Detente

[sharpestscalpel]

It had chaffed at first. Jocelyn had left him to rot, pissed as hell about the kid. He’d mulled over vivid revenge fantasies until, the first time he saw her afterwards, he’d had to clench his fists in his pockets so they wouldn’t reach out of their own accord and settle over her fine collarbones and reel her in for a taste old-fashioned McCoy justice like spit in her eye.

But in the end, he hadn’t blamed her. She was a conniver and he hadn’t ever been as willing a participant in her scheme as she’d have liked. Jocelyn had deserved a shot a making it on her own terms. She’d taken that chance.

She hadn’t done half-bad for herself, McCoy had to admit. But then, neither had he. Especially considering where Pike had found him. Every day spent in solitary – it had worn on him, made him tired and angry and hungry for hurting things in ways he’d never been on the outside.

Pike had come, waving a shiny new medical license and a Fleet uniform, an offer too good to pass up. CMO of the Fleet’s fancy new darling of a flagship or shitting his bed out of boredom inside four walls with no windows? At least in space he’d see the stars.

The stars and pretty little officers all dressed up like they were real shitting captains. Uhura strode over to his table, tiny body full of energy and violence in a way that made her extra appealing to look at, and took the other seat without asking.

“McCoy, what the hell?” Uhura hadn’t really counted on Kirk coming back. She surveyed the emaciated man – she’d teased him about his slim hips but this was ridiculous – sitting slightly behind the doctor, watching everything from those haunted blue eyes.

Uhura was the one chaffing now, all the power she’d thought she had coming with a ride-along, circumscribed from being absolute. She had the ship. But McCoy had his sickbay. And she’d eventually need it, need him. Pike had given McCoy more than he’d expected – but he’d still fucked them both because they were stuck with each other.

“You want to make this an official conversation, we can take it back to your office… Captain.” The pause was significant, not quite insulting but certainly not currying favor.

Her headshake was minimal but definite. Their dependence on one another wasn’t known – and she’d prefer to keep it that way. McCoy had never made a play for power that Uhura knew of but he’d have all of her enemies rallying behind him if the stalemate became common knowledge.

“Kirk.” Uhura acknowledged him at least. He had his rank, she’d checked the computer records. He’d need McCoy to clear him for duty before he could set foot on the bridge and even then Uhura wasn’t about to trust the blond man. But it wasn’t entirely unpleasant to see him alive, especially if being in the good doctor’s care mean McCoy had something invested in him. There was some sort of opportunity here, she just had to sniff it out.

Comments

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

Kirk wondered if he was one of those experiments, or if McCoy--or Chapel--thought he was. He was pretty sure she was one, though.

"Yeah?" He reached for another slice, taking a moment to judge whether it was a good idea. It didn't seem to be a horrible one. "Are the fucking and breaking related, I wonder?"

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

Chapel was not an ugly woman, even with her scar. But her laugh made her ugly for a second, the brittle sound in contrast with the pink-red of her mouth, the flash of her eyes.

"Do you think he fucks me because I'm broken or that I'm broken because he fucks me?"

It was, in a truth she was careful never to consider, some of both.

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

There was a sort of coiling, visceral terror prompted by her presence that Kirk possibly should have felt with McCoy. Especially considering his conviction that McCoy was the cause of most of what was making his skin crawl right now. But his fear was misapplied, residing solely in this object lesson of a woman who barely seemed to know what she was saying. Couldn't have said, in her right mind. Was it permanent, he wondered? Some sort of chemical addiction?

"Fuck if I know," he said, stuffing the last of the crust in his mouth. "Was actually asking what he did with you."

Though the specific actions seemed suddenly a lot less important than the outcome. To Kirk and, likely, to McCoy himself.

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

Her smile this time was nothing like her laugh had been. Her smile was soft lighting, candlelight, moonrise.

"He does whatever he wants to with me. I don't have to think about it. I don't have to want it. It's very freeing."

Finished with her pizza, she cleaned the little bit of grease that had gotten on her fingertips and returned to her knitting.

The socks were probably for McCoy.

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

Somehow, Kirk mused, somehow he'd fashioned her into a walking, talking doll, without (apparently) reduction in her functionality on the ship.

That was something.

But was she also a warning to him? A message about his capabilities? McCoy had to want him for something more than this. There was no point in confiding in him, no point to that glimmer he saw in McCoy's eye when he challenged him. Unless it was all part of his game. Well, it took two to play, and Kirk was more than willing to play a lot of them. But not this one. And McCoy was potentially a lot more subtle than that. Chapel could be an example of what he wasn't, but what McCoy was capable of. What he did not need or want from Kirk.

"What does he want?"

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

She was in the groove of the knitting now and she glanced up at Kirk. "Do you think you can give it to him, whatever it is? I don't ask. We're his... family? Not the right word. But I think he wants that. That's what we are when he takes care of us."

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

She was creeping him the fuck out, but she was also giving more information than he'd expected. At least from her perspective, she was being honest. He'd expected some crude recitation of positions or acts, but this--this dovetailed with something McCoy had already said. Belonging.

But all he had was this band of puppet children (he hoped Chapel fucked better than M'Benga, but it didn't much sound like it) and his pining for a lost wife. Who, it seemed clear, was more than capable of pulling strings herself.

What did he think Kirk was? Not this, never this inhuman thing in front of him.

"And when he doesn't?"

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

"He always takes care of us, James T. Kirk. You'll learn, you'll see. I don't know why he wants you, but he takes care of his own and we take care of each other."

Chapel went back every night to her quarters with Rien and they didn't have to be scared alone.

