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]

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."

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

Kirk was feeling brash. McCoy had punished him, sure, but he'd seemed equally delighted by the opportunity as the actual event. He liked Kirk's struggle, his raised hackles, as long as he wasn't biting. He wanted that show of spirit. Which Kirk had the inkling would have been less than worthless to McCoy before he'd been brought low enough it was remarkable.

He rose. "Guess I'll let you take care of her," he said. "I can play with your lotions and shit, unless you don't need more than five."

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

Everyone kicked and bit when they were strong. It was the ones that kept on when they were beaten low that were interesting. Kirk had been just another fuck-faced officer when he'd held all the cards. Now he had jackshit in the hole and he was still coming up ornery. McCoy hadn't lied - he could respect that, in some way at least.

Chapel clung to his neck when he stood, carried her over to the rumpled bed.

"Any particular reason I ought to be in a damn hurry? And dry skin ain't comfortable, Jimmy-boy. You do what you figure but you come back and maybe you can help with this one."

Chapel flushed at that but she didn't object. She just looked at Kirk, who had said he would help take care of her.

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

Ornery was all he had in the hole. Now he was a little less worried about dying. Imminently, anyway.

"Not on my account," he said raising his hands. McCoy could fuck whoever he liked, wherever, as far as Kirk was concerned. If it inured him to the realities of his present condition, so much the better. He wasn't quite complacent with the thought of what had been denied him, but he knew he had to get there. Had to quell the anger and loss and humiliation. McCoy was a bastard but Kirk could try to take that away, anyway.

Of course, between that and Chapel just staring at him, it looked like he wasn't going to be allowed to just ignore it. Hadn't been exactly what he'd meant, but he supposed it was one of his duties now, like eating, like playing guest. In any event, he was glad for the momentary escape, and breathed deeply as the door slid shut behind him.

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

McCoy crawled up Chapel's body and laughed into her neck until Kirk had disappeared into the bathroom. He settled his weight on her. "Was he a good boy while I was gone?"

She nodded, but it was slow. He'd had enough time to learn her gestures so he waited, patient as a parent, for her to speak. "He didn't mean to make me sad. He got me lemonade to make up for it."

Chapel had been calm enough when he got back so Kirk had stirred her up, for fucking certain, but had managed to calm her back down. Not too goddamn shabby, actually.

Her thighs were cold when he rubbed one hand up between them.

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

He knew McCoy was likely to get a report, but he hadn't touched her, hadn't done anything but ask questions, and she seemed to have come around well enough by the end.

Which was, perhaps, more than Kirk had bargained for.

He was feeling better, though. Exhausted in one sense, but it was the honest sort, the kind that came from exertion (both mental and physical) rather than disease and inaction. The shower was welcome, and he was glad, too, too save another for tomorrow. When he would likely need it again. A respite, a chance to be alone.

Five minutes was enough, really. Enough time to be isolated again within close quarters. As unnerving as McCoy could be, Kirk was starved for company. He stripped with more ease than he had in the past, avoiding the mirror still but with less purpose than usual.

As the water sluiced over his head and shoulders and he scrubbed efficiently, he let the day sink into him as well. What he'd learned. A lot, really. About limits, both his and McCoy's. About Uhura and Scott. About how he might, possibly, fit himself to advantage. More than he wanted to know about M'Benga. About McCoy's little "family."

Not nearly as much as he needed to know. But he was fed, and alive, and better off than when he'd awakened. And he could feel some hope now, not just for his body but for his future. Not knowing what was waiting, the trepidation was nevertheless mixed now with anticipation. And that sat better in his full belly.

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

Her legs parted easily, readily, eagerly for his hand. "He said he was going to help take care of us. Is that true?"

McCoy's hand settled against her, not moving yet, making her wait while he considered. "Maybe. Depends on how good he is." His fingers started a regular rubbing through her panties - soaked, she really had been wet all day - before he eased the material of the crotch aside to test her clit with a brush of his thumb.

The tears were already gathering at the corners of her eyes.

"He said he'd take care of M'Benga if he saw Geoff try anything." Chapel's voice whimpered but it didn't break.

"Did he now? He might be good enough after all." McCoy treated her to kisses all over her face and kept his hand moving.

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

The practical part of the shower was completed in three minutes, leaving nearly two to simply stand under the spray and sniff the other bottles and simply reflect. McCoy had asked him to help. And in all other ways, Kirk had been positioned as something apart from Rien and Chapel and M'Benga (not that he'd lump them together again). Which was exactly his intent--to avoid being one of the dolls. He did not think himself capable of it, but he knew no one ever did. And he knew it was important to determine whether McCoy thought he would.

He didn't.

He was positioning Kirk to have some stake in this, and that meant determining his own opportunities. Making choices in a situation where there were few to be made. Positioning himself as a partner.

Well. He'd made love plenty of times without meaning it. Let alone fucked. The shower stopped, and he stepped out, toweling off vigorously and noting the lush-yet-manly smell that permeated the steam of the bathroom. It was time to step up, he thought, scrawny ass and emotional hang-ups or no. He looped the towel around his too-slim hips and stepped out.

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

By the time Kirk joined them, McCoy stripped Chapel's panties from her, the blue scrap left dangling from one ankle that was hanging off the bed. Her legs were spread wide to allow his hand access and he was whispering in her ear as she wept and writhed.

McCoy looked up at the sound of the door.

[behnd-blueyes.livejournal.com]

Chapel was not an unattractive woman, and under other circumstances, seeing McCoy (still wearing his pants) with his fingers up her and her eyes screwed shut as he glanced up over his prey would have had Kirk hard almost instantly. But there was not a twinge from the limp organ under two layers of the best terrycloth. It was all intellectual: the lowered lids, the sweep of his eyes across them both, the step forward through the remnants of steam as it escaped. If he'd been either of them, the sight of a fucking scarecrow would just about ruin this moment for good, but he guessed he was pretty glad he wasn't either of them anyway.

He finished his perusal, and his eyes met McCoy's.

[sharpestscalpel.livejournal.com]

Chapel's state of being was up for grabs but being McCoy was really pretty awesome. At least McCoy thought so, when he thought such things.

He removed his fingers and shushed Chapel's whine of protest by running the damp digits over her lips before motioning for Kirk to join them on the bed.

"She likes some fucking being talked to and I am goddamn all talked the hell out."