"Spitfire Summer" - 4/6
Oct. 18th, 2010 08:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
amine_eyes Masterpost :)
Part 3/6
Scotty looked up briefly as the roar of the Spitfire engine filled the skies again as they came back from the scramble, and then concentrated on getting as much done as he could before the next raid. It had been a week since the first bombing of Biggin Hill, and the raids had only grown in intensity. Casualties were mounting on and off the station; pilots and techies were working together to get the station and planes operational as quickly as possible after each raid, and then falling asleep when and where they could – often next to mounds of earth thrown up from each raid. Pavel came over with a cup of tea, and Scotty took it unthinkingly, no longer grimacing at the faint hint of engine grease that came from every cup made in the hanger. He downed it, and handed the mug back to Pavel, smiling as he did so.
“Thanks, Pavel … now, show me how you’re getting on with the repairs on X104.”
“Aye, sir!” Pavel led the way back, both of them weaving through the crowd that filled the hanger. Everyone was hurrying to and fro from the aircraft with tools, spare parts, and often backing a truck into the hanger to pick up a spare engine. Scotty dived out of the way as the engine being hoisted into the air swung out from the back of the truck.
“Oi! Watch where you’re heading with that!”
To their credit, the techies looked embarrassed even as they continued to get it onto the back of the truck, mumbling a sorry as they clambered onto the spare floor of the truck and signalled for the driver to head towards the waiting aircraft. Scotty rolled his eyes in despair, and came over to the wrecked Spitfire sitting in the corner of the hanger, his heart aching even as he catalogued how far they had to go with it.
Buckled wings, destroyed engine, wiring completely fried, tail missing, rudder no longer there … would be easier if we simply stripped her down for parts, he thought to himself, but shook his head. Squadron Leader Pike’s plane would be returned to immaculate condition. After all, he’d need it if he ever managed to fly again.
“Sir?” Pavel’s question jerked Scotty out of his thoughts, and back to the problem at hand.
“Right, sorry Pavel, world of my own. Now, how far’ve you got?”
Even with the constant raids and the lack of sleep, Pavel managed to sound cheerful.
“A lot further than last time, sir! I’ve replaced the wiring for the main control board, and the engine is almost complete, soon we’ll be able to start work on unbuckling the wings, though it would be easier if we sent her off to get -”
Scotty waved him off.
“Aye, it would be easier, but Pike would kill us if we sent his Spitfire off to get fixed by someone else. Now, you were saying about the engine?”
“Ah yes, sir, well, I’ve started work on replacing the valves, and I thought about tinkering with the fuel injection system to see if we could have a continuous flow like the Messerschmitts, but so far no luck. I’ve also started cleaning it out …”
Scotty listened with half an ear as his thoughts ran on from his previous statement.
Not only that, but I don’t want to face Spock and tell him that we can’t fix Pike’s plane … it’s bad enough I had to tell him that Hugh’s plane was unsalvageable, I’m not going to tell him the same again … Scotty watched Spock’s face in his mind as he struggled with himself, and shivered, even in the heat of the hanger.
“Sir?” Pavel looked at him, a worried look on his face.
“Doesn’t matter, Pavel … glad to see everything’s going well with the engine, how is she performing in tests?”
“So far, very well, sir.”
Scotty clapped him on the back, and Pavel grinned.
“Good work, lad …”
They turned to walk back through the crowd in order to work on the aircraft that had been brought in, when the wireless over in the corner of the hanger blared into life. The techies huddled around it cheered, and leant forward.
“What the blazes …” Scotty muttered, and walked over. One of the techies noticed him and waved.
“Sir! Churchill’s about to speak!”
Everyone fell into silence, and Churchill’s gravelly voice filled the hanger, rising out into the surrounding station. Tools were downed, and everyone listened to Churchill speak.
“Never, in the field of human conflict, was so much, owed by so many, to so few …”
“Does he really think that, sir?”
Scotty turned to Pavel, a worried frown on his face.
“Probably, lad, but we’ve got a long way to go before we can even think about surviving this, let alone winning …”
-x-x-x-x-x-x-
Jim stared out into Bones’ living room; hand clasping a glass full of whisky, tie half undone round his neck as he stared into the fireplace, leg bouncing slightly. He barely noticed Bones settling down onto the sofa next to him, he just stared out into the room, mind going back to the funeral that day. Unconsciously he twisted the teddy bear mascot round and round in his other hand as he stared, not noticing Bones taking a long sip of his own whiskey and curling his hand round the glass.
“Fuck’s sake …” Bones whispered into the room, and Jim laughed bleakly, taking a sip of his own whiskey, relishing the burn as it made its way down his throat.
“Pretty much, Bones, pretty much …”
They fell back into silence for a long moment. Jim cleared his throat an spoke, his voice hoarse.
“Is Joanna okay?”
“Yeah, they’re up at Jocelyn’s parents, deepest Wales, no way the Luftwaffe is going to make it all the way over there,” Bones replied, and Jim nodded, still twiddling the bear in his hands. His hand rubbed over a dark red stain on its face and he shivered, clenching tightly onto his glass. Bones frowned, leaning forward.
“You okay, kid?”
Jim blinked.
“Yeah, just … preoccupied that’s all. So many funerals and that, really makes you think about your own …” he looked down at the bear in his hands, “mortality.”
Bones nodded and leaned back in his seat, seeming to listen to the crackling fire for a moment before he answered.
“Jim, you promised you’d come back, so you’re not going to die.”
Jim raised his eyebrows, still looking at the bear.
“Had a close enough shave last week – what with this little guy escaping from his perch, thought I’d bought it.”
“This little guy?” Bones asked quietly, and Jim nodded, turning to face Bones.
“This teddy bear. I’ve only been injured when I haven’t flown with it sitting looking at me, it’s like …”
His voice trailed off and Bones nudged him.
“Like what?”
Jim shook his head.
“It’s stupid, Bones.”
“Like I’d laugh, Jim.”
“You might.”
Bones crossed his heart and looked at him.
“Cross my heart, I won’t.”
Jim took a deep breath and turned away from Bones.
“It’s like … like Dad is watching over. Cos he bought it when he was in France, it was the last gift Mom got from him before he died, she gave it to me. Like I said, stupid thought.”
Bones laid a hand on his shoulder and turned him towards him.
“Hey, it’s not stupid, why wouldn’t your Dad be watching over you? It makes perfect sense, Jim, especially if it means you’ll stay alive.”
“Why are you so invested in keeping me alive, Bones? Is it my scintillating conversation?” Jim joked and he saw a flash of something cross Bones’ face as he replied.
“Can’t I want my friends alive? Especially when they pay rent?”
Jim nodded, ignoring the little stab of hurt at Bones’ flippant remark. It’s not like he’d feel anything more than that, Jim, I mean, he has a wife and child he told himself firmly.
“Damn you only want me for my money!”
Bones rolled his eyes and poked him in the sides.
“Exactly you infant, now … it’s late and you’re flying patrols tomorrow. Better get some rest.”
Jim made a face as he downed the whiskey in his glass and frowned.
“Yeah, practising the tactics that are going to let the Luftwaffe walk right over us,” he replied, and Bones’ shoulders slumped.
“Spock is trying his best, Jim. It means that the new pilots to the squadron stay alive for a bit longer.”
“At what point do they stay alive if they think the enemy is going to fly in a straight and level line while they’re being shot at? It’s stupid! Almost as bad as bloody Wing Commander Bader’s idea of the Big Wing which means that airfields get bombed because the planes don’t get up quick enough! It’s all -”
“Jim. You’ve told me a hundred times if not more about this. Why don’t you tell Spock?”
Jim slumped on the sofa.
“I’ve tried, but he’s so wound up at the moment he just ignores all criticism that gets in the way of his precious, ‘logical’ plans. One of these days he’s going to snap, and it’s not going to be pretty, Bones, I’m warning you now …”
Bones nodded in agreement, and placed his own glass on the floor, sitting back up and looking at Jim.
“Have you tried talking to Uhura? You know they’re close; maybe she’ll be able to sort things out. If not, why not write a letter?”
Jim stared at the dwindling fire and shivered.
“I don’t know if Uhura can stop him from going down this path … as for the letter,” he levered himself up and stretched, ignoring the wince on Bones’ face as his back popped, “I’ll try one more time to get it through his head verbally, then maybe.”
He started walking towards the door and looked back at Bones who was still sitting on the sofa.
“You’re not heading to bed, Bones?”
Bones started and looked, relaxing and nodding.
“I will be, got to give these old bones a bit of time to relax before I head up the stairs.”
“Old bones my ass, Bones!” Jim replied, letting a grin escape on his face, “If you were old, you wouldn’t be attracting all the ladies with your body, Bones.”
Bones raised an eyebrow as he looked at Jim.
“And what would you know about my body?”
“Nothing!” Jim hurriedly said, “but Gaila said there was a pool in the WAAFs about who would get to have a relationship with you first. It’s probably still there – anyway, I’m off to bed, see you tomorrow.”
“See you, Jim …” Bones replied quietly, staring at the fireplace as if he could find answers there. Jim quickly turned and walked up the stairs, flopping onto his bed and throwing a hand over his eyes.
In his mind he could see the flecks of green and brown in Bones’ eyes and could still smell the faint smell of smoke from the raid that day, antiseptic from the hospital, and the hint of spice and whiskey.
“Stop being an idiot, Jim,” he mumbled as he turned over and burrowed under the covers, “falling for him is only going to lead to the same trouble as before.”
If I haven’t already fallen, he thought worriedly, drifting off to a restless sleep.
-x-x-x-x-x-
“Spock … please …”
Spock didn’t stop what he was doing, and Nyota bit her lip, settling onto the arm of the chair.
“Spock, you need to sleep, you promised me you would sleep tonight -”
“I must continue to work, Nyota. As CO of Six Ten, I need to make sure the flight plans are in order, that everyone is up to speed and that their aircraft are ready for whatever will happen tomorrow.”
