[FIC] Star Trek: Then, Suddenly, Life Changed [2/6] (Kirk/McCoy, R)
Title: Then, Suddenly, Life Changed [2/6]
Authors: salvaged_pride and sullacat
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing/Characters: Kirk/McCoy
Rating: R for language and sexual situations
Summary: In honor of the one year anniversary of the movie, an AU - What if Leonard McCoy had been at the bar that night? Two men, a cycle, and a trip that changes their lives. 7297 words -- Look for future chapters every other day.
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Distance Traveled:
It was well past down when movement woke Jim up instantly. Lifting his head, Jim cautiously took in his surroundings, including the man next to him who was stretching and yawning, before he relaxed again. He scrubbed a hand over his face as he brought up last night's memories. In bed with the hot, older doctor. His face felt puffy but not painful. No headache. Not bad. He'd woken up in worse situations. Time to pay the piper.
Jim twisted around in the bed and slid his fingers down the side of the man's chest. "...Gotta thank ya, doc," but his fingers were suddenly stopped by McCoy's hand, covering Jim's, keeping them from traveling down much further.
"Don't worry 'bout it," McCoy murmured, shaking his head, a little exasperated. "Don't-don't need to do that." McCoy shifted away a little, scooting further off the bed, though his hand was still covering Jim's fingers.
Careful, like talking to a spooked dog, Jim tried again. If McCoy pulled away again he'd let it go. "Don't need to, want to. Saved my nose, probably a lot more of me." He used the edge of his thumb to caress the web of McCoy's hand. "If you're not into guys, I'll make it quick. Can just close your eyes."
McCoy's hand wrapped around Jim's thumb and squeezed. He turned his body to face Jim, a questioning look on his face. McCoy was breathing hard, and for a moment it looked as if he was gonna reach out toward Jim... but he let go, swallowing hard. He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it with a sigh. "I'll be back in a bit," he finally muttered, standing and heading into the bathroom, and soon the room was filled with the sound of the shower running.
Well, that went worse than expected. Jim shrugged and grabbed his clothing, sighing. Still stained, but at least the rumpled tee shirt and jeans weren't completely disgusting after last night's fight. A few shakes got the worst of the wrinkles out. He dragged the clothing on, wondering if he could spare the credits to grab a new shirt at a second-hand shop he knew was here in town. The idea of leaving before the doctor came out of the shower passed through Jim's head, but hell. Least he could do was buy the man breakfast. Jim wanted to sit down and look over the map, figure out where he was going next.
It wasn't long before the water stopped running, and McCoy left the bathroom. Towel wrapped around his waist, he walked toward his travel bag, grabbed some underwear and a pair of jeans, and headed back into the bathroom. When he emerged a minute later, McCoy was half-dressed, a comb run through his wet hair. Looking a little uncomfortable, McCoy pulled a t-shirt out of his bag and put it on, then grabbed his sweater from the closet. "How's your ribs this morning?" he asked, looking over at Jim with tired eyes.
"They exist," Jim got out, easily pretending like he hadn't been staring. Toned, with just the slightest hint of a paunch. He wondered if the doctor worked out at all. "Good looking bruise about the size of my hand." The offer he made next was easy. "You want some breakfast? After that, if you need a ride somewhere I can give you one. What's a doctor like you doing out in bumfuckville anyway?" Though the drinking problem, if the bottle, scent, and their meeting location indicated right, might explain why he was out here where no one would care.
McCoy stared back at Jim a moment, looking a hundred percent more wary than he had last night, as if all of a sudden he wasn't sure what he was doing in a hotel room with some strange guy. "Breakfast sounds good," he answered slow, digging his socks out of the bag. Once he was completely dressed, he walked back into the bathroom, came out with a small shaving kit, and tossed it into his bag along with everything else that belonged to him in the room. "Not sure 'bout the ride," he said with a guarded smile. "But thanks."
Breakfast, and they'd go their separate ways. All in all, a good meeting in Jim's world. He gave that charming smile of his and nodded, "You up for a walk back to the bar, or you want to wait here until I get back?"
McCoy secured the straps on his bag and tossed it over his shoulder. "Walk. Let's go."
Soon they were back on the road, the bright Iowa sun climbing in the sky as they made their way back to the bar. "You from around here?" McCoy asked as they approached the parking lot.
"...was, originally. Wouldn't call it home or anything." Jim shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. "You're definitely not, not with that accent." He tried to turn it into something easy, a tease, without forcing McCoy to say anything more than he wanted to.
"Nope," McCoy grinned a little, though he looked a little pained. "From down south, Atlanta, Georgia. Just passing through here." His eyebrow arched as they approached the only vehicle left in the parking lot. "This your cycle?"
"Beauty, isn't she?" His fingers caressed the edge of the cycle before Jim slipped onto the leather seat. "I fixed her up myself." He jerked his head, a quick indication that McCoy could get on behind him. "Ever ridden one before?"
"It's been a while," McCoy told him with a look that said he wasn't excited about the idea of riding on the back, but it didn't stop him from getting on, tucking his bag behind him. Jim forced down a smirk and turned the cycle on, the familiar thrum of the saddle between his thighs and the unfamiliar feeling of a body against his back. He did a circle once around the parking lot, letting McCoy get a feel for it, before he sped out onto paved road.
The trip back into town was too short, but soon enough he'd be back on endless roads heading somewhere vaguely west. Jim parked the cycle out in front of the town's small diner, mentally trying to calculate how many credits he still had on him.
McCoy slid off the back and headed inside after Jim. They found a booth in the corner, and McCoy grabbed a menu, ordered coffee, and didn't say much more until the coffee was delivered and he was almost done the cup. "So, whatcha do for a living, Jim?" Apparently, with coffee came polite conversation. Seemed the good doctor was one of those types that didn't live until he had his morning cup of coffee. Jim liked a good cup of coffee but didn't require it to exist, and witnessing the need in other people always made him grateful for the fact.
"Whatever comes to hand," Jim said in an intentional, subtle double-entendre. "I'm a fair hand at almost anything. Mostly, I like to travel." His fingers were wrapped around his own cup, enjoying the warmth of it between his palms more than the taste or caffeine. "It's a long way from Atlanta, this tiny town. Said you were just passing through, so where are you headed?"
"California," McCoy said a moment later. "Was, anyway. Now?" He snorted into his mug. "Not sure what my plans are right now." He glanced down at the bag at his side, looking like it carried his entire life, and frowned.
"Was?" Jim felt his brows come together as he leaned on the table between them, "...What made you change your mind?"
McCoy shrugged and opened his mouth, hesitating. He looked over at Jim, as if he were really looking at him for the first time, like he was a real person. It was a long, measured look. "Missed my ride this morning," he finally admitted, finishing his coffee and signaling to the waitress that he wanted some more.
Wince. "Shit, because of me?" Jim asked uncertainly. If he had managed to fuck this guy's travel plans over...
McCoy looked surprised. "No, not you. I mean, fuck, I didn't wanna go. Let myself sleep in." A sheepish grin. "You just gave me the excuse I needed, so, um, thanks." The waitress came by again and filled their mugs, and McCoy ordered some toast, plain.
Jim ordered a breakfast, a real one. He needed something to eat up the rest of the minimal hangover. He was seriously curious now, though. "So what was in California that I managed to excuse you out of?"
Another hesitation. "Starfleet," McCoy said ruefully, looking out the window. "Was supposed to catch a shuttle this morning." McCoy didn't look to upset about it.
Then again, McCoy didn't look like he cared much about anything.
That actually took Jim by surprise. This just didn't seem like the sort of guy that either Starfleet would want, or that would want to join it. He had spent most of his life avoiding it, until it had decided to punch him in the face in a bar. "Huh," Jim started, but didn't know how to finish. He leaned on his elbow, looking out the window. That must have been what the older guy in the bar last night in the black uniform was even doing here. Something to do with the shipyard, most likely. Maybe to pick up this doctor... no, not that. McCoy would have been staying somewhere better, and Jim doubted Mr. Whistle would have let McCoy miss the shuttle. "Wouldn't be hard to get to California."
"Probably not," McCoy admitted. "Just... not sure if it's really for me." When Jim gave a questioning look, McCoy clarified, "Space, being out there in the dark." He shook his head, his face clouding over with shadows that came from somewhere inside. "A thousand things could go wrong out there, and not a damn soul to help you. Don't like that."
