Title: Win or Lose (5/5)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Characters: Kirk, Spock, McCoy
Summary: To salvage a friendship, Jim decides on a course of action that he fears may backfire in an unfortunate way.
Previous Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4
Or read at AO3

The tail hours of gamma shift found a sleepless Captain Kirk on his knees by his bedside. Head bowed over his hands, he began to murmur to the cool quiet of his room.

“Dear Lord, it’s Jim Kirk. I’m not practiced at this sort of thing, so you’ll have to pardon any offense I may inadvertently give to your great holiness. You see, I made a bad mistake.” He paused, cleared his throat. “Okay, I’ve made several not-so-good mistakes over the years but I think we can both agree my track record has been improved significantly as of late. Anyway, here’s the thing: in—” Jim peeked open one eye and asked, “Computer, what time is it?” The computer responded with its equivalent of 3 o’clock in the morning. Jim picked his prayer back up. “—in five hours I need you to send some Klingons. Not a lot,” he tacked on hastily. “One Bird-of-Prey will do. But, Klingons, yeah. I can’t possibly have time to deal with Spock and Bones if I’m fighting them.”

Jim lifted his head, opened his eyes, and started to get up before he realized what he was forgetting. Quickly resuming the proper position for prayer (as taught to him by every holy picture in the Iowa church he infrequently attended as a young child), he cried fervently, “Amen!”

Then he stood up and smoothed the front of his sleeping tunic.

Desperate times called for desperate measures. Hopefully the Higher Power would take pity on this poor Jim Kirk and prevent him from enacting the ultimate desperate measure to restore peace to his ship—which was hiding in the Jefferies Tubes and refusing to come out until everyone agreed to play nice ’til the day they retired.

A body hit the floor with a hard thud that had nearby officers pausing in their own exercise or recreational activities.

“E-Excellent,” wheezed the Captain of the starship Enterprise, who was splayed out on his back. “Good job, Giotto.”

The Chief of Security, Samuel Giotto, bent over the prone man with a concerned expression. “Are you all right, sir?”

Kirk dismissed the concern with a small groan and said, “We can go again… in a minute. Just give me a minute.”

Giotto nodded and stepped back, turning away to run a critical eye over the other sparring partners in the gym. Kirk must be very distracted today; otherwise they would have wrestled for at least another three minutes before Giotto was able to flip the man over his shoulder to the mat. Next round he’ll let Kirk pin him for a few seconds just so things were fair.

Whispering caught his attention. Giotto glanced back at his superior officer, still laid flat on the mat, and was taken slightly aback by the unusual sight. Kirk was in the process of finishing his rapid-fire speech (the security chief heard the words “Klingons” and “amen”) over clasped hands, his eyes closed. Once the praying was done, he rolled onto his side, climbed to his feet, and took a defensive stance.

Giotto looked at the younger man for a number of seconds, wondering if he hadn’t accidentally damaged his captain a little in the head.

Then Kirk flashed his trademark devil-may-care grin, the kind Giotto imagined Kirk had practiced in his bar-brawling days (if rumors were to be believed), and raised his fists. “Ready when you are.”

Giotto shifted his weight, let his muscles coil in preparation for a pounce-attack and replied, “Ready, sir.”

When Spock showed up in Leonard’s office halfway through alpha shift, Leonard sighed and said, “Is it my imagination, or is Jim everywhere except where he should be today?”

“He was last seen jogging back and forth across the observation deck. I believe his appearance was described as one who is full of anticipation.”

“Jittery?” Leonard asked curiously.

Spock’s tone became dry. “I was extrapolating in order to preserve the Captain’s image. The ensign’s precise statement of record was ‘he looks kinda manic’.”

“Ooh,” Leonard replied, “that’s never a good sign.”

“It is not.”

The doctor pushed out of his chair. “Then I suppose we ought to fetch him. Got any reservations about me carrying along a sedative?”

“None, Doctor.”

Well, Leonard thought wryly as they left the medical bay, at least we can get along where Jim is concerned.

Should he head back to Engineering?

