ST Fic: Fantasy Island--Part 3 of 3
See Part 1 for Disclaimers; standard warnings apply
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There wasn’t much to say, really, as they went out the marked exit and completed paperwork, Jim nodding and smiling and smoothly thanking the staff before signing the last of the forms and signing where required before leaving the building completely. There wasn’t much to say as Jim flipped open his communicator, requesting to be beamed back to the ship despite the fact that they had a full day of leave left. There wasn’t much to say, really, as they stepped off the transporter pad to be greeted by the transporter tech-McCoy couldn’t for the life of him remember the kid’s name, although Jim seemed to know him, of course--and Spock, who had come down to welcome his Captain back to the ship, raising his eyebrow and commenting only that they were back early before succinctly yet comprehensively reporting on the goings on of the past 48 hours. There wasn’t much to say as they entered the turbo-lift towards Deck 3 where the officers’ quarters were located, and there wasn’t much to say as they nodded at Spock and stepped out of the turbo-lift together, while Spock continued on toward the bridge.
Fuck that. There was everything to say. He just didn’t know where to start.
“So, uh, I’ll see you later, then, Bones?” Jim wasn’t quite meeting his eyes, duffel over one shoulder, social smile still plastered across his face, and already turning away. McCoy didn’t let him, putting a hand onto his shoulder, stilling him.
“Are you ok?” He’d wanted to ask gently, but the words ended up barked out like more of a demand than a question, and he almost winced at the sound of his own voice.
But Jim barely reacted, looking distracted and eerily not altogether there. “Yeah. Just peachy.” He grinned, but it was shaky and unconvincing, a shadow of anything real, and McCoy could tell his heart wasn’t even vaguely in the attempt.
“Jim,” he began, not entirely sure what he planned to say, but Jim cut him off.
“Ok, maybe not. I don’t really want to talk about it, Bones. Just … I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you go. Are you mad?” Jim looked hopefully, earnestly up at McCoy, this new anxiety masking the torment behind his eyes.
McCoy blinked, more than a little frustrated. Grateful as he was for Jim’s sudden honesty, he couldn’t believe it was an actual question. Jim did fifteen things every day calculated specifically to annoy him and expected to be forgiven, but …
“No, Jim. I’m not mad,” McCoy replied, at a loss.
“Right, then.” Jim flashed another fake grin, and turned to go.
McCoy followed.
About halfway down the hallway, Jim turned slightly, finally noticing McCoy behind him. He frowned, just slightly. “I … I kind of want to be alone for a bit, Bones, if you don’t mind. So I’m just gonna …”
Watching Jim’s face, hearing the plea in Jim’s words, Bones almost considered, for one brief moment, giving in. But then he quashed the impulse. “Actually,” interrupted McCoy, “I do mind. I don’t think you should be alone right now.” McCoy made his words clear and firm and waited resolutely, if nervously, for the repercussions.
None came.
Jim was practicing that not-smiling smile again, the kind McCoy bet he used on officials and diplomats and people that just didn’t know him very well but that he needed to make nice with, before saying, “I just need some space, y’know? Too much family can do that. You know how it is.” Jim’s smile wasn’t exactly what he’d call creepy, but for an expression of emotion it was eerily blank.
McCoy forced himself to push Jim harder. “No, Jim. No. This is my line. You’re not … you are emotionally compromised as much as anyone could be. I’m relieving you of duty for 24 hours, and I absolutely will not leave you alone. You’d better not do anything stupid, you hear me?”
For a moment, anger flared in Jim’s eyes. McCoy was almost relieved, because at least the anger wasn’t blank, and wasn’t fake. But then it smoothed away, replaced again by that disturbingly false smile. “I’m scheduled to be off anyway. No worries,” said Kirk simply. As if that was going to do anything to alleviate his worry, not when Jim’s face was that closed off, not when his smile was deflection and nothing more.
