Author's Note: Thank you to all who are reading this story! I can't tell you how much I appreciate that you're following along and/or reviewing. It means a lot. :) Also, I must give a huge thank you to MissBAMF, who beta'd this chapter even though she has a lot on her plate right now. She's an absolute gem. I'd tried to post this on my birthday this week, but failed miserably as our household has been sick off and on. However, I believe this is a more timely update than usual - only two weeks since the last posted chapter. Yay! :) You may notice that my chapter title (below) varies from the "formal" title. That, my dears, is simply because my title is TOO LONG. It is not a typo! :) I just had to shorten it.
The first scene is McCoy's POV, beginning right at the end of the treatment for Jim's fractured ribs and going through the conversation McCoy had with Spock. So, yes, I backtracked just a tad into Chapter 6. I really wanted to share McCoy's viewpoint, give you a few more details from his side, so please bear with me. Then, the second scene? It takes up the larger portion of this word count and is pretty important. ;) I hope you all enjoy the update! I have included a few more notes at the end, too.
oOo
And If I Stand Next To You
Chapter 7
I'll see it on your face (we are tired men)
oOo
"Jim, we're done," McCoy murmured as he stood over Jim, having just brought over a shirt to replace the one he'd discarded.
Eyes closed, Jim looked almost too peaceful to disturb. For a split second, McCoy considered pulling a blanket over Jim and tucking the edges around the younger man just like he liked it, letting Jim sleep, and heading upstairs to Jojo.
Or, simply put, skipping the call to Spock.
Setting the shirt on the chair beside Jim, McCoy dismissed the idea as quickly as it had come. No, skipping the call wouldn't do. Not today, not now. Jim smiled very little these days, though McCoy was beginning to see the hairline fractures in his gloomy countenance ever since they'd arrived in Atlanta. The mere mention of Spock lit up his face. McCoy wouldn't take that away from him.
He brought Jim's chair up to a lounging, sitting position, hoping the movement would wake him. Of course it didn't. Jim was already starting to snore. Chuckling to himself, McCoy sat down and leaned forward, hand brushing across Jim's forehead. He hated to disturb Jim, but he wouldn't stand in the way of this one small thing that meant the world to him. McCoy repeated the light stroke across Jim's skin over and over, just as he used to do for Jojo to gently awaken her when she was little. Soon, confused slivers of blue looked aimlessly around.
"Yeah, completely done," McCoy said, lips twisting in a wry grin. "I think you can fall asleep anywhere and sleep through anything, Jimbo."
Jim had fallen asleep only a few minutes ago. He'd never budged, sleeping like a rock while McCoy cleaned things up. Jim frowned and looked down at his chest, maybe realizing through the haze of exhaustion that he'd slept through the removal of the regen units. A second later though, he shrugged, indifferent to the situation. He turned to look at McCoy, eyes full of trust.
"Ya might want to stretch your legs before talking with Spock," McCoy suggested.
Jim snatched the device that was on the table beside him.
Thanks for waking me. Jim typed.
"And have Spock keep hounding me about you?" McCoy said, shaking his head. "No thank you."
Jim gave a genuine if not tired grin.
McCoy moved away, sensing Jim's need for space. Jim pushed himself upright and took the clean shirt McCoy handed him. He pulled it over his head, arms pushing through the holes without any trouble, hesitating before realizing the regen units had done their job to heal him and he could move freely without pain.
"Feeling good?" McCoy asked, a small part of him anxious that Jim was just putting on a brave face.
McCoy expected Jim to have some trouble being mobile again, just like this morning, but it didn't mean that he'd stop worrying the man. Couldn't McCoy go ten minutes without fretting? In Jim's current condition, probably not. He hated to think it, hated to believe the worst could happen, but if things didn't progress with Jim's health as they should, maybe never.
McCoy could hardly recall feeling this protective about Jocelyn in all the years they'd been married, but his love for his daughter still thrived and always will. He may have given his marriage best shot, at least until that last year together, but things had changed. His guilt over his father's death had eaten him alive, sucking his love for Joce right along with it.
Recalling the countless days he'd been a dark, brooding man, hiding the alcohol behind a smile and life that wasn't there, no wonder she'd divorced him. He'd thought the two of them had worked things out over the past two years, reached a place in their relationship where—sure they weren't in love anymore, but they could stand the other. Apparently, she still held a grudge if this current situation gave any indication. But, McCoy wouldn't discount the things that Jocelyn herself had done to exacerbate the problems of their marriage.
Maybe, just maybe, he was the one who should be holding that grudge. He should be the one holding control of Jojo, not her.
Shaking his head at himself, he belatedly realized Jim had held out the device for him to read.
Jim peered at him warily. I'll do this myself, okay?
"Sure," McCoy said, giving him a small smile. He should be more careful to guard his absentmindedness. Jim never missed much.
He backed away, but his fingers itched to help, prevent another break and protect Jim from any harm that could possibly come to him. Quite frankly, Jim's wobbling knees resembled those of a newborn foal as he stood, not that McCoy would ever tell him that.
Jim gripped the back of the chair, shifting his stance unsteadily, but it was the frown-turned-scowl warning McCoy to stay back if he knew what was good for him. McCoy counted to five, extending it to ten. As much as McCoy wanted to make sure Jim didn't fall and break more bones, the man simply needed to test his independence.
"Just let me know when you're ready to do a little walkin'," McCoy commanded, hoping it would nudge him along instead of standing here, waiting for an accident to happen. "Take it easy, Jim," he encouraged.
Jim nodded but made no effort to take a step. He squirmed as he stood, face contorted in concentration, eyes fixed on his feet. McCoy exhaled slowly, holding himself back. It was all he could do not to stalk forward and grasp Jim's arm to keep him upright once he got there.
Giving Jim another moment, McCoy's eyes passed over him, wanting to spot anything abnormal which could also explain his awkward stance.
When Jim sighed loudly, McCoy couldn't hold his tongue. "Jim, is everything alright?"
Jim's cheeks flushed and he picked up his PADD and typed. No, not really.
"What's wrong?" McCoy asked quickly, taking a large step toward Jim. "Are ya feelin' queasy, again?"
The rise on his cheeks deepening, Jim typed, No, it's not that. I...I'm not...Jim closed his eyes briefly, sighing and shaking his head in what seemed to be frustration. Comfortable enough to start walking, he finished.
"Take it easy then, Jim," McCoy reminded him, sensing that a surge of adrenaline would soon hit Jim. McCoy didn't want Jim pushing too hard or too quickly if he wasn't comfortable. "It's expected after the two hour session you had with the regen units."
Jim typed hastily. No, it's not that, it's... Jim stopped, swallowing, looking nervous, knots growing in McCoy's own stomach as he half-expected the tremors to reappear. This.
"This?" McCoy echoed, mentally scratching his head. "Jim, you're going to have to be more specific."
