Fic: "Nine Years Later," Chapter 7/7
Title: Nine Years Later, Chapter 7 of 7
Summary: Pike/One Regency AU.
Pairing: Pike/One, Kirk/McCoy, Spock/Uhura
Rating: PG for this chapter
Content Advisory: More historical angst regarding homosexuality.
Word Count: This chapter, about 2300; 23,657 total.
Notes: Please go here for the full header.
Chapter 7
In which there are many auspicious beginnings
Riverside House, Patterson House, and somewhere in Naples
Monday morning
McCoy’d spent the rest of the afternoon and evening with Joanna, ignoring anyone else in the house and putting his conversation with Jamie as far from his mind as possible. When Miss Colton had returned to check on her charge, he’d given her the evening off with, he thought, no vitriol or judgment. She’d thanked him profusely and left the nursery.
After Joanna had fallen asleep, he’d gone down to his rooms and spent the rest of the evening with a bottle of French brandy, seeking oblivion. He woke up some hours later with an aching head, and doused his head with water, hoping that would help. It didn’t, but toast and tea did, and he felt somewhat human by the time he went down to the library to retrieve some paper.
He probably should have known that Jamie would be in there, working on something at his desk. McCoy stopped a foot or so past the door, and Jamie looked up and gave him a tight smile. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” McCoy echoed.
“How’s Joanna?” Jamie asked.
“She’s well,” McCoy said, edging into the room. Well, he was here. He might as well be polite. “What are ye workin’ on?” And there was the burr of his accent again. He swallowed.
Jamie sighed. “A bill.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Kit’s exhortations finally got to me.”
“Ah,” McCoy said. He knew better than to push Jamie about his father, but that meant the bill was probably regarding the abolition of slavery.
“Have you seen Miss Colton?” Jamie asked, as he blotted the paper he’d been using and set it aside.
“Not yet this morning,” McCoy said.
“She’s still worried that you’re going to put her out. I’ve temporarily installed Miss Barry in one of the guest suites, by the way.”
McCoy sighed. “Jamie, I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
“Why?” Jamie asked, his face serious, his voice low and even. “Because she’s a sinner?” He stood. “I suppose you’ll have to kick me out, too, McCoy, for I’m a sinner as well. And if I’m not mistaken, you’ve forgotten to keep a few Sabbath days holy, which makes you a sinner as well.”
“It’s-“ He wet his lips. “It’s not the same thing.”
“That’s not for you to decide, McCoy,” Jamie said, coming out from behind his desk. He leaned a hip up against the front and crossed his arms in front of him.
McCoy blinked. Jamie was right-it wasn’t for him to decide. He’d-he’d have to consider that for a while. “How long?” he asked.
“How long what?” Jamie asked.
“How long have you been-”
“-Like this?” Jamie finished, a twist to his lips. “Longer than you’ve known me, McCoy. Perhaps since I was born, since I can’t see that God made me any other way.”
“But you-you make love to so many women.”
“I like women,” Jamie said. “I like talking with them; I like interacting with them; I like flattering them, to see them smile. But it never goes any further.”
“Perhaps you just haven’t-”
“Met the right lady?” Jamie laughed bitterly. “Oh, McCoy. Give me some credit.”
It did sound ridiculous, now that he thought of it-that one could conceive of one’s self being attracted to men because one hadn’t met the right woman. Not being attracted to women wasn’t in the least the same thing as being attracted to men. McCoy gave a reluctant half-smile. “Sorry, Jamie.”
“It’s fine,” he said, with an indeterminate gesture. “I understand this is all new and strange to you but it isn’t, it so very isn’t, to me.”
“How did I not know?” McCoy asked, at least half of himself.
Jamie shrugged. “I’m good at hiding it. I’ve had lots of practice. But that wasn’t what you were asking, was it?”
No. No, it wasn’t. Because frankly, what he’d been drinking to try to forget was that if Jamie was-was like that, it meant that what he’d been carefully not contemplating had moved out of the theoretical and into the realm of possible. Very possible, if Jamie’s touch on the back of his hand was any indication.
