Blood Ties - part 4a/6
Title: Blood Ties
Rating: NC-17
Character/Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Word Count: ~18,300 words (this part)
Characters: Hikaru Sulu, Joanna McCoy, as well as Stefan and Damon Salvatore, and Bonnie Bennett from ‘The Vampire Diaries’.
A/N for this part: A continuation of Chapter 3, set 12 years later. Not a crossover, but includes characters and lore from Vampire Diaries.
Previous parts, warnings, thanks, disclaimer and additional notes are to be found in the masterpost .
Intriguing snippet: “I’ve missed you, Bones,” Jim says, voice low and personal, seeping through him. So nothing’s changed for him - great.
“Shush, she’ll hear you,” Len hisses, glancing over his shoulder at the open door, “I can’t have Joanna knowing we’ve met before. Now get out of here.”
Blood Ties: Chapter 4
~
It's so silly. All you do is get the heck out of your body when you die. My gosh, everybody's done it thousands of times. Just because they don't remember, it doesn't mean they haven't done it. ~J D Salinger
~
Mystic Falls, Virginia, 2011
Jim lands on his back across the table and splutters blood - damn, he’s bitten his tongue, he realizes when his mouth’s flooded with the taste of copper. He lets out a chuckle, and flips up effortlessly, landing on his feet, sword in hand. “Shit, you’re good, Hikaru! Where the hell did you learn to…oof!”
Hikaru’s got him in a strangle hold, and a dagger pressed to his neck. He can feel his breath gust over his ear, the man’s heart pounding against his back, he can fucking taste his sweat in the air. “You know this is giving me a boner, right?”
Jim feels a rush of joy when Hikaru throws him away and he loses his footing, stumbling to the rug, his eyes half an inch away from his dropped sword. Before he can stretch for it, he sees Hikaru’s boot kick it clear across the room. “Hey man, that’s an antique, Stefan’s going to whoop your ass if you damage it!”
He looks over his shoulder at his sparring partner, shirtless, gleaming with sweat in the candle light, his body lithe and toned, chest heaving with the effort. “Shut up about your boner, vampire scum,” Hikaru winks. He flexes the foil and arcs it in a figure of eight in front of him, then bows. “No offence.” A broad grin reveals perfect white teeth.
“None taken,” Jim beams, getting to his feet, running his thumb across a spot of blood on his lip and sucking the tip. Hikaru makes an ‘eew’ face and stands one hand on his hip, head held high.
“Do you yield?”
Jim grins. “Yeah, you mad-eyed fuck, I yield, though, you know - hardly a fair match with the vervain you insisted I take first. I’m as weak as a kitten.” Though he fans his face melodramatically, it’s true, the herb works every time, and when dosed by a witch it goes right to where it counts, and like all vampires, makes him lose his strength, albeit temporarily. Perfect for leveling the playing field in this case. He’ll be fine in a couple of hours, as long as he gets a good day’s sleep.
“And I could totally take you, vervain or no vervain,” Hikaru grins. “Man that was awesome - it’s been a while since I’ve met my match.” They both look around the room, at the heavy drape pulled off its rail, the slice into the banister, the rug bunched up against an overturned table and a vase lying on its side in one corner where Jim caught it just before it nearly shattered into a million expensive fragments.
“Okay, now you’ve had your fun, can I have the ring, oh witchly one of witchli-ness?” Jim bows, picks up his foil, rights a side-table and rests it across the top.
Hikaru grins. “First we take a shower - I need you to check me over for cuts and bruises…” He’s already kicked off his boots and left them in the middle of the room, and Jim watches in awe as Hikaru strides away, lowering his fencing pants over one bare ass cheek.
“Hey, Hik, you sure you don’t want me to turn you? You’d make a hell of a vampire.”
“No fucking way, Kirk - I hate you all and I’m attached to my beating heart.”
Damn, Jim can’t wait for Hikaru to show him just how much he hates vampires. Damon was right, Hikaru is the best.
+++
“These Salvatore boys know how to live the Hollywood lifestyle,” Jim grunts as he shoves Hikaru up against the shower wall. “You could fit five hot men in this space and still have room to maneuver.” There’s no comment, just a moan as Jim reaches round and jerks him off idly. “Why do you do this, Hik, work with vampires, seeing as every witch I’ve ever met wants us dead or at least suffering?”
Hikaru turns his face away from the tile, looks at Jim over his shoulder and presses his ass against his cock, “Hmm…all I ever wanted to do since I was a kid was fly - now, thanks to vampires with more money than sense, I get to…ung…do that.” Jim grins and moves his hand up and down, watching the vein in the witch’s neck; with a swallow, he looks away. “What did you wanna be when you were a kid, Kirk? I’m thinking mass murderer wasn’t quite what you wanted on your resume…”
“Dunno…I’m kind of a late developer…” He squeezes shower gel onto his cock and slides it up and down between Hikaru’s cheeks.
“Fuck, man, anyone ever…oh, shit…tell you what an animal you are in the sack?”
“In a good way, right?”
“Yeah…totally…now make me come already…”
“Sure, when you’ve given me… my…fucking… ring.” Jim punctuates each word with a thrust then pulls out, shoving him out of the shower and watching with a sneer as Hikaru cusses in response and exiting the bathroom, drips water across the expensive rug to the bed. From where he is in the shower, Jim can see Hikaru rooting through his bag, turning to glower at him, then toss the enchanted ring casually towards him. Jim catches it mid-air and slips it onto his pinky where it’s too loose, then tries the his ring finger on his left hand with success.
Fuck. This is what he’s dreamt of since he was made. It’s cost him a small fortune and a heap of promises but it’s worth all that and more. He strokes a finger across the blue diamond, watching the water pour over it; running his tongue over his lower lip, he shakes his head under the jet of hot, hot water. “Thanks, Hik, now get that fine ass back in here!”
+++
It almost kills him, waiting. Jim times it for when the Salvatores are out because it seems fitting he be alone the first time.
He can sense the dawn coming: it’s part of being a vampire knowing when to take cover, hide out till it’s dark again; but this time it’s something to wish for, to look forward to. He’s always been able to move about in the day as long as he keeps out of direct sunlight which would set him on fire, as long as his skin’s all covered up, if he sticks to shadow, or if it’s overcast - London was great for that. But he hasn’t been abroad in a hundred years - not since he stopped killing and the journey left him too vulnerable in his box, unable to feed off the crew if needed. Flying’s out of the question, but now he’s got this he’ll be able to travel again - maybe with Hik; maybe learn to fly too.
The first change in light has his chest swell with excitement and he glances at the ring, unbuttons his shirt and lays it on a garden bench. His eyes flicker to the house, the only light coming from his bedroom window. He can hear birdsong and he wants to sing right along with them he thinks, as he unbuttons his pants and steps out of them, his bare feet twitching in the dew-covered grass. It smells so fucking good - damp and fresh, the scent mingling with that of autumn leaves blown against the flower beds, decaying after the heavy storms. But there isn’t a cloud in the sky today and he looks east, stepping away from the shadow the mansion would give him that would have saved him had he not been wearing the ring. He walks across the lawn, wanting to be dead center, wanting to feel the sun on every part of his nocturnal body.
The sky brightens and at last he can see the sun for real - not in a movie or a painting, not a representation; there’s nothing between him and its rays now as it inches over the horizon. He turns his face upwards, raises his hand to shield his eyes, and follows its path, basking in the weak heat so early in the morning. He hasn’t been able to do this for 230 years, since he was turned - and it seems to pass through his skin, heating him up, making him feel alive and enveloped - how could he forget this? Something so simple, so everyday, feels like magic.
Laughing like a kid, he turns a slow circle letting it kiss and toast him gently. He’s astonished at how white his skin is in the full light, how translucent his nails are and he smiles at his shadow, balancing on one leg, then another.
He begins the yoga sun salutation - it seems fitting after all - and he raises his arms up, gazing at his palms and folding forward, inhaling deeply - breathing always feels like fire in his body - and this ritual is all about breath. He exhales and takes first one foot, then the other behind him, enjoying the burn in his limbs as he holds the position, bringing his head low and ass up into ‘downward facing dog’, then back up to stand with his arms raised high, feeling the autumn glow on his cheeks.
He completes several more sequences then flips onto his hands walking across the lawn like that, blissfully unconcerned about how ludicrous he must look upside down and naked. He rights himself only to turn cart wheel after cart wheel, completing a wide circle around the lawn until he lands perfectly by the bench where Damon’s sitting watching him, one eyebrow arched as he contemplates Jim’s antics. His arm’s draped casually along the back of the bench, his own ring - much more ostentatious than Jim’s and a match for his brother, Stefan’s - glinting in the early light.
“You been smoking pot again, Kirk?”
Jim shakes his head and grins, closing his eyes and feeling the heat on his neck. “I don’t know how I went so long without this - it’s fucking amazing, makes me feel…”
“Alive?” Damon offers, blue eyes widening in that silent-movie actor way of his. “It’s an illusion, don’t get too attached to the feeling…you’re as dead as I am. At least we don’t suffer from sun-burn, eh? Shame, because I’d look great with a tan. So would you - you could work the whole surfer-dude look to your advantage. Then you could almost pass as sexy - like me.” He gives a lop-sided grin and nods towards Jim’s dick. “I’ll have to stake you if you bring that out again - I have a rep to maintain you know.”
Jim grins. “Noted.” He picks up his clothes and waits for Damon to follow him, his heart bursting. “I thought you’d gone out--”
“Forgot my cell,” Damon says. “It’s kind of a relief to know we don’t sparkle, huh, Jim?”
“Fucking right!” Still naked, he wraps his arm around Damon’s shoulders. “I’d offer you some celebratory vampire sex only I know you aren’t into guys,” he smirks.
Damon huffs a laugh. “No, I’m not, but thanks for the offer. How about a glass to celebrate? I’ve got some gorgeous O-Neg.”
Damn, it’s tempting but he’s sworn off human blood since Len years ago, knowing nothing will ever taste so good again; plus it brings the killer in him too much to the surface. “Last time I came off the rails, it took me thirty years to go dry again, man - can’t risk it.” Jim slaps him on the arm. “But thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Is champagne on your safe list? I have some mind-blowing Krug in the cellar?”
“1928?”
“Of course!”
“Cool - but can we drink it outside?”
“Sure, but put some clothes on; and do you have to dress like a bum? Jimmy Dean is dead and gone - have a look through my wardrobe and pick out something more fashion-forward that’ll set off that nice ring of yours.”