You know...the thing.
"Yes, exactly what I mean, Jim," McCoy said dryly. "Specific."
The...cath. When Jim's eye widened, turning slightly glassy and increasing the overall younger, more vulnerable appearance he already had, McCoy couldn't believe he'd forgotten.
Of course. The catheter. In fact—McCoy paused, lifting his own device. According to his list, that was the next thing he needed to take care of.
"I'm not surprised it's bothering you," McCoy said slowly, gaze drifting back to Jim. "You were on your back for awhile. Two hours, kid, engaged with a painful treatment, and on top of that misery, you've been without the therapy you've needed for at least twenty four hours. I imagine you're a bit uncomfortable. The catheter does need cleaned, more than likely an adjustment, too. My mama showed you what to do, how to clean yourself, but if it's bothering ya more than before, you'll need..." McCoy's voice faded. Jim looked down at his feet, bottom lip twisting between his teeth as tightly as could be.
McCoy could see where this was headed. He didn't want to lose the ground he made with him, so he decided he'd do whatever it took for Jim to feel perfectly at ease.
"Jim, I can get her to help you if you'd rather," McCoy offered.
Jim inhaled a tremulous breath. No, he mouthed, leaving McCoy momentarily speechless.
He hadn't expected that at all. He'd assumed Jim would prefer Nora to care for his more personal needs.
"Are ya sure?" McCoy questioned in a soft voice.
Jim nodded, pulling his gaze up from the floor. You can help me. The quicker we move, the sooner I talk to Spock. And I think I can just make it to the bathroom. Then you can check things.
Understanding dawned on McCoy. Jim's decision was purely tactical, not relational. It had nothing to do with the fact that they were finding their footing again as friends. This was a decision Jim had made for himself. Jim Kirk was Captain, after all.
But, this realization didn't hurt McCoy one bit. In fact, his chest swelled up with pride.
Written as plain as day in Nora's notes had been that one James T. Kirk had an accident while standing on the bath rug and shortly following, appeared to be dealing with the resulting shame. As much as McCoy hated to think it, when had been the last time since the warp core that Jim had ever shown this sort of mental or emotional strength regarding anything that affected him so personally? If Jim could do this, despite recently suffering emotionally from his limitations, it simply meant progress.
McCoy couldn't help but wonder other things would encourage Jim's captainly side out of hiding.
"Oh, let him wait," McCoy grumbled, struggling to hide his emotion from his face.
Jim frowned. What did Spock ever do to you?
McCoy stared blankly at Jim. Spock had done nothing to McCoy, unless you counted saving his best friend as something.
What did that question have to do with anything, anyway?
Jim rolled his eyes. Exactly. Nothing. Jim typed as if he'd just read Bones' mind. Bones, you know he just wants to help. And I know you're just being grumpy to save face after all these weeks of communicating with him so much about me.
"Five minutes," McCoy stressed, ignoring Jim's comment.
You're going to let me walk to the bathroom, right? By myself?
"Think you can make it?"
Jim nodded.
Inwardly, McCoy was pleased with Jim's response but he merely arched a brow, feigning doubt. "If you're sure..."
Jim glanced at him, indignant, and typed, I can do it. It's just my injury, even though it's healed, my back, too. I just feel...stiff.
"You feel like you haven't had therapy for a couple days," McCoy muttered, wondering what the hell was HQ's hold up.
It wasn't like this was really a lot to ask of them. In fact, it'd benefit Starfleet. Jim had retained his captaincy, many thanks going to the documented fight Pike had put up for Jim before he died. This was the golden opportunity on behalf of the admirals to ensure Captain Kirk's sound recovery, to honor Jim who had sacrificed so much. Maybe even to provide good press for Starfleet, which had had it's second hit in only two years.
Jim grimaced. And this tube from hell may be annoying but it'll be gone later today, right?
Jim's eyes hopeful, McCoy nodded. "It's quite possible, especially if your numbers are looking up. The more treatments you have, the more difficult the side effects, but the injections should give quicker results."
Jim narrowed his eyes. Bones, that's bullshit.
"I know it doesn't look like it, but it's the way this therapy works," McCoy said reluctantly, understanding Jim's doubt. "And we can't stop the treatment, for any reason, no matter how hard they are. I'll take another tricorder reading right before you call Spock."
Jim suddenly looked nervous, eyes hesitating as he slowly typed. Spock's going to worry. I know he will. I have to look bad. Jim stilled, frozen, clearly wanting McCoy's opinion on the matter.
Well, he'd give him one. "He's going to worry if you don't get your ass movin' along, Jim," McCoy stressed, ignoring any mention of Jim's haggard appearance. Instead, he gave Jim the push he needed. "You're making him wait even longer." Sometimes, this was the best way to motivate someone like Jim Kirk.
Jim stared. Thought you wanted me to make him wait.
"Not really," McCoy admitted. "He keeps bugging me about you so much I'm wondering just who exactly is the doctor here."
McCoy clamped his mouth shut before making more of a fool of himself.
Jim blinked at him, face scrunching in confusion. What?
He and his big mouth.
It may not seem like it, but he really wasn't jealous of Spock's friendship with Jim. Christ, the thought was ridiculous. He was frustrated with Jim, but not Jim himself. He resented the inconvenient situation which had made things so difficult for his best friend.
"Nothin'. Let's just get moving so I don't have to answer another damn message," McCoy said, not at all humble that he'd just deflected as good as Jim.
Oh. Thanks, though. Jim's small smile blossomed. For letting him keep tabs. It...I think it helps him, Bones.
"I know," McCoy said, grunting.
And he did know. At the very least he understood the need to keep tabs on Jim. Because, maybe what Spock had experienced, Jim dying, was actually worse than seeing a body bag filled with a best friend. Maybe it was worse, because Jim had been behind the glass, shut off from friends, shut off from touch, and...maybe McCoy was a complete idiot for even comparing the two. Things were already fucked up. He sure didn't need to add to it by contemplating Jim's death like this.
But, Jim was absolutely right. Spock did need contact with Jim, even if it was just gaining knowledge about Jim through McCoy. But it wasn't just Spock who needed Jim. The crew needed Jim. After all they'd been through together, any contact they had with their captain meant the world to them.
Shaking his head, expression neutral, Jim waved his hand at Bones like he was dismissing a class. Coming? he mouthed.
"After you, your highness," McCoy said, amused at the little quirks of Captain Kirk which were finally making their appearance. McCoy had to admit, it was like taking a breath of fresh air just to seem them again.
Jim rolled his eyes before loping his way to the bathroom that was just around the corner, half the distance to the one in his bedroom. What could have been an embarrassment for both of them simply wasn't. Jim maintained an easy expression as McCoy helped him in the bathroom, and in turn, McCoy couldn't help but feel like he was helping his friend, not his patient. He wondered why that was, but didn't have much time to think on it because before he knew it, Jim was done and they were headed back to the living room. Although Jim clearly was exhausted, his stride eased up, losing the stiffness he'd had minutes ago.
