stop. look. listen.
You'll just do it all again.
It’s a little bit ridiculous, how much she frets about the da…dinner. Partly because it’s a bad idea to end all bad ideas, and it will all end in tears and, possibly, explosions. Scratch it, it’s James T. Kirk we’re talking about, the king of ‘it seemed like a good idea at the time’; explosions are a certainty. And then one of them would have to change ships, and it would be her, because Kirk has this weird erotic thing going on with the Enterprise that she’s kind of maybe jealous of.
But the facts are: she’s on the less glamorous side of thirty, divorced, and with more than enough issues. Adding a relationship with Kirk into the mix would be highly inadvisable. Or, well, fucking insane.
And then there is the other feeling, the stirring hope that maybe they could work it out. Because it is James T. Kirk, who had seen her through the best and the worst during the last few years, and whom she couldn’t leave behind even when she should have (besides, if she had, both the Enterprise and the Earth would be stardust now, so maybe there was something to it).
On the plus side, she gets a shitload of paperwork done as she tries to avoid thinking about this entire train wreck. It gets her a few looks from Christine Chapel, who mutters something about ‘captains’ and ‘idiots’, but this might just mean that she cultivates the healthy habit of blaming everything on Kirk.
The end of her shift arrives without any crisis interrupting, and she might have hoped it would, but she might have not; she’s really not sure. She’ll be damned if she wears a dress, even if she does own one, but she brushes her hair and lets it fall to her shoulders. It still doesn’t make it a date if she does that.
“Looking good, Bones,” Kirk tells her from the doorway, leaning against the frame, but while there’s honesty in his words, she expected a leer, or something more, well, cheerful. Instead, Kirk looks weary and troubled.
“Out with it,” she tells him, earning herself a poorly executed innocent stare. He must be really off his game if that’s all he can do. “And while you’re at it, sit down,” she orders, getting the tricorder out. The leg is actually healing up nicely; there probably won’t be any lasting scaring. She tells him as much. “So, no impressing girls with your battle wounds and telling tales of fighting off tigers with your bare hands,” she adds.
“I have other good scars,” he shrugs. It’s true, he does. A lot. “’Sides, only one girl around here that I want to impress,” he says smugly, and she rolls her eyes.
“I have an entire array of pointy medical tools at my disposal, would you like to reconsider that statement?” she asks pleasantly, and to stress her point, jabs him with the hypospray containing his mix of painkillers and antibiotics.
“Fuck, Bones, I’m pretty sure there are other ways of taking medication. I can swallow,” he mutters, and she raises her eyebrow slowly, until he snorts. “I’m not taking that one back, it’s a point of pride.”
“I’m sure it is,” she nods and replaces the bandages. “Now, what’s wrong?”
“Is this part of the service now? You should have a couch for that, and a nice office. Without witnesses,” he says louder, in the general direction of Christine, who sighs long-sufferingly and turns back to the vials she’s been marking. “Besides, nothing’s wrong. Apart from the fact that we’re still here, while we could be enjoying our dinner date.”
“It’s not a date, and there’s not going to be any dinner either while you’re like this,” she gestures widely, encompassing the tension in his shoulders, the tightened corners of his lips. He might be good at putting up the façade, but she has learned how to read him a while ago. “And if you even try and ask ‘like what?’ in that tone you think is innocent, I’m going to stab you in the eye.”
He hesitates for a moment, which means that it’s exactly what he was planning to say and she stole his thunder. All part of her job description.
“Our next mission,” he says slowly, and she waits for him to continue, but nothing comes.
“Are you worried about it?” she ventures. “It’s not due for the next four days, plenty of times to plan on how to negotiate the treaty, Jim.”
“Yeah, well, there’s not going to be a treaty,” he mutters, sliding off the biobed and reaching for his crutch. He seems to have misplaced the other one, and is probably looking for ways to do the same with this one.
“What do you mean?”
“Got news from the command.” She can guess now, just from the way he’s looking at his hand on the crutch, as if it was both the most interesting thing in the world, and as if he didn’t see it at all. “The planet’s capital was destroyed, mission objective is slightly changed now. “
She bets it is. “Jim,” she says softly and he still doesn’t look up. This, just there, is why she injected him with that vaccine and smuggled him aboard the Enterprise. It’s what Pike probably saw in Kirk that made him support him through all the idiotic things Kirk did at the academy. It’s what kept him from getting expelled despite all the stupid stunts he pulled off. It’s what made the admiralty look at a cadet and make him a captain of their flag vessel.
“Sorry, Bones, I won’t be the best company tonight. But I’ll take a raincheck if you promise to wear that dress I know you have, next time.”
