Star Trek Big Bang: On A Day Like This [6/7]
Title: On A Day Like This
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Length: ~42k.
Rating: NC-17 for sex.
Master Post: Mix & Art
Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven
At AO3
They don’t, thankfully, have to spend any more time in the brig. Their cell door is pretty much destroyed - notwithstanding the fact Jim just managed to save the Federation, not to mention the universe. He and Bones are allocated a shared quarters on the lower decks; Chekov is allowed back to his own quarters; Scotty is given his own little cabin, though Jim suspects he spends most of his time sleeping down in the Engine room anyway. Jim (maturely) calls first pick of the beds, throwing himself on the one by the window, grinning as he splays himself star-shaped across the mattress. His toddler’s-mind soon becomes distracted by the replicator in the wall - “Awesome,” he breathes, jumping over to it and staring at it in wonder. “It’s like room service we don’t even have to pay for!”
“Be careful of that,” Bones mutters, perching on the end of his bed. “Most of the time it tastes like crap.”
Jim nevertheless orders the biggest, most unhealthy thing he can think of and sits on his bed, chomping noisily. He wipes his hands on his trousers when he’s done and looks around the room; they’re lucky enough to have a window, though it only really shows a square of ebony-black. “Do you think this is a dead person’s room?” he murmurs, softly, still staring out of the window.
“To be honest, I don’t want to think about it,” Bones replies drily. “It’s a damn good thing I’m allowed to go to the medbay; I don’t think I can stand being cooped up here all day.”
“With me?” Jim croons; Bones snorts.
“Especially with you.”
Jim throws a hunk of plastic at him from his food tray and settles back against the bed, still staring out of the window. Starfleet has set up a temporary emergency HQ on Risa and Spock had been in contact with them earlier in the afternoon - Jim and Bones were to be held there, awaiting official judgement of their actions. Apparently, most of the shit Jim had done to save the universe was illegal, which just sort of summed up the situation pretty damn well. The Admirals were due to hold his and Bones’ (postponed) tribunal separately the following week; until then they were to be kept in isolation in their assigned quarters on the Enterprise. Spock had casually waived the last part, giving them the freedom to roam the ship at will - it wasn’t like either of them had anywhere to run to, not anymore.
Jim spends most of the week just wandering around the ship. His ship, or at least that’s how the other Spock would have him see it - Jim wonders whether it looks any different from the ship he was meant to Captain in this other universe of his. With Nero dead and no way for Jim to verify Spock’s story, he has the option of rejecting the whole idea as insanity or accepting it as the truth - the first is more logical, but the second gives him more answers, not to mention more peace of mind.
He pretty much knows every inch of it by the time he’s done; Scotty’s happy to tour him round engineering, having allocated himself Chief, and Jim knows a hell of a lot more about that area than he ever wanted to. Uhura begrudgingly shows him their species’ databases and he impresses her with his rudimentary Orion; Chekov enthusiastically tries (and fails) to explain the diversities of their warp accelerator; Sulu kicks his ass at fencing and takes him for drinks in the canteen afterwards. Spock occasionally takes him to the side and describes a minor conundrum to him, asking casually for advice; sometimes he stands with him on the observation deck and doesn’t say much at all, which suits Jim just fine. He wiles away more than a few happy hours sitting on a biobed, asking Bones loud, personal and above all annoying questions; half the time he’s fervently ignored and the other half he’s yelled at and more than once he’s subjected to violent beating, anaesthetics and hyposprays full of vaccines he’s damn sure he doesn’t need. Bones also nearly kicks him three ways from Sunday over the state his stomach wound’s in - the tissue damage and apparent haemorrhage are serious but not serious enough for Bones to deal with without yelling at him constantly. “Anyone else,” he mutters, strapping up Jim’s stomach, “I’d prescribe prolonged bed rest, but I know you’re not going to give a damn what I say anyway.” His tone’s vicious but his hands are steady and soft - he’s a much better doctor than he gives himself credit. “Now, for the love of God, stop bothering me!”
The Admirals land five days after Jim destroyed the Romulan ship. He’s kicking up proverbial dust on the observation deck, trying to think of an intellectual response to Spock’s latest staffing problem when he spots the little silver flash as the shuttle smoothly leaves warp; it hovers for a second, obviously waiting for the Enterprise to verify their codes or something and not blow them halfway to hell. It sails smoothly into the docking port, and there’s only one thing it could be; Jim sprints down to medbay and skids to a halt in front of Bones. “Just in time,” Bones grunts, loading up a nasty-looking vial. “I was hoping to test this out on someone.”
