A Matter of Time, part 8/10
Title: A Matter of Time part 8/10
warnings angst, romance, underage teen sex, references to miscarriage, implied physical abuse to a minor, some mild violence
Rating: nc-17 throughout
Word Count: this part approx 6,400 words (of 65,700)
summary An AU set in the Trek universe which explores a different beginning for Jim and Bones. Leonard McCoy suffers from chrono impairment, a genetic disease which causes him to time travel against his will. When teenage McCoy travels back in time and meets Jim Kirk aged six, in a meadow in Iowa, it is the beginning of a close friendship which will mark both their lives forever. The story tracks Kirk and McCoy’s relationship, McCoy’s search for a cure and Jim’s path to finding himself.
link to FIC masterpost HERE
link to ART by anoncomment7
link to fanmix by leighblack
Part 8
Alice: I simply must get through!
Doorknob: Sorry, you're much too big. Simply impassible.
Alice: You mean impossible?
Doorknob: No, impassible. Nothing's impossible.
San Francisco: 2257 - Jim is 24, Leonard is 30.
Leonard
It’s almost eighteen months before Sarek’s back on Earth and able to see them face to face, and Leonard’s been ‘holding’ that data package from Spock in his mind all this time.
“Vulcans do not meld lightly, Doctor McCoy, but I am convinced that this ‘information package’ you refer to will provide the knowledge we need. In which time period did you obtain it?”
Leonard hesitates, is purposely vague - “It’s in the future, sir. To be honest, I’m not sure when - I pretty much avoided finding out the date for obvious reasons.”
“I understand - it is not necessarily useful to know about events before they occur ‘naturally’. In addition, it occurs to me I may inadvertently learn other information about the future when we join minds.”
“I, I mean, we - this ‘friend’ considered this but I’m assured that you are skilful enough not to go too deep, that you will be able to uncover what you need then retreat. The information, so I’m told, is clearly signposted.”
“Is your ‘friend’ a Vulcan?”
“Naturally.”
Sarek thinks. “And am I acquainted with this Vulcan?”
“Sir, I…” Leonard doesn’t want to lie but he also doesn’t want to say, unsure what Spock would want. Sarek seems to understand and doesn’t probe.
“Rise, Doctor-“
Leonard stands, apprehensively watches Sarek glide to his side of the desk and gulps when the Vulcan extends a hand; somehow he manages not to flinch when fingers reach for his face, as Spock’s had done before (after, whatever…).
Leonard wants to keep his eyes open but they fall shut as soon as Sarek begins to speak:
“Our minds - one, our thoughts - one…” and it’s like falling down the rabbit hole, no soft start to ease him in to the experience as there was with Spock.
Images cartwheel past, too fast for Leonard to make sense of them, but he sees a red landscape, a fire-ball, unintelligible words that he presumes must be Vulcan and he’s no idea if he’s experiencing Spock’s thoughts or Sarek’s and, what must be mere seconds later, he pulls away panting, eyes wide and staring and Sarek’s a few centimeters away, face impassive, hand still raised in the space between them.
Leonard wonders if he’s violated some etiquette by breaking the meld-
“I apologize,” Leonard stutters, just in case.
“You were alarmed, it is a new experience for you, other than your experience on stardate-”
“Stop! I don’t want to know when it was.”
“I understand.” Sarek indicates the chair and Leonard slumps down gratefully, unsure his legs will hold him up much longer.
“So it worked?” Leonard rubs his face; he’s sweating, but his breath is calmer at least. “Can I ask what you learned…?”
“Spock has shared much with me. He indicated something of your origins, Doctor McCoy.”
Ah, so the old devil’s worked out it’s his son. Hey, wait a goddamn minute- “My origins, what do you mean?”
“I will explain in a good time but first, it appears your theory that James Kirk is the fulcrum of your movement through time is well-founded. He is destined to be a great man, but only if we can ensure your continued presence by his side. This, Doctor McCoy, as you well know, rests on your finding a cure or absolute control over your affliction.
“Starfleet has shown you great leniency in providing research facilities to assist you but we have little time left. Since you will not be permitted to take a post on a starship until you can guarantee the time-travelling has ceased, it is vital we work together to formulate a strategy.
“Have Cadet Kirk join us, Doctor. We have much to discuss.”
Leonard is reeling under the knowledge that Jim’s destined for better things, that this previously directionless youth should not just make it, but become a great man? Sure, Jim’s a fucking genius, works hard to keep up with his heavy work load, shows nothing but enthusiasm and commitment, a far cry from the kid who twitched and wriggled at the mere mention of George Kirk’s name.
He thinks back to the painful Kobayashi Sim, how Jim refused to accept its principles, how the rest of the sim crew didn’t enjoy his leadership ‘style’, his smugness one little bit. He wonders what the hell can happen that Jim will finally learn what it takes to lead. And he wonders if he’ll have any influence on Jim’s development, although he doubts this; sure - once, when Jim was a kid, he could say that he had something to do with it, maybe, but since they’ve been at the academy, Jim’s very much his own man; if anything Leonard’s leaning on him, rather than vice versa. Still, he has every intention of staying with him, and thinks now they really should put in a request to be posted on the same ship. It’s testament to the strength of his feelings for Jim that he’s willing to follow him into the black, instead of taking a planetary posting as he’d originally planned when he signed up.
“Thank you, Mr. Ambassador, but can I ask you not to mention the ‘great man’ part to Jim? He’s lived under his father’s shadow all his life and he’s one ornery young gentleman.”
“Ornery? I am not familiar with this word. Explain.”
“Tell him he’s gotta do something, and you’ll almost guarantee he won’t.”
“Most illogical behavior; however I will be guided by your knowledge of him.”
+++
Jim
“You’re an alien? Jesus, Bones, you’ve been holding out on me.”
Bones rolls his eyes.
“Cadet Kirk - McCoy is human but there are traces of Det’hnih’di genes within him still. They have become much defused over the past century but their presence explains the time-travelling.”
Jim looks at Bones, back to Sarek - something doesn’t quite fit. “How do you know about the genes, sir? Last I knew, your knowledge of the Det’hnih’di was sketchy. Have others been discovered since we last spoke?”
Sarek places his hands on the desk in front of him and it’s like he’s waiting for Bones to explain - that’s two of them.
“I had an information package in my mind,” Bones finally says.
“What? How? How did it get there?”
Bones shifts about in his high backed chair, looks at his feet. “It’s from the future.” And still Bones doesn’t look at him.
“What - you jumped to the future, or was it sent to you?”
“I jumped. Listen, Jim, I couldn’t tell you.”
“But that’s not happened before, has it? That’s why we thought you could only go back; and why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s complicated,” Bones growls, “and I jus’ got the feeling I wasn’t supposed to tell you.” His accent hits the room with his anger, like a pissed cowboy kicking open a saloon door.
“What d’you mean ‘supposed to’?” Jim’s pissed too now - how the hell’s he going to help figure this out if Bones is holding out on him?
Bones ignores the question. Instead he explains, “ Okay, I had a mind meld, I ‘received’ an information package containing vital information about the Det’hnih’di. It was deposited into my mind so it could be read by the ambassador. And Jim, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m still trying to process my own everything-altering piece of data while you’re sitting there worrying about nothing. We’ll talk about it later.”
Right. End of discussion. For now.
Bones shakes his head, his face returning back to its usual color. “Gram told me of my great Grandpa. He came back from a mission married to some strange woman. No one liked her much - maybe she was the alien. And if she was humanoid, which we now know the Det’hnih’di apparently are, maybe they chose to keep her origins under wraps seeing as how people were less liberal in those days.”
Damn, this is incredible. Jim thinks about the generations of Kirks who’ve served in Starfleet - any of his own ancestors could have originated off-world too.
“Without access to your ancestor’s records,” Sarek says, “we cannot know if she was the first, but I suggest you research the rest of your family as far back as you are able, Doctor.”
“Waste of time, sir, I’ve already done that; my father identified the gene, even though we had no idea of its origin.” Bones stares at the wall over Sarek’s head while he thinks. His voice is even when he says, “And my daughter has the gene so it doesn’t end with me.”
Suddenly feeling nothing but compassion for Bones, his anger burnt out as soon as it flared, Jim says softly, “And you’re pretty sure there’s no one else about on Earth who jumps?”
“As sure as I can be.”
