leftwithmybones | (no subject)

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He hasn't seen Jim in days.

Normally, the kid has a tendency to pop out of hidden places and terrify the crap out of McCoy. He's learned that there really isn't a hiding spot that Jim wouldn't think of as a convenient place to shock and surprise him (hell, he's gotten to the point where he checks mailboxes, now). So when Jim isn't excitedly pushing his nose into McCoy's business and it's been days, he's starting to get genuinely concerned. He makes a few stops and checks to see that no one else in town has seen him, which is when he picks up a few meals that only need to be heated and then a few cold and flu supplies, thinking maybe Jim's laid out with some kind of illness -- and for Jim to actually be kicked back, it's probably pretty strong.

When he gets to the country house, though, there's a weird sort of quiet. It's not like someone's sick, it's more like someone's grieving. He uses the key he has to let himself in, taking notice of the slight mess in the house that Spock would've probably twitched at the sight of. Laying the food in the kitchen and the meds on a chair, he tentatively starts to wander around the house.

"Jim?" he calls out cautiously. "You here?" Are you alive? is the one he doesn't ask, trying to shake worst case scenario from his mind, but he can't help that it's his instant, pessimistic thought.

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As inevitable as Bones' arrival must be, Jim hasn't thought much about it until it's actually happening. He shifts on the corner of his neatly made bed, his perch of the last few hours, and pushes himself to standing. His joints creak, and Jim stretches carefully, recalibrating. More than a few hours he realizes with a sudden rush of dizziness as his blood surges back to his legs and feet, but his voice is even when he calls, "I'm here."

He walks to the bedroom door, standing in the frame to find Bones looking back. He's not crying, he's not upset. He's perfectly upright and functioning and just what he needs to be, which isn't much of anything at all. "What's up?"

McCoy takes a careful look at Jim, eyeing whether his eyes are bloodshot, his skin is clammy, and any other signs of distress that might indicate some kind of illness. Hell, maybe it's nothing more than a cold, but Jim's never stopped before, not even at the sign of death, so this is one hell of a puzzle for him to figure out. He's been unpacking the soup (not made, but bought) and puts it in the fridge, which looks strange too, in a way he can't put his finger on yet.

"Haven't seen you in a while," he says. "Normally, you're hiding around most corners trying to give me a heart attack, but it's been a while without you now." And he's worried, but saying that might make Jim think he cares or something. "Big project or something?"

Jim watches him root through the fridge, dully cataloging the week old vegetables and spoiling milk, but at the question his gaze slides sideways, landing on the bowels of his tricorder as if seeing it for the first time.

"Trying to reprogram it," he says, moving to lift it from the table top. He's already upped the scannable radius by fifty kilometers, but it's not enough, not until Jim can make it search for psychic signatures as well as signs of life. He's just - Jim pauses, rubbing his finger against scratchy eyes - not there yet. Carefully, Jim tucks a dangling circuit back into place. "Does your medical tricorder read psychic energy?"

He tips his head to the side and catalogues all of Jim's reactions and actions. Something's off, he knows it, but he's going to figure out what before he pounces on Jim and demands an explanation. He watches the way he rubs his finger against his eyes, watches how even though there's some passion in his voice, it's lacking the rest. Something's going on and he kind of hates being in the goddamn dark.

"No, it's not even a normal tricorder anymore," he admits. "Had to reprogram it for when I was on that rock. Does more bone knitting than diagnosing and testing these days. I keep meaning to undo the revisions, but I figure it's probably easier to build from scratch."

While Jim's fiddling, McCoy roots through the kitchen, opening cupboards and drawers until he finds coffee, putting some on to brew for both himself and for Jim, who definitely seems like he needs it.

"That's what I figured." The scent of coffee beans hits the air like a fist, and Jim's stomach gives a sickening roll, forcing him to press a hand to his belly. Still, more caffeine is a good idea - he can't think of anything but the tricorder until it's finished, and sleep won't come. His brain has to recharge one way or another.

He sits at the table, waiting for the coffee to slowly drip its way into existence, and watches Bones. After days alone in the country, it's strange to have another living, bustling body so near, strange but good. Jim smiles faintly at him, and the words come tumbling out. "Can't find Spock."

Well, that's more than coming down with a cold. He puts the milk on the counter, along with the sugar (even if he'll give Jim one hell of a look if he indulges too much in it) and breathes in before he asks his next question, even though he has a bad feeling there's no good answer coming. "Like he went out for a walk and he's still roaming around with the outside cats?" he jokes, like humor's the only thing he can use right now.

"Hell, Jim," he sighs. "So this place does that too, huh?"