+++
Len adjusts his sunglasses, leans on his car and checks his watch again. Damn, where is she? he thinks, scanning the latest round of faces as kids spill out of school across the lawns.
Ten minutes he’s been standing here holding fast against the tide of hormones around him, cell phones bleeping, iPods being hurriedly shoved into ears because, god forbid any one of them actually exists a whole damned second in blessed silence. Floral perfume assaults him from all directions, jasmine and musk, some from cheap aftershave. He tries not to growl at their shiny-shiny hopeful faces, gleaming health in the autumn sun - Christ he feels old.
And beneath his irritation there’s something else, an itch under his skin he hasn’t felt in years, like déjà vu unsettling him.
He searches his pocket for gum, sighs and leans in through his open car window to look in the glove box. Finding some, he folds the gum in half and shifts his back again - damn, there’s that prickle again. Maybe he’s developing allergies; this time of year it’s oleander and mushroom spores he knows, ‘cause he’s checked for Jo-Jo since she’s susceptible.
What the hell is this place, anyways? He thought he knew Virginia but he’s never heard of this town before. Trust Joss to bring his baby girl into the backwoods - this squeaky ghetto of perfect teeth and straightened hair, full of kids who should be wearing more clothes and less skin.
The sky’s brewing up a storm; the sun’s been hiding all day, the slightest break in cloud cover and now it’s sweltering instead of close. Len wishes he was the kind of guy who wore shorts because he can’t damn well breathe…living in LA has made him soft.
Hell, he’s irritable, even by his own standards, and he’s still not used to how he’s changed since his recovery, but he’s damned if he’s going to take up meditation as Joss sarcastically suggested in their last phone call a couple of days ago.
“Len, you’re going to bust a blood vessel unless you take up something…”
“Shut up, Jocelyn, you don’t get to make the medical diagnosis - stick to representing drug barons, why don’t you. Now tell me where you’re leavin’ the fuckin’ keys.”
He winces internally, wondering when he got to be such an asshole - well, no booze, no company and no sex can do that to a guy. He spits his gum into his palm and wraps it in a tissue, tossing it on the car dash. And yeah, be honest with yourself, Len - it’s guilt too. He’s never visited once in two years since Joss and his baby girl left L.A. Now his girl’s grown up in the interim, become beautiful, sullen, same coloring as Joss but with all his snark and attitude, if Joss’ terse emails are to be believed. Well, he’ll find out soon enough.
Then he sees Joanna and his heart lurches; damn she’s so pretty, a mass of loose, blonde curls, tall and a little awkward, and so smart. Guilt, pride, love and a desire to run away twist around his heart like water over rocks. He braces himself, stands straighter and buttons up his jacket. She doesn’t see him, of course; he’s 39, middle aged - he might as well be invisible.
He raises a hand and is about to call out her name, feeling a flicker of happiness when her face lights up, till she turns a sharp left and bounces towards a guy sitting astride an ancient old motorbike, all chrome and pipes. When the guy turns to greet her, Len recognizes that profile, the flash of teeth. His heart plummets like a cartoon safe and lands somewhere near his feet. He knows that face and that hair, and definitely recognizes the leather jacket.
Jim Kirk.
What the hell?
Len strides, almost runs to Jo; Jim’s draped an arm over her shoulders and is handing her something. Fuck, if it’s drugs he’s going to goddamn rip his head off. Then he sees her unfurl a necklace and put it round her neck, and Jim helps her fasten it, touching her while he does so, touching her neck - shit.
He hesitates, as much because he doesn’t want to intrude as he wants to delay speaking to Jim.
They’re ten steps apart when Jim turns and their eyes lock; no, he’s not going to call it lust, after twelve years that’s so over, but Len swallows, folding his arms and drawing his eyebrows together, feeling a little foolish when Jim turns away without even a flicker of recognition.
Then it occurs to him; Jim knows who Jo-Jo is - of course he does; Jim’s got it bad for McCoys and now he’s given up on Len, he’s obviously transferred his obsession to Jo-Jo. The thought that he may have hunted his daughter down has Len looking round for something to stake him with, right there on the front lawn of the school. Except, hold on, what’s he doing standing there in full sunshine, and not being dead? Maybe he’s cured…though is there a cure for being a vampire?
“Daddy!” Jo squeals, “What are you doing here?” She skips towards him and throws her arms around him just like when she was eight. He lifts her up off the ground, nuzzles into her hair for a few moments, almost forgetting that Jim’s there. She smells of…something vaguely unpleasant, something herbal and pungent and wonders what the hell it is. He rests his chin on her head, squeezing her tight, closing his eyes to shut out the image of Jim looking at them.
“Mommy’s not here, she’ll be bummed she missed you…”
Len removes his sunglasses and smiles. “I doubt that, baby girl, but we’ve talked; we fixed this up between us. I should have called but I wanted to surprise you.”
“I don’t need taking care of, daddy - I’m good, hey, there’s someone I want you to meet!”
The feel of her hand in his as she steers him towards Jim grounds him a little, almost managing to stop his head from spinning.
Jim’s looking at his own feet as Len approaches, leaning on the bike, arms behind him on the seat. The cut of his jaw, the light stubble, those fucking eyes, Atlantic blue, unblinking, stir something in Len that makes him so mad he feels like he needs a drink for the first time in years.
The sound of Jo-Jo’s voice has them both looking in her direction, then their eyes meet; and if Len was under any illusion that he’d shaken the hunger off, he’s so damned wrong it isn’t even funny. He feels a rush of heat from head to groin so intense he has to swallow and clench his fists to get a grip. Jo-Jo’s voice - it’s like the volume’s been turned down.
“Daddy, this is Jim. Jim - daddy, I mean Doctor Leonard McCoy.”
Jim wipes his hand on his jeans and extends it, dipping his head a little, then his eyes sweep Len and he’s all wet tongue on pretty lips when he says, “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Doctor Leonard McCoy.” With a special emphasis on the ‘doctor’ and the ‘Leonard’ so that Len’s in no doubt at all he’s absolutely saying ‘Bones’ in his head. “Jim, Jim Kirk.”
Len makes himself nod, heart hammering, delaying the moment when he has to touch that hand again, the same hand that held him down, caressed his skin, opened him up. The handshake’s brief and Jim’s clasp is light, but it still sends a shock of heat through Len, not all of it desire. Dammit, the fucker’s already messing with his mind. Len shoots Jim a warning look.
“Likewise,” Len says.
Jo-Jo’s voice threads into the tempest in his head, and he turns to look at her.
“-going to stay over, Mom doesn’t mind, didn’t she tell you?”
“What?” his head snaps to Jim again. “I’m not having some…kid stay over. I don’t know what your mother allows, and I am going to have a discussion with her about this soon as I can, but there is no way in hell you’re having a boyfriend over to stay.” Plus he was hoping to spend some quality time with his baby girl. Images of them eating pizza and watching a movie melt and are replaced by Jim’s smirking face.
He’s surprised at the tinkle of laughter from Jo-Jo. She lets go of his hand and throws her arms round Jim’s neck. His eyes crinkle and he exposes his killer teeth in a smile’s that’s got more sunshine in it than a June day.
“Jim’s not my boyfriend, daddy, he’s gay.” Jim smiles innocently at this. “And he came to give me a ride home because he knows Mom’s out of town for the week.”
“Is that right?”
She lowers her voice. “You don’t mind that he’s gay, do you, daddy?”
“Now why the hell would I mind about a thing like that, Jo-Jo?”
“Well, some people are-”
“I’m not some people. But I’ll tell you what I do mind: you are not getting on that bike. Have you any idea how dangerous those thing are? You’re about thirty times more likely to die in an accident than if you’re in a car, and even if Jim here is the safest driver out, which I doubt, who’s to say the other guy knows what he’s doing? You could end up on life support, or dead - the head’s very vulnerable, baby girl.”
Jim looks at him like he’s some crazy guy, and he must look like one the way he’s waving his hands, scowling and his hair’s all windswept. “Hey, I have helmets… and I ride real slow-” Jim begins.
Len cuts him off with a raised finger and a growl. ”I’m not discussing this, Jim, now stay away from my daugh…with your bike. Is that clear?”
“As day,” Jim says slowly, looking at Jo-Jo. “Facebook me?”
“Yeah, see ya Jim.”
Len tries not to linger on the reflection in his rear-view mirror of Jim watching them, sitting astride his seat as he pulls away. The roar of the bike sparking to life sounds ominous, like the goddamn peal of thunder which cracks as soon as they hit the road.
On the ride home neither of them say a word to each other. Len looks at the front lawns and the neat rows of suburbia, and wonders if anyone here has a clue there’s a vampire in their midst. How could they? He was oblivious back in L.A. until he met Jim after all.
They make it back to the house just as the storm breaks.
He hasn’t set eyes on Jim for years, and never thought he would again - and now, holy hell what a clusterfuck his life’s turning out to be, and yeah he’s relieved that Jim’s not tapping his daughter, but he doesn’t want her having anything to do with a demon, to say nothing of how he should be giving everything, all his attention to Jo-Jo, and he can’t. How can he when all he can see in his mind’s eye, all he can smell, is Jim Kirk?
+++
“I dunno, Jo-Jo, he’s kind of old for you…” Which is the best he can do since ‘he’s a vampire’ just won’t work.
“No he’s not, he’s a grown up, he’s…oh, you wouldn’t understand.” She runs off upstairs leaving him helpless and seething in the kitchen.
Soaked from the storm, he’s left hanging there in a stranger’s house, because that’s what Joss had become after all these years. It’s a woman’s place now there’s no one to stop her fixing it up like she wants, with those foul smelling air-freshener things everywhere, which is curious when there aren’t any ‘foul smelling’ guys around with their feet and socks. It’s light and airy with chintz curtains, a cream couch, and a cat - she went and got a goddamn cat - not that he’s seen it yet, but there’s a bowl on the floor in the kitchen and hairs on the armchair.
He stands in the middle of the room like a fifth wheel, trying to control his breathing, wondering why the hell he even thought this would work. He should have known there was no way he and Jo-Jo could pick up where they left off. She was pretty cold with him when they last spoke on the phone. It was okay at first, though she was obviously trying to contain her excitement at speaking to him, soon tempered by teenage irritation at the way he spoke, the way he tried to tell her what to do. Not that he was. And he just wants to beg her forgiveness, but then he was never very good at that. Joss never told their daughter why they split up, not really, just that they didn’t love each other any more. Damn.