“I know, Spock, but …” Nyota looked at Spock hunched over the countless pieces of paper on the table detailing work proformas, flight records, kill records, books lying half open showing how to fly specific routines, Spock’s hand moving back and forth over the paper as he continued to write down that which he could remember about the tactics of the enemy. She looked at his notes, saw words such as “ruthless”, “must be stopped”; “tends to dive at twenty thousand for approximately three seconds” scattered across the page, and reached out.
Her hand touched Spock’s arm, and he flinched away, finally looking up at her.
“Nyota, I must continue to work. If I do not, more people may die and I will NOT allow that.”
Spock’s voice shook slightly, and Nyota opened her mouth, shutting it when Spock shrugged her off. He spoke, and Nyota shivered at the tension within his voice.
“Nyota … I thank you for your concern, but I must ask that you go to sleep, and leave me to work.”
“Spock, don’t do this -”
“Please, leave.”
Nyota stood up, her face setting into a determined look. Walking towards the door, she placed her hand upon the lock and turned back.
“Your mother wouldn’t want you to work yourself to death.”
Spock kept looking at the desk as he replied.
“As she is dead, Nyota, it would be illogical for her to have an opinion. Now if you would excuse me, I need concentration to work out the optimum fuel to oil allowance. Good night.”
“It may be illogical for her to continue to have an opinion, but she still has it – and so do I. Goodnight, Spock …”
Nyota walked out, and let the door slam behind her. Spock stared at the desk below him, and sunk his head against his hands.
“What am I going to do …” he whispered into the silent study.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-
Leonard stretched, feeling his back twinge as his body informed him about how much it disagreed about being bent over a desk for the last six hours. He placed the pen on the desk, refusing to look at the clock on the mantelpiece as he made his way to the kitchen, placing a kettle onto boil.
As he waited, he looked out the window at the dark sky, a worried expression etched upon his face. He shook his head, turning back and banging around the kitchen as he got a mug and a spoon to make some coffee, muttering to himself as he furiously spooned in the coffee and sugar.
“Doesn’t matter, after all, it’s not like the Luftwaffe raid at night, and besides, he’s a grown man and able to take care of himself -” the whistle of the kettle boiling stopped him muttering aloud, and he carefully poured the water into his mug, stirring slowly, ears straining to hear any sounds apart from the slight rustle of the bushes in the night breeze.
A rumble came slowly up the path, followed by a thin slit of light, and Leonard breathed a sigh of relief. As Jim came thundering through the door, shedding his tie and shirt on his way to the sink to wash his face and hands, chatting about the non-eventful sortie with evident relief at having not to go into action, Leonard’s hands relaxed on his mug.
He refused to ask himself why he was so happy to hear Jim’s voice as he clomped upstairs in his boots in order to collapse into bed. After all, he reasoned to himself as he made his way slowly up the stairs, pausing at the top to hear Jim’s slight snores already start, it’s just because we’re friends, nothing more, it’s just because he lives in my house and no one else has lived here since Jocelyn took Joanna away, it’s just because we’re friends …
His thoughts continued to whirr around in his head as he sat on the edge of his bed, listening to Jim snore away.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
Nero sat down on his seat and glared at the cloudy sky above. Ayel edged closer, and held out a cigarette. Nero took it and lit it, fuming as he gestured to the sky.
“How the hell are we supposed to conquer England if the weather won’t clear up? By magic? And yet Goering is ordering us to get our planes in the air!”
“Sir, perhaps it will clear up later -”
Nero snorted as he stood up, gesturing at the sky with his cigarette, ignoring the pull of the scar tissue on his face as he spoke.
“With those clouds? It’s not going to be clear till at least tomorrow, and then the British bastards will have repaired their airfields and planes! We can’t drive them into submission with weather like this! What happened to the sunshine!”
He sat back down, and pointed savagely at the planes in front of them, engineers running around them repairing them.
“Of course, it would be helpful if we had aircraft to fight them with …”
Ayel held his hands out in a peace-making gesture.
“Sir, we will be able to fly tomorrow, and the RAF won’t be fixed up. After all, we’ve been attacking them constantly for the past two weeks, and the convoy runs before that, we’ll bring England to her knees in another week – I promise, sir.”
“Promises don’t repair planes Ayel. Now go, I’m sure you have paperwork to fill out.”
Ayel sighed heavily and saluted.
“Yes sir,” he replied, turning and walking towards the nearest engineer. Nero continued to take drags of his cigarette as he looked across the airfield to the distant smudge of white on the horizon.
“We will destroy them, Mananda, and then, you shall be avenged, you and our child … England will fall ...” he whispered, taking a long puff on his cigarette, and placing the glowing tip so that it looked like it was burning up the white smudge.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-
Dawson walked out of Spock’s office and rubbed his eyes, looking at Jim who was standing outside.
“Don’t provoke him, Jim, please.”
Jim clapped him on the back, starting to walk forward as he spoke.
“I won’t be provoking, if he asks my opinion on those tactics, I’m gonna tell him …”
As the door shut behind him, Dawson looked at the door, and shook his head. He walked out and pointed a finger at one of the new pilots, who jumped to his feet so quickly James was thrown back to when he and Beckson when they first joined the RAF. A wave of sadness hit him, but he shook it off. He had to keep going, there would time enough to grieve properly when the war was over.
“You – Harris isn’t it?”
The pilot nodded eagerly.
“Yes, sir, what do you need?”
“I need you to go to the Med-Centre and ask Flight Lieutenant McCoy to get here as quickly as possible. Go!”
Harris saluted and sped off, and one of the other pilots who was walking past with a map in one hand and a tea in the other, raised his eyebrows at Dawson.
“Someone injured, sir?”
“Not yet …” Dawson muttered, walking back inside, hoping that he was just being over-cautious.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
“You wanted to see me, sir?” Jim asked as he closed the door behind him, and Spock turned, nodding as he did so.
“Yes, please, sit down.” Spock gestured to one of the chairs and Jim sat down, watching Spock sit in the other, face as expressionless as always.
They sat in silence, and Jim eventually broke it, coughing as he did so.
“So … what did you want to see me about?” “Sir,” he added belatedly at Spock’s raised eyebrow, and he felt a chill settle in his heart as he started wondering about what Spock was going to speak about.
“I called you in here to check that you are still able to fight at optimum efficiency.”
Jim raised an eyebrow.
“I may be smart, Spock, but I’m not a machine. Were you wanting to know if I’m healthy? Okay, sir?”
Spock raised his eyebrow in return.
“That is what I asked, Flight Lieutenant Kirk.”
“Well … I’m okay. Been better, but there’s only so much sleep a person can get when we’re at war.”
Spock nodded in acknowledgement, and then reached for a piece of paper, pulling it towards him.
“Now … why would I appear to have a piece of paper detailing your arguments against the tactics invented by the RAF? More specifically the ‘Big Wing’ idea as proposed by Squadron Leader Bader? Arguments that make the suggestion that these tactics and ideas are not helping us win the war, rather they are losing it, because …” he steepled his fingers and looked at Jim, “they do not save lives. Even though they are accountable for shooting down as many as fifty aircraft every sortie.”
Jim leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Spock, they may shoot down fifty aircraft, but they’re shooting down the fifty aircraft after they’ve bombed the airfields and killed people. If we just dropped those tactics, flew in pairs like the Poles, hell, like the Luftwaffe do, we’d stop them and we wouldn’t be losing our own people at the same time, sir.”
Spock stiffened and looked at Jim.
“We are NOT the Luftwaffe, and we will not fly like them.”
“Spock, if we keep flying the way we are, we’re going to end up BEING the Luftwaffe cos they’ll invade! If you took that stupid stick out of your ass about this, we’d be able to beat them!”
Spock’s knuckles tightened as Jim’s did, both of them bristling.
“Flight Lieutenant Kirk, I would remind you that you are talking to a superior officer.”
“A superior officer who’s being an ass!”
Spock stood up, and Jim did too, fists bunching at his sides.
“Flight Lieutenant Kirk!”
“Spock, whatever you think about the Luftwaffe – I know they killed your mother, injured Pike, killed Hugh – flying like them won’t turn you into them! If you’d just see it!”
“It is not the way of the RAF!”
“And dying is?! Jesus, Spock this is just going backwards and I won’t let us do that! If it means flying like the enemy than I’m gonna make us do that!”
Spock blinked, and when he spoke, his voice was like ice.
“Flight. Lieutenant. Kirk. You are not the one who makes these decisions, and thus you do not have the authority to make these decisions.”
“Well, you won’t!”
Jim fell silent, breathing heavily, blood racing, and Spock’s voice dripped anger.
“Mr Kirk, you will back down now and do as you are told, or you will be put in the brig until you learn how to act within the RAF.”
Jim leant forward over the desk, and spoke slowly.
“Make me …”
Jim only got a second, but it was enough to dodge Spock’s blow as he flew round the side of the desk. Jim punched back, but Spock blocked him, both of them. The door flew open and James and Bones ran in along with a member of the military police patrolling nearby, and they wrestled with the two of them, trying to pull them apart.
“Goddamnit Jim stop!” yelled Leonard, and Jim froze in shock. He had been so focused on beating some sense into Spock, that he had not even noticed Bones was in the room. The moment’s hesitation was enough for the military policemen to wrestle him into a binding hold on the floor, and he looked up into Bones’ shocked face. Over the other side of the room, James went to help Spock up from the floor and Spock glared at him, levering himself up without any aid. He stepped forward, and Jim tensed, ready to try and throw the policeman off him. The policeman threw more of his weight on him, and Leonard stepped forward.
“Jim, what the hell -”
“Corporal.” Spock interrupted, “Please take Flight Lieutenant Kirk to the brig till he has regained his ability to reason.”
“I need to regain the ability to reason?! Jesus, Spock you’re making a mistake! Trust me!” Jim protested and the corporal looked at him, biting his lip. Spock narrowed his eyes.
“I gave you an order, Corporal …”
“Yes, sir.” The corporal replied, and hauled Jim to his feet. Jim let him, watching James whose mouth was open wide and fists clenched, looking at Bones who was just standing there, letting this happen, waiting for someone, anyone to speak up for him.
