Fic: The Primrose Path
Title: The Primrose Path
Author/Artist: writteninhaste
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Character death(s), angst, implicit non-con, sexual situations.
Summary: Looking back, I have this to regret, that too often when I loved, I did not say ~ David Greyson
Written for Slashfest Round VIII and
x-posted to slashfest and kirk_mccoy
The Primrose Path
Pike’s club is no different tonight than any other night. Despairing, wanton things drape themselves across booths and chairs, sucking down drink and counting out their misery piece by piece. In a corner of the room, Nyota sings her blues for anyone to hear - should anybody care to listen.
Spock mans the bar, pouring silver moonshine past the rims of frosted glasses. His eyes watch Nyota always. Their haven is in here. Outside, thinman and dancinggirl must go their separate ways.
Jim Kirk stands by the door - gun propped on his hip and hat across one eye. Too young by half, and still here all the same. He’s Pike’s boy - has been for years. Watches the boss’ back with all the loyalty of a dog and half the sense. The Thompson glitters in the lamplight.
Pike himself is lord of all he sees. Enthroned upon his seat - suit pulled tight across the A1 settled against his breast. There’s the rumble of a car outside.
Jim’s gun is readied at the door before McCoy can blink. Nyota has stopped singing and the various drunks and prostitutes sprawled around the room are as tense as their inebriated states will allow.
A fist knocks against wood. Quick, slow, slow, quick, quick. Pike breathes easy and Jim opens the door. He cocks his head at McCoy and all the doctor can do is follow.
Chekov is stood by the door whilst Sulu unloads the car. Crates of booze distilled in Scott’s apartment and hauled across the city to here: Pike’s illicit enterprise. Jim hands his gun to Sulu, begins dragging the crates into the murk of the entryway. McCoy can shelve them easily enough from there - shove them into alcoves, hide then behind wall panels if need be. Chekov watches for the bulls.
It should be Jim doing these runs. Sulu with his oriental eyes and sallow skin is too noteworthy; Chekov is just a boy - so blue-eyed and white that there are those who would call the heat just for seeing him with Sulu at all. It should be Jim out there - but Pike won’t hear of it.
The cargo is stowed and all four duck inside. Nyota is singing again. Pike waves McCoy around the room and sets the doctor on his rounds. A slithering drunk has fallen off his stool. It’s quick work to drag him upright, pour a dose of baclofen down his throat and leave him alone to sober.
The speakeasies in Atlanta had always been bright and alive. And maybe elsewhere in the city they’re the same. But Pike keeps his place sad and dim and lets folk find comfort in their melancholy.
Jocelyn may have robbed him of house and home but she knew how to brew honey-sweet Southern charm. McCoy remembers her drifting from room to room - a judge in her pocket with a few high-ranking saws. The woman spoke sin, dripped it in the ears of certain men - kept all eyes turned away from the still and the booze; kept those eyes on her instead.
It was a different life, back then.
oOo
Dawn breaks thin and pale across the sky. The last of the drunks has been tipped into the street - the whore he brought with him long since departed. Pike’s counting the money made - separating Scott’s take and Spock’s wage. Sulu and Chekov wait by the door. Pike will get to them in time.
Jim tugs on his arm, cocks his head towards the stairs. All in the room avert their eyes. The thinman and the dancinggirl have their secret. Jim and McCoy have theirs.
oOo
McCoy is due at the City Morgue in two hours and he’s had no sleep - will get none before then. Jim’s fingers are skimming across his skin, nails scraping past his hips. Jim’s mouth is wet and warm, and all McCoy can do is close his eyes and cling to his control. The heat when Jim finally surrounds him is excruciating. Thrust, slap, slide, writhe. Jim’s hot and tight and far too young for this to be decent. But McCoy gave up on heaven long ago and purgatory’s slipping further out of reach each day, so he’s going to take this. Jim Kirk is his. And if this is sin, he can understand why Adam fell from grace for Eve.
Jim gasps and paints his skin with strips of white. McCoy bucks and strives towards release. Jim’s whimpering because they never finish at the same time - never even close. It’s always Jim first. McCoy’s left chasing far behind until Jim’s too tender and too wide for it to be anything other than pain. At last McCoy sighs and Jim sags with relief. He rolls off - to the side and away - leaving McCoy to wash up and change. He has less than an hour to drive the length of the city.