He looks down at his sneakers and feels a prickle of annoyance - if his ex even knew he hadn’t taken his shoes off at the door, he’d be dead meat; Jo-Jo, despite the rush she was in to shake him off, still left hers neatly paired by the coat stand. He unlaces his shoes where he’s standing, not daring to walk another step in them.
Opening the door, he looks out onto the quiet street - it’s a while before it’ll get dark. He knows Jim will be snooping round soon enough and he’s filled with a mixture of anticipation and dread all at once and wonders if Jo-Jo knows the truth about Jim - but why would she?
He makes coffee, and decides he’ll leave his bags in the car for now. Somehow it makes him feel like he’s got a choice about whether he can stay or not when in reality, of course he wants to, is committed to. He needs to get through the next few days, re-establish his role as father, and re-build that wall that’s kept all thought of Jim Kirk out of his mind for the past few years. It’s been a struggle and, he admits, that’s why he’s only screwed guys since then, some way of proving to himself that he’s got a control over that ‘thing’ whatever it was. It was a side of himself he’d never explored too heartily; he was just so damn in love with Joss, and maybe he was frightened it was going to ruin his marriage. In a way it did. But now it’s all he’s got.
From the porch, taking in the clear air, he settles down with his coffee, gazes out at the rain-soaked, tree lined street, and wonders what the hell he’s going to do to get through the week.
+++
He must have dozed off on the porch and his eyes snap open when he senses something, someone looking at him. It’s Jim - of course it fucking is. He’s sitting on the rail, ankles crossed, balanced like a fucking trapeze artist, all long legs and worn denim, and smug smirk across his face. His hair’s longer than in L.A. but other than that, he hasn’t changed a mote. Len suddenly feels very self conscious about the smattering of gray hair at his temples, his aching back, his body in decline, moving on - but Jim always stays the same. With so much past, so many years, Jim’s life is all about the present.
There never could have been anything between them, much as Jim wanted it. Len allowed himself that one night to believe that this was what he wanted - how could he have been so fucking dumb? He’d have died an old man by Jim’s side if Jim hadn’t grown bored with him first. And Jim’s a killer - hard to believe when he’s looking at Len like that, like he’s the most amazing thing he’s ever set eyes on. Any doubts that it was one and the same man Len saw depicted in the booklet, the murderous vampire he read about, were soon dashed over the years when he researched vampires online. This athletic-looking, elegant young man has snuffed out countless lives. But, fuck, he’s so beautiful, the autumn sun casting a golden light on his immaculate skin - ages old, yet ageless.
Wait! “You all better now, Jim, no bursting into flames in the sun?”
“Not better, just magic, Bones. Long story…” He holds up a broad hand, pointing to an antique-looking ring worn like a wedding band. Len frowns and shakes his head - it’s crazy is what it is.
“Just like that?”
“Yep.”
Len’s about to ask how long he’s been watching him sleep when Jim cuts straight to the chase.
“I’ve missed you, Bones,” Jim says, voice low and personal, seeping through him. So nothing’s changed for him - great.
“Shush, she’ll hear you,” Len hisses, glancing over his shoulder at the open door, “I can’t have Joanna knowing we’ve met before. Now get out of here.”
Jim ignores that. “Met? That‘s what you want to call it?” Jim cocks his head, all tongue over lips, his eyes bright, unwavering, shameless.
“Dammit, Jim…” Already he’s capitulating, Len can just feel it. His skin’s itching at his neck, he’s hard, he can’t fucking stop looking at him. It feels like he hasn’t eaten in years, or felt anything or believed in anything; and Jim’s there in front of him, all desirable - like some fucking…shit, all Len can think of is words like angel, demon, specter, prince; nothing fucking real and tangible and ordinary. Yet he’s solid, he’s real and he’s obviously compelling Len already.
Jim’s utterly still, waiting for him to respond, though it’s kind of tricky to know what to say, seeing as Jim’s hit the ground running, gone in intense already. He reaches for his empty coffee cup. “I’m getting some ice-tea and I guess I’d better get you a drink…seeing as I don’t have a hope in hell of throwing you out if you’ve a mind to stay.” He’s self conscious when he stands, aware of Jim’s eyes exploring every little detail about what he’s wearing, taking in his skin, his scent. And already he’s in danger of being overwhelmed, feeling like he’s drowning.
“Ice tea, Bones? Really? Okay if I have something stronger? But you know, I don’t want to tempt you.” His eyes flutter as he sweeps Len top to toe. He slides effortlessly off the rail, walks silently behind Len into the house as he fumbles with his glass, even the fridge door seems to stick and Len’s skin’s breaking into a light sweat, his cheeks coloring.
“You have whatever suits you, Jim, but I haven’t had a drink since I was…when I left you that day.”
Jim gives him a look, standing beside him while he roots around for ice. He’s inches away and all Len can think is how much he wants Jim to touch him.
“I know you know what I’m thinking. I don’t like it.”
“You want me to touch you,” Jim says, all matter of fact, like he’s ordering a dish at a favorite restaurant and neither of them need to look at the menu. “And I want to touch you so bad, Bones, I can taste it.” Fucking voice, low, seductive, like a goddamn magnet to Len’s cock. Jim is sin, temptation personified. He sounds harder round the edges than when he was talking with Jo-Jo, where he had a more fraternal, almost a ‘girlfriend’ feel about him.
“Well, don’t.”
“Don’t worry, Bones. I’m a good boy now, remember?”
“Still helping the helpless?”
“When it fits in with my busy schedule, sure.” A knowing chuckle. “I’ve got some great stories.”
“I don’t want to hear them - and I don’t want you corrupting Jo with that crap either, we clear?”
“As day.” He takes the beer and raises it to his lips, gazing at Len all crinkle eyed and irresistible, taking way too long to pull the bottle away after he’s done, licking at his lips, watching Len for a reaction.
Len’s the other side of the kitchen island, and he’s damn well staying there. Jim watches him drink, his eyes flickering from his mouth to his throat to his hands, places he knows intimately, and Len feels a rush of lust which instantly translates itself into temper.
“You told her you were gay? Why?” he whispers.
“It seemed like a good idea established things on the right footing from the start; I wouldn’t want her getting a crush on me - you know what these teenage girls are like…” Jim leans on the counter, pale arms flexing, the same arms that held him down.
Len clears his throat. “Well, in actual fact, no - I fucking don’t; this is my first time being the parent of a teen but I’m sure you have a lot more experience of them, you must have killed many in your time.” Damn, if he squeezes the glass any harder, it’s going to shatter.
“Don’t be like that, Bones.”
“No, stop. You don’t get to call me that.”
“Okay, but chill, Bo…Leonard, whatever. That’s a lame name; anyone ever tell you that?”
Len glowers, leans over, his finger jabbing close to Jim’s smirking face. He doesn’t flinch. “Leave my daughter alone, got that?”
“We’re friends, Bones, and she’s lonely - I’ve helped her settle. She tell you I come over and help her play the violin?”
Really? “No, she doesn’t tell me nothin’; she saves all that for her mother.”
“And you’re cool with that?”
“‘Course I’m not but that’s the way it is.” He looks down at the counter and swallows.
“Doesn’t have to be. She doesn’t like it here; she says her mom’s great but she hates Smallsville. She tells me she wants to live with you.”
“Well she can’t - oh, wait - were you thinking the three of us could live with her, you know, you two could braid each others hair and I could come home from work, we could all sit and eat together, you sip your bag of blood, me my ice tea, or maybe lemonade if I was feeling real badass, and help her with her homework, that kind of thing?”
Jim’s smile falters a little at that and Len feels a stab of guilt. “I’ve got something for you.”
“I don’t want anything you’ve got, Jim. I’m just peachy as I am with my bitchy ex-wife, my estranged daughter who hates me and my home somewhere else.”
Jim ignores him pushing a hand into a tight pocket and hands him a sachet, the jewel in his ring glinting in the light. “Take it, it’s vervain, it’ll protect you.”
“I’m a doctor, Jim - all this…magic…” He rubs his face. “It’s a major suspension of disbelief for me. A plant? Now you’re a herbalist? What do I need protecting from other than you? Tell me.”
“Just that, yeah, you need protecting from me.” Jim looks away, then his eyes dart back to Len’s face. “Remember vampire lore and what they say about crucifixes, garlic?”
“That they keep vampires away, yes - I’d better go stock up.”
“Well none of that’s true, Bones. It’s all bullshit. This will though. I’ll get you more; you can put it in the bath, burn it in a candle, whatever…”
Len clasps the sachet in his hand, running his thumb along the seam; he can smell the pungent aroma of the herb inside and rests it on the granite. “How comes no one’s heard of it before?”
“They have, they just haven’t been paying attention. You’d need a massive dose to kill a vampire, but what even a small amount does is protect you from being controlled or compelled. That’s what was in the locket I gave Jo-Jo earlier. And that’s what I’m giving you - only a more manly version. Keep it in your pants’ pocket, your jacket, under your pillow. Even if you don’t believe me, it won’t hurt, right?”
It doesn’t make any sense - why would Jim be looking at him like that yet giving him something that’ll keep him away? If it even works. But of course Jim’s anticipated this, or read his mind.
“I have a debt of honor to your family - I’m looking out for Jo because this place, seriously, man - you have no idea what it’s like around here. The vamps here - they rule. “
It takes a moment for Len to say anything to that. “What? Like in L.A.?” He runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “It looks like such a decent town…”
“Appearances can be deceptive, Bones, remember?” Yeah, like Jim’s innocent face and soft voice when he’s in actual fact a predator. Len hasn’t learned anything, looks like.
“I’ll…I’ll just take her out of school.”
“How will you explain that to your wife?”
“She’s my ex,” he growls.
“Your ex, then?”
“Drugs - I’ll tell her there’s kids touting drugs around the school. Dammit, she was better off in L.A. but Joss insisted it would be more wholesome for her here.”
“And how’s business, Bones - what kinda clients is the ex hooking up with these days?”
“I don’t know, Jim,” he lowers his voice, realizing he’s shouting. “We didn’t used to talk before, what makes you think we talk now? And don’t flatter yourself, you had nothing to do with our breaking up. We were already going to shit before you.”
Jim raises a hand to placate him, and makes to leave.
