Title: For the Sake of Nothing, Part 6
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: pre-Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: Leonard runs into a face from the past. Jim is acting unusual.
Previous Parts: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

This is… I don’t know what this is or what happened. My apologies.

The depression came back. It always did.

Leonard fell into another routine of sleeplessness, and on this particular night he sat at his writing table with his head pillowed on his arms. Soft noises from the street (passing cars, a low hum of electricity, echoing footsteps of those souls as restless as Leonard) murmured along the outside of the apartment window. The dim glow of the street lights painted his room a dark gold; when they flickered, shadows moved listlessly along the walls.

He stared at a patch of chipped paint, an incongruous dark spot against the lacquered white coating the brick wall. He did not remember if he had peeled the paint off himself in a moment of utter boredom, or if it was merely another sign of the ill-kept conditions of his abode.

In truth, Leonard couldn’t bring himself to care. What was worth caring about anyway? He went to work, he came home, he wasted time in between. That was all he could manage. None of it was important.

His stomach, empty, often knotted as well, was an annoyance on the periphery of his awareness. Jim had taken to slipping Leonard bits of food during his shifts; sometimes Leonard had the impression the kid was watching him very closely to make certain he ate it. Like he didn’t. The food was sweet, mostly, and contained a lot of carbs but overall had a decent taste. He had never been a stickler about food.

Eating at work seemed normal, a given, an effortless thought. But the moment he stepped onto the street as just another pedestrian, another nameless face, his appetite left him. There were days when he wandered over to a small take-out restaurant and ordered a meal anyway. Other times, he gave into the apathy locking down his system, went straight back to his apartment and dropped onto his couch. Today (or was it yesterday?) had been one of those bad days. The heaviness in him was so solid, almost physically real, that Leonard had imagined he was drowning.

He knew he couldn’t expect anyone to save him from this feeling. As if that was possible.

Bitterness had fouled his mood, and now his thoughts. Get a fucking grip on yourself, Leonard. Pathetic. You’re turning yourself into a statistic.

Sometimes berating himself like this helped. Yet it never prevented the thoughts of I hate this life, how do I keep on doing this? and why it’d have to be them? from returning, rooted so deeply as they were that they sprang back to life like weeds even as he cut them away.

Leonard dragged in a deep breath and lifted his head from his arms. But his limbs weren’t going to cooperate as far as standing up so he slumped back into his previous position and brooded.

Life and happiness and all else could go screw itself. He would langour in this in-between world until the clock said he could leave. Then it was back to the coffee house. There, at least, was something that mattered. A job, a thing of importance because two people Leonard did not know very well treated it—him—as such.

He wasn’t certain why that made a difference, particularly when knowing people cared about him hadn’t meant much to him in the past, but he accepted it for what it was.

His mind was too immersed in its own dark landscape to figure out what to do about this newfound knowledge. Leonard’s heart, however, hinted at something, an almost trivial thing. Accept them back, it might have said if it could.

Not so long ago, Leonard tended to agree with his heart more than his head. He hadn’t forgotten that even though he felt those days were gone, so the man finally rose from his place by the window and went to a sagging sink. There, he tried to wash his face clear of tiredness.

The face in the mirror was worn and aged. It was a face he might not have recognized as his if he hadn’t been glimpsed it every day in this mirror for the past few months.

“You’re a miserable bastard,” he told his reflection.

I know, it seemed to say. What are you going to do about it?

He dropped his washcloth into the sink. “Not a damn thing,” Leonard replied, and walked away.

Jim wasn’t a bad soul but he wasn’t quite truthful with everyone he met either. Knowing how to keep secrets close and true intentions closer, quieter, was ingrained in him. He had grown up faster than other children his age, had lived hard and rough even before he legally shucked his old life at the age of eighteen. He had never worried about the business of taking care of himself because he couldn’t remember a time when he hadn’t done it. Certainly no one had ever bothered to do it for him.

As Kirk woke up early and arrived at the shop to open it, he marveled for the umpteenth time that he hadn’t left this place behind. The truth was, as Spock had told Leonard one day, Jim did insinuate himself into this little world.

He hadn’t planned to stay long. He had not believed a place existed that could hold him—or make him want to stay. Even now, Jim sometimes found himself wondering if he hadn’t conjured an illusion, a fantasy, and tricked himself into thinking it was real.

But Spock was real. Very real.

And very… strange. He was the strangest man Jim had ever met. Yet Spock somehow fit seamlessly into Jim’s life, had managed to become a part of it without much of a fuss, and Jim honestly did not know if it was possible to take the man back out again.

