[Fanfiction] Pinned By The Sun, by callieach
Title: Pinned By The Sun (between solstice and equinox)
Author: callieach
Fandom: Star Trek xi
Characters/Pairings: Jim Kirk/Leonard McCoy, Winona Kirk
Rating: light R
Word Count: 4 507
Summary: With five weeks left before they're back up in space, Jim and Bones's road trip from San Francisco finally hits Riverside.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Note: Title from Pablo Neruda's "Drunk As Drunk"; this may become a series and this may not. I'm not sure yet.
They have six weeks between their appointments to the Enterprise and their needing to report for duty. Two days into it, Jim makes a fumbled, rushed, utterly nervous sounding invitation for Bones to come to Iowa for a few weeks with him. Bones tells him he's acting funny. Jim rambles on about a withdrawal of excitement since the whole thing with Nero. Bones raises his eyebrows like he doesn't believe a word his future captain and always best friend is saying. But then he agrees on the grounds that he's never been to Iowa sober.
With five weeks left before they're back up in space, Jim and Bones's road trip from San Francisco finally hits Riverside. Three days by car is longer than an hour on a shuttle, but there's less stress to be had. Winona is waiting for them in the kitchen when they get to the old Kirk farmhouse, one midday. She greets them both by their full first names and hugs them before offering lunch.
After a round of sandwiches and polite conversation between the three of them, the boys - as Winona so insistently calls them - get their bags from the car and haul them up creaking wooden stairs to the third floor, where three of the four bedrooms are.
Jim shows off the guestroom first. It's got a floral bedspread and plain curtains and looks like it's just recently been dusted. Bones flops experimentally on the bed. He looks surprised when it doesn't make any strange noises under his weight.
"Everything else in this whole damn state is so old-fashioned, I thought the bed musta been, too," he explains. They both laugh, then Bones follows Jim into his childhood bedroom. There are posters on the walls - a giant periodic table of the elements, some long-disbanded rock group, and a Starfleet recruitment poster - that Jim says have been there since he was kid. He looks a little sheepish.
"Y'know," he adds, "before I was a proper delinquent."
Bones laughs at that, too. The rest of the house gets toured, after. The bathroom and Sam's room - which looks like it hasn't been cleaned since Sam left home - on that level, a study and a closed door to Winona's room on the second floor. The ground level has the kitchen, a formal dining room Jim doesn't ever remember eating in, and two living rooms. After that, it's the grounds: the garage and where the barn used to be, until Jim burned it down in a fit of rebellion.
They get a shopping list from Winona and drive downtown to pick up groceries. There's a mutual decision somewhere in there, too, to stop at the liquor store. And Jim needs to pick up toothpaste, because, being Jim, he left his in his dorm room.
Back at the farmhouse, Jim puts away the groceries and beer while Winona chats with Bones again. He parries every 'Leonard' with a 'ma'am', which seems to amuse everyone in the kitchen. Jim eventually goes out the back door to the wraparound veranda. He's just found a comfortable way to lean on his arms, on the railing, when the door opens again.
"Your mom's nice," Bones says, a little behind Jim and to his right.
"I guess so." Jim keeps his gaze outward, looking at trees in the distance. Living in California so long, he'd lost track of the seasons, somehow. It was clearly autumn here, with every sycamore and maple and oak touting leaves in varying colours.
"You don't know her all that well, do you?"
"We didn't exactly bond all that well when I was little." Clearing his throat, Jim turns his head to look at his friend. "But it doesn't matter. We've patched things up since I started at the Academy."
"Ah."
There's a considerable silence between them, because Jim doesn't know what to add to that and Bones seems to be thinking. Then Jim catches Bones looking across the field, toward the tree line. "Hey, Bones," he says, stepping animatedly in between the viewer and viewed. "Want to see something cool?"
"Were you this excitable as a kid?"
"For the most part." Jim chews on his lips and looks to the treated wood flooring of the porch. Too often this exact excitability got him into more trouble than he could clearly remember, until it was mostly driven out of him. But between Starfleet and space and Bones being here with him, though, he feels light and free and unstoppable like he used to, on the good days. His head snaps back up and he grins. "Follow me."
The grass in the field is long, up to Jim's knees, but he strides through it with purpose, occasionally turning to jog backward a few steps, just to make sure he's still being followed. When they reach the trees, he has to stop and think. He hasn't been here in over a decade.
"Don't tell me you're lost," Bones half-growls.
Jim thinks he's got his bearings again, so he retorts with, "Just trying to figure out the most scenic route."
Thankfully, he only has to backtrack once, and Bones doesn't comment on it, so maybe the doctor doesn’t notice that they passed that one funny-looking stump twice. When they get where they're going, Jim is dismayed but not entirely surprised to find that his treehouse isn't nearly as impressive as he used to believe it was. Nonetheless, he makes a sweeping gesture with his arm and says, "ta-da!"
"A treehouse?" Bones raises and eyebrow and has a funny quirk to his lips, but it doesn't look expressly condescending.
"But not just any treehouse." Jim pats the old oak fondly before tugging on the bottom few metal rungs in its trunk. "It's the Best Darn Secrety Treehouse in Riverside," he says, that light and unstoppable feeling rushing back at him again as he steps onto the second rung up. He's tall enough now he doesn't need the bottom one. Probably doesn't need any of them, could just grab hold of that lowest branch and swing himself up. But it's been ten years, so, for posterity's sake, he's going to do this right.
"Damnit, Jim, that doesn't look safe."
