The door slams and Jo stomps in. Jim and Bones are curled up on the couch, enjoying the news together before Bones has to leave for his night shift. 

“Hey sweetie.” Jim says, tossing some popcorn in his mouth. 

She positions herself in front of the TV with her arms crossed, her fifteen-year-old attitude evident in every angle of her posture. “Do you know what today is?”

Jim turns to Bones with a horrified look on his face. “We didn’t pull a Sixteen Candles, did we?”

Bones gets up from the couch and lets Jim fall to the cushions by himself. He makes a sound of discomfort and chokes on the popcorn kernel. “It’s not her birthday, you infant.”

Jo rolls her eyes. “No, it’s People’s premiere of the Sexiest Man Alive Issue. Guess who is number one for the fifth year in a row?” Jo takes out a PADD and tosses it at Jim’s head. Luckily, even at an angle, he can catch. 

Bones puts an arm around her shoulders and tries to ease the tension from them. She sighs and pulls away. 

“Bones, look. The people think I’m sexy!”

Jim holds up the very zoomed in cover of the magazine’s front where Jim’s beaming and salt and pepper stubble are featured under the title. 

“What’s got you so upset?” Bones asks, nudging his daughter and trying to get her to smile. 

“Captain Sexy!” Jim croons. 

“Turn to page 20, dad.”

Jim does and starts laughing out loud. “Sexiest couple and Bones, look you’re number five! You beat out that teeny bopper Jo likes!”

Jo’s posture just gets more rigid. “Do you know how embarrassing it is? When all your best friends are oogling over your dads?” She takes a seat on the couch. “It’s weird.”

Bones smoothes her hair down. Jo definitely had a lot to deal with. Their lives were often put out on display when they didn’t want them to be. Everyone wanted to know more about the heroic Starfleet Captain and his family. This was just another intrusion. 

Jim shifts over to Jo and puts his chin on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, Jo Jo.”

She rolls her eyes, ignoring the faces Jim was making and trying not to smile. 

“Do your friends want autographs? Because if they do, we’d be happy to oblige!”

Jo squealed and hit Jim playfully on the shoulder. 

Jim threw his head back. “Sorry kiddo.”

Jo turned to face Bones. “You guys aren’t hanging this up right? Like the others?”

Jim grabbed the pad from it’s discarded place on the couch. “I have the perfect place for it. Right next to my Starfleet diploma…” He left the room and Jo’s eyes widened. 

“He’s kidding.” Bones told her. “I think…” And he got up to go make sure that Jim wasn’t mounting the PADD to the wall. 


If you don’t know your personality type, take the test here.

Tagged by: dammitmccoy
Rules: Find out what characters share the same personality type as you here and list the characters that you find relevant below. Then tag five friends and let them know you tagged them!



2. Inspector Javert


4. Darth Vader 

5. Eeyore

6. Squidward (i’m laughing)

I tag: sterlerds cupofbrownsugar omegabones slashsailing atlasborne

Because Jim is a late addition to the Starfleet recruitment cycle, he’s not available right away for any of the on campus, work study jobs. Bones is handed clinic hours as soon as he steps on campus and he’s mostly okay with the graveyard shift, knowing that he has to pay his dues. 

Jim though, Jim has worked all his life. Whether it was hustling pool or poker in the dives around Riverside, or working as a mechanic in a local garage, he always had money in his pocket, split in two piles. For now and for later. Too many times he’d been stuck without a way out and if he was to live up to his new credo, not believing in no-win scenarios, he had to always have a way out. Money, he realized what as good a way out sometimes as any. 

The only place that was hiring was a family owned pizza place and bar, just outside the academy’s gates. A basic landmark, the building was over three hundred-years-old and the family had been there for longer. Finn’s it was called. 

They hired Jim after they gave him a trial at the bar. He had worked it before but he was a natural working it so that the tips were flowing and his charm was infectious. Finn’s had the best night in over a decade. 

