Fic: Inter Spem et Metum, 1/2. Kirk/McCoy.
Jun. 1st, 2009 08:52 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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cjs_owndisclaimer. Not mine. Never have been and I'll only ever be playing in the sandbox.
title. Inter Spem et Metum
rating. Adult
pairing. Kirk/McCoy
summary. Life is what happens between hope and fear.
notes. Death of a minor character/child.
There were few things in his life that Leonard McCoy regretted, like his ill-fated marriage and giving Jim a vaccine that could have killed him. Letting the fool be jettisoned off into space had its place on the list, of course, as did allowing him to refuse all but the absolutely necessary medical intervention after Nero's fall; the latter had gotten him a reaming out by the medical board who believed he should have worked in the patient's best interests, but he had maintained that none of them had ever tried treating Jim Kirk so they had no idea what he'd had to contend with.
At the very top of the list, however, surpassing all else, was leaving behind Joanna.
She'd been approaching her third birthday when the divorce papers had appeared at the Nurses' Station the afternoon following a 36-hour shift and had turned four the morning he'd finally relented, signing the official declaration while she sat in another room with vanilla cake crumbs coating her hands. His ex-wife had then summarily kicked him out of the house with little more than the clothes on his back and the informational papers on Starfleet.
“Give her something to be proud of,” she'd said as though being a doctor simply wasn't enough, something that had grated on his nerves even as he'd walked into the nearest Enlistment Center.
In all honesty, it still burned to think about, to know the job he had worked so hard for and the reason she had married him (as it was announced at the divorce trial) had taken away his little girl. He didn't see her first real report card, didn't get to help her with math homework, or any number of things that a daddy normally did.
But classes at the Academy and Nero and the new mission had made the separation easier to deal with if only due to the fact that keeping up Jim Kirk kept his mind from growing morose and homesick. Between the bar fights of old and the away missions of new, between their friendship and their relationship, he had precious few moments to worry if she was happy or if she missed him.
He regretted leaving her behind, top of his unwritten list, yet he knew she was safe and sound with her mother who may have hated him for a time but always loved their daughter like only a mother could. Leonard had that solace as he swept through a void of black and starlight in a ship made of metal and plastic and linen that could become his tomb in a heartbeat.
Still, life went on for him: Jim both in command and at his side on the Enterprise, giving him high blood pressure at the mention of away teams while simultaneously wanting to drag the fleet's youngest captain off to the nearest room. He repaired injuries, healed sickness, and eased the agony of the dying with nary a thought toward Joanna.
Until the day Jim appeared in Medical Bay, looking entirely too grim, and told him to sit down.
James T. Kirk, when it came to his friends, knew of no boundaries. He was loyal, fiercely protective, and perhaps a little in love with all of them, though he felt no sexual attraction to any one save Bones, which had thrown him severely their first week aboard.
Even after he'd started his relationship with Bones – his first purely monogamous relationship since Mira Ferris in the tenth grade – he'd been unable to stop himself from appreciating the female form, though out of respect for his lover, he had refrained from engaging in anything more than playful flirting and touches. To not find any member of his staff, male or female, intriguing in a sensual manner had been... odd, but he'd eventually found that he did not miss the drive that had sent him jumping from bed to bed.
However, though he no longer slept with others to soothe his demons or to form bonds with people, he had no problem invading their privacy when he saw fit. If a friend was upset, he felt duty-bound to alleviate their pain and Bones had, lately, been more gruff than usual.
Snooping around Bones' personal computer had garnered him the revelation that Joanna's eighth birthday was a handful of days away and her only reply to McCoy's question regarding what she wanted as a gift had been “You, Daddy.”
Jim had certainly understood his sullen mood after discovering that, wondering in spare moments what he could do to make bother father and daughter a little happier despite their forced separation. There was simply no way that Bones could be at the celebration – Enterprise was not due to return for upgrades for another six months – nor could Jim think of a reason to have the young girl sent to the ship.
Amusingly, it had been Chekov who'd put the thought in his head to check his lover's computer once more. If Bones' ex-wife had been tormenting him with messages about a party the man couldn't hope to attend, perhaps she had done the same with other events. Jim knew from their second year at Academy that the former Mrs. McCoy preferred to vacation off-world, swearing it was to expose her child to different cultures even when the world they went to was nothing more than miles and miles of sandy beaches.
He hit pay dirt sometime between the end of his shift and the end of Bones' and with a grin on his face reminiscent of the ones he used to give to potential fucks, he sent off communique after communique to admirals and commanders. A break, he'd written, a few days respite on a warm world where the crew wouldn't have to worry about letting their guard down.
The door had swished open seconds after Jim'd shut down the unit, putting his feet up on the coffee table and declaring, “Hello, dear, have a nice day at work?”
McCoy had taken in his face, the languid posture, and quickly replied, “I don't want to know what you've been up to.”
The younger man had only continued to smile, completely satisfied with himself.
Jim being in Medical Bay was nothing new, but showing up conscious, clean, sober, and of his own volition was. The man was a lunatic about avoiding that particular area on the ship, even when he needed pints of blood replaced and wounds sutured. Hell, on one rather memorable occasion, Bones had been forced to send two of his male orderlies to drag Kirk from the Bridge for his annual exam.
So, knowing what he did, McCoy immediately knew something was very wrong.
Handing off his PADD to Christine Chapel with the instruction to continue the medical inventory update Starfleet had been asking for, he looked at Jim, asking, “Who pissed in your coffee?”
“Don't,” Jim warned, face drawn and hard. “I have to... Can we go in your office?”
Thrown by the seriousness in his tone, Bones only nodded toward the door with his chin and fell in step behind his best friend, hitting the lock as he passed into the room. It couldn't be called homey nor spartan, the CMO's office, but it did lay somewhere in the middle with two thickly-cushioned chairs in front of a desk that sported multiple read and unread journals stacked beside a holo of Joanna. A folded up cot was hidden behind the potted plant Scotty had forced on him; a change of clothes hung neatly from a hook opposite the door.
