Archive of Our Own ^beta

June 1943

The same six men that have spent almost a year together, from initial training in Florida, to combat training in Washington, to endless flight training in Nebraska and Iowa, are almost ready for their deployment to England. They sit around in a small, almost empty bar, six souls from a group of nearly four hundred that will make up the air echelon of the 100th Bomb Group, and toast each other's good health, good luck, and good flying. Major Jim Kirk from Iowa will be one of the four Squadron Commanders to lead the aircrews when they get to England, as will Major Leonard McCoy from Georgia; then among them they have Captain Sal Grayson, a pilot from New York who they simply call Spock on account of his terrifying intellect and otherworldly way of problem solving, Lieutenant Hikaru Sulu, his co-pilot from California, Lieutenant Pavel Chekov, a navigator from Baltimore, and Staff Sergeant Montgomery Scott, their Bombardier from Virginia who they fondly call Scotty.  

They have been assigned to the same fort since early on in their training, Jim and Leonard had been pilot and co-pilot to start with before their promotions, then Jim retained command of their Squadron while Leonard was moved onto another. They had shuffled around as needed in the early days, Sulu as their original flight engineer and top turret gunner had now been replaced by a Sergeant named John Kyle, and Spock had joined a little afterwards when Jim had first been promoted, Spock already at the rank of Captain. Their fort was the lead aircraft, and so Jim would be positioned on it when needed. While none of them would want to fly with anyone else, Leonard and his new lead aircraft notwithstanding of course, they are all secretly conflicted about the position they've found themselves in. They are glad to have trained together, to have built their unbreakable bonds, to have been assigned alongside the most talented people in their given positions; without doubt it will be the best damned fort in the squadron, hell in the entire group. 

And yet, with them all on the same fort, it only takes one enemy plane to wipe them all out. Jim and Leonard think about that a lot, they know for certain they can't be on the same fort, can't even be in the same squadron and there is some comfort knowing that, knowing that at least if you run into bad luck you're not bringing your friend down with you. And yet, it's hard to concentrate on what you're trying to achieve when all you want to do is scan the air for your friends, what would it be like to watch another B-17 burst into flames ahead of you, knowing someone you love is on that fort? For Leonard, while he has come to respect and trust his own lead aircraft, his own squadron, their relationships are not the same. He has always been a Major to those men, not really ever a friend. For Leonard, if he were to watch the group of men currently huddled around him fall out of the sky, he's not sure he wouldn't dump his parachute and dive off after them. 

"Just twenty-five missions," Scotty says, "and then we can all come home." 

"If we make it through twenty-five," Jim counters with a teasing, wry look on his face. 

"Jim, don't," Leonard warns, frowning at him. Jim holds up his hands and feigns innocence. 

"Bones, we're gonna be fine, we're all gonna be fine. Just don't die, right?" 

Leonard shakes his head, he doesn't like it when Jim is like this, doesn't approve of the harsh honesty mixed in with the almost playful look in his eyes. It makes the rest of them uncomfortable, even though Jim doesn't mean for it to. It's better in Jim's mind just to get it out in the open, no point not acknowledging what is happening, no point ignoring the fact they are going to war, to fly in broad daylight and get the shit blown out of them by Axis aircrafts. For Leonard, it sometimes seems as though Jim thinks they are playing some kind of card game or billiards, that the stakes aren't that high and maybe a little risk taking is worth the thrill. 

These men are like brothers to each other, they are best friends, they have looked out for each other since that first gruelling week of basic training. They lift each others spirits when they are homesick, they mock and embarrass each other mercilessly, they read each others letters from home, feel like they know each others families, they cover for each other without question, and would never leave each other behind, they would walk over broken glass, claw through barbed wire, they would happily take any torture or death to save the other. It isn't a question in any of the men's mind, and yet Leonard hates that Jim won't protect them from this, won't cushion the reality of what they are facing, even just for a few more days, even just until the illusion is broken when combat begins. 

"Stop being so flippant." Leonard doesn't try to dampen the tone of chastisement in his voice. Jim immediately softens his features, tries to look suitably apologetic, he knows that if they continue with this back and forth then Leonard is as likely to leave as he is to stay, and Jim wants him to stay. 

"Oh, I'm sorry," Jim says with an exaggerated pout and a sigh, "you old sour puss." 

"Less of the old," Leonard gripes, taking a long swig of his beer. 

"We should go dancing, we could go Slooters," Sulu says in an effort to brighten the mood. 

"You boys go," Leonard says, "I'm gonna get an early night." 

"Sour puss," Jim repeats, knocking his shoulder into Leonard's. "You guys make a head start and we'll catch you up, okay?" 

"Yes, Major," Scotty says brightly, knocking his pint back and grabbing his jacket from under the table eagerly. Sulu laughs along with him and pulls Chekov out of his seat and across the bar to the door. Spock stands a little slower, a little less enthusiastic about dancing. He nods at Jim and then at Leonard. 

"We'll see you both tomorrow, bright and early," he says, knowing that neither man has much intention of going dancing tonight. It's not unusual for Jim and Leonard to hang back from the group, it's been a slight necessity given their ranks, but they have also always been a little closer than everyone else. 

"Make sure they don't get into trouble," Leonard says, he won't deny what Spock has said, won't make Spock out for a fool, he won't say he will be somewhere when he knows he won't even if he should, even if he's supposed to placate his friends. Honesty, ethics, principle, those are traits that Leonard lives by. It has made him a good soldier, it makes him an even better leader. As soon as everything happened at Pearl Harbour, as soon as the world went sideways, Leonard knew he could no longer sit around and pretend that being an old fashioned country doctor like his daddy and his daddy's daddy before him was the best way to save people. He needed to be out there, in amongst it, he needed to look their enemy in the eye and say absolutely no, not today, not on my watch. Jim had been the same, enlisting even before Pearl Harbour, his father had been in the Army Air Service and it was a natural decision for Jim to join the military, there was very little you could do to protect your country from the comfort of your easy suburban life, he needed to get out, get to Germany. The journey from that moment to leading a squadron for the 100th Bombardment Group was a clear path, one of determination and persistence, Jim rose through his ranks because of ingenuity and grit and because he didn't believe in no-win scenarios—despite how much he tells everyone they're currently in one. 