“Tell Jo I swung by, k?” Eyes big, sad - the look of a man who hasn’t connected with another living soul in so long, and Len swallows, his mouth falling open. He follows Jim to the door, but before he can say anything more, Jim’s gone in one of his vampire like rushes of light with the whole one moment he’s there, the next he’s gone thing…and it’s just the front lawn and an ache left in Len’s gut.
Len pulls the door closed, slides the lock across and returns to make dinner, to spend another evening not drinking - just as soon as he’s opened the window to get rid of the smell of goddamn jasmine.
+++
Len wakes to the sound of violin music and for a moment he thinks he’s dreaming. He’s had the best night’s sleep, sober at least, in years, and it doesn’t make any sense given what happened the day before. The sachet is under his pillow where he tucked it, rather self-consciously, before he turned in. He stares into the blurry vista of his arm where it’s wrapped around the pillow and he turns his head away from the scent. He can’t remember if he dreamed or not, but he feels light, unaccountably happy despite the fact that Jo-Jo didn’t emerge from her room, insisting he leave her tray outside.
He realizes the music is Jo-Jo playing in her room. He thought she’d given the instrument up till Jim mentioned it, and damn she’s good. He listens while he showers; she plays without interruption what must be a series of Russian folk tunes, plaintive and sad, and feels the tears prick when he finally summons up the courage to go to her.
He hovers outside her door feeling the notes wend through the wood, penetrate him, making him want to close his eyes and shut out the real world. He knows he should knock but he wants to see, scared she won’t let him in otherwise. How could he not know she was this talented? Through the crack of the open door he can see her standing by the window, eyes closed, arm working the bow, tan fingers playing elegantly over the neck. Her body is swaying lightly in a complete trance, with so much feeling on her young face that he envies her that connection with the world around her - the antithesis of how he moves heavily through life, a man in a dream, not feeling anything really, not touching other than his patients, his one night stands, his books. There’s a lump so big in his throat he feels he might choke.
“Baby girl…?” he whispers because he’s intruding. When she doesn’t respond, he coughs, walks into the room and stands a few feet away, feeling the vibrations soak into him. He knows she’s aware of him because she opens her eyes for a second, turns slightly towards him, small yet powerful in what she does, her slim legs in baggy shorts, her arms smooth in her t-shirt, hair tied loosely away from her face. How could he not know this about her?
Finally, the piece ends and she lowers the bow, looking directly at him.
He stands with his hands hanging by his sides, feeling enormous and clumsy in her presence, a stranger surrounded by her things, her posters of celebrities he knows nothing about, her books, her clothing tossed on the ottoman at the foot of the bed. The sight of the open violin case reminds him of… He nods over his shoulder to the door. “I didn’t want to interrupt…that was so beautiful, Jo-Jo…I didn’t…” damn, there’s so much he wants to say.
She shrugs, “Hope I didn’t wake you, daddy, but I gotta practice; Jim says three hours a day - he’s pretty tough on me.”
“Well he’s done a great job, you’re doing a great job…hell, baby, I had no idea; I thought you’d given it up for good… your mom didn’t…” and if I’d taken an interest remains unsaid between them.
She shrugs and moves towards the case, the violin swinging by her legs, above bare toes painted shocking pink that grip the pale carpet. He looks away, can’t trust himself to speak anymore or he’ll cry a fucking river or something, he’s so overwhelmed with love and regret.
“L.A.’s a long way away, I guess.” She lowers her eyes and puts the violin away. “Jim persuaded me to take it up again; he said that it was no way lame to play the violin and it’s like cooler than guitar.” She turns and smiles. “I’ll have to play some more later after breakfast but then if you like, we can do something…?” Her voice has that teenage lilt he’s previously found so goddamn irritating, every sentence ending with a question, but now fills him with longing for when she was little, to see her grow before him. And he’s going to try and have a more civil relationship with his ex, knowing this is why she kept this from him; it’s no more than he deserves.
He steps awkwardly towards her and wraps her up in his big arms, and when she softens and presses her head into his chest, he allows the tears to fall. “Come on, shorty, I’m starved, whatch’a gonna cook for this old man?”
“I dunno, dad, Jim’s taught me how to make a mean breakfast - sure it ain’t gonna make you fat?” She pushes away, pokes him in the belly and bounces out of the room down the stairs. “Come on!” and Len stands there in sunshine, wiping a thumb across his cheek and whispers into the room, “Thanks, Jim.”
+++
By the evening, all thoughts about how Jim’s good for his baby girl have maybe gone.
Jim’s been visiting for an hour and Len’s not let them out of his sight.
Len was determined last night, no way was the bastard going to set foot back in the house, at least for the time he’s there: five more days. But Len can’t uninvite Jim; Joss owns the house, and the whole vampire-invitation business only works that way. Only the owner, or other resident, can invite them in, and only they can banish them.
Still, he hoped Jim would take his request to keep away seriously. What he hadn’t banked on was Jo-Jo’s attachment. At breakfast, no sooner had they settled to eat the enormous pile of food she’d prepared (and he is going to get a belly if this goes on though he’s not carrying an ounce of spare fat at the moment) she was already texting Jim and giggling at the probably inappropriate one liners Jim was sending her in response.
“I love Jim, daddy, he’s sooo funny!” Yeah, right. But though he shut up, he obviously couldn’t control his eyebrows because Jo added, “You should totally give him a chance. He said on Facebook he doesn’t think you like him. Like, you gave him evil looks last night when he came over.”
“He told you? Told you he was here?”
“I can always tell when he’s near dad - weird huh?”
No shit.
“Pleeease?”
Now he’s exhausted truth be told, brain buzzing after a day in hell, suffering fluorescent light and noise at the mall. So much for quality time - he should have known when he’d offered: “Any place you wanna go is good with me, darlin’.” Now his feet hurt, his back aches and his ears burn with the thumpa thumpa of goddamn pop music pouring out of every store, even the rest rooms - man can’t even take a leak in peace free of noise, without being entertained.
All he wanted to do was drink a shit load of bourbon and watch an old movie with his little girl. Yeah, the booze is out of bounds but no, she had a movie date with Jim and that’s what they always do on a Saturday night: when she’s not hooking up with her girlfriends they watch videos and eat pop-corn. He doesn’t feel he can join them, not wanting to, dammit, as out of place as when Jo stopped every five fucking minutes in the mall - squeals and gossip passing from one brace-filled mouth to another at a pitch and volume only bats would be able to follow. Fuck he feels old.
And now, irony of ironies, they’re watching ‘Twilight’. Forget Jim being a murdering bastard - that movie alone is reason enough to question his influence on Jo. They’re both giggling like school girls, Jo Jo’s slippered feet on the arm rest and she’s leaning back into Jim, sharing sugary pop-corn and yeah, while they won’t cause caries in vampire teeth, Jo shouldn’t be. Fuck, he nearly bit his tongue trying not to rant about that, conscious he doesn’t want Jo to associate him with lectures and being a killjoy from his short stay with her.
He sits in the kitchen, pretending to work on a paper, laptop open, angled so he can watch them from the island across the open-plan room, his stomach fucking bursting with goddamn ice-tea when all he wants is one, just one bourbon. He should call his sponsor but what’s he going to say? “Hey, Mike, I’ve got this total thing for a vampire, yeah, weird right, anyway, I don’t know how I’m going to get through this without a drink…”
“Bela, I gotta, I gotta go deal with this boner.” Len glances up, sees Jim standing on the couch, one arm on his chest over his un-beating heart, the other knuckles to his forehead, ‘acting’ the fey, angst-ridden Edward Cullen, “and all I really wanna do is…ouch, Jo, that hurt!”
“Dad’ll hear you, Jim, shush!”
More giggles. “I guess that was…”
“Inappropriate?” Len leaning on the island, dreading the moment when Jim looks at him. But it’s okay, he has the vervain in his pocket and he knows Jim’s influence has waned thanks to the stuff. Len’s been sleeping better and only thinking about Jim most of the time as opposed to all of the damned time, and there’s been no indication that Jim can read his mind. Still, he decides to test this theory out - after all, he’s a man of science, right? So when those infernal eyes catch his, he swallows, thinking Damn, just kiss me because there’s no harm in thinking it. Jim doesn’t react, no eyebrow raise, no ‘knowing’ look. Len thinks There, I’m free of you! and it doesn’t hurt him. The tightness in his chest must be all about how cute Jo is.
“Jim, I have to remind you Joanna’s sixteen - that’s not the kind of talk I want around a girl that age-”
Jim glances at Jo, then back at Len’s lips. “How about if I promise to shut up now?” He steps down off the couch and sits primly a foot away from Jo whose mouth is hanging open in disbelief.
“Too late, Jim, you’re leaving.”
“Oh, daaad.”
Jim picks up his sneakers and winks at Jo, following Len to the front door.
“And I won’t have you drinking around my baby girl, or any other minor for that matter,” Len adds quietly so Jo can’t hear as Jim pulls on his leather jacket.
Jim leans close, speaking right up into his ear and sending a shiver down him. “Hey, Bones, gimme a break, I’m evil and since I’ve given up the premium blood it’s all I’ve got. A bit of corruption.”
“Get the fuck out, Jim.” And yeah, he said that too loud.
“Now who’s evil, cussing around a kid. And way Jo tells it, she’s seen you knock back a shit-load of booze since she was old enough to tell.”
+++
Jim’s glad he’s still fast on his feet: even after over fifty years of pig’s blood he’s not as weak as he could be, and he manages to duck the right hook. He sees Bones crack the door jamb and cuss again, and he’d laugh but he’s concentrating on not letting his features change, the spice of McCoy blood where he’s cut his knuckles the most beautiful thing he’s ever smelled, fuck tasted. It sends a shiver of want through him he swiftly covers up with a smirk.
“You’ll want a doctor to take a look at that,” Jim manages.
“Dammit, Jim, you’re the definition of annoying, you know that?”
Jim nods, runs through a thousand possible ways he could stall and make this moment last longer; he’s been so starved of Bones’ company that even seeing him angry, hating on him like this is better than nothing; but he’s not dumb, well other than dumb in love, and he was going soon anyway.
“‘Bye, Joanna,” he calls over his shoulder, his throat locking with feeling so his voice comes out a croak - because that’s exactly what this night was going to be all along - goodbye.
Len hands him his sneakers where they dropped when he tried to punch Jim and slams the door.
Jim strolls slowly down the street - he’s got business to attend that can’t wait, and he should shift up a gear, get there real quick; but that would just bring the end closer, and damn, he really isn’t in any hurry never to see Bones again - not when he just got him back.
