Linger (3/3)
Part 2
+
Bones is on-call at the clinic the night Jim gets back to Earth, a recent bout of good, old-fashioned influenza having swept through the campus with the changing seasons. Jim understands, though he can’t seem to shake the leaden lump that settles in the pit of his stomach, even when they make plans for both breakfast and lunch the next day. At loose ends with his best friend at work and his roommate off to a late-night astronav class, Jim ditches his duffle in his empty dorm room and prowls off to the local bars, searching for the one other person that would be waiting for his return.
“Jim!” Gaila cries happily, bouncing down off her barstool to sling her arms around his neck. He buries his face in her shoulder and smiles against her skin, the cool smoothness of her touch the most welcoming thing he’s felt in months.
“Hey, babe,” he replies when he pulls back, pecking a kiss to her lips before claiming the stool next to hers. The bartender, a familiar face though Jim can’t pinpoint a name, grins and nods at him in greeting, sliding a cold beer and a bright pink Cosmo in front of them.
They chat for a while about his training course, discussing the ins and outs of the ship’s levels. Gaila, on the Engineering track, eagerly questions him about the Engineering bay and the warp drives, the way the engines respond and how open the Chief Engineer was to new ideas and theories. He keeps up with her with ease, answering most of her questions, no matter how esoteric they come across - though she never spent much time with him, his mom was an engineer and, even at a young age, Jim had soaked up knowledge like a sponge. His interests are wide and varied and he enjoys the technical side of ships as much as the command side.
Several drinks later finds his back slamming against the wall outside the door to Gaila’s room, her mouth hot and wet against his, sweet with the drinks she’s had and the promise of a proper homecoming. He grins into the kiss and turns them, swallowing her laugh as her back lands solidly against the door. Slipping a knee between her thighs, they tangle together in the hallway, touching skin-to-skin in as many places as possible without actually removing any clothes.
“My...roommate’s probably...inside,” she gasps between kisses, fingers digging into the back of his neck. She slides one leg up around his waist and slowly blinks at him, a coy smile twisting her lips. He licks his way into that grin and curls his fingers around one of her wrists, slapping her palm on the reader as she giggles into his mouth.
They literally tumble through the door when it opens sooner than Jim’s inebriated mind expects, though he manages to twist in time to take the brunt of their weight. Gaila huffs a laugh at his moan, the jolt of their falling together doing all sorts of wonderful things for the way she’s wrapped around him. He yanks her down for another kiss, blinking blearily when she pulls away with a gasp as a PADD clatters to the floor behind his head.
“What did we agree on, Gaila?” a familiar voice asks. Gaila grins sheepishly, though her eyes still shine unrepentantly. Frowning groggily, Jim tilts his head back, gaze crawling up from a pair of delicate brown feet (with bright red-painted toenails, he notes randomly) to graceful, not-knobby knees, to slender arms crossed firmly over a trim waist, to a face he’s since only occasionally since his recruitment almost two years ago.
“Uhura!” he slurs, face pulling into a smirk when her face shifts to reflect her distaste at their mutual recognition of each other.
“Kirk,” she bites out, dark eyes snapping as she glares down at him (Bones is abruptly brought to mind and the swoop Jim’s stomach gives leaves him feeling vaguely nauseous as he stares up at her). “I thought we had an agreement, Gaila,” Uhura mentions, transferring her attention to the Orion currently trying to unobtrusively detangle her limbs from Jim’s.
“We did, N-” Uhura barks something in Orion, too fast for Jim to catch, and Gaila breaks off, biting her lip. She looks more ashamed at the almost mention of Uhura’s elusive first name than she has since they fell into the room. “Jim was just leaving,” she adds, pulling to her feet in one graceful motion. Jim lays there on the floor, mildly confused, until Gaila prods him with one foot. He rolls to his feet and, wobbling only a little, offers a sloppy salute as he heads to the door.
“Ladies,” he says with a smirk, winking at Gaila, who giggles, the sound ringing out into the corridor after Uhura’s slapped the buttons to lock the door.
“What now?” George asks and Jim nearly jumps out of his skin.
“Shit!” He leans heavily against the wall, head spinning with adrenaline from the scare, and glares at George. “Please God, tell me you weren’t there this whole time,” he huffs, stalking down the hallway away from Gaila’s room.
“God, no,” George replies, “I have some sense of decency. And, seriously, watching you with one of your flings is wrong on so many levels, I don’t even want to start counting.”
“Gaila’s not just a fling,” Jim protests, glancing over his shoulder at George as he makes his way out of the building. The adrenaline’s killed most of his buzz and there’s an itch under his skin, the rain now falling over the campus an irritant against his face as he heads back to the bar.
He stays until last call this time, managing to keep his hands and eyes to himself the entire time - not that he doesn’t want a fight, but he’d promised himself earlier that he wouldn’t resort to that so soon after landing. He staggers out into the rain with the rest of the meager crowd, tripping more than once over his own feet as he makes his way back toward campus. George leads him, the warm sound of his voice a beacon through the rain-and-beer-fogged night. Jim follows blindly, head spinning from the alcohol, and takes his cues from George, turning when told, avoiding potholes and cracks in the sidewalk, and managing to make it to the safety of a building in one piece.
“C’mon, Jim, the code, I can’t do it, you’re gonna have to,” George coaxes, shimmering vaguely in the half-light of the corridor as Jim squint at the blurry number pad. “5-5-9-6, Jim,” he’s told, the numbers unfamiliar under his fingers.
“Tha’s not th’ code to my room,” he mutters right as the door slides open and dumps him into the dark room.
“Jim?” he hears Bones call, but the light’s too low and he’s too drunk to figure out where it’s coming from.
“Bones! George, why’d you take me t’Bones’ room?” Jim asks loudly, staring up at George, outlined by the light from the hallway.
“Jim, is there someone else there?” Bones’ voice is closer now and Jim feels a grin slide across his face as Bones steps into the pool of light from the hallway, hair going in all directions and eyes bleary. Bones looks around, pokes his head out into the hall, and sighs, manually keying the door shut before reaching down to grab Jim’s arm and haul him to his feet. “Y’know, kid, when I gave you my key-code, it wasn’t so you could make an ass of yourself after one too many,” he chides half-heartedly, shoving Jim in the direction of the bed.
“Hey, I was all for headin’ back t’my own room,” Jim protests, wincing as Bones roughly tugs off Jim’s boots and tosses them over in the corner. “George decided I needed to head here.”
“George thinks you need to shut your mouth if you don’t wanna have to answer to more than just showing up in the middle of the night,” George comments mildly from somewhere in the darkness of the room.
Bones calls up the lights and does a cursory sweep with his tricorder, lifting Jim’s eyelids to check his pupils. “George sayin’ anything else?” he asks casually, putting away the tricorder and helping Jim out of his jacket and wet jeans, producing a towel out of nowhere to get the worst of the water off his skin and hair.
“Just that I oughta shut up,” Jim sighs, slumping back against the pillows. Bones prods him in the stomach to make him stop hogging the bed and crawls in after him, throwing the covers over both of them and killing the lights.
“Sounds like good advice to me.”
Jim drifts slowly on the tide of his exhaustion and inebriation, feeling the last three months crash down over him. It wasn’t tough to be on the ship and the training course had been a breeze, but it’d been stressful, to a degree, what with the late shifts he’d been given the majority of the time and the hot-and-cold reactions to his last name and reputation. He hadn’t let it bother him, any more than he let it get to him on the ground, and eventually he’d found an even keel, even garnering a few new acquaintances to hang with during meals and off-hours. But it’s nice to be around Bones again, nice to know he’s back with people who’ll let him be himself but aren’t afraid to deal him a swift kick in the ass if he needs it.
“Bones,” he whispers, blinking and feeling the way his eyelids don’t quite move at the same time.
“What, kid?” Bones sighs, voice muffled by pillow, but the words are leaden, already sinking into sleep as he exhales once more and goes limp against Jim’s back, arm heavy over Jim’s shoulder.