“I, uh, need you to sit,” Jim said after a moment of awkward silence had passed, worrying Bones that much more. He ran a hand through his hair as McCoy slipped into his chair, looking up at Jim only after he had gathered his courage.
“I'm supposed to do this in an official capacity, but fuck, I can't. Not with you,” Jim breathed, already feeling the creep of anxiety twisting in his gut. “Bones, last month, around Joanna's birthday? I contacted your ex-wife to see if she'd be willing to bring Joanna to Risa to meet us.”
McCoy couldn't stop the influx of anger nor the outpouring of words that it caused. “You did what? Are you mad? There's a reason I haven't let the two of you speak – you're a goddamn idiot and she's...”
“Bones!” Kirk cut him off, kneeling down in front of him and resting his hands on his lover's knees. “Listen to me. She agreed and yesterday she and Joanna left Georgia for Risa, so they could already be there when Enterprise arrived in orbit.”
A sudden nausea flew through McCoy. An unsettled feeling rising from his belly as Jim's eyes seemed to take on an unnatural, sad shine and he opened his mouth to stop whatever was going to come next, but he couldn't get his tongue to work.
“The ship that was transporting them was attacked by an unknown rebel group last night.”
Bones held his breath, already aware on some level of what was coming but already in denial.
“Joanna... Fuck,” Jim muttered, scrubbing his forehead with a hand before whipping his head back with his heart thudding painfully in his chest. Oh, how he didn't want to have to say what needed to be said, how badly he wished Spock had been able to do it instead, dry and clinical and not him.
His mouth went dry, cottony, and Jim squeezed the hands that had fallen to his, “Joanna's gone.”
A few minutes passed, both of them unable to move in a state of frozen expectation, until McCoy's fingers clenched around Jim's and he whispered, “That's not funny. Don't fucking joke about...” He cut himself off, snapping his jaw closed as he took in the expression on Kirk's face.
Slowly, the doctor's head fell forward, elbows resting on his legs as he crumpled into his hands. His palms pushed into his eyes, fingers curling into his hair, and Jim was at a loss. He was an expert at comforting women or comforting someone in a diplomatic setting, but he couldn't begin to guess what Bones needed from him right then.
Instinct told him to not move, to keep his hands splayed over taut skin, even as the rest of him tried to determine if fleeing to the safety of the Bridge was acceptable. Surely the man would cry; it was his daughter he'd just lost, a wholly understandable reason to cry if ever there was one, and Jim winced internally at the idea of it. But McCoy never so much as uttered a sob, took a sharp intake of air, or any of the things that girls did before they launched into hysterics.
“Jim,” he said, finally, hands still firmly set against his face as though they were a shield against the world.
“Bones,” Jim answered.
The whisper was barely perceptible, an admission of intent and an out for the Captain who felt thoroughly out of his depth. “Go away.”
Kirk was at his feet in an instant; he started to leave, making his way toward the exit without preamble, but he got within an inch of the sensor that would open the door when his stomach grew heavy, as though a great ball of glue or some of Mr. Scott's moonshine had filled it. His mind raced with realization and he spun back to his hunched lover.
As uncomfortable as it made him, Jim knew he would not be returning to the Bridge that day. He had probably known it the second he'd walked into the Medical Bay's main treatment room, searching for his CMO. Not because of that sappy emotional crap that girls liked, but because the only person on the ship Jim trusted to take care of McCoy when he was upset was himself.
He returned to the space he had knelt, standing this time, and put his hands on Bones' shoulders. “No, I think I'll stay right here,” he declared, surprised when one hand came up to wrap around his wrist as though to say thank you.
It was a long time before either of them were ready to move: Bones was too wrapped up in trying to keep the pain at bay and Jim's head had filled with command rotation schedules and regulations. There were a mandatory number of hours per week that an able bodied crewmember was required to complete.
While Bones had already been placed on bereavement stand-down by their superiors, Jim hadn't – they'd never logged the change in their relationship so few beyond the Enterprise's walls knew that the two men shared quarters, meals, and their lives. It had been Jim's request, too, and he kicked himself viciously for it because any change now to their records would not retroactively apply.
Basically, he could not be given Partner's Bereavement Leave to attend a wake, funeral, or memorial with McCoy since he'd failed to note the change prior to Joanna's death. That did not, however, mean he could enact the change anyway, only that he would not be permitted to exempt himself from the duty roster – he had to complete his required hours.
He was still pondering his options when Bones leaned back, his dark eyes meeting Jim's and he said, in a voice husky with emotion, “I need a drink and a fucking shower.”
“Got both of those in quarters,” Kirk replied in an even tone, before squeezing his lover's shoulders once more. “Along with dinner,” he added once Bones was standing, and together they turned toward the door; Chapel's eyes were on them the second they appeared, as though trying to determine what they'd been doing behind closed doors for nigh on two hours.
Bones only glanced at her, ordering, “Alert Doctor Jenysin that she needs to report to sickbay,” while he walked steadily across the treatment area. He failed to slow his gait even as he passed through the doorway to the corridor beyond, clearly set on a goal that Jim couldn't identify as he trailed behind his lover. The fear, perhaps, of having to interact with the crew if he looked like anything less than a man on a mission; maybe he was hoping to get to the sanctuary of the Captain's quarters (their quarters) as quickly as possible.
Whatever the reason, when they stepped blithely into the outer room, Jim was ill-prepared for the message blinking on his computer unit's screen. A message from Starfleet Command, he could tell, and marked urgent; he had always firmly believed their poor timing was the worst of an institution in the universe and this simply cinched it.
Kirk hemmed and hawwed for a minute, trying to decide if ignoring it was an option in favor of the shower Bones had mentioned earlier, but he knew it likely held the latest intelligence on the group who'd attacked the Commercial Starship Hennessey. Intelligence he urgently wanted, if only to know who deserved the brunt of McCoy's fury.
Bones made the decision for him without saying a word. Yanking the blue tunic over his head and gripping the archway between the living space and their bedroom for a moment of support, Jim could see as the intense feeling of loss washed off him once more. He seemed to almost lose the ability to support himself and Kirk was at his side then.