McCoy was forced to try a different tack. “Well, if you don’t want me to be mad, talk to me. Better yet, eat with me. I went along with you, and didn’t get any dinner. You owe me that much.”
Anger flashed again, before clearing as swiftly as it had come. “Yeah, sure Bones. Just give me a minute or two to change, and I’ll meet you in the mess, ok?” So casual, so smooth. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have fallen for it easily.
“No, I’ll come with you. We can eat in your quarters.” Kirk wanted public, wanted distraction, wanted an excuse to talk about nothing but the weather. As if McCoy was going to let him get away with that.
Once again, anger flashed across Kirk’s face. This time, his expression took just a beat longer before it smoothed out again, and the smile had grown more brittle, less secure. “Sure, Bones. Whatever you want.” Jim’s right hand, McCoy saw, was clenched translucent white over bone.
McCoy, once again, had the feeling he was picking his way through a minefield.
Then again, his mama hadn’t raised a coward. And he’d never been the type to leave well enough alone. “So, that’s your family, huh?” he asked just as Jim palmed the door open.
McCoy stepped through just in time to see Jim whirl around, fury blazing in those bluest of eyes. “That wasn’t my family, Bones,” he hissed. “How could it have been? I never knew my father. I never knew him, although everyone else always seemed to. He was famous. History knew him, but not me, and I always … “
Halfway through, and even as McCoy watched, the fury burnt itself out, leaving …
What fire always left. Devastation. Ashes. “Whatever, Bones, it doesn’t matter. What do you want to eat?” Jim’s voice would have sounded easy and untroubled to anyone who didn’t know him. To McCoy, it sounded weary and defeated.
Jim. Who didn’t believe in defeat.
God. He wanted to fix this. He wanted to … “Jim, talk to me. What are you thinking?”
“There’s nothing to say. Thanks for coming. I’m having roast beef. You want to chance the replicated pie?” At that moment, Jim could have taught lessons in detachment to a Vulcan.
But McCoy was a stubborn, persistent bastard. Joss had told him so, any number of times. “No. Tell me about your father.”
“Will you ever just let anything go?” Kirk sounded almost amused, now. “And what’s there to tell, anyway? As I told you, I didn’t know him.” He paused, and then he said, almost reluctantly, and half to himself, “Mom, she never got it, and she was always so sad, and Sam always told me not to worry her, and … Sam was the closest thing to a father I ever had-he always watched out for me, until he left, and now he’s dead. He’s dead, Bones, and I can’t … I … “ he breathed in sharply, and let it out slowly. “Besides,”, and the grin he turned on Bones was sharp and blinding, “Mom hates Thanksgiving.”
McCoy felt a frisson of panic. He couldn’t fix this. He wouldn’t know where to start.
“You are allowed to miss them, Jim,” he said instead. “You are expected to miss him.” McCoy stepped closer, wanting so much to wrap Jim in his arms, but Jim flinched away and stepped back.
“Well, whatever. I didn’t even know them, really. Besides, your family is still around. You’re just not with them.” Jim’s words were vicious, and struck deeper than he had probably meant. Realization at what he’d just said hit a moment too late, flashed across Jim’s face, but the words hung in the air, even though McCoy could see Jim wanted to take the words back.
“Bones-“
But McCoy was hurt and confused and angry, too, and the words had been a spark to dry tinder. It was too much, all at once, and McCoy knew, knew he should just walk away. But he was angry now, and so he did what he had always done when he got angry - he attacked. “Yeah, Jim, what would I know? You’ve never told me any of that. You never even warned me. It was interesting, that’s for sure. You couldn’t have just told me you’d been on Tarsus?”
Almost before he’d said it, he realized how incredibly stupid it was. He realized that this particular defence mechanism had already destroyed one important relationship.
It didn't stop him.
“I … that wasn’t all true, you know.” And Jim was not shouting back; his voice had gotten quiet, defensive.
Later, he would be grateful for the sound-proofed walls, but right now, he was beyond control. Because McCoy could not, could not believe that Jim had the gall, the unmitigated gall to lie to him now.
