[FIC] Don't Worry (i'm okay now) - Part 5/8
“I might throw up on you.”
Truer words had rarely been spoken. By the time the shuttle had landed at Starfleet Academy, Kirk was the new owner of a McCoy vomit infused outfit with a smattering of bile on his shoes. It wasn’t the most disgusting thing he’d ever had on his person (very few things could beat the nightmare that had been Tarsus IV) but it came close. So close that by the time they left the shuttle he’d roped the good doctor into taking him out shopping and for a drink at the first bar they could agree on.
That had been six months ago and since then Kirk and McCoy had begun to forge an unlikely friendship. First, it had been a room to hide out in when Kirk’s roommate had come back drunk and with a giggling girl hanging from his arms, the two of them staggering toward his roommate’s bed but ending up in Kirk’s while he stared at them from his desk, PADDs scattered about him as he tried to finish his work for the next day. Then it had been shared drinks after a bad shift at the hospital where McCoy had had to treat a bunch of ‘goddamn idiots Jim, all of them! I swear to God their mothers must have dropped them on their heads when they were babies’ cadets. Then it had been a quick fix after a particularly bad bar fight after Kirk had had to stand at attention at the front of the auditorium as Starfleet honored the dead of the USS Kelvin. Then it had been a soothing hand rubbing McCoy’s back as he prayed to the porcelain god after he’d wished his daughter a happy birthday and had had to endure her crying and shouting, screaming that Leonard didn’t love her and had abandoned her. After all, why else would he be on the other side of the country if that weren’t the case?
So it came to be that Jim found himself in McCoy’s dorm room at the end of the semester after final exams, sitting on the desk chair and staring at the wall in shock.
“I feel violated,” Jim said, eyes still staring at the wall.
“Hmm?” McCoy mumbled as he stared under his bed, his hand patting the floor in search of something.
“I think that exam mind raped me. I think I was actually, like, mentally violated. Bones. Bones,” Jim whispered, bright blue eyes staring feverishly at McCoy. “I think Commodore Louis tried to steal my brain.”
“Okay, kid,” McCoy grumbled as he stared at Jim with wide eyes. “First off, do not call me that. We’ve had this discussion already. Second, for god’s sake, snap out of it.” And with that, McCoy snapped his finger in front of Kirk’s face, causing the other man to flinch back. “You back to with me, kid?”
Kirk blinked a few times. “Uh, yeah. I think so,” he replied, one hand carding through his hair.
“Good. Now, tell me what the weather’s like in Iowa this time of the year,” McCoy said as he bent down by the bed once again and resumed his search.
“Excuse me?” Jim asked, staring at his friend incredulously. “Why would you possibly want to know that information?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” McCoy asked as he pulled out a few pair of shoes and a used wrapper from under the bed. “You’re taking me home to meet the parents for Christmas.”
“I… I am?” Kirk asked, dumbfounded.
“’Course you are. Didn’t your momma teach you any manners?” Jim glared as McCoy smiled devilishly. “Come on, Kirk. The dorms are closed over the break, and I have nowhere to be until after Christmas. The least you could do is put me up at your house and introduce me to the famous Mrs. Kirk,” McCoy said.
Kirk glared at the man before looking away, arms crossed over his chest. “It’s Mrs. Henke, now,” Kirk grumbled, glaring at the wall above McCoy’s head. “And who said that I was going back, anyway?”
McCoy stopped what he was doing and looked up to stare at the man who was fast becoming one of the best friends he’d ever had. “If you weren’t going back, what were you going to do? I’m pretty much game for anything,” McCoy shrugged.
Kirk sighed and uncrossed his arms, gripping his thighs instead and shifting his gaze to the floor. “No, it’s fine. I guess…” He licked his lips, a nervous habit McCoy had picked up on. “I guess we can go spend a few days at the farm. It’s… Yeah… Okay.”
McCoy watched silently as Kirk took a deep breath and stood up, eyes that eerie shade of blue. “Look, kid, if it’s too much of a hassle-”
Kirk shook his head. “No, no. It’s fine. Let me just make a phone call and I’ll get back to you.”
And with that, Kirk was out the door in three quick strides.
***
McCoy stood at the end of the driveway and looked around himself, taking in the old, wooden house surrounded by endless fields that, come spring, would be colored in gold and green. The farmhouse was pretty much what he had expected it to be. It wasn’t hard to picture a young Jim Kirk running from the house to the barn and getting himself lost amidst the corn and wheat fields. It was easy to see Kirk taking off on his bike and riding on forever before he saw another soul, and only coming back long after the sun had set with only the stars to guide his way home. And yet, there was no way Kirk had stayed there past his teen years. Despite the open sky and the horizon that stretched on forever, it was confining.