“Your immediate focus should be what this new information concerning your ancestry might teach you in regards to controlling your traveling. On Vulcan, while we are all born telepaths, it is a skill that must be mentored and honed over a lifetime. Without the training and discipline, the ability would remain but it would be-”
“-Crude,” Jim interjects remembering Sarek’s words from their first meeting, “animal.” He ignores Bones’ murderous look. “And without others of her kind, and the gene missing a generation or two, any knowledge the first one had would soon have been lost.”
“From the new information you have shown me,” Sarek says, “it would appear that the Det’hnih’di have developed a similar physiological reaction to humans when faced with danger. When humans experience excessive stress, the fight or flight response is designed to assist in overcoming, or removing you from danger. The Det’hnih’di have evolved a step further; they have ability to absent themselves from danger by-”
“-jumping through time!” Bones says, and looks at Jim, shakes his head, brow furrowed with confusion and eyes shining. He holds back a grin, relieved he’s finally learned something that makes sense of why he jumps.
“Precisely, Doctor. They have the ability to move through the fourth dimension at will, but, just as you are also able to run at any time, their temporal movements are not purely dependant on fear. You have inherited that ability and hence, you are able to propel yourself through time. Your movement to locations and times of your choosing is crude since you lack the skill to direct yourself, and I suspect much of it has been governed by your unconscious mind.
“My grandma taught me a few things; she’d kept the elixir formula at least.” Bones sounds almost defeated.
“Hey, Bones, the ambassador’s already said he can help us with some of the techniques,” Jim says.
“Indeed. Your unconscious, when under extreme stress, has a compulsion to send you to certain time periods. Currently you are unable to do this with any degree of accuracy. Even so, there is a probability that on occasion you will jump to a time you desire, even if you do not have measurable skill.”
“Well that’s clear. Sometimes I get there and it makes more sense than others. Sometimes I can see why I wanted to go back but this doesn’t explain how I’ve ended up everywhere. Why did I jump to Jim that first time? Why did I visit Jocelyn in the future? And why did I go to the future those other times?”
At this latest revelation, Jim stares at Bones. More future jumps?
“Doctor McCoy is not free to reveal all he knows” Sarek says, as if knew Jim was about to comment. “The burden of knowing what is to come may influence a subject in such as way as to impede clarity of action.”
Jim grinds his teeth. “Sometimes I feel like a guinea pig here, or a puppet, or-”
“Yeah, I get it,” Bones says. “You don’t feel the master of your own fate. Welcome to my world!”
Sarek clasps his hands together. “It appears you are both correct.”
“What do you mean?” Bones almost jumps out of his seat. He’s said this so many times to Jim, how he feels like he’s being thrown back and forth through time and no matter what he does, things never change around him.
“You have stated yourself, Doctor McCoy, that you have sensed there is a pattern although you have been unable to discover it. You have referred metaphorically to this ‘control’ over your movements as ‘The Powers that Be’.”
“Yes, but you just said that my unconscious controls where I end up”
“He’s talking about who controls your unconscious, Bones, don’t you see?” Jim says.
“Who are they, The Powers that Be - a group of sadistic deities?” Bones asks; he looks stunned.
“My understanding is that they are not deities but highly advanced life forms who are given to the protection of species. You will find no reference to them in Starfleet records as, according to the information package, we have yet to learn of them in this time. They will come to be known as The Preservers. This last you must not share with anyone beyond this room.”
“And what do these Preservers do? Play games with us? Are we packs of cards and I’m the joker?” Jim notices how Bones can’t quite smother the sarcasm in his voice.
“I do not follow your analogy, Doctor.”
“I think McCoy wants to know what’s the purpose of their interventions?”
“It is simple - the preservation of life.”
“Well, their way of going about things is about as much use as a pocket on the back of a shirt, the amount of disease and death out there,” Bones grumbles.
“They do not deal with the preservation of individuals, Doctor; that is for healers such as yourself. The Preservers are concerned with entire species, planets. The universe is large and threats are numerous - while the Preservers are highly skilled and dedicated, they are not always successful. They may transplant a whole species onto an uninhabited planet or, as in this case, manipulate time, preventing threat to a species before it happens by ensuring the success and influence of key individuals.”
“And McCoy is a key individual, “Jim says quietly looking over at his guardian angel. He wonders what exactly it is that Bones is destined to achieve and wonders if his role in all this is to be the supportive ‘wife’? He almost chuckles but suppresses the urge out of respect for Sarek. There’s been quite enough displays of emotion for the average Vulcan to tolerate, even one so accustomed to Terran ways.
It seems Bones doesn’t share the same resolve.
“I’m a country doctor not a hero,” Bones huffs. “There must be an honest to goodness easier way…dammit, I knew there was something pushing me around, making me jump.”
“Since we cannot anticipate what it is you are expected to accomplish,” Sarek says, “we must trust the ‘information package’. Therefore, it is imperative we find a cure and until then, learn how to control your time-travel so that you are more clearly focused on the geographical sites.
“Perhaps understanding will come with time, but for now, in order to acquire a degree of control over the instances, and to avoid bringing yourself unnecessary harm when you travel, you and Cadet Kirk must practice the meditative and visualization techniques I have provided you with.
“I leave for Vulcan tomorrow and I do not return to Earth for some two point three months; therefore I will have my assistant provide you with a means of communicating with me directly via subspace.”
“Dammit,” Bones says, “I feel like I don’t know who I am anymore.”
“You are a doctor, and an exceptionally talented one. I have knowledge of your current research and I urge you to continue. My understanding is that your work is to prove fruitful.”
“Into the Malverian mud flea vaccine?” Bones voice is all disbelief and sarcasm.
“No, Bones, he means your work in grafting of neural tissue, don’t you see?” Jim says. “If it’s some part of your brain that’s causing you to jump, this could be a way to fix it - I can’t believe we haven’t thought of this already!”
“Jim, no one else can perform the grafts except for me, and I’m still learning. I don’t have time to train anyone up - remember, fixing this is a condition of my graduation, which is only a year away. Also, what the hell is supposed to be grafted? And I’m worried Joanna’ll start jumping too before we get anywhere.”
“Don’t worry Bones, we’ll find a way, I know it.” Jim says, and he really, really believes it. It’s just another puzzle and if there’s one thing he loves is a puzzle. He’s not yet met one he can’t crack.
+++
San Francisco: 2257- Jim is 24, Leonard is 30
Jim
“Look, Jim, I don’t have time for this. I should be in the labs not lying down and ‘finding my calm center’.”
Bones is sitting on the edge of the couch, a pile of PADDS at his feet. His shoulders are hunched, he has shadows under his eyes and looks like he just wants to crawl into bed and sleep until his next shift at the clinic. Their insane schedules have reached critical point over the past few weeks but Bones has somehow managed to crowbar in ‘spare’ waking time into research.
Jim crouches in front of him, rests his chin on Bones’ knee. “You’ve been working 24/7 on this, Bones. Come on, let’s give the stuff Sarek’s told us about a shot, you never know, you might jump somewhere that’ll really help everything happen now as it should.” Jim wonders at the ‘incoherency’ of that statement, how it’s become the norm to talk in terms of cause and effect and shifts in events.
“No. Fucking. Way.”
“You need to hear me out. Also, what the hell have you, we, got to lose?”
Bones shrugs, huffs, folds his arms. “See, this is the problem, right here; I have no idea what we’ve got to lose. I just have this…fuck…this feeling that I need to do something, but I don’t know what, I don’t know when - I jus’ need to get ‘something’ right else something terrible’s going to happen.”
“I know. And I trust you, Bones, your feelings - that’s what brought you to me in the first place, you know, when I was a kid.”
“Yeah, snot nosed, feisty little shit that you were.” Bones voice is soft, affectionate and one big sigh of exhaustion.
“So nothing much has changed, huh?” And Jim mimes wiping his nose on his sleeve, slides his gaze to Bones’ crotch, up to his face, licks his lips.
“You have your bj face on.”
“I do?” Jim tips his head to the side, bats his eyes in mock innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Asshole.” Only Bones can say this with such warmth. “Okay, ‘cause it’s you and I’m dog tired and might just drop off, let’s do it. You do all the work, mind, I’m jus’ lying here.”
