Fic: We Are Stronger Together, Part 1/3 (ST:XI, AU, Kirk/McCoy/Uhura)
Title: We Are Stronger Together
Author: cerulean_sky
Artist: ryuutchi
Rating: NC-17 eventually, PG-13ish for this part.
Genre/Pairing: AU, Kirk/McCoy/Uhura
Summary: Starfleet's best covert operative, James T. Kirk, is so close to finding the man who killed his father. But Leonard McCoy, an operative for the North American government, and Uhura, a mercenary even Kirk fears, are on Nero's trail as well.
Disclaimer: Didn't come up with this first. Thus: not mine, not making money. Damn.
Link to Art: Here!
Author's Notes: Beta'd by the lovely Courtney, who deserves accolades for the last minute, but totally awesome job. Second and third parts will be coming in the next day or two.
We Are Stronger Together
Kirk makes anything he wears look good, makes it look like he was born wearing it. Even though he’s never been entirely comfortable wearing a tux, he still looks damn good in it. He knows it, and the ladies across the dance floor know it, and, well, yeah. He knows they know it, too. He shoots them a cocky grin, which sends them into titters (and creates a small argument over which one of them, exactly, he had been smiling at). He melts back into the crowd while they’re distracted with each other and vaguely picks up the sounds of their disappointment when they look up and notice he’s gone... a full three minutes later.
“Stop flirting, James,” comes the voice through his earpiece. “You have a job to do.”
Kirk almost laughs, but masks it with a flute of champagne that he snags from the tray of a passing waiter. “How do you even know that?” he murmurs, covering the movement of his lips with the glass. “You didn’t stick a camera on me while I wasn’t looking, did you?”
“Mr. Scott bypassed the security on their cameras,” the Vulcan says after a pause, and Kirk takes a moment to imagine Spock smirking-even though he’s never seen anything but stern impassivity on the Vulcan’s face-while he sees all the cameras in the hall pointed in his direction.
“The ambassador was several seconds late in leaving his hotel and, given current traffic, he will arrive no earlier than seven point four-two minutes from now.”
Kirk grins into his champagne glass as he takes another sip. “Several seconds? Spock, are you slipping?”
“Twenty-seven precisely. Focus, James. There may be others who are after the same target and you cannot afford to lose the data.”
That’s enough to make Kirk’s light mood vanish and his eyes sharpen. “You hacked their security cameras, so keep an eye on all the arrivals,” he says. “Let me know if anyone suspicious walks in.”
There is a long moment of silence. “Affirmative.”
+++
Uhura arrives on the arm of one of the Andorian ambassador’s aides and gets past security without the slightest hitch. She steps through the scanner and smiles charmingly as the guard on the other side hands back her clutch. The smile he offers in return is just a little bit dopey-and her smile widens in an almost predatory manner.
When her companion offers her an arm, she takes it graciously and they sweep off into the crowd.
Once inside the great hall, she detaches herself from the Andorian-who goes to fetch them drinks-and she turns her attention to the press of bodies around her. Her eyes take in each person with no more than a quick glance, nothing that would make anyone thing that she was looking at them in particular, barely noticing when her companion returns and puts a flute of champage in her hand. But when her eyes land on a flash of green skin, she smiles to herself and makes her excuse to her date before making her way towards the green-skinned woman.
“Gaila,” Uhura says, pleasure obvious in her voice. Gaila turns at her name and makes a gleeful noise that Uhura privately thinks is somewhat unbecoming in a room full of diplomats and other representatives from across the universe. Still, she smiles and returns the hug that the Orion woman gives her.
There is no need to ask if Gaila brought what Uhura had asked her for; she can feel the slim shape of the blade cold against the skin of her lower back. And Uhura certainly isn’t going to ask how her friend had snuck it in. She gives Gaila a smirk and watches as her eyes start to sparkle dangerously.
“Come on, honey,” Gaila says, and slips her arm through Uhura’s. “Let’s mingle.”