No, probably not. Scotty had seemed a bit too harried about one of his projects. He had all but booted Jim out of his domain.

Which didn’t seem right, Jim thought. Technically every nook and cranny of the Enterprise was the captain’s domain, and he was the captain. Why should the Chief Engineer be allowed to send Jim toddling along with a ‘Now’s not a good time, Capt’n. Come back ‘n the morn, and I’ll give ye a peek at somethin’ that’ll make the other starships look like garbage scows!”?

It was something proprietary in a commanding officer’s makeup. Bones was the same way with Sickbay. Jim couldn’t poke his nose into anything without a threat of having it rot off from some kind of localized plague courtesy of his best friend. The nurses thought the CMO’s brandishing of a hypospray was funny; Jim, not so much. It gave him terrible phantom pains in his neck.

There was an unspoken understanding that Jim never, ever entered the Science laboratories. He was fairly certain someone had rigged a trap door just beyond the threshold that would deposit a trespasser into a chute that fed directly to the laundry boilers. After all, captains could be replaced; the results of a scientific test might be able to be redone but never with perfect or empirical duplication. Every experiment was a work of art. (Or so he had heard from the over-excitable scientists’ talk in the mess hall.)

The one place that truly belonged to Jim was the Bridge. Unfortunately, that seemed like the one area he had to avoid today.

Until the Klingons arrived, that is.

“Please, God,” Jim murmured. “Any time now would be great.“

“So you’ve taken to praying,” an amused voice drawled at Kirk’s back.

Jim froze in place.

McCoy, who had snuck up on Jim (how is that even possible? Jim wondered, flabbergasted), circled around to his right until the two men were in full view of one another, though the dimensions of the passageway were tight.

Nonchalance worked well in these situations for Jim. He knew that. “Hey, Bones, what brings you up here?”

McCoy eyed their surroundings and replied with heavy sarcasm, “Oh, you know me, Jim… I like hanging out in air shafts.”

Jim rubbed at his nose. “This is a maintenance shaft. The ductwork for the central air is that way.” He pointed across the gaping hole that was the main shaft. One could climb down the ladder built into the circular wall and access any of the decks where hatches were available.

As Bones peered over the edge at the long, seemingly bottomless well of the shaft, his expression was easy enough to read.

“Just stay behind me,” Jim said, “and you’ll be fine.” Bones didn’t like heights any better than he liked shuttles or the transporter.

“How ’bout you do me a favor and scoot away from that ledge you’re on?”

“It’s not a ledge.” Jim thumped the heels of his boots against the wall below him with a swing of his legs. “Why?” he asked, suddenly feeling cheeky. “Are you worried about me?”

But instead of answering McCoy looked over Jim’s head. “A little help here?”

Jim’s balance did feel suddenly precarious when a familiar monotone answered. “Captain, it would be best if you attempt to appease Dr. McCoy.”

Eyes wide, Jim braced a hand against the paneling of his ‘ledge’ and twisted around to voice his surprise to Spock. “You and Bones came together!”

The Vulcan lifted one eyebrow at the rather unenlightening observation.

That was Jim’s fatal mistake, it would later seem. Often hunting parties in the animal kingdom consisted of pairs. One would distract while the other struck out at the targeted prey—a deadly game played by an effective partnership.

An unsuspecting Kirk received a hypospray to the neck in one fell swoop. Stunned by the attack, he flung out an arm and wobbled on his perch. Leonard grabbed the front of Jim’s tunic and hauled him bodily into the small maintenance shaft, saying, “None of that flailing now, Jim. We wouldn’t want you to tip over and make some poor ensign scrape you off the bottom deck.”

“That joke is quite macabre, Doctor.”

“Who said it was a joke? Fool idiot, sitting up here like he thinks he’s an eagle in a nest!”

Jim’s vision grew fuzzy, as did his hearing. He thought he heard Spock reply but couldn’t be sure. “D-Did you d-drug me?”

A hand brushed the side of his face; the action was gentle. “Just a tiny bit of sedative—enough that we can take you back to your quarters without a fuss, Captain.”

