STXI fic: All the Past We Leave Behind

[northatlantic]

Title: All the Past We Leave Behind, 2/2
Author: northatlantic
Word Count: 22,500
Characters/Pairings: Kirk/McCoy, Spock/Uhura, Pike, Chapel, Scotty, Gaila, Sulu, Chekov, Winona Kirk
Rating: NC-17 for explicit m/m sex, implied m/f sex, bad language, violence
Summary: Wild West AU; drifter Jim Kirk finds a new purpose in a town called Enterprise and an angry ex-Confederate surgeon he meets there.
Author's Notes: for my beta, muse and cheering section breakthecitysky, without whom I don't think this mess would ever have gotten finished. Thanks also to katlike and seimaisin for their patience getting spammed with/about this pretty much 24/7. A whole lot of details about the time and place of this story can be found here, for those who care about such things. This began originally as a space_married fill, but kind of mutated far and wide beyond the scope of that prompt. Title from Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass.
Warning: the term "halfbreed" is used to denote a character of Cheyenne and white descent by other characters as a slur, and the term "Oriental" for a character of Asian descent.

Part 1



***

Spock stared at the flames licking over the Forge. It had been a dry summer; there would be no stopping the destruction, and it would be lucky if the flames did not spread further, to the rest of the town. He had left earlier to take the last few days’ winnings to the bank; a fortunate thought, he mused numbly as the sign crashed to earth. If anything could be fortunate, now.

“Spock!” He turned and was staggered by Nyota flinging herself at him, her red dress torn and smoke-stained and her face gleaming with tears. He gathered her in slowly, uncertainly, the feeling of her warm and yielding against him and her hands coming up to frame his face like something that was happening to another man. “What can I do? Tell me what you need.” Her beautiful voice was hoarse with smoke and sobs as she pressed her mouth to his. He rested his forehead against hers and focused on the sound of her voice. It almost drowned out the same ashes his filthy savage father and whore mother tasted…

“We need to get a posse together.” Jim Kirk swung down off his lathered horse, eyes glittering in the light of the burning Forge like something risen from hell. “Pick up the trail while it’s still fresh…”

“Marshal Pike is wounded.” Spock’s voice was hard and brittle as he turned to Kirk. “Until we know what his status is, you have no authority in Enterprise. The town offered the position to Pike, not you, and until he confirms it-“

Kirk’s voice rose incredulously. “Spock, the farther they get away, the less likelihood we have of being able to catch up with them before they commit another crime! They murdered a family outside of town in cold blood on their way here, who knows how many people here-“

“While you were nowhere near to prevent it,” Spock snapped back. “Something that does not inspire trust in your capabilities.”

“What exactly are you saying, Spock?” Kirk went still as a statue, only those eyes shining in the darkness.

“I’m saying that you’re no law I recognize in Enterprise. And that we have too many men hurt to throw any more of them away on you looking for glory. Leave, Kirk. I want you out of my town.“

“Is that what you think I am?” Kirk’s voice was quiet. “Damn you, Spock, for a yellow coward dog.”

A couple of Spock’s men took exception to that, Cupcake and Nails seizing his arms to drag him away. Kirk sagged in what appeared to be defeat, but then wrenched out of Nails’ hands as his grip loosened, planted a fist in Cupcake’s gut that bent him over. Kirk almost pulled free, but he wasn’t ready for Spock’s left, crashing into his jaw, the other hand coming down like a hammer on his nape, leaving him crumpled on the ground. Cupcake, snarling, got in a good kick in his ribs before Spock grabbed his arm. “Enough, Henderson. That’s enough. Leave him.”

Uhura’s face was troubled as he came back to her, but she said nothing, just led him away as his dream burned behind him.

***

He came to as the rain started to spatter down on him, hissing in the wreckage of Vulcan’s Forge. His jaw and neck both hurt like a son-of-a-bitch; he wasn’t sure how long he’d been out but long enough for the crowd to have dispersed. He spared a hint of bitterness for the fact that as long as he’d been there, nobody could bestir themselves to lend him a hand or say a word to Spock as he clambered unsteadily to his feet.

Harley bumped him with his muzzle, and he sighed. “At least I still have you,” he said. The lights were still burning at McCoy’s surgery and while it soothed his bruised ego a little to see the chaos inside through the window and know that was why Bones hadn’t come to him, it didn’t make him feel any better. So many hurt, so many who would be hurt and if anybody here only believed in him...

He took care of his exhausted horse, thought wistfully about a bath and a drink. Maybe a lot of drinks. Fuck. He let his head drop into his hands, tried not to think about anything. Especially not about the dying woman in his arms that afternoon, the chaos he’d ridden into, the sight of Pike lying in the dirt, the sound of McCoy’s strained voice barking orders…

The banging at the door eventually cut into his daze; he stumbled to open it and the sight of Bones in a towering rage, eyes wild and furiously bright, was the most strangely reassuring thing he’d seen. "Jim Kirk, you BOUGHT me a WOMAN?"

It took him a minute to figure out what Bones could possibly mean, and then he cringed. "No! I just...answered an advertisement for one."

Bones bared his teeth. "You dogmeat peckerwood sack of shit, I don't suppose it occurred to you to ask if I WANTED one first? Now the poor thing is here and God only knows what I'm going to do about it--or what SHE'S going to do about it, kicked me out of my damn house!"

Jim blinked, confused. "Wait, how is she a poor thing if she kicked you out of your house? How did she kick you out of your house? Who's taking care of Pike?"

"As to the last, she is." He sighed, the fury ebbing at that. "She's a nurse. At this point, she can do what needs doing as well as I can. As to the former, fucked if I know, Jim. Next time, boy, why don't you just shoot me in the head? First of all, I HAD a wife. It did not help matters any. Second of all..." He rubbed a hand over his eyes. "Well, never mind second. Just let me into the jail so I have a place to sleep."

Jim rolled his eyes. "Oh for Christ's sake, you martyr. Get your ass in here, you can share the bed if you take a damn bath, you reek. What have you been doing, drinking that rotgut or rolling in it?" He didn’t mention the blood.

McCoy came in, mouth tight and eyes sharp. "Like you would know good bourbon if someone drowned you in it. And what the fuck happened to your face?"

"Ow, leave it,” Jim grouched as McCoy caught at his jaw to study him and the bruise twinged. “Fucking Spock happened to it, it’s nothing. And if you're drowning, does it matter if it's good bourbon or not?" Jim sighed. "I'll put some water on. Coffee?"

It was McCoy’s turn to cringe at that. He dropped his eyes and said simply, "Yes, thank you.”

"Now I know you're upset. No mentions were made of mud, brambles, or piss in the same breath as my coffee." Jim muttered, filled the big kettle and the Dutch oven and poured the smaller kettle into the coffeepot.

"Well, you know. How a man prefers his coffee is between himself and his Maker."

Jim huffed a little laugh. "That's better. Sounds more like you at least.” He stared at the coffeepot. "Bones, does he have a chance, really?"