Jim hesitated. What was McCoy bringing along with him that made the doctor's whole expression darken over like that? Like I have no idea what that's like, Jim thought to himself, carrying around shadows. He tapped his finger on the table, before he replied cautiously, "Isn't that... what your crew is supposed to be about? To help you if things go wrong?" Why was McCoy even going out there if he feels like this?
"I suppose," McCoy nodded, watching as the waitress brought them their food. "Don't know much about it, was just getting ready to go in." He chewed thoughtfully on a piece of toast. "Still might, just haven't quite made up my mind yet." McCoy looked up, as if realizing he'd been talking a lot about himself. "What 'bout you?" he asked. "You said you were traveling?"
"...That's what I do." Jim grinned, but kept in mind what McCoy had said. "Travel, find odd jobs here and there... guess you could call me a professional vagabond."
Didn't take long for McCoy to finish his toast. "That workin' out for you?" he asked, a little wistful grin on his face as if the idea seemed intriguing, even momentarily.
It was an odd question that made Jim laugh, leaning forward. "Love it, even if it's a tough life sometime. How's being a doctor working out for ya?" he teased right back, grinning.
McCoy leaned back, as if he had to consider that question. "My first instinct is to say that it's gotten me everything I ever wanted, but if that was true, then why the hell would I be here?" he replied, a sarcastic note to the last few words. "It's a good living. Highly recommend it, though in general people are idiots and don't listen to their physicians... which in the end only means they need us more after they've fucked up their health." It was as many words as he'd said since they met, and when he finished, McCoy finished his coffee. "Guess I'll be off then," he said, wiping his mouth on a napkin and reaching for his wallet.
Jim waved that off. "I'm covering it. Consider it me paying my doctor's life-saving bill." He gestured with his head for the waitress to come over, paying her with a credit tab before McCoy could complain. Then he looked back to the doctor. "Must be nice, though. An occupation you can help people, even if people are morons."
"When you can help them, yeah," McCoy answered. "Thanks for the coffee, kid. You take care of that nose, okay?" Standing, he pulled the bag over his shoulder and waited for Jim.
Grabbing the last triangle of toast from his plate, Jim stood up and followed McCoy outside with it still hanging out of his mouth. He tore a piece off, hesitating, "...Look, McCoy... you want a ride to the next real town? There's nothing out here." It wasn't a completely unknown offer for him to make, just a rare one. He usually liked the peace of the road, but there was something about McCoy he liked. At least, he knew, he owed the man a real favor. That quick hypo in the bar had saved his face from being beaten in by a pissed off cadet.
McCoy looked like he was considering the offer. "Which direction you heading?"
"West." Complete with a vague hand wave that could have been any direction. Seemed as good as any, considering they were in the middle of the country.
McCoy looked in that direction, as if trying to imagine where they might be. "Drop me off in the next big town?" he asked carefully.
"Yea, whatever we find next." Jim walked over to his cycle and gave it an affectionate caress. There was a thin saddle bag with some non-perishables, a few travel items, but little else. He thought if he really needed to replenish anything in it. McCoy slid on the bike, holding onto the side with one hand, and looked back at Jim expectantly. Jim's lips quirked. Well, evidently, that was that. He slid onto the cycle in front of McCoy, settling himself into the feeling of someone against his back. He hit the engine, turned out of the lot, and chose the first road he knew would send them out of town.
Riverside, Iowa was just another place on the map; nothing had ever happened here that mattered or would it ever.
Neither of them said much else until they were well on their way. It was a quiet, back road Jim chose instead of the main highway. This road went west, almost dead straight as an arrow through farmlands. Jim felt McCoy shift against his body, almost intimate with the design of the bike. "You been this way before?" McCoy asked, leaning close to talk directly into Jim's ear.
Jim nodded, voice pitched to carry past the wind. "Sure have." Not exactly this way, but close enough. He had crossed the country enough times on his bike to know most of the major roads and in a lot of cases, how to avoid them entirely. This was the kind of road he was looking for - empty or mostly empty. He still had a twitch of memory for the past though, and despite the technology to avoid them outright, kept an eye out for the cop that had caught him all those years ago. Once they were a little farther from town, he'd let the engine hum and stop caring about his speed.
McCoy must have been lost in his own thoughts, because after a while Jim could feel him relaxing behind him, one arm holding on loosely to his waist. It was going to be a hot day of late summer, and the crops were high in the fields, gold and green and blue sky above them. It was a comfortable ride, surprisingly enough, and before either man noticed, they'd been on the road for three hours without a town in sight. "Where are we?" McCoy finally asked, as they pulled off on the side of the road to take a piss.
Jim just shrugged, sliding the kick stand on the cycle and getting off. He stretched the length of his body out, feeling muscles move against each other. "Somewhere in Nebraska. I don't worry about it until I hit a town," Shouldn't have been a surprise, really, that McCoy was asking. The doctor was there with a stranger, out in the middle of absolutely no where, not used to a traveling life style.
McCoy pulled out his communication device, tapped at it a few times. "We aren't anywhere near any big towns," he chuckled as he headed back to the cycle. "Lincoln's that way," he added, pointing southeast, opposite of where they were heading. "Shit. Didn't mean to make you cart me across the countryside." Strangely, he didn't look too put out by this turn of events. In fact, he looked sort of peaceful, the lines in his forehead disappearing as he took in the wide expanse of land around them.
Like maybe, just maybe, the doctor was actually enjoying himself. "Doesn't matter to me. Figured the next big city heading west is Denver... easy enough place to get to." Jim was in no hurry, just walking around slowly to get out the kinks in his muscles. "We can keep going for another few hours and stop for the night, see if we can find a town along the way. Got some stuff if we can't." A thin pair of blankets, a tarp, a pot that could be manipulated flat... all stuff that was cheap, light, and could fit on his bike.
McCoy nodded slowly. It looked like he hadn't planned on spending quite this much time out here, but he seemed to be rolling with it. "Denver... sounds as good a place as any to start over," he muttered, mostly to himself. Looking back up at Jim, he sighed. "Ready whenever you are, kid."
"Start over?" Jim couldn't find it in himself to tell McCoy to stop calling him 'kid', so he just climbed back on. "...Starting over from what?" Guy seemed like he was down on his luck, but at least out here he seemed almost... free. Maybe going into a big city wasn't good for the good doctor, but what did he know about someone else's life?
McCoy's face froze into something that looked almost dangerous. "... just starting over," he grumbled, turning his head toward the fields around them. "Let's get going." Neither man said anything else for a long time, the sun rising almost overhead, beating down on them, then moving in front, shining down right in their faces. It was blinding and frustrating, leaving Jim grumbling about his favorite pair of sunglasses he had swiped a few years back but had been broken recently due to someone's ass crushing them. He was entertaining finding another cheap pair in whatever town they came up to next when something white suddenly caught his eyes through the light.
It took some fast braking and jerking his cycle hard to the side to avoid hitting -- "...A sheep?!"
As far as he could see on either side of the road, spread out across two vast fields of summer green grass, was one massive herd of sheep. They were just plodding along, their baaing and the sounds of bells around their necks mixing together until it just sounded like noise to Jim's ears. The sheep were all pressed together, huddling as they walked across the road and into the next field.
As Jim looked over his shoulder, the look he saw on McCoy's face was indescribable. "Well, that's something you don't see in Georgia," the doctor mused.
Jim groaned aloud, rubbing a hand over his face. When he dropped his hand and saw one of the fluffy white things staring up at him, chewing on something slowly, he showed his teeth at it and kicked a foot in its direction.
"You can't be fucking serious. Sheep." Jim slumped forward on the cycle, looking out in the direction the sheep were coming from. "There must be thousands of them.
"Can we drive around them?" McCoy asked, sitting up and peering around. It looked like he was trying to hold back a laugh.
Jim gave an annoyed gesture to either side of them. "Where?! It's a giant ass field! I'm glad you find this funny." He meet McCoy's eyes again, then just laughed. It was sort of funny. "Fucking sheep."
"Yeah, they're not my type, Jim, but you go right ahead." McCoy rested a hand on Jim's shoulder as Jim's laugh sputtered. "Want me to try and make you a path, if we can't drive through them?"
"Come on, we need to get off. And I don't mean on the sheep," Jim snickered through his words, grinning widely. He got off the cycle, shoving away another curious sheep. McCoy was doing his best to shoo the animals out of the way, but it was slow going.
"Don't guess this happens to you often?" he asked, holding onto one side of the cycle and helping Jim make their way into the herd.