Jim waits for Spock to leave before he turns to Leonard. 

"Are we having one last hurrah?" 

"That depends on your meaning of hurrah," Leonard says gently, he sets his hand beside his leg on the cool leather of the booth they're sitting in. Jim's fingers find his own a moment later, barely touching, still enough to make Leonard's heart race. 

"You said no more once we get to England, that we have to cool it, right? Well we're not in England tonight." 

"Jim," Leonard whispers, swallowing down the lump in his throat. Sometimes Leonard wishes neither of them ever enlisted, honour and morality be damned, he wishes they met by chance at the coast or the fair and that they could run off to some quiet backwater town and live in peace on a farm, or fly off to Paris and live without judgement or this horrible gut wrenching, crippling fear. Not just the fear of persecution, not the fear of getting caught, it's the fear of losing each other before they have ever really had a chance to have each other, that's the real fear. The fear is misplaced heartache, and Leonard can't look at Jim when he knows exactly what look will greet him in Jim's ocean blue eyes. 

"Come on, Bones, you really gonna say no to me now, when we ship out tomorrow?" Jim's voice is easy, soft, and Leonard wants nothing more than to give in to him. "Could be dead next week." 

"Don't say that, please stop saying that," Leonard grouses. 

"I'll stop saying it tonight, if you take me home right now." 

Leonard takes his pint in hand and takes the last gulp out of it. He stands and walks out of the bar and doesn't look back at Jim. He knows Jim will follow, knows he'll have that smug smile firmly in place. Jim leaves it a minute or two and has to jog after Leonard in the dark. 

"Slow down," Jim says around a smirk. Leonard doesn't respond, just pulls the collar on his coat up around his neck, hiding the sharp line of his jaw, and keeps walking. "Wait, are you mad at me?" 

"Yes, Jim, I'm mad at you." 

"Because I keep saying we might die?" 

"Because it seems like you're welcoming it," Leonard grits out. "I said we couldn't carry this on when we get over the pond because I can't think about a mission or a squadron or even how to pilot a fort if I'm constantly thinking about you doing stupid things and getting yourself killed. You're not making that any easier with all the shit you keep saying." 

"I want you to be ready," Jim says quietly, "if it happens, I don't want it to be some big surprise. I'm not looking for it, Bones. I'm just, I'm just trying to be realistic. We're not all going to make it." 

"We might," Leonard counters, and then he turns to Jim and stops them with a hand on Jim's shoulder, glancing either side of the street before he lets his hand drift up to cup Jim's jaw. Leonard is a few inches taller than Jim, broader too, almost too broad to be in the Air Force given all the tight spaces they have to get into, and when they are this close Jim is forced to tilt his head back slightly to look up into Leonard's eyes. They could kiss like that, close as they are, with their chests rising and falling in time together in the dark. Leonard swipes his thumb up over Jim's cheekbone, he looks so solemn, Jim can hardly take the intensity of the gaze. "And if we don't, then just, just please don't let it be you who I lose, Jim." 

"I'll keep flying as long as you do," Jim promises and Leonard nods his approval at the sentiment. 

The benefit of being a Major is the individual quarters they are afforded, better still, for Jim and Leonard at least, the semi-private quarters that they have opted to share. They are the two closest friends in the entire Army Air Force, so no one had ever questioned it when Jim kindly suggested the other higher ranking officers have their pick of the private rooms. Jim and Leonard had been in each other's pocket since basic training so why change things now that they'd been promoted? It's a simple room, not much in the way of style or furnishings, but it's their room, and it affords them the luxury of moments like this, moments where they can lock the door behind them and know they won't be disturbed. 

As Leonard locks the door tonight, Jim is already trying to pull his coat off his shoulders, to turn Leonard around and push him back up against the wall. 

"Slow down, Jim," Leonard says gently, guiding his hands under Jim's elbows to still his movements, to force Jim to pause and look at him so that Leonard can bend forward and join their lips. Leonard's hands move around Jim, holding him in his arms as they kiss languidly, indulgently. Leonard would bottle and savour this feeling if he could, would melt it down and mould it into a record so he can replay it on the barrack gramophone over and over. Jim is loose in his grip and kisses Leonard sloppily, licking his tongue into Leonard's mouth and sucking at his bottom lip, like he wants to consume and be consumed in turn. 

When they pull apart they are both panting, both hard against the stiff, tight wool of their trousers. 

"I want you," Jim breathes, unbuttoning his shirt as quickly as he can, yanking at his tie, his belt, his socks, watching as Leonard does the same in far more measured movements. "Jesus, Christ, Bones, I can't go without this for the next however long, I can't not have you like this ever again." 

"Jim, be quiet," Leonard says, voice soft and patient, pulling him back towards him so they can kiss again, Leonard's hands splay over Jim's ribs and back, down to his waist and he moans into Jim's mouth when Jim's hand finds the front of his underwear, when his fingers deftly unbutton those too and pull them down and out of the way. 

Jim walks them backwards until the backs of Leonard's knees knock against the bedframe and he collapses onto it, perched on the edge, completely naked, while Jim ducks away from him, kneeling on the floor before him, to wrap his mouth around Leonard's cock. Leonard's hands thread into Jim's hair instinctively, shifting to cup the back of his head and Jim bobs up and down, mouth tight and wet and unyielding. He must feel how aroused Leonard is, must know how close he is coming because he pulls off abruptly and urges Leonard back onto the bed properly, so none of their limbs are dangling off the side. Jim removes his own underwear and straddles Leonard, his spit slick cock pushes into Jim with a little resistance, they can both feel it, but Jim's face doesn't betray it, he looks at Leonard with relief in his eyes, grateful that they can have this one last time. 

