Title: Winner Takes All (7/7)
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy; also S/Mc, K/S, K/Mc.
Warnings: slavery, dub-con
Summary: Mirror!verse, post first five-year mission. Two bitter rivals are at war over a prize possession.
Previous Part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6
Or read at AO3
It’s as if the universe brings them together on purpose, if only to laugh in their faces at a power that can never be. McCoy does not expect to see Jim or Spock again, not unless it’s in the brief two seconds before he is disintegrated by a phaser or slit from ear-to-ear. But they do meet, in the most unlikely of places and without prior planning or connivance.
Leonard serves on a colony small enough to be useless in strategical warfare but populated by a group of “reformers” that need special conditioning before they can join the Emperor’s army. That requires a doctor—not a particularly skilled doctor, just one wise enough to reattach limbs, seal gaping holes and keep his mouth shut. McCoy finds this suitable, as he has nothing better lined up nor ever will. He has an intact sanity, two working hands, and a shambles of a career.
But he’s not black-listed like Jim.
Funny. McCoy always felt that Kirk could have savaged his career by that convincing sweet-talk he can call up at will (no man believes it, not for an instant, if they really know James T. Kirk). Spend a month or two in space, make a few calls (and kills); surely it wouldn’t have been too hard for a former Admiral to smooth the path for his return. After all, there was no justifiable evidence to incriminate Jim (McCoy never did figure out where Spock hid their weapon). So what if the Admiral is debunked to Captain (or worse) and sent back on the battlefield for the rest of his days?
Jim, and McCoy is sure it’s on purpose, does not attempt to persuade Starfleet or any Council member of his innocence or his worth to the Empire. Rather, he solidifies every reason for the Emperor to place a steep price on his head.
Jim Kirk forms a band of marauders. He does become galaxy-renowned—for all the wrong reasons.
And when Leonard hears those awed bar tales of how Kirk overtakes every cruiser he encounters with finesse, that if a ship meets Kirk’s vessel in open space, its captain will vanish like a ghost… well, McCoy may be hunched over his drink but the scowl on his face is actually a half-smile because damned if Kirk doesn’t always win in some way every fucking time.
So he still has the device. And Jim still has Spock to help him work it.
McCoy will down the rest of his drink and think, as he goes from a dark sleazy bar to a darker, dirtier medical ward, that at least there are a billion stars between him and those two bastards.
Turns out, space is small enough to fuck him over. Or maybe that’s just Fate.
His prey never changes, not even after being stripped bare and laid open to the clutches of Imperialist torture specialists. That pleases him, somehow. He listens to the “—God-damn lazy bastards! I told you to move these supplies fucking hours ago—”
It’s rare that Doctor McCoy doesn’t round a corner spitting curses and terrifying lowly workers with his blazing blue eyes and deliciously ragged scar.
Only Kirk’s taken care of those workers and the doctor won’t realize his mistake until much too late. McCoy shoves past the door, into the cramped filthy office labeled Cargo Manager; he doesn’t bother to command the light settings to engage. Wouldn’t have worked anyway. Spock’s rearranged the power units rumbling in the backroom.
It’s perfect, really, and rather satisfying when he catches the doctor around the neck and whispers “Hello there, Bones.”
The man pressed to him goes absolutely still, barely breathing for just a second or two.
Then, “Jim. Shoulda known.” There’s a pause. “Well, are you going to face me like a decent man, or just stab me in the back?”
McCoy smells good, like sweat, resignation and a touch of strong bourbon. Jim runs the phaser across the doctor’s belly, caressing as he replies, “We’ve done quite a bit of back-stabbing, haven’t we, Bones?”
There is a slight shift, as McCoy leans into his hold. “Sure. Par for the course.”
Kirk continues to slide his phaser against his captive, now running it up and down a clothed thigh.
McCoy wants to know, in a low tone, “How did you track me here?”
The man supposes he can give his Bones an honest answer. “I didn’t. Neither did Spock.” The name sends a little shiver through McCoy; Jim feels it, savors it. “We just happened to be running down a freighter, and wouldn’t you know it… your name was on the paperwork.”
The doctor gives a short bark of laughter. “Lots of McCoys in the galaxy, Captain.”
Jim hasn’t heard that name said quite so fondly in a long time. He likes it.
“Only one Dr. L.H. McCoy that I know of, Bones, and it’s a good thing I decided to beam down to pay you a visit.”