Jim's got his feet on the fourth rung now, and his arms on the floorboards of the treehouse. "Of course it's safe, it's Kirk-engineered," he shoots over his shoulder.
"Well that's reassuring," Bones drawls sarcastically.
The tree is old enough that the bottom few branches are bare, Jim notices as he hoists himself into what had always been, affectionately, the doorway. The top branches are still well-endowed, though, and mostly in varying shades of yellow-orange. The floor of the treehouse is covered in dead leaves, expectedly, and that might've been a dead squirrel over there in the corner, at one time. When Jim straightens, he hits his head on the retractable tin roof - that was his own invention, at nine when Sam had already begun to tire of the place and he'd needed a reason to stay hanging around his kid brother - and swears. This brings out a litany of warnings and threats from the forest floor.
"Relax, Bones, it's just a treehouse." Jim takes a few shuffling steps, tentative. Everything seems to be all right, so the next time he moves, he isn't as careful. One board snaps and gives out, then the one beside it. He flails his arms, a bit wildly, as he falls through the new hole in the floor of his beloved treehouse. The best he can do is grab on to the next plank as he passes it. Bones calls out his name, one sharp syllable of panic, as that board snaps and falls, headed straight for the ground along with Jim.
He lands on his feet, which would be good if his right ankle didn't make a snapping noise, but it does, and he topples over, landing hard on his back.
Bones is kneeling at Jim's side before he can even blink the stars out of his eyes. The ground may be covered with dead leaves, but it's still hard as anything.
"Jim! Are you alright?"
Jim flexes a few muscles, checking for damage. Broken back? No. Screwed up ankle? Yes. "I'm fine," he lies, and pushes himself upright. More than the residual aching of his back and backside, or the persistent throbbing in his ankle, he notices just how close to his face Bones's expression of worry is. He swallows, then conjures up a bit of a grin. "So maybe the maintenance job wasn't the best. But it was a glorious treehouse, in it's heyday."
"You're an idiot," Bones says, just like he has hundreds of times before. Except this time isn't like every time before, because this time he's inches away from Jim's face and he's got worry practically written across his forehead. There's no sarcastic drawl, no annoyed eyeroll, just concern. "Your brain could be scattered across the leaves right now, or your neck could've snapped, or you could've -" He pushes down hard on Jim's leg and doesn't let up until Jim squirms. " - gotten your damn self paralysed."
"But I didn't."
"Dumb luck." A little bit of a glower comes into those hazel eyes, along with all the concern. Jim's a bit more familiar with the glower. "And I don't even have a proper medical kit with me, and god knows how far we are away from the nearest road."
"Quite, last time I checked. 'S why I like it here."
"Well, I don't."
Jim frowns and doesn't protest when Bones starts prodding around his head and torso, watching Jim's face for the slightest hint of pain. They're still too close, so Jim barely feels the doctor's hands on him.
"You really don't like it here?"
Bones pauses for a moment, then goes back to his testing for pain reactions, pressing hard on Jim's hips. And then he says, "I don't like anywhere that's going to catch me off-guard by trying to kill you."
Jim is feeling frustrated, confused, and annoyingly aroused. It’s not everyday Bones has got his hands all over him in the middle of the woods, after all. "Nowhere's trying to kill me, Bones, least of all my childhood treehouse."
"Okay, then." Bones twists one of Jim's thighs, then the other. "I don't like places where I don't expect you to be looking for a fight, and yet, you do. You're at odds with everything, Jim. Classmates and superiors and old flooring, it seems. You've got to stop."
"Stop what?"
Bones leans back a little, but keeps his hands on Jim. "Stop being careless and certainly stop doing dumb things deliberately."
"We're not just talking about this here, are we?"
"No, we're not." Jim twitches a bit when Bones wriggles his right knee, but fights to keep his face impassive. Bones' attentiveness has apparently gone down, since he doesn't jump all over that. "I don't think I can handle being your CMO if you being full-time captain is anything like you just being on the bridge, during the crisis two weeks ago."
The absolute last subject Jim had wanted to breach in Iowa was the ordeal with Nero and the Narada. But if they're here now… "You don't think I can do it?" he asks softly. "Or is it just the space thing freaking you out again? Because, you know, not every day is that exciting."
"I know that." Bones purses his lips and clasps Jim's left shin. "And I know you're capable of captaining the ship."
"What's the matter, then?" Jim asks, but he doesn't get an answer, just a good jostle of his right leg that makes pain shoot up from his ankle. He winces and draws in a sharp breath. Bones certainly doesn't miss that, his hands coming off Jim's leg in an instant.
"It's the ankle, isn't it?" Bones makes a noise of annoyance. "Just one goddamn injury after another with you. You've still got bruises from your idiocy two weeks ago, and now I've got to put up with whatever the hell you've done to your ankle."
"You don't have to put up with anything, Bones," Jim retorts curtly. "You can turn around right now and go back to the house and leave for San Fran again. Or go wherever the hell you want. See if I care."
"And just leave you here to rot?"
"I can take care of myself."
"But you don't, damnit," Bones says angrily, standing up to tower over Jim. "You can but you don't, and that's exactly the problem."
Jim is perplexed. Bones has complained of Jim's reckless habits before, but has never gone this far with it. He tries to channel the confusion into a mirror of Bones' anger. "People can take care of themselves while still living a little. Not everyone is happy with just standing at the sidelines, grumbling about how dangerous everything is. And that's all you fucking do, isn't it? You bitch about danger and how stupid everyone seems to be in your eyes and then you patch them up and go right back to what you were doing before. It's such a load of bull."