“I missed you,” Jim says anyway, nuzzling his nose into the pillow and breathing in the scent of his best friend, letting it soothe him to sleep.
+
It’s odd, settling back into regular classes at the Academy after the training course. Within a week, he finds himself several days ahead in his classwork and bored, too used to the busier ship’s schedule after his stint on the Farragut. He drifts around campus during his spare time, researching the Kobayashi Maru in the library and outlining a plan to finally beat the unbeatable. He pesters Bones and flirts with Gaila, dragging her back to his dorm several times, though they always seem to be interrupted. It gets to be a running joke between them, their absolute inability to make it past second base, but it doesn’t help the restless feeling growing steadily in the back of Jim’s mind.
It also doesn’t help him direct his focus away from his best friend.
He’s always known Bones is an attractive man, has even shoved any number of similarly attractive beings in the man’s direction in an effort to be a good friend (and banish the strange guilt he feels when leaving him alone at the end of a night out). He’s seen the appreciative little looks Gaila tosses Bones’ way occasionally, noticed the contemplative way George watches them, the odd little glint in his eyes when Jim talks about the doctor. He’s not sure how he feels about that, but he knows it’s all there.
But, bored as he is, there’s little else to attract and keep his attention. So he shows up at Bones’ dorm more often, drags the man out to bars after classes on Fridays and helps him study for the occasional test. He learns, in a matter of days, how Bones takes his coffee differently at the beginning of the day than the end, what sort of music he prefers to listen to while doing homework, and which of the interns annoy him most this semester. He also, in the space of a day, learns about the most treasured aspect of his life prior to Starfleet and the most closely hidden skeleton in his closet.
It happens on a random Wednesday, after Jim’s last class of the day. He’s already got the homework done through the next exam and Gaila and Gary are both busy for the night. At loose ends, he changes into casual clothes and wanders across the campus, chatting quietly with George about possible scenarios to use on the Kobayashi Maru and whether or not the latest campus gossip about Archer’s missing dog is true. He’s not really paying attention to where his feet are taking him, but he’s not surprised when he finds himself in front of Bones’ door. He is surprised, though, when he hears what sounds like something thudding against the wall - Bones’ shift at the clinic runs ‘til midnight on Wednesdays.
“No, Jim, don’t do that,” George cautions, reaching out and putting a hand across Jim’s when he moves to key in the access code. An odd shiver races down Jim’s back as a memory from his fifth birthday chases across his mind. That was before he’d understood who and what George was, when all he knew was that it was his birthday and his mom was unusually sad. Wide-eyed, Jim stares at George, whose blue eyes plead with Jim to listen to him for once.
Chewing his lip, Jim pulls out his comm and sends a quick text to Bones. Listening closely, he hears the familiar chime of Bones’ comm on the other side of the door and, sure enough, within seconds he receives a response. In perfect grammar and polite Southern manners, the message asks Jim to please leave him alone, he’ll see him at breakfast tomorrow. Frowning, Jim texts Bones one more time, asking if he’s sure. The return text is just as polite and just as maddeningly calm, completely at odds with the muffled snarl of words Jim’d heard through the door, as Bones assures him that, no, nothing’s wrong, he’ll see him tomorrow.
“Do you know what’s wrong with Bones?” Jim asks his dad, a twisting swirl of nerves curling uncomfortably in his stomach. George hesitates, blue eyes locked on Bones’ door as he considers Jim’s question.
“All men have their ghosts, Jim, their burdens. You’re just one of the few that can see them,” he says slowly, turning thoughtful eyes on his son. “I think McCoy’s have...finally caught up with him.” George shrugs, but Jim can see the worry deep in his eyes.
“I’m going in there,” Jim says, reaching out to key open the door.
“Jim-”
“He’s always been there for me, when I’ve had a bad day,” Jim reminds him, finger hesitating over the last number. “I can’t not do the same for him.” George nods and smiles fondly at his son.
“I’ll leave you alone for this then. Me hovering over your shoulder won’t help either of you,” George says, clapping a hand on Jim’s shoulder, though of course there’s no feeling of impact. Jim grits his teeth at the action, hating the reminder. George turns to walk back down the hallway, but Jim hears him mutter under his breath, “Especially McCoy,” as he does. He doesn’t get the chance to ask about the cryptic comment before he’s left alone in the hall, George disappearing without a sound. Taking a deep breath, he keys the last number and watches as the door slides open.
The first thing he notices (and he’s not quite sure what’s going on, but this is weird, the weirdest thing since George showed up all those years ago) is the guy standing quietly in the corner. He looks like Bones, with his dark hair and solid build, the line of his jaw and the steadiness of his gaze as he watches Jim. His eyes, though - Jim squints and realizes that, yes, his eyes really are blue, as clear and brilliant as Jim’s own. It’s the quietly concerned yearning in his expression, though, so like the one George wears occasionally, that’s the final clue and Jim abruptly realizes why George left so easily when he realized there was no keeping Jim out of Bones’ room.
The man in the corner is Bones’ father.
Frowning, Jim steps fully into the room, letting the door slide closed behind him as Bones finally lifts his head.
“Told you to go away,” Bones growls, dropping his head back onto his arms, glaring bleakly at the glass of bourbon sitting by his elbow. Jim takes the opportunity to glance around the room and is surprised to see Bones’ uniform and scrubs tossed haphazardly on the floor, the bed unmade, and several PADDs scattered across the desk instead of stacked neatly on a corner. The vidscreen is on, though muted, and the flickering images are the only light in the room.
“Yeah, well, you know how I am with doing what I’m told,” he comments lightly, perching on the corner of the desk, eyes on the elder McCoy hovering in the corner. “What’s up, Bones?”
“The ceiling. The sky. Space. Take your pick.”
“Ha ha, McCoy,” Jim volleys back, crossing his arms across his chest and glancing down at Bones, who’s lifted his head out of the cradle of his arms and is staring without seeing at his father. Jim wonders if, on some level, he knows he’s there. “Really, Bones. What’s up?”
Bones doesn’t say anything, but the elder McCoy moves from the corner, standing right behind his son, hands hovering about Bones’ shoulders, a breath away from actual touch. His blue eyes are full of guilt and self-reproach and sadness and, suddenly, Jim wishes he knew the man’s name, wishes it so strongly his breath catches in his throat. “I died three years ago today,” McCoy says, his voice low and aching, but so very like Bones’. Jim wonders what Bones’ mom looked like, whether he takes after her in any way at all.
“Little girl came through the ER today,” Bones mutters, little more than a vibration in the air as he buries his face in his arms again. “Seven years old, same as Joanna. God, that beautiful little girl.” Bones’ shoulders hitch once and Jim finds himself reaching out to comfort him with a touch and pulls his hand back, blinking in surprise and confusion.
“Joanna?” he mouths, frowning with bewilderment at McCoy - both of them.
“My granddaughter,” the elder replies. “You mean, he didn’t tell you?” Jim shakes his head, stunned at the revelation.
“Bones-”
“She bled out on my table, Jim, internal bleeding from her own Goddamned father’s fist in her gut.” Jim chokes on his next breath, remembering the bruises he’d hidden under his clothes as a child, and almost misses what Bones says next. “What use is a doctor who can’t heal people?”
“What? Bones,” Jim says, hands on Bones’ shoulders and shaking him gently until he raises his eyes to meet Jim’s. “What are you talking about? You’re a great doctor. You-That was an accident, not your fault, you-”
“Dammit, Jim, that little girl’s life was in my hands and I just let it slide through my fingers! You didn’t see her mother when she was brought in, didn’t hear the way she pleaded with me, begged me to make it better, to help her, to-to fix it, take away the pain, to-” Bones’ hands are tight around Jim’s wrists, his eyes anguished as he stares up at him. Jim swallows, hearing more to the words than just what Bones is saying. Confused, he looks to the elder McCoy, standing nearby with eyes just as anguished as his son’s.