Nothing.
Bones just looked at him, a shocked look on his face, and Jim felt his heart break. As he was dragged past Bones, he whispered quietly enough for only Bones to hear.
“What happened to not letting anyone put me down, Leonard?”
He ignored the guilt and sadness in Bones’ eyes as he was dragged out the room and towards the brig.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
Leonard took a deep breath, and gestured to the corporal standing outside the door. The corporal raised his eyebrow and sighed.
“I’m sorry sir, I can’t let you in, I’m under orders to have Flight Lieutenant Kirk in isolation till I’m told otherwise.”
“I’m telling you otherwise Corporal. Flight Lieutenant Kirk needs medical attention, unless you want us to lose another pilot?” Leonard let his voice trail off and he looked meaningfully at the corporal who, at the insinuation that he might want the RAF to lose, hurriedly reached for the door and opened it.
“Thanks, Corporal,” Leonard said, and the corporal stepped aside, allowing Leonard to walk inside. As he did so, the corporal shut the door behind him, and the resultant thud of the wooden door against the frame rolled around the cell.
Jim didn’t look up.
Leonard felt his heart crack slightly at the image, and he stepped forward, holding out the medicine bag in his hand like a peace offering.
“Jim, how are you feeling?”
“You promised you wouldn’t let anyone hold me down, Doctor McCoy. How do you think I feel.”
Leonard’s heart ached as he continued to hold out the medical bag, like he was frozen in place.
“Jim I -”
“Save it, I don’t wanna hear it. Just …” Jim turned to face the wall, “leave. Please.”
Leonard swallowed, and knelt down in front of Jim.
“Not till I treat you, Jim.”
Jim looked up and Leonard sighed at the brilliant beautiful blue eyes level with his.
Silence stretched between them and Jim huffed, dropping his gaze again.
“Whatever, not like I’m going to be flying again, hell if I’m even going to be in the RAF quite frankly.” He laughed for a short moment, and Leonard shivered at the sound, “at least I’ll be dropped for something other than my criminal record!”
Leonard couldn’t have stopped himself even if he tried. He reached out and grasped Jim’s knee, shaking it slightly.
“Hey, they’re not going to chuck you out, Jim, well, not until after this is over at any rate, they need good pilots too badly.”
Jim looked up and raised his eyebrows.
“So they’ll keep me until the end and then go ‘bugger off’? More likely, they’ll hope I’ll die in an attack and then I’ll be off their hands.”
Leonard’s heart clenched at the same time as his hand on Jim’s knees, and Jim looked up again, a look of curiosity now in his eyes. Leonard swallowed back the confession on the tip of his tongue, speaking thickly in an attempt to keep composure.
“If you die, Jim, I’ll find your body, bring you back to life, and kill you again for doing so.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Leonard asked incredulously, “why would I not want my best friend to stay alive, my -” he caught himself, “the one person in the world who I can honestly say I like more than my daughter? Jim, I -”
Words failed him and he looked into Jim’s eyes, smelling the unique smell of oil, whiskey and Jim. He tried to resist the urge to gather him into his arms till the end of the war, the urge to keep him safe and close for ever, the urge to ignore the rumours that would be spread, the urge to say what he’d wanted to say since they became friends, the urge …
He sighed and looked at Jim, noticing vaguely that his hands had migrated to the tops of Jim’s shoulders as if to pull him close, and noticing the look of fear and curiosity mixing with something else that he couldn’t tell, something that –
Leonard’s mouth kept moving, and he knew it was saying what he had been trying to keep close all of this time but he couldn’t stop, he just looked at Jim, willing something, anything to happen to break this moment.
Jim leant forward slightly, frowning as he tried to work out what Leonard was saying and Leonard didn’t move, hoped that he’d move closer and yet at the same time hoped that he didn’t and –
A siren blared. The door flew open. The Corporal from outside ran into the room, starting to pull Jim out the room.
“Come on, sir! There’s a raid on its way! You need to go up!”
“Bones!” Jim turned back as Leonard stepped forward, only just remembering to let go of him before the corporal hauled Jim out the room.
“Get a move on, sir!”
“I’ll come back, Bones! I promise!” Jim called back, and Leonard watched after them as they ran to the outside door.
As it clanged shut, he sunk down onto the bench, and laid his head in his hands. Blinking, he looked at the floor, feeling his hands clench against his face.
“At least he called me Bones,” he said quietly, looking down at the floor. “Damnit Leonard, do you never fucking learn ...”
-x-x-x-x-x-x-
“God-fucking-damnit!” Jim swore as he ran across the tarmac to the truck starting up on the other side, swinging himself on just as it started to pull away towards the airfield, swearing all the way. One of the techies looked at him and smiled a wry smile.
“I know, sir, damn Germans raiding again.”
Well, that too, Jim thought, but also bloody sending over the raid now! I couldn’t hear what Bones is saying!
And why did you want to hear what he was saying? Jim jumped off the truck and ran towards his waiting Spitfire as he answered the dark thought.
Because it’s Bones!
Oh, like that’s a reason.
It is! Bones – he said something important and I missed it!
He thought back, furiously trying to lip-read what Bones said without sound as he flung himself into the waiting cockpit, signalling to the techie to pull away the chocks so that he could start up the engine. Even as he flicked switches and watched the propellers spin into a whirring circle, his mind was racing, trying to work out what Bones said, why it was so important to him – after all, he did break his promise, the darker thought in his head whispered as he pulled forward, quickly answering the radio checks.
I know … but he’s Bones, he’s more than that, he’s …
“He’s more than my best friend,” he said out loud, rising into the sky with a small jerk of the control column and the smooth rise of his Spitfire’s nose, “He’s …”
“Red squadron, this is Control, bandits are thirty miles from your position, height Angels Eighteen bearing zero eight zero degrees, thirty plus, I repeat, bandits are thirty miles and closing, height Angels Eighteen bearing zero eight zero degree, thirty plus.”
Spock’s voice came over the radio and Jim raised his eyebrows at the sheer amount of tension in his voice.
“Received and understood, Control.”
“Red squadron, we shall use tactic number seven for this raid, this will require -”
“What the hell, Spock! We don’t have time to form up, just get into pairs and get as high as we can!” Jim yelled, and he heard Dawson swear over the mike as he replied.
“Never mind that, they’re in fucking front of us!”
Jim looked forward and swore loudly, dropping his plane into a sharp dive and bringing her back up in a spiral. He could feel the gravity pull against him as he fought to get as high as possible, and as he looked up, he was almost blinded by the sun. He climbed higher and higher, gritting his teeth as the engine screamed in pain, his plane going vertical and powering up as fast as she could. A flash of light, a black shape in the brightness above him, and Jim fired, already swinging to the right to avoid the rapidly dropping shadow above.
“Hun in the sun!” He yelled down the radio, and everyone yelled back, swinging round and getting lost in the frantic fight breaking out in the sky. The Messerschmitt flew down past him with inches to spare and Jim stall-turned, letting the engine cut and the wind whistle past his rapidly turning and dropping plane as he raced down after the enemy. He fired, could only hear the blood pumping in his ears as he concentrated on trying to bring down the enemy in front. Flames appeared on the wings and the Messerschmitt started to falter, but another plane swung in front of Jim, causing him to break off and spin out of the tracer being fired at him. He could hear Spock barking orders over the radio, he could hear cries for aid as the rest of the squadron frantically fought to stay alive, and he saw, for the briefest of seconds, Spock’s plane in battle with a Messerschmitt. Jim gritted his teeth, and spoke even as he swung his Spitfire around to go help.
“You better be grateful, Spock!”
He flew as fast as he could, swerving and spinning, and he got there just as the Messerschmitt fired upon Spock’s aircraft, and flames appeared on the wings.
“Spock!” Jim yelled, and he dived even as Spock’s plane dropped, screaming through the air. He ignored the other aircraft around him as he yelled over the mike, hoping that Spock would answer.
“Spock! Come on, Spock! Get out of there you idiot! Come on!!!”
He flew as close as he could, could see Spock sat in the aircraft, and the horrible thought struck him.
“Spock! You better not be dead or I’ll kill you myself!”
At this, Spock’s head jerked towards Jim and even through the bullet-proof glass, Jim saw the raised eyebrow. Jim breathed, and quickly flicked his head from his left wing to the rear-view mirror and back to make sure that no one was behind him.
“Spock, I know we don’t get on, but listen to me, if you let yourself die here, you’re just going to let the Luftwaffe win. If you die here, you won’t be able to get them for taking people you love, and you won’t be able to stop them. Please Spock, just listen to me for once, and get out of there!”
They were close enough that Jim could see him blinking, and Jim held his breath, not tearing his gaze away for a moment.
“Come on, Spock, just jump!”
A burst of tracer above them and Jim wrenched his plane right and up, firing as he did so at the plane coming down towards him, bearing down like an avenging god. He fired at the other plane, and Dawson’s Spitfire joined the attack as he did so, helping to send the plane spiralling down. As it whirred past, Jim saw the head of the pilot loll forward and hit the instrument panel. He looked down, still heading up into the sky towards the departing enemy and he saw Spock dive from the side of his aircraft, opening his parachute and drifting down even as his Spitfire sped up and screamed down towards the earth.
Jim sighed in relief, and muttered down the mike.
“Thank God … Uhura would kill me if he hadn’t jumped …”
“Not just Uhura, can you imagine McCoy’s look on his face if I let you die?” Dawson replied, and Jim looked up towards the departing aircraft, shaking his head in response.
“Very true Dawson … Red squadron, Alpha Charlie, Alpha Charlie,” he called as he swung towards home, looking briefly down to the disappearing parachute and smiling as it collapsed on the ground and a tiny figure worked its way out from underneath. The rest of the squadron replied quickly, and as they headed towards Biggin Hill, Jim looked at the teddy bear still squished into the gap between the instrument panel and the cockpit glass. Thank God you didn’t take a tumble this time, he thought, and reached out his hand quickly, brushing the fur of the bear’s face.