It wasn’t the stars.
McCoy watched as Kirk stood by the side of the road, staring at the house as if it were haunted. He was clutching his duffle bag so hard his knuckled were turning white. Or maybe that was from the cold.
“Oy,” he called out to the blond, snapping him to attention. “Mind if we get the fuck out of this cold?”
McCoy grinned inwardly as he saw a smirk come over Kirk’s lips.
“Aww,” the blond teased, “is the Georgian princess not able to handle the heat?”
“I can handle the heat just fine,” McCoy grumbled, “it’s the cold that I can’t stand.”
He let a small smile spread across his lips as Kirk burst out laughing and finally made his way to McCoy, grabbing his elbow and pulling him toward the front door. Once there, he paused, staring at the chipped, green paint. There was something in his gaze that McCoy couldn’t place, but before he could even formulate a question Kirk had raised his hand and knocked three times. They waited in silence, Kirk staring at the door with that look back in his eyes, and McCoy staring at him and trying not to wonder if this was such a good idea after all. He’d just opened his mouth to say something - anything - when the door suddenly lurched opened.
The man at the door was tall, taller than McCoy, and the flannel shirt did nothing to cover the width of his shoulder and the muscles bunching in his arms. He stood there, speechless, staring at Kirk as if he were seeing a ghost.
“Jim…”
Kirk shifted his weight from one foot to another, hands tightening around the strap of the duffle bag. “Frank.”
“What-”
“Mind if we come in? Get out of the cold?” Kirk cut him off, gesturing at McCoy with his head.
Wordlessly the man stepped aside and Kirk brushed past him and into the house, shoulders hunched in an unhappy line and eyes staring straight ahead. McCoy gave the stunned man a small smile and followed Kirk inside, glad to be out of the cold.
“Jim,” Frank started but was interrupted by a noise from the room beyond the hallway.
“Frank, who’s that at the door?”
If possible, Kirk seemed to hunch down even further, and even though McCoy was staring at his back, he wouldn’t have been surprised to see his jaw locked tight and his hands turning even whiter from the grip he had on the strap. It was a wonder his fingers hadn't fallen off from the lack of blood circulation by that point. But McCoy was more focused on the doorway and the shadow moving closer than he was on Kirk. He watched as Winona Kirk - or Henke, as Jim had told him back at the dorms - turned the corner and stopped dead in her tracks as she took the sight in front of her. Her face froze in the same expression as Frank’s, blue eyes comically wide as she stared at the man standing in her house as if he were a ghost. Her blonde hair was up in a sloppy bun, wisps of it falling around her tired looking face. She was dressed in a plain white shirt and loose jeans, sock clad feet completing the tableau of domesticity.
She took a small step toward Kirk and stopped, eyes unblinking.
“James? Is that… Is that really…?”
Kirk looked at her briefly then turned his face sideways to stare at the wall. “Hi, Mom,” he mumbled.
“Jim,” Winona breathed, her shoulders relaxing so quickly McCoy thought she was going to faint. “You’re-”
“This is Leonard McCoy,” Kirk interrupted, gesturing at McCoy. “He’s a friend of mine from the Academy. The…” Kirk hesitated for a moment, glancing in his mother’s direction briefly before returning his gaze to the wall. “The dorms close over the break and he wanted to come visit Iowa. I…” he licked his lips nervously. “Is it…?”
“Yes,” Winona breathed, her hands clasped together in front of her as tightly as Kirk’s hands were on his duffle bag. “Of course it is,” she continued.
Kirk nodded once, still not looking at his mother or the man who had moved to stand next to her. McCoy looked from one person to the other, wondering once again if this had possibly been the stupidest idea he had ever had, and why in the world Kirk hadn’t taken the out McCoy had given him to stay put in San Francisco. But even as he squirmed from the thick, tense atmosphere that had settled over them, he couldn’t help but notice the dynamics playing between the family members. Kirk was still staring at the wall, eyes narrowed, jaw clenched, and his entire body held so tightly that he looked as if any little thing would snap his control. In contrast, Winona stood stock still, hands wringing together as she stared desperately at her son, her mouth opening and closing as if she were trying to say something but not sure what. And Frank… Frank had stepped back to stand behind his wife, one hand curled loosely at his side and the other at the small of her back, giving her silent support. But where Winona was staring at her son so intensely that it seemed as if she were willing him to look at her, Frank was looking at everything but Kirk and McCoy; as if he’d rather be anywhere but there.