Jim’s body shifted without his permission, and the world turned upside down.

Someone might have been saying, “Thanks, Spock. He’s heavier than he looks.”

“You are welcome, Dr. McCoy. Shall we proceed to the nearest deck entrance?”

Jim woke up two hours later feeling more refreshed than he had in days. Sleep will do that because sleep is a good, good thing, he thought muzzily as he blinked against the lowered lights of his quarters. He caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye and let his head fall to the side as he came fully awake. The divider between his bed and his central living area wasn’t long enough to obscure the person sitting at a cluttered table, legs crossed and boots propped against the table’s edge.

Jim scrubbed a hand across his eyes and sat up so he could swing his legs over the edge of the bed. He padded towards McCoy on bare feet, asking, “Where’s Spock?”

“Running your ship.”

“Oh.” Jim pulled out a chair and dropped into it. It would take a couple more minutes for the heaviness in his limbs to fade. He rolled his head from side to side to stretch the muscles of his neck. “You know, I think there’s some regulation that prohibits sedating your captain against his will.”

“Not one that matters,” Bones replied as he poked at something on the screen of his data padd.

Jim propped his chin in his hand. “Then, if you were a friend at all, you would have at least refrained from drugging me on my personal day.”

Leonard’s eyes flicked up to meet his. “The funny thing about that, Jim,” the doctor drawled almost too lazily, “is you taking a personal day right after you delivered one hell of an ultimatum.”

“I forgot?”

Leonard put away his padd; he didn’t look amused. “Want to tell me what’s going on, Captain?”

Jim bowed his head to hide his grimace. He didn’t want to be a captain right now. “I may have bitten off more than I can chew,” he muttered under his breath.

“Tell me about it.” Leonard seemed perfectly content to eavesdrop on all of Jim’s self-recriminations. “Jim, neither Spock nor I like to be jerked around.”

That brought Jim’s head up in an instant. “It’s not like that, Bones.”

Leonard was watching with eyes too dark to read. “Isn’t it?”

The disbelief hurt Jim—and scratched the surface of his temper too. “I wanted you to realize what I would ultimately be forced to do if a resolution to your hostility cannot be reached,” he replied, unable to soften the hard edge to his voice. “You should appreciate the warning, Dr. McCoy.”

“So you would send one of us away?”

Jim’s fingers curled into a fist but he didn’t strike out like he might have tried to do in a different situation. “Do you think I would have a choice in the matter? All it takes is for the wrong person to hear about it, a rumor even, and my hand could be forced by Command. Don’t think they care about either of you the way I do!”

The tight line of McCoy’s mouth eased slightly. “Jim.”

Jim flung himself back in his chair, which did nothing to ease his frustration. “This team of ours is the best there is, Bones, and everyone knows it. To some people—some very stupid people—that may be more of a threat than a boon. Then there’s the hard fact that the ‘Fleet isn’t what it was before Nero. It’s desperate for good command material. So for all of the bullshit talk about unity and brotherhood what we have isn’t safe.” He held his friend’s eyes. “If I can catch a potential problem on the front-end and prevent it from exposing one of our vulnerabilities, I have a better chance of keeping us together. Doesn’t that matter to you?”

His throat ached from his desperation. This is what he had feared, that McCoy and Spock couldn’t understand why he felt so desperate. His crew—he never wanted to lose his crew. Crew was family.

“Jim,” Leonard said, and there was both fondness and sadness in his face, “I get it. Believe me, I do.”

“How can you?” Jim asked wearily. “Fighting with Spock the way you do, how can I believe you fully understand what a rift does to us?”

Leonard leaned forward. “‘Cause I’m here, Jim, and Spock… well, shit, Spock would be here if he wasn’t on the Bridge. We agreed that we want you to help us put things right.”

Something joyous leapt inside Jim, and he drew in a breath. “Okay,” he said, releasing the air from his lungs slowly. “Okay.” Then he moved over to his desk and activated a communication link. “Kirk to Bridge.”

“Yes, Captain?” his Chief Communications Officer answered.

“Can you spare Commander Spock for half of an hour, Lt. Uhura?”

