fic: Be Still My Beating Heart (1/?)

[writteninhaste]

Title: Be Still My Beating Heart
Author: writteninhaste
Rating: NC-17
Warnings/Spoilers: dub-con/non-con. Violence. Explicit sexual situations.
Summary: We know that fear is fed off shadows; just as shadows feed off fear. They swell, and bleed and grow together - feeding one another even as they seek to devour our very souls. Fear needs only a little darkness to control us. There is a reason why men fear the dark.


Be Still My Beating Heart

Leonard McCoy kicked at the sandy dirt of Iowa and watched with disinterest as the soil stained the toes of his boots and the edges of his laces. Two years ago he had stood in this very spot and watched as the transport shuttle for new recruits had flown up and away, heading towards San Francisco, CA. Now, he stood still as Cadets dressed in sharp black boots and crisp red uniforms, flowed like water around him, chatting and laughing; occasionally casting curious glances at the scruffy, unshaven man standing, staring at his shoes in the middle of the ship yard. Once, McCoy had convinced himself that he could make his way in the world without the help of Starfleet; once he’d thought he had enough strength left in him to claim his old life back. These days he knew better.

Swallowing his pride, McCoy shuffled towards the transport, showing his IdentiChip to the waiting officer, ignoring the man’s raised eyebrows at he took in McCoy’s appearance and the lingering smell of bourbon. Reclaiming his ‘Chip, McCoy slunk into the shuttle and sequestered himself in the most out-of-the-way seat that he could find. Beside him, a female cadet smoothed her skirt with clean, neat strokes and a gaggle of cadets opposite jostled each other in good-natured spirits. McCoy had never felt so old. Closing his eyes, the man took a deep breath and steeled himself for takeoff. He could do this - he’d done it often enough in recent years. Biting viciously on the inside of his cheek, McCoy focused on reliving every scrap of medical knowledge he had ever acquired. If only he could concentrate hard enough, the purr of the engines beneath him might not sound quite so predatory.

Hours later, McCoy stumbled from the shuttle, swallowing heavily in an attempt to keep his churning stomach from making a desperate escape. His knees refused to cooperate - a mixture of the flight-induced nausea and the cheap bourbon still sloshing through his system. An anxious cadet, speeding towards orientation, jostled him from behind, and McCoy felt his insides lurch just as he himself toppled into a pair of grey-clad arms. The scent of earth and pine was almost overwhelming - familiar and gut-churning. Jerking back, McCoy righted himself, ignoring the way the other man had stilled when he caught him.

“Dr McCoy. This is unexpected.”

Reluctantly, almost defiantly, McCoy raised his gaze and met that of Captain Christopher Pike’s. The man looked much as he had the last time McCoy saw him: hair greying lightly at the temples, eyes sharp and direct, mouth curled in near-constant amusement at the world and all its oddities.

“Captain.” McCoy offered nothing more than the necessary courtesy. He was not about to admit to Pike that Starfleet was his last resort, that he had no where else to go. Let Pike figure that out for himself.

The Captain smiled, brittle and humourless, and stepped aside; his feet already moving to continue his journey past McCoy. “Welcome to Starfleet, Doctor.”

McCoy grit his teeth against the laughter bubbling beneath Pike’s words and stood at attention until the sound of the Captain’s footsteps had diminished with sufficient distance. Around him, Cadets were whispering behind their hands, voices slithering together as they watched McCoy’s humiliation and Pike’s laughter. A passing woman, with the poise and bearing of an Advanced Cadet shot him a look that fell just short of pity. McCoy hoisted his duffle onto his shoulder and headed towards the Administration building. Welcome to Starfleet, Pike had said. McCoy snorted. Welcome to hell.

Jim tore through the grounds of Starfleet Academy, panting breath and wheezing laughter lost to the rush of the wind past his face. The air was alive with the scent of living, breathing individuals. He could taste the musk of Wolf, the spicy tang of Practitioners, the lingering sweetness of the Psys. And still the wind brought different flavours. There was something rich and dark - something Jim could not define, but which put him in mind of damp caves and the ancient orient. Turning, Jim tried to chase the scent. It would be easier if he were in Wolf form, but the human body was less durable, and Jim ached to feel the pulsing burn of muscles overworked. The wind changed, and Jim lost the scent. Frustrated, angered beyond reason, he skidded to a halt, nose casting about to try and reclaim the taste. Nothing. Kirk swore violently and took off running again. The itch was now worse than before. Jim wanted to rip, to tear his skin straight from the bone. He wanted to feel that soul-deep hurt, the one which he’d never been able to fully satiate. He could strip his flesh in tender rivulets and it would never be enough. Nothing ever made him hurt enough for the itch to go away.

Snarling, Jim threw himself into the branches of the nearest tree, scraping his palms against the rough bark, tearing at the leaves. Jim broke free of the canopy. The moon slid from behind a cloud, pale light slithering across the ground. Jim threw his head back and howled.

The sound echoed through the night. Below him, Jim felt Cadets pause for a moment before hurrying on their way. Jim screamed this time, an animalistic, tortured shriek that cleaved through the shadows like a butcher’s knife. Cadets scattered, terrified. Jim screamed and laughed and writhed; desperate, triumphant, wild. Gurgling spit-choked giggles, Jim let his hands lengthen into claws. He dug into the pulpy muscle beneath his skin, and watched as the flesh on his biceps parted like cloth to reveal the sinew and ligaments beneath. Blood flowed scalding from his veins. Tempted, Jim bent his head and lapped roughly at his skin. His nerves sang and whined, the rough pad of his thumb parting the skin so his tongue could delve deep, lapping at the veins and sucking at the edges of the wound. It was barely enough. The hunger slowed, curled, somewhat abated, but Jim could feel it still humming beneath his skin.

Crimson liquid dropped sluggishly from his veins to stain the leaves and Jim panted as the fever began to calm in him. Dropping, Jim swung down from the tree, hanging by a single grip for a moment, swaying, before letting go and falling the final feet to the earth.

Something moved in the shadows.

Alert, Jim turned, only to relax into breathless laughter when he caught the scent of his Alpha. Pike slid from the shadows, torso as naked as Jim’s own, well-worn jeans riding perilously low on his hips. Unusual, for him to be caught out of uniform on campus, but his office was not far from here - he would have heard Jim scream.

Jim stumbled forward into the shadows, twisting past Pike so that his back fell against the tree. The older Wolf smiled, all teeth, and bent his head. Jim shivered as Pike lapped at the wounds on his arm, keeping them bleeding. One of Pike’s hands came up to pin Jim’s wrists to the tree. Instinctively, Kirk tried to buck Pike off, but Pike was Alpha, and Jim’s Wolf refused to challenge him.

He could feel Pike swallow convulsively against his skin; knew what a fight it was for Pike to keep from tearing at his flesh, from feeding as if Kirk were nothing more than a common elk. Shifting his hips, Jim nudged Pike’s leg, shifting the other Wolf’s attention away from the blood. Amber eyes met his in the darkness.

