Fic: Common Grounds, Part Three, Kirk/McCoy, NC-17

[caitri]

Part One is here
Part Two is here

THREE

Leonard drives up to Pinole the next weekend. Jim’s neighborhood is full of houses that are old but well cared for; he himself lives in a duplex, the other half of which is shared by his friends Nyota and Spock. They are coming over for dinner that night as well, he has been told. Leonard has procured two bottles of wine as his contribution to the meal. He parks by Jim’s jeep, getting out of the car just as Jim steps out the door to greet him.

“Hey, Bones!” Jim waves in greeting, beaming that familiar cheerful smile that Leonard has come to look forward to so much. He feels his lips quirk up in response; it’s hard not to be cheered just being in the younger man’s presence. “Wow, you dressed up! Are you nervous or something?”

Leonard looks down at his clothes: dark slacks, and a dark blue (yes, blue) button-down shirt. “No,” he says immediately, lying like a dog. “No, I’m not.”

“You are!” Jim’s grin is wider now, surprised and pleased. “Nice shirt,” he adds impishly. “Man, you are so nervous.”

“No!” Leonard repeats, even as he takes in Jim’s casual clothing: a faded Weezer t-shirt and jeans. “I just wanted to make a good impression on your friends is all. It’s what people do, Jim.” But he knows he’s been found out, that Jim knows that he cares what his friends think of him, and he feels raw and embarrassed.

“Uh huh. I like it, Bones, it’s cute.” Jim kisses him briefly in greeting, momentarily surprising Leonard, and then pulls him to the garage. “Now it’s time for you to meet my baby,” He unlocks the garage and pulls the door up. There’s a rickety sound of metal sliding on metal, and then the press is revealed.



It’s smaller than he’d imagined it would be, somehow. The actual press is just around shoulder height, and frankly, it looks a bit like a sewing machine from Hell to Leonard. There’s a large wheel on one side of it, a foot pedal at the bottom, and a wooden tray that reminds him of old school desks to the side. “GOLDING” is painted in bright yellow paint on what Jim says is the platen of the device.

He shows Leonard where the ink goes, and where the paper is fed into it. Nyota makes the paper that Jim uses, it turns out. Jim holds it up to the light so that Leonard can see the lines running through it from where the paper mixture was laid on metal screens. Jim demonstrates working the machine, which dates from the nineteenth century, and describes how it’s different from the machines used by his colleagues. His expression is so open and enthusiastic about it all that Leonard can feel himself smiling in delight, just watching him go on about it all.

Opposite the press is a wheeled contraption with several dozen slots filled with metal trays. Jim pulls one out to show him; metal type pieces are held in place by a metal frame, underneath which is a carved block of wood with several elaborate flowers decorating it. “I printed Nyota’s wedding invitations,” Jim explains. “I set the type and our friend Pavel carved the engraving.”

The rest of the garage is taken up with several shelves of equipment and objects (like several jars that read “VARNISH” with handwritten labels), and something that looks a lot like a cabinet with tiny drawers. “Those are the job cases,” Jim says, following his gaze. He slides one of them out, revealing an arrangement of over two dozen little compartments, each filled with shiny metal slugs. He pulls one of them out and hands it to Leonard, who examines it curiously.

The object is about an inch long, notched on one side. The end of one side is blunt, but the other has a character in it that Leonard recognizes as a lower-case ‘a.’ “It’s backwards,” he says.

“Yeah,” Jim says. He pulls another piece out from another drawer; this time a capital letter. “Upper case, lower case,” he says, pointing. “Ever wonder where we got that from? That’s where. There’s a pretty similar structure for these things from the sixteenth century all the way to the nineteenth.”

“They’re so tiny,” Leonard says in genuine surprise. He hands them back to Jim, who sorts them back into their appropriate compartments. “You’d think you’d go blind working with this stuff!”

“One of my friends swears she almost did,” Jim says. "It’s 12 Centaur,” he adds significantly, waggling his eyebrows. “This is about the size of what they use in most word-processing programs.” He stands back to admire the press again, then looks at Leonard with a curious expression, biting his lower lip. “So. What do you think?”

