Fic: Hearts of Three 2/2
Title: Hearts of Three 2/2
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: McCoy/Spock and Kirk/Spock
Rating: NC-17
Word count: ~3100
Summary: Sometimes two friends fall in love with the same man.
Warnings: Sad. Non-graphic sexual situations. Language.
Notes: Written on a prompt from FFN dweller winsista
Part 1
McCoy knows it won’t last forever. He also knows it’ll be ultimately up to Spock, and of course, it is. It only was a matter of time.
But he is still unprepared when he sees an unconscious, critically wounded Jim being hauled into Sick Bay, and Spock, who’s walking at his side, one hand glued to Jim’s face. He’s stabilizing Jim with a mind-meld, and a quick scan tells McCoy that if it weren’t for that, Jim would have been dead already.
He operates, quickly. Efficiently. He’s a professional. He doesn’t let his thoughts wander when there’s a patient fighting for his life on his table. He ignores Spock’s presence, up until the moment when Jim is out of the woods, stable enough to let his body breathe on its own.
Spock looks up at him, and McCoy knows he knows. Jim was never much on keeping this kind of secret. McCoy doesn’t sigh, just barks an order at one of the nurses. He most certainly doesn’t watch as Spock runs his hand through Jim’s hair once, gently. Then he walks out, without looking at anyone, leaving McCoy to patch up the captain.
When Jim opens his eyes five hours later, he focuses on McCoy immediately. McCoy holds a glass to his lips and supports him up so that he can drink.
“I know you know,” McCoy says quietly. “You don’t need to call me a bastard, I know I am. But just for the record, I didn’t steal him from you. He wasn’t yours when I...” he trails off.
Jim sinks back into the pillows and says nothing. McCoy sighs.
“Guess I stand corrected. He’s always been yours.”
A hand closes around his wrist. “Bones.”
Startled, McCoy looks up to meet Jim’s eyes. Electric fucking blue. Old eyes on a young face.
“I’m sorry.”
McCoy lets out a breath and nods.
“Yeah. Me too.”
Spock visits Jim just once during his two-day recovery. Running the ship on his own must keep him busy, McCoy muses. He watches them play chess through the glass. He doesn’t talk to either of them and doesn’t interrupt.
Jim is quiet when McCoy examines him before discharging. Quiet and sad, and McCoy thinks that it’s awfully unfair that in addition to his lover he must now lose a friend, too.
He walks into his quarters later in the evening and picks up a glass and a bottle of very much illegal Romulan ale. He sets both on his desk, uncorks the bottle and pours himself a glass, but doesn’t drink. He waits.
Spock enters without a buzz. McCoy looks at him, allowing his eyes to roam over the lean, perfect form freely one last time. He meets Spock’s eyes and smiles. Shakes his head.
“Don’t say it. I already know it, Spock. I don’t need to hear it.”
McCoy’s hand tightens its grip on the glass and he whirls the liquid inside experimentally. He expects Spock to leave, but the Vulcan remains motionless, and still very much right there.
“Leonard,” Spock says, and McCoy’s eyes fly to his face of their own volition. “I love you.”
McCoy’s heart skips a beat, and for a moment, all he sees is white. But then his vision clears, and his jaw clenches painfully.
“You love Jim, too.”
“Yes,” Spock says simply.
McCoy scoffs. “I never liked Jack London. And you don’t look like the little lady of a big ship anyway.”
Spock lifts an eyebrow. “We should be grateful for small mercies.”
McCoy glares at him. “You think it’s funny?”
“No, Leonard. I most certainly do not find anything about our situation humorous.”
“Don’t fret, Spock. It’s not the end of the world. So you’ve fallen in love with two people. You’re hardly the first person in the galaxy that it’s happened to.”
“Indeed.” Spock looks at him carefully. “I see you are settled for the night.” He nods at the bottle.
“I sure am. I was just waiting for you to get it over with to get started.”
“I see. In that case, I will take my leave of you now.”
McCoy snorts bitterly. Spock waits a moment longer, then walks toward the door.
“Tell Jim I said hi,” McCoy says, not because he’s a dick, but because it hurts. Just. That. Much.
Spock pauses in the doorway, glancing back at him across his shoulder. McCoy doesn’t look up. The door slides shut.
“You knew about this,” Jim accuses.
“No, Jim!” McCoy is stunned. “No, I swear to God, I had no idea.”
“Well, you should have! You’re the one who’s been sleeping with him for three months!”
“And you’re the one who’s been in his head! From day one! If anyone should have suspected something, it’s you!”
“Respectfully, sirs.” Uhura lifts up her head long enough to glare at them through her tears. “Would the two of you SHUT UP?”
They do. There’s nothing but silence and darkness on the observation deck, penetrated only by the starlight and the rich, deep sound of Spock’s voice. They remain silent long after the transmission ends.
“He took himself out of the equation,” Jim says finally.
“He wanted us to remain friends.”
“Yeah, well. How do you think that’ll work out?”
“You’re both assholes,” Uhura says. She’s sitting on the deck, hugging her knees. “It wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t yours. Either of you. It wasn’t your fault. It’s not something anyone can control.”
McCoy purses his lips. “I was ready to step out. With all that soulmates crap and all, who was I to stand in the way?” He meets Jim’s eyes. “I wouldn’t have given you any grief, Jim.”
Jim shakes his head. “You were ready to step out. I was ready to never step in. Really, Bones. Do you honestly think I’m that kind of jerk? I love you more than I ever loved my own brother. If I knew about you and him, if you told me about it in the first place, I would never have said anything.”
“It doesn’t matter.” McCoy closes his eyes tiredly. “He’d have found out anyway. Jim. This is pointless. We can’t change anything.”
“I don’t believe in the no-win scenario,” Jim says stubbornly.
“Really?” McCoy lashes. “What’s the fucking win here, Jim? Huh? It’s your job to find solutions, so tell me, what do you think either of us could do to turn this into a fucking win?!”
His voice reverberates unpleasantly in the room empty but for the three of them. Jim slams his fist into a bulkhead, but doesn’t say anything.
McCoy takes in a shuddering breath. “I need a drink.”
“Because that’s your solution to anything.”
“Fuck you, Jim. I didn’t ask for any of this to happen.”
“There’s a shocker. None of us did.” He looks over at McCoy and suddenly his glare loses its edge. “Go get your drink, Bones. Wish I could join you.”
McCoy hesitates. It’s still a struggle to keep himself from lunging at Jim.
“Maybe another time,” he manages at last.
“Maybe.”
And it’s true, McCoy thinks, walking back to his quarters. There will be this ‘other time.’ He just somehow knows that. Not tomorrow and not next week, but he and Jim will be drinking together again sometimes. When the first pain is gone, they will probably bond deeper over this. Will trade stories. Memories. Because they are chosen brothers, and that’s the way things are in a family.
He wishes he could hate Jim, hate Spock, hate anyone but himself.
He walks into his cabin and falls on his bed, exhausted. Spock’s scent still lingers on the pillows. McCoy suddenly feels sorry for Jim, honestly, sincerely sorry, because that’s something Jim will never have. He closes his eyes, burying his face in the scent, striving to commit it to memory, terrified that the day will come when won’t remember it anymore.
He’d probably have to kill himself on that day.
‘Leonard. I love you.’
“I love you, too, Spock. Wherever you are. I love you, too.”
~
Fin