Gathered Round the Fire
Title: Gathered Round the Fire
Author: Kisa9
Rating: PG
Warnings: A liberal use of science terms.
Summary: Prompt 79. Jim is homeless this holiday season and gets hurt. Len is the doctor who fixes him up and somehow is convinced to bring Jim home for the holidays.
A/N: Respect. Serious respect to all authors who do this on a regular basis. I had big ambitions for this story, really. Instead, I sadly ran home to post this wreck on time. Shamefully, this is the fourth and best attempt. I send you all triple respect.
My only consolation is in knowing that passionate researchers and scientists (espcially of Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy's age) really do speak in this manner.
True events: Abandoned buildings really do provide shelter for the homeless on cold nights, and police really did attempt to arrest homeless people in a raid. It failed thanks to real life Jim Kirks. According to SFrancisco Bay Area energetically kind firemen, 'It's best to shoot or punch first and ask questions later. The people deserve it most of the time.'
Shrill ambulance melody sings a duet with the Christmas melody playing on the radio station. Christmas season kept Leonard flush in the hospital. To eat Christmas pastries in the lounge, or to just work out a purpose for his old fool self, he had not decided. Not an idle man, going home felt like a failure.
Chatter accompanies the sudden brief activity in the hallway. Three feet by three feet boxes are stacked outside his office. A wave of uncalled for annoyance creeps toward the now gone group that created an obstruction of the, truthfully, pathetic hallway view. Always ready to grumble, Dr. McCoy goes to examine what fresh hell he is expected to organize.
Towering over the lonely box in its own stack, he reads.
Deliver to: UCSF Pediatric Surgery
The empty hallway echoes his displeasure like a disgruntled Greek monster's cave. Yes, he understands that his office area is expected to be vacant during this weekend, and suspected the hospital might use it for extra storage. But. Mark his words, this mistake is most likely a staff error made by overeager illiterate students.
New task in hand, Leonard sets it upon himself to move the boxes back towards the delivery area and personally cure the hospital of kindergarten errors.
"Oof. Who made boxes with proportions unsuitable for carrying?" He can handle the weight, but the shift in center of gravity tumbles the box back onto the ground. "Damn it!"
Pondering the embarrassment of pushing the boxes all the way down does not improve his mood, and nearly cheers up with thoughts of heading home and enjoying the new electric fireplace at home that he had not yet figured out how to turn on. A man of less purpose would head home, but instead, Leonard strides to the busy area of people sent up with minor injuries in search of helping some claustrophobic medical student take a breather from the packed rooms.
Fidgeting steps from someone in the hallway catch his attention. Scraggly, ratty hair runs long in need of a trim over a clean shaven face. Layers of thin clothing cover the hunched figure, worn like a prayer for warmth: the uniform of a homeless man. An anxious look paints his features.
A police officer supervises with a hard calm expression, a control that can erupt with a slight misstep on the pained man's part.
The rest of the waiting room was filled with the usual suspects. Dr. McCoy fails to find any immediate staff he could help, since his attention keeps swinging back towards the uneven gait of the fidgeting man. At this point, it was obvious the man had received no medical attention. Either he feared the bill or was playing some kind of martyr. Leonard is no stranger to stubborn patients.
"Excuse me, sir," Leonard catches the man's startled attention. Leaning closer to speak privately, he asks more quietly, "Have you had that looked at?"
Suspicion crowds the man's face, "I beg your pardon?"
Leonard notices the man's assessing gaze, and realizes his coat is in his office. "I'm Dr. Leonard McCoy. Here's my hospital ID badge. "
"Oh. Thank you doctor, but it's nothing, just an ankle sprain. Embarrassing, but it's taken care of. I'm fine," the man nods with finality.
"Your shoes are too thin to show any bandages or support, and if the way your pants are sticking to your leg is any indication, I'm guessing the lacerations are finally bleeding out enough for you to notice."
"I don't need more fussing. I said I'm fine."
"Look. This hospital's patients do not walk out worse than when they were reporting coming in. I'm not about to bill you for gauze, so just let me take a look at your leg before you bleed your way out the door."
"Appreciate your time, really, but my friend is getting treatment right now. I am going to be here when he is released."
"Is there a problem here?" The officer approaches the pair.
"No." Leonard turns back to convince the injured man. "If an infection takes hold and I'm found chopping your leg off in the street, you'll hate yourself for not being bright enough to take care of it now."
"You were already looked at, so what's going on here?" the officer grills the homeless gentleman. "Need a band-aid or something?"
"I can handle anything this world dishes out. Can you, sir?" the limp and mussed hair give him a wild look that backs up his defiant talk.
"Shut your mouth," the officer commands. With an imposing stance, he turns toward the doctor. "This man is under my supervision. If this asshole goes into a room, I'm going, too."
"The hell you are!" the doctor bristles.
