leftwithmybones | (no subject)

(no subject)

At the time, it'd seemed like a good idea. They're in some strange fantasy that's made up of moments in his head, they're home, but not home, so why shouldn't he capitalize on the fact and pack a couple bags in the night so he can whisk Jim away to Iowa and the dry-docks. If this is his head, he'll want to make Jim happy and if that's the case, then the Enterprise ought to be in there for repairs.

What he did not prepare for was the fact that even though this is in his head, his goddamn aviophobia hasn't vanished. He's currently sitting in one of the seats in the shuttle, head between his knees and breathing so hard that he thinks he'll never breathe a deep breath again. In short form: he's going to throw up and it'll be the shuttle company's fault for not letting him do it in the bathroom. Another lurch and McCoy groans heavily, sinking even further forward, like he's attempting to melt into the floor.

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"Bones," says Jim in a fond exhale, and it shouldn't be charming, Bones so red in the face he looks like one of his tomatoes, but his reaction is just so extreme.

"You do love me, and I love you, and I want you to focus on breathing, okay? Put your hand on your stomach and feel it, every breath going in and out. Can you do that for me?"

He puts his hand on his stomach and focuses on the breathing like Jim's asked. In, then out, then in again. And when that breathing pattern stops, he eases back and looks at Jim with a bit of wild-eyed panic because there are windows and he thought he was over this, but he's still damn worried about crashing into the ground and dying -- even in his own head.

"I hate flying," he murmurs and sinks back into the seat, stable for now.

"I know you do," says Jim, squeezing gently at the base of his neck, "So for you to schedule a flight in the middle of your own private fantasy, you must really want to see whatever it is we're flying to. Which," he says, leaning over to press a kiss beneath Bones' ear, "Has me pretty damn curious."

"Trust me," is all he says, checking his watch to see how long before they land. Georgia to Riverside isn't that long a haul and they ought to be landing soon. He sags over to Jim's side a little more heavily, feeling exhausted. "I won't be much of a person until we get coffee in me, though."

"I don't think they have craft services on this shuttle," Jim chuckles, slipping his arm around Bones' waist. He remembers, of course, how strong Bones' reaction had been on that first flight, knows that Bones hates flying, but observing the full force of his phobia is troubling, if only because Bones will have to go through it all over again whenever they go home for good.

"But I'll find you some as soon as we land."

"Something greasy, too," he says, latching that onto his demands. "If I'm going to be expected to be a person for you, I need coffee and food that'll absorb up all the panic and anxiety, like a good hangover cure," he mutters, sighing as he rubs a hand through his hair and tries to put it back into neat array.

It's only fifteen minutes later that they begin the descent and he has to look at Jim pointedly. "Hands over your ears. And hum," he instructs.

"Seriously?" Jim asks, but he does as he's told, hands over his ears as he hums snatches of the blues song he'd heard at the farm. Whatever is spoken over the PA is largely obscured, but Jim can't help himself trying to look out the little window.

He's damn lucky that he got a company that'll take 'em right outside the dry-docks, but it does mean he eventually covers Jim's eyes with both hands and distracts himself with distracting Jim until they're on the ground and they're being asked to leave. "Okay. I need you to make me a promise. Do not pin me to the ground when we get out of here."

"In a good way, right?" Jim asks, but his heart is starting to thump in his chest, adrenaline kicking in - he'd meant what he'd said earlier, for Bones to willingly board a shuttle is a big deal, so they must be somewhere truly special.

In the end, it's the air that does it, that familiar cornfield smell mixed with motor oil, and Jim breathes deep and wonders aloud, "Did you bring me to Iowa just to have me watch you kick Frank's ass? Because I'd be down for that."

"Don't lose that thought, we might do that later on," McCoy says, not even having thought of that, but now that it's been brought up, he doesn't want to let it go. He leads Jim out to the entrance and sighs with relief when he sees the familiar letters and numbers on the hull of the ship. Lightly, he nudges Jim with his elbow towards the personnel guarding the Enterprise. "Go on, put on your best Captain face and get us on board, would you? Otherwise I endured a shuttle trip for nothing."

He should have expected it. He should have known from that first blast of Iowan air, should have sensed her or suspected as much from Bones, and maybe Jim did. Maybe he did and wouldn't face it, because it's just a little bit too much, coming suddenly face to face with the other great love of his life.