Like hell he will. And, like hell she will. No way on the dress, but he’s not going off and sulk, and he’s definitely not going off to work himself into exhaustion. Not on her watch.
She had been to the senior officers’ meeting where they discussed the mission order, and she heard Kirk’s protests of their intended order. He thought the treaty was more important than transporting two ambassadors to their new posts, and apparently, he had been right.
Which probably made him feel more guilty than anything else.
She picks up his chart and scans it quickly, considering. “One glass of whiskey should not mess up with your meds regiment too much. One,” she adds, tugging at his sleeve. Black shirt, not the command gold, which at first she took as an attempt to impress her on the not-date, but now she thinks it might have meant something else.
“Why are we drinking whiskey?” he asks, and she shrugs.
“Because I’m out of bourbon, and I’m not going to let a patient on painkillers drink the stuff Scotty is making. In fact, the only use I could recommend it for, is to clean the pipes and, possibly, as a deadly weapon.”
“Tried it, wasn’t so bad,” he says, and she nods.
“Yes, but it is known to kill brain cells, so you have nothing to worry about,” she mutters, and pauses. “Hey, you think we could have Spock drink some? Maybe it would make him speak like a normal person.”
Kirk snorts, which was the effect she was going for. For all the newfound camaraderie between him and Spock, of which she was also completely not jealous, making fun of the asshat was still one of his favourite pastimes. Not to mention hers.
“I thought you were getting on better,” Kirk muses, and she shrugs.
“See, the problem is, I can’t stand him because I find him so hot. Thin line between love and hate and all that,” she proclaims, straightfaced, and has a great seven seconds before Kirk catches on.
“God, Bones, not funny.”
She begs to differ. But he still has that tightness about him, the deep weariness in all his muscles and that won’t do at all, and she’s running out of ideas and people to insult.
“Damnit, Jim,” she mutters and takes a step forward, well into his personal space, looking up. He doesn’t move an inch, she’s pretty sure he’s not even breathing now, but when she reaches out, she feels his heartbeat under her fingertips.
There’s really no other choice but to kiss him now, and she does. And it’s near fucking perfect, the way Jim instantly melts into her, warm and overwhelming. He’s licking at the corner of her lips, his fingers tangled in her hair, tilting her head back so he can get closer, closer than she thought possible.
She’s soon out of breath and she’s not alone in this, and Jim is laughing, low and warm. “You can’t tell me it’s not a date, Bones.”
“Shut up, Kirk,” she grumbles and proceeds to shut him up herself.
But the facts are: she’s on the less glamorous side of thirty, divorced, and with more than enough issues. Adding a relationship with Kirk into the mix would be highly inadvisable. Or, well, fucking insane.
And then there is the other feeling, the stirring hope that maybe they could work it out. Because it is James T. Kirk, who had seen her through the best and the worst during the last few years, and whom she couldn’t leave behind even when she should have (besides, if she had, both the Enterprise and the Earth would be stardust now, so maybe there was something to it).
On the plus side, she gets a shitload of paperwork done as she tries to avoid thinking about this entire train wreck. It gets her a few looks from Christine Chapel, who mutters something about ‘captains’ and ‘idiots’, but this might just mean that she cultivates the healthy habit of blaming everything on Kirk.
The end of her shift arrives without any crisis interrupting, and she might have hoped it would, but she might have not; she’s really not sure. She’ll be damned if she wears a dress, even if she does own one, but she brushes her hair and lets it fall to her shoulders. It still doesn’t make it a date if she does that.
“Looking good, Bones,” Kirk tells her from the doorway, leaning against the frame, but while there’s honesty in his words, she expected a leer, or something more, well, cheerful. Instead, Kirk looks weary and troubled.
“Out with it,” she tells him, earning herself a poorly executed innocent stare. He must be really off his game if that’s all he can do. “And while you’re at it, sit down,” she orders, getting the tricorder out. The leg is actually healing up nicely; there probably won’t be any lasting scaring. She tells him as much. “So, no impressing girls with your battle wounds and telling tales of fighting off tigers with your bare hands,” she adds.
“I have other good scars,” he shrugs. It’s true, he does. A lot. “’Sides, only one girl around here that I want to impress,” he says smugly, and she rolls her eyes.
“I have an entire array of pointy medical tools at my disposal, would you like to reconsider that statement?” she asks pleasantly, and to stress her point, jabs him with the hypospray containing his mix of painkillers and antibiotics.
“Fuck, Bones, I’m pretty sure there are other ways of taking medication. I can swallow,” he mutters, and she raises her eyebrow slowly, until he snorts. “I’m not taking that one back, it’s a point of pride.”