It wasn’t his place to judge, and they’d all been made in His image, hadn’t they? Hadn’t they?
Good God, he was in love with his best friend. His male best friend, who-well, who might even-
“I have to go,” he blurted out, and high-tailed it back to his rooms, where he very manfully did not throw up, although it was a close call. He leaned against the door and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. No, no, no.
A knock came at his door a moment or two later, and he jumped a foot in the air. Turning around, he opened the door, and Miss Colton stood there, wringing her hands. “Miss Colton,” he said.
“Lieutenant McCoy, sir,” she said.
“Mr. McCoy,” he corrected absently. “Did you need something, Miss Colton? Is Joanna all right?”
“Oh, no, Joanna’s fine,” she said, and paused. “I wanted to thank you for not turning me out immediately,” she said, all in a rush, a hint of an Irish lilt coming out where it never had before. “It was a moment of weakness and it’ll never happen again, sir.”
She looked truly miserable as she said the last, and McCoy frowned. “I don’t seem to remember that your employment was contingent on you not having any friends,” he said, after a moment or two.
Miss Colton nervously pushed back a strand of hair that had come out of her bun. “But, sir, we’re-”
“You may be friends with whomever you choose, Miss Colton,” he said, interrupting gently. “It’s none of my business, as long as it doesn’t impact your behavior while you are around my daughter.”
“It won’t, sir. Thank you, sir.” She looked up at him with wide eyes. “Thank you so much, sir.” Another pause, and she said, “I hope you . . .”
“You hope what, Miss Colton?” he said, his tone acid and his hands shaking. He clenched the door frame to make them stop.
“Nothing, sir,” she said, ducking her head and escaping.
McCoy closed the door again and went to his sitting room, dropping heavily into a chair and leaning his forearms on his thighs.
* * *
At precisely ten Monday morning, significantly too early for a proper social visit, Christopher Pike, Baron Prescott, presented himself at Patterson House to speak to the Earl of Patterson. Eve’s father admitted him right away, and said, “We’ve been here before, haven’t we, Lord Prescott?”
“We have, my lord.”
“I presume this time you’ve actually spoken to my daughter regarding whether she will or will not marry you.”
“I have, my lord, and she has answered in the affirmative.”
“She did tell me as much over breakfast,” Lord Patterson said, leaning back in his chair. “Special license or banns?”
“Whichever Lady Eve prefers, my lord,” Christopher said. He had a special license in his pocket just in case; had gotten it weeks ago, even when there seemed to be no possibility of her ever speaking to him again.
“All right. Terms the same as before?”
“I would marry her if she came with nothing, my lord,” he said, speaking nothing but the truth.
Lord Patterson frowned. “She comes with twenty thousand, same as the other three. I’ll not dishonor my eldest daughter by suggesting she is worth any less.” He tapped the table. “Besides, unless the military pays better than I think, you’ll need it.”
“Ah, we won’t, actually,” Christopher said. “I’ve made some investments that paid off handsomely, and the military does pay tolerably if one is an officer, and if one has nowhere to spend it.”
Lord Patterson looked at him skeptically, and he produced a piece of paper. “Here is the most recent accounting of my estates,” he said, placing it on the desk.
Lord Patterson took a look at it and said, “This is much improved from the last conversation we had. Well done, Christopher. Apparently your gamble paid off.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Not that you need it anymore, but you have my permission to marry Evie, and you’d probably better go tell her so before she bursts into the room.” Lord Patterson stood, with a grin, and held out his hand. “Welcome to the family, Christopher, even if it took quite a while.”
“Thank you, my lord.” He couldn’t stop the smile from spreading over his face, even as he shook his future father-in-law’s hand and left the room.
Eve was standing right outside, as fresh and lovely as if she’d not been sneaking around Mayfair the night before. She looked at him expectantly, although he was still smiling, and he said, “Did you have any reason to think he would deny me?”
