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Title: A Change of Stars
Author: Prentice aka [personal profile] slyprentice
Rating: PG-13, for language. Gen
Pairing: K/S pre-slash/friendship
Status: WIP
Spoilers: Star Trek XI, Star Wars
Warning: Crossover madness. Wookies. Corellian Brandy. Jim as an idealistic young cadet padawan.
Summary: Based on a prompt by [ profile] yami_no_kabi. Written for the [ profile] st_xi_kink meme, found here.
Word Count: 790 for this part
Disclaimer: Neither of these will ever be mine and if they were then James T. Kirk would surely say, at least once, ‘have you ever made it with a wookie?’ because that’s the kind of person I am.
A/N: Many thanks to yami_no_kabi for providing such an awesome prompt for the kink meme. This is my first time writing Trek fic and I’m already having a blast.

Feedback is always welcome, as well as those pointing out any flubs I might have missed before posting.


[Part 1]

“I’m a healer, not a goddamn diplomat,” Jedi Knight Leonard McCoy grumbled irritably, scowl stretching hard and fierce across his face as he moved swiftly through the empty halls of the Jedi Temple, stomach rumbling. It was nearly time for noonday meal and though he had been at liberty for most of the day, he still hadn’t managed to make his way to finding a warm lunch thanks to an influx of injured patients. Not that the Jedi Council gave a damn.

Scowl deepening, Leonard turned a glare to the too cheerful padawan keeping pace beside him. “This is your fault, you know; you and your goddamn overeager overachievement. I knew I should have never taken a padawn!”

“You’ve said that before, Bones,” Jim Kirk replied, the cheerful smirk and bounce in his gait all the more irritating when coupled with the fact that he didn’t seem at all perturbed by the fact that the Jedi Council had just sent them on some wild goddamn goose chase half-way across the galaxy. “You love me, anyway. Admit it.”

A loud inelegant snort was his only response, his pace quickening as they neared their living quarters. There were preparations to make – ones that his padawan was surely planning to duck out of as soon as he was able to – and then there was the…other…matter. Lips thinning, McCoy shot a look of pure venom at a passing padawan – who promptly paled and squeaked – before stopping sharply in front of the nondescript door to his and Jim’s quarters. Fingers stabbing at the door’s control panel, he quickly stepped inside, eyes sweeping their small front room.

It was lived in and welcoming, filled with small touches of both his and his padawans' lives, loves, and interests. Not exactly the norm when it came to austere living that most Jedi embraced but he had never been one to adhere to any sort of code when it came to creature comforts and neither of them was exactly what you would call orthodox when it came to Jedi. No wonder the goddamn council had picked them.

“Before you run off to do god knows what with god knows who,” Bones began, sliding his outer robes off his shoulders and dropping them over a nearby chair before moving towards the small cabinet that he knew still held a bottle of Corellian brandy. He needed a drink, had needed a drink from the moment Master Pike and Master Yoda had agreed that they should leave immediately for a star base in the gamma sector, a largely uncharted section of the universe, where his padawan would likely get them both killed. “We’re going to have a little talk.”

“Bones…” Jim started, expression already setting into that stubborn jut that meant nothing but trouble. Christ, they both were probably going to be shot. Or shot out of an air lock. Or contract some rare disease that would kill them in a matter of hours. He poured himself a very large glass.

“No, padawan,” he cut in, a small spike of satisfaction harpooning through his gut when Jim quieted immediately. ‘Padawan’ always seemed to be the magic word where the kid was concerned. “I want you to listen to me. I don’t know how you managed to wrangle us into this – don’t give me that look; I know you, Jim – but you’re not going to do anything and I mean anything like you did the last time you managed to hoodwink the council into giving us a mission…”

“But everything turned out fine!” Jim interjected, blue eyes bright with determination, hands sliding from beneath the folds of his tan robe, fingers spreading wide. “No one died and we managed to get back all the stolen data files to the Rilonan High Council before the end of the day!”

“We were there for a wedding, Jim! A wedding! My god, man, I still don’t know how we went from listening to Rilonan High Chancellor babble on about wedded bliss to space-hopping to some godforsaken backwater planet in Klingon territory to recover stolen data files that you somehow found out were stolen but never even mentioned to me until after we were neck deep in trouble!”

Pausing for a moment, McCoy downed a large mouthful from his glass, dark eyes staring hard at his friend and padawan. The brandy burned all the way down, easing some of the tension that had settled deeply into his muscles. “I won’t have it, Jim. Not again. We’re doing this by the book. Just this time, you hear?”

For another long moment the two stared at each other, Jim’s mouth pulling down at the corners before he sighed, shook his head, and said: “Of course, Master. By the book.”

TBC in Part 2
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