Every Hypothesis Needs Evidence
love-child-1403
Summary: Jim Kirk has a type - not that he'll admit it - and his best friend is beginning to realise that this may present a problem...
Warnings: Allusions to sexual situations; MxM; some mild swearing; possibility of purple prose (knowing me as well as I do)
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek or any of the character herewith (apart from the few that I allude to very briefly... Basically, if you recognise it then it's probably not mine)
Leonard McCoy had been the best friend of James T Kirk almost since the moment they'd met; Jim looking like the morning after the night before and McCoy trying not to hyperventilate and wondering whether he could possibly have underestimated the amount of Bourbon he was going to need. Despite the age difference it hadn't been long before they'd known everything about each other, and this had extended to knowledge of one another's sexual preferences quite early on in their relationship. The 23rd century had a much more relaxed attitude towards sexuality than centuries before it, but the doctor had never been much into anything but women (and that meant specifically women, not just females, because he'd had some bad experiences with tentacles that it still made him a little uncomfortable to think of). Jim, on the other hand, was far more experimental. He flirted with everyone and everything - as long as it had a pulse - but it wasn't long until McCoy noticed a pattern emerging in his friend's conquests, even if the man himself didn't realise it.
First there was Maria from that little bar just off campus. She'd had dark, shining hair that had cascaded down her back like a waterfall and shimmered every time she'd moved her head. She'd had dark eyes too, almost black in most lights, though not particularly soulful; not that the boy was really looking for 'soul'. Jim had taken one look at her and made it his mission for the evening to take her home. Needless to say, less than half an hour passed before McCoy was sullenly drinking alone at the bar.
Then there was Daema, whom the pair had met at the Academy and who had apparently transferred there from somewhere interesting and infinitely more exciting, with enough intelligence and experience to start her second year early. Her hair had been almost blue-black and styled into a bob that just brushed her chin; her eyes such a deep shade of brown that the irises were barely distinguishable from the pupils. She and Jim had classes together, naturally, and it was all McCoy could do not to shriek girlishly when he'd walked in on the two of them 'getting to know each other' in the room he shared with his friend. However, he'd managed a "Good God, man!" before storming off to drink away the image burned into his retinas, and after that it hadn't happened again.
Uhura was more of a constant in both of their lives. Jim liked to look at her a lot, though it was obvious that he would never even be able to touch her, and Leonard couldn't help admitting that, yes, there was something attractive about her. She wasn't his type - too skinny - but he could appreciate true beauty when he saw it, and it didn't hurt that she was sickeningly intelligent to boot. Of course, Jim had only been trying to get her to sleep with him at the beginning, but as time progressed, he gained somewhat of an obsession. He seemed to derive some sick pleasure from pissing her off, either by propositioning her or out-doing her in the classes they shared. Neither of these were particularly difficult for Kirk, as he was quite literally a genius and also perfectly capable of making lewd suggestions without much effort, but the results were astounding. Jim's record time for making her snap was one and a half minutes, and had resulted in a bruised ego with a couple of external shiners to match. The idiot hadn't stopped grinning for days.
Daniel had been more of a surprise, though not entirely unexpected. Leonard knew that his friend wasn't fussy about gender (he'd never implicitly stated anything, but women weren't the only ones subjected to his appreciative glances and wandering hands) but it was still quite disconcerting to see Jim being pushed up against a wall by another man outside the club they were supposed to be drinking in. He'd averted his eyes and gone back inside, but not before he'd registered the short, dark hair and midnight eyes of his friend's companion.
Doctor McCoy's professional opinion? James Kirk had a type. Dark hair, dark eyes and - though somewhat less so - intelligence were an apparent must-have in his partners, though it was pretty certain that Jim hadn't even noticed that fact himself, blind as he was to all things that didn't involve him getting laid immediately. He'd never admit it to himself even if it was pointed out to him because that would mean that he was consciously limiting the pool into which he dipped for his sexual encounters and McCoy knew that this just would not do for the raging nymphomaniac he called his best friend.