Jim nudges Bones so he makes room. “Okay - now Sarek says you’re a victim of your emotions and that until you can ‘achieve inner calm’ you won’t be able to take control, won’t have a chance in hell of ‘aiming’ then coming back.”
Jim feels Bones tense against his body. He knows the best way to keep an angry person angry is to point out they’re angry and tell them to calm; so he ignores the subtle change in Bones’ body language and carries on. “So, it’s like when you’re in surgery, do you ever get nervous?”
“Hell, yeah-”
“-but you get a grip; you control your emotions, your thoughts.“ Jim says.
“Well of course. If I didn’t, I’d fuck up, wouldn’t be able to do it; but that’s the way it is. It isn’t something special - I worked it out for myself.”
“But what do you do? Exactly?”
Bones thinks, his eyelids droop. “I breathe, I think calm thoughts…” at this he cracks open an eye and huffs. “And if you so much as fucking think the word ‘hippy’, I’ll hypo you in your sleep!”
Jim smiles, pulls Bones’ legs across his, unlaces battered sneakers and tosses them onto the floor. “Go on…”
Bones closes his eyes again. “Okay, then my hands are steady as shit, I think about what I’m going to do before I do it, I visualize the site of the procedure…but most surgeons do that, it’s nothing new.”
“And what does that look like - the site?” Jim purposefully dips his voice, so it’s slower, calm, the way he used to do with Frank when he was a kid, he worked it out then that sometimes, just sometimes, this would soothe Frank, maybe give him a moment to… “Tell me.” He can see a twitch in Bones’ jaw, his forehead’s scrunched up. “And chill, man, come on - you need to slow down, think about it and,” he slaps Bones’ feet, “all the time you’re thinking ‘why’s he asking me such dumb questions’, you’re not thinking about what I’ve asked you to think about.”
“Now you’re confusing me…”
But Bones has lost some of the tension in his neck, his shoulders. Jim smiles to himself - Sarek’s notes said confusion was totally a tactic.
“Okay,” Bones murmurs, “I have this big, colorful vivid picture, I visualize the site, what I’m going to do before I do it, it’s like I’m there, does that even make sense to you?”
Jim nods, although he knows Bones can’t see, but he doesn’t want to interrupt, not now Bones has stopped wriggling and bitching, so to speak. He strokes Bones’ hand, feels how his fingers uncurl and flop, wrists up. His feet eventually flop apart, and Bones describes how he goes about his surgery in detail, how he breathes through, acquires absolute focus, feels total confidence.
“That’s right, baby,” Jim says, usually only calls him that when they’re making love, when Bones is stripped of all his fight and rage and self-loathing. “It’s like lucid dreaming, you make it happen, and why not do this with the places, the times you travel to? Make it real. Think it real. It’s something I do, Bones - well, lately maybe. I visualize what I want - like it’s real. I thought about being with you, finding you when we were apart those times. And we’re here, together. And now, when they say I won’t amount to anything, I think about what Pike said to me. I just know where I’m supposed to ‘be’. And I am here, aren’t I?”
“Sarek says your unconscious doesn’t know the difference between reality and fiction, so fool it. Pretend like the place you want to go to is real - shit, what have you got to lose?”
There’s a heavy silence, then Bones opens his eyes, looks at Jim, a dark, passionate gaze, pleading, fearful, hopeful all at once. “But what if I don’t know where to jump, Jim? What if I get it wrong like all those times I tried to save my daddy?”
Jim fights to speak past the rock in his throat, “Sarek seems to think you’ll know - you just need to stop, you know-”
“Being myself you mean? Bitching and moaning all the time; a grouchy, narrow minded, attitude bearing divorcee? Well that ain’t gonna happen.”
“No one’s asking you to change, Bones. I happen to like your grouch, but let’s try this,” Jim’s voice rasps between them. “Sarek’s given me some documents to guide us through this. He spoke to me that time you jumped from his office, like I told you. He says it’s easier if someone you trust talks you through the first few times, then you can do it on your own. He thinks I can help you. I know this is going to work, Bones. I just fucking know it.”
Bones laughs an easy, fond laugh. “Okay, let’s get on it - I do have somewhere I want to be.”
+++
Iowa, 2242: Jim is 9, Leonard is (30)
Leonard:
The sleet slices through Leonard’s bare skin, so by the time he’s sprinted to Jim’s barn he’s shivering. He burrows in the dresser for clothing. He tries not to think about how these pants belong to Frank, this sweater too, and pulls them over his damp limbs, chest heaving with anxiety, anger, his cheek still smarting from where Jim, 24 year old Jim, back in San Francisco, had struck him - hard.
“Fuck, you didn’t tell me that part!” were Leonard’s last words to a smirking Jim before his universe wobbled and he found himself here, butt naked, still pumped with adrenaline.
The last piece of the jigsaw, the ‘why’ of why it had to be Jim to guide him through this fell into place when Jim had socked Leonard without warning, providing the stress factor needed to get his flight response into overdrive, so he’d jump - be sent here, like a dart. Sarek was a goddamned genius. But, shit that fucking hurt.
He hadn’t shared his chosen destination - but he’d said, “ready” once he was on the verge of falling asleep, so tranced out, so present in his imagination, that when Jim had said, “Open your eyes, Bones!” and he’d seen Jim’s worried but determined face, it had been a surprise (understatement) when Jim’s fist came flying towards him at the same time as Jim whispered, ‘Sorry, Bones’. Like much about Jim’s approach to problems, it was crude but effective.
Leonard knows he might find the kid hiding out somewhere in the dilapidated outhouses. Over the years, he’d learned all the places Jim would go to be alone.
Leonard holds his breath, listens out, ears straining to hear above the sound of the sleety rain on the tin roof and climbs the ladder to the top floor of the barn.
“Jim, it’s me. Are you there? Come on, Jim, come out where I can see you’re okay…?”
Leonard waits, listens, not a sound. He knows something’s wrong, that’s why he’s here, something older Jim once said happened the day of his ninth birthday. Leonard knows he needs to keep the anger under control, so he focuses on the moment, the feel of the rungs, smooth and worn under his hands as he climbs back down, the faint rustle of his clothes as he moves, the moist air when he opens the barn door, and steps out into the cold again.
The farmhouse is lit up a hundred meters away and Leonard can hear music blaring from the downstairs window, open despite the weather. He knows Jim won’t be there so he turns and stalks through the shadows towards the workshop, sneakers and clothes soaked through in no time.
The door’s pulled shut but unlocked and he winces at the shudder the unmaintained wood makes when he’s forced to barge it open. It’s dark inside, of course, and Leonard takes a moment to get his bearings. He’s been in here once before, much ‘later’, the year Jim wrecks the car, and he’s hoping the lay-out is pretty much the same.
Sure enough, the tarpaulin is there right in front of him - he can see a faint glow from inside and teases up the cloth, whispers, “It’s me - are you okay?”
“Bones?” The small voice whispers back. “Can you get through the window?”
“’course I can’t! Unlock the door, come on, Jim, let me in.”
He hears a smooth whoosh as the locks slide open, “Quick!” Jim says. It’s awkward pulling the door open, the tarpaulin snags and the top of the door bounces into Leonard’s shoulder hard. He bites his lip to stop himself cussing in front of the kid, folds forward and crawls into the back seat of George’s Chevrolet, his breath hitching when he first makes out the small figure pressed up against the far door.
“Bones! I knew you’d come!” Jim throws his arms around Leonard, then he seems to thinks better or it - probably thinks hugging’s lame. Jim retreats and makes room. He’s dressed in pale blue pjs, worn and baggy, making him look even younger than he is. They must be soaked too and Leonard huffs, gets himself into a seated position, adopts a casual pose.
“Well, this is nice,” Leonard says, running a hand through wet hair, then winks, decides to shake it all over Jim’s face and, yeah - this gets a smile out of him. He can see the kid’s got a swollen lip and a welt on his jaw and Leonard draws a long calming breath.
“Hey! You’re all wet - and you smell, like a dog!” Jim’s voice is thready, like he’s been crying.
“Charmin’ aren’t you?” Leonard forces a grin, ruffles Jim’s hair and grins some more when Jim slaps his hand away. “So…” Leonard fakes an ‘ow’ face and shakes the hand this Jim ‘hurt’. “…how’s your birthday?”
