crack_van | Looking for a Place to Happen by waketosleep (NC-17)

Fandom: STAR TREK:REBOOT
Characters/Pairings: Kirk/Spock, background Scott/Uhura, McCoy
Length: 23500
Author on LJ: stripedpetunia
Author Website: At AO3

Why this must be read:

In a timeline where the Vulcans never allowed Earth freedom from their oversight, Jim Kirk doesn't fit in. All he needs to get away is a fast ship and a crew as crazy as he is; luckily, some things are universal constants. Sigh…I hove this fic- basically a Pirate AU (yet another popular trope) what with the stealing and starting wars, but there is such heart and teamwork/camaraderie that it makes my heart happy. It’s an ensemble story just how I love it. Kirk is brilliant and crazy, and everyone is along for the ride being brilliant and a little crazy in their own way.

He squeezed up to the bar between two stools, one side occupied by a Klingon and the other, he realized with a double-take, by a human.

“Are you from Earth?” he shouted over the music, grinning down at the guy.

He got a scowl in return. “Who's asking?” the guy snapped from behind his drink.

Jim grinned wider. “Jim Kirk,” he said, offering a handshake.

The guy looked at it but didn't shake, taking a sip of his extremely potent-looking liquor instead.

“If you're not gonna offer me your name,” said Jim, “I'll just have to make one up. You look like a 'Skippy' to me.”

Another scowl. “McCoy,” the guy said finally.

“Got a first name to go with that?”

“Got nothing but my bones and this bar stool.”

“Well, Bones, what brings you to this station? You're a long way from Earth.”

“Speak for yourself, kid; I'm on shore leave. How the hell did you get this far out?”

Jim spared a happy little thought for whichever deity was crazy enough to be looking out for him (this earned him a vague tendril of puzzlement from Spock, who was off somewhere behind him). Five minutes in this joint and he'd already found someone who worked on a Vulcan ship.

“That's not important,” he said with a wave of his hand. “How long have you been on leave?”

Bones had apparently decided he wasn't interesting enough to be suspicious of, or annoying enough to get rid of. “Four days. Got three left,” he said easily.

“Heard any interesting news from home? I get curious.”

“Those pointy-eared fuckers never tell me shit if they can help it, but no.”

“Not a fan of our Vulcan lords and masters?” Jim asked, giddy excitement building in him.

He got an incredulous look. “Those arrogant, self-righteous, green-blooded pricks? They can all die in a fire and I'd roast goddamn marshmallows on it,” Bones snarled. “They only let me on that damn ship because their doctors wouldn't stoop to learning to treat their human lackeys, and they couldn't find a logical way to convince themselves I'm not the best in my goddamn field. Sometimes,” he hissed, on a booze-fuelled roll now, “when they're really stretched thin, I get the fucking 'honour' of being allowed to treat some of the sick Vulcans. Fuck the Hippocratic Oath, if they had any real logic, they wouldn't let me within ten feet of a Vulcan with a hypospray in my hand.”

“Oh,” Jim said nonchalantly, slouching against the bar. “I only ask, because I stole a spaceship from them about three weeks ago.”

Looking for a Place to Happen