leftwithmybones | (no subject)

(no subject)

When he wakes up, he hears two things that make him distinctly terrified for both his life and his sanity. See, thing is, on the island, he wakes up with Jim clinging to him like a lamprey and that's about normal, that's fine. He gets used to the cat in his face yelping for food. What he's not used to is his Mama's voice shouting from downstairs that breakfast is on and if he doesn't move his ass, then Jo's gonna eat all of it.

So, you know, what in hell has he been drinking? He starts awake, hair a righteous and holy mess and he stares around him -- no grogginess left, not today. There's a dozen recognizable things around him and his eyes flit between them -- his Vitruvian man poster, the skeletal poster, his favorite sports teams and the merchandise, and the assorted antiques that litter the room. He breathes out and flops back on the bed, but it's not mattress he hits.

It's Jim.

"Fuck, ow," he hisses, then stares at the door in the event his mother (or Jo, how is Jo here, it must be break, the one time he ever got her and his grandparents left no mystery as to where she'd be spending it). He bolts for the door, clad in nothing but his tight black boxer-briefs and locks it firmly, reaching over to flick Jim in the leg. "Get up," he orders. "Now."

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"That's what I've heard," McCoy says, still stunned and staring at the door to the bedroom, knowing that he has to go outside at some point, but god knows he's not sure how. He hasn't seen his daughter in over three years and he doesn't know how to restrain himself. "My baby girl is downstairs," he says, blinking through the shock.

"Hey," says Jim, turning on the bed. "Hey, it's going to be great." Great, and then possibly terrible when Bones has to leave her again, but Jim will take one alternate reality's crisis at a time today.

"You get this time with her, and we'll make every second count, huh? Are you nervous?"

"I'm actually more nervous about the fact that I have to explain you," McCoy admits, turning to look at Jim and giving him a pointed look. "I never exactly brought home any of the men I screwed in dark bedrooms," he drawls. "At least, not to this home and certainly not to my Mama and Daddy."

"Are you serious?" Jim asks, incredulous. "Parents love me!" Standing, he pulls on the old jeans Bones has tossed him, noting the threadbare fabric around the pockets with interest. "Well, these have potential for later. C'mon. Let's go charm the crap out of your mom and angelic offspring."

He doesn't move, not yet, but that's mainly to do with the fact that he's not sure he wants to do this, especially not with Jim's ego in the mix. "I have half a mind to push you out the window so you can come in the front door," he mutters, pushing his fingers through his hair, but that only musses it up more.

"Okay, test time. Let's have a run-through. Pretend I'm my mother and tell me how we met."

"Good morning, Mrs. Bones," begins Jim at once, showing Bones his best smile. "It's so lovely to meet you, and what a gorgeous home you have, is that painting on the mantle there an original? I was just telling your son that it reminds me of the day we met - could you believe, it was him who had to talk me down from a severe aviophobic panic attack? But he was amazing. A healer through and through, this one."

Rocking back on his heels, Jim gazes at Bones expectantly.

He screws up his face in disbelief, smacking Jim lightly at the back of his head. "What the hell are you trying to do, get her to think you're some kind of sycophantic idiot?" he complains sharply. "My mother appreciates the truth, so just give it to her straight and avoid too much about the sex-life or the part where you break enough rules to fill up your own autobiography. And no inappropriate words in front of my seven-year-old child," he warns, poking a finger into Jim's face as he opens the door.

Deep breath. "I'm coming down now, Ma," he calls. "Do you have any extra on the table?" he asks, taking the steps quickly and grabbing hold of the Scarlett O'Hara staircase in order to spin around it quickly, coming into sight of his mother and his little girl. He's trying to keep it together, but the minute he's within a stone's throw of the kitchen, he's striding as quickly as he can to swipe Jo into his arms in a tight hug.

"Daddy," she complains, wiggling. "I'm trying to eat Gramma's grits."

He turns to see how worried his mother is and yeah, it's pretty concerned. "You're acting like you haven't seen her in ages and while I know that woman's doing her best to make that happen, we still get her sometimes."

"I can't miss my little girl?" McCoy mock-complains, settling into a seat at the breakfast bar and forcing himself to take long breaths. "Ma, listen, there's someone here with me, I want you to meet him, okay?"