“Good god, Jimmy.” Luke Finley said as he sat back in one of the velvet cushioned seat. “You wanna work here every night?”

Jim winked at him. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

And so Jim was adopted into the family. Luke Finley was one of eight brothers and sisters, four of which lived in the San Fran area. The rest spent their time hosting their mother and father who traveled to the colonies and parts of the Federation that their children had settled in. But when they came back, they embraced Jim too. 

Made him feel good. A happy comfortable calm settled over him, akin to confidence, when he stepped through the chipped wooden door of the old establishment. He was greeted always by regulars and workers alike. Girls would know his schedule, draping themselves over the bar and telling him that only he could make their special drink. 

But Jim only had eyes for Bones. Who would come on Saturday nights when he wasn’t working the clinic or after closing to pick Jim up. He’d wear the same beat up leather jacket he wore on the shuttle when they met. They would smile at each other over the girls and other patrons of the bar, Jim sliding him drinks and making sure Elsie, Luke’s Aunt, kept Bones fed. Which was good because Jim always felt bad that he couldn’t always eat. Lactose Intolerance was one of his sins and he could only have a few slices of pizza or Elsie’s famous Chicken Parm if Bones gave him a hypo first and Jim usually forgot to ask. 

Laurie Finley, one of the second cousins, promised to make good on the promise to bring Jim into the family by seducing with her “orgasmic cooking”. Too bad Bones wasn’t around when Laurie basically spoon fed him the ravioli, which she insisted was meet and not cheese. Of course it also had a sprig of nutmeg in it and Jim stopped breathing about two minutes after taking his first bite. 

It was a good moment for Bones to walk in, Jim knew. Thank god he was more aware of Jim’s allergies that Jim was and always carried around a few epi-pens for good measure. 

Jim spent the night curled in a ball in Bones bed, making frequent trips to the bathroom because of the fucking cheese in the supposed meat raviolis and sipping on ice water because of his sore throat. 

Luke gave him a whole week off and Laurie was sent back to the colony without any marriage proposals. Apparently Bones set her straight. 

After the Narada, Luke and Elsie hang up his news clippings around the bar (after making him sign an official Starfleet headshot) and dedicate a night to him. All the regulars come in and they sit around until way past closing, getting about as drunk as Bones would allow them, passing out hangover cure hypos while calling them all taxis. 

The sex was awesome that night too. Which is about the only thing Jim remembers. 

Before he goes after his five-year-mission, after Harrison and Marcus and his resurrection, Luke presses a key into his hand. “You got a home here, kid. You know that right? You and your doctor.”

Jim hugs him and promises to keep in touch, feeling the same warm feeling he had when he first started bar-tending. 

A year later, on shoreleave, he brings the Bridge Crew to the bar and lets his two families meet, with Bones and himself at the corner of the bar, watching amusedly as Elsie tries to coax Spock into eating chicken parm and Luke flirt with Carol. 

It’s not a bad place to be.

There were only four people who knew why The Final Frontier, a folk-y band with pop rock crossover, broke up five-years-ago. The gossip rags speculated that it was due to Leonard McCoy’s gruff nature and how happy-go-lucky Jim Kirk couldn’t possibly stand to be around that for too long. 

Fans who couldn’t leave well enough alone thought that it had something to do with Bones’ (as Jim called him, so did they) rocky relationship with his then wife, Jocelyn Darnell. 

Neither group knew that Bones walked away from Jim the night of their Grammy Award win after Jim told him he was in love with him.

And they hadn’t talked for five years. 

Until Jim won the Grammy again for his solo career and walked out of the theatre and hailed a taxi that took him to Bones apartment.

He knocked loudly on the door to the shittiest apartment he’s seen since him and Bones moved from San Francisco after college. His scruffy faced, dark circled ex-bandmate stared at him in shock and then smiled. “Dammit Jim.”

Jim strode over to the table and slammed the statue on the table. “That’s yours.”


