briefly, two small trek fics, pg

[urbancate]

The lovely 1297is hosting a fic meme for the weekend, so addicts such as myself can get our fix. Check it out: (read the fic, post a prompt, fill a prompt) three little words fic meme.

I drabbled out a couple fills yesterday (yes, during work! Screw work, I said!)

For ohownovel:
Jim/Joanna
all my truth

The Lies Are Outside

It is not that lies or deception or even self-deception are part of his makeup; he believes in honesty, sort of the same way he doesn't believe in no-win scenarios. If that's a correlation that works. He guesses it does. Because sometimes he doesn't win, or someone loses; and sometimes he lies.

 

Sometimes he is a liar.

 

Right now, for instance. The multitude of lies contained in this single moment is staggering to him, he who believes himself a believer in honesty. But at the beginning, when the web was only forming, the first time he drowned inside her dark eyes and sharp jaw and soft skin - secrecy seemed necessary. So the lie was born and now it has grown, become a fabric unto itself. Secrets and guilt and denial, wafting and warping, until he doesn't recognize himself almost.

 

The secret is the affair. The guilt is that it's a secret, that the lovers in this affair are hiding it from someone they both love. The denial is even worse. Of all the lies he has told over these months, the worst is the one he tells himself every time he leaves her: that he does not love her. He cannot love her. It is a million shades of inappropriate, it is a no-win scenario.

 

But he always comes back. Because when he is with her loving her feels like winning, loving her is the only truth he knows. And he knows it is the same for her, that they are a calm center of truth in the middle of a tornado of lies, that they are a storm unto themselves.

 

They clash and crash and ride the currents, let themselves loose into the howling wind. When he pours himself into her, he is pouring out all his truth. When she comes apart beneath his hands, she is showing him her truth.

 

The lies are outside and all their truth is here, with each other, where love is the only truth.

For lilyrose_fic
McCoy/Uhura
ashes to ashes

Fire and Fear

It is not as though this hasn't happened before. Another away mission, another million things to go wrong, and at least one that always does. It is her estimation that the Universe possesses a cruel sense of humor that so often that one thing is loss of communications. She is the Communications Officer, for hell's sake, and that is her lover down there, away, experiencing loss of communications. It's a joke and it is not funny in the least.

 

So when it happens, she slaps a frustrated hand against her workstation, runs diagnostics, asks Sulu if he has anything, skims the frequencies, returns to the empty channel where the away team is supposed to be and listens to silence. It is how she occupies herself while she holds onto her trust in Spock's intelligence and Kirk's guts to get them out of whatever unpleasant situation they have found themselves in.

 

The silence stretches into hours.

 

Another away team is sent and the same thing happens. Something is very wrong on the unnamed planetoid below. Something that scans and sensors are unable to decipher or detect or penetrate.

 

Hours become a day, two days. Worry and frustration become desperate theories and strategies and grabs into outwitting the utterly unknown. Exhaustion. An icy fear that grips them all, a fist clutched tight around a hollow beneath her ribs. Resignation begins to dance at the edges of their determination. All their genius and experience and problem-solving skills are proving useless.

 

At sixty three hours - yes, she is still counting in hours - she reluctantly follows the direct order to get the hell off the bridge for a while and get some rest. The getting off the bridge part at least. She collapses into her favorite chair in her quarters, doesn't even take off her boots before pulling her knees to her chest and letting her head fall forward. She is not crying. She will not cry. Whatever has happened, whatever is happening, Spock will find his way back to her. She knows this, she knows this, she knows this. Spock always comes back.

 

The door chimes and she authorizes McCoy to enter without moving. This part has happened before, too. He carries a bottle he has liberated from his secret stash. The good stuff. For the bad times.

 

He pours two glasses, holds one out to her as he takes the chair next to her. The first long pull of fire goes down easy and hard and she stretches her legs out in front of her. They drink together for a while in silence, worried mirror images.

 

"They always come back," he says as he pours another round.

 

"From your mouth, doctor." She gestures with the glass, a toast to the cruel Universe. "They always come back."

 

Three rounds and she is nothing but fire, smooth liquid fire burning through the cold and the fear and the doubt, loosening the grip and turning everything to ash. She will live in the fire, she thinks. Fire is so much better than fear.

 

It is already more than usual, more than enough, and McCoy is leaving because that is how it happens. Bourbon and silent commiseration and company, but no longer than is necessary for the edges of crisis to be dulled, for a small escape before they get back to the work of making the crisis go away.

 

He hugs her, which happens sometimes but not every time. "They always come back, girl."

 

"I know." She holds onto him longer than she should, afraid and unable to find her usual reserves of hope. Sixty five hours. She is still counting. And the numbers are cold, so cold. She needs more fire, to burn it all away.

 

"Stay," she asks, while he is still solid and warm around her; he is holding on longer than he should, too.

 

"Are you sure," he questions in return, as if he knows what she is asking for, that she is asking for more than bourbon and company.

 

She doesn't know how to tell him yes, be my fire for a while, so she answers with her hands on his jaw and a kiss that tastes of everything she needs right now.

 

It is everything they both need. His mouth takes over and he is a wall of heat of around her, above her. Liquid fire going down hard and easy, blood and skin racing ahead of the fear and into the flames, into purest oblivion.

ALSO, ohownovelfilled my McCoy/Jocelyn former favorite girl prompt so beautifully! HERE Because I am a lucky prompter like that.

Comments

[neoreulwonhae.livejournal.com]

YOU WROTE JIM/JOANNA?! AHHHH THE PROLIFICNESS!

I love these. McCoy/Uhura is a very interesting pairing, I think I like it. I kinda don't want Spock to come back, lololol.

[urbancate.livejournal.com]

Yeah. I wrote Jim/Joanna. Kind of. It was the prompt that made me do it, I swear!