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

He didn't particularly want to see what she saw, but he was getting a pretty fucked up picture already.

"Isn't that sweet," he said, watching her knit for a few moments. "You and, ah, Rien and M'Benga."

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

Her knitting clattered to the table and Chapel stood, violent energy.

"M'Benga is not part of the family."

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

Kirk looked up at her, on guard (as much as it mattered) but visibly loose and casual.

"That's a fucking relief," he said evenly. "He's an asshole."

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

It seemed to calm her, a little. But not enough for Chapel to sit down and return to her knitting. She paced.

"Touching - he's always touching and it isn't his to touch. Needs to keep his hands to himself, not his to touch."

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

Kirk watched her, slightly alarmed by her agitation but gaining useful information anyway. "I got that impression, too," he said. "And I wasn't impressed. But McCoy can handle him, can't he? He'll take care of you."

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

Chapel continued to pace, steps jerky and arrhythmic.

"Not his to touch. Bones makes him not touch, makes him mind his manners. Won't let me cut him, won't let me take his fingers off for touching."

She was disappointed in that, it was clear.

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

Kirk had, it must be said, no desire to touch her. And her erratic movements were not aiding his gut-felt alarm.

"Guess he needs those, for doctoring," he said smoothly. "McCoy's got his own plans, doesn't he? C'mon, I wasn't trying to upset you. Sit back down and talk to me."

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

"Doctor, doctor, doctor, thinks he can do anything he wants because he's a doctor. Fucking Roger, fucking, fucking, fucking Roger who wouldn't let me do anything, wouldn't let me know anything, just wanted to touch and touch and touch."

Her pacing at stopped at Kirk's words but she stood still, hugging her middle and rocking on her feet.

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

"Sorry" wasn't a word that got bandied about a lot on the Enterprise, not unless it was wrung from you in desperate gasps. Pity, remorse, regret, got you nothing. But shit, there were times when you just didn't want a sadistic hot mess of a nurse melting down in her boss' quarters.

"Hey," he said, leaning forward, his voice as gentle as he could make it though it still rasped a little at the softest volumes. "I'm sorry I mentioned him." He didn't know who the fuck Roger was, but it didn't matter much, did it? "It's better now, right? Let me get you something."

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

Chapel continued her rocking but at least she was quiet now, watching Kirk with wary eyes and hands that grasped at the fabric of her own clothing as though she would shred it in a panic. She was listening.

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

Kirk could see that. He could also see that, fucked up and over as she was, she was a dangerous ally at best--but a potentially ally just the same. And he had precious few of those. As much as she scared him--or rather, what she represented scared him--befriending her might be useful. It was good practice, anyway.

"What do you want?" he asked casually, eyes limpid and blue as ever in his thin face. "Water? Romulan ale? Another slice of pizza? You know McCoy's not going to let him touch you. And if I see him bother you, well, you won't have to worry about it anymore. Just come sit down, and tell me what you want. All right?"

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

In their world was there anything other than a dangerous ally? She would have doubted so, if she'd been capable of it.

Chapel was capable of moving - with that same strange jerky motion as though the impulses were getting to her muscles only in fits and starts - and she cautiously sat on the edge of the couch.

"Bones won't let me drink. Say it isn't good for me, not good for me. I would like some lemonade, please." She pulled a throw pillow (and who the fuck had throw pillows on this ship?) onto her lap and studied Kirk. "Are you going to help him take care of us? Is that why you're interesting?"

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

Kirk got up--careful to make no move in her direction--and went to the replicator. He turned, glass in hand, and watched her for a moment. Weighing. He was, of course, well used to dangerous allies. He usually didn't choose those this obviously damaged and unpredictable. But his world had changed significantly.

In the broad sense, he supposed he was. He had no actual regard for Chapel or Rien, but whatever was going on, it seemed pretty clear that the intent was to take care of everything. In a sense.

He approached slowly, holding out the glass and careful to leave her plenty of room to take it.

"I guess so," he said finally. "Would that be okay with you?"

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

Chapel's hand was steady as she reached for the glass, in marked contrast to her near-hysteria moments ago. It was one of the things that made her an excellent nurse.

"If Bones says it's okay. You have to ask him. But I think he'll say yes."

She sipped at the lemonade, savoring the tart freshness. Then put her glass back down and picked her knitting back up.

"What size are your feet?"

The socks could be for him, instead. Maybe.

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

Success. Kirk sat back down, crossing his legs and watching her. It would be awhile, he thought, before he took his eyes off her for any length of time.

"Eleven," he said. "And I'll ask him."

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

McCoy had many things - timing was only one thing but it was a thing he had in spades. The door to his quarters whooshed open to admit him, to reveal Chapel and Kirk sitting calmly (or as calmly as Chapel was apt to fucking sit) with drinks and the remnants of... goddamn Hawaiian pizza? McCoy shook his head. Chapel was going at that fucking knitting again. Woman needed something to do with her shitting hands but the finished product was getting a little harder to avoid. He could only shove so many scarves to the back of his closet.

"Well, don't y'all look cozy?"

McCoy himself looked a little dishelveled. And he clutched a small box.

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

There was a strange relief that trickled unseen through Kirk at McCoy's return. How much was due to McCoy himself, and how much to a release of the strain of Chapel's presence was uncertain. His lips twitched faintly at McCoy's words, and there was relief, too, at calming her before McCoy had returned.

"We've had a nice little visit," he said, taking in the other man's appearance. He wasn't going to ask him flat out, not right now. Certainly not anything so naked as "are you okay?" But he wondered anew whether his question about the kid had set him off, and tucked that away. "There's some pizza left."