Jim’s already asleep by the time McCoy leaves. The sheets are soiled and grey-tinged - washed hard one too many times. The sickly yellow of the light does Jim no favours and McCoy feels every day his age.
oOo
The Morgue is cool and blank. Up to his elbows in a man’s gut, McCoy minds his own. Behind him, a door swings shut. Chapel hands him a surgical knife; ignores the man behind McCoy’s shoulder. McCoy doesn’t turn around until a slithering voice introduces itself as Dt. Ayel.
Ayel is thin, angry, scarred. Doesn’t like Pike, doesn’t like McCoy, doesn’t like the city they both work for. Tells McCoy he’s onto Pike’s enterprise - says he’s going to bring the bastard to his knees. Brewing moonshine is illegal, selling it is worse. Doctoring the drunks to keep Pike’s arse out of jail? McCoy’s going down with the ship.
McCoy’s not doing this for Pike. He doesn’t tell that to Ayel.
oOo
Come dusk, McCoy buries his face in the pillow and let’s Jim ride him raw. The boy’s all energy and skin and he’s out the door the moment business opens before McCoy’s even recovered his breath. By the time he’s made his way downstairs, two men have already spilled themselves through Pike’s door. A third is moseying on up the steps outside - a darn sight more sober than the rest: the ones who take flasks for the road each night and drink their dinner from them.
Jim’s in his usual position by the rear. He stinks of sex and Pike doesn’t like it. The man thinks McCoy’s too old for his boy. But Jim’s made his position clear. Pike’s hands are tied.
Nyota doesn’t want to sing tonight. Pike won’t make her. She watches Spock and smoothes a hand across her garter. It’s not a nervous gesture. It’s not seduction either.
The man who walked in sober tries to talk to her. Nyota’s polite - doesn’t know how to be anything else - but she’s not for rent and she makes that clear. The man can’t hear the ‘no’ or chooses to ignore it. He’s the type who thinks women with Nyota’s skin should be grateful to service him - never mind she’s not a whore; she’s one to him.
Spock’s at the man’s side in an instant and Pike’s on his feet. Jim’s gun is levelled at the man’s chest and Sulu has a knife as long as his forearm. McCoy swore to do no harm and he can’t simply watch. He stands, and it’s enough. Jim’s hustling the drinker out the door and Nyota’s in Spock’s arms. Chekov’s livid as a viper - spitting venom and curses out the door. Pike closes shop early that night and spills the drunkards past the porch.
Jim gives Nyota his room for the night.
She accepts.
Jim asks for time to change the sheets.
Nyota laughs and Spock looks almost grateful.
Jim sleeps on the couch and McCoy departs beneath Pike’s watchful eye.
oOo
Pike’s place is raided. Ayel comes storming in with his Lieutenant on his heels. More scarred than Ayel and less thin, Nero’s anger fills the room. His men tear the place apart whilst Pike watches with his hands cuffed behind his back.
But one man heard another talk and Jim told Pike to be ready for them. The booze is hidden. Scott’s on alert and hiding.
Nero is angry - spitting, vile. Pike gets a fist to the face and McCoy can hear Jim’s ribs break. Him they leave alone. There’s no crime for them to find and the M.E. can’t turn up to work with a broken face. The Mayor would have a fit.
Nero leaves and drags Ayel with him. McCoy kneels by Jim, sets the ribs and wraps them tight. Pike gets Witchhazel and a cold cloth for his face.
Spock busies himself sweeping broken glass and putting furniture back in its place.
oOo
They hang in a strange place between desperate and timeless. McCoy has the late shift and it’s odd - lying here with the sounds of traffic outside; listening to other people move around the house. Jim’s stretched against his side, curling McCoy into his embrace. McCoy wants to thrust, and pound, and hurry and take his time all at once. He wants to savour Jim, devour him and he can’t lie still while his mind burns with indecision.
Their kiss is slow, tentative - a spit-slick slide of tongue and lips. Jim undulates above him. Skin rubs against skin. It’s dry and warm and not enough but McCoy can’t tell what he wants so he lets it be. His hands mark Jim’s hips and in the end he thrusts - pushes into Jim still wet and open. He feels sick.
Jim rocks and whines. This time McCoy comes first and he sucks Jim dry whilst the kid fists his fingers in McCoy’s hair.
They lie in that bed, fucking and sleeping for the rest of the afternoon. By the time the club opens and McCoy’s left for work he feels thin and dry. Jim kisses him soft and wet before disappearing out back to haul in moonshine.
McCoy stands huddled in the starlight. Let them hide their fires.
oOo
Ayel is at the Morgue again. He loiters at the edge of McCoy’s vision - watching him work. He talks about Jim. McCoy tries not to listen.