“I think,” Leonard says slowly, “that you haven’t told me if you’ve named your press?”

“My imprint is Enterprise Press,” Jim says, but his cheeks are flushed slightly.

“Uh huh,” Leonard says. “The press totally has a name, too. You’re the kind of guy who names things, even things that already have names.” He steps closer to Jim, bending his head down slightly in question.

Jim doesn’t move, he just tilts his head back in answer. “Guess,” he says.

“Enterprise,” says Leonard.

Jim just smiles that bright, Jim Kirk smile, and tilts his head up. They are close, faces barely touching. Leonard pauses, swallowing nervously, but Jim doesn’t move. He just waits patiently, eyes half-lidded; somehow this surprises Leonard, who is suddenly very aware that he’s close enough that it feels like he can feel their breathing and their pulses, and then finally (Finally!) he leans in, brushing his lips against Jim’s. Jim exhales softly in his mouth, reaching an arm around Leonard to pull the man closer to him.

It’s gentle and sweet. In the history of all kisses Leonard has or will experience it is remarkable for its simplicity, its warmth, its sense of discovery.

It goes on for a while.

The two break apart when there’s a low whistle that has been going on for a while. When they stop, blinking at the figure haloed by the light outside, they are greeted with applause. Leonard squints, and the vision coalesces into one of the most beautiful women Leonard has ever seen. She is very pregnant, and grinning like a fool. When they look at her, she covers her mouth and nose with her hands in glee.

“Oh my God,” she says. “You guys are adorable together.”

“Oh boy,” Jim says, rubbing his face in embarassment. “Um. Bones, this is my best friend Nyota, and that’s her boyfriend, Spock.” Leonard belatedly notices the quiet, still man just behind Nyota, observing them with a quirked eyebrow. He holds two large bags of groceries in his arms. “Guys, this is Leonard McCoy.”

“Oh my God, I’m so happy to meet you!” Leonard is enwrapped in a warm, sweetly scented hug. Nyota beams up at him. “We’ve heard so much about you! I thought Jim was never going to bring you over.”

“Um, yeah, because you’re embarassing. Geez,” Jim says. “God, Spock, I’m surprised you didn’t do a slow clap or something.”

“What would be the purpose of such a thing, Jim?” Spock asks without blinking.

“Don’t listen to him, he already did it,” Nyota says impishly. “You were just too busy to notice.”

“I’d totally notice something like that. Totally,” says Jim. He looks to Leonard hopefully. “I mean, you’d notice that, right? Right?”

Leonard shrugs helplessly. “So,” he says. “Um. I brought wine. For tonight.” All three of them look at him. “It’s…in the car. Excuse me.”

He beats a hasty retreat while Jim locks his garage up again. “Stupid, stupid, stupid,” he mutters to himself. Acting like he’s fifteen or something, they probably think he’s an idiot…

He gets the wine out of the car, then hesitantly enters the house where the other three have gone inside Nyota and Spock’s home. Their voices carry from the kitchen and he follows the sound there. Jim has been pressed into work sorting out vegetables as Spock washes them, and Nyota puts the other things away. She smiles brightly at him when he returns.

“I wasn’t sure what we were having, so I got two bottles,” Leonard explains. “Red and white.”

“How thoughtful of you! That’s perfect,” Nyota says, pecking him on the cheek. “We’re having our specialty tonight: eggplant parmigiana. Chris and the boys will be over in about half an hour,” she adds for Jim’s benefit.

“The boys?” Leonard says blankly.

“Hikaru and Pavel,” Spock says. “They work with Chris. Scotty hasn’t let us know if he’s planning on coming yet—he usually doesn’t make up his mind until everyone has been served already. It is most vexing,” he adds.

“Right,” Leonard says slowly. Jim hadn’t been kidding about the ‘family’ part—Leonard can’t remember eating with this number of people when a major holiday wasn’t involved.

“Okay, Leonard, I’m conscripting you, too,” Nyota says. “You get grating duty.” She hands him a grater and a block of cheese. “And an apron,” she adds, pulling the garment off of a peg and handing it to him. It was once a fire-engine red but has since faded and says “I Heart Cooking” on the chest.