“Come on,” he murmured, foreheads tilting until they touched and Jim rubbed a hand along a patch of exposed skin. He pressed a kiss to Bones' lips, dry and chapped and chaste, offering him, “Warm shower, Leonard,” in a voice that McCoy had heard only a handful of times from Jim. The one that was somewhere between concern and command, with a hint of affection though the man would probably never admit that to anyone.
“Yeah,” Bones nodded. The inexplicable sense of being alone, of finality, had evaporated, leaving behind only a sense of numbness; he felt like he were standing in a vacuum, nothing around him that could qualify as air, until Jim kissed him again, this time parting Bones' lips with his own.
When he pulled back, clearing his throat, he stated, “Shower's big enough for two,” as though they hadn't discovered that almost immediately upon boarding for their first mission under Captain James T. Kirk's command. Bones' eyes locked with Jim's, half-pleading in a way that made Jim want to run and hide and it took him a minute to figure out what was filling his lover's eyes in spite of the dropped shoulders and despondent facial affect – heartsick, depression, outright sadness.
“It is,” Jim agreed, slinging his own tunic over his head and dropping it to the floor. He reached for the hem of his undershirt when a hand reached out to stop him; McCoy was trembling, his fingers taut were they tangled with his own. “Bones...”
“I...” He trailed off, unsure of how and what to say, to ask the question he needed to know because while Leonard McCoy hated funerals, he hated closed caskets even more. And there was no singular doubt in his mind that whatever caused Joanna's death (explosive decompression, shrapnel, phaser blast) would mean his beautiful girl would no longer be so beautiful. He could barely stomach the thought and with every passing minute, he felt the need to know rising, if only to prepare himself. He snorted at the irony of being able to suture wounds so deep, he could touch organs, and heal the flesh of a person who'd stood at the center of an Engineering disaster, even recover bodies from exactly such a tragedy as Joanna's but not when it involved her.
Jim spared him from having to utter the words. Between the years of friendship, the fact that he could not bring himself to utter words no parents should have to, and Jim himself having lived this horror at his mother's side, he knew what Bones was trying to find out. “Did they recover a body,” he said, and nodded, “Yeah, but I did the identification for you which was verified with the DNA on file.”
“Why didn't you...”
“Trust me, that's not the last memory you want of her. Hell, I didn't even want it, but I could never have loved her as much as you did and I don't want you to spend the next fuck-knows-how-long trying to remember good times, only to have that picture jump into your head.” Jim sighed, one hand pressing against a cheek and rubbed his thumb under Bones' eye, “Let's take a shower, all right?”
McCoy closed his eyes and pushed himself away from the bulkhead; he refused to take his hand from Jim's, needing the human contact right then, but unable to verbalize it.
The words Kirk had used had carried an air of experience and Bones' racked his brain, attempting to recall every conversation, every argument, and every Academy paper ever written on George Kirk, only his thoughts stalled out as Jim stripped him down.
He shouldn't be turned on, not now when his daughter was dead and his ex-wife was obviously dead as well, a woman he had once expected to spend the rest of his life with. He shouldn't be staring at Jim's hands with hope while his cock hardened; a vaguely he recalled something he'd read in a psych journal some months back about sexual response to adverse trauma, but it was gone as soon as Jim manhandled him into the spray.
“Fuck, Jim, that's cold!” He spat, jumping back and forgetting everything for a moment. His fingers found the in-stall control pad unerringly and he dialed up the heat, turning let it fall on the tight muscles of his back. The twinge in his shoulder brought back reality, causing him to look away from Jim when he finally slid into the shower.
He remained unable to look at him as he pulled Kirk to him, settling his forehead against the younger man's neck with an arm around his waist.
The message was brief and concise, a reply to the one he'd sent as soon as Bones had collapsed into their bed, still dripping.
Unfortunately, as the USS Enterprise, designation NCC-1701, is not due for any scheduled maintenance, we cannot approve the request for Captain James T. Kirk to take leave to attend the memorial for Joanna McCoy.
Underneath, Pike had added:
I'll appeal this on your behalf, but, damnit, Jim, you should have said something.
Morning came to Enterprise as it always did: a gradual rising of the lights in the main living spaces and corridors, until it was bright enough to sling under the doors of those unfortunate souls in quarters that were a bedroom and little else. Those who weren't accustomed to sleeping more than a handful of hours were already up and about, slowly joined by crewmembers yawning and holding mugs of coffee.
In the Captain's quarters, Jim lay beside Bones, exhausted yet awake. Sleep had eluded him despite his best efforts and he almost wished he hadn't used the hidden hypo of sedatives on his lover when Bones had grown too restless a handful of hours earlier.
He was due on the bridge at 0800, first shift, to relieve Sulu and the chronometer in the wall read 0643. More than enough time to get up, change, and have breakfast, or, he knew, enough time to hunt down Uhura and beg.
Kirk entertained the thought for entirely too long, tempting as it was, and he ran a hand through McCoy's hair, pleased that he did nothing to indicate waking, then slipped from the bed to pad across the room. He picked up clothing as he went – uniform pieces, civvies, and underwear that they'd allowed to lay about the room given the ebb and flow of their lives the last few days – and tossed them into the laundry chute. He checked on Bones once more with a glance over his shoulder to ensure the other man still looked tired but calm in his slumber, and slipped out of the room.
The main living space was far cleaner than their bedroom, mainly because Jim insisted on a once a month gathering of the command staff, though Bones had once put his foot up on the coffee table and found it stuck there from sticky residue. (Bones never did ask what it was and Jim was not totally inclined to dispel any ideas.)
A plain couch sat in the middle of the room, a smaller sofa and a couple of chairs near the portrait windows that gave the most fantastic view of the stars as they streaked by; a small table was pushed into the corner opposite the main door and to the side of the bedroom archway. Two computer units lay on an endtable haphazardly, one perilously close to dropping to the floor.
There were bits and pieces to indicate that Jim didn't live alone: a few pictures on the wall by the door of Joanna, ones he'd replicated onto old fashioned glossy paper and set in frames, with medical journals, both antique paper and PADD, neatly lined up on the inset shelving. There were a pair of shoes, half a size bigger, by the door, and if one chose to look carefully enough, the open closet in the bedroom was visible with blue and gold mixing without care.
