Title: Along Comes a Stranger (18/?)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Pairing: Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: AU. Jim’s life in Riverside is uncomplicated until two men, both equally mysterious and compelling, arrive in town, bringing with them the promise of change.
Previous Part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17

I just want to say a quick thank you to everyone taking the time to comment. You guys are really an important part of my motivation to churning this out, as it warms my heart to know people are waiting in anticipation for the next installment.

This story is now ~75k words. Think we can wrap it up by 100k? I tell you, once I finish this, I could retire! XD

Part Eighteen

Jim is so out of it when Gary finally arrives that he pays less attention than he should once they are on the road. But apparently Mitchell only needs one look at Kirk to point his truck in the direction of the clinic. Early dawn has given way to the waking hours of the town, and Jim is having a hard time figuring out how he lost so much time.

Then he remembers sitting in the dark, of why his wrists burn and his hair is matted with blood. Gary had cursed heartily at seeing that before tugging Kirk’s limp arm over his broad shoulders and half-carrying Jim to his truck. After five failed attempts to get Jim to talk, Gary quit asking questions. Now he only says continuously, “Stay awake, Jim. I need you to keep awake for me.”

Like Jim could fall asleep. He hurts. Everywhere.

And he is screwed beyond compare.

Right now, though, none of that matters. Kirk’s forehead rests against the cool glass of pickup’s passenger window. He shivers but he isn’t cold because of the temperature.

They have done this many times in the past, he and Gary. Kirk getting into trouble, calling up Mitchell to come haul his ass out of whatever fire he had thrown it into. Except this time Jim didn’t go looking for trouble, it came to him.

Demanded something awful of him, something Jim knows he can’t do. Bob is his friend. No, more than that. Bob is the man who might have been his stepfather, who had quietly and unobtrusively aided the widow Winona Kirk, to give her work, stave off them losing the farm, and yet allow Winona time to raise her boy, too.

Bob loves Winona, and even though Winona has never returned the affection to that depth, Wesley looks out for the Kirk family. Is part of the Kirk family, in a way that no one would outwardly identify. Robert Wesley is a good man, a great mayor for Riverside, and Jim would rather drown himself than cause harm to Bob.

He will have to find a way around Trelane’s demands. He will have to find a way to expose Trelane and keep his family and friends safe at the same time.

It seems an impossible task.

“Jim?” Gary’s hand touches his shoulder. The truck is no longer moving.

Kirk does not shift from his slump. “Yeah?” he asks wearily.

“Hold still. I’ll come around to the other side.”

Even holding still requires effort, makes Jim utterly tired.

Gary takes a long time to walk around the truck. Once Jim’s brain finally realizes this, someone is pulling open the passenger door and reaching for him.

“Jesus, kid.”

Shit. Only Bones could sound that combination of concerned and pissed.

Jim struggles to open his eyes (doesn’t remember closing them). Soft but firm hands turn his head. A light shines in his eyes.

Jim jerks back, remembering Trelane’s flashlight.

“Easy,” murmurs McCoy. “Probable concussion,” the doctor says to someone other than Jim. “Need to get him inside and get a better look.”

Kirk protests when people start rearranging his limbs. “I can—hey, I can walk—” but he might be jumbling his words.

Gary and McCoy are on either side of him as his feet touch the ground and Jim is surprised when his legs instantly buckle. They aren’t supposed to do that. He is heaved upright with strength not his own and shuffled through the back door of the Riverside Medical Clinic.

Only once Jim is settled on a flat table (a gurney? he is missing details because he can’t focus) does Kirk look at Mitchell and slur, “You suck.” Meaning, How could you take me to Bones? I told you I was fine.

“So sue me, son,” Mitchell says grimly.

Jim thinks of Spock without warning, maybe says “Spock?” and Leonard leans over him, gingerly exploring his blood-stiffened hair. The doctor tells Kirk, “Spock is with Winona. She’s mad that I wouldn’t let her back here.”

Oh God. Everybody is here?

