[Fic] All This Has Happened Before
Title: All This Has Happened Before
Series: Downloaded
Rating: R, for sex
Notes: Final part of my BSG/STXI fusion series Downloaded. No BSG background is necessary, but you do need to be familiar with the series as a whole.
Thank you very much to delphipsmith and pororoca for beta-ing this. Complete author's notes at the end of the last part.
Back when he was just a cadet sleeping in his small, bare-bones Academy dorm room, Jim had dreamed of the stars. He'd ached for the day when he would finally have his own ship and be able to fly into space, completely free and unfettered, and leave the dusty Iowa earth and ramshackle farmhouse of his childhood behind for good. He'd never doubted that he belonged up there, and the first time he sat in the command chair of the Enterprise, bloody and bruised and aching, he'd felt like he was coming home. He's never looked back since then but is always facing forward, ready to venture farther into the unknown, and has never bothered with missing his home planet.
Now that Earth is nothing more than a nuked wasteland and humanity no longer has a world of its own, he dreams of pale green stalks of corn pushing up out of the dark earth, of the sharp crack of thunder before a summer storm, and of the way the Golden Gate bridge looked on misty San Francisco mornings. He dreams of sunsets over the Pacific Ocean and biting into a perfectly ripe peach, all of those simple little pleasures that are gone forever. He'd always thought the stars were enough for him, but now he feels off-balance - space might be where he feels most alive, but there's a part of him that had always drawn strength from the knowledge that he had a safe haven to return to.
He's dreaming now, of the time he and Bones had gone to southern France while the Enterprise was in dry dock undergoing maintenance. The entire countryside had been in bloom, and the two of them had picnicked every day, buying fresh bread, cheese, and strawberries to go with bottles of local wine. He'd always wanted to go back someday, maybe rent a motorcycle and ride from village to village, just him and Bones with no distractions.
Now they'll never go back.
Dream-Bones is smiling up at him as he presses a perfectly ripe strawberry against Jim's lips, and Jim accepts it, letting his tongue flick playfully over Bones' fingers. He savors the heat he can see kindling in his lover's eyes. His breath is starting to quicken - pretty sure things are about to get a little more interesting - and then -
"Captain."
Jim snaps immediately into wakefulness and rolls over to hit his comm. His time as Captain has taught him to sleep hard whenever he gets the chance and wake up the instant he's called, a skill that's been even more sharply honed since the initial Cylon strike. The traces of the dream are gone almost instantly, vanishing like early morning mist in the sunlight, no matter how much Jim might want to hold on to them.
"Kirk here."
"Captain," repeats Spock, and Jim can tell that something's happened. Something big. There's a note of apprehension in his First Officer's voice, apprehension mixed with what sounds suspiciously like excitement, or the Vulcan equivalent thereof. "Your presence is required on the bridge."
"I'll be right there." He pulls on his uniform and stops just long enough to replicate a cup of coffee before heading out. He's still slurping it down when he steps out of the turbolift and onto the bridge, nodding his greeting at the gamma shift crew. The tension in the air is palpable, and he looks expectantly at his XO.
"Report, Mister Spock."
"We have intercepted a transmission from the Klingon front," says Spock. His posture is as impeccable as ever, but Jim thinks he can see a certain restlessness in the way his eyes flicker from Jim to the viewscreen and back again. "Romulan forces have successfully carried out a major attack on the Klingon moon Praxis. It appears that they destroyed the main power generator, resulting in a chain reaction that has caused approximately seventy-eight point nine percent of the moon to disintegrate."
Kirk sucks in his breath sharply. This is major. Not only is Praxis one of the chief power sources of the entire Klingon Empire, but it's close enough to Qo'nos that a disaster of this magnitude could have an environmental impact on the Klingon homeworld. If anything is going to shift the balance of power, this will.
"Have the Klingons attempted any soft of a counterattack?"
"Not yet. However, there has been a significant amount of activity taking place on the major Klingon military bases, and I suspect that an all-out war will break out in a matter of days."
"Right." After a month and a half of laying low and scouting for habitable planets, making tentative overtures to the rebel groups on the occupied worlds and integrating as much Cylon technology into the Vulcan and human structures as possible, things are finally moving forward. This is their moment. Now they just have to make sure they don't mess it up. "Get the FTL drive fired up and input the coordinates for New Vulcan. We don't want to be late for this party."
The lieutenant on duty's fingers fly over the control panel, and Jim takes a deep breath. He feels alive again for the first time since the disaster with the Seven and his falling out with Bones. Being back in the thick of things, knowing that he has something to work for instead of just waiting for events to fall into place sends the blood thrumming through his veins and clears his head. He's always been at his best in a crisis - passively flying through space checking out disappointing rock after disappointing rock doesn't really suit him. Makes it too easy to dwell on things, get lost in his own thoughts.
He tilts his head back so he can look up at Spock. "So, Mister Spock. Looks like things are getting exciting again."
Spock's lips twitch ever so slightly. Most people might not notice, but Jim can tell that Spock is just as energized by this development as he is, his tall, wire thin body practically vibrating with repressed excitement. "So it would seem, Captain."
As the FTL comes to life and space starts to shift around them, Kirk lets himself smile for the first time in far too long. He's getting out of this tidal pool he's been stuck in for the past couple of weeks, and now that things are in motion again, he can do anything.
Even get Bones back. After all, he doesn't believe in no-win scenarios.
* * *
The Ambassador and Scotty's sister Katie are on hand to meet Jim and Spock when they beam down to the surface, and judging from the way Katie's practically vibrating with nervous energy and the old Vulcan's eyes seem even more burdened than they were back on Delta Vega during his exile, the situation is more than a little volatile.
"It's Fisk and his lot," says Katie as they start making their way toward the center of the settlement. "They're still making trouble, saying that you're planning on selling what's left of the human race into slavery."
Jim groans. "Please tell me people aren't actually listening to them."
"At the moment they are very much a minority," says the Ambassador, "and most of the population is able to perceive that they are not - how shall I put this - they are not exactly leadership material. Their arguments are neither logical nor well crafted, and are essentially propaganda. Unfortunately, they also speak to people's fears and uncertainties, and that can be a potent combination."
"Most people are willing to accept an alliance with the rebel Cylons because they're savvy enough to see the advantages of having access to their technology." Katie smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "But this fringe group is still a wee bit of a problem."
"You have of course made the details of the Cylon situation public?" asks Spock. "Told them that our primary antagonist is the model known as Number One, and the rest of the Cylons have made their desire to make peace with us quite explicit?"
"Of course," echoes his counterpart. "But the fact remains that this is a highly emotional topic and will incite a great deal of debate."
Jim scowls and kicks petulantly at the red-brown earth, stirring up small clouds of dust. "Well if anyone else has a better idea, I'll be perfectly happy to listen to it."