+++
Across the hall, Kirk ducks behind a column, trying not to choke on a canapé. The Orion woman had caught his eye as soon as she’d walked in, but about the last thing he had expected was for Uhura to suddenly appear at her elbow and embrace her like a long lost friend. James Kirk is not a man generally given to panic. He’s one of Starfleet’s best covert operatives, and even though they don’t always like his methods, they like his results: he’s never failed to get a job done. Even given all that, he might be the only person who’s ever faced Uhura and lived. But he has a terrible feeling that his extraordinarily impressive streak is about to be broken.
He knows what she’s capable of-he has a file full of exploits that he can’t prove are hers, but he knows have to be, given her style-and at that moment, he believes he knows exactly why she’s there.
Kirk flees. In as dignified a fashion as he can.
“James, what are you doing? The ambassador will be arriving in two point three-seven minutes.” Spock’s voice comes across the line, and Kirk knows then that Spock doesn’t have a clue about the wrench that’s been hurled into their carefully laid out plan. Normally Kirk would relish the opportunity to enjoy the Vulcan’s amusing reaction to well-laid plans going awry, but he just can’t seem to feel it.
“When you said ‘others’ I thought you meant other governments, not ruthless mercenaries.”
“That is precisely what I meant,” Spock says, and if Kirk didn’t know better, he would say that the Vulcan sounded concerned. “Why?”
Kirk makes a soft noise, as if pained, and ignores the strange looks that five or six of the other guests shoot him. “When was the last time I updated my will?” he asked instead of answering, only half joking.
“That is not amusing, Mister Kirk,” Spock says severely.
“Oh, trust me, I’m not laughing.” Kirk peers around the pillar carefully, spotting the woman easily across the ballroom. “Oh, I’m so going to die.”
“James.” It’s just one word, just his name, but it’s enough. Spock almost sounds worried. Maybe. Possibly.
“Remember that woman I met three years ago in that bar?” Kirk asks, leaning back against the column. His eyes focus on some vague point in the air as he remembers the encounter.
“With the sheer amount of women you meet, much less-” and here Spock pauses and Kirk knows he looking for a way to put it delicately. He mouths much less fuck, knowing Spock will see it in the cameras that are no doubt trained on him. “Much less associate with, you will have to be somewhat more specific.”
“The one who tried to kill me,” Kirk says, wincing a little at just the memory. The silence on the line tells him this still isn’t specific enough-and that probably says something really terrible about his relationships. “She the only one who nearly succeeded,” he clarifies again.
“Ah,” Spock replies. “Yes, I remember the incident. And I read your report.”
Kirk wants to heave a sigh of frustration, but instead he peeks around the pillar again. “Blue dress, hair up. She’s with an Orion.” And that’s something to look into, he mentally notes. “Plus, she came in with an Andorian aide. Look him up, too, while you’re at it.”
There’s a pause while Spock reviews the camera’s Scotty hacked them into, and Kirk tries not to tap his foot impatiently. When Spock does speak again, Kirk is absolutely certain he’s not imagining the note of concern in the Vulcan’s voice. He lowers his estimation of his chances of surviving the night accordingly. “We are unable to get a clear view of her face. In any of the cameras.”
“Shit,” Kirk hisses emphatically. “She knows where all of them are.”
“That seems likely, yes.”
“If she knows I’m here, she might react badly.” Kirk actually has to pause and consider that. “Okay, no. Let me rephrase that. If she sees me, she’s going to try and finish the job she started three years ago.”
“I will never understand what you do to these women to provoke such volatile reactions in them,” Spock says mildly, and if it were anyone else, Kirk would have said they were holding back laughter.
“How about we just focus on getting the data which, oh by the way, she’s definitely here for, hm?”
+++
Only four months previous Counsellor Pike made Leonard McCoy his private secretary, and since then Leonard had spent a significant portion of his working hours planning, arranging and orchestrating this particular event. This particular job was three years in the making-when the known universe is as big as it is, getting two people in the same room can take much longer than four years. Leonard counts himself lucky.
“Well done as always,” the Counsellor says, coming up behind him. He turns, and not for the first time he feels fondness for the man he’s been working for these past four years. “As usual, you’ve thought of everything.”