“I wrote most of these songs with your dumbass in mind. So that’s yours. Now what did you want? Your agent called my agent about ten times today.”

Bones swallowed. “Ah, do you want to sit down or do you want a drink.”

Jim’s mouth twisted. “I think you’ve been drinking enough for the two of us.”

Bones looked down. “I deserved that.”

“Yeah, you did.”

Bones closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “I was wondering. I was hoping…”


“You haven’t even heard what I had to say.”

“I may hate you right now. But I was in love with you before that. So yes. Whatever it is.”

Bones felt the emotion of the last few days, of Jocelyn’s divorce papers coming through, of the custody agreement, of watching their old tour videos, flood him. He pulled Jim into a hug. 

Two days later and they were sitting at their record label with a concert manager trying to plan out the Final Frontier’s reunion tour. Jim wouldn’t look much at Bones but Bones was okay with that. He had six weeks on their tour to make it up to him. 

“Jo, darlin’. I love you. But no.”

His daughter pouts. “But look at his scrunchy face.” To illustrate she lifts the puppy closer to Bones’ face and yes, the dog does have wrinkles just between his eyes and under his jowls. 

“What am I going to do with a dog. Seriously.”

Jo’s face scrunches up just like the puppy. “Well, I figured, you know without Jim here…”

Bones’ stomach does the little drop it always does at the mention of his husband’s absence. Two months, he promised. It’s been six and Jim’s so far out in space that it takes a week and four other ships for their comms to bounce off of to reach one another. 

“And I’m moving out, so.”

She waves the puppy’s paws as if this is to explain the “so”. Is the “so” her way of worrying whether or not he’s supposed to be lonely? A puppy won’t exactly help with that. In fact, between the extra shifts he’s forcing SF Med to let him do, a dog might just frustrate him more. And no one wants to see Leonard McCoy more grumpy. 

He’s about to tell Jo this when the puppy yawns, whole jaw widening and face scrunching up more and he can’t help but think how Jim would fall over himself with how cute the dog was. Jim loved animals. Loves. Jesus christ, he’s not dead. 

“Just think of all the exercise you could get walking him.” Jo says. 

He almost snorts but holds it in. Five plus years running around after Jim Kirk is enough exercise for a lifetime. “He’s a daschund. They’re notoriously stubborn." 

He might not know much about most dogs but he knows this. His neighbor in Georgia had them and a day didn’t pass that they couldn’t hear Louise screaming after Pepper Jack.

Then he remembers that Jo is moving to Starfleet dorms and they don’t allow pets and her own dog that Joce had got her after the divorce had passed away a few years back. 

He scrubs a hand over his eyes and imagines writing to Jim. Got dog. Might succumb to too many puppy dog eyes. Send help. 

Jo nearly squeals when he takes the puppy from her and he’s rewarding with a swipe of the tongue over his chin. "Aw, hell.”

She giggles like she’s twelve and drags a bag of supplies from the porch. Ignoring his frown, she just shrugs. “I had a feeling.”

A week later and the puppy isn’t close to being house broken. He thinks it’s a bit pathetic that after the second time of yelling at the puppy for pissing on the wooden floorboards of the house, that he uses the same tone he does when he’s exasperated with Jim. And then it just slips out, when the puppy has gotten a hold of his slipper and is high tailing it out of the kitchen, Bones yells, “Jesus christ, Jim!”

And he spends the next ten minutes bracing himself against the kitchen counter because he can’t breathe. He’s laughing too much. He calls Jo to tell her and aches to call Jim. The puppy drops the half chewed slipper at his feet and cocks his head. 

“Your name sake would be proud.” Bones tells him.

By the time Jim comes home, Jim Jr. has gained three pounds and has stopped tugging his own leash when they go outside. And when they pick him up in the shuttle, JJ is securely strapped in his pet seatbelt, paws scraping the window as if he somehow knows. When they finally meet, Jim’s grin breaks out in the biggest dorky grin that Bones has ever seen on the man (and this was after Jim was a key note speaker at Space Con). 