“How come he gets an apron?” Jim asks. He is now chopping the eggplant.

“Because he dressed up and brought something,” Nyota says. “Fink!”

“Aww, Nyota,” Jim says with a mock-pout. “I brought dessert. It’s in the freezer. Yes,” he says at her dawning look of delight, “I found them for you. But you have to wait.” Nyota makes a face at him. “Okay,” he relents, “but only one, okay?”

“You’re the best, Jim!” And Nyota has already disappeared into their garage. There’s the tell-tale sound of a freezer opening and shutting.

Spock looks at Jim with something approaching admiration. “Her cravings have been most difficult to satisfy,” he says. “How did you discover a sufficient quantity?”

“It’s called going to four Trader Joe’s this morning,” Jim answers. He grins at Leonard, who is bewildered by this rapid by-play. “Nyota’s favorite things right now are mango mochis,” he explains. “When she’s moody hormone girl we ply her with them and then she’s back to her usual cheerful self.”

“Ah,” Leonard says. “Gotcha.”

Nyota returns to the room, beaming. “You’re the best, Jim,” she says, kissing his cheek. “I love you, honey,” she says to Spock, kissing his mouth. “I don’t know you but I suspect you’re wonderful,” she says to Leonard. She kisses his cheek as well, surprising him. She catches his astonished eye and smiles, and suddenly he understands that that is her way of saying welcome.

“You may well have overexerted yourself, beloved,” Spock says in amusement. “Perhaps you should sit on the couch while we continue dinner preparations?”

“That sounds nice,” Nyota says, and allows Spock to draw her away to another part of the house.

“I will return momentarily,” he says, and they disappear.

Jim bites his lip in thought. “She’s tired a lot,” he says. “Is that normal for pregnant women, Bones?”

“All women are different, Jim,” he answers. “But yeah, it’s not unusual for women in that stage of pregnancy.” He looks at the pile of cheese he’s grated into a bowl thus far. “Do you have any idea how much cheese they want?”

“Assuming they’re feeding eight people, seven of them guys?” Jim says. “Keep goin’, Bones.”

They work companionably for a while. Jim is methodical in his chopping, his movements quick and assured. He looks up at Leonard watching him and smiles. “I’ve worked in my fair share of restaurants, too, amongst other things,” he says. “I can also fix car engines and repair motorcycles.”

“Quite the resume,” Leonard says. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

“Hmm.” Jim pretends to think. “No, I’m perfect at everything. Well, except for dog-walking. That one time with the poodle turned out really bad…”

“I don’t want to know, do I?”

“Nope, almost definitely not!” Jim agrees. He finishes the eggplants with a flourish.

There’s commotion at the front door then, and a moment later they are joined by two young men. One of them brings two baguettes and is playfully swatting at the other with them.

“Stop zat, Hikaru!” The offended party says in a thick Russian accent. He is holding a dish to his chest protectively. “You are not in fencing class right now.” He turns to Jim. “I brought pashka,” he says. “Guard it with your life.”

“Da, comrade,” Jim says, taking the dish and putting it in the refrigerator safely.

“Hi, I’m Hikaru Sulu.” The first man smiles at Leonard, shaking his hand in greeting. “I work with Chris. Pavel’s a student at the Art Institute.”

“I am senior,” Pavel says. The kid—seriously looks like a kid. “Pavel, Pavel Andreiovich Chekov,” he says, shaking Leonard’s hand.

“Pleased to meet you,” Leonard says.

“He’s a mad boy genius,” Hikaru quips. He holds one of the baguettes up protectively as Pavel makes a face at him. “I warn you, wunderkind, I know how to use this!”

“Yeah, Hikaru’s brutal,” Jim chimes in. “The last fight he was in ended in a butterbath.” He turns to Hikaru. “Wunderkind? Really?”

“I am wery adwanced for my age,” Pavel tells Leonard confidingly.

“I’m sure,” he says.

There’s a perfunctory knock on the front door. “Hey, kids!” comes an older man’s voice.

“Hey, Chris!” Most of the room’s inhabitants chorus together.

