Fic: Sub Rosa, 1/1. Kirk/McCoy.
Jun. 21st, 2009 01:02 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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cjs_owndisclaimer. Not mine. Never have been, never will be, or I'd never leave my bunk.
title. Sub Rosa
rating. Teen
pairing. Kirk/McCoy
summary. It seemed warm and slow and familiar, like they'd shared a dozen of those kisses in the past.
notes. Written for this prompt #25 at![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
kirk_mccoy.
Sub Rosa
Captain C. Pike
Pike woke to the sound of yelling and the sight of Jim Kirk siting on the bio-bed next to him, hunched forward with an arm around his ribs.
“Jesus, Jim,” McCoy declared with one hand gripping the tricorder so tightly his knuckles were milk-white. He clicked the handheld device into the wall unit, letting the computer take the data, translating and recording it into Kirk's medical file, before pushing at the Cadet's shoulder.
“Ah, fuck, Bones! Don't do that!” Kirk cried out, wincing at the touch and jerking back. Pike could see the sweat beading up on his brow from that maneuver, wondering how the hell the kid had gone from shouldering his weight back to the ship to looking ready to keel over if someone breathed on him.
“If you'd come to me before you reached your limit, it wouldn't hurt so badly, you asshole. But, no, you're Jim Kirk, Acting Captain, and completely incapable of accepting that you're not fucking invincible, now lay down so I can fix your goddamn ribs before we reach Earth and the Admirals want to debrief you.” He turned to the nearest cart of instruments, slamming through drawers for the medications and vitamins Jim would need to get himself back to optimal status prior to their arrival at the spacedock.
Unable to tear his half-lidded eyes away, Pike watched as Kirk reached out and looped his fingers around McCoy's wrist, staring at him for a moment and it struck the Captain then that he wasn't watching two senior-cadets-turned-officers interact. No, they were involved in a moment they thought private, a moment shared between people who knew more of each other than what the bounds of friendship provided.
He closed his eyes, trying to tune out the crashing noise of a drawer as McCoy shoved it closed and tried to drift off, only to hear, “Damnit, Jim, you...” followed by, “I came back, Bones, like I said I would.”
Later he would quietly tell Barnett, Archer, and Komack, who had come to see him in the Academy Hospital for his report and to make him an Admiral, that where ever they put Kirk, McCoy should go. He didn't say why, but it was a moot point when they heeded his words and awarded Jim both command of the Enterprise and Leonard McCoy as CMO.
Lieutenant N. Uhura
They were told, minutes before they reached the spacedock, that everyone aboard was to remain aboard until such time that the Admirals could begin debriefing. Pike and the few critically injured were transferred immediately to the Academy Hospital where they could be watched and cared for by someone other than Bones who was running on less than eight hours of sleep in three days.
It should have brought them all a much needed sense of relief, a night spent on the ship but with no duties to attend to, but it didn't. The fight with Nero was several days gone, yet they were all coming down from the victory of the fight as well as beginning to mourn the six starships laden with Cadets that hadn't made it back from Vulcan.
For Uhura, it was the grief that had driven her to find comfort in one of her newly-made friendships, hunting throughout the ship for someone to talk with, to cry with, to drink with. She was not looking forward to the silence of the dorms nor the sadness of having to see Gaila's family when they inevitably came for her belongings. She had happily gone to the Farragut in contrast to Nyota; she wondered how terrified the green-skinned girl had been when the ship began to break up around her.
She stopped outside one of the quieter observation areas, pushing her hand to the bulkhead and bending forward slightly. Her eyes closed as she pushed down the sudden rise of bile in her throat, still reeling from the loss of some of her closest friends.
“You can't blame yourself for this, Jim!” Bones' voice ripped through the silence in the corridor, startling Nyota who realized they must have stopped just around the turn – they didn't nor couldn't see her.
“Then where does the blame lie? I knew about the circumstances surrounding the Kelvin – how could I miss such a huge fucking sign, Bones! Forty-seven Klingon ships destroyed by one vessel,” Jim was saying back. “I should have known then.”
There was a thump, followed by an uneasy silence, and Nyota edged her way over to the end of the wall to peek around at the men who are technically her superiors until morning debriefing.
She quite nearly swallowed her tongue at the sight that met her eyes: Kirk's back was pressed against the wall, McCoy's hands on either side of his head as they kissed. It seemed warm and slow and familiar, like they'd shared a dozen of those kisses in the past.
Uhura ducked back when they broke apart, listening intently for their voices but a group of rowdy, half-drunk engineers walked by and when she chanced a look where Captain and CMO had been moments before, she found the space empty.