“It was what I asked of him,” he explains, helplessly holding out pleading hands. Jim shivers, wishing George was here. But he’s on his own and terribly sure he knows what the McCoys are telling him.
“Bones, what happened?” he asks quietly. Bones’ eyes skitter around as he swallows heavily before his gaze finally settles back on Jim’s face.
“I killed him, Jim.” There’s barely sound to the words, but they’re as heavy as lead and just as poisonous.
“What happened?” Jim asks again, knowing there’s more to the story - Bones is not the kind of person to commit murder, not with his strict adherence to his oath as a doctor.
And the story slowly comes out - his father’s long illness and all of the things Bones did to try to cure him, the slow unraveling of his marriage and his ex-wife’s bleak insistence that they couldn’t fix it, the call from the hospital one month after his dad’s funeral and his daughter’s wailing sobs the day her mother drove away from the McCoy farmhouse. Jim sits in silence on the edge of the desk, listening to Bones’ broken voice as he gives up his history, the elder McCoy - David, Bones had said at one point - hovering nearby. Finally, Bones falls silent, staring bleakly at the desktop as he traces a finger absently around the lip of his glass.
“He did everything he could,” David murmurs, walking over to reach out to his son, his expression unreadable but so sad. “And in the end, he only did what I asked of him. He had no way of knowing they’d find the cure that next month.” He cups the side of Bones’ face and Bones shakes his head morosely, turning melancholy eyes on Jim as he waits for Jim’s response.
“Bones, it’s not your fault,” Jim breathes, the words coming out of nowhere, just as they did when he spoke with Kevin’s mom all those years ago. “It was wrong of your dad to ask so much of you and you made a mistake taking over sole care of him, but you didn’t kill him just because you didn’t find the cure or because you did what he asked you to. It’s not your fault.”
“Tell him I’m happy now,” David says, blue eyes shining as he looks at Jim. “I’m not sick, I’m not hurting, I’m not lonely - I’ve got his mama back now. I just- He’s been hurting for so long, all tied up in knots over what happened and so determined no one he cared for would ever be lost on his watch. He needs to let this go and move on, remember the good times, all the years when he was growing up and everything before I got sick.”
Jim’s just a conduit now, speaking to Bones for his father, doing everything in his power to convince his friend it’s okay, his father’s okay, he doesn’t need to feel guilty about it anymore, that even his marriage falling apart wasn’t entirely his fault. And Bones listens, eyes dark and serious, trained on Jim’s face the entire time, until he runs out of words and slumps limply in his perch on the desk. Then Bones ducks his head, bangs hiding his eyes from Jim’s gaze as Jim sits there panting, worn out in a way he can’t recall ever being before. Eventually Bones raises his head again and looks at Jim.
“Okay, Jim,” is all he says, eyes red-rimmed and tired but something like a smile hovers near the corners of his mouth and the lines in his face seem to run less deep than Jim’s ever known them to. “Okay.”
Jim smiles back and hauls himself to his feet, barely noticing that David’s disappeared as he wobbles slightly and his knees threaten to dump him back against the desktop. Bones stands and puts away the glass and bottle, swiping a hand across his eyes when his back is turned to Jim. Jim stumbles over to turn off the quiet vidscreen, weaving his way through Bones’ room to get to the door. He’s just about to key it open and tell Bones he’ll see him tomorrow, when Bones calls out to him.
“Hey, where d’you think you’re going?” he says, voice gruff. “You’re not in any shape for the walk back to your dorm. Lights, fifty percent,” he commands and the sudden illumination has Jim squinting and off-balance, making it easy for Bones to tow him back over to the bed. He kicks off his boots and collapses on top of the covers, while Bones crawls under the blankets and buries his head in a pillow.
They lay in silence and Jim is almost asleep when Bones speaks again.
“Thank you, Jim,” he whispers, voice muffled by the pillow, and Jim flops over onto his side and slings his arm over Bones’ shoulders in response.
“You did good, son,” Jim hears softly over his shoulder and he can’t be sure which father says it, or who’s meant to hear it.
+
“What the hell were you thinking, hacking the Kobayashi Maru?!” George bellows at him as soon as he walks into his dorm room. He’s surprised by the outburst, but only because of the timing - he’s not stupid enough to believe he isn’t going to catch nine kinds of hell for this.
“I told you I was going to beat it. Didn’t you believe me?” he asks coolly, efficiently exchanging his reds for casual clothes. He’s not proud of himself for stooping to this level to get his point across, but he firmly believes in what he posed to Bones earlier - it’s wrong that no one’s passed the exam and the look he’d gotten of the coding told him both exactly what he’d expected and much more than that. Rewriting the code was the only way to make good on his promise to George and himself.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing now? Celebrating your grand victory?” George queries snidely, arms crossed over his chest and expression the closest to a sneer Jim’s ever seen it.
“Groveling,” Jim answers shortly, pulling on his jacket and leaning down to lace his boots. “Did you know,” he asks casually, straightening to turn and look calmly at George, “that Orion women talk in their sleep?” George’s mouth goes slack with furious shock and he advances a step, looking for all the world as though he might attempt to deck his son. “I’m gonna go apologize to Gaila, explain everything, tell her exactly what happened so she can see about fixing that particular character trait.” Gaila’s not the most ambitious soul, but her skills are going to take her to the very top and there are some parts of a starship’s programming, layout, and engineering that are top secret, for good reason - finding some way to stop her talking in her sleep will ensure her safety in more than one way.
“You-”
“I did what I had to do, just as you did once,” Jim snaps, eyes blazing as he rounds on his father. “Don’t tell me about duty or right and wrong. I’m a Starfleet cadet less than six months away from graduation and-” he holds up a hand and barrels on as George opens his mouth to speak, “-I know I’m still learning but I also know I’m right and they’re wrong.”
George studies his face for a moment, eyes shadowed and unreadable as sunlight through the window behind him limns him in gold. He nods shortly, once, and turns away, staring through the window.
“McCoy’s waiting for you at the front door. Take the back if you want to talk to Gaila,” he says softly and Jim’s struck by the need to say something, to apologize or explain, but he stands by his actions, all of them, even sticking up for himself and yelling at his dad.
In the end, he doesn’t say a thing, just nods at George’s back and steps through the door, the image of George outlined in sunlight lingering at the back of his mind.
+
It’s not until he makes it down to the MedBay that he has a chance to finally breathe. It’s been non-stop madness since the distress call came in and between stowing away, fighting Romulans, and saving the day, he’s exhausted, worn down to the bone, and seconds away from collapse.
Which occurs just as the doors to the ‘Bay slide open.
“Goddammit, Jim,” he hears Bones say, the words floating over his head as he leans into the strong warmth of Bones’ body. They replay their first entrance into the MedBay, Jim’s arm slung over Bones’ shoulders as they make their way to an empty biobed, and he allows himself to relax, to submit to the staff’s ministrations and the innumerable hypos Bones jabs into his neck. He’s tired and beat to shit and the ship and everyone aboard her aren’t in much better shape, but they’re at the bottom of the well and things can only go up from here.
Minutes later - or hours, possibly; he’s not quite sure, what with the way everything went soft and floaty after that last hypo - the MedBay settles back into a sort of silence, broken only by the occasional murmur between nurses and beeping machinery. Jim drifts, eyes closed and body limp, until he feels someone step up close to the bed.
“Y’did it, kid,” he hears Bones murmur, seconds before fingers thread through his hair, stroking and soothing. He thinks he smiles faintly, tries to say Bones’ name, but the fingers in his hair feel so good.
He sleeps.
+
In the dream, he’s back in his dorm room and so is George, facing the window, outlined in gold.
“George?” he questions, unsure of what’s going on; he’s never dreamed of his father before, not even in that time before the Academy. George doesn’t answer, though, doesn’t even move until, in a small voice, Jim asks, “Dad?”