An older man enters; Leonard estimates him to be in his early fifties, but his his hair is still dark, threaded with silver at the temples. He sees Leonard, and shakes his hand in greeting. “Chris Pike,” he says. “Pleased to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too,” Leonard says. Pike’s grasp is firm; his eyes appraising. Leonard has the feeling of being weighed and measured, a feeling he hasn’t experienced since he went to the Darnells’ place the night of the senior prom and had to make small talk with Jocelyn’s parents while she finished getting ready.

It’s not a comfortable feeling. He smiles awkwardly at the older man and drops his eyes.

Pike’s expression then is unreadable, but when he turns to Jim he smiles. “Good to see you, son,” he says. “How have you been?”

Jim grins. “Great!” he says. He turns to Leonard, beaming broadly, and Leonard smiles back. He can’t help it, he realizes then; looking at Jim automatically evokes a feeling of warmth now. Leonard relaxes, turning to smile back at Pike.

“Alright, guys, time for dinner,” Nyota says, and she issues orders as to where people sit at the table as Spock and the “boys” Pavel and Hikaru bring out plates of food. “We’ll save a spot for Scotty,” she adds.

Dinner is delightful, conversation flowing among them all easily. Leonard gets slightly lost in the book and printing talk, but then Spock, Nyota, or Jim will carefully bring him back into the fold with a comment on more general topics. They are finishing the main course when Pike turns to Leonard, looking at him with that cool, steeley-eyed gaze.

“So how did you two meet, exactly?” Pike asks Leonard.

“It’s a funny story,” Jim answers. He attempts a Humphrey Bogart-esque cadence. "In all the coffeeshops in all the world, he hadta walk into mine. He said he wore blue, but he wore grey. I knew it'd be the start of a beautiful friendship."

There’s genuine laughter around the table.

“That’s awesome,” says Hikaru. “Cheesy as all hell the way you’re telling it, man, but awesome.”

“Well Jim was telling us all about you before you guys even met online,” Nyota says.

“Oh, no,” Jim says. He’s blushing—really blushing, Leonard is surprised to see. “Spock, tell her to stop.”

“I would attempt to do so but for the fact that embarassing you pleases her,” Spock says, “and that which pleases her, pleases me.”

“You’re SOL, son,” says Pike.

Nyota smiles at Leonard. “No, seriously. He went on about you for months. He kept coming up with all these wild plans to get your attention.”

Leonard is both bewildered and amused. “I missed this,” he said. “What did he do?”

“Oh,God.” Jim covers his face with his hands. “Hikaru, kill me now? Please?” The other man just pats Jim on the back comfortingly.

“Oh, let’s see,” Nyota says thoughtfully. “There was the writing of his phone number on the safety liners of your cups.”

“He made mix lists to go on the shop sound system,” contributes Spock.

“I recall a particularly elaborate plan around Valentine’s Day,” Pike says thoughtfully. “I think it involved cupcakes and candy hearts.”

“That?” Jim says hurriedly, “That didn’t happen. Um.” He turns to Leonard, who is starting to chuckle with everyone else. “It’s uh, a funny story. Really.” He turns back to Nyota and to Pike, who share similar expressions of amusement.“Guys? Can you not make me sound like a stalker in front of my boyfriend? Please?”

“Sorry, kiddo, you’re on your own here,” Pike says. He folds his arms over his chest and shrugs, helplessly.

Jim turns back to Leonard, flushed with embarassment. “I don’t suppose you’ve magically had some kind of short term memory loss thing so that you heard absolutely none of that? Any chance what so ever?” he asks hopefully.

Leonard has been listening to this enumeration. He is flushed, amused, and more than slightly appalled with himself. Before met Jim he honestly couldn’t remember the last time someone did anything just for him alone, and the concept of him overlooking the handsome and endearing Jim for (seemingly) months embarrasses and appalls him. And that’s when Jim’s words really sink in.

Boyfriend.

He freezes inside, but quickly swallows the nervousness back down. Rather than dwelling on it, he pretends to glare at Jim. “Unless you’ve developed spontaneous anterograde amnesia I wouldn't count on it,” he answers. He gives Jim a wink, and Jim smiles back winningly.