+++
end of part 4a and onto part 4b
Rating: NC-17
Character/Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Word Count: ~18,300 words (this part)
Characters: Hikaru Sulu, Joanna McCoy, as well as Stefan and Damon Salvatore, and Bonnie Bennett from ‘The Vampire Diaries’.
A/N for this part: A continuation of Chapter 3, set 12 years later. Not a crossover, but includes characters and lore from Vampire Diaries.
Previous parts, warnings, thanks, disclaimer and additional notes are to be found in the masterpost .
Intriguing snippet: “I’ve missed you, Bones,” Jim says, voice low and personal, seeping through him. So nothing’s changed for him - great.
“Shush, she’ll hear you,” Len hisses, glancing over his shoulder at the open door, “I can’t have Joanna knowing we’ve met before. Now get out of here.”
Blood Ties: Chapter 4
~
It's so silly. All you do is get the heck out of your body when you die. My gosh, everybody's done it thousands of times. Just because they don't remember, it doesn't mean they haven't done it. ~J D Salinger
~
Mystic Falls, Virginia, 2011
Jim lands on his back across the table and splutters blood - damn, he’s bitten his tongue, he realizes when his mouth’s flooded with the taste of copper. He lets out a chuckle, and flips up effortlessly, landing on his feet, sword in hand. “Shit, you’re good, Hikaru! Where the hell did you learn to…oof!”
Hikaru’s got him in a strangle hold, and a dagger pressed to his neck. He can feel his breath gust over his ear, the man’s heart pounding against his back, he can fucking taste his sweat in the air. “You know this is giving me a boner, right?”
Jim feels a rush of joy when Hikaru throws him away and he loses his footing, stumbling to the rug, his eyes half an inch away from his dropped sword. Before he can stretch for it, he sees Hikaru’s boot kick it clear across the room. “Hey man, that’s an antique, Stefan’s going to whoop your ass if you damage it!”
He looks over his shoulder at his sparring partner, shirtless, gleaming with sweat in the candle light, his body lithe and toned, chest heaving with the effort. “Shut up about your boner, vampire scum,” Hikaru winks. He flexes the foil and arcs it in a figure of eight in front of him, then bows. “No offence.” A broad grin reveals perfect white teeth.
“None taken,” Jim beams, getting to his feet, running his thumb across a spot of blood on his lip and sucking the tip. Hikaru makes an ‘eew’ face and stands one hand on his hip, head held high.
“Do you yield?”
Jim grins. “Yeah, you mad-eyed fuck, I yield, though, you know - hardly a fair match with the vervain you insisted I take first. I’m as weak as a kitten.” Though he fans his face melodramatically, it’s true, the herb works every time, and when dosed by a witch it goes right to where it counts, and like all vampires, makes him lose his strength, albeit temporarily. Perfect for leveling the playing field in this case. He’ll be fine in a couple of hours, as long as he gets a good day’s sleep.
“And I could totally take you, vervain or no vervain,” Hikaru grins. “Man that was awesome - it’s been a while since I’ve met my match.” They both look around the room, at the heavy drape pulled off its rail, the slice into the banister, the rug bunched up against an overturned table and a vase lying on its side in one corner where Jim caught it just before it nearly shattered into a million expensive fragments.
“Okay, now you’ve had your fun, can I have the ring, oh witchly one of witchli-ness?” Jim bows, picks up his foil, rights a side-table and rests it across the top.
Hikaru grins. “First we take a shower - I need you to check me over for cuts and bruises…” He’s already kicked off his boots and left them in the middle of the room, and Jim watches in awe as Hikaru strides away, lowering his fencing pants over one bare ass cheek.
“Hey, Hik, you sure you don’t want me to turn you? You’d make a hell of a vampire.”
“No fucking way, Kirk - I hate you all and I’m attached to my beating heart.”
Damn, Jim can’t wait for Hikaru to show him just how much he hates vampires. Damon was right, Hikaru is the best.
+++
“These Salvatore boys know how to live the Hollywood lifestyle,” Jim grunts as he shoves Hikaru up against the shower wall. “You could fit five hot men in this space and still have room to maneuver.” There’s no comment, just a moan as Jim reaches round and jerks him off idly. “Why do you do this, Hik, work with vampires, seeing as every witch I’ve ever met wants us dead or at least suffering?”
Hikaru turns his face away from the tile, looks at Jim over his shoulder and presses his ass against his cock, “Hmm…all I ever wanted to do since I was a kid was fly - now, thanks to vampires with more money than sense, I get to…ung…do that.” Jim grins and moves his hand up and down, watching the vein in the witch’s neck; with a swallow, he looks away. “What did you wanna be when you were a kid, Kirk? I’m thinking mass murderer wasn’t quite what you wanted on your resume…”
“Dunno…I’m kind of a late developer…” He squeezes shower gel onto his cock and slides it up and down between Hikaru’s cheeks.
“Fuck, man, anyone ever…oh, shit…tell you what an animal you are in the sack?”
“In a good way, right?”
“Yeah…totally…now make me come already…”
“Sure, when you’ve given me… my…fucking… ring.” Jim punctuates each word with a thrust then pulls out, shoving him out of the shower and watching with a sneer as Hikaru cusses in response and exiting the bathroom, drips water across the expensive rug to the bed. From where he is in the shower, Jim can see Hikaru rooting through his bag, turning to glower at him, then toss the enchanted ring casually towards him. Jim catches it mid-air and slips it onto his pinky where it’s too loose, then tries the his ring finger on his left hand with success.
Fuck. This is what he’s dreamt of since he was made. It’s cost him a small fortune and a heap of promises but it’s worth all that and more. He strokes a finger across the blue diamond, watching the water pour over it; running his tongue over his lower lip, he shakes his head under the jet of hot, hot water. “Thanks, Hik, now get that fine ass back in here!”
+++
It almost kills him, waiting. Jim times it for when the Salvatores are out because it seems fitting he be alone the first time.
He can sense the dawn coming: it’s part of being a vampire knowing when to take cover, hide out till it’s dark again; but this time it’s something to wish for, to look forward to. He’s always been able to move about in the day as long as he keeps out of direct sunlight which would set him on fire, as long as his skin’s all covered up, if he sticks to shadow, or if it’s overcast - London was great for that. But he hasn’t been abroad in a hundred years - not since he stopped killing and the journey left him too vulnerable in his box, unable to feed off the crew if needed. Flying’s out of the question, but now he’s got this he’ll be able to travel again - maybe with Hik; maybe learn to fly too.
The first change in light has his chest swell with excitement and he glances at the ring, unbuttons his shirt and lays it on a garden bench. His eyes flicker to the house, the only light coming from his bedroom window. He can hear birdsong and he wants to sing right along with them he thinks, as he unbuttons his pants and steps out of them, his bare feet twitching in the dew-covered grass. It smells so fucking good - damp and fresh, the scent mingling with that of autumn leaves blown against the flower beds, decaying after the heavy storms. But there isn’t a cloud in the sky today and he looks east, stepping away from the shadow the mansion would give him that would have saved him had he not been wearing the ring. He walks across the lawn, wanting to be dead center, wanting to feel the sun on every part of his nocturnal body.
The sky brightens and at last he can see the sun for real - not in a movie or a painting, not a representation; there’s nothing between him and its rays now as it inches over the horizon. He turns his face upwards, raises his hand to shield his eyes, and follows its path, basking in the weak heat so early in the morning. He hasn’t been able to do this for 230 years, since he was turned - and it seems to pass through his skin, heating him up, making him feel alive and enveloped - how could he forget this? Something so simple, so everyday, feels like magic.
Laughing like a kid, he turns a slow circle letting it kiss and toast him gently. He’s astonished at how white his skin is in the full light, how translucent his nails are and he smiles at his shadow, balancing on one leg, then another.
He begins the yoga sun salutation - it seems fitting after all - and he raises his arms up, gazing at his palms and folding forward, inhaling deeply - breathing always feels like fire in his body - and this ritual is all about breath. He exhales and takes first one foot, then the other behind him, enjoying the burn in his limbs as he holds the position, bringing his head low and ass up into ‘downward facing dog’, then back up to stand with his arms raised high, feeling the autumn glow on his cheeks.
He completes several more sequences then flips onto his hands walking across the lawn like that, blissfully unconcerned about how ludicrous he must look upside down and naked. He rights himself only to turn cart wheel after cart wheel, completing a wide circle around the lawn until he lands perfectly by the bench where Damon’s sitting watching him, one eyebrow arched as he contemplates Jim’s antics. His arm’s draped casually along the back of the bench, his own ring - much more ostentatious than Jim’s and a match for his brother, Stefan’s - glinting in the early light.
“You been smoking pot again, Kirk?”
Jim shakes his head and grins, closing his eyes and feeling the heat on his neck. “I don’t know how I went so long without this - it’s fucking amazing, makes me feel…”
“Alive?” Damon offers, blue eyes widening in that silent-movie actor way of his. “It’s an illusion, don’t get too attached to the feeling…you’re as dead as I am. At least we don’t suffer from sun-burn, eh? Shame, because I’d look great with a tan. So would you - you could work the whole surfer-dude look to your advantage. Then you could almost pass as sexy - like me.” He gives a lop-sided grin and nods towards Jim’s dick. “I’ll have to stake you if you bring that out again - I have a rep to maintain you know.”
Jim grins. “Noted.” He picks up his clothes and waits for Damon to follow him, his heart bursting. “I thought you’d gone out--”
“Forgot my cell,” Damon says. “It’s kind of a relief to know we don’t sparkle, huh, Jim?”
“Fucking right!” Still naked, he wraps his arm around Damon’s shoulders. “I’d offer you some celebratory vampire sex only I know you aren’t into guys,” he smirks.
Damon huffs a laugh. “No, I’m not, but thanks for the offer. How about a glass to celebrate? I’ve got some gorgeous O-Neg.”
Damn, it’s tempting but he’s sworn off human blood since Len years ago, knowing nothing will ever taste so good again; plus it brings the killer in him too much to the surface. “Last time I came off the rails, it took me thirty years to go dry again, man - can’t risk it.” Jim slaps him on the arm. “But thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Is champagne on your safe list? I have some mind-blowing Krug in the cellar?”
“1928?”
“Of course!”
“Cool - but can we drink it outside?”
“Sure, but put some clothes on; and do you have to dress like a bum? Jimmy Dean is dead and gone - have a look through my wardrobe and pick out something more fashion-forward that’ll set off that nice ring of yours.”