McCoy saw a break in the clouds. It was good news for McCoy's notes, which looked gloomy and dismal no matter which way you squinted at them or held them.
Jim settled back on the couch, yawning consecutively. McCoy quickly took a tricorder reading, impatient to study the results, but those would have to wait until he had a few moments alone. McCoy tossed him a stern look. "I'll be back in five minutes."
Jim held up ten fingers, wearing honest to goodness, puppy-dog eyes, the likes of which McCoy had never seen before, even on Jim Kirk.
Oh, no. He wasn't falling for this. If he did even once, he'd be a sucker for the second time. And then a third and a fourth. In fact, it would be finished. Over.
McCoy scowled. "You just spent two hours on your back in pain, Jim, and you're yawnin' like it's going out of style. I'm certainly not allowing you any more than the length of time we agreed on," he said, placing his hands on his hips. There wasn't any need to tell Jim they hadn't exactly agreed to anything of the sort.
McCoy turned to leave, making one grave mistake. He forgot that Jim Kirk had a weapon at his fingertips.
The pillow hit the back of his head as he took his third step.
"Brat," McCoy muttered, wiped the grin off his face and spun back around. Seeing Jim's lack of remorse, the petulant expression there instead, McCoy crossed his arms. "I'm not changing my mind."
Please? Jim had already written in enlarged type, holding the PADD up like a nervous kid would hold their hand up in class.
"Jim," McCoy said sternly. "No."
Jim typed. U R NO FUN
McCoy's lips twitched at Jim's use of all capital letters. "No fun? I just might be offended by that. By the way, Jimbo, when you fall asleep, don't come cryin' to me," McCoy said, smirking and picking up the pillow with unprecedented flair, pressing it against his chest possessively.
Holding it captive, it was amusing to see what Jim would do. McCoy wasn't sure what had gotten into him. A crazy thought was that this banter between them was here to stay, and not only a crazy thought, but a comforting one, too. Besides, it wasn't like McCoy was taking all his pillows. The one for Jim's back was right where it should be, supporting his injury from the warp core.
"I'll be back down in five," McCoy said and stepped back instead of returning the pillow to Jim.
Jim's mouth dropped open. He narrowed his eyes at McCoy, a silent indicator that he wanted the thing back.
"Oh, no," McCoy shook his head. "You started it. This is mine now."
Jim typed and spun the device back around for McCoy to read in record time.
"Childish," McCoy read aloud, chuckling at the single, enlarged word on the screen, Jim simultaneously sticking his tongue out at McCoy.
"No, it's the pot callin' the kettle black," McCoy drawled, brows wagging. "See ya around, kid. I think I may like the way this pillow feels more than my own. Shows ya how much my mama loves you, you know, giving you the best."
Jim looked widely at him, maybe even scared or confused that his teasing wasn't real, if he was reading him right. And he probably was. When was the last time that McCoy had really joked around with him like this? Weeks ago? Or had it been months?
McCoy cocked an eye at Jim. "Don't be expecting it back."
As he walked away, feeling more light-hearted than he'd had for days, he could've sworn he heard Jim's incessant whining that he'd stolen one of his pillows right from under his nose. It was a whining he missed, the side of Jim that'd been absent, the carefree joy Jim used to emulate now dormant. But, this was a start.
Leaving Jim alone wasn't easy, but McCoy took the stairs two at a time. Granted, Jim would be face to face with Spock any second. Jim would be been fine except he looked too tired to stay awake much longer. McCoy would keep to his five-minute rule, maybe even fudging a little.
Immersed in his own head, McCoy caught himself just in time before he tore through Jojo's bedroom door. It wouldn't do Jojo any good seeing him unsettled. Holding the pillow at his side, he walked into his daughter's room, not sure what to expect. When Nora and Jojo "played," one could stumble upon a variety of possibilities, A simple game of Go Fish, make-believe princesses fighting dragons and rescuing princes, tea parties involving an entire table of stuffed aliens and dolls-turned-ambassadors.
Or, McCoy thought as his gaze fell on Jojo—sitting on the edge of the bed, quiet, eyes cast down, the trace of tears on her cheeks—a little girl plopped right in the middle of multiple messes that weren't her fault.
He came to stand beside his mother, whose expression was unreadable.
"Is it...Jim? Joce?" he asked carefully.
Nora leaned in closer to him. "As soon as we were done with our tea, she started thinking of James again, and the pain he'd be in," Nora murmured in his ear, Jojo's attention still on the floor. "I can't get her mind off him, but she's more upset over what Joce said about her Uncle Jim. She knows Joce is wrong. It's confusing her."
McCoy's heart clenched, nearly wringing him dry after the morning they'd all had.
This was why he couldn't hurt Jojo more than she was already. This was why he couldn't fight for his own daughter, not if it was a battle fought at her expense, McCoy on the losing side. He didn't want her to see her mother in a negative light. He'd keep the peace, but in doing so, he'd have to take what he could get. It wouldn't be much. He'd be lucky to speak with her once a year.
If Joce had her way, he'd be lucky to be even counted as her father when it was all said and done.
"Jojo, darlin'," McCoy whispered, kneeling in front of her. He placed Jim's pillow on the floor, setting aside one responsibility for another. When her lower lip trembled, he squeezed her knee with great care. She didn't respond, and he took one of her hands in both of his own, finally drawing her gaze up from the floor.
"Is Uncle Jim better yet?" she asked, staring into McCoy's eyes, full of trust just like Jim's.
The irony was not lost on McCoy, who was the very cause of their pain. At times, he believed he should be the last person they should ever trust.
"His ribs are healed, darlin'," McCoy said, careful to distinguish the injuries for her. "He was very brave, Jojo."
"Then Mommy is wrong," she said, sniffling. "You should tell her the truth, shouldn't you, Daddy? So she's not confused? Don't you tell me to tell the truth?"
McCoy exchanged a glance with Nora. Out of the mouth of babes.
McCoy ran a hand over his face, looking everywhere but at the child in front of him. What if he did tell Joce the truth? What then?
"I forgot something from home, my favorite pjs," Jojo went on. "Nana already told Mommy and she's coming over later. Daddy, maybe you can tell her then? So she understands? I don't like it when she's upset with Uncle Jim."
McCoy closed his eyes, frustration rising. Of course they had no choice but... Joce was coming back already? If that was the case, there was no way in hell that he'd let her come within fifty meters of Jim. He'd meet her at the end of the driveway if he had to.
"Jo..." He sighed tiredly and glanced down at her.
"Are you going to yell at me, too? Like Mommy does when I ask too many questions? She...she never used to," she added in a subdued voice.
