Trust
Title: Trust
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot
Characters/Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~1600
Summary: Before there is sex, there's an introduction.
(For caitri: Kirk/McCoy, '50 Shades of Grey')
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(Back Cover of '50 Shades of Grey': When literature student Anastasia Steele goes to interview young entrepreneur Christian Grey, she encounters a man who is beautiful, brilliant, and intimidating. The unworldly, innocent Ana is startled to realize she wants this man and, despite his enigmatic reserve, finds she is desperate to get close to him. Unable to resist Ana’s quiet beauty, wit, and independent spirit, Grey admits he wants her, too-but on his own terms.
Shocked yet thrilled by Grey’s singular erotic tastes, Ana hesitates. For all the trappings of success-his multinational businesses, his vast wealth, his loving family-Grey is a man tormented by demons and consumed by the need to control. When the couple embarks on a daring, passionately physical affair, Ana discovers Christian Grey’s secrets and explores her own dark desires.)
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When Jim hauled himself out of bed an hour late and on the ripe side of unsanitary, he hadn't expected to make the penciled-in appointment he’d managed to flirt out of a cute middle-manager at the McCoy Medical headquarters. When he walked in the shiny glass doors at half-past ten in oil stained jean and a wrinkled tee-shirt and gave his name, he was surprised the receptionist didn't peer down her pristine little nose and send him on his way. Instead, she handled him like he matched the rest of the starched shirts milling around the atrium.
It had been a little insulting at the time. If she wasn’t going to give him the stink eye, the least she could do was give him a lingering once over. Jim might not be the white collar sort of presentable, but he did ‘hot mess’ like nobody else. But now, sitting in Doctor Leonard McCoy’s office, Jim was left wondering why on earth the head of an interstellar medical company made time for a small-town freelance reporter on a Monday morning. Hell, any morning. Jim was good, but he wasn’t that good.
McCoy looked much the same in person as he did in his general publicity photos. The man across the desk was moodier than Jim would’ve figured, with a scowl that seemed permanently etched into his forehead even when his lips weren’t turned, but he was otherwise an attractive and put together tycoon with a sense of fashion that tilted sharply towards ‘Sunday Morning on the Bible belt’.
“So,” McCoy gruffed, leaning back in an ergonomic office chair that was obviously more comfortable than Jim’s, “which school are you from? Ms. Chapel didn’t say.”
“Do you make a habit of spending your time with school boys?” Jim asked with lewd humor. Somehow, Christina Chapel decided, between his pick-up lines and shameless fishing, that he was a school reporter; that’s what got him this interview. McCoy was humoring some high school punk writing an article for the school paper. It was either the creepiest thing he’d ever hear or as quaint and small town as McCoy’s fashion sense. Jim was actually dreading the likelihood of it being the second. No one should be that Norman Rockwell.
Luckily, Jim’s ability to piss off just about anyone was more than enough to send one of the good doctor’s eyebrows ticking furiously up his forehead as he growled, “Take that smartass tone and swallow it, you inbred bottom feeder. You want to write tabloid fodder, you can do it from the comfort of whatever unwashed pile of human filth you call home. I took this interview so I could help a young person with goals get one step close to reaching them, not waste my time with a gossip mongering gorilla who either failed kindergarten half a dozen times or managed to snake oil his way into this interview. I’m having a hard time deciding which is more likely: you being that stupid or that revolting. It’s a tossup.”
It was amazing what a bit of fire could do to a man’s eyes. Jim’s lip curled happily as he leaned back and gave Leonard McCoy a good long second look. All-in-all, once you dusted him up a bit, Jim liked him. “Quite the temper there. But, it’s only fair to point out: I never said I was student. I’m a freelancer, just wanting an interview from one of the higher ups to give me a some decent quotes for an article. This whole ‘naughty school boy’ routine is all your doing.” He shrugged, “Not that I mind. I mean, I’ve been a very bad boy.”
With a snort, McCoy seemed to relax back into a dissatisfied slouch and shot Jim a glare that channeled more of an urge to swat him with a rolled up newspaper than knock his teeth out. That’s what he called improvement.
“Someone didn’t beat you enough as a child,” McCoy gruffed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. With a sigh, he waved Jim on. “Well, you got your damn interview. I suggest you use the next ten minutes wisely, before I have you tossed out on your ass.”