And so he let Jim believe what he wanted to believe and didn't mention it when each new partner had glossy black hair and deep, dark eyes, though he practically gave himself a hernia from the effort. (It had also occurred to him that he was almost exactly Jim's type but whether consciously or unconsciously, he'd never had the moves put on him by his friend. He supposed it was a mixture of both, as he was quite sure that Jim liked his balls where they were; attached to his body.)
A year or so after this observation had first been made, McCoy hit somewhat of a snag in his apparently not-so-foolproof plan to ignore a perfectly good reason to mock Jim. This snag had a name; Spock. It was all very well and good not telling a guy he had a weakness, but when that weakness was dressed up in black, looking stupidly good even with a ridiculous haircut, and raising one elegant eyebrow in the direction of one's friend… Well, it was like holding a bottle of perfectly-aged malt in front of an alcoholic in denial. That is to say it was cruel and, unfortunately, quite out of everyone's control. Apart from the man holding the malt, that is.
Suddenly, Jim had a new obsession, and god, if he were ever to hear McCoy calling it an obsession, the doctor knew that he'd be sporting several nice new bruises to go with the ones he had from attempting a sparring session with Uhura in the gym. He therefore tried to ignore it when every other sentence out of his friend's mouth was "Spock this" and "Spock that" and devoted all his time to finding a sleeping drug that wouldn't bring Jim out in hives.
However, every man has a breaking point, and for Dr Leonard McCoy it was when Jim started sighing over the pernicious hobgoblin. Yes; actually sighing. It was lunchtime when it happened and they were sitting in the Enterprise's spacious cafeteria, eating food that looked much better than it tasted (which was saying a lot, considering the fact that it looked like the back-end of a dog), when Jim stopped talking and let out a soft breath with a look that could only be described as doe-eyed. Turning around to see what he was looking at, the doctor's suspicions were immediately confirmed when a pair of pointed ears and a meticulous science uniform assailed his eyes. He growled, stood up and turned to Jim, who was now raising his eyebrows in confusion and surprise.
"Going somewhere, Bones? You've barely eaten any of your questionable meat substance." Jim frowned for a moment. "I really ought to find out what that stuff is... And whether or not there's a possible sub-"
"Come with me. Now," McCoy interrupted him, his voice leaving no room for argument. Jim would no doubt have argued with him regardless, but had no chance to do so, as the doctor immediately left the cafeteria at quite a pace. It seemed he had no choice but to follow.
When Kirk joined him in the corridor, McCoy wordlessly nodded towards the infirmary and, once again, marched off before his friend could ask him what the hell was going on. Once they were inside the doctor's personal office, he shut the door and completely and utterly exploded, as only Bones could.
"What the hell do you think you're doing, Jim? You could've fallen for anyone on the whole damn ship but you had to fall for the most unlikely candidate you could find, didn't you?" he grated out, his hands clenched by his sides so that he didn't do anything stupid. Years of repression were coming out now and there was nothing to stem the tide; especially not Jim, who was fixed to the spot, looking slightly dazed. "It's not enough for you that he's male and straight and a complete ass - no; he had to be Vulcan as well, didn't he? Good god, Jim, are you outta your mind? Falling for someone like that isn't just self-destructive - I kinda expect that from you by now - it's downright stupid, y'hear me?" Whilst McCoy had been not-quite-yelling all this, Kirk's facial expression had been graduating from confused to panic-stricken, and his eyes held the very same look that he had whenever Bones approached him with a hypospray.
The doctor, satisfied that he had made a sufficient impression, sat down in the chair behind his desk and waiting, breathing slightly heavier than usual, for his friend to say something. After a while, he finally did.
"Oh, shit - I'm in love with Spock, aren't I?"
Would it be utterly inappropriate for me to go "DUN-DUN-DUUUUUUUUUUUUN"? Probably. Anyway - tune in next time for the conclusion!
Please review - it makes my heart sing and also I am magical and I will make it snow more (unless you hate snow, in which case I'll make it snow less; kindly specify in your review)
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