Jim leans forward so his forehead is pressed to Leonard's, their eyes are closed and they can feel the heat of each other's breath on their faces. The bed creaks with their movements, but not loud enough to cause them concern; it wouldn't be an unusual occurrence for a Major to bring a woman back to the barracks and into bed with them. Leonard can hardly think with how deep inside of Jim he is, can hardly keep himself under control enough not to shout Jim's name, the way the other man is rocking back and forward on top of him. Leonard feels the tense press of his fingers into Jim's hips, enough to bruise. Leonard takes one of his hands away to wrap around Jim's cock instead; Jim does moan then, moans into Leonard's mouth and follows it with the trace of his tongue against Leonard's lips. 

"Twenty-five missions," Jim whispers, "twenty-five missions and we get to have this again." 

"Don't die on me, Jim," Leonard begs, voice husky, raw. 

"I don't believe in no-win scenarios, Bones. We're not going to die." 

Jim can't say it confidently exactly, but he tries to anyway, because Leonard needs to hear it. They continue to kiss and to move against each other and to try and touch every inch of each other's body before they reach their orgasms. Leonard doesn't pull out of Jim until he's completely soft, they don't pay attention to the semen sticking in between them, to their bellies and their legs, they just lie face to face, holding each other as close as they can, legs entwined and arms wrapped tightly around each other, Leonard's lips on Jim's temple. 

They wake up a few hours later, clean themselves up, they shave, and get ready for a new day, a new day which brings about more than just a change of location and a change of routine, a new day that brings about a long flight to Greenland before they can continue on to merry old England. They get their orders and read through their briefing packs over breakfast. Jim commands the 349th Bomb Squadron, Leonard commands the 350th, they will command ten forts a piece, a hundred lives each to their name. There are two other squadrons of a similar make-up who will follow them to England in a few weeks time. 

"So we'll each lead our formations today," Jim says, looking over the entire squadron lists, some names he knows and more he doesn't. There are some crew that Jim isn't sure are worth their salt, but he isn't in the position of hiring and firing when they're going to have enough trouble keeping the bodies they do have alive. It's going to be a numbers game, this war. Cannon fodder springs to mind. 

Leonard just nods, not really paying attention to Jim at all as he turns something over in his mind. 

"What are you thinking about?" 

"How goddamn dumb it is not to be flying with you all," Leonard scoffs. "Fucking promotion." 

"I won't always get to fly with them either, they're safer with you as a Major than they are with some other fuckwit leading the squadron that might save their asses one day. We all play our part." It's a shit argument and Jim knows it, but Leonard had deserved his promotion and the 100th will be better off for it, his squadron will be better off for it, even if Jim has lost one of the best men he's ever flown with. 

"Don't pander to me, Jim," Leonard huffs. 

"I hate it too," Jim admits after a moment. "But the epaulets suit you." 

Leonard huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. 

"Let's get this show on the road and get to Greenland." 

Leonard wants to kiss Jim goodbye but he can't, so he stands and shakes his hand instead. They look at each other solemnly, even though the flight they are taking has little to no risk, even though they both know they will see each other again in a few hours. It's the end of whatever they've had going between them for the last year, the end to the thing they'd tried to put a stop to for weeks and months when they'd first met. Leonard had been the first to broach the subject a few weeks ago, when it was announced they would finally be getting their deployment orders. Leonard had said they couldn't take this with them, that it was risky enough to have been sneaking around the barracks and then almost flagrant to have been sharing a room together without ever raising suspicion. Going to England was a good line in the sand, they would still be best friends, they would still be close working colleagues, but they couldn't be any more than that. 

Jim had sulked to begin with, had given Leonard the cold shoulder. It had been a godsend that they were no longer training or flying together because their distance from each other was less noticeable. Spock had noticed though, because he noticed everything, and he had asked Jim what Leonard had said or done wrong. It was the shove Jim needed to snap out of it, to properly consider where Leonard was coming from and to accept his terms. They could have a few good weeks, and then it needed to be business and combat and certainly not sex or love. Jim remembered he had said something similar when he'd first been promoted, that they shouldn't get attached when the risk of one of them dying was so high. They couldn't stop though, not when they were in such close quarters, not when the desire to kiss and touch in darkened corners was so alluring, the temptation so elevated. The closer they came to risk, to deployment, the less likely they could manage keep away from each other. 

It's a wonder none of their men had found out, it's a miracle none of the brass had found out. That was why it needed to stop, they needed to be part of the war effort, they needed to be part of the fight in Europe and they couldn't do that from a miliary prison, they couldn't do that if they were brought up on charges. 

Which meant this sombre, cold goodbye was necessarily. 

They had had it good, they'd managed to keep something going for nearly a year. The fact they'd even found each other in the first place was in itself a marvel. 

They had been sat down next to each other in the administration building in Florida, Leonard nursing the worst hangover of his life while Jim was sporting a black eye from a fight he'd had the night before. Jim was on his way to becoming a Captain and they'd had a commanding officer at the time called Christopher Pike who took every kind of pleasure in giving both men a complete dressing down for their behaviour, and putting them out on guard duty together for the next few nights. 

The first night, Jim had sworn he'd felt a frisson of sexual tension between them. Leonard's gaze lingered over Jim, and Jim felt the need to touch Leonard's shoulder, pat him on the chest. On the third night, Jim had kissed Leonard and expected an almighty thump in the face that he never received. Leonard had given Jim a searching look, as if to ask how the hell did you know? and had continued kissing him until the dawn broke, until they realised they were probably the two worst guards in the entire Army. They had laughed a lot about it back then, and Jim and Leonard had agreed at first that it had been a blip, just a crazy moment in the dark. Weeks passed and they became friends, without any of the other stuff. But Jim didn't look at Leonard the way he looked at other men, he didn't see a comrade or a brother, he saw... potential. It made his stomach tighten enough to threaten ulcers and it made him feel constantly as though he was having palpitations, especially whenever he caught Leonard watching him. 

It had been two months later when they had found themselves in an empty alleyway. It had been bright sunshine, and birdsong, and Jim had felt Leonard's body push up against his before he had really heard or seen Leonard move towards him. The air had rushed out of Jim's body as though he was winded, while Leonard had kissed his throat and pressed bruises into his biceps to keep Jim steady and upright. 

"What the hell are you doing, Bones?" Jim had hissed, trying to pull away even though his body seemed magnetically attracted to Leonard's. 