+++
Len adjusts his sunglasses, leans on his car and checks his watch again. Damn, where is she? he thinks, scanning the latest round of faces as kids spill out of school across the lawns.
Ten minutes he’s been standing here holding fast against the tide of hormones around him, cell phones bleeping, iPods being hurriedly shoved into ears because, god forbid any one of them actually exists a whole damned second in blessed silence. Floral perfume assaults him from all directions, jasmine and musk, some from cheap aftershave. He tries not to growl at their shiny-shiny hopeful faces, gleaming health in the autumn sun - Christ he feels old.
And beneath his irritation there’s something else, an itch under his skin he hasn’t felt in years, like déjà vu unsettling him.
He searches his pocket for gum, sighs and leans in through his open car window to look in the glove box. Finding some, he folds the gum in half and shifts his back again - damn, there’s that prickle again. Maybe he’s developing allergies; this time of year it’s oleander and mushroom spores he knows, ‘cause he’s checked for Jo-Jo since she’s susceptible.
What the hell is this place, anyways? He thought he knew Virginia but he’s never heard of this town before. Trust Joss to bring his baby girl into the backwoods - this squeaky ghetto of perfect teeth and straightened hair, full of kids who should be wearing more clothes and less skin.
The sky’s brewing up a storm; the sun’s been hiding all day, the slightest break in cloud cover and now it’s sweltering instead of close. Len wishes he was the kind of guy who wore shorts because he can’t damn well breathe…living in LA has made him soft.
Hell, he’s irritable, even by his own standards, and he’s still not used to how he’s changed since his recovery, but he’s damned if he’s going to take up meditation as Joss sarcastically suggested in their last phone call a couple of days ago.
“Len, you’re going to bust a blood vessel unless you take up something…”
“Shut up, Jocelyn, you don’t get to make the medical diagnosis - stick to representing drug barons, why don’t you. Now tell me where you’re leavin’ the fuckin’ keys.”
He winces internally, wondering when he got to be such an asshole - well, no booze, no company and no sex can do that to a guy. He spits his gum into his palm and wraps it in a tissue, tossing it on the car dash. And yeah, be honest with yourself, Len - it’s guilt too. He’s never visited once in two years since Joss and his baby girl left L.A. Now his girl’s grown up in the interim, become beautiful, sullen, same coloring as Joss but with all his snark and attitude, if Joss’ terse emails are to be believed. Well, he’ll find out soon enough.
Then he sees Joanna and his heart lurches; damn she’s so pretty, a mass of loose, blonde curls, tall and a little awkward, and so smart. Guilt, pride, love and a desire to run away twist around his heart like water over rocks. He braces himself, stands straighter and buttons up his jacket. She doesn’t see him, of course; he’s 39, middle aged - he might as well be invisible.
He raises a hand and is about to call out her name, feeling a flicker of happiness when her face lights up, till she turns a sharp left and bounces towards a guy sitting astride an ancient old motorbike, all chrome and pipes. When the guy turns to greet her, Len recognizes that profile, the flash of teeth. His heart plummets like a cartoon safe and lands somewhere near his feet. He knows that face and that hair, and definitely recognizes the leather jacket.
Jim Kirk.
What the hell?
Len strides, almost runs to Jo; Jim’s draped an arm over her shoulders and is handing her something. Fuck, if it’s drugs he’s going to goddamn rip his head off. Then he sees her unfurl a necklace and put it round her neck, and Jim helps her fasten it, touching her while he does so, touching her neck - shit.
He hesitates, as much because he doesn’t want to intrude as he wants to delay speaking to Jim.
They’re ten steps apart when Jim turns and their eyes lock; no, he’s not going to call it lust, after twelve years that’s so over, but Len swallows, folding his arms and drawing his eyebrows together, feeling a little foolish when Jim turns away without even a flicker of recognition.
Then it occurs to him; Jim knows who Jo-Jo is - of course he does; Jim’s got it bad for McCoys and now he’s given up on Len, he’s obviously transferred his obsession to Jo-Jo. The thought that he may have hunted his daughter down has Len looking round for something to stake him with, right there on the front lawn of the school. Except, hold on, what’s he doing standing there in full sunshine, and not being dead? Maybe he’s cured…though is there a cure for being a vampire?
“Daddy!” Jo squeals, “What are you doing here?” She skips towards him and throws her arms around him just like when she was eight. He lifts her up off the ground, nuzzles into her hair for a few moments, almost forgetting that Jim’s there. She smells of…something vaguely unpleasant, something herbal and pungent and wonders what the hell it is. He rests his chin on her head, squeezing her tight, closing his eyes to shut out the image of Jim looking at them.
“Mommy’s not here, she’ll be bummed she missed you…”
Len removes his sunglasses and smiles. “I doubt that, baby girl, but we’ve talked; we fixed this up between us. I should have called but I wanted to surprise you.”
“I don’t need taking care of, daddy - I’m good, hey, there’s someone I want you to meet!”
The feel of her hand in his as she steers him towards Jim grounds him a little, almost managing to stop his head from spinning.
Jim’s looking at his own feet as Len approaches, leaning on the bike, arms behind him on the seat. The cut of his jaw, the light stubble, those fucking eyes, Atlantic blue, unblinking, stir something in Len that makes him so mad he feels like he needs a drink for the first time in years.
The sound of Jo-Jo’s voice has them both looking in her direction, then their eyes meet; and if Len was under any illusion that he’d shaken the hunger off, he’s so damned wrong it isn’t even funny. He feels a rush of heat from head to groin so intense he has to swallow and clench his fists to get a grip. Jo-Jo’s voice - it’s like the volume’s been turned down.
“Daddy, this is Jim. Jim - daddy, I mean Doctor Leonard McCoy.”
Jim wipes his hand on his jeans and extends it, dipping his head a little, then his eyes sweep Len and he’s all wet tongue on pretty lips when he says, “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Doctor Leonard McCoy.” With a special emphasis on the ‘doctor’ and the ‘Leonard’ so that Len’s in no doubt at all he’s absolutely saying ‘Bones’ in his head. “Jim, Jim Kirk.”
Len makes himself nod, heart hammering, delaying the moment when he has to touch that hand again, the same hand that held him down, caressed his skin, opened him up. The handshake’s brief and Jim’s clasp is light, but it still sends a shock of heat through Len, not all of it desire. Dammit, the fucker’s already messing with his mind. Len shoots Jim a warning look.
“Likewise,” Len says.
Jo-Jo’s voice threads into the tempest in his head, and he turns to look at her.
“-going to stay over, Mom doesn’t mind, didn’t she tell you?”
“What?” his head snaps to Jim again. “I’m not having some…kid stay over. I don’t know what your mother allows, and I am going to have a discussion with her about this soon as I can, but there is no way in hell you’re having a boyfriend over to stay.” Plus he was hoping to spend some quality time with his baby girl. Images of them eating pizza and watching a movie melt and are replaced by Jim’s smirking face.
He’s surprised at the tinkle of laughter from Jo-Jo. She lets go of his hand and throws her arms round Jim’s neck. His eyes crinkle and he exposes his killer teeth in a smile’s that’s got more sunshine in it than a June day.
“Jim’s not my boyfriend, daddy, he’s gay.” Jim smiles innocently at this. “And he came to give me a ride home because he knows Mom’s out of town for the week.”
“Is that right?”
She lowers her voice. “You don’t mind that he’s gay, do you, daddy?”
“Now why the hell would I mind about a thing like that, Jo-Jo?”
“Well, some people are-”
“I’m not some people. But I’ll tell you what I do mind: you are not getting on that bike. Have you any idea how dangerous those thing are? You’re about thirty times more likely to die in an accident than if you’re in a car, and even if Jim here is the safest driver out, which I doubt, who’s to say the other guy knows what he’s doing? You could end up on life support, or dead - the head’s very vulnerable, baby girl.”
Jim looks at him like he’s some crazy guy, and he must look like one the way he’s waving his hands, scowling and his hair’s all windswept. “Hey, I have helmets… and I ride real slow-” Jim begins.
Len cuts him off with a raised finger and a growl. ”I’m not discussing this, Jim, now stay away from my daugh…with your bike. Is that clear?”
“As day,” Jim says slowly, looking at Jo-Jo. “Facebook me?”
“Yeah, see ya Jim.”
Len tries not to linger on the reflection in his rear-view mirror of Jim watching them, sitting astride his seat as he pulls away. The roar of the bike sparking to life sounds ominous, like the goddamn peal of thunder which cracks as soon as they hit the road.
On the ride home neither of them say a word to each other. Len looks at the front lawns and the neat rows of suburbia, and wonders if anyone here has a clue there’s a vampire in their midst. How could they? He was oblivious back in L.A. until he met Jim after all.
They make it back to the house just as the storm breaks.
He hasn’t set eyes on Jim for years, and never thought he would again - and now, holy hell what a clusterfuck his life’s turning out to be, and yeah he’s relieved that Jim’s not tapping his daughter, but he doesn’t want her having anything to do with a demon, to say nothing of how he should be giving everything, all his attention to Jo-Jo, and he can’t. How can he when all he can see in his mind’s eye, all he can smell, is Jim Kirk?
+++
“I dunno, Jo-Jo, he’s kind of old for you…” Which is the best he can do since ‘he’s a vampire’ just won’t work.
“No he’s not, he’s a grown up, he’s…oh, you wouldn’t understand.” She runs off upstairs leaving him helpless and seething in the kitchen.
Soaked from the storm, he’s left hanging there in a stranger’s house, because that’s what Joss had become after all these years. It’s a woman’s place now there’s no one to stop her fixing it up like she wants, with those foul smelling air-freshener things everywhere, which is curious when there aren’t any ‘foul smelling’ guys around with their feet and socks. It’s light and airy with chintz curtains, a cream couch, and a cat - she went and got a goddamn cat - not that he’s seen it yet, but there’s a bowl on the floor in the kitchen and hairs on the armchair.
He stands in the middle of the room like a fifth wheel, trying to control his breathing, wondering why the hell he even thought this would work. He should have known there was no way he and Jo-Jo could pick up where they left off. She was pretty cold with him when they last spoke on the phone. It was okay at first, though she was obviously trying to contain her excitement at speaking to him, soon tempered by teenage irritation at the way he spoke, the way he tried to tell her what to do. Not that he was. And he just wants to beg her forgiveness, but then he was never very good at that. Joss never told their daughter why they split up, not really, just that they didn’t love each other any more. Damn.