"No, sweetheart, I'm not," McCoy answered quickly. He ran his hand along her cheek, peering into her eyes. They were filled with a pain he couldn't heal, not even with all of his medical expertise."You're a caring little girl, Jojo," he told her softly. "Who has Uncle Jim and your mother's best interests at heart. No one is going to yell at you for that."
She swallowed, large tears sliding down her cheeks. "I w-w-want to stay with you all the t-time, Daddy. I don't w-wanna g-go h-h-home."
"Darlin', I want nothin' more, but your mother needs you," McCoy said, brushing back a tendril of hair plastered to her face. "She loves you, just like I do. She would miss you something terrible, Jojo. And think...think about the times we do have, like this," McCoy said, heart pounding at the white lie he was spinning.
She teetered wordlessly into his arms, crying softly.
Jojo had responded strongly to Jim's ill health, but this didn't concern him the most. It was her response to her mother's behavior and to McCoy's absence. For this reason, he wanted to hold her forever, comfort her as a father should. He didn't have much time with her, and when he did, like now, his time was divided.
He waited until her cries died down, which wasn't long, and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "Sweety, I need to go back downstairs and check on your Uncle Jim. Then we can spend more time together."
"Okay," she whispered
Jojo nuzzled his neck, something that she used to do when she was younger. It reminded him of when they'd all been a family. Maybe not happy, but together. It would never be like that again.
He pulled her closer. He could only hope for what he had now.
"Then you'll play a game with me?" she asked, voice catching.
"Then I'll play a game with you," McCoy promised, letting her go. He kissed her cheek before standing and nodded to his mother. "Jim needs to sleep, so it won't take long."
"We'll be fine, won't we, sugar?" Nora said, smiling.
"And you'll be back, Daddy?" Jojo asked, squeezing her knees to her chest.
"You bet," he said in a soft voice.
"Like always?" she added sweetly.
Feeling his mama's probing eyes upon him, he could hear what she was thinking, what she wanted to ask him—had Jocelyn agreed to these few days with Jojo because they could be his last with her?
McCoy's ears began to roar. Surely that wasn't what Jocelyn had intended.
"Leonard," Nora said quietly, nudging him.
"Like always, Jojo," McCoy encouraged, and forced a smile, assuring his daughter the only way he knew how.
Noting the time on the chronometer, McCoy strode from the room and made record time coming down the stairs. Jim was already asleep, neck awkwardly hanging to one side. McCoy immediately blamed himself for the sore neck Jim might have later on, because if he hadn't taken Jim's pillow, this wouldn't have happened.
"Jimbo, what am I gonna do with you. That can't be comfortable. Hold on, Spock," McCoy sighed. He removed the device from Jim's lap and set it on the chair beside him. "Here, Jim. That's it..."
McCoy paused, grabbing a pillow from the couch, improvising since he'd left the other upstairs. He gently guided Jim's head back against it. Jim stirred in his sleep, eyes closed, clawing at the blanket escaping from his grasp. McCoy brought the blanket up to his chin. Jim stirred again, this time settling contentedly.
"Just curl yourself around that blanket," McCoy urged him in a soft voice. "I'll get you another one so you can snuggle the way ya like. Just sleep, Jim...no one's gonna say ya need to do otherwise."
He adjusted the blanket, pausing to watch Jim and make sure he was in a deeper sleep than before. Seeing that he was, McCoy grabbed the device and headed for the stairs.
"It looks like I came down just in time," he said, scowling at the screen. "Sorry about that, Spock. I had a feeling he wouldn't last long. It's been quite the morning for him."
"Do not apologize. Our conversation was sufficient," Spock said.
"Sufficient?" McCoy snorted, his frustrations at the surface finally spilling over. "Well, I suppose that's better conversation than I'm getting from him."
Spock lifted a brow. "He is unable to speak. Conversation is limited, doctor."
"You don't think I know that, Spock?" McCoy groused, practically spitting out the words. He really hated when Spock pointed out the obvious. Even if he did need to hear it.
"I did not intend to imply that you didn't. I stated my opinion in an effort to remind you."
"It's just...it's a little more complicated than that," McCoy said, deflated.
"I must concur," Spock stated. "He was not steady as he typed."
"His hands shook?" McCoy asked, feeling the strain of the news.
"Yes, the tremors emerged partway into our conversation."
McCoy sighed and stopped at the foot of the stairs. "I appreciate you telling me. These are things I need to mention in my notes, and they've been occurring all too often. Listen, I'm sure he'll want to talk to you later, since he had to sneak in another little nap. You will, won't you?" McCoy hesitated. He could just imagine the depressed look on Jim's face if he didn't get the chance to speak with Spock again. "Talk to him again? You don't know what this meant to him."
Spock nodded. "I will speak with the captain at his convenience."
"Captain, my ass," McCoy complained.
The man in the other room was an overgrown kid. McCoy went on, needing to complain to someone who had impeccable listening skills. Someone like Spock.
"He snuggles with blankets, and makes my computers go all crazy," McCoy said, unable to stop when Spock didn't offer a counter to fill the space. "Me, too, for that matter, not that I blame him. His health is at stake. Just, make sure you can talk later, alright?" McCoy finished in a huff, Spock's silence unnerving.
"Of course," Spock replied.
"Good," McCoy clipped. "I better go. I need to spend some time with Jojo before Jim wakes up."
"Is your visit with Joanna going as you anticipated?" Spock asked, slight tilt to his head.
McCoy didn't know how to answer that. Spock appeared genuinely interested, but was this a trick question? Did Vulcans even ask those? Logically speaking, Spock could shed some light on this battle with Jocelyn, but McCoy didn't feel right bringing him into the mess. Besides, he'd already decided he had to play fair to protect Jojo.
"These visits are always too short," he managed, skirting the required honest answer entirely.
"Have you received word from headquarters regarding your request to remain in Atlanta with the captain?" Spock asked.
"Not yet," McCoy said, grateful for the change of subject and somewhat amused that Spock had ignored his desire to end the call. "But I think I'll send Admiral Archer a message while Jim is taking a rest."
"A wise decision, doctor," Spock said.
"I'll let you know if there are any changes," McCoy said with finality. Spock nodded before their connection cut.
McCoy's arms dropped, the device loose in his hands. He turned and leaned his back against the wall, allowing his body to sag.
But only for a moment. He simply didn't have time to spare.
oOo
Jim woke from his nap with one thing on his mind. It wasn't that he'd fallen asleep while talking with Spock, as embarrassing as that was, or that the house was deathly silent. Instead, it was that his fingers were attacking his own skin—and he couldn't stop them.
He stared at the marks on his arms, knew they didn't mean anything good, but he couldn't help himself. There was no relief, and he needed relief like he needed air to breathe. There was a constant oppression, an insatiable sensation that began at the top of his skull and traveled clear down to his damn toenails.