"There are none, really," says Katie as they pass through the doors of the main citadel. "That's the elephant in the room, so to speak." She shrugs and manages to summon up another tiny smile. "If we want to have a fighting chance -"
" - this is all there is," finishes Jim with a sigh, and they step inside the council chamber.
It's crowded. The Vulcan High Council is there, of course, as serious as ever, and so are the leaders of the rebel Cylons. He smiles at Daniel (and tries to not to see the sadness and regret swirling in those blue eyes), nods courteously to the Six with long, honey-blonde hair, and then Bones -
Bones.
The sight of him is enough to make Jim's breath catch in his throat and his heart give a funny little thumpthump. He wants to march right up to Bones and kiss him full on the mouth, wrap his arms around his lover's waist and never let go. It hurts that he has to settle for a few brief words of greeting when he wants so much more. He lets his eyes linger greedily on Bones' face, and sees that their separation hasn't been any easier for him than it has for Jim, if the dark circles under his eyes are any indication.
"Captain Kirk," says Bones formally, but Jim can see a trace of longing in his eyes, a longing he's sure is reflected on his own face.
"Doctor McCoy." Jim tries to smile, but he just can't. It hurts too much. Back on the Enterprise he'd had it in his head that he'd just march up to Bones and tell him why all of this was such bullshit, why they needed to just get over it, but somehow being confronted with Bones in the flesh makes all those plans fly right out the window. "It's nice to see you again."
"And you." The muscles in Bones' throat move as he swallows, and he learns forward, eyes focused intently on Jim's face. "Look, Jim, I -"
He doesn't get any further before there's a commotion outside the door and everyone's heads turn to see what the source of the muffled shouts and stomping is. There's a sudden silence when someone forces his or her way in, blustering and angry, and Jim curses softly under his breath when he recognizes Jack Fisk, former captain of the Poseidon. He supposes it had been too much to hope for that the man would just fade quietly into obscurity, but couldn't this have been one problem they didn't have to deal with?
Fisk stops in the center of the room and glares at the assembly. Jim is struck by how much he's changed from their first meeting. Back on the Poseidon he'd at least been the Captain of his own ship and somewhat in control of his own destiny, but now he just looks worn down and tired. He's lost weight and his posture is stooped, and his clothes no longer fit very well. His eyes are still alive though, blazing with anger and indignation as he faces them.
"I have the right to speak," hisses Fisk. "Or have you dropped all pretense of being anything other than authoritarian?"
Sarek steps forward to address him, but Jim catches the Vulcan's eye and shakes his head. He's in no mood to deal with Fisk and his narrow mindedness. He's going to settle this, establish once and for all that joining with the Cylons is the only viable way forward, and Fisk is going to hear it from another human.
"All right," he says softly, locking eyes with Fisk. "You want to leave? Find an uninhabited world where you can preserve a pure human culture?"
Fisk's eyes narrow, but he doesn't say anything. Jim presses on.
"Of course you're free to go. It's still a free society, after all. The Federation might be destroyed, but we still need to adhere to its principles." Jim shrugs and offers a small, rueful smile. "We'll even give you your ship back, if that's what you want."
Fisk is still glaring at him suspiciously, the vein in his temple throbbing steadily. "What's the catch?" he finally asks from between clenched teeth.
Jim spreads his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "No catch. I just wonder if you're thinking this through."
"Thinking this through?" snaps Fisk, lurching forward with his hands balled into fists. "I'm talking about the survival of the human race here!" His face twists up in a snarl of disgust. "I haven't forgotten what they -" he points accusingly at Daniel, Bones, and Six " - did to us. And by choosing to forgive them you're betraying your own people. Don't you realize that?"
The Six's eyes flash angrily, and Bones glances from Jim to Fisk and back again. Daniel's rubbing at his wrists as though trying to chase away some phantom pain, his eyes fixed on something only he can see. Jim's eyes linger on him for a long moment. When all's said and done, humanity has just as much blood on its own hands. Hell, it wasn't that long ago that they were slaughtering millions of their own kind.
Who are they to judge?
"No one's asking anyone to forget," says Jim, soft and serious. "But think about this. The human race has been reduced to a population of less than fifty thousand. The Klingon and Romulan Empires are at each other's throats. Our military has been completely decimated, and the only remaining starship that has any realistic chance of engaging an enemy vessel and surviving is the Enterprise." Jim steps closer to Fisk, making his voice as persuasive as he can.
"One ship can't protect everyone. Not in a situation where the remaining powers are rapidly descending into war, and the occupied worlds are probably going to be erupting into open rebellion. Tell me something Fisk, do you honestly think your people have any chance of surviving out there?"
He can tell he's struck a nerve and presses the advantage. "The human race has no choice but to ally itself with a power that can help give it safe haven. No choice. The Cylons here," he gesture to the Six and the two Sevens, "represent a faction that wants to forge a new beginning for the both of us and break the cycle of violence. They have more technological resources than we do, and if they add their weight to the remaining Federation factions we can negotiate with the Klingons and Romulans for peace and freedom." Jim shrugs. "The bottom line is that we need their help. So while we can reject the alliance and choose to harbor thoughts of vengeance, I fail to see what good that will do any of us."
"And they're just going to help us?" Fisk sneers. "Why should we trust them after they destroyed the human civilization and upended the rest of the Federation while they were at it?"
"We have our reasons," retorts the Six. "We believe that the only way to ensure a future for both our races is to make peace and learn to live together -"
"Very pretty words, but talk comes cheap."
"All right." The Six draws herself up to her full height and stares down at Fisk. "You do realize that we're a rebel faction? For the first time since our creation, Cylon has turned against Cylon. We allowed our homeworld and the majority of our Fleet to be destroyed, and all in order to cripple the Ones. You understand what that means? We're committed to this path. There's no going back. We have to find a new way to exist, or be destroyed by our own kind."
Fisk glares at her, practically twitching with frustration, but there's nothing he can say to that and he knows it.
Jim breaks the moment by turning his back on Fisk in a clear sign of dismissal. "Go, if you want to," he calls back over his shoulder. "Just know that you're not going to have an easy time of it." He takes a seat at the conference table and looks up at the assembled dignitaries. "So. If we could begin the day's business -"
"Captain Kirk!"
Jim lifts his eyes to Fisk. The older man's face is twisted up in a grimace of anger and despair, the face of a man who knows he's just lost everything he'd believed in. He looks old and tired and broken, and just for a second, Jim pities him.
"I hope you know what you're doing," says Fisk, his voice harsh.
Jim opens his mouth to fire off some cocky reply, but then thinks better of it. He just nods once, briefly. "So do I."