“Why is that?” Bones sounds only mildly curious.
Kirk pulls hard at that bent neck, enjoys watching the vein beat against the skin rhythmically. He leans down and kisses the pulse. “‘Cause my ship needs a doctor.”
He allows McCoy to break loose. The man spins around, gloriously gaping and enraged. “You’re fucking kidding me!” he fairly spits. Kirk steps back to keep his boots out of range.
He puts on his best smile and levels his phaser between two sharp blue eyes. “I don’t kid. Which shall it be? Death or… eventual death?”
“Well let’s see, Jim, I can die standing up or die under you. Hard choice. Take the shot.”
It must be because Bones’ swift decision surprises him that Kirk doesn’t fire then and there.
“Haven’t got all day, Jim-boy.”
“Shoot or quit wasting my time.”
“Unfortunately, McCoy,” he tells the incensed man, “the choice isn’t in either of our hands.”
Bones’ eyes widen marginally but before he can spin around and spit out “Spock!” long Vulcan fingers pinch his neck in just the right spot.
Kirk doesn’t bother to break the man’s fall. He eyes his Vulcan partner and says, “Satisfied?”
Spock merely arranges the doctor’s body over his shoulder and activates the beaming signal in his communicator. The three are transported away, a bright flash in a pit of darkness.
“You’re a fucking lunatic, Spock. Can’t your puny Vulcan brain comprehend that?”
“The size of my brain is irrelevant to this conversation.”
“I’d say not. You don’t seem to understand the simple word NO.”
An alarm beeps and the door slides back to allow Kirk entrance. “Good, I see you two are getting along.”
McCoy rattles the straps that bind him to the small bed. “Yeah, real damn hilarious, Jim. Come to visit for a little midnight rape?”
Kirk sits on the edge of the bed and quirks the corner of his mouth. “Since when have I ever had to rape you, McCoy?”
“‘First time for everything!’ If that ain’t your fucking middle name, then it should be.”
Kirk makes a pleased noise and reaches over to gently grasp the doctor’s chin. “We underestimated you. That was a mistake.”
McCoy meets the other man’s stare, unflinchingly. “How do you like the taste of failure, Jim? Unpleasant, isn’t it?”
“It makes me hungry for victory.”
They share a mutual understanding, in a brief space of time. Spock interrupts with “Your Human emotions are extraneous. Doctor, we have offered you a truce. Will you accept?”
“A truce requires trust.” McCoy casts a deliberate glance at his bindings. “See why I fail to believe you, Spock, or do I have to spell it out…again?“
Kirk undoes the doctor’s left wrist as Spock snaps the lock on the right. McCoy sits up and rubs at the raw marks. He then stands and faces away from both the Captain and his First Officer. When Leonard McCoy comes to some decision, he says without malice or rancor, “That weapon’s on this ship, correct?”
He looks first at Spock, then Kirk. “Destroy it and I’ll join you.”
“The device remains intrinsic to our safety, Doctor, given the current status of the Captain and myself in the eyes of the Empire.”
“Besides,” Kirk adds, “I like it.”
“The way it’s built, gentlemen,” the doctor emphasizes, “does not include a third. We’ll acquire another, one that any of us could use, at any time.”
Kirk’s eyes are dark. “You ask a lot, Bones.”
“Equal footing.” McCoy says gently, “And you understand, Captain, that if I want to kill you, I’ll find a way.” He flicks his gaze to the Vulcan, who nods.
They all understand; they are alike, these three. Vicious. Uncontrollable. Unpredictable.
No one is safe.
“Done,” the Captain decides; he rises, paces to the Vulcan and back. “Spock doesn’t have the tools to make another one.”
“No need, Jim.” McCoy’s mouth stretches in that infamous wolf grin, the white of his scar catching the light. “I know just where we can get one.” He walks up to the other Human, grabs a fist full of that black tunic and pulls the other into his orbit. “It might require a fight, though.”
“I like fights too,” Jim replies, eyes half-hooded.
McCoy releases him, addresses the silent Spock. “So whose willfully deceptive slave are you now, Spock?”
“I am no man’s slave,” the Vulcan answers.
“Out here,” McCoy confirms, “none of us are.”
That’s it; I’ve put the collective us out of our misery. Whether these three survive one another is anyone’s guess. Thank you for the encouragement!