“Jim!” McCoy shouted his name, exasperated. There was a warning there, in Jim’s tone, in the very angle of his head and the cast of his shoulders, but McCoy had hit his limit, and wasn’t listening to the clues and signs and red flags he’s normally so attuned to. He’s suddenly frustrated with Jim and his stupid damn issues, as if he’s the only one. “You drag me into this … this mess with your family, and you can’t even bother to explain …”
And Jim, ever one to throw himself into a good fight, retaliated in kind. Right on cue. “Fuck you, Bones! Don’t you get it? The whole family thing is over. Dad and Sam are dead. Mom’s divorced, ever since Frank-he couldn’t handle us, I guess, and … Aurelan has an older sister--she was divorced, had a couple of boys. She used to bring her kids over all the time, they were good boys, I liked them, they’d call me sometimes--but after Sam died, after Aurelan lost the baby, she told me she didn’t want me talking to her nephews, not anymore. She doesn’t want them anywhere near me. She’s right. I’m a starship Captain now anyways, never home, and they’ll be better off this way. Mom’s better off too, without me sticking around constantly. Look, Bones, I’m sorry to have dragged you into it, it didn’t turn out how I planned. I’ll make it up to you, won’t bother you again, but please, just let it the hell go.” By the end of the tirade, Jim sounded almost calm--reasonable, even--if you ignored the actual words.
Appalled by how much he’d missed, how much he hadn’t even noticed, McCoy blurted the first thing in his head, “She doesn’t blame you, Jim. She couldn’t.” And in the stretching silence that followed, he realized that he didn’t really know. She absolutely shouldn’t, she had no right, none; but he didn’t know if Aurelan did, anyway.
Jim didn’t answer.
“So, were you on Tarsus, Jim?” The question was out of his mouth, falling into the terrible silence before he’d had a chance to properly think it through. Because even though he knew this was the wrong time, knew that Jim must be fragile beyond belief right now, even though he knew better, knew how volatile everything was and that they were both stressed and on edge-had been on edge for weeks and he should just let it go for now--he couldn’t help himself. Time to lay everything out.
Besides, he wanted to know, needed to know, and he knew he might not get another chance.
And partly, he wanted to hurt Jim, a little, because he couldn’t help how hurt and upset and confused he felt. At the same time that he wanted to know more, he didn’t want to know--this at all-and he hadn’t wanted to have found out, not indirectly like that, and not about Jim, of all people. He felt manipulated. He felt downright angry. And now that he knew, he wanted … he wasn’t sure what he wanted.
He wanted to change the past, except he didn’t even know what that meant anymore.
But the reaction he got wasn’t the one he expected.
Because Jim didn't just react to the baiting, he imploded. “Whatever! You want to know? Fine. It was mostly my fault, anyway. I knew mom had to go away sometimes, and I tried to be good, I really did, but mom and Frank-they were busy, they were always so busy, and Sam … Sam was a teenager, he didn’t want me around, a lot of the time-he was old enough to look after himself, and besides, he had a job and summer camp and a girlfriend and stuff, and - I was only twelve, mom had to go into deep space where there wasn’t much communication and they-they thought I’d have fun, with Aunt Sue and Uncle Bob. That’s what they told me, anyway. Tarsus was an agricultural colony, you know. It was pretty, and green. It was supposed to produce food. They told me I’d enjoy it.” And Jim’s voice had dwindled to a whisper. A bare, bare whisper.
“Jim,” breathed Bones, anger long forgotten.