Jim frowns, looks down at the car seat. His bare toes curl and uncurl. “It was okay, you know…”
“Why are you here, Jim? It’s cold, late - you should be tucked up in bed all safe.”
Jim shoots him a suspicious look. “Safe? Here’s safe. Don’t make me go back inside, Bones.”
“Won’t Sam be worried about you?”
“Sam knows I’m here - it’s okay. I’ll go back in the morning after he’s gone to work.”
Leonard measures his words carefully. “Tell me what happened.”
“Don’t wanna…you’ll say I’m bad. Everyone says I’m bad…”
“Listen, kid, you’re not bad, okay? I know - I’ve met people who are bad and you’re the opposite of that - you’re good, you know, like one of those angels they put on the Christmas Tree.” Damn that was lame. “Not all adults are as smart as me - Frank’s…” an asshole? “Frank jus’ doesn’t know…you know… how to be nice sometimes…”
To his surprise, Jim nods. Leonard knows the kid needs to hear this, that he’s a good kid every day, but shit, this is all the time Leonard’s got, for now, so it’ll have to do.
“Let me look at your face, Jim.” And Leonard extends a cautious hand towards his jaw. “Does it hurt?”
“No!” Jim draws out the vowel in indignation, “’course it doesn’t hurt. Everyone thinks I’m a baby…”
Jesus, you’re only nine years old, Leonard thinks, feeling angry tears prick his eyes.
“Let me take a look, come on.” Jim lifts his chin off his chest, and taking this as a yes, Leonard runs careful fingers across his face. “Least your nose is okay this time. Is it just your face?”
“My arm’s a bit twisty, but it’s okay.”
“That’s good.”
“I hate Frank,” Jim says looking at Leonard, “I hate him, I want him to die. Why do the good guys die and bad guys live, Bones?” Blue eyes, bright with tears, plead.
“I don’t know, Jim,” Leonard croaks, grinding his teeth with the effort of keeping a check on the rage bubbling across his back and chest like lava. He shrugs, shifts about in the small space, the humidity adding to his discomfort, his sense of being trapped.
“Do you hate him?” Jim wants to know. Leonard nods. He can’t lie to Jim. “Can you show him?” Jim whispers. “Teach him a lesson? No one ever hurts big people…”
“Well, that’s not strictly true, kid. I have been hurt by big guys, but they were way bigger than me!” By you, in fact, you little… Leonard remembers the punch less than half an hour ago, a ‘gift’ from a considerably older, combat-trained version of the slight form in front of him now. “Violence isn’t an answer, you know? I’m a doctor not a…”
“You said. You said you’d hurt him good - you promised!”
Yes, he had. Leonard had been so fucking mad, so sick of seeing this amazing kid squashed and cowed, he’d clenched his fists that time, he’d punched the wall in fury, and it had sent Leonard back to the present - fuck lot of good that had done. He couldn’t control his anger and he’d left Jim again. To Frank. Great. Plus, Leonard thinks, he’s an adult, he should be setting a good example.
“I was just angry, Jim. You should speak to someone, your teacher maybe?”
“She thinks I’m bad too.”
Fuck. What’s he gonna fix in a quick conversation? It was a waste of time jumping back here.
“Did you speak to your mom today?”
Jim nods. “Yeah, she sent me a vid message - she’s in the black again.” Jim stretches out his ‘twisty’ arm, shakes it, rests it across his chest. “My mom’s cool.”
“Yeah, she is - you know she loves you very much, right?” Leonard says and, in that moment he understands why he’s here, how simply knowing he’s not completely alone, abandoned might just support Jim in the hard, lonely times to come. Leonard clears his throat. “Just ‘cause she’s not with you doesn’t mean she doesn’t care. She’s got like, a really important job.”
“Did she tell you?” Jim’s pale, sweaty face gazes at Leonard all disbelief and challenge.
“Well, I haven’t met her but she talks to you, when you’re big, often. I hear you laughing sometimes.”
Big, unblinking eyes fix on Leonard’s face.
“Yeah, mom’s funny.”
“And I overhear you both talking: when you say goodbye, you say, “Love you, mom”, and then she says, “Love you, Jimmy”. And sometimes it’s her first, depends who has to go. Leonard attempts the voices, just to lighten the moment.
“Hey!” Jim cries grinning, delighted, and Leonard’s heart jumps like it does so often when he’s with Jim, whatever age he is.
“What?”
“You broke The Rules.”
“I did? How?”
“You told me stuff - you said you aren’t s’pposed to tell me stuff.”
Leonard grins, “Dammit, sorry ‘bout that. But I dunno, can’t see what harm it’ll do for you to know your mom loves you.”
“If she loved me she’d get me a dog.” Simple child logic and, just like that, Jim’s in tears, punching the seat, skinny legs kicking. Leonard doesn’t really know nine-year olds, but he can’t help thinking this is a bit fucked up, an extreme reaction and the kid really needs someone to talk to, wonders why in this day and age with so many available resources, he’s not been taken to a counselor at least.
But Leonard knows better than to touch the boy, even though he aches to gather him up and protect him from everything, he can’t save him. He’s not a super hero, dammit. Anyways, Jim doesn’t do hugging, not now, not like adult Jim, so Leonard waits him out, making shushing noises, gulping down the well of discomfort and rage again. ‘Course he wants to know what happened with Frank, can imagine damn well, but doesn’t want to stir up the kid again.
Leonard watches a now perceptibly calmer Jim stretched out on his back, one bare foot resting lightly by Leonard’s thigh. The boy’s panting a little and staring up at the roof. He’s got his hand clasped to his chest, something held tight in his fist, and Leonard doesn’t need to ask - he knows it’s the little dog toy and he feels something sooth his soul, that Jim should thus link the two of them in his mind.
“Please whup him, Bones. Mom would if she knew but I can’t tell her…she’s always sad…” His voice hovers like a tiny moth in the dark interior of the car.
“I can’t do that, Jim, it’s wrong; and you and me, we’re better people than that.”
Really, there’s nothing Leonard wants to do, nothing more than beat on Frank. God knows he’s angry enough, but if he did, what would happen to Jim after? Frank might take it out on him and Leonard’s not around to protect him.
“Well - why can’t you come back and stop Frank marrying mom?”
Damn. “Listen, I’ve told you before, I can’t do that. I can’t change things - only you, people here, now, can change stuff.” Jim frowns, doesn’t like this one bit.
“But I’m only little, how can I change stuff?”
“’Cause you’re a tough little kid, that’s why. You just gotta speak to someone at school - promise me?”
“Okay, I promise…” One thing, Jim always keeps his promises whatever age.
Leonard twists round, pushes the door open with his foot and says over his shoulder, “Come on, you’re going back, but to bed. It’s late and you got school tomorrow. I’ll come in with you - you’ll be fine. I’ll make sure you’re safe, okay? I’ll wait around outside until you’re in your room. Wave your flashlight, okay?”
Jim looks triumphant and leaps up, his voice loud in the workshop as he straightens out the tarpaulin. “You’ll show him, won’t you, Bones.”
“I’ll do no such thing, I’m just gonna make sure you’re safe now, simmer down before you wake up the birds ahead of time.” Leonard feels a strange joy, the way the kid’s bouncing on his heels, shoulders back, head raised, reminiscent of the Jim he knows in the present. “Now secure the doors and calm down, k?”
Jim nods, trots beside him, and tries to fall into step with Leonard’s long strides as they head back for the light of the farmhouse. Jim looks up at him every few meters, and just before he raises his hand to the door release, Jim grabs it, squeezes his thumb with a warm little hand and then punches Leonard hard on the arm.
“Ow kid, the fuck?” What is it with every damned version of Jim Kirk that seems to have no idea about personal bubbles?
“You shouldn’t cuss in front of kids, Bones, we’ve been through this before!” With the trademark smirk, and dammit if Jim doesn’t talk like an adult sometimes, a really annoying adult - like he’s imitating something one of his teachers no doubt says to him on a regular basis when he acts out.
“Yeah, sorry.” He gazes down at Jim, smiling despite himself. “Now, go to bed, okay, and remember it’s not just your mom who loves ya - you got Sam and,” he clears his throat, “you got me.”
Jim’s grinning up at him. “See ya, Bones!”