She returned the smile, and a moment later she was in his arms, kissing him as if he were about to disappear. “Special license,” she murmured in his ear. “Absolutely by special license.”
* * *
An hour later, McCoy had come to no conclusions, but he knew he could not leave the situation with Jamie as it was. He hauled himself out of his chair and forced himself to go downstairs.
Jamie was still in the library, still poring over his bill. The light from the window behind him made his hair glow golden, and limned the edges of his cheekbones as he looked up. “Hello, old man,” he said, a hint of their usual camaraderie in his voice.
“Jamie,” McCoy said.
“Still coming with me to Macclesfield’s tonight?”
“Yes,” he said. “Are you going to dance with Lady Christine tonight?” He smiled this time, to show that it was a joke.
“Perhaps,” Jamie said, lounging in his chair. “If she’s wearing pink.”
“She does look lovely in pink,” McCoy said. The banter was oddly soothing.
A scratch came at the door, and Jamie called for the footman to enter. He did, delivering a single folded sheet of paper to Jamie and returning to wait by the door.
Jamie unfolded the paper and read it, his face lighting up into his wide signature grin. “It’s from Kit,” he said, holding it out to McCoy. He nodded to the footman, who left.
McCoy came over, took the note, and looked at it. There were only three words on the page, in Lord Prescott’s messy scrawl: She said yes!
“Finally,” he said, affecting a displeased tone and setting the paper back on the desk.
Jamie laughed, bright and open, and came out from behind the desk to lean against the front of it again, mere inches away from McCoy, his arms crossed loosely. “I wonder how exactly that came about. She barely spoke to him during supper at the Bridgertons’.”
McCoy shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll tell us later.” Jamie was so close by, and his brain was clamoring simultaneously to shift to close the distance and to back away. He remained, frozen in place.
“Oh, do you think he’ll have any free time?” Jamie turned his head to look at him, and-his eyes were blue as spring skies, which intellectually McCoy had always known, but the fact hit him like a blow to the gut, with an accompanying stab of arousal that he could no longer deny.
“I don’t know,” he said eventually, his voice gravelly. He coughed and looked down. “I would guess that Lady Eve can plan an entire wedding by herself, without his assistance, in a single afternoon.”
“Probably,” Jamie agreed. He uncrossed his arms and rested his hands against the edge of the desk, staring across the room absently. “Nonetheless, I’ll write him and offer our congratulations and assistance.” He made no move to return behind his desk, despite his words.
“Yes,” McCoy said, and took a deep breath. Lightly, almost hesitantly, he brushed the fingers of his left hand over the back of Jamie’s right hand before settling it into place right next to the younger man’s hand.
Jamie sucked in a breath, looked down at their hands, and then back up. “McCoy, don’t-“ He stopped.
Greatly daring, McCoy said, “I know I’m not wearing pink, but would you care to dance, Lord Riverside?” He held out a hand.
Jamie looked at McCoy’s hand, looked back at his face, and laughed joyfully. He took McCoy’s hand and swung into waltz position, a proper society distance between them. “Pink’s not your color,” he said. “Blue, now, there’s your color.”
“Is that why you keep offering to lend me blue coats?” Jamie’s back was warm under his hand, and although his stomach was still roiling, McCoy was-happy.
“Maybe,” Jamie demurred, and they both laughed.
* * *
Three weeks after the opera gala, Alexander Grayson, Lord Spockton, arrived in Naples, Italy, to discover if it would be an acceptable location for the foreign base of an import/export business. He spent the first two days there setting himself up in his new apartments, which had a lovely view of the Royal Garden. He spent the next three days vetting business contacts he’d gleaned from his acquaintances in London in the afternoons, the mornings exploring the museums and parks, and the evenings in the opera halls. Naples was a lovely city, even without the added attraction of one of its residents.
On the sixth day, he sent his card over to the villa of Signora Marchesi with a short note explaining his business in town and that he hoped they would encounter each other socially.
Not two hours later, he received an invitation for dinner the following night, and a small smile curved his lips.