That’s when Scotty arrives.

“Don’t tell me the party started without me!” The man who enters is loud and bears a box that clanks musically with the sound of several bottles.

“Scotty!” Jim, Pavel, and Hikaru greet the newcomer at once.

“Dinner was served well over an hour ago, Mr. Scott,” Spock says. “I believe that Nyota indicated that guests were to arrive at approximately six pm. It is now well after eight.”

“Aye, well,” says Scotty, unpacking his box on the dining room table, “I got a wee bit distracted.” He takes out several bottles of beer and passes them around. “I brought cake, though,” he adds, bringing out a large pan redolent with the scent of apples and brandy. He turns expectantly to their hosts. “Now then, I dinna suppose there’s anythin’ left for a poor starvin’ man, is there?”

“Not to worry,” Nyota says sweetly, “I’m sure I can put together a sandwich for you.”

“A sandwich!” Scotty is incensed. “An’ I brought me own home-brews and the pudding!”

Nyota laughs, retrieving a full plate from the kitchen. “Just kidding, Scotty. I wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Well, then,” Scotty says, mollified. “I knew ye were a good woman an’ all.” He pops open the cap to one of his beers. “To Nyota Uhura, as kind-hearted as she is beautiful.” He salutes her smartly and then drinks.

“To Nyota,” everyone echoes cheerfully.

“To Leonard McCoy!” Nyota grins as she holds up her own glass, which is filled with juice. “We finally get to see what the fuss Jim has been making is all about.”

Leonard flushes as those around him echo Nyota. “To Leonard!”

“To friends and fellowship!” Leonard offers next, and there’s laughter and agreement, and still more cheers after that.

~

Scotty’s beer is good; his apple-brandy pudding is even better. Jim is relieved at how well everything seems to be going.

After the dinner is eaten, Pavel and Hikaru wash the dishes while Scotty and Chris take drying duty. Bones and Jim sit in the living room chatting with Spock and Uhura, the latter of whom sit, on the couch, Nyota with her feet in her fiance’s lap.

“So where do you live, Leonard?” Nyota asks.

“I’m in an apartment around North Beach.” he answers. “Not much more than an efficiency, really.”

“That’s a great area though!” she says approvingly. “One bedroom or two?”

“Just the one,” Bones says.

Jim grins at him, and winks. He knows what Nyota is up to. While he knows she and Spock love having him as a neighbor, he also knows that she’s been dying to marry him off for—oh, the past three years or so.

“The kitchen is clean!” Hikaru announces.

“You need to look at our new printings,” Pavel adds. “Ve haf made excellent engravings! You must see!”

The four get up to join them at the table again, which is freshly cleaned off. Pavel and Hikaru are unwrapping several blocks of wood, and Chris is opening up his portfolio case.

Jim takes Bones by the arm. “Don’t worry,” he whispers to Bones, “the interrogation means she really likes you.”

"Uh huh,” Bones says in a tone that totally says he knows what’s up as well as he does. “She's gonna go pick out curtains for us isn't she?"

"Totally. Probably silverware too," agreed Jim. "It's a married couple thing. Once they've done it they think the rest of us should too. The worst part is that their wedding is still two months away!"

They sit down at the table, and Nyota is already admiring the prints from the engravings Hikaru and Pavel made. Scotty is regaling them with his latest adventures in making ink varnish. Chris sets out a few pamphlets, then looks around the table, brow furrowed. “We need more drinks,” he says. He looks at Bones, quirking an eyebrow. “Care to help me serve?” he asks.

“Sure,” says Bones, and he follows the older man into the kitchen.

They all chat pleasantly for a few minutes, and then Chris and Bones are back with the drinks, handing them around the table. Bones looks—Jim can’t identify the expression readily, but it reminds him of the days from months ago, when he was closed off against the world.

“You okay, baby?” Jim whispers when Bones is sitting next to him again.

“Mmhmm.” Bones makes an assenting noise, and then Pavel is pointing out the pieces he plans to use for his senior portfolio in the fall.

Jim can’t concentrate on the conversation after that. He wants to, it’s interesting, and all his favorite people in the world are together in one room, but the person he’s attuned to, who is sitting right next to him, is—off, somehow.