“So I tried extra hard when I got there. And then … ‘Go with Kodos, Jimmy,’ Uncle Bob said. ‘Be a good boy, kiddo.’ And I didn’t want to go-I didn’t-but I did, quietly, because Uncle Bob said to listen, and mom had told me I should be extra-good-she was on some mission, and I missed her but I knew that sometimes she couldn’t stay in touch--and then they went, quietly, as well. ‘Don’t ask questions,’ he said. And I didn’t. I was good, I was, I-“
“Jesus, Jim. That’s enough. I’m sorry.” McCoy tried again to wrap his arms around Jim, tried to wrap him in comfort but Jim was having none of it, shrugging him off, pacing and restless, his mouth still moving, speaking too quickly, babbling an endless stream of horrible, terrible words.
“Part of me always wondered, you know? Wondered if they knew, if they somehow knew and were trying to get rid of me. Sam always said that they hadn’t really wanted me, and I wasn’t the easiest kid, you know, and Sam said …”
“Shut the fuck up, do you hear me?” McCoy shouted the words, drowning out Jim’s voice, cutting off the ugly flow. “Shut the fuck up, right now, and if you ever, ever, even suggest something like that again I will hit you so hard you won’t see tomorrow, do you hear me? They loved you, I love you, and no one, no one sane would ever send a child, a goddamned child into that, Jim. No one. I promise. I promise.” And now he did hug Jim, hanging on when Jim tried to shrug him off, hanging on when Jim struggled, and hanging on harder when Jim finally stilled, crying helplessly into McCoy’s shirt.
He walked them backward towards the bed, sitting on it, pulling Jim with him, and still holding on. He rocked them both, a little, re-arranging Jim in his arms so it was a little more comfortable. He was starting to feel the strain, the exhaustion, the ache in his arms as he continued to hold Jim, but he shifted only enough that he could pull him impossibly closer.
It was a long time later that he heard Jim say, so softly he almost missed it, “I always told myself, I always told myself that if dad had lived … if dad had lived, he’d have really wanted me. I mean, really, and he wouldn’t have let mom send me away.” Jim’s voice was muffled by the soft, thick fabric of McCoy’s shirt. McCoy still understood each word perfectly.
Because that’s what this had all been about, hadn’t it? He tightened his hold on Jim, murmuring, “She didn’t know, baby. She couldn’t.” He stroked a large hand over Jim’s head, smoothing the bright strands.
“Mom never wanted me to join Starfleet. She was pissed at Pike for a long time, even though she’s known him for like ever.” Jim pulled back and looked up at him now, blue eyes washed with tears, even though the voice was steady, matter of fact.
“I’m sure she was just worried. She’s proud of you, Jim. You know she is.” Jim’s so young, and so old, and McCoy wondered how he hadn’t ever seen it before. Wondered how much else was hidden under the flash and glamour.
But Jim had moved away again, getting up, drifting restlessly around the room. “Sam, I don’t know. I just … I left, right after the memorial, even though she asked me to stay. She looked so … lost, but I couldn’t stay, Bones. I … there was a mission, and I just … “
He knew. He’d seen. Jim had been difficult to be around, particularly those first few days; he had been looking for any excuse to run. As McCoy himself had once done.
“Holidays are coming up. Your Mom must have gone back to Earth, by now,” McCoy said instead, keeping his voice carefully neutral.
“Yeah, she keeps asking me to visit.” Jim sounded distracted, but he had paused, looking down at a photograph on his nightstand; McCoy looked down at it too from over Jim’s shoulder.
It was a photo of a woman, and a young child. The little boy was blond and blue-eyed and smiling, all chubby cheeks and dimples. The woman was smiling, and while her eyes were a little tired, a little sad, her smile was genuine: proud and joyful and filled with love.
He went up to Jim, and wrapped his arms around him from behind. McCoy looked down at the photo of the woman, thought of the woman he’d seen speaking to Jim, right after the memorial. She was older than the Winona in the holodeck, older than the Winona in the photo, and had looked even more tired and sad. But the look in her eyes when she looked at Jim … she loved her son, more than anything. That was the only part that hadn’t been a lie.
“You know, Jim, maybe that’s a good idea. I think I’d like to meet her.”