“Thanks, Dad,” he said quietly, and headed back to the airfield, starting to wonder what the hell Bones had been trying to say before the raid warning came in.
Why do you care?
Because … “because I love him”, Jim said absent-mindedly, and then stiffened in shock. His hand clenched around the control column, and he looked at the whitened knuckles with fear.
Don’t you remember the last time you loved someone? You got refused from joining the Army Air Corps, thrown out of your home, and sent to wander the earth till you decided to have normal tastes?
It’s different! He was an idiot!
He was your best friend too …
“Bones isn’t Gary,” he spoke out loud, and looked out at the formation of planes around him, occasionally shifting when a gust of wind hit an aircraft. He looked back at the bear on the dashboard and swallowed.
“Bones is better than that,” he said quietly, and he felt his leg start to twitch at the realisations going through his head.
As they reached the station, the planes prepared to land, crackles over the radio signalling the start of each member’s final approaches as they swung down and down and landed with a bump back on the earth. Jim followed suit, landing with a small bump and then weaving his aircraft through the holes left on the runway by the raid. He came to a shuddering standstill, and Jim took a long deep breath of relief, rubbing his eyes, trying to put all thoughts of Bones out of his head.
However, it wasn’t working. Even as the techie came to help him out, even as he jumped down from the wing and headed towards dispersal, even as he informed them about Spock making his own way back, he kept thinking about what Bones was mouthing in the prison cell. Dawson looked at him from the other side of the room, and raised an eyebrow as Jim stood there in thought, looking out the window at the rush of people towing aircraft and running around the station.
“Jim, you okay?”
Jim jerked from his reverie and looked at James.
“I’m not sure.”
“I can honestly say I wasn’t expecting that answer,” James replied dryly, and Jim grinned, turning fully and walking to the door.
“What can I say; I’m an unpredictable kinda guy. Come on, let’s get to the hanger and see how the planes have held up in this – we might even see Spock on the way.”
“Much as I’d love to see Squadron Leader Grayson” James replied, even as they both walked out the door and towards a waiting truck, “I can think of better circumstances than straight after you two having a fight and then he having to bail from his aircraft. Besides,” he looked at Jim as they climbed on and banged the side of the truck and signalled the driver to start moving, “you and the boss’ fight can wait. No, I was talking about you being okay. Are you?”
Jim looked out at the med-centre as they passed, and bit his lip, shaking his head.
“At the moment, kinda in shock, James.”
Any further questions were cut off by them rumbling to a stop in front of the main hanger, and James and Jim jumped off, Jim feeling the roar of machinery vibrate through his boots as they walked towards the interior.
Inside, masses of people went back and forth between tools and machines, calls for help and ideas being yelled above the banging of hammers and other tools as various parts of aircraft, trucks and anti-aircraft guns lay around the cavernous space. In the midst of it all, stood Scotty, wiping his brow with a blackened rag and gesturing to a group of techies to haul what seemed to be Jim’s Spitfire into position for maintenance. Jim and James walked forward and Scotty turned, greeting them with a tired wave of his hand as he continued to talk away.
“Right, put her there, and we’ll deal with her later, there’s just far too many jobs to be done at the moment, Pavel,” he clapped his hand on Pavel’s shoulder and Pavel looked expectantly up, “I want you to start on this Spitfire, see how far you can get on checking her over.”
“Yes, sir!” Pavel said, and with a nod to Jim and James, he scrambled up onto the wing of the Spitfire sitting next to them, diving into the cockpit so that only his legs were showing. A clang of tools, and Scotty turned to Jim with a tired smile on his face.
“So, Flight Lieutenant Kirk, what’s the news? Did everyone make it back this time?”
“Well, most of us – Harris is in hospital at the moment, not sure when he’ll come out, and Squadron Leader Grayson -”
“Is right here. Gentlemen.”
The three of them spun round and Spock continued to walk forward, a slight limp marring his otherwise ramrod figure. He halted in front of Jim, who smiled a small smile of relief.
“Glad you made it, sir.”
Spock quirked an eyebrow.
“I would not have been so lucky if we had been over the Continent … Mr Kirk,” he looked at Jim and Jim resisted the urge to hug him, such was the look of defeat in his features.
“Thank you, for saving my life. I … I am afraid that I froze. This is unacceptable for a CO.”
“Spock, it’s fine, everyone freezes, it’s just -”
Spock cut him off with a wave and looked Jim in the eye.
“The fact remains, that I froze, and did not lead the squadron effectively. I … I must resign my position. You’re in charge now, Flight Lieutenant.”
Jim stood in shock, and then shook himself.
“Spock what? You can’t just -”
“I cannot lead the squadron if I freeze at danger. Goodbye, Mr Kirk.”
With that, Spock turned abruptly, walking out with unsteady steps, and Jim stood with his mouth open, watching him go. A hand fell upon his shoulders and he whirled round, only to see Scotty and Dawson standing there. Dawson removed his hand, and spoke quietly.
“I’ll go speak to Uhura, see if she can talk him round, Jim. If anyone can do the impossible, she can.”
Jim nodded dazedly, and clapped his own hand on James’ shoulder.
“Good luck, Dawson.”
Dawson smiled crookedly, and walked off. Jim turned to Scotty, and straightened up. If he was in charge, he better start now.
“So, Scotty, how are the repairs going?”
Scotty started talking, hand twisting the oily rag in between his fingertips as he spoke about the constant repairs that were having to be made around the station, how his Spitfire was going to have to be at the bottom of the list for repair simply because there wasn’t going to be any way of fighting off the German attack at night if they were stupid enough to try and fly at night, but Jim tuned it out, mind going back to Bones in the prison cell.
Over and over he watched Bones mouth words in his head that Jim couldn’t hear, all the while gripping onto Jim’s arms as though it was a lifeline. Jim saw the look of worry in his face and knew, knew, that he couldn’t deny it anymore. He was in love with this man and he couldn’t ignore the little jump in his heart when he saw him. He sighed heavily, and Scotty paused in his telling, looking at him worriedly.
“Is everything all right, Jim?”
Jim waved his hand in response, speaking with a wry grin on his face.
“Just a revelation, doesn’t matter. You were saying about the repairs to the Spitfires? What needs to be done?”
Scotty started talking again, and Jim tried to listen, but the image of Bones mouthing the words continued to play in his head. Jim watched repeatedly, trying to work out what Bones was saying, if only so that the image would haunt him with full sound and image rather than just images of a worried face and deep hazel eyes.
I ... I ... I ... all he could see was the word form itself through Bones’ lips, opening constantly as if pleading for Jim to listen to whatever he was too afraid to say out loud, whatever he didn’t even know he was trying to say. He shook his head, unable to clear the images of Bones’ pleading angry face from his mind, and he smiled at Scotty.
“I’m sorry, Scotty, I wasn’t listening. I -” Jim stifled a yawn, and grinned somewhat self-consciously. Scotty merely laughed in return.
“You’re not the only one who’s yawning all over the place, Jim!”
“In that case,” he stretched and felt his back pop, “I’m going to go and grab some sleep before I have to go on duty again. I’d suggest you do the same.”
Scotty widened his arms in a ‘what can I do’ gesture and indicated the bustling hanger.
“I would, but there are countless jobs to do and only one senior officer available at the moment, so I’m going to have to stay here. Go on lad; get some rest while you can.”
Jim nodded, and yelled at Pavel who briefly popped his head up from the cockpit of the Spitfire he was trying to fix.
“You too! Try and get some sleep,” he called up and Pavel rolled his eyes in response, diving back into the cockpit with a clang of metal as the spanner in his hand hit the metal sides.
Jim started walking towards the med-centre, intent on at least making sure that Bones got home to have some sleep, even if he couldn’t work out exactly what he was saying. Bones’ face drifted back into his head and he closely watched the lips in his mind, watched them form words he knew but couldn’t quite work out.
I ... I ... I love you.
Jim stopped dead. Inside his brain, Bones kept mouthing the same phrase over and over and Jim could hear it now, hear it with all the force of Bones’ Georgian drawl, combined with anger, fear, and love. His mouth fell open, and he ignored all that was happening around him as he watched Bones say again and again, I love you.
“Shit …” said Jim, and he started running towards the med-centre, intent on seeing McCoy and trying to work out whether he’d actually said what Jim thought he had.
A few minutes later, Jim burst into the Medical Centre breathing hard, already looking around for Bones as he collected himself from the mad dash to the other side of the airfield from the techies’ base. Concerned, Chapel detached herself from the bedside of one of the injured - luckily merely sleeping - and came over.
“Flight Lieutenant Kirk? Are you alright?”
Jim nodded as he bent over to regain his breath, eventually straightening. The loud pop that his back made in protest caused the entire room to wince, and Chapel to place a hand on his arm as if to move him to a free bed for inspection. He waved her off impatiently.
“I’m fine, it’s just my back, where’s Bones?”
Chapel looked at him as she frowned at his question
.
“Flight Lieutenant McCoy? He was sent home barely fifteen minutes ago sir, for rest. There isn’t anything else that can be done at the moment; it’s just a matter of waiting for the patients to heal.”
Jim rubbed his face with his hands briefly before looking at her.
“Sister, was he okay? He wasn’t injured?”
Chapel shook her head.
“No, just exhausted. You on the other hand, sir,” she went to pull him again to the bed in order to treat any possible injuries, and Jim shook his head, stepping out of her grasp.
“I’m not injured badly, it’s just bruising, all I need is a good night sleep, Sister Chapel.”
She arched her eyebrow in an eerie imitation of Bones’ doom eyebrow, even as she stepped away from Jim.
“I suppose you’re medically qualified to make that decision are you, sir?”
“No, but I need to go now!”
Before Chapel could speak, Jim spun round and left the Medical centre, running towards his bike he had parked outside it that morning, starting it and roaring down the road towards the exit. He had to go to Bones’ – their – Bones’ house and find out what the hell was going on.
