For all intents and purposes, the first time Leonard McCoy and Jim Kirk meet, it's glaringly obvious that McCoy instantly hates Jim. He and Uhura went to McCoy's Brasserie under her suggestion. She said it was something like her "usual" bar spot and he figured that was a good enough excuse as any. Didn't mean he refrained from opening his mouth.
"Brasserie?" he asked with a slight snicker after they'd walked inside and the abundance of said metal was apparent.
"Yeah," came a gruff reply from his left as a rather equally gruff man passed them by where they stood just inside the door. "It's a play on words."
"Seems rather redundant to me," Jim quipped, grinning at the gruff man. This grin promptly melted into something wearier as the man-who-didn't-get-the-joke became the-man-behind-the-bar. Uhura looked sympathetic, superficially so because he could see the laughter in her brown eyes, and waved a hand elegantly towards the bartender.
"This is Leonard McCoy," she introduced with an honest smile for Leonard and a snarky one for Jim. "And this is—"
"An infant?" McCoy said just as Jim managed "Jim Kirk." Uhura laughed aloud at this and the bar's owner cracked a small smile, literally cracked with the way his face muscles seemed to nearly creak under the exertion of the foreign emotion.
Uhura turned to Jim and gestured towards a table just oft to the miniature stage that took up the back of the small bar. "That's my usual spot," she explained, "go sit there and I'll be there in a second. I'll order for you, okay?" She didn't give him much time for a response before she trotted over to the bar. Jim didn't watch her go and instead walked over to the table.
There was something odd about this bar. He supposed he blamed the oddity of it mostly on Uhura herself. When she had said 'my usual bar' he had imagined someplace sleek and modern, with clean lines and glimmering chrome. This was anything but. It was elegant, in an understated way (something he was sure Uhura appreciated implicitly), with a respect both for the modern and the classical. He, honestly, liked the place. It had a good atmosphere, even if the service left a little to be desired. And, on top of all this, it had an impressive display of alcohol that flanked the bar. He turned to stare at it, eyes roaming all through the different labels and colours of bottle before he met his own, dumbfounded expression in the mirror behind it all. Good look, Kirk, he thought dryly before schooling his features and turning his gaze over to Uhura. He took in her slim back and then glanced just past her enough to lock eyes with McCoy, who was glaring unabashedly straight at him.
Jim couldn't help but flinch a little under the sudden intensity of the assault. Uhura whirled around, her straight hair arcing around her smoothly, and started towards Jim. She gave him a curious look as he resolutely turned away from the bar and towards the small stage.
He made a face as Uhura sat beside him. "What's the matter?" she asked, carefully, eyes studying Jim. "I think you're taking this whole McCoy not liking you thing a little too seriously."
"Shut up," he hissed and leaned forward on his elbows as if to hide in guilty embarrassment from the very man they were talking about, just a few feet away. "It's just," Jim made a frustrated noise and rolled his eyes, knowing full well he was acting like a child but unable to help himself, "I've never had someone instantly hate me before."
"Ha," Uhura snorted and rolled her eyes back. "New experience for the glorious and wonderful James T. Kirk, huh? Not everybody is going to like you, sweetie, sometimes other people disagree." She did the kindergarten teacher impression pretty well much to Jim's disdain. "Now, enough of this nonsense," she said curtly and rose a single brow. "What's the real reason you're taking me out tonight, Jim Kirk? What is your ulterior motive? I should be outside, enjoying the spring weather, since there actually is some here in the States."
Jim pulled off the mock hurt look pretty well, rearing back from Uhura with a cluck of his tongue. "There is no ulterior motive," he easily lied and she saw straight through it. "Other than," he slowly said as her expression turned smug. "That you've just gotten back from nearly a year at Babylon and I wanted to see you!" He was technically still lying but this was part of the truth, just enough to make it believable.
The whole truth was that absence had made the heart grow fonder. Not his heart but his best friend's, Spock, who had slowly but surely gone mad over the eight months of Uhura's disappearance. Wheedling out of Spock why he was acting so off had taken Jim six months but now that he knew, he was determined to see them together. It was too early in the game for Uhura to know this, however, and so he lied.
She bought this, much to Jim's success, and smiled. "Stop calling it Babylon, Jim," she huffed even though she looked rather pleased with him.
"What else am I supposed to call the greatest convergence of the greatest translators of all time that you were invited to?" Jim countered.
Uhura looked even more pleased. He was almost sure she was blushing but it was hard to tell in the dim lighting. She rolled her eyes again and waved a hand. "Shush," she admonished even as she continued to grin. "McCoy is going to play."