“Hey, Jimmy,” George says with a smile, eyes crinkled and tired as he turns away from the window. He steps deeper into the room, settles on Gary’s bed and gestures for Jim to take a seat on his own.
“George, what’s going on?”
“You did it, Jimmy,” George tells him, a sad sort of relief curling the side of his mouth. “You fixed what was keeping me back.”
“Wha-?”
“Just like Kevin. Just like David.”
“No,” Jim breathes, dreadful anticipation curling cold in the pit of his stomach.
“This is what it took,” George says with a nod, eyes bright with pride. “You can make it on your own now. You don’t need me anymore.”
“I do need you,” Jim vows, the back of his neck hot and the palms of his hands clammy. He feels sick, desperately searching for the words that’ll make George stay. “I don’t want you to leave,” he begs.
George smiles and it’s ineffably tender. “I know, Jimmy. I never wanted to leave you,” he reminds him, the first thing he’d said when five-year-old Jim had figured out who he was. “I need you to believe me, okay? I never wanted to leave you.”
“You’re leaving me now,” Jim forces out, throat tight and aching with the tears gathering behind his eyes.
“Oh, Jimmy, I’m never really gone.” He’s next to Jim on the bed, suddenly, and his hand’s on Jim’s cheek and Jim can feel it, oh, God.
“Dad,” Jim says, lurching forward to wrap his arms around George’s back, to bury his face in George’s shoulder, while George hugs him back, hands warm and solid and there as they rub up and down Jim’s back.
“I’ll never be far, okay, kiddo? I’ll always be there to keep an eye on you.”
“No, no, no, no, no,” Jim moans, curling his fingers tight in the cotton of George’s shirt.
“Tell McCoy, Jim. Tell him everything, don’t leave anything out. He’ll believe you now,” George promises. “You need each other, Jim. Don’t let that get away. And don’t waste time - it’s not as infinite as you may feel it is,” he warns, pulling out of Jim’s grasp. Jim sniffles, scrubbing his sleeve across his face, one hand still tight on George’s wrist. “C’mon, kiddo, lay down.”
Jim does and, like a child, George tucks him into the bed, running a gentle hand through Jim’s hair, over and over again. Thumb tracing Jim’s cheek, he leans down and kisses Jim’s forehead.
“Remember me, Jim, and I’ll never be far away,” he says, softly in Jim’s ear, and Jim feels his eyelids drooping and he fights it off, clinging tighter to George’s sleeve as sleep comes fast and hard.
Unwillingly, he closes his eyes and when he opens them again, he’s in the MedBay.
+
Two days later, he presses the call-button for Bones’ quarters, hands dropping to curl in loose fists as he waits for a response. The door slides open to reveal Bones’ quizzical face, forehead furrowed as he realizes it’s Jim outside his door.
“Since when do you ring doorbells?” he asks, stepping aside to allow Jim into the room. Jim slides past him and walks over to the couch, hovering near it but not taking a seat. Bones shoots him another confused look as he regains his seat, looking up at Jim with worry in his eyes. “Jim, what’s-”
“I need to tell you something,” Jim says, perching on the other side of the couch so he can face his friend. Bones turns and nods, eyes dark and serious.
“Okay, Jim.”
Jim draws a shuddering breath and starts to speak. “On my fifth birthday, I saw my father for the first time,” he states, matter-of-factly, and watches as Bones’ eyes widen.
“Jim-”
“That was a particularly difficult birthday for my mom, for whatever reason, and I was about to go, I dunno, comfort her or something, when a hand appeared over my own and an unknown man kindly told me not to do that. He told me his name was George, but I didn’t realize he was my dad until a month later, when I was poking through some of my brother’s things and I found pictures from their wedding.”
He tells Bones the story, watching in detached amusement as Bones’ eyes get wider and wider, eyebrows creeping steadily higher on his forehead. He tells him that George was the first person to read him The Fellowship of the Ring, that it was George that convinced him to not follow Sam any of the times his brother tried to run away. He tells him the events leading up to his trip to Tarsus, how George gave him instructions and helped him keep himself and a small group of kids alive until Starfleet arrived. He mentions Kevin and how Jim was able to help the little boy move on - that’s when Bones swallows harshly and a flicker of belief sparks in his eyes.
He tells him about all of the times he’d study with George, during high school and middle school and even at the Academy. How George would try to talk him down out of fights with the older kids, how he was always there whenever Jim had a bad dream or woke up in the hospital after a fight turned out bad. He tells Bones about the seven years he spent by himself, having wished his father away one bitter January night, and how George reappeared behind Chris Pike’s shoulder in that rundown Iowa bar three years ago. Quietly, almost hesitantly, he tells Bones about seeing David McCoy, about how the words he spoke that night weren’t his but David’s.
And, moisture gathering in stormy hazel eyes, Bones believes.
+
They’re eating dinner in Bones’ quarters, 36 hours away from drydock over San Francisco, when Jim sets down his fork, wipes his mouth with his napkin, plants his elbows on the table and just looks at Bones.
“What?” he asks, eyebrows quirked in a mild glare. Jim shakes his head, shifts to rest his forehead against his clasped hands, and laughs quietly to himself.
“You really only wanted to take care of me, didn’t you, Bones?” he says, glancing up at his companion with a quick flick of blue eyes. Faint color rises high in Bones’ cheeks and he looks away.
“I duhknow what you’re talkin’ about,” he gruffs but they know each other too well at this point, three years as close friends and the past few weeks in each other’s pockets, for Jim not to be able to read the sheen in Bones’ eyes, the way the corner of his mouth can’t decide if it wants to curve up or down.
“All those offers to talk to someone, to get help, so I didn’t get drummed out,” Jim reminds him.
“Yeah, well...”
Jim considers him for a second, mouth resting lightly against his hands. “You should’ve left me in the hangar.”
Sharp hazel eyes snap to his face, framed above by angry eyebrows and below by a formidable scowl. “Dammit, Jim, I wasn’t gonna-”
“-leave me. I know, Bones.” He leans back in his seat and huffs a laugh under his breath, grin growing out of his control and spreading into a smile. He shakes his head, still smiling. “Ah, George was right,” he says, standing.
Bones’ face draws into a question mark as Jim pulls him to his feet. Standing, they’re just about the same height, if neither one of them slouches, and Jim’s pleased by it, in a way he hasn’t let himself be before. He steps up close to Bones, a breath away from touching, and looks him in the eye, searching, studying.
Hoping.
And then he sees it, that quick spark of something. He grins a brief flash of teeth and loops his hand around the back of Bones’ neck, pulling him forward until their lips meet.
+
They’re lying in Bones’ bed, legs tangled comfortably together and nothing - not even clothes - between them. Bones’ shift is supposed to start within the next fifteen minutes and Jim’s needed on the Bridge shortly after that to start coordinating docking procedures but, at this moment, neither one of them can bring themselves to care much.
Jim’s tracing invisible lines between the freckles on Bones’ back when Bones shifts his head on the pillow until he can see Jim with both eyes and speak unhindered.
“What was George right about?” he asks and it takes Jim a minute to scroll back through conversations, back through hours and emotions, until he finds the comment Bones is referencing.
“He said we needed each other,” he answers, fingertips skimming over the knobs of Bones’ spine. He leans down and presses a kiss to the point of Bones’ shoulderblade.
“Hmm,” Bones hums, blinking lazy hazel eyes at him.
“He said I didn’t need him anymore.”
Bones is silent, eyes slipping shut, and Jim wonders if he’s fallen back to sleep. But he rolls over onto his side, legs sliding away from Jim’s, and opens his eyes, studying Jim’s face.
“Do you?”
“I think... I finally found someone I needed more,” Jim says and something slips free in his chest as Bones smiles at him, leans over to kiss him softly once, twice, three times, until Jim rolls them back on the bed, hands roaming with vague purpose as Bones chuckles into his mouth and wraps firm arms around his shoulders.
+
George isn’t there when they first set foot back on Earth, not even in passing flashes or glimpses.