The circumstances were disturbing but also kind of nice. Spock must have figured out by now that Jim Kirk was more of a con man than a saint, less of an enthusiast and more of a cynic despite the pleasant face he presented to the world. Spock has seen him come in dripping blood from his knuckles or sporting a ring of bruises around his eyes. He had, once, seen Jim smash his fist into a wall in pure, seething rage.

But Spock never blinked, never called Jim trouble. He just accepted Jim as a two-faced man.

So Kirk was still here, flirting with the customers and scrubbing down the appliances at night. He never took money from Spock, and he always remembered to set the alarm before he locked up. The shop was a welcoming place to come back to, and Jim had had so few of those in his life he knew he would be a fool to turn his back on it.

He liked Spock, he truly did. And he thought he had gotten close enough to the man to consider them friends. Jim knew his friends as well as his enemies.

So it surprised him that he didn’t know this about Spock—this, whatever it was, that had suddenly brought at an interested spark into his friend’s eyes.

But Jim did know it was Bones at the center of the change. That, in and of itself, was a problem.

“Jim.”

The voice cut into his thoughts, reminding Jim that he had to be careful about how and particularly when he revealed his uncertainty. Jim, turning up the corners of his mouth, glanced at his employer before returning to lifting another box of supplies from a shelf and checking its contents. “Morning, Spock.”

Spock glided around the steel island counter in the kitchen to observe Jim’s movements. “Leonard will be working today.”

It wasn’t a question but it was, somehow, a hint that the owner wanted Jim’s assurance of this fact. So Jim nodded. “He is. Something you want to talk to him about?”

“No.” There was a pause. “Should there be a concern?”

“Nope,” Jim said affably. He settled the last box back in place and wiped his hands on his jeans. “If you’ve put the money in the register, I’ll unlock the door and turn on the open sign.” Jim gave a little wave and wink as he walked toward the door. “See ya. I’ll be minding the store.”

Spock watched him go, saying not a word in return.

People liked to think Jim was about as observant as a two-year old hopped up on sugar.

Even a toddler, Jim thought, couldn’t miss McCoy. The man oozed I’ve got a problem I can’t fix like a homeless man holding a sign on a street corner that says he needs work. At first, Jim thought his assessment was fairly accurate. Bones needed money in a bad way. Jim had seen people throw away their last shred of pride and dignity in order to make a buck. When he was fresh game on the street, newly emancipated from all family, he had known intimately about that kind of desperation.

But the job ought to have alleviated some of that stress for McCoy. Since the man still slunk around like a harbinger of doom, Jim had to re-evaluate his initial assessment. He’d missed something, apparently.

In the few weeks they had worked together in close quarters, Jim realized Leonard existed under some sort of black cloud. For a lot of people, Jim knew, that cloud was bad luck and the result of poverty; but for Leonard, it wasn’t quite that. It was… something out of the ordinary and, in that regard, so serious that it dogged Leonard’s footsteps no matter the time of day or the place.

He gave the man a sandwich to put a smile on his face. Instead Jim got disinterest and a sarcastic comment.

Bones was a grade A kind of messed up, but it never truly showed unless Bones thought no one was paying attention. Then Jim saw, very clearly, the differences between the act and the real man beneath: the downward droop of shoulders; the tremor of a hand as Bones dragged a thumb across the bruised skin under his eyes; the slow, methodical way the man ate, as if eating was merely a gesture to placate the world’s demands. The most notable moments were when that hint of wrongness flared like a torch, especially in the way Leonard’s gaze tracked families who came into the shop.

Devastation, a true and terrible devastation, lurked in Leonard’s eyes then, and it made Jim’s stomach turn.

What was Bones keeping to himself that affected him so? What had created a semblance of a man whose self was devoured from within?

Jim did not know but, being who he was, decided he was going to find out. His interest wasn’t morbid or meddling, as it might seem, because it was actually rooted in a part of him he had fought to preserve. His affection wasn’t given lightly, not to anyone, not since he had realized at a young age that affection was a weapon in the wrong hands. Since he cared about Leonard McCoy, Jim wanted to help him. And that meant knowing how, which meant knowing why.

Except Leonard railed against revealing anything of a personal nature. Jim asked questions, general things most people wouldn’t think twice about answering, and Leonard still clammed up like he was under interrogation. Which had the effect of causing Jim to re-double his efforts to learn every single detail he could. He had considered calling up an old partner and cashing in a favor owed to find out.