"Patient confidentiality. I believe I have the right to privacy, isn't that right, Doctor McCoy?" the man is now leaning against the wall to alleviate the pressure from his injured leg, expression smug. "Officer Thompson, your supervisor already called you off. I heard that I'm free to go. Are you defying your orders?"
"I've half a mind to take you downtown for causing obstruction in this hospital to teach you manners. Think of it as a gift, you get a roof over your head," the officer's hand is ready and poised at his cuffs.
The heated air between their challenging gazes hints at past friction. 'I am not dealing with a headache, today,' Leonard thinks to himself.
Frustrated with both the needlessly persistent officer and the stubborn patient, he addresses them, "Officer, I understand your intellectual skills only sufficed enough to get you into an 'Academy'. I'm assuming you learned I must report anything I find amiss, so unless you're injured, stop taking up space in my hospital! And you, 'tough guy'! Come let me patch you up, before I get an idea to use more creative healing methods."
Leonard knows his eyes have the commanding glare that catches the attention of the entire waiting room. As expected, the officer leaves grudgingly, and the injured man is sitting in a sterile room getting his leg's nasty cut mended.
"You're a pediatrician?" the man, who introduced himself as Jim Kirk, asks. Leonard groans in remembrance of the packages still lined against his office a few rooms down.
"Hardly. What makes you think that?"
"Good. I noticed the boxes of pediatric material, but I'm glad I wasn't spot diagnosed and easily handled by a doctor used to handling kids," Kirk makes his doctor laugh. "So what are you?"
"Me? I'm some fool country doctor that thought he could take on the city for a change." Leonard shoots back with a self deprecating smile. Briefly meeting his patient's eyes, he is taken aback to find Mr. Kirk giving him a heavy calculating look, and is surprised to think, 'This man is something else.' "Could ask you the same question."
The spell was broken with Mr. Kirk's nod. "I'm. Stuck in neutral. Somewhere to the north, I can lose myself down a stagnant road from a degree to a job, all the while fooling myself into thinking I made some kind of difference. To the east, I can blindly search for brief purposes to occupy my time. Deep South, my brother thrives in a job I envy. Waiting in the west, my mom expects a decision."
"So go around the world. Find and do the unknown," Leonard looks down at his finished work. "Right now, though, you need supervision for the next twenty-four hours. Real supervision, not the cursory overview of overcrowded holiday shelters. I'll go get your ankle brace and find out what your friend is doing."
Jim gave him the name and asked to stay somewhere more comfortable. Dr. McCoy led Jim to the empty office with his name plate on his desk: Dr. Leonard McCoy, M.D., Orthopedic Surgery. Jim whistles appreciatively and steps inside, gazing at all the books and diagrams.
"Mind if I peruse your bookshelves?" Jim gestures towards the books.
"Go ahead."
A ridiculous hour later of searching for the guy only to find that the family came to check him out, Leonard wondered who would supervise Mr. Kirk's recovery. Perhaps there was a previous arrangement between the two for sticking together, or maybe leaving one behind was the norm and Jim was simply being overly considerate. Seeing Leonard approach, Jim sat up in the office chair listening to the news and nodding.
"So I'll be heading out now. I appreciate everything you've done for me."
The mood took a turn with Jim plastering a smile and wishing him a happy holiday. Mr. Kirk keeps a steady walk down the hallway Leonard won't see until a Monday clean up crew arrives. Leonard can't let go the feeling that letting this man walk out is wrong. Not letting himself think about it, he grabs the essentials from his office and bounds after Jim.
----
The atmosphere Leonard's apartment desperately needs Christmas decoration, or some evidence of life, Jim thinks. Just turning on the new fireplace system in the doctor's home would go lengths to solve the problem.
Jim is unsure why being this stranger's felt so comfortable, and doesn't question it. Instead just enjoys the wonderful conversation and company of his new friend.
Talk of all kinds comes easily to them. Whether the topics are personal, such as the events that brought them to San Francisco. Leonard's divorce is at the forefront of his move. Jim's lease ended and the local communities in San Francisco offered better "temporary housing and food".
Bones is hardly interested in politics, but dutifully listens and offers comments that serve as a moral compass to Jim's political opinions. As history buffs, they quiz each other while delighting in discovering interesting bits of information that brought about today's world. In each instance of disagreement, the two were so comfortable with their meals and warmth that they opened up to differing ideas.
Not a bad way to spend a Friday night. Eventually, Bones, who rapidly accustomed himself to the nickname, became curious to the source of Jim's medical knowledge.
"Had a girlfriend obtaining a post graduate degree in molecular biology."
"I take it you didn't acquire knowledge through osmosis. Did you misunderstand the meaning of 'study date'?"
"We 'studied' thoroughly," Jim chuckles. "She made molecular biology come alive, so I did some research of my own to keep up with the conversations."
"Sure, but I know medical students with less learning capacities than you. Getting into the University of California San Francisco is no easy feat, either," Bones leads them to sit in the living room. "I'm thinking you know just how intelligent you are. People must tell you all the time. Maybe that's why that cop hates you so much. Who knows, but your mom must be right in waiting for a decision. Sounds like she loves you, what with sending you pre paid cell phones, cash, and a medical insurance card."