“Welcome home,” Bones says, forehead touching his husband’s, puppy cradled to his chest. JJ’s snout and limbs wriggle until he’s face to face with his namesake. The dog yawns and Jim throws his head back to laugh.

Winona Kirk was not what he was expecting. She had the same blonde hair as her son but was that where her similarities to Jim ended, in physicality. She made Jim go clean his room for Bones and make sure he had enough towels and blankets, while she set about making some tea. 

The farmhouse was an eclectic mix of generations. An old telephone still hung next to the refrigerator, it’s cord hanging useless. The furniture ranged from early 2000s to present and the pictures were mostly of the boys, though there was a fading wedding picture of a couple that Bones figured must have been George Kirk’s parents. 

Winona gestured to the table and he sat, unsure of what to do with his limbs in this quiet house. 

“Thank you, Doctor McCoy, for bringing him back.”

This also, was not what he was expecting. 

“If anyone could bring himself back from the black, Mrs. Kirk, it’s Jim.”

She turned from the stove and fixed him with a world weary gaze one must have acquired from raising Jim Kirk. “We both know that everyone has a reason for going up to space. Jim wanted to make his daddy proud. Not sure anyone could come back from that.”

Bones swallows. It’s the truth, of course. Bones wouldn’t have been surprised if he had died up there, it just would have been earlier than he thought. 

“Do you love him?” She asked. He could see she got her directness from dealing with admirals and men who had tried to push her and the memory of her dead husband into a reverent hiding space, only to be brought out on Rememberance Days. 


She sets two cups on different adjacent placemats. “Why?" 

He stares at her. 

"I’m a mother. And Jim is my youngest. I also don’t know much about you, Doctor, besides Jim’s infrequent comms. I know you would save my son and that’s almost enough. But you can save a person’s body all you want doesn’t mean you can save his heart.”

He’s suddenly picturing Jim from just before the Narada. He is on the lawn on a warm San Francisco day, head pillowed by a rolled up sweatshirt and book held above his face. Bones approaches from the direction of Starfleet medical and Jim sits up and just smiles. 

Do you know he has six smiles? One when something really makes him laugh. One when he’s making plans.” And god help Bones with that, he can imagine that wicked grin or calculating smile as everything falls into place. “One when he’s laughing out of politeness, usually to some brass at the academy.”

He sighs. “One when he is uncomfortable. One when he is making fun of himself, which is often by the way. And one when he is talking to his friends" 

Their friends, the Bridge Crew, and the shared moments after the Narada press tour and the tiring debriefings. 

"I love him, Mrs. Kirk.”

And Winona nods, reaches out to grip his hand and then Jim is clomping into the room and complaining about dust bunnies and how there wasn’t anything even cool in his old room. 

The thing about the town is that everyone has a novel in their back pocket. 

Leonard fucking hates when he goes out on a date, meets a friend of a friend, goes to pick his daughter up from kindergarten and they immediately start talking to him about their story. He doesn’t fucking care about their story. 

He almost hates it as much as when his boss, Chris Pike, makes him babysit the interns.

“Jesus, Chris, their just babies. What do you want me to do, give them a manuscript and left them color on it?”

Pike raises an eyebrow at him from across his desk. “If I remember correctly that’s exactly what you had Joanna do during bring your kid to work day.”

Leonard grins at him. “It was a shit manuscript anyway.”

Chris hands him an application and resume. He groans. If he has to read another cover letter about how the kid was an NYU creative writing major who desperately wanted to write novels just like Enterprise Books published he was going to quit.

“James T. Kirk. George Kirk’s kid?” He asked and flipped a page to skim the resume. Not an NYU student then.

“Yep.” Pike says and pulls a manuscript, thicker than his father’s old dictionary sitting on a shelf behind his own desk, toward him. 