“No need for that, sir” was the woman’s amused reply. “He’s on his way to you.”

Jim terminated the link.

Leonard had folded his arms in the meantime and pursed his mouth in typical McCoy-why should I be surprised? fashion. “I think that Vulcan’s more telepathic than he wants us to know he is.”

Jim was about to sit down in his chair again when the door to his quarters chimed. “Spock!” he cried, pleased, when the Vulcan entered.

Spock stopped in his tracks and considered Jim’s cheerful expression.

Leonard sighed loudly and made excessive noise as he stacked his padds to the side on the table. “All right, fine, let’s get this session started,” the doctor announced, sounding long-suffering. “Just be warned. I’ve been through relationship counseling before and the outcome ended in divorce.”

“Doctor, we are not married.”

Jim opened his mouth (seriously, was he supposed to let that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity pass by?) but Leonard glared fiercely at him and growled, “So help me… If you make a single smartass remark, Jim, I will murder you with my bare hands and not even the ninja Vulcan over there will be able to stop me!”

“Aw, Bones, you’re killing me here!”

“That’s the idea.”

“Gentlemen,” Spock interrupted, “please desist. Your banter is not as educational for me as you seem to believe it is.”

Leonard joined Jim in staring at Spock.

Jim blinked. “That… was a Vulcan smack-down, I think.”

“Well I’ll be,” Leonard said admiringly.

Jim wondered if Spock had a headache yet. Did half-Vulcans get headaches if they could control their pain centers? That was another question for another day, but Jim was certain he would not to forget it. His curiosity was the most praised aspect of his personality. (Well, okay, maybe not. That was his amazing charm, right?)

He took a seat, or rather flopped into it, and said, “I hereby declare this marriage counseling session started!”

With a strangled noise, Bones tried to leap over the table. The Vulcan removed the doctor to a safe distance and cast an unappreciative look in Jim’s direction.

Jim, feeling a smidgen of regret now that he had successfully pushed McCoy’s buttons, cleared his throat sheepishly. “Sorry… old habits die hard.”

McCoy crossed his arms. “Just get on with it.”

Jim thought in silence for a long minute before he came to a decision. “We should revisit the argument about your parents. That’s what started your fight, isn’t it?”

Panic flashed through Leonard’s eyes. “I’m not talking about my dad.”

Jim lifted his hands in a calming gesture, afraid McCoy might make a run for the door if the wrong thing was said. How did licensed therapists do this with the emotionally scarred? Jim had a newfound respect for them—but not that he would ever talk to one of his own free will.

“I’m not asking you to, Bones.” His gaze flickered over to the quiet Vulcan. Help me out here, Spock. Please.

Perhaps Spock read the helplessness in his face. The Vulcan said, “When Dr. McCoy spoke of my mother, I did not react well.”

Thank you. Jim sank back into his chair in relief. At least now they had somewhere to start.

Leonard had turned to stare at Spock. “I know I prodded a sore spot, but…” He fell silent, a signal Jim recognized well that McCoy had something on his mind which mattered to him.

“Bones, what did you say exactly?”

The man answered, looking uncomfortable. “‘At least I don’t honor the memory of my parent by scorning everything that he was just because I believe I’m from a superior race of beings.'” McCoy grimaced but he met Jim’s eyes. “That mighta been harsh, Jim, but it’s still the truth as I see it.”

Spock had grown unnaturally still, his voice low enough to be considered strained. “I—nor my father—have ever considered my mother to be less because she was not Vulcan.”

“That’s not the point, Spock,” Leonard cut in before Jim could put in a word edge-wise. “How can you possibly treat us humans as—as if we’re deficient when your own mother was a human!”

“Bones,” Jim warned, standing up, “tread carefully. Spock has a high regard for us. You know that.”

“Do I, Jim? Maybe he doesn’t talk down to you because you’re the captain of this vessel, but there’ve been times…” Leonard’s expression was heartbreakingly defensive. Jim could see the evidence of McCoy’s stress in the working of his jaw. “I know racism when I see it.”

