My Star Trek One-Shots

Sam Kirk

The USS Enterprise was a ship of legends, but for Lieutenant Jasmine "Jazzy" Harris, it was mostly a place where she tried not to trip over her own trombone case.

Jazzy was a bright light in the high-stakes world of Security. Despite working under the steely gaze of La'an Noonien-Singh, Jazzy maintained a warmth that made her the ship's unofficial heart. She was sharp, a crack shot with a phaser, and possessed a rhythmic soul that came alive during the "Off-Duty Jam Sessions" in Ten Forward.

However, when it came to interpersonal subtext, Jazzy was as dense as a neutron star. It started in the mess hall. Jazzy was picking at a bowl of Vulcan plomeek soup when Nyota Uhura and Erica Ortegas slid into the booth across from her.

"You're doing it again," Ortegas said, leaning back with a smirk.

"Doing what?" Jazzy asked.

"Ignoring the Kirk Effect," Uhura added, nodding toward a table across the room.

Jazzy followed their gaze. George Samuel Kirk was sitting with a group of scientists, but he wasn't looking at his PADD. He was staring—quite intently—at Jazzy. When their eyes met, Sam's face turned a shade of red that rivaled a Class M sunset, and he suddenly became very interested in his salad.

"Sam?" Jazzy laughed. "He's just being Sam. He's friendly. He's got that Kirk energy; it's practically a family trait."

"Jazzy," Uhura said softly, reaching across the table. "He's been 'friendly' to you for six months. He accidentally let a Ganymede Moss-Spore escape last week because you walked past the lab window and waved."

"He has it bad, Harris," Ortegas teased. "He looks at you the way I look at a clear flight path through an asteroid field. Pure devotion."

Jazzy felt a cold spike of disbelief. "That's impossible. Sam is... well, look at him. He's brilliant, he's got that name, he's adventurous. And I'm just . . . me. I'm the girl who carries a brass instrument like a security blanket and has permanent phaser-burn calluses. I'm not 'crush' material."

The seed of doubt grew into a nagging itch. Jazzy couldn't focus. She even missed a beat during her solo that evening. Finally, fueled by a mix of insecurity and the need for clarity, she marched down to the Life Sciences lab.

The doors hissed open. Sam was hunched over a microscope, his sleeves rolled up, looking every bit the handsome, rumpled scientist.

"Sam," she barked, her 'Security' voice slipping out.

Sam jumped, nearly knocking over a centrifuge. "Jasmine! I mean, Lieutenant. Jazzy. Hi. Did La'an send you? Is there a containment breach? I swear the xeno-botany samples are behaving."

"No breach," she said, crossing her arms. She walked closer, her heart hammering against her ribs. "I just had a very strange lunch with Uhura and Ortegas. They told me something ridiculous, and I need you to debunk it so I can go back to my life."

Sam wiped his palms on his trousers, looking uncharacteristically nervous. "Okay... what's the rumor?"

"They think you have a crush on me," she said, her voice dropping. She gave a self-deprecating shrug. "I told them they were crazy. I told them you probably just think I'm a good officer or a decent trombone player. Because, let's be real, Sam—look at me. I'm not exactly the type someone like you falls for."

Sam took a step forward, closing the gap between the lab benches. "What do you mean, 'someone like me'?"

"You're a Kirk," Jazzy whispered, her bravado crumbling. "And I'm just . . . loud and awkward and ordinary. I'm not the girl in the romance holodeck programs."