A shadow moves on Jim’s right but he isn’t allowed to turn his head to look. He hears Chapel talking (to Gary?) but is distracted when McCoy says sharply, “Jim.”

Jim opens his eyes (crap, why do they keep closing?). “Bones?”

Leonard has lifted one of his hands. Jim stares at Bones’ latex-gloved fingers, fascinated for no explainable reason at the way they cradle his own fingers. McCoy is saying, rather than asking, in a tight voice, “These wounds, Jim—”

He is talking about Kirk’s wrists. Rope burn. Jim laughs a little. McCoy’s grip on his hand becomes almost painful.

“Jim, d’ya need the police?” Bones asks, already searching for other wounds not visible to the eye.

Were Jim more coherent, he would tell Bones he doesn’t allow that kind of poking until the third date. Instead he manages (because he needs Leonard to understand, to let it be), “No police.”

Leonard’s expression is intense, eyes vividly green. “Motorcycle accidents aren’t responsible for this kind of trauma.”

He uses the last of his strength to hold McCoy’s eyes, to will the man to hear what he can’t say outright. “Police won’t help, Bones.”

Whatever Leonard McCoy takes away from Jim’s statement isn’t good. “Jim, d-did…?” McCoy cannot seem to finish that thought, face pale. The doctor glances away then gets up and moves out of Jim’s line of sight, and Jim is sad.

Come back, Bones! Come back!

Stupid concussion.

Jim tries to sit up. Hands (lots of hands) pin him down. He doesn’t like that. He tells the hands so. One of them strokes his face. Another is holding a needle.

Jim hates needles.

A tiny prick. Soon enough he begins to float, not quite sleeping but not really awake. And for once, in this in-between state, there is no need to worry about how he is going to save everyone.

The first time Jim wakes up, people are arguing. Jim catches different snatches of conversation.

“—how can you possibly—look at his wrists!—“ Mom?

A tired voice. “—in the report. Sorry, ma’am, there’s nothing…”

“—my son—you have no right!—”

“—his doctor!”

A loud noise, like a book being slammed onto a table.

For a moment, there is absolute silence. Then someone touches his forehead but Jim is dragged under by the pull of sleep again, can’t muster the energy to open his eyes and see who it is.

His mother is sitting by his bedside the second time. He is conscious for a while longer, just enough to squeeze her hand and mumble “sorry.” She assures him he has no reason to apologize, and smiles. There are tears in her eyes.

Someone has turned one of the small examination areas into an impromptu hospital room. Jim is alert the second day, having been escorted to the bathroom by a McCoy with dark circles beneath his eyes, and is tickled by some of his visitors. Janice likes to check in every thirty minutes during her shift, Winona brings Scotty with her during the afternoon, and Uhura shows up to pretend rather poorly that she hadn’t been terrified when she thought he had gotten himself killed. He promises her a free ice cream cone at The Ice Cream Shoppe and that seems to soothe Nyota into believing he is okay. She promises to bring Pavel and Sasha to visit him tomorrow.

During a lull in the activity—no McCoy to grumble over bandage-changes or Jan to ask for the umpteenth time if he needs anything—Winona rubs his fingers absentmindedly and admits that she had yelled at Leonard the day before. Jim tries to ask about it but she just shakes her head and pats his hand, saying he doesn’t need to worry and that he should focus on feeling better.

Jim doesn’t necessarily feel bad, barring the dull ache of his head and wrists. He pulls at the IV in his arm once Chapel turns her back, only to have her spin around (maybe she has eyes in the back of her head?) and slap his hand away and tell him to behave. He asks her where Bones is and she says, “Raiding the hospital for your supplies, Jim. We didn’t take you there because Leonard said he’d rather not get a midnight call that you had attempted escape out of a tenth-story window and splattered your brains across the parking lot.”

Jim grins a little. “I’m a good climber.”

“Not with a concussion.”

“Especially with a concussion!”

She puts a pill into his right hand and a glass of water in his left. Jim frowns at the innocuous white pill but before he can protest the necessity of medication, she says firmly, “Dr. McCoy’s orders, Jim.”