Even as he took that in, McCoy let his southern upbringing take over. He stepped up next to Kirk, held out his hand to Winona, and smiled politely. “It’s good to finally meet you, Mrs. Henke.”
Winona started at this, gaze quickly shifting to McCoy and smiling sadly even as she reached out to shake the offered hand. “It’s Miss Donnevan, actually,” she said.
That seemed to be enough to snap Kirk out of his funk as he whirled around to face his mother, suspicion and surprise painted all over his face. “What?”
“Why don’t you two come in, sit down,” Winona said as she pulled McCoy by the hand she was still holding. “I’ll get you two something to drink. Water? Beer?”
“I… Water’s fine, ma’am,” McCoy said even as he held his arms out to keep his balance. Winona was stronger than she looked.
“Mom…”
“Jim, please. There’s a lot we have to talk about.”
Kirk spared a quick look at Frank before he nodded and followed McCoy further into the house. He could hear his mom and Frank arguing quietly behind him but he ignored them in favor of taking in the state of a house he hadn’t stepped foot in for almost a decade. Some things were the same: the family pictures hanging on the wall, the pencil marks on the doorway where Winona had diligently recorded their growth spurts (at least up until she had married Frank and had gone out into space again), and the small, dark brown bookshelf, now a few feet shorter than him. He stopped dead in front of it and stared at the books there.
Most of them were old and dusty, the covers decrepit and falling off after so many centuries. They were the same books he had found that morning after he’d tumbled off the older, bigger bookshelf in his quest for knowledge. They were his father’s books; they were his. He crouched down and reverently ran his fingers over the spines, smiling softly as he pulled out one in particular and traced the cover with his fingers. Still holding on to it, he let his eyes wander over the collection, cataloging the new additions and noticing some missing titles. He frowned at that.
“James.”
The sound of his name made him stand up and turn around to face his mother and Frank as they came into the living room, his mother holding a tray with cups of tea and water. He watched her silently as she put it down on the coffee table but made no move to come any closer to him. He didn’t know how he felt about that.
“What’s…” He cleared his throat. “What’s with the change?” he asked, pointing to the books behind him but not letting go of the one he still held.
“I’m having them rebound,” she answered. Kirk could feel his eyes widen at that. He hadn’t been expecting that answer. “The Lord of the Rings and Golden Compass series were about to fall apart.”
“That would have been a shame,” he replied before he could stop himself.
“Yes,” she answered as she moved to sit down, a small smile playing on her lips. “It would have.”
Kirk hesitated for a second before moving to sit down next to McCoy, placing the book he still held on the table.
“Peter Pan,” his mother said as she looked down at the book. “It always was your favorite.”
Kirk didn’t reply, blue eyes looking from his mother to the man sitting in the chair across from her. He could feel McCoy sitting uncomfortably next to him, shifting slightly from side to side as the tension in the room became stifling. Kirk felt bad for the doctor, who probably only had wanted to see Kirk’s hometown out of simple curiosity and for no other reason than because neither had anywhere else to be or anything else to do.
“So,” Kirk finally said after it became clear to him that his mother was letting him set the pace. “Donnevan?”
Winona and Frank glanced at each other before Winona shifted forward, entwining her fingers together and resting her elbows on her knees. “Frank and I divorced shortly after…” She paused, glancing at McCoy uncertainly.
Jim tensed at the gesture. Well then… Might as well go for broke. He nodded his head once at his mother.
Winona took in a deep breath and let it out on a soft sigh. “After you ran away,” she finished.
“That was seven year ago,” Jim said, cutting off McCoy before the man could even open his mouth to ask anything.
“And I would have told you sooner if you’d bothered to let me know where you were,” his mother said matter-of-factly. There was no accusation or reproach in her voice, but Kirk bristled anyway.
“I didn’t have any reason to call.”
“Jim-”
“No,” he cut her off. “Don’t you ‘Jim’ me. You have… You gave up that right when you buzzed off to space and left me and Sam with him,” Jim said, his voice rising as he pointed an accusing finger at Frank. “And now I find out you’re divorced, but that you’re still with him?”
“Jim, it’s not like that. Frank’s not… Frank hasn’t lived here since the divorce.”