McCoy blew out a breath, knowing immediately who he was talking about. The bullet by some miracle hadn’t punched a hole in Pike’s stomach or his lung but had pierced through all the way to his spine, lodged against it. It hadn’t severed it, the only saving grace, but it had been a hell of a mess. "Your guess’s as good as mine, Jim. He's almighty strong-willed, and the bullet didn't fragment. If he doesn't take an infection, he might pull through. Might wish he didn't, though. Never seen a man come through that kind of injury and be able to walk again."

Jim rubbed a hand over burning eyes. "So help me, I'll see Nero in hell for that."

"Jesus, Jim, what makes you think you're immortal? What makes you so sure you won’t get gunned down like Pike?" McCoy wrapped his arms around himself. "So help ME, I'll put you down myself if I have to stand over you on a table. Be kinder to both of us."

"Nobody else is going to die, okay?" Kirk snapped, went and started slopping water into the zinc tub by the fire. "Make yourself useful and help."

McCoy looked at him for a long moment, then went and fetched another bucket, the two of them silently filling the tub and then carefully pouring the kettles of hot water in. McCoy took the harsh chunk of lye soap, shedding out of garments haphazardly and clambering in as Kirk gathered them up, felt like the only thing to do was give them a proper burial but put them in a heap with his clothes to be laundered, rummaged out clean drawers and an undershirt that would do until he could persuade Miss Chapel that it was safe to let Bones back into the surgery. He lit the lanterns as the storm outside worsened, the rain spattering hard against the eaves.

"Could have just stood outside," McCoy murmured, head fallen back, eyes closed, something almost infinitely sad there, and Jim felt his throat tighten.

"Catch your death of cold," he shot back. "You shaved in the last week?"

McCoy ran a considering hand over his chin. "Probably not? No reason to, really."

"Well, how 'bout harboring fleas in that mess?" Jim went and got his razor and his shaving soap, McCoy looking at him askance.

"Jim, if your point is avoidin' mess, my hands aren't steady enough for that cutthroat."

"I know. Hold still and shut up for thirty seconds, would you?" He soaped the other man's face, delicately drew the razor over tanned skin and walnut-dark whiskers just beginning to show the odd strand of grey.

And for a miracle, McCoy did, his eyes closing, breath soft and shallow. He looked oddly younger barefaced, vulnerable in a way he didn't with the forest of beard, hazel eyes dark and dilated as he opened them. "Jim," he said quiet and husky. "Let me go," he said. "I don't have to stay here."

"Like hell are you going anywhere." Jim carefully cleaned the razor, put it away in his kit. "Enough people have gotten hurt today. You're staying where I can see you."

Something both defeated and relieved gleamed in McCoy's eyes at that. "You at least be good enough to let me drink your whiskey? Filthy night."

"Coffee. You can have coffee if you need warming. I'm drinking my whiskey." He closed his eyes, doubted there was enough liquor in the world to wash away the sight of Chris Pike crumpled in the dirt.

"Hardass, kid." He heard McCoy clambering out of the tub, followed by the small sounds of drying off and dressing. "And I think you need sleep more than you need whiskey. I know I need sleep more than coffee. Come on, let's call it a day."

He blew out a breath, suddenly desperate for just that, for oblivion however he could get there and he climbed into bed next to Bones. Beneath the sharpness of soap, the scent of him was both earthy and oddly sweet, the animal warmth of him, the sound of his breathing pulling Jim in like an undertow. He reached out because he couldn't help himself, because the flood of grief and rage and fear was going to carry him away and it was a drowning man's reflex to reach.

"Oh, kid," Bones whispered, turned and took him in his arms, his mouth tender on Jim's brow. "Shhhhhh. Shhhh, I've got you..."

He pressed his face into Bones' neck, lips against that pulse beating like a river in flood and McCoy's breath hissed out, suddenly tense. He shifted uncomfortably, froze at Jim’s small sound of involuntary protest as he made to pull away and it was only then that Jim realized it was because he’d gone hard. So many things clear then as Bones trembled against him, waiting for him to react with anger or disgust and he was angry, but at the fear, not the man. He pulled Bones in tighter against him, savoring the feeling of the other man’s hard-on pressing into him, for him. He’d pleased a fair number women in bed and been pleased by them in return, but this was a wilder, headier thing, the way McCoy reacted as if he was original sin and his only hope of heaven both. Need kindled hot and ready in the pit of his belly as if it had waited for a long time for this, for Bones. Maybe it had.

"Kid," McCoy whispered, bowstring-taut, head tipping back as he tried to pull away and his pulse was visible against the skin, offered like a sacrament, a sacrifice, a gift. "You don't...you're hurting so bad and this is a mistake."

"No. You're not a mistake. Jesus Christ, Bones, I've seen what people do to each other. Seen what bullets do, what tomahawks do, what bowie knives do, what artillery does. That's a mistake. This is just...different. This doesn't hurt anyone." He mouthed against that strong curve, marveling quietly at the difference between McCoy's throat and a woman's, the strength of it, the rise of Adam's apple and the prickle of stubble and yet how...beautiful it still was. How soft and warm beneath his lips. "You don't hurt anybody."

"Hurt lots of people," McCoy snapped, trembling, hands coming up to push Jim away but instead fastening into his shirt. "Hurt my family, my wife. The people I could have helped and didn't because I'm a worthless drunk. Hurt you, if they think you're a Godless cocksucker like me."

"Bullshit." Jim bit him hard, felt him tremble not in pain but in want, hips lifting a little against Jim’s and it felt like glory, felt like something finally, truly touched the core of him. "You can't blame yourself for a goddamn war, Bones. For being what you're made. I don't know about God. I don't know what God could have seen Sand Creek and not wiped man from the face of the earth. I don't know how blood can run red to taint a whole river like you saw at Chickamauga and people can pretend there's something that gives a fuck out there. And if there is, and THIS bothers him more than that? Fuck him. This makes you happy and you're the best man I know so let's quit with this shit about worthlessness or I am going to belt you in the mouth for talking about my friend that way. My best friend. My Bones."

McCoy caught his face between his hands. "My Jim. I can't believe you're this fuckin' stupid, this reckless." He kissed him before he could protest, strong hands tangling into his hair, mouth rough and hard with wanting, teeth clicking against teeth.

"You haven't been paying very close attention, have you?" Jim gasped against his mouth, smiling. "Stupid and reckless are my middle names."

He didn’t know what to do, but that eager hungry mouth against his, the wonder in Bones' eyes made him want to do anything, everything to keep it there. He stripped off shirt and drawers, figuring whatever fucking this way entailed naked was a good start and from Bones' sharp intake of breath he agreed. Long skillful fingers, as soft as a woman's, reached out to feather along Jim's side where the muscles fanned out; Jim shivered as Bones' thumb traced the crease between hip and thigh, bucking forward involuntarily.