With a quirk of his mouth, Jim murmurs, “Well, if Bones says so…” and chases the pill down with a swallow of water.

He realizes belatedly that its purpose is to knock him out. So much for trusting the medical staff.

Kirk is in light doze when a masculine drawl wakes him up by saying, “I had to update your file two days in a row. I’m beginnin’ to understand why Piper wanted to quit you so bad.”

Jim doesn’t bother to open his eyes. “I’m un-quit-able.” The visitor’s chair to the right side of his bed scrapes against the floor as it is pushed back and Doctor McCoy sits down.

“You’re a goddamn medical nuisance, kid. How do you find anything to eat when you’re allergic to half the food pyramid?”

“Been late-night reading?” asks Jim.

“Something like that.”

Jim sighs and opens his eyes. “Mashed potatoes,” he says, like this explains everything McCoy should ever need to know about James Kirk.

Bones’ eyebrow shoots up. “Excuse me?”

“Mashed potatoes,” repeats Kirk. “My allergies started when I was really young ‘n there was a period while I was being tested and on lots of medicine that Mom and Mark were strapped to figure out what I could eat. Mashed potatoes were safe, practically lived on it for weeks.” His stomach growls at that tidbit, and Jim looks sheepish. “I’m kind of in love with them now.”

“Is that why your mother brought a mashed potato casserole?”

Jim sits up. “Where? What have you done with my food?” he demands.

McCoy holds his hands up surrender. “We only ate a third of it, honest. The rest is the frig in the lounge.”

Jim pouts because he can. Leonard seems to take this as a signal that Jim is recovering well. The doctor sags slightly in his chair.

Jim feels a keen sympathy for the man. “I haven’t thanked you yet, have I, Bones?”

Leonard drawls, “Just doing my job.”

“I mean, not just for this.” Jim gestures at his wrists and head. “For the fall-out.”

“You mean not hollering for the police? God I wanted to,” admits McCoy. “It goes against the grain of me, Jim, not reportin’ your condition.” McCoy’s expression darkens. “You haven’t explained about that yet, either.”

“And I won’t.”

“You should. I got chewed out by your mother for siding against her on the police-issue.” McCoy shudders. “I don’t ever want to be on her bad side again.”

“I’m sorry, Bones, I can’t.”

Leonard stares at him. “Don’t think us dumb, kid,” the man says quietly. “It’s easy to see that your two and two adds up to five. What worries me, though, is why you won’t talk about it.” Leonard pauses, hesitates. “We did a thorough exam of you, Jim, but there are ways to… hurt a person without leaving a physical mark. I wish you would put my mind at ease.”

Jim glances down at his bandaged wrists. “I need to handle this one on my own.”

“And if you can’t?”

“Then I will ask for help.”

“I don’t like it. I hate seeing you like this.”

“I know you do.”

The silence between them is not uncomfortable. Jim leans back on his pillows and counts the ceiling tiles. Without a word, Leonard gets up from his chair and walks over to the door; rather than leaving, however, he shuts the door completely.

Jim is not certain what to make of the doctor’s expression as he approaches the bed. Kirk has the silliest urge to pull his bed sheet up to his chin like a young child.

Bones isn’t the boogie man, though, and when the man plants a knee on the edge of the bed and leans over Jim, Jim does not look away.

“Something I can do for you, Bones?” he asks, voice dropping to a natural nervous huskiness.

Leonard’s eyes linger on his face for a long moment (possibly just seconds) before the man sighs almost inaudibly in defeat. Then McCoy tugs Jim forward by the chin and kisses him with a light press of their lips.

As Jim reaches up to grasp McCoy’s shoulders, to keep the man close, he thinks he hasn’t had a better doctor in years. Have to get sick more often, muses Kirk, if sickness leads to butterfly kisses along his jaw.

Jim groans. Leonard pulls back, and Jim catches a glimpse of loving exasperation in those green eyes.