Jim sighed as he looked at it all, however, wondering if they'd made it so spartan so no one would pay heed to the best known secret aboard the ship. He kicked himself again for never changing his status before grabbing his computer and settling into the chair he'd silently claimed as his own, feet up on the table to read the messages he'd received since before the chrono had flipped over to all zeros.
Nothing more from Pike. A note from his mother asking how he and Leonard were. A handful of thank yous from staff for the leave he'd gotten them (and now regretted with every last fiber of his being). Supply requests he'd been ignoring for the last two days.
A message from Spock that read only, I will take first shift. Lt. Uhura has volunteered to take second. I will contact you when we have located a suitable replacement for any shifts between this missive and our arrival at Risa.
“Last time I tell you anything,” he muttered, wincing at the mere contemplation that Bones' grief might soon become general knowledge amongst the crew. Yet he was still intensely grateful to his first officer, knowing that, as uncomfortable as things were likely to get, he had little desire to be on the Bridge.
Kirk had begun a return message when he heard the rustle of the blanket, the crack of digits as Bones stretched, and then rough silence punctuated by a sad groan. The world had rushed back to McCoy, bringing with it the reality of a life without his daughter.
“Bones?” Jim called out.
There was no reply, only sound of footfalls as they approached the archway and then through it, and Jim looked at him appraisingly. His lover needed more sleep, especially since what he'd gotten prior to being hypoed had been, at best, disturbed, and maybe a little food. He was certainly, Jim decided, not up to the task of making the arrangements for the funeral, something that had be done before the girl's body made it back to Georgia.
“I thought you had morning shift.”
Jim ignore the gruff, accusatory tone and answered, “Nope, Spock does. We traded off a while ago,” as he pushed the computer onto the table with a flick of the power switch. He also ignored the raise eyebrow shot his way, getting to his feet and asking, “Breakfast sound good?”
As if on cue, Bones' stomach growled loudly and with a shrug, he turned around and re-entered the bedroom.
Behind him Jim sighed, closing his eyes for the briefest of seconds, remembering how closed-off his mother had been when Sam had died. At least at first. He knew now, thanks to Starfleet's seminar on “The Consequences and Perils of Space Exploration”, that human beings went through several stages as they grieved. Winona Kirk had leapt through them all pretty quickly, if for no other reason than Jim still needed to be cared for, but Bones had time to truly let the tears fall so to speak.
Jim didn't know if he should be appreciative or upset by that.
He moved out of the living space, joining his lover in the bedroom and at first not seeing him, until he realized the dark spot against the far side of the bed wasn't a pillow, but the mop of sleep-mussed hair belonging to McCoy. He'd sat down on the floor by his nightstand, holding a necklace loosely in his hand.
Aw, hell. “Bones,” he murmured as a warning, sliding down a second later beside the man. With his toes pressed into the bulkhead and his back jammed into the bedframe, he felt like the child he'd been once, sitting beside his brother while his birthday passed in mourning, helpless and weak.
The necklace Jim knew was supposed to be Joanna's birthday present, the pendant a gift from a mining culture that had put Kirk on edge from the moment they'd arrived. Scotty had lasered a hole through the gem and with help from Uhura, Bones had replicated an appropriate chain for an eight-year-old. He'd only been waiting for their arrival at a port with mail services to send it on its way.
Another grumble, this time from both their guts, pulled them forcefully from a pair of melancholic memories. “Food,” Jim declared, taking Bones' hand into his own. “Come on.”
The rest of the day passed agonizingly slowly, accentuated by a few spats here and there as neither man was used to having the presence of their partner around for a full 24 hours. While they might love each other – a word they'd never spoken to each other, but knew it was true just the same – they never spent that much time alone. Indeed, even on the planet where they'd been held two to a cell, Jim had crossed to the barred doors and conducted an hour long conversation with Spock regarding an escape, neglecting to pay any attention to Bones the entire time.
Mostly, Jim sat in his chair with his computer unit in hand, typing out responses and thank yous and answering condolences for McCoy. He made the arrangements and sent yet another request to Starfleet Command pleading for Partner's Bereavement Leave before gritting his teeth to send a message to his mother.
She had retired from Starfleet a few months earlier, claiming that one Kirk serving on a starship was enough but he was convinced she'd grown tired of a life spent traveling. She was well into her fifties, not old by any stretch of the imagination, and she had found a new job doing freelance consulting, writing, and cultivating her greenhouse flowers. Her latest project had involved seedlings from the New Vulcan colony, and she'd gotten lost writing about it in one of her previous messages.
He knew she'd probably be out tending to them as he typed, but that was okay with him. She'd probably need time to think about his request anyway; it wasn't often that a mother was asked to attend her son's partner's funeral.
I don't want him going alone, Mom, he wrote, Not right now, I mean. Because one minute it's like he's Bones and the next minute he's staring off into space.
He sent it off, pulling up the letter from Starfleet Medical and reading up on cause of death when he felt the hand on his thigh. Jim quickly snapped his head up to see the eyes gliding over the message and flipped the unit over.
Eyes caught his. “I need to know,” McCoy admitted, but Jim only powered down the device, set it on the table, and crawled over his lover until his knees were bracketing Bones' hips. “Jim...”
“You don't need to know what killed her,” he said. So out of his depth here, he stuttered through the next words, swearing to Bones that it was quick and her mother was with her and she loved him, and that was all he truly needed to know.
He barely had a minute to draw a breath and continue when lips crushed to his and Jim realized that there was a reversal of roles going on with his cock limp and Bones' hard, pressed into the crease of his thigh. He shoved McCoy back stiffly as lips began to move from mouth to neck, telling him, “No,” firmly and rolling out of the man's lap.
They didn't speak for the rest of the night. Nor the day after that when they arrived at Risa, where a Federation ship on its way back to Earth had waited on orders from Admiral Barnett for McCoy, despite Jim wanting to say something – anything – as a goodbye.
