherlock Holmes would be having a fit if he saw her reasoning.

So, that was the “Hermione has read one psychology book and now she thinks she’s unlocked every secret of the human psyche” explanation…

But we’re still lacking a key part of Hermione’s character that also causes her trouble when it comes to people’s feelings: the “I-won’t-say-I-told-you-so-but-actually-yes-I-will”.

The biggest, and most famous, instance of it happens in Prisoner of Azkaban:

“What’s the matter, Lavender?” said Hermione anxiously as she, Harry, and Ron went to join the group. “She got a letter from home this morning,” Parvati whispered. “It’s her rabbit, Binky. He’s been killed by a fox.” “Oh,” said Hermione, “I’m sorry, Lavender.” “I should have known!” said Lavender tragically. “You know what day it is?” “Er —” “The sixteenth of October! ‘That thing you’re dreading, it will happen on the sixteenth of October!’ Remember? [Trelawney] was right, she was right!” The whole class was gathered around Lavender now. Seamus shook his head seriously. Hermione hesitated; then she said, “You — you were dreading Binky being killed by a fox?” “Well, not necessarily by a fox,” said Lavender, looking up at Hermione with streaming eyes, “but I was obviously dreading him dying, wasn’t I?” “Oh,” said Hermione. She paused again. Then — “Was Binky an old rabbit?” “N-no!” sobbed Lavender. “H-he was only a baby!” Parvati tightened her arm around Lavender’s shoulders. “But then, why would you dread him dying?” said Hermione. Parvati glared at her. “Well, look at it logically,” said Hermione, turning to the rest of the group. “I mean, Binky didn’t even die today, did he? Lavender just got the news today —” Lavender wailed loudly “– and she can’t have been dreading it, because it’s come as a real shock —” “Don’t mind Hermione, Lavender,” said Ron loudly, “she doesn’t think other people’s pets matter very much.”

Here we see Hermione’s problem in all its glory: she’s more interested in being right than in being kind.

While the narrative appears to look down on Lavender at first -

“I should have known!” said Lavender tragically. “You know what day it is?”

“Tragically” brings to mind the idea that Lavender is being theatric. Dramatic. That she’s overplaying it. At least, it is the impression I get from the use of that praticular adverb.

But subtle judgement aside, the narrative then brings up Lavender’s very real tears, showing that, dramatization aside, she is hurting:

looking up at Hermione with streaming eyes

“N-no!” sobbed Lavender. “H-he was only a baby!”

Lavender wailed loudly

Through this, Hermione just ploughs on with her logical analysis, completely ignoring poor Lavender’s reactions and feelings, until Ron thankfully shuts her down with a well-earned rebuttal.

Hermione wanted to be right. Hermione wanted to prove to everyone that Divination was rubbish because Hermione hated the subject. And while her logical arguments are all true and have credible basis, the fact remains that she’s being awful.

Lavender looked for sympathy, for warmth, for comfort. And for the most part, she had it.

But Hermione couldn’t resist the possibility of proving that Divination was fake. The moment Lavender mentionned Divination, it was all over: Hermione just couldn’t miss on the golden opportunity to “disprove” Trelawney’s prediction… using Lavender’s pain as her springboard.

Another example of Hermione enforcing her beliefs on others regardless of their feelings or opinions is when she goes full Jehovah Witness on the poor house-elves in Goblet of Fire. Who would have thought that house-elves didn’t like to be told they were brainwashed fools who couldn’t even notice they were enslaved by wizards?

Then we have, of course, Half-Blood Prince. Oh, Half-Blood Prince.

“I won’t say ‘I told you so,’” said Hermione, an hour later in the common room. “Leave it, Hermione,” said Ron angrily. Harry had never made it to dinner; he had no appetite at all. He had just finished telling Ron, Hermione, and Ginny what had happened, not that there seemed to have been much need. […] “I told you there was something wrong with that Prince person,” Hermione said, evidently unable to stop herself. “And I was right, wasn’t I.” “No, I don’t think you were,” said Harry stubbornly.