A body comes in - blonde, male, young. McCoy’s thought flick to Jim. It’s not him; just some boy. Ayel smiles. He saw the panic in McCoy’s eyes.
McCoy checks the paperwork for identification. The name means nothing, but the age - 1908-1925 - Jim’s age, almost to the day. Ayel is still smiling. His smile says it’s a warning.
McCoy’s a country doctor to his bones. He can’t protect Jim - not in the way he needs protecting.
oOo
It’s supposed to be a simple run - Jim isn’t supposed to be gone long. He’s late an hour when McCoy begins to worry. Pike’s spinning a glass on top of the bar, watching the door. He relaxes, ever so slightly, when McCoy says he’s going after Jim.
The alley is grey, filthy and wet. Rain is falling from the roofs in planes. McCoy turns the corner in time to see Jim fire point blank into Ayel’s face. The man goes down, gargling blood and a bullet. McCoy runs to Jim’s side.
Jim’s pants are past his knees. Ayel’s fly is undone. McCoy can’t focus past the static, angry white of his mind. He’s so busy helping Jim get dressed - so unsure if he should be doing even this much - he doesn’t realise he’s been struck until his face hits the brick. He goes down, bursts of light firing across his eyes. The world swims in colour and fire. When he tries to stand his legs give way and he vomits against the wall.
There’s the heavy thud of boot meeting flesh. Jim grunts in pain. McCoy can hear the scream of sirens. The beating stops. Blinking, McCoy can see Nero pause. The rain makes everything shine, but McCoy can see Nero look towards the sound, calculating his time. He looks down at Jim, draws his leg up high.
McCoy doesn’t think. Nero dies of a bullet to the chest. His blood stains the walls; taints the air. McCoy doesn’t even realise he’s holding Ayel’s gun until Jim pries it from him. There’s yelling at the far end of the alley now. Blue and red light spills in stripes. Bulls are aiming pistols at their heads. They’ve seen the guns. The dead men on the floor. McCoy turns to Jim.
Blue eyes stare at him, wide in blood-spattered face. Jim breathes fast and harsh and the light in his eyes has died. He’s robbed McCoy of something - no matter that he didn’t mean to. Bones took an oath to preserve life; that oath now lies in shreds.
He’s killed for Jim, there’s no going back. Jim sprays a hail of bullets at the men braced behind their cars and he and McCoy run for it. They make it back, down, and away. Pike’s face is grey when he greets them on the steps. The draw-down’s already hit the news.
oOo
They cuff him at the morgue two days later. Doesn’t matter there’s no proof. He’ll swing for this. And so will Jim.
oOo
The jail is cold without Jim beside him. They’ve added sodomy, buggery, fellatio and interfemoral intercourse to the charges. Hell, they should have just added ‘dared to fall in love’ and been done with it. Wouldn’t have made a difference - you don’t see much jail time if you hang.
Spock visits once - and damned if McCoy knows how he manages it. He stares through the bars with sad, dark eyes and says Pike is with Jim - neither one can visit twice. McCoy nods and shuts his eyes. If Spock sees the tears, he doesn’t mention them.
oOo
The hanging is closed and McCoy’s glad. Pike doesn’t need to watch his boy die. The air is warm. It’s summer, and it doesn’t seem to fit. No one should feel the noose around their neck whilst the sun burns in the sky.
Jim is stood beside him. The priest asks them to repent their sins. Jim tells the man to go inside. He doesn’t believe in god these days.
The Warden reads a docket of their crimes. Jim’s are longer than McCoy’s. By all rights he should be executed separately. Putting them together - McCoy doesn’t know if the judge was trying to be cruel or kind.
Silence falls, and McCoy wishes he could hold Jim tight. The boy is shaking - a tremble so very, very fine. Christ, he’s still so young. So fresh-faced it almost hurts. He barely even needs to shave. The Warden nods to the executioner and the trapdoor drops. McCoy feels the rush of wind beside his ears. The noose is tight and -
oOo
Jim twitches and jerks, struggling to breathe. He spins, legs flailing. Bones is motionless beside him. His neck snapped.
The world is beginning to turn grey. Jim can’t breathe. He tries but it’s like trying to breathe through cotton wool. He kicks, desperate to touch Bones - just once. The yard is silent and Bones had closed his eyes. There’s nothing - he’s alone.
He can’t feel his legs anymore. His vision’s white.
He only wanted to touch Bones one last time.