But there was still time, Jim believed, to bring Leonard around. It wasn’t hopeless yet. It wasn’t as though Bones had walked out the door.

When Leonard did take that escape route, Jim would follow. Of that he was certain.

Perhaps it was less of a good thing that Jim liked Leonard as more than a friend. Leonard was clearly avoiding him for two reasons: Jim’s insatiable curiosity and Jim’s not-so-subtle amorous advances.

It irked Jim that he had failed spectacularly to woo McCoy (even if he couldn’t seduce secrets out of the man). He knew how to get what he wanted, yet it didn’t seem to work. Only now there was Spock to consider. Jim’s brain worked furiously to solve that puzzle as well. He came up with a painful solution.

The whistle of the cappuccino machine brought Jim out of his own musing just in time to prevent an overflow of coffee from the cup he was holding in place. Jim set the coffeepot back on its hot plate and reached for a towel, cleaning up the puddle his distracted aim had created on the counter. When he returned to the register, it was with a smile and the customer’s completed order.

The young woman, who had a very nice pair of long legs on display in her tiny running shorts, assessed him as she took her coffee. Jim increased the wattage and width of his charming grin. Her lips curved and she leaned forward to ask him a question—or to make an offer.

Not far away, there came a loud snort.

Jim formed a plan in an instant and, with no small amount of glee, stage-whispered to the lovely woman, “He’s just jealous you’re giving all your attention to me.”

She snuck a quick, curious glance at Bones. The unfriendly downturn of Leonard’s mouth was his only acknowledgment of her attention.

Jim casually reached out and removed an imaginary piece of lint from the woman’s shoulder. She watched his hand raptly.

Leonard, on the other hand, shuffled closer to the counter, a pitcher of water in hand, and said quite pointedly for the whole of the shop to hear, “Is that your phone, Jim? Probably your girlfriend calling you. I’m beginning to understand why she’s so paranoid.”

Jim’s would-be date blinked as she processed that information and took a deliberate step away from the counter. After a moment’s hesitation she tucked her receipt into her purse and headed for the exit.

“Bones,” Jim said, not very peeved at all, “that was mean.”

The man shrugged. “Told you I had a problem” was all he said.

Jim’s affection for Bones tripled.

He came around the counter, intending to take the pitcher and insist Leonard go on break (despite it being early into the shift) when a new customer walked through the door. Leonard, having recognized the signs of a Jim-intervention (and why was he so opposed to Jim’s generous, loving nature anyway?), slid out of reach with the intention of using the newcomer as a buffer. He swiveled toward the entrance—and suddenly turned a shocking white.

For instant, Jim feared for Leonard and leapt towards him.

Bones came alive again at his touch. But instead of leaning into Jim, the dark-haired man twisted away and silently retreated, handing the water pitcher to Jim in lieu of answering his concerned “Bones?” The kitchen door closed with great force in McCoy’s wake.

Jim slowly pivoted to face the person who had caused Leonard’s abrupt, frightening reaction.

The customer was pale as she approached the counter, but whatever recognition had occured in that moment she and Leonard saw one another was not a secret she intended to divulge. The woman gave Jim a weak smile and asked, “What’s good?”

Jim swallowed his questions, summed her up by the style of her dress, the neat trim of her short hair and the worn handle of a purse she had used for too many seasons, and made two suggestions. She chose the most expensive latte with the least amount of calories but agreed, after a moment’s hesitation, to the whipped cream topping. So, she was still reeling from seeing Bones. That meant two things to Jim: they knew each other well, and the last parting between them had not been on the best of terms. Nothing else caused that kind of unease between a man and a woman.

Jim made the latte, charged her debit card, and watched her find a seat near the back of the shop at an empty table. He rubbed his fingers together indecisively, then turned to the door. As if Jim’s desire had been a telepathic plea, Spock came through the door.

“Spock,” Jim said before the owner could utter a word, “I gotta hit the head. Woo the ladies while I’m gone?”

He moved towards the kitchen. Spock shifted to catch his attention which was as good as catching his arm, since Jim knew how to read Spock well. “Is there something wrong?” Jim was asked.

He almost said “Have you seen McCoy?” but shrugged instead. “Maybe. I’ll let you know.”

Of course Spock would have noticed if Leonard stormed into the kitchen. Jim should have known. He left the register to Spock and pushed through the door.

Bones was not in the kitchen, not in the small back room by the exit or the employee bathroom. Jim found him in the alleyway outside, propped against the wall by a dumpster.

