Title Fight the Good Fight (#2, J ‘N B Series)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Characters: Kirk
Summary: This portrait-like pic of Karl at jim_and_bones. AUish. Implied K/M.
Previous Parts: Another Day, Another Dollar, and a Daily Show?

So this is fuckin’ service, a young man thinks.

Somewhere in the distance, blasts are still going off against enemy lines; the ground shakes sporadically as the artillery hits too close to this hideaway position at the base of a dirt mound lined on either side with unforgiving bracken.

His great-grandpa would have called this a foxhole. You learn more about what makes a man in 36 hours trapped together in a hole while the sky is falling than you’d ever learn from a 20-year friendship. Trust me on that, boy.

He never saw himself in a position to experience Gramps’ words firsthand.

The guy next to him is equally dirty, bruised, and exhausted. They haven’t spoken till now because, really, no words are necessary. The weapons in their hands say everything in staccato bursts of energy targeting enemy ships passing overhead, things like I want to live and this is a cause we’re gonna die for.

He sighs, grateful for a second of respite from the fighting, and unhooks a flap of his uniform jacket. His mouth can’t help but quirk in a smile as he takes out the paper and looks at it.

“What’s that?” asks the other guy, the fight-like-there’s-no-tomorrow, hard-jawed man who sometimes scares him stiff with that fire of his lit deep within blue eyes; he catches those eyes staring off, more than frequently now, in the direction of the enemy’s camp rumored to be tucked into a mountain base kilometers away.

The guy reeks of command potential, of the instinctual need to be in the heart of battle.

He holds the paper up for the guy to see. “Gorgeous, isn’t she?”

It’s a flyer for a burlesque show he picked up on his last R&R. In dead center is a lovely green-skinned Orion, clad in enough flimsy cloth for a modicum of modesty but draped in such a way to accentuate her lush curves. She is in a pose of a traditional bellydance, her finger-cymbals at the ready.

The guy has a lopsided grin. “Orions are definitely worth the effort” is the proffered advice.

That’s what he’s hoping. He needs a reason—if a shallow one—to want to get out of this wartime pit alive. Fantasizing of a hot tryst with an Orion is as a good reason as any, considering he doesn’t have a sweetheart to think of.

“You got a girl?” he asks out of curiosity. Might as well live vicariously, right?

The other young man digs in his pants pocket and carefully extricates a neatly folded photograph, the back of which is slightly yellowed and is stamped in small print along the bottom with a stardate two years old. It is well-worn at the edges, and the way the guy’s expression softens when he looks at the photo is a bright neon sign of in-love that even a blind man would have to take note of.

He scoots closer to the guy, who has fallen silent (in respect, maybe?), for a better look at the face—Oh.

“Wow” is all he can manage.

Not a girl then.

But damn that’s one good-looking man. Green eyes and a cupid-bow mouth.

“What’s his name?”

The guy hesitates, eyeing him like he’s going to snatch up the treasure and run with it. “Bones.”

Good looks, terrible name. A face like that can make up for a lot, though.

He teases, “When we get out of here, are you going to introduce me?”

“Fuck no. He’s mine.”

“Asshole.”

“Cunt.”

And just like that, they’re friends. He sticks out his hand. “Name’s Mitchell. Gary Mitchell.”

The name stitched on the guy’s jacket says Kirk. “James Tiberius,” Kirk introduces himself in return. “Jim.”

Kirk’s communicator interrupts their admittedly brief bonding time, a burst of harsh orders making the unit practically jump in Jim’s hand. It says get back to work and enemy moving west.

Mitchell puts away the promise of his Orion girl, watching from the corner of his eye as Jim strokes a thumb across the photo, head bowed like he’s saying a prayer, before tucking it away. They shoulder their weapons.

Kirk is saying, “You know, I have an idea. If we could—”

Gary interjects, “Is this plan of yours likely to get us killed?”

Jim shrugs, nonchalant. “Probably. But we’ll take a lot of those fuckers with us if we succeed.”

Mitchell, seeing Kirk’s determination and somehow feeling a pull toward this man in response—a gut instinct of trust him, does not think about his answer. “I’m in.”

It turns out that they don’t die. Gary, with a hole in his left side, pants on the ground beside a slumped and bloodied but manically grinning Lt. James T. Kirk. The enemy camp is going up in flames around them. Jim tells his new friend, “When I make Captain, you’re on my team, Mitchell.”

“Gotta make sure I don’t bleed out first, stupid,” grunts Gary.

“Not a problem. Bones is an awesome medic.” And with that, Jim hauls him upright, dragging Gary’s arm over his shoulders, and together they stagger toward the group of the ‘Fleet troopers kicking up the planet’s dust in a hurry to reach the unexpected fire.

Gary wonders if Jim’ll punch him for flirting with this mysterious but obviously worth-living-for Bones. Gary thinks probably, starts laughing (shock undoubtedly setting in), and beside him, Jim starts laughing too.

Drabble #3

Related Posts:

• Just Another End – from May 21, 2011
• Jim’s Good Idea – from April 14, 2011
• Don’t Touch the Rock (#3, J ‘N B Series) – from September 7, 2011