-x-x-x-x-
Part 5/6
Part 3/6
Scotty looked up briefly as the roar of the Spitfire engine filled the skies again as they came back from the scramble, and then concentrated on getting as much done as he could before the next raid. It had been a week since the first bombing of Biggin Hill, and the raids had only grown in intensity. Casualties were mounting on and off the station; pilots and techies were working together to get the station and planes operational as quickly as possible after each raid, and then falling asleep when and where they could – often next to mounds of earth thrown up from each raid. Pavel came over with a cup of tea, and Scotty took it unthinkingly, no longer grimacing at the faint hint of engine grease that came from every cup made in the hanger. He downed it, and handed the mug back to Pavel, smiling as he did so.
“Thanks, Pavel … now, show me how you’re getting on with the repairs on X104.”
“Aye, sir!” Pavel led the way back, both of them weaving through the crowd that filled the hanger. Everyone was hurrying to and fro from the aircraft with tools, spare parts, and often backing a truck into the hanger to pick up a spare engine. Scotty dived out of the way as the engine being hoisted into the air swung out from the back of the truck.
“Oi! Watch where you’re heading with that!”
To their credit, the techies looked embarrassed even as they continued to get it onto the back of the truck, mumbling a sorry as they clambered onto the spare floor of the truck and signalled for the driver to head towards the waiting aircraft. Scotty rolled his eyes in despair, and came over to the wrecked Spitfire sitting in the corner of the hanger, his heart aching even as he catalogued how far they had to go with it.
Buckled wings, destroyed engine, wiring completely fried, tail missing, rudder no longer there … would be easier if we simply stripped her down for parts, he thought to himself, but shook his head. Squadron Leader Pike’s plane would be returned to immaculate condition. After all, he’d need it if he ever managed to fly again.
“Sir?” Pavel’s question jerked Scotty out of his thoughts, and back to the problem at hand.
“Right, sorry Pavel, world of my own. Now, how far’ve you got?”
Even with the constant raids and the lack of sleep, Pavel managed to sound cheerful.
“A lot further than last time, sir! I’ve replaced the wiring for the main control board, and the engine is almost complete, soon we’ll be able to start work on unbuckling the wings, though it would be easier if we sent her off to get -”
Scotty waved him off.
“Aye, it would be easier, but Pike would kill us if we sent his Spitfire off to get fixed by someone else. Now, you were saying about the engine?”
“Ah yes, sir, well, I’ve started work on replacing the valves, and I thought about tinkering with the fuel injection system to see if we could have a continuous flow like the Messerschmitts, but so far no luck. I’ve also started cleaning it out …”
Scotty listened with half an ear as his thoughts ran on from his previous statement.
Not only that, but I don’t want to face Spock and tell him that we can’t fix Pike’s plane … it’s bad enough I had to tell him that Hugh’s plane was unsalvageable, I’m not going to tell him the same again … Scotty watched Spock’s face in his mind as he struggled with himself, and shivered, even in the heat of the hanger.
“Sir?” Pavel looked at him, a worried look on his face.
“Doesn’t matter, Pavel … glad to see everything’s going well with the engine, how is she performing in tests?”
“So far, very well, sir.”
Scotty clapped him on the back, and Pavel grinned.
“Good work, lad …”
They turned to walk back through the crowd in order to work on the aircraft that had been brought in, when the wireless over in the corner of the hanger blared into life. The techies huddled around it cheered, and leant forward.
“What the blazes …” Scotty muttered, and walked over. One of the techies noticed him and waved.
“Sir! Churchill’s about to speak!”
Everyone fell into silence, and Churchill’s gravelly voice filled the hanger, rising out into the surrounding station. Tools were downed, and everyone listened to Churchill speak.
“Never, in the field of human conflict, was so much, owed by so many, to so few …”
“Does he really think that, sir?”
Scotty turned to Pavel, a worried frown on his face.
“Probably, lad, but we’ve got a long way to go before we can even think about surviving this, let alone winning …”
-x-x-x-x-x-x-
Jim stared out into Bones’ living room; hand clasping a glass full of whisky, tie half undone round his neck as he stared into the fireplace, leg bouncing slightly. He barely noticed Bones settling down onto the sofa next to him, he just stared out into the room, mind going back to the funeral that day. Unconsciously he twisted the teddy bear mascot round and round in his other hand as he stared, not noticing Bones taking a long sip of his own whiskey and curling his hand round the glass.
“Fuck’s sake …” Bones whispered into the room, and Jim laughed bleakly, taking a sip of his own whiskey, relishing the burn as it made its way down his throat.
“Pretty much, Bones, pretty much …”
They fell back into silence for a long moment. Jim cleared his throat an spoke, his voice hoarse.
“Is Joanna okay?”
“Yeah, they’re up at Jocelyn’s parents, deepest Wales, no way the Luftwaffe is going to make it all the way over there,” Bones replied, and Jim nodded, still twiddling the bear in his hands. His hand rubbed over a dark red stain on its face and he shivered, clenching tightly onto his glass. Bones frowned, leaning forward.
“You okay, kid?”
Jim blinked.
“Yeah, just … preoccupied that’s all. So many funerals and that, really makes you think about your own …” he looked down at the bear in his hands, “mortality.”
Bones nodded and leaned back in his seat, seeming to listen to the crackling fire for a moment before he answered.
“Jim, you promised you’d come back, so you’re not going to die.”
Jim raised his eyebrows, still looking at the bear.
“Had a close enough shave last week – what with this little guy escaping from his perch, thought I’d bought it.”
“This little guy?” Bones asked quietly, and Jim nodded, turning to face Bones.
“This teddy bear. I’ve only been injured when I haven’t flown with it sitting looking at me, it’s like …”
His voice trailed off and Bones nudged him.
“Like what?”
Jim shook his head.
“It’s stupid, Bones.”
“Like I’d laugh, Jim.”
“You might.”
Bones crossed his heart and looked at him.
“Cross my heart, I won’t.”
Jim took a deep breath and turned away from Bones.
“It’s like … like Dad is watching over. Cos he bought it when he was in France, it was the last gift Mom got from him before he died, she gave it to me. Like I said, stupid thought.”
Bones laid a hand on his shoulder and turned him towards him.
“Hey, it’s not stupid, why wouldn’t your Dad be watching over you? It makes perfect sense, Jim, especially if it means you’ll stay alive.”
“Why are you so invested in keeping me alive, Bones? Is it my scintillating conversation?” Jim joked and he saw a flash of something cross Bones’ face as he replied.
“Can’t I want my friends alive? Especially when they pay rent?”
Jim nodded, ignoring the little stab of hurt at Bones’ flippant remark. It’s not like he’d feel anything more than that, Jim, I mean, he has a wife and child he told himself firmly.
“Damn you only want me for my money!”
Bones rolled his eyes and poked him in the sides.
“Exactly you infant, now … it’s late and you’re flying patrols tomorrow. Better get some rest.”
Jim made a face as he downed the whiskey in his glass and frowned.
“Yeah, practising the tactics that are going to let the Luftwaffe walk right over us,” he replied, and Bones’ shoulders slumped.
“Spock is trying his best, Jim. It means that the new pilots to the squadron stay alive for a bit longer.”
“At what point do they stay alive if they think the enemy is going to fly in a straight and level line while they’re being shot at? It’s stupid! Almost as bad as bloody Wing Commander Bader’s idea of the Big Wing which means that airfields get bombed because the planes don’t get up quick enough! It’s all -”
“Jim. You’ve told me a hundred times if not more about this. Why don’t you tell Spock?”
Jim slumped on the sofa.
“I’ve tried, but he’s so wound up at the moment he just ignores all criticism that gets in the way of his precious, ‘logical’ plans. One of these days he’s going to snap, and it’s not going to be pretty, Bones, I’m warning you now …”
Bones nodded in agreement, and placed his own glass on the floor, sitting back up and looking at Jim.
“Have you tried talking to Uhura? You know they’re close; maybe she’ll be able to sort things out. If not, why not write a letter?”
Jim stared at the dwindling fire and shivered.
“I don’t know if Uhura can stop him from going down this path … as for the letter,” he levered himself up and stretched, ignoring the wince on Bones’ face as his back popped, “I’ll try one more time to get it through his head verbally, then maybe.”
He started walking towards the door and looked back at Bones who was still sitting on the sofa.
“You’re not heading to bed, Bones?”
Bones started and looked, relaxing and nodding.
“I will be, got to give these old bones a bit of time to relax before I head up the stairs.”
“Old bones my ass, Bones!” Jim replied, letting a grin escape on his face, “If you were old, you wouldn’t be attracting all the ladies with your body, Bones.”
Bones raised an eyebrow as he looked at Jim.
“And what would you know about my body?”
“Nothing!” Jim hurriedly said, “but Gaila said there was a pool in the WAAFs about who would get to have a relationship with you first. It’s probably still there – anyway, I’m off to bed, see you tomorrow.”
“See you, Jim …” Bones replied quietly, staring at the fireplace as if he could find answers there. Jim quickly turned and walked up the stairs, flopping onto his bed and throwing a hand over his eyes.
In his mind he could see the flecks of green and brown in Bones’ eyes and could still smell the faint smell of smoke from the raid that day, antiseptic from the hospital, and the hint of spice and whiskey.
“Stop being an idiot, Jim,” he mumbled as he turned over and burrowed under the covers, “falling for him is only going to lead to the same trouble as before.”
If I haven’t already fallen, he thought worriedly, drifting off to a restless sleep.
-x-x-x-x-x-
“Spock … please …”
Spock didn’t stop what he was doing, and Nyota bit her lip, settling onto the arm of the chair.
“Spock, you need to sleep, you promised me you would sleep tonight -”
“I must continue to work, Nyota. As CO of Six Ten, I need to make sure the flight plans are in order, that everyone is up to speed and that their aircraft are ready for whatever will happen tomorrow.”