There was more than one way to feed.

Basic hand to hand combat was led by one of the Senior Cadets - a young man in his penultimate year at Starfleet Academy. McCoy wondered if the kid was just that good, or whether this whole thing was just to impress upon the new recruits how insignificant they were; how unworthy of a fully-qualified instructor’s time. It quickly became clear that it was a little of both.

Kirk moved with a speed and agility that marked him as a Shifter even at a distance. McCoy could feel the energy rolling off him like a heat wave, and from the way Cadets around the room shivered and backed up instinctually, he was not the only one. Kirk’s eyes scanned the room, alighted on a thin, wispy looking Cadet who barely grazed McCoy’s chin and summoned her to the front. She went, back ram-rod straight, jaw clenched - obviously expecting to get her arse handed to her by an instructor whose very DNA gave him a phenomenal advantage. Her wrist was bare of any band or marker; she was human.

Kirk squared off against her, arms lax at his side, knees loose and suddenly it was as if the air had rushed back into the room. The temperature dropped, Kirk seemed to diminish and shrink before their eyes. Gone was the roiling heat that marked Kirk as a Shifter and in his place was a very ordinary human.

McCoy felt his eyebrow creep towards his hairline. In all his years of existence, he had only met a handful of Shifters able to swallow their power so completely.

“We fight fair.” Kirk was saying. “At least at first. There’s no point in throwing you in the deep end to sink when we haven’t yet taught you how to swim. You’ll learn the basics, and then gradually you’ll be put against harder and harder opponents. Eventually you’ll be tested to see how you handle yourselves against a Shifter at full strength.” His eyes swept the room, taking in the majority of students with iron bracelets on their wrist. “This goes for all of you - even those who do Shift. There will always be someone stronger, faster, more powerful. There are creatures - out there in space - that can rip your human form clean from you, or push your Animal down so far inside that you’ll never Shift again. Learn to fight without relying on the Shift and you’ll be stronger for it. The same goes for any Ability.” He said, addressing the others in the room. “Human, Psy, Shifter - whatever. This class is not about who has the biggest phaser - it’s about learning to survive. Now watch this.”

The class gave Kirk their undivided attention. Even with his energy swallowed down, Kirk moved with a swift economy of movement - the type of perfect balance that marked him as a trained and gifted fighter. McCoy was so absorbed in working through the drill Kirk had set them, that he had only a split-second’s warning in which to lock down his mental shields before Kirk’s hand was resting on his shoulder. Now that the man was not forcing himself Human, McCoy could feel the energy pricking against his skin.

The smell of forest and sea; of sand and dirt and trees assaulted him as Kirk impersonally readjusted his stance and lifted McCoy’s wrist a fraction higher. Wolf, McCoy realised. Wolf, just like Pike was. And powerful. McCoy allowed his body to be guided into the new positions and focused on not allowing himself to react. No Human would have so visceral a reaction, and McCoy was damned if he was going to be anything other than Human to Starfleet.

Kirk moved on, leaving McCoy to his thoughts and his exercises. Stay away from Kirk, stay away from Pike; if he could just avoid Shifters and their power-games all together, he’d be fine. He’d already tested out of most basic classes. Hand to Hand and basic foreign diplomacy were all he needed and he could skip two entire years of the Academy. He’d be free from Earth in no time. There were some benefits to being one of the top three Doctors in the United States - even if no one wanted to hire you.

Jim whistled tunelessly to himself as he jogged down the corridor leading to the Officer’s quarters. His palm still itched slightly from where he had let it rest against that one Cadet during combat but the feeling was bound to fade sure enough. The guy was probably just psy-able and with little training in how to shield from outsiders. He’d learn soon enough.

Bypassing Pike’s security sensors, Kirk let himself in to the small apartment. As always the place was Spartan and Jim made a note to create some well-ordered mess as soon as possible. There was no way Pike had failed to hear him come in, so Jim did not bother to mask his footsteps as he followed the sound of rustling fabric and fingers against touch-screens to Pike’s home-office.

Pike did not even bother to look up as Jim padded across the room, bare feet brushing through the carpet in easy strokes. No doubt the man would scowl when he saw Jim’s toed-off boots and crumpled socks lying in a heap by his front door but Jim was confident enough in his position to invade the Captain’s space a little. Slinking behind Pike’s leather chair, Jim draped himself elegantly over the back of it, arms coming down to pool across Pike’s chest.

“One of these days I’m going to find a security system you can’t crack.” Pike informed him, “and then you’re going to have to knock.” Jim grinned, knowing Pike could feel the movement from where Jim had balanced his chin atop the other man’s head. Neither bothered to point out that if Pike really wanted to deny Kirk entry to the apartment he was more than capable.

“You love it. Don’t lie.” Jim told him, letting his head slide down until his jaw was pressed into the muscle of Pike’s shoulder. One of the Captain’s hands came up to tangle in Jim’s hair - seemingly without thought - as Pike continued to review the information on the PADD.

“Of course, I do.” Pike agreed, though most of his attention was still focused on the display screen. Jim sighed.

“You also want me naked right this moment to do filthy things to me.”

“Mhmm.”

Glancing down at the PADD, Jim saw it contained nothing more than simply supply requests and plucked the thing from Pike’s hand. Sliding down into the other man’s lap, Kirk balanced his hands on both Pike’s shoulders, and looked the other man straight in the eye (ignoring the disgruntled expression).

“Naked.” Jim repeated, “so that you can do filthy things. Like, now.”

Pike laughed, annoyance fading to amusement as Jim pouted prettily in his lap. “Oh really?”

Kirk nodded vigorously, fingers already moving to undo the jacket of his Cadet uniform.

“An orgasm a day keeps the doct - mmph” The last words of his sentence were lost to the press of Pike’s lips and his laughter as the other man kissed him square on the mouth. The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that Pike was still chuckling even as he slid his hands beneath Jim’s jacket, but the message was clear enough: stop talking, start fucking.

All are equal in the Academy. McCoy learnt this within the first few days at Starfleet. All are equal at Starfleet, but the Shifters rule supreme. It’s not quite Darwinian, but it’s close. By rights of power, the Psy-able amongst the recruits should be on top. Combined, they would be a force to be reckoned with, but most are too ethical and the others to isolated by their ‘gifts’ for them to cohere and press their advantage. That leaves the Shifters - the Wolves specifically. As in nature, predators rise to the top of the food-chain. The Wolves are quicker, stronger, more agile and more unified than any other group on Campus. It’s fascinating, in some ways, how they mirror a pack-hierarchy. The Alpha pair and their Beta at the top, the Enforcers and the Dominants ranked just below, and then hoards and hoards of submissives; weak when isolated, but strong simply by weight of numbers and that mind-blanking supremacy that is a pack mentality. Their loyalty is the key to their control. The pack does not come first - not officially; Starfleet has the luxury of that position. But the Wolves stick to their own, and it is made very clear to McCoy, very early on, that humans are not considered a threat - for all that they are not allowed to become prey.