-fin-
Master Post
Summary: Pike/One Regency AU.
Pairing: Pike/One, Kirk/McCoy, Spock/Uhura
Rating: PG for this chapter
Content Advisory: More historical angst regarding homosexuality.
Word Count: This chapter, about 2300; 23,657 total.
Notes: Please go here for the full header.
Chapter 7
In which there are many auspicious beginnings
Riverside House, Patterson House, and somewhere in Naples
Monday morning
McCoy’d spent the rest of the afternoon and evening with Joanna, ignoring anyone else in the house and putting his conversation with Jamie as far from his mind as possible. When Miss Colton had returned to check on her charge, he’d given her the evening off with, he thought, no vitriol or judgment. She’d thanked him profusely and left the nursery.
After Joanna had fallen asleep, he’d gone down to his rooms and spent the rest of the evening with a bottle of French brandy, seeking oblivion. He woke up some hours later with an aching head, and doused his head with water, hoping that would help. It didn’t, but toast and tea did, and he felt somewhat human by the time he went down to the library to retrieve some paper.
He probably should have known that Jamie would be in there, working on something at his desk. McCoy stopped a foot or so past the door, and Jamie looked up and gave him a tight smile. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” McCoy echoed.
“How’s Joanna?” Jamie asked.
“She’s well,” McCoy said, edging into the room. Well, he was here. He might as well be polite. “What are ye workin’ on?” And there was the burr of his accent again. He swallowed.
Jamie sighed. “A bill.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Kit’s exhortations finally got to me.”
“Ah,” McCoy said. He knew better than to push Jamie about his father, but that meant the bill was probably regarding the abolition of slavery.
“Have you seen Miss Colton?” Jamie asked, as he blotted the paper he’d been using and set it aside.
“Not yet this morning,” McCoy said.
“She’s still worried that you’re going to put her out. I’ve temporarily installed Miss Barry in one of the guest suites, by the way.”
McCoy sighed. “Jamie, I haven’t made up my mind yet.”
“Why?” Jamie asked, his face serious, his voice low and even. “Because she’s a sinner?” He stood. “I suppose you’ll have to kick me out, too, McCoy, for I’m a sinner as well. And if I’m not mistaken, you’ve forgotten to keep a few Sabbath days holy, which makes you a sinner as well.”
“It’s-“ He wet his lips. “It’s not the same thing.”
“That’s not for you to decide, McCoy,” Jamie said, coming out from behind his desk. He leaned a hip up against the front and crossed his arms in front of him.
McCoy blinked. Jamie was right-it wasn’t for him to decide. He’d-he’d have to consider that for a while. “How long?” he asked.
“How long what?” Jamie asked.
“How long have you been-”
“-Like this?” Jamie finished, a twist to his lips. “Longer than you’ve known me, McCoy. Perhaps since I was born, since I can’t see that God made me any other way.”
“But you-you make love to so many women.”
“I like women,” Jamie said. “I like talking with them; I like interacting with them; I like flattering them, to see them smile. But it never goes any further.”
“Perhaps you just haven’t-”
“Met the right lady?” Jamie laughed bitterly. “Oh, McCoy. Give me some credit.”
It did sound ridiculous, now that he thought of it-that one could conceive of one’s self being attracted to men because one hadn’t met the right woman. Not being attracted to women wasn’t in the least the same thing as being attracted to men. McCoy gave a reluctant half-smile. “Sorry, Jamie.”
“It’s fine,” he said, with an indeterminate gesture. “I understand this is all new and strange to you but it isn’t, it so very isn’t, to me.”
“How did I not know?” McCoy asked, at least half of himself.
Jamie shrugged. “I’m good at hiding it. I’ve had lots of practice. But that wasn’t what you were asking, was it?”
No. No, it wasn’t. Because frankly, what he’d been drinking to try to forget was that if Jamie was-was like that, it meant that what he’d been carefully not contemplating had moved out of the theoretical and into the realm of possible. Very possible, if Jamie’s touch on the back of his hand was any indication.