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End. As always, any comments, suggestions, thoughts, pictures of cute animals ... are greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading. :-)
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There wasn’t much to say, really, as they went out the marked exit and completed paperwork, Jim nodding and smiling and smoothly thanking the staff before signing the last of the forms and signing where required before leaving the building completely. There wasn’t much to say as Jim flipped open his communicator, requesting to be beamed back to the ship despite the fact that they had a full day of leave left. There wasn’t much to say, really, as they stepped off the transporter pad to be greeted by the transporter tech-McCoy couldn’t for the life of him remember the kid’s name, although Jim seemed to know him, of course--and Spock, who had come down to welcome his Captain back to the ship, raising his eyebrow and commenting only that they were back early before succinctly yet comprehensively reporting on the goings on of the past 48 hours. There wasn’t much to say as they entered the turbo-lift towards Deck 3 where the officers’ quarters were located, and there wasn’t much to say as they nodded at Spock and stepped out of the turbo-lift together, while Spock continued on toward the bridge.
Fuck that. There was everything to say. He just didn’t know where to start.
“So, uh, I’ll see you later, then, Bones?” Jim wasn’t quite meeting his eyes, duffel over one shoulder, social smile still plastered across his face, and already turning away. McCoy didn’t let him, putting a hand onto his shoulder, stilling him.
“Are you ok?” He’d wanted to ask gently, but the words ended up barked out like more of a demand than a question, and he almost winced at the sound of his own voice.
But Jim barely reacted, looking distracted and eerily not altogether there. “Yeah. Just peachy.” He grinned, but it was shaky and unconvincing, a shadow of anything real, and McCoy could tell his heart wasn’t even vaguely in the attempt.
“Jim,” he began, not entirely sure what he planned to say, but Jim cut him off.
“Ok, maybe not. I don’t really want to talk about it, Bones. Just … I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made you go. Are you mad?” Jim looked hopefully, earnestly up at McCoy, this new anxiety masking the torment behind his eyes.
McCoy blinked, more than a little frustrated. Grateful as he was for Jim’s sudden honesty, he couldn’t believe it was an actual question. Jim did fifteen things every day calculated specifically to annoy him and expected to be forgiven, but …
“No, Jim. I’m not mad,” McCoy replied, at a loss.
“Right, then.” Jim flashed another fake grin, and turned to go.
McCoy followed.
About halfway down the hallway, Jim turned slightly, finally noticing McCoy behind him. He frowned, just slightly. “I … I kind of want to be alone for a bit, Bones, if you don’t mind. So I’m just gonna …”
Watching Jim’s face, hearing the plea in Jim’s words, Bones almost considered, for one brief moment, giving in. But then he quashed the impulse. “Actually,” interrupted McCoy, “I do mind. I don’t think you should be alone right now.” McCoy made his words clear and firm and waited resolutely, if nervously, for the repercussions.
None came.
Jim was practicing that not-smiling smile again, the kind McCoy bet he used on officials and diplomats and people that just didn’t know him very well but that he needed to make nice with, before saying, “I just need some space, y’know? Too much family can do that. You know how it is.” Jim’s smile wasn’t exactly what he’d call creepy, but for an expression of emotion it was eerily blank.
McCoy forced himself to push Jim harder. “No, Jim. No. This is my line. You’re not … you are emotionally compromised as much as anyone could be. I’m relieving you of duty for 24 hours, and I absolutely will not leave you alone. You’d better not do anything stupid, you hear me?”
For a moment, anger flared in Jim’s eyes. McCoy was almost relieved, because at least the anger wasn’t blank, and wasn’t fake. But then it smoothed away, replaced again by that disturbingly false smile. “I’m scheduled to be off anyway. No worries,” said Kirk simply. As if that was going to do anything to alleviate his worry, not when Jim’s face was that closed off, not when his smile was deflection and nothing more.
McCoy was forced to try a different tack. “Well, if you don’t want me to be mad, talk to me. Better yet, eat with me. I went along with you, and didn’t get any dinner. You owe me that much.”