His skin was simply crawling. He had to stop it, and if he couldn't, then he had to escape his own skin. Nothing else mattered. Heart racing, he dug his nails deeper into his arms, and finally registered the pain.
Suddenly more confused than ever before, he caught himself.
What was he doing? Unable to catch his breath, Jim clenched his eyes shut, swallowing harshly. He didn't know why he felt like this, but he couldn't irritate his skin or risk some type of infection if he scratched too hard. He knew enough about his own treatment to understand the risks even in the mundane things of life. He couldn't raise his heart rate like this, either. Bones was going to chew him a new one if he kept this up.
Speaking of Bones. Where was he? It was strange that he wasn't here in the same room as Jim but...there must be a reason. Jim breathed deeply through his nostrils, using all the focus that he could to stop his fingers from injuring himself beyond a few scratches.
He wasn't proud of the fact, but the sensation reminded him of a challenging point in his life when he'd been a teenager. Specifically, the morning after he'd tried a hit from a stranger on a dare, on a shuttle bound for the east coast, on his seventeenth birthday to be exact. After experiencing the horrid sweats and paranoia, losing all his money and memory of what happened the night before, he'd never tried drugs of that type again. That, and he'd wanted to keep his wits about him.
He'd learned quickly because of that mistake that he wasn't as smart as he'd thought. He'd been stupid and he couldn't afford to be stupid again. Running from the law and being successful at it was not only luck, but partially a learned art, jail having solidified that opinion of himself.
Pike had done more than dare Jim to join Starfleet. He'd pulled a million strings to convince Starfleet to take Jim despite his record.
Thinking of Pike had the same effect it'd had on him before. Determined that he wouldn't fall victim to the same cycle of emotions he'd become so familiar with, Jim wrenched his fingers from his skin.
Like the signs of his grief, his fingers left marks he wouldn't be able to hide from Bones.
Gritting his teeth, he pulled himself upright and tugged the sleeves of his shirt down all the way so that they covered his wrists. It wasn't like he'd never suffered from grief before or from some bizarre withdrawal. He could do this. He had to.
He sat at the edge of the chair, hand kneading his sweaty forehead, allowing himself a moment to adjust to being upright. Soon he was rubbing his arms all over again. His efforts did nothing to end this strange war accosting his body.
Jim finally resigned himself to the fact that this was something he couldn't get rid of on his own. But he wouldn't allow himself to even think that Bones couldn't fix this.
Jim made his way to the bathroom as quickly as he could. He wanted to use a refresher on his face and find some lotion, among other things, before seeing anyone, even Bones. He knew he looked horrible but more than that, he wanted to regain some of his dignity.
Though somewhat clumsy with his movements, he didn't take long. He didn't stare unnecessarily into the mirror. He took one look, and that was enough to see the dulled color of his eyes, the circles underneath them darker than he remembered. And, he noted sarcastically to himself, he didn't even have to look to know that he remained dependent upon rudimentary at best, medical tubing for his personal needs.
The only good thing about the time in the bathroom was the unexpected break from the sensation driving him crazy. When he applied water to his face, the incessant need to escape his own skin began to subside. Not completely, but it was enough for him to begin thinking more clearly. He leaned over the sink, using more water to wash his arms and then his face a second time. Noticing a clean stack of hand towels on the counter, he grabbed at the pile, taking two by accident. As one of the towels touched his cheek, the time shown on the chronometer caught his eye.
Jim stared in disbelief. He'd slept for six hours again? Was that all he could do anymore? Jim sighed and immediately set the towel down before drying his face. It seemed like he was either sleeping his life away or pushing himself to death in therapy.
Slightly depressed, Jim grew concerned by Bones' absence. Exiting the bathroom, he decided that the doctor must be really busy not to notice that Jim was awake.
Not that Jim minded all that much. He honestly preferred to be by himself as he walked around. It was freeing, having a little independence for once. But, the house was silent, which was even odder with Jojo around.
A vision of a smiling little girl changed his mind about being alone. Jim decided to investigate. Jojo's bedroom was upstairs, the most likely place for the McCoys to spend time together if they were trying to be quiet for Jim's sake.
The stairs didn't seem impossible today, though he was sore and somewhat stiff. But when he reached the staircase, his stomach had other plans for him. It growled. Loudly. Jim sighed and wiped his still wet face with his sleeve. He didn't want experience a trigger that could ultimately hinder his progress, but he knew from today that food had the potential of being one such trigger. However, if he didn't eat, he'd feel even worse. He stood there, weighing the odds, unconsciously crossing his arms and scratching them.
He had a fifty-percent chance of flipping out or panicking again. So what. There were worse things in life. Jim knew that first hand.
Decision made, he stubbornly turned the opposite direction in the hallway and headed for the kitchen. He squared his shoulders just before entering but stopped short. Familiar voices drifted from the back porch and through the kitchen door that was cracked open.
"You'll have to bring James out here, Leonard," Nora said.
Jim held his breath. Nora's backyard? It was a breathtaking view from her porch. There was a garden, a small waterfall. He never mentioned it before to Bones, but he enjoyed Nora's backyard more than any sightseeing adventure in Atlanta. There was something about its simplicity and beauty that made Jim want to come back.
A swing creaked, the old-fashioned swing that Nora refused to oil or change. Jim could imagine Bones and Jojo together on the swing, Bones reading a book to Jojo. Maybe even Jojo falling asleep because of how peaceful it was out there, allowing Nora and Bones to talk, like they were doing now.
Jim relaxed against the wall, imagining he was out there, too. Enjoying life again, no longer closed in by four solid walls—
"So he can breath in all this pollen?" Bones snorted, startling Jim out of his daydreaming. "No."
"He needs a change in scenery," Nora pressed.
"He needs an infection in his lungs?" Bones asked, voice laced with sarcasm.
"Len," Nora sighed.
"Looks like it's going to rain again, anyway," Bones muttered.
"Which won't be a problem, either, with this roof over our heads. You can take precautions, son. He can wear a mask. A little time won't hurt him, Leonard," Nora argued.
Jim's chest filled with anticipation. He liked Nora's idea. In fact, he liked it a lot. He'd love to be out on the porch. Bones couldn't say no to his own mother, could he?
"I'm not sure it's the best idea," Bones replied, tone gruff.
Tears pricked Jim's eyes that Bones had shot down Nora's suggestion so easily, like he didn't care what Jim thought.
Jim instantly felt ashamed and blinked the tears back as fast as he could. Of course Bones cared, but even if it didn't matter to him, it wasn't like this was the end of the world. It was just the back porch. Besides, Bones was probably right. It could be too much of a risk to Jim's health.
But if Bones wasn't right, Jim could sneak down when everyone was asleep. His bedroom was full of medical equipment and supplies. He'd be able to find a mask by himself.
"You can't protect him from everything," she said.