“The Admirals are here,” he wheezes, leaning on his legs slightly, ears throbbing from the run. “I just saw them dock in.”
To the casual observer, Bones remains undaunted; Jim’s far from a casual observer, and he notices the way Bones’ fingers falter and, if possible, his skin tinges slightly white. “Well they can damn well come find me,” he mutters darkly, and pushes past Jim. “I’ve got no problem with them.”
It’s Spock that tracks them down, and Spock that acts as a middleman; the Admirals themselves apparently had a tiring journey, and have retired until the following morning. “They are going to deal with Cadet McCoy’s tribunal before your own, Mr Kirk, seeing as his has been forthcoming for some time.” When in non-life-threatening situations, Spock seems to find it necessary to address him by his last name. Bones shrugs; it’s debateable whether it’s worse one way or the other. “I understand they plan to debate the issue between themselves before calling on you as a witness - naturally, there are no surviving members from the medical team you worked with at the time.” The fact six billion people died (twelve, if you count Vulcan; more, if you count Tyrellia and Starfleet’s later losses) seems to have become a natural fact for everybody these days.
Bones lays his cleaned cadet uniform out on his bed, freshly starched for the morning, a red bloodstain spread-eagled across the crisp white sheets. Jim stands behind him, trailing a single hand up and down the base of his spine. “You’ll be fine,” he murmurs. “In light of everything you’ve done they have to let you go.”
“I sure hope so,” Bones sighs, kneading an eye with his hand. Jim’s fingers accidentally ride up the back of his shirt and he starts as they catch on his skin. “Jim, I don’t - ”
“I was wondering which one it was going to be,” Jim murmurs, nipping slightly at his neck. “The ex-wife, the daughter, the tribunal. There’s a kid’s story no one’d want to read.”
Bones grits his teeth and swallows a whine. “Jesus, Jim, I just don’t see why it’s the right - ”
“You’ve been dancing around me all week,” he mutters, and slides his hand a little further up Bones’ spine, pushing under his shirt.
“Now you’re imagining things,” Bones gasps, and his head falls back on Jim’s shoulder. “Just promise me this isn’t a ‘last-night-of-freedom’ kind of thing.”
“I don’t sleep with many convicts; it puts an edge on things.” He dodges Bones’ wayward hand and catches it by the wrist, nipping just above where his fingers curl around. “It’s a ‘three-weeks-of-UST’ kind of thing. Besides, you were the one that kissed me first.”
“I should’ve known that would bite me in the ass,” Bones grumbles, and turns round to face him, shivering as his shirt slides back down. “I was sat on that goddamn planet and I thought ‘Leonard, if you ever see that bastard again - ’ ”
Jim grins. “You’d punch me then make out with me? How poetic.” He leans in to bite Bones’ neck, nipping softly just below his jawline.
Bones sighs and tilts his head back, writhing a little. “I thought you were dead.”
“You just found me irresistible,” he murmurs, and because James Kirk always has the last word, kisses him.
He has a little more time to do it than before, and he takes advantage, sprawling a hand across Bones’ chest and leaning in. He uses his fingers to tug Bones’ shirt over his head; he gets little protest from Bones and his chest is a hot shock against Jim’s cold fingers. Bones hisses, and idly Jim wonders if it’s from the feeling or the cold. “S’hardly fair,” Bones murmurs, “me standing here half naked and you still dressed - ” Jim tugs off his own shirt to prevent an argument and Bones sighs as Jim leans in to nip at his neck, trailing his fingers along Bones’ spine. “Please tell me you locked the door,” he grumbles, and Jim pulls back far enough to roll his eyes.
“I’m not an idiot,” he mutters. “At least not where sex is concerned.”
“God help me,” Bones replies, and Jim shoves him back towards his bed; Bones catches his footing at the last moment and grabs onto Jim wildly, just about managing to stay upright. “We are not fucking on my uniform,” he snaps, looking stupidly bitchy, and Jim silently drags him over to the other one, shoving him down. He shuffles out of his pants and underwear and Bones does the same - the disadvantage of being the one lying on the bed means he takes a little longer, and Jim watches him slide and wriggle across the surface, material bunching all around his shoulders. “Dear God,” Bones grunts; Jim stares at his fingers, still working on getting his pants over his thighs. “You’re an exhibitionist. I should’ve known.”