"Oh sure it does, but only when I'm offering a discount for the night."
McCoy seemed amused by that, but didn't comment on it as pushing the cycle through the sheep ended up being harder than either man imagined. At one point McCoy ended up on the ground, trying not to be trampled by a sudden shift in sheep movement. "Fucking shit," he called out, holding a hand out as Jim helped him back up.
"You're lucky you didn't land in fucking shit with this many sheep around," Jim teased as he grabbed McCoy's hand and hauled him back up with a laugh.
McCoy gruffed a little longer, but eventually he cracked a smile about it all. "Fucking sheep," he chuckled every few minutes.
It was another twenty minutes before they were clear of the animals and back on their way.
It was a comfortable ride over the long hours, putting miles and miles behind them with easy, meaningless conversation or silence as they admired the landscape and concentrated on their own endless thoughts. Eventually, as night settled on the horizon, Jim knew they weren't going to make it to a town for the night. His body was sore, he was getting hungry, and just a little tired. He could feel McCoy tense up when he pulled off the road into what he considered a perfect location for a night - it was right at the edge of a large field of crops where a few trees were growing. They could camp back in the trees, and see what was in the field to see if they could have some fresh food tonight. "This- we gonna sleep here?" he heard the doctor ask.
"Sure are. It's a beautiful night for it." Jim stopped the cycle just behind a tree, and started to pull out his supplies from a saddle bag. The tarp started to go up easy with the help of some bungee cord, keep the dew off them come morning at least.
McCoy hesitated at first, enough that Jim was about ready to say that there wasn't any other option but camping. Then his face changed, nodded, and he pulled the blankets out from the saddle back and tossed on the ground under the tarp. "Um, you got any ideas about dinner?" McCoy asked, a little worry in his voice and looking more like he thought this was a bad idea.
Jim just gave him a look, "Doc, relax. I've been doing this for years now." He gestured with his head to follow, and went tromping out into the field to have a look. Luck was with them. "Look at that," he whispered, grinning as he knelt down. He recognized the plant easily, and considering the time of year they had to be ready to dig up, or close to it. Too much growing up around crops when he was little, but he was grateful for the knowledge in moments like these. He pulled out a multi-use knife from his belt, and with a flick of his wrist and the edge of his thumbnail had out the dullest blade he had on the tool. He started to dig into the soil.
McCoy was behind him, looking down over his shoulder. "What's that?" he asked, unable to keep the curiosity out of his voice.
Jim tugged once, cut once, and held up his dirty but prized find. "Sweet potato. Cut this up and cook it and we'll be sitting pretty for a meal."
A deep chuckle came out of McCoy, who sat down on the ground next to Jim, helping him pull at the dirt. "Don't suppose you can find us a marshmallow and brown sugar plant out here, can ya?" The little smile on his face wasn't something that he showed often, but the joke made Jim chuckle. "Anything else I can do to help?"
Together, they pulled up another two potatoes. Jim thought about it, then stood up and stretched, "Can you peel the three of these while I try to find us some water?"
"Yeah," McCoy nodded, picking up the potatoes and heading back to their rough camp. When Jim got back with the water he found the doctor cross-legged on the ground, carefully peeling the last of the potatoes. There was a sharp scalpel in his hands, a neat pile of peelings on the ground. It took everything in Jim not to laugh at the sight. "This good?" McCoy asked, holding them up for inspection.
Jim took a look at the potato and nodded, "Perfect." He put down the pot, now filled with water and started to scrub the potatoes clean with his hands. "There's a little creek not that far back. Gonna clean these, dump the water, and refill it so we can boil these up." It would be enough for him for a meal, but McCoy he was pretty sure was used to a better fare. He looked over to the doctor cautiously, "I might have something we can use if you need more to eat..."
But the doctor shook his head. "Looks great," he said with another slow grin, then his face changed. "Hey wait," he called out, looking up as he stood and walked toward his travel bag. He returned a moment later, offering Jim a small plastic package. "Got some jerky, bought it yesterday while I was waiting at the station." The bag was half-filled with dried meat, not a lot, but enough for them both to have a few strips.
Jim's eyes lit up with that. How long had it been since he had been able to have some real jerky? He grinned, "You sure?" It was a treat for him. When McCoy nodded, Jim took out a strip and happily started to gnaw on it. The strong taste of the marinade made him start to salivate hard. He chewed on it while he finished up, and went to dump the water before he paused. "Here, if you want to give your hands a quick wash. Know the road gets dusty." He had done a fast wash-up in the creek but at least McCoy could clean up for eating. He watched McCoy do just that, and wondered if he was imagining the faintly thankful look on McCoy's face at being able to do something as simple as wash his hands and face.
When McCoy was done, Jim left McCoy his knife, longer than the scalpel and it would be easier to cut with, and asked the doctor to chop up the potatoes into thick cubes - it'd cook faster cubed. Jim dumped the dirty water away from their camp, and refilled the pot. When he came back he started to get everything ready for a fire. It was a comfortable sort of silence between them, one unable to be filled with too much talk because they were still strangers, but on a trip that meant spending a lot of time together.
At least McCoy looked familiar with building a fire. Soon the water was boiling and the potatoes were cooking. "You do this a lot?" he asked, stirring the pot and looking back up at Jim. "Camp out like this?"
"Most nights, during the spring, summer, and fall," Jim admitted easily. "It's free or mostly free, so it saves credits for where I need it." Like food, and sometimes clothing and other essentials.
McCoy gave him that look, familiar, the one that said 'Why? Where is your family? Why not settle down and get a job?' But he didn't ask, his face turned inward and focused instead on the pot in front of him. Jim wondered if it was because McCoy didn't want to have to answer those questions himself. "Thanks for letting me tag along," McCoy finally said, his voice a little rough.
Jim hated that look. "More than welcome," he chose to say, honestly. "It's nice to have someone to travel with, for a little while." It took a while for the potatoes to cook, so he chewed on some more of the jerky. A least a strip or two got palmed into his pocket so it could be saved for tomorrow.
McCoy had a strip of jerky dangling from his mouth as he cleaned his scalpel and fixed it back into his medical kit. "Don't guess I gotta tell you that some plants and vegetables out here might be dangerous, if you do this as often as you say." McCoy narrowed his eyes as he spoke, looking around at the woods as the summer sun began to go down in the west, throwing long shadows on the ground. "You wouldn't believe the sorts of bugs you can pick up out here, poisonous plants that will fuck up your immune system, internal bleeding, shut down all your organs..." He shook his head, as if suddenly suspicious of the entire outdoors.
Jim just gave McCoy a long look. "And that's why we don't eat those," like he was talking to a three year old. "We eat things that won't make us sick. Like sweet potatoes." He pointed at the pot.
"Hmpf," McCoy replied. "Just saying, can't be too careful." He spoke as if he were repeating something by rote, but wasn't really concerned about it at the moment. Standing and stretching, the doctor walked over to his bag and returned to camp with his bottle of bourbon, taking a sip and setting it on the ground within Jim's reach.
"...I was born in Riverside." Jim said, gesturing, "Were you born in Atlanta?"
"I was," McCoy answered slow. "Lived there most of my life, but..." some hesitation in his voice, "got divorced a few months ago. Thought it was time to try something new. Someplace new." He reached for the bottle again, took another sip, and then screwed the lid back on with a sigh. "So," he looked back up at Jim, "if you don't live there anymore, what were you doing there last night?"
"First time I was back since I was eleven," Jim said as he looked back to McCoy across the fire. He nudged a potato with the tip of his knife; it still had to cook some more. "Just decided on a whim to go there, see what's changed. Absolutely nothing, I can report."
"Yeah, didn't look like much going on there 'cept the shipyard." McCoy was watching Jim poke at the potato, a pretty good indicator of how hungry he was getting. "Walked around town once I got there yesterday, but didn't see much, so just headed to that bar and had a drink or two." Or six. "So, Denver," he said thoughtfully, rolling the word around his tongue. "How long 'til those are done?"
"Not much longer now. Just waiting until they're not rock hard anymore." Jim leaned back on an elbow, watching McCoy in the low light as the sun was heading towards setting. "Haven't been to Denver, but cities are all alike." Now that he thought about it, he didn't have an extra plate or anything. He was used to being on his own, so thought never went into having seconds of some things - like plates. "You might want to dig out that scalpel again," Jim admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, "I don't carry plates, or extra utensils or anything like that. Comes with the territory, I guess."