Pike winced as the splash of cold coffee hit his tongue. Disgusted, he threw the cup and its swilling contents into the nearest recycler. The grounds in front of the main building were unusually quiet for the late afternoon, and Pike found himself nearly alone as he crossed the grounds. The grass swayed idly in a latent breeze as he walked, shoes connecting crisply with the white gravel paths that quietly encouraged passers-by not to walk on the grass. Turning towards the Admiralty building, Pike’s gaze did a customary sweep of the area; habit of years spent in Command.

McCoy was striding his way towards Medical in the distance. Pike stopped for a moment, just to watch his progress. He’d wanted McCoy for Starfleet years ago, back when the man had lost everything, and had nowhere else to go. But it seems he had called in one last favour - or been offered one last boon, depending on how you looked at it. McCoy had stayed behind, and Pike had received Jim Kirk in compensation. He wanted to say Jim had been the better deal; that he got more from Kirk’s enlistment than he would have gotten from McCoy’s. But something in the words failed to ring true. There was something in Pike’s soul that was drawn to McCoy. His Wolf rumbled in his chest every time the doctor passed by. And whilst Jim’s presence may have made him feel like a pup again - all ecstatic energy and the urge to mate - McCoy brought with him a sense of home and peace. As he watched the other man walk away, Pike can’t help thinking that Starfleet needs McCoy in a way it will never need Jim Kirk. If Jim is Starfleet’s ID, then McCoy is that deepest part of the Collective Unconscious; the thing that binds them all together - even if it cannot be expressed.

“Dr Leonard. H. McCoy.” The Admiral’s voice was stiff and wheezing, and McCoy’s gaze was already checking the man for signs of infection before he had finished speaking. “You have been called before this board today because you have shown true dedication and commitment to your studies.” The man was sweating slightly at the temples; the skin that was too pale around his mouth and eyes was flushed beneath his chin. McCoy did not like the fact that the man seemed to be reflexively swallowing every few seconds. “Your prior training as a Doctor - as one of the best in your field - has made much of our basic training superfluous. There were those who wished to see you complete the courses anyway, to teach you discipline. But there is no sense in us wasting a Doctor to learning he has already acquired when he could be of use in the field. As Senior Cadet Kirk has now certified you as proficient in Basic Hand to Hand Combat and as you have proven yourself more than proficient in all other Basic courses relevant to those studying the Medical Sciences, you are hear-by ordered to attend all classes listed in the Advanced Medical Syllabus and to report to Starfleet Medical for the requisite clinic hours. A note will also be made in your file that you have been Advanced to the position of a Senior Cadet and have achieved the rank of Ensign.” The man would no doubt have continued in this vein for quite some time, but his words were lost to a fit of gasping coughs. The Admirals around him pushed to their feet even as the man collapsed against the bench, eyes rolling as he struggled for breath.

McCoy shoved two of them roughly aside, headless of their rank or reputation. The choking Admiral was now blue around the lips and McCoy was merely thankful that paranoia meant he kept his medi-kit handy at all times. Hypoxia should not have begun to set in so quickly. Swearing beneath his breath, McCoy punched a simple dose of epinephrine into the Admirals neck, hands already checking what parts of the Admiral he could reach. “Talarian Fever. We need to get him to sickbay and invoke a quarantine - this thing spreads fast and its vicious.”

Komack was already moving to alert Medical and from what McCoy could hear a team was on its way. The rest became irrelevant as the Admiral on the floor - whose name McCoy did not even know - became to have trouble breathing again.

“I need that Medical team here now.” McCoy roared over his shoulder, as the Admiral lost consciousness and he was forced to resort to old fashioned CPR. Goddamn Starfleet Command McCoy thought, as he began chest compressions. Goddamn them, and their inability to take themselves to the hospital when they felt ill. Morons the lot of them.

He only hoped this Admiral lived to learn from his mistake.

Room 224, 226. Room 228. Slinging his bag down at his feet, McCoy swiped his access card through the reader and waited for the door to glide open. New status, new room; more importantly, new roommate. Joy.

McCoy kicked his bag through the door and resettled his grip on the box he had in his hands. The room was neat but lived in, the lights dimmed and the curtains drawn. Odd for the middle of the afternoon but McCoy could deal. The bed furthest from the door was unmade; sheets and pillowcases folded neatly at the foot, mattress pale and bare. Quickly stowing his meagre amount of clothes and personal belongings, McCoy dressed the bed with hospital neat edges. His PADDs and various academic items he stacked on the desk in the corner, idly flicking the lamp on and off to test if it worked. Everything was Standard Issue. It would do.

McCoy had no idea who his new roommate was. When he had inquired, the petite Andorian behind the desk had smiled thinly at him and simply handed him his key. The question was answered quickly enough when the door slid open and none other than Jim Kirk stepped through.

McCoy cursed beneath his breath and straightened from his inspection of the desk. Kirk’s reputation preceded him, both as a royal pain in the arse and as one of the most powerful Shifter’s on Campus. The kid sat at Pike’s right hand (and in his bed if rumour was to be believed) but McCoy had known Kirk was powerful since that first class; since the kid’s energy had spilled across the room like a wave of fire-ants - hot and fierce and painful in its bite against the skin.

“He-llo.” Kirk drew the word into two syllables, his expression clearly asking what the hell McCoy was doing on his quarters.

“I’m your new roommate.” McCoy informed him, rearranging the PADDs on his desk simply so that he didn’t have to watch as Kirk’s eyes slid over him like he was so much meat. The kid was silent for a while, apparently content to watch McCoy before he said, “This all your stuff?”

McCoy nodded, lips twisting in a bitter curl. “Ex-wife took the whole damn planet in the divorce. All I got left were my bones. Haven’t acquired much since.”

Kirk’s smile was bright and sudden and as blinding as the sun. “Well okay, Bones.” He said, throwing himself down onto the bed and reaching underneath it. “How about it?” McCoy turned to see the kid holding a bottle of Suarian brandy and grinning like he’d just brokered peace between the Klingons and the Federation. McCoy eyed the amber liquid, and weighed its allure against the headache that would undoubtedly ensue and the clinic hours he had left to complete that week. Kicking off his shoes, McCoy sighed, and sank down onto the edge of the bed.

“Sure,” He said, snagging the shot glass Kirk handed him - not bothering to question the motive behind this sudden generosity. “Why not?”

Kirk smiled and uncapped the bottle. McCoy noted with interest that the smile only touched one of his eyes.

Pike grunted as his fingers sank in to meaty flesh. Boyce gasped at the impact, body collapsing in on itself even as Pike clawed deep gashes down his chest. Blood spurted from the wound, falling in a graceful arc to splash messily upon the ground; a macabre parody of a rainbow and its pot of gold. The old Wolf wheezed, and crumbled. Pike was left standing over the shaking body, feeling a mixture of guilt and dissatisfaction.