“I know, Spock, but …” Nyota looked at Spock hunched over the countless pieces of paper on the table detailing work proformas, flight records, kill records, books lying half open showing how to fly specific routines, Spock’s hand moving back and forth over the paper as he continued to write down that which he could remember about the tactics of the enemy. She looked at his notes, saw words such as “ruthless”, “must be stopped”; “tends to dive at twenty thousand for approximately three seconds” scattered across the page, and reached out.
Her hand touched Spock’s arm, and he flinched away, finally looking up at her.
“Nyota, I must continue to work. If I do not, more people may die and I will NOT allow that.”
Spock’s voice shook slightly, and Nyota opened her mouth, shutting it when Spock shrugged her off. He spoke, and Nyota shivered at the tension within his voice.
“Nyota … I thank you for your concern, but I must ask that you go to sleep, and leave me to work.”
“Spock, don’t do this -”
“Please, leave.”
Nyota stood up, her face setting into a determined look. Walking towards the door, she placed her hand upon the lock and turned back.
“Your mother wouldn’t want you to work yourself to death.”
Spock kept looking at the desk as he replied.
“As she is dead, Nyota, it would be illogical for her to have an opinion. Now if you would excuse me, I need concentration to work out the optimum fuel to oil allowance. Good night.”
“It may be illogical for her to continue to have an opinion, but she still has it – and so do I. Goodnight, Spock …”
Nyota walked out, and let the door slam behind her. Spock stared at the desk below him, and sunk his head against his hands.
“What am I going to do …” he whispered into the silent study.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-
Leonard stretched, feeling his back twinge as his body informed him about how much it disagreed about being bent over a desk for the last six hours. He placed the pen on the desk, refusing to look at the clock on the mantelpiece as he made his way to the kitchen, placing a kettle onto boil.
As he waited, he looked out the window at the dark sky, a worried expression etched upon his face. He shook his head, turning back and banging around the kitchen as he got a mug and a spoon to make some coffee, muttering to himself as he furiously spooned in the coffee and sugar.
“Doesn’t matter, after all, it’s not like the Luftwaffe raid at night, and besides, he’s a grown man and able to take care of himself -” the whistle of the kettle boiling stopped him muttering aloud, and he carefully poured the water into his mug, stirring slowly, ears straining to hear any sounds apart from the slight rustle of the bushes in the night breeze.
A rumble came slowly up the path, followed by a thin slit of light, and Leonard breathed a sigh of relief. As Jim came thundering through the door, shedding his tie and shirt on his way to the sink to wash his face and hands, chatting about the non-eventful sortie with evident relief at having not to go into action, Leonard’s hands relaxed on his mug.
He refused to ask himself why he was so happy to hear Jim’s voice as he clomped upstairs in his boots in order to collapse into bed. After all, he reasoned to himself as he made his way slowly up the stairs, pausing at the top to hear Jim’s slight snores already start, it’s just because we’re friends, nothing more, it’s just because he lives in my house and no one else has lived here since Jocelyn took Joanna away, it’s just because we’re friends …
His thoughts continued to whirr around in his head as he sat on the edge of his bed, listening to Jim snore away.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
Nero sat down on his seat and glared at the cloudy sky above. Ayel edged closer, and held out a cigarette. Nero took it and lit it, fuming as he gestured to the sky.
“How the hell are we supposed to conquer England if the weather won’t clear up? By magic? And yet Goering is ordering us to get our planes in the air!”
“Sir, perhaps it will clear up later -”
Nero snorted as he stood up, gesturing at the sky with his cigarette, ignoring the pull of the scar tissue on his face as he spoke.
“With those clouds? It’s not going to be clear till at least tomorrow, and then the British bastards will have repaired their airfields and planes! We can’t drive them into submission with weather like this! What happened to the sunshine!”
He sat back down, and pointed savagely at the planes in front of them, engineers running around them repairing them.
“Of course, it would be helpful if we had aircraft to fight them with …”
Ayel held his hands out in a peace-making gesture.
“Sir, we will be able to fly tomorrow, and the RAF won’t be fixed up. After all, we’ve been attacking them constantly for the past two weeks, and the convoy runs before that, we’ll bring England to her knees in another week – I promise, sir.”
“Promises don’t repair planes Ayel. Now go, I’m sure you have paperwork to fill out.”
Ayel sighed heavily and saluted.
“Yes sir,” he replied, turning and walking towards the nearest engineer. Nero continued to take drags of his cigarette as he looked across the airfield to the distant smudge of white on the horizon.
“We will destroy them, Mananda, and then, you shall be avenged, you and our child … England will fall ...” he whispered, taking a long puff on his cigarette, and placing the glowing tip so that it looked like it was burning up the white smudge.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-
Dawson walked out of Spock’s office and rubbed his eyes, looking at Jim who was standing outside.
“Don’t provoke him, Jim, please.”
Jim clapped him on the back, starting to walk forward as he spoke.
“I won’t be provoking, if he asks my opinion on those tactics, I’m gonna tell him …”
As the door shut behind him, Dawson looked at the door, and shook his head. He walked out and pointed a finger at one of the new pilots, who jumped to his feet so quickly James was thrown back to when he and Beckson when they first joined the RAF. A wave of sadness hit him, but he shook it off. He had to keep going, there would time enough to grieve properly when the war was over.
“You – Harris isn’t it?”
The pilot nodded eagerly.
“Yes, sir, what do you need?”
“I need you to go to the Med-Centre and ask Flight Lieutenant McCoy to get here as quickly as possible. Go!”
Harris saluted and sped off, and one of the other pilots who was walking past with a map in one hand and a tea in the other, raised his eyebrows at Dawson.
“Someone injured, sir?”
“Not yet …” Dawson muttered, walking back inside, hoping that he was just being over-cautious.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
“You wanted to see me, sir?” Jim asked as he closed the door behind him, and Spock turned, nodding as he did so.
“Yes, please, sit down.” Spock gestured to one of the chairs and Jim sat down, watching Spock sit in the other, face as expressionless as always.
They sat in silence, and Jim eventually broke it, coughing as he did so.
“So … what did you want to see me about?” “Sir,” he added belatedly at Spock’s raised eyebrow, and he felt a chill settle in his heart as he started wondering about what Spock was going to speak about.
“I called you in here to check that you are still able to fight at optimum efficiency.”
Jim raised an eyebrow.
“I may be smart, Spock, but I’m not a machine. Were you wanting to know if I’m healthy? Okay, sir?”
Spock raised his eyebrow in return.
“That is what I asked, Flight Lieutenant Kirk.”
“Well … I’m okay. Been better, but there’s only so much sleep a person can get when we’re at war.”
Spock nodded in acknowledgement, and then reached for a piece of paper, pulling it towards him.
“Now … why would I appear to have a piece of paper detailing your arguments against the tactics invented by the RAF? More specifically the ‘Big Wing’ idea as proposed by Squadron Leader Bader? Arguments that make the suggestion that these tactics and ideas are not helping us win the war, rather they are losing it, because …” he steepled his fingers and looked at Jim, “they do not save lives. Even though they are accountable for shooting down as many as fifty aircraft every sortie.”
Jim leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.
“Spock, they may shoot down fifty aircraft, but they’re shooting down the fifty aircraft after they’ve bombed the airfields and killed people. If we just dropped those tactics, flew in pairs like the Poles, hell, like the Luftwaffe do, we’d stop them and we wouldn’t be losing our own people at the same time, sir.”
Spock stiffened and looked at Jim.
“We are NOT the Luftwaffe, and we will not fly like them.”
“Spock, if we keep flying the way we are, we’re going to end up BEING the Luftwaffe cos they’ll invade! If you took that stupid stick out of your ass about this, we’d be able to beat them!”
Spock’s knuckles tightened as Jim’s did, both of them bristling.
“Flight Lieutenant Kirk, I would remind you that you are talking to a superior officer.”
“A superior officer who’s being an ass!”
Spock stood up, and Jim did too, fists bunching at his sides.
“Flight Lieutenant Kirk!”
“Spock, whatever you think about the Luftwaffe – I know they killed your mother, injured Pike, killed Hugh – flying like them won’t turn you into them! If you’d just see it!”
“It is not the way of the RAF!”
“And dying is?! Jesus, Spock this is just going backwards and I won’t let us do that! If it means flying like the enemy than I’m gonna make us do that!”
Spock blinked, and when he spoke, his voice was like ice.
“Flight. Lieutenant. Kirk. You are not the one who makes these decisions, and thus you do not have the authority to make these decisions.”
“Well, you won’t!”
Jim fell silent, breathing heavily, blood racing, and Spock’s voice dripped anger.
“Mr Kirk, you will back down now and do as you are told, or you will be put in the brig until you learn how to act within the RAF.”
Jim leant forward over the desk, and spoke slowly.
“Make me …”
Jim only got a second, but it was enough to dodge Spock’s blow as he flew round the side of the desk. Jim punched back, but Spock blocked him, both of them. The door flew open and James and Bones ran in along with a member of the military police patrolling nearby, and they wrestled with the two of them, trying to pull them apart.
“Goddamnit Jim stop!” yelled Leonard, and Jim froze in shock. He had been so focused on beating some sense into Spock, that he had not even noticed Bones was in the room. The moment’s hesitation was enough for the military policemen to wrestle him into a binding hold on the floor, and he looked up into Bones’ shocked face. Over the other side of the room, James went to help Spock up from the floor and Spock glared at him, levering himself up without any aid. He stepped forward, and Jim tensed, ready to try and throw the policeman off him. The policeman threw more of his weight on him, and Leonard stepped forward.
“Jim, what the hell -”
“Corporal.” Spock interrupted, “Please take Flight Lieutenant Kirk to the brig till he has regained his ability to reason.”
“I need to regain the ability to reason?! Jesus, Spock you’re making a mistake! Trust me!” Jim protested and the corporal looked at him, biting his lip. Spock narrowed his eyes.
“I gave you an order, Corporal …”
“Yes, sir.” The corporal replied, and hauled Jim to his feet. Jim let him, watching James whose mouth was open wide and fists clenched, looking at Bones who was just standing there, letting this happen, waiting for someone, anyone to speak up for him.
