DISCLAIMER: I have argued over who gets Chekov, Spock, Jim, and Bones with friends and fangirls alike, but sadly I still do not own Star Trek.
T for caution and suggestivity
The Leather Jacket
I woke up to the scent of his hair, which for some reason or another always happened to smell like pancakes. I know there are the usual hair scent clichés—flowers, fruits, and so on, but his hair always smelled like pancakes. Friendly. Comforting.
I kept my eyes shut, breathing deeply. He was probably awake. He always had more energy than me, by merit of being younger and fitter, I'd joke, and he usually woke up first. He was also a light sleeper. I loved him for it.
"You smell like pancakes," I voiced my thoughts, dreamily.
I didn't get a reply. Maybe he wasn't awake.
"Jim?" I asked, opening my eyes.
The bed was empty save for me, his sheets clumsily thrown back and not remade. His black leather jacket was draped over me. I took a sniff. Pancakes.
Maybe he went to get breakfast, I thought.
Then I noticed the scrap of paper sticking out of his jacket pocket. My heart sunk. He never left me notes.
Slowly, I pulled it out and unfolded it. Sure enough, I recognized his messy scrawl.
Bones,
I'm sorry. I'm enlisting. Maybe someday I'll see you again. I love you.
Jim
PS: Take care of the jacket, willya? I'm not gonna need it where I'm going. I love you.
PPS: I love you. I can't say it enough.
I didn't bother with the other seven or eight post scripts he'd added. I knew what they said.
My vision blurred with tears as I crumpled the note in my hand, knowing that Jim was long gone, and all I had left of him was a messy note and a leather jacket that smelled like pancakes.
FIN
A/N: Was sleeping outside on the hammock wearing a leather jacket when I got the idea. : )