Jim stares at him, not comprehending. "Does what?" he asks, even if it should be obvious, but he's been so careful, shutting down every line of thought that might bring with it despair or worse, hope, and he can't figure out what Bones must mean. "It's been a few days. I spent a few days in a fucked up Wonderland, once," he offers. "Came back inside the coat closet." He smiles again, an erratic little twitch of his lips. "Scared the hell out of Spock."

McCoy is the absolute last person in the world for this. He's not the optimist that he probably needs to be. In fact, he's already disaster planning for how bad this can get. He remembers the dark hole he'd sank into when Jean had vanished, and they had only been dating. If Spock is really gone? Hell, he remembers losing Jocelyn. He'd never wish that on Jim and he hates that it might happen.

"We'll look," he promises, pouring cups of coffee. "But I need you to promise me that if this goes down the path of the worst case scenario, you can't shut me out, Jim. Promise me," he insists.

"I couldn't." Jim pulls his cup towards him, holding it between his hands. It's warm in the house, warm near bordering on hot, but the energy bills had been worth it to keep Spock comfortable. Now as the hot porcelain stings at Jim's hands, he wonders if he should turn it down. The thought makes his throat ache and his eyes hot, and he carefully schools his mind towards blankness.

"If he's gone, you're all I've got."

Okay, well, now they're going from hope to a real dark place with a lot of speed. He pours some milk into his coffee and sips at it, leaning on the counter and wondering if he should pick up his things and stay in a guest room for a while.

"Don't be an idiot," is his grumble. "I'm not all you've got. You have other friends, other work. Don't think I haven't noticed the spot you've carved out for yourself. You'll always have me," he promises. "But you won't have to lean on me so hard. You've got other people too."

It's true, he does. Rukia and Flavia and Bruce and Hermione and Faye, but all he can think of wanting right now is Spock, and he's gone. Jim's never settled well into Darrow, never accepted that he couldn't leave if he just figured out how, but his yearning for home is a fresh wound all over again, raw and angry when he pokes at it.

"I just want to go home," he exhales. "I want my crew, I want my ship." Jim's hands tighten around the cup, palms reddening with the heat. "I want my husband."

"Yeah, I know how that feels kid," he admits, a tender and raw sympathy for how much he feels bad for Jim. It's not fair that he has to go through this and hell, it's enough for him to remember that the joy of being married only lasts so long before the heartbreak of loss kicks in. He's never been good with thinking things will last.

"But you got me, and you got this house, and your friends," he says. "And I know it ain't home, I know it's not your crew or the ship, but it's not nothing," he grunts emphatically. "And besides, didn't you say it yourself? Maybe Spock's just waiting to come out of the cupboard."

Jim looks around his house - built with his and Spock's own hands, not the humming, living walls of a ship but undeniably home, and now despite the both of them sitting here, it feels empty.

He offers Bones a nod anyway, part of him already aware that nothing either of them says or does is going to make this better, and reaches again for the tricorder. "I still have your old one," he says. "From the you before. I fucked with it, but it should have some readings of Spock on there. If you show me how, maybe I can dial in on his mental signature. Then we'll really know."

McCoy reaches for it, nodding his head. He and Spock might not have gotten along on the ship, but between living together on the island and him being married to Jim here, there's a whole lot of thawing that's happened between the both of them. "Here," he says. "Let me play around with the settings given what I remember from the last few physicals I ran on him," he continues, grabbing the thing so he can tweak some of the settings, having missed the basic functions of the tricorder.

"If he's in some place like Wonderland, though, that'll be out of range," he warns. "Anything outside the city unless you boosted this thing."

"Yeah," says Jim, nodding down at his hands, "But. I don't know how much they taught you about Vulcan pair bonding in Xenobiology, but it's a big deal to them. Spock and I can only do so much, me being mostly psi null and all, but there's a link there." He taps his temple where Spock's finger had all but slotted into place. "It doesn't do much for me unless we're melding, but if he's here - in this reality, at least, the link should still be there."

Head down, this is one of the topics he doesn't like to focus on. It's not that he minds, but there's a part of him that remembers being at his lowest and Jim being in a like place and how they'd been there for each other. Sometimes, it kind of feels like Spock's replaced his friendship, though he can't exactly say that, especially now.

"So I'd better do a scan of your brain," he says, working to get the tricorder to the right function. "Hold still," he says. "And if you can, try and tap into that link."

Jim nods and keeps still, dutifully reaching for the small point of light in his head that's been Spock for so long, but it's like tonguing at a healed up wound. He closes his eyes and tries harder. Nearby, he can hear the tricorder at its work. He's no professional, but Jim's spent enough time with the medical scanner to know when it's returning data and when it's not. That there's none to be had now is no surprise, but the tear that slips down Jim's cheek is.

He draws a breath, his face expressionless, even as more tears come. There's nothing. He doesn't need to hear it said aloud to believe it.