Anger flashed again, before clearing as swiftly as it had come. “Yeah, sure Bones. Just give me a minute or two to change, and I’ll meet you in the mess, ok?” So casual, so smooth. If he hadn’t known better, he’d have fallen for it easily.
“No, I’ll come with you. We can eat in your quarters.” Kirk wanted public, wanted distraction, wanted an excuse to talk about nothing but the weather. As if McCoy was going to let him get away with that.
Once again, anger flashed across Kirk’s face. This time, his expression took just a beat longer before it smoothed out again, and the smile had grown more brittle, less secure. “Sure, Bones. Whatever you want.” Jim’s right hand, McCoy saw, was clenched translucent white over bone.
McCoy, once again, had the feeling he was picking his way through a minefield.
Then again, his mama hadn’t raised a coward. And he’d never been the type to leave well enough alone. “So, that’s your family, huh?” he asked just as Jim palmed the door open.
McCoy stepped through just in time to see Jim whirl around, fury blazing in those bluest of eyes. “That wasn’t my family, Bones,” he hissed. “How could it have been? I never knew my father. I never knew him, although everyone else always seemed to. He was famous. History knew him, but not me, and I always … “
Halfway through, and even as McCoy watched, the fury burnt itself out, leaving …
What fire always left. Devastation. Ashes. “Whatever, Bones, it doesn’t matter. What do you want to eat?” Jim’s voice would have sounded easy and untroubled to anyone who didn’t know him. To McCoy, it sounded weary and defeated.
Jim. Who didn’t believe in defeat.
God. He wanted to fix this. He wanted to … “Jim, talk to me. What are you thinking?”
“There’s nothing to say. Thanks for coming. I’m having roast beef. You want to chance the replicated pie?” At that moment, Jim could have taught lessons in detachment to a Vulcan.
But McCoy was a stubborn, persistent bastard. Joss had told him so, any number of times. “No. Tell me about your father.”
“Will you ever just let anything go?” Kirk sounded almost amused, now. “And what’s there to tell, anyway? As I told you, I didn’t know him.” He paused, and then he said, almost reluctantly, and half to himself, “Mom, she never got it, and she was always so sad, and Sam always told me not to worry her, and … Sam was the closest thing to a father I ever had-he always watched out for me, until he left, and now he’s dead. He’s dead, Bones, and I can’t … I … “ he breathed in sharply, and let it out slowly. “Besides,”, and the grin he turned on Bones was sharp and blinding, “Mom hates Thanksgiving.”
McCoy felt a frisson of panic. He couldn’t fix this. He wouldn’t know where to start.
“You are allowed to miss them, Jim,” he said instead. “You are expected to miss him.” McCoy stepped closer, wanting so much to wrap Jim in his arms, but Jim flinched away and stepped back.
“Well, whatever. I didn’t even know them, really. Besides, your family is still around. You’re just not with them.” Jim’s words were vicious, and struck deeper than he had probably meant. Realization at what he’d just said hit a moment too late, flashed across Jim’s face, but the words hung in the air, even though McCoy could see Jim wanted to take the words back.
“Bones-“
But McCoy was hurt and confused and angry, too, and the words had been a spark to dry tinder. It was too much, all at once, and McCoy knew, knew he should just walk away. But he was angry now, and so he did what he had always done when he got angry - he attacked. “Yeah, Jim, what would I know? You’ve never told me any of that. You never even warned me. It was interesting, that’s for sure. You couldn’t have just told me you’d been on Tarsus?”
Almost before he’d said it, he realized how incredibly stupid it was. He realized that this particular defence mechanism had already destroyed one important relationship.
It didn't stop him.
“I … that wasn’t all true, you know.” And Jim was not shouting back; his voice had gotten quiet, defensive.
Later, he would be grateful for the sound-proofed walls, but right now, he was beyond control. Because McCoy could not, could not believe that Jim had the gall, the unmitigated gall to lie to him now.