Instead, they'd looked at each other sadly, Jim behind the glass of the transporter room and Bones standing wearily on one of the pads as matter turned to energy.
title. Inter Spem et Metum
rating. Adult
pairing. Kirk/McCoy
summary. Life is what happens between hope and fear.
notes. Death of a minor character/child.
inter spem et metum
one.
There were few things in his life that Leonard McCoy regretted, like his ill-fated marriage and giving Jim a vaccine that could have killed him. Letting the fool be jettisoned off into space had its place on the list, of course, as did allowing him to refuse all but the absolutely necessary medical intervention after Nero's fall; the latter had gotten him a reaming out by the medical board who believed he should have worked in the patient's best interests, but he had maintained that none of them had ever tried treating Jim Kirk so they had no idea what he'd had to contend with.
At the very top of the list, however, surpassing all else, was leaving behind Joanna.
She'd been approaching her third birthday when the divorce papers had appeared at the Nurses' Station the afternoon following a 36-hour shift and had turned four the morning he'd finally relented, signing the official declaration while she sat in another room with vanilla cake crumbs coating her hands. His ex-wife had then summarily kicked him out of the house with little more than the clothes on his back and the informational papers on Starfleet.
“Give her something to be proud of,” she'd said as though being a doctor simply wasn't enough, something that had grated on his nerves even as he'd walked into the nearest Enlistment Center.
In all honesty, it still burned to think about, to know the job he had worked so hard for and the reason she had married him (as it was announced at the divorce trial) had taken away his little girl. He didn't see her first real report card, didn't get to help her with math homework, or any number of things that a daddy normally did.
But classes at the Academy and Nero and the new mission had made the separation easier to deal with if only due to the fact that keeping up Jim Kirk kept his mind from growing morose and homesick. Between the bar fights of old and the away missions of new, between their friendship and their relationship, he had precious few moments to worry if she was happy or if she missed him.
He regretted leaving her behind, top of his unwritten list, yet he knew she was safe and sound with her mother who may have hated him for a time but always loved their daughter like only a mother could. Leonard had that solace as he swept through a void of black and starlight in a ship made of metal and plastic and linen that could become his tomb in a heartbeat.
Still, life went on for him: Jim both in command and at his side on the Enterprise, giving him high blood pressure at the mention of away teams while simultaneously wanting to drag the fleet's youngest captain off to the nearest room. He repaired injuries, healed sickness, and eased the agony of the dying with nary a thought toward Joanna.
Until the day Jim appeared in Medical Bay, looking entirely too grim, and told him to sit down.
two.
James T. Kirk, when it came to his friends, knew of no boundaries. He was loyal, fiercely protective, and perhaps a little in love with all of them, though he felt no sexual attraction to any one save Bones, which had thrown him severely their first week aboard.
Even after he'd started his relationship with Bones – his first purely monogamous relationship since Mira Ferris in the tenth grade – he'd been unable to stop himself from appreciating the female form, though out of respect for his lover, he had refrained from engaging in anything more than playful flirting and touches. To not find any member of his staff, male or female, intriguing in a sensual manner had been... odd, but he'd eventually found that he did not miss the drive that had sent him jumping from bed to bed.
However, though he no longer slept with others to soothe his demons or to form bonds with people, he had no problem invading their privacy when he saw fit. If a friend was upset, he felt duty-bound to alleviate their pain and Bones had, lately, been more gruff than usual.
Snooping around Bones' personal computer had garnered him the revelation that Joanna's eighth birthday was a handful of days away and her only reply to McCoy's question regarding what she wanted as a gift had been “You, Daddy.”
Jim had certainly understood his sullen mood after discovering that, wondering in spare moments what he could do to make bother father and daughter a little happier despite their forced separation. There was simply no way that Bones could be at the celebration – Enterprise was not due to return for upgrades for another six months – nor could Jim think of a reason to have the young girl sent to the ship.
Amusingly, it had been Chekov who'd put the thought in his head to check his lover's computer once more. If Bones' ex-wife had been tormenting him with messages about a party the man couldn't hope to attend, perhaps she had done the same with other events. Jim knew from their second year at Academy that the former Mrs. McCoy preferred to vacation off-world, swearing it was to expose her child to different cultures even when the world they went to was nothing more than miles and miles of sandy beaches.
He hit pay dirt sometime between the end of his shift and the end of Bones' and with a grin on his face reminiscent of the ones he used to give to potential fucks, he sent off communique after communique to admirals and commanders. A break, he'd written, a few days respite on a warm world where the crew wouldn't have to worry about letting their guard down.
The door had swished open seconds after Jim'd shut down the unit, putting his feet up on the coffee table and declaring, “Hello, dear, have a nice day at work?”
McCoy had taken in his face, the languid posture, and quickly replied, “I don't want to know what you've been up to.”
The younger man had only continued to smile, completely satisfied with himself.
three.
Jim being in Medical Bay was nothing new, but showing up conscious, clean, sober, and of his own volition was. The man was a lunatic about avoiding that particular area on the ship, even when he needed pints of blood replaced and wounds sutured. Hell, on one rather memorable occasion, Bones had been forced to send two of his male orderlies to drag Kirk from the Bridge for his annual exam.
So, knowing what he did, McCoy immediately knew something was very wrong.
Handing off his PADD to Christine Chapel with the instruction to continue the medical inventory update Starfleet had been asking for, he looked at Jim, asking, “Who pissed in your coffee?”
“Don't,” Jim warned, face drawn and hard. “I have to... Can we go in your office?”
Thrown by the seriousness in his tone, Bones only nodded toward the door with his chin and fell in step behind his best friend, hitting the lock as he passed into the room. It couldn't be called homey nor spartan, the CMO's office, but it did lay somewhere in the middle with two thickly-cushioned chairs in front of a desk that sported multiple read and unread journals stacked beside a holo of Joanna. A folded up cot was hidden behind the potted plant Scotty had forced on him; a change of clothes hung neatly from a hook opposite the door.
“I, uh, need you to sit,” Jim said after a moment of awkward silence had passed, worrying Bones that much more. He ran a hand through his hair as McCoy slipped into his chair, looking up at Jim only after he had gathered his courage.