"Guess so," McCoy agreed, then reached over for his medical kit again. He pulled out the scalpel, laughing at it, and found some lid to something that could serve as a plate. "I'm good over here." Glancing over at Jim, McCoy had a look on his face as if remembering the night before. "How's your nose? Breathing alright?"
Jim nodded, "Not even a lick of trouble. Just sort of a weird achey feeling down in my face." He tapped his fingertip where it hurt, just around his sinuses. He took the lid from McCoy and speared a piece of the sweet potato. He cut down into it, then again, and speared the now smaller piece. He blew across it to cool it, then popped it into his mouth. He chewed on it thoughtfully, then nodded. "Done enough that I don't care," he declared, and stood up. He gestured for McCoy to do the same.
"Here, hold this over the top of the pot so the water can get out but not the potatoes." He couldn't do it with only two hands when the pot was boiling hot. They walked a few feet away from their campsite and did just that, with a little bit of poor coordination but enough to not lose any of the sweet potato chunks inside. Jim sat back down and nudged a little more than half onto the makeshift plate, then gave it to McCoy. "Enjoy some real Iowa cooking. Or.. something like that."
McCoy raised an eyebrow at the portion size, but didn't say anything, but giving Jim a knowing look. Didn't look like much got past him, despite his appearance of not paying much attention to (or not caring about) what was going around him. They ate in more silence, finishing their sweet potatoes just as the sun dipped under the horizon. "You cooked, so I'll clean up," McCoy stood, picking up the pot. "I'll go wash this and your plate," he said, holding out his hands for Jim's things. "We need more water for tonight?"
Easy enough to agree with, so Jim gave his plate up to McCoy's hands. "Shouldn't need any more, least I don't. Just plan to get some sleep and head out sometime after sunrise. We'll get to Denver sometime mid-late afternoon tomorrow, I think." McCoy nodded and left, returning a little later. It was pretty dark now, a clear night and despite the trees around them, there was a good view of some stars just starting to peek out from where they lay. McCoy headed over to his blanket, pulling off his sweater and rolling it up under his head like a pillow. The bottle stayed close to him, and every few minutes he took a drink out of it.
Jim let the silence go by, listening to the crackle of the fire and ignoring the heat that the night leeched nothing from. He cradled his head in his hands, feeling all was right with the world. He only broke the silence after he glanced over to the fire and saw it was getting low. "We should get more wood, if we want that fire to last 'til morning." Nothing to do with heat and everything to do with having light and a bit of protection from any animals that might be wandering through.
McCoy didn't move for a moment, then turned toward Jim's voice. "Right," he said, sitting up and shaking his head a bit. "I can get some," he started, and began heading toward the woods, eyes fixed on the ground. Jim wasn't about to let McCoy wander off alone, so he hauled his bones up and walked after him, grabbing anything along the way that would world.
"You ever camped on your own before?" Jim asked out of polite conversation, but also a little curious about the man he was hauling to Denver.
McCoy laughed at that. "When I was a kid, you know, with my family. Granddad had some land, used to go out there when I was a kid, sleep outside sometimes in the summer." He collected some small pieces of wood, kicked over a fallen log, and pulled at the branches sticking up from it. "Nothing in a long time, though. It's kinda fun, all rustic and shit, being outside like this." He looked up at Jim, as if trying to understand something, as if... as if he wanted to know more, but didn't want to ask.
The laugh made Jim smile. It was a good laugh, rich in a way. "Must have been nice," Jim said thoughtfully. "Been doing this off and on for probably," he had to think about it, "about seven or so years now. I always get antsy and want to get back on the road again. Besides, I've had some great adventures out here. One time... two, three years ago now, I was farther north up into North Dakota. I was dead asleep," he stopped to tug up a branch, "and I get woken up by this noise. Not five feet away from me is this huge bear. Just about shit myself, I can tell you that. I ended up getting up in a single bound and onto my cycle and started it. Scared the hell out of the bear, and there I am trying to figure out if I'm dreaming or not." He laughed at the memory of it. He had been terrified at the time, but looking back on it was always funny.
McCoy's face was twisted in something that looked like disbelief and amusement. "A bear?" he chuckled loud. "I don't know what I'd do if I saw one of those." But there was something else on his face... "Jim, how old are you?" he asked, forehead furrowing.
"I'd like to never see one again, they're huge," Jim agreed, laughing a little. "I'm twenty-two." He answered without really thinking about it, "How 'bout yourself?"
"Twenty-eight in a couple days." McCoy tossed the wood onto the ground near the fire before sitting down.
Jim wanted to make mention that McCoy looked about ten years older than that, but decided that probably wouldn't be the best thing to say. Instead, he started to bank the fire so it would last until morning. So twenty-eight, a doctor, recently divorced, trying to restart his life. McCoy seemed to care very little about missing the shuttle over to Starfleet. Maybe Starfleet had just been a spur of the moment choice for McCoy, something to focus on. Divorce must have been very recent. "So, why Starfleet?" Since Jim could never just drop a topic when he was interested in it.
McCoy settled back down on the ground and took another drink from the rapidly-emptying bottle. "Interesting story, that one. I was sittin' in a bar one night, and this guy came in lookin' for me. Heard about some research I'd been workin' on. Made me an offer, told me I could work for them, they'd set me up in a lab somewhere." He told the story quietly, as if repeating something that happened a long time ago to someone else. "Seeing as I didn't have anything else goin' on, I figured, 'What the fuck, why not?', you know?" Another sip from the bottle. "And that is how I ended up in that little bar in god damn Riverside, Iowa."
"Well, shit." Jim couldn't think of much else to say to that story. "What kind of research were you doing?" He swiped the bottle this time with an easy grin and let the burn of it clear out his throat before he gave the bottle back.
"I been developing this procedure," McCoy answered. "Found a way to graft neural tissues to a chronically-injured nervous system, like spinal cords. Been successful." he smiled slow, proud. "Been workin' on the cerebral cortex next, co-transplanting the peripheral nerve tissue-" He stopped, catching himself. "You can tell me to shut up if I get too long-winded, won't offend me. I forget sometimes that not another damn soul on this planet finds this shit the least bit interesting."
Completely the opposite. Jim's brows were somewhere in his hairline, "You mean you're transplanting peripheral nerve tissue into the cerebal cortex? Neural tissue isn't devoted to the system its a part of, then?" Jim leaned forward, interested. If what he was gathering from the doctor was right, it would be an absolutely amazing step forward in medical science.
An eyebrow arched, the wrinkles making McCoy look older again. "It's branching off the existing work in the field," he began slowly. "We've been able to graft stem cells for a while now, and they take to whatever new tissue they come in contact with. But with the brain, it's been harder creating those specific axonal pathways in the brain cells." Sitting back, he dropped the bottle to the side, using his hands to draw a picture in the dirt between them. "Normally when there is an injury, the central nervous system responds by scarring, which leads to the lack of appropriate contacts and makes it hard for the basal ganglia to make contact with the new tissue." He went on for a bit longer, his face lighting up at parts when describing the methods and success stories he'd had in the past few years.
Jim followed along, asking questions when he really didn't understand something but incredibly interested. McCoy seemed to get younger when he spoke like this, enough to make Jim smile as he listened. It was amazing to listen to, the work of a genius. Only when McCoy sat back, and Jim was sure he was done, did Jim say the thought that kept buzzing about in his head, "...McCoy, the only way something like that is ever going to take off is if you take that job in Starfleet." With the unspoken so go fucking do it attached.
But McCoy responded by chuckling. "Truth? I fucking hate space. Hate flying." He took a deep breath, looking sheepish. "I was at the bar getting drunk 'cause I didn't want to think about having to get into a damn shuttle and fly in the morning."
...Really?
Jim gestured a little, "I hate to tell you this but... that's where Starfleet operates. In space." Man, McCoy must have been in a serious strait to want to risk something he feared enough to get plastered before it even started.
McCoy pulled off his boots and laid down. "How long you think we got on the road until we hit Denver?" he asked casually, ignoring the Starfleet comments.
"...another... six, seven hours, maybe a little more," was all Jim said.
A satisfied grunt. "You find us a little town, and breakfast is on me tomorrow, okay kid?"
That kid thing again. "Sick of my cooking already?" Jim attempted a light tease, both at McCoy and himself.
McCoy just laughed at that. "Too many more potatoes and I'm gonna end up all skinny like you... trust me, won't look as good on me as it does on you." He closed his eyes, murmured something quiet to himself, and nothing more was heard.