Bones is, though. That makes it all right.
+
Bones is on-call at the clinic the night Jim gets back to Earth, a recent bout of good, old-fashioned influenza having swept through the campus with the changing seasons. Jim understands, though he can’t seem to shake the leaden lump that settles in the pit of his stomach, even when they make plans for both breakfast and lunch the next day. At loose ends with his best friend at work and his roommate off to a late-night astronav class, Jim ditches his duffle in his empty dorm room and prowls off to the local bars, searching for the one other person that would be waiting for his return.
“Jim!” Gaila cries happily, bouncing down off her barstool to sling her arms around his neck. He buries his face in her shoulder and smiles against her skin, the cool smoothness of her touch the most welcoming thing he’s felt in months.
“Hey, babe,” he replies when he pulls back, pecking a kiss to her lips before claiming the stool next to hers. The bartender, a familiar face though Jim can’t pinpoint a name, grins and nods at him in greeting, sliding a cold beer and a bright pink Cosmo in front of them.
They chat for a while about his training course, discussing the ins and outs of the ship’s levels. Gaila, on the Engineering track, eagerly questions him about the Engineering bay and the warp drives, the way the engines respond and how open the Chief Engineer was to new ideas and theories. He keeps up with her with ease, answering most of her questions, no matter how esoteric they come across - though she never spent much time with him, his mom was an engineer and, even at a young age, Jim had soaked up knowledge like a sponge. His interests are wide and varied and he enjoys the technical side of ships as much as the command side.
Several drinks later finds his back slamming against the wall outside the door to Gaila’s room, her mouth hot and wet against his, sweet with the drinks she’s had and the promise of a proper homecoming. He grins into the kiss and turns them, swallowing her laugh as her back lands solidly against the door. Slipping a knee between her thighs, they tangle together in the hallway, touching skin-to-skin in as many places as possible without actually removing any clothes.
“My...roommate’s probably...inside,” she gasps between kisses, fingers digging into the back of his neck. She slides one leg up around his waist and slowly blinks at him, a coy smile twisting her lips. He licks his way into that grin and curls his fingers around one of her wrists, slapping her palm on the reader as she giggles into his mouth.
They literally tumble through the door when it opens sooner than Jim’s inebriated mind expects, though he manages to twist in time to take the brunt of their weight. Gaila huffs a laugh at his moan, the jolt of their falling together doing all sorts of wonderful things for the way she’s wrapped around him. He yanks her down for another kiss, blinking blearily when she pulls away with a gasp as a PADD clatters to the floor behind his head.
“What did we agree on, Gaila?” a familiar voice asks. Gaila grins sheepishly, though her eyes still shine unrepentantly. Frowning groggily, Jim tilts his head back, gaze crawling up from a pair of delicate brown feet (with bright red-painted toenails, he notes randomly) to graceful, not-knobby knees, to slender arms crossed firmly over a trim waist, to a face he’s since only occasionally since his recruitment almost two years ago.
“Uhura!” he slurs, face pulling into a smirk when her face shifts to reflect her distaste at their mutual recognition of each other.
“Kirk,” she bites out, dark eyes snapping as she glares down at him (Bones is abruptly brought to mind and the swoop Jim’s stomach gives leaves him feeling vaguely nauseous as he stares up at her). “I thought we had an agreement, Gaila,” Uhura mentions, transferring her attention to the Orion currently trying to unobtrusively detangle her limbs from Jim’s.
“We did, N-” Uhura barks something in Orion, too fast for Jim to catch, and Gaila breaks off, biting her lip. She looks more ashamed at the almost mention of Uhura’s elusive first name than she has since they fell into the room. “Jim was just leaving,” she adds, pulling to her feet in one graceful motion. Jim lays there on the floor, mildly confused, until Gaila prods him with one foot. He rolls to his feet and, wobbling only a little, offers a sloppy salute as he heads to the door.
“Ladies,” he says with a smirk, winking at Gaila, who giggles, the sound ringing out into the corridor after Uhura’s slapped the buttons to lock the door.
“What now?” George asks and Jim nearly jumps out of his skin.
“Shit!” He leans heavily against the wall, head spinning with adrenaline from the scare, and glares at George. “Please God, tell me you weren’t there this whole time,” he huffs, stalking down the hallway away from Gaila’s room.
“God, no,” George replies, “I have some sense of decency. And, seriously, watching you with one of your flings is wrong on so many levels, I don’t even want to start counting.”
“Gaila’s not just a fling,” Jim protests, glancing over his shoulder at George as he makes his way out of the building. The adrenaline’s killed most of his buzz and there’s an itch under his skin, the rain now falling over the campus an irritant against his face as he heads back to the bar.
He stays until last call this time, managing to keep his hands and eyes to himself the entire time - not that he doesn’t want a fight, but he’d promised himself earlier that he wouldn’t resort to that so soon after landing. He staggers out into the rain with the rest of the meager crowd, tripping more than once over his own feet as he makes his way back toward campus. George leads him, the warm sound of his voice a beacon through the rain-and-beer-fogged night. Jim follows blindly, head spinning from the alcohol, and takes his cues from George, turning when told, avoiding potholes and cracks in the sidewalk, and managing to make it to the safety of a building in one piece.
“C’mon, Jim, the code, I can’t do it, you’re gonna have to,” George coaxes, shimmering vaguely in the half-light of the corridor as Jim squint at the blurry number pad. “5-5-9-6, Jim,” he’s told, the numbers unfamiliar under his fingers.
“Tha’s not th’ code to my room,” he mutters right as the door slides open and dumps him into the dark room.
“Jim?” he hears Bones call, but the light’s too low and he’s too drunk to figure out where it’s coming from.
“Bones! George, why’d you take me t’Bones’ room?” Jim asks loudly, staring up at George, outlined by the light from the hallway.
“Jim, is there someone else there?” Bones’ voice is closer now and Jim feels a grin slide across his face as Bones steps into the pool of light from the hallway, hair going in all directions and eyes bleary. Bones looks around, pokes his head out into the hall, and sighs, manually keying the door shut before reaching down to grab Jim’s arm and haul him to his feet. “Y’know, kid, when I gave you my key-code, it wasn’t so you could make an ass of yourself after one too many,” he chides half-heartedly, shoving Jim in the direction of the bed.
“Hey, I was all for headin’ back t’my own room,” Jim protests, wincing as Bones roughly tugs off Jim’s boots and tosses them over in the corner. “George decided I needed to head here.”
“George thinks you need to shut your mouth if you don’t wanna have to answer to more than just showing up in the middle of the night,” George comments mildly from somewhere in the darkness of the room.
Bones calls up the lights and does a cursory sweep with his tricorder, lifting Jim’s eyelids to check his pupils. “George sayin’ anything else?” he asks casually, putting away the tricorder and helping Jim out of his jacket and wet jeans, producing a towel out of nowhere to get the worst of the water off his skin and hair.
“Just that I oughta shut up,” Jim sighs, slumping back against the pillows. Bones prods him in the stomach to make him stop hogging the bed and crawls in after him, throwing the covers over both of them and killing the lights.
“Sounds like good advice to me.”
Jim drifts slowly on the tide of his exhaustion and inebriation, feeling the last three months crash down over him. It wasn’t tough to be on the ship and the training course had been a breeze, but it’d been stressful, to a degree, what with the late shifts he’d been given the majority of the time and the hot-and-cold reactions to his last name and reputation. He hadn’t let it bother him, any more than he let it get to him on the ground, and eventually he’d found an even keel, even garnering a few new acquaintances to hang with during meals and off-hours. But it’s nice to be around Bones again, nice to know he’s back with people who’ll let him be himself but aren’t afraid to deal him a swift kick in the ass if he needs it.
“Bones,” he whispers, blinking and feeling the way his eyelids don’t quite move at the same time.
“What, kid?” Bones sighs, voice muffled by pillow, but the words are leaden, already sinking into sleep as he exhales once more and goes limp against Jim’s back, arm heavy over Jim’s shoulder.