“I’m sure it is,” she nods and replaces the bandages. “Now, what’s wrong?”
“Is this part of the service now? You should have a couch for that, and a nice office. Without witnesses,” he says louder, in the general direction of Christine, who sighs long-sufferingly and turns back to the vials she’s been marking. “Besides, nothing’s wrong. Apart from the fact that we’re still here, while we could be enjoying our dinner date.”
“It’s not a date, and there’s not going to be any dinner either while you’re like this,” she gestures widely, encompassing the tension in his shoulders, the tightened corners of his lips. He might be good at putting up the façade, but she has learned how to read him a while ago. “And if you even try and ask ‘like what?’ in that tone you think is innocent, I’m going to stab you in the eye.”
He hesitates for a moment, which means that it’s exactly what he was planning to say and she stole his thunder. All part of her job description.
“Our next mission,” he says slowly, and she waits for him to continue, but nothing comes.
“Are you worried about it?” she ventures. “It’s not due for the next four days, plenty of times to plan on how to negotiate the treaty, Jim.”
“Yeah, well, there’s not going to be a treaty,” he mutters, sliding off the biobed and reaching for his crutch. He seems to have misplaced the other one, and is probably looking for ways to do the same with this one.
“What do you mean?”
“Got news from the command.” She can guess now, just from the way he’s looking at his hand on the crutch, as if it was both the most interesting thing in the world, and as if he didn’t see it at all. “The planet’s capital was destroyed, mission objective is slightly changed now. “
She bets it is. “Jim,” she says softly and he still doesn’t look up. This, just there, is why she injected him with that vaccine and smuggled him aboard the Enterprise. It’s what Pike probably saw in Kirk that made him support him through all the idiotic things Kirk did at the academy. It’s what kept him from getting expelled despite all the stupid stunts he pulled off. It’s what made the admiralty look at a cadet and make him a captain of their flag vessel.
“Sorry, Bones, I won’t be the best company tonight. But I’ll take a raincheck if you promise to wear that dress I know you have, next time.”
Like hell he will. And, like hell she will. No way on the dress, but he’s not going off and sulk, and he’s definitely not going off to work himself into exhaustion. Not on her watch.
She had been to the senior officers’ meeting where they discussed the mission order, and she heard Kirk’s protests of their intended order. He thought the treaty was more important than transporting two ambassadors to their new posts, and apparently, he had been right.
Which probably made him feel more guilty than anything else.
She picks up his chart and scans it quickly, considering. “One glass of whiskey should not mess up with your meds regiment too much. One,” she adds, tugging at his sleeve. Black shirt, not the command gold, which at first she took as an attempt to impress her on the not-date, but now she thinks it might have meant something else.
“Why are we drinking whiskey?” he asks, and she shrugs.
“Because I’m out of bourbon, and I’m not going to let a patient on painkillers drink the stuff Scotty is making. In fact, the only use I could recommend it for, is to clean the pipes and, possibly, as a deadly weapon.”
“Tried it, wasn’t so bad,” he says, and she nods.
“Yes, but it is known to kill brain cells, so you have nothing to worry about,” she mutters, and pauses. “Hey, you think we could have Spock drink some? Maybe it would make him speak like a normal person.”
Kirk snorts, which was the effect she was going for. For all the newfound camaraderie between him and Spock, of which she was also completely not jealous, making fun of the asshat was still one of his favourite pastimes. Not to mention hers.
“I thought you were getting on better,” Kirk muses, and she shrugs.
“See, the problem is, I can’t stand him because I find him so hot. Thin line between love and hate and all that,” she proclaims, straightfaced, and has a great seven seconds before Kirk catches on.
“God, Bones, not funny.”
She begs to differ. But he still has that tightness about him, the deep weariness in all his muscles and that won’t do at all, and she’s running out of ideas and people to insult.
“Damnit, Jim,” she mutters and takes a step forward, well into his personal space, looking up. He doesn’t move an inch, she’s pretty sure he’s not even breathing now, but when she reaches out, she feels his heartbeat under her fingertips.
There’s really no other choice but to kiss him now, and she does. And it’s near fucking perfect, the way Jim instantly melts into her, warm and overwhelming. He’s licking at the corner of her lips, his fingers tangled in her hair, tilting her head back so he can get closer, closer than she thought possible.
She’s soon out of breath and she’s not alone in this, and Jim is laughing, low and warm. “You can’t tell me it’s not a date, Bones.”
“Shut up, Kirk,” she grumbles and proceeds to shut him up herself.