“Did you go to boarding school or something? Did you dream of being a headmaster when you grew up? You seem to have a thing for bossy corporal punishment. Want me to beg? ‘Oh, please, sir! May I have another?’” Jim was quickly falling in love with the dramatic tempo of the doctor’s angry forehead. It was a restrained dance, twitching ever so slightly whenever he strummed just the right set of nerves. “It’s not my usual, but I’m a quick learner.”
“You’ve just lost five minutes. Keep it up and see what it gets you.”
“Promises, promises. I feel like I’m on a game show. Should I see what’s behind door number three? I’ve always wanted to be tied up, but I’ve never really trusted anyone to do it. I mean, you hear horror stories of someone cinching you up just a little too tight and, bam, goodbye junior and all your hopes and dreams, but you’re a doctor. If I can’t trust you, who can I?” Jim shrugged and gave a mocking pout, “Just, be gentle.”
“Kid, either you start asking question - real questions, smartass - or I’m going to toss you off the nearest cliff gagged and hogtied.” He leaned forward, tapping the desk twice in soft emphasis, “And I promise, I won’t be gentle.”
Jim matched him and put their heads together with a smile and fired, “Fine. What made you decide to open up a facility in bumfuck Egypt?”
McCoy’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he didn’t miss a beat as he answered, “Starfleet’s ship yards are less than fifteen miles west of here. This site was specially built to manage the medical designs and machinery needed to outfit both the new and refurbished med bays.”
“Sounds important, but not important enough to need you on-site. This isn’t a temporary office while the new branch gets off the ground, but you’ve made sure news never got around that you were staying. So, why are you here?” Jim watched his scowl grow and crowed. He struck a nerve.
“I like the view,” McCoy panned, nose-to-nose.
“Bullshit. No one likes the view.”
“I have a thing for corn. I can’t help myself.”
“Innuendo, I like it. Good distraction. Nice try. Why are you here?”
“Ex-wife remarried and has full custody of my kid. Decided to hate my life somewhere I didn’t have to watch and damn well didn’t feel like reading about it in every business article with my name in it.”
Jim blinked. “Huh.” The information was both entirely useless and yet, endlessly interesting.
“What?” McCoy groused, “Never heard of a messy divorce?”
“Just wasn’t expecting it,” Jim shrugged with a crooked smile. “I was hoping for villainy and plot. Shitty personal life isn’t near as exciting.”
“I always have an extra portion of crying intern in the morning. Other than that, I’m sorry to disappoint, but I don’t have a death ray strapped to the roof.”
With that, a loud chime echoed from Dr. McCoy’s comm console and he turned away, turning off the alarm with a tap of his finger, “Your five minutes are up, Kid.”
“You said I had ten!”
“Before you got mouthy and lost five of them.”
“This is hardly enough for an article,” Jim objected. He wasn’t ready to leave, so he tried to wheedle, “I haven’t had a paycheck in six weeks. I’m living off stale chips and beer. If you kick me out now, I’ll waste away in a back alley. Dead before I could even begin to live.”
“Quite the sob story; real heart breaker. Shoulda thought of earlier.”
“I thought you took this interview to support my dreams. Think of my potential, all bright eyed innocence.”
McCoy finally turned around and gave Jim an unsupportive roll of his eyes, “You spent your interview trying to get me to tie you to the bed. Somehow, I don’t think this article has anything to do with your dreams.”
“But they’re still really good dreams.” Jim insisted, realizing quickly that he argument might have started out as a light hearted attempt at guilt tripping McCoy into another ten minutes, but it was also painfully true. “Seriously, man. Let me ask just a few more questions and I’ll be out of your hair.”
Something shifted, the good humor sliding out of him as McCoy sighed and leaned back in his chair, “Listen, kid-”
“Jim,” he corrected.
“Jim. Why the hell do you think I assumed you were a school reporter? I already gave a statement to the local news outlets two days ago. I could let you ask a hundred questions, but the information I give you isn’t going to be any different than what I gave them.”
“Well shit.” Jim slumped, running his tongue across the backs of his teeth. “Fuck. Guess this has been a waste of your time, then.”
“Just a bit,” McCoy agreed, cocking his head in agreement. But, he leaned forward before Jim could stand and tempted, “However, I think I might have a solution for you.” He slipped Jim’s PADD out of his hand and typed an entry before sliding it back across the desk. “Show up at 7:30. Plan to stay all night.”
Anticipation shot through his stomach, edge with wary skepticism and a low, hopeful heat. Jim didn’t let it show, instead demanding, “What for?”
And, for the first time, McCoy smiled, as slow and southern as the rest of him. “Jim, you said it yourself - If you can’t trust me, who can you?”