"Shut up, Jim," Leonard had huffed out. "Or tell me you don't want this." 

Well, Jim couldn't do that. Instead, he had put a hand up to hold the side of Leonard's neck, urging his head back up level with Jim's so they could kiss each other's mouths instead of having Leonard suck love bites into his skin. 

From then on out, it has been a slippery slope, a slope that consists of clandestine meetings, whispered pillow talk, and falling in love. Neither men has admitted that latter part, even as they depart for Greenland. 

"Fly safe," is all Jim can say. He doesn't quite meet Leonard's eyes. 

"Fly safe, Jim." 

—

The wind when they land in Greenland feels like a hurricane, their bodies are thrown here and there, and the metal components of the B-17 rattle. 

"Komack's fort is struggling to keep formation," Spock notes from his seat in the co-pilots chair. 

"I think we're all struggling with that at the moment, Spock," Jim says, shuddering against his seat, the wind is battering them all. "Any sign of the 350th?" 

"They're a way off," Sulu says, he's perched behind Jim and Spock, between the two chairs, his relegated spot while Jim is piloting. 

If Jim can't stop thinking about Leonard when they're not even in real danger, what is he going to be like when they're under fire. He needs to get his act together, needs to worry about his own aircraft, his own squadron, and let Leonard do his job. 

"Landing gears down," Jim orders, followed by, "left is down." 

"Right is down," Spock confirms as their tail gunner, a man named Mike Cleary from Wyoming, confirms the tail is down too. 

"This is going to be a bumpy landing boys," Jim says with a smirk. "Hold onto your hats." 

Once they do land, once all twenty forts are on the ground, the base at Greenland is a bit like pandemonium. The ground crew are fixing flaps, oiling components, refuelling, the flight crews are trying to eat as much as they can. One of Leonard's forts is an hour behind the rest of the squadron and he's trying to work out the best thing to do with a navigator who has potentially debilitating airsickness. Jim loiters around the room he has taken up as an office, he doesn't mean to listen into the conversation but it's hardly top secret knowledge. 

"You need to get that airsickness under control, Hannity, or you gotta find yourself a new job." 

"Yes, Major," Hannity's voice is ashamed, abashed, it's a miracle he's made it this far puking into a bag or his hat for the entirety of his career to date. As the man leaves Leonard's makeshift office, he nods at Jim with a cursory Major and Jim nods back. 

"Well that was damned unfortunate," Leonard says, looking up at Jim. "Any of your boys got airsickness?" 

"Not to my knowledge." Jim settles his hip against Leonard’s desk, fingers trailing over the pages Leonard is reviewing—the navigation logs. He clearly wants Leonard’s attention, but Leonard is checking tick boxes on another page with a sharpened pencil. Eventually, he looks up at Jim who is already staring down at him. 

"How was the flight?" Leonard asks, quickly turning his gaze back to his papers. 

"Are you small-talking me?" Jim counters. 

"What do you mean?" Leonard says with a frown. 

"We had the exact same flight conditions, we landed twenty minutes apart. How was your flight?" 

"Well, I just meant—" Leonard breaks off and swallows. "Jim, don't make things difficult now." 

"Well, what is with that stupid question?" Jim demands. "Are you going to ask me about the quality of the food next, or the weather. I think it's really fucking windy if that helps at all." 

"You're being an infant." 

"I'm an infant?" Jim looks as though he's a minute away from being absolutely raging angry. Like something has snapped inside of him. Leonard has an assessing look on his face, lips pursed, somewhere between confusion and frustration.  

"If you don't want to talk to me then you can go, I have stuff to write up here." 

Jim pauses for a moment and Leonard takes a second to realise that probably wasn't the right thing to say. 

"I can go, he says," Jim mutters to himself, looking around as if there are other people in the room witnessing Leonard's behaviour. "I can go?" Jim repeats, the question clear in his voice. 

“If you’re going to be an idiot, then yes, you can go.”

“I think you should watch your tone,” Jim says, a stern gravel to his voice that is unfamiliar between them. It’s Jim’s operating voice, his Major’s voice.

“Are you pulling rank on me, Jim?”

“Well I am the senior officer, and if you don’t like my company then it’s you who can go.”

Jim is really only the senior officer because of his tenure, their rank and influence is the same. Yes, if they had to decide out of the four Majors leading the squadrons who would be the commanding officer, it would be Jim, but it’s a pretty shitty move and Jim and Leonard both know it. Jim has never spoken to Leonard—or anyone come to think of it unless as part of a disciplinary procedure—like this. Jim Kirk may be a little arrogant, may be a little cocky, but he’s not conceited like this. He’s trying to get a rise from Leonard, but it’s not going to happen.

“Fine,” Leonard says easily, scoffing at Jim with squinted, disbelieving eyes. He stands and collects his papers. “Let’s talk later when you’re not acting insane.”

Jim sits alone in Leonard’s office for a long while contemplating what has just unfolded, contemplating why a simple question turned him inside out. Jim doesn’t really have a quick temper, isn’t the kind of guy to lash out unthinkingly, not where Leonard is concerned anyway, and yet Leonard’s nonchalance, his calmness, it has sent Jim spiralling. Leonard has never minced his words, he calls it how he sees it; and he saw the childish, foolish way Jim had been acting and so he said as much. It’s not like Jim had never been called out by Leonard before, but it all felt different now, it all felt different without the sanctuary of their room, their beds. 

Jim hates the thought of spending the next two years separated from Leonard when they would be within touching distance of each other so often. The end of their romantic entanglement was supposed to help keep them from being distracted, yet it seems to be only serving to do the opposite for Jim. He needs to get his head on straight, and he probably needs to apologise.

They don’t get to speak again until they’ve already landed in England, Jim’s fort is the first to arrive and he goes in search of a jeep, finding one and jumping into the drivers seat, arriving back on the airstrip just as Leonard’s crew are disembarking. He pulls the jeep alongside Leonard and calls out to him.

“Bones, can I have a word in my office?” He tries to paint a smile onto his face but Jim is sure it looks more like a grimace.

Leonard claps his co-pilot—Geoff, Jim thinks—on the back and moves towards the jeep. He pauses a moment before he decides to get in.  