Authors: salvaged_pride and sullacat
Fandom: Star Trek XI
Pairing/Characters: Kirk/McCoy
Rating: R for language and sexual situations
Summary: In honor of the one year anniversary of the movie, an AU - What if Leonard McCoy had been at the bar that night? Two men, a cycle, and a trip that changes their lives. 7297 words -- Look for future chapters every other day.
<< Chapter 1 | Main Chapter Listing | Chapter 3 >>
Distance Traveled:
It was well past down when movement woke Jim up instantly. Lifting his head, Jim cautiously took in his surroundings, including the man next to him who was stretching and yawning, before he relaxed again. He scrubbed a hand over his face as he brought up last night's memories. In bed with the hot, older doctor. His face felt puffy but not painful. No headache. Not bad. He'd woken up in worse situations. Time to pay the piper.
Jim twisted around in the bed and slid his fingers down the side of the man's chest. "...Gotta thank ya, doc," but his fingers were suddenly stopped by McCoy's hand, covering Jim's, keeping them from traveling down much further.
"Don't worry 'bout it," McCoy murmured, shaking his head, a little exasperated. "Don't-don't need to do that." McCoy shifted away a little, scooting further off the bed, though his hand was still covering Jim's fingers.
Careful, like talking to a spooked dog, Jim tried again. If McCoy pulled away again he'd let it go. "Don't need to, want to. Saved my nose, probably a lot more of me." He used the edge of his thumb to caress the web of McCoy's hand. "If you're not into guys, I'll make it quick. Can just close your eyes."
McCoy's hand wrapped around Jim's thumb and squeezed. He turned his body to face Jim, a questioning look on his face. McCoy was breathing hard, and for a moment it looked as if he was gonna reach out toward Jim... but he let go, swallowing hard. He opened his mouth to say something, then shut it with a sigh. "I'll be back in a bit," he finally muttered, standing and heading into the bathroom, and soon the room was filled with the sound of the shower running.
Well, that went worse than expected. Jim shrugged and grabbed his clothing, sighing. Still stained, but at least the rumpled tee shirt and jeans weren't completely disgusting after last night's fight. A few shakes got the worst of the wrinkles out. He dragged the clothing on, wondering if he could spare the credits to grab a new shirt at a second-hand shop he knew was here in town. The idea of leaving before the doctor came out of the shower passed through Jim's head, but hell. Least he could do was buy the man breakfast. Jim wanted to sit down and look over the map, figure out where he was going next.
It wasn't long before the water stopped running, and McCoy left the bathroom. Towel wrapped around his waist, he walked toward his travel bag, grabbed some underwear and a pair of jeans, and headed back into the bathroom. When he emerged a minute later, McCoy was half-dressed, a comb run through his wet hair. Looking a little uncomfortable, McCoy pulled a t-shirt out of his bag and put it on, then grabbed his sweater from the closet. "How's your ribs this morning?" he asked, looking over at Jim with tired eyes.
"They exist," Jim got out, easily pretending like he hadn't been staring. Toned, with just the slightest hint of a paunch. He wondered if the doctor worked out at all. "Good looking bruise about the size of my hand." The offer he made next was easy. "You want some breakfast? After that, if you need a ride somewhere I can give you one. What's a doctor like you doing out in bumfuckville anyway?" Though the drinking problem, if the bottle, scent, and their meeting location indicated right, might explain why he was out here where no one would care.
McCoy stared back at Jim a moment, looking a hundred percent more wary than he had last night, as if all of a sudden he wasn't sure what he was doing in a hotel room with some strange guy. "Breakfast sounds good," he answered slow, digging his socks out of the bag. Once he was completely dressed, he walked back into the bathroom, came out with a small shaving kit, and tossed it into his bag along with everything else that belonged to him in the room. "Not sure 'bout the ride," he said with a guarded smile. "But thanks."
Breakfast, and they'd go their separate ways. All in all, a good meeting in Jim's world. He gave that charming smile of his and nodded, "You up for a walk back to the bar, or you want to wait here until I get back?"
McCoy secured the straps on his bag and tossed it over his shoulder. "Walk. Let's go."
Soon they were back on the road, the bright Iowa sun climbing in the sky as they made their way back to the bar. "You from around here?" McCoy asked as they approached the parking lot.
"...was, originally. Wouldn't call it home or anything." Jim shrugged, not wanting to make a big deal out of it. "You're definitely not, not with that accent." He tried to turn it into something easy, a tease, without forcing McCoy to say anything more than he wanted to.
"Nope," McCoy grinned a little, though he looked a little pained. "From down south, Atlanta, Georgia. Just passing through here." His eyebrow arched as they approached the only vehicle left in the parking lot. "This your cycle?"
"Beauty, isn't she?" His fingers caressed the edge of the cycle before Jim slipped onto the leather seat. "I fixed her up myself." He jerked his head, a quick indication that McCoy could get on behind him. "Ever ridden one before?"
"It's been a while," McCoy told him with a look that said he wasn't excited about the idea of riding on the back, but it didn't stop him from getting on, tucking his bag behind him. Jim forced down a smirk and turned the cycle on, the familiar thrum of the saddle between his thighs and the unfamiliar feeling of a body against his back. He did a circle once around the parking lot, letting McCoy get a feel for it, before he sped out onto paved road.
The trip back into town was too short, but soon enough he'd be back on endless roads heading somewhere vaguely west. Jim parked the cycle out in front of the town's small diner, mentally trying to calculate how many credits he still had on him.
McCoy slid off the back and headed inside after Jim. They found a booth in the corner, and McCoy grabbed a menu, ordered coffee, and didn't say much more until the coffee was delivered and he was almost done the cup. "So, whatcha do for a living, Jim?" Apparently, with coffee came polite conversation. Seemed the good doctor was one of those types that didn't live until he had his morning cup of coffee. Jim liked a good cup of coffee but didn't require it to exist, and witnessing the need in other people always made him grateful for the fact.
"Whatever comes to hand," Jim said in an intentional, subtle double-entendre. "I'm a fair hand at almost anything. Mostly, I like to travel." His fingers were wrapped around his own cup, enjoying the warmth of it between his palms more than the taste or caffeine. "It's a long way from Atlanta, this tiny town. Said you were just passing through, so where are you headed?"
"California," McCoy said a moment later. "Was, anyway. Now?" He snorted into his mug. "Not sure what my plans are right now." He glanced down at the bag at his side, looking like it carried his entire life, and frowned.
"Was?" Jim felt his brows come together as he leaned on the table between them, "...What made you change your mind?"
McCoy shrugged and opened his mouth, hesitating. He looked over at Jim, as if he were really looking at him for the first time, like he was a real person. It was a long, measured look. "Missed my ride this morning," he finally admitted, finishing his coffee and signaling to the waitress that he wanted some more.
Wince. "Shit, because of me?" Jim asked uncertainly. If he had managed to fuck this guy's travel plans over...
McCoy looked surprised. "No, not you. I mean, fuck, I didn't wanna go. Let myself sleep in." A sheepish grin. "You just gave me the excuse I needed, so, um, thanks." The waitress came by again and filled their mugs, and McCoy ordered some toast, plain.
Jim ordered a breakfast, a real one. He needed something to eat up the rest of the minimal hangover. He was seriously curious now, though. "So what was in California that I managed to excuse you out of?"
Another hesitation. "Starfleet," McCoy said ruefully, looking out the window. "Was supposed to catch a shuttle this morning." McCoy didn't look to upset about it.
Then again, McCoy didn't look like he cared much about anything.
That actually took Jim by surprise. This just didn't seem like the sort of guy that either Starfleet would want, or that would want to join it. He had spent most of his life avoiding it, until it had decided to punch him in the face in a bar. "Huh," Jim started, but didn't know how to finish. He leaned on his elbow, looking out the window. That must have been what the older guy in the bar last night in the black uniform was even doing here. Something to do with the shipyard, most likely. Maybe to pick up this doctor... no, not that. McCoy would have been staying somewhere better, and Jim doubted Mr. Whistle would have let McCoy miss the shuttle. "Wouldn't be hard to get to California."
"Probably not," McCoy admitted. "Just... not sure if it's really for me." When Jim gave a questioning look, McCoy clarified, "Space, being out there in the dark." He shook his head, his face clouding over with shadows that came from somewhere inside. "A thousand things could go wrong out there, and not a damn soul to help you. Don't like that."
