leftwithmybones | (no subject)

(no subject)

The whole damn city around him is starting to make McCoy feel a little like he took a damn leap into a rabbit hole that he can't exactly explain. He'd been on his way out to get food (and to avoid Jim) and now he's standing with a packet of information in his hands, a key, some money, and a hell of a lot of questions he wants to ask. He'd found his way to the Bramford Building, which is apparently his new house, and all he can think is that he'd put so much wasted damn time building the Farmhouse.

It's not like he got that coming through the rabbit hole with him. It'd have been nice if it had, because Scotty's still would've been a real sweet thing to have right now.

He's been staring up at the apartment building for a while, now. It feels a little like when he first got to San Francisco and had to settle in at the Academy with kids too many years his younger. He feels out of place and stretched thin, but grateful for the roof above his head and the fact he's not kicked out on the streets. So yeah, it could be worse, but it could also be a damn lot better because he's down a house, a job, several friends, and oh yeah, a whole hell of a lot of sense. He ends up settling himself on a bench, not sure he's ready to walk into this new life of his, when he's barely had time to shake off the last.

One hell of a rabbit hole, indeed.

He just sort of wishes he had someone to talk to about it.

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It's been routine for years. Jim monitors Darrow's registry of citizens, and when people pop up with no previous history they're flagged, leaving Jim with a list to peer down at the end of every day. Sometimes there's no one new, sometimes Darrow's new kidnapees comes in handfuls, but they're never who he hopes to see.

Not until today.

He almost breaks his neck getting into his car, half choked on his own seatbelt by the time he's finally left the country behind him, and it just figures that Darrow would save the furthest possible apartment building for Leonard McCoy.

Jim doesn't even know if he'll be there yet, doesn't know if he's not still at the station shouting at anyone who'll listen, but when he finally peels down O'Connell St, there he is, staring up at the building from a bench. He looks tan and a little weathered, but Jim would know those miserable shoulders anywhere.

"Bones!" he shouts as he parks perilously close to a hydrant, throwing himself out the door and down the sidewalk. "Bones!"

Honest to God, he's not sure why he's surprised. You could put him on a moon and Jim Kirk would probably find his way to Bones' side, but hell if he isn't impressed by how damn quick this is. He doesn't think it's been more than twelve hours since the last time he saw Jim and yet, here he is again. "Hey," he barks at Jim, gesturing wildly to the car (god help him for the relief that floods him at seeing cars working again). "You trying to kill someone? Is that thing even in park?"

"I don't know!" Jim confesses, launching himself onto Bones from a running leap, both arms around his shoulders as he clings. "Are you okay? What's the last thing you remember? What's happening at home?"

Without waiting for answer, he squeezes, not quite able to stop. He's been hoping every day for this, and never quite believed it would happen until it did. "Never stop yelling at me."

He's got just about enough time to open his arms and manage to catch Jim before the man goes face first onto the ground, letting out a solid 'oof' when Jim's weight surprises him. He'd seen the man this morning, this display is definitely something he's not ready for and it doesn't speak well to the idea of Jim remembering his time on the island. "I'm fine," he starts to answer. "Last thing I remember was heading out for food, and hate to break it to you, Jim, but I haven't been home in nearly three years," he informs him.

He knits his brow, a bit strangled for the extra squeeze. "Jim," he gets out, choked. "I need to breathe."

"Three years," Jim repeats, only just managing to unlock his arms, pulling away to fist a hand in Bones' sleeve. "Five year mission?" His heart squeezes, joy for the man he'll never get to be in Darrow warring with jealousy, and he licks his lips eagerly. "We got it?"

McCoy shakes his head, giving Jim a somewhat sympathetic and apologetic smile. "Sorry, kid," he says. "I made it to month two of the mission when I got zapped to a weird island I couldn't explain even if I had a year to do it. That's where I've been the last three years. Tabula Rasa," he drawls. "Weird as anything you could imagine. You were there, too. At least, you were for the last few months."

"Blank Slate," Jim mouths, staring at Bones through the moment it takes to get air back in his lungs. Bones, three years on an island not with Jim, not in Darrow or on the Enterprise or anywhere else they belonged. Not until the last few months of whatever crazy island time, and that is just - four too many alternate universes for Jim to wrap his head around.

"Zapped how? Transporter mishap zapped? Or woke up in a funky city called Darrow zapped?"

"Little bit of both, actually," he admits. "I was beaming down to a planet and instead, I beamed onto a sandy shore." Really, in retrospect, it's basically what happened getting here, so it's definitely like getting hit with the same bolt of lightning twice. "I'm guessing I'm trapped here too, huh?" he exhales, a bit weary for it.

"Yeah," Jim breathes. "I've been looking for a way out for more than two years. You were here, too, for a while," he adds, staring determinedly into the wind until his eyes stop burning. He needs Spock to make sense of this, all these worlds and versions of themselves that they don't remember - it should be terrifying, and it is, but that terror can't climb over Jim's relief to see Bones again.

"I really missed you, man."

"Really?" he dryly and sarcastically notes, given how Jim is clinging to him like a limpet and doesn't exactly show any signs of stopping. "I couldn't tell," is his continued response, arching a brow as he claps Jim on the back with a steady hand. He decides not to tell Jim about how settled he got on that last trapped island, thinking now's not the time. "How long have you been here?"