“And?” Leonard waits for more information. 

“And nothing. Looks like a good recruit. Like you to train him.”

“Wait, you hired him already?" 

"Yeah, he’s on the Bridge." 

Pike flips open the manuscript and props up his elbow as he settles in to read. 

Leonard rubs at his temple and tries to remember that he does this for the writing, the feeling of coming across a good manuscript, raw and open for suggestion. He does this for the finished product, of seeing the book hit the NYT best seller’s list. Not to oversee crap interns. Even if they happen to be George Kirk’s kid. 

Keep reading

Inspired by x.

“You hang out with Jim for a bit while I just run and make sure the interns aren’t killing anyone, okay pumpkin?”

“Kay, daddy.”

Jim rockets off the couch before Bones can walk out the door and corners him. “You’re just going to leave me here.”

“You’ll be fine. She’s drawing.”

“Bones, Joanna hasn’t said two words to me since she got off the shuttle. I don’t know if this will go well.”

“It’ll be fine. And I’ll be right back." 

He gives Jim a quick peck on the lips before going out the door and Jim sighs. He wishes that Bones would just tell Jo that they were dating instead of waiting the few days. Apparently she didn’t take very well to Clay when Jocelyn first introduced him to the little girl, Bones was very happy with the fact that she bit the other man. 

He shoves his hands in his jeans and walks into the room. Joanna’s been working on the one drawing since after breakfast when Bones made her damn lucky pancakes. She determined that their apartment didn’t have enough pictures and needed more. 

"Whatcha drawing?”

“Something for my daddy." Not for you.

 Do you think you can draw me something too. Later?“

"Probably not.”

Jim laughs. Yeah, she’s a McCoy alright and sits back on the couch. 

“You hungry? I was thinking we could go get sandwiches for lunch at this place down the street.”


“Well, before your dad comes back.”

She looks up at him, Bones’ bitchface plain as day playing over her soft features. He swallows. 


Keep reading

She is twelve when her fathers go up in their big starship and don’t come back. 

She is twelve when the only survivor, a sad-eyed straight-backed Vulcan, hands her a piece of paper. It’s torn and the ink runs a little but it’s folded tightly and the face of the fold reads, Joanna. 

She is twelve when she reads the letter under the willow tree, the one she has a makeshift burial for her fathers under. She buries some pictures, daddy Jim’s favorite book, daddy’s favorite medical tools, because there wasn’t bodies to bury and even twelve-year-olds know what closure is. 


I’m so sorry we won’t be making it home, baby girl. We don’t have much time but we wanted you to know how much we love you and how proud we are of you and will always be. Please know that even if we can’t be there with you, we will always be there for you. You will never be alone. Please be as brave, kind and smart and strive for your dreams. We believe in you. 

Love always,

 Your daddies. 

The scrawl is messy and in a hurry and she can see the smudge marks they left on the sides of the paper. She wonders where they even found it or the time to write it but thoughts of them carefully printing each letter make her a little dizzy. So she leaves it behind, pushes the thoughts away to the back of her racing mind.

She is twelve when she cries for all she has lost and when she makes a promise up at the stars she cannot see to make them proud. 

There’s a couch in the family room that Jim sleeps on most nights when he doesn’t want to fight. Bones is quick to have a temper and Jim is quick to say something he regrets. He often realizes a lost cause as soon as he sees it and sometimes Bones will toss a pillow and blanket from their bedroom into the family room, hitting Jim in the head and smelling completely of Bones. Jim can only hold in his laughter for a few minutes which is one or two minutes shorter than Bones, who gruff guffaw usually propels Jim off the couch, on top of the coffee table and into the hallway where he kisses Bones against the wall, nearly smashing his head against their family portraits. The kids usually slowly close their doors, all right in their world, when their fathers go to bed together. 

“You busy tonight?” Bones nearly smacks himself in the face at the pathetic attempt to sound casual. He rubs a hand over the back of his neck and tries not to look as embarrassed as he feels. 