Jim hesitated. What was McCoy bringing along with him that made the doctor's whole expression darken over like that? Like I have no idea what that's like, Jim thought to himself, carrying around shadows. He tapped his finger on the table, before he replied cautiously, "Isn't that... what your crew is supposed to be about? To help you if things go wrong?" Why was McCoy even going out there if he feels like this?
"I suppose," McCoy nodded, watching as the waitress brought them their food. "Don't know much about it, was just getting ready to go in." He chewed thoughtfully on a piece of toast. "Still might, just haven't quite made up my mind yet." McCoy looked up, as if realizing he'd been talking a lot about himself. "What 'bout you?" he asked. "You said you were traveling?"
"...That's what I do." Jim grinned, but kept in mind what McCoy had said. "Travel, find odd jobs here and there... guess you could call me a professional vagabond."
Didn't take long for McCoy to finish his toast. "That workin' out for you?" he asked, a little wistful grin on his face as if the idea seemed intriguing, even momentarily.
It was an odd question that made Jim laugh, leaning forward. "Love it, even if it's a tough life sometime. How's being a doctor working out for ya?" he teased right back, grinning.
McCoy leaned back, as if he had to consider that question. "My first instinct is to say that it's gotten me everything I ever wanted, but if that was true, then why the hell would I be here?" he replied, a sarcastic note to the last few words. "It's a good living. Highly recommend it, though in general people are idiots and don't listen to their physicians... which in the end only means they need us more after they've fucked up their health." It was as many words as he'd said since they met, and when he finished, McCoy finished his coffee. "Guess I'll be off then," he said, wiping his mouth on a napkin and reaching for his wallet.
Jim waved that off. "I'm covering it. Consider it me paying my doctor's life-saving bill." He gestured with his head for the waitress to come over, paying her with a credit tab before McCoy could complain. Then he looked back to the doctor. "Must be nice, though. An occupation you can help people, even if people are morons."
"When you can help them, yeah," McCoy answered. "Thanks for the coffee, kid. You take care of that nose, okay?" Standing, he pulled the bag over his shoulder and waited for Jim.
Grabbing the last triangle of toast from his plate, Jim stood up and followed McCoy outside with it still hanging out of his mouth. He tore a piece off, hesitating, "...Look, McCoy... you want a ride to the next real town? There's nothing out here." It wasn't a completely unknown offer for him to make, just a rare one. He usually liked the peace of the road, but there was something about McCoy he liked. At least, he knew, he owed the man a real favor. That quick hypo in the bar had saved his face from being beaten in by a pissed off cadet.
McCoy looked like he was considering the offer. "Which direction you heading?"
"West." Complete with a vague hand wave that could have been any direction. Seemed as good as any, considering they were in the middle of the country.
McCoy looked in that direction, as if trying to imagine where they might be. "Drop me off in the next big town?" he asked carefully.
"Yea, whatever we find next." Jim walked over to his cycle and gave it an affectionate caress. There was a thin saddle bag with some non-perishables, a few travel items, but little else. He thought if he really needed to replenish anything in it. McCoy slid on the bike, holding onto the side with one hand, and looked back at Jim expectantly. Jim's lips quirked. Well, evidently, that was that. He slid onto the cycle in front of McCoy, settling himself into the feeling of someone against his back. He hit the engine, turned out of the lot, and chose the first road he knew would send them out of town.
Riverside, Iowa was just another place on the map; nothing had ever happened here that mattered or would it ever.
Neither of them said much else until they were well on their way. It was a quiet, back road Jim chose instead of the main highway. This road went west, almost dead straight as an arrow through farmlands. Jim felt McCoy shift against his body, almost intimate with the design of the bike. "You been this way before?" McCoy asked, leaning close to talk directly into Jim's ear.
Jim nodded, voice pitched to carry past the wind. "Sure have." Not exactly this way, but close enough. He had crossed the country enough times on his bike to know most of the major roads and in a lot of cases, how to avoid them entirely. This was the kind of road he was looking for - empty or mostly empty. He still had a twitch of memory for the past though, and despite the technology to avoid them outright, kept an eye out for the cop that had caught him all those years ago. Once they were a little farther from town, he'd let the engine hum and stop caring about his speed.
McCoy must have been lost in his own thoughts, because after a while Jim could feel him relaxing behind him, one arm holding on loosely to his waist. It was going to be a hot day of late summer, and the crops were high in the fields, gold and green and blue sky above them. It was a comfortable ride, surprisingly enough, and before either man noticed, they'd been on the road for three hours without a town in sight. "Where are we?" McCoy finally asked, as they pulled off on the side of the road to take a piss.
Jim just shrugged, sliding the kick stand on the cycle and getting off. He stretched the length of his body out, feeling muscles move against each other. "Somewhere in Nebraska. I don't worry about it until I hit a town," Shouldn't have been a surprise, really, that McCoy was asking. The doctor was there with a stranger, out in the middle of absolutely no where, not used to a traveling life style.
McCoy pulled out his communication device, tapped at it a few times. "We aren't anywhere near any big towns," he chuckled as he headed back to the cycle. "Lincoln's that way," he added, pointing southeast, opposite of where they were heading. "Shit. Didn't mean to make you cart me across the countryside." Strangely, he didn't look too put out by this turn of events. In fact, he looked sort of peaceful, the lines in his forehead disappearing as he took in the wide expanse of land around them.
Like maybe, just maybe, the doctor was actually enjoying himself. "Doesn't matter to me. Figured the next big city heading west is Denver... easy enough place to get to." Jim was in no hurry, just walking around slowly to get out the kinks in his muscles. "We can keep going for another few hours and stop for the night, see if we can find a town along the way. Got some stuff if we can't." A thin pair of blankets, a tarp, a pot that could be manipulated flat... all stuff that was cheap, light, and could fit on his bike.
McCoy nodded slowly. It looked like he hadn't planned on spending quite this much time out here, but he seemed to be rolling with it. "Denver... sounds as good a place as any to start over," he muttered, mostly to himself. Looking back up at Jim, he sighed. "Ready whenever you are, kid."
"Start over?" Jim couldn't find it in himself to tell McCoy to stop calling him 'kid', so he just climbed back on. "...Starting over from what?" Guy seemed like he was down on his luck, but at least out here he seemed almost... free. Maybe going into a big city wasn't good for the good doctor, but what did he know about someone else's life?
McCoy's face froze into something that looked almost dangerous. "... just starting over," he grumbled, turning his head toward the fields around them. "Let's get going." Neither man said anything else for a long time, the sun rising almost overhead, beating down on them, then moving in front, shining down right in their faces. It was blinding and frustrating, leaving Jim grumbling about his favorite pair of sunglasses he had swiped a few years back but had been broken recently due to someone's ass crushing them. He was entertaining finding another cheap pair in whatever town they came up to next when something white suddenly caught his eyes through the light.
It took some fast braking and jerking his cycle hard to the side to avoid hitting -- "...A sheep?!"
As far as he could see on either side of the road, spread out across two vast fields of summer green grass, was one massive herd of sheep. They were just plodding along, their baaing and the sounds of bells around their necks mixing together until it just sounded like noise to Jim's ears. The sheep were all pressed together, huddling as they walked across the road and into the next field.
As Jim looked over his shoulder, the look he saw on McCoy's face was indescribable. "Well, that's something you don't see in Georgia," the doctor mused.
Jim groaned aloud, rubbing a hand over his face. When he dropped his hand and saw one of the fluffy white things staring up at him, chewing on something slowly, he showed his teeth at it and kicked a foot in its direction.
"You can't be fucking serious. Sheep." Jim slumped forward on the cycle, looking out in the direction the sheep were coming from. "There must be thousands of them.
"Can we drive around them?" McCoy asked, sitting up and peering around. It looked like he was trying to hold back a laugh.
Jim gave an annoyed gesture to either side of them. "Where?! It's a giant ass field! I'm glad you find this funny." He meet McCoy's eyes again, then just laughed. It was sort of funny. "Fucking sheep."
"Yeah, they're not my type, Jim, but you go right ahead." McCoy rested a hand on Jim's shoulder as Jim's laugh sputtered. "Want me to try and make you a path, if we can't drive through them?"
"Come on, we need to get off. And I don't mean on the sheep," Jim snickered through his words, grinning widely. He got off the cycle, shoving away another curious sheep. McCoy was doing his best to shoo the animals out of the way, but it was slow going.
"Don't guess this happens to you often?" he asked, holding onto one side of the cycle and helping Jim make their way into the herd.
"Oh sure it does, but only when I'm offering a discount for the night."