“Well, if he’s spending Christmas with you, the divorce can’t have been very inimical. Care to enlighten me on what brought it about? Seems to me you’re still pretty cozy with each other,” Kirk said, practically snarling at his mother.
“We fought over you.” Kirk started at that, looking at Frank for the first time since he’d stepped into the house. “We… I'm the one who sent you away, Jim. And then, well, you know,” Frank stammered, gesturing his hand vaguely as if that explained everything; and strangely enough, it did. “You came back, and you… And your mother and I … I told her. I told her everything that had happened that day, and every day before that, and we couldn’t…”
“You felt guilty?” Jim snapped. “Is that what it was about? Guilt?” Jim could feel his face becoming red and adrenaline beginning to pump through his veins as his flight or fight response kicked in. “You told her the truth, and then you couldn’t stand the sight of each other anymore because you felt guilty? Because you beat me to a pulp and then shipped me off-planet,” he accused, pointing a finger at Frank, “and because you never fucking even bothered to ask me what the hell had happened and listened to him instead of me?” he asked, turning to his mother. He felt McCoy tense next to him, but he couldn’t be bothered to spare him a thought.
“Jim, honey-”
“No! This is bullshit!” Jim shouted as he stood up, fists clenched tightly. “You know what he did to me, to Sam, to us, and you still let him come in here, in this house?”
“Jim, listen-”
“What? Like you did, mom?” Jim snarled.
“James, I’m sorry,” Frank said, standing up and looking straight at the man radiating barely contained fury. “I’m so-”
“You’re-” Kirk choked on a laugh, a bitter and incredulous sound. “You’re sorry?”
“Jim-”
“No,” he said, voice calm and deadly. “I’ve heard enough.”
Kirk walked around the table and into the hallway, opening and slamming the door shut so hard it rattled in the door frame. He stood for a moment in the stillness of the night air, eyes closed and chest heaving as adrenaline continued to pump in his body. With barely controlled fury, he slammed the side of his fist into the wall and made his way to the barn where he knew his mother would keep any and all ground transportation. Standing by the open door, he let his eyes adjust to the darkness and grinned wickedly when he spotted the bike resting by the wall.
Perfect.
***
The bar was exactly the sort of place he liked to frequent: loud, dark, and filled with people who couldn't give a shit. With the strobe lights and the small dance floor packed with intoxicated people gyrating to the music, it was the perfect place to get lost in. He was on his fourth beer since he'd gotten there on his mother's bike and had had to fend off as many proposals from men, women, and aliens. The bartender kept sending him the stink-eye, which Jim couldn't blame him for, considering all the broken chairs and tables that had had to be added to his tab. Not that those had been his fault.
A heavy hand suddenly came down on his shoulder and without thinking he grabbed the person's wrist and did a roundabout as he pulled that same arm back and up and bore down on the person's back with his elbow, holding the man's face on the bar stand. He heard a soft grunt followed by a groan and cursing.
He licked his lips, grinning wildly as he applied more pressure. “Come on,” he growled, leaning down close to the man's ear.
“Goddamn it, Kirk, lemme up!” the man grunted as he kicked his leg out and hit Kirk in the shin. Startled, Kirk let the man go and stepped back, watching as McCoy pulled himself off the bar stand, rubbing his shoulder. “Damn it, man. What's gotten into you?”
“You startled me, you fucker,” Kirk griped back.
“And that's how you respond whenever someone touches you without warning? You try to rip their arm out?” McCoy grumbled as he leaned back against the bar.
As soon as the words were out of his mouth he knew they'd been a mistake. He could see Kirk's face shuttering closed even as he leaned forward to grab his discarded beer. He made a move toward Kirk and wasn't surprised when he was shoved back into an empty barstool. He let himself sit down, his shoulder throbbing and burning in time with his heartbeat.
“Kirk, I'm-”
“Fuck off, McCoy,” Kirk grumbled as he titled his head back and took a drag of the beer.
“Kirk-”
“I said, fuck off!” Kirk yelled as he turned around to face the man.
“Jim, please,” McCoy whispered, hand hovering over Jim's forearm.