“I’m getting too old for this, Chris.” Boyce said. The cuts on his chest were bleeding sluggishly. Exhaustion was clear in every line of his body. He wasn’t healing. An Omega should be able to take more.

“Yeah.” Pike said. And then under his breath, “Sweet Jesus.” At his feet, Boyce spat out a mouthful of blood and a few teeth.

Darkness crawled across the sky as day sank into night. A sliver of a moon, razor thin and weak against the dying rays of light, hung suspended in the sky. Bones cursed as he shouldered his way through the clinic doors, skipping back to avoid a nurse carrying a tray-full of hypo-sprays who seemed fully prepared to go through McCoy rather than around him, despite that fact that he was nearly twice her size. The ward was a bustle of activity. Even on nights like these, when the moon was weak, there were still patients coming in and out of the Clinic. One of the hazards of working in Starfleet: the best and the brightest took the biggest risks.

Light flared from the emergency bay. Recognising the signs of an emergency transport, Bones stripped himself of his lab-coat and stethoscope. The blonde medi-tech currently re-materialising on the pad caught sight of him, nodded and turned to give orders to the technician working with her. A river of nurses, emergency techs and doctors streamed towards the transporter pad, Bones and another surgeon veering off to prep for surgery. The quick look Bones had been able to garner as they got the cadet onto a hover-bed would have been enough to make most interns lose the contents of their stomachs. The kid’s back had been scored open in two parallel lines from shoulder blade to hip. A thin sheen of metal had dried and crusted around the wounds. Bones was willing to bet he’d find it inside the lacerations as well.

Scrubbing in, Bones wasted no time in inspecting the knife tracts. He’d been right. Someone had injected liquid metal beneath the skin, left the kid long enough that the molten substance had cooled and dried, holding the skin together like an obscene wax seal.

“Shit. That’s silver.” The medic at the head of the bed said. Bones raised an eyebrow but said nothing, turning to a nurse to demand a laser-scalpel. “There’s no way you’re going to be able to get at that.” The kid’s tag read ‘Shifter’. McCoy could see that as easily as anyone, but apparently his colleague felt the need to hammer the point home. “That metal’s going to be permanently fused to his skin by now. There’s nothing you can do. Hell, it’s a miracle the kid’s even still alive.”

There was more merit behind that statement that Bones wanted to acknowledge. Most Shifters would have died of shock long before the metal had time to harden. Obviously this kid was a fighter. Turning on the scalpel, Bones bent to begin the process. A hand on his wrist stopped him. “Weren’t you listening to me? That metal has knitted itself into his body - you try to melt it, and it’ll go directly into his blood-stream. You’ll kill him.” McCoy glared at the hand holding his wrist until its owner let go. Straightening, McCoy siphoned all the rage he felt against whichever shit did this to a kid and poured it off against the prissy little Anaesthetist currently screwing with his surgery.

“The silver’s in his blood already, he’s survived this long.” McCoy snapped, painfully aware that each moment they argued left his patient in skull-grinding agony. “And for your information, I wasn’t planning on melting the damn stuff, but if we leave things as they are that silver’s going to rot his blood from the inside. Now back off and let me do my job.” The Anaesthetist let him go, and Bones waited to see if anyone else had any objections. The surgeon opposite him nodded once, permission and a promise all in one. Bones got to work, trusting the other man to keep anyone from interfering. Flicking the scalpel to its finest setting, Bones bent and carefully dragged the instrument in the thin line either side of the knife marks. Something shifted beneath the skin. Bones paused. Gut clenching as the skin of the kid’s back rippled in a sickening wave.

“If he shifts, we’re done for.” Someone said. Bones’ gaze flickered to the kids left wrist. He could see the band, thin, cast in iron - but the thing was too caked in blood for anyone to make out the species marker.

“Everybody out.” Bones ordered. There was a pause as the surgical team took a moment to wonder if he was serious, but again that something shifted under the skin. The two nurses beside him left both having worked with him enough to know arguing was useless. The Anaesthetist and the Surgeon hesitated. “I’ve got this. You have kids, Rosher.” Rosher looked at him, Surgeon’s ethics warring against his desire not to expose his children to a Shifter in their own home. The you have a kid, too hung in the air between them. Yeah, but I don’t get to see mine, Bones thought and simply shook his head. “Go.” They left.

A single nurse stayed behind, positioning herself by the Anaesthetists station and position the tray of surgical instruments within easy reach. Nodding once, Bones set about completing his work. He drew the scalpel to a close, leaving two narrow ovals encompassing the mess of silver and flesh notched into the kid’s back. As he placed the scalpel aside and reached for the magnetic strips the nurse presented him with, Bones had a moments thought as to whether he had calculated correctly; whether the penetration of the wound was shallow enough for his idea to work. Placing a strip over each wound carefully, Bones carefully talked the nurse through what he was going to do - he would need her to act at the exact same time he did. Sure that she understood, Bones curled his fingers around the each end of the strip. Beneath his hand, he felt something harder than muscle and softer than bone, dance beneath a layer of tissue and fat. Bones laid his hand flat, trying to feel what was happening; whatever it was, was trying to push out. He contemplated telling the nurse to leave yet again. He didn’t want her caught on the wrong end if they ended up with a half-turned mamba on the table, but that silver needed to come out. Besides, she had opted to stay - he wouldn’t insult her by telling her to leave. With one final look at the nurse, Bones grasped both ends of the stripped and pulled slowly upwards. Flesh parted from flesh with a wet, sucking noise.

“Careful, now.” Bones instructed. They both raised their strips another inch. And Bones felt something change. He had a moment where the world seemed to halt; where the kid’s back seemed caught in time, two ovals of flesh half raised from new wounds like corks out of a bottle and then he was being thrown backwards across the room. He heard the nurse go down in a crash of surgical instruments; felt his own back collide against the wall, but he paid it no mind.

Wings - beautiful, pure, snow white - stretched up towards the ceiling. Tendrils of blood ran through the feathers like raindrops, trickling through the down to splash delicately to the floor.
Awed, Bones pushed himself to his feet, and the kid on the operating table rose to his hands and knees. How the anaesthetic had worn off, Bones had no idea, but the eyes that turned to face him were blue and clear. The wings lowered, brushing the floor with a span that must have exceeded at least nine feet.

“Thank you.” The boy said. His accent was understandable, though thick. As he turned his face to the light, Bones realised he was still a teenager. Fifteen, sixteen - maybe a little older if he looked young on it.

“You’re welcome.” Bones said. The nurse had picked herself up off the floor and was staring at the boy as though she didn’t know whether to weep at the sight or reach out and touch him. The kid settled himself on the operating table, wings folding around him like a blanket and making him look even younger than before.

“I understand, Doctor, that you will need to conduct an examination. But if you could make it quick? I would like to go home now.”