"Play?" Jim repeated. He looked up towards the "stage" and the old piano on it. The piano, which Jim assumed was about to be played, was beat to hell. It didn't look like it could carry a tune let alone one leaflet of sheet music. Despite this, McCoy climbed onto the small raised platform and sat down resolutely on the bench.
Much to Jim's surprise, the few people who were in the bar at the moment all quieted their conversation just as he and Uhura had, to watch the bartender. There was no sheet music at all sitting on the piano but McCoy got ready to play anyway. Jim stared in wonder at the long fingered hands as they poised above the keys and then, without much warning, McCoy was playing. The sound of it was amazing, Jim had no clue what song it was, but it filled the entire bar with a rich harmony that made his toes tingle.
Uhura had a dopey expression on her face, somewhat far off as she watched the space just over McCoy's head. Jim wondered how he must look, transfixed by the elegant stroke of each finger over bone white key. He swallowed, convulsively, and nearly jumped out of his skin as drinks were sat on their table by a slim blonde women with a coy smile. She gave him a knowing look before sashaying back to the bar. Uhura had also been broken of her spell and she turned to Jim with another gorgeous grin.
"Wonderful, isn't it?" she sighed as she picked up her shimmery pink drink and took a delicate sip.
"Yeah," Jim said dazedly. "Wonderful."
*
After that first night with Uhura, Jim decided that McCoy's was to be his 'regular' place now, too. There were a multitude of good reasons for this: the place was better than most of the bars in the area, Uhura frequented it so that meant whenever Jim dragged Spock out it'd be an instant success of 'oh, hey, funny seeing you here', and lastly but what was his favorite one: McCoy hated his guts (which he was determined to change) making it way too much fun to annoy him.
The first time he'd come in, about two days after the night he and Uhura had been there, McCoy recognized him immediately and scowled just as quickly. Jim grinned and meandered over to the bar, leaning against it jauntily. The conversation that followed fully cemented his intent for making a regular appearance:
"What, were you like the piano man?" he asked jokingly. "Never saw the fulfillment of your dreams so you opened a bar? That's kind of sad." Jim had expected scowl but instead he got a dry stare and watched as McCoy's expressive mouth pressed into a flat line.
"What's your occupation?" McCoy asked but continued just as Jim had opened his mouth to answer. "Village idiot? Sorry, kid, not all of us can live the dream."
Jim was in love with this place.
*
Jim rested his elbows on the bar, stirring the ice in his now empty drink around and around and around. The place was mostly empty by now. It was the longest Jim had ever stayed at the Brasserie but he had the strange, nagging inclination to see what this bar was like during last call. McCoy was looking tired already, watching the muted ancient TV set above the bar with bleary eyes.
"Hey, McCoy," Jim called quietly. The bartender snapped out of his revere, turning to scowl at his least favorite regular. Jim smiled charmingly in reply, a common exchange between them that he was all too happy to complete. "What's your story?"
McCoy eyed him suspiciously. "My story?" he repeated drolly. "Who's to say I've got a story?"
"Man," Jim drawled, pushing back from the bar on his palms and grinning even wider. "Everyman's got a story and all the best bartenders have tragic ones. So, c'mon, spill the beans."
"Hah," was the sarcastic reply but McCoy pushed away from the back rack of the bar and moved across the small space to stand in front of Jim. "You want my story, Jim? What makes you think you deserve to hear it?"
"I tip well enough, don't I?"
"No, you don't," McCoy snapped. "You're a fucking cheapskate lawyer, you ass."
Jim smirked and pressed a hand to his chest, head bowing. "Guilty as charged," he laughingly said. "Comes from a Harvard degree and some good, Jewish upbringing." Kirk laughed more, delighted in his own joke, much to McCoy's dismay.
"Fine, I'll tell you," the bartender grumbled, leaning on his elbows and dropping the decibel of his voice. It was weird, to Jim, for them to share this private thing. For as long as he had come here he had always been fascinated by the mystique of the bartender, wondering what had made him so prickly and unfriendly. Getting to learn this secret broke the barriers of just bartender and customer. Now, after this, Jim thought unsteadily, they'd be more like friends.
"My wife left me and took everything I had. She took my house, my money and my daughter. Left me with this God forsaken bar that wasn't even my damned idea in the first place." He gave a rueful shake of his head, bitterness dulling his eyes. "Gave me this indignity that sunk right into my bones but," he sighed, "in all my years here, I don't think I regret them. I regret other things but never the bar itself."