Kirk stared at him silently before gesturing at the bartender, who grumbled something inaudible under his breath before snagging Kirk's credit chip and flinging it onto the counter, where Kirk grabbed it and stood up. He chugged the rest of his beer and moved away from the bar and toward the exit. He could feel McCoy following close behind him but didn't bother to turn around. If the man wasn't by his side by the time Kirk reached the bike, he'd just leave him behind and go... Go some place that wasn't here, that wasn't the farm, that wasn't Iowa. Some place where he could forget the clusterfuck that had been his life. The cold night air felt good against his overheated skin and he stopped a few feet from the door, eyes closed and head tilted back as the alcohol buzzed in his veins. That time, when a hand closed over his shoulder he only blinked his eyes open and turned around to see McCoy watching him carefully, a scowl forming on his face.
“Jim, what the hell did you do?” McCoy demanded as he pulled the shorter man toward one of the overhead lights peppered around the bar.
“Me? Nothing!” Kirk said defensively as he jerked his arm out of McCoy's grip. “I was minding my own business when this jackass fell on my fist.”
“Uh huh,” McCoy said, grabbing Kirk's chin and manipulating it to see the blossoming bruises, ignoring the younger man's weak attempts at pulling himself free. “And let me guess. Then you lost your balance and fell onto his fist... how many times?”
“Hmm... Three? I’m not really sure. I was pretty drunk.”
“You mean, you are pretty drunk,” McCoy corrected.
“No, I'm tipsy,” Kirk replied.
“Right. Where else are you hurt?” McCoy asked as he tried to manhandle Kirk further into the lamplight.
“I'm fine, Bones. Get off me,” Kirk said as he finally managed to pry himself out of McCoy's grip.
“Damn it, Kirk, what have I told you about calling me that?” McCoy grumbled as he reached back towards the blond.
“But it suits you,” Kirk whined.
“It does not. Now hold. Still.” McCoy grunted when Kirk slapped his hand away.
“No. God, you're like a mother hen. Leave me alone, Bones,” Kirk grumbled.
“No. And stop calling me that.”
“If I stop calling you that, will you leave me alone?” Kirk quipped.
“Considering the amount of times I've had to patch you up in the last few months? Unlikely,” McCoy shot back.
“Then I guess I'll keep calling you Bones.”
“You do that and the next time you need to be treated for something I'll make sure you'll be a very unhappy camper.”
“I love your bedside manners, Bones. It warms me up deep inside,” Kirk said, a grin spreading over his split lip.
“For the love of-” Bones grumbled. “Fine, whatever. Hemorrhage for all I care.”
“I think I will,” Kirk said, crossing his arms over his chest.
“Fine,” McCoy bit out angrily.
“Fine,” Kirk said smugly.
There was a moment of silence between them as they glared at each other. It was broken when McCoy let out a small sigh and raked his hand through his hair, his gaze shifting from Kirk to the dingy concrete floor. Kirk watched him wearily, and he knew that whatever McCoy was planning on telling him next, he did not want to hear.
“I-”
“How'd you find me anyway?” Kirk interrupted.
McCoy blinked at that, the question derailing his thoughts. “I... Your... Your mom's bike,” he finally stammered, pointing at the bike in question leaning against the wall. “It has a GPS tracking system. All of your mom's vehicles do, actually,” McCoy explained. “She lent me her tracker and her car and I just... followed the yellow brick road.”
Kirk stared at him for a moment before an incredulous laugh worked its way out of his mouth. “You're a riot and a half, Bones,” Kirk managed to say between chuckles.
“Whatever. Stop calling me that, kid,” McCoy grumbled half-heartedly. He took another breath and looked Kirk straight in the eye. “I talked to your mom after you stormed off.”
Kirk's reaction was instantaneous. It was like a shutter being closed; one minute the room was basked in sunshine and brightness and the next it was dark and impenetrable. McCoy could see Kirk's hand clenching at his side even as the man turned his face away, trying to hide his emotions in the shadows created by the lamplight. McCoy hadn't been expecting any different. The trick, however, was going to be to make Kirk listen to him and what he had to say. In a preemptive move, he stepped forward and crowded Kirk's space, forcing him to back up until he was flush against the lamp post. It wasn't as effective as if he'd been backed up against a wall, but it'd have to do for now.
“Jim, look at me,” he said as he grabbed Kirk's biceps. “This is important.”
“I don't want to hear it.”
“Jim, she's sorry,” McCoy went on as if Kirk hadn't said anything. “She knows she was wrong. And she knows... she knows you'll never forgive her. But,” McCoy swallowed when his voice cracked. “She just wants you to talk to her,” he whispered.
“She doesn't deserve it,” Kirk replied, still not looking at McCoy.
“Jim...”