McCoy asks, probably not expecting an answer, “Why do you do this to me, Jim?”

Rhetorical or not, Jim finds himself answering. “Wasn’t me,” he says giddily. “You’re the one trying to put your tongue in my mouth, Bones.”

McCoy’s dry response is “Exactly why I had to close the door first. Don’t want all my patients thinkin’ they can get the same treatment.”

The warmth in Jim’s chest grows exponentially.

It’s all too short-lived. Someone knocks on the door. “Dr. McCoy?”

Leonard scrubs the back of his hand against his mouth as he straightens, like there might be signs of his indiscretion that need erasing. Jim, on the other hand, attempts to look as debauched as possible, mussing his hair and trying to call up a post-coital glow.

McCoy shoots him an amused glare as he opens the door. “Yes, Chapel?”

Christine hands the doctor a folder and a chart and says a patient is waiting to be seen. After McCoy disappears around the corner of the door, the nurse stays put, her eyes locked contemplatively on Kirk.

He grins, unashamed.

She only says, “Guess you are feeling better.”

“Tell Bones to come back ‘n visit soon!” replies Kirk with a wink.

She rolls her eyes and walks away, leaving the door half-open. Kirk notices Janice steals a glance inside his room as she passes the door.

He settles into his small bed, content with the lingering feel of Bones’ mouth on his.

Jim is released on the condition that he wears a leash. Well okay, not literally, though Bones tries to add in that particular clause, much to everyone’s (but Jim’s) amusement.

The first thing he misses on his exile from the clinic is his motorcycle. It had been transformed into a mass of twisted metal as it plunged into the gravel pit (Jim might have been a twisted mass, too, had he gone down with it), Jim is told, and is positively useless. Not that Jim would be allowed to ride one so soon. Winona tightens her grip on his arm at the mere mention of Jim straddling another bike, and Leonard looks no better. Spock is the only one who seems calm in comparison, who doesn’t fuss over Jim or anything pertaining to Jim with abandon the way that his mother and McCoy do.

Jim is sort of pissed about that, actually.

He sits in the waiting area like a lump next to the lawyer while the trio of Winona, Leonard, and Chapel exchange last minute notes on Caring for James Kirk 101.

Jim says, not so idly, “Haven’t seen you since Friday.”

At least, he thinks Spock was there when he was toted into the clinic by Gary. That day is mostly a blur, clouded by the hint of a nightmare that wakes him up at night. McCoy had taken to hinting that Spock had been by to visit Jim while Kirk was sleeping or drugged to the gills. But today is early Sunday morning, and Jim has only the sense that Spock doesn’t want to see him.

Then again, why would Mr. Spock be sitting in this clinic if that were the case?

When Spock opts not to answer Jim’s obvious inquiry, he frowns and turns to face the man. “Are you pissed at me?”

“No.”

Apparently details will not be forthcoming. Jim rubs the bandage of his left wrist against his pants leg to quell itching skin. “So this is it for us then,” he says slowly. “No explanations, no emotion—just silence.” Why should that bother Kirk so much?

Spock continues to look straight ahead. “Until you care to clarify the true circumstances of your disappearance, I highly doubt there will be much conversation between us.”

He peeks at Spock out of the corner of his eye. “Not even about you kissing me and me running away?”

“In particular, not that,” replies the lawyer, and Jim is stunned by the sincerity of Spock’s words.

Before he can press further, Winona approaches them and says, “Let’s go home, Jimmy.”

He spends the next two nights at the farm, entertaining Scotty, sleeping late, and eating large meals to appease his mother. She reluctantly agrees on the third day to let him go back to his apartment (but only after calling McCoy at the clinic and insisting that the doctor come over to give Jim a clean bill of health). Jim remains patient while Bones puts on a show for Winona and all but declares Jim ready to go back to work. Jim makes a point of saying Jose can’t manage the garage without him; Leonard stands firm, though, on the subject of returning to the auto shop. He says Jim has to finish out the week by relaxing or he’ll inform Winona of the dire probability of a concussion relapse—this McCoy threatens in a low whisper to Jim when Jim’s mother has returned to the kitchen to check on the pie in the oven—and make it hard for Jim to live on his own ever again.