What the hell happened? he wonders. He keeps glancing over at the other man, who is listening to Scotty retelling the story about how he lost his eyebrows during a ‘combustion event’ when boiling a batch of varnish. Being a true book arts afficinado, only Scotty could have that much glee when losing hair to ink-making.

Several hours later the party winds down at last. “Thanks, everybody!” Nyota says in farewell as they all head outside, dispersing to their various vehicles.

Bones is heading to his car, head down, and Jim takes his hand. “Bones?” he asks, confused. “Wait, you’re leaving?” He can hear the disbelief, threaded with petulance, in his own voice.

“Yeah,” Bones says. “I’m tired, and—“ He breaks off. “I just—I need to go home. Okay?”

“Okay,” Jim says. He swallows, trying to keep the disappointment and hurt at bay. “Look, it’s late. Could you call me when you get home, so I know you’re okay, at least?”

“Yeah, I’ll do that.” And then Bones is in his car, and Jim is left standing in front of his dark house, alone in the night.

~

Leonard calls Jim when he gets home as promised, then collapses in his bed. He feels bone-tired, and grimaces, thinking of his ridiculous nickname. He also feels old, and more than slightly pathetic.

”So I hate to be all cliché and all,” Pike says when they are in the kitchen, "but what are your intentions towards my son?”

“Sir?” Leonard is so surprised he almost spills the juice he’s pouring for Nyota.

“Look, you seem to be a nice guy,” Pike says frankly. “Seem,” he repeats, presumably for Leonard’s own benefit. “But Jim has been hurt a lot in his life, and I’ll be damned if I’m going to watch someone take advantage of him. I hope you’re as good a man as Jim thinks you are, I really do, but I just want you to know something. I picked him up off a bar room floor when he was just a kid, bleeding like you wouldn’t believe. His parents kicked him out when he was seventeen and he hasn’t been home since. The people in this house? Are his family. We love him dearly, and you should know that.”

“I get that,” Leonard says. “But in case you haven’t realized, Jim Kirk’s a grown man now! He can make his own decisions.”

“Yes, he is,” Pike concedes. “And you’re a decade older than him. You’ve been married, you’re a parent. That’s a whole lot of life experience to bridge between the two of you. And you’re both adults, and I respect that. This is just me, letting you know, that if you hurt him? Ever? I have a graphic imagination and several people in the next room who won’t ask questions where Jim’s concerned. Got me?”

“Got it,” Leonard says.

“Good.” Pike beams, and then they carry the drinks back into the other room.

“Who am I kidding?” Leonard asks himself. He grimaces. “Oh God. I’ve become one of those people who talks to themselves. Great.”

He pulls a pillow over his head then. Familiar feelings of self-loathing overtake him. He’s a murderer, a failed husband, an absent parent (not willingly, but still), and also, apparently, a cradle-robber.

Jesus Christ on a stick.

Leonard doesn’t sleep well that night. Quite the opposite, really. He drags out of bed mid-morning on Sunday, rubbing his face tiredly. He doesn’t bother to dress, wandering into the kitchen in his sweat pants and retrieving the last beer from the fridge. He pops the top off and drinks, grimacing slightly. Hops, breakfast of champions, he thinks.

He opens his laptop to check his email, and is almost immediately messaged by Jim.

ATallShip : Bones! Where have you been? I’ve been trying to call you!
WholeDayThrough : Phone’s turned off. Sorry.

Leonard stares at the words on the screen, overcome by an intense wave of self-loathing. God, he sounds like such an asshole, even to himself.

WholeDayThrough : Sorry. Just.
ATallShip : Bones, what’s the matter? I’ll come over, just let me know what’s going on, baby.
WholeDayThrough: I think this is a bad idea. I can’t be good for you. I’m sorry, Jim.
ATallShip is typing…
WholeDayThrough has logged off.

Leonard slams the laptop shut and swallows the rest of his beer. He wonders if Jim will really come over. A selfish part of him hopes so, only desperately wants to see the young man again, but another part of him admits that this has to be the right thing to do. He can’t be good for the younger man—God knows he hasn’t been good for anyone else he’s ever met.