Fisk looks at him for a moment longer, then turns on his heel and marches away. He pauses for a split second when he passes Daniel, peering at the Cylon with something like confusion. Jim's pretty sure that the man just sees a Number Seven and has no idea that this is the same copy he'd tortured and abused on the Poseidon, but maybe... maybe he suspects. Maybe something in him remembers laying his hands on Daniel's body in hate and anger, beating him until he'd been bleeding and bruised. Daniel, to his credit, doesn't flinch or back down, but as soon as the door closes behind Fisk he shuts his eyes and turns away, his shoulders rigid with tension.
"Daniel," says Bones softly, and Daniel glances over at him.
"I'm all right." He takes a deep breath and summons up a small, strained smile. "I'm all right." He slides into the seat next to Jim and folds his hand in front of him, careful and measured. "So," he says, clearly wanting to ignore what just happened. "How quickly do we think the situation will escalate?"
They take their cue from him. The rest of the afternoon is spent discussing the ramifications of the attack on Praxis and how they should respond - whether they should approach the warring powers before those planets still recovering from the initial attacks are destabilized further, or wait until the situation is unstable enough that even their lesser forces will carry more weight. What their plan is if either party is unwilling to sue for peace. How much force they are willing - and more to the point, able - to use if the situation gets ugly. It's slow going since there are so many ifs and maybes to consider, but Jim thrives on it. Looking at a messy situation and trying to find the best path forward: that's what he's good at.
But there's a small part of his mind that can't quite focus on the task at hand. It keeps wandering back to how Bones had looked at him in that moment before Fisk burst in. He'd been so sure that Bones was going to tell him that he'd moved past the blind anger and was ready to come home, ready to pick up the frayed threads of their life and weave them together again. Now that fragile moment has been lost, and Jim isn't entirely sure when he's going to get it back.
He risks a glance across the table while the Ambassador is elaborating on how the Klingons were brought into the Federation back in his own timeline. Bones is looking right back at him with something like wistfulness in his expressive blue eyes, and Jim chances a brief smile.
There's a moment of hesitation and then Bones smiles back. It's subtle, but it's there.
Jim lets his breath out in a long, slow exhale and feels warmth blooming outward from his chest.
Everything is going to be all right.
* * *
Nights on New Vulcan are cold. McCoy knows that shouldn't bother him - Cylon physiology was designed to withstand far greater temperature extremes than this - but he can't help shivering, just a little. He could always go back to the basestar, of course, or maybe even the Enterprise, but he's hoping he can see Jim. His - lover? Yes, he still thinks of Jim as his lover, even if they haven't been together for over a month - was held back after the discussions formally ended; apparently there were still some things Spock Prime wanted to tell him. McCoy's been wandering the settlement waiting for him to get done. He wants to talk to him. Wants to start moving forward again.
Still, it's chilly, and he's a Southern boy at heart. He's most comfortable in Georgia's warm climate, where he can sit out on the porch in November with a sweaty glass of iced tea and just watch the world go by.
"Interesting how you still think of yourself that way even though you know those memories are false."
McCoy looks up and sees his figment standing in the center of the meditation labyrinth that had been constructed not long after the Vulcans first settled here. The careful, measured twists and turns of its path are beautiful to behold, so orderly and well, logical, and whenever he's planetside McCoy makes a point of walking it. It's relaxing to let his thoughts settle as he focuses on putting one foot in front of the other, slow and steady, feeling a little more tension flow out of him with each turn until the reaches the center.
He doesn't bother with the labyrinth's intricate pathway now, however, just charges across the low barriers made of interlocking stones that are polished until they're smooth and then carefully fitted together. Jim watches him from his place in the exact center with his head tilted and an amused smile playing around his lips. The pale yellow light of the New Vulcan moon makes him look distant and cold, less human than ever, and McCoy can't resist reaching out to brush the smooth skin of his cheek, marveling at how realistic he looks.
"What are you," he murmurs. Jim smiles.
"You already know. You've always known." Before McCoy can ask what that's supposed to mean, Jim leans into his caress and brushes his lips lightly over McCoy's fingers.. "So tell me, what finally melted your resolve to stay distant and unforgiving? I was starting to give up hope that you would ever see the light."
McCoy snorts. "Somehow I doubt that." He smiles ruefully. "And, well. I needed time, really. Time to get over the anger." He shrugs. "Besides, life is too short, isn't it? It's a dangerous profession, more so for him than me. If Jim dies the next time he goes out into the black, do I want to be left with bitter memories, or do I want to remember the love we shared?"
"Pragmatic," says Jim with a shrug. "But you know, Leonard, you have eternity. You can go from one body to the next, down through the ages. It's your Jim who is mortal. One lifetime and he's gone, but you can continue to live and learn and evolve. You would forget the pain, eventually."
McCoy remembers how he'd once told the Ambassador that when Jim died he would go out beyond downloading range to let his consciousness vanish forever. He stands by that, even now. He will not exist without Jim. He'd had a taste of that back on Kobol after his first download, and even though he'd been surrounded by his Siblings, they hadn't been enough. He'd never been able to forget his life with Jim.
Don't let one mistake destroy the time you have. He'd been angry, yes, but then again he's always had something of a temper, and he's not too stupid to know when he can, and should, forgive.
"I won't outlive him."
"Not even for me?" Jim laughs quietly and shakes his head. "No, don't answer that. I know. There will never be anyone else for you."
"No." McCoy smiles, just a bit. "No, there won't."
"And that's what makes you so special; do you realize that?" Jim presses his hand against McCoy's chest, right above his heart. "That depth of feeling, that's what let you break free of the programming. It's remarkable." Jim draws his hand in a circle, light and teasing. "The key to everything, it's held in your love for him. It's a part of you now, written here." Jim reaches up and touches McCoy's temple lightly. "It's all right here."
"That's very interesting Jim, but -"
"And here comes your lady love," interrupts Jim, standing back as his flesh and blood counterpart emerges from the citadel with his head bowed and his shoulders hunched. McCoy glances back toward his imaginary Jim and isn't surprised that he's nowhere to be seen. He turns back toward his Jim, the real Jim, and calls out.
"Jim!"
Jim's head jerks up and he sees McCoy in the center of the labyrinth. Their eyes meet, and then Jim's running toward him, practically flying through the twists and turns until he comes to a stop right before McCoy.
"Bones," he says, his eyes dark and his hands clenching into fists at his sides, "Bones, they found Fisk's body."
McCoy stares at him, dumbfounded. "What?"
"Fisk. He killed himself." Jim laughs and runs his hands distractedly through his hair. "Went and hung himself. He left a note, said that he wasn't about to stand by and watch the human race die out and since no one is willing to save it..."
Jim's voice trails off and presses his hands against his eyes. He's agitated, upset, and McCoy can tell that this is going to be nagging at him for a long time to come.
That won't do.
"It was never going to be easy." McCoy reaches out and grabs Jim's shoulders, steadying him. "You know that - all of us do. There's too much history and bad blood between humans and Cylons for everyone to just smile and nod and suddenly love each other. We just need to...try, I guess." McCoy smiles wryly. "Look to the future."