"She does love me. I feel terrible, making her wait to see what will become of me. I know she'll wait forever. Keep sending opportunities my way that I hate, but should probably consider," Jim drawls in agreement. "Not even I know why I'm stuck in this ditch."
The talk is much too personal for two people who met hours ago. Clearing their throats, they stand up to serve themselves some coffee, attempting to retain some levity and not scare the other away.
"How'd you get hurt?" Bones finally asks.
"I tend to leap before I look," is all Jim says. "Brought me here, didn't it?"
"I got tired of being a lonely homebody, what's your excuse, Jim?"
"You called me sir," Jim makes that phrase sound serious and uncomplicated. He shoots Bones a small smile, "Figured you couldn't be too bad."
Bones accepts that, smiling, he feels taken aback. He gets up and shows Jim to extra room. The sheets are new, and the whole room is the blue Leonard's mother loves. The extra toiletries are pulled out; making Bones thankful he always buys in bulk. Watching Jim settle in, Bones marvels at this man that finally brought Leonard home.
----
The next day after running out to get a few groceries in the morning, Bones walks in to find Jim freshly showered and already pouring over a few books.
"Cloning, Bones?" Jim asks. Jim found old note pages of Bones written and folded into a medical passage on cloning.
"Organ tissue replication, really. Surgeons suffer 'improvements' on the only organ transfer treatment available: transplants. Patients require getting pharmaceutical companies nice and rich just to avoid all the complications. Stem cell research on organ cloning is gaining new ground, but why not dig into new aspects? Tissue growth, for example! Initiating host tissue replication on injuries leaps bounds beyond current medical practices. Why? 'Cause leukocytes will soak up and assimilate new tissue cells into the preexisting matrix. This stuff is new, but it exists and works!" Leonard's eyes dance excitedly.
"On small injuries, I can see it, sure, but what about serious injuries? What energy reserves are expected from that person's recovery system?"
Bones rolls the question in his head and answers halfheartedly, "How am I to know? Simply put, I want a better Neosporin in the style of a magic wand."
"From your work, I gathered the procedure is supported on a macro and micro scale," Jim is impressed. "Curiously, Bones, is this universal? Can it be applied to neurons?"
"Peripherally, it certain might work," Bones is molding, folding and tinkering with this subject. Much more energy than he meant to apply on a passing idea scratched in an old book. "The central nervous system's cells are too stagnant. Those ideas can only appear in sci-fi and an unlikely time long long in the future."
"We know, in today's world, about neurogenesis," Jim flips another book to a passage no doubt containing the information. This is no ordinary smart kid, Bones pleasantly finds himself surprised to think.
"Neurogenesis occurs naturally, sure, but not as a global process of a healing brain, for the obvious reasons on human psyche."
"Like a replacing hard drives, I understand. This explains personality changes that turn us into unrecognizable individuals, independent on external forces," Jim grins at the realization. "Ok, say the knowledge concerning memory cycles regulating the storage and retrieval is available. Can you apply your work to every bit human tissue, including the all neuron types?"
"Maybe. Hey, build me a space ship and I'll fly you to the moon," the sarcastic drawl underlines Bones' opinion. "The information is not available, and I'm an orthopedic surgeon not a neurologist."
"Think! We can apply Gould's evolutionary theories to cell replication research. Why wait for tomorrow? The impact can hit us, today!"
Bones laughs.
"Is my hypothesis really that unbelievable?"
"Your enthusiasm sure is, Professor," Bones grins. "Here. I bought you a razor. Don't cut yourself."
Jim laughs along with him.
They spend the day with Jim getting Bones outside and exploring the sights of San Francisco. Bones admits attempting once, but feeling self conscious as a party of one.
Sitting at a vantage point on a bench looking down at golden gate park, Jim mentions the boxes he found.
"I opened one up out of curiosity. It was just a peek, I swear," Jim waves his hands to emphatically make his point. "But, Bones, why haven't you put up any Christmas lights if you have them?"
"I wouldn't put you in any room I wanted to keep something hidden. I just don't see a reason to put up lights by myself when I'll be the only one there this whole season. I left them in the room for when my mom comes over on Christmas. She likes them up 'till New Year's," Bones actually looks forward to his mom's visits and wonders whether Jim will stay until then. Maybe his mom can take the master bedroom, while he, himself, took the couch.
"Don't your dates appreciate them? Or does the hospital keep you too busy for normal dates?" Jim interrupts the thought process. Bones scoffs.