Jim has a burgeoning respect for how Leonard plays hard ball.

Once all the men in the house have been amply fed and Bones and Jim are loaded up with extra food, Winona drives them to Jim’s apartment and drops them off.

The first words out of Jim’s mouth, upon stepping foot into his place after a week of absence, are “Holy shit!”

Leonard is smug. “Looks like you’ve been visited by a cleaning fairy.”

Jim has never seen his apartment so… white and shiny. Judging the state of the floors, the five-second rule for dropped food might not be so dubious anymore. He peeks into his refrigerator. The fuzzy mold in the back is gone.

McCoy heaves the bags of Tupperware-encased food onto the kitchen counter and begins unloading various items. Jim puts them in his sparkling clean refrigerator with pride. Once the goods are safely stored, Jim observes the various cleaning supplies under the sink.

“It was Mom,” he concludes. “She has an unhealthy obsession with bleach.”

“And Nyota and Gaila, if I’m not mistaken.”

Jim immediately straightens up. “Gaila… and my mother? In the same room?”

McCoy wants to know, “Is that bad?”

“Generally nuclear holocaust bad,” Jim remarks. “Of course, Uhura probably mediated.”

Leonard snorts. “I hear they actually had a good time.”

Jim pales and squeaks, “What!”

“Something about your underwear.”

In a flash Jim is gone, fairly stumbling his way to his bedroom. He yanks out a drawer in his dresser and paws through its contents. Kirk isn’t aware of Leonard peering over his shoulder until the man drawls, “Is that a man thong?”

Jim slams the drawer shut, almost catching his fingers. Face red, he nudges McCoy back towards the living room. There will be time later to figure out how much giggling and lewd innuendos he will have to endure from Nyota and Gaila.

And his mom…. God. How is he supposed to pretend he doesn’t have a sex life around his mother now? Awkward-city.

McCoy doesn’t seem to be in any hurry so they settle on his couch and watch television, only to crack open the leftovers as a makeshift dinner when the sun begins to set.

Jim’s tummy gurgles with happiness. He is leaning drowsily against Bones’ shoulder, starting to nod, when a loud banging interrupts thoughts of pillowing his head in Leonard’s lap and falling asleep.

McCoy says, “I’ll get it,” but Jim tells him to keep his spot on the couch warm and moans his way into standing and shuffling to the door.

He unlocks it and opens it an inch or two, mumbling a “Hello?”

Frank Rand glares at Jim in return, and Jim immediately loses all sense of peace. Making a snap decision, Kirk steps outside and pulls the door closed behind him. He folds his arms. “What do you want, Frank?”

The man is angry—nervous, too, by the way his fingers fumble at his hip. Perhaps he is missing his weapon. Rand is not in uniform, wearing a simple plaid shirt, jeans, and work boots. “Don’t fuck around, Kirk,” Frank hisses. “Tr—he told you to keep your mouth shut, so you’d better do it.”

Jim grinds his teeth. “I have, you son of a bitch. But more out of kindness to Janice than you, Frank. You know how much that would hurt your daughter? Finding out her old man’s a dirty cop.”

Rand starts forward, seething, but catches his reaction and quells it. The man glances around quickly before turning his attention back to Jim. “Shut up.”

Jim smiles nastily.

Frank leans in, pokes his finger into Kirk’s chest. “This isn’t just about you, Kirk. Keep your friend out of the station, you hear me? If he doesn’t stop asking questions…” Rand does not need to finish that threat.

Jim slowly unfolds his arms. “Who?” He swallows hard, already anticipating the answer.

Frank eyes him for a long minute. “You don’t know?”

“No!” snaps Jim. “Do you think I’d let anyone I cared about get close to this shit?”

Rand chooses not to respond to that outburst. He tells Jim, “The lawyer. Tell him to stay home.”