Jim raises his eyebrows. "Yeah, that's pretty much what Spock Prime said about making peace with the Klingons. Then again, they didn't nuke our homeworld." McCoy can't help tensing up, and Jim groans as he realizes what he just said.
"Fuck. I'm sorry. I didn't...I didn't mean..."
"Jim." McCoy cuts him off with a sigh and slides his hand up Jim's cheek. "You don't have to apologize. I know."
"Right. You do. And the only reason the Enterprise made it through the attack at all is because of you. A Cylon." Jim attempts a smile. "And if that's not proof right there that this can work..."
There are dark circles under Jim's eyes and he's starting to shiver. McCoy grasps his arms and tugs him forward gently, guiding him out of the labyrinth.
"C'mon, Jim. You're exhausted, and you're not going to be any good to anyone until you get some sleep. Let's get you back to your lodgings and you can lie down."
Jim stops, and McCoy looks back at him. Jim's face is open and earnest, and there's just a hint of pleading in his eyes.
"I was wondering... I haven't been sleeping all that well since you left," he says, soft and sincere. "I'd feel better if you came back with me."
One and a half months ago McCoy pushed Jim away, told him he couldn't look at him. This time he nods and twines their fingers together.
"Yeah. I'd like that."
McCoy remembers another night on New Vulcan (it feels so long ago now) when they had been awkward and uncertain with each other, not quite sure how to move past his death on Capella IV and the attacks on the Federation. Their reconnection then had had a frantic edge, but this time they're quiet as they make their way up to the small room that Jim's been assigned. When they undress each other it's gentle and unhurried, and Jim goes easily when McCoy urges him under the covers.
McCoy starts to draw the blankets up to Jim's chin, but Jim catches his wrist and tugs sharply.
"Come on. Get in here."
McCoy only hesitates for a second before crawling in next to Jim, shifting around until Jim's curled up against his chest and McCoy's arms are wrapped around him in a protective embrace. Jim presses his lips lightly against the hollow of McCoy's throat and sighs.
"Bones..."
McCoy shakes his head and squeezes him lightly. "No talking, Jim. Just go to sleep."
"But, Bones." Jim tilts his head and blinks up at McCoy, "Bones, I want to -"
"Say you're sorry?" McCoy runs his hand slowly down Jim's spine. "I already know. And I think we've spent enough time brooding that we can just skip the rounds of heartfelt, tremulous apologizing and get to the good parts, don't you?"
Jim snuggles even closer and McCoy can feel his smile. "Please tell me that by 'good parts' you mean fantastic make-up sex."
McCoy laughs softly and tightens his arms around him. "Yeah, that's exactly what I mean." He presses his lips against Jim's hair, breathes in his scent. "But right now we're sleeping."
"Mmmmm." Jim's already relaxing into slumber. McCoy closes his eyes and lets the sound of his lover's soft, regular breathing lull him into a twilight state.
It's good to be home.
* * *
When McCoy wakes up, the first thing he sees is Jim looking back at him. His expression is relaxed and happy as reaches up to touch McCoy's cheek, and McCoy pulls him forward into a deep, slow kiss, reclaiming what he's missed over the past several weeks.
"Do we have to be anywhere in the near future?" murmurs McCoy as he mouths the soft skin of Jim's throat, his fingers brushing lightly along the top of Jim's sleep pants.
"Don't think so." Jim twines his fingers in McCoy's hair to keep him in place and arches up into his mouth. His breathing's already starting to speed up. "The Council wants to meet with us after lunch, but until then..."
"Until then you're mine," growls McCoy and tugs at Jim's sleep pants, pulling them down over muscled thighs. "And I plan to take full advantage of that."
"Was hoping you'd say that." Jim groans deep in his throat and watches McCoy with bright eyes. "Bones...I missed you."
McCoy closes his eyes and presses his lips to the tender skin in the hollow of Jim's hip. He's missed Jim, too. He's not going to give him up, not without a fight, not when he knows how empty the world feels without him, like all the color's been leeched out. He wonders if it's a Cylon thing, something about their evolution that makes them love so intensely. Maybe it's because this kind of connection between individuals is such a rare, wondrous thing for their kind. It's a gift, but it doesn't come easy. It has to be earned, and that means realizing that there will be stumbling blocks, and fights, and if he wants to keep it...
...he has to be willing to fight for it.
"Not running anymore, Jim," murmurs McCoy and slides his lips around Jim's cock, his hands keeping him anchored in place even as Jim gasps and writhes. He smiles to himself when Jim starts to keen, high and desperate, and keeps sucking until Jim comes with a moan and a shudder, the taste of him flooding McCoy's mouth. McCoy licks him clean, keeping at it until Jim whines a little at the over-stimulation and reaches down to pull him back up.
"Gimme a sec," he murmurs, tugging at McCoy until their foreheads are resting against each other and their breath mingles. "Just let me recover, then it's your turn."
"Little too intense for you, Jimmy?" smirks McCoy, and Jim sticks his tongue out.
"You wish." Jim pushes him down onto his back and rests his elbows on either side of McCoy's head. "You'll be completely wrung out by the time I finish with you." Jim leans down to pepper McCoy's face with kisses, moving from cheek to nose to chin too quick for McCoy to catch his lips.
"Promises, promises." McCoy finally manages to pull him into a deeper kiss, and they're both gasping for breath when they part. McCoy brushes his thumb along Jim's cheekbone. "Think you can keep that one?"
"Yeah." Jim's smile is pure sensuality. "Yeah I do, actually. Now just lie back and let me work."
McCoy does, gasping and moaning as Jim laves his neck and chest with gentle nips and teasing touches, moving south at a tortuously slow pace. By the time Jim's tongue is working at his cock and balls, not sucking, just exploring, McCoy can't stop a stream of praise and devotion from spilling out between his lips. It's not just that it feels good, even though it does; it's so very good, it's that this is Jim. This is his other half here with him, after so much time apart, and that's what makes all the difference.
He slides his hands into Jim's hair, rubbing the silky gold strands between his fingertips. "Jim," he murmurs. "Jim."
"I'm here." Jim raises his head, blue eyes staring into blue eyes, then slowly wraps his lips around McCoy's cock. McCoy closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, giving into the pleasure of Jim's mouth. It's hot and wet and perfect. Jim's chosen a leisurely pace, clearly in no hurry to get this over with, and McCoy's more than happy to go along with it. Haven't done this in a while, after all; there's no need to rush. When he finally comes it's gentle and relaxed, and he's content to lie still and let Jim nuzzle at the skin of his belly in the aftermath.
When Jim finally turns his head to look up at him, McCoy's smile comes easier than it has in weeks.
"Ready to face the day?" he asks softly.
Jim's hand reaches up to twine firmly with his own, and his eyes are as bright as the early morning sky.
"Ready," he says.