End
Author/Artist: writteninhaste
Rating: R/NC-17
Warnings: Character death(s), angst, implicit non-con, sexual situations.
Summary: Looking back, I have this to regret, that too often when I loved, I did not say ~ David Greyson
Written for Slashfest Round VIII and
x-posted to slashfest and kirk_mccoy
The Primrose Path
Pike’s club is no different tonight than any other night. Despairing, wanton things drape themselves across booths and chairs, sucking down drink and counting out their misery piece by piece. In a corner of the room, Nyota sings her blues for anyone to hear - should anybody care to listen.
Spock mans the bar, pouring silver moonshine past the rims of frosted glasses. His eyes watch Nyota always. Their haven is in here. Outside, thinman and dancinggirl must go their separate ways.
Jim Kirk stands by the door - gun propped on his hip and hat across one eye. Too young by half, and still here all the same. He’s Pike’s boy - has been for years. Watches the boss’ back with all the loyalty of a dog and half the sense. The Thompson glitters in the lamplight.
Pike himself is lord of all he sees. Enthroned upon his seat - suit pulled tight across the A1 settled against his breast. There’s the rumble of a car outside.
Jim’s gun is readied at the door before McCoy can blink. Nyota has stopped singing and the various drunks and prostitutes sprawled around the room are as tense as their inebriated states will allow.
A fist knocks against wood. Quick, slow, slow, quick, quick. Pike breathes easy and Jim opens the door. He cocks his head at McCoy and all the doctor can do is follow.
Chekov is stood by the door whilst Sulu unloads the car. Crates of booze distilled in Scott’s apartment and hauled across the city to here: Pike’s illicit enterprise. Jim hands his gun to Sulu, begins dragging the crates into the murk of the entryway. McCoy can shelve them easily enough from there - shove them into alcoves, hide then behind wall panels if need be. Chekov watches for the bulls.
It should be Jim doing these runs. Sulu with his oriental eyes and sallow skin is too noteworthy; Chekov is just a boy - so blue-eyed and white that there are those who would call the heat just for seeing him with Sulu at all. It should be Jim out there - but Pike won’t hear of it.
The cargo is stowed and all four duck inside. Nyota is singing again. Pike waves McCoy around the room and sets the doctor on his rounds. A slithering drunk has fallen off his stool. It’s quick work to drag him upright, pour a dose of baclofen down his throat and leave him alone to sober.
The speakeasies in Atlanta had always been bright and alive. And maybe elsewhere in the city they’re the same. But Pike keeps his place sad and dim and lets folk find comfort in their melancholy.
Jocelyn may have robbed him of house and home but she knew how to brew honey-sweet Southern charm. McCoy remembers her drifting from room to room - a judge in her pocket with a few high-ranking saws. The woman spoke sin, dripped it in the ears of certain men - kept all eyes turned away from the still and the booze; kept those eyes on her instead.
It was a different life, back then.
oOo
Dawn breaks thin and pale across the sky. The last of the drunks has been tipped into the street - the whore he brought with him long since departed. Pike’s counting the money made - separating Scott’s take and Spock’s wage. Sulu and Chekov wait by the door. Pike will get to them in time.
Jim tugs on his arm, cocks his head towards the stairs. All in the room avert their eyes. The thinman and the dancinggirl have their secret. Jim and McCoy have theirs.
oOo
McCoy is due at the City Morgue in two hours and he’s had no sleep - will get none before then. Jim’s fingers are skimming across his skin, nails scraping past his hips. Jim’s mouth is wet and warm, and all McCoy can do is close his eyes and cling to his control. The heat when Jim finally surrounds him is excruciating. Thrust, slap, slide, writhe. Jim’s hot and tight and far too young for this to be decent. But McCoy gave up on heaven long ago and purgatory’s slipping further out of reach each day, so he’s going to take this. Jim Kirk is his. And if this is sin, he can understand why Adam fell from grace for Eve.
Jim gasps and paints his skin with strips of white. McCoy bucks and strives towards release. Jim’s whimpering because they never finish at the same time - never even close. It’s always Jim first. McCoy’s left chasing far behind until Jim’s too tender and too wide for it to be anything other than pain. At last McCoy sighs and Jim sags with relief. He rolls off - to the side and away - leaving McCoy to wash up and change. He has less than an hour to drive the length of the city.