“Yeah, see ya!” And they salute each other, Leonard waiting, feeling a-glow despite the chill air, till Jim’s light is out and he can return to the barn, where he’ll wait to go back.
on to part 9
warnings angst, romance, underage teen sex, references to miscarriage, implied physical abuse to a minor, some mild violence
Rating: nc-17 throughout
Word Count: this part approx 6,400 words (of 65,700)
summary An AU set in the Trek universe which explores a different beginning for Jim and Bones. Leonard McCoy suffers from chrono impairment, a genetic disease which causes him to time travel against his will. When teenage McCoy travels back in time and meets Jim Kirk aged six, in a meadow in Iowa, it is the beginning of a close friendship which will mark both their lives forever. The story tracks Kirk and McCoy’s relationship, McCoy’s search for a cure and Jim’s path to finding himself.
link to FIC masterpost HERE
link to ART by anoncomment7
link to fanmix by leighblack
Part 8
Alice: I simply must get through!
Doorknob: Sorry, you're much too big. Simply impassible.
Alice: You mean impossible?
Doorknob: No, impassible. Nothing's impossible.
San Francisco: 2257 - Jim is 24, Leonard is 30.
Leonard
It’s almost eighteen months before Sarek’s back on Earth and able to see them face to face, and Leonard’s been ‘holding’ that data package from Spock in his mind all this time.
“Vulcans do not meld lightly, Doctor McCoy, but I am convinced that this ‘information package’ you refer to will provide the knowledge we need. In which time period did you obtain it?”
Leonard hesitates, is purposely vague - “It’s in the future, sir. To be honest, I’m not sure when - I pretty much avoided finding out the date for obvious reasons.”
“I understand - it is not necessarily useful to know about events before they occur ‘naturally’. In addition, it occurs to me I may inadvertently learn other information about the future when we join minds.”
“I, I mean, we - this ‘friend’ considered this but I’m assured that you are skilful enough not to go too deep, that you will be able to uncover what you need then retreat. The information, so I’m told, is clearly signposted.”
“Is your ‘friend’ a Vulcan?”
“Naturally.”
Sarek thinks. “And am I acquainted with this Vulcan?”
“Sir, I…” Leonard doesn’t want to lie but he also doesn’t want to say, unsure what Spock would want. Sarek seems to understand and doesn’t probe.
“Rise, Doctor-“
Leonard stands, apprehensively watches Sarek glide to his side of the desk and gulps when the Vulcan extends a hand; somehow he manages not to flinch when fingers reach for his face, as Spock’s had done before (after, whatever…).
Leonard wants to keep his eyes open but they fall shut as soon as Sarek begins to speak:
“Our minds - one, our thoughts - one…” and it’s like falling down the rabbit hole, no soft start to ease him in to the experience as there was with Spock.
Images cartwheel past, too fast for Leonard to make sense of them, but he sees a red landscape, a fire-ball, unintelligible words that he presumes must be Vulcan and he’s no idea if he’s experiencing Spock’s thoughts or Sarek’s and, what must be mere seconds later, he pulls away panting, eyes wide and staring and Sarek’s a few centimeters away, face impassive, hand still raised in the space between them.
Leonard wonders if he’s violated some etiquette by breaking the meld-
“I apologize,” Leonard stutters, just in case.
“You were alarmed, it is a new experience for you, other than your experience on stardate-”
“Stop! I don’t want to know when it was.”
“I understand.” Sarek indicates the chair and Leonard slumps down gratefully, unsure his legs will hold him up much longer.
“So it worked?” Leonard rubs his face; he’s sweating, but his breath is calmer at least. “Can I ask what you learned…?”
“Spock has shared much with me. He indicated something of your origins, Doctor McCoy.”
Ah, so the old devil’s worked out it’s his son. Hey, wait a goddamn minute- “My origins, what do you mean?”
“I will explain in a good time but first, it appears your theory that James Kirk is the fulcrum of your movement through time is well-founded. He is destined to be a great man, but only if we can ensure your continued presence by his side. This, Doctor McCoy, as you well know, rests on your finding a cure or absolute control over your affliction.
“Starfleet has shown you great leniency in providing research facilities to assist you but we have little time left. Since you will not be permitted to take a post on a starship until you can guarantee the time-travelling has ceased, it is vital we work together to formulate a strategy.
“Have Cadet Kirk join us, Doctor. We have much to discuss.”
Leonard is reeling under the knowledge that Jim’s destined for better things, that this previously directionless youth should not just make it, but become a great man? Sure, Jim’s a fucking genius, works hard to keep up with his heavy work load, shows nothing but enthusiasm and commitment, a far cry from the kid who twitched and wriggled at the mere mention of George Kirk’s name.
He thinks back to the painful Kobayashi Sim, how Jim refused to accept its principles, how the rest of the sim crew didn’t enjoy his leadership ‘style’, his smugness one little bit. He wonders what the hell can happen that Jim will finally learn what it takes to lead. And he wonders if he’ll have any influence on Jim’s development, although he doubts this; sure - once, when Jim was a kid, he could say that he had something to do with it, maybe, but since they’ve been at the academy, Jim’s very much his own man; if anything Leonard’s leaning on him, rather than vice versa. Still, he has every intention of staying with him, and thinks now they really should put in a request to be posted on the same ship. It’s testament to the strength of his feelings for Jim that he’s willing to follow him into the black, instead of taking a planetary posting as he’d originally planned when he signed up.
“Thank you, Mr. Ambassador, but can I ask you not to mention the ‘great man’ part to Jim? He’s lived under his father’s shadow all his life and he’s one ornery young gentleman.”
“Ornery? I am not familiar with this word. Explain.”
“Tell him he’s gotta do something, and you’ll almost guarantee he won’t.”
“Most illogical behavior; however I will be guided by your knowledge of him.”
+++
Jim
“You’re an alien? Jesus, Bones, you’ve been holding out on me.”
Bones rolls his eyes.
“Cadet Kirk - McCoy is human but there are traces of Det’hnih’di genes within him still. They have become much defused over the past century but their presence explains the time-travelling.”
Jim looks at Bones, back to Sarek - something doesn’t quite fit. “How do you know about the genes, sir? Last I knew, your knowledge of the Det’hnih’di was sketchy. Have others been discovered since we last spoke?”
Sarek places his hands on the desk in front of him and it’s like he’s waiting for Bones to explain - that’s two of them.
“I had an information package in my mind,” Bones finally says.
“What? How? How did it get there?”
Bones shifts about in his high backed chair, looks at his feet. “It’s from the future.” And still Bones doesn’t look at him.
“What - you jumped to the future, or was it sent to you?”
“I jumped. Listen, Jim, I couldn’t tell you.”
“But that’s not happened before, has it? That’s why we thought you could only go back; and why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s complicated,” Bones growls, “and I jus’ got the feeling I wasn’t supposed to tell you.” His accent hits the room with his anger, like a pissed cowboy kicking open a saloon door.
“What d’you mean ‘supposed to’?” Jim’s pissed too now - how the hell’s he going to help figure this out if Bones is holding out on him?
Bones ignores the question. Instead he explains, “ Okay, I had a mind meld, I ‘received’ an information package containing vital information about the Det’hnih’di. It was deposited into my mind so it could be read by the ambassador. And Jim, in case you hadn’t noticed, I’m still trying to process my own everything-altering piece of data while you’re sitting there worrying about nothing. We’ll talk about it later.”
Right. End of discussion. For now.
Bones shakes his head, his face returning back to its usual color. “Gram told me of my great Grandpa. He came back from a mission married to some strange woman. No one liked her much - maybe she was the alien. And if she was humanoid, which we now know the Det’hnih’di apparently are, maybe they chose to keep her origins under wraps seeing as how people were less liberal in those days.”
Damn, this is incredible. Jim thinks about the generations of Kirks who’ve served in Starfleet - any of his own ancestors could have originated off-world too.
“Without access to your ancestor’s records,” Sarek says, “we cannot know if she was the first, but I suggest you research the rest of your family as far back as you are able, Doctor.”
“Waste of time, sir, I’ve already done that; my father identified the gene, even though we had no idea of its origin.” Bones stares at the wall over Sarek’s head while he thinks. His voice is even when he says, “And my daughter has the gene so it doesn’t end with me.”
Suddenly feeling nothing but compassion for Bones, his anger burnt out as soon as it flared, Jim says softly, “And you’re pretty sure there’s no one else about on Earth who jumps?”
“As sure as I can be.”