“Jim!” McCoy shouted his name, exasperated. There was a warning there, in Jim’s tone, in the very angle of his head and the cast of his shoulders, but McCoy had hit his limit, and wasn’t listening to the clues and signs and red flags he’s normally so attuned to. He’s suddenly frustrated with Jim and his stupid damn issues, as if he’s the only one. “You drag me into this … this mess with your family, and you can’t even bother to explain …”
And Jim, ever one to throw himself into a good fight, retaliated in kind. Right on cue. “Fuck you, Bones! Don’t you get it? The whole family thing is over. Dad and Sam are dead. Mom’s divorced, ever since Frank-he couldn’t handle us, I guess, and … Aurelan has an older sister--she was divorced, had a couple of boys. She used to bring her kids over all the time, they were good boys, I liked them, they’d call me sometimes--but after Sam died, after Aurelan lost the baby, she told me she didn’t want me talking to her nephews, not anymore. She doesn’t want them anywhere near me. She’s right. I’m a starship Captain now anyways, never home, and they’ll be better off this way. Mom’s better off too, without me sticking around constantly. Look, Bones, I’m sorry to have dragged you into it, it didn’t turn out how I planned. I’ll make it up to you, won’t bother you again, but please, just let it the hell go.” By the end of the tirade, Jim sounded almost calm--reasonable, even--if you ignored the actual words.
Appalled by how much he’d missed, how much he hadn’t even noticed, McCoy blurted the first thing in his head, “She doesn’t blame you, Jim. She couldn’t.” And in the stretching silence that followed, he realized that he didn’t really know. She absolutely shouldn’t, she had no right, none; but he didn’t know if Aurelan did, anyway.
Jim didn’t answer.
“So, were you on Tarsus, Jim?” The question was out of his mouth, falling into the terrible silence before he’d had a chance to properly think it through. Because even though he knew this was the wrong time, knew that Jim must be fragile beyond belief right now, even though he knew better, knew how volatile everything was and that they were both stressed and on edge-had been on edge for weeks and he should just let it go for now--he couldn’t help himself. Time to lay everything out.
Besides, he wanted to know, needed to know, and he knew he might not get another chance.
And partly, he wanted to hurt Jim, a little, because he couldn’t help how hurt and upset and confused he felt. At the same time that he wanted to know more, he didn’t want to know--this at all-and he hadn’t wanted to have found out, not indirectly like that, and not about Jim, of all people. He felt manipulated. He felt downright angry. And now that he knew, he wanted … he wasn’t sure what he wanted.
He wanted to change the past, except he didn’t even know what that meant anymore.
But the reaction he got wasn’t the one he expected.
Because Jim didn't just react to the baiting, he imploded. “Whatever! You want to know? Fine. It was mostly my fault, anyway. I knew mom had to go away sometimes, and I tried to be good, I really did, but mom and Frank-they were busy, they were always so busy, and Sam … Sam was a teenager, he didn’t want me around, a lot of the time-he was old enough to look after himself, and besides, he had a job and summer camp and a girlfriend and stuff, and - I was only twelve, mom had to go into deep space where there wasn’t much communication and they-they thought I’d have fun, with Aunt Sue and Uncle Bob. That’s what they told me, anyway. Tarsus was an agricultural colony, you know. It was pretty, and green. It was supposed to produce food. They told me I’d enjoy it.” And Jim’s voice had dwindled to a whisper. A bare, bare whisper.
“Jim,” breathed Bones, anger long forgotten.
“So I tried extra hard when I got there. And then … ‘Go with Kodos, Jimmy,’ Uncle Bob said. ‘Be a good boy, kiddo.’ And I didn’t want to go-I didn’t-but I did, quietly, because Uncle Bob said to listen, and mom had told me I should be extra-good-she was on some mission, and I missed her but I knew that sometimes she couldn’t stay in touch--and then they went, quietly, as well. ‘Don’t ask questions,’ he said. And I didn’t. I was good, I was, I-“
“Jesus, Jim. That’s enough. I’m sorry.” McCoy tried again to wrap his arms around Jim, tried to wrap him in comfort but Jim was having none of it, shrugging him off, pacing and restless, his mouth still moving, speaking too quickly, babbling an endless stream of horrible, terrible words.