McCoy seemed amused by that, but didn't comment on it as pushing the cycle through the sheep ended up being harder than either man imagined. At one point McCoy ended up on the ground, trying not to be trampled by a sudden shift in sheep movement. "Fucking shit," he called out, holding a hand out as Jim helped him back up.
"You're lucky you didn't land in fucking shit with this many sheep around," Jim teased as he grabbed McCoy's hand and hauled him back up with a laugh.
McCoy gruffed a little longer, but eventually he cracked a smile about it all. "Fucking sheep," he chuckled every few minutes.
It was another twenty minutes before they were clear of the animals and back on their way.
It was a comfortable ride over the long hours, putting miles and miles behind them with easy, meaningless conversation or silence as they admired the landscape and concentrated on their own endless thoughts. Eventually, as night settled on the horizon, Jim knew they weren't going to make it to a town for the night. His body was sore, he was getting hungry, and just a little tired. He could feel McCoy tense up when he pulled off the road into what he considered a perfect location for a night - it was right at the edge of a large field of crops where a few trees were growing. They could camp back in the trees, and see what was in the field to see if they could have some fresh food tonight. "This- we gonna sleep here?" he heard the doctor ask.
"Sure are. It's a beautiful night for it." Jim stopped the cycle just behind a tree, and started to pull out his supplies from a saddle bag. The tarp started to go up easy with the help of some bungee cord, keep the dew off them come morning at least.
McCoy hesitated at first, enough that Jim was about ready to say that there wasn't any other option but camping. Then his face changed, nodded, and he pulled the blankets out from the saddle back and tossed on the ground under the tarp. "Um, you got any ideas about dinner?" McCoy asked, a little worry in his voice and looking more like he thought this was a bad idea.
Jim just gave him a look, "Doc, relax. I've been doing this for years now." He gestured with his head to follow, and went tromping out into the field to have a look. Luck was with them. "Look at that," he whispered, grinning as he knelt down. He recognized the plant easily, and considering the time of year they had to be ready to dig up, or close to it. Too much growing up around crops when he was little, but he was grateful for the knowledge in moments like these. He pulled out a multi-use knife from his belt, and with a flick of his wrist and the edge of his thumbnail had out the dullest blade he had on the tool. He started to dig into the soil.
McCoy was behind him, looking down over his shoulder. "What's that?" he asked, unable to keep the curiosity out of his voice.
Jim tugged once, cut once, and held up his dirty but prized find. "Sweet potato. Cut this up and cook it and we'll be sitting pretty for a meal."
A deep chuckle came out of McCoy, who sat down on the ground next to Jim, helping him pull at the dirt. "Don't suppose you can find us a marshmallow and brown sugar plant out here, can ya?" The little smile on his face wasn't something that he showed often, but the joke made Jim chuckle. "Anything else I can do to help?"
Together, they pulled up another two potatoes. Jim thought about it, then stood up and stretched, "Can you peel the three of these while I try to find us some water?"
"Yeah," McCoy nodded, picking up the potatoes and heading back to their rough camp. When Jim got back with the water he found the doctor cross-legged on the ground, carefully peeling the last of the potatoes. There was a sharp scalpel in his hands, a neat pile of peelings on the ground. It took everything in Jim not to laugh at the sight. "This good?" McCoy asked, holding them up for inspection.
Jim took a look at the potato and nodded, "Perfect." He put down the pot, now filled with water and started to scrub the potatoes clean with his hands. "There's a little creek not that far back. Gonna clean these, dump the water, and refill it so we can boil these up." It would be enough for him for a meal, but McCoy he was pretty sure was used to a better fare. He looked over to the doctor cautiously, "I might have something we can use if you need more to eat..."
But the doctor shook his head. "Looks great," he said with another slow grin, then his face changed. "Hey wait," he called out, looking up as he stood and walked toward his travel bag. He returned a moment later, offering Jim a small plastic package. "Got some jerky, bought it yesterday while I was waiting at the station." The bag was half-filled with dried meat, not a lot, but enough for them both to have a few strips.
Jim's eyes lit up with that. How long had it been since he had been able to have some real jerky? He grinned, "You sure?" It was a treat for him. When McCoy nodded, Jim took out a strip and happily started to gnaw on it. The strong taste of the marinade made him start to salivate hard. He chewed on it while he finished up, and went to dump the water before he paused. "Here, if you want to give your hands a quick wash. Know the road gets dusty." He had done a fast wash-up in the creek but at least McCoy could clean up for eating. He watched McCoy do just that, and wondered if he was imagining the faintly thankful look on McCoy's face at being able to do something as simple as wash his hands and face.
When McCoy was done, Jim left McCoy his knife, longer than the scalpel and it would be easier to cut with, and asked the doctor to chop up the potatoes into thick cubes - it'd cook faster cubed. Jim dumped the dirty water away from their camp, and refilled the pot. When he came back he started to get everything ready for a fire. It was a comfortable sort of silence between them, one unable to be filled with too much talk because they were still strangers, but on a trip that meant spending a lot of time together.
At least McCoy looked familiar with building a fire. Soon the water was boiling and the potatoes were cooking. "You do this a lot?" he asked, stirring the pot and looking back up at Jim. "Camp out like this?"
"Most nights, during the spring, summer, and fall," Jim admitted easily. "It's free or mostly free, so it saves credits for where I need it." Like food, and sometimes clothing and other essentials.
McCoy gave him that look, familiar, the one that said 'Why? Where is your family? Why not settle down and get a job?' But he didn't ask, his face turned inward and focused instead on the pot in front of him. Jim wondered if it was because McCoy didn't want to have to answer those questions himself. "Thanks for letting me tag along," McCoy finally said, his voice a little rough.
Jim hated that look. "More than welcome," he chose to say, honestly. "It's nice to have someone to travel with, for a little while." It took a while for the potatoes to cook, so he chewed on some more of the jerky. A least a strip or two got palmed into his pocket so it could be saved for tomorrow.
McCoy had a strip of jerky dangling from his mouth as he cleaned his scalpel and fixed it back into his medical kit. "Don't guess I gotta tell you that some plants and vegetables out here might be dangerous, if you do this as often as you say." McCoy narrowed his eyes as he spoke, looking around at the woods as the summer sun began to go down in the west, throwing long shadows on the ground. "You wouldn't believe the sorts of bugs you can pick up out here, poisonous plants that will fuck up your immune system, internal bleeding, shut down all your organs..." He shook his head, as if suddenly suspicious of the entire outdoors.
Jim just gave McCoy a long look. "And that's why we don't eat those," like he was talking to a three year old. "We eat things that won't make us sick. Like sweet potatoes." He pointed at the pot.
"Hmpf," McCoy replied. "Just saying, can't be too careful." He spoke as if he were repeating something by rote, but wasn't really concerned about it at the moment. Standing and stretching, the doctor walked over to his bag and returned to camp with his bottle of bourbon, taking a sip and setting it on the ground within Jim's reach.
"...I was born in Riverside." Jim said, gesturing, "Were you born in Atlanta?"
"I was," McCoy answered slow. "Lived there most of my life, but..." some hesitation in his voice, "got divorced a few months ago. Thought it was time to try something new. Someplace new." He reached for the bottle again, took another sip, and then screwed the lid back on with a sigh. "So," he looked back up at Jim, "if you don't live there anymore, what were you doing there last night?"
"First time I was back since I was eleven," Jim said as he looked back to McCoy across the fire. He nudged a potato with the tip of his knife; it still had to cook some more. "Just decided on a whim to go there, see what's changed. Absolutely nothing, I can report."
"Yeah, didn't look like much going on there 'cept the shipyard." McCoy was watching Jim poke at the potato, a pretty good indicator of how hungry he was getting. "Walked around town once I got there yesterday, but didn't see much, so just headed to that bar and had a drink or two." Or six. "So, Denver," he said thoughtfully, rolling the word around his tongue. "How long 'til those are done?"
"Not much longer now. Just waiting until they're not rock hard anymore." Jim leaned back on an elbow, watching McCoy in the low light as the sun was heading towards setting. "Haven't been to Denver, but cities are all alike." Now that he thought about it, he didn't have an extra plate or anything. He was used to being on his own, so thought never went into having seconds of some things - like plates. "You might want to dig out that scalpel again," Jim admitted, rubbing the back of his neck, "I don't carry plates, or extra utensils or anything like that. Comes with the territory, I guess."