He looks down at his sneakers and feels a prickle of annoyance - if his ex even knew he hadn’t taken his shoes off at the door, he’d be dead meat; Jo-Jo, despite the rush she was in to shake him off, still left hers neatly paired by the coat stand. He unlaces his shoes where he’s standing, not daring to walk another step in them.
Opening the door, he looks out onto the quiet street - it’s a while before it’ll get dark. He knows Jim will be snooping round soon enough and he’s filled with a mixture of anticipation and dread all at once and wonders if Jo-Jo knows the truth about Jim - but why would she?
He makes coffee, and decides he’ll leave his bags in the car for now. Somehow it makes him feel like he’s got a choice about whether he can stay or not when in reality, of course he wants to, is committed to. He needs to get through the next few days, re-establish his role as father, and re-build that wall that’s kept all thought of Jim Kirk out of his mind for the past few years. It’s been a struggle and, he admits, that’s why he’s only screwed guys since then, some way of proving to himself that he’s got a control over that ‘thing’ whatever it was. It was a side of himself he’d never explored too heartily; he was just so damn in love with Joss, and maybe he was frightened it was going to ruin his marriage. In a way it did. But now it’s all he’s got.
From the porch, taking in the clear air, he settles down with his coffee, gazes out at the rain-soaked, tree lined street, and wonders what the hell he’s going to do to get through the week.
+++
He must have dozed off on the porch and his eyes snap open when he senses something, someone looking at him. It’s Jim - of course it fucking is. He’s sitting on the rail, ankles crossed, balanced like a fucking trapeze artist, all long legs and worn denim, and smug smirk across his face. His hair’s longer than in L.A. but other than that, he hasn’t changed a mote. Len suddenly feels very self conscious about the smattering of gray hair at his temples, his aching back, his body in decline, moving on - but Jim always stays the same. With so much past, so many years, Jim’s life is all about the present.
There never could have been anything between them, much as Jim wanted it. Len allowed himself that one night to believe that this was what he wanted - how could he have been so fucking dumb? He’d have died an old man by Jim’s side if Jim hadn’t grown bored with him first. And Jim’s a killer - hard to believe when he’s looking at Len like that, like he’s the most amazing thing he’s ever set eyes on. Any doubts that it was one and the same man Len saw depicted in the booklet, the murderous vampire he read about, were soon dashed over the years when he researched vampires online. This athletic-looking, elegant young man has snuffed out countless lives. But, fuck, he’s so beautiful, the autumn sun casting a golden light on his immaculate skin - ages old, yet ageless.
Wait! “You all better now, Jim, no bursting into flames in the sun?”
“Not better, just magic, Bones. Long story…” He holds up a broad hand, pointing to an antique-looking ring worn like a wedding band. Len frowns and shakes his head - it’s crazy is what it is.
“Just like that?”
“Yep.”
Len’s about to ask how long he’s been watching him sleep when Jim cuts straight to the chase.
“I’ve missed you, Bones,” Jim says, voice low and personal, seeping through him. So nothing’s changed for him - great.
“Shush, she’ll hear you,” Len hisses, glancing over his shoulder at the open door, “I can’t have Joanna knowing we’ve met before. Now get out of here.”
Jim ignores that. “Met? That‘s what you want to call it?” Jim cocks his head, all tongue over lips, his eyes bright, unwavering, shameless.
“Dammit, Jim…” Already he’s capitulating, Len can just feel it. His skin’s itching at his neck, he’s hard, he can’t fucking stop looking at him. It feels like he hasn’t eaten in years, or felt anything or believed in anything; and Jim’s there in front of him, all desirable - like some fucking…shit, all Len can think of is words like angel, demon, specter, prince; nothing fucking real and tangible and ordinary. Yet he’s solid, he’s real and he’s obviously compelling Len already.
Jim’s utterly still, waiting for him to respond, though it’s kind of tricky to know what to say, seeing as Jim’s hit the ground running, gone in intense already. He reaches for his empty coffee cup. “I’m getting some ice-tea and I guess I’d better get you a drink…seeing as I don’t have a hope in hell of throwing you out if you’ve a mind to stay.” He’s self conscious when he stands, aware of Jim’s eyes exploring every little detail about what he’s wearing, taking in his skin, his scent. And already he’s in danger of being overwhelmed, feeling like he’s drowning.
“Ice tea, Bones? Really? Okay if I have something stronger? But you know, I don’t want to tempt you.” His eyes flutter as he sweeps Len top to toe. He slides effortlessly off the rail, walks silently behind Len into the house as he fumbles with his glass, even the fridge door seems to stick and Len’s skin’s breaking into a light sweat, his cheeks coloring.
“You have whatever suits you, Jim, but I haven’t had a drink since I was…when I left you that day.”
Jim gives him a look, standing beside him while he roots around for ice. He’s inches away and all Len can think is how much he wants Jim to touch him.
“I know you know what I’m thinking. I don’t like it.”
“You want me to touch you,” Jim says, all matter of fact, like he’s ordering a dish at a favorite restaurant and neither of them need to look at the menu. “And I want to touch you so bad, Bones, I can taste it.” Fucking voice, low, seductive, like a goddamn magnet to Len’s cock. Jim is sin, temptation personified. He sounds harder round the edges than when he was talking with Jo-Jo, where he had a more fraternal, almost a ‘girlfriend’ feel about him.
“Well, don’t.”
“Don’t worry, Bones. I’m a good boy now, remember?”
“Still helping the helpless?”
“When it fits in with my busy schedule, sure.” A knowing chuckle. “I’ve got some great stories.”
“I don’t want to hear them - and I don’t want you corrupting Jo with that crap either, we clear?”
“As day.” He takes the beer and raises it to his lips, gazing at Len all crinkle eyed and irresistible, taking way too long to pull the bottle away after he’s done, licking at his lips, watching Len for a reaction.
Len’s the other side of the kitchen island, and he’s damn well staying there. Jim watches him drink, his eyes flickering from his mouth to his throat to his hands, places he knows intimately, and Len feels a rush of lust which instantly translates itself into temper.
“You told her you were gay? Why?” he whispers.
“It seemed like a good idea established things on the right footing from the start; I wouldn’t want her getting a crush on me - you know what these teenage girls are like…” Jim leans on the counter, pale arms flexing, the same arms that held him down.
Len clears his throat. “Well, in actual fact, no - I fucking don’t; this is my first time being the parent of a teen but I’m sure you have a lot more experience of them, you must have killed many in your time.” Damn, if he squeezes the glass any harder, it’s going to shatter.
“Don’t be like that, Bones.”
“No, stop. You don’t get to call me that.”
“Okay, but chill, Bo…Leonard, whatever. That’s a lame name; anyone ever tell you that?”
Len glowers, leans over, his finger jabbing close to Jim’s smirking face. He doesn’t flinch. “Leave my daughter alone, got that?”
“We’re friends, Bones, and she’s lonely - I’ve helped her settle. She tell you I come over and help her play the violin?”
Really? “No, she doesn’t tell me nothin’; she saves all that for her mother.”
“And you’re cool with that?”
“‘Course I’m not but that’s the way it is.” He looks down at the counter and swallows.
“Doesn’t have to be. She doesn’t like it here; she says her mom’s great but she hates Smallsville. She tells me she wants to live with you.”
“Well she can’t - oh, wait - were you thinking the three of us could live with her, you know, you two could braid each others hair and I could come home from work, we could all sit and eat together, you sip your bag of blood, me my ice tea, or maybe lemonade if I was feeling real badass, and help her with her homework, that kind of thing?”
Jim’s smile falters a little at that and Len feels a stab of guilt. “I’ve got something for you.”
“I don’t want anything you’ve got, Jim. I’m just peachy as I am with my bitchy ex-wife, my estranged daughter who hates me and my home somewhere else.”
Jim ignores him pushing a hand into a tight pocket and hands him a sachet, the jewel in his ring glinting in the light. “Take it, it’s vervain, it’ll protect you.”
“I’m a doctor, Jim - all this…magic…” He rubs his face. “It’s a major suspension of disbelief for me. A plant? Now you’re a herbalist? What do I need protecting from other than you? Tell me.”
“Just that, yeah, you need protecting from me.” Jim looks away, then his eyes dart back to Len’s face. “Remember vampire lore and what they say about crucifixes, garlic?”
“That they keep vampires away, yes - I’d better go stock up.”
“Well none of that’s true, Bones. It’s all bullshit. This will though. I’ll get you more; you can put it in the bath, burn it in a candle, whatever…”
Len clasps the sachet in his hand, running his thumb along the seam; he can smell the pungent aroma of the herb inside and rests it on the granite. “How comes no one’s heard of it before?”
“They have, they just haven’t been paying attention. You’d need a massive dose to kill a vampire, but what even a small amount does is protect you from being controlled or compelled. That’s what was in the locket I gave Jo-Jo earlier. And that’s what I’m giving you - only a more manly version. Keep it in your pants’ pocket, your jacket, under your pillow. Even if you don’t believe me, it won’t hurt, right?”
It doesn’t make any sense - why would Jim be looking at him like that yet giving him something that’ll keep him away? If it even works. But of course Jim’s anticipated this, or read his mind.
“I have a debt of honor to your family - I’m looking out for Jo because this place, seriously, man - you have no idea what it’s like around here. The vamps here - they rule. “
It takes a moment for Len to say anything to that. “What? Like in L.A.?” He runs a hand through his hair, shaking his head. “It looks like such a decent town…”
“Appearances can be deceptive, Bones, remember?” Yeah, like Jim’s innocent face and soft voice when he’s in actual fact a predator. Len hasn’t learned anything, looks like.
“I’ll…I’ll just take her out of school.”
“How will you explain that to your wife?”
“She’s my ex,” he growls.
“Your ex, then?”
“Drugs - I’ll tell her there’s kids touting drugs around the school. Dammit, she was better off in L.A. but Joss insisted it would be more wholesome for her here.”
“And how’s business, Bones - what kinda clients is the ex hooking up with these days?”
“I don’t know, Jim,” he lowers his voice, realizing he’s shouting. “We didn’t used to talk before, what makes you think we talk now? And don’t flatter yourself, you had nothing to do with our breaking up. We were already going to shit before you.”
Jim raises a hand to placate him, and makes to leave.