Commander Spock
Debriefing had been routine and quickly dispensed with, leaving the Vulcan alone to ponder his options as he walked along the active barracks. Ambassador Spock had given him a hard push toward Starfleet; it was a rather logical choice given the fact that, with no way to return to his proper time, his elder self had elected to reside with their people, to help rebuild some of that which had been lost.
The bustle of the area around him had helped soothe Spock, the silence of Starfleet housing too overwhelming – the students were in mourning, but they had neglected the fact that many of their instructors and advisors had perished as well, needed aboard the ships in place of the men and women who were with the primary fleet. He had lost the precious few he'd considered his confidantes, his allies, his friends, and he had found himself needing the clanging loudness of the barracks.
He walked along, watching the engineers as they fixed shuttles and engaged in adolescent insults punctuated with drinks from flasks or bottles; no one was going to report them, not now when the entire campus was engulfed in “if no one is injured, dead, or on fire, then the Admirals are turning a blind eye.”
It was a curiosity for him to see people drink against the emotional pain, not truly understanding how alcoholic beverages, consumed in excess, would help, but then there was much about Humans he had yet to comprehend, and such it was when he approached a shuttle set to the side.
There was little damage to the exterior, mostly some small marks; having resided in Enterprise's shuttle bay, its scratches had come from the violent rocking of the ship during the first round against the Narada. However, that was not what had caught his eye and garnered his curiosity, it was the head of dark hair that he could just make out amid the cold gray interior though the open shuttle door.
“Gaila was on the Farragut.” Kirk's voice.
“I know.” McCoy.
He chanced a look, unsure if he would be seen by the two men who he realized were sitting on the floor, legs wrapped over one another's like the human version of the pretzels his mother had loved. Neither seemed aware of his presence as he took in the sight of them, as close as two beings could get without involving intercourse.
Spock quickly took his leave, knowing he had intruded on a moment of intimacy; stolen time to be together in a way that Starfleet wouldn't allow until they were both awarded senior command of a vessel – luckily that time was soon approaching and he was glad for the support he had given the Admirals in making that decision.
As he walked away, Spock heard McCoy speak again, telling the man who was surely his lover, “I could have lost you,” and Kirk reply, “You didn't. I'm not going anywhere.”
The Rest of the Crew
Following Graduation, there was a party, thrown by the surviving cadets and proctors as well as the leadership for those who had earned their ranks. They had faced down an impossible enemy, survived nearly being drawn into a black hole, and returned to Spacedock with the ship mostly intact after several battles – they deserved a night of praise and honor and open drinking.
The first-year cadets raced around with cameras throughout the night; the sophomores tried nabbing drinks from the bar. There were no junior or senior classes, which no one dared speak aloud out of respect for the dead and the ones who were thrust into jobs they were entirely too young for (stated by some of the other sneering Captains from the primary fleet).
But the festivities failed to appropriately capture the attention of the Enterprise's newly minted staff, causing them to duck out, one by one, before Pike and Barnett plied Admiral Komack and Captain Akira with enough booze to get the men laughing, before the flash of a dozen cameras began blinding the people in the room, before the moon had properly hung in the sky. None of them were in a party-going mood, especially Jim who had continued to struggle with the pain of knowing he'd carried information in his head since birth that could have saved millions of lives if he'd just paid attention.
Together the crew had walked toward their ship, nerves soothed through the drink or two they'd each had while waiting to make their escape. They'd been granted twenty-four hour access to the Enterprise under the knowledge that Scotty needed to affect repairs, Sulu had to do an upgrade on software; Chekov needed to fulfill the Academy's order that he complete a week's worth of final training on tactical navigation. The rest of the crew had been allowed to enter and leave the ship both to aid their colleagues in repairs as well as to begin the process of moving into quarters.
God, that's a rip, Scott thought, moving onto the best ship in the fleet, onto the fucking flagship under the Captaincy of a man who was younger than he was. Times had definitely changed and he said as much to no in particular after they'd beamed aboard the ship, walking down the corridor toward the nearest observation deck.
Jim had a bottle in his hand of unidentifiable liquor, Bones had whiskey, and between those and the two bottles of moonshine Scott had already hidden aboard, they were all pleasantly drunk within half an hour. They lay there on the floor of the deck, staring at the ceiling and talking and Jim absently dropped his hand onto Bones' chest when the question about memorials for the fallen eventually came up.
It was a gesture that could have been taken any number of ways, of course. The two men had spent three years as roommates and their friendship, forged across their difference in ages and specialties, was well known on Campus. But Uhura had been unable to keep the blush from her cheeks when McCoy pushed an arm under Jim's neck and squeezed his shoulder.