He felt almost bereft when that gentle hand lifted away and Bones fumbled with his own shirt and breeches, but was consoled by the way those hands trembled as he did it. He had seen naked men before, but never looked at them, and he let his eyes feast now. Bones' skin was flushed with excitement, the pulse visible in his throat as his tongue traced nervously over his lips. They were full and soft against his as Jim kissed him again, let his hand wander over Bones' broad chest. Bones' head fell back as he brushed a thumb over his nipple, and intrigued, Jim dipped his head to lick over it. He was rewarded by a soft harsh sigh and then a growl as his hand drifted from the lazy circles it had made on Bones’ stomach to slide over the velvety warmth of his cock. Bones pushed his hips up to Jim's touch with a soft moan, and Jim felt powerful with it as he pressed kisses and bites over Bones’ chest while stroking him; it couldn’t really be this easy, could it? He brought his hand up and licked over fingers and palm; he could taste Bones on it, salty and sharp but not unpleasant, and when he closed his hand around him and returned to his explorations, Bones writhed beneath his touch.

"Goddammit, Jim," Bones gasped, lashes fluttering, those clever hands shaking as they gathered him in. His lush mouth was reddened and slack as his hips rocked against the stroke of Jim's hand, "So good, I need..." Bones’ voice going all harsh and low, unstrung with want, made Jim's hips rock against his, the slick slide and slap of Jim's cock trapped between their bodies somehow shockingly exciting and at the same time almost innocent. One long hand carded through Jim’s hair tenderly, even as Bones’ other hand cupped the curve of his ass, long fingers tracing down the crack before sliding between his legs. Bones smiled and swallowed Jim’s gasp at how good that felt, careful fingertips stroking over sensitive skin before pressing inside, gentle and somehow wrenchingly, surprisingly intimate. Jim bit him at that, too much feeling to be gentle and Bones cursed like a prayer, the hot splash of come on his fingers making Jim arch against him and cry out as Bones' hips rolled against his, carried him over too.

Bones snagged a discarded shirt to wipe them off and it should have been awkward but it felt cared for. Jim licked his fingers again, savoring the groan and shiver that got from Bones and smiled as he tucked in against him. "That isn't all there is to it, is it?"

"Oh, hell no," Bones said softly against his neck, the smile audible. "I figure there's probably as many ways to do it as a man might do with a woman. Not all of it is to everyone's taste, mind..."

"I want to try it," Jim said dreamily, nosing against his jaw and breathing him in, the smell of sex and Bones both soothing and inciting. They shouldn't fit together so well, he thought, all hard flat muscle and angular planes but they did, like puzzle pieces or dovetail joins. He couldn’t imagine something not being good if it was Bones that was doing it. "Everything."

"Yeah? Well, I'm gonna need a minute, not nineteen anymore," Bones drawled.

Jim bit the soft spot under his ear because he just had to, that purr of sound finding a place in his gut that both warmed him through and went straight to his cock, made him twitch. "Neither am I," he pointed out sleepily, and Bones chuckled low and soft, held him tight as they both slid under.

***

“What’s Sand Creek, Jim?”

Jim’s hand jerked and he cursed quietly, set the straight-edge down. “Goddamnit, Bones, don’t distract me when I’m shaving. Coulda cut the hell out of myself.”

McCoy waited, patient as a snake, head on his arms as he watched Jim from the bed, eyes soft but unyielding.

Jim huffed out a sigh, wiped off what was left of the soap and sat down. “Well, you know I didn’t get on with my ma’s new husband, and it’s not like there was much of anyplace to go. I was tall for my age, good rider. Army recruiter in town, I lied about my age and signed up.”

“How old were you?” McCoy reached out to trace over the marks on Jim’s bare back, something that would have been left by a considerable leather strap, a piece of harness or a belt maybe. Didn’t get on with was something of an understatement, if his mama’s husband was the one who left them, but he let it be because Jim was still talking.

“Sixteen. “

McCoy bit back a curse, thought about himself at sixteen, still tender. Thought about Jim, and no matter how tall he would have been he would still have been a scrawny towheaded kid. “What, was he drunk or blind? “

“Not like people were running to enlist in ’64, even if it was for the Western territories and not Sherman’s march,” Jim pointed out dryly. “Warm body with two good eyes, hands and legs, they weren’t complaining. “ He fell silent for a few minutes. “Was in the 1st Colorado, under Chivington.” Blue eyes went lost and far away. “Chivington was a cold ambitious whoreson, and he had his eye on elected office in Colorado. Bit pissed he wasn’t asked along to Sherman’s dance, you ask me. Of course, nobody did.” He half-smiled. “At that, it still wasn’t half-bad. Cold as all holy fuck but enough to eat, and nobody hit you if you were doing what you were told. Sarge was okay, looked after me and the other dumb greenies. We got to Fort Lyon and Chivington was looking for action. We weren’t, not really, heard the only Indians were Black Kettle’s band and they weren’t looking for trouble. Starving, actually, they’d been told to move out from the fort so’s they could hunt.”

The smile vanished as he started to tremble again and McCoy sat up to wrap around him. "We got mustered out the next day, and Chivington was fired up that we'd find something. And by God, we did. Forty miles out, came to their camp. Little bit of nothing, a fucking Stars and Stripes over one of the lodges. And we surrounded ‘em and fell on 'em like wolves." He shuddered all over, eyes blind. "Women and children. Old men. Cut to fucking pieces." He turned but he wasn't seeing McCoy. "Maybe five hundred souls, all together, and two hundred of them fighting men. If that. I don't think that many. Probably more like a hundred, hundred and fifty. The things they did to those poor bastards afterwards--I tell you, Bones," he said, eyes focusing sharply, "white man and savage the only difference the color of his skin because I saw scalps and ears and Christ knows what." He blew out a shaky breath. "I served my hitch. I'm no damn deserter. And then I crawled into a bottle until Wyoming, and Pike."

McCoy wrapped around him, aching, lips against his shoulder and Jim rested his head against his. “First time I heard the name Narada, not long after that. Cheyennes, the band they call Dog Soldiers, burning settlements along the Smoke. Nero, the elder, he had a claim he was working. Came back to the cabin and his wife and little boy…it was ugly.” Jim sighed. “And he…broke, I guess. Made it his life to kill Indians. Ended up getting himself a dishonorable discharge the year I left, conduct unbecoming. Even Chivington couldn’t turn a blind eye.” Jim’s own eyes were blind, staring at something McCoy couldn’t see. “Spock’s people, they’re Cheyenne, aren’t they? The Naradas are fighting a war. They consider halfbreed just as bad as full-blood, maybe worse. They won’t stop until they’re dead, or the Dog Soldiers are.” He blew out a breath. “Someone has to do something about this, Bones, and I don’t rightly care if Spock thinks I’m the man for it or not. Pike gave me a star and I’m going to use it.”