It wasn’t his place to judge, and they’d all been made in His image, hadn’t they? Hadn’t they?
Good God, he was in love with his best friend. His male best friend, who-well, who might even-
“I have to go,” he blurted out, and high-tailed it back to his rooms, where he very manfully did not throw up, although it was a close call. He leaned against the door and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. No, no, no.
A knock came at his door a moment or two later, and he jumped a foot in the air. Turning around, he opened the door, and Miss Colton stood there, wringing her hands. “Miss Colton,” he said.
“Lieutenant McCoy, sir,” she said.
“Mr. McCoy,” he corrected absently. “Did you need something, Miss Colton? Is Joanna all right?”
“Oh, no, Joanna’s fine,” she said, and paused. “I wanted to thank you for not turning me out immediately,” she said, all in a rush, a hint of an Irish lilt coming out where it never had before. “It was a moment of weakness and it’ll never happen again, sir.”
She looked truly miserable as she said the last, and McCoy frowned. “I don’t seem to remember that your employment was contingent on you not having any friends,” he said, after a moment or two.
Miss Colton nervously pushed back a strand of hair that had come out of her bun. “But, sir, we’re-”
“You may be friends with whomever you choose, Miss Colton,” he said, interrupting gently. “It’s none of my business, as long as it doesn’t impact your behavior while you are around my daughter.”
“It won’t, sir. Thank you, sir.” She looked up at him with wide eyes. “Thank you so much, sir.” Another pause, and she said, “I hope you . . .”
“You hope what, Miss Colton?” he said, his tone acid and his hands shaking. He clenched the door frame to make them stop.
“Nothing, sir,” she said, ducking her head and escaping.
McCoy closed the door again and went to his sitting room, dropping heavily into a chair and leaning his forearms on his thighs.
* * *
At precisely ten Monday morning, significantly too early for a proper social visit, Christopher Pike, Baron Prescott, presented himself at Patterson House to speak to the Earl of Patterson. Eve’s father admitted him right away, and said, “We’ve been here before, haven’t we, Lord Prescott?”
“We have, my lord.”
“I presume this time you’ve actually spoken to my daughter regarding whether she will or will not marry you.”
“I have, my lord, and she has answered in the affirmative.”
“She did tell me as much over breakfast,” Lord Patterson said, leaning back in his chair. “Special license or banns?”
“Whichever Lady Eve prefers, my lord,” Christopher said. He had a special license in his pocket just in case; had gotten it weeks ago, even when there seemed to be no possibility of her ever speaking to him again.
“All right. Terms the same as before?”
“I would marry her if she came with nothing, my lord,” he said, speaking nothing but the truth.
Lord Patterson frowned. “She comes with twenty thousand, same as the other three. I’ll not dishonor my eldest daughter by suggesting she is worth any less.” He tapped the table. “Besides, unless the military pays better than I think, you’ll need it.”
“Ah, we won’t, actually,” Christopher said. “I’ve made some investments that paid off handsomely, and the military does pay tolerably if one is an officer, and if one has nowhere to spend it.”
Lord Patterson looked at him skeptically, and he produced a piece of paper. “Here is the most recent accounting of my estates,” he said, placing it on the desk.
Lord Patterson took a look at it and said, “This is much improved from the last conversation we had. Well done, Christopher. Apparently your gamble paid off.”
“Thank you, my lord.”
“Not that you need it anymore, but you have my permission to marry Evie, and you’d probably better go tell her so before she bursts into the room.” Lord Patterson stood, with a grin, and held out his hand. “Welcome to the family, Christopher, even if it took quite a while.”
“Thank you, my lord.” He couldn’t stop the smile from spreading over his face, even as he shook his future father-in-law’s hand and left the room.
Eve was standing right outside, as fresh and lovely as if she’d not been sneaking around Mayfair the night before. She looked at him expectantly, although he was still smiling, and he said, “Did you have any reason to think he would deny me?”
She returned the smile, and a moment later she was in his arms, kissing him as if he were about to disappear. “Special license,” she murmured in his ear. “Absolutely by special license.”