Nothing.
Bones just looked at him, a shocked look on his face, and Jim felt his heart break. As he was dragged past Bones, he whispered quietly enough for only Bones to hear.
“What happened to not letting anyone put me down, Leonard?”
He ignored the guilt and sadness in Bones’ eyes as he was dragged out the room and towards the brig.
-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-
Leonard took a deep breath, and gestured to the corporal standing outside the door. The corporal raised his eyebrow and sighed.
“I’m sorry sir, I can’t let you in, I’m under orders to have Flight Lieutenant Kirk in isolation till I’m told otherwise.”
“I’m telling you otherwise Corporal. Flight Lieutenant Kirk needs medical attention, unless you want us to lose another pilot?” Leonard let his voice trail off and he looked meaningfully at the corporal who, at the insinuation that he might want the RAF to lose, hurriedly reached for the door and opened it.
“Thanks, Corporal,” Leonard said, and the corporal stepped aside, allowing Leonard to walk inside. As he did so, the corporal shut the door behind him, and the resultant thud of the wooden door against the frame rolled around the cell.
Jim didn’t look up.
Leonard felt his heart crack slightly at the image, and he stepped forward, holding out the medicine bag in his hand like a peace offering.
“Jim, how are you feeling?”
“You promised you wouldn’t let anyone hold me down, Doctor McCoy. How do you think I feel.”
Leonard’s heart ached as he continued to hold out the medical bag, like he was frozen in place.
“Jim I -”
“Save it, I don’t wanna hear it. Just …” Jim turned to face the wall, “leave. Please.”
Leonard swallowed, and knelt down in front of Jim.
“Not till I treat you, Jim.”
Jim looked up and Leonard sighed at the brilliant beautiful blue eyes level with his.
Silence stretched between them and Jim huffed, dropping his gaze again.
“Whatever, not like I’m going to be flying again, hell if I’m even going to be in the RAF quite frankly.” He laughed for a short moment, and Leonard shivered at the sound, “at least I’ll be dropped for something other than my criminal record!”
Leonard couldn’t have stopped himself even if he tried. He reached out and grasped Jim’s knee, shaking it slightly.
“Hey, they’re not going to chuck you out, Jim, well, not until after this is over at any rate, they need good pilots too badly.”
Jim looked up and raised his eyebrows.
“So they’ll keep me until the end and then go ‘bugger off’? More likely, they’ll hope I’ll die in an attack and then I’ll be off their hands.”
Leonard’s heart clenched at the same time as his hand on Jim’s knees, and Jim looked up again, a look of curiosity now in his eyes. Leonard swallowed back the confession on the tip of his tongue, speaking thickly in an attempt to keep composure.
“If you die, Jim, I’ll find your body, bring you back to life, and kill you again for doing so.”
“Why?”
“Why?” Leonard asked incredulously, “why would I not want my best friend to stay alive, my -” he caught himself, “the one person in the world who I can honestly say I like more than my daughter? Jim, I -”
Words failed him and he looked into Jim’s eyes, smelling the unique smell of oil, whiskey and Jim. He tried to resist the urge to gather him into his arms till the end of the war, the urge to keep him safe and close for ever, the urge to ignore the rumours that would be spread, the urge to say what he’d wanted to say since they became friends, the urge …
He sighed and looked at Jim, noticing vaguely that his hands had migrated to the tops of Jim’s shoulders as if to pull him close, and noticing the look of fear and curiosity mixing with something else that he couldn’t tell, something that –
Leonard’s mouth kept moving, and he knew it was saying what he had been trying to keep close all of this time but he couldn’t stop, he just looked at Jim, willing something, anything to happen to break this moment.
Jim leant forward slightly, frowning as he tried to work out what Leonard was saying and Leonard didn’t move, hoped that he’d move closer and yet at the same time hoped that he didn’t and –
A siren blared. The door flew open. The Corporal from outside ran into the room, starting to pull Jim out the room.
“Come on, sir! There’s a raid on its way! You need to go up!”
“Bones!” Jim turned back as Leonard stepped forward, only just remembering to let go of him before the corporal hauled Jim out the room.
“Get a move on, sir!”
“I’ll come back, Bones! I promise!” Jim called back, and Leonard watched after them as they ran to the outside door.
As it clanged shut, he sunk down onto the bench, and laid his head in his hands. Blinking, he looked at the floor, feeling his hands clench against his face.
“At least he called me Bones,” he said quietly, looking down at the floor. “Damnit Leonard, do you never fucking learn ...”
-x-x-x-x-x-x-
“God-fucking-damnit!” Jim swore as he ran across the tarmac to the truck starting up on the other side, swinging himself on just as it started to pull away towards the airfield, swearing all the way. One of the techies looked at him and smiled a wry smile.
“I know, sir, damn Germans raiding again.”
Well, that too, Jim thought, but also bloody sending over the raid now! I couldn’t hear what Bones is saying!
And why did you want to hear what he was saying? Jim jumped off the truck and ran towards his waiting Spitfire as he answered the dark thought.
Because it’s Bones!
Oh, like that’s a reason.
It is! Bones – he said something important and I missed it!
He thought back, furiously trying to lip-read what Bones said without sound as he flung himself into the waiting cockpit, signalling to the techie to pull away the chocks so that he could start up the engine. Even as he flicked switches and watched the propellers spin into a whirring circle, his mind was racing, trying to work out what Bones said, why it was so important to him – after all, he did break his promise, the darker thought in his head whispered as he pulled forward, quickly answering the radio checks.
I know … but he’s Bones, he’s more than that, he’s …
“He’s more than my best friend,” he said out loud, rising into the sky with a small jerk of the control column and the smooth rise of his Spitfire’s nose, “He’s …”
“Red squadron, this is Control, bandits are thirty miles from your position, height Angels Eighteen bearing zero eight zero degrees, thirty plus, I repeat, bandits are thirty miles and closing, height Angels Eighteen bearing zero eight zero degree, thirty plus.”
Spock’s voice came over the radio and Jim raised his eyebrows at the sheer amount of tension in his voice.
“Received and understood, Control.”
“Red squadron, we shall use tactic number seven for this raid, this will require -”
“What the hell, Spock! We don’t have time to form up, just get into pairs and get as high as we can!” Jim yelled, and he heard Dawson swear over the mike as he replied.
“Never mind that, they’re in fucking front of us!”
Jim looked forward and swore loudly, dropping his plane into a sharp dive and bringing her back up in a spiral. He could feel the gravity pull against him as he fought to get as high as possible, and as he looked up, he was almost blinded by the sun. He climbed higher and higher, gritting his teeth as the engine screamed in pain, his plane going vertical and powering up as fast as she could. A flash of light, a black shape in the brightness above him, and Jim fired, already swinging to the right to avoid the rapidly dropping shadow above.
“Hun in the sun!” He yelled down the radio, and everyone yelled back, swinging round and getting lost in the frantic fight breaking out in the sky. The Messerschmitt flew down past him with inches to spare and Jim stall-turned, letting the engine cut and the wind whistle past his rapidly turning and dropping plane as he raced down after the enemy. He fired, could only hear the blood pumping in his ears as he concentrated on trying to bring down the enemy in front. Flames appeared on the wings and the Messerschmitt started to falter, but another plane swung in front of Jim, causing him to break off and spin out of the tracer being fired at him. He could hear Spock barking orders over the radio, he could hear cries for aid as the rest of the squadron frantically fought to stay alive, and he saw, for the briefest of seconds, Spock’s plane in battle with a Messerschmitt. Jim gritted his teeth, and spoke even as he swung his Spitfire around to go help.
“You better be grateful, Spock!”
He flew as fast as he could, swerving and spinning, and he got there just as the Messerschmitt fired upon Spock’s aircraft, and flames appeared on the wings.
“Spock!” Jim yelled, and he dived even as Spock’s plane dropped, screaming through the air. He ignored the other aircraft around him as he yelled over the mike, hoping that Spock would answer.
“Spock! Come on, Spock! Get out of there you idiot! Come on!!!”
He flew as close as he could, could see Spock sat in the aircraft, and the horrible thought struck him.
“Spock! You better not be dead or I’ll kill you myself!”
At this, Spock’s head jerked towards Jim and even through the bullet-proof glass, Jim saw the raised eyebrow. Jim breathed, and quickly flicked his head from his left wing to the rear-view mirror and back to make sure that no one was behind him.
“Spock, I know we don’t get on, but listen to me, if you let yourself die here, you’re just going to let the Luftwaffe win. If you die here, you won’t be able to get them for taking people you love, and you won’t be able to stop them. Please Spock, just listen to me for once, and get out of there!”
They were close enough that Jim could see him blinking, and Jim held his breath, not tearing his gaze away for a moment.
“Come on, Spock, just jump!”
A burst of tracer above them and Jim wrenched his plane right and up, firing as he did so at the plane coming down towards him, bearing down like an avenging god. He fired at the other plane, and Dawson’s Spitfire joined the attack as he did so, helping to send the plane spiralling down. As it whirred past, Jim saw the head of the pilot loll forward and hit the instrument panel. He looked down, still heading up into the sky towards the departing enemy and he saw Spock dive from the side of his aircraft, opening his parachute and drifting down even as his Spitfire sped up and screamed down towards the earth.
Jim sighed in relief, and muttered down the mike.
“Thank God … Uhura would kill me if he hadn’t jumped …”
“Not just Uhura, can you imagine McCoy’s look on his face if I let you die?” Dawson replied, and Jim looked up towards the departing aircraft, shaking his head in response.
“Very true Dawson … Red squadron, Alpha Charlie, Alpha Charlie,” he called as he swung towards home, looking briefly down to the disappearing parachute and smiling as it collapsed on the ground and a tiny figure worked its way out from underneath. The rest of the squadron replied quickly, and as they headed towards Biggin Hill, Jim looked at the teddy bear still squished into the gap between the instrument panel and the cockpit glass. Thank God you didn’t take a tumble this time, he thought, and reached out his hand quickly, brushing the fur of the bear’s face.