Jim leans against the door. “I will,” he says grimly.

The deputy nods once, sharply, and steps back. His parting words are softly spoken, oddly grave. “I don’t like you, Kirk, and I expect I never will. If you don’t jeopardize my family, I won’t touch yours. So you keep that cock-sucking trap sealed tight, you hear?”

Rand doesn’t wait for an answer. He pivots on his heel and trudges away, pulling up the collar of his shirt like turning a coat lapel up against prying eyes. Jim takes a moment to collect himself before going back into his apartment.

He doesn’t really mean to but the force of his anger has him slamming the door closed.

McCoy just looks at him from the couch. “Annoying neighbor?” asks the man mildly.

Jim misses nothing. “How much of that did you hear?”

Leonard’s face falls. “How did you know?”

“You’re sitting on the opposite side of the couch than you were when I left.”

“Ah hell.” McCoy looks annoyed at his lack of subterfuge skills.

Jim paces to the kitchen and back. “How much, Bones?” he commands, feeling unbalanced. How deep is Frank Rand in with Trelane? He had assumed the deputy was a willing party to Trelane’s scheming but maybe…

“Jim.”

Kirk realizes that McCoy is repeating his name. He stops pacing (makes his leg hurt a little, anyway). “Tell me.”

McCoy says earnestly, “I couldn’t hear you that well. Just pieces. But it was that asshole of an officer, wasn’t it?”

He looks away. “Rand, yeah.”

McCoy grips the armrest of the couch. “I heard him tell you to keep your mouth shut. Did—did he do something to you, Jim? Is that why—”

Jim interrupts, “Don’t ask me, please.”

“Damn it, why won’t you talk to me!”

“Why didn’t you tell me about Spock?” counters Kirk, anger flaring again.

McCoy closes his mouth. Jim stalks closer.

“So you knew. Do you even realize the kind of shitstorm he could bring down on us if…” Jim almost gives away Trelane’s name.

Leonard stands up, face closed. “How can I know anything when you keep it all to yourself?”

“That’s not the point! The point is he needs to stop.”

“Then you’ll have to be the one to make him, Jim, because I want to know as badly Spock does. Somebody hurt you. You can’t expect us to let that go.”

Jim balls his fist, overwhelmed with the need to punch something. Except there is nothing he can safely hit. “I don’t want this!” he cries in frustration. “I don’t want you in the middle of it!”

“Tough shit,” says Leonard, watching Jim’s movements closely.

Jim turns away. “Just—you need to go now, Bones.”

At the man’s humorless snort, Jim frowns.

McCoy states, “I’m stayin’” like Jim doesn’t have a say-so.

“No,” argues Kirk pointedly. “I’m kicking you out.”

“Can’t kick out your new roommate. That’s mean.”

The world tilts under Jim’s feet.

“I’m makin’ a decision—that offer to live here? I accept.” Bones purposefully plops back down on the couch and puts his feet on the coffee table. “Now run along ‘n fetch me a beer.”

Jim catches his traitorous body in the act of ambling stupidly towards the refrigerator. He makes a sound of disbelief. So he turns around, tosses out in aggravation, “Get it yourself!” and heads for his bedroom to contemplate how he lost the battle before he was aware of stepping onto the field.

Of course, by the time Jim is done sulking in his bedroom (and trying to figure out if he had that many sweater-vests in his closet or if the women in his life are making fun of him), Bones is snoring on his couch. The thought of coming home to find McCoy sprawled so openly, trustingly, washes away the last of Jim’s irritation.

He is going to be living with Bones, which can’t be anything other than a small dream come true.

How long will it last, though? And how long can Jim keep Bones—and Spock—safe?

Next Part

Related Posts:

• Along Comes a Stranger (28/28) – from July 10, 2011
• Along Comes a Stranger (27/28) – from July 9, 2011
• Along Comes a Stranger (26/28) – from July 5, 2011
• Chapter of Doom – from July 4, 2011
• Along Comes a Stranger (25/28) – from June 30, 2011

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