"Ironically, I'm much less busy now that I'm divorced. The university generally keeps me between teaching and keeping good hours at the San Francisco General Hospital. Some surgeries take an hour, others can keep me going all day, but this is a very prominent orthopedic teaching area. Every surgeon has a sub-specialty, so we can delegate patients appropriately. Back east, I was always traveling all over the place. Wife couldn't stand the loneliness. Karma is kicking me in the balls. Explains why I haven't found anyone in a long time," Bones shrugs off his misfortune. "Back when I first moved here I thought on how bisexual people have twice the chance of getting laid. For once, it could be applied to me, but I soon realized the reason I kept blotching these dates was that these people and I just weren't the right fit. I didn't really know them, and I felt they weren't all that interested in who I really was, either. It sounds corny and old fashioned, but I enjoy making love. Got my right hand for everything else."
"You are such a romantic, Bones," Jim does not admit that he finds the idea digging at him like a deep itch, eventually making him frown. His companion matches the frown.
"Ain't nothing wrong in wanting a healthy relationship," Bones grumbles.
"Nothing wrong with a mutual agreement between two people looking to resolve a chemistry problem, either. Lots of health benefits, you know," Jim finishes lamely, unsure of where he's going with this. The silence that follows is heavy despite their comfortable poses.
"I've had passing fancies that hit a couple bases, but," Bones begins, eyes gazing out. "I crave more than attraction. Learned it once the hard way, but I can't find someone I can balance out and vice versa. A person whose future plans click with mine. That can push me to do better, and someone I can make happy forever."
Jim looks on down the path, unhappy, he realizes, because that is something he can't give Bones. Instead of brooding on it, Jim tries for a light brush off.
"Hey, what a man does with his right hand is no business of mine. Unless he's putting on a show for me, of course." With that, Jim shelves the topic. He looks over the grounds. "Speaking of trying new things, it's too bad you won't let me walk around and show you just what you've been missing."
"Will you be putting on a show, then?" Bones jokes. Then, he asks again, "How'd you go hurt yourself anyway?"
"Stopped a police raid. I put Jason Bourne to shame," Jim's tone doesn't match the proud words. "Course I didn't think it through and Eric, my friend, got himself pretty banged up. Good guy. I'm glad he's ok, but I should have done better."
Bones is alarmed and shocked. His sputtering only gets out, "A police raid?! What kind of things are you getting yourself into? You better be glad you didn't get your fool self shot!"
"I'd do it again, Bones! Police officers aren't the only ones that care little about the people on the street. The volunteers at the shelters are the only ones making a damn difference, but I can't ask them to take in families and the sick into their homes. Shelters are fine, but there are still dangers. A couple of us find abandoned buildings and move people into these empty rooms. We keep the areas clean, run our own power, and keep each other safe."
"Then why was there a police raid?"
"The landlord found out there were people living inside and called them out. I made room for them at another place, but I should have pushed harder to get them out faster. Now, it's this huge mess with the police, and they're only going to give us all harder time," Jim, in another place with his anger and frustration, misses the awed expression on the man next to him. "Anyway, Eric and I barely escaped as the cops went inside. We jumped from the roof to the next building, and that's how we got scraped up."
"But you got them out. You got them out, and now they'll have somewhere to stay for the holiday season. No wonder the cop was pissed you were let off. They won't be able to prove you were actually in the building," Bones laughs disbelievingly. "Jim, you take any direction anywhere, I guarantee, you'll be fine. You'll need some damn fine medical insurance, but you'll be just fine."
----
By the time Jim wakes up on Sunday morning, the light blue room that greets him feels different. He steps into the guest bathroom quietly, knowing by now that Bones is still asleep, and picks up the new razor. Jim is not some red neck hick from Iowa that finds beards manly, so whenever he could, he used his rather dull razor to shave in the empty public restrooms. During these couple of days, the five o clock shadow was nearly non existent. Enough to make Jim really take a look at himself and his surroundings. He felt as if he belonged here, but there was still something missing. Something changed. Something pressing at him to ramble on.
Finished with thinking and getting ready for the day, Jim cleans the guest bedroom. Then turns off the heater and turns on the fireplace. He works out all the features in order to leave simple instructions on operating it for Bones, and as an afterthought, scratches a phone number in case Bones is about to set the house on fire.
Bones,
Before your generosity, I was a man malcontent. Convinced of society's disappointments and bleak futures, my feet refused to take me anywhere. Strange how a busted leg brought me limping to you. You're a healer to your core. Brought me health from my injuries, my goals and most importantly, my self respect. Like my grandfather would say, "Old folks don't regret the things we did anywhere near like the things we did not." Every opportunity I pass up leaves me feeling more and more like a dejected old man. Don't worry; I won't be doing any crazy action moves.
I don't have a present for you this year, but I hope your mom and yourself opening gifts by the fire.
Wait for me next Christmas, and I'll tell you all about my success.
Put some lights up,
Jim Kirk
Risking it, Jim quells the feeling of intrusion, and opens the door to the master bedroom. Bones lies sprawled on top of a few pillows, blankets pulled up over his shoulder. Hair in disarray covers his face. Warmed at the sight, Jim can't help but push the hair out of the way. Moving towards the warm caress, Bones unconsciously chases Jim's hand. Leaping once last time, Jim leaves his goodbye kiss on Bones' forehead.