Bones doesn't say anything, just glares at Jim for a few long seconds before turning and walking back the way they came. Jim's tempted to cry out, to make him come back, but has a little too much dignity for that. So what if he's alone in the woods on a broken ankle; that doesn't mean he needs to act like he needs Bones, even though he really does.
Jim waits until he can't hear Bones crunching along through the woods before he tries to stand up. His ankle doesn't hold him at all, and he ends up careening into the trunk of the oak tree he'd just fallen from. "Well this sucks," he mutters to himself, trying to work out some method of hobbling back to the house, using the trees for support.
Just before he hits the field, he finds a fallen tree to use for a seat. He's out of breath and exhausted and more than a little sick of the pain shooting at frequent intervals up his right leg. His boot feels infinitely too tight, but he doesn't take it off, because he knows it won't be going back on. He doesn't know what he's going to do when he gets back to the house. Bones, the way he stormed off, didn't seem apt to patch him up, so that means going to the hospital, if he wants it healed before their mission starts. There doesn't seem to be much chance of being able to drive himself anywhere, so he's going to have to ask his mom. And won't that be awkward. In town for only a few hours and already he's got himself damaged somehow.
Maybe Bones was right, after all. Maybe Jim hasn't got a clue how to take care of himself.
He folds his arms over his bent left knee and bends his head over, blocking out the afternoon sun with his sweater sleeves. Eventually, the rustling of long grass and leaves tells him someone's coming. Since it's either Bones, back to continue telling him how reckless he is, or his mother, being all disappointed and shit, he doesn't look up.
"Jim?" It's Bones. Great. Jim tries to summon up some anger at being left alone and injured in the forest, but finds he can't. "Goddamnit, Jim, if you passed out from overexertion I swear to God, I'll -"
Jim lifts his head and Bones stops talking. "What would you do, Bones?"
"Let your mother call that ambulance she wanted to," Bones replies, his voice gruff as he kneels at Jim's foot and sets a small medical bag on the leaf-littered ground. "And then never let you out of my sight when you're injured again."
"Just think, that'll be your full-time job in just over a month." If Jim jokes, he can pretend Bones removing his boot and sock doesn't hurt like hell.
"It's my job all time, Jim," Bones says, eyes and hands focused on the task at hand. "I'm a doctor and you're a perpetual patient."
"You shouldn't feel obligated to help everyone, all the time."
"I'm a doctor," Bones repeats.
Jim tries to be quiet, to just let Bones wrap up his foot in silence, but that leads to small, pathetic whimpering noises whenever it hurts, so he has to do something better with his focus. "Is that why you came back out here for me? Because you're a doctor?"
"Even if I weren't, I would never intentionally let anything bad happen to you."
"Oh. That's..."
Bones tugs on the iced wrap around Jim's foot once more for good measure before securing it in place. Then he sits back on his heels. "That's what, Jim?" he asks.
"One of the sappiest things I've ever heard."
"You're lucky, then. Some of the crap I've heard -"
"But at least you've heard it, Bones," Jim interjects. "Most sap comes with affection that isn't based on lust."
"I'm pretty sure no real affection was ever based on lust."
"You know what I mean."
"Jim, I -" Bones drags a hand down his face, sighing. "I never know what you expect me to say in response to stuff like that."
Jim shrugs. "Nothing, I guess."
"Okay, then." Bones grabs his medical bag as he stands and extends a hand down to Jim. "C'mon, let's get you to the hospital. That ankle's got enough damage to be trouble, I reckon."
After a moment of hesitation, Jim puts his hand in Bones' and lets the other man stand him upright, off the tree trunk. Bones pulls Jim to him, one arm firmly around his waist in such a way that the bag digs into Jim's side. With the other arm, he pulls Jim's closest arm around his shoulder and holds on tight to Jim's hand.
"I can walk myself, you know," Jim says, taking a tentative first step.
"Like hell you can," Bones mutters in reply, moving with Jim. "Your mother hasn't got any crutches, so you'll be leanin' on me until I can find you some or get that fixed."
The walk to the rental car parked in front of the house takes an infinite time, in Jim's mind. Bones won't let him move too fast. Won't let go of him, either. It's nice, but not something he really wanted his mother to see, standing on the wraparound with her body language screaming worry.
At the hospital, Bones complains about the out-of-date medical tricorders and makes a nurse cry by yelling about her incompetence with the big, stationary scanner in the emergency department. Then a doctor recognizes them as 'those heroes from that Enterprise ship,' and things progress a bit smoother. Actually, Jim realizes, the doctor lets Bones take over his treatment, and that makes Bones less grumpy about the whole thing.
Jim's ankle is broken. It's not a clean break, though, so the hospital's regenerators are only going to be able to do so much. But if he listens to Bones, he is assured, he'll be fully recuperated by the ship's departure date.
"No offence, but I think I'm sick of Iowa." They're on the road back to the Kirk farmhouse. Jim has pain reducers and crutches. Bones has a bad mood.
"You haven't even given the place a chance yet," Jim argues.
Bones snorts. "I've only been here a few hours and I've already traipsed through the woods, hauled your ass across a field, and had to watch some emergency room doctor be completely ga-ga over you."
"He wasn't ga-ga over me."
"Liar."
"Jealous."
"No, annoyed," Bones corrects, taking a turn a little too sharply. Jim makes a face when his foot gets jostled against the car interior.
"Why?"
"There's nowhere in this damn universe that isn't filled with people who want your attention."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Bones pulls up in front of the farmhouse and kills the engine. "Never mind, Jim."