They’re literally walking off the dock and into a flurry of press activity (mostly tabloids hoping to catch a glimpse of Jim). It’s the first time he’s really been able to talk to the kid. Jim’s been pretty much locked in his quarters since they left Nibiru and Bones has been locked in his head, planning this night. 

Jim’s grin is a slow simmering meal in his Nana’s crock pot. The crock pot he hoped to use tonight to make Jim the home cooked meal he desperately wanted (Bones, I need non-replicated food like I need to get laid. Don’t you?) 

Bones just wanted to confess how deeply, ridiculously, most likely fool-heartedly in love he was with his best friend. Finally. After five-years of keeping stupid silent.

“Probably go see the girls.” Jim slipped on his sun-glasses, waved a hand to the reporters and followed security through the crowd. 

Bones didn’t even want to ask who the girls were, did it even matter? before he too was ushered past the vultures and to his debrief. 

If he believed in such things, he might have left a piece of his heart at the dock, suspended between space and terra, liminal and forgotten. 


He decided to forgive Jim for his transgressions and planned something for the next night. Jim was a full, bright, red balloon, bouncing as he stopped by to grab something (kid was always forgetting pieces of himself somewhere, maybe like Bones’ forgot pieces of his heart). “A five-year mission! Dude. Do you know how cool that would be? Freedom. Just us and the black.”

He squeezed Bones’ arm then and his eyes were like the stars he imagined seeing on this so-called mission. Bones tried to be hopeful. Re-planned the meal. Figured the euphoria of a promotion couldn’t hurt his cause, right?

Jim never commed, never stopped by, never sent a message. The next he heard of his best friend was in the triage outside of what was once the Daystrom conference building. 

He pushed through the crowd, of admirals, captains, men and women bleeding and ashen, ignoring his instinct to help, to stop, so that he could find Jim. 

Jim was on the steps of the next building, shadowed by the collapsing beams of Daystrom, huddled and small. His complexion was the same as the grey officer suit he was required to wear. 

“Jim?” He whispered, approaching like he did the animals he rescued outside the farmhouse. 

The kid’s face crumpled and Bones wanted to crumple with him.


You can’t tell someone you love them in the middle of a inter-galatic man-hunt so Bones keeps his mouth shut. 

He has a panic attack worse than when his father was sick in his office. He almost dies on a rock with his hand stuck in a torpedo. He whispers, I’m sorry, I love you, a million times that day. The staff thinks he’s gone nuts. He can’t find it in himself to care. 

Nana always said that you could tell that something awful will happen if your beloved doesn’t say goodbye. He always thought that was a little general but Jim doesn’t say goodbye. 

Bones never gets the chance to either. 

As he stares down at Jim’s body bag, he doesn’t know what to do. 

He knows there are steps to take, responsibilities to carry out but he fucking…he can’t breathe. 

How could he never tell him? 

How could he never do something so fucking simple?

He stumbles toward a chair, wonders if anyone will just hypo him out of  this or if he’ll have to do it himself when the sweetest sound he’s ever fucking heard startles him from trying to become invisible. 

The tribble purrs. 

He’s on autopilot. He wonders if Jim will know how much he loves him when he wakes up. If he wakes up. When. 


His favorite place in the world, the only place that matters is in the most fucking uncomfortable hospital chair, hand curled around Jim in the two weeks that it takes for him to wake up. 

When he does and Bones checks him out (three times, with Boyce there for good measure and a fleet of nurses and other doctors too), he takes Jim’s hand again. 

“Bones-” Jim licks his lips. A swipe of the bottom, the top. Bones melts. 

Bones holds up his other hand. “Hold on.”

He takes a deep breath. Recalls all the pieces of his heart that he’d left behind. “I really have to tell you something.”

On Friday nights, everyone is able to forget what Jim Kirk did the rest of the week.