There’s a whole fantastic analysis of this scene right here so I won’t rehash it: all you need to know is that Hermione is more interested in being told she’s right than in how Harry, her SUPPOSED BEST FRIEND, is feeling.

I mean, seriously, the “teaspoon” himself has picked up on it:

“Leave it, Hermione,” said Ron angrily.

Now let’s remember how Harry was feeling…

“SECTUMSEMPRA!” bellowed Harry from the floor, waving his wand wildly. Blood spurted from Malfoy’s face and chest as though he had been slashed with an invisible sword. He staggered backward and collapsed onto the waterlogged floor with a great splash, his wand falling from his limp right hand. “No—” gasped Harry. Slipping and staggering, Harry got to his feet and plunged toward Malfoy, whose face was now shining scarlet, his white hands scrabbling at his blood-soaked chest. “No—I didn’t—” Harry did not know what he was saying; he fell to his knees beside Malfoy, who was shaking uncontrollably in a pool of his own blood. Moaning Myrtle let out a deafening scream: “MURDER! MURDER IN THE BATHROOM! MURDER!” The door banged open behind Harry and he looked up, terrified: Snape had burst into the room, his face livid. Pushing Harry roughly aside, he knelt over Malfoy, drew his wand, and traced it over the deep wounds Harry’s curse had made, muttering an incantation that sounded almost like song. The flow of blood seemed to ease; Snape wiped the residue from Malfoy’s face and repeated his spell. Now the wounds seemed to be knitting. Harry was still watching, horrified by what he had done, barely aware that he too was soaked in blood and water. Moaning Myrtle was still sobbing and wailing overhead. When Snape had performed his countercurse for the third time, he half-lifted Malfoy into a standing position.

Yeah, I reckon Harry is feeling terrible enough.

There’s no need to rub salt in the wound. Harry is well-aware that he screwed up big time, and his friends know it. They won’t chew Harry out, because they know he’s already kicking himself for his use of Sectumsempra.

Well, Ron and Ginny won’t, but Hermione, oh well, she’s got an opportunity to become the best at Potions again, so she is going to make the most of it.

“I don’t believe this,” said Hermione. “You’re actually defending —” “I’m not defending what I did!” said Harry quickly. “I wish I hadn’t done it, and not just because I’ve got about a dozen detentions. You know I wouldn’t’ve used a spell like that, not even on Malfoy, but you can’t blame the Prince, he hadn’t written ‘try this out, it’s really good’ — he was just making notes for himself, wasn’t he, not for anyone else...” “Are you telling me,” said Hermione, “that you’re going to go back — ?” “And get the book? Yeah, I am,” said Harry forcefully. “Listen, without the Prince I’d never have won the Felix Felicis. I’d never have known how to save Ron from poisoning, I’d never have —” “— got a reputation for Potions brilliance you don’t deserve,” said Hermione nastily.

This last line? This last line is very revealing of Hermione and her character.

She can't stand not being on top.

Sure, she’s nice and clever and she fights for justice. Until she is the one being subjected to it.

“If you ask me,” said Harry quietly, “McLaggen looks like he was Confunded this morning. And he was standing right in front of where you were sitting.” Hermione blushed. “Oh, all right then, I did it,” she whispered. "But you should have heard the way he was talking about Ron and Ginny! Anyway, he's got a nasty temper, you saw how he reacted when he didn't get in--you wouldn't have wanted someone like that on the team.” “No,” said Harry. “No, I suppose that's true. But wasn't that dishonest, Hermione? I mean, you're a prefect, aren't you?” “Oh, be quiet,” she snapped, as he smirked.

Notice how Hermione reacts. Harry is smirking, obviously amused by Hermione breaking the rules for her own gains - he may be thinking something along the lines of “ha, I’m a bad influence on her”. But Hermione? She snaps at him. She’s not amused at all. This is not a moment of camaraderie or complicity: she’s offended. She’s offended, because she knows he has a point. Hermione is interested in justice and fairness and equality, as long as she gets to be above it all.