If asked later about the kiss Kirk pressed to Bones' temple before falling asleep, Jim, who'd declared Scotty's moonshine the best device of torture in the galaxy for both the memory loss and the horrendous hangover the likes of which he'd never before felt, would deny ever doing so.
Captain J. Kirk & CMO L. McCoy
Jim's second away mission was declared a disaster, a stark contrast from the first that had ended with dancing and music and food on a planet bathed in jewel tones. Having returned to the ship a bloody mess though able to walk, Bones berated him from the transporter room to Medical Bay, calling him every name and curse he could think of.
Pushed down onto one of the bio-beds, Jim had taken it all with a hint of concern on his face and said nothing until Bones had cleaned the blood off his skin, helped him change, and let his tirade go silent. He laid there on the bed for a minute, assessing the crew around them, and murmured, “Fuck it,” before reaching out for McCoy's hand.
He tugged the man closer. “I'm right here,” Jim told him, rising up enough that Bones growled and tried to shove him back down to the bed, lining their mouths up unintentionally which Jim didn't hesitate to take advantage of.
They broke apart after a moment and froze, glancing at the crewmembers around them – all of whom had paid no heed to the men before them, which was more than a little disheartening until Uhura, from the next bed, explained, “We figured it out a while ago.”
Jim groaned and Bones' face screwed up with annoyance, a visage which continued until they were back in quarters the next night and he was telling Jim, “The entire fucking crew knows...”
“And that's bad how?” Jim countered, still sore from the nipples down, and stood, moving from the couch to his lover and kissing him hard. “You don't have to go back to your quarters anymore – we can spend a night together. We don't have to sneak around or hide out in your office for a quick fuck,” he said as he laid a trail of nips down the side of Bones' throat, laving one spot with attention.
“God, Jim,” he muttered, “The Admirals...”
“They probably already know, baby,” Jim answered the unspoken question and wound the fingers of one hand around Bones'. “Come to bed. Stay the night.”
McCoy nodded, not trusting his voice in the slightest and followed Jim as he had a thousand times over and would do a thousand more. The touch of relief that flickered over Kirk's face as he pushed the other onto the bed soothed Bones' nerves and he went lax against the blanket, admitting, “I want to spend the night.”
Jim only grinned and told him, “Good, because I'm not letting you out of this bed for the next twenty-four hours,” before turning off his communicator and ordering the computer to lock the door.
title. Sub Rosa
rating. Teen
pairing. Kirk/McCoy
summary. It seemed warm and slow and familiar, like they'd shared a dozen of those kisses in the past.
notes. Written for this prompt #25 at
kirk_mccoy.Captain C. Pike
Pike woke to the sound of yelling and the sight of Jim Kirk siting on the bio-bed next to him, hunched forward with an arm around his ribs.
“Jesus, Jim,” McCoy declared with one hand gripping the tricorder so tightly his knuckles were milk-white. He clicked the handheld device into the wall unit, letting the computer take the data, translating and recording it into Kirk's medical file, before pushing at the Cadet's shoulder.
“Ah, fuck, Bones! Don't do that!” Kirk cried out, wincing at the touch and jerking back. Pike could see the sweat beading up on his brow from that maneuver, wondering how the hell the kid had gone from shouldering his weight back to the ship to looking ready to keel over if someone breathed on him.
“If you'd come to me before you reached your limit, it wouldn't hurt so badly, you asshole. But, no, you're Jim Kirk, Acting Captain, and completely incapable of accepting that you're not fucking invincible, now lay down so I can fix your goddamn ribs before we reach Earth and the Admirals want to debrief you.” He turned to the nearest cart of instruments, slamming through drawers for the medications and vitamins Jim would need to get himself back to optimal status prior to their arrival at the spacedock.
Unable to tear his half-lidded eyes away, Pike watched as Kirk reached out and looped his fingers around McCoy's wrist, staring at him for a moment and it struck the Captain then that he wasn't watching two senior-cadets-turned-officers interact. No, they were involved in a moment they thought private, a moment shared between people who knew more of each other than what the bounds of friendship provided.
He closed his eyes, trying to tune out the crashing noise of a drawer as McCoy shoved it closed and tried to drift off, only to hear, “Damnit, Jim, you...” followed by, “I came back, Bones, like I said I would.”
Later he would quietly tell Barnett, Archer, and Komack, who had come to see him in the Academy Hospital for his report and to make him an Admiral, that where ever they put Kirk, McCoy should go. He didn't say why, but it was a moot point when they heeded his words and awarded Jim both command of the Enterprise and Leonard McCoy as CMO.