It's too late to really call it supper, but Winona has food prepared when Jim hobbles into the house on his new crutches, Bones not far behind him. They eat while Jim retells the story gloriously, Bones glares at his mashed potatoes, and Winona makes disappointed clicking noises with her tongue.
"You'll never change, will you, Jimmy? Always trouble for everyone."
But she ruffles his hair when she and Bones clear the table, so she's not really angry with him. They sit together, talking in the living room for a while, until Winona says she's got to be up early for a videoconference in the morning.
A barrage of told-you-so's follow Jim up the stairs, carrying his crutches. When Jim asks if Bones enjoyed the treehouse, at least, he gets silence. This leads to a whole lot of Jim being worried over the whole mess: not only has he fucked up his ankle, but he's fucked up his chance at winning over Bones, too.
Jim, wearing sleep pants and no shirt, is trying to arrange pillows for his foot to rest on when there's a knock at his bedroom door. He calls out for the visitor to enter. Expecting his mom, Bones surprises him.
"How's the ankle feeling?"
"A bit sore, but I've been through worst injuries."
Bones shakes his head and stares at the periodic table on Jim's wall. "You're unbelievable."
"Did you need anything?" Jim asks, finding a comfortable arrangement for his foot on the pillows and leaning back, trying to relax. "Towels and stuff should be in the bathroom."
"I'm fine. Just came in to check on you."
"You never stop, do you, Bones?"
"When it comes to you? No."
Jim doesn't sleep well that night, and blames it on his ankle keeping him up. The next day, Winona seems subdued, so the boys follow her lead and stay quiet, keeping to themselves. Jim doesn't sleep well that night, either.
Their third day in Iowa, an old friend of Jim's drops by, on the excuse that he'd just "happened to hear the great hero was back in town". Jim feels like even more of a moron than usual, sitting beside his brilliant now-friend and across from his enterprising and successful then-friend. Barfights never really compared to Jerry's smooth-talking, and any heroism he's been pegged with certainly doesn't compare to the success of anyone smart enough to create a booming business in Riverside. And, well, Bones was … Bones.
"How long have you two been together?" Jerry asks, pouring his third glass of iced tea.
"He tried to throw up on me on the shuttle out of here three and a bit years ago," Jim offers instantly.
"Aha. Well, that's one way to meet a partner. Must've made for an interesting first date, too."
"Excuse me?" Just by the tone of his voice, Jim can tell Bones has his eyebrows doing crazy things.
Jerry looks suitably bewildered. "I'm sorry, are you not -?"
"No," Bones snaps. "We're not a couple. We're friends."
"What he said," Jim says, nodding. Bones' mood and social skills crash dangerously fast and Jerry soon invents a reason to leave.
Jim and Bones don't talk for the next three and a half hours, when Bones comes out the backdoor, carrying two glasses and a bottle of something or other. Jim, sitting in an Adirondack chair with his foot up on the veranda's banister, lowers his book and looks at his best friend. Bones looks back.
"You can negate things without being a total asshole, you know," Jim says, eventually needing to break the silence.
"Yeah, and I will when the rest of the world stops making assumptions." Bones settles himself on a nearby chair and sets one glass down, pouring liquid from the bottle into the other one and handing it to Jim. Jim takes it, but doesn't drink.
"Well I'm sorry," Jim retorts, his voice hard while Bones pours a second glass. "I'll make sure to emphasize the platonic nature of our relationship next time you meet anyone new."
Bones takes a slow drink, clearly savouring the taste of whatever beverage it is Jim isn't interested in. Then he licks his lips and says, "I think I should go."
"What?"
"Back to San Francisco, or, hell, maybe to visit some family down home. I just don't think I should be here."
"Bullshit," Jim says, without missing a beat. "Who's going to make sure I rest my ankle?"
Bones is just as quick on the draw. "You will, because you know if could affect your captaincy."
There's a bit of a pause for thinking here. "My mother really likes you."
"Your mother is a fine woman, Jim, but I still think it'd be better on you both - especially you, Jim - if I leave."
Jim makes a face. It's not like he's expecting Bones to be dealing in Vulcan-esque logic, but he's used to the doctor using common sense, at least. "You're making absolutely zero sense right about now, Bones."
"That little incident with your friend earlier proved me somethin'," Bones says, settling back in the chair. "And it's not anything I wanted proved any time in the next five years. So I want to put a little distance between us."
"If you've suddenly realized your intense hatred for me," Jim replies, a little bit sour and a little bit sarcastic, "we should probably get that sorted out before we get out in space."
"Not quite that."
At this point, Jim starts to feel his heart hammer like some sort of cliché. Because this is some sort of moment of truth, he can feel it. He turns to Bones. "Then what?"
Bones gives him a long hard look. And then he looks away. "Doesn't matter."
"Oh, right." It's like being punched in the gut. Not life-threatening, but not pleasant, either. "Well, I still really think you should stay. We didn't drive all this way just so you could leave after a few days."
"Yeah, fine," Bones says, after a while, and it's not quite the victory Jim is shooting for, but it's something. After a while, Jim picks his book back up, his drink still untouched. A while after that, the sun starts to set and Bones starts to snore.
Somehow, even on the crutches, Jim manages to go inside and bring out a blanket to drape over Bones without even waking the usually light-sleeping doctor. He turns on the porch light, too, even though it'll attract the bugs, and cosies up in a sweater some aunt knit him in his teen years. He tries to think of the last time he wore it, but can't, so abandons the thought and just goes back to reading, instead, while Bones sleeps on.
This isn't at all what he had in mind when he suggested a trip back home, but, so long as he's got Bones by his side, Jim thinks this'll do well enough.