"Until next year."
Author: Kisa9
Rating: PG
Warnings: A liberal use of science terms.
Summary: Prompt 79. Jim is homeless this holiday season and gets hurt. Len is the doctor who fixes him up and somehow is convinced to bring Jim home for the holidays.
A/N: Respect. Serious respect to all authors who do this on a regular basis. I had big ambitions for this story, really. Instead, I sadly ran home to post this wreck on time. Shamefully, this is the fourth and best attempt. I send you all triple respect.
My only consolation is in knowing that passionate researchers and scientists (espcially of Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy's age) really do speak in this manner.
True events: Abandoned buildings really do provide shelter for the homeless on cold nights, and police really did attempt to arrest homeless people in a raid. It failed thanks to real life Jim Kirks. According to SFrancisco Bay Area energetically kind firemen, 'It's best to shoot or punch first and ask questions later. The people deserve it most of the time.'
Shrill ambulance melody sings a duet with the Christmas melody playing on the radio station. Christmas season kept Leonard flush in the hospital. To eat Christmas pastries in the lounge, or to just work out a purpose for his old fool self, he had not decided. Not an idle man, going home felt like a failure.
Chatter accompanies the sudden brief activity in the hallway. Three feet by three feet boxes are stacked outside his office. A wave of uncalled for annoyance creeps toward the now gone group that created an obstruction of the, truthfully, pathetic hallway view. Always ready to grumble, Dr. McCoy goes to examine what fresh hell he is expected to organize.
Towering over the lonely box in its own stack, he reads.
Deliver to: UCSF Pediatric Surgery
The empty hallway echoes his displeasure like a disgruntled Greek monster's cave. Yes, he understands that his office area is expected to be vacant during this weekend, and suspected the hospital might use it for extra storage. But. Mark his words, this mistake is most likely a staff error made by overeager illiterate students.
New task in hand, Leonard sets it upon himself to move the boxes back towards the delivery area and personally cure the hospital of kindergarten errors.
"Oof. Who made boxes with proportions unsuitable for carrying?" He can handle the weight, but the shift in center of gravity tumbles the box back onto the ground. "Damn it!"
Pondering the embarrassment of pushing the boxes all the way down does not improve his mood, and nearly cheers up with thoughts of heading home and enjoying the new electric fireplace at home that he had not yet figured out how to turn on. A man of less purpose would head home, but instead, Leonard strides to the busy area of people sent up with minor injuries in search of helping some claustrophobic medical student take a breather from the packed rooms.
Fidgeting steps from someone in the hallway catch his attention. Scraggly, ratty hair runs long in need of a trim over a clean shaven face. Layers of thin clothing cover the hunched figure, worn like a prayer for warmth: the uniform of a homeless man. An anxious look paints his features.
A police officer supervises with a hard calm expression, a control that can erupt with a slight misstep on the pained man's part.
The rest of the waiting room was filled with the usual suspects. Dr. McCoy fails to find any immediate staff he could help, since his attention keeps swinging back towards the uneven gait of the fidgeting man. At this point, it was obvious the man had received no medical attention. Either he feared the bill or was playing some kind of martyr. Leonard is no stranger to stubborn patients.
"Excuse me, sir," Leonard catches the man's startled attention. Leaning closer to speak privately, he asks more quietly, "Have you had that looked at?"
Suspicion crowds the man's face, "I beg your pardon?"
Leonard notices the man's assessing gaze, and realizes his coat is in his office. "I'm Dr. Leonard McCoy. Here's my hospital ID badge. "
"Oh. Thank you doctor, but it's nothing, just an ankle sprain. Embarrassing, but it's taken care of. I'm fine," the man nods with finality.
"Your shoes are too thin to show any bandages or support, and if the way your pants are sticking to your leg is any indication, I'm guessing the lacerations are finally bleeding out enough for you to notice."
"I don't need more fussing. I said I'm fine."
"Look. This hospital's patients do not walk out worse than when they were reporting coming in. I'm not about to bill you for gauze, so just let me take a look at your leg before you bleed your way out the door."
"Appreciate your time, really, but my friend is getting treatment right now. I am going to be here when he is released."
"Is there a problem here?" The officer approaches the pair.
"No." Leonard turns back to convince the injured man. "If an infection takes hold and I'm found chopping your leg off in the street, you'll hate yourself for not being bright enough to take care of it now."
"You were already looked at, so what's going on here?" the officer grills the homeless gentleman. "Need a band-aid or something?"
"I can handle anything this world dishes out. Can you, sir?" the limp and mussed hair give him a wild look that backs up his defiant talk.
"Shut your mouth," the officer commands. With an imposing stance, he turns toward the doctor. "This man is under my supervision. If this asshole goes into a room, I'm going, too."
"The hell you are!" the doctor bristles.
"Patient confidentiality. I believe I have the right to privacy, isn't that right, Doctor McCoy?" the man is now leaning against the wall to alleviate the pressure from his injured leg, expression smug. "Officer Thompson, your supervisor already called you off. I heard that I'm free to go. Are you defying your orders?"
