First we take Manhattan - [Gym, Quarters] - [Kirk, McCoy]

[behnd_blueyes]

It was a few days before Kirk woke up without a bone-deep fatigue that didn't stop him from enjoying the now-regular--though far from routine--sex he and McCoy had fallen into but hadn't allowed for much else. He ate a lot. He used the weights that McCoy had had sent there. The sofa remained tucked away in its primary shape, and neither mentioned

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[behnd_blueyes]

Everyone played games. In a sense, there was only one in town, and you played or you got fucked. Sometimes you got fucked by playing, but it was better than not starting at all. Sure, he was being used. He knew that. But he also knew that being used wasn't the same as being owned, and that there were plenty of ways to use yourself so that it evened out in the end. Kirk didn't trust anyone. But he could sleep next to McCoy, could take what was dished out and even like it, and not feel totally bought

[behnd_blueyes]

One of the asshole ensigns was staring at him, literally staring at the ropey muscle and tendons standing out along Kirk's arms as he worked the weight machine, and Kirk stared right back. If he wanted to horrify people he'd take off his goddamn shirt, but he wasn't here to provide entertainment and when he caught the woman's eye she started and glanced away quickly. She left soon after that. Everything worked, that was the main thing, and nothing hurt anymore except from honest use, and at this point weight training was nearly aerobic for him. He used to jog, too, and maybe he'd take it up again but right now he was fucking tired of being tired out from lifting books

[sharpestscalpel]

McCoy slowed his pace again, kept speed with Kirk when he otherwise would have passed him. The doctor eyed Jim's red but pale face, the healthy blossom of sweat, the faintest hint of a rasping wheeze to his breathing. The rest of McCoy just appreciated that Kirk was all sweaty which probably meant slippery.

"How you holding up, Jimmy-boy?"

[behnd_blueyes]

McCoy's doctor eyes weren't much different from his bedroom ones, and Kirk was still trying to tell the difference. Not that it really seemed to matter, all things considered. He threw McCoy a look, conveying the "what the fuck does it look like?" his lungs didn't have breath to force out. Just this lap, and he'd call it good.

"Fine," he gasped finally, tightly. "Fuckin' picnic."

[sharpestscalpel]

"Walk the rest. I don't want to fucking clean up your puke." McCoy slowed further and waited for Kirk, to see if he had any damn sense or if his pride would win out.

[behnd_blueyes]

Was it pride, or lack of sense, that sent a glare McCoy's way? "Not gonna puke," he said. Fucking waste of good food. He nodded breathlessly at the far end of the track. "Just the lap," he insisted. He knew his limits, and he knew he had to push them once in awhile. With his jaw set, he continued on, eyes on the beginning/end of the loop and not on the few remaining asshole gawking at his embarrassing pace.

When he reached it, legs burning already, he doubled over for a moment with his hands on his bony knees. They trembled slightly through the material of his sweatpants but he was still standing. He was okay. As if that wasn't a pathetic triumph. When he could he started walking again, letting his body return to something approaching normal, wanting only to collapse but not here in front of everyone.

[sharpestscalpel]

McCoy watched Kirk manage the rest of the lap through sheer stubborn, reached the end of the track himself full of breath and cool down. "Fucking idiot." Still, good to know Kirk was holding on to that spark of whatever it was that had made the kid so interesting in the brig.

He snorted, stripped his shirt off and dried the sweat on the back of his own neck with it.

"Stay on your damn feet at least."

[behnd_blueyes]

Kirk glared at him, like he was about to just fall down right here in the gym after something like that. Did he think he was completely fucking whipped? Besides, he was well aware that McCoy liked him stubborn, which mattered even if it didn't alter his own behavior. He'd be sore, but it was good. It meant something.

He grabbed his towel and, still cooling down from over-exertion, mopped his face. He wasn't about to take off his shirt here, either. One thing really to let McCoy look, or to make a point. Another to have to actually think about the angles and edges. Hell, it might even be fun to watch Uhura try to get over her disgust, if he was in the right mood.

Exhausted but satisfied--to an extent, as it wasn't nearly good enough--he recovered, pacing slowly.

[sharpestscalpel]

Now that might just be a damn satisfying new hobby. Kirk was cute when he got all pissed off. McCoy snorted and smirked.

There were showers but they were rarely used, the territory less neutral. And McCoy preferred his own products, his own water settings, and his own fucking standards of cleanliness. Wasn't like sonics prevented people with sweaty feet from tracking in all sorts of fungus on the tile.

People really were cesspits of disease and vile details. At least some of them were fucking interesting.

He slouched against a wall and watched Kirk's pacing. Kid looked like he'd take the head off anyone who looked at him funny. Good.

[behnd_blueyes]

McCoy was looking at him funny.

"What?" he demanded, because he had his breath back and was now only tired, not threatening to fall over. He'd been scared of McCoy in the past, and likely would be again, but it was easy not to be when he was all fired up and exhausted and McCoy wasn't cutting on anyone. "I'm done. What are we waiting for?"

[sharpestscalpel]

McCoy snickered at Kirk's question - little banty fucking rooster at the moment, that's what Kirk was. He shook his head as all the answer Kirk was going to damn well get.

But he pushed up off the wall and headed for the exit.

[behnd_blueyes]

Kirk's temper was a fairly easy one, and he wasn't prone to finding offense where there was none. So his minor irritation, born mostly of his own inadequacy, was fading by the time they reached the doors, replaced by the satisfaction of a good workout.

"Should sell fucking tickets," he muttered anyway. "You'd think they'd never seen a scarecrow jog before--we should have invited the ship and gotten it fucking over with."

[sharpestscalpel]

"It'll be all over the ship - that asshole Jenkins was coming out of the fucking sauna when you were running."

The halls weren't crowded but aside from a few startled looks, most of the crew that they passed gave them both a wide berth.

Ought to be some fucking interesting rumors in the next few days.

[behnd_blueyes]

Kirk smiled to himself. Talk wasn't necessarily bad--not when it heralded his return from obsolescence. The point wasn't how bad he looked at the gym--the point was he'd been at the gym and hadn't broken in two.

"Uhura will have me on the bridge in days, if she knows what's good for her," he pointed out. Under her eye and not just a rumored myth. It was why he had to push himself, too. He had to be ready. He wondered if what security had seen had gotten back to her yet.

[sharpestscalpel]

In point of fact, McCoy was pleased as punch about the rumors. They'd give Kirk a measure of protection and they'd keep people guessing. Always a good fucking idea.

"I figure three days, tops, before she calls for you."

[behnd_blueyes]

Kirk nodded, throwing McCoy a sidelong smile. He didn't mind the rumors, either--they kept everyone guessing, because it wasn't as if either of them had long been out of the rumor mill. Together, there would be a scramble to make sense of what they were up to. Together, they were unpredictable.

They reached the room, and it opened as easily to him as to McCoy. He as almost used to that.

"That was good," he said. "Fuck. I'd almost forgotten."