“Sure, Jim. You okay?”

Jim drives them back towards the barracks before he answers, the sound of the engine rumbling as they go. Leonard watches Jim the entire way as they drive the short distance, waiting with curiosity to see what will happen next. 

“I’m sorry about yesterday,” Jim says eventually. He parks them beside a tree, away from the path that is littered with airmen. From the small bollards that line the roads, Jim guesses he’s not supposed to park on the greenery but he can’t bring himself to care. He turns off the engine and looks at Leonard. “I think Greenland made me a bit insane.”

“Yes, I think I probably agree with that,” Leonard says gently. “I don’t want there to be an issue between us Jim, I don’t want us to lose sight of ourselves.”

“I don’t either, I just—it felt like you were giving me the brush off. I took it the wrong way, I guess.”

“I just asked you how the flight was, it was a genuine question. It wasn’t a trap or a brush off or small talk. I’ve asked you that question a hundred times since we’ve known each other,” Leonard explains, he wants to settle a hand on Jim’s thigh, wants to show him some sign that he means what he’s saying, that he still cares for Jim despite their decision. He knows he can’t, he knows that blurs the line they are trying to forge. Leonard wrings his hands instead, picking at the nail-bed of his right thumb. 

“I know, I know,” Jim says. “Nothings changed, nothing that anyone else can see anyhow, and yet it feels like everything has.”

It’s only four days into their stay in England when they are called for their first mission. It’s Leonard’s squadron, and he’s flying with the same crew he flew over to England with. Sometimes the squadron leaders, the Majors, will have to rotate where they fly in the formation, but usually they will fly up front, which means usually they keep the same crew. On the mornings before a mission, while it’s still dark out, the kitchen prepare what the airmen affectionately call The Last Supper, there are eggs and French toast and bacon, there is fresh juice and cups and cups of coffee—Leonard watches the men like hawks as they pray over their plates and make wagers about the day ahead. He makes sure to spare a few gentle words for the men who look most nervous, he makes sure to watch out for anyone who looks on the brink. 

Their briefing is pretty harrowing; they will be joining up with some other divisions for this mission to Bremen, departing from other bases to meet with them before crossing the Channel, but the 350th have got the worst flying spot of the bunch—they're flying the low low, which means they're closest to the flak. The weather isn’t great, the navigators and bombardiers need extra briefing. It’s not going to be a get in and get out, it’s not going to be easy. Leonard is slightly less harrowed when he learns that he and his crew are flying in a fort which has been nicknamed Heaven Sent. It comforts Leonard a little, like maybe if God is real he will smile down on them in this fort and make sure he and his men come home safely. 

It’s still dark when they’re dismissed to suit up and ship out. Leonard says good morning to the priest who is waiting to see off the crew and notices a familiar blonde head making his way across the airfield.

“Major Kirk,” one of the men in front of Leonard greets, and Jim nods in return.

“Bones, you got a second?” Jim calls and Leonard steps out of the throng of his men to meet Jim halfway. 

“You alright, Jim?”

“Yeah,” Jim nods. “Heard you were headed out, wanted to say good luck.”

“We’re gonna need it,” Leonard says, placing his hand on Jim’s shoulder. It’s a friendly gesture rather than an intimate one but Jim can help but reach his arm across his body to touch his finger tips to Leonard’s. It is a fleeting touch and Jim disguises it quickly by reaching into his pocket. He pulls out a thin gold chain with a small medallion on it.

“I want you to have it,” Jim says, quickly pushing it into Leonard’s hand. “It’s my saint Christopher medal, it’s lucky.”

“Patron saint of travellers,” Leonard says, opening his hand to look down at the pendant. 

“Please take it, Bones. Please don’t make a big deal of it and just take it.” Jim has a fraught look in his eyes, which are slightly bloodshot. 

“No fuss, Jim,” Leonard assures, slipping the chain over his head and tucking it into his jacket. “I’ll bring it back to you when we land.”

“I’ll be here,” Jim says.

He watches Leonard walk back towards his crew and get onto one of the trucks taking them out to where their planes are. The sun is coming up just enough that Leonard is a silhouette against a pink and orange backdrop. A part of Jim aches watching Leonard walk away but he knows there is no other way. This is their job, this is what they signed up for. He raises a hand to some of the other men as they pass, wishing them luck. 

“Rack ‘em up, and knock ‘em down,” he whispers, watching Leonard’s truck drive further off into the distance towards the airfield.  Jim runs through the process of getting the fort ready for takeoff in his head, thinks about Leonard walking through the body of the plane to take up his position in the pilot’s seat, reciting the checklist, getting his men prepared. Leonard will say a Hail Mary in his head before he turns the engine on. 

Jim hears the rumble of engines and looks up to watch as the ten B-17s take off one after the other, watching them until they’ve climbed too high to be in his line of sight any longer. They should be back just after lunchtime, eight hours at most, so Jim will go back to bed until then, he has to try and get some sleep or he risks walking laps around the base.

—

Just as they take off, Leonard pulls the saint Christopher medallion from around his throat so he can look down at it. He brings it to his lips and slips it back into the confines of the material of his sheepskin jacket and the scarf tucked around his neck. 

"Let's go, boys," he murmurs, and asks Geoff to complete the after take-off checklist. They continue to climb, and Leonard talks the crew through their ascent, checks in with their navigator, makes sure they're on course. They're three hours out from the target, the skies are thick with fog and it's hard for Leonard to see the other forts. 

"Let's pop a flare, see if we can get into formation in this soup," Leonard says over the radio. Just as the flare goes off, Leonard feels a darkness blanket them, he looks up to see another B-17 just above them, trying to pull up out of their way. They can hardly see anything in this fog and it's going to get them killed. Leonard lowers them a little and the two forts manage to pass each other without incident. 

"I mean, you want them to say close," Geoff says with a smirk on his face. 

"Yeah, not like that." 

The B-17s have twelve machine guns protecting the aircraft from every side, hence their being called a Flying Fortress. Yet, the true key to survival is sticking together, creating a combat box of defensive fire from a tight formation. It is the most important thing they learn in training, because if they get separated, the German fighters can pick each fort off one by one. This fog doesn't bode well for sticking together in a tight formation, it bodes chaos and stragglers and forts cruising over and into each other. 