“Indeed. And your wife had a talk with the staff, sir. None of the servers will give you anything she hasn’t approved for your diet.” Leonard manages to keep a straight face while he relays this, but the face Pike pulls makes him smile.
“That is hardly fair. I’m the Counsellor, not her.”
Leonard nearly laughs. “Honestly sir, the staff is more terrified of her than they’ve ever been of you.”
“You and Number One,” he says ruefully, but not without some amusement since he knows it’s true. “Neither of you want me to have any fun.”
“Not if we can help it, sir.”
The Counsellor snorts, and moves away to mingle with the rest of his guests. Leonard is almost entirely sure that he has no idea that one of his close friends is conspiring to hide a galactic war criminal.
In his pocket, Leonard’s comm chirps. When he pulls it out, the message on it lets him know that the ambassador’s shuttle has arrived. Pocketing it again, he turns back to look at the entrance, looking for the ambassador and his wife. From behind a pillar and in the center of the dance floor, Kirk and Uhura turn their attention to the entrance as well, waiting as their target walks in.
+++
Kirk would later describe the rest of the diplomatic ball as “a fucking cluster fuck.” (Which, Spock would calmly remind him as always, was not actually a technical term, not was it likely to become one no matter how many memos he sent to Starfleet Command.) And, if asked, Uhura and Leonard would have agreed.
To pretty much everyone’s surprise (and no little annoyance), Kirk got to the man and his wife first, and spent a good twenty minutes charming the pair of them before whisking the man’s wife-a younger and prettier woman than the man deserved named Anya-onto the dance floor. From there, switching her necklace for a fake was a piece of cake. (And really, when would people realize that putting a datachip in a necklace around a pretty woman’s neck was not only a seriously old trick, but it only made people look at it more. And no matter how well you disguised it, someone was bound to notice.)
Keeping a hold of the necklace was when everything went to shit.
It was a little like musical chairs, except with dance partners and way less fun. Uhura and her partner cut in to Kirk’s dance, and suddenly Kirk was faced with a woman who had tried, and almost succeeded, to kill him. But Kirk was right to be paranoid: Uhura did try to kill him again while they danced, though with more subtlety this time than than she had in the bar three years ago. He would have missed what he assumed to be a poisoned needle in her ring entirely, if not for the poor dancing of Uhura’s date.
“I’m actually impressed,” Kirk said, smiling too much for a man who’s life might have been in imminent danger. Uhura gave her wrist an experimental tug, but it stayed secure in the man’s grip, poison well away from his skin.
“I’m glad you’re finding this amusing,” she replied, returning his smile. And not even Kirk’s excellent intuition warned him about the switchblade she produced and stabbed into his thigh with a speed he hadn’t known she had.
(It was still impressive, he thought grudgingly, but a hell of a lot more painful.)
Glaring at her, he yanked the knife out, flicked it closed, and pocketed it. The two of them half wrestled, half danced-and managed somehow to make it look good-for a solid two minutes. When she pulled away and stalked off, he was too busy being grateful to be alive to notice anything was wrong.
Kirk only noticed the necklace was gone when one of the girls from earlier ran her hands over his chest.
+++
Uhura didn’t get far with the necklace, though. She wasn’t even off the dance floor when strong arms pulled her back into the dance. She nearly told the man off-she opened her mouth and took a deep breath to do it-but he had beaten her to the punch.
“That was a pretty nice lift you did there,” Leonard said, and Uhura narrowed her eyes. She could count the times she’d been caught at pickpocketing on one hand and have fingers left over. Those young men were still on the missing persons lists, she knew. Leonard McCoy-her brain supplied the name with the ease of someone who has honed their memory into just another sharp-edged weapon-hadn’t backed down from her hostility. Even more annoying, he only looked amused. She nearly went for her knife before she remembered that she’d left it with Kirk.
Instead, she smiled. The same disarming charming smile she’d used on the guard. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Leonard returned the smile (which, to be totally honest though she would rather die than admit to anyone, was more than a little off putting) and stopped. Just stopped in the middle of the dance, in the middle of the dance floor and pulled away from her.
“I’m sure.” And then he had walked away.