“Not really,” Jim murmurs, and pulls Bones’ clothes away before straddling him casually. “I just wanted to watch.” He leans down just as Bones reaches up; he kisses him a little more strongly, a little less longingly, beginning to shimmy his hips across Bones’ stomach. Underneath him, Bones’ hips echo his movement, and Bones sits upright to kiss him properly. “Fuck me,” Jim whines, his back arcing and his head snapping back, happy tingles of pleasure shooting down into his fingertips.
Bones hesitates. “Is that a demand or an exclamation?”
Jim groans, shunting his hips a little harder. “Mixture of the both.”
Bones freezes. “Seriously?”
Jim stops moving, quirking an eyebrow down at him. “What, you think I’ve never done this before?”
“Point taken.” Bones’ fingers meander over his skin, cold and soft, and Jim writhes a little, wanting them to move faster. “Damn, you’re eager for this, aren’t you?” Jim doesn’t need to reply; he groans obscenely instead, his fingers clenching in the bed sheet either side of him. Bones’ fingers rest at the base of Jim’s spine, and he pauses, glancing up at his face; Jim’s eyes are closed and he’s panting shallowly. “Shouldn’t I - ?”
“Jesus, Bones, do it already!” Jim wheezes, and there’s not much he can do to argue with that. He slicks his fingers in the vial on the bedside (probably appropriated from his own damn medical supplies), slips two down to meet his ass and buries his face in the crux of Jim’s neck as he slides them inside; he feels Jim’s chest hitch against his own but he can’t see his face to know if it’s from pleasure or pain or even a mixture of the both. He lets out a high, satisfied whine and Bones deigns it alright to move his fingers; he wriggles them further inside, and he has to admit the thought of something this tight and hot around him does all sorts of miraculous things to his hard-on. For a trained doctor - if not a qualified one - the prostate’s pretty damn easy to find, and he makes sure he locks eyes with Jim when he rubs against it, just to watch him shudder and fall apart under his hands. The effect sort of winds him, and it’s somehow a lot more perversely beautiful than it should be.
“Wait,” Bones rasps, “you - on the bed - ” They shuffle around each other for a moment, rearranging awkwardly to leave Jim sprawled on the bottom and Bones perching tentatively on the top. “Jim,” he whispers, and the other opens his eyes, watching Bones, half-irritated, half endeared. Jim makes the decision for him, hooking one leg haphazardly around his waist and pushing his hips up; Bones slides further down and watches Jim’s eyes as he pushes inside. The world promptly slams shut around them, reserved for Jim and maybe only the tiny part of himself that just wants to come. It’s Jim that makes the first move, fucking himself eagerly, and Bones groans; his fingers wrap and slide on Jim’s sweaty waist, leaning forward to kiss him again, tasting blood, strong, tangy and heady. Jim whines, long and high, and spreads his legs further, just encouraging him; Bones takes him up on the offer and slams forwards, shuddering as everything explodes and fries his nerves. Jim cautiously twists his hips up again, his legs writhing with the pleasure, and Bones chokes out a moan and buries his face into Jim’s neck.
They don’t fuck as much as helplessly rut against each other; Jim won’t let go long enough to let Bones sit back and fuck him harder. Jim’s head lolls to the side and he groans and gibbers as the angle changes. “Again,” he gasps, his fingers scrabbling on Bones’ back, and Bones wonders for a moment about making him beg - then he succumbs and slides his hips forwards, hard, and Jim dies underneath him, shuddering till he’s bunched entirely still and then exploding with movement as he comes, the world whiting out around him to hot, happy pleasure. Bones takes advantage of his momentary distraction and fucks him hard and fast, joining him breathlessly minutes later.
Jim’s still trembling slightly; Bones can already feel himself falling asleep, regardless of the filth they’re sprawled in. He shifts a little, tugging himself out of Jim, and only really succeeds in cementing himself further in the mess. He grimaces. To hell with it, Leonard, he tells himself sternly. For once in your life live a little.
He blacks out.
Jim ruffles Bones’ hair casually to wake him, water still trickling off his fingers from the shower. “Wake up,” he murmurs, and Bones groans below him, feeling sordid and sticky. “It’s the big day. I’m going to the canteen to smuggle you breakfast.” He has the common decency to allow Bones the time to shower and dress on his own; he reckons Bones is hardly going to be up for a four-course buffet and snags pastries and toast from the canteen counter, walking slowly as not to burst in on him in a state of undress. Bones is sitting on the edge of his bed when he returns, dressed smartly in his uniform and staring absently out of the window; “Nice,” Jim grins, tossing him half the food. “Smart.” He sets about eating his own across the other side of the room, pretending he’s not watching to make sure Bones eats something. “What time do you have to be there?”