Author: callieach
Fandom: Star Trek xi
Characters/Pairings: Jim Kirk/Leonard McCoy, Winona Kirk
Rating: light R
Word Count: 4 507
Summary: With five weeks left before they're back up in space, Jim and Bones's road trip from San Francisco finally hits Riverside.
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Note: Title from Pablo Neruda's "Drunk As Drunk"; this may become a series and this may not. I'm not sure yet.
They have six weeks between their appointments to the Enterprise and their needing to report for duty. Two days into it, Jim makes a fumbled, rushed, utterly nervous sounding invitation for Bones to come to Iowa for a few weeks with him. Bones tells him he's acting funny. Jim rambles on about a withdrawal of excitement since the whole thing with Nero. Bones raises his eyebrows like he doesn't believe a word his future captain and always best friend is saying. But then he agrees on the grounds that he's never been to Iowa sober.
With five weeks left before they're back up in space, Jim and Bones's road trip from San Francisco finally hits Riverside. Three days by car is longer than an hour on a shuttle, but there's less stress to be had. Winona is waiting for them in the kitchen when they get to the old Kirk farmhouse, one midday. She greets them both by their full first names and hugs them before offering lunch.
After a round of sandwiches and polite conversation between the three of them, the boys - as Winona so insistently calls them - get their bags from the car and haul them up creaking wooden stairs to the third floor, where three of the four bedrooms are.
Jim shows off the guestroom first. It's got a floral bedspread and plain curtains and looks like it's just recently been dusted. Bones flops experimentally on the bed. He looks surprised when it doesn't make any strange noises under his weight.
"Everything else in this whole damn state is so old-fashioned, I thought the bed musta been, too," he explains. They both laugh, then Bones follows Jim into his childhood bedroom. There are posters on the walls - a giant periodic table of the elements, some long-disbanded rock group, and a Starfleet recruitment poster - that Jim says have been there since he was kid. He looks a little sheepish.
"Y'know," he adds, "before I was a proper delinquent."
Bones laughs at that, too. The rest of the house gets toured, after. The bathroom and Sam's room - which looks like it hasn't been cleaned since Sam left home - on that level, a study and a closed door to Winona's room on the second floor. The ground level has the kitchen, a formal dining room Jim doesn't ever remember eating in, and two living rooms. After that, it's the grounds: the garage and where the barn used to be, until Jim burned it down in a fit of rebellion.
They get a shopping list from Winona and drive downtown to pick up groceries. There's a mutual decision somewhere in there, too, to stop at the liquor store. And Jim needs to pick up toothpaste, because, being Jim, he left his in his dorm room.
Back at the farmhouse, Jim puts away the groceries and beer while Winona chats with Bones again. He parries every 'Leonard' with a 'ma'am', which seems to amuse everyone in the kitchen. Jim eventually goes out the back door to the wraparound veranda. He's just found a comfortable way to lean on his arms, on the railing, when the door opens again.
"Your mom's nice," Bones says, a little behind Jim and to his right.
"I guess so." Jim keeps his gaze outward, looking at trees in the distance. Living in California so long, he'd lost track of the seasons, somehow. It was clearly autumn here, with every sycamore and maple and oak touting leaves in varying colours.
"You don't know her all that well, do you?"
"We didn't exactly bond all that well when I was little." Clearing his throat, Jim turns his head to look at his friend. "But it doesn't matter. We've patched things up since I started at the Academy."
"Ah."
There's a considerable silence between them, because Jim doesn't know what to add to that and Bones seems to be thinking. Then Jim catches Bones looking across the field, toward the tree line. "Hey, Bones," he says, stepping animatedly in between the viewer and viewed. "Want to see something cool?"
"Were you this excitable as a kid?"
"For the most part." Jim chews on his lips and looks to the treated wood flooring of the porch. Too often this exact excitability got him into more trouble than he could clearly remember, until it was mostly driven out of him. But between Starfleet and space and Bones being here with him, though, he feels light and free and unstoppable like he used to, on the good days. His head snaps back up and he grins. "Follow me."
The grass in the field is long, up to Jim's knees, but he strides through it with purpose, occasionally turning to jog backward a few steps, just to make sure he's still being followed. When they reach the trees, he has to stop and think. He hasn't been here in over a decade.
"Don't tell me you're lost," Bones half-growls.
Jim thinks he's got his bearings again, so he retorts with, "Just trying to figure out the most scenic route."
Thankfully, he only has to backtrack once, and Bones doesn't comment on it, so maybe the doctor doesn’t notice that they passed that one funny-looking stump twice. When they get where they're going, Jim is dismayed but not entirely surprised to find that his treehouse isn't nearly as impressive as he used to believe it was. Nonetheless, he makes a sweeping gesture with his arm and says, "ta-da!"
"A treehouse?" Bones raises and eyebrow and has a funny quirk to his lips, but it doesn't look expressly condescending.
"But not just any treehouse." Jim pats the old oak fondly before tugging on the bottom few metal rungs in its trunk. "It's the Best Darn Secrety Treehouse in Riverside," he says, that light and unstoppable feeling rushing back at him again as he steps onto the second rung up. He's tall enough now he doesn't need the bottom one. Probably doesn't need any of them, could just grab hold of that lowest branch and swing himself up. But it's been ten years, so, for posterity's sake, he's going to do this right.
"Damnit, Jim, that doesn't look safe."
Jim's got his feet on the fourth rung now, and his arms on the floorboards of the treehouse. "Of course it's safe, it's Kirk-engineered," he shoots over his shoulder.