“Thanks, Dad,” he said quietly, and headed back to the airfield, starting to wonder what the hell Bones had been trying to say before the raid warning came in.
Why do you care?
Because … “because I love him”, Jim said absent-mindedly, and then stiffened in shock. His hand clenched around the control column, and he looked at the whitened knuckles with fear.
Don’t you remember the last time you loved someone? You got refused from joining the Army Air Corps, thrown out of your home, and sent to wander the earth till you decided to have normal tastes?
It’s different! He was an idiot!
He was your best friend too …
“Bones isn’t Gary,” he spoke out loud, and looked out at the formation of planes around him, occasionally shifting when a gust of wind hit an aircraft. He looked back at the bear on the dashboard and swallowed.
“Bones is better than that,” he said quietly, and he felt his leg start to twitch at the realisations going through his head.
As they reached the station, the planes prepared to land, crackles over the radio signalling the start of each member’s final approaches as they swung down and down and landed with a bump back on the earth. Jim followed suit, landing with a small bump and then weaving his aircraft through the holes left on the runway by the raid. He came to a shuddering standstill, and Jim took a long deep breath of relief, rubbing his eyes, trying to put all thoughts of Bones out of his head.
However, it wasn’t working. Even as the techie came to help him out, even as he jumped down from the wing and headed towards dispersal, even as he informed them about Spock making his own way back, he kept thinking about what Bones was mouthing in the prison cell. Dawson looked at him from the other side of the room, and raised an eyebrow as Jim stood there in thought, looking out the window at the rush of people towing aircraft and running around the station.
“Jim, you okay?”
Jim jerked from his reverie and looked at James.
“I’m not sure.”
“I can honestly say I wasn’t expecting that answer,” James replied dryly, and Jim grinned, turning fully and walking to the door.
“What can I say; I’m an unpredictable kinda guy. Come on, let’s get to the hanger and see how the planes have held up in this – we might even see Spock on the way.”
“Much as I’d love to see Squadron Leader Grayson” James replied, even as they both walked out the door and towards a waiting truck, “I can think of better circumstances than straight after you two having a fight and then he having to bail from his aircraft. Besides,” he looked at Jim as they climbed on and banged the side of the truck and signalled the driver to start moving, “you and the boss’ fight can wait. No, I was talking about you being okay. Are you?”
Jim looked out at the med-centre as they passed, and bit his lip, shaking his head.
“At the moment, kinda in shock, James.”
Any further questions were cut off by them rumbling to a stop in front of the main hanger, and James and Jim jumped off, Jim feeling the roar of machinery vibrate through his boots as they walked towards the interior.
Inside, masses of people went back and forth between tools and machines, calls for help and ideas being yelled above the banging of hammers and other tools as various parts of aircraft, trucks and anti-aircraft guns lay around the cavernous space. In the midst of it all, stood Scotty, wiping his brow with a blackened rag and gesturing to a group of techies to haul what seemed to be Jim’s Spitfire into position for maintenance. Jim and James walked forward and Scotty turned, greeting them with a tired wave of his hand as he continued to talk away.
“Right, put her there, and we’ll deal with her later, there’s just far too many jobs to be done at the moment, Pavel,” he clapped his hand on Pavel’s shoulder and Pavel looked expectantly up, “I want you to start on this Spitfire, see how far you can get on checking her over.”
“Yes, sir!” Pavel said, and with a nod to Jim and James, he scrambled up onto the wing of the Spitfire sitting next to them, diving into the cockpit so that only his legs were showing. A clang of tools, and Scotty turned to Jim with a tired smile on his face.
“So, Flight Lieutenant Kirk, what’s the news? Did everyone make it back this time?”
“Well, most of us – Harris is in hospital at the moment, not sure when he’ll come out, and Squadron Leader Grayson -”
“Is right here. Gentlemen.”
The three of them spun round and Spock continued to walk forward, a slight limp marring his otherwise ramrod figure. He halted in front of Jim, who smiled a small smile of relief.
“Glad you made it, sir.”
Spock quirked an eyebrow.
“I would not have been so lucky if we had been over the Continent … Mr Kirk,” he looked at Jim and Jim resisted the urge to hug him, such was the look of defeat in his features.
“Thank you, for saving my life. I … I am afraid that I froze. This is unacceptable for a CO.”
“Spock, it’s fine, everyone freezes, it’s just -”
Spock cut him off with a wave and looked Jim in the eye.
“The fact remains, that I froze, and did not lead the squadron effectively. I … I must resign my position. You’re in charge now, Flight Lieutenant.”
Jim stood in shock, and then shook himself.
“Spock what? You can’t just -”
“I cannot lead the squadron if I freeze at danger. Goodbye, Mr Kirk.”
With that, Spock turned abruptly, walking out with unsteady steps, and Jim stood with his mouth open, watching him go. A hand fell upon his shoulders and he whirled round, only to see Scotty and Dawson standing there. Dawson removed his hand, and spoke quietly.
“I’ll go speak to Uhura, see if she can talk him round, Jim. If anyone can do the impossible, she can.”
Jim nodded dazedly, and clapped his own hand on James’ shoulder.
“Good luck, Dawson.”
Dawson smiled crookedly, and walked off. Jim turned to Scotty, and straightened up. If he was in charge, he better start now.
“So, Scotty, how are the repairs going?”
Scotty started talking, hand twisting the oily rag in between his fingertips as he spoke about the constant repairs that were having to be made around the station, how his Spitfire was going to have to be at the bottom of the list for repair simply because there wasn’t going to be any way of fighting off the German attack at night if they were stupid enough to try and fly at night, but Jim tuned it out, mind going back to Bones in the prison cell.
Over and over he watched Bones mouth words in his head that Jim couldn’t hear, all the while gripping onto Jim’s arms as though it was a lifeline. Jim saw the look of worry in his face and knew, knew, that he couldn’t deny it anymore. He was in love with this man and he couldn’t ignore the little jump in his heart when he saw him. He sighed heavily, and Scotty paused in his telling, looking at him worriedly.
“Is everything all right, Jim?”
Jim waved his hand in response, speaking with a wry grin on his face.
“Just a revelation, doesn’t matter. You were saying about the repairs to the Spitfires? What needs to be done?”
Scotty started talking again, and Jim tried to listen, but the image of Bones mouthing the words continued to play in his head. Jim watched repeatedly, trying to work out what Bones was saying, if only so that the image would haunt him with full sound and image rather than just images of a worried face and deep hazel eyes.
I ... I ... I ... all he could see was the word form itself through Bones’ lips, opening constantly as if pleading for Jim to listen to whatever he was too afraid to say out loud, whatever he didn’t even know he was trying to say. He shook his head, unable to clear the images of Bones’ pleading angry face from his mind, and he smiled at Scotty.
“I’m sorry, Scotty, I wasn’t listening. I -” Jim stifled a yawn, and grinned somewhat self-consciously. Scotty merely laughed in return.
“You’re not the only one who’s yawning all over the place, Jim!”
“In that case,” he stretched and felt his back pop, “I’m going to go and grab some sleep before I have to go on duty again. I’d suggest you do the same.”
Scotty widened his arms in a ‘what can I do’ gesture and indicated the bustling hanger.
“I would, but there are countless jobs to do and only one senior officer available at the moment, so I’m going to have to stay here. Go on lad; get some rest while you can.”
Jim nodded, and yelled at Pavel who briefly popped his head up from the cockpit of the Spitfire he was trying to fix.
“You too! Try and get some sleep,” he called up and Pavel rolled his eyes in response, diving back into the cockpit with a clang of metal as the spanner in his hand hit the metal sides.
Jim started walking towards the med-centre, intent on at least making sure that Bones got home to have some sleep, even if he couldn’t work out exactly what he was saying. Bones’ face drifted back into his head and he closely watched the lips in his mind, watched them form words he knew but couldn’t quite work out.
I ... I ... I love you.
Jim stopped dead. Inside his brain, Bones kept mouthing the same phrase over and over and Jim could hear it now, hear it with all the force of Bones’ Georgian drawl, combined with anger, fear, and love. His mouth fell open, and he ignored all that was happening around him as he watched Bones say again and again, I love you.
“Shit …” said Jim, and he started running towards the med-centre, intent on seeing McCoy and trying to work out whether he’d actually said what Jim thought he had.
A few minutes later, Jim burst into the Medical Centre breathing hard, already looking around for Bones as he collected himself from the mad dash to the other side of the airfield from the techies’ base. Concerned, Chapel detached herself from the bedside of one of the injured - luckily merely sleeping - and came over.
“Flight Lieutenant Kirk? Are you alright?”
Jim nodded as he bent over to regain his breath, eventually straightening. The loud pop that his back made in protest caused the entire room to wince, and Chapel to place a hand on his arm as if to move him to a free bed for inspection. He waved her off impatiently.
“I’m fine, it’s just my back, where’s Bones?”
Chapel looked at him as she frowned at his question
.
“Flight Lieutenant McCoy? He was sent home barely fifteen minutes ago sir, for rest. There isn’t anything else that can be done at the moment; it’s just a matter of waiting for the patients to heal.”
Jim rubbed his face with his hands briefly before looking at her.
“Sister, was he okay? He wasn’t injured?”
Chapel shook her head.
“No, just exhausted. You on the other hand, sir,” she went to pull him again to the bed in order to treat any possible injuries, and Jim shook his head, stepping out of her grasp.
“I’m not injured badly, it’s just bruising, all I need is a good night sleep, Sister Chapel.”
She arched her eyebrow in an eerie imitation of Bones’ doom eyebrow, even as she stepped away from Jim.
“I suppose you’re medically qualified to make that decision are you, sir?”
“No, but I need to go now!”
Before Chapel could speak, Jim spun round and left the Medical centre, running towards his bike he had parked outside it that morning, starting it and roaring down the road towards the exit. He had to go to Bones’ – their – Bones’ house and find out what the hell was going on.
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Part 5/6