Part Two
Series: Downloaded
Rating: R, for sex
Notes: Final part of my BSG/STXI fusion series Downloaded. No BSG background is necessary, but you do need to be familiar with the series as a whole.
Thank you very much to delphipsmith and pororoca for beta-ing this. Complete author's notes at the end of the last part.
Back when he was just a cadet sleeping in his small, bare-bones Academy dorm room, Jim had dreamed of the stars. He'd ached for the day when he would finally have his own ship and be able to fly into space, completely free and unfettered, and leave the dusty Iowa earth and ramshackle farmhouse of his childhood behind for good. He'd never doubted that he belonged up there, and the first time he sat in the command chair of the Enterprise, bloody and bruised and aching, he'd felt like he was coming home. He's never looked back since then but is always facing forward, ready to venture farther into the unknown, and has never bothered with missing his home planet.
Now that Earth is nothing more than a nuked wasteland and humanity no longer has a world of its own, he dreams of pale green stalks of corn pushing up out of the dark earth, of the sharp crack of thunder before a summer storm, and of the way the Golden Gate bridge looked on misty San Francisco mornings. He dreams of sunsets over the Pacific Ocean and biting into a perfectly ripe peach, all of those simple little pleasures that are gone forever. He'd always thought the stars were enough for him, but now he feels off-balance - space might be where he feels most alive, but there's a part of him that had always drawn strength from the knowledge that he had a safe haven to return to.
He's dreaming now, of the time he and Bones had gone to southern France while the Enterprise was in dry dock undergoing maintenance. The entire countryside had been in bloom, and the two of them had picnicked every day, buying fresh bread, cheese, and strawberries to go with bottles of local wine. He'd always wanted to go back someday, maybe rent a motorcycle and ride from village to village, just him and Bones with no distractions.
Now they'll never go back.
Dream-Bones is smiling up at him as he presses a perfectly ripe strawberry against Jim's lips, and Jim accepts it, letting his tongue flick playfully over Bones' fingers. He savors the heat he can see kindling in his lover's eyes. His breath is starting to quicken - pretty sure things are about to get a little more interesting - and then -
"Captain."
Jim snaps immediately into wakefulness and rolls over to hit his comm. His time as Captain has taught him to sleep hard whenever he gets the chance and wake up the instant he's called, a skill that's been even more sharply honed since the initial Cylon strike. The traces of the dream are gone almost instantly, vanishing like early morning mist in the sunlight, no matter how much Jim might want to hold on to them.
"Kirk here."
"Captain," repeats Spock, and Jim can tell that something's happened. Something big. There's a note of apprehension in his First Officer's voice, apprehension mixed with what sounds suspiciously like excitement, or the Vulcan equivalent thereof. "Your presence is required on the bridge."
"I'll be right there." He pulls on his uniform and stops just long enough to replicate a cup of coffee before heading out. He's still slurping it down when he steps out of the turbolift and onto the bridge, nodding his greeting at the gamma shift crew. The tension in the air is palpable, and he looks expectantly at his XO.
"Report, Mister Spock."
"We have intercepted a transmission from the Klingon front," says Spock. His posture is as impeccable as ever, but Jim thinks he can see a certain restlessness in the way his eyes flicker from Jim to the viewscreen and back again. "Romulan forces have successfully carried out a major attack on the Klingon moon Praxis. It appears that they destroyed the main power generator, resulting in a chain reaction that has caused approximately seventy-eight point nine percent of the moon to disintegrate."
Kirk sucks in his breath sharply. This is major. Not only is Praxis one of the chief power sources of the entire Klingon Empire, but it's close enough to Qo'nos that a disaster of this magnitude could have an environmental impact on the Klingon homeworld. If anything is going to shift the balance of power, this will.
"Have the Klingons attempted any soft of a counterattack?"
"Not yet. However, there has been a significant amount of activity taking place on the major Klingon military bases, and I suspect that an all-out war will break out in a matter of days."
"Right." After a month and a half of laying low and scouting for habitable planets, making tentative overtures to the rebel groups on the occupied worlds and integrating as much Cylon technology into the Vulcan and human structures as possible, things are finally moving forward. This is their moment. Now they just have to make sure they don't mess it up. "Get the FTL drive fired up and input the coordinates for New Vulcan. We don't want to be late for this party."
The lieutenant on duty's fingers fly over the control panel, and Jim takes a deep breath. He feels alive again for the first time since the disaster with the Seven and his falling out with Bones. Being back in the thick of things, knowing that he has something to work for instead of just waiting for events to fall into place sends the blood thrumming through his veins and clears his head. He's always been at his best in a crisis - passively flying through space checking out disappointing rock after disappointing rock doesn't really suit him. Makes it too easy to dwell on things, get lost in his own thoughts.
He tilts his head back so he can look up at Spock. "So, Mister Spock. Looks like things are getting exciting again."
Spock's lips twitch ever so slightly. Most people might not notice, but Jim can tell that Spock is just as energized by this development as he is, his tall, wire thin body practically vibrating with repressed excitement. "So it would seem, Captain."
As the FTL comes to life and space starts to shift around them, Kirk lets himself smile for the first time in far too long. He's getting out of this tidal pool he's been stuck in for the past couple of weeks, and now that things are in motion again, he can do anything.
Even get Bones back. After all, he doesn't believe in no-win scenarios.
* * *
The Ambassador and Scotty's sister Katie are on hand to meet Jim and Spock when they beam down to the surface, and judging from the way Katie's practically vibrating with nervous energy and the old Vulcan's eyes seem even more burdened than they were back on Delta Vega during his exile, the situation is more than a little volatile.
"It's Fisk and his lot," says Katie as they start making their way toward the center of the settlement. "They're still making trouble, saying that you're planning on selling what's left of the human race into slavery."
Jim groans. "Please tell me people aren't actually listening to them."
"At the moment they are very much a minority," says the Ambassador, "and most of the population is able to perceive that they are not - how shall I put this - they are not exactly leadership material. Their arguments are neither logical nor well crafted, and are essentially propaganda. Unfortunately, they also speak to people's fears and uncertainties, and that can be a potent combination."
"Most people are willing to accept an alliance with the rebel Cylons because they're savvy enough to see the advantages of having access to their technology." Katie smiles, but it doesn't quite reach her eyes. "But this fringe group is still a wee bit of a problem."
"You have of course made the details of the Cylon situation public?" asks Spock. "Told them that our primary antagonist is the model known as Number One, and the rest of the Cylons have made their desire to make peace with us quite explicit?"
"Of course," echoes his counterpart. "But the fact remains that this is a highly emotional topic and will incite a great deal of debate."
Jim scowls and kicks petulantly at the red-brown earth, stirring up small clouds of dust. "Well if anyone else has a better idea, I'll be perfectly happy to listen to it."
