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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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."

"Maybe I do," Jim mutters back, which he mostly means, except for the bed part. Definitely not the bed part. "Thanks," he says brightly, taking a long drink from his cup.

"I have to say, I'm anxious to see the place where Bones grew up. Maybe you could show me around, Jo? Is that a tire swing out front?"

He raises his brow, but doesn't say anything about how Jim apparently wants to discuss 'rest of our lives' with a potential future in-law, which is something that McCoy's not even close to ready for. So he's glad, really, when Jim makes the offer to go outside. "Yeah," she says, brightening. "Gramma, can I show him?"

"Tidy up your plates, JoJo."

She's a whirlwind of activity and all the while, McCoy watches as his mother looks at him, then to Jim, and then back to him. "Does he make you happy, Jim?"

"Really happy," says Jim, and he's trying to dial it down, he really is, but his cheeks are warm and starting to ache a little with his smile. Out of the corner of his eye, he watches Jo, rushing to show her daddy's friend around. She really is his image, and displaying the singular focus he's seen Bones wield a thousand times.

"And I'm sure I don't deserve him, but I'm trying to."

"He deserves me about a hundred times more than I could ever manage to snag him," is McCoy's opinion on the matter, given that Jim's a genius who finished Starfleet in three years and has his own ship and McCoy just so happened to be on the right shuttle at the right time.

Jo's sprinting around, tugging on her sweater and grabbing her boots, flailing around slightly as she goes.

He turns to look at Jim, smiling fondly. "He's everything I didn't think I deserved after the mess with Jocelyn."

Jim flushes, not used to outright praise from a man who usually shows his affection by getting angry every time Jim hurts himself. If the moonpie eyes they're making at each other now aren't enough to let Mrs. McCoy know they're serious, she'd have to be blind.

"And now he's breaking his cardinal rule of not inflating my ego," Jim exhales. "Sounds like you need some fresh air, Bones."

"Yeah, I could do with a breather," he admits, shoving his hand through his hair and prepping a mug of coffee because even if this is in his head, he still feels groggy as hell. "Jo, you ready, baby?" he calls, peering down the hall to the front door to find in her in her boots and coat, haphazardly tying up her hair into pigtails.

He crosses the distance between them so he can smooth out the frizzy parts, one hand protectively on her shoulder. "You gonna be nice to Jim?" he asks quietly. "I know I don't come home that often, but I really, really love him, Jo," he says. "And I want you two to get along."

"I can try, Daddy," she says softly. "Promise."

Jim downs the rest of his coffee quick enough to burn the back of his throat, but he looks cheerful as he stands, carrying his dish to the sink after a wary look at Mrs. McCoy. "Thanks for the grub," he says on his way back through, suddenly moved to a quieter approach when he sees Bones and his daughter at the door.

"Everybody ready?" he asks, trying not to look as uncertain as he feels.

McCoy watches Jim cautiously, taking in the look on his face. When he makes sure that he's out of the line of his mother's sight, he slides an arm around Jim's waist, inching his fingers into the back of Jim's borrowed jeans and pressed a strong kiss to the juncture of his neck.

"Hey," he murmurs. "Talk to me. You okay with all of this?" he asks as he holds open the porch door, letting Jo burst outside at a dash.

"Yeah," Jim breathes, "of course," and barks out a surprised laugh as Jo streaks by them. He buries his head briefly against Bones' shoulder and straightens up. "Just trying not to screw all this up, you know?"

He tugs Jim even closer for the singular second that he gets him, slipping his fingers against the warmth of Jim's waiting skin. "How the hell could you screw any of this up?" he wonders, given how he genuinely doesn't see that as a possibility. One last kiss to Jim's hair and he eases back. "Come on, she wants to show you the tire swing and I'm pretty sure you're about to get recruited for swinging duty."