"Are we clear, tail gunner?" 

"We're clear, Major." 

"Pilot to crew, we got another hour climbing through this muck. Keep your eyes peeled," Leonard instructs. "Tail gunner, what can you see back there?"

"Tail to McCoy, from our group we've got six in formation, I've got Tyler and Lewis's forts way behind out of formation, trailing smoke." 

"Roger." 

Leonard gets both pilots on their radios in turn, and tries to figure out what is going wrong. Mechanical failures are not uncommon and getting the crew home safely has to be more important than having a fort blow up in the sky for the sake of a mission they will never make it to anyway. Leonard reminds both men not to put their crews in jeopardy, to turn back if they need to, and to make the decision fast. 

As they manage to make it out of the fog, they find their other two forts, and the eight remaining crews pull into tight formation. Leonard would be grateful for the clear sky if it didn't immediately turn into an arena of firepower from below them, anti-aircraft guns giving them relentless flak from the ground. 

"Flak, everywhere," comes over the radio. 

"Navigator," Leonard calls over the radio, "what's the ETA for our target?" 

"About eleven minutes," the navigator, Lieutenant Gary Mitchell, calls back. 

"Roger." 

"Eleven minutes?" Geoff repeats, looking worriedly at Leonard. They share a grim look and continue forward. 

They make it through the flak without any of the planes taking a significant hit, but when they get to the target location they can't see a thing through more thick fog. They can't drop the bomb if they can't see the target and the bombardier, Lieutenant Kevin Riley, cannot see a damn thing through the bombsight. 

"Damnit, Geoff. We gotta scrub this mission, we can't drop bombs through this." 

"The flak has stopped," Geoff says ominously. "You know what that means." 

"Pilot to crew," Leonard starts, sucking in a frustrated breath. "Get ready, fellas." 

"Roger that, Major." 

"Any second now, boys, keep your eyes peeled," Leonard says, just as the turret gunner, Sergeant John Watkins, who they teasingly call Baby Face, calls Fighters, twelve o'clock, high! 

Then, everything is mayhem. The du-du-du-du-du thudding of gunfire from their own guns, mixed with the explosive sounds from around the sky. Orange flashes light up the grey clouds around them as though the sky is bursting into flames. The gunners call out the fighter planes as they see them and they go after each one with an intensity Leonard can be proud of. There is an awful, incedary noise from Leonard's right and he looks round just in time to see another fort, titled Lady Geraldine, blow to pieces. 

"That's Burns's fort," Geoff says. "Anyone see any chutes?" He calls over the radio, Leonard can't look, as much as he wants to catch sight of ten wide open, bright white parachutes, he has to fly them through this and get them home. 

"Wyatt is hit!" Another call over the radio, another plane setting on fire while a trail of thick black smoke billows in its wake. 

"Christ," Leonard breathes. "McCoy to tail, what do you see back there?"

"I can see Shea, Davis, Frost, and Masters," the tail gunner, Bradford Wayne, lists the pilots of the forts still following behind Heaven Sent. "I can't see Harper." 

The gunfire dies down, but Harper's fort never comes back into view. That means they have lost three forts, thirty men. It is a quiet journey home, they dump the bombs they couldn't drop before in the Channel on their way back. Leonard thinks about all the letters he is going to have to write this evening. Leonard can't imagine what it will look like, five out of ten planes returning, not a single target hit; Tyler and Lewis have hopefully made it back already despite their engine issues. 

They alert the ground crew that they need ambulances for some of the crew on the other forts, the men cannot wait to get out of the planes, and Leonard sees Hannity puking his guts up again by the side of Davis's fort. 

"How did you go?" Leonard says, patting his back as he continues to retch. 

"No air sickness this time, Major. Just ordinary sickness." 

"It's alright, Hannity, it was rough up there."

"Weak guts, sir," he says. 

"Not at all, go head down to the medical hut, then straight into Interrogation." 

Hannity just nods and does as he's told. 

Leonard can hear Jim shouting out across the airfield, getting the other crews onto trucks and off towards the interrogation hut. The crews can't confer, can't say anything to each other, until they have been debriefed. "Not another word," Jim is saying to one Lieutenant, "save if for the interrogation." It feels harsh, after everything they have just been through, after the losses they have just suffered, but they need to have clear and accurate information of what happened. It's not to trap anyone but just to ensure no one airman confuses or taints the memories of another. 

Leonard spares a moment to thank the ground crew, one of the youngest men is in awe that the plane managed to remain in the sky given the gaping hole in the side of it. Leonard just shrugs and walks towards where Jim is standing by his jeep. 

"No flap landing," Jim notes, looking back at the fort. 

"Motor was shot," Leonard says, his voice vague and distant. 

"I need to get you to interrogation, Bones. Come on." Jim gestures to the jeep and climbs inside it. Leonard is standing in the exact same spot when Jim looks back at him. 

"We didn't drop a single bomb, had to salvo them over the Channel." 

"I know," Jim says, he's already heard, he's already been briefed by command or maybe he spent the entirety of Leonard's flight with one of the radiomen in the flight tower. "Come on," Jim urges, starting the engine. Leonard nods and gets in the car. 

"It's nothing like what we've trained for, Jim. Thirty men, just gone." 

"I know, Bones. I don't know what to say." Jim can't take his eyes off the road to look at Leonard, not because he's driving but because he knows if he looks at Leonard now he will lose everything, his resolve, his heart, his commission. He will stop the car dead in the road and kiss Leonard until they're both thrown in jail. He hates not being able to make this go away, to fix things, to make everything better. 

"We're gonna die, Jim. Here, we're gonna die in all this." 

"You made it back, you've seen it now. You know what it's like," Jim counters. "I'll be up there with you next time." 

"We got a long road ahead of us, Jim." Leonard says softly, scrubbing a hand over his face before he sets it down on top of Jim's hand, the one that's resting on Jim's thigh rather than the wheel. Leonard's hand is cold where Jim's is hot. Jim gently slips his hand away and sets it on the wheel alongside his other hand. 

