Fic: Saved (4/?)
Title: Saved (4/?)
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.
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek in any form, and I especially don't own Jim and Bones. Which is probably a good thing. I'm just havin' fun.
Part One | Part Two | Part Three
Every inch of Jim was sore and aching. His head was pounding, his mouth felt like sandpaper, and he didn't even want to think about the rest of him. He shifted slightly and groaned.
“Oh good, you're up.”
Before Jim could say anything, a hypospray was being pressed to his neck. He yelped and kicked out, rolling off the couch and hitting the floor with a thunk. “Ow! Jesus fuck!” He glared up at McCoy.
“Isn't it illegal to inject me with things without telling me what it is? What kind of doctor are you?”
“That ought to take care of your hangover.” Was all Bones said, leaving him with a mug of coffee and a plate full of bacon and eggs. Jim thought about being angry a while longer, but his head had already begun to clear up, and he was ravenously hungry. He dug into the food eagerly, trying and failing not to be too messy when he ate. He'd never been very good with table manners. He'd never seen the point.
He had to wonder why the grumpy doctor from the hospital, a guy who barely knew him other than as a homeless drunk and a brawler, was putting him up and taking care of him, if only for one night. Plenty of people had acted sorry for him, or pitied him - Entirely unneccessarily, too - but not many were willing to actually let you sleep on their couches.
Belatedly, Jim wondered if he was the doctor he'd seen the security guards talking to when he'd made a break for it. But why would he help Jim this much? Why would he even give a shit? Hell, Jim wasn't even sure the guy knew his name.
Don't be stupid, Jim, of course he knows your name. It was on the damn hospital report, he thought bitterly. Hell, Bones probably knew more about him than he did about Bones. That was pretty par for the course; His medical history always told more than he wished it would.
Jim had couch surfed with plenty of people, sure, but most of them hadn't been doctors, living in nice houses, with nice families and nice things. He wondered why Bones wasn't afraid - Afraid of Jim stealing things, afraid of Jim robbing them blind, afraid of Jim killing him in his sleep. He might know Jim's name and his medical status, but he sure as hell didn't know anything else about him. All Bones had seen of his character was some constantly drunk, homeless, fight-prone young guy, who hadn't bathed in weeks and was more than a little impolite. Jim wasn't sure there was much else to see, really. In theory, sure: The son of Starfleet's fallen hero, a miracle surviving destruction, full of genius and potential, capable of so much more. Everyone had always told him so. Jim didn't know what guy they had met. It certainly wasn't him. He'd known for years that he couldn't be that man, whoever he was and whatever they wanted from him. He wasn't some kind of modern-day Arthur, Once and Future King, here to usher in some kind of golden age. He couldn't do that. Bones had seen the real him, just plain Jim Kirk: Fuck up. So why did he let him stay?
Bones came back in, face grim and determined. “All right, the hospital could call me in any time, but lucky for you, I'm actually spending time at home today. We're gonna have a nice long talk, and I'm gonna check you over and make sure you haven't undone any of my hard work.”
Jim fought the urge to just bolt right out the front door and never look back. “Look, I really appreciate the help, really, I do. It's been great. But I'm fine.”
Bones crossed his arms. “I don't really think you are, kid. Now, I ain't sayin' I'll keep you here against your will, but I wanna help - god knows why. If you'll hear me out, I'd be grateful.”
Jim hesitated. He didn't know why. He'd had enough of people who thought they could 'save' him - Girls, boys, doctors, teachers, parents. It never went well, it all ended in tears and screaming and blaming him, and he had no intention of repeating the experience. He never wanted fixing, which was apparently impossible to understand. Bones seemed to take his silence for an agreement, which meant Jim was stuck - at least until he got pissed enough to leave.