"That's not what I'm trying to do," Bones said, sounding frustrated.
There was a pause. "It isn't?" Nora asked.
Jim strained to hear Bones' reply but loud creaking covered his words, so much that when Bones unexpectedly entered the kitchen, Jim lurched to his feet.
Bones lifted his head at the noise, eyes widening in surprise. "You're up."
Jim's stomach growled. "I'm hungry," he whispered, shocked that his voice had come back at his first attempt to speak.
"Your voice is coming back. That's good." Bones' lips curved upwards. "I wondered if that would the case, given that your numbers were better than expected."
The smile lighting Bones face was golden. Jim couldn't help but think that it was because he'd been asleep for six hours, allowing Bones all that time with Jojo. Time he didn't have to worry about Jim.
"Do you want to finish your food from earlier?" Bones asked.
"I'll get it," Jim decided, resisting the urge to scratch his arms in front of Bones.
"No, I'll do it," Bones shook his head. He pointed to the bar and stools behind Jim. "Sit."
His tone left no room for argument. Jim heaved himself up on a stool at the bar table, watching as Bones pulled out Jim's half eaten pancake and heated it.
When it was ready, Bones set the plate in front of Jim. "Syrup?"
Jim thought for a second, then nodded. Bones pulled it off the shelf and poured just the right amount on his pancake.
"Thanks," Jim said weakly.
"You're welcome," Bones said.
Jim began to eat. Feeling relaxed because Bones was relaxed, he was done in a minute, having not one negative thought about his food or food in general. He sighed contentedly and sipped the glass of water Bones placed near his plate, missing the pleased look on his friend's face. But he did see the frown replacing it when Jim began to rub his arms.
"You're shivering," Bones said.
"I am a little cold," Jim admitted, voice still lacking strength.
"Well, then," Bones slapped his hands on the bar and stood. "I'll go get you another shirt—"
"No," Jim rushed out, his fragile voice cracking more. He wasn't going to take Bones away from Jojo again, not over a little thing like this. "I can get it. Stay here...with...your family. They're the ones that need you."
Bones' eyes filled with hurt.
Guilt pricked at Jim when he realized what he'd said and how he'd said it. He hadn't meant it the way it sounded. He hadn't meant to denounce their friendship. He needed Bones just as much. And, Jim thought ruefully, maybe more.
Maybe some other day Bones wouldn't have taken Jim's words the wrong way. But now, after all he'd done for Jim, going as far as to bring Jim along, no wonder it appeared to have been a slap in the face.
Bones looked absolutely crushed.
"Bones?" Jim winced, berating himself for being so insensitive.
"Yeah," Bones swallowed.
Jim sucked in a hasty breath. "I'm— "
"It's okay, Jim," Bones interrupted quietly.
"No, no it's..." Jim faltered.
"It's okay," Bones repeated.
Jim wasn't sure that was the case at all, but he nodded. Bones' eyes had lost most of their hurt, telling Jim that he really had put Jim's insensitive remark aside, at least for now.
"It's getting late, so maybe I'll just change into something more comfortable," Jim whispered, kicking himself again for being an insensitive jerk and hating himself more when he couldn't just apologize like anyone else would.
But, he wasn't anyone else. Neither was Bones, for that matter. They were who they were. They'd come out of this together just like they'd come out of everything else.
"Those aren't comfortable?" Bones frowned at him. "They're the softest pants you brought with you."
Jim shrugged. "It's late," he croaked.
"You said that already," Bones said.
"They're the softest pants I have?" Jim rasped and scratched the back of his head.
"That fit, anyway." Bones's eyes narrowed. "Is there a specific reason you need something different?"
Jim peered past Bones and onto the porch, watching Nora and Jojo sip their tea.
"Jim?"
"What?" Jim whispered, looking back at Bones.
"Are they bothering you?" Bones asked. "The pants?"
"A little," Jim admitted, rasp deepening. "But...maybe it's just me."
"What do you mean?" Bones asked slowly.
"I feel like I'm...like my skin is crawling." Another shiver rippled through him.
Bones nodded, walking around the bar and closing the gap between them, "I'm not surprised. You're coming down from an intense drug treatment, and your numbers indicated that this session would be a fast turn around."
"Like a withdrawal?" Jim reached over with his free hand to scratch his arm, this time fingers burrowing under the sleeves of his shirt.
"Not exactly, but..." Bones hesitated. "I suppose you could describe it like that."
Jim winced. He was afraid of that.
"I have cream that will help," Bones said quietly, watching him.
"Okay," Jim rasped. He swallowed, starting to get up.
"No. Sit," Bones said, scowling. "It's not like you know where things are at, anyway."
Jim swallowed his pride, since Bones was right. He nodded and eased back onto the stool. Bones walked out of the kitchen just as Jojo charged in from outside, cheeks flushed.
"Daddy?" She called out, looking around the room.
Bones strode back through the the doorway, expression strained. "Jojo? Do ya need somethin', darlin'?"
"Daddy, watcha—oh , hi Uncle Jim! I'm so glad you're awake now!" Jojo said excitedly before turning back to Bones. "Daddy, you're missing our adventure," Jojo went on. "Uncle Jim, too!"
"I'll be right there, Jojo,'" Bones promised. "I need to help Jim, first."
"Okay," Jojo sweetly answered. She started for the backdoor, but quickly spun on her heel and made for Jim. Her arms were wrapped around his waist before Jim had time to think. "I'm so glad you're here, Uncle Jim," she whispered, arms tightening around him. "You and my daddy and me. Just like daddy said. 'Like always.' Forever."
She tore away off after that, silence filling the room when the back door closed behind her. Jim threw a cautious look at Bones. Seeing the torment on his best friend's face, Bones continuing to stare after Jojo, Jim didn't dare speak a word.
Jojo's words had already begun to haunt Jim, too. What if Jocelyn actually did win?
"I'll get the cream," Bones finally said, voice ragged and shoulders sagging.
Unease pooled in Jim's stomach. He hated to see his friend close to breaking, holding everything that he could from those who could help him. Jim hated it even more because Bones did it to protect him.
"Bones, I can..." Jim's whisper broke off involuntarily.
"Dammit, Jim, save your voice. Just leave it alone." Bones said, voice rising to nearly a shout. "I'll be right back with the shirt and cream," he added sharply, without looking back, striding from the room.
Jim stared after him, numb. That was as close to yelling as Bones had ever been. It was like he'd come unhinged, losing his practiced control. But, Bones didn't lose control like that. Especially these days. Bones always tried to keep it together, acting a little distant yet gentler around Jim.
If Bones was yelling at him, indicating that the stress was higher than ever, maybe Jim should just come out with it and tell Bones that he knew about Jocelyn trying to take Jojo.
His heart still racing wildly, Bones returned, expression all business.