“I'm supposed to do this in an official capacity, but fuck, I can't. Not with you,” Jim breathed, already feeling the creep of anxiety twisting in his gut. “Bones, last month, around Joanna's birthday? I contacted your ex-wife to see if she'd be willing to bring Joanna to Risa to meet us.”
McCoy couldn't stop the influx of anger nor the outpouring of words that it caused. “You did what? Are you mad? There's a reason I haven't let the two of you speak – you're a goddamn idiot and she's...”
“Bones!” Kirk cut him off, kneeling down in front of him and resting his hands on his lover's knees. “Listen to me. She agreed and yesterday she and Joanna left Georgia for Risa, so they could already be there when Enterprise arrived in orbit.”
A sudden nausea flew through McCoy. An unsettled feeling rising from his belly as Jim's eyes seemed to take on an unnatural, sad shine and he opened his mouth to stop whatever was going to come next, but he couldn't get his tongue to work.
“The ship that was transporting them was attacked by an unknown rebel group last night.”
Bones held his breath, already aware on some level of what was coming but already in denial.
“Joanna... Fuck,” Jim muttered, scrubbing his forehead with a hand before whipping his head back with his heart thudding painfully in his chest. Oh, how he didn't want to have to say what needed to be said, how badly he wished Spock had been able to do it instead, dry and clinical and not him.
His mouth went dry, cottony, and Jim squeezed the hands that had fallen to his, “Joanna's gone.”
A few minutes passed, both of them unable to move in a state of frozen expectation, until McCoy's fingers clenched around Jim's and he whispered, “That's not funny. Don't fucking joke about...” He cut himself off, snapping his jaw closed as he took in the expression on Kirk's face.
Slowly, the doctor's head fell forward, elbows resting on his legs as he crumpled into his hands. His palms pushed into his eyes, fingers curling into his hair, and Jim was at a loss. He was an expert at comforting women or comforting someone in a diplomatic setting, but he couldn't begin to guess what Bones needed from him right then.
Instinct told him to not move, to keep his hands splayed over taut skin, even as the rest of him tried to determine if fleeing to the safety of the Bridge was acceptable. Surely the man would cry; it was his daughter he'd just lost, a wholly understandable reason to cry if ever there was one, and Jim winced internally at the idea of it. But McCoy never so much as uttered a sob, took a sharp intake of air, or any of the things that girls did before they launched into hysterics.
“Jim,” he said, finally, hands still firmly set against his face as though they were a shield against the world.
“Bones,” Jim answered.
The whisper was barely perceptible, an admission of intent and an out for the Captain who felt thoroughly out of his depth. “Go away.”
Kirk was at his feet in an instant; he started to leave, making his way toward the exit without preamble, but he got within an inch of the sensor that would open the door when his stomach grew heavy, as though a great ball of glue or some of Mr. Scott's moonshine had filled it. His mind raced with realization and he spun back to his hunched lover.
As uncomfortable as it made him, Jim knew he would not be returning to the Bridge that day. He had probably known it the second he'd walked into the Medical Bay's main treatment room, searching for his CMO. Not because of that sappy emotional crap that girls liked, but because the only person on the ship Jim trusted to take care of McCoy when he was upset was himself.
He returned to the space he had knelt, standing this time, and put his hands on Bones' shoulders. “No, I think I'll stay right here,” he declared, surprised when one hand came up to wrap around his wrist as though to say thank you.
four.
It was a long time before either of them were ready to move: Bones was too wrapped up in trying to keep the pain at bay and Jim's head had filled with command rotation schedules and regulations. There were a mandatory number of hours per week that an able bodied crewmember was required to complete.
While Bones had already been placed on bereavement stand-down by their superiors, Jim hadn't – they'd never logged the change in their relationship so few beyond the Enterprise's walls knew that the two men shared quarters, meals, and their lives. It had been Jim's request, too, and he kicked himself viciously for it because any change now to their records would not retroactively apply.
Basically, he could not be given Partner's Bereavement Leave to attend a wake, funeral, or memorial with McCoy since he'd failed to note the change prior to Joanna's death. That did not, however, mean he could enact the change anyway, only that he would not be permitted to exempt himself from the duty roster – he had to complete his required hours.
He was still pondering his options when Bones leaned back, his dark eyes meeting Jim's and he said, in a voice husky with emotion, “I need a drink and a fucking shower.”
“Got both of those in quarters,” Kirk replied in an even tone, before squeezing his lover's shoulders once more. “Along with dinner,” he added once Bones was standing, and together they turned toward the door; Chapel's eyes were on them the second they appeared, as though trying to determine what they'd been doing behind closed doors for nigh on two hours.
Bones only glanced at her, ordering, “Alert Doctor Jenysin that she needs to report to sickbay,” while he walked steadily across the treatment area. He failed to slow his gait even as he passed through the doorway to the corridor beyond, clearly set on a goal that Jim couldn't identify as he trailed behind his lover. The fear, perhaps, of having to interact with the crew if he looked like anything less than a man on a mission; maybe he was hoping to get to the sanctuary of the Captain's quarters (their quarters) as quickly as possible.
Whatever the reason, when they stepped blithely into the outer room, Jim was ill-prepared for the message blinking on his computer unit's screen. A message from Starfleet Command, he could tell, and marked urgent; he had always firmly believed their poor timing was the worst of an institution in the universe and this simply cinched it.
Kirk hemmed and hawwed for a minute, trying to decide if ignoring it was an option in favor of the shower Bones had mentioned earlier, but he knew it likely held the latest intelligence on the group who'd attacked the Commercial Starship Hennessey. Intelligence he urgently wanted, if only to know who deserved the brunt of McCoy's fury.
Bones made the decision for him without saying a word. Yanking the blue tunic over his head and gripping the archway between the living space and their bedroom for a moment of support, Jim could see as the intense feeling of loss washed off him once more. He seemed to almost lose the ability to support himself and Kirk was at his side then.