~

The party at this number is not available. Leave your message at the tone. Beep! “Bones, look, it’s me again. Look, whatever this is about, we’ll work through it okay? Trust me. Call me? Bye.”

Jim snaps his phone shut, and lets lose a deep, angry growl of frustration. Three heavy knocks to the wall by his head, and he sighs: It’s Nyota’s code for him to come over (or as she refers to it, the Jim-Kirk-get-your-ass-off-the-couch-signal), used ever since they moved into the duplex they share four years before. “I’m coming,” he mumbles, and goes next door.

“I did not know that you were experimenting with primal scream therapy,” Spock says mildly as Jim enters. He quirks an eyebrow at Jim’s look. “It does not appear to be effective.”

“What’s going on?” Nyota asks, appearing from the next room in a bathrobe.

“I think I’ve just been dumped,” Jim answers. He sits on the couch, rubbing his face with his hands. “I don’t get it. I don’t get it!” he repeats, as if it might help him make sense of what’s happening.

Nyota frowns and exchanges a look with Spock before turning back to Jim, putting an arm around him. “Tell me,” she says.

Jim takes a shuddering breath, surprised at how emphatically it hurts. They’d only been seeing each for a few weeks, but— “Something upset him last night, I think,” Jim says. “Maybe it was when I called him my boyfriend? I don’t know. I tried calling him and he won’t pick up. I messaged him this morning and he said that he was sorry, this was all a bad idea. And yeah.” He rubs his eyes, which burn with unshed tears. “Fuck!”

Nyota is silent, staring at him wordlessly. Her jaw is tight, nostrils flaring.

“Nyota?” Jim asks hesitantly. “Are you okay?”

“I’m going to kick his ass,” she says. “I liked him, too. Dammit!”

“Violence, while sometimes satisfying, is not the answer,” Spock says. “Might I suggest a more constructive alternative?”

“Have I ever told you that your boyfriend is a manipulative bastard?” Jim asks Nyota later.

The two of them are working on a fresh batch of paper in their backyard. Nyota stands at the vat of the warm mixture of water and pulp, dipping her screen mold into the slurry. Jim is acting as her coucher, taking the molds of freshly laid paper and pressing them against layers of felt. He keeps the stack of fresh pages as neat and even as he can—papermaking is Nyota’s thing, way more than his. He smiles, remembering how he met the woman back when he first started working for Chris, when she was one of his interns for a summer book arts program.



She disliked him avidly at first; she thought Jim was too young and cocky, and not taking what they were doing seriously enough. It was towards the end of the summer when they were working on a special edition of a book by a temperamental poet named Nero Narada (no, seriously, that was his name) who wanted it done in time for his next book release party, that they learned they could trust each other. After that, they were like siblings, always giving each other a hard time. When the duplex came up for rent, they moved in it together, only for an odd law student named Spock to move next door shortly thereafter. And the rest was history.

Spock was right about being constructive, Jim thinks. Nyota is still angry, but the work is keeping her calm, and while his own mind is still running in circles, at least his hands are busy. They probably won’t have to make a new batch of paper for months at the rate they are going, either.

Nyota laughs softly. “I think you told me that the day he asked me out,and the day he proposed to me, actually.” She gives him a tired, but real smile. “You can’t argue that he knows what he’s doing, though.”

“Sure I can,” Jim says. “And what is he doing, anyway?”

“Getting us out of the way. He’s up to something.” Nyota’s forehead is wrinkled in thought, then smooths as she hears the sound of a car in the driveway on the other side of the house. For a brief moment, Jim cherishes the hope that it might be Bones. “I think we’re done for the day,” she continues. “Let’s wash up.”

There’s a hose in the back they use to wash the remaining slurry and water from the vat, and then themselves. They turn at the sound of the door opening, and to Jim’s surprise, Chris accompanies Spock as they join them outside.

“Hi, kids,” Chris says in greeting before turning to Jim.. “I—heard about what happened.”

