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.

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[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."

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

McCoy chuckled at that and moved close enough to set the box down on the couch next to Chapel, who had blushed when the doctor entered and focused even harder on her knitting. Her lips were moving as she silently counted, turning the heel of her sock. Too small for Kirk but she could start another pair.

He stripped off his soiled shirt and aimed it at the laundry shoot. "That's right appreciated. Got a little bit of hunger I wasn't expecting." He grabbed a slice, still slightly warm at least, at collapsed comfortably into his chair, boots up on the coffee table, napkin resting on his naked chest.

Chapel's eyes flickered back and forth between her knitting and the box beside her. Then she directed a look at Kirk. He was supposed to ask.

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

It was interesting, watching her not watch him, watching her controlled presence in the face of his habitual casualness. Kirk was not so cowed, but he was watchful. And noted Chapel's signals. She would not question McCoy, or act without instruction. But she believed he would, or could.

He would not want that to be otherwise, certainly. Nor would it do to disappoint her at this point.

"What's in the box?" he asked casually, leaning back.

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

He noted, as casually as he appeared to do most things, the flicker of Chapel's pretty blue eyes. She was winning Kirk over, the little charmer. Good for her. More Kirk was bound in, the better.

"Little token of reassurance for my head nurse is all."

M'Benga had been in Sickbay - he'd kept his mouth shut the whole time even as he'd struggled. Sweet.

Chapel's stitches slowed, stopped, and she looked at McCoy with something akin to wonder. "Can I open it?" At his nod, she was on the box, opening the flaps with a smile spreading wide across her mouth. She carried it with her as she moved to sit on McCoy's lap but then she paused and offered it to Kirk.

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

Chapel's unfettered delight and canine devotion to McCoy were as disturbing as the severed toe--clearly M'Benga's--that sat neatly like some Valentine's bonbon in the tissue paper. The fact that her response was as effective as the actual fact of McCoy's having done it was testament both to the things one got used to and the power of McCoy's hold over her. And how much that impressed upon Kirk.

After all, he had plenty of reason not to give a shit about M'Benga's discomfort. A toe was nothing.

"No thanks," he said sincerely. "I think you should keep it."

Kirk was being won over, in the sense that he now had an ardent wish to stay on her good side--and even more cause to want to stay on McCoy's.

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

Chapel climbed into his lap and McCoy cuddled her like a child. "He tries anything, you let me know, Chrissy. He's not allowed to touch, not another toe out of line."

He laughed at his own pun and shot Kirk an amused, conspiratorial look. He suspected Kirk would habor no sympathy for M'Benga after all that crass face-fucking bullshit.

"How you feeling, Blue?"

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

The pun was terrible, but there was something about the constant feed of alternating stress and relief that was working deeply on Kirk and McCoy's look won a knowing, companionable smile. Just as though he had not been the one to order said face fucking. Kirk was both aware and not of the contradiction. And maybe that had its own power.

He raised his glass from the table and swallowed the unfinished portion.

"Both more and less hungry than I can recall being in recent memory." He licked his lips. He felt not entirely at ease, but in comparison was better, certainly, than he'd felt in a long time. Despite everything. Needs fulfilled led to others, waiting for their chance to be made known.

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

Chapel's snuggling had turned to nuzzling, her red mouth shyly kissing at McCoy's neck. "Now, Chrissy, you know the rules. You want something, you have to ask."

McCoy's attention, even as he spoke to her, was focused on Kirk; he nodded, understanding. "You got another five in the shower if you want them - or you can have ten tomorrow."

How hungry was he? Enough to turn down the larger prize for the more immediate?

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

Kirk wondered, with the tactical part of him that was (nearly) always working, if this was what McCoy really wanted from a lover. Obedience, aboslute and unquestioning. Complacency. Rules only he was the master of.

He did not think so, current appearances aside. It may be expedient for him, here and now. Or he may not have found someone here who could give him what he truly needed. Something much more complex than these broken toys. Jocelyn was no puppet, and clearly had him by the short hairs. Chapel had been a challenge, maybe, once. A game. Jocelyn had never stopped being one. Kirk filed that away.

He bristled inwardly now at the implied restriction, the reminder that this was still McCoy's game and the rules were his own. But it was still true, and Kirk wasn't going to change that by outright challenge. He could be cagier than that.

"What the fuck would I do for ten minutes in the shower?" he asked, setting his glass down. He had a pretty good idea what McCoy would. And that two men could fit, if one knelt or the other was pressed against the wall. "I'd rather be clean."

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

Chapel wasn't his lover. He got her off, used her to get himself off, but she didn't... count in that way. No one had since Jocelyn.

He bit back a bark of laughter at Kirk's response - brash. It was fucking refreshing. Chapel was whispering in his ear about her pussy and how it had been wet all day and would he help her with that and McCoy patted her back. "Of course, Chrissy. You know I'll take care of you."

Kirk had a fair enough point, given his current mental state. McCoy nodded. "I can respect that."