He doesn't know what's on his face when he approaches her, her body huge and gleaming and white and everything that Jim's been missing, but the few sentries part for them like water. Jim walks right past them, out of sight and out of earshot, and then he leans forward with hands braced against his knees, body trembling with more want than he can process.

"Well, your knees didn't hit the ground," McCoy observes, and yeah, he wants a coffee more than he wants to live, but there's replicators on board that'll do the trick for him. He takes in a deep breath and prepares himself for what bringing Jim here means, hand on Jim's back and letting his thumb brush over the nape of his neck. "Figured I ought to give you a slice of home, too."

Jim nods, taking in deep breaths through his nose, and finds it in himself to stand. It's different, she's different, or maybe he is, standing before her once again with Bones at his side, but in a new way. Not just a friend anymore, or his trusted CMO, but his partner. Who flew himself halfway to a panic attack to get Jim here.

"Thanks, Bones," Jim murmurs, throat tight.

"I wasn't kidding about that coffee and greasy food bit," he says pointedly, shooting Jim an expectant look. "I'm not even going to bother being nice to anyone until you give that to me." He takes in a deep breath and stares up at the ship, hauling his duffel bag tighter against his shoulder. "Two days. Okay? Two days and then we go home to my baby girl."

"Two days, Bones..." says Jim, finally peeling his eyes away to look at him. "C'mon, I love her, but that's too long, god knows how it's going to be before you get to see Jo again. I don't need two days here, not unless we're going to take her out." His eyebrows lift suddenly. "Are we taking her out?"

"It's my brain and god knows that my brain is a sucker for your pretty eyes, so who the hell knows what's possible," he admits with a pop of his brow in an upward direction. "I'm starved, Jim. Get me some food and then make your crazy genius plans when you're done with that."

"I fucking love your brain," Jim breathes, so sincere it hurts, his whole chest one big ache, and grabbing Bones' hand doesn't soothe it, but it doesn't make it worse.

"C'mon," he says, navigating past guard after guard, onto the strange little pad that marks the only way onto the ship. "We'll get everything you need in my quarters."

"Why can't I go to my quarters?" McCoy complains sharply, giving Jim a petulant look as he follows along after Jim, sighing and lifting up Jim's hand in order to press a kiss to the back of his hand. "You okay? You not fit to burst any time soon?"

"If you're asking am I going to cry, I'm totally going to, it's inevitable," Jim says, pausing for the fucking insane feeling of being beamed on ship for the first time in ages.

He sways on the transport pad, torn between weeping and whooping, and continues, "My quarters have better coffee. Captain's privileges and all."

"Yours do not," he protests, but he closes his eyes as tightly as he can when they get beamed up, refusing to indulge his mind in the panic attack thoughts that come as a result of what he's doing. "Besides, if this were real and we were back, I wouldn't be moving in with you, Cap," he says wryly.

"Don't say that," Jim exhales, and now he does feel like weeping, holding Bones' hand on a transport pad like he never would have considered as Captain. "We do what we want, what we need to do, Bones, in your head or elsewhere. I'm not giving you up when we're home."

"Yeah, but I'm not moving in with you right away, unless you want the ship's crew to think I put out and got a raise for it," he says sharply, giving Jim a disbelieving look. "I'll sneak into your bed after Gamma properly. No giving me up, just transitioning into this."

He exhales once he checks his body parts over for change, hurrying off the transport pad. "God, I hate that thing."

"Bullshit," says Jim, "Do you think the crew's going to care? My first officer and communications chief are already together, and everyone's fine with it, they think it's cute even. Anyone who has a problem with you and me will be swiftly terrorized out of it. Hey."

Pausing in the hall, Jim backs Bones against the wall. "Are you really worried about this?"

"Yeah, I'm really worried about this," he replies, shifting his shoulders against the wall as he's unable to escape the feeling of being trapped. "Look, Jim, you coasted through school on looks and brains and charm and you got the position Pike challenged you to get."

"I'm just pointing out, Jim, you're in a position of high authority and I...I don't think I can waltz into your quarters permanently without it affecting my career forever."

"I did not coast," says Jim, ashen, "I did not coast, and neither did you, we're where we are because we worked hard and we're brilliant and we earned it, and nobody's going to think that about you. I'll - "

Turning suddenly, Jim walks a few paces away, hands in his hair. "I'll punch anybody who says so."