“0900 hours,” Bones mutters, glancing at the time displayed luminously above Jim’s head. “And it’s not exactly going to take me half an hour to walk down the corridor.”
Bones sets off at 0850, and Jim loiters outside the conference room with him until he’s ushered inside; then he paces off around the ship, completing circuit after circuit and thinking nothing of where he actually ends up. Bones’ career in Starfleet had been on the line before Jim had even turned up - and all the stuff he’d done to help Jim, well, better men have lost their jobs for less. Jim’s healing stomach squirms slightly with guilt, and he just hopes that Starfleet needs all the help they can get.
He stops in the middle for something to eat at the canteen, just because Bones would kill him for not keeping his strength up - then, at 1540, twenty minutes before Bones is due to leave the conference room, Jim’s waiting in the corridor outside, slumped up against the wall. It’s one of the longest twenty minutes of his life - he can’t see anything further than the three feet of corridor either side of him and the door in front, and he’s sure that every time he checks the reading on his PADD time slows itself down by half again. Fifteen hellish minutes after he arrives he registers the sound of the elevator doors; hurried footsteps come his way and Uhura bursts round the corner, looking breathless and even more irritated. “Do you know how hard it’s been to track you down?” she pants, leaning on the wall and trying to catch her breath. “Look, don’t blame me for not telling you earlier, because I didn’t know - I just heard it off a Cadet working in the medbay. The girl Leonard operated on, back on earth - it was a test.”
Jim stares at her. “What?”
“The med students call it the Kobayashi Maru of medicine - ”
“The what? Look, you’re not making any sense - ”
She snaps her hand up, cutting him off. “Just listen to me! The point of the Kobayashi Maru is to teach a prospective commanding officer about no-win scenarios.”
“Which,” Jim interrupts, glaring at her, “there’s no such thing.”
“Whatever. The medical students have to go through a similar thing - at some point during their training they’re assigned to a patient they can’t possibly hope to cure.” She glances at the conference room door. “It’s to teach them to accept that some people die.”
Jim quickly echoes the glance. “So that kid would’ve died anyway?”
“Yes. The tribunal he was going to would just have explained as much to him - but seeing as he was drunk when he was paged they have to spend a little more time working out what happened - not to mention all the things they’d need to find out about the last couple weeks. It’s a slap on the wrist, nothing more.”
“You’re sure?”
Uhura rolls her eyes. “Of course I’m sure. I wouldn’t come tell you all this crap just to make you feel better. And could you stop off in the medbay at some point and register yourself into the computer? It’d make our lives a hell of a lot easier.” She looks him over once more, tuts slightly under her breath and storms off; a few moments later Jim hears the elevator doors slide shut.
He leans back against the wall and slumps down, nearly sliding to the floor. If Uhura wasn’t lying, then Bones was safe - surely there was nothing wrong with saving the world? On cue, the door to the conference room slides open; Bones steps out, beaming, and looks like he’s about to jump him in front of half of Starfleet’s admiralty. “I didn’t - it’s not - ”
“I know,” Jim grins. “Uhura told me.”
“Mr Kirk?” a female Admiral asks him kindly, and Jim nods. “Your own tribunal will be held here at 2000 hours,” she smiles, and shakes his hand. “We look forward to seeing you.”
“Goddamn, Jim,” Bones breathes, shaking his head and laughing shakily once the Admirals have filed away. “I really thought I was gone for good that time.”
Jim smiles. “I had faith in you all along, old man.” He dodges a flying punch and darts off back to the elevator, Bones helplessly pursuing him; he stops dead, causing Bones to crash wildly into the back of him. “Bones,” he says slowly, staring off into space, “what the fuck am I going to wear?”
Bones’ fingers smooth over the lapels of Jim’s suit as Jim fiddles with the tie. It’s closer to a tuxedo than a suit, but it was the only thing he could get hold of, considering the circumstances, and considering the circumstances it would just have to do. Bones steps back, scanning him sharply. “Behave yourself,” he warns, looking rather stern. “I’m sure Lieutenant Sulu doesn’t want blood all over his suit.”
Jim sighs theatrically, squeezing out a grin. “I guess I’ll just have to constrain my overly-large ego for an evening.”
Bones snorts. “Ever heard the phrase ‘camel through the eye of a needle’?”
“Moses, wasn’t it?”