“Tell Jo I swung by, k?” Eyes big, sad - the look of a man who hasn’t connected with another living soul in so long, and Len swallows, his mouth falling open. He follows Jim to the door, but before he can say anything more, Jim’s gone in one of his vampire like rushes of light with the whole one moment he’s there, the next he’s gone thing…and it’s just the front lawn and an ache left in Len’s gut.
Len pulls the door closed, slides the lock across and returns to make dinner, to spend another evening not drinking - just as soon as he’s opened the window to get rid of the smell of goddamn jasmine.
+++
Len wakes to the sound of violin music and for a moment he thinks he’s dreaming. He’s had the best night’s sleep, sober at least, in years, and it doesn’t make any sense given what happened the day before. The sachet is under his pillow where he tucked it, rather self-consciously, before he turned in. He stares into the blurry vista of his arm where it’s wrapped around the pillow and he turns his head away from the scent. He can’t remember if he dreamed or not, but he feels light, unaccountably happy despite the fact that Jo-Jo didn’t emerge from her room, insisting he leave her tray outside.
He realizes the music is Jo-Jo playing in her room. He thought she’d given the instrument up till Jim mentioned it, and damn she’s good. He listens while he showers; she plays without interruption what must be a series of Russian folk tunes, plaintive and sad, and feels the tears prick when he finally summons up the courage to go to her.
He hovers outside her door feeling the notes wend through the wood, penetrate him, making him want to close his eyes and shut out the real world. He knows he should knock but he wants to see, scared she won’t let him in otherwise. How could he not know she was this talented? Through the crack of the open door he can see her standing by the window, eyes closed, arm working the bow, tan fingers playing elegantly over the neck. Her body is swaying lightly in a complete trance, with so much feeling on her young face that he envies her that connection with the world around her - the antithesis of how he moves heavily through life, a man in a dream, not feeling anything really, not touching other than his patients, his one night stands, his books. There’s a lump so big in his throat he feels he might choke.
“Baby girl…?” he whispers because he’s intruding. When she doesn’t respond, he coughs, walks into the room and stands a few feet away, feeling the vibrations soak into him. He knows she’s aware of him because she opens her eyes for a second, turns slightly towards him, small yet powerful in what she does, her slim legs in baggy shorts, her arms smooth in her t-shirt, hair tied loosely away from her face. How could he not know this about her?
Finally, the piece ends and she lowers the bow, looking directly at him.
He stands with his hands hanging by his sides, feeling enormous and clumsy in her presence, a stranger surrounded by her things, her posters of celebrities he knows nothing about, her books, her clothing tossed on the ottoman at the foot of the bed. The sight of the open violin case reminds him of… He nods over his shoulder to the door. “I didn’t want to interrupt…that was so beautiful, Jo-Jo…I didn’t…” damn, there’s so much he wants to say.
She shrugs, “Hope I didn’t wake you, daddy, but I gotta practice; Jim says three hours a day - he’s pretty tough on me.”
“Well he’s done a great job, you’re doing a great job…hell, baby, I had no idea; I thought you’d given it up for good… your mom didn’t…” and if I’d taken an interest remains unsaid between them.
She shrugs and moves towards the case, the violin swinging by her legs, above bare toes painted shocking pink that grip the pale carpet. He looks away, can’t trust himself to speak anymore or he’ll cry a fucking river or something, he’s so overwhelmed with love and regret.
“L.A.’s a long way away, I guess.” She lowers her eyes and puts the violin away. “Jim persuaded me to take it up again; he said that it was no way lame to play the violin and it’s like cooler than guitar.” She turns and smiles. “I’ll have to play some more later after breakfast but then if you like, we can do something…?” Her voice has that teenage lilt he’s previously found so goddamn irritating, every sentence ending with a question, but now fills him with longing for when she was little, to see her grow before him. And he’s going to try and have a more civil relationship with his ex, knowing this is why she kept this from him; it’s no more than he deserves.
He steps awkwardly towards her and wraps her up in his big arms, and when she softens and presses her head into his chest, he allows the tears to fall. “Come on, shorty, I’m starved, whatch’a gonna cook for this old man?”
“I dunno, dad, Jim’s taught me how to make a mean breakfast - sure it ain’t gonna make you fat?” She pushes away, pokes him in the belly and bounces out of the room down the stairs. “Come on!” and Len stands there in sunshine, wiping a thumb across his cheek and whispers into the room, “Thanks, Jim.”
+++
By the evening, all thoughts about how Jim’s good for his baby girl have maybe gone.
Jim’s been visiting for an hour and Len’s not let them out of his sight.
Len was determined last night, no way was the bastard going to set foot back in the house, at least for the time he’s there: five more days. But Len can’t uninvite Jim; Joss owns the house, and the whole vampire-invitation business only works that way. Only the owner, or other resident, can invite them in, and only they can banish them.
Still, he hoped Jim would take his request to keep away seriously. What he hadn’t banked on was Jo-Jo’s attachment. At breakfast, no sooner had they settled to eat the enormous pile of food she’d prepared (and he is going to get a belly if this goes on though he’s not carrying an ounce of spare fat at the moment) she was already texting Jim and giggling at the probably inappropriate one liners Jim was sending her in response.
“I love Jim, daddy, he’s sooo funny!” Yeah, right. But though he shut up, he obviously couldn’t control his eyebrows because Jo added, “You should totally give him a chance. He said on Facebook he doesn’t think you like him. Like, you gave him evil looks last night when he came over.”
“He told you? Told you he was here?”
“I can always tell when he’s near dad - weird huh?”
No shit.
“Pleeease?”
Now he’s exhausted truth be told, brain buzzing after a day in hell, suffering fluorescent light and noise at the mall. So much for quality time - he should have known when he’d offered: “Any place you wanna go is good with me, darlin’.” Now his feet hurt, his back aches and his ears burn with the thumpa thumpa of goddamn pop music pouring out of every store, even the rest rooms - man can’t even take a leak in peace free of noise, without being entertained.
All he wanted to do was drink a shit load of bourbon and watch an old movie with his little girl. Yeah, the booze is out of bounds but no, she had a movie date with Jim and that’s what they always do on a Saturday night: when she’s not hooking up with her girlfriends they watch videos and eat pop-corn. He doesn’t feel he can join them, not wanting to, dammit, as out of place as when Jo stopped every five fucking minutes in the mall - squeals and gossip passing from one brace-filled mouth to another at a pitch and volume only bats would be able to follow. Fuck he feels old.
And now, irony of ironies, they’re watching ‘Twilight’. Forget Jim being a murdering bastard - that movie alone is reason enough to question his influence on Jo. They’re both giggling like school girls, Jo Jo’s slippered feet on the arm rest and she’s leaning back into Jim, sharing sugary pop-corn and yeah, while they won’t cause caries in vampire teeth, Jo shouldn’t be. Fuck, he nearly bit his tongue trying not to rant about that, conscious he doesn’t want Jo to associate him with lectures and being a killjoy from his short stay with her.
He sits in the kitchen, pretending to work on a paper, laptop open, angled so he can watch them from the island across the open-plan room, his stomach fucking bursting with goddamn ice-tea when all he wants is one, just one bourbon. He should call his sponsor but what’s he going to say? “Hey, Mike, I’ve got this total thing for a vampire, yeah, weird right, anyway, I don’t know how I’m going to get through this without a drink…”
“Bela, I gotta, I gotta go deal with this boner.” Len glances up, sees Jim standing on the couch, one arm on his chest over his un-beating heart, the other knuckles to his forehead, ‘acting’ the fey, angst-ridden Edward Cullen, “and all I really wanna do is…ouch, Jo, that hurt!”
“Dad’ll hear you, Jim, shush!”
More giggles. “I guess that was…”
“Inappropriate?” Len leaning on the island, dreading the moment when Jim looks at him. But it’s okay, he has the vervain in his pocket and he knows Jim’s influence has waned thanks to the stuff. Len’s been sleeping better and only thinking about Jim most of the time as opposed to all of the damned time, and there’s been no indication that Jim can read his mind. Still, he decides to test this theory out - after all, he’s a man of science, right? So when those infernal eyes catch his, he swallows, thinking Damn, just kiss me because there’s no harm in thinking it. Jim doesn’t react, no eyebrow raise, no ‘knowing’ look. Len thinks There, I’m free of you! and it doesn’t hurt him. The tightness in his chest must be all about how cute Jo is.
“Jim, I have to remind you Joanna’s sixteen - that’s not the kind of talk I want around a girl that age-”
Jim glances at Jo, then back at Len’s lips. “How about if I promise to shut up now?” He steps down off the couch and sits primly a foot away from Jo whose mouth is hanging open in disbelief.
“Too late, Jim, you’re leaving.”
“Oh, daaad.”
Jim picks up his sneakers and winks at Jo, following Len to the front door.
“And I won’t have you drinking around my baby girl, or any other minor for that matter,” Len adds quietly so Jo can’t hear as Jim pulls on his leather jacket.
Jim leans close, speaking right up into his ear and sending a shiver down him. “Hey, Bones, gimme a break, I’m evil and since I’ve given up the premium blood it’s all I’ve got. A bit of corruption.”
“Get the fuck out, Jim.” And yeah, he said that too loud.
“Now who’s evil, cussing around a kid. And way Jo tells it, she’s seen you knock back a shit-load of booze since she was old enough to tell.”
+++
Jim’s glad he’s still fast on his feet: even after over fifty years of pig’s blood he’s not as weak as he could be, and he manages to duck the right hook. He sees Bones crack the door jamb and cuss again, and he’d laugh but he’s concentrating on not letting his features change, the spice of McCoy blood where he’s cut his knuckles the most beautiful thing he’s ever smelled, fuck tasted. It sends a shiver of want through him he swiftly covers up with a smirk.
“You’ll want a doctor to take a look at that,” Jim manages.
“Dammit, Jim, you’re the definition of annoying, you know that?”
Jim nods, runs through a thousand possible ways he could stall and make this moment last longer; he’s been so starved of Bones’ company that even seeing him angry, hating on him like this is better than nothing; but he’s not dumb, well other than dumb in love, and he was going soon anyway.
“‘Bye, Joanna,” he calls over his shoulder, his throat locking with feeling so his voice comes out a croak - because that’s exactly what this night was going to be all along - goodbye.
Len hands him his sneakers where they dropped when he tried to punch Jim and slams the door.
Jim strolls slowly down the street - he’s got business to attend that can’t wait, and he should shift up a gear, get there real quick; but that would just bring the end closer, and damn, he really isn’t in any hurry never to see Bones again - not when he just got him back.
+++
end of part 4a and onto part 4b