She looked scandalized. Bending low so that only Harry could hear her, she hissed, “You should be expelled for that. I'd never have believed it of you, Harry!” “Look who's talking,” he whispered back. “Confunded anyone lately?” She stormed up the table away from them. Harry watched her go without regret. Hermione had never really understood what a serious business Quidditch was.

Gasp! A valid point! How dare you!

Sure, Hermione likes her friends. Hermione cares for her friends. Hermione wants the best for her friends.

But ultimately, she likes herself more. She has more consideration for herself than for her friends. And she wants the best for her friends, but only if she gets to be better than them.

It’s quite natural for a teenager, and especially for someone as driven by success as Hermione is, to have such an attitude. She thinks her academical success is the most important thing about her, and she can’t stand to lose it, because it means that she’s not important anymore. Hermione wants to be important, wants to be relied on, wants to be known as “the clever one”, because she desperately needs this sort of validation. If she has to ostracize her peers for it, fine; at least she still is praised for being the best.

Alright. Now, I wasn’t completely done with Half-Blood Prince.

“I told you there was something wrong with that Prince person,” Hermione said, evidently unable to stop herself. “And I was right, wasn’t I.” “No, I don’t think you were,” said Harry stubbornly.

… fast-forward to the day right before Dumbledore’s burial.

[Hermione mentions Snape to Harry]

She looked nervous even saying the name again. “What about him?” asked Harry heavily, slumping back in his chair. “Well, it’s just that I was sort of right about the Half-Blood Prince business,” she said tentatively.

DEAR LORD WHY IS THIS GIRL PRAISED FOR BEING A BOOKWORM WHEN SHE CAN’T EVEN READ A MOOD I get why I call Hermione a bitch now; indeed, she’s like a dog with a bone, she never lets go.

“D’you have to rub it in, Hermione? How d’you think I feel about that now?” “No—no—Harry, I didn’t mean that!” she said hastily, looking around to check that they were not being overheard.

Well you didn’t mean that but you certainly managed to make him feel terrible so congrats. Why do they call you the brightest witch of your age again?

“It’s just that I was right about Eileen Prince once owning the book. You see… she was Snape’s mother!”

Yes, yes, we get it, you were right, you were right, you were right, here’s your biscuit. Now you mind going away before you cause Harry to spiral in depression even more?

“I thought she wasn’t much of a looker,” said Ron.

Good old Ron, trying to make people laugh even in the direst situations. We don’t deserve him.

Hermione ignored him.

Especially you.

“I was going through the rest of the old Prophets and there was a tiny announcement about Eileen Prince marrying a man called Tobias Snape, and then later an announcement saying that she’d given birth to a—” “—murderer,” spat Harry. “Well… yes,” said Hermione. “So… I was sort of right. Snape must have been proud of being “half a Prince”, you see? Tobias Snape was a Muggle from what it said in the Prophet—” “Yeah, that fits,” said Harry. “He’d play up the pure-blood side so he could get in with Lucius Malfoy and the rest of them… he’s just like Voldemort. Pure-blood mother, Muggle father… ashamed of his parentage, trying to make himself feared using the Dark Arts, gave himself an impressive new name—Lord Voldemort—the Half-Blood Prince—how could Dumbledore have missed—?” He broke off, looking out of the window. He could not stop himself dwelling upon Dumbledore’s inexcusable trust in Snape… but as Hermione had just inadvertently reminded him, he, Harry, had been taken in just the same… in spite of the increasing nastiness of those scribbled spells, he had refused to believe ill of the boy who had been so clever, who had helped him so much…

Okay let’s see.

In one conversation.

Hermione says “I was right” no less than three times.

Every time she does so, Harry’s mood takes another nosedive. (And some people want Harry and Hermione together?? Do you folks even read???)