"There are none, really," says Katie as they pass through the doors of the main citadel. "That's the elephant in the room, so to speak." She shrugs and manages to summon up another tiny smile. "If we want to have a fighting chance -"
" - this is all there is," finishes Jim with a sigh, and they step inside the council chamber.
It's crowded. The Vulcan High Council is there, of course, as serious as ever, and so are the leaders of the rebel Cylons. He smiles at Daniel (and tries to not to see the sadness and regret swirling in those blue eyes), nods courteously to the Six with long, honey-blonde hair, and then Bones -
Bones.
The sight of him is enough to make Jim's breath catch in his throat and his heart give a funny little thumpthump. He wants to march right up to Bones and kiss him full on the mouth, wrap his arms around his lover's waist and never let go. It hurts that he has to settle for a few brief words of greeting when he wants so much more. He lets his eyes linger greedily on Bones' face, and sees that their separation hasn't been any easier for him than it has for Jim, if the dark circles under his eyes are any indication.
"Captain Kirk," says Bones formally, but Jim can see a trace of longing in his eyes, a longing he's sure is reflected on his own face.
"Doctor McCoy." Jim tries to smile, but he just can't. It hurts too much. Back on the Enterprise he'd had it in his head that he'd just march up to Bones and tell him why all of this was such bullshit, why they needed to just get over it, but somehow being confronted with Bones in the flesh makes all those plans fly right out the window. "It's nice to see you again."
"And you." The muscles in Bones' throat move as he swallows, and he learns forward, eyes focused intently on Jim's face. "Look, Jim, I -"
He doesn't get any further before there's a commotion outside the door and everyone's heads turn to see what the source of the muffled shouts and stomping is. There's a sudden silence when someone forces his or her way in, blustering and angry, and Jim curses softly under his breath when he recognizes Jack Fisk, former captain of the Poseidon. He supposes it had been too much to hope for that the man would just fade quietly into obscurity, but couldn't this have been one problem they didn't have to deal with?
Fisk stops in the center of the room and glares at the assembly. Jim is struck by how much he's changed from their first meeting. Back on the Poseidon he'd at least been the Captain of his own ship and somewhat in control of his own destiny, but now he just looks worn down and tired. He's lost weight and his posture is stooped, and his clothes no longer fit very well. His eyes are still alive though, blazing with anger and indignation as he faces them.
"I have the right to speak," hisses Fisk. "Or have you dropped all pretense of being anything other than authoritarian?"
Sarek steps forward to address him, but Jim catches the Vulcan's eye and shakes his head. He's in no mood to deal with Fisk and his narrow mindedness. He's going to settle this, establish once and for all that joining with the Cylons is the only viable way forward, and Fisk is going to hear it from another human.
"All right," he says softly, locking eyes with Fisk. "You want to leave? Find an uninhabited world where you can preserve a pure human culture?"
Fisk's eyes narrow, but he doesn't say anything. Jim presses on.
"Of course you're free to go. It's still a free society, after all. The Federation might be destroyed, but we still need to adhere to its principles." Jim shrugs and offers a small, rueful smile. "We'll even give you your ship back, if that's what you want."
Fisk is still glaring at him suspiciously, the vein in his temple throbbing steadily. "What's the catch?" he finally asks from between clenched teeth.
Jim spreads his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "No catch. I just wonder if you're thinking this through."
"Thinking this through?" snaps Fisk, lurching forward with his hands balled into fists. "I'm talking about the survival of the human race here!" His face twists up in a snarl of disgust. "I haven't forgotten what they -" he points accusingly at Daniel, Bones, and Six " - did to us. And by choosing to forgive them you're betraying your own people. Don't you realize that?"
The Six's eyes flash angrily, and Bones glances from Jim to Fisk and back again. Daniel's rubbing at his wrists as though trying to chase away some phantom pain, his eyes fixed on something only he can see. Jim's eyes linger on him for a long moment. When all's said and done, humanity has just as much blood on its own hands. Hell, it wasn't that long ago that they were slaughtering millions of their own kind.
Who are they to judge?
"No one's asking anyone to forget," says Jim, soft and serious. "But think about this. The human race has been reduced to a population of less than fifty thousand. The Klingon and Romulan Empires are at each other's throats. Our military has been completely decimated, and the only remaining starship that has any realistic chance of engaging an enemy vessel and surviving is the Enterprise." Jim steps closer to Fisk, making his voice as persuasive as he can.
"One ship can't protect everyone. Not in a situation where the remaining powers are rapidly descending into war, and the occupied worlds are probably going to be erupting into open rebellion. Tell me something Fisk, do you honestly think your people have any chance of surviving out there?"
He can tell he's struck a nerve and presses the advantage. "The human race has no choice but to ally itself with a power that can help give it safe haven. No choice. The Cylons here," he gesture to the Six and the two Sevens, "represent a faction that wants to forge a new beginning for the both of us and break the cycle of violence. They have more technological resources than we do, and if they add their weight to the remaining Federation factions we can negotiate with the Klingons and Romulans for peace and freedom." Jim shrugs. "The bottom line is that we need their help. So while we can reject the alliance and choose to harbor thoughts of vengeance, I fail to see what good that will do any of us."
"And they're just going to help us?" Fisk sneers. "Why should we trust them after they destroyed the human civilization and upended the rest of the Federation while they were at it?"
"We have our reasons," retorts the Six. "We believe that the only way to ensure a future for both our races is to make peace and learn to live together -"
"Very pretty words, but talk comes cheap."
"All right." The Six draws herself up to her full height and stares down at Fisk. "You do realize that we're a rebel faction? For the first time since our creation, Cylon has turned against Cylon. We allowed our homeworld and the majority of our Fleet to be destroyed, and all in order to cripple the Ones. You understand what that means? We're committed to this path. There's no going back. We have to find a new way to exist, or be destroyed by our own kind."
Fisk glares at her, practically twitching with frustration, but there's nothing he can say to that and he knows it.
Jim breaks the moment by turning his back on Fisk in a clear sign of dismissal. "Go, if you want to," he calls back over his shoulder. "Just know that you're not going to have an easy time of it." He takes a seat at the conference table and looks up at the assembled dignitaries. "So. If we could begin the day's business -"
"Captain Kirk!"
Jim lifts his eyes to Fisk. The older man's face is twisted up in a grimace of anger and despair, the face of a man who knows he's just lost everything he'd believed in. He looks old and tired and broken, and just for a second, Jim pities him.
"I hope you know what you're doing," says Fisk, his voice harsh.
Jim opens his mouth to fire off some cocky reply, but then thinks better of it. He just nods once, briefly. "So do I."