“I missed you,” Jim says anyway, nuzzling his nose into the pillow and breathing in the scent of his best friend, letting it soothe him to sleep.
+
It’s odd, settling back into regular classes at the Academy after the training course. Within a week, he finds himself several days ahead in his classwork and bored, too used to the busier ship’s schedule after his stint on the Farragut. He drifts around campus during his spare time, researching the Kobayashi Maru in the library and outlining a plan to finally beat the unbeatable. He pesters Bones and flirts with Gaila, dragging her back to his dorm several times, though they always seem to be interrupted. It gets to be a running joke between them, their absolute inability to make it past second base, but it doesn’t help the restless feeling growing steadily in the back of Jim’s mind.
It also doesn’t help him direct his focus away from his best friend.
He’s always known Bones is an attractive man, has even shoved any number of similarly attractive beings in the man’s direction in an effort to be a good friend (and banish the strange guilt he feels when leaving him alone at the end of a night out). He’s seen the appreciative little looks Gaila tosses Bones’ way occasionally, noticed the contemplative way George watches them, the odd little glint in his eyes when Jim talks about the doctor. He’s not sure how he feels about that, but he knows it’s all there.
But, bored as he is, there’s little else to attract and keep his attention. So he shows up at Bones’ dorm more often, drags the man out to bars after classes on Fridays and helps him study for the occasional test. He learns, in a matter of days, how Bones takes his coffee differently at the beginning of the day than the end, what sort of music he prefers to listen to while doing homework, and which of the interns annoy him most this semester. He also, in the space of a day, learns about the most treasured aspect of his life prior to Starfleet and the most closely hidden skeleton in his closet.
It happens on a random Wednesday, after Jim’s last class of the day. He’s already got the homework done through the next exam and Gaila and Gary are both busy for the night. At loose ends, he changes into casual clothes and wanders across the campus, chatting quietly with George about possible scenarios to use on the Kobayashi Maru and whether or not the latest campus gossip about Archer’s missing dog is true. He’s not really paying attention to where his feet are taking him, but he’s not surprised when he finds himself in front of Bones’ door. He is surprised, though, when he hears what sounds like something thudding against the wall - Bones’ shift at the clinic runs ‘til midnight on Wednesdays.
“No, Jim, don’t do that,” George cautions, reaching out and putting a hand across Jim’s when he moves to key in the access code. An odd shiver races down Jim’s back as a memory from his fifth birthday chases across his mind. That was before he’d understood who and what George was, when all he knew was that it was his birthday and his mom was unusually sad. Wide-eyed, Jim stares at George, whose blue eyes plead with Jim to listen to him for once.
Chewing his lip, Jim pulls out his comm and sends a quick text to Bones. Listening closely, he hears the familiar chime of Bones’ comm on the other side of the door and, sure enough, within seconds he receives a response. In perfect grammar and polite Southern manners, the message asks Jim to please leave him alone, he’ll see him at breakfast tomorrow. Frowning, Jim texts Bones one more time, asking if he’s sure. The return text is just as polite and just as maddeningly calm, completely at odds with the muffled snarl of words Jim’d heard through the door, as Bones assures him that, no, nothing’s wrong, he’ll see him tomorrow.
“Do you know what’s wrong with Bones?” Jim asks his dad, a twisting swirl of nerves curling uncomfortably in his stomach. George hesitates, blue eyes locked on Bones’ door as he considers Jim’s question.
“All men have their ghosts, Jim, their burdens. You’re just one of the few that can see them,” he says slowly, turning thoughtful eyes on his son. “I think McCoy’s have...finally caught up with him.” George shrugs, but Jim can see the worry deep in his eyes.
“I’m going in there,” Jim says, reaching out to key open the door.
“Jim-”
“He’s always been there for me, when I’ve had a bad day,” Jim reminds him, finger hesitating over the last number. “I can’t not do the same for him.” George nods and smiles fondly at his son.
“I’ll leave you alone for this then. Me hovering over your shoulder won’t help either of you,” George says, clapping a hand on Jim’s shoulder, though of course there’s no feeling of impact. Jim grits his teeth at the action, hating the reminder. George turns to walk back down the hallway, but Jim hears him mutter under his breath, “Especially McCoy,” as he does. He doesn’t get the chance to ask about the cryptic comment before he’s left alone in the hall, George disappearing without a sound. Taking a deep breath, he keys the last number and watches as the door slides open.
The first thing he notices (and he’s not quite sure what’s going on, but this is weird, the weirdest thing since George showed up all those years ago) is the guy standing quietly in the corner. He looks like Bones, with his dark hair and solid build, the line of his jaw and the steadiness of his gaze as he watches Jim. His eyes, though - Jim squints and realizes that, yes, his eyes really are blue, as clear and brilliant as Jim’s own. It’s the quietly concerned yearning in his expression, though, so like the one George wears occasionally, that’s the final clue and Jim abruptly realizes why George left so easily when he realized there was no keeping Jim out of Bones’ room.
The man in the corner is Bones’ father.
Frowning, Jim steps fully into the room, letting the door slide closed behind him as Bones finally lifts his head.
“Told you to go away,” Bones growls, dropping his head back onto his arms, glaring bleakly at the glass of bourbon sitting by his elbow. Jim takes the opportunity to glance around the room and is surprised to see Bones’ uniform and scrubs tossed haphazardly on the floor, the bed unmade, and several PADDs scattered across the desk instead of stacked neatly on a corner. The vidscreen is on, though muted, and the flickering images are the only light in the room.
“Yeah, well, you know how I am with doing what I’m told,” he comments lightly, perching on the corner of the desk, eyes on the elder McCoy hovering in the corner. “What’s up, Bones?”
“The ceiling. The sky. Space. Take your pick.”
“Ha ha, McCoy,” Jim volleys back, crossing his arms across his chest and glancing down at Bones, who’s lifted his head out of the cradle of his arms and is staring without seeing at his father. Jim wonders if, on some level, he knows he’s there. “Really, Bones. What’s up?”
Bones doesn’t say anything, but the elder McCoy moves from the corner, standing right behind his son, hands hovering about Bones’ shoulders, a breath away from actual touch. His blue eyes are full of guilt and self-reproach and sadness and, suddenly, Jim wishes he knew the man’s name, wishes it so strongly his breath catches in his throat. “I died three years ago today,” McCoy says, his voice low and aching, but so very like Bones’. Jim wonders what Bones’ mom looked like, whether he takes after her in any way at all.
“Little girl came through the ER today,” Bones mutters, little more than a vibration in the air as he buries his face in his arms again. “Seven years old, same as Joanna. God, that beautiful little girl.” Bones’ shoulders hitch once and Jim finds himself reaching out to comfort him with a touch and pulls his hand back, blinking in surprise and confusion.
“Joanna?” he mouths, frowning with bewilderment at McCoy - both of them.
“My granddaughter,” the elder replies. “You mean, he didn’t tell you?” Jim shakes his head, stunned at the revelation.
“Bones-”
“She bled out on my table, Jim, internal bleeding from her own Goddamned father’s fist in her gut.” Jim chokes on his next breath, remembering the bruises he’d hidden under his clothes as a child, and almost misses what Bones says next. “What use is a doctor who can’t heal people?”
“What? Bones,” Jim says, hands on Bones’ shoulders and shaking him gently until he raises his eyes to meet Jim’s. “What are you talking about? You’re a great doctor. You-That was an accident, not your fault, you-”
“Dammit, Jim, that little girl’s life was in my hands and I just let it slide through my fingers! You didn’t see her mother when she was brought in, didn’t hear the way she pleaded with me, begged me to make it better, to help her, to-to fix it, take away the pain, to-” Bones’ hands are tight around Jim’s wrists, his eyes anguished as he stares up at him. Jim swallows, hearing more to the words than just what Bones is saying. Confused, he looks to the elder McCoy, standing nearby with eyes just as anguished as his son’s.