“Come on,” he murmured, foreheads tilting until they touched and Jim rubbed a hand along a patch of exposed skin. He pressed a kiss to Bones' lips, dry and chapped and chaste, offering him, “Warm shower, Leonard,” in a voice that McCoy had heard only a handful of times from Jim. The one that was somewhere between concern and command, with a hint of affection though the man would probably never admit that to anyone.
“Yeah,” Bones nodded. The inexplicable sense of being alone, of finality, had evaporated, leaving behind only a sense of numbness; he felt like he were standing in a vacuum, nothing around him that could qualify as air, until Jim kissed him again, this time parting Bones' lips with his own.
When he pulled back, clearing his throat, he stated, “Shower's big enough for two,” as though they hadn't discovered that almost immediately upon boarding for their first mission under Captain James T. Kirk's command. Bones' eyes locked with Jim's, half-pleading in a way that made Jim want to run and hide and it took him a minute to figure out what was filling his lover's eyes in spite of the dropped shoulders and despondent facial affect – heartsick, depression, outright sadness.
“It is,” Jim agreed, slinging his own tunic over his head and dropping it to the floor. He reached for the hem of his undershirt when a hand reached out to stop him; McCoy was trembling, his fingers taut were they tangled with his own. “Bones...”
“I...” He trailed off, unsure of how and what to say, to ask the question he needed to know because while Leonard McCoy hated funerals, he hated closed caskets even more. And there was no singular doubt in his mind that whatever caused Joanna's death (explosive decompression, shrapnel, phaser blast) would mean his beautiful girl would no longer be so beautiful. He could barely stomach the thought and with every passing minute, he felt the need to know rising, if only to prepare himself. He snorted at the irony of being able to suture wounds so deep, he could touch organs, and heal the flesh of a person who'd stood at the center of an Engineering disaster, even recover bodies from exactly such a tragedy as Joanna's but not when it involved her.
Jim spared him from having to utter the words. Between the years of friendship, the fact that he could not bring himself to utter words no parents should have to, and Jim himself having lived this horror at his mother's side, he knew what Bones was trying to find out. “Did they recover a body,” he said, and nodded, “Yeah, but I did the identification for you which was verified with the DNA on file.”
“Why didn't you...”
“Trust me, that's not the last memory you want of her. Hell, I didn't even want it, but I could never have loved her as much as you did and I don't want you to spend the next fuck-knows-how-long trying to remember good times, only to have that picture jump into your head.” Jim sighed, one hand pressing against a cheek and rubbed his thumb under Bones' eye, “Let's take a shower, all right?”
McCoy closed his eyes and pushed himself away from the bulkhead; he refused to take his hand from Jim's, needing the human contact right then, but unable to verbalize it.
The words Kirk had used had carried an air of experience and Bones' racked his brain, attempting to recall every conversation, every argument, and every Academy paper ever written on George Kirk, only his thoughts stalled out as Jim stripped him down.
He shouldn't be turned on, not now when his daughter was dead and his ex-wife was obviously dead as well, a woman he had once expected to spend the rest of his life with. He shouldn't be staring at Jim's hands with hope while his cock hardened; a vaguely he recalled something he'd read in a psych journal some months back about sexual response to adverse trauma, but it was gone as soon as Jim manhandled him into the spray.
“Fuck, Jim, that's cold!” He spat, jumping back and forgetting everything for a moment. His fingers found the in-stall control pad unerringly and he dialed up the heat, turning let it fall on the tight muscles of his back. The twinge in his shoulder brought back reality, causing him to look away from Jim when he finally slid into the shower.
He remained unable to look at him as he pulled Kirk to him, settling his forehead against the younger man's neck with an arm around his waist.
five.
The message was brief and concise, a reply to the one he'd sent as soon as Bones had collapsed into their bed, still dripping.
Unfortunately, as the USS Enterprise, designation NCC-1701, is not due for any scheduled maintenance, we cannot approve the request for Captain James T. Kirk to take leave to attend the memorial for Joanna McCoy.
Underneath, Pike had added:
I'll appeal this on your behalf, but, damnit, Jim, you should have said something.
six.
Morning came to Enterprise as it always did: a gradual rising of the lights in the main living spaces and corridors, until it was bright enough to sling under the doors of those unfortunate souls in quarters that were a bedroom and little else. Those who weren't accustomed to sleeping more than a handful of hours were already up and about, slowly joined by crewmembers yawning and holding mugs of coffee.
In the Captain's quarters, Jim lay beside Bones, exhausted yet awake. Sleep had eluded him despite his best efforts and he almost wished he hadn't used the hidden hypo of sedatives on his lover when Bones had grown too restless a handful of hours earlier.
He was due on the bridge at 0800, first shift, to relieve Sulu and the chronometer in the wall read 0643. More than enough time to get up, change, and have breakfast, or, he knew, enough time to hunt down Uhura and beg.
Kirk entertained the thought for entirely too long, tempting as it was, and he ran a hand through McCoy's hair, pleased that he did nothing to indicate waking, then slipped from the bed to pad across the room. He picked up clothing as he went – uniform pieces, civvies, and underwear that they'd allowed to lay about the room given the ebb and flow of their lives the last few days – and tossed them into the laundry chute. He checked on Bones once more with a glance over his shoulder to ensure the other man still looked tired but calm in his slumber, and slipped out of the room.
The main living space was far cleaner than their bedroom, mainly because Jim insisted on a once a month gathering of the command staff, though Bones had once put his foot up on the coffee table and found it stuck there from sticky residue. (Bones never did ask what it was and Jim was not totally inclined to dispel any ideas.)
A plain couch sat in the middle of the room, a smaller sofa and a couple of chairs near the portrait windows that gave the most fantastic view of the stars as they streaked by; a small table was pushed into the corner opposite the main door and to the side of the bedroom archway. Two computer units lay on an endtable haphazardly, one perilously close to dropping to the floor.
There were bits and pieces to indicate that Jim didn't live alone: a few pictures on the wall by the door of Joanna, ones he'd replicated onto old fashioned glossy paper and set in frames, with medical journals, both antique paper and PADD, neatly lined up on the inset shelving. There were a pair of shoes, half a size bigger, by the door, and if one chose to look carefully enough, the open closet in the bedroom was visible with blue and gold mixing without care.