"You're not going to die," Jim says, knowing exactly what Leonard's gesture had meant. 

The rest of the short drive is punctuated only by a few deep sighs on Leonard's part, as though he is bracing himself for what is to come. The interrogation hut is a cacophony of voices, different commanding officers sitting with each group to go through moment by moment what happened. Who went down, at what time, over where and how, and were there any chutes? Jim takes his seat with Leonard's crew and the boys all do their best to answer the questions as they come, the navigators leading many of the answers with the records from their logs. It all passes Leonard by like he's inside a kaleidoscope, like he can't get his footing. Thirty men, thirty men. 

—

Alongside the thirty dead or missing men, five of Leonard's squadron also end up in the hospital, three with gunshot and shrapnel wounds and two with frostbite. They will all be transferred to the hospital and none of them will be flying with the squadron again any time soon. That's another half a crew of men out of the fight. If this is a numbers game, they are losing it fast. 

When Leonard leaves the hospital the sun is going down, Geoff's crew are drinking with Spock's crew on a couple of picnic benches near the interrogation hut. It feels as though they are together purposefully, purposefully to draw Leonard and Jim together. Jim is nowhere in sight, though, so Leonard heads over to the men. 

"Major," Scotty greets with a grin. "Tough up there today, I hear." 

"Yeah, Scotty, tough as hell." 

"Any sign of Jim?" Sulu asks. "We grabbed some food with him after interrogation but haven't seen him since." 

"I haven't seen him," Leonard says. "I'm sure he's around." 

An unsettled feeling pools in Leonard's stomach, this is the exact kind of place Jim should be, corralling and drinking with his men. Jim is the best pick-me-up, the best motivator and distractor; Jim should be here, he would want to be here. Leonard can't imagine him locked away doing paperwork somewhere, can't imagine him sitting in the canteen drinking coffee, Jim wouldn't go within a hundred feet of the medical hut if he could avoid it and the brass don't have any reason to call upon him tonight. Leonard looks out across the base, trying to think what Jim could possibly be doing. Where are you hiding? He thinks. 

He can see a jeep parked far off in the distance where some of the planes are positioned while they're being patched up. It's only a hunch, but Leonard knows Jim pretty well by now. He bids a quick farewell to the crews, tells them he won't be long, and heads off in the direction of the jeep. It's empty when he arrives at its side but from his new location he can see Jim, sat atop the far side wing of Heaven Sent. His back is propped against the body of the plane, and he is sipping from a bottle of something dark in colour. 

"What are you doing up there?" Leonard says, loud enough for Jim to hear given the distance between them but not loud enough to attract attention. 

"I'm trying to feel something other than blinding anger." 

Leonard makes his way back into the belly of the plane, opening the co-pilot side window so he can climb out onto the wing. He settles down next to Jim and takes the bottle from his hand. Leonard takes a long swig and can feel Jim's eyes on him, watching his lips around the bottle, the pull of his jaw as he drinks and the way his throat works the liquid down into his stomach. 

"What a fucking waste, today," Jim continues, biting his lip as Leonard hands him back the bottle. 

"We're gonna hit as much as we miss, Jim." 

Jim grunts in response and gets up, taking the bottle with him until he's standing at the tip of the wing, he tips the bottle, liquid sloshing on the ground beneath them, until the bottle is almost empty. 

"For the boys we lost today," he says, taking the last small sip from the bottle and smashing it against the ground. Leonard winces and stands up, closing the gap between them. 

"Bones, can I ask you a favour?"

"You can ask, Jim," Leonard agrees, he thinks he knows what Jim is going to say, Jim can see in his eyes he thinks he knows. 

"I want you to hit me, come on, I want you to land one right on my beak," Jim says, grinning and stepping closer to Leonard, he leans forward a little, as if they are going to spar and taps his nose. "Right here." 

"Jim," Leonard cautions, taking another step forward. 

"Don't do that, don't call me Jim. This isn't Jim and Bones, this is Kirk and McCoy, come on." 

Jim pulls off his jacket and throws it to the side. 

"Stop horsing around," Leonard says. 

"I'm not horsing, I'm not a horse," Jim counters, loosening his tie. He shoves at Leonard who steps back with his hands up. He's still wearing his hat, where Jim isn't and so Leonard takes it off, setting it down where they had just been sitting. He turns back to Jim who is frowning at him. Jim steps closer to Leonard again and shoves at him, once, twice. "Come on, you can fight, I know you can fight, huh? Huh?" Jim urges and Leonard draws his fist back and punches Jim right in the jaw. 

Jim turns to the side, letting his whole body feel the impact and turning with it, bending slightly, he puts his hands on his knees. He's grinning, despite the way he groans through the sharp pain. 

"I felt that, Bones," Jim says, panting. He chuckles and Leonard scoffs, hesitant and disbelieving. Jim will have a bruise in the morning, it won't be bad, but it will be enough. 

"Can you come off there now, can we go inside?" Leonard demands, trying to catch hold of one of Jim's wrists and pull him towards the window. 

"Can we hole up in there a while?" Jim asks, and even though he knows he shouldn't, he continues. "Will you stay with me?"

Leonard frowns and looks behind them at his battered plane. It hasn't escaped Leonard's consideration that of all the planes Jim could have chosen to retreat to, he chose the one that Leonard was piloting today. Leonard should say no, but friends can sit together in the belly of a plane and mourn the loss of their friends, of their men. They are two of four squadron commanders and they are the only ones who will ever really understand what it is like to be one of the men, flying missions, and yet still have the weight of all the responsibility of command, of leading, of rank. 

"Yeah," Leonard whispers, nodding. "I'll stay with you." 

So they clamber back into the plane, littered with bullet casings and shrapnel wherever they look. They sit in the little hold where the navigator and bombardier would usually reside, Jim leans close to Leonard, seeking his warmth where he's now without the benefit of his coat or more alcohol. 

"I don't think this is working," Jim says after a while. 

"You mean trying to not feel angry?" Leonard questions. 

"No, trying to convince myself to stay away from you." 

"Oh, that." 

"How is it working for you?" 