And guess who is the one who has the cleverness to change the subject before Harry flings himself out aforementioned window?

[…] he had refused to believe ill of the boy who had been so clever, who had helped him so much… Helped him… it was an almost unendurable thought, now… “I still don’t get why he didn’t turn you in for using that book,” said Ron. “He must’ve known where you were getting it all from.”

THANK GOD FOR RON, THERE ACTUALLY IS SOMEONE HERE WHO HAS A BASIC UNDERSTANDING OF EMOTIONS AND FEELINGS

this is totally a demarcation line shut up

Saying that Hermione doesn’t understand human feelings would be false. Hermione does understand emotions, but she tends to overestimate how much she does.

Hermione tries to analyze other people’s feelings through projection of her own and simple logic. But feelings are one of those things that you can’t really use logic on. Trying to explain a person’s feelings with logic will often get you angry, defensive responses, but Hermione can’t resist; she has to be right, all the time, and she wants people to know she’s right.

All in all, Hermione would rather voice her opinion and be ostracized than maintain a diplomatic atmosphere.

[youre-on-a-starship]

Part 1

Summary:  Yorktown attacked. Enterprise Destroyed. Estimated 1000 Dead. The headlines roll in as JAG requests your aid in the wake of Krall’s attack on Yorktown. You know that Pavel Chekov was on the destroyed ship, but you’re not sure what you’re more afraid of: his potential death or having to see him again after all this time.

Word Count: 1,229

Author’s Note:  Here we have it: the Chekov series. It may be slow to publish, but we’re going to see how it goes. As with The Part That Counts, I am opening a tag list for this series, please let me know if you’d like to be included. Without further ado, please enjoy Part 1. I really hope you like it.

Table of Contents

Yorktown Attacked. Starfleet Flagship Destroyed. Estimated 1000 Dead.

“Hey, watch it!”

Your coffee cup rolled to a stop against your shoe and you looked down, watching the beige seep into the cracks between the sidewalk stones before you raised your eyes to the man next to you who was inspecting his dress greys for staining.

“I’m so, sorry, did I get any on you?” Your voice sounded hollow as it came out.

“Don’t think so. What the hell were you- oh. Did you just hear?” The man pointed at your PADD screen where you paused on the headline series.

You checked the news three times in the morning: once when your alarm rang at 0630, once on your way to the teleporter terminal, and once in the turbolift to your office. Since your last check before breakfast, the networks exploded with news of an attack on the newest Federation base.

“I didn’t… yeah, I just heard,” you stuttered, looking back at the articles you could select. Which one first? Starfleet Flagship Destroyed or Estimated 1000 Dead?

“Do you have someone out there?” the man asked. You looked at the four gold pins on his collar.

“I do, Captain.”

The man grimaced.

“Go to work,” he suggested, the air the words rode on coming out white and heavy. He placed a hand on your shoulder; you resisted the urge to shrug it off. “Keep going with your day. Listen to the news.”

“Do you have someone out there, Captain?”

The man nodded, his face sinking. “You can’t get a communique out right now, the fleet’s commandeered all the channels. Just wait.”

You nodded, swallowing.

“For what it’s worth, I hope they’re alright,” he said, looking at your feet. “Can I get you another coffee?”

“I appreciate it, but I don’t think I’d be able to drink it now,” you looked across the street at the transporter terminal. “I need to go.”

The man sucked on his cheek and gave a curt nod before hurrying off himself.

Estimated 1000 Dead. Starfleet Flagship Destroyed.

You tapped the former, wondering first and foremost if the death toll was just for the base, the ship, or both.

Glancing up and down the street, you bolted at a quiet moment between vehicles.

The article burned in your hand. You stepped into the teleportation terminal and keyed in the coordinates for your building in downtown. A swirling, gripping lightness encompassed you from the inside out and for one blessed moment you felt reprieve from the vice grip in your stomach.