Bones nodded, gesturing for the nurse to find the kid some clothes and maybe a glass of water. “Sure, kid. Sure.”

Jim was already collapsed on top of his bed by the time McCoy got back to the dorm. From the faint glow of the hall lights, before the door slid shut behind him, Bones could just make out the thin, white lines of claw-marks dragging across Jim’s shoulder. The damn things were already nearly faded - kid healed faster than any Shifter Bones had ever seen.

His movements must have roused Jim, because his roommate rolled over, and propped himself up on his elbows. “Why do I smell Wolf?”

With the ease of long practice, Bones did not even hesitate in his movements as he pulled his shirt over his head. “I was at the Clinic; you know Scents tend to transfer easily in those environments.” So much fear, pain, relief and worry; it was impossible not to pick up other people’s Scent just by walking past them. Jim looked at Bones carefully for a moment, opened his mouth as though he would have liked to argue but gave up with a sigh.

“Whatever. I’m going back to sleep.”

McCoy grunted in acknowledgement and finished divesting himself of his clothing. He pulled the covers up around his shoulders, and let his head fall against the pillow. The wind howled outside the window, and Leonard heard it echoed in his dreams.

The pack ran wild, roiling, tumbling, racing against each other. Jocelyn sped past him, yipping. He nipped her tail in return, keeping his pace slow and loping. Joanna wobbled unsteadily beside him; she had not yet built her wind, and her paws were still young and soft. He stifled a snort as his pup tumbled tail over snout in a flurry of teeth and fur. He nuzzled a caution into Joanna’s ear, warning her not to go too fast, before nudging her rump to get her on her way. His pup whined at him in protest of the treatment before scrambling off to chase after the rest of the pack. Huffing in amusement, Leonard followed after, keeping Joanna between his front paws and in the shadow of his body, revelling in the smell of the forest and his cub’s heartbeat sounding in his ears.

Pike tipped his head back as the sun slid its way over the horizon. Light spilled between the old ruins, creeping over the trees in the distance. The sun warmed his face, easy the slight ache always present the day after a Moon; it took the body a while to readjust to being confined to such a limited coil.

A few Wolves and many more naked humans were scattered around the ruins. Few of the pack were able to retain the form after the moon set. A wuffling sneeze came from near his feet and Pike looked down at the Wolf draped across them. The worn scoop of rock that served as Pike’s throne was hardly the most comfortable of mattresses, but Pike never slept on these nights, and Kirk refused to go anywhere else. Snorting when the beast gave a particularly exaggerated snore, Pike nudged Kirk’s belly with his foot. The Wolf opened one amber eye. Pike nudged his foot again and Kirk huffed, clambering to his feet and making a point to yawn long and wide, before shrinking back into his human form.

Aside from Pike, Kirk was the only other member of the Pack with as much control. There were some who were stronger - and Pike really needed to stop referring to his Enforcer as ‘Cupcake’ even in his own head - but Kirk was unmatched by all save Pike alone when it came to skill. Pike would be curious, once Number One was Earth-side again, to see how his Mate reacted to the Wolf who had clawed his way into the position of Beta Male. Fully human, Kirk shook his head to reacquaint himself with the movements of his body, before sliding into Pike’s lap without so much as a ‘by your leave’. Cocking an eyebrow, Pike was rewarded with a smirk as Jim leant in and nuzzled his face just below Pike’s chin and flicked his tongue lightly against the other man’s lower lip. Submissive greetings - a younger Wolf’s way of begging for an elder’s attention - and Kirk’s perfect excuse for remaining exactly where he was. Jim wiggled his arse, settling his legs more comfortably either side of Pike’s body and Pike felt himself reacting to the attention. He growled low and deep in his throat, was rewarded when he felt Kirk grow hard against his belly.

“Not here.” Pike muttered, low enough that none of the other Pack-members would hear him.

“Then wake the others and let’s go.” Kirk whispered. “I want to feel you in me. I want you to bend me over and shove all the way inside of me. I want your hands around my cock. I want you to thrust so hard I’ll still be feeling it for weeks. I want -”

Pike stood up swiftly, spilling the younger Wolf to the ground. Kirk pouted and groaned, but the sound was ruined by the undercurrent of laughter running through his tone. Smirking, Pike stepped calmly over his Beta and set about checking on the weakest members of the Pack. The Moon could be rough for some of them, and Pike wanted to make sure they weren’t too exhausted to get back to campus. He heard Jim clambering away over the ruins, off to check on the dominants who had taken charge of those who could not fit in the immediate circle. Pike always kept the most submissive closest to him. By all rights the positions should have been held by dominants - but Pike was unwilling to risk loosing even a single Wolf - not least because it meant loosing a Cadet as well.
The sun was climbing higher. Pike crouched over one of their newest Cadets and shook the girl awake. She blinked blearily at him, paling considerably when she realised it was her Alpha leaning over her. Her’s had been a more traditional pack then. Satisfying himself that she was alright, Pike moved onto the next Wolf - an engineer who was already awake - letting the girl see that the routine didn’t mean he was paying her any special attention. Number One would have his balls if he took a subordinate female to his bed. The Engineer nodded to him, before padding over to help the Cadet to her feet. He bent to whisper in her ear and Pike moved on again.
He’d made it through all the wolves in the area, when he noticed that Jim had not yet returned. The rest of the Pack were already climbing into clothes or moving off through the trees but his Beta had not yet returned to him.

Leaving one of his Enforcers to monitor the exodus, Pike followed Jim’s trail. It should not have been so easy to track Kirk’s Scent over ground walked by nearly 400 Wolves over the course of the last few hours, and Pike wondered what it meant that Jim’s steps stood out like golden imprints to his mind’s eye. He found them: Jim and one of the stronger females - Hannity he realised after a moment - crouched near the water-front. Hannity was still in Wolf form, trembling all over and clearly terrified. For a moment Pike nearly rushed to her defence before he realised that Kirk was stroking a hand calmingly through her fur, the other balanced on her shoulder blade. He was murmuring something and as Pike watched he saw Hannity’s shivers calm; her fur slowly recede into her skin. The process was slow, and for an awful moment it had seemed as though she could go no further, but then Kirk had laid his hand flat against her flank and she had managed to regain human form. Jim steadied her as she got to her feet then handed her off to the submissive who had been hovering nearby. There were no other dominants in sight.

He was beside Jim before his Beta even had a chance to register his presence. The submissive took one look as Pike’s face before wrapping an arm around Hannity’s waist and practically dragging them both away. Jim turned, and his face was a mixture of satisfied and defiant. Of course the kid would be satisfied. No Beta should have had the strength to do what he just did.

“Explain.” Pike’s voice was almost lost to the snarl that rumbled from his throat. He saw Kirk swallow, felt the pulse in his neck quicken momentarily before the kid forced it back with an effort.