“Jim-“ McCoy’s heart was in his throat, along with about a million reasons why that was the worst idea ever there’s too many of them they’re hardened killers wait for help I can’t do this without you. Jim stiffened, turned to look at McCoy and he sighed at the look in those eyes, uncompromising as January sky, and all that came out was, “I hope you know what you’re doing, kid.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

***

“So ye don’t actually know if anybody will pay me for this.” Scotty put his hands on his hips. “So I’d be leaving me claim open to who knows what, puttin’ in me time and expertise free gratis.”

“No, but SOMEBODY has to do it.” Jim gave the suspicious miner a winning smile. Scotty had done a stint in the Army Corps of Engineers during the war, and Jim imagined they’d been sorry to lose him; while his claim had yet to yield much in the way of anything useful, the number of ingenious contraptions Scotty had developed to help pan it was nothing short of incredible-so were the many, varied and subtle traps he’d laid on the way into his camp to protect himself from claim jumpers. The way Jim figured it, he was the best chance Enterprise had of protecting herself from further incursions, short of a cavalry company. “Why not you?”

“Because I’ve no great desire to get involved in some great heroic scheme. The last time I got involved in sommat like this, all I got out of it was a boot in me arse and they never did find out what happened to Captain Archer’s dog.”

Jim shook his head at the apparent non sequitur, eyes narrowing. “Scotty, the town and the families living outside it are all at risk. Not just sourdoughs and saddle tramps but women and children, and by the time someone can convince Fort Smith’s commander to send help, we could be hit again. We need someone to oversee defenses in case I get outflanked, defenses that won’t require a lot of strength and experience. Which means fortifications, barricades, mines and suchlike. Which means an engineer. Please.”

Scotty sighed, looked down, looked back up to meet his eyes. “Will there be food, at least? I’m this tired of cooking for meself, that I can tell ye, lad.”

“I promise,” Jim said, almost giddy. “And someone will need to rebuild Vulcan’s Forge. You’ll be right there showing Spock what you’re able to do…”

“I wouldna mind being in Enterprise,” he said. “It gets lonely stuck out here all the time with naught but Keenser for company. Cold at night, if ya get me.”

Jim tried not to let any mental pictures form of either Scotty or his wizened, taciturn companion, in bed cold or otherwise. Dear God, not otherwise... “Well, Scotty, there is definitely company in Enterprise. Whether you can get any of it to warm your bed, that’s up to you.”

“I’d be happy if it just made me a sandwich. If I never see another bean again, it’d be too soon.”

***

Spock rode like a man possessed for his father’s camp; his paint mare was faltering by the time he could hear the wails of mourning, smell the heavy greasy smell of burning hides. Chilled to the bone, he flung himself off the horse and met with a sharp challenge. “Móné-me'ó'-he-tonêšé'tovâtse!” he snapped. “I am no danger! Where is Sénáka? Is he living still?”

“Šéstótó'ke, I did not see you,” the warrior replied, lowering his spear. “He lives. He is with Ámé'há'e.” The warrior lowered his eyes. “I grieve with you.”

No. He ran at that, for the center of the camp, caught up short at the sight of the scaffold offering Ámé'há'e - Amanda - mother - to the sky and his father as empty-eyed beside her as if he were the one dead.

“Nanéso,” Sénáka murmured as Spock stared. “My son.”

“How did this happen?” Spock choked.

“We were hunting. When we came back, it was as you see. Some of the women made it to horses and escaped. Your mother…” Sénáka closed his eyes. “They were white men. She stayed to try to talk to them, to tell them we meant only to hunt, that there was no raid. They had no ears to hear her.”

Fury boiled up in him, a savagery he knew came neither from the stoic man before him or the gentle lady cold and still who had told him whether he stayed with them or left to follow his heart, chose to be Cheyenne or white, she would be a proud mother. “Nêstaévâhóse-vóomâtse. I will see you again, Father. And when I do, the one who did this will be dead.”

He stalked for his horse, hearing the song of grief rising again. He could not allow himself that luxury. Not until he had tasted enough blood to wash away the dust in his throat, the sting in his eyes.

***

For all Gaila’s practicality and caring, she was ill-suited to the sickroom, Christine thought as she got up to pace again, all restless energy and shimmering unhappiness in her eyes. Nyota could force herself to be calm and sit still, although it was clearly an effort, but from the way Leonard’s cheek was starting to twitch, Gaila was wearing on him as well and he was a lot less capable of hiding it than Christine. Of course, she thought, coloring a little as she looked down at the mess she’d just made of the bandage she was rolling, she couldn’t claim to be quite as unflappable as she’d thought she was after ordering the man out of his own surgery at gunpoint, ungentlemanly behavior notwithstanding.

Mercifully, he’d simply looked at her that morning when she’d stutteringly apologized and flashed her a completely unexpected smile. “Reckon that makes us even for yesterday, then,” was all he’d had to say about it. “Why don’t you tell me how the night went for Pike and Torgerson? Anybody else come in hurt?” They’d gone over the patients and he’d sent her to get what sleep she could; she would cheerfully have lost herself in unconsciousness but her dreams were less than obliging on that front. So by preference to flames, screams and blood, she was rolling bandages and trying to keep any more blood from being shed.

A commotion at the door was almost a relief; Leonard’s eyes lit with pleasure instead of temper as the tall blonde man came in, followed by a shorter man with a disreputable hat and an equally disreputable grin as it lit on the women. Nyota’s look of freezing contempt didn’t seem to faze him in the slightest. “Bones, this is Scotty-Montgomery Scott. He’ll be helping get Enterprise more defensible while I go after Nero. Scotty, Doctor McCoy.”

“My pleasure, Doc,” the man said brightly, clearly Scots by nationality as well as name and ignoring the fact that the thunderclouds had rolled right back onto McCoy’s face at the mention of going after Nero.

“And mine. Jim, a minute please?” McCoy’s voice was syrup-slow and sweetly Southern; it made Christine want to look for something to hide under, if that wouldn’t have been hopelessly craven. The deputy raised an eyebrow at him and let himself be shuffled towards-

“Not the dispensary,” Christine said desperately. “It’s just been put to rights-“ She managed to bite off the ‘and if you throw things it’ll just be a wreck again,’ but she was certain McCoy had heard it anyway from the way the scowl lightened for a moment. He didn’t acknowledge her out loud, but obediently shepherded Jim towards the door to his rooms instead, closing it behind them so softly it was all but a shout.

Scotty put his hands on his hips. “Any road, would one of ye likely lasses know where a hungry man could get a bite, and where I might round up some hands to start work on some barricades?”

Christine snatched at was quite possibly a heaven-sent opportunity to distract and occupy her new friend, who was painfully aware of her shorn glory but slowly warming under the Scotsman’s appreciative gaze. “Gaila, why don’t you take Mr. Scott to find Cupcake? He’ll be of use, I’m sure. Then bring him back to the marshal’s office when you’ve found him, I’ll tell the men that’s where he’ll be.”