“Your immediate focus should be what this new information concerning your ancestry might teach you in regards to controlling your traveling. On Vulcan, while we are all born telepaths, it is a skill that must be mentored and honed over a lifetime. Without the training and discipline, the ability would remain but it would be-”
“-Crude,” Jim interjects remembering Sarek’s words from their first meeting, “animal.” He ignores Bones’ murderous look. “And without others of her kind, and the gene missing a generation or two, any knowledge the first one had would soon have been lost.”
“From the new information you have shown me,” Sarek says, “it would appear that the Det’hnih’di have developed a similar physiological reaction to humans when faced with danger. When humans experience excessive stress, the fight or flight response is designed to assist in overcoming, or removing you from danger. The Det’hnih’di have evolved a step further; they have ability to absent themselves from danger by-”
“-jumping through time!” Bones says, and looks at Jim, shakes his head, brow furrowed with confusion and eyes shining. He holds back a grin, relieved he’s finally learned something that makes sense of why he jumps.
“Precisely, Doctor. They have the ability to move through the fourth dimension at will, but, just as you are also able to run at any time, their temporal movements are not purely dependant on fear. You have inherited that ability and hence, you are able to propel yourself through time. Your movement to locations and times of your choosing is crude since you lack the skill to direct yourself, and I suspect much of it has been governed by your unconscious mind.
“My grandma taught me a few things; she’d kept the elixir formula at least.” Bones sounds almost defeated.
“Hey, Bones, the ambassador’s already said he can help us with some of the techniques,” Jim says.
“Indeed. Your unconscious, when under extreme stress, has a compulsion to send you to certain time periods. Currently you are unable to do this with any degree of accuracy. Even so, there is a probability that on occasion you will jump to a time you desire, even if you do not have measurable skill.”
“Well that’s clear. Sometimes I get there and it makes more sense than others. Sometimes I can see why I wanted to go back but this doesn’t explain how I’ve ended up everywhere. Why did I jump to Jim that first time? Why did I visit Jocelyn in the future? And why did I go to the future those other times?”
At this latest revelation, Jim stares at Bones. More future jumps?
“Doctor McCoy is not free to reveal all he knows” Sarek says, as if knew Jim was about to comment. “The burden of knowing what is to come may influence a subject in such as way as to impede clarity of action.”
Jim grinds his teeth. “Sometimes I feel like a guinea pig here, or a puppet, or-”
“Yeah, I get it,” Bones says. “You don’t feel the master of your own fate. Welcome to my world!”
Sarek clasps his hands together. “It appears you are both correct.”
“What do you mean?” Bones almost jumps out of his seat. He’s said this so many times to Jim, how he feels like he’s being thrown back and forth through time and no matter what he does, things never change around him.
“You have stated yourself, Doctor McCoy, that you have sensed there is a pattern although you have been unable to discover it. You have referred metaphorically to this ‘control’ over your movements as ‘The Powers that Be’.”
“Yes, but you just said that my unconscious controls where I end up”
“He’s talking about who controls your unconscious, Bones, don’t you see?” Jim says.
“Who are they, The Powers that Be - a group of sadistic deities?” Bones asks; he looks stunned.
“My understanding is that they are not deities but highly advanced life forms who are given to the protection of species. You will find no reference to them in Starfleet records as, according to the information package, we have yet to learn of them in this time. They will come to be known as The Preservers. This last you must not share with anyone beyond this room.”
“And what do these Preservers do? Play games with us? Are we packs of cards and I’m the joker?” Jim notices how Bones can’t quite smother the sarcasm in his voice.
“I do not follow your analogy, Doctor.”
“I think McCoy wants to know what’s the purpose of their interventions?”
“It is simple - the preservation of life.”
“Well, their way of going about things is about as much use as a pocket on the back of a shirt, the amount of disease and death out there,” Bones grumbles.
“They do not deal with the preservation of individuals, Doctor; that is for healers such as yourself. The Preservers are concerned with entire species, planets. The universe is large and threats are numerous - while the Preservers are highly skilled and dedicated, they are not always successful. They may transplant a whole species onto an uninhabited planet or, as in this case, manipulate time, preventing threat to a species before it happens by ensuring the success and influence of key individuals.”
“And McCoy is a key individual, “Jim says quietly looking over at his guardian angel. He wonders what exactly it is that Bones is destined to achieve and wonders if his role in all this is to be the supportive ‘wife’? He almost chuckles but suppresses the urge out of respect for Sarek. There’s been quite enough displays of emotion for the average Vulcan to tolerate, even one so accustomed to Terran ways.
It seems Bones doesn’t share the same resolve.
“I’m a country doctor not a hero,” Bones huffs. “There must be an honest to goodness easier way…dammit, I knew there was something pushing me around, making me jump.”
“Since we cannot anticipate what it is you are expected to accomplish,” Sarek says, “we must trust the ‘information package’. Therefore, it is imperative we find a cure and until then, learn how to control your time-travel so that you are more clearly focused on the geographical sites.
“Perhaps understanding will come with time, but for now, in order to acquire a degree of control over the instances, and to avoid bringing yourself unnecessary harm when you travel, you and Cadet Kirk must practice the meditative and visualization techniques I have provided you with.
“I leave for Vulcan tomorrow and I do not return to Earth for some two point three months; therefore I will have my assistant provide you with a means of communicating with me directly via subspace.”
“Dammit,” Bones says, “I feel like I don’t know who I am anymore.”
“You are a doctor, and an exceptionally talented one. I have knowledge of your current research and I urge you to continue. My understanding is that your work is to prove fruitful.”
“Into the Malverian mud flea vaccine?” Bones voice is all disbelief and sarcasm.
“No, Bones, he means your work in grafting of neural tissue, don’t you see?” Jim says. “If it’s some part of your brain that’s causing you to jump, this could be a way to fix it - I can’t believe we haven’t thought of this already!”
“Jim, no one else can perform the grafts except for me, and I’m still learning. I don’t have time to train anyone up - remember, fixing this is a condition of my graduation, which is only a year away. Also, what the hell is supposed to be grafted? And I’m worried Joanna’ll start jumping too before we get anywhere.”
“Don’t worry Bones, we’ll find a way, I know it.” Jim says, and he really, really believes it. It’s just another puzzle and if there’s one thing he loves is a puzzle. He’s not yet met one he can’t crack.
+++
San Francisco: 2257- Jim is 24, Leonard is 30
Jim
“Look, Jim, I don’t have time for this. I should be in the labs not lying down and ‘finding my calm center’.”
Bones is sitting on the edge of the couch, a pile of PADDS at his feet. His shoulders are hunched, he has shadows under his eyes and looks like he just wants to crawl into bed and sleep until his next shift at the clinic. Their insane schedules have reached critical point over the past few weeks but Bones has somehow managed to crowbar in ‘spare’ waking time into research.
Jim crouches in front of him, rests his chin on Bones’ knee. “You’ve been working 24/7 on this, Bones. Come on, let’s give the stuff Sarek’s told us about a shot, you never know, you might jump somewhere that’ll really help everything happen now as it should.” Jim wonders at the ‘incoherency’ of that statement, how it’s become the norm to talk in terms of cause and effect and shifts in events.
“No. Fucking. Way.”
“You need to hear me out. Also, what the hell have you, we, got to lose?”
Bones shrugs, huffs, folds his arms. “See, this is the problem, right here; I have no idea what we’ve got to lose. I just have this…fuck…this feeling that I need to do something, but I don’t know what, I don’t know when - I jus’ need to get ‘something’ right else something terrible’s going to happen.”
“I know. And I trust you, Bones, your feelings - that’s what brought you to me in the first place, you know, when I was a kid.”
“Yeah, snot nosed, feisty little shit that you were.” Bones voice is soft, affectionate and one big sigh of exhaustion.
“So nothing much has changed, huh?” And Jim mimes wiping his nose on his sleeve, slides his gaze to Bones’ crotch, up to his face, licks his lips.
“You have your bj face on.”
“I do?” Jim tips his head to the side, bats his eyes in mock innocence. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Asshole.” Only Bones can say this with such warmth. “Okay, ‘cause it’s you and I’m dog tired and might just drop off, let’s do it. You do all the work, mind, I’m jus’ lying here.”