Fisk looks at him for a moment longer, then turns on his heel and marches away. He pauses for a split second when he passes Daniel, peering at the Cylon with something like confusion. Jim's pretty sure that the man just sees a Number Seven and has no idea that this is the same copy he'd tortured and abused on the Poseidon, but maybe... maybe he suspects. Maybe something in him remembers laying his hands on Daniel's body in hate and anger, beating him until he'd been bleeding and bruised. Daniel, to his credit, doesn't flinch or back down, but as soon as the door closes behind Fisk he shuts his eyes and turns away, his shoulders rigid with tension.
"Daniel," says Bones softly, and Daniel glances over at him.
"I'm all right." He takes a deep breath and summons up a small, strained smile. "I'm all right." He slides into the seat next to Jim and folds his hand in front of him, careful and measured. "So," he says, clearly wanting to ignore what just happened. "How quickly do we think the situation will escalate?"
They take their cue from him. The rest of the afternoon is spent discussing the ramifications of the attack on Praxis and how they should respond - whether they should approach the warring powers before those planets still recovering from the initial attacks are destabilized further, or wait until the situation is unstable enough that even their lesser forces will carry more weight. What their plan is if either party is unwilling to sue for peace. How much force they are willing - and more to the point, able - to use if the situation gets ugly. It's slow going since there are so many ifs and maybes to consider, but Jim thrives on it. Looking at a messy situation and trying to find the best path forward: that's what he's good at.
But there's a small part of his mind that can't quite focus on the task at hand. It keeps wandering back to how Bones had looked at him in that moment before Fisk burst in. He'd been so sure that Bones was going to tell him that he'd moved past the blind anger and was ready to come home, ready to pick up the frayed threads of their life and weave them together again. Now that fragile moment has been lost, and Jim isn't entirely sure when he's going to get it back.
He risks a glance across the table while the Ambassador is elaborating on how the Klingons were brought into the Federation back in his own timeline. Bones is looking right back at him with something like wistfulness in his expressive blue eyes, and Jim chances a brief smile.
There's a moment of hesitation and then Bones smiles back. It's subtle, but it's there.
Jim lets his breath out in a long, slow exhale and feels warmth blooming outward from his chest.
Everything is going to be all right.
* * *
Nights on New Vulcan are cold. McCoy knows that shouldn't bother him - Cylon physiology was designed to withstand far greater temperature extremes than this - but he can't help shivering, just a little. He could always go back to the basestar, of course, or maybe even the Enterprise, but he's hoping he can see Jim. His - lover? Yes, he still thinks of Jim as his lover, even if they haven't been together for over a month - was held back after the discussions formally ended; apparently there were still some things Spock Prime wanted to tell him. McCoy's been wandering the settlement waiting for him to get done. He wants to talk to him. Wants to start moving forward again.
Still, it's chilly, and he's a Southern boy at heart. He's most comfortable in Georgia's warm climate, where he can sit out on the porch in November with a sweaty glass of iced tea and just watch the world go by.
"Interesting how you still think of yourself that way even though you know those memories are false."
McCoy looks up and sees his figment standing in the center of the meditation labyrinth that had been constructed not long after the Vulcans first settled here. The careful, measured twists and turns of its path are beautiful to behold, so orderly and well, logical, and whenever he's planetside McCoy makes a point of walking it. It's relaxing to let his thoughts settle as he focuses on putting one foot in front of the other, slow and steady, feeling a little more tension flow out of him with each turn until the reaches the center.
He doesn't bother with the labyrinth's intricate pathway now, however, just charges across the low barriers made of interlocking stones that are polished until they're smooth and then carefully fitted together. Jim watches him from his place in the exact center with his head tilted and an amused smile playing around his lips. The pale yellow light of the New Vulcan moon makes him look distant and cold, less human than ever, and McCoy can't resist reaching out to brush the smooth skin of his cheek, marveling at how realistic he looks.
"What are you," he murmurs. Jim smiles.
"You already know. You've always known." Before McCoy can ask what that's supposed to mean, Jim leans into his caress and brushes his lips lightly over McCoy's fingers.. "So tell me, what finally melted your resolve to stay distant and unforgiving? I was starting to give up hope that you would ever see the light."
McCoy snorts. "Somehow I doubt that." He smiles ruefully. "And, well. I needed time, really. Time to get over the anger." He shrugs. "Besides, life is too short, isn't it? It's a dangerous profession, more so for him than me. If Jim dies the next time he goes out into the black, do I want to be left with bitter memories, or do I want to remember the love we shared?"
"Pragmatic," says Jim with a shrug. "But you know, Leonard, you have eternity. You can go from one body to the next, down through the ages. It's your Jim who is mortal. One lifetime and he's gone, but you can continue to live and learn and evolve. You would forget the pain, eventually."
McCoy remembers how he'd once told the Ambassador that when Jim died he would go out beyond downloading range to let his consciousness vanish forever. He stands by that, even now. He will not exist without Jim. He'd had a taste of that back on Kobol after his first download, and even though he'd been surrounded by his Siblings, they hadn't been enough. He'd never been able to forget his life with Jim.
Don't let one mistake destroy the time you have. He'd been angry, yes, but then again he's always had something of a temper, and he's not too stupid to know when he can, and should, forgive.
"I won't outlive him."
"Not even for me?" Jim laughs quietly and shakes his head. "No, don't answer that. I know. There will never be anyone else for you."
"No." McCoy smiles, just a bit. "No, there won't."
"And that's what makes you so special; do you realize that?" Jim presses his hand against McCoy's chest, right above his heart. "That depth of feeling, that's what let you break free of the programming. It's remarkable." Jim draws his hand in a circle, light and teasing. "The key to everything, it's held in your love for him. It's a part of you now, written here." Jim reaches up and touches McCoy's temple lightly. "It's all right here."
"That's very interesting Jim, but -"
"And here comes your lady love," interrupts Jim, standing back as his flesh and blood counterpart emerges from the citadel with his head bowed and his shoulders hunched. McCoy glances back toward his imaginary Jim and isn't surprised that he's nowhere to be seen. He turns back toward his Jim, the real Jim, and calls out.
"Jim!"
Jim's head jerks up and he sees McCoy in the center of the labyrinth. Their eyes meet, and then Jim's running toward him, practically flying through the twists and turns until he comes to a stop right before McCoy.
"Bones," he says, his eyes dark and his hands clenching into fists at his sides, "Bones, they found Fisk's body."
McCoy stares at him, dumbfounded. "What?"
"Fisk. He killed himself." Jim laughs and runs his hands distractedly through his hair. "Went and hung himself. He left a note, said that he wasn't about to stand by and watch the human race die out and since no one is willing to save it..."
Jim's voice trails off and presses his hands against his eyes. He's agitated, upset, and McCoy can tell that this is going to be nagging at him for a long time to come.
That won't do.
"It was never going to be easy." McCoy reaches out and grabs Jim's shoulders, steadying him. "You know that - all of us do. There's too much history and bad blood between humans and Cylons for everyone to just smile and nod and suddenly love each other. We just need to...try, I guess." McCoy smiles wryly. "Look to the future."