As long as he got that pigskin to the running back, called the plays right, and followed Pike’s lead, most people in Dillon could forget who he was fucking, what abuse Frank had screamed at him so the whole town could hear, or why his mama had left. 

But to Leonard McCoy, the Dillion Panther’s Wide Receiver, Jim is so much more than that. 

They’re leaning against Leonard’s beat up pickup in the parking lot after practice. Leo also parks far away from the field as if he knows Jim will likely come up to him afterwards and want to do naughty things to his already sweaty body. 

But tonight, two nights before the big game, Jim’s kisses are sweet, slow. 

“You’re not worried anyone’s going to see, darlin?" 

Jim smiles as he breaks away, his eyes wide with mischief like he had just changed the play midgame and expected everyone to catch up. "Let ‘em.”

Leo wishes that after the game when the families and girlfriends run onto the field and the town’s fans crowd around Pike and Sulu and Chekov and Jim’s just standing off to the side, taking it all in, that Leo could walk over to him, peel his gloves off and helmet, throw it on the turf and kiss him. In front of everyone. He doesn’t care about the scandal, about the damage to his reputation, his scholarship to Ole Miss. He just wants to show everyone that Jim is not broken, not a lonely boy who can throw a football real good. He wants to give Dillion something to gossip about other than the Kirk tragedy and Jim’s likelihood of failure if he can’t get his act together. 

He wishes they can stop being Quarterback and Wide Receiver, 42 and 11, and just be Jim and Bones. 

Mr. and Mr. Smith AU. 

Jim Kirk is recruited by Black Ops for Starfleet, working primarily off world on projects that are too classified and too shifty to be in public record. He works directly under one Alexander Marcus, who promises him greatness and revenge for the bastard who took his father and changed his life. Jim can see spending the rest of the world just beyond the shadows, slipping in and out of other people’s lives like the ghost he was trained to be and is mostly fine with this plan until he meets Bones. 

Bones is the love of his life. He gives Jim a home in San Francisco, a family, and a reason to come back from each and every one of his missions. 

He just doesn’t realize that Bones is working for the Federation’s CIA, separate and often at odds with Starfleet’s own covert program. 

For Bones, Jim offers him a second chance. He thought he had given up the chance at ever starting another life after Jocelyn left him and when the CIA came calling, needing someone with nothing to lose and everything to give. 

On the day that they both get their assignments-find and kill each other-they are both devastated. It’s not only the kill order but the betrayal. The moments that they spend wondering if it was all a sham, an intricate deep cover. Jim has a panic attack in his Starfleet office. Bones finds a fifty year old bottle of Scotch that was a present from his superiors and spends the night staring at his husband’s file and downing the liquid. 

Neither of them go home that night. 

And neither make a move. 

Until Phil Boyce, Bones’ commanding Officer, has a strike team deployed to kidnap Jim. It’s messy and will often rouse the ire of SF black ops team. 

“You.” Jim says when he wakes up from the carefully concocted drug cocktail that the team shot into his neck. Had to be careful not to kill the kid before they even got to talk, what with his allergies Leonard painstakingly made note in his file. 

“Me.” Phil says, feigning interest in the gloves secured tightly on his fingertips. 

“You gonna kill me, Phil?” Jim says to the man who is Bones mentor, the man who has sat across from him at dinners and parties. Jesus. Is everyone a fucking spy? Jim thinks. 

“Just here to talk.” Phil puts his hands up in mock surrender. He’s good at his job. A doctor by trade and an agent by recruitment, he started out just like Leonard did. That’s why it was so easy to coax him into the life. Until Jim fucking Kirk. 

“Sorry Phil, can’t tell my secret poker trick. It’s classified.” Jim grins at him, a disarming smile that makes Boyce feel just a tad bit sorry for needing to kill him. 

“We need to talk about McCoy.” Phil says into a sigh. He pulls up a chair and sits back, crossing his legs and resting his hands onto his knees. “You see, he really loves you.”

