Star Trek AU Drabbles: Various Pairings
Here are my bridge2sickbay offerings from last week. All of them are gen, maybe pre-slash if you squint.
Kirk/McCoy, Demon Hunters
Leonard "Bones" McCoy, demon hunter ("Demons don't even /have/ bones, Jim, it doesn't make any sense") is woken up by Black Sabbath screaming they're back in black. He glares at his cell phone and debates the relative merits of answering for a full chorus before he gives in. "What?"
"Good morning to you too," his sometime partner Jim Kirk's voice drawls, irritatingly chipper for this early in the morning. "What do you know about banshees?"
McCoy sits up with a sigh and reaches for a pen. "My father's full-blooded Irish, Jim. I grew up with banshees. Where are you?"
"Boston. Or Brookline, I think, technically. Or maybe it's Back Bay, there seems to be an inordinate amount of rainbow flags."
"You should feel right at home, then," McCoy replies, pulling on his jeans.
"Fuck you," Jim tosses back easily. "Besides, you know that my heart belongs to you."
McCoy eyerolls as he tucks the phone under his chin, reaching for his black t-shirt. "I'm so relieved."
McCoy can hear Jim's grin over the phone line. "Nobody can salt and burn like you, baby."
McCoy already has his keys in hand as he grabs his sunglasses, wincing at the bright sunlight that greets him when he opens the door to his hotel room. "I'll call you when I'm on the 93."
"You are a lifesafer, Bones. Literally, my life. Being saved. I'll Finagle a Bagel when you get into town."
"Your Berkeley English Major is showing again. You just like saying Finagle."
"Shut up."
Bones smiles and pulls open the door to the blue Reliant K. "Try not to die before I get there."
Kirk/McCoy, Underwear Models
It was go time.
Jim straightened his shoulders, as he leaned against the wall, waiting for the runway show to start, acutely aware of the fact that he was only wearing a pair of boxer briefs. He shivered, and the guy standing next to him smiled sympathetically.
"Cold?"
"Yeah," Jim replied tightly. "I just hope they're going to take that into account when they review the film."
The guy cracked a smile. He was tall, dark-haired, and his body made Jim feel self-conscious about just how close to adolescence he was. This guy was a man, no question. And Jesus Christ, he knows those abs. This isn't just any man. This is Len McCoy, darling of the Ralph Lauren campaign of 04' and the '05 Burburry. An icon, whose beautiful sharply defined cheekbones earned him the nickname 'Bones' in the industry. When you needed a beauty shot, there was one man you went to--Bones McCoy. And here he is, standing next to Jim and doing his first runway show.
McCoy seems to take pity on him, and starts spinning an anecdote in a slow, southern drawl that seems completely incongruous to his appearance. "My first show, I'm standing there next to Tyson Beckford, completely starstruck. I mean, I'm just a kid off the farm and here's a fucking supermodel. I can't think of a goddamn thing I could say to him and not sound like a fucking idiot, and right before they cue the music I lean over to him, and I say...'I might throw up on you'." Then McCoy claps him lightly on the shoulder as he heads towards the catwalk. "It could've been worse."
And somehow, Jim knows that he's going to be friends with this man for the rest of his life.
McCoy/Uhura, Noir
She had the kind of beauty that men fought wars for, and had. Tragic beauty--the kind a man had an instinctive urge to protect. And she was in my office.
I turned away, looking out the window at the city of San Francisco. My city. A bright and shining facade that pretended to hide the dark and seedy underbelly--disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence. If the good people of this city only knew.
"Why do you think your husband's cheating on you, Mrs. Spock?" I asked her.
I could feel her hesitation in her answer. "My husband is not an emotional man, Mister McCoy, but I love him. And I thought he loved me. Until that drifter Jim Kirk came into our lives...." she trailed off, struggling for composure. "I just need to know, Mister McCoy. One way or another."
I turned back to her. She was exactly the kind of heart I didn't want to break. But the stack of bills in my desk drawer wasn't going to pay itself. "$3000. I'll need access to your husband's schedule, and any events you'll be attending."
She wrote the check without argument and handed it over, the paper held out between gloved fingertips. "Of course, Mister McCoy. My assistant Hikaru will give you anything you need."
I stared down at the check and nodded. She stood to go and I awkwardly got to my feet to see her out.
"Call me as soon as you know anything, Mister McCoy," she said softly, her eyes fixing me in their snare, and I could see the pain, the need in them.
"Of course, Mrs. Spock," I assured her, and watched her walk out of my life for the first time--but what I was sure would not be the last.
Kirk/Spock, Regency
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man of a certain reputation, manner of dress, and caliber of associates was /not/ in want of a wife. But it was a truth polite society universally ignored.