“Part of me always wondered, you know? Wondered if they knew, if they somehow knew and were trying to get rid of me. Sam always said that they hadn’t really wanted me, and I wasn’t the easiest kid, you know, and Sam said …”
“Shut the fuck up, do you hear me?” McCoy shouted the words, drowning out Jim’s voice, cutting off the ugly flow. “Shut the fuck up, right now, and if you ever, ever, even suggest something like that again I will hit you so hard you won’t see tomorrow, do you hear me? They loved you, I love you, and no one, no one sane would ever send a child, a goddamned child into that, Jim. No one. I promise. I promise.” And now he did hug Jim, hanging on when Jim tried to shrug him off, hanging on when Jim struggled, and hanging on harder when Jim finally stilled, crying helplessly into McCoy’s shirt.
He walked them backward towards the bed, sitting on it, pulling Jim with him, and still holding on. He rocked them both, a little, re-arranging Jim in his arms so it was a little more comfortable. He was starting to feel the strain, the exhaustion, the ache in his arms as he continued to hold Jim, but he shifted only enough that he could pull him impossibly closer.
It was a long time later that he heard Jim say, so softly he almost missed it, “I always told myself, I always told myself that if dad had lived … if dad had lived, he’d have really wanted me. I mean, really, and he wouldn’t have let mom send me away.” Jim’s voice was muffled by the soft, thick fabric of McCoy’s shirt. McCoy still understood each word perfectly.
Because that’s what this had all been about, hadn’t it? He tightened his hold on Jim, murmuring, “She didn’t know, baby. She couldn’t.” He stroked a large hand over Jim’s head, smoothing the bright strands.
“Mom never wanted me to join Starfleet. She was pissed at Pike for a long time, even though she’s known him for like ever.” Jim pulled back and looked up at him now, blue eyes washed with tears, even though the voice was steady, matter of fact.
“I’m sure she was just worried. She’s proud of you, Jim. You know she is.” Jim’s so young, and so old, and McCoy wondered how he hadn’t ever seen it before. Wondered how much else was hidden under the flash and glamour.
But Jim had moved away again, getting up, drifting restlessly around the room. “Sam, I don’t know. I just … I left, right after the memorial, even though she asked me to stay. She looked so … lost, but I couldn’t stay, Bones. I … there was a mission, and I just … “
He knew. He’d seen. Jim had been difficult to be around, particularly those first few days; he had been looking for any excuse to run. As McCoy himself had once done.
“Holidays are coming up. Your Mom must have gone back to Earth, by now,” McCoy said instead, keeping his voice carefully neutral.
“Yeah, she keeps asking me to visit.” Jim sounded distracted, but he had paused, looking down at a photograph on his nightstand; McCoy looked down at it too from over Jim’s shoulder.
It was a photo of a woman, and a young child. The little boy was blond and blue-eyed and smiling, all chubby cheeks and dimples. The woman was smiling, and while her eyes were a little tired, a little sad, her smile was genuine: proud and joyful and filled with love.
He went up to Jim, and wrapped his arms around him from behind. McCoy looked down at the photo of the woman, thought of the woman he’d seen speaking to Jim, right after the memorial. She was older than the Winona in the holodeck, older than the Winona in the photo, and had looked even more tired and sad. But the look in her eyes when she looked at Jim … she loved her son, more than anything. That was the only part that hadn’t been a lie.
“You know, Jim, maybe that’s a good idea. I think I’d like to meet her.”
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End. As always, any comments, suggestions, thoughts, pictures of cute animals ... are greatly appreciated. Thanks for reading. :-)