“It was what I asked of him,” he explains, helplessly holding out pleading hands. Jim shivers, wishing George was here. But he’s on his own and terribly sure he knows what the McCoys are telling him.
“Bones, what happened?” he asks quietly. Bones’ eyes skitter around as he swallows heavily before his gaze finally settles back on Jim’s face.
“I killed him, Jim.” There’s barely sound to the words, but they’re as heavy as lead and just as poisonous.
“What happened?” Jim asks again, knowing there’s more to the story - Bones is not the kind of person to commit murder, not with his strict adherence to his oath as a doctor.
And the story slowly comes out - his father’s long illness and all of the things Bones did to try to cure him, the slow unraveling of his marriage and his ex-wife’s bleak insistence that they couldn’t fix it, the call from the hospital one month after his dad’s funeral and his daughter’s wailing sobs the day her mother drove away from the McCoy farmhouse. Jim sits in silence on the edge of the desk, listening to Bones’ broken voice as he gives up his history, the elder McCoy - David, Bones had said at one point - hovering nearby. Finally, Bones falls silent, staring bleakly at the desktop as he traces a finger absently around the lip of his glass.
“He did everything he could,” David murmurs, walking over to reach out to his son, his expression unreadable but so sad. “And in the end, he only did what I asked of him. He had no way of knowing they’d find the cure that next month.” He cups the side of Bones’ face and Bones shakes his head morosely, turning melancholy eyes on Jim as he waits for Jim’s response.
“Bones, it’s not your fault,” Jim breathes, the words coming out of nowhere, just as they did when he spoke with Kevin’s mom all those years ago. “It was wrong of your dad to ask so much of you and you made a mistake taking over sole care of him, but you didn’t kill him just because you didn’t find the cure or because you did what he asked you to. It’s not your fault.”
“Tell him I’m happy now,” David says, blue eyes shining as he looks at Jim. “I’m not sick, I’m not hurting, I’m not lonely - I’ve got his mama back now. I just- He’s been hurting for so long, all tied up in knots over what happened and so determined no one he cared for would ever be lost on his watch. He needs to let this go and move on, remember the good times, all the years when he was growing up and everything before I got sick.”
Jim’s just a conduit now, speaking to Bones for his father, doing everything in his power to convince his friend it’s okay, his father’s okay, he doesn’t need to feel guilty about it anymore, that even his marriage falling apart wasn’t entirely his fault. And Bones listens, eyes dark and serious, trained on Jim’s face the entire time, until he runs out of words and slumps limply in his perch on the desk. Then Bones ducks his head, bangs hiding his eyes from Jim’s gaze as Jim sits there panting, worn out in a way he can’t recall ever being before. Eventually Bones raises his head again and looks at Jim.
“Okay, Jim,” is all he says, eyes red-rimmed and tired but something like a smile hovers near the corners of his mouth and the lines in his face seem to run less deep than Jim’s ever known them to. “Okay.”
Jim smiles back and hauls himself to his feet, barely noticing that David’s disappeared as he wobbles slightly and his knees threaten to dump him back against the desktop. Bones stands and puts away the glass and bottle, swiping a hand across his eyes when his back is turned to Jim. Jim stumbles over to turn off the quiet vidscreen, weaving his way through Bones’ room to get to the door. He’s just about to key it open and tell Bones he’ll see him tomorrow, when Bones calls out to him.
“Hey, where d’you think you’re going?” he says, voice gruff. “You’re not in any shape for the walk back to your dorm. Lights, fifty percent,” he commands and the sudden illumination has Jim squinting and off-balance, making it easy for Bones to tow him back over to the bed. He kicks off his boots and collapses on top of the covers, while Bones crawls under the blankets and buries his head in a pillow.
They lay in silence and Jim is almost asleep when Bones speaks again.
“Thank you, Jim,” he whispers, voice muffled by the pillow, and Jim flops over onto his side and slings his arm over Bones’ shoulders in response.
“You did good, son,” Jim hears softly over his shoulder and he can’t be sure which father says it, or who’s meant to hear it.
+
“What the hell were you thinking, hacking the Kobayashi Maru?!” George bellows at him as soon as he walks into his dorm room. He’s surprised by the outburst, but only because of the timing - he’s not stupid enough to believe he isn’t going to catch nine kinds of hell for this.
“I told you I was going to beat it. Didn’t you believe me?” he asks coolly, efficiently exchanging his reds for casual clothes. He’s not proud of himself for stooping to this level to get his point across, but he firmly believes in what he posed to Bones earlier - it’s wrong that no one’s passed the exam and the look he’d gotten of the coding told him both exactly what he’d expected and much more than that. Rewriting the code was the only way to make good on his promise to George and himself.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing now? Celebrating your grand victory?” George queries snidely, arms crossed over his chest and expression the closest to a sneer Jim’s ever seen it.
“Groveling,” Jim answers shortly, pulling on his jacket and leaning down to lace his boots. “Did you know,” he asks casually, straightening to turn and look calmly at George, “that Orion women talk in their sleep?” George’s mouth goes slack with furious shock and he advances a step, looking for all the world as though he might attempt to deck his son. “I’m gonna go apologize to Gaila, explain everything, tell her exactly what happened so she can see about fixing that particular character trait.” Gaila’s not the most ambitious soul, but her skills are going to take her to the very top and there are some parts of a starship’s programming, layout, and engineering that are top secret, for good reason - finding some way to stop her talking in her sleep will ensure her safety in more than one way.
“You-”
“I did what I had to do, just as you did once,” Jim snaps, eyes blazing as he rounds on his father. “Don’t tell me about duty or right and wrong. I’m a Starfleet cadet less than six months away from graduation and-” he holds up a hand and barrels on as George opens his mouth to speak, “-I know I’m still learning but I also know I’m right and they’re wrong.”
George studies his face for a moment, eyes shadowed and unreadable as sunlight through the window behind him limns him in gold. He nods shortly, once, and turns away, staring through the window.
“McCoy’s waiting for you at the front door. Take the back if you want to talk to Gaila,” he says softly and Jim’s struck by the need to say something, to apologize or explain, but he stands by his actions, all of them, even sticking up for himself and yelling at his dad.
In the end, he doesn’t say a thing, just nods at George’s back and steps through the door, the image of George outlined in sunlight lingering at the back of his mind.
+
It’s not until he makes it down to the MedBay that he has a chance to finally breathe. It’s been non-stop madness since the distress call came in and between stowing away, fighting Romulans, and saving the day, he’s exhausted, worn down to the bone, and seconds away from collapse.
Which occurs just as the doors to the ‘Bay slide open.
“Goddammit, Jim,” he hears Bones say, the words floating over his head as he leans into the strong warmth of Bones’ body. They replay their first entrance into the MedBay, Jim’s arm slung over Bones’ shoulders as they make their way to an empty biobed, and he allows himself to relax, to submit to the staff’s ministrations and the innumerable hypos Bones jabs into his neck. He’s tired and beat to shit and the ship and everyone aboard her aren’t in much better shape, but they’re at the bottom of the well and things can only go up from here.
Minutes later - or hours, possibly; he’s not quite sure, what with the way everything went soft and floaty after that last hypo - the MedBay settles back into a sort of silence, broken only by the occasional murmur between nurses and beeping machinery. Jim drifts, eyes closed and body limp, until he feels someone step up close to the bed.
“Y’did it, kid,” he hears Bones murmur, seconds before fingers thread through his hair, stroking and soothing. He thinks he smiles faintly, tries to say Bones’ name, but the fingers in his hair feel so good.
He sleeps.
+
In the dream, he’s back in his dorm room and so is George, facing the window, outlined in gold.
“George?” he questions, unsure of what’s going on; he’s never dreamed of his father before, not even in that time before the Academy. George doesn’t answer, though, doesn’t even move until, in a small voice, Jim asks, “Dad?”