"Two years, three months, and twenty nine days," says Jim, rocking forward with the clap, bones near to melting to feel that offhanded affection after all this time. "Spock's here, too, he's got one month less under his belt. What is it with crazy dimensions wanting to collect us?"

Smiling faintly, Jim rubs at his eyes, pulling the hand with the wedding ring down slowly. "There's been some, uh. Developments."

"Developments?" McCoy echoes, seeing as this could either range from the completely mundane to something that has him completely boggling. He eyes Jim warily, trying to figure out how much he should prod, but hey, he's a grown man, he can handle anything. "C'mon, don't leave me hanging. What sort of developments?"

"I'm married, mainly," says Jim, feeling an odd sensation twist in his gut. It's been ages since he felt like the Academy bicycle, and it never really bothered him before, but now that he's really with someone he doesn't want to be mistaken for the old Jim. Not that he thinks Bones will judge him. Bones loves him - for all that it'd taken a long time for Jim to believe it, he knows it now in his blood. He's also seen some of the worst of Jim, and he tries not to bristle. "To Spock."

Well, he hadn't been expecting that one. He draws away from Jim, but it's only to get a good look at the ring on his finger, letting out a bemused laugh and shaking his head. What he doesn't say is at least I know this one, but his smile is wry. "At least that means someone's been looking out for your idiot head," is his opinion on the subject.

He tries not to feel too left out, tries to ignore the pang that says life moved on here without him, but it's hard to filter it out, especially when there's a part of you that might've expected to be involved in their lives (like that? He doesn't know, maybe?) "Congratulations, Jimmy."

"You know me," says Jim, "I could find trouble in a locked, empty room," but his smile is uncharacteristically bashful, his eyes on his ring as he twists it on his finger. "It's been great, pretty much the only good thing in Darrow, but I never stopped wishing you'd been there."

All of the crew, but Bones especially, there to bear witness to the biggest thing to happen to Jim since Pike found him bleeding on a bar floor. Jim sucks down a deep breath. "Anyway. Are you sure you're okay? Three years is a long time, and now you're here."

Whatever Bones might project, Jim knows very well how deeply he cares for the people around him, and now there's three years' worth he'll never see again. "You know, there's been a few here that talk about an island they were trapped on before. You might know some."

He gives a low scoff, still in disbelief -- not at the marriage thing, he's watched Jim walk down the aisle once before in a messed up reality -- but that this happened with Spock and he hadn't been there. He feels guilty about that and even guiltier about the fact that hours ago, he'd been in an awkward position thinking about Jim in a less than friendly way.

No more of that, now. He's got to move on. "Maybe I'll bump into 'em," he says, trying to smile even if he's feeling a bit like a drink or three drinks or hell, the whole bar. "I'm living here, now," he says with a gesture up at the building. "It's like being back at the Academy."

"You don't have to live where they tell you," says Jim, following Bones' gaze up the building. "Spock and I got assigned to a place called Ocean View, but we moved out to the countryside a few months back. There's room for you, if you want." Not presently, maybe, and he should probably ask Spock, but this is Bones. "I'll build one."

Taking in Bones' face, Jim reads him as well as ever, the years between them for a moment as transparent as if they'd never been there at all. "Do you want to get a drink first. Like, a lot of drinks?"

"Nah, this place'll be good for me," he says, already feeling somewhat sure of that. "It's closer to the hospital than the countryside." Maybe he'll want to get back out there at some point, but he feels like he'll spend too much time comparing it to the farmhouse and he could use a little noise, right now, a bit of the city. "It'll make getting off a 48 hour shift better to stumble home," he says wryly.

"And Jim, I could use a dozen of 'em."

"Okay," says Jim, curling a hand around Bones' shoulder to lead him away from the building. "I may be a country boy now, but I still know where all the bars are. I'll buy you a bottle and you can tell me about this island. Three years."

He knows it's possible, for he himself has been in Darrow for two, but it's crazy to think how long. "You look it. You're all tan and cabana boy-y."

McCoy snorts at the comment, raising his brow with disbelief. "Cabana-y, huh?" he echoes, seeing as he doesn't remember that one being on one of his goal lists. "Well, it's not like I could help it. Between building the house and walking to the clinic, I think I got more Vitamin D than I'll ever need in my life," he says, edging on complaint. "Also, one bottle? Since when am I that weak when it comes to drinks, especially if I'm sharing with you."

"Oh my god, you built a house?" Jim laughs, admiration rather than mockery in the sound. "You must have been in heaven, all that earnest, Earthside labor." He slings an arm over Bones' shoulder, where it fits as comfortably as ever. "One bottle each," he promises. "But what was it like, your island? Because I gotta tell you, it's crazy here."

"Took me years, but yeah, I built a house," he says, pride edged with disappointment to have lost it. All those years and all that effort and now it's gone. He could definitely use a few drinks to make up for it and it's easy to fit into Jim's space like this. "Trust me, it was crazy as hell," he assures Jim with a snort. "Things you wouldn't believe. Hell, you barely believed them, there."

Sure did get righteously pissed about them, though.

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