"I've half a mind to take you downtown for causing obstruction in this hospital to teach you manners. Think of it as a gift, you get a roof over your head," the officer's hand is ready and poised at his cuffs.
The heated air between their challenging gazes hints at past friction. 'I am not dealing with a headache, today,' Leonard thinks to himself.
Frustrated with both the needlessly persistent officer and the stubborn patient, he addresses them, "Officer, I understand your intellectual skills only sufficed enough to get you into an 'Academy'. I'm assuming you learned I must report anything I find amiss, so unless you're injured, stop taking up space in my hospital! And you, 'tough guy'! Come let me patch you up, before I get an idea to use more creative healing methods."
Leonard knows his eyes have the commanding glare that catches the attention of the entire waiting room. As expected, the officer leaves grudgingly, and the injured man is sitting in a sterile room getting his leg's nasty cut mended.
"You're a pediatrician?" the man, who introduced himself as Jim Kirk, asks. Leonard groans in remembrance of the packages still lined against his office a few rooms down.
"Hardly. What makes you think that?"
"Good. I noticed the boxes of pediatric material, but I'm glad I wasn't spot diagnosed and easily handled by a doctor used to handling kids," Kirk makes his doctor laugh. "So what are you?"
"Me? I'm some fool country doctor that thought he could take on the city for a change." Leonard shoots back with a self deprecating smile. Briefly meeting his patient's eyes, he is taken aback to find Mr. Kirk giving him a heavy calculating look, and is surprised to think, 'This man is something else.' "Could ask you the same question."
The spell was broken with Mr. Kirk's nod. "I'm. Stuck in neutral. Somewhere to the north, I can lose myself down a stagnant road from a degree to a job, all the while fooling myself into thinking I made some kind of difference. To the east, I can blindly search for brief purposes to occupy my time. Deep South, my brother thrives in a job I envy. Waiting in the west, my mom expects a decision."
"So go around the world. Find and do the unknown," Leonard looks down at his finished work. "Right now, though, you need supervision for the next twenty-four hours. Real supervision, not the cursory overview of overcrowded holiday shelters. I'll go get your ankle brace and find out what your friend is doing."
Jim gave him the name and asked to stay somewhere more comfortable. Dr. McCoy led Jim to the empty office with his name plate on his desk: Dr. Leonard McCoy, M.D., Orthopedic Surgery. Jim whistles appreciatively and steps inside, gazing at all the books and diagrams.
"Mind if I peruse your bookshelves?" Jim gestures towards the books.
"Go ahead."
A ridiculous hour later of searching for the guy only to find that the family came to check him out, Leonard wondered who would supervise Mr. Kirk's recovery. Perhaps there was a previous arrangement between the two for sticking together, or maybe leaving one behind was the norm and Jim was simply being overly considerate. Seeing Leonard approach, Jim sat up in the office chair listening to the news and nodding.
"So I'll be heading out now. I appreciate everything you've done for me."
The mood took a turn with Jim plastering a smile and wishing him a happy holiday. Mr. Kirk keeps a steady walk down the hallway Leonard won't see until a Monday clean up crew arrives. Leonard can't let go the feeling that letting this man walk out is wrong. Not letting himself think about it, he grabs the essentials from his office and bounds after Jim.
----
The atmosphere Leonard's apartment desperately needs Christmas decoration, or some evidence of life, Jim thinks. Just turning on the new fireplace system in the doctor's home would go lengths to solve the problem.
Jim is unsure why being this stranger's felt so comfortable, and doesn't question it. Instead just enjoys the wonderful conversation and company of his new friend.
Talk of all kinds comes easily to them. Whether the topics are personal, such as the events that brought them to San Francisco. Leonard's divorce is at the forefront of his move. Jim's lease ended and the local communities in San Francisco offered better "temporary housing and food".
Bones is hardly interested in politics, but dutifully listens and offers comments that serve as a moral compass to Jim's political opinions. As history buffs, they quiz each other while delighting in discovering interesting bits of information that brought about today's world. In each instance of disagreement, the two were so comfortable with their meals and warmth that they opened up to differing ideas.
Not a bad way to spend a Friday night. Eventually, Bones, who rapidly accustomed himself to the nickname, became curious to the source of Jim's medical knowledge.
"Had a girlfriend obtaining a post graduate degree in molecular biology."
"I take it you didn't acquire knowledge through osmosis. Did you misunderstand the meaning of 'study date'?"
"We 'studied' thoroughly," Jim chuckles. "She made molecular biology come alive, so I did some research of my own to keep up with the conversations."
"Sure, but I know medical students with less learning capacities than you. Getting into the University of California San Francisco is no easy feat, either," Bones leads them to sit in the living room. "I'm thinking you know just how intelligent you are. People must tell you all the time. Maybe that's why that cop hates you so much. Who knows, but your mom must be right in waiting for a decision. Sounds like she loves you, what with sending you pre paid cell phones, cash, and a medical insurance card."