They were told, minutes before they reached the spacedock, that everyone aboard was to remain aboard until such time that the Admirals could begin debriefing. Pike and the few critically injured were transferred immediately to the Academy Hospital where they could be watched and cared for by someone other than Bones who was running on less than eight hours of sleep in three days.
It should have brought them all a much needed sense of relief, a night spent on the ship but with no duties to attend to, but it didn't. The fight with Nero was several days gone, yet they were all coming down from the victory of the fight as well as beginning to mourn the six starships laden with Cadets that hadn't made it back from Vulcan.
For Uhura, it was the grief that had driven her to find comfort in one of her newly-made friendships, hunting throughout the ship for someone to talk with, to cry with, to drink with. She was not looking forward to the silence of the dorms nor the sadness of having to see Gaila's family when they inevitably came for her belongings. She had happily gone to the Farragut in contrast to Nyota; she wondered how terrified the green-skinned girl had been when the ship began to break up around her.
She stopped outside one of the quieter observation areas, pushing her hand to the bulkhead and bending forward slightly. Her eyes closed as she pushed down the sudden rise of bile in her throat, still reeling from the loss of some of her closest friends.
“You can't blame yourself for this, Jim!” Bones' voice ripped through the silence in the corridor, startling Nyota who realized they must have stopped just around the turn – they didn't nor couldn't see her.
“Then where does the blame lie? I knew about the circumstances surrounding the Kelvin – how could I miss such a huge fucking sign, Bones! Forty-seven Klingon ships destroyed by one vessel,” Jim was saying back. “I should have known then.”
There was a thump, followed by an uneasy silence, and Nyota edged her way over to the end of the wall to peek around at the men who are technically her superiors until morning debriefing.
She quite nearly swallowed her tongue at the sight that met her eyes: Kirk's back was pressed against the wall, McCoy's hands on either side of his head as they kissed. It seemed warm and slow and familiar, like they'd shared a dozen of those kisses in the past.
Uhura ducked back when they broke apart, listening intently for their voices but a group of rowdy, half-drunk engineers walked by and when she chanced a look where Captain and CMO had been moments before, she found the space empty.
Debriefing had been routine and quickly dispensed with, leaving the Vulcan alone to ponder his options as he walked along the active barracks. Ambassador Spock had given him a hard push toward Starfleet; it was a rather logical choice given the fact that, with no way to return to his proper time, his elder self had elected to reside with their people, to help rebuild some of that which had been lost.
The bustle of the area around him had helped soothe Spock, the silence of Starfleet housing too overwhelming – the students were in mourning, but they had neglected the fact that many of their instructors and advisors had perished as well, needed aboard the ships in place of the men and women who were with the primary fleet. He had lost the precious few he'd considered his confidantes, his allies, his friends, and he had found himself needing the clanging loudness of the barracks.
He walked along, watching the engineers as they fixed shuttles and engaged in adolescent insults punctuated with drinks from flasks or bottles; no one was going to report them, not now when the entire campus was engulfed in “if no one is injured, dead, or on fire, then the Admirals are turning a blind eye.”
It was a curiosity for him to see people drink against the emotional pain, not truly understanding how alcoholic beverages, consumed in excess, would help, but then there was much about Humans he had yet to comprehend, and such it was when he approached a shuttle set to the side.
There was little damage to the exterior, mostly some small marks; having resided in Enterprise's shuttle bay, its scratches had come from the violent rocking of the ship during the first round against the Narada. However, that was not what had caught his eye and garnered his curiosity, it was the head of dark hair that he could just make out amid the cold gray interior though the open shuttle door.
“Gaila was on the Farragut.” Kirk's voice.
“I know.” McCoy.
He chanced a look, unsure if he would be seen by the two men who he realized were sitting on the floor, legs wrapped over one another's like the human version of the pretzels his mother had loved. Neither seemed aware of his presence as he took in the sight of them, as close as two beings could get without involving intercourse.
Spock quickly took his leave, knowing he had intruded on a moment of intimacy; stolen time to be together in a way that Starfleet wouldn't allow until they were both awarded senior command of a vessel – luckily that time was soon approaching and he was glad for the support he had given the Admirals in making that decision.
As he walked away, Spock heard McCoy speak again, telling the man who was surely his lover, “I could have lost you,” and Kirk reply, “You didn't. I'm not going anywhere.”
Following Graduation, there was a party, thrown by the surviving cadets and proctors as well as the leadership for those who had earned their ranks. They had faced down an impossible enemy, survived nearly being drawn into a black hole, and returned to Spacedock with the ship mostly intact after several battles – they deserved a night of praise and honor and open drinking.