Jim nudges Bones so he makes room. “Okay - now Sarek says you’re a victim of your emotions and that until you can ‘achieve inner calm’ you won’t be able to take control, won’t have a chance in hell of ‘aiming’ then coming back.”
Jim feels Bones tense against his body. He knows the best way to keep an angry person angry is to point out they’re angry and tell them to calm; so he ignores the subtle change in Bones’ body language and carries on. “So, it’s like when you’re in surgery, do you ever get nervous?”
“Hell, yeah-”
“-but you get a grip; you control your emotions, your thoughts.“ Jim says.
“Well of course. If I didn’t, I’d fuck up, wouldn’t be able to do it; but that’s the way it is. It isn’t something special - I worked it out for myself.”
“But what do you do? Exactly?”
Bones thinks, his eyelids droop. “I breathe, I think calm thoughts…” at this he cracks open an eye and huffs. “And if you so much as fucking think the word ‘hippy’, I’ll hypo you in your sleep!”
Jim smiles, pulls Bones’ legs across his, unlaces battered sneakers and tosses them onto the floor. “Go on…”
Bones closes his eyes again. “Okay, then my hands are steady as shit, I think about what I’m going to do before I do it, I visualize the site of the procedure…but most surgeons do that, it’s nothing new.”
“And what does that look like - the site?” Jim purposefully dips his voice, so it’s slower, calm, the way he used to do with Frank when he was a kid, he worked it out then that sometimes, just sometimes, this would soothe Frank, maybe give him a moment to… “Tell me.” He can see a twitch in Bones’ jaw, his forehead’s scrunched up. “And chill, man, come on - you need to slow down, think about it and,” he slaps Bones’ feet, “all the time you’re thinking ‘why’s he asking me such dumb questions’, you’re not thinking about what I’ve asked you to think about.”
“Now you’re confusing me…”
But Bones has lost some of the tension in his neck, his shoulders. Jim smiles to himself - Sarek’s notes said confusion was totally a tactic.
“Okay,” Bones murmurs, “I have this big, colorful vivid picture, I visualize the site, what I’m going to do before I do it, it’s like I’m there, does that even make sense to you?”
Jim nods, although he knows Bones can’t see, but he doesn’t want to interrupt, not now Bones has stopped wriggling and bitching, so to speak. He strokes Bones’ hand, feels how his fingers uncurl and flop, wrists up. His feet eventually flop apart, and Bones describes how he goes about his surgery in detail, how he breathes through, acquires absolute focus, feels total confidence.
“That’s right, baby,” Jim says, usually only calls him that when they’re making love, when Bones is stripped of all his fight and rage and self-loathing. “It’s like lucid dreaming, you make it happen, and why not do this with the places, the times you travel to? Make it real. Think it real. It’s something I do, Bones - well, lately maybe. I visualize what I want - like it’s real. I thought about being with you, finding you when we were apart those times. And we’re here, together. And now, when they say I won’t amount to anything, I think about what Pike said to me. I just know where I’m supposed to ‘be’. And I am here, aren’t I?”
“Sarek says your unconscious doesn’t know the difference between reality and fiction, so fool it. Pretend like the place you want to go to is real - shit, what have you got to lose?”
There’s a heavy silence, then Bones opens his eyes, looks at Jim, a dark, passionate gaze, pleading, fearful, hopeful all at once. “But what if I don’t know where to jump, Jim? What if I get it wrong like all those times I tried to save my daddy?”
Jim fights to speak past the rock in his throat, “Sarek seems to think you’ll know - you just need to stop, you know-”
“Being myself you mean? Bitching and moaning all the time; a grouchy, narrow minded, attitude bearing divorcee? Well that ain’t gonna happen.”
“No one’s asking you to change, Bones. I happen to like your grouch, but let’s try this,” Jim’s voice rasps between them. “Sarek’s given me some documents to guide us through this. He spoke to me that time you jumped from his office, like I told you. He says it’s easier if someone you trust talks you through the first few times, then you can do it on your own. He thinks I can help you. I know this is going to work, Bones. I just fucking know it.”
Bones laughs an easy, fond laugh. “Okay, let’s get on it - I do have somewhere I want to be.”
+++
Iowa, 2242: Jim is 9, Leonard is (30)
Leonard:
The sleet slices through Leonard’s bare skin, so by the time he’s sprinted to Jim’s barn he’s shivering. He burrows in the dresser for clothing. He tries not to think about how these pants belong to Frank, this sweater too, and pulls them over his damp limbs, chest heaving with anxiety, anger, his cheek still smarting from where Jim, 24 year old Jim, back in San Francisco, had struck him - hard.
“Fuck, you didn’t tell me that part!” were Leonard’s last words to a smirking Jim before his universe wobbled and he found himself here, butt naked, still pumped with adrenaline.
The last piece of the jigsaw, the ‘why’ of why it had to be Jim to guide him through this fell into place when Jim had socked Leonard without warning, providing the stress factor needed to get his flight response into overdrive, so he’d jump - be sent here, like a dart. Sarek was a goddamned genius. But, shit that fucking hurt.
He hadn’t shared his chosen destination - but he’d said, “ready” once he was on the verge of falling asleep, so tranced out, so present in his imagination, that when Jim had said, “Open your eyes, Bones!” and he’d seen Jim’s worried but determined face, it had been a surprise (understatement) when Jim’s fist came flying towards him at the same time as Jim whispered, ‘Sorry, Bones’. Like much about Jim’s approach to problems, it was crude but effective.
Leonard knows he might find the kid hiding out somewhere in the dilapidated outhouses. Over the years, he’d learned all the places Jim would go to be alone.
Leonard holds his breath, listens out, ears straining to hear above the sound of the sleety rain on the tin roof and climbs the ladder to the top floor of the barn.
“Jim, it’s me. Are you there? Come on, Jim, come out where I can see you’re okay…?”
Leonard waits, listens, not a sound. He knows something’s wrong, that’s why he’s here, something older Jim once said happened the day of his ninth birthday. Leonard knows he needs to keep the anger under control, so he focuses on the moment, the feel of the rungs, smooth and worn under his hands as he climbs back down, the faint rustle of his clothes as he moves, the moist air when he opens the barn door, and steps out into the cold again.
The farmhouse is lit up a hundred meters away and Leonard can hear music blaring from the downstairs window, open despite the weather. He knows Jim won’t be there so he turns and stalks through the shadows towards the workshop, sneakers and clothes soaked through in no time.
The door’s pulled shut but unlocked and he winces at the shudder the unmaintained wood makes when he’s forced to barge it open. It’s dark inside, of course, and Leonard takes a moment to get his bearings. He’s been in here once before, much ‘later’, the year Jim wrecks the car, and he’s hoping the lay-out is pretty much the same.
Sure enough, the tarpaulin is there right in front of him - he can see a faint glow from inside and teases up the cloth, whispers, “It’s me - are you okay?”
“Bones?” The small voice whispers back. “Can you get through the window?”
“’course I can’t! Unlock the door, come on, Jim, let me in.”
He hears a smooth whoosh as the locks slide open, “Quick!” Jim says. It’s awkward pulling the door open, the tarpaulin snags and the top of the door bounces into Leonard’s shoulder hard. He bites his lip to stop himself cussing in front of the kid, folds forward and crawls into the back seat of George’s Chevrolet, his breath hitching when he first makes out the small figure pressed up against the far door.
“Bones! I knew you’d come!” Jim throws his arms around Leonard, then he seems to thinks better or it - probably thinks hugging’s lame. Jim retreats and makes room. He’s dressed in pale blue pjs, worn and baggy, making him look even younger than he is. They must be soaked too and Leonard huffs, gets himself into a seated position, adopts a casual pose.
“Well, this is nice,” Leonard says, running a hand through wet hair, then winks, decides to shake it all over Jim’s face and, yeah - this gets a smile out of him. He can see the kid’s got a swollen lip and a welt on his jaw and Leonard draws a long calming breath.
“Hey! You’re all wet - and you smell, like a dog!” Jim’s voice is thready, like he’s been crying.
“Charmin’ aren’t you?” Leonard forces a grin, ruffles Jim’s hair and grins some more when Jim slaps his hand away. “So…” Leonard fakes an ‘ow’ face and shakes the hand this Jim ‘hurt’. “…how’s your birthday?”
Jim frowns, looks down at the car seat. His bare toes curl and uncurl. “It was okay, you know…”
“Why are you here, Jim? It’s cold, late - you should be tucked up in bed all safe.”