* * *
An hour later, McCoy had come to no conclusions, but he knew he could not leave the situation with Jamie as it was. He hauled himself out of his chair and forced himself to go downstairs.
Jamie was still in the library, still poring over his bill. The light from the window behind him made his hair glow golden, and limned the edges of his cheekbones as he looked up. “Hello, old man,” he said, a hint of their usual camaraderie in his voice.
“Jamie,” McCoy said.
“Still coming with me to Macclesfield’s tonight?”
“Yes,” he said. “Are you going to dance with Lady Christine tonight?” He smiled this time, to show that it was a joke.
“Perhaps,” Jamie said, lounging in his chair. “If she’s wearing pink.”
“She does look lovely in pink,” McCoy said. The banter was oddly soothing.
A scratch came at the door, and Jamie called for the footman to enter. He did, delivering a single folded sheet of paper to Jamie and returning to wait by the door.
Jamie unfolded the paper and read it, his face lighting up into his wide signature grin. “It’s from Kit,” he said, holding it out to McCoy. He nodded to the footman, who left.
McCoy came over, took the note, and looked at it. There were only three words on the page, in Lord Prescott’s messy scrawl: She said yes!
“Finally,” he said, affecting a displeased tone and setting the paper back on the desk.
Jamie laughed, bright and open, and came out from behind the desk to lean against the front of it again, mere inches away from McCoy, his arms crossed loosely. “I wonder how exactly that came about. She barely spoke to him during supper at the Bridgertons’.”
McCoy shrugged. “I’m sure he’ll tell us later.” Jamie was so close by, and his brain was clamoring simultaneously to shift to close the distance and to back away. He remained, frozen in place.
“Oh, do you think he’ll have any free time?” Jamie turned his head to look at him, and-his eyes were blue as spring skies, which intellectually McCoy had always known, but the fact hit him like a blow to the gut, with an accompanying stab of arousal that he could no longer deny.
“I don’t know,” he said eventually, his voice gravelly. He coughed and looked down. “I would guess that Lady Eve can plan an entire wedding by herself, without his assistance, in a single afternoon.”
“Probably,” Jamie agreed. He uncrossed his arms and rested his hands against the edge of the desk, staring across the room absently. “Nonetheless, I’ll write him and offer our congratulations and assistance.” He made no move to return behind his desk, despite his words.
“Yes,” McCoy said, and took a deep breath. Lightly, almost hesitantly, he brushed the fingers of his left hand over the back of Jamie’s right hand before settling it into place right next to the younger man’s hand.
Jamie sucked in a breath, looked down at their hands, and then back up. “McCoy, don’t-“ He stopped.
Greatly daring, McCoy said, “I know I’m not wearing pink, but would you care to dance, Lord Riverside?” He held out a hand.
Jamie looked at McCoy’s hand, looked back at his face, and laughed joyfully. He took McCoy’s hand and swung into waltz position, a proper society distance between them. “Pink’s not your color,” he said. “Blue, now, there’s your color.”
“Is that why you keep offering to lend me blue coats?” Jamie’s back was warm under his hand, and although his stomach was still roiling, McCoy was-happy.
“Maybe,” Jamie demurred, and they both laughed.
* * *
Three weeks after the opera gala, Alexander Grayson, Lord Spockton, arrived in Naples, Italy, to discover if it would be an acceptable location for the foreign base of an import/export business. He spent the first two days there setting himself up in his new apartments, which had a lovely view of the Royal Garden. He spent the next three days vetting business contacts he’d gleaned from his acquaintances in London in the afternoons, the mornings exploring the museums and parks, and the evenings in the opera halls. Naples was a lovely city, even without the added attraction of one of its residents.
On the sixth day, he sent his card over to the villa of Signora Marchesi with a short note explaining his business in town and that he hoped they would encounter each other socially.
Not two hours later, he received an invitation for dinner the following night, and a small smile curved his lips.
-fin-
Master Post