The first-year cadets raced around with cameras throughout the night; the sophomores tried nabbing drinks from the bar. There were no junior or senior classes, which no one dared speak aloud out of respect for the dead and the ones who were thrust into jobs they were entirely too young for (stated by some of the other sneering Captains from the primary fleet).
But the festivities failed to appropriately capture the attention of the Enterprise's newly minted staff, causing them to duck out, one by one, before Pike and Barnett plied Admiral Komack and Captain Akira with enough booze to get the men laughing, before the flash of a dozen cameras began blinding the people in the room, before the moon had properly hung in the sky. None of them were in a party-going mood, especially Jim who had continued to struggle with the pain of knowing he'd carried information in his head since birth that could have saved millions of lives if he'd just paid attention.
Together the crew had walked toward their ship, nerves soothed through the drink or two they'd each had while waiting to make their escape. They'd been granted twenty-four hour access to the Enterprise under the knowledge that Scotty needed to affect repairs, Sulu had to do an upgrade on software; Chekov needed to fulfill the Academy's order that he complete a week's worth of final training on tactical navigation. The rest of the crew had been allowed to enter and leave the ship both to aid their colleagues in repairs as well as to begin the process of moving into quarters.
God, that's a rip, Scott thought, moving onto the best ship in the fleet, onto the fucking flagship under the Captaincy of a man who was younger than he was. Times had definitely changed and he said as much to no in particular after they'd beamed aboard the ship, walking down the corridor toward the nearest observation deck.
Jim had a bottle in his hand of unidentifiable liquor, Bones had whiskey, and between those and the two bottles of moonshine Scott had already hidden aboard, they were all pleasantly drunk within half an hour. They lay there on the floor of the deck, staring at the ceiling and talking and Jim absently dropped his hand onto Bones' chest when the question about memorials for the fallen eventually came up.
It was a gesture that could have been taken any number of ways, of course. The two men had spent three years as roommates and their friendship, forged across their difference in ages and specialties, was well known on Campus. But Uhura had been unable to keep the blush from her cheeks when McCoy pushed an arm under Jim's neck and squeezed his shoulder.
If asked later about the kiss Kirk pressed to Bones' temple before falling asleep, Jim, who'd declared Scotty's moonshine the best device of torture in the galaxy for both the memory loss and the horrendous hangover the likes of which he'd never before felt, would deny ever doing so.
Jim's second away mission was declared a disaster, a stark contrast from the first that had ended with dancing and music and food on a planet bathed in jewel tones. Having returned to the ship a bloody mess though able to walk, Bones berated him from the transporter room to Medical Bay, calling him every name and curse he could think of.
Pushed down onto one of the bio-beds, Jim had taken it all with a hint of concern on his face and said nothing until Bones had cleaned the blood off his skin, helped him change, and let his tirade go silent. He laid there on the bed for a minute, assessing the crew around them, and murmured, “Fuck it,” before reaching out for McCoy's hand.
He tugged the man closer. “I'm right here,” Jim told him, rising up enough that Bones growled and tried to shove him back down to the bed, lining their mouths up unintentionally which Jim didn't hesitate to take advantage of.
They broke apart after a moment and froze, glancing at the crewmembers around them – all of whom had paid no heed to the men before them, which was more than a little disheartening until Uhura, from the next bed, explained, “We figured it out a while ago.”
Jim groaned and Bones' face screwed up with annoyance, a visage which continued until they were back in quarters the next night and he was telling Jim, “The entire fucking crew knows...”
“And that's bad how?” Jim countered, still sore from the nipples down, and stood, moving from the couch to his lover and kissing him hard. “You don't have to go back to your quarters anymore – we can spend a night together. We don't have to sneak around or hide out in your office for a quick fuck,” he said as he laid a trail of nips down the side of Bones' throat, laving one spot with attention.
“God, Jim,” he muttered, “The Admirals...”
“They probably already know, baby,” Jim answered the unspoken question and wound the fingers of one hand around Bones'. “Come to bed. Stay the night.”
McCoy nodded, not trusting his voice in the slightest and followed Jim as he had a thousand times over and would do a thousand more. The touch of relief that flickered over Kirk's face as he pushed the other onto the bed soothed Bones' nerves and he went lax against the blanket, admitting, “I want to spend the night.”
Jim only grinned and told him, “Good, because I'm not letting you out of this bed for the next twenty-four hours,” before turning off his communicator and ordering the computer to lock the door.
no subject
Date: 2009-06-24 06:13 am (UTC)