Fic: Saved (3/?)
Title: Saved (3/?)
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy, background McCoy/Jocelyn at the beginning
Rating: R (Drug and Alcohol reference/abuse, violence, foul language, etc.)
Summary: What was Jim doing, those years before Pike found him? What if he'd met Bones a little sooner?
Author's Note: This spawned out of one Kirk/Bones vid, a playlist, and having some very... interesting friends and acquaintances. If there's a background event or anecdote, it's quite possibly true or at least only stretched a little bit. My thanks to dragonlet for her beta skills, as always. Sorry this part took so long, my computer is being a butt.
Part One
Part Two
He spent a number of days in the city, more than he would normally have been comfortable with. The sound of sirens or a flash of police lights sent him ducking into alleys or behind bushes. He was on high alert, every nerve strung tight, constantly looking for some sign of an enemy. He felt pulled thin, like any more pressure would start to make his skin split at the seams. All the same, he couldn't leave, not yet. He couldn't explain why, either.
The vodka only lasted a couple days, and then Jim was back to laying drunkenly in a gutter and wondering how to pay for his next bottle. He hadn't really paid attention to where he was at all when he'd finally sprawled on the ground. It had begun to rain at some point, and he was vaguely entertaining the idea of trying to find shelter if he could convince his legs to work. There was no real urgency. It was a warm rain, the closest he'd had to a shower in weeks. It felt nice.
He realized suddenly that he was staring at a pair of shoes, and had been for quite a bit of time now. They were connected to a person, he was fairly sure of that. They were nice shoes. Sneakers. They were probably white, Jim decided, though it was sort of a mess outside and it looked like they weren't clean anymore.
“Jesus, kid.” a deep, masculine voice sighed somewhere above him. Jim squinted up at the owner of the shoes, mouth open slightly. He was pretty familiar. Jim definitely at least sort of knew him, he was sure.
“How drunk are you? Nah, I don't want to know.” The man shook his head and crouched by Jim. “You look like something the cat threw up.”
Jim laughed. It was funny, for some reason. He was still having trouble focusing on the man's face, but when he finally managed, he grinned at him. “Heyyy, sawbones.”
“Oh, christ.” Sawbones muttered. No, sawbones was too long. Didn't fit. Wasn't right. Jim would figure it out later. “You're a mess. C'mon.”
Bones - Yeah, that was good, Jim liked that, Bones - grabbed him under the arms, pulling him to his feet with a grunt. Jim swayed and staggered, gripping Bones' arm and leaning on him heavily. The other man looped an arm around Jim's middle, holding him up before he slumped back to the ground.
“You're lucky my wife's taken the girls to go see her mother for the weekend.” Bones grumbled. “Let's go get you cleaned up.”
Jim didn't remember most of the trip to Bones' home. He was pretty sure at some point a vehicle was involved, though he couldn't have said what. He remembered seeing the city slide by out the window, all bright lights and constant movement, fading away into the countryside. He passed out at some point, forehead leaning on the window, snoring softly. Bones kept his music quiet, and seemed to keep up a constant grumbling meant for his ears only. Jim drifted in and out of sleep before they pulled up a long driveway, outside an old farmhouse.
“Homey.” Jim mumbled.
Bones snorted and climbed out, before easing Jim out as well. “Don't know why I'm doing this for you, but I'll get you settled on the couch. Try not to throw up on my damn floor, would you?”
Jim mumbled an affirmative and stumbled along into the house using the doctor as a crutch. The inside was nice, homey, clean, and had a smattering of children's toys on the floor and family pictures on the wall. It was, in general, practically perfect. It smelled vaguely of furniture polish, old wood, and baby food. It was the kind of living room children's stories happened in. There was a framed family portrait on a shelf by the vidscreen, and Jim staggered over to peer at it when Bones went to the kitchen for water.
“This your wife?” He slurred curiously. She was pretty, with long, light brown hair. McCoy (Oh, right, that was his name, Jim thought.) stood beside her, smiling crookedly. She was holding a baby, and a young tow-headed toddler stood in front of them. They were a pretty family.
“That's Jocelyn, yeah.” Bones said, appearing at Jim's shoulder with a glass of water.
Jim jumped slightly. “Jesus! Don't sneak up on me.” He took the water from Bones, sipping it clumsily. “She's pretty. Pretty young. How old are you?” He eyed the man as best he could, trying to look amusingly suspicious.
Bones snorted and shook his head. “Twenty-seven. Don't spill.”
Jim eyed him suspiciously. “Twenty-seven? Doctor? Really? I dunno.” He took a bigger gulp of water and wiped his chin.
“I'm a genius, obviously.” Bones shook his head and took Jim by the elbow, steering him to the couch. “Time for you to go to bed, and tomorrow I'm cleanin' you up. You're gonna feel like you got hit by a truck, I bet, and serves you right.”
Jim protested petulantly, but laid down on the couch all the same. The glass of water was set on the table beside the couch, and Bones pulled a blanket over him before going to shut off the lights.
“'Nks, Bones. G'night.” Jim mumbled, rolling over and burrowing into the couch.
“Bones?” McCoy raised an eyebrow, before shaking his head. “Good night, kid.”
He shut off the light and headed up the stairs, to his own room. If he was lucky, the drunk would still be there in the morning along with all of Joss' knickknacks. Until then, he needed a good night's rest - or whatever he could get.
Part Four