Jim’s already asleep by the time McCoy leaves. The sheets are soiled and grey-tinged - washed hard one too many times. The sickly yellow of the light does Jim no favours and McCoy feels every day his age.
oOo
The Morgue is cool and blank. Up to his elbows in a man’s gut, McCoy minds his own. Behind him, a door swings shut. Chapel hands him a surgical knife; ignores the man behind McCoy’s shoulder. McCoy doesn’t turn around until a slithering voice introduces itself as Dt. Ayel.
Ayel is thin, angry, scarred. Doesn’t like Pike, doesn’t like McCoy, doesn’t like the city they both work for. Tells McCoy he’s onto Pike’s enterprise - says he’s going to bring the bastard to his knees. Brewing moonshine is illegal, selling it is worse. Doctoring the drunks to keep Pike’s arse out of jail? McCoy’s going down with the ship.
McCoy’s not doing this for Pike. He doesn’t tell that to Ayel.
oOo
Come dusk, McCoy buries his face in the pillow and let’s Jim ride him raw. The boy’s all energy and skin and he’s out the door the moment business opens before McCoy’s even recovered his breath. By the time he’s made his way downstairs, two men have already spilled themselves through Pike’s door. A third is moseying on up the steps outside - a darn sight more sober than the rest: the ones who take flasks for the road each night and drink their dinner from them.
Jim’s in his usual position by the rear. He stinks of sex and Pike doesn’t like it. The man thinks McCoy’s too old for his boy. But Jim’s made his position clear. Pike’s hands are tied.
Nyota doesn’t want to sing tonight. Pike won’t make her. She watches Spock and smoothes a hand across her garter. It’s not a nervous gesture. It’s not seduction either.
The man who walked in sober tries to talk to her. Nyota’s polite - doesn’t know how to be anything else - but she’s not for rent and she makes that clear. The man can’t hear the ‘no’ or chooses to ignore it. He’s the type who thinks women with Nyota’s skin should be grateful to service him - never mind she’s not a whore; she’s one to him.
Spock’s at the man’s side in an instant and Pike’s on his feet. Jim’s gun is levelled at the man’s chest and Sulu has a knife as long as his forearm. McCoy swore to do no harm and he can’t simply watch. He stands, and it’s enough. Jim’s hustling the drinker out the door and Nyota’s in Spock’s arms. Chekov’s livid as a viper - spitting venom and curses out the door. Pike closes shop early that night and spills the drunkards past the porch.
Jim gives Nyota his room for the night.
She accepts.
Jim asks for time to change the sheets.
Nyota laughs and Spock looks almost grateful.
Jim sleeps on the couch and McCoy departs beneath Pike’s watchful eye.
oOo
Pike’s place is raided. Ayel comes storming in with his Lieutenant on his heels. More scarred than Ayel and less thin, Nero’s anger fills the room. His men tear the place apart whilst Pike watches with his hands cuffed behind his back.
But one man heard another talk and Jim told Pike to be ready for them. The booze is hidden. Scott’s on alert and hiding.
Nero is angry - spitting, vile. Pike gets a fist to the face and McCoy can hear Jim’s ribs break. Him they leave alone. There’s no crime for them to find and the M.E. can’t turn up to work with a broken face. The Mayor would have a fit.
Nero leaves and drags Ayel with him. McCoy kneels by Jim, sets the ribs and wraps them tight. Pike gets Witchhazel and a cold cloth for his face.
Spock busies himself sweeping broken glass and putting furniture back in its place.
oOo
They hang in a strange place between desperate and timeless. McCoy has the late shift and it’s odd - lying here with the sounds of traffic outside; listening to other people move around the house. Jim’s stretched against his side, curling McCoy into his embrace. McCoy wants to thrust, and pound, and hurry and take his time all at once. He wants to savour Jim, devour him and he can’t lie still while his mind burns with indecision.
Their kiss is slow, tentative - a spit-slick slide of tongue and lips. Jim undulates above him. Skin rubs against skin. It’s dry and warm and not enough but McCoy can’t tell what he wants so he lets it be. His hands mark Jim’s hips and in the end he thrusts - pushes into Jim still wet and open. He feels sick.
Jim rocks and whines. This time McCoy comes first and he sucks Jim dry whilst the kid fists his fingers in McCoy’s hair.
They lie in that bed, fucking and sleeping for the rest of the afternoon. By the time the club opens and McCoy’s left for work he feels thin and dry. Jim kisses him soft and wet before disappearing out back to haul in moonshine.
McCoy stands huddled in the starlight. Let them hide their fires.
oOo
Ayel is at the Morgue again. He loiters at the edge of McCoy’s vision - watching him work. He talks about Jim. McCoy tries not to listen.