Jim didn't know what to say but McCoy solved it by drawing away and clapping his hands, the loud noise sharp and disturbing in the bar's silence. "Alright you layabouts," McCoy bellowed, "time to get the fuck out." The few remaining people all quietly shuffled out but Jim remained where he sat at the bar, watching McCoy wide eyed.
"That means you, too, fucktard," was the drawled reply. Jim grinned, slow and honest.
"Bones," Jim decided aloud. "I'm going to call you Bones."
*
McCoy leaned against the bar next to Uhura, who sat opposite to him. "I should really resent you for bringing that fool in here," he grouched as he eyed the man in question. Jim was sitting at Uhura's usual table with the stoic "best friend" he had taken to dragging here.
"Oh please," Uhura replied with a wave of her hand. "He's the most excitement you've had in a while. You need a little annoyance in your life."
"God, am I ithat/i desperate?" he bemoaned. Jim's laugh carried over to them and Uhura glanced in their direction with a smirk. "Guess I am, but," he paused, eyeing her. "It is good to have you back, at least. It's a trade off that I can deal with." He broke a small smile for her, which she returned in tenfold.
"You missed me!" she happily exclaimed before leaning across the bar top to plant a kiss on his cheek. Neither of them knew, but two sets (one incredulous and one mutedly hurt) watched from across the room.
*
"So, Bones," Jim said and slurred as he wandered up to the bar. The bartender barely spared a glance up from the glasses he was cleaning. "I think you owe me the truth. Give me the skinny on you n' lovely Miss Uhura."
McCoy did look up then, one eyebrow cocked upward while the other bore down over his eye. "Pardon?"
"You n' n'" Jim made some vague flaily movement with his hand. "Uhura! She up here gushing over how you missed her and how she kissed you on the cheek! You were holdin' out on me, man, by not telling me you two were…you know!"
"You're drunk off your ass," was the growled reply. "Where the fuck do you get off? Thinking I was in a relationship with her?"
"She missed you!" Jim protested.
"She's been in Europe for nearly a year!"
"She kissed you on the cheek!"
"Shes been in. Europe for nearly. A year," McCoy's voice was teetering dangerously close to full anger.
"Excuse me, D-Doctor McCoy," Spock suddenly spoke from just behind Jim, his normal calm tone sounding watery. "I'd like to congratulate you and, you and Ms. Uhura on your—"
"Doctor?" McCoy repeated. Jim wondered why that, of all things, was what he questioned.
"Yes," Spock replied as he seized himself up to his full height. It would have been impressive if he didn't sway on his feet just soon after. "She confessed to me she only wants to date-date a doctor. So, logically, you must be a doctor. I am a doctor." With that, Spock nodded once to McCoy and then once to Jim before he tipped over backwards onto the floor.
*
"Damnit, I'm a bartender not a doctor," McCoy grumbled as he pressed a cool, damp cloth against Spock's forehead. Spock stirred and blearily blinked awake.
"You truly are not with Ms. Uhura?" the man managed much to the bartender's obvious annoyance.
"No, I'm not," he snapped, standing upright. Spock realized that they were in his apartment and he was lying awkwardly on the couch, as if he had been haphazardly placed there. "I don't know why you do it, listen to that kid."
"To whom are you referring?"
"Jim, Jim Kirk?" McCoy answered, giving Spock an inspecting look that hinted he suspected Spock was having memory issues. "You shouldn't take advice from him, 'specially when it concerns matters of romance. That man is emotionally retarded."
"I do not understand," Spock replied, carefully. "How can you be so sure of this? You have probably only met Jim on five separate occasions."
"I'm a bartender," was the exasperated reply. "You get to know people, know their types. Jim is unique but he's got his cross to bear, whether he knows it or not. I'm being a friend, here, and making sure you don't fall victim to it. Got it?"
Spock nodded, mutely. Satisfied with this, McCoy stood, looming over Spock on the couch with his arms crossed. "Now you listen here," he continued. "The next time you see Ms. Nyota? You have flowers, specifically gardenias. You don't beat around the bush or use any frilly language or none of that nonsense. You ask, straight out, for a date."
With that, McCoy moved away from the couch and grabbed his coat. "I'll see you two dates from now," was all he said before the door slammed shut behind him.
*
Jim barged straight into the Brasserie and made a beeline for McCoy, billows of snow from the outside world following in his wake. December had dawned on them and with it came snow, snow and more snow. (He almost couldn't believe, belatedly behind the irritation, that he had been coming to the bar for almost a year now.) The Brasserie was in cheerful spirit despite, tinkling gold and red lights decorating the walls and mantles. It made a wonderful affect, giving the bar a warm glow.