"She does love me. I feel terrible, making her wait to see what will become of me. I know she'll wait forever. Keep sending opportunities my way that I hate, but should probably consider," Jim drawls in agreement. "Not even I know why I'm stuck in this ditch."
The talk is much too personal for two people who met hours ago. Clearing their throats, they stand up to serve themselves some coffee, attempting to retain some levity and not scare the other away.
"How'd you get hurt?" Bones finally asks.
"I tend to leap before I look," is all Jim says. "Brought me here, didn't it?"
"I got tired of being a lonely homebody, what's your excuse, Jim?"
"You called me sir," Jim makes that phrase sound serious and uncomplicated. He shoots Bones a small smile, "Figured you couldn't be too bad."
Bones accepts that, smiling, he feels taken aback. He gets up and shows Jim to extra room. The sheets are new, and the whole room is the blue Leonard's mother loves. The extra toiletries are pulled out; making Bones thankful he always buys in bulk. Watching Jim settle in, Bones marvels at this man that finally brought Leonard home.
----
The next day after running out to get a few groceries in the morning, Bones walks in to find Jim freshly showered and already pouring over a few books.
"Cloning, Bones?" Jim asks. Jim found old note pages of Bones written and folded into a medical passage on cloning.
"Organ tissue replication, really. Surgeons suffer 'improvements' on the only organ transfer treatment available: transplants. Patients require getting pharmaceutical companies nice and rich just to avoid all the complications. Stem cell research on organ cloning is gaining new ground, but why not dig into new aspects? Tissue growth, for example! Initiating host tissue replication on injuries leaps bounds beyond current medical practices. Why? 'Cause leukocytes will soak up and assimilate new tissue cells into the preexisting matrix. This stuff is new, but it exists and works!" Leonard's eyes dance excitedly.
"On small injuries, I can see it, sure, but what about serious injuries? What energy reserves are expected from that person's recovery system?"
Bones rolls the question in his head and answers halfheartedly, "How am I to know? Simply put, I want a better Neosporin in the style of a magic wand."
"From your work, I gathered the procedure is supported on a macro and micro scale," Jim is impressed. "Curiously, Bones, is this universal? Can it be applied to neurons?"
"Peripherally, it certain might work," Bones is molding, folding and tinkering with this subject. Much more energy than he meant to apply on a passing idea scratched in an old book. "The central nervous system's cells are too stagnant. Those ideas can only appear in sci-fi and an unlikely time long long in the future."
"We know, in today's world, about neurogenesis," Jim flips another book to a passage no doubt containing the information. This is no ordinary smart kid, Bones pleasantly finds himself surprised to think.
"Neurogenesis occurs naturally, sure, but not as a global process of a healing brain, for the obvious reasons on human psyche."
"Like a replacing hard drives, I understand. This explains personality changes that turn us into unrecognizable individuals, independent on external forces," Jim grins at the realization. "Ok, say the knowledge concerning memory cycles regulating the storage and retrieval is available. Can you apply your work to every bit human tissue, including the all neuron types?"
"Maybe. Hey, build me a space ship and I'll fly you to the moon," the sarcastic drawl underlines Bones' opinion. "The information is not available, and I'm an orthopedic surgeon not a neurologist."
"Think! We can apply Gould's evolutionary theories to cell replication research. Why wait for tomorrow? The impact can hit us, today!"
Bones laughs.
"Is my hypothesis really that unbelievable?"
"Your enthusiasm sure is, Professor," Bones grins. "Here. I bought you a razor. Don't cut yourself."
Jim laughs along with him.
They spend the day with Jim getting Bones outside and exploring the sights of San Francisco. Bones admits attempting once, but feeling self conscious as a party of one.
Sitting at a vantage point on a bench looking down at golden gate park, Jim mentions the boxes he found.
"I opened one up out of curiosity. It was just a peek, I swear," Jim waves his hands to emphatically make his point. "But, Bones, why haven't you put up any Christmas lights if you have them?"
"I wouldn't put you in any room I wanted to keep something hidden. I just don't see a reason to put up lights by myself when I'll be the only one there this whole season. I left them in the room for when my mom comes over on Christmas. She likes them up 'till New Year's," Bones actually looks forward to his mom's visits and wonders whether Jim will stay until then. Maybe his mom can take the master bedroom, while he, himself, took the couch.
"Don't your dates appreciate them? Or does the hospital keep you too busy for normal dates?" Jim interrupts the thought process. Bones scoffs.