“When I got here, Cupcake”, he spat the name, “was already trying to help her. He would have simply ripped her human form right out of her, it would have been agony, and he might not have brought her mind along with her body. I had to physically drag him away from her. By the time I’d managed to subdue him it was too late to fetch you, she’d almost lost Herself entirely.”

Pike snarled, and backhanded Kirk roughly across the face. Jim staggered but didn’t have the sense to go down. He braced himself, barely getting an arm up in time as Pike’s fingers curled around his throat.

“You could have sent one of the others when you saw what was happening. You could have Called and trusted that I would have heard it over such a small distance. You could have done a whole host of things you chose not to do because you wanted to prove that you were Dominant. You. Could. Have. Killed. Her. Does nothing matter to you other than pissing in other people’s ponds and proving that you’re better than they are?” He gave Kirk a shake, revelling in the harsh clack that sounded as Jim’s teeth snapped together. His Beta stared back at him with blue, defiant eyes; Jim wasn’t going to admit that he was wrong, that would be hoping for too much. Kid was too arrogant for his own good. With a snarl, Pike swept Kirk’s feet from under him. Jim tried to counteract but even as Beta and with youth on his side, he didn’t have Pike’s speed. Pike bore him down, pressing him onto hands and knees, biting the back of Kirk’s throat, digging claws into his skin. “I am Alpha. I am Pack-Father. My word is law.” He shifted just slightly so that Kirk could feel the erection Pike wasn’t bothering to hide. “You will obey me.” Pike snarled, pinning Kirk to the ground simply with the force of the Pack and the weight of a hand against his neck. Jim stilled, trembling, finally seeming to realise that this time he had gone one step too far.

Pike ran his finger down the cleft of Kirk’s arse, mindless of the fact that his fingernails had extended far beyond the norm. Jim tensed, hands biting into the dirt, as Pike ran the pad of his thumb over Kirk’s puckered hole. He paused for a moment, waited for Jim to tilt his head, bare his neck, but the kid was either too stupid or too proud to do so. He wouldn’t offer submission - not even to his Alpha; Pike would have to take it. With a jab, Pike thrust his thumb past the ring of muscle. Jim screamed and arched, trying to get away from the invasion. Pike could feel the hot trickle of blood where his claw had nicked the tender lining. He pumped in and out, replacing his thumb with two fingers, then three. He stretched and tugged mercilessly. Kirk was panting beneath him, hips jerking, back spasming whenever Pike ruthlessly rubbed against that spot inside him.

With absolutely no mercy, Pike settled his hips into position and thrust. The heat was wonderfully scorching. Pike let his body set its own rhythm, driving fast and hard, hitting Kirk’s prostate too erratically to provide enough stimulation for release. Jim was whimpering now, so very nearly begging, but unable to bring himself to voice his pleas. Smirking, Pike snaked a hand beneath them and tugged on Kirk’s ball sharply. Jim gasped, body tightening and it was enough. Two, three, four hard thrusts and Pike was coming, spilling into that warm, dry heat, teeth marking Jim’s back - any skin within reach. He pulled out, rolling Kirk away from him. The kid was soft, his belly and the ground beneath him stained with evidence of his release. Pike was not sure how he felt about that. He bent over Kirk, holding his chin until the younger Wolf looked up at him. “Who am I?” He asked mildly.

Jim swallowed, licked his lips, swallowed again, before rasping. “You are Alpha.” His eyes were overly bright, and the look on his face said he might hate Pike, just a little right now, but it was done. Satisfied, Pike knelt beside Jim, pulling the Beta into his lap and petting him as though he were a pup. Gradually, almost against his mind’s more fervent arguments, Jim’s body relaxed. Pike licked Jim’s wounds himself, gracing Kirk with all the attention pups usually demanded from their elders. He blew air gently across the hair at the back of Jim’s neck, causing him to squirm slightly.

“Come on.” He said at last. “The Moon’s long over. I should be getting you back to campus. No doubt the others will be starting to worry.” Jim nodded, standing up and heading back to where they had left their clothes, early last evening. Pike wiped a hand across his face before following.

If they weren’t in Starfleet Jim would probably be in command of his own Pack by now. But Pike shuddered to think of what a Pack it might be. Two years at the Academy had not yet been enough to change him from the self-destructive child Pike had lifted off of a bar-table in rural Iowa. Jim was strong enough to lead his own Pack, but he was by no means sane enough. Pike was still strong enough to take Jim down in a fight for Alpha - but Kirk had youth and an uncanny ability to heal on his side. Pike was not sure how long he could hold onto power or whether Jim would be ready for it when he finally dragged it from Pike’s grip and onto his own shoulders.

Bones sank down onto the floor of the shower stall, limbs trembling as he tried to force his heart rate into a rhythm not quite so erratic. Jesus, but it shouldn’t have been that difficult. He’d been performing surgeries on Moon nights since he got his licence; he had never had so much trouble keeping control before. Damn it, his hands had very nearly started shaking. He would have to do this quickly, there and back again before he could be missed. Rolling to his knees, Bones slapped a hand against the wall above his head, triggering the sonic shower. Hopefully the hum would be enough to mask any sound he made. His mind was a swirl of colour and scent. With the last vestiges of fore-thought, Bones tugged off his scrubs and threw them out of the cubicle. He could feel the Wolf writhing beneath his skin, prowling, testing the bars of its cage; desperate to get out. Two minutes, he told it. Two minutes and then I have to get back to work. We can Run another night. The Wolf sank down, sullen and low but acquiescent.

Relieved, McCoy closed his eyes and shifted. Muscles slid easily along reformed bone and skin. The world came to life in a blaze of intricate new scents. He could still feel the moon in the sky; hidden by the new morning but there, fat and waning, biding her time. Panting, McCoy reclaimed his human form. It wasn’t enough - god it was nowhere near enough. The Wolf was still right there beneath his skin. He needed to get out of here, get to the woods, run free - but his shift did not end for near to another hour. Pushing to his feet, Bones realised that even that small stretch of time was going to be agony.

Pike’s door chimed to let him know he had a visitor. Glancing at the saucepan bubbling away on the stove he calculated the chances of his visitor being the one he wanted. Second to none, in reality. Still, perhaps whoever it was would not be adverse to a home-cooked meal. Though he would have to do away with the cautiously romantic place settings first.

Moving to the door, Pike schooled his face into one of polite authority - a captain answering his door; not expecting anyone, and certainly not disappointed. His chest squeezed almost painfully, when he saw Jim standing on the other side of the doorway. They stood, awkwardly silent for a few moments until Pike remembered himself and stood back to let Kirk in.

“I didn’t expect to see you here.” Pike said, wincing at the cliché. He led Jim into the kitchen, offering him a drink with a wave of his hand, passing over a beer when the kid nodded in response. They shouldn’t be able to read each other so well.

“We had plans.” Kirk answered, settling himself against Pike’s kitchen counters, “besides, I see you cooked.”