“Hey, Jimmy,” George says with a smile, eyes crinkled and tired as he turns away from the window. He steps deeper into the room, settles on Gary’s bed and gestures for Jim to take a seat on his own.
“George, what’s going on?”
“You did it, Jimmy,” George tells him, a sad sort of relief curling the side of his mouth. “You fixed what was keeping me back.”
“Wha-?”
“Just like Kevin. Just like David.”
“No,” Jim breathes, dreadful anticipation curling cold in the pit of his stomach.
“This is what it took,” George says with a nod, eyes bright with pride. “You can make it on your own now. You don’t need me anymore.”
“I do need you,” Jim vows, the back of his neck hot and the palms of his hands clammy. He feels sick, desperately searching for the words that’ll make George stay. “I don’t want you to leave,” he begs.
George smiles and it’s ineffably tender. “I know, Jimmy. I never wanted to leave you,” he reminds him, the first thing he’d said when five-year-old Jim had figured out who he was. “I need you to believe me, okay? I never wanted to leave you.”
“You’re leaving me now,” Jim forces out, throat tight and aching with the tears gathering behind his eyes.
“Oh, Jimmy, I’m never really gone.” He’s next to Jim on the bed, suddenly, and his hand’s on Jim’s cheek and Jim can feel it, oh, God.
“Dad,” Jim says, lurching forward to wrap his arms around George’s back, to bury his face in George’s shoulder, while George hugs him back, hands warm and solid and there as they rub up and down Jim’s back.
“I’ll never be far, okay, kiddo? I’ll always be there to keep an eye on you.”
“No, no, no, no, no,” Jim moans, curling his fingers tight in the cotton of George’s shirt.
“Tell McCoy, Jim. Tell him everything, don’t leave anything out. He’ll believe you now,” George promises. “You need each other, Jim. Don’t let that get away. And don’t waste time - it’s not as infinite as you may feel it is,” he warns, pulling out of Jim’s grasp. Jim sniffles, scrubbing his sleeve across his face, one hand still tight on George’s wrist. “C’mon, kiddo, lay down.”
Jim does and, like a child, George tucks him into the bed, running a gentle hand through Jim’s hair, over and over again. Thumb tracing Jim’s cheek, he leans down and kisses Jim’s forehead.
“Remember me, Jim, and I’ll never be far away,” he says, softly in Jim’s ear, and Jim feels his eyelids drooping and he fights it off, clinging tighter to George’s sleeve as sleep comes fast and hard.
Unwillingly, he closes his eyes and when he opens them again, he’s in the MedBay.
+
Two days later, he presses the call-button for Bones’ quarters, hands dropping to curl in loose fists as he waits for a response. The door slides open to reveal Bones’ quizzical face, forehead furrowed as he realizes it’s Jim outside his door.
“Since when do you ring doorbells?” he asks, stepping aside to allow Jim into the room. Jim slides past him and walks over to the couch, hovering near it but not taking a seat. Bones shoots him another confused look as he regains his seat, looking up at Jim with worry in his eyes. “Jim, what’s-”
“I need to tell you something,” Jim says, perching on the other side of the couch so he can face his friend. Bones turns and nods, eyes dark and serious.
“Okay, Jim.”
Jim draws a shuddering breath and starts to speak. “On my fifth birthday, I saw my father for the first time,” he states, matter-of-factly, and watches as Bones’ eyes widen.
“Jim-”
“That was a particularly difficult birthday for my mom, for whatever reason, and I was about to go, I dunno, comfort her or something, when a hand appeared over my own and an unknown man kindly told me not to do that. He told me his name was George, but I didn’t realize he was my dad until a month later, when I was poking through some of my brother’s things and I found pictures from their wedding.”
He tells Bones the story, watching in detached amusement as Bones’ eyes get wider and wider, eyebrows creeping steadily higher on his forehead. He tells him that George was the first person to read him The Fellowship of the Ring, that it was George that convinced him to not follow Sam any of the times his brother tried to run away. He tells him the events leading up to his trip to Tarsus, how George gave him instructions and helped him keep himself and a small group of kids alive until Starfleet arrived. He mentions Kevin and how Jim was able to help the little boy move on - that’s when Bones swallows harshly and a flicker of belief sparks in his eyes.
He tells him about all of the times he’d study with George, during high school and middle school and even at the Academy. How George would try to talk him down out of fights with the older kids, how he was always there whenever Jim had a bad dream or woke up in the hospital after a fight turned out bad. He tells Bones about the seven years he spent by himself, having wished his father away one bitter January night, and how George reappeared behind Chris Pike’s shoulder in that rundown Iowa bar three years ago. Quietly, almost hesitantly, he tells Bones about seeing David McCoy, about how the words he spoke that night weren’t his but David’s.
And, moisture gathering in stormy hazel eyes, Bones believes.
+
They’re eating dinner in Bones’ quarters, 36 hours away from drydock over San Francisco, when Jim sets down his fork, wipes his mouth with his napkin, plants his elbows on the table and just looks at Bones.
“What?” he asks, eyebrows quirked in a mild glare. Jim shakes his head, shifts to rest his forehead against his clasped hands, and laughs quietly to himself.
“You really only wanted to take care of me, didn’t you, Bones?” he says, glancing up at his companion with a quick flick of blue eyes. Faint color rises high in Bones’ cheeks and he looks away.
“I duhknow what you’re talkin’ about,” he gruffs but they know each other too well at this point, three years as close friends and the past few weeks in each other’s pockets, for Jim not to be able to read the sheen in Bones’ eyes, the way the corner of his mouth can’t decide if it wants to curve up or down.
“All those offers to talk to someone, to get help, so I didn’t get drummed out,” Jim reminds him.
“Yeah, well...”
Jim considers him for a second, mouth resting lightly against his hands. “You should’ve left me in the hangar.”
Sharp hazel eyes snap to his face, framed above by angry eyebrows and below by a formidable scowl. “Dammit, Jim, I wasn’t gonna-”
“-leave me. I know, Bones.” He leans back in his seat and huffs a laugh under his breath, grin growing out of his control and spreading into a smile. He shakes his head, still smiling. “Ah, George was right,” he says, standing.
Bones’ face draws into a question mark as Jim pulls him to his feet. Standing, they’re just about the same height, if neither one of them slouches, and Jim’s pleased by it, in a way he hasn’t let himself be before. He steps up close to Bones, a breath away from touching, and looks him in the eye, searching, studying.
Hoping.
And then he sees it, that quick spark of something. He grins a brief flash of teeth and loops his hand around the back of Bones’ neck, pulling him forward until their lips meet.
+
They’re lying in Bones’ bed, legs tangled comfortably together and nothing - not even clothes - between them. Bones’ shift is supposed to start within the next fifteen minutes and Jim’s needed on the Bridge shortly after that to start coordinating docking procedures but, at this moment, neither one of them can bring themselves to care much.
Jim’s tracing invisible lines between the freckles on Bones’ back when Bones shifts his head on the pillow until he can see Jim with both eyes and speak unhindered.
“What was George right about?” he asks and it takes Jim a minute to scroll back through conversations, back through hours and emotions, until he finds the comment Bones is referencing.
“He said we needed each other,” he answers, fingertips skimming over the knobs of Bones’ spine. He leans down and presses a kiss to the point of Bones’ shoulderblade.
“Hmm,” Bones hums, blinking lazy hazel eyes at him.
“He said I didn’t need him anymore.”
Bones is silent, eyes slipping shut, and Jim wonders if he’s fallen back to sleep. But he rolls over onto his side, legs sliding away from Jim’s, and opens his eyes, studying Jim’s face.
“Do you?”
“I think... I finally found someone I needed more,” Jim says and something slips free in his chest as Bones smiles at him, leans over to kiss him softly once, twice, three times, until Jim rolls them back on the bed, hands roaming with vague purpose as Bones chuckles into his mouth and wraps firm arms around his shoulders.
+
George isn’t there when they first set foot back on Earth, not even in passing flashes or glimpses.
Bones is, though. That makes it all right.