"Well that's reassuring," Bones drawls sarcastically.
The tree is old enough that the bottom few branches are bare, Jim notices as he hoists himself into what had always been, affectionately, the doorway. The top branches are still well-endowed, though, and mostly in varying shades of yellow-orange. The floor of the treehouse is covered in dead leaves, expectedly, and that might've been a dead squirrel over there in the corner, at one time. When Jim straightens, he hits his head on the retractable tin roof - that was his own invention, at nine when Sam had already begun to tire of the place and he'd needed a reason to stay hanging around his kid brother - and swears. This brings out a litany of warnings and threats from the forest floor.
"Relax, Bones, it's just a treehouse." Jim takes a few shuffling steps, tentative. Everything seems to be all right, so the next time he moves, he isn't as careful. One board snaps and gives out, then the one beside it. He flails his arms, a bit wildly, as he falls through the new hole in the floor of his beloved treehouse. The best he can do is grab on to the next plank as he passes it. Bones calls out his name, one sharp syllable of panic, as that board snaps and falls, headed straight for the ground along with Jim.
He lands on his feet, which would be good if his right ankle didn't make a snapping noise, but it does, and he topples over, landing hard on his back.
Bones is kneeling at Jim's side before he can even blink the stars out of his eyes. The ground may be covered with dead leaves, but it's still hard as anything.
"Jim! Are you alright?"
Jim flexes a few muscles, checking for damage. Broken back? No. Screwed up ankle? Yes. "I'm fine," he lies, and pushes himself upright. More than the residual aching of his back and backside, or the persistent throbbing in his ankle, he notices just how close to his face Bones's expression of worry is. He swallows, then conjures up a bit of a grin. "So maybe the maintenance job wasn't the best. But it was a glorious treehouse, in it's heyday."
"You're an idiot," Bones says, just like he has hundreds of times before. Except this time isn't like every time before, because this time he's inches away from Jim's face and he's got worry practically written across his forehead. There's no sarcastic drawl, no annoyed eyeroll, just concern. "Your brain could be scattered across the leaves right now, or your neck could've snapped, or you could've -" He pushes down hard on Jim's leg and doesn't let up until Jim squirms. " - gotten your damn self paralysed."
"But I didn't."
"Dumb luck." A little bit of a glower comes into those hazel eyes, along with all the concern. Jim's a bit more familiar with the glower. "And I don't even have a proper medical kit with me, and god knows how far we are away from the nearest road."
"Quite, last time I checked. 'S why I like it here."
"Well, I don't."
Jim frowns and doesn't protest when Bones starts prodding around his head and torso, watching Jim's face for the slightest hint of pain. They're still too close, so Jim barely feels the doctor's hands on him.
"You really don't like it here?"
Bones pauses for a moment, then goes back to his testing for pain reactions, pressing hard on Jim's hips. And then he says, "I don't like anywhere that's going to catch me off-guard by trying to kill you."
Jim is feeling frustrated, confused, and annoyingly aroused. It’s not everyday Bones has got his hands all over him in the middle of the woods, after all. "Nowhere's trying to kill me, Bones, least of all my childhood treehouse."
"Okay, then." Bones twists one of Jim's thighs, then the other. "I don't like places where I don't expect you to be looking for a fight, and yet, you do. You're at odds with everything, Jim. Classmates and superiors and old flooring, it seems. You've got to stop."
"Stop what?"
Bones leans back a little, but keeps his hands on Jim. "Stop being careless and certainly stop doing dumb things deliberately."
"We're not just talking about this here, are we?"
"No, we're not." Jim twitches a bit when Bones wriggles his right knee, but fights to keep his face impassive. Bones' attentiveness has apparently gone down, since he doesn't jump all over that. "I don't think I can handle being your CMO if you being full-time captain is anything like you just being on the bridge, during the crisis two weeks ago."
The absolute last subject Jim had wanted to breach in Iowa was the ordeal with Nero and the Narada. But if they're here now… "You don't think I can do it?" he asks softly. "Or is it just the space thing freaking you out again? Because, you know, not every day is that exciting."
"I know that." Bones purses his lips and clasps Jim's left shin. "And I know you're capable of captaining the ship."
"What's the matter, then?" Jim asks, but he doesn't get an answer, just a good jostle of his right leg that makes pain shoot up from his ankle. He winces and draws in a sharp breath. Bones certainly doesn't miss that, his hands coming off Jim's leg in an instant.
"It's the ankle, isn't it?" Bones makes a noise of annoyance. "Just one goddamn injury after another with you. You've still got bruises from your idiocy two weeks ago, and now I've got to put up with whatever the hell you've done to your ankle."
"You don't have to put up with anything, Bones," Jim retorts curtly. "You can turn around right now and go back to the house and leave for San Fran again. Or go wherever the hell you want. See if I care."
"And just leave you here to rot?"
"I can take care of myself."
"But you don't, damnit," Bones says angrily, standing up to tower over Jim. "You can but you don't, and that's exactly the problem."
Jim is perplexed. Bones has complained of Jim's reckless habits before, but has never gone this far with it. He tries to channel the confusion into a mirror of Bones' anger. "People can take care of themselves while still living a little. Not everyone is happy with just standing at the sidelines, grumbling about how dangerous everything is. And that's all you fucking do, isn't it? You bitch about danger and how stupid everyone seems to be in your eyes and then you patch them up and go right back to what you were doing before. It's such a load of bull."