"Here," Bones muttered, pulling up Jim's sleeves without warning. "I brought disinfectant for the scratches on your arms."
"I didn't say anything about scratches," Jim mumbled, not looking into his eyes.
"Didn't have to," Bones said, mouth dipping down harshly. "I saw some peeking through."
Jim nodded, allowing Bones access to his arms. Jim's face burned when he saw flecks of blood, Bones giving him a look when he saw them, too.
Had he really scratched that hard?
"Don't even think about apologizing," Bones scowled, still looking at him. "It's not your fault. Okay?"
"Fine," Jim whispered, preparing himself when Bones held the disinfectant over his arm.
Bones paused. "It may sting," Bones said, voice surprisingly more gentler than before.
Still, Jim winced, Bones practically dousing his arms the disinfectant before patting them dry. Next, Bones took out a smaller sized dermal regenerator. Jim barely held back a surprised flinch, feeling sick just looking at it.
"I'd rather use this than wait for them to heal by themselves, so we can apply the cream you need," Bones explained. "Hold still. It won't take long, since these scratches are small."
Jim said nothing, but he didn't watch Bones as he worked. He'd had enough of the regenerators for one day and didn't like the feeling it gave him.
"I'm sorry, Jim," Bones said roughly, a moment later when he was done. He set the regenerator aside and pulled Jim's sleeves down to his wrists.
"For what?" Jim rasped, feeling a slight ache in his throat.
"The scratches. For not having my PADD handy when you woke up. I left it in the house by mistake."
Oh. Jim sighed, nodded once, and pretended not to care too much.
"This is medicated cream I brought along for these side effects. We'll need to reapply before you go to bed." Bones rubbed the cream on Jim's arms, looking up at Jim as he finished. "You can stay here if you'd like to wait for us, or maybe you'd like to meet us in the living room. We'll be right in."
Jim's chest squeezed, disappointed he couldn't go outside. More disappointed that Bones didn't seem to trust him or anyone else when it came to Jim.
Bones hesitated. "Your shirt's on the counter."
"I know," Jim whispered, tight-lipped. He'd already seen it there.
"I'll be—"
"I know," Jim interrupted more forcibly than he'd intended.
Bones sighed, glancing sideways at Jim.
"What?" Jim asked, voice thin.
"I'm sorry about...what I said earlier. I know it didn't make sense," Bones paused, sighing again. "It's just..."
"It's okay," Jim said honestly.
Bones' eyes pained, he shook his head. "It's not. I am sorry, Jim. I just need to be with Jojo a little right now and..."
"I'll be fine," Jim rasped. "Go."
"Ya sure?" Bones asked.
Jim nodded.
Bones' shoulders dropped. "Okay, but I'll be in to check on you in a few minutes."
"Bones..." Jim sighed. How could he get Bones to see it wasn't necessary?
"I care about ya," Bones said gruffly. "Humor me?"
Jim opened his mouth to protest a second time, but quickly snapped it shut, thinking better of it. As much as he hated being mother-henned by his best friend, who had better things to do, mainly spending time with Jojo, it made him warm inside that Bones cared so much. And that warmth was a respite from everything else he was dealing with.
"Okay," he agreed.
"Good," Bones nodded. "Now put that shirt on before you catch a cold."
Rolling his eyes, Jim pulled his shirt off the counter, as he was told. Bones slipped through the kitchen door and onto the porch, the scent of Nora's garden wafting Jim's way.
It smelled fresh, inviting. He'd give anything to go out there right now, but it would just be one more thing to sidetrack Bones from Jojo. He couldn't tear Bones away from her more than what he was already doing.
As Jim pulled the shirt over his head, the front door chimed. Jim frowned, glancing through the door to see if Bones had heard.
Bones sat on the porch steps, back to Jim. Jojo hung on her father, her arms clinging around his neck, stray hairs from her ponytail tossed by the wind. Nora stood apart, clipping a bush. None of them looked concerned about the visitor at the front door.
Jim cracked the back door just enough to slip his shoulder and head through. "Bones, there's someone..." Jim's voice trailed off, caught up in the picture the McCoys made.
Bones turned his head, watching his daughter. A carefree look filled Bones' eyes. Jim couldn't even remember when he'd last seen Bones look like that, if ever. Bones chuckled at something Jojo said. He leaned forward, eyes twinkling, and pulled Jojo onto his lap with all the gusto of a loving father.
Jim could tell from here what Bones was planning. Sure enough, Jojo didn't see what was coming. She exploded into a fit of giggles as her father tickled her mercilessly. Nora stood in her garden, face beaming, looking like an angel watching over them both.
Jim smiled, wishing he had a camera to capture the moment for Bones. He decided his comm would do and turned just as the front door chimed a second time. Jim sighed, tapping his hand against the door.
He hated to break up the McCoys' moment. And maybe he didn't have to. He felt more like himself, more than able to answer a damn door. Maybe he should just go ahead and take care of things for Nora and Bones. He may not be able to do much, but he could handle this.
He closed the door as quietly as he could, relieved when none of them realized he'd even been in the doorway. Making his way to the front of the house, Jim realized belatedly that he wasn't wearing shoes. He didn't have time to get them if he wanted to answer the door before the visitor left, so he resigned himself to looking like a man who didn't have it all together.
He reached the entryway, hand on the door. As soon as it opened, Jim wished, at the very least, that he'd given the view screen a look to see who was standing on the welcome mat.
Jim came face-to-face with a dark haired, broad shouldered man no less than six foot three and built like Jim's head of security. His face handsome, he dressed with class, but the suit was a little much for a visit on the front porch. The man's good looks disappeared when his mouth drew up into a lazy sneer, eyes passing over Jim indifferently.
The raw truth of his ill health hit Jim like never before. Instinct told Jim this visitor was a real piece of work. Instinct told Jim to act like he was confident as hell before the man even opened his mouth. If he ever had to bluff, it was now.
"Leonard's busy, I take it?" The man drew himself up, adding another inch to his height, eyes narrowing down at Jim.
"It depends on who's asking," Jim replied in a hoarse voice, sounding bored. He made a point to yawn and cover his mouth, looking casually past the man to his hovercar.
Which looked suspiciously like the same one Jocelyn owned.
A cold feeling washed over Jim. This had to be the boyfriend. The boyfriend Bones knew nothing about.
The man chuckled darkly. "Treadway. Clay. I have something for Joanna. Eleanora spoke with Jocelyn about it earlier."
Jim arched a brow, glancing down at the man's large and strong but strangely manicured hands. Treadway held a cloth tote bag, making no effort to give it to Jim.
"Well, Treadway. Clay. Leonard is very busy," Jim stressed quietly, shrugging. "He's spending time with his daughter. I'd hate to interrupt their time together, as short as it is already. Wouldn't you?" Jim added, inwardly flinching when his voice cracked and faded.