Jim yelps and then blinks at the space that held Bones only a second ago, following on his heels and pausing only when he realizes Bones is making a beeline for the kitchen. Jim can't help but poke his head around the corner, watching Bones heft his daughter with a rising lump in his own throat. He can't even see her properly yet, but just seeing Bones see her is enough to make Jim fall a little bit in love with her already.

"Morning all," he calls, pushing off the staircase to enter the kitchen at a slower pace. "It's great to finally meet you, I'm Jim."

McCoy inhales sharply and lets his heart rabbit onwards because he's still panicking about this. "Mom, Jo," he says with a deep breath. "This is Captain James T. Kirk. He pilots the Enterprise," he says. "He's the one who's let me be his CMO for as long as I have."

"So, you're the one who's been keeping him from coming home," his mother says sharply, stirring her spoon into her oatmeal slowly, her eyes critical as they peer right through Jim. "You look prettier in the holos."

"Actually that's Fleet regulation, ma'am," says Jim, smile untarnished. "Five year tours are standard, but I try to get my crew as much shoreleave as I can. Helps to keep the fussier ones' blood pressure down. And it's the pixel diffusing," he adds, waving a hand over his face. "Forgives all manner of sins."

McCoy winces when Jim starts going for the whole charm-and-conquer routine seeing as he's not entirely sure that's bound to go over real well. "Fleet regulation," McCoy harrumphs. "And the crew's preference of places like Risa. Goddamn beach-happy sun-worshippes," he mutters, but it's not quiet enough. His mother reaches out to give his earlobe a sharp tug, enough to make him yelp. "What!"

"You were one of those up until a long time ago," she replies (which earns Joanna's delighted laugh). "I've got pictures to prove it, you and your father at Myrtle."

McCoy goes quiet at the mention of his father. "Yeah, well, I grew up."

"You didn't have to do it so quickly," his mother replies quietly. "Eat up. Jim, you sit down too, can't have you starving while you're in my house. And then you can tell me what finally got you off your ass and convinced you to come visit us."

"Work let up long enough," says Jim, figuring one lie will have to do while he sits, as he can't exactly admit to being trapped in his boyfriend's head on a magical desert island.

"And the prospect of meeting this one," he adds, turning to Jo, "Was too good to pass up. Congrats, kiddo, you got your daddy's handsome features." He cups a hand to his mouth. "But none of the funny looking ones. Have you seen these pictures they're talking about, by the way? Because I don't think I can leave without seeing them."

Jo's been slightly wary of Jim, but it's shyness preventing her from speaking up. For some damned reason, she's got some kind of hero crush on Jim, no matter what stories McCoy tells her to try and get that to go away. She studies him curiously as she inches her chair closer, flushing slightly at the compliment. "Gramma's got a whole set of albums upstairs, but they're ancient."

"Antique," McCoy corrects her absently, murmuring a thanks as his mother hands him a fork and knife. He tries to ignore how that critical gaze has slid his way.

"Antique," Jo repeats. "All on paper and stuff. Daddy likes antiques, too, he always sends me presents of things from a hundred years ago or more. And Daddy doesn't have funny looking things," she retorts heatedly, stubbornly.

"You know what?" Jim asks, "They probably only come out when he's mad. And you could never make him mad. I, on the other hand? I have a unique talent for it." Grinning across the table, Jim picks up his fork. "Don't I, Bones?"

McCoy doesn't bother to answer that, giving a quiet harrumph. His mother, however, has finally seen what Jim is wearing and looks at him with a pointed glance at the hallway, so yeah, now she's about to do this. "Jim," she starts, slow. "Want to explain to me what you were doing in Len's bedroom with him? Overnight? Without having come in the front door yesterday?"

"I would, ma'am," replies Jim, but he's a Captain, and Bones has mentioned he ought to do more delegating, "But Bones made me promise to let him be the one to tell you. Bones?"

With a quick grin, he begins systematically piling grits into his mouth, pointing to indicate it's simply much too full for speech.