Six minutes later, she realized that he’d lifted the necklace from her. Gaila, absolutely no help at all, actually laughed at the expression on her face.
Author: cerulean_sky
Artist: ryuutchi
Rating: NC-17 eventually, PG-13ish for this part.
Genre/Pairing: AU, Kirk/McCoy/Uhura
Summary: Starfleet's best covert operative, James T. Kirk, is so close to finding the man who killed his father. But Leonard McCoy, an operative for the North American government, and Uhura, a mercenary even Kirk fears, are on Nero's trail as well.
Disclaimer: Didn't come up with this first. Thus: not mine, not making money. Damn.
Link to Art: Here!
Author's Notes: Beta'd by the lovely Courtney, who deserves accolades for the last minute, but totally awesome job. Second and third parts will be coming in the next day or two.
We Are Stronger Together
Kirk makes anything he wears look good, makes it look like he was born wearing it. Even though he’s never been entirely comfortable wearing a tux, he still looks damn good in it. He knows it, and the ladies across the dance floor know it, and, well, yeah. He knows they know it, too. He shoots them a cocky grin, which sends them into titters (and creates a small argument over which one of them, exactly, he had been smiling at). He melts back into the crowd while they’re distracted with each other and vaguely picks up the sounds of their disappointment when they look up and notice he’s gone... a full three minutes later.
“Stop flirting, James,” comes the voice through his earpiece. “You have a job to do.”
Kirk almost laughs, but masks it with a flute of champagne that he snags from the tray of a passing waiter. “How do you even know that?” he murmurs, covering the movement of his lips with the glass. “You didn’t stick a camera on me while I wasn’t looking, did you?”
“Mr. Scott bypassed the security on their cameras,” the Vulcan says after a pause, and Kirk takes a moment to imagine Spock smirking-even though he’s never seen anything but stern impassivity on the Vulcan’s face-while he sees all the cameras in the hall pointed in his direction.
“The ambassador was several seconds late in leaving his hotel and, given current traffic, he will arrive no earlier than seven point four-two minutes from now.”
Kirk grins into his champagne glass as he takes another sip. “Several seconds? Spock, are you slipping?”
“Twenty-seven precisely. Focus, James. There may be others who are after the same target and you cannot afford to lose the data.”
That’s enough to make Kirk’s light mood vanish and his eyes sharpen. “You hacked their security cameras, so keep an eye on all the arrivals,” he says. “Let me know if anyone suspicious walks in.”
There is a long moment of silence. “Affirmative.”
+++
Uhura arrives on the arm of one of the Andorian ambassador’s aides and gets past security without the slightest hitch. She steps through the scanner and smiles charmingly as the guard on the other side hands back her clutch. The smile he offers in return is just a little bit dopey-and her smile widens in an almost predatory manner.
When her companion offers her an arm, she takes it graciously and they sweep off into the crowd.
Once inside the great hall, she detaches herself from the Andorian-who goes to fetch them drinks-and she turns her attention to the press of bodies around her. Her eyes take in each person with no more than a quick glance, nothing that would make anyone thing that she was looking at them in particular, barely noticing when her companion returns and puts a flute of champage in her hand. But when her eyes land on a flash of green skin, she smiles to herself and makes her excuse to her date before making her way towards the green-skinned woman.
“Gaila,” Uhura says, pleasure obvious in her voice. Gaila turns at her name and makes a gleeful noise that Uhura privately thinks is somewhat unbecoming in a room full of diplomats and other representatives from across the universe. Still, she smiles and returns the hug that the Orion woman gives her.
There is no need to ask if Gaila brought what Uhura had asked her for; she can feel the slim shape of the blade cold against the skin of her lower back. And Uhura certainly isn’t going to ask how her friend had snuck it in. She gives Gaila a smirk and watches as her eyes start to sparkle dangerously.
“Come on, honey,” Gaila says, and slips her arm through Uhura’s. “Let’s mingle.”
