FIC: Head to Head [Star Trek XI]

[darktrent182]

TITLE: Head to Head
DISCLAIMER: Star Trek XI doesn't belong to me – the universe belongs to Gene Roddenberry and so many people that if they were all to sue me, various descendants would be in debt up to their eyeballs. Written for entertainment purposes, no money made, please don't sue, yadda.
FANDOM: Star Trek XI
PAIRING: Implied Kirk/McCoy, implied Scotty/Chekov
WORD COUNT: 1,179
RATING: PG-13 for death threats?
WARNINGS: Vampires! AHH!
SUMMARY: Scotty and Bones talk about what happened.
CHALLENGE: Written for the st_xi_kink, because I'm a sheep.
PROMPT: Click here for details.
AUTHOR'S NOTES: Beta'd by the awesome koyaannisqatsi and raikomotomiya. Follows Foot in the Door.

***

"What exactly are you objecting to," Scotty asked plainly, sipping his glass of mixed bourbon before continuing, "the fact that Kirk wanted you to do it, or that you went ahead and did it?"

Bones glared at Scotty. "I have a system in place, Scotty. It works for me."

"Aye, it does," Scotty agreed, nodding. "But nothing's quite like getting a wee nip straight from the source, is it?"

McCoy's glare intensified. "Dammit, Scotty, in case you haven't noticed, I'm a doctor--"

"Not a monster," Scotty said with the kind of patience that he'd built up from hearing this argument again and again. "Aye, I know. Trust me, I know." He set his glass down on the table in front of him, the surface meticulously clean except for a dog-eared medical journal that Bones hadn't put away yet. Scotty being Scotty, he lifted his feet and rested them on one corner, crossing his legs at the ankle. "The trouble with you is that you think being a vampire is all about hiding in dark corners and wishing you didn't have to hurt people to survive. But, see, you've already proven that wrong, haven't you?"

Bones used his foot to shove Scotty's off the table. "Those are medical supplies that need to be maintained in case of an emergency, not cookies for me to steal whenever I start running low."

Scotty sighed. "Bones, you really should relax. Besides, it's not like you're Dracula. You've still got your looks, and hell, if the Captain's reaction was as good as you say, you might have yourself a better alternative."

"Goddammit, Scotty, I drank the man's blood," Bones snarled. "He's still recovering from a virus, and I nearly made him anemic!"

"So, learn to pace yourself." Scotty shrugged.

"Like you?" Bones snorted into his drink.

Scotty's eyes narrowed. "And what's that supposed to mean, hmm?"

"Ensign Chekov's looking damn pale these days," Bones sneered. "You know anything about that?"

Scotty visibly bristled, his eyes narrowing. "Chekov," he said in a slow, deadly tone, "is not food. And I suggest you change the subject before something bad happens."

"You do, do you?" Bones snorted, smirking as he drained the last of his bourbon. "Why haven't you put the bite on him?"

"Is this before you find me and string me up by my short hairs for feeding on the lad, or did the bourbon finally go to your head?" Scotty asked mildly, sitting back in Bones's armchair and watching him steadily. He looked almost tired.

Bones snorted again. "He'd fall into your arms the second you bit him," he muttered. "Guaranteed feeding, no matter what I said."

Scotty watched him for a few moments longer before shrugging carelessly. "Maybe I'd rather he not tackle me for what I am, but who."

McCoy snorted again, weakly this time. "Don't tell me you've never thought about it before."

"Aye, I have," Scotty admitted, "but the damage's done for you now. He knows, you bit him, and he liked it." He paused for a moment and then narrowed his eyes at Bones. "You did tell him how you felt, didn't you?"

Bones mutely poured himself another glass of mixed bourbon, the blood mixed in looking almost like tomato sauce.

"It can't be as bad as all that," Scotty muttered.

"He's James Tiberius Kirk, dammit," Bones snapped, setting the bottle down with a little more force than necessary. Luckily, the bottle didn't crack, or else Scotty would've had a few words to say about alcohol abuse. "Of course it's bad."

"You could tell him," Scotty pointed out. "Even if you end up losing him as a friend, you'd solve the problem of him wanting you to bite him again."

"That's a helluva price to pay," Bones muttered.

"Life's hardly fair at the best of times," Scotty said philosophically.

Bones stared at him and sighed heavily before sinking back into his armchair, the glass cradled in one hand. "He doesn't need to know. Hell, he'd be happier not knowing."

Scotty shrugged. "If that's what you need to tell yourself, go right ahead."

"Do you mind?" Bones asked pointedly.

"Yes, actually, I do," Scotty finally snapped. "You've got what you want practically handed to you on a silver platter, and you're still not happy. Someone you happen to be absolutely in love with not only believing you're a vampire but trusting you enough to give them a wee nip on the neck? And you're sitting here crying into your Bloody Mary AB-negative instead of having him over for sex that's liable to break furniture? Are you out of your bloody mind?"

Bones glared at him. "Dammit, Scotty, it's complicated."

Scotty rolled his eyes. "It's always so damn complicated with you, Bones. Here, how about this? If you don't want to deal with Kirk being after you for your fangs, how about I take him off your hands?"

"Excuse me?" Bones's eyes narrowed.

"You heard me," Scotty sat back in his chair, smiling pleasantly and waving the hand with his drink carefully so as to not spill. "I can take Kirk off your hands. If it's just as you say, one set of fangs is as good as another, right?"

"I swear to God, go anywhere near him," Bones growled in a low voice, "and I'll kill you."

"Ah, but you never claimed him, did you?" Scotty pointed out. "He's still available for the asking, and if you're not man enough to do it, I certainly will."

"What about Chekov?" Bones asked. "Aren't you supposedly in love with him?"

Scotty's face hardened, his eyes flashing once. "What, you're saying you approve of how I feel for him?" he asked challengingly, a bone of contention between them caught in his teeth.

"No," Bones said quellingly, "but it seems odd that you'd just let Chekov go by the wayside while you chase the captain. Maybe I should set my sights on someone a little easier on the bedsprings."

Scotty growled, low in his throat. "Do it, and I'm going to decorate your quarters with your blood."

"At least we agree on something," Bones snarled back. "Get out."

"Gladly," Scotty sneered. He set the mostly-finished drink down on McCoy's coffee table, and stood. "Go tell him."

With that, he turned and left.

Bones watched him go, feeling fear and anger running through him. He and Scotty had never come to blows before, but tonight had been the first time when they'd gotten close to it. There wasn't much that would make Scotty that angry about something, but Chekov had always been something of a hot button for the man.

Bones sat back in his chair, plans slowly coming together.

He couldn't tell Jim how he felt, but he couldn't let Scotty get close to Jim either. It was bad enough that vampires became highly territorial about potential food sources as well as physical locations, but Scotty biting Jim's neck, causing Jim that kind of pain... Bones wouldn't be able to look himself in the mirror and know that he'd just stood by and done nothing to stop it.

With an annoyed growl, he slung back the rest of his drink, and went in search of James T. Kirk, a man who wouldn't know someone was in love with him if he'd been slapped on the ass with it.

END