Jim sighed as he looked at it all, however, wondering if they'd made it so spartan so no one would pay heed to the best known secret aboard the ship. He kicked himself again for never changing his status before grabbing his computer and settling into the chair he'd silently claimed as his own, feet up on the table to read the messages he'd received since before the chrono had flipped over to all zeros.
Nothing more from Pike. A note from his mother asking how he and Leonard were. A handful of thank yous from staff for the leave he'd gotten them (and now regretted with every last fiber of his being). Supply requests he'd been ignoring for the last two days.
A message from Spock that read only, I will take first shift. Lt. Uhura has volunteered to take second. I will contact you when we have located a suitable replacement for any shifts between this missive and our arrival at Risa.
“Last time I tell you anything,” he muttered, wincing at the mere contemplation that Bones' grief might soon become general knowledge amongst the crew. Yet he was still intensely grateful to his first officer, knowing that, as uncomfortable as things were likely to get, he had little desire to be on the Bridge.
Kirk had begun a return message when he heard the rustle of the blanket, the crack of digits as Bones stretched, and then rough silence punctuated by a sad groan. The world had rushed back to McCoy, bringing with it the reality of a life without his daughter.
“Bones?” Jim called out.
There was no reply, only sound of footfalls as they approached the archway and then through it, and Jim looked at him appraisingly. His lover needed more sleep, especially since what he'd gotten prior to being hypoed had been, at best, disturbed, and maybe a little food. He was certainly, Jim decided, not up to the task of making the arrangements for the funeral, something that had be done before the girl's body made it back to Georgia.
“I thought you had morning shift.”
Jim ignore the gruff, accusatory tone and answered, “Nope, Spock does. We traded off a while ago,” as he pushed the computer onto the table with a flick of the power switch. He also ignored the raise eyebrow shot his way, getting to his feet and asking, “Breakfast sound good?”
As if on cue, Bones' stomach growled loudly and with a shrug, he turned around and re-entered the bedroom.
Behind him Jim sighed, closing his eyes for the briefest of seconds, remembering how closed-off his mother had been when Sam had died. At least at first. He knew now, thanks to Starfleet's seminar on “The Consequences and Perils of Space Exploration”, that human beings went through several stages as they grieved. Winona Kirk had leapt through them all pretty quickly, if for no other reason than Jim still needed to be cared for, but Bones had time to truly let the tears fall so to speak.
Jim didn't know if he should be appreciative or upset by that.
He moved out of the living space, joining his lover in the bedroom and at first not seeing him, until he realized the dark spot against the far side of the bed wasn't a pillow, but the mop of sleep-mussed hair belonging to McCoy. He'd sat down on the floor by his nightstand, holding a necklace loosely in his hand.
Aw, hell. “Bones,” he murmured as a warning, sliding down a second later beside the man. With his toes pressed into the bulkhead and his back jammed into the bedframe, he felt like the child he'd been once, sitting beside his brother while his birthday passed in mourning, helpless and weak.
The necklace Jim knew was supposed to be Joanna's birthday present, the pendant a gift from a mining culture that had put Kirk on edge from the moment they'd arrived. Scotty had lasered a hole through the gem and with help from Uhura, Bones had replicated an appropriate chain for an eight-year-old. He'd only been waiting for their arrival at a port with mail services to send it on its way.
Another grumble, this time from both their guts, pulled them forcefully from a pair of melancholic memories. “Food,” Jim declared, taking Bones' hand into his own. “Come on.”
seven.
The rest of the day passed agonizingly slowly, accentuated by a few spats here and there as neither man was used to having the presence of their partner around for a full 24 hours. While they might love each other – a word they'd never spoken to each other, but knew it was true just the same – they never spent that much time alone. Indeed, even on the planet where they'd been held two to a cell, Jim had crossed to the barred doors and conducted an hour long conversation with Spock regarding an escape, neglecting to pay any attention to Bones the entire time.
Mostly, Jim sat in his chair with his computer unit in hand, typing out responses and thank yous and answering condolences for McCoy. He made the arrangements and sent yet another request to Starfleet Command pleading for Partner's Bereavement Leave before gritting his teeth to send a message to his mother.
She had retired from Starfleet a few months earlier, claiming that one Kirk serving on a starship was enough but he was convinced she'd grown tired of a life spent traveling. She was well into her fifties, not old by any stretch of the imagination, and she had found a new job doing freelance consulting, writing, and cultivating her greenhouse flowers. Her latest project had involved seedlings from the New Vulcan colony, and she'd gotten lost writing about it in one of her previous messages.
He knew she'd probably be out tending to them as he typed, but that was okay with him. She'd probably need time to think about his request anyway; it wasn't often that a mother was asked to attend her son's partner's funeral.
I don't want him going alone, Mom, he wrote, Not right now, I mean. Because one minute it's like he's Bones and the next minute he's staring off into space.
He sent it off, pulling up the letter from Starfleet Medical and reading up on cause of death when he felt the hand on his thigh. Jim quickly snapped his head up to see the eyes gliding over the message and flipped the unit over.
Eyes caught his. “I need to know,” McCoy admitted, but Jim only powered down the device, set it on the table, and crawled over his lover until his knees were bracketing Bones' hips. “Jim...”
“You don't need to know what killed her,” he said. So out of his depth here, he stuttered through the next words, swearing to Bones that it was quick and her mother was with her and she loved him, and that was all he truly needed to know.
He barely had a minute to draw a breath and continue when lips crushed to his and Jim realized that there was a reversal of roles going on with his cock limp and Bones' hard, pressed into the crease of his thigh. He shoved McCoy back stiffly as lips began to move from mouth to neck, telling him, “No,” firmly and rolling out of the man's lap.
They didn't speak for the rest of the night. Nor the day after that when they arrived at Risa, where a Federation ship on its way back to Earth had waited on orders from Admiral Barnett for McCoy, despite Jim wanting to say something – anything – as a goodbye.
Instead, they'd looked at each other sadly, Jim behind the glass of the transporter room and Bones standing wearily on one of the pads as matter turned to energy.