“Not the best place to hang out,” Jim remarked as he tucked his hands into his pockets and started along the narrow alley toward McCoy.

Leonard cut his eyes at Jim and took a long pull from the cigarette between his fingers. Smoke curled from his mouth when he finally released his breath. “Something you need, kid?”

Jim stopped within an arm’s length of the man who intrigued him and, as of now, was beginning to irritate him for being so difficult to reach. It was probably time to be blunt. Jim smiled disarmingly and said, “What’s your deal, McCoy?”

Leonard studied his cigarette with a grimace and dropped it to the ground. “Again with the last name. You know, Jim, sometimes I wonder how much of what you say you actually mean.”

Jim’s temper sharpened but he refused to allow the subject change. “Who was the woman?”

Leonard pushed away from the wall, his eyes flashing. “What woman?”

“The blonde,” Jim said. “You know her, she knows you.”

Suddenly Leonard was advancing on him but it wasn’t threatening. If Jim had to guess at the motivation behind McCoy’s quick movement, he would guess fear.

“Jocelyn talked to you? What did she say?”

Spock was right. Jim was a gambler, and he was good at recognizing opportunity when it came knocking.

Yet still seeing evidence of what must have been an unpleasant shock for McCoy in the pallor of Leonard’s face, Jim discovered he did not want to lie. He burrowed his hands deeper into his pockets, saying, “She said nothing, Bones. We didn’t talk—though I am going to ask her about you the first chance I get.”

The relief which washed through Leonard’s face was replaced with surprise and warniness. “Why?”

“Because I don’t have a choice. I said once there was something eating at you and,” Jim shifted his weight, “that something hasn’t gone away.”

A muscle in McCoy’s jaw flexed. A warning. “That’s not your business, Jim.”

“It is,” he insisted. “I wish you would trust me just a little, Bones.”

Leonard shook his head, pitching his voice to a deprecating tone. “Just because you want to get into my pants…”

Jim was fast. His hand came out and planted itself into Leonard’s chest, shoving Leonard into the brick wall and boxing him in. “Bones.” Jim fought down a flare of anger, knowing he didn’t need it to get his point across. He already had Leonard’s undivided attention. Jim leaned forward and said again, “Bones. Have I mentioned anything about a quick fuck to you?”

“No.”

“No,” Jim agreed. “Now why do you think that is?”

Some of Leonard’s surprise receded. He lifted an eyebrow. “Because you aren’t that stupid?”

Jim laughed mirthlessly. “Oh, I’m plenty stupid—and if I wanted in your bed, I’d probably have been there by now.”

“You’re pretty sure of yourself, kid.”

He relented in pressing on McCoy’s collarbone and eased back. “This isn’t about me wanting to sleep with you, Bones. I like you but we can’t be together unless I can be sure of you.”

Leonard was looking at Jim like he had grown a second head.

Jim continued more quietly, “It’s obvious you need help. Let me help you. Things can get better but not unless you want them to.”

Leonard straightened against the wall. “Jim, you’re… There’s just no word for you! You need to be ‘sure of me’? What the hell does that even mean?”

Jim met his gaze without pretense. “It means you aren’t the only one with issues. But who cares?” He appraised Leonard and didn’t apologize for it. “You’re a good guy, Bones. I can see it—and that’s the guy I want. Don’t you think it’s time you stopped running from him?”

Maybe he should have known he pushed too far. Maybe he should have… but the fist to his jaw still took Jim by surprise. He didn’t stagger back, didn’t drop; Jim knew how to keep on his feet in a fight.

Leonard didn’t try to hit him again, but the man was clearly angry. “Fuck you! I’m not running or hiding or any of that psychological bullshit,” he snapped, “this is me. If you can’t accept that, tough. Now get the hell outta my way.”

Jim almost didn’t move aside but even though he decided to yield (he didn’t want to provoke another attack because then he’d have to hit back) he said to the man stalking past him, “You can lie to a lot of people, Bones, but you can’t lie to yourself. Who is Leonard McCoy?”

Leonard jerked open the back door to the shop. He seared Jim with a hostile look. “Leonard isn’t anybody to you.”

Jim closed his eyes at the slam of the door. In that moment, he almost hated Spock for liking McCoy.

But he hated himself more because he couldn’t deny the fact things might be better this way. Spock trusted him, treated him as a person, was important to him like nobody else had ever been. Now he simply had to steer McCoy in the right direction…

“Damn,” Jim said to the cold morning air and took a long detour back to the front of the shop.

Next Part

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