Spock’s voice held bite as he pointed out, “Then what would you consider your words to me, Doctor, when you belittle my countenance and my heritage with your derogatory descriptions? If there is any person aboard this ship who exudes symptoms of xenophobia, it would be you.”

Leonard took a step back as though Spock had physically struck him. “That’s not true. I’m not a xenophobe—I can’t be, Spock. I’m a doctor, for Christ’s sake, on an intergalactic space ship!”

Jim didn’t know what to do. The heart of the matter wasn’t simply a misunderstanding; it was about the way Spock and McCoy saw each other—and of what they saw, they didn’t like. He couldn’t tell them they were wrong, only…

He raised his voice slightly. “I hear what you’re both saying but let me tell you what I know, too. Spock, Bones calls me an idiot and a kid and a lot of other words a subordinate should never use to address his superior if he doesn’t want indefinite janitorial duty—”

Leonard didn’t look repentant in the least when Jim shot him a sidelong glance.

“—but I can tell the difference between when he’s being mean and when he is pretending to be mean. It’s a defense mechanism Bones can’t help, and personally I think he’s grown so used to it that he has become rather fond of insulting people he likes.”

“Okay, that’s enough!” Leonard interrupted, clearly not amused. “Stop psychoanalyzing me. I’m the one with the degree in psychology, you dimwit!”

Jim pointed at Bones. “See?”

Leonard flushed, no doubt just realizing he had done what Jim said he would. Spock looked at Leonard, and Jim had to restrain himself from whooping with triumph at the hint of curiosity, however analytical, in Spock’s eyes.

“I… believe I follow your logic, Jim, yet you must realize Dr. McCoy insulted your intelligence.”

Jim rocked back on his heels, smiling widely. “Yes, but he knows I’m brilliant, Spock. And he knows that I know he knows.”

One of the Vulcan’s eyebrows twitched at that.

Jim continued on merrily, “I will concede that Bones does need to learn how to tone down his enthusiasm. Bones, can you try to say something nice for every un-nice thing you say?”

Leonard sputtered and looked like his tongue was tripping over a whole list of ‘un-nice’ things about Jim. Face red, the doctor finally regained his voice and demanded, “Well, congratulations, you’ve made Spock feel better! What about me? How can you possibly rationalize Spock’s—”

“Easily,” Jim said, dismissing the rest of Leonard’s complaint. “We’re human, Bones. We’re actually kind of terrifying for a Vulcan.”

Leonard’s dubious look said he needed more convincing.

“I’m certain Spock spends a majority of his time trying to decrypt our mysterious ways, and you have to admit considering how very different we are from Vulcans, that must be an onerous task for him.”

Leonard folded his arms but nodded.

“More importantly,” Jim went on to explain, “how would you feel if you were the only human on a ship full of Vulcans?”

“I’d probably throw myself out of an airlock.”

“Sure, if you wanted to die that badly. Realistically though, even if no one was unpleasant to you, you would always know you could not fit in perfectly with them, so…” He left the sentence open-ended for McCoy to finish, which the doctor did.

“I would have my hackles raised all the time.”

With a new kind of understanding in his eyes, Leonard turned to Spock. Spock was too busy boring holes into Jim’s skull with the laser-like intensity of his eyes to notice, and Jim decided to play oblivious to Spock’s displeasure.

Leonard said, “I make things worse for you, don’t I, when I poke at you? I guess for all my talk about how unlike we are, I really didn’t expect you to react differently than a human would. I’m sorry, Spock.”

Spock’s attention was drawn from Jim to Leonard by the sincerity of the man’s tone. “I accept your apology, Doctor, though I feel I must correct some of the Captain’s more… extreme assumptions. I do not, as you say, have my ‘hackles’ continuously erected. Nor am I deeply isolated from other crewmembers.”

Jim bit down on the inside of his cheek to hold back a laugh.