James Tiberius Kirk, heir to the entailed estate and title of Christopher Pike, was such a man. In theory he was to become a lawyer, and take over Pike's practice. No one, it seemed, had run this theory past Mister Kirk, who spent his free time getting into as much trouble as he could manage.
The final straw came when Mister Kirk was caught inflagrante with the daughter of one of his associates. The daughter was quickly sent away to a relation, and Mister Kirk was packed off to the country, where Pike was certain nothing of interest ever happened and he could weather the scandal without incident.
---
James Tiberius Kirk, who had been horizontal across the carriage seat for the past two miles, was thrown unceremoniously off the seat as it creaked to a stop.
The door opened, and his first glimpse of his new home was the upside down visage of a pale man with strangely pale skin, dark eyes, darker hair, and a curiously pointed eyebrow that was raised in inquiry.
"Fascinating," the man said.
Kirk/McCoy, Civil War
Leonard McCoy was up to his elbows in blood, guts, and amputated limbs when they brought in the new body.
Blue eyes on an impossibly young face streaked with the dirt and grime of the battlefield--too young for the Captain's stripes he wore. His cracked lips parted as he focused on Leonard's face. "Don't let them take my leg," he mumbles.
"Don't be such an infant," Leonard replied with a roll of his eyes. From what he could see, the man's leg had barely been grazed. The more likely cause of his current state was the same as everyone else--exhaustion, dehydration, and starvation.
Leonard turned away, but the man had curled his hands in his apron. "Don't do it, Sawbones," he pleaded. And there was a desperation, a passion that made him pause.
"Okay, kid," Leonard replies, gently prying his hand away. His hand--calloused, but warm. "You'll keep your goddamn leg."
Relieved, the kid fainted dead away, and Leonard's tired face cracked into an expression of amusement for the first time in months.
Kirk/Spock, Due South Fusion
Jim raised an eyebrow at the Mountie in front of him.
"Okay, so...you want to run that by me again?"
The mountie sighed. "Detective Kirk, I have come to San Francisco on the trail of the criminal Nero. As the head detective on the case, I require your assistance."
"You realize you have no jurisdiction here," Jim said mildly, gnawing on the pencap between his teeth. "Mister..."
"Spock."
Jim looked amused. "You got a first name?"
"My mother is Inuit," Spock replied calmly. "You would not be able to pronounce it."
Kirk/McCoy, Demon Hunters
Leonard "Bones" McCoy, demon hunter ("Demons don't even /have/ bones, Jim, it doesn't make any sense") is woken up by Black Sabbath screaming they're back in black. He glares at his cell phone and debates the relative merits of answering for a full chorus before he gives in. "What?"
"Good morning to you too," his sometime partner Jim Kirk's voice drawls, irritatingly chipper for this early in the morning. "What do you know about banshees?"
McCoy sits up with a sigh and reaches for a pen. "My father's full-blooded Irish, Jim. I grew up with banshees. Where are you?"
"Boston. Or Brookline, I think, technically. Or maybe it's Back Bay, there seems to be an inordinate amount of rainbow flags."
"You should feel right at home, then," McCoy replies, pulling on his jeans.
"Fuck you," Jim tosses back easily. "Besides, you know that my heart belongs to you."
McCoy eyerolls as he tucks the phone under his chin, reaching for his black t-shirt. "I'm so relieved."
McCoy can hear Jim's grin over the phone line. "Nobody can salt and burn like you, baby."
McCoy already has his keys in hand as he grabs his sunglasses, wincing at the bright sunlight that greets him when he opens the door to his hotel room. "I'll call you when I'm on the 93."
"You are a lifesafer, Bones. Literally, my life. Being saved. I'll Finagle a Bagel when you get into town."
"Your Berkeley English Major is showing again. You just like saying Finagle."
"Shut up."
Bones smiles and pulls open the door to the blue Reliant K. "Try not to die before I get there."
Kirk/McCoy, Underwear Models
It was go time.
Jim straightened his shoulders, as he leaned against the wall, waiting for the runway show to start, acutely aware of the fact that he was only wearing a pair of boxer briefs. He shivered, and the guy standing next to him smiled sympathetically.
"Cold?"
"Yeah," Jim replied tightly. "I just hope they're going to take that into account when they review the film."
The guy cracked a smile. He was tall, dark-haired, and his body made Jim feel self-conscious about just how close to adolescence he was. This guy was a man, no question. And Jesus Christ, he knows those abs. This isn't just any man. This is Len McCoy, darling of the Ralph Lauren campaign of 04' and the '05 Burburry. An icon, whose beautiful sharply defined cheekbones earned him the nickname 'Bones' in the industry. When you needed a beauty shot, there was one man you went to--Bones McCoy. And here he is, standing next to Jim and doing his first runway show.