“Yeah. Well.” Jim doesn’t know what else to say. He certainly doesn’t want to repeat the pathetic story. Chris cocks his head to the side, looking at him questioningly. Jim looks away.
He’s astonished by what Chris says next.

“Tell me where he lives.”

“Wha-?” Jim turns back to him staring. Chris’s expression is unreadable. “What’s going on?”

“I just want to talk to him, son. Just tell me.”

Jim stares at him hard. “You’re not going to call a bunch of Navy SEALS or anything, are you? Because while that’s appreciated, it’s also scary. I’m just sayin’.”

Chris’s lips twitch at that, and that fierce expression melts slightly. “I swear, I just want to talk to him, kid. It’s okay.”

~

Leonard sits in the dim light of his apartment, staring at the ceiling. Late afternoon sunlight is filtering through the blinds, creating ladders of shadow on the floor nearby. He feels like shit, angry at himself (for being a fool), at Pike (for being perceptive), and at Jim (for—well, being Jim, he supposes).

He’s vaguely aware of a knocking sound outside, but it’s not until a voice demands “Leonard McCoy!” that it penetrates the fog of his brain that he realizes it is someone at his door.

“Who is it?” he yells back. “Just a second!” He locates a t-shirt and pulls it on, running a hand through his hair to smooth it back. He doesn’t want to look like someone who’s been spending the day drinking and feeling sorry for himself—even if that’s exactly what he is.

“It’s Christopher Pike!” says the voice, and then Leonard has the door open in a heartbeat.

“What’s the matter? Is it Jim?” he demands, his mind accumulating horrifying images of Jim hurt, in trouble—

“As a matter of fact, yes,” Pike says.

Leonard stares at him.

“He needs you,” Pike elaborates.

“Right,” Leonard says faintly, and then he’s moving. He grabs his old medical bag, the one his Dad gave to him when he graduated from med school, and starts shrugging into his shoes.

“What are you doing?” asks Pike.

“What’s it look like, you damn fool?” Leonard says. “What’s happened? Where is he?” He’s ready to go, ready to run; he’s imagining Jim lying on a gurney somewhere—

“He’s at home,” Pike says in confused. Then a look of understanding passes over his features. “Look, I said he needs you, not a doctor!”

“Huh?” Leonard stares at the other man, freezing in mid-movement. He’s got his car keys in one hand, and he freezes mid-stride as he heads towards the door.

Pike shakes his head. “Look, sit down,” he says. “We need to talk.”

They sit at Leonard’s tiny dining table, which only has two chairs. (The set is leftover from med school; they all fold down.) The chairs are flimsy enough that they quiver slightly underneath the weight of the men. “Is this the part where you reinforce how you’ll kill me if Jim gets hurt?” Leonard asks, “Because I got it.”

“Yeah, you got it,” Pike says, “but you got it wrong. I said ‘don’t break his heart’ not ‘dump him.’”

Leonard bends down, face over his hands. God he’s so fucking tired. “It’s better this way,” he grumbles. “He might be hurt now, but he’ll only get hurt worse later.”

“Jesus Christ,” Pike murmurs. “I can’t believe I’m going to say this. Okay, look,” and he pins Leonard with that steely gaze of his, “Jim—he doesn’t get excited about people that often. But you, he’s talked about for months. He looks at you like he could eat you with a spoon half the time.”

“I did not need that visual,” Leonard says.

“Shut up, I’m talking,” says Pike. “Look, what I’m saying is this. If you really think you’re bad for Jim, if you two really can’t work out? Then at least meet with him in person to say so. But if this is all because of what I said last night? Then I’m sorry. I get protective about Jim. Hell, I get protective about all my kids; it’s the way I am. Jim especially, though, because he’s the one who needs me the most. So if you care about Jim even half as much as he cares about you, then you owe that man a phone call.” He stands up, then. “I’ve said my part. Thanks for your time.”

And then he’s gone.

Leonard sits there, thinking over Pike’s words. He thinks about Jim. Rubbing his face, tiredly, he picks up his phone and turns it on.

He hits a button, and listens to the ringing.

“Bones?”

“Hi.” His voice comes out deep and burry. He clears his throat. “Um, hi. Hi, Jim.”

Continued in Part Four