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sparkysparky) wrote2009-06-02 05:57 pm
sparkysparky) wrote2009-06-02 05:57 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: The "Dammit, Jim!" Chronicles (PG-13, McCoy/Kirk) 2/?
Title: The "Dammit, Jim!" Chronicles Part 2/?
Pairing: McCoy/Kirk, established pairing
Warnings: Underage (Kirk is (Alien whammied to) 16
Summary: Jim's always been good at thinking on his feet. Had to be, growing up as he did. But this time, he may have gotten himself into more trouble than he can handle.
Rating: PG-13 (R over-all)
Notes: Thank you to everyone who commented on previous parts! Special thanks toacquiescence for a mini-beta. All remaining mistakes (and blatant tense switching) are mine.
Previous Parts: Part 1
He'd answered question after question (What year is it--2259 according to the calender above McCoy's right shoulder, which Jim had very carefully not looked at--What's your name, age and rank, etc. etc. etc, and Jim's even surprised at how easily and smoothly the answers roll of his tongue, glib and confident even if he doesn't feel that way) and suffered through a full physical examination. McCoy had made disapproving remarks about idiots in a gruff, annoyed voice, until it was only years of practice that kept Jim from blushing and squirming uncomfortably on the examination table.
"Dammit Jim, you're a Captain, not a schoolboy. What the fuck were you thinking?" McCoy pounds a fist down on the table, rattling the stainless steel tray and Jim almost jumped. It's the first time McCoy is even really speaking to him, and Jim thinks quickly for an appropriate response. He doesn't get the chance though, as McCoy is barreling on, face frozen in a permanent scowl. "You weren't thinking at all. You just reacted, like you always do, and look where it's gotten you. Fuck. You look ridiculous."
Jim glanced down and saw that the uniform he was wearing--black pants, yellow shirt, Starfleet communicator, the standard uniform of a Captain--was way too long in the legs and arms, too broad in the shoulders. He was swimming in the thing actually, which made him almost grin, because it meant he would eventually grow into the clothes and stop being this small, scrawny for his age boy with a target on his back.
"It seemed like a good idea at the time." Jim ventured. It was his patented answer to almost everything, and it seemed to work, because McCoy's scowl deepened but he didn't say anything else. "And I'm not ridiculous, I'm adorable." He hadn't meant for that to slip out, as his older self probably wouldn't use flirtation as a means of distraction, but McCoy didn't even bat an eyelash, so apparently old habits never died.
"Get out of my sickbay. I have actual patients to see to, and you're in the way" McCoy growled, and started putting away the various instruments he'd used, ignoring Jim as if he was some sort of nuisance in his busy schedule.
It really shouldn't sting as much as it does. He doesn't even know the man, at least not yet, but he can't shake the feeling that McCoy dislikes him. The doctor hardly even looked at his face when he asked questions, and Jim would be relieved at the lack of attention if he didn't want to know what he'd done to make the doctor hate him.
"You're free to go Jim. I'll send a notice to your comm when I need to look at you again."
It was effectively a dismissal, and everything he'd hoped for. But, the med bay was all that he knew at the moment, and the thought of going into something unknown made Jim slightly less confident he could pull this off. But he couldn't think of any logical way to stay, without giving the game away, and hopped off the table.
His legs are wobbly, but keeps himself upright, and bites back a whimper of pain as the room tilts on its axis and his head throbs. McCoy doesn't seem to notice, which is all right by Jim. He's suffered through a lot worse and still managed to stay on his feet, a little headache and weak legs aren't going to stop him now.
"Later Bones," he says cheerfully, flashing a bright grin--the one he keeps in store for when he needs to distract people from noticing anything is wrong--and saunters confidently from the room.
It's a confidence that only lasts minutes, as the halls of the Enterprise are twisty and confusing, and before Jim realizes it, he has no idea where he is. Not that he knew where he was to begin with, but now he doesn't even know how to get back to the medical bay.
It's a gorgeous ship though, and he's distracted more with admiring the design, a strange feeling of peace and comfort coming over him. He felt at home here, as if he belonged, something he'd never felt before. He doesn't even mind being lost, much, even though it gives him a feeling of helplessness that he can't stand.
"Fuck," he muttered to himself, ducking behind a corner to avoid a pair of Ensigns coming down the hall. He's not at all prepared to deal with anyone yet, and why he thought he'd be able to just find the Captain's quarters without any difficultly he has no idea.
"Problems Captain?"
Jim jumped at the emotionless voice, and spun around to face Spock, First Officer. He quickly smoothed his face into something less surprised, and offered a carefree grin. "Just doing rounds, Commander," he said brightly, flashing the grin again. "Carry on."
He wasn't sure if he actually expected Spock to move along, and wasn't at all surprised when the Vulcan held his ground. He fought the urge to fidget under the other man's intense glare, and clasped his hands behind his back to keep from tugging at the sleeves of his too-long uniform.
"Was there something you needed, Commander Spock?" Jim asked, attempting to inflect a tone of superiority into his voice.
Spock's expression didn't change, but Jim couldn't help but feel he was being laughed at. It was something he hated, and he could feel himself bristling at the thought.
"You needn't keep up the pretense, with me."
Jim froze, eyes wide and heart pounding as he stared up at Spock's impassive face. Spock's eyes were shadowed and Jim had no idea what he was thinking. "What pretense? I'm just making sure my ship is running smoothly," Jim said, thinking quickly on his feet, a thousand excuses and stories running through his mind.
"Jim, I know the truth," Spock says firmly, and all thoughts of charming his way out of this disappear. The jig is up, Jim thinks, and prepares himself for the worst.