+++
Across the hall, Kirk ducks behind a column, trying not to choke on a canapé. The Orion woman had caught his eye as soon as she’d walked in, but about the last thing he had expected was for Uhura to suddenly appear at her elbow and embrace her like a long lost friend. James Kirk is not a man generally given to panic. He’s one of Starfleet’s best covert operatives, and even though they don’t always like his methods, they like his results: he’s never failed to get a job done. Even given all that, he might be the only person who’s ever faced Uhura and lived. But he has a terrible feeling that his extraordinarily impressive streak is about to be broken.
He knows what she’s capable of-he has a file full of exploits that he can’t prove are hers, but he knows have to be, given her style-and at that moment, he believes he knows exactly why she’s there.
Kirk flees. In as dignified a fashion as he can.
“James, what are you doing? The ambassador will be arriving in two point three-seven minutes.” Spock’s voice comes across the line, and Kirk knows then that Spock doesn’t have a clue about the wrench that’s been hurled into their carefully laid out plan. Normally Kirk would relish the opportunity to enjoy the Vulcan’s amusing reaction to well-laid plans going awry, but he just can’t seem to feel it.
“When you said ‘others’ I thought you meant other governments, not ruthless mercenaries.”
“That is precisely what I meant,” Spock says, and if Kirk didn’t know better, he would say that the Vulcan sounded concerned. “Why?”
Kirk makes a soft noise, as if pained, and ignores the strange looks that five or six of the other guests shoot him. “When was the last time I updated my will?” he asked instead of answering, only half joking.
“That is not amusing, Mister Kirk,” Spock says severely.
“Oh, trust me, I’m not laughing.” Kirk peers around the pillar carefully, spotting the woman easily across the ballroom. “Oh, I’m so going to die.”
“James.” It’s just one word, just his name, but it’s enough. Spock almost sounds worried. Maybe. Possibly.
“Remember that woman I met three years ago in that bar?” Kirk asks, leaning back against the column. His eyes focus on some vague point in the air as he remembers the encounter.
“With the sheer amount of women you meet, much less-” and here Spock pauses and Kirk knows he looking for a way to put it delicately. He mouths much less fuck, knowing Spock will see it in the cameras that are no doubt trained on him. “Much less associate with, you will have to be somewhat more specific.”
“The one who tried to kill me,” Kirk says, wincing a little at just the memory. The silence on the line tells him this still isn’t specific enough-and that probably says something really terrible about his relationships. “She the only one who nearly succeeded,” he clarifies again.
“Ah,” Spock replies. “Yes, I remember the incident. And I read your report.”
Kirk wants to heave a sigh of frustration, but instead he peeks around the pillar again. “Blue dress, hair up. She’s with an Orion.” And that’s something to look into, he mentally notes. “Plus, she came in with an Andorian aide. Look him up, too, while you’re at it.”
There’s a pause while Spock reviews the camera’s Scotty hacked them into, and Kirk tries not to tap his foot impatiently. When Spock does speak again, Kirk is absolutely certain he’s not imagining the note of concern in the Vulcan’s voice. He lowers his estimation of his chances of surviving the night accordingly. “We are unable to get a clear view of her face. In any of the cameras.”
“Shit,” Kirk hisses emphatically. “She knows where all of them are.”
“That seems likely, yes.”
“If she knows I’m here, she might react badly.” Kirk actually has to pause and consider that. “Okay, no. Let me rephrase that. If she sees me, she’s going to try and finish the job she started three years ago.”
“I will never understand what you do to these women to provoke such volatile reactions in them,” Spock says mildly, and if it were anyone else, Kirk would have said they were holding back laughter.
“How about we just focus on getting the data which, oh by the way, she’s definitely here for, hm?”
+++
Only four months previous Counsellor Pike made Leonard McCoy his private secretary, and since then Leonard had spent a significant portion of his working hours planning, arranging and orchestrating this particular event. This particular job was three years in the making-when the known universe is as big as it is, getting two people in the same room can take much longer than four years. Leonard counts himself lucky.
“Well done as always,” the Counsellor says, coming up behind him. He turns, and not for the first time he feels fondness for the man he’s been working for these past four years. “As usual, you’ve thought of everything.”
“Indeed. And your wife had a talk with the staff, sir. None of the servers will give you anything she hasn’t approved for your diet.” Leonard manages to keep a straight face while he relays this, but the face Pike pulls makes him smile.