"Ironically, I'm much less busy now that I'm divorced. The university generally keeps me between teaching and keeping good hours at the San Francisco General Hospital. Some surgeries take an hour, others can keep me going all day, but this is a very prominent orthopedic teaching area. Every surgeon has a sub-specialty, so we can delegate patients appropriately. Back east, I was always traveling all over the place. Wife couldn't stand the loneliness. Karma is kicking me in the balls. Explains why I haven't found anyone in a long time," Bones shrugs off his misfortune. "Back when I first moved here I thought on how bisexual people have twice the chance of getting laid. For once, it could be applied to me, but I soon realized the reason I kept blotching these dates was that these people and I just weren't the right fit. I didn't really know them, and I felt they weren't all that interested in who I really was, either. It sounds corny and old fashioned, but I enjoy making love. Got my right hand for everything else."
"You are such a romantic, Bones," Jim does not admit that he finds the idea digging at him like a deep itch, eventually making him frown. His companion matches the frown.
"Ain't nothing wrong in wanting a healthy relationship," Bones grumbles.
"Nothing wrong with a mutual agreement between two people looking to resolve a chemistry problem, either. Lots of health benefits, you know," Jim finishes lamely, unsure of where he's going with this. The silence that follows is heavy despite their comfortable poses.
"I've had passing fancies that hit a couple bases, but," Bones begins, eyes gazing out. "I crave more than attraction. Learned it once the hard way, but I can't find someone I can balance out and vice versa. A person whose future plans click with mine. That can push me to do better, and someone I can make happy forever."
Jim looks on down the path, unhappy, he realizes, because that is something he can't give Bones. Instead of brooding on it, Jim tries for a light brush off.
"Hey, what a man does with his right hand is no business of mine. Unless he's putting on a show for me, of course." With that, Jim shelves the topic. He looks over the grounds. "Speaking of trying new things, it's too bad you won't let me walk around and show you just what you've been missing."
"Will you be putting on a show, then?" Bones jokes. Then, he asks again, "How'd you go hurt yourself anyway?"
"Stopped a police raid. I put Jason Bourne to shame," Jim's tone doesn't match the proud words. "Course I didn't think it through and Eric, my friend, got himself pretty banged up. Good guy. I'm glad he's ok, but I should have done better."
Bones is alarmed and shocked. His sputtering only gets out, "A police raid?! What kind of things are you getting yourself into? You better be glad you didn't get your fool self shot!"
"I'd do it again, Bones! Police officers aren't the only ones that care little about the people on the street. The volunteers at the shelters are the only ones making a damn difference, but I can't ask them to take in families and the sick into their homes. Shelters are fine, but there are still dangers. A couple of us find abandoned buildings and move people into these empty rooms. We keep the areas clean, run our own power, and keep each other safe."
"Then why was there a police raid?"
"The landlord found out there were people living inside and called them out. I made room for them at another place, but I should have pushed harder to get them out faster. Now, it's this huge mess with the police, and they're only going to give us all harder time," Jim, in another place with his anger and frustration, misses the awed expression on the man next to him. "Anyway, Eric and I barely escaped as the cops went inside. We jumped from the roof to the next building, and that's how we got scraped up."
"But you got them out. You got them out, and now they'll have somewhere to stay for the holiday season. No wonder the cop was pissed you were let off. They won't be able to prove you were actually in the building," Bones laughs disbelievingly. "Jim, you take any direction anywhere, I guarantee, you'll be fine. You'll need some damn fine medical insurance, but you'll be just fine."
----
By the time Jim wakes up on Sunday morning, the light blue room that greets him feels different. He steps into the guest bathroom quietly, knowing by now that Bones is still asleep, and picks up the new razor. Jim is not some red neck hick from Iowa that finds beards manly, so whenever he could, he used his rather dull razor to shave in the empty public restrooms. During these couple of days, the five o clock shadow was nearly non existent. Enough to make Jim really take a look at himself and his surroundings. He felt as if he belonged here, but there was still something missing. Something changed. Something pressing at him to ramble on.
Finished with thinking and getting ready for the day, Jim cleans the guest bedroom. Then turns off the heater and turns on the fireplace. He works out all the features in order to leave simple instructions on operating it for Bones, and as an afterthought, scratches a phone number in case Bones is about to set the house on fire.
Bones,
Before your generosity, I was a man malcontent. Convinced of society's disappointments and bleak futures, my feet refused to take me anywhere. Strange how a busted leg brought me limping to you. You're a healer to your core. Brought me health from my injuries, my goals and most importantly, my self respect. Like my grandfather would say, "Old folks don't regret the things we did anywhere near like the things we did not." Every opportunity I pass up leaves me feeling more and more like a dejected old man. Don't worry; I won't be doing any crazy action moves.
I don't have a present for you this year, but I hope your mom and yourself opening gifts by the fire.
Wait for me next Christmas, and I'll tell you all about my success.
Put some lights up,
Jim Kirk
Risking it, Jim quells the feeling of intrusion, and opens the door to the master bedroom. Bones lies sprawled on top of a few pillows, blankets pulled up over his shoulder. Hair in disarray covers his face. Warmed at the sight, Jim can't help but push the hair out of the way. Moving towards the warm caress, Bones unconsciously chases Jim's hand. Leaping once last time, Jim leaves his goodbye kiss on Bones' forehead.
"Until next year."