She got up and Scotty offered his arm, face creasing in a smile that was half-shy, half-wicked and drew an answering flutter of lashes from Gaila as she came to take it, the door closing softly behind them. Christine huffed out a small sigh of relief, then jerked with an involuntary squeak at the roar of “Goddammit, Jim!” that was not at all muffled by the door, although the deputy’s reply was.

“Leonard?” Pike’s voice was weak but clear, lake-blue eyes blinking to look for the source of the yelling and Christine hurried to his side.

“Marshal,” she said, resting gentle restraining hands on his shoulders. “Please try not to move if you can help it. Your back wasn’t broken, but there was some damage done and Doctor McCoy said we need to keep you as still as we can until it’s had a chance to heal a little.”

Pike focused slowly on her, his eyes glazed and dark with pain. “Miss Chapel. Christine,” he murmured. “I see you’ve brought yourself to the surgery.”

She colored. “Well, it seemed like there were more important things than being embarrassed. Are you-you must be in pain, what a stupid question. Just a moment and I’ll get you some laudanum.”

“First, can you answer some questions for me?” Spots of feverish color were rising on his cheeks but he was unmistakably lucid. “What happened after I was brought to the surgery?”

“I don’t know much,” she said quietly. “The bandits left when Deputy Kirk came back with the Oriental gentleman. The saloon burned down. I hear Mr. Spock and Mr. Kirk had a fight about going after them; I didn’t see, I was here with Doctor McCoy. Today, Mr. Kirk brought a man, an engineer, to help make the town more defensible. And he and Doctor McCoy are fighting about him going after the bandits.”

“An efficent summary, thank you. Now, what are my chances? Please speak frankly if you can.”

“Good, if you’re not one of the stubborn sort who won’t listen to advice,” she said. She had no idea if Dr. McCoy would say the same, but she refused to believe it would be anything else. “You need to rest and be still until your wound knits, eat and sleep and let us give you medicine for pain, it’s taxing to the body to suffer and you need all your strength.”

He held her eyes a long moment, reached to brush at her cheek, which was as hot as his but with emotion instead of fever. “Very well, Nurse Chapel. Here, you give the orders.”

She nodded. “See you remember it, Marshal,” she said softly before turning to get the bottle of laudanum, blinking back tears. If it could be done, Christine Chapel would see Christopher Pike heal.

The door to the doctor’s quarters banged open again, Jim striding out and McCoy growling as he followed, “So help me, if you’re bent on committing suicide, at least-“

“I’m coming back, Bones, count on it.” Jim’s jaw was set as he whirled. To Christine and Nyota’s utter amazement, he caught McCoy’s face between his hands and kissed him hard, the doctor’s hands coming up to clamp over his wrists, eyes closing. McCoy made a small helpless sound as they broke apart, eyes wide and devastated as Jim smiled, crooked and intimate.

“Son of a bitch. You’d better,” he choked, and Jim nodded as he turned and walked out. McCoy turned to the women, then, both defiance and terrible vulnerability in his eyes.

Nyota found her voice first. “Leonard, you’ll be fixed for work for life, keeping him patched up the way he picks fights.” Her smile flashed like a blade, wry and sharp and still somehow tender.

McCoy smiled back, his gratitude at her lack of shock and horror almost painful. “’Magine so, yes. Keep me out of trouble.”

Christine felt a hint of smile unexpectedly pulling at her lips, let him see it as she bent back to rolling bandages. She supposed she should have been outraged at what she’d just seen, but she couldn’t imagine how something so completely honest as the desperate emotion in McCoy’s eyes and the sweetness of the deputy’s smile could be wrong. In a strange way, it allayed a little bit her feeling of rejection; it wasn’t that she wasn’t woman enough, but rather too much, apparently. And although it came out to the same thing, somehow that felt a lot better.

***

Without Spock’s presence, his men accepted an uneasy truce to start working on barricades and tripwires, the blacksmith firing up his forge to melt lead and for the wicked little caltrops Scotty had shown him made of nails. Pavel and Hikaru had been reluctantly convinced that they were better serving Enterprise by staying there to man the defenses than coming with Jim to track the Naradas; between them, Scotty and Bones, he figured he was leaving things as taken care of as they could be.

He and Scotty were directing salvage from the wreckage of the Forge when Spock came riding in from the north, face drawn in lines of exhaustion and rage both. “I told you to get out of town. What are you doing here?”

“I don’t take orders from you,” he said, chin lifting. “Scotty, go check on the smithy.” Scotty was clearly torn on the merits of watching the show versus getting the hell out of the way, but reluctantly decided the latter was probably more prudent as Spock jumped down from his horse. “I’m here for Enterprise.”

“Robbing corpses, you mean. I’ll have you jailed.”

“Building barricades, to keep the town safe before I go out to finish what should have been last night. You heard him. He’s not going to stop. He’s not going to be content with what he’s done, and less so that batch of longriding scum he’s got along for the ride. Like hell am I going to let him hurt anybody else on my watch. Makes no nevermind to me what you’ve got the stomach for.”

Spock swung at him at that; Jim’s head snapped back and his hands fisted, but he held his ground, held Spock’s raging black eyes. “I held a dying woman yesterday, her husband and sons cut down. Saw more homes burn than yours,” he said quietly. “You want to wait for Fort Smith to send help, you want to wait for the Marshal Service, that’s your lookout. But I say we can finish this, you and me. Let’s track this curly wolf to ground and put him down. Then, if you want rid of me, I’ll go.”

Spock stared at him for a long moment, fists clenched, before his shoulders slumped. “Very well.” His voice was still cold, but he didn’t need to like Jim, they just had to stay off each other long enough to see the job through. “I need a fresh horse, and to speak to Nyota, and then I will be ready to ride. Will you?”

Jim nodded. “Miz Uhura’s at the surgery with Bones. Half an hour? Daylight’s wasting.”

“Indeed.” Spock nodded curtly and headed for the livery stable. Jim headed in the direction of the smithy and a surreptitiously watching Scotty; maybe he could find him a few more miracles before he and Spock headed out to cut the odds a little more. He had made Bones a promise he’d come back, after all, and damned if he wasn’t going to keep it.

***

They rode quietly, just the jingle of tack for miles as they followed the trail. “Your kin all right?” Kirk said quietly after some time had passed. “Heard tell Nero said something about your folks.”

“My mother is dead,” Spock said, eyes on the ground.

“I’m sorry,” Kirk was quiet after that for another few miles.

“My father did not kill that man’s family,” Spock said when they came to a stream, looking for the sign of hoofprints along the bank. “He left Heškovêstsenâhkohe--Porcupine Bear,” Spock corrected himself at Kirk’s blink of incomprehension at the name, “when he was outcast. He is no longer of the Dog Soldiers.”

“Crazy men don’t need reasons for what they do,” Kirk said. “And even if he had how’s that your ma’s fault? Killing more don’t make the dead come back.” He pointed. “There. That’s it, where they crossed, up there. Watch that streambed-let’s cross here. Not so many rocks; don’t want to come up lame.”