"Asshole," McCoy grumbles and flicks a bit of orange peel at Jim's face, hoping the citrus stings him in the eye. He takes a deep breath and looks at his mother. "Ma, I know I don't exactly tell you that much, but this is something you were bound to figure out sooner or later. Jim's my Captain," he says. "But I also let him take me out now and again on dates," he says cautiously, looking at Jo to gauge her reaction.

Her chewing has slowed, somewhat. Her gaze slides over to Jim, somewhat pained and confused. "What about Mommy?" she asks.

McCoy thinks that if this is supposed to be his fantasy, then he ought to control this sort of thing. "Mommy left me for Clay, remember, sweetheart?" he reminds her gently, stroking his fingers through her dark hair. "We're not going to be together anymore, but Jim's nice enough, isn't he?"

Jim swallows, coughing a little in his haste at the unhappy look on her face. "What your daddy means is, your mommy's in love with Clay now, and she's happy. Well, he wants to be happy, too." Jim catches Bones' eyes over her head. "And I'm trying very hard to make that happen."

Jo frowns, her little brows furrowed as she digs into her cereal a little harder, but that doesn't matter because his mother's looking at him and McCoy is all-too-aware what's coming next. "Finally, someone you're bringing home, Len? Does that mean I should get your dowry ready again?"

"Would you shut it, Ma?" he complains, clapping his hands over Jo's ears. "Jesus, we've been dating for a couple of months and he still has to survive you and Jo and he's already having trouble with her." He lifts his hands off his daughter's ears, pressing a kiss to her hair and smoothing it out when she complains.

"I am not!" Jim insists, but his expression is more subdued when he tucks back into his grits. It'd be easier if he weren't getting it from both McCoy women at once, especially when the elder is asking if he's getting it from her son.

"I'm glad to be here," he says and scrapes his plate.

McCoy smirks and gives Jo a real serious look -- which amounts to his making a slightly funny face, which she then mimics right back at him and it tends to resemble a platypus. "Kiddo," he says. "How about we give Jim a chance, okay? He is a starship captain and he's got all sorts of nice stories. Plus, I kind of like him a lot, a lot."

"A lot?" Jo echoes suspiciously.

"How much a lot, Len?" his mother asks, sliding another biscuit onto his plate. "I'm your mother, you ought to be calling me about these things," she says evenly. "Jim, tell me, has it really been a few months or is he lying about that too so I don't meddle?"

"Four months and fourteen days," says Jim, deciding not to go into specifics. Bones' mom isn't likely to appreciate their getting together after Bones punched him in the face anymore than his kid is. No matter how much Jim deserved it.

"We go on dates."

That takes him aback. "You keep track?" is what he asks Jim, his expression softening and going into something that more resembles genuine delight and shock. "Jim," he murmurs fondly, trying not to let that stop him from his favorite past-time of making sure Jim's ego isn't so big. "Jo, what do you say. You want to give him a chance? I promise, he's much better than Clay."

"Clay's your best friend, Daddy," Jo says, stirring her cereal.

"Not anymore, he's not," McCoy assures her. "And Mother," he turns to her. "Four months and fourteen days, you heard the man. Don't go making this into something more serious. Even though I don't intend to be with anyone else, that's still too short a time to be counting chickens."

"It's kind of serious," says Jim, too aware of the women on either side of them to look wounded, even if he feels it. He's here, in Bones' apparent ultimate fantasy - that has to count for something.

"Anyway," he says, clearing his throat, "breakfast is amazing. I wonder if I can trouble you for some coffee, Mrs. McCoy? I'll make it if you show me where, I'm kind of a terror when I'm uncaffeinated, if your son's opinion can be trusted."

McCoy tries to shoot Jim a panicked message using only his brows and his jaw that saying it's serious is only going to get his mother bringing out the goddamn planning books and demanding to know when he's going to be made an honest man again and that is not what he wants to be doing with his time. He inhales sharply and gets up. "I'll get the coffee," he says, fixing it just the way Jim likes it, bringing it to Jim's side and taking the opportunity to slide his hand up Jim's forearm and press a lingering kiss to his cheek.

Long enough to mumble, "If you really want to be stuck talking to my mother about china patterns, by all means, tell her how serious. Tell her about the more grandchildren part, you'll never get to leave or enjoy my bed."