Bones doesn't say anything, just glares at Jim for a few long seconds before turning and walking back the way they came. Jim's tempted to cry out, to make him come back, but has a little too much dignity for that. So what if he's alone in the woods on a broken ankle; that doesn't mean he needs to act like he needs Bones, even though he really does.
Jim waits until he can't hear Bones crunching along through the woods before he tries to stand up. His ankle doesn't hold him at all, and he ends up careening into the trunk of the oak tree he'd just fallen from. "Well this sucks," he mutters to himself, trying to work out some method of hobbling back to the house, using the trees for support.
Just before he hits the field, he finds a fallen tree to use for a seat. He's out of breath and exhausted and more than a little sick of the pain shooting at frequent intervals up his right leg. His boot feels infinitely too tight, but he doesn't take it off, because he knows it won't be going back on. He doesn't know what he's going to do when he gets back to the house. Bones, the way he stormed off, didn't seem apt to patch him up, so that means going to the hospital, if he wants it healed before their mission starts. There doesn't seem to be much chance of being able to drive himself anywhere, so he's going to have to ask his mom. And won't that be awkward. In town for only a few hours and already he's got himself damaged somehow.
Maybe Bones was right, after all. Maybe Jim hasn't got a clue how to take care of himself.
He folds his arms over his bent left knee and bends his head over, blocking out the afternoon sun with his sweater sleeves. Eventually, the rustling of long grass and leaves tells him someone's coming. Since it's either Bones, back to continue telling him how reckless he is, or his mother, being all disappointed and shit, he doesn't look up.
"Jim?" It's Bones. Great. Jim tries to summon up some anger at being left alone and injured in the forest, but finds he can't. "Goddamnit, Jim, if you passed out from overexertion I swear to God, I'll -"
Jim lifts his head and Bones stops talking. "What would you do, Bones?"
"Let your mother call that ambulance she wanted to," Bones replies, his voice gruff as he kneels at Jim's foot and sets a small medical bag on the leaf-littered ground. "And then never let you out of my sight when you're injured again."
"Just think, that'll be your full-time job in just over a month." If Jim jokes, he can pretend Bones removing his boot and sock doesn't hurt like hell.
"It's my job all time, Jim," Bones says, eyes and hands focused on the task at hand. "I'm a doctor and you're a perpetual patient."
"You shouldn't feel obligated to help everyone, all the time."
"I'm a doctor," Bones repeats.
Jim tries to be quiet, to just let Bones wrap up his foot in silence, but that leads to small, pathetic whimpering noises whenever it hurts, so he has to do something better with his focus. "Is that why you came back out here for me? Because you're a doctor?"
"Even if I weren't, I would never intentionally let anything bad happen to you."
"Oh. That's..."
Bones tugs on the iced wrap around Jim's foot once more for good measure before securing it in place. Then he sits back on his heels. "That's what, Jim?" he asks.
"One of the sappiest things I've ever heard."
"You're lucky, then. Some of the crap I've heard -"
"But at least you've heard it, Bones," Jim interjects. "Most sap comes with affection that isn't based on lust."
"I'm pretty sure no real affection was ever based on lust."
"You know what I mean."
"Jim, I -" Bones drags a hand down his face, sighing. "I never know what you expect me to say in response to stuff like that."
Jim shrugs. "Nothing, I guess."
"Okay, then." Bones grabs his medical bag as he stands and extends a hand down to Jim. "C'mon, let's get you to the hospital. That ankle's got enough damage to be trouble, I reckon."
After a moment of hesitation, Jim puts his hand in Bones' and lets the other man stand him upright, off the tree trunk. Bones pulls Jim to him, one arm firmly around his waist in such a way that the bag digs into Jim's side. With the other arm, he pulls Jim's closest arm around his shoulder and holds on tight to Jim's hand.
"I can walk myself, you know," Jim says, taking a tentative first step.
"Like hell you can," Bones mutters in reply, moving with Jim. "Your mother hasn't got any crutches, so you'll be leanin' on me until I can find you some or get that fixed."
The walk to the rental car parked in front of the house takes an infinite time, in Jim's mind. Bones won't let him move too fast. Won't let go of him, either. It's nice, but not something he really wanted his mother to see, standing on the wraparound with her body language screaming worry.
At the hospital, Bones complains about the out-of-date medical tricorders and makes a nurse cry by yelling about her incompetence with the big, stationary scanner in the emergency department. Then a doctor recognizes them as 'those heroes from that Enterprise ship,' and things progress a bit smoother. Actually, Jim realizes, the doctor lets Bones take over his treatment, and that makes Bones less grumpy about the whole thing.
Jim's ankle is broken. It's not a clean break, though, so the hospital's regenerators are only going to be able to do so much. But if he listens to Bones, he is assured, he'll be fully recuperated by the ship's departure date.
"No offence, but I think I'm sick of Iowa." They're on the road back to the Kirk farmhouse. Jim has pain reducers and crutches. Bones has a bad mood.
"You haven't even given the place a chance yet," Jim argues.
Bones snorts. "I've only been here a few hours and I've already traipsed through the woods, hauled your ass across a field, and had to watch some emergency room doctor be completely ga-ga over you."
"He wasn't ga-ga over me."
"Liar."
"Jealous."
"No, annoyed," Bones corrects, taking a turn a little too sharply. Jim makes a face when his foot gets jostled against the car interior.
"Why?"
"There's nowhere in this damn universe that isn't filled with people who want your attention."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
Bones pulls up in front of the farmhouse and kills the engine. "Never mind, Jim."