A body comes in - blonde, male, young. McCoy’s thought flick to Jim. It’s not him; just some boy. Ayel smiles. He saw the panic in McCoy’s eyes.
McCoy checks the paperwork for identification. The name means nothing, but the age - 1908-1925 - Jim’s age, almost to the day. Ayel is still smiling. His smile says it’s a warning.
McCoy’s a country doctor to his bones. He can’t protect Jim - not in the way he needs protecting.
oOo
It’s supposed to be a simple run - Jim isn’t supposed to be gone long. He’s late an hour when McCoy begins to worry. Pike’s spinning a glass on top of the bar, watching the door. He relaxes, ever so slightly, when McCoy says he’s going after Jim.
The alley is grey, filthy and wet. Rain is falling from the roofs in planes. McCoy turns the corner in time to see Jim fire point blank into Ayel’s face. The man goes down, gargling blood and a bullet. McCoy runs to Jim’s side.
Jim’s pants are past his knees. Ayel’s fly is undone. McCoy can’t focus past the static, angry white of his mind. He’s so busy helping Jim get dressed - so unsure if he should be doing even this much - he doesn’t realise he’s been struck until his face hits the brick. He goes down, bursts of light firing across his eyes. The world swims in colour and fire. When he tries to stand his legs give way and he vomits against the wall.
There’s the heavy thud of boot meeting flesh. Jim grunts in pain. McCoy can hear the scream of sirens. The beating stops. Blinking, McCoy can see Nero pause. The rain makes everything shine, but McCoy can see Nero look towards the sound, calculating his time. He looks down at Jim, draws his leg up high.
McCoy doesn’t think. Nero dies of a bullet to the chest. His blood stains the walls; taints the air. McCoy doesn’t even realise he’s holding Ayel’s gun until Jim pries it from him. There’s yelling at the far end of the alley now. Blue and red light spills in stripes. Bulls are aiming pistols at their heads. They’ve seen the guns. The dead men on the floor. McCoy turns to Jim.
Blue eyes stare at him, wide in blood-spattered face. Jim breathes fast and harsh and the light in his eyes has died. He’s robbed McCoy of something - no matter that he didn’t mean to. Bones took an oath to preserve life; that oath now lies in shreds.
He’s killed for Jim, there’s no going back. Jim sprays a hail of bullets at the men braced behind their cars and he and McCoy run for it. They make it back, down, and away. Pike’s face is grey when he greets them on the steps. The draw-down’s already hit the news.
oOo
They cuff him at the morgue two days later. Doesn’t matter there’s no proof. He’ll swing for this. And so will Jim.
oOo
The jail is cold without Jim beside him. They’ve added sodomy, buggery, fellatio and interfemoral intercourse to the charges. Hell, they should have just added ‘dared to fall in love’ and been done with it. Wouldn’t have made a difference - you don’t see much jail time if you hang.
Spock visits once - and damned if McCoy knows how he manages it. He stares through the bars with sad, dark eyes and says Pike is with Jim - neither one can visit twice. McCoy nods and shuts his eyes. If Spock sees the tears, he doesn’t mention them.
oOo
The hanging is closed and McCoy’s glad. Pike doesn’t need to watch his boy die. The air is warm. It’s summer, and it doesn’t seem to fit. No one should feel the noose around their neck whilst the sun burns in the sky.
Jim is stood beside him. The priest asks them to repent their sins. Jim tells the man to go inside. He doesn’t believe in god these days.
The Warden reads a docket of their crimes. Jim’s are longer than McCoy’s. By all rights he should be executed separately. Putting them together - McCoy doesn’t know if the judge was trying to be cruel or kind.
Silence falls, and McCoy wishes he could hold Jim tight. The boy is shaking - a tremble so very, very fine. Christ, he’s still so young. So fresh-faced it almost hurts. He barely even needs to shave. The Warden nods to the executioner and the trapdoor drops. McCoy feels the rush of wind beside his ears. The noose is tight and -
oOo
Jim twitches and jerks, struggling to breathe. He spins, legs flailing. Bones is motionless beside him. His neck snapped.
The world is beginning to turn grey. Jim can’t breathe. He tries but it’s like trying to breathe through cotton wool. He kicks, desperate to touch Bones - just once. The yard is silent and Bones had closed his eyes. There’s nothing - he’s alone.
He can’t feel his legs anymore. His vision’s white.
He only wanted to touch Bones one last time.
End