Jim swallows and Boyce fights a smile. Always good to start with a pressure point. 

“Apparently not. I’m assuming that the hit works both ways. He’s been ordered to kill me?”

Phil nods. “Yes. That would be protocol. But you see, he hasn’t been able to make a move. You either, apparently. And we had to speed things along.”

“Oh goody. Is this the part where you make him kill me? Because we both know Bones is smarter than that.”

He ignores the bait. “Leonard is a fantastic agent. He has no ties to this world, a lot like you, I imagine. Your only ties are to each other. Both agencies have agreed this bond must, and will, be severed." 

Jim’s gaze has turned stony now, his posture rigid. Boyce continues, "I would have liked Leonard to be the one to kill you but I worry that that may push you over the edge. I’m going to give you the chance to leave. Leave and try to escape my team’s path. If you succeed, we will let you disappear. If you don’t and the team catches up with you, we will kill you.”

A muscle in Jim’s jaw pops. “And Bones?”

“Will be fine. I’m sure once you are out of the way, Alexander will find no reason to want Leonard dead. It’s you who are the liability Jim. You see, I’m not willing to lose your husband. But Marcus. Well, Marcus doesn’t give a fuck what happens to you.”

He lets that sink in. Watches Jim straighten up. “Bones won’t let it happen. He’ll find me.”

“Will he? You’ve basically betrayed him. Betrayed each other. There’s no reason for him to go back to you. Once you disappear and are killed, because make no mistake Kirk, my men will kill you, you will fade away.”

“Nah. I think you’re bluffing. Bones won’t give up that easily.”

“He did for Jocelyn, did he not?" 

Boyce watches with satisfaction as the comment makes Kirk pause. 

"Leonard is an invaluable asset to my team, Kirk. He’s good at it.”

“He’s a doctor, for christ’s sake.”

“And you’re a Starfleet officer.”

Jim’s shaking his head but Boyce interrupts him. “The best person to take someone a part is often the same one who can easily put one back together.”

They both know how well McCoy is at his job. The man has patched Jim together, brought him back from the brink so many times Boyce has lost count. Jim’s missions on the Enterprise, the ship he was apparently captaining, were a masquerade for Starfleet ops. Marcus knew the kid would take risks and exploited that, not caring that Kirk almost always came back with a serious injury just short of life-threatening. And the man Kirk called Bones, always, loyally and with love, healed Jim.

It would probably be difficult for Leonard, when Kirk was killed. But he would see reason. He had too. 

Before either men could say anything else the door to the cellar room they were in buckled with a loud tearing bang. Both guards dove to the side as another blast blew it off it’s hinges. 

Boyce didn’t need the smoke to clear to know that Leonard McCoy would be standing in the threshold, most likely murder in his eyes. And he had a sinking feeling the look wasn’t intended for Kirk. 

Leo doesn’t have a problem working the 8 to 1 am shift at the library. It’s usually quiet; the only students around having sequestered themselves in private study rooms or in little sections by the moveable stacks. He can usually get his reading or memorizing done at that time, using the ample desk space to make his infamous index cards for A&P 1& 2. 

It’s the circ worker, Jim Kirk, that makes him want to slam his head repeatedly at the library’s brick wall. 

“Hey kid, no eating food at the circ desk.”

“Hey, Kirk, no headphones on shift.”

“Jesus, Jim, can you actually check in those books?”

It’s an endless cycle of Leo sounding like a broken record and Kirk flashing his pretty boy, jock grin before running a hand through his adorably  ruffled blonde hair and ducking his head before actually following his request. 

Leo most definitely does not fantasize about the first item on the list of things all students must do before they graduate Have Loud Dirty Sex in Library with Jim Kirk. That would be unprofessional. 

He’s also four years older. Kirk is a freshmen for Christ’s sake. Leo should be focusing on someone his age, who is mature and doesn’t grace Leo with a dopey grin every single time they work together. 

Or call him Bones. 