He didn't see any of this, at least not at first, being concerned more with how little noise his fists made as they slammed hard against the bar. Especially since the action ended up hurting so much. He relented anyway, trying a new tactic. "McCoy!" he called to the bartender at the other side of the bar, who was tending to the needs of a couple. The sight of McCoy and a couple made Jim seethe even further.
McCoy took his sweet time making his way down the bar, unnecessarily stopping to talk to anyone who was sitting at the bar between him and Jim. Those unfortunate few spent most of the conversation sending weary glances to the fiery blond glaring at them. Eventually, McCoy did stand in front of him, protected from Jim's fury by the thick chestnut counter between them.
"I don't know what you told him—"
"Wait, backtrack," McCoy said, holding up a hand. "Who're we talking about?"
"Spock," Jim said, as if it should have been obvious.
The man seemed to think about this, as if he had trouble recalling the name, before giving Jim a short nod to continue. "I don't know what you told him," Jim repeated. "But he won't fucking listen to me anymore. Said it was something you said? What the hell did you tell him? Take it back, whatever it was!"
McCoy listened, or at least, gave the appearance of listening that was so common of many bartenders. It worked, usually, but Jim was a notoriously perceptive man and knew that he didn't even have half of McCoy's attention. "McCoy!" A few heads in the bar turned at the yell and the bartender scowled.
"Shut up, kid," he snapped, leaning forward on his hands to loom over Jim. "I heard you, damnit, and I won't take anything back because it was all something Spock needed to hear. Come in tomorrow night and see what my advice has gotten him."
*
Jim did come in the next night and found out, pretty quickly, it was Spock and Uhura's third date. It was their first date in the bar, a fact McCoy was very proud to know and he had made sure that Scotty—the notoriously greasy cook of the Brasserie—made up the best steaks (not deepfried) this side of Texas. Jim didn't really get to find out whether the steaks were good because this was also a night of other firsts: the first time Jim ever got into a fight at the Brasserie.
It was especially hard, he had found out, to get into a fight at a bar that wasn't a dive. Most of the guys he'd provoked were reasonable enough to shake their heads and walk away. Finally, Jim got lucky with one guy who was drunk enough to get angry. McCoy hadn't immediately caught on to Jim's plans because he was humoring Uhura by playing the piano. The slam of the keys when the man did realize what was going on made a perfect accompaniment to the hard smack of the fist connecting with Jim's jaw.
He couldn't be sure who wrenched the other guy off of him, but Jim was well aware that it was McCoy holding him back. The bartender had a strong grip that bit into his upper bicep and sobered him up pretty quickly.
"You are so fucking dead," McCoy growled into his ear as he half dragged half manhandled Jim out into the snow. He shoved Jim, hard, into the gray night. "Where the fuck do you get off, huh? You don't fight in my bar if you want to ever come back and I am this close to not letting you come back if it weren't for Uhura—"
Jim couldn't help the obvious flinch that over took him at the name but McCoy caught it. The bartender pointed, finger sharp in the cold air, to the curb. "Sit your sorry ass down," he ordered before turning on his heel and heading back into the bar.
He watched the other man go, took one look at the curb and did the unexpected, he sat. Jim sat and shivered because damned if it wasn't early December. Just when he had resorted to clutching his elbows tight together for warmth, the familiar weight of his jacket settled over his shoulders accompanied by a different weight. It spoke wonders to the state he was in when it took him a second to realize McCoy's arm was over his shoulder. Jim looked at the man, the brashest most cantankerous bartender he'd ever known and sighed.
"I'm sorry," he admitted, with great difficulty.
McCoy eyed him with his normal, weighty wisdom look that normally made Jim's skin crawl. It had a different effect with physical contact. "Jim," McCoy said carefully. "Why did you start a fight tonight?"
"I...I don't know," he answered and looked away. McCoy was going to say more, going to try to get the truth out of him. Wisely, Jim chose just to get it out on his own. "It's stupid," he reasoned. "But, Spock? He's been all I've got for a while now and…I love Uhura, I really do. She's great for him; I haven't seen him this happy in a while." All this came out in a rush, a torrent of feelings Jim had never admitted but still felt needing to be said. "A lot of people have left me, in my life. It started with my dad, then my brother, my step-dad, my mother. I just can't help but think—"
"It is stupid," Leonard interrupted without much eloquence. Jim turned to him with an exasperated look but the somber expression on McCoy's face quelled it. "Because you have me now, even if he does leave."
After that, kissing McCoy only seemed natural. It only seemed right when McCoy kissed back.