Leonard smiled. “‘Course not, Mr. Spock.” Then the man cleared his throat and offered to stop making ‘derogatory descriptions’ of Spock’s person. “I can’t promise I won’t slip up in the heat of the moment,” he confessed, “but I don’t want you to… to take those words to heart. It’s not a bad thing that you’re a Vulcan, Spock. There’s plenty of good in it, especially in a position like yours on a ship like this.”

“But I frustrate you,” Spock clarified.

“A lot” was McCoy’s dry response.

“Indeed. The sentiment is often mutual.” After a pause, Spock added slowly, “If the intent is not offensive in nature, I can accept a customary label. I only request you do not choose to address me as a ‘kid’, for this name is more appropriately suited to the captain’s persona than mine.”

Leonard smiled again. “You’re definitely not a kid, Spock—not like Jim is—but you are a bit of a hobgoblin.”

One of Spock’s eyebrows arched. “I am unfamiliar with that terminology. What is a hobgoblin?”

“Oh, it’s somethin’ I thought up a little while ago…”

Jim’s heart felt near-to-bursting. “This is great!”

Spock and McCoy turned as one to look at him.

His failure to contain his excitement was apparent for all to see. “Are we okay now?”

“Don’t know, Jim. Is the ban still in effect?”

Jim fist-pumped the air and announced, “Nope. As the great Captain Kirk, I officially rescind it! You may go forth, my jedis, and be friends!” Then he began a not-so-subtle happy dance around his desk.

Spock put his back to Jim and spoke to McCoy. “It is fortunate our socialization is no longer restricted to the Captain. Were it otherwise, at this moment I would be forced to retire to my quarters and partake of a meal without the aid of stimulating conversation.”

Leonard waved a hand at the door. “By all means, Commander, let’s get outta here then. Jim,” he called over his shoulder as he and Spock walked away, “watch out for the—!”

But Jim wasn’t paying attention, and his happy dance came to an abrupt end as he tripped backwards over one of his errant boots. With a squawk of surprise, the man hit the side of a short couch with an oof and tipped over it to face-plant on the floor.

The door to Jim’s quarters slid open to McCoy’s sigh and Spock’s “I assume, when we next encounter the Captain, we must pretend we were not party to this embarrassing conclusion.”

“That’s the way of it, Spock,” agreed Leonard. “Say, when do you have time to come down to the biolab? It’s been a real pain in my ass tryin’ to calculate some of those fluctuating growth rates on my own.”

“I am available for the remainder of beta shift. Now that we are conversing, Doctor, there is a matter I regret to bring to your attention. Your latest report was, I believe the term is, ‘lost in subspace’. If you will resend the report, I will process it without delay.”

“Sure thing, though it might need a little fixing up before you send it off to Command.”

“That is acceptable.”

Their voices were cut off by the closing of the door. Jim, still on the floor of his quarters, rolled onto his back, folded his arms beneath his head and gave the ceiling at a satisfied smile. A while later, he came close to drifting off into a hard-worn sleep.

Then the klaxons began to scream. An officer’s voice could be heard in every room, corridor and crawl space. “Red alert! Battle stations! This is not a drill. I repeat, this is not a drill!”

Kirk’s desk comm came to life before he could punch the button to connect him to the Bridge. “Captain,” Uhura’s melodic voice filtered over the speaker. She had that tone that meant serious business.

Jim tried shoving a foot into a boot, cursed when it wouldn’t go in, and realized the boot was backwards. “Kirk here!”

“You’re needed on the Bridge immediately, sir. A battalion of Birds-Of-Prey just appeared out of nowhere!” Uhura went on to say that she couldn’t understand how or why they would be out here in the back-end of space.

Klingons! Oh shit. How many times did he repeat his prayer for Klingons? Twenty-six, that he can remember.

Jim managed to get his feet into the proper boots and facing the proper way and snatched up his green wraparound tunic just in case the shirt he was wearing somehow became ruined. (It usually did, for no real reason that he or the Supply & Outfitting department could fathom.)

“On my way, Lieutenant. Kirk out!”

-Fini

Related Posts:

• Win or Lose (4/5) – from February 11, 2013
• Win or Lose (2/?) – from February 5, 2013
• Win or Lose (1/?) – from February 5, 2013