“She abandoned me, Bones! She left Sam and me with that... that thing she calls a husband! Oh, I'm sorry,” Kirk amended when he saw McCoy opening his mouth. “Called a husband. But that doesn't change anything. She wasn't there. She wasn't there, Bones! And she...” Kirk paused, panting, and swallowing the lump in his throat. “She was supposed to be,” he whispered.
McCoy sighed softly. “She knows that, Jim. And she's-”
“Why are you defending her?” Kirk bit out angrily as he turned to glare at McCoy. “I thought you were supposed to be on my side.”
“I am on your side,” McCoy replied, tightening his grip on Kirk's biceps.
“Then why are you-”
“I am not defending her, Jim,” McCoy stressed. “I just... I understand-”
“You understand?” Kirk yelled incredulously.
“Goddamn it, Jim! I have a child, too, remember?” McCoy shouted, gripping Kirk's biceps so hard Kirk was sure he'd leave bruises. “I know what she's feeling because... Because I...”
“It's not the same, Bones,” Jim interrupted him.
“Yes, it is,” McCoy said.
“No, it's not. You didn't leave Joanna with an abusive asshole, Bones! You left her with her mom,” Jim replied back, exasperated.
“Jim, she made a mistake,” McCoy whispered.
“Stop it.”
“She married someone she thought she could trust,” McCoy continued as if Kirk hadn't said a word.
“Stop it,” Kirk said more forcefully.
“She didn't know how he was. She didn't see it. And then Starfleet called her back and she-”
“Stop it! ” Jim yelled, jerking his right arm downward and breaking McCoy's hold on it.
“There's no excuse for it, Jim,” McCoy said, his hand going back to Kirk’s bicep in a flash and tightening his hold on it. “She's not trying to make any excuses for it. But she made a mistake, and it's cost her her sons. Sam’s gone off somewhere not even Starfleet knows, but you’re still here, Jim. She just wants you back. That's all she wants. Another chance at getting you back.”
“I don't want to hear it.”
“Jim-”
“No, Leonard.” McCoy stopped cold at the sound of his first name; Kirk used it so rarely that when he did, McCoy knew it was a lost cause. “I can't. Not now, and I doubt I ever will.”
“Okay, Jim,” McCoy said, defeated. “Okay.”
“Can we... Can we get out of here? Just...” Kirk waved his right hand around in a vague gesture.
“Yeah. How does Christmas in New Orleans sound?” McCoy replied as he pulled the younger man with him toward the car.
“Historical French Quarters?” Jim asked hopefully.
“I guess I could let you wander around without a chaperon, seeing as it's not Mardi Gras. But just for one night. And if you're not back by late morning, I'll come drag you out and give you so many hypos you'll be black and blue for weeks,” McCoy grumbled.
“Thanks, Dad,” Jim griped, but McCoy could tell it was half-hearted.
“Come on, then. Let's go rent a car and I'll let your mom know where all her vehicles are so she can collect them later.”
Kirk nodded and silently followed McCoy back to his mom's hovercar. He got in on the passenger's side and stared out the window as McCoy started the car and made his way down the empty dirt road in the direction of the town. They were both silent for awhile, the sound of crushed gravel the only noise filling the car as McCoy stared at the darkness and Kirk stared at the stars through the window.
“Hey, Bones,” Kirk said softly, never taking his gaze off of the millions of pinpricks in the night sky.
“Yeah, kid?”
“What about Joanna?” Jim asked.
“What about Jojo?”
“Aren't you going to see her?”
“Yep.”
Kirk blinked at that, the grin very clear in McCoy's tone of voice. “Oh?”
“I get her after Christmas. And you and I are taking her to Disney World.”
Kirk gaped at his friend. “What? Since when?” Kirk demanded.
“Since she told me so. And you, my friend, will be taking her on all the rides she asks while I watch from the sidelines,” McCoy said, his voice dripping with smug satisfaction.
“What?!” Kirk did not squeak. “And why would I do that?”
“Because you've earned the honorary title of Uncle Jim, and that's what uncles do.”
Kirk huffed in the passenger seat and crossed his arms in a clear sign that radiated his pissiness.
“Fine,” he grumbled. “But don't expect me to go willingly.”
McCoy barked out a short laugh and patted Kirk on the thigh. “Oh, Jim-boy. You have no idea.”
And in an uncharacteristic move, Kirk decided to leave it at that and turned back to stare at the familiar star painted sky of his youth.
(Part 6/8)