“That is hardly fair. I’m the Counsellor, not her.”
Leonard nearly laughs. “Honestly sir, the staff is more terrified of her than they’ve ever been of you.”
“You and Number One,” he says ruefully, but not without some amusement since he knows it’s true. “Neither of you want me to have any fun.”
“Not if we can help it, sir.”
The Counsellor snorts, and moves away to mingle with the rest of his guests. Leonard is almost entirely sure that he has no idea that one of his close friends is conspiring to hide a galactic war criminal.
In his pocket, Leonard’s comm chirps. When he pulls it out, the message on it lets him know that the ambassador’s shuttle has arrived. Pocketing it again, he turns back to look at the entrance, looking for the ambassador and his wife. From behind a pillar and in the center of the dance floor, Kirk and Uhura turn their attention to the entrance as well, waiting as their target walks in.
+++
Kirk would later describe the rest of the diplomatic ball as “a fucking cluster fuck.” (Which, Spock would calmly remind him as always, was not actually a technical term, not was it likely to become one no matter how many memos he sent to Starfleet Command.) And, if asked, Uhura and Leonard would have agreed.
To pretty much everyone’s surprise (and no little annoyance), Kirk got to the man and his wife first, and spent a good twenty minutes charming the pair of them before whisking the man’s wife-a younger and prettier woman than the man deserved named Anya-onto the dance floor. From there, switching her necklace for a fake was a piece of cake. (And really, when would people realize that putting a datachip in a necklace around a pretty woman’s neck was not only a seriously old trick, but it only made people look at it more. And no matter how well you disguised it, someone was bound to notice.)
Keeping a hold of the necklace was when everything went to shit.
It was a little like musical chairs, except with dance partners and way less fun. Uhura and her partner cut in to Kirk’s dance, and suddenly Kirk was faced with a woman who had tried, and almost succeeded, to kill him. But Kirk was right to be paranoid: Uhura did try to kill him again while they danced, though with more subtlety this time than than she had in the bar three years ago. He would have missed what he assumed to be a poisoned needle in her ring entirely, if not for the poor dancing of Uhura’s date.
“I’m actually impressed,” Kirk said, smiling too much for a man who’s life might have been in imminent danger. Uhura gave her wrist an experimental tug, but it stayed secure in the man’s grip, poison well away from his skin.
“I’m glad you’re finding this amusing,” she replied, returning his smile. And not even Kirk’s excellent intuition warned him about the switchblade she produced and stabbed into his thigh with a speed he hadn’t known she had.
(It was still impressive, he thought grudgingly, but a hell of a lot more painful.)
Glaring at her, he yanked the knife out, flicked it closed, and pocketed it. The two of them half wrestled, half danced-and managed somehow to make it look good-for a solid two minutes. When she pulled away and stalked off, he was too busy being grateful to be alive to notice anything was wrong.
Kirk only noticed the necklace was gone when one of the girls from earlier ran her hands over his chest.
+++
Uhura didn’t get far with the necklace, though. She wasn’t even off the dance floor when strong arms pulled her back into the dance. She nearly told the man off-she opened her mouth and took a deep breath to do it-but he had beaten her to the punch.
“That was a pretty nice lift you did there,” Leonard said, and Uhura narrowed her eyes. She could count the times she’d been caught at pickpocketing on one hand and have fingers left over. Those young men were still on the missing persons lists, she knew. Leonard McCoy-her brain supplied the name with the ease of someone who has honed their memory into just another sharp-edged weapon-hadn’t backed down from her hostility. Even more annoying, he only looked amused. She nearly went for her knife before she remembered that she’d left it with Kirk.
Instead, she smiled. The same disarming charming smile she’d used on the guard. “I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Leonard returned the smile (which, to be totally honest though she would rather die than admit to anyone, was more than a little off putting) and stopped. Just stopped in the middle of the dance, in the middle of the dance floor and pulled away from her.
“I’m sure.” And then he had walked away.
Six minutes later, she realized that he’d lifted the necklace from her. Gaila, absolutely no help at all, actually laughed at the expression on her face.