Spock was quiet for some time before replying. “I…have not been fair to you.”

Kirk shrugged. “Not the first and probably won’t the last. But I’d be obliged if you didn’t accuse me of cheating any more. Reflects badly on the badge.” There was a glint of humor in the blue eyes as he looked over. “So her first name’s Nyota?”

“I do not wish to discuss it.”

Kirk laughed. “I just like to wind her up. And you, a little bit. Makes you a bit more human.”

Spock cocked an eyebrow at him. “As far as many are concerned, I am only half-human to begin with.”

Kirk made a face back. “Well, as far as I’M concerned, many oughta shut their cockholster. My ma’s got Lakota kin up to Minnesota. Anybody says shit about her because of it’s gonna pick up teeth.”

Spock almost smiled at that. “Indeed.”

“Spock, when we get there I’ve got some smoke bombs from Scotty; I figure if they’re camped in the open, one of us shows himself to get ‘em all facing after him so the other can get the drop on ‘em. If they’re holed up in a canyon or a cabin we lob those in to flush ‘em out, pick ‘em off as they come out. If we can get the drop on Nero and Ayel, the rest of ‘em will light out. They’ve got no bone to pick with you and no reason to stay where someone’s gunning for ‘em.” Blue eyes were stern as Jim tossed him a pack of the aforementioned missiles and went on, “And if we take either of the Naradas alive, they go back to Enterprise that way to stand trial.”

“Kirk-“

“We could be about to get killed.” Kirk flashed him a grin. “Call me Jim.”

“Jim,” Spock said, reluctantly amused and exasperated. “That is an unnecessary and unwise complication of our mission.”

“Spock, the difference between us and savages isn’t red or white skin, it’s law or the gun. I will not kill a man in cold blood. That’s for a judge and jury.”

Spock decided the possibility of success was not enough to be worth arguing about. “It will be too dark to follow the trail soon.”

“I don’t think they’re far,” Jim said. “Let’s keep going to that little ridge at least. Be able to see a few miles over it, high ground if we need to keep watch.”

Kirk’s tall grey gelding had more left than Spock’s dun, which meant Kirk was the first one the sentry saw, the shot creasing the gelding’s neck and making him stumble. Kirk flung himself free of the saddle as he went down, cursing a blue streak as he yanked his gun free, smart enough not to look back or call to Spock as he lashed the dun towards the cover of the little stand of brush at the foot of the hill; Kirk-Jim-would have a better chance if they didn’t know Spock was there. Guns spoke from the top of the hill as Spock tethered his mount and started making his way carefully back up to the crest, hoofbeats circling and a string of inventive and almost cheerful invective telling him with some relief that Jim was still alive.

However, Spock’s relief turned immediately into rage and consternation again as the hoofbeats started retreating, as he reached the crest of the ridge to see several horses trotting down the hill, one of them dragging a squirming, struggling body behind it on a rope down towards the camp.

This was going to complicate things.

***

“Well, look what we have here. The heroic Deputy James T. Kirk, from Enterprise. You know, I’ve heard you and that halfbreed scum Spock don’t get along so well. Maybe if you have something useful to tell me, I’ll let you depart with your hide intact. Well, mostly intact.” Nero prodded him with a booted foot, smirking a little at the raw scrapes where rocks and brush had torn through as Jim was dragged.

“Fuck you,” Jim growled, braced as well as he could for the expected kick.

“Tempting, since you’re almost as pretty as a woman.” Nero circled him. “But I think not. I think you’ll be much more useful not so pretty.” The kick did fall then, to his kidneys, and he let out a soft choked cry. “How about this, instead. Tell me where the halfbreed is, and I’ll just put a bullet in your head instead of breaking you into pieces and dragging you into Enterprise as an object lesson. Is that a better offer?” Kicked him in the ribs, stepped on a hand with a booted foot, ground his heel in.

Kirk bit his lip hard enough to draw blood as he twisted his wrists against the rough hemp, the slickness of blood letting him begin to work a hand free. That was a mistake, you prick. Thank God they hadn’t used a leather strap, that would have been a lot harder to work against. “Yeah, right. Probably can’t get it up, you lousy sheepfucker.” His voice shook as he curled up, let himself show the pain beneath the defiance, eyes watering as Nero’s lip curled with contempt. That’s right, you son of a bitch. Take another poke at me, get careless, think you’ve got me, get closer…

“I think, Mr. Kirk, that you really ought to be more polite to my brother.” Ayel took out a buck knife, started cleaning his nails with it and Kirk started to sweat. Come on, one of you, come on…

Two shots rang out in quick succession before he could finish the thought, dropping one of the men watching like a stone and another folding up with a cry, writing in agony on the ground. A tall saturnine figure showed itself on the ridge, reloading the rifle as if completely unconcerned by the possibility of return fire or pursuit. “SPOCK!” Nero roared, Kirk utterly forgotten as he plunged towards his horse to mount.

Ayel, however, knelt beside Kirk with an ugly expression of excitement. “Oh, don’t be so quick to think you’re rescued,” he crooned. “Don’t think I don’t know that you and the halfbreed aren’t working together.” He looked at the knife consideringly, lay it down and closed his hand around Kirk’s throat instead, smirking with pleasure as Kirk choked for breath, eyes going wide and white, rolling back as he tried to force out words. “Ah. Are you ready to beg? That might be amusing.” His grip on Jim’s throat relaxed, just enough for him to cough, force out four words.

“I got your gun.”

Ayel’s face went blank with shock and Jim pulled the trigger, kicked the pack with the smoke bombs in it into the fire. Chaos proceeded to erupt all around him as he forced himself to his feet, flung himself at the nearest horse as the picket line went into a frenzy at the noise and smoke. Please God, let me get out of this alive and well, I can’t promise I’ll do anything different but I’ll sure as hell be grateful… Honesty must have counted for something, because somehow no bullets hit him as he grabbed the reins in his good hand and booted the frantic chestnut barb up the hill after Nero and Spock, smacking the flanks of the other horses he’d untied to send them skittering out of reach of their riders.

***

Spock was less interested in evading Nero than in choosing his ground; he pulled the dun around when they reached the flat, fired at his pursuer and stood his ground as return fire seared the air around him. His shot hit Nero’s horse, something he vaguely regretted as the big black crumpled like a broken toy, Nero jumping free and rolling, coming up with an empty pistol in hand. He hurled the useless weapon from him, drawing his belt knife and advancing. Spock nodded, dismounted and pulled out his own knife as they circled each other, two predators looking for a weakness.

Nero snarled at him, lunged. “I’ll send you to your father’s people in pieces.”

Spock danced out of his way even as Nero’s knife tore fabric and a bright delicate line across his ribs, returned a slash along Nero’s forearm. “You call me a savage but you kill innocents, women and children.”

“What were my wife, my child?” Nero roared, twisted with surprising agility and Spock threw his head back, the tip scoring along one high cheekbone perilously close to his eye before Spock’s knee landed in Nero’s balls, sent him reeling back.