Jim shoots him a suspicious look. “Safe? Here’s safe. Don’t make me go back inside, Bones.”
“Won’t Sam be worried about you?”
“Sam knows I’m here - it’s okay. I’ll go back in the morning after he’s gone to work.”
Leonard measures his words carefully. “Tell me what happened.”
“Don’t wanna…you’ll say I’m bad. Everyone says I’m bad…”
“Listen, kid, you’re not bad, okay? I know - I’ve met people who are bad and you’re the opposite of that - you’re good, you know, like one of those angels they put on the Christmas Tree.” Damn that was lame. “Not all adults are as smart as me - Frank’s…” an asshole? “Frank jus’ doesn’t know…you know… how to be nice sometimes…”
To his surprise, Jim nods. Leonard knows the kid needs to hear this, that he’s a good kid every day, but shit, this is all the time Leonard’s got, for now, so it’ll have to do.
“Let me look at your face, Jim.” And Leonard extends a cautious hand towards his jaw. “Does it hurt?”
“No!” Jim draws out the vowel in indignation, “’course it doesn’t hurt. Everyone thinks I’m a baby…”
Jesus, you’re only nine years old, Leonard thinks, feeling angry tears prick his eyes.
“Let me take a look, come on.” Jim lifts his chin off his chest, and taking this as a yes, Leonard runs careful fingers across his face. “Least your nose is okay this time. Is it just your face?”
“My arm’s a bit twisty, but it’s okay.”
“That’s good.”
“I hate Frank,” Jim says looking at Leonard, “I hate him, I want him to die. Why do the good guys die and bad guys live, Bones?” Blue eyes, bright with tears, plead.
“I don’t know, Jim,” Leonard croaks, grinding his teeth with the effort of keeping a check on the rage bubbling across his back and chest like lava. He shrugs, shifts about in the small space, the humidity adding to his discomfort, his sense of being trapped.
“Do you hate him?” Jim wants to know. Leonard nods. He can’t lie to Jim. “Can you show him?” Jim whispers. “Teach him a lesson? No one ever hurts big people…”
“Well, that’s not strictly true, kid. I have been hurt by big guys, but they were way bigger than me!” By you, in fact, you little… Leonard remembers the punch less than half an hour ago, a ‘gift’ from a considerably older, combat-trained version of the slight form in front of him now. “Violence isn’t an answer, you know? I’m a doctor not a…”
“You said. You said you’d hurt him good - you promised!”
Yes, he had. Leonard had been so fucking mad, so sick of seeing this amazing kid squashed and cowed, he’d clenched his fists that time, he’d punched the wall in fury, and it had sent Leonard back to the present - fuck lot of good that had done. He couldn’t control his anger and he’d left Jim again. To Frank. Great. Plus, Leonard thinks, he’s an adult, he should be setting a good example.
“I was just angry, Jim. You should speak to someone, your teacher maybe?”
“She thinks I’m bad too.”
Fuck. What’s he gonna fix in a quick conversation? It was a waste of time jumping back here.
“Did you speak to your mom today?”
Jim nods. “Yeah, she sent me a vid message - she’s in the black again.” Jim stretches out his ‘twisty’ arm, shakes it, rests it across his chest. “My mom’s cool.”
“Yeah, she is - you know she loves you very much, right?” Leonard says and, in that moment he understands why he’s here, how simply knowing he’s not completely alone, abandoned might just support Jim in the hard, lonely times to come. Leonard clears his throat. “Just ‘cause she’s not with you doesn’t mean she doesn’t care. She’s got like, a really important job.”
“Did she tell you?” Jim’s pale, sweaty face gazes at Leonard all disbelief and challenge.
“Well, I haven’t met her but she talks to you, when you’re big, often. I hear you laughing sometimes.”
Big, unblinking eyes fix on Leonard’s face.
“Yeah, mom’s funny.”
“And I overhear you both talking: when you say goodbye, you say, “Love you, mom”, and then she says, “Love you, Jimmy”. And sometimes it’s her first, depends who has to go. Leonard attempts the voices, just to lighten the moment.
“Hey!” Jim cries grinning, delighted, and Leonard’s heart jumps like it does so often when he’s with Jim, whatever age he is.
“What?”
“You broke The Rules.”
“I did? How?”
“You told me stuff - you said you aren’t s’pposed to tell me stuff.”
Leonard grins, “Dammit, sorry ‘bout that. But I dunno, can’t see what harm it’ll do for you to know your mom loves you.”
“If she loved me she’d get me a dog.” Simple child logic and, just like that, Jim’s in tears, punching the seat, skinny legs kicking. Leonard doesn’t really know nine-year olds, but he can’t help thinking this is a bit fucked up, an extreme reaction and the kid really needs someone to talk to, wonders why in this day and age with so many available resources, he’s not been taken to a counselor at least.
But Leonard knows better than to touch the boy, even though he aches to gather him up and protect him from everything, he can’t save him. He’s not a super hero, dammit. Anyways, Jim doesn’t do hugging, not now, not like adult Jim, so Leonard waits him out, making shushing noises, gulping down the well of discomfort and rage again. ‘Course he wants to know what happened with Frank, can imagine damn well, but doesn’t want to stir up the kid again.
Leonard watches a now perceptibly calmer Jim stretched out on his back, one bare foot resting lightly by Leonard’s thigh. The boy’s panting a little and staring up at the roof. He’s got his hand clasped to his chest, something held tight in his fist, and Leonard doesn’t need to ask - he knows it’s the little dog toy and he feels something sooth his soul, that Jim should thus link the two of them in his mind.
“Please whup him, Bones. Mom would if she knew but I can’t tell her…she’s always sad…” His voice hovers like a tiny moth in the dark interior of the car.
“I can’t do that, Jim, it’s wrong; and you and me, we’re better people than that.”
Really, there’s nothing Leonard wants to do, nothing more than beat on Frank. God knows he’s angry enough, but if he did, what would happen to Jim after? Frank might take it out on him and Leonard’s not around to protect him.
“Well - why can’t you come back and stop Frank marrying mom?”
Damn. “Listen, I’ve told you before, I can’t do that. I can’t change things - only you, people here, now, can change stuff.” Jim frowns, doesn’t like this one bit.
“But I’m only little, how can I change stuff?”
“’Cause you’re a tough little kid, that’s why. You just gotta speak to someone at school - promise me?”
“Okay, I promise…” One thing, Jim always keeps his promises whatever age.
Leonard twists round, pushes the door open with his foot and says over his shoulder, “Come on, you’re going back, but to bed. It’s late and you got school tomorrow. I’ll come in with you - you’ll be fine. I’ll make sure you’re safe, okay? I’ll wait around outside until you’re in your room. Wave your flashlight, okay?”
Jim looks triumphant and leaps up, his voice loud in the workshop as he straightens out the tarpaulin. “You’ll show him, won’t you, Bones.”
“I’ll do no such thing, I’m just gonna make sure you’re safe now, simmer down before you wake up the birds ahead of time.” Leonard feels a strange joy, the way the kid’s bouncing on his heels, shoulders back, head raised, reminiscent of the Jim he knows in the present. “Now secure the doors and calm down, k?”
Jim nods, trots beside him, and tries to fall into step with Leonard’s long strides as they head back for the light of the farmhouse. Jim looks up at him every few meters, and just before he raises his hand to the door release, Jim grabs it, squeezes his thumb with a warm little hand and then punches Leonard hard on the arm.
“Ow kid, the fuck?” What is it with every damned version of Jim Kirk that seems to have no idea about personal bubbles?
“You shouldn’t cuss in front of kids, Bones, we’ve been through this before!” With the trademark smirk, and dammit if Jim doesn’t talk like an adult sometimes, a really annoying adult - like he’s imitating something one of his teachers no doubt says to him on a regular basis when he acts out.
“Yeah, sorry.” He gazes down at Jim, smiling despite himself. “Now, go to bed, okay, and remember it’s not just your mom who loves ya - you got Sam and,” he clears his throat, “you got me.”
Jim’s grinning up at him. “See ya, Bones!”
“Yeah, see ya!” And they salute each other, Leonard waiting, feeling a-glow despite the chill air, till Jim’s light is out and he can return to the barn, where he’ll wait to go back.
on to part 9