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title. Inter Spem et Metum
rating. Teen
pairing. Kirk/McCoy
summary. Life is what happens between hope and fear.
notes. Death of a minor character/child.
The Admirals called Jim to Command early the next morning to discuss how he'd “commandeered his own ship” and how he'd convinced his crew to “conspire to aid in such an endeavor though it constituted dereliction of duty.”
In short, Jim was about to be screwed with his pants on by the highest-ranking men and women of Starfleet.
“You should have stayed at Risa, you overzealous son of a bastard,” Bones yelled from the otherside of their cabin as he tore through their closet in search of a clean pair of pants. “And damnit, am I the only one who uses the fucking laundry chute on a daily basis?”
“Excuse me for being distracted because I was worried about your ass!” Jim shot back, grabbing a shoe out from under the coffee table.
“You stole your own ship, Jim!” McCoy responded. His hands wrapped around a pair of pants that had fallen from their hanger and been crushed into a dark corner by a storage box, throwing them triumphantly at Jim's face. “That's not concern – that's career suicide.”
His voice had softened at the end, his own fear in his words. Bones was worried for him now which made Jim feel sick at the thought. They'd been home on the Enterprise less that 24 hours; Bones had buried Joanna yesterday. They shouldn't be slipping back into old habits so easily nor should Kirk's reckless play with life and job be a burden on his lover right then.
Jim yanked on his pants, buttoned the fly and pulling up the zip, before walking over to Bones who had come to the archway, leaning against it with one arm across his body and the other rubbing his eyes.
“It'll be okay, Bones. I'm the golden boy, remember?”
Bones let one hand fall on his shoulder, and said, “Careful, Icarus, your wings might melt.”
Kirk tilted his head and kissed McCoy, foreheads touching as they pulled away and Jim told him, “You'd catch me if I fell,” then he stepped back. “I'll be back in a few hours. Once Admiral Archer has had enough time to sufficiently ream me out.”
“Get on then, before I feel obligated to send you with lube for the screwing you're about to get,” Bones responded, grinning, and he watched Jim leave, taking one last look at the pictures beside the door before the door hissed open then closed in his wake.
Sighing, Bones moved toward the frames. A cluster of nine pictures, snapshots of a life he had missed much of, but it struck him then as he set his rear onto the arm of one of the chairs with his eyes glued to the photos, that Joanna was smiling in every one.
A grin, full of teeth and glittering eyes and sometimes the tip of her tongue peeking out, and he wondered why he'd never noticed it before. Perhaps too busy or too upset by his inability to see her, he had always believed she'd missed him as much as he'd missed her, but there in a shiny gloss were the smiles of a little girl.
The ache in his heart eased further; last night had given him some comfort that Jim was there and understood his grief, letting him have far more control than he'd realized, but seeing and comprehending that his ill-held and (quoting the hobgoblin) illogical belief of her sadness was exactly that, made him smile reflexively.
It also reminded him that Jim was missing her, too, and he hadn't had time or societal expectation to grieve. He wiped the tear that had escaped him during his ruminations, reaching for one of the computer units.
He could only hope that a report from the ship's CMO – temporarily on leave as he might be – would remind the Admirals that they had failed Jim as Jim had failed to comply with his orders.
title. Inter Spem et Metum
rating. Teen
pairing. Kirk/McCoy
summary. Life is what happens between hope and fear.
notes. Death of a minor character/child.
inter spem et metum.
epilogue.
The Admirals called Jim to Command early the next morning to discuss how he'd “commandeered his own ship” and how he'd convinced his crew to “conspire to aid in such an endeavor though it constituted dereliction of duty.”
In short, Jim was about to be screwed with his pants on by the highest-ranking men and women of Starfleet.
“You should have stayed at Risa, you overzealous son of a bastard,” Bones yelled from the otherside of their cabin as he tore through their closet in search of a clean pair of pants. “And damnit, am I the only one who uses the fucking laundry chute on a daily basis?”
“Excuse me for being distracted because I was worried about your ass!” Jim shot back, grabbing a shoe out from under the coffee table.
“You stole your own ship, Jim!” McCoy responded. His hands wrapped around a pair of pants that had fallen from their hanger and been crushed into a dark corner by a storage box, throwing them triumphantly at Jim's face. “That's not concern – that's career suicide.”
His voice had softened at the end, his own fear in his words. Bones was worried for him now which made Jim feel sick at the thought. They'd been home on the Enterprise less that 24 hours; Bones had buried Joanna yesterday. They shouldn't be slipping back into old habits so easily nor should Kirk's reckless play with life and job be a burden on his lover right then.
Jim yanked on his pants, buttoned the fly and pulling up the zip, before walking over to Bones who had come to the archway, leaning against it with one arm across his body and the other rubbing his eyes.
“It'll be okay, Bones. I'm the golden boy, remember?”
Bones let one hand fall on his shoulder, and said, “Careful, Icarus, your wings might melt.”
Kirk tilted his head and kissed McCoy, foreheads touching as they pulled away and Jim told him, “You'd catch me if I fell,” then he stepped back. “I'll be back in a few hours. Once Admiral Archer has had enough time to sufficiently ream me out.”
“Get on then, before I feel obligated to send you with lube for the screwing you're about to get,” Bones responded, grinning, and he watched Jim leave, taking one last look at the pictures beside the door before the door hissed open then closed in his wake.
Sighing, Bones moved toward the frames. A cluster of nine pictures, snapshots of a life he had missed much of, but it struck him then as he set his rear onto the arm of one of the chairs with his eyes glued to the photos, that Joanna was smiling in every one.
A grin, full of teeth and glittering eyes and sometimes the tip of her tongue peeking out, and he wondered why he'd never noticed it before. Perhaps too busy or too upset by his inability to see her, he had always believed she'd missed him as much as he'd missed her, but there in a shiny gloss were the smiles of a little girl.
The ache in his heart eased further; last night had given him some comfort that Jim was there and understood his grief, letting him have far more control than he'd realized, but seeing and comprehending that his ill-held and (quoting the hobgoblin) illogical belief of her sadness was exactly that, made him smile reflexively.
It also reminded him that Jim was missing her, too, and he hadn't had time or societal expectation to grieve. He wiped the tear that had escaped him during his ruminations, reaching for one of the computer units.
He could only hope that a report from the ship's CMO – temporarily on leave as he might be – would remind the Admirals that they had failed Jim as Jim had failed to comply with his orders.