“I hoped.” Pike responded, leaving the rest of the sentence unsaid. “Look, Jim, if you don’t want to be here -” He was cut off by two warm arms wrapping around his waist; a pair of dry lips pressing gently against the skin behind his hear.

“I want to be here.” Guiding hands turned Pike until he was settled within Jim’s embrace. An Alpha should never feel this vulnerable, but Pike was beginning to learn that Jim Kirk undermined half the rules and nullified the rest. This was more than an Alpha and his Beta, but it wasn’t exactly love either.

“Leave the food.” Jim instructed, reaching around Pike to turn the heat down on the stove. “It’ll keep. Take me to bed.”

Pike sighed, he wasn’t sure this was healthy; they weren’t a mated pair. But part of Chris couldn’t help wondering if things had been different: if there had been no Number One; if George had fathered a daughter, instead of a son. Surrendering, Pike let Jim pull him towards the bedroom, curling himself around the younger man as they divested each other of various items of clothing. Kirk’s skin was smooth and warm, the area at the back of his neck free of any scar - he’d healed quickly. Pike leant back against the bedspread, eyes fixed on the ceiling as Kirk bobbed between his legs. He was getting too old for this and Kirk was too broken to give a shit.

McCoy stumbled down to the waters edge and let his knees give way. Every muscle in his body whispered of exhaustion - he had not run so far and so long since he was a teenager. Dipping his hands into the water, McCoy splashed the cool liquid against his face. The salt stung the cracks in his lips, and Bones could not help but probe the fissure with his tongue until it began to bleed. Crawling further into the waves, Bones lay down and let the water brush the sweat and the grime away. How on Earth he was going to get back to campus stark naked was anyone’s guess; he was too tired to risk another Shift but he was miles from where he left his clothes. He’d just have to chance it. He could avoid people in the woods at this time of day if he was careful - he hoped at any rate. Picking himself up, McCoy shook himself free of the excess water and began the walk back up the beach.

Jim rolled over in bed and searched the room for what had woken him. The shower connected to the room was humming - Bones must have just come back from the hospital. Strange, he hadn’t heard the other man come in; dangerous - no one should be able to slip past him. Jim was just about to lay back down when he caught it - the heady musk of Wolf. The smell was there, faintly, in the carpet - as though a shifter had run on light feet from the door to the shower. Pricking his ears, Jim tried to tell whether or not McCoy had company but the sonic whir made it impossible to tell. Curious, Jim slipped from the bed and padded over to Bones’ wardrobe. Peaking inside, Kirk buried his nose amongst the folds of clothing. It was there - barely - the comforting scent of pine and pack and home. Nothing more distinct than that. Jim wondered who it was in the pack that McCoy was sleeping with; and who it was in the pack secretly strong enough to mask their scent.

The shower switched off, and Jim scrambled back across the room and into his own bed. He feigned sleep as McCoy exited the bathroom, naked and navigating by sense memory. Jim watch through lidded eyes as Bones stretched, arching his back in a painful looking flex. Shaking himself, the other man settled into bed, never once glancing in Kirk’s direction, accepting him to be asleep. Jim breathed deeply, and caught again the faint hint of Wolf that seemed to cling to McCoy’s skin. It was odd that the scent could be so deeply embedded - that even a shower did not erase -

Jim swore and cursed himself three types of idiot. But it wasn’t possible. No Wolf could mask his scent as much as McCoy must be doing. Offspring perhaps? Wolf mother or father. That might explain it but it was almost unheard of - Bones interrupted his thoughts with a snort and his shifted over in the bed trying to get comfortable. His face was lax and soft in sleep, breath coming in gentle pants. He seemed human enough. But still, the smell…

Kirk stayed awake, watching McCoy sleep - waiting to see if the scent grew stronger the deeper Bones slipped into unconsciousness. It didn’t. But Jim wasn’t prepared to rule anything out. Bones smelt of Wolf. The why was still unclear, but Jim could not dismiss the utter sense of completion that had come when he caught the scent on McCoy’s clothes. It was soothing in a way Jim had not known since childhood.

He was still awake, listening to Bones sleep, when the sun began to dawn.

McCoy twirled the pen carefully between his fingers. The start of a letter to his daughter rested on the pages before him, confined to the two words ‘Dear Joanna’. The smooth feel on the pen ghosted between his fingertips. The cost of mailing letters these days was extortionate but there was something satisfying with still pressing his signature to the page and he hoped Joanna derived some aesthetic pleasure from opening the envelope. Such communications would end of course, when he began work in space, but for now, Leonard was determined to take advantage. Heaving a sigh, he flicked the pen in one last rotation, before pressing the nib to the page and watching the ink flow into the mulched fibres of the paper.

Jim curled his bicep and watched as the muscle shifted beneath the skin. He resettled his grip on the weight, compensating for the slide of sweat layering his skin. The doors to the training room hissed open, and Jim felt his heartbeat quicken to a heady thrum. His eyes tracked the movements of the boy as he walked across the floor. Short, slight; no doubt there were others amongst the pack who would automatically think ‘prey’ but before he had even finished turning to locate the source of the scent, Jim’s mind had already settled on ‘cub’ and ‘protect’; regardless of the fact that the boy currently stepping up onto the treadmills was definitely not a Wolf. Jim raised his nose and sniffed. The boy smelt light and free; he tasted of air and the skim of water beneath finger tips. And beneath it all, lay the faint carrion of death; the lingering flavour of a soul laid to rest. The boy turned his head, fiddling with the controls on the machine and the bronzed curls atop his head flared white in the glow of the lights. Jim’s breath caught. Valkyrie.

The boy started running, and Jim simply sat and stared. There were supposed to be none of them left - at least not in this galaxy. Akin to the Vampires, they were said to have been hunted to near extinction at the height of the Eugenics war - incompatible for human breeding and a threat to the supremacy of the Augments. Jim knew of the legends of the Valkyrie; of the swan-maids who bore the valiant to Odin’s halls to rest. But none of the legends had ever told of men. Perhaps that was how they had avoided detection for so many years? But Jim could taste the loneliness that poured from this boy’s skin with his sweat. It was likely that he was one of the last left of his kind.

Silently, Jim left the training room. There was little he could do to ease that type of loneliness, and a Valkyrie was unlikely to accept help from a Wolf.

Pike panted as he pelted across the sand. The moon was falling into dark and the majority of his pack was taking the chance to appreciate what it nearly felt like to be human. The Dominants, of course, were on edge - less controlled by the phases of the moon, they held the energy of the Wolf inside them always and disliked the weakening of the connection. Cupcake was beginning to thrash beneath his skin, Pike made a mental note to keep him away from some of the more vulnerable submissives and, more importantly, Kirk. His Beta and his Enforcer just seemed to rub each other the wrong way. But until, the latter learnt to keep the power of his Wolf regardless of the phase, Kirk would constantly have the advantage. Except Kirk would ultimately be unwilling to press it - and the other man would thrash Jim if he could.