“Look. I know you're probably not real interested in changing your ways, or some shit like that. Fine, all right, that's your problem. But I gotta tell you, living like this is gonna kill you, kid. It nearly did just now, and you're already back at it full tilt. Now, I know I can't stop you enjoyin' yourself - hell, I like to have a few drinks too, now and then. I'm not gonna holler at you for getting drunk and havin' a good time on occasion. I got a feeling you do it more than just once and awhile, though, from the look of your liver. Even then, that's beside the point with all the damage you like encouragin' other people to inflict on the rest of you. Now, I'm gonna assume you ain't the type to look after yourself. You don't eat right, and I can't blame you, but I'm sure if y'didn't throw yourself on somebody's knife quite so often, you'd bee a hell of a sight healthier. I know it don't exactly fall in with your lifestyle, but bein' a bit more careful wouldn't kill ya.”
Jim grimaced. It wasn't much he hadn't heard before, though McCoy's delivery was easier to swallow than some of the others he'd heard. It wasn't as preachy, and it smacked less of someone expecting him to be the next President of the Federation. The other man had a hell of a lot less of a reason to make it sound like Jim was personally letting him down than, say, Jim's mother did. Still, it wasn't like he got stabbed on purpose. He hadn't known the dickhead had a knife. “I don't go looking for this shit, it just happens to me. And you can stop calling me kid. Jim works fine.”
“All right, Jim, then.” Bones aquiesced.
Jim nodded. “That's a hell of a lot better.”
Bones rolled his eyes. “Glad we got that settled. Now, Jim, how about we make a deal. You say you don't go lookin' for trouble? Prove it. Keep your ass out of trouble for the next week. Heal up, crash here if you like, just try not to get into even more trouble.”
Jim looked at him incredulously. “Uh huh. And why should I do that? Do I get a reward?”
Bones smirked. “You get my undying admiration and one free “I told ya so.””
“That's not much of a prize.” Jim pointed out. “Frankly, Bones, I don't know if I give a shit about your admiration. I do what I like to do. I'm not in town to clean up my act or to be a good boy. Fun as it sounds, I'm just not gonna jump for it.”
“Could be a nice learnin' experience, Jim.” Bones drawled.
Jim wasn't about to be swayed by the souther charm routine - And he was pretty sure that's what the other man was trying to pull. Nobody was naturally that...well. Charming. “I'm not up for school right now, sorry.”
“I dare you to do it.” Bones said, slyly.
Jim glared. That just wasn't fair. The little grin he had was especially evil, in Jim's opinion. It was mischevous, it was cute, it was accompanying a damn dare. He couldn't turn down a dare; He'd never been able to. They rubbed his pride the wrong way. It didn't help that the man daring him was turning out to be someone hard to say no to. “All right, all right. You've got a deal.”
They shook on it, Jim's grubby, scar-marked hand in McCoy's clean, broad one. Jim wasn't usually a handshake kind of guy, but he couldn't help but notice that Bones had a good one - firm but not trying to crush Jim's hand in the process, his hands were pleasantly warm and dry, and his fingers were much longer and more elegant than Jim's. Stop noticing, Jim. Sure, Bones was hot as hell. Jim didn't go for doctors, though, especially not ones who made it known that they wanted to help fix him. Especially ones who were happily married and procreating, in a perfect little house with a nice, comfortable little life. Some lines you just didn't cross. Jim knew better than that, and he knew what he really needed to do, and what would really make him happy. Jim'd complete his stupid dare, be on his way, and find another town to hole up in. One where he didn't get caught up in other people's lives, one where nobody'd ask questions when he passed out drunk in the street.
It was only after they shook on it that Jim thought about what he'd agreed to. Stay out of trouble. For one whole week? Trouble might as well have been his middle name. It followed him everywhere, and he was more than happy to play when it came around. Trouble was an old friend, and he wasn't sure he knew how not to get in trouble. He guessed it was about time to learn, then - If there was something he hated more than being stifled, it was losing. James T. Kirk didn't lose. Ever.
It looked like he was in for a hell of a week.