Silently, McCoy rests the tricorder on the counter, letting the scan continue even if it's picking up nothing beyond Jim's usual brain chemistry -- no external links to anyone else in the city that he can find. Quietly, McCoy tugs on Jim's shirt at the shoulder and brings him in for a hug that binds him in so that he can't escape. "I'm sorry, Jim," he says, barely audible as he feels that bolt of pain for Jim, remembering what it was like the day Jocelyn told him it was over, took Joanna, and left in the wake of his father dying.

"C'mon, you need to sit. You probably need a good healthy dose of vitamins, probably running a little weak right now."

Jim shudders inside the tight circle of Bones' arms, some distant part of him aware that it feels good, familiar, that it still feels like home when he'd been certain his was lost, but the tears don't stop. He stays upright when Bones pulls away, but he sits when told to, lacking the will to do anything but obey.

"Don't be sorry," he says. Sometime probably not far from now, Jim knows he's going to be blisteringly, futilely angry, but he's not ready to make that jump just yet. Not when he can stay where it's still numb and quiet. "It's not your fault."

He roots through the fridge to come up with that chicken noodle soup, heavy with vegetables, and pops it into the microwave, peering at the buttons for a while as he learns this new (old) machine and gets it microwaving the food before he takes the seat next to Jim, setting him out a spoon and some water. "No, it's not my fault, but it doesn't mean I can't empathize," he grunts. "I know what it's like, losing your spouse."

Jim makes a soft sound for that. He hadn't been around in the early days of Bones' divorce, but he'd seen the aftermath. They'd both been broken in different ways when they came together, but whole as they've become, Jim recalls how long it'd taken Bones to scrape himself together.

He doesn't want that, but then, Jim doesn't want any of this. "Is that what I am now?" he asks. He's not divorced, but how can he be married to someone that's not here? Spock lies across a divide now that's as wide as death, however whole he might be on the other side. "A widower?"

When the microwaves goes off, he prepares a heaping bowl for Jim, sliding it towards him with the spoon ready. He's grateful he'd brought the food, even if it'd been for a completely different reason. "No, it's not like that," he says, though he isn't sure he has a better name for it.

"Separated? I guess?" He isn't sure what to make of it, because it's not like if Spock came back, he'd remember, would he? Jim doesn't remember, here, which is both good and bad for McCoy, who had been burgeoning on something else with his Jim and yeah, it had hurt a bit to come here, but he understands how it has to be.

"You could stay married in spirit and stay devoted to him," he points out. "It's up to you."

"We're not separated," says Jim with a shake of his head. "Spock didn't leave me, he wouldn't do that. He was taken." Horrible as it is, widower feels most right - Jim's lost someone before their time, to call it anything else would be a disservice to what they'd pledged to one another.

He sighs, only managing to get as far as taking the spoon in hand before his stomach gives another turn, and Jim goes green. It's been days since he ate, and now the smell of even soup seems too rich. "Bones," Jim gasps, miserable. "Maybe a hypo first?"

He doesn't point out that Jim is effectively the literal definition of separated from Spock, seeing as he's not here to argue with Jim. "I know," he promises, digging through his bags to find the hypo he'd brought with him, just in case. He loads it up with a few drugs that ought to help with appetite before injecting Jim in the neck without any warning.

"There you go, let's see how that treats you."

It's a sign of how low he is that Jim welcomes the sting, sighing in relief as the nausea recedes almost at once. "Thank you," he says, gripping his spoon again and managing a bite this time. With the appetite aids it even tastes good, and he takes another.

"You thought I was sick," he realizes, looking down at his soup. "Sorry, I should've commed."

"Couldn't think of any other reason you'd stop brightening up my stoop," he says wryly, even though he knows disappearance had flashed through his mind briefly, but it'd been so depressing, he hadn't wanted to entertain the idea. Looks like he should've. "Jim, don't apologize," he orders. "You do whatever you need to do with this."

"Just don't go out and kill yourself, would you? Last thing I need is to scrape you off a sidewalk because you decided to go extreme somehow."

"I got the blowing myself up out of my system before you got here," says Jim, but Bones knows him well. When the numbness recedes, the need to control the situation will rush in to fill it, and the only way Jim gets Spock back is if he finds a way out of this damn dimension.

And that kind of power won't be easily won.

"Who'd you lose?" he asks, because he knows Bones hasn't only been talking about Jocelyn. "On your island."

He snorts and settles into a chair, thinking he needs more than coffee if they're talking about it. "The better question is who didn't I lose," he points out. "You, Chekov, Scotty, Spock, Uhura," he lists, feeling worn just thinking about it. "My girlfriend, of a few years back. Then you showed up again and I guess I left you, this time."

He doesn't know if Jim's still there, on that island (or some form of him). He wonders what had happened, once Jim had caught him out with that tape. Suppose he'll never know.

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