All too soon you stood in the teleportation terminal in the lobby of your building. You stepped out and looked down at the PADD, moving on autopilot for the turbolift.

Estimated 1000 Dead.

At 1500 on Stardate…

62 injured…

Starfleet Flagship USS Enterprise was destroyed hours before the attack in an altercation with the vessels. According to preliminary reports, an estimated 900 crew members are missing or dead.

900 crew members. How many crew did the Enterprise hold, again? A little over 1000?

Your heart thumped against your ribs. It took every ounce of willpower not to succumb to the desire to suck air in gasps.

Pasha.

At this time, no identities of the deceased crew have been disclosed to the media.

“Goddamnit,” you sighed, wondering how long it would take before you would be able to find out.

You boarded the turbolift with three other lawyers from your floor and the doors swished closed before you rocketed skyward.

“Did you hear about Yorktown?” one of the lawyers asked another in a hushed voice.

“Just now. Can’t believe it. I mean, what did they expect, though, sticking something like that on the edge of uncharted space?”

“Asking for it, if you ask me. Still, hell of a thing.”

“The Flagship’s down, too, eh?”

“Something like 1000 dead?”

“Something like that. Oh well. Tragedy’s good for business.”

You grit your teeth and looked back at your PADD.

At this time, no identities of the deceased crew have been disclosed to the media.

“You hear about it, Y/N?”

“Yes, but I’ve got the good grace not to talk about misfortune in terms of business, Jeremy,” you bit quietly, suddenly wishing you had a coffee to drop on his polished shoes.

“You know I didn’t mean it like that -”

“Then why did you say it, exactly?” You looked up at him with a tightly pulled mouth and dared him with all the fire behind your eyes to make an excuse. “Get back to work.”

The lift doors slid open and you stormed out of the compartment, making at speed for your office.

The legal assistants were all settling themselves in their cubicles and you searched the heads around the replicator for Amy. You saw her tight French twist between the bodies and you bee lined for them.

A pair of the women turned and their eyes grew wide. You tried to pull a smile but it came as more of a challenge than usual.

Amy looked up once she had her misto in her hand and she gave you a sad smile.

“Did you hear?” she asked.

“Just a few minutes ago,” you said, hovering a hand behind her back, steering her away from the other assistants. “Look, I know I don’t ask you for miracles often -”

“Only twice a week.”

“Please. I need you to find a way to get some information for me.”

Amy furrowed her brow and leaned in slightly.

“Do you have someone out there?”

“Not… not technically speaking. But there’s someone that I know is out there and I need to know if they’re alright. Can you figure that out for me?”

“I’m not sure,” Amy said. “Word is the fleet’s commandeered all long-distance channels.”

“I just need you to try.”

“You know I will.”

“His name is Pavel Chekov. He’s with Starfleet.”

“Was he on the ship?” Amy asked in a high whisper, her eyebrows nearly disappearing under her loose bangs.

“He was. At least, I think so. I know he left on that five-year mission garbage they launched a few years ago, so I assume he’s still there.”

“Do you know his serial number?” Amy asked as you arrived at her desk. She put down her misto and picked up her PADD, tapping notes onto the screen.

“I don’t. He was an Ensign when they left, I know that. I don’t know if he’s been promoted since. I wouldn’t be surprised if he has been.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Amy said with a nod. “May I ask -”

“Old flame,” you said, tapping your fingers on her desk. “I’ll be in my office.”

“Hold calls?”

“No, give me something to do.”

You slid your office door shut behind you, making sure it wasn’t locked. The view out your window looked just the same as it did yesterday and yet 1000 people now lay dead somewhere in deep space. You shrugged off your thick wool coat and unwound your scarf from your neck, depositing both on the coat rack by the door.

Laying a hand flat on the desk as you wove around it, you watched the computer interface light up with a huge selection of unread communications.

You sighed and sat in your chair, swivelling and looking out at the frosty downtown around you. Winter was always that moron’s favourite season.

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