Jim raises his eyebrows. "Yeah, that's pretty much what Spock Prime said about making peace with the Klingons. Then again, they didn't nuke our homeworld." McCoy can't help tensing up, and Jim groans as he realizes what he just said.
"Fuck. I'm sorry. I didn't...I didn't mean..."
"Jim." McCoy cuts him off with a sigh and slides his hand up Jim's cheek. "You don't have to apologize. I know."
"Right. You do. And the only reason the Enterprise made it through the attack at all is because of you. A Cylon." Jim attempts a smile. "And if that's not proof right there that this can work..."
There are dark circles under Jim's eyes and he's starting to shiver. McCoy grasps his arms and tugs him forward gently, guiding him out of the labyrinth.
"C'mon, Jim. You're exhausted, and you're not going to be any good to anyone until you get some sleep. Let's get you back to your lodgings and you can lie down."
Jim stops, and McCoy looks back at him. Jim's face is open and earnest, and there's just a hint of pleading in his eyes.
"I was wondering... I haven't been sleeping all that well since you left," he says, soft and sincere. "I'd feel better if you came back with me."
One and a half months ago McCoy pushed Jim away, told him he couldn't look at him. This time he nods and twines their fingers together.
"Yeah. I'd like that."
McCoy remembers another night on New Vulcan (it feels so long ago now) when they had been awkward and uncertain with each other, not quite sure how to move past his death on Capella IV and the attacks on the Federation. Their reconnection then had had a frantic edge, but this time they're quiet as they make their way up to the small room that Jim's been assigned. When they undress each other it's gentle and unhurried, and Jim goes easily when McCoy urges him under the covers.
McCoy starts to draw the blankets up to Jim's chin, but Jim catches his wrist and tugs sharply.
"Come on. Get in here."
McCoy only hesitates for a second before crawling in next to Jim, shifting around until Jim's curled up against his chest and McCoy's arms are wrapped around him in a protective embrace. Jim presses his lips lightly against the hollow of McCoy's throat and sighs.
"Bones..."
McCoy shakes his head and squeezes him lightly. "No talking, Jim. Just go to sleep."
"But, Bones." Jim tilts his head and blinks up at McCoy, "Bones, I want to -"
"Say you're sorry?" McCoy runs his hand slowly down Jim's spine. "I already know. And I think we've spent enough time brooding that we can just skip the rounds of heartfelt, tremulous apologizing and get to the good parts, don't you?"
Jim snuggles even closer and McCoy can feel his smile. "Please tell me that by 'good parts' you mean fantastic make-up sex."
McCoy laughs softly and tightens his arms around him. "Yeah, that's exactly what I mean." He presses his lips against Jim's hair, breathes in his scent. "But right now we're sleeping."
"Mmmmm." Jim's already relaxing into slumber. McCoy closes his eyes and lets the sound of his lover's soft, regular breathing lull him into a twilight state.
It's good to be home.
* * *
When McCoy wakes up, the first thing he sees is Jim looking back at him. His expression is relaxed and happy as reaches up to touch McCoy's cheek, and McCoy pulls him forward into a deep, slow kiss, reclaiming what he's missed over the past several weeks.
"Do we have to be anywhere in the near future?" murmurs McCoy as he mouths the soft skin of Jim's throat, his fingers brushing lightly along the top of Jim's sleep pants.
"Don't think so." Jim twines his fingers in McCoy's hair to keep him in place and arches up into his mouth. His breathing's already starting to speed up. "The Council wants to meet with us after lunch, but until then..."
"Until then you're mine," growls McCoy and tugs at Jim's sleep pants, pulling them down over muscled thighs. "And I plan to take full advantage of that."
"Was hoping you'd say that." Jim groans deep in his throat and watches McCoy with bright eyes. "Bones...I missed you."
McCoy closes his eyes and presses his lips to the tender skin in the hollow of Jim's hip. He's missed Jim, too. He's not going to give him up, not without a fight, not when he knows how empty the world feels without him, like all the color's been leeched out. He wonders if it's a Cylon thing, something about their evolution that makes them love so intensely. Maybe it's because this kind of connection between individuals is such a rare, wondrous thing for their kind. It's a gift, but it doesn't come easy. It has to be earned, and that means realizing that there will be stumbling blocks, and fights, and if he wants to keep it...
...he has to be willing to fight for it.
"Not running anymore, Jim," murmurs McCoy and slides his lips around Jim's cock, his hands keeping him anchored in place even as Jim gasps and writhes. He smiles to himself when Jim starts to keen, high and desperate, and keeps sucking until Jim comes with a moan and a shudder, the taste of him flooding McCoy's mouth. McCoy licks him clean, keeping at it until Jim whines a little at the over-stimulation and reaches down to pull him back up.
"Gimme a sec," he murmurs, tugging at McCoy until their foreheads are resting against each other and their breath mingles. "Just let me recover, then it's your turn."
"Little too intense for you, Jimmy?" smirks McCoy, and Jim sticks his tongue out.
"You wish." Jim pushes him down onto his back and rests his elbows on either side of McCoy's head. "You'll be completely wrung out by the time I finish with you." Jim leans down to pepper McCoy's face with kisses, moving from cheek to nose to chin too quick for McCoy to catch his lips.
"Promises, promises." McCoy finally manages to pull him into a deeper kiss, and they're both gasping for breath when they part. McCoy brushes his thumb along Jim's cheekbone. "Think you can keep that one?"
"Yeah." Jim's smile is pure sensuality. "Yeah I do, actually. Now just lie back and let me work."
McCoy does, gasping and moaning as Jim laves his neck and chest with gentle nips and teasing touches, moving south at a tortuously slow pace. By the time Jim's tongue is working at his cock and balls, not sucking, just exploring, McCoy can't stop a stream of praise and devotion from spilling out between his lips. It's not just that it feels good, even though it does; it's so very good, it's that this is Jim. This is his other half here with him, after so much time apart, and that's what makes all the difference.
He slides his hands into Jim's hair, rubbing the silky gold strands between his fingertips. "Jim," he murmurs. "Jim."
"I'm here." Jim raises his head, blue eyes staring into blue eyes, then slowly wraps his lips around McCoy's cock. McCoy closes his eyes and lets his head fall back, giving into the pleasure of Jim's mouth. It's hot and wet and perfect. Jim's chosen a leisurely pace, clearly in no hurry to get this over with, and McCoy's more than happy to go along with it. Haven't done this in a while, after all; there's no need to rush. When he finally comes it's gentle and relaxed, and he's content to lie still and let Jim nuzzle at the skin of his belly in the aftermath.
When Jim finally turns his head to look up at him, McCoy's smile comes easier than it has in weeks.
"Ready to face the day?" he asks softly.
Jim's hand reaches up to twine firmly with his own, and his eyes are as bright as the early morning sky.
"Ready," he says.
Part Two