“Jesus,” he corrects, rather blandly. “Get going, or you’ll be late to your own tribunal.”
“Fashionably late,” Jim grins, and sort of fails to turn it into a pout. “Wish me good luck?”
Bones hits him round the head and shoves him out the door.
He’s ushered unceremoniously through the door, and he immediately feels overdressed compared to the slightly more suave uniforms the three Admirals are wearing. It’s the woman who stands to shake his hand; she introduces herself as Ellen Bakshir, and the two gruff men beside her are James Komack and Richard Barnett. “Please,” she gestures, “take a seat.”
For something he’s been freaking out over, it’s remarkably anti-climatic. He sits in front of the three of them and basically just narrates everything he’s done since he learnt of the destruction of Vulcan; occasionally they halt him to cross-check a fact but they don’t reprimand him, not once - not even when he rushes through knocking several crewmembers unconscious and hijacking valuable Starfleet machinery. Eventually he peters off, and the room settles into silence. He shifts uncomfortably in his chair. “So…” he drawls, glancing between the three of them; they promptly ignore him, flicking through articles on their PADD screens. Just when his palms are itching for him to get up and leave, Komack and Barnett glance between each other and the latter looks at him.
“Just one question.” Jim’s never been more ready to say something in his defence. “Do you regret anything you’ve done?”
He thinks about it; his answer’s a pretty intuitive one, and it’s not like it’s the first time he’s thought about it. “My only regret, sir, is that I didn’t save more lives when I had the chance.”
Barnett half-nods and makes a note on his PADD; Jim shifts a little more, waiting for a judgement he’s starting to suspect isn’t going to come. Bakshir looks at him kindly. “We’ll convene tomorrow morning, Mr Kirk,” she explains, and Jim feels a little stunned; they can’t make a decision in front of him now? “I’ll send a message to your room with the time.”
The two other Admirals seem to be ignoring the fact he even exists; Jim mutters a thanks under his breath, slides his chair back under the table and leaves the room more confused than when he entered. He stops at the first terminal by the lifts and locates Bones, called for some sort of crisis to the medbay. (No surprises there, despite the hour.) He takes a long, winding route over there; it takes him almost half an hour, and when he arrives the crisis seems to have been averted. Bones is standing stolidly by a biobed, hip cocked, glaring at the information his PADD is bleeping at him. “I’m taking another sample tomorrow,” he tells his patient moodily, “but it looks like it’s good news so far.” He raises an eyebrow as he sees Jim enter; the politeness is a shock compared to the normal grunted greeting. “How did it go?”
Jim shrugs, shoving his hands in his pockets and standing across the other side of the bed. “They’re telling me tomorrow, fuck knows why.” He looks down absently at Bones’ patient for the first time and does a double take; Bones raises his eyebrow further.
“I take it there’s no need to introduce you to Captain Pike, then,” he quips, slipping the relevant chart in the foot of his bed.
“We’ve met before,” Pike confirms, smiling a little. He looks a hell of a lot older, and Jim knows that three years don’t put that kind of age on a person.
“The Romulans tortured you, didn’t they?”
Bones rolls his eyes. “I’ll leave you two to catch up,” he mutters, and stalks off to terrorise a frightened Ensign near the doorway.
“He’ll make a good doctor,” Pike says absently, picking at the bedsheet.
“He is a good doctor,” Jim corrects, still watching Bones at the other end of the medbay.
“I heard about your mother. I’m sorry.” Jim shrugs; everyone’s dying these days. Pike sighs, and slowly Jim looks at him. “What happened, Jim?”
“Vulcan exploded. You were there.”
“You know what I mean.”
Jim scowls, scratching the back of his hand. “I missed the flight. Then I didn’t want to come any more. It was a stupid idea in the first place.” Pike chooses not to argue with him. Jim gestures absently at his legs. “How bad is it?”
Pike shrugs. “I might walk, might not. I guess it depends on your doctor friend.”
“No pressure.”
Pike smiles. “None at all.”
“Get well soon,” Jim mutters, waving a hand. “I’d have brought you something, but this was kind of a detour anyway.”
“Goodbye, Jim,” Pike says a little softly, but Jim’s already gone. He mutters to Bones he’ll see him back at the room and hotfoots it over there; he’s too tired and too grumpy to stare idly around at the stars. Besides, Pike’s been a bit of an unwelcome blast-from-the-past, complete with an irritatingly large sense of guilt. He shrugs off the tuxedo, showers and crashes straight onto the bed.
Part Seven