“Victims of something neither one of us started or can finish. But I will finish you. You will not take another life.” Spock’s knife flashed out to lie against his throat, free hand twisting Nero’s knife hand until the blade dropped out of it.

“Nero Narada.” The voice behind them was clear and cold-and Jim’s, accompanied by the unmistakable sound of a pistol being cocked. “You’re under arrest for murder and arson. Spock, stand down.” That last was a little gentler.

Spock stayed still, eyes still meeting Nero’s inhumanly black gaze. “You don’t deserve a trial. You don’t deserve anything but what you gave the people you slaughtered.” The knife pressed more deeply into Nero’s throat, a line of blood springing up along the blade.

“Spock.” Jim’s voice was low and soft. “He doesn’t deserve it, but you do. Don’t let him make you like him. Step back.”

Spock gritted his teeth. Hated Nero for standing there, so close, life beating against his blade. Hated Jim, for watching him with those calm blue eyes, asking, not ordering, expecting better of him. Hated himself. With a jerk, he released Nero and stepped back, knife still raised warningly.

“Nero, kneel and put your hands behind your head. If you go for your weapon, I will shoot you.” Jim’s voice was clear and cold again, and Nero smiled.

“I’d rather burn in hell,” he whispered before lunging for the knife, Jim’s bullet finding his brain before his fingers brushed it.

“You’ve got it,” Jim said, wry and bitter both as he looked up at Spock. “You all right?”

“Undamaged, for the most part. Yourself?”

“Felt better, but I’ll live.” He blew out a breath, whistled at Harley who was skittishly circling them, dried blood all down his neck and his knees bruised from where he’d gone down. “Take us a bit longer to get back to town than it did to get out here, I think.”

“That will have to be satisfactory. Is satisfactory, given that I was not expecting that we would return at all.”

Jim gave him an arch look. “Some day, Spock, you will learn to trust me.” He winced as Harley limped back to him and again as he reached out with the damaged hand, swore as he couldn’t make swollen fingers close around the reins. “I make promises, I keep them.” Wordlessly, Spock took the reins from Jim and fastened them to his own saddle.

They headed back to Enterprise, slow but steady.

***

Hours stretched out into what felt like days after darkness fell, and McCoy drank coffee without the whiskey in it he so desperately wanted, sitting out on the porch to keep from disturbing Pike and Christine, who was folded exhausted against the edge of his bed. He could hear the soft sound of voices, whoever was manning the lookouts; without the music and laughter drifting from the Forge, Enterprise was eerily quiet of a night. He wasn’t sure if he was glad for it or if he wanted to start screaming just to stop the buzz of his own thoughts inside his skull.

“Leonard.” He looked up to see Nyota standing in the doorway with a shawl thrown around her shoulders, the dress she’d changed into something dull and dove-colored instead of the gem-bright gowns that had burned with the saloon. “I made another pot.” She set it on the little table that held their chess games on good days and Leonard murmured thanks as she sat down beside him. The silence stretched out almost unbearably between them and she said finally as if she couldn’t help herself, “Leonard, do you think they-“

“Stop it,” he snapped. “He told me to count on him coming back and I am.” His shoulders hunched, hands clutching around the tin mug in a vain attempt to ease the chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.

“You love him,” she said, staring out into the dark. “I thought you were married, before.”

“Was.” He shrugged, sipped the coffee and set it down as his stomach knotted. “It’s not as if-I didn’t know, all right? I didn’t know, until I was in the Army, it’s not as if it’s something a person talks about or thinks about if they haven’t been slapped in the face with what they are, you know? Tried to be what I was before when I came back, for my father.” He closed his eyes. “Would have killed him to find that out. As it happens, that happened anyway, so.” Opened them again, sightless. “Cancer, eating him up. Did what I could and damned if it was anything at all. At the end, all I could do was give him enough morphine not to feel it. Or wake up.” His face curled into a snarl of rage, voice constricted not to howl his grief. “It was over, then. Crawled into a bottle, couldn’t make myself touch her. Told her, finally, and she took the scandal of a divorce rather than stay married to a useless drunken sodomite. And so.” He took a deep shuddering breath. “I thought I’d lost everything a man could lose but I had no damned idea and I won’t lose him, you understand me? I won’t.”

She reached over and grabbed his hand hard. “They’ll come back.” Her voice trembled and she took a breath, let it out slowly, said it again more confidently. “They’ll come back. He asked me to marry him once, you know.” She half-laughed, half-sobbed. “I told him I’d been a slave once before and I wasn’t in any hurry to be again.”

“Like a bad joke, isn’t it?” He covered her hand with his, then squeezed it . “Nyota, he’s a pretty stubborn son of a bitch, I bet he’ll ask you again. And whether he does or not, he still loves you.”

“I’ve never said it. That I loved him.”

He felt a pang at that. “So tell him when he gets back. But I’m sure he knows. He knows, Nyota.”

A commotion rose out past the barriers, Sulu snapping a challenge and then he heard Jim’s voice, unmistakable although rawly exhausted and hoarse. “Stand down, we’re back. The Naradas and two more are dead. Keep the barricades up in case any of the rest of them come looking for revenge-“

McCoy was on his feet and running at that, heart hammering in his throat. “Jim!”

Jim half-clambered, half-fell off his horse and into McCoy’s arms. He wrapped him up tight, breathing him in until Jim gasped in pain. “Ow, Bones, dammit, lemme breathe…”

“Jesus fuck, your hand-come on, you’re for the surgery, man, and I don’t want to hear a word about it,” McCoy growled, half-supporting, half-dragging him in that direction. He could hear Nyota crying and laughing all together behind them, murmuring soft things that made no sense and Spock’s voice rumbling softly in reply. “You’re all over blood, you damn fool. Did you let every damn one of ‘em take a shot at you? Hell, you shouldn’t even be upright. ”

Jim’s head dropped to his shoulder, arm tightening hard around him. “Yeah, I love you too, Bones. M’head hurts, though, can we save the yelling for tomorrow?”

McCoy brought him back through the surgery and into his quarters, stripped him to the waist as he went before nudging him down to the bed. He fetched carbolic and gauze and needle and thread, knelt in front of Jim to start sponging off dirt and blood and found himself wrapping his arms around Jim's waist instead, cheek pressed to his heart. He let out a low moan at that steady, reassuring beat against him as Jim sighed and wrapped his arms around him, fingers lacing into his hair. "Shouldn't be taking care of me," he muttered, lashes wet. "You told me you were coming back and I believed you, I did, told Nyota as much and I just..."

"Shut up, Bones, will if I want to," he said with a shaky laugh and McCoy pressed a kiss to his chest, sucked in a deep breath before pulling back, setting to clean and wrap Jim's hand. He moved on from there, over throat and chest and shoulders, brushed his mouth over each bruise he came to tenderly. Jim sighed, lay back as McCoy went to tug boots off and breeches before continuing his ministrations, with occasional soft growls when something particularly affronted him, looked up quizzically when Jim curled away from his mouth on his ribs. "Tickles," he said with a glare and McCoy smiled, pressed his lips to the offending spot once more just to be contrary before going on.