McCoy seems to take pity on him, and starts spinning an anecdote in a slow, southern drawl that seems completely incongruous to his appearance. "My first show, I'm standing there next to Tyson Beckford, completely starstruck. I mean, I'm just a kid off the farm and here's a fucking supermodel. I can't think of a goddamn thing I could say to him and not sound like a fucking idiot, and right before they cue the music I lean over to him, and I say...'I might throw up on you'." Then McCoy claps him lightly on the shoulder as he heads towards the catwalk. "It could've been worse."
And somehow, Jim knows that he's going to be friends with this man for the rest of his life.
McCoy/Uhura, Noir
She had the kind of beauty that men fought wars for, and had. Tragic beauty--the kind a man had an instinctive urge to protect. And she was in my office.
I turned away, looking out the window at the city of San Francisco. My city. A bright and shining facade that pretended to hide the dark and seedy underbelly--disease and danger wrapped in darkness and silence. If the good people of this city only knew.
"Why do you think your husband's cheating on you, Mrs. Spock?" I asked her.
I could feel her hesitation in her answer. "My husband is not an emotional man, Mister McCoy, but I love him. And I thought he loved me. Until that drifter Jim Kirk came into our lives...." she trailed off, struggling for composure. "I just need to know, Mister McCoy. One way or another."
I turned back to her. She was exactly the kind of heart I didn't want to break. But the stack of bills in my desk drawer wasn't going to pay itself. "$3000. I'll need access to your husband's schedule, and any events you'll be attending."
She wrote the check without argument and handed it over, the paper held out between gloved fingertips. "Of course, Mister McCoy. My assistant Hikaru will give you anything you need."
I stared down at the check and nodded. She stood to go and I awkwardly got to my feet to see her out.
"Call me as soon as you know anything, Mister McCoy," she said softly, her eyes fixing me in their snare, and I could see the pain, the need in them.
"Of course, Mrs. Spock," I assured her, and watched her walk out of my life for the first time--but what I was sure would not be the last.
Kirk/Spock, Regency
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a man of a certain reputation, manner of dress, and caliber of associates was /not/ in want of a wife. But it was a truth polite society universally ignored.
James Tiberius Kirk, heir to the entailed estate and title of Christopher Pike, was such a man. In theory he was to become a lawyer, and take over Pike's practice. No one, it seemed, had run this theory past Mister Kirk, who spent his free time getting into as much trouble as he could manage.
The final straw came when Mister Kirk was caught inflagrante with the daughter of one of his associates. The daughter was quickly sent away to a relation, and Mister Kirk was packed off to the country, where Pike was certain nothing of interest ever happened and he could weather the scandal without incident.
---
James Tiberius Kirk, who had been horizontal across the carriage seat for the past two miles, was thrown unceremoniously off the seat as it creaked to a stop.
The door opened, and his first glimpse of his new home was the upside down visage of a pale man with strangely pale skin, dark eyes, darker hair, and a curiously pointed eyebrow that was raised in inquiry.
"Fascinating," the man said.
Kirk/McCoy, Civil War
Leonard McCoy was up to his elbows in blood, guts, and amputated limbs when they brought in the new body.
Blue eyes on an impossibly young face streaked with the dirt and grime of the battlefield--too young for the Captain's stripes he wore. His cracked lips parted as he focused on Leonard's face. "Don't let them take my leg," he mumbles.
"Don't be such an infant," Leonard replied with a roll of his eyes. From what he could see, the man's leg had barely been grazed. The more likely cause of his current state was the same as everyone else--exhaustion, dehydration, and starvation.
Leonard turned away, but the man had curled his hands in his apron. "Don't do it, Sawbones," he pleaded. And there was a desperation, a passion that made him pause.
"Okay, kid," Leonard replies, gently prying his hand away. His hand--calloused, but warm. "You'll keep your goddamn leg."
Relieved, the kid fainted dead away, and Leonard's tired face cracked into an expression of amusement for the first time in months.
Kirk/Spock, Due South Fusion
Jim raised an eyebrow at the Mountie in front of him.
"Okay, so...you want to run that by me again?"
The mountie sighed. "Detective Kirk, I have come to San Francisco on the trail of the criminal Nero. As the head detective on the case, I require your assistance."
"You realize you have no jurisdiction here," Jim said mildly, gnawing on the pencap between his teeth. "Mister..."
"Spock."
Jim looked amused. "You got a first name?"
"My mother is Inuit," Spock replied calmly. "You would not be able to pronounce it."