It's too late to really call it supper, but Winona has food prepared when Jim hobbles into the house on his new crutches, Bones not far behind him. They eat while Jim retells the story gloriously, Bones glares at his mashed potatoes, and Winona makes disappointed clicking noises with her tongue.
"You'll never change, will you, Jimmy? Always trouble for everyone."
But she ruffles his hair when she and Bones clear the table, so she's not really angry with him. They sit together, talking in the living room for a while, until Winona says she's got to be up early for a videoconference in the morning.
A barrage of told-you-so's follow Jim up the stairs, carrying his crutches. When Jim asks if Bones enjoyed the treehouse, at least, he gets silence. This leads to a whole lot of Jim being worried over the whole mess: not only has he fucked up his ankle, but he's fucked up his chance at winning over Bones, too.
Jim, wearing sleep pants and no shirt, is trying to arrange pillows for his foot to rest on when there's a knock at his bedroom door. He calls out for the visitor to enter. Expecting his mom, Bones surprises him.
"How's the ankle feeling?"
"A bit sore, but I've been through worst injuries."
Bones shakes his head and stares at the periodic table on Jim's wall. "You're unbelievable."
"Did you need anything?" Jim asks, finding a comfortable arrangement for his foot on the pillows and leaning back, trying to relax. "Towels and stuff should be in the bathroom."
"I'm fine. Just came in to check on you."
"You never stop, do you, Bones?"
"When it comes to you? No."
Jim doesn't sleep well that night, and blames it on his ankle keeping him up. The next day, Winona seems subdued, so the boys follow her lead and stay quiet, keeping to themselves. Jim doesn't sleep well that night, either.
Their third day in Iowa, an old friend of Jim's drops by, on the excuse that he'd just "happened to hear the great hero was back in town". Jim feels like even more of a moron than usual, sitting beside his brilliant now-friend and across from his enterprising and successful then-friend. Barfights never really compared to Jerry's smooth-talking, and any heroism he's been pegged with certainly doesn't compare to the success of anyone smart enough to create a booming business in Riverside. And, well, Bones was … Bones.
"How long have you two been together?" Jerry asks, pouring his third glass of iced tea.
"He tried to throw up on me on the shuttle out of here three and a bit years ago," Jim offers instantly.
"Aha. Well, that's one way to meet a partner. Must've made for an interesting first date, too."
"Excuse me?" Just by the tone of his voice, Jim can tell Bones has his eyebrows doing crazy things.
Jerry looks suitably bewildered. "I'm sorry, are you not -?"
"No," Bones snaps. "We're not a couple. We're friends."
"What he said," Jim says, nodding. Bones' mood and social skills crash dangerously fast and Jerry soon invents a reason to leave.
Jim and Bones don't talk for the next three and a half hours, when Bones comes out the backdoor, carrying two glasses and a bottle of something or other. Jim, sitting in an Adirondack chair with his foot up on the veranda's banister, lowers his book and looks at his best friend. Bones looks back.
"You can negate things without being a total asshole, you know," Jim says, eventually needing to break the silence.
"Yeah, and I will when the rest of the world stops making assumptions." Bones settles himself on a nearby chair and sets one glass down, pouring liquid from the bottle into the other one and handing it to Jim. Jim takes it, but doesn't drink.
"Well I'm sorry," Jim retorts, his voice hard while Bones pours a second glass. "I'll make sure to emphasize the platonic nature of our relationship next time you meet anyone new."
Bones takes a slow drink, clearly savouring the taste of whatever beverage it is Jim isn't interested in. Then he licks his lips and says, "I think I should go."
"What?"
"Back to San Francisco, or, hell, maybe to visit some family down home. I just don't think I should be here."
"Bullshit," Jim says, without missing a beat. "Who's going to make sure I rest my ankle?"
Bones is just as quick on the draw. "You will, because you know if could affect your captaincy."
There's a bit of a pause for thinking here. "My mother really likes you."
"Your mother is a fine woman, Jim, but I still think it'd be better on you both - especially you, Jim - if I leave."
Jim makes a face. It's not like he's expecting Bones to be dealing in Vulcan-esque logic, but he's used to the doctor using common sense, at least. "You're making absolutely zero sense right about now, Bones."
"That little incident with your friend earlier proved me somethin'," Bones says, settling back in the chair. "And it's not anything I wanted proved any time in the next five years. So I want to put a little distance between us."
"If you've suddenly realized your intense hatred for me," Jim replies, a little bit sour and a little bit sarcastic, "we should probably get that sorted out before we get out in space."
"Not quite that."
At this point, Jim starts to feel his heart hammer like some sort of cliché. Because this is some sort of moment of truth, he can feel it. He turns to Bones. "Then what?"
Bones gives him a long hard look. And then he looks away. "Doesn't matter."
"Oh, right." It's like being punched in the gut. Not life-threatening, but not pleasant, either. "Well, I still really think you should stay. We didn't drive all this way just so you could leave after a few days."
"Yeah, fine," Bones says, after a while, and it's not quite the victory Jim is shooting for, but it's something. After a while, Jim picks his book back up, his drink still untouched. A while after that, the sun starts to set and Bones starts to snore.
Somehow, even on the crutches, Jim manages to go inside and bring out a blanket to drape over Bones without even waking the usually light-sleeping doctor. He turns on the porch light, too, even though it'll attract the bugs, and cosies up in a sweater some aunt knit him in his teen years. He tries to think of the last time he wore it, but can't, so abandons the thought and just goes back to reading, instead, while Bones sleeps on.
This isn't at all what he had in mind when he suggested a trip back home, but, so long as he's got Bones by his side, Jim thinks this'll do well enough.