Sighing, Pike gradually slowed his gait. The sea glimmered softly beneath the stars and the distant lights of the city. The world smelt fresh and clean, free from the broiling stench of Starfleet. Casually, Pike meandered over to a cluster of boulders he favoured every time he came here. The smallest was flat and smooth on top, cushioned by moss and pattered with lichen. Hitching himself up, Pike laid himself in the cradle of basalt and gazed at the stars. He would be out there again soon enough. Another year - well, just over - and he was be out there amongst the lights and the dark. She would be his - his glorious Enterprise - his very own mistress of the heavens. He could see her, soaring through the sky - reaching for the furthest beyond.

He already had his crew picked out. Puri as CMO, McCoy serving under him; Spock as First Officer; Olsen in Engineering; McKenna at the helm - with that Russian kid as navigator. Only the best for his lady. The smile faded from Pike’s lips and he wiped a hand over his eyes. Kirk would not be aboard the Enterprise. His tests, his ability - hell, his fire - meant he more than qualified to serve as Tactical Officer but there was no way in hell Pike was having his Beta on his ship. The Enterprise was his. He was not about to share it with Kirk; was not about to risk falling from the high wire on which he currently was standing, out there in the depths of space. Jim was dangerous. Jim made him lose control. Jim made him want to spend all day in bed and splash in the waves like a pup. Jim made him want many, many things - none of which he could afford to indulge in out in space. It wasn’t fair, and it wasn’t right, but Kirk would serve about the Farragut and there would be a hundred light years between Lieutenant Kirk and Captain Pike.

Muttering, McCoy kicked his way into the room he shared with Jim, cursing the kid for leaving his clothes tangled in a heap by the doorway. McCoy was tired, and whilst he had gradually acclimatised to life with Jim Kirk, he still longed for his own space. The constant hiding was beginning to strain his abilities. Kirk was too aware; too many times McCoy had caught him sniffing at the wind whenever McCoy walked beside him. There had even been one instant when the doctor had thought Kirk would call him on his secret, but the other man had subsided, watching McCoy with cautious, wary eyes.

Falling on to his bed, McCoy led his mind slip towards sleep. He felt his barriers begin to fall, but Kirk was gone for the night, and McCoy was honestly too tired to keep his Wolf so tightly reigned anymore. A handful of hours would be a respite if not a cure. Closing his eyes, McCoy let go.

His Wolf exhaled into the stale air of the room. It didn’t bother to try and claim its form, content to breathe and squirm beneath a human skin, free to taste the air and roll outside the confines of the doctor’s mind. The last sense McCoy had before falling asleep was of his Wolf padding contentedly beneath his skin, frolicking in the scent of the strong Beta and the protection that kind of Dominant could provide.

McCoy was yanked violently from his dreams by the crack and thump of a body hitting the thin carpet of the room. Jerking upright, McCoy searched frantically for the source of the noise. He could smell the fresh bite of pine in his nostrils and the rich churn of the earth. On the floor by the doorway, Jim Kirk was sprawled in a graceless heap, head buried in the floor and arms folded beneath him from an attempt to catch his fall.

Snorting, McCoy leant over to his bedside draw and rummaged for the hypo that would sober Kirk up. “Little early in the week to be drunk off your arse, isn’t it Kirk?” McCoy drawled, noting even as he said it that the man didn’t smell of booze. Twisting, McCoy planted his feet on the ground and leant in the other man’s direction. “Lift your head up, I need to -”The words dried in McCoy’s throat as Jim raised his head into the light. “Jesus Christ.”

Jim’s lip curled in a grim parody of his usual smirk, only to split and begin to bleed sluggishly in claret rivulets down his face. McCoy was already scrambling off the bed and reaching for his MediKit before Jim had heaved himself up onto the bed.

“What happened?” Bones asked as he ran a tricorder over Jim’s face, scowling at the readings. Kid had really taken a beating.

“Garek challenged me. Wanted to be Pike’s second.”

McCoy glanced up sharply at Kirk’s words. “From what you’ve said, I would have thought he was too far down the food chain to be trying for your position.” Jim snorted, and McCoy watched him carefully as he wiped blood from his nostrils. Garek was far too low down in the pack hierarchy to be angling for Beta. McCoy wasn’t even involved in the pack and he knew that. Garek was large and mean, and built along the lines of a Cardassian, but his Wolf was weak and there was no way Pike would accept him in Jim’s place.

“He is.” Jim agreed eventually, once he’d worked out how to speak without spraying blood all over the place.

“Does Pike know?” McCoy asked, pressing the painkiller to Kirk’s neck with more than usual gentleness. Jim shook his head, wincing as the cut above his eyebrow split.

“Not interested.”

“I think he’d care about dominance squabbles within his own Pack kid. Father’s don’t like it when the youngsters fight.”

Jim froze above him. McCoy replayed what he had said and swore beneath his breath. Pulling out the portable regen. McCoy raised it to Kirk’s face. The other man caught his wrist before it reached its destination.

“What do you know of us?” Jim asked. “You smell of Wolf but not strong enough. You called Pike ‘Father’ and that’s not a term used outside the Pack though its’ possible you heard it from a Wolf. What are you?”

McCoy sighed, letting his wrist go limp in Jim’s grasp. “Nothing.” He said, wishing for Jim to believe him. “I’m a doctor dammit, nothing more.”

“This room smells like Wolf.” Jim stated, voice rumbling deep in his chest and if he’d been a different animal, McCoy would have said he purred. “Bones, It smells like home.”

McCoy jerked sharply, wrist smasming in Kirk’s grip as he glanced up. His Wolf flared, bright and ecstatic, beyond his control; so happy that a Dominant was calling it into the fold. Kirk’s eyes flared amber, and McCoy knew when his own bled in response.

Jim’s gaze was awed and wide. He stared down at McCoy as the doctor knelt between his feet, breath coming in shallow pants, and power lashing through the air.

“An Omega.” Kirk breathed and then he laughed. The sound was pure and human and it broke whatever spell the Wolves had been winding together. McCoy rocked back and away from Kirk snatching his arm to his chest, moving up and away before the other man could prevent him.

“No.” McCoy muttered harshly. He had been part of a pack once and it had nearly destroyed him. He had lost everything. He was not about to take that risk again. Kirk’s lopsided smile and amber eyes burned, even as he reapplied himself to healing the other man’s injuries. A tickle, a rush, and Jim’s Wolf was flooding beneath his skin, calling to his own Wolf, inviting it to play.

McCoy grunted and broke away, slamming his mental barriers in place. Kirk sobered, eyes fading to blue, face pale.

“You know the Law. You’re a Wolf, you’re here. You don’t have a choice.”

“Please.” McCoy whispered. Goddamit if he had to, he would beg.

Kirk shook his head, and for the first time that evening, he looked truly sorry for McCoy. “I don’t have a choice.”

TBC