"And I'm prepared to help you."
Part 3: Jim blinked at Spock, not certain, exactly, what the Vulcan meant.
Pairing: McCoy/Kirk, established pairing
Warnings: Underage (Kirk is (Alien whammied to) 16
Summary: Jim's always been good at thinking on his feet. Had to be, growing up as he did. But this time, he may have gotten himself into more trouble than he can handle.
Rating: PG-13 (R over-all)
Notes: Thank you to everyone who commented on previous parts! Special thanks to
acquiescence for a mini-beta. All remaining mistakes (and blatant tense switching) are mine.Previous Parts: Part 1
He'd answered question after question (What year is it--2259 according to the calender above McCoy's right shoulder, which Jim had very carefully not looked at--What's your name, age and rank, etc. etc. etc, and Jim's even surprised at how easily and smoothly the answers roll of his tongue, glib and confident even if he doesn't feel that way) and suffered through a full physical examination. McCoy had made disapproving remarks about idiots in a gruff, annoyed voice, until it was only years of practice that kept Jim from blushing and squirming uncomfortably on the examination table.
"Dammit Jim, you're a Captain, not a schoolboy. What the fuck were you thinking?" McCoy pounds a fist down on the table, rattling the stainless steel tray and Jim almost jumped. It's the first time McCoy is even really speaking to him, and Jim thinks quickly for an appropriate response. He doesn't get the chance though, as McCoy is barreling on, face frozen in a permanent scowl. "You weren't thinking at all. You just reacted, like you always do, and look where it's gotten you. Fuck. You look ridiculous."
Jim glanced down and saw that the uniform he was wearing--black pants, yellow shirt, Starfleet communicator, the standard uniform of a Captain--was way too long in the legs and arms, too broad in the shoulders. He was swimming in the thing actually, which made him almost grin, because it meant he would eventually grow into the clothes and stop being this small, scrawny for his age boy with a target on his back.
"It seemed like a good idea at the time." Jim ventured. It was his patented answer to almost everything, and it seemed to work, because McCoy's scowl deepened but he didn't say anything else. "And I'm not ridiculous, I'm adorable." He hadn't meant for that to slip out, as his older self probably wouldn't use flirtation as a means of distraction, but McCoy didn't even bat an eyelash, so apparently old habits never died.
"Get out of my sickbay. I have actual patients to see to, and you're in the way" McCoy growled, and started putting away the various instruments he'd used, ignoring Jim as if he was some sort of nuisance in his busy schedule.
It really shouldn't sting as much as it does. He doesn't even know the man, at least not yet, but he can't shake the feeling that McCoy dislikes him. The doctor hardly even looked at his face when he asked questions, and Jim would be relieved at the lack of attention if he didn't want to know what he'd done to make the doctor hate him.
"You're free to go Jim. I'll send a notice to your comm when I need to look at you again."
It was effectively a dismissal, and everything he'd hoped for. But, the med bay was all that he knew at the moment, and the thought of going into something unknown made Jim slightly less confident he could pull this off. But he couldn't think of any logical way to stay, without giving the game away, and hopped off the table.
His legs are wobbly, but keeps himself upright, and bites back a whimper of pain as the room tilts on its axis and his head throbs. McCoy doesn't seem to notice, which is all right by Jim. He's suffered through a lot worse and still managed to stay on his feet, a little headache and weak legs aren't going to stop him now.
"Later Bones," he says cheerfully, flashing a bright grin--the one he keeps in store for when he needs to distract people from noticing anything is wrong--and saunters confidently from the room.
It's a confidence that only lasts minutes, as the halls of the Enterprise are twisty and confusing, and before Jim realizes it, he has no idea where he is. Not that he knew where he was to begin with, but now he doesn't even know how to get back to the medical bay.
It's a gorgeous ship though, and he's distracted more with admiring the design, a strange feeling of peace and comfort coming over him. He felt at home here, as if he belonged, something he'd never felt before. He doesn't even mind being lost, much, even though it gives him a feeling of helplessness that he can't stand.
"Fuck," he muttered to himself, ducking behind a corner to avoid a pair of Ensigns coming down the hall. He's not at all prepared to deal with anyone yet, and why he thought he'd be able to just find the Captain's quarters without any difficultly he has no idea.
"Problems Captain?"
Jim jumped at the emotionless voice, and spun around to face Spock, First Officer. He quickly smoothed his face into something less surprised, and offered a carefree grin. "Just doing rounds, Commander," he said brightly, flashing the grin again. "Carry on."
He wasn't sure if he actually expected Spock to move along, and wasn't at all surprised when the Vulcan held his ground. He fought the urge to fidget under the other man's intense glare, and clasped his hands behind his back to keep from tugging at the sleeves of his too-long uniform.
"Was there something you needed, Commander Spock?" Jim asked, attempting to inflect a tone of superiority into his voice.
Spock's expression didn't change, but Jim couldn't help but feel he was being laughed at. It was something he hated, and he could feel himself bristling at the thought.
"You needn't keep up the pretense, with me."
Jim froze, eyes wide and heart pounding as he stared up at Spock's impassive face. Spock's eyes were shadowed and Jim had no idea what he was thinking. "What pretense? I'm just making sure my ship is running smoothly," Jim said, thinking quickly on his feet, a thousand excuses and stories running through his mind.
"Jim, I know the truth," Spock says firmly, and all thoughts of charming his way out of this disappear. The jig is up, Jim thinks, and prepares himself for the worst.
"And I'm prepared to help you."
Part 3: Jim blinked at Spock, not certain, exactly, what the Vulcan meant.