Treadway smugly looked down at him. "You're clearly not as strong as you once were and forget yourself. Why don't just step aside like any other weaker man would and let me in."
Weaker man? Dammit, why couldn't Jim's voice have returned a little sooner? His body begin to cooperate with him a little faster? "Leonard isn't available," Jim whispered heatedly.
"I'd like to speak with him," Treadway answered, tone cool.
"Sorry, but he can't come to the door. I'll take that to Jojo," Jim asserted, words scratching at the air like a thin branch dragging along the road.
"I'd much rather to give it to her myself," Treadway said, stepping forward and towering over Jim.
Over Jim's dead body. This man would spoil absolutely everything Bones was enjoying about today. And Jojo, how did Jojo even deal with someone like this dating her mother? No wonder she didn't mention his name or the part he played in her mother's life. This man oozed manipulation and control.
"No," Jim gritted. "I'll take it."
"I'd like to see Joanna, so I can let Joce know she's okay." Treadway's smile came forced, showing off perfect white teeth. Too perfect.
"Of course she's okay," Jim replied, voice cracking again but somehow managing a smooth smile. His anger stirred that Treadway would use Jojo to get around him. "She's with her father and grandmother, two people who love her."
"This is a massive waste of time. You know I could go right past you," Treadway laughed, edging even closer to Jim.
"Now? Yeah, that's pretty obvious, isn't it, Sherlock," Jim deadpanned. "Sure you could easily push me aside, though it would be rather rude. And cowardly, with me being sick and all." Jim leaned back against the door and crossed his arms. "But maybe that doesn't bother you, being a coward. It's the easy way out. Why don't you come back in two months and try," he challenged as much as he could in his rasping voice.
The man's eyes flickered with anger. "Oh, that won't be necessary. Joanna won't be visiting this home in two months, let alone ever again."
Jim didn't bat an eye. "Something tells me you may be wrong about that," Jim said quietly, tilting his head and rubbing his chin in faked thought. "Huh, I'm surprised that Jocelyn would date someone who doesn't mind being both stupid and a coward. That's not like her."
Treadway's face turned to stone as he stared at Jim, Jim getting the impression that he could very likely and very soon launch a punch.
Jim stared back, unafraid, not moving a muscle. Maybe he was being stupid, himself, for baiting this man. Then again, Jim never really thought about the consequences in the heat of the moment because he usually was right. Not only that, but how else were Jocelyn and her boyfriend going to know that at least one person was going to be fighting against them for Jojo? If it meant that he'd get a black eye for it, so be it.
"Jocelyn was right about you," Treadway finally said, lips curling into another snarl. "You have a smart mouth."
Treadway clenched his hand into a tight fist. Jim braced himself just as another craft pulled up beside Treadway's hovercar.
Treadway looked behind him, cursing under his breath when he saw the craft. He dropped the bag at Jim's feet like it was on fire.
Eyes piercing Jim to his spot, Treadway leaned forward. The man's hot breath brushed Jim's ear, and Jim froze. "I'd be watching your back if I were you. You may be Leonard's patient, but he can't always be around to protect you. We will find out what he did, Captain."
Treadway spun around and strode down the front porch steps before Jim could even comprehend that he'd just been threatened. He blinked, heart skipping several beats as he saw a familiar figure get out of the second craft and send Treadway a heated glare in passing.
Jim stared straight at the newest visitor until he came to the top of the steps. "You have no idea how glad I am to see you." Jim's rasp was thinner than ever. "You have incredible timing, Spock. I really didn't want a black eye today."
Jim couldn't believe Spock was here. He rubbed his eyes, making sure he wasn't seeing things. His first must have done anything he could to get away.
"I sense your gratitude, Captain." Spock nodded, but turned to stand shoulder-to-shoulder beside Jim so that he, too, could observe Treadway. "Have I correctly assessed that the man who both moved in too close to you and spoke in your ear threatened you?"
"You have, Spock," Jim said, feeling faint. He forced himself to remain upright until Treadway craft turned out of the driveway.
"Who is he, Jim?"
"Ass. Hole." Jim muttered, slumping against the door. He ran a shaking hand over his sweaty brow. "That's who."
"I find that to be a rather curious yet generous name for him, Captain," Spock said swiftly.
"It is, isn't it?" Jim groaned, letting his head hang. "Otherwise known as Jocelyn's fucking boyfriend, Clay Tread—"
The door behind Jim and supporting his weight began to open. He jerked up, losing his balance. Spock grabbing his arm, steadying him first, then letting go.
Bones found Jim, eyes wide and frantic. "Good God, man, I've been looking all over for you," Bones cried out, grabbing him by the shoulders, looking him over. "Are you alright? Are you hurt? Why the hell are you even out here?"
"Bones, I'm fine," Jim assured him, though his thin voice said otherwise. "I didn't want to disturb you, so I answered the door."
"You answered the...what were you thinkin'? Never mind, let's just get you inside." Bones halted, mouth dropping open as his gaze finally fell on Spock. He dropped his hands to his sides. "Spock. What...how did...you didn't mention coming to Atlanta."
Bones' eyes narrowed, Jim unsurprised by the accusation in his friend's voice.
"He came to see me," Jim said swiftly, answering for Spock. He didn't want Bones to assume that Spock came to Atlanta for anyone else but Jim.
"Then I'm glad you're here, Spock. Who was at the door?" Bones said, frowning down at the bag at Jim's feet. He leaned down and pulled out Jojo's pajamas, which were visible from above. He held his daughter's clothing in his hands, looking confused. "Joce?"
"No, it wasn't Joce," Jim whispered slowly.
"Who else would've dropped this off for Jojo, Jim?" Bones asked with a roll of his eyes.
Jim exchanged a glance with Spock, hating that he'd be the one to tell Bones. Spock's mouth thinned and he stepped closer to them both.
"Jim?" Bones said, hesitating.
"Treadway," Jim said quietly.
Bones stared at him, expression wary. "Who?"
Jim hated to say it, because he was almost never wrong about Bones' reactions to things. And this was going to be even more difficult because of one other, very important reason.
Jim was almost never wrong about first impressions, either.
"Jim?" Bones asked again, voice drawn, a tight whisper.
"Treadway," Jim repeated. "Clay Treadway."
Jim took a shallow breath of the thickening air between them, watching Bones carefully.
"Jocelyn's new boyfriend."
And then, the blade fell.
Author's Note: I deviated from existing canon for Clay Treadway, including his profession. So expect new things in regards to him, with just about everything. Also, if anyone was curious, I do not intend to insinuate that McCoy just tolerates Spock. I am merely using the fact that they are friends who bicker (as in TOS and AOS), and that's how they relate. So, McCoy naturally acts grumpier around Spock. Jim knows this, of course, and that's why he sort of questions McCoy about it. You will see that this story "is" going to have a good, triumvirate friendship flavoring it by the end. :)