"Guess so," McCoy agreed, then reached over for his medical kit again. He pulled out the scalpel, laughing at it, and found some lid to something that could serve as a plate. "I'm good over here." Glancing over at Jim, McCoy had a look on his face as if remembering the night before. "How's your nose? Breathing alright?"
Jim nodded, "Not even a lick of trouble. Just sort of a weird achey feeling down in my face." He tapped his fingertip where it hurt, just around his sinuses. He took the lid from McCoy and speared a piece of the sweet potato. He cut down into it, then again, and speared the now smaller piece. He blew across it to cool it, then popped it into his mouth. He chewed on it thoughtfully, then nodded. "Done enough that I don't care," he declared, and stood up. He gestured for McCoy to do the same.
"Here, hold this over the top of the pot so the water can get out but not the potatoes." He couldn't do it with only two hands when the pot was boiling hot. They walked a few feet away from their campsite and did just that, with a little bit of poor coordination but enough to not lose any of the sweet potato chunks inside. Jim sat back down and nudged a little more than half onto the makeshift plate, then gave it to McCoy. "Enjoy some real Iowa cooking. Or.. something like that."
McCoy raised an eyebrow at the portion size, but didn't say anything, but giving Jim a knowing look. Didn't look like much got past him, despite his appearance of not paying much attention to (or not caring about) what was going around him. They ate in more silence, finishing their sweet potatoes just as the sun dipped under the horizon. "You cooked, so I'll clean up," McCoy stood, picking up the pot. "I'll go wash this and your plate," he said, holding out his hands for Jim's things. "We need more water for tonight?"
Easy enough to agree with, so Jim gave his plate up to McCoy's hands. "Shouldn't need any more, least I don't. Just plan to get some sleep and head out sometime after sunrise. We'll get to Denver sometime mid-late afternoon tomorrow, I think." McCoy nodded and left, returning a little later. It was pretty dark now, a clear night and despite the trees around them, there was a good view of some stars just starting to peek out from where they lay. McCoy headed over to his blanket, pulling off his sweater and rolling it up under his head like a pillow. The bottle stayed close to him, and every few minutes he took a drink out of it.
Jim let the silence go by, listening to the crackle of the fire and ignoring the heat that the night leeched nothing from. He cradled his head in his hands, feeling all was right with the world. He only broke the silence after he glanced over to the fire and saw it was getting low. "We should get more wood, if we want that fire to last 'til morning." Nothing to do with heat and everything to do with having light and a bit of protection from any animals that might be wandering through.
McCoy didn't move for a moment, then turned toward Jim's voice. "Right," he said, sitting up and shaking his head a bit. "I can get some," he started, and began heading toward the woods, eyes fixed on the ground. Jim wasn't about to let McCoy wander off alone, so he hauled his bones up and walked after him, grabbing anything along the way that would world.
"You ever camped on your own before?" Jim asked out of polite conversation, but also a little curious about the man he was hauling to Denver.
McCoy laughed at that. "When I was a kid, you know, with my family. Granddad had some land, used to go out there when I was a kid, sleep outside sometimes in the summer." He collected some small pieces of wood, kicked over a fallen log, and pulled at the branches sticking up from it. "Nothing in a long time, though. It's kinda fun, all rustic and shit, being outside like this." He looked up at Jim, as if trying to understand something, as if... as if he wanted to know more, but didn't want to ask.
The laugh made Jim smile. It was a good laugh, rich in a way. "Must have been nice," Jim said thoughtfully. "Been doing this off and on for probably," he had to think about it, "about seven or so years now. I always get antsy and want to get back on the road again. Besides, I've had some great adventures out here. One time... two, three years ago now, I was farther north up into North Dakota. I was dead asleep," he stopped to tug up a branch, "and I get woken up by this noise. Not five feet away from me is this huge bear. Just about shit myself, I can tell you that. I ended up getting up in a single bound and onto my cycle and started it. Scared the hell out of the bear, and there I am trying to figure out if I'm dreaming or not." He laughed at the memory of it. He had been terrified at the time, but looking back on it was always funny.
McCoy's face was twisted in something that looked like disbelief and amusement. "A bear?" he chuckled loud. "I don't know what I'd do if I saw one of those." But there was something else on his face... "Jim, how old are you?" he asked, forehead furrowing.
"I'd like to never see one again, they're huge," Jim agreed, laughing a little. "I'm twenty-two." He answered without really thinking about it, "How 'bout yourself?"
"Twenty-eight in a couple days." McCoy tossed the wood onto the ground near the fire before sitting down.
Jim wanted to make mention that McCoy looked about ten years older than that, but decided that probably wouldn't be the best thing to say. Instead, he started to bank the fire so it would last until morning. So twenty-eight, a doctor, recently divorced, trying to restart his life. McCoy seemed to care very little about missing the shuttle over to Starfleet. Maybe Starfleet had just been a spur of the moment choice for McCoy, something to focus on. Divorce must have been very recent. "So, why Starfleet?" Since Jim could never just drop a topic when he was interested in it.
McCoy settled back down on the ground and took another drink from the rapidly-emptying bottle. "Interesting story, that one. I was sittin' in a bar one night, and this guy came in lookin' for me. Heard about some research I'd been workin' on. Made me an offer, told me I could work for them, they'd set me up in a lab somewhere." He told the story quietly, as if repeating something that happened a long time ago to someone else. "Seeing as I didn't have anything else goin' on, I figured, 'What the fuck, why not?', you know?" Another sip from the bottle. "And that is how I ended up in that little bar in god damn Riverside, Iowa."
"Well, shit." Jim couldn't think of much else to say to that story. "What kind of research were you doing?" He swiped the bottle this time with an easy grin and let the burn of it clear out his throat before he gave the bottle back.
"I been developing this procedure," McCoy answered. "Found a way to graft neural tissues to a chronically-injured nervous system, like spinal cords. Been successful." he smiled slow, proud. "Been workin' on the cerebral cortex next, co-transplanting the peripheral nerve tissue-" He stopped, catching himself. "You can tell me to shut up if I get too long-winded, won't offend me. I forget sometimes that not another damn soul on this planet finds this shit the least bit interesting."
Completely the opposite. Jim's brows were somewhere in his hairline, "You mean you're transplanting peripheral nerve tissue into the cerebal cortex? Neural tissue isn't devoted to the system its a part of, then?" Jim leaned forward, interested. If what he was gathering from the doctor was right, it would be an absolutely amazing step forward in medical science.
An eyebrow arched, the wrinkles making McCoy look older again. "It's branching off the existing work in the field," he began slowly. "We've been able to graft stem cells for a while now, and they take to whatever new tissue they come in contact with. But with the brain, it's been harder creating those specific axonal pathways in the brain cells." Sitting back, he dropped the bottle to the side, using his hands to draw a picture in the dirt between them. "Normally when there is an injury, the central nervous system responds by scarring, which leads to the lack of appropriate contacts and makes it hard for the basal ganglia to make contact with the new tissue." He went on for a bit longer, his face lighting up at parts when describing the methods and success stories he'd had in the past few years.
Jim followed along, asking questions when he really didn't understand something but incredibly interested. McCoy seemed to get younger when he spoke like this, enough to make Jim smile as he listened. It was amazing to listen to, the work of a genius. Only when McCoy sat back, and Jim was sure he was done, did Jim say the thought that kept buzzing about in his head, "...McCoy, the only way something like that is ever going to take off is if you take that job in Starfleet." With the unspoken so go fucking do it attached.
But McCoy responded by chuckling. "Truth? I fucking hate space. Hate flying." He took a deep breath, looking sheepish. "I was at the bar getting drunk 'cause I didn't want to think about having to get into a damn shuttle and fly in the morning."
...Really?
Jim gestured a little, "I hate to tell you this but... that's where Starfleet operates. In space." Man, McCoy must have been in a serious strait to want to risk something he feared enough to get plastered before it even started.
McCoy pulled off his boots and laid down. "How long you think we got on the road until we hit Denver?" he asked casually, ignoring the Starfleet comments.
"...another... six, seven hours, maybe a little more," was all Jim said.
A satisfied grunt. "You find us a little town, and breakfast is on me tomorrow, okay kid?"
That kid thing again. "Sick of my cooking already?" Jim attempted a light tease, both at McCoy and himself.
McCoy just laughed at that. "Too many more potatoes and I'm gonna end up all skinny like you... trust me, won't look as good on me as it does on you." He closed his eyes, murmured something quiet to himself, and nothing more was heard.