When he was satisfied he'd patched the hurts he came back up to that ticklish spot at the base of Jim's ribs, mouthed over that patch of soft warm skin, rubbed stubbled cheek over it like a cat . He cocked his eyebrow, lips quirking with pleasure at the flush of warmth that spread over Jim’s cheeks and chest both in response, Jim’s dick half-hard and harder still as McCoy nosed against him. “Bones…”

“Yes, Jim.” One long hand curled lazily around that hard cock and McCoy licked in one languorous stroke from balls to head before taking him in, free hand stroking absently over Jim’s belly as he moaned, pushed up to his mouth. McCoy hummed softly, his own arousal a soft slow burn that could wait, would wait. At that moment Jim was all he needed, and McCoy was perfectly and completely content to wrap around him after he spent, pull the blankets up around them and shut out the world as Jim nosed into his neck, asleep between one breath and the next.

Tomorrow was soon enough to worry about things. At that moment, McCoy was content to leave everything behind him, lose himself in the rise and fall of Jim’s chest, the sound of him breathing.

*** coda: some months later***

Winona came warily to the door, drying her hands on a dishtowel and looking through the peep. The man at the door looked respectable enough; his black coat was travel-dusty, his craggy face stubbled but the deep hazel eyes were kind. “Miz Kirk? Your husband here?”

“Foster,” she said warily, her heart beating faster. “He’s in the field, out back. He’ll hear if I scream.”

“Ma’am, I’m hoping you won’t see fit to do that. My name’s Leonard McCoy, and I’ve come to fetch you to Enterprise, your boy misses you. He’d’ve come himself, but what with him being Marshal it’s kinda awkward for him to participate in a kidnapping.”

She looked at him a long moment, opened the door. “Will you have a cup of coffee? I just need to fetch a few things.”

“Be obliged, thanks.” Winona’s eyes widened a little bit as they fell on the tall Indian with him, the Chinaman with the sword who nodded his head pleasantly at her. “Don’t be alarmed, Miz Kirk. They’re Jim’s friends too, come to make sure nobody gives us any trouble on the ride back. That there is Mr. Spock, and Mr. Sulu.”

She didn’t pack much, mostly because there wasn’t much she cared about enough TO pack: a brooch that had been her mother’s, the wedding ring George had given her, her pearl-handled comb, the least worn of her dresses. She took off her work-stained calico and donned a chambray shirt and old loose trousers that had been Jim’s; she wore them for heavy work when a skirt would just be a just a nuisance. She imagined they would be a practical sort of thing to wear for a long hard ride.

As she came down the stairs, Frank banged in through the back door. “What in Sam Hell is going on here? Who the hell are you?”

“Mr. Foster. We’re here for Miz Kirk,” Leonard said easily before she could react. “Be easier if you just walk back out that door, ‘cause one way or the other she’s coming with us.”

“Winona, what-woman, you get back upstairs or you’ll be damn sorry.” Frank’s face was reddening, sign of an explosion, hands clenching and unclenching.

“No, Frank. I won’t,” she said, bracing herself. “Not now, not ever again.”

“Miz Kirk. The bay mare out front is yours.” Leonard’s voice was still calm but had taken on a menacing edge, deep hazel eyes gone agate-hard. “If you’ll wait out there, I’ll just be a minute.”

She turned, head high and refusing to tremble as she walked out of the door and down the stairs towards the horses, the Oriental gentleman Sulu offering her a hand-up onto the bay as Spock cocked an eyebrow and sighed at the sounds of crashing crockery and splintering furniture inside. “I see that Dr. McCoy has exhausted his powers of persuasion and has resorted to Jim’s.”

“I hope so,” she said, something like joy welling up in her. “I hope he’s persuading the snot out of him.”

Frank flew out the door and fell down the stairs, McCoy stalking out after him, knuckles raw, split skin over his cheekbone bleeding freely and his eyes still fiercely hot as he stepped over him, headed for his horse.

Spock, face rigid with contempt, kneed his dun close enough to drop a small pouch onto Frank’s gasping body. “That should more than cover any loss or property damage you’ve incurred. Doctor, are we ready to go?”

“More than,” McCoy’s expression was still thunderous, but eased a little bit as he looked at Winona. “Ma’am, you ready to ride?”

“More than,” she said back to him, the smile’s unfamiliarity aching in her cheeks and his in return was slow and soft.

“You’re Jim’s mama, all right.”

It was almost three weeks’ ride at a brutal pace but Winona was used to hard work and hard riding wasn’t so very different after she grew accustomed. The freedom of it, of being able to speak and move without fear, brought back a flood of memories of girlhood and sneaking rides on her parents’ patient plowhorses, of George and the feeling of flight when he’d taught her how to jump on his tall mare, when he’d picked her up as if she were weightless, of being in love. They were things she’d stopped letting herself feel in order to survive, and if she wept some nights when they were tucked up in their bedrolls it was with relief, like muscles prickling and cramping to life again after being numb.

The last night, she could feel the pull on Leonard like a lodestone, the desire to keep going. “Another five miles, and it’s starting to get dark,” he said, staring at the horizon. “Should probably stop for the night…”

“No. No, let’s keep going,” she pleaded, stretched a little in the saddle to look at Spock, at Sulu. “Please?”

Sulu nodded, and Spock’s eyebrow vaulted up. “Very well,” he said, and they kept going.

She was falling asleep in her saddle by the end, swaying and didn’t even realize until she felt strong hands biting into her arms, gasped and struggled feebly as she was hauled across the saddle until Leonard’s voice murmured, “Steady, Miz Kirk. You were going to fall.”

“I can keep going,” she mumbled, tried to sit up straighter in McCoy’s arms, face forward. “M’not weak.”

“Ma’am, you wouldn’t have survived Jim if you were.” There was a hint of amused fondness there. “Almost there, you can see the lights from the Forge, hear Miz Nyota singing.” The rich bright tender voice washed over her as they walked past the brightly lit saloon, the horse’s head swinging gently and tired feet picking up as he scented home. “I’m going to set you down,” he said a moment later. “You going to stay on your feet?”

She nodded stubbornly but kept her hands on the big chestnut’s shoulder to make sure, heard the door bang and her son’s voice bright and glad, the sound of his step and had to breathe hard not to cry. “Bones! Did you get what you were after?”

“I did,” Leonard replied, drew her son around the side of the horse, arm around his shoulders. Winona drank Jim in, tall and tanned, still rangy but with a grown man’s breadth of shoulder, a man’s eyes tempered with pain and patience. But it was her boy’s same love and wonder lighting in them like a fire as he swept her up, as Leonard’s arms closed around both of them, as they came home.

fin.