Leonard considers lying, he purses his lips and wants to tell Jim they just have to keep trying, soon enough their closeness will turn into an easy friendship, one that isn't loaded. They'll be able to pat each other on the back like old friends, not lovers, and they'll be better leaders and better men for it. But Leonard knows that isn't true, he knows that his body and his mind and his soul seek out Jim at every turn, and in denying them both what they want, the chance for happiness and companionship and love, they're denying themselves their sanity. 

"It's going terribly, it's not working at all." 

"Thank God," Jim breaths, it sounds as though it whooshes out of him like a plane coursing through the air. He moves before Leonard can really compute and then he's straddling Leonard, both hands on Leonard's face as he smashes their lips together in a ferocious kiss. Their teeth clack together and Jim laughs into Leonard's mouth, while Leonard's arms wrap around Jim's waist and pull him closer on instinct.  

"I've missed you," Leonard whispers, his voice sounds more dulcet and Southern than usual with his building arousal and Jim shifts on Leonard's lap to coax him to full hardness in his trousers. Jim's fingers push away the heavy material of Leonard's coat, not completely off his shoulders but enough that he can open a button or two on Leonard's shirt and find the heat of his body, the brush of his chest hair, the small gold pendant resting over his heart. He hopes Leonard will keep it, hopes he won't offer it back to Jim when this night it through. 

"It's been a week," Jim reminds, smirking as he presses their lips back together. 

"It's too long, it's too much to do all this without having you with me." 

"I'm always with you," Jim counters, between kisses. The smack of their lips sounding so loud against the metallic frame of the fort. 

"Not like this," Leonard says, tipping his head back so he and Jim are forced to look at each other. "I made a mistake, thinking it would be better for us to try and, to try and not do this. It was a mistake." 

"Your dick is doing the thinking now, that's all." Jim grinds down on Leonard and they moan together, Leonard doesn't care if Jim might be half right or totally right or not right at all, but he unbuttons Jim's trousers and fists his hand around Jim. They move in time, and Jim bites Leonard's cheek before soothing it away with a kiss. Leonard doesn't manage to climax in his pants, but Jim does with Leonard's hand encouraging him the entire way through. Jim pants, his forehead pressed against Leonard's. 

"You want a hand, Bones?" He offers, flushed and looking thoroughly debauched. 

"It'll die down," Leonard says, "don't worry about it." 

"I didn't do any of this with this outcome in mind," Jim says gently, shifting off of Leonard's lap. Leonard steadies him as he goes and tucks a strand of hair back into place at Jim's temple. Jim tucks himself away and straightens his trousers, staring at Leonard's profile, waiting for his reaction. 

"I know, Jim. I believe you."

"You know, if this whole thing ended, and there were only two pilots left up in the air, it'd be me and it'd be you, Bones." 

"No no-win scenarios, huh?" 

"You need help with those thirty letters?" 

"I'd appreciate it," Leonard says gently with a nod. They get up together and make their way back to the barracks, they need to get some sleep, they need to get themselves together. Intimacy might be back on the table, but that doesn't stop the war, and it doesn't stop the work that needs to get done. The war keeps coming, relentless. They send new boys to fill the shoes of the ones who have died, some of them don't even pass the training exercises and they die too, stall out and crash or have to ditch out over the sea and drown. The final two squadrons arrive from the US and a quarter of them die within the first month's worth of missions. They are bleeding men, and command can't get hold of enough new forts to replace the ones lost, so the squadrons are all a little smaller than they should be. You need ten men to man a B-17 but you don't need ten B-17s to a squadron. Leonard keeps eight going, Jim flexes between nine and seven and nine again. The other two squadrons are allowed to start with ten, they need the experience, but they are soon down on their numbers too. 

After another three weeks of fighting they are down fifty aircrew, from their starting point of almost four-hundred. Jim, Leonard, and the two squadron leaders that have just arrived in England, needed sooner than expected, Majors Willard Decker and Robert April, are trying to do everything they can to get more birds in the sky, more men in the birds, but they just cannot seem to make headway. Sometimes the squadrons have to fly with other squadrons to make up the numbers, sometimes squadrons don't get the luxury of rotating missions and have to go out multiple times in a row. It makes for tired men, it makes for low morale, it makes for mistakes and deaths and they can't keep handing it to the German fighter pilots this easily. Jim and Leonard still haven't flown the same mission as yet, but that's coming too and it's making them antsy. 

Jim encourages the boys to smoke, to drink, to play cards and dice and sleep with the endless droves of women around the base; he's trying to keep them upbeat, motivated, he's trying to make sure they have some kind of life before it's taken from them. Scotty takes up with one of the nurses, Christine Chapel, and Sulu starts dating one of the girls from the administration building, Janice Rand. Both men tease Jim, tell him he could have his pick of women if he just put his mind to it. Jim gives them excuses: rank, propriety, time; and laughs off their attempts to set him up with their girls' friends. Even Spock eventually admits he is seeing someone, a radio operator, but he won't tell anyone her name. 

When the six men find themselves in a dark bar again, a whiskey each and three cigarettes between them, sitting opposite some of the English bomber pilots, they start to guess her name. 

"Alice," Jim suggests. 

"Laura," Chekov adds. 

"Bernadette," Scotty says. 

"Boys, you all know this iceman is not going to tell you her name," Leonard admonishes, "so why even bother." 

"Would you have a guess?" Jim jokes, grinning, he takes Leonard's cheeks between the thumb and forefinger of one hand and wiggles his face back and forward playfully. Leonard grins and laughs, shaking out of the light grip. 

"Eleanor," he guesses. 

Spock's face doesn't change, but there is amusement in his eyes. He never gives anything away, but that doesn't mean he doesn't have fun in the process. 

"I admire you Americans," one of the English pilots says without preamble, his voice is posh and clipped. "You’re up there in broad daylight, seemingly oblivious to the downsides. I suppose it’s a question of philosophies, we bomb at night because it doesn’t matter what we hit, so long as it’s German. But bombing during the day is suicide. I can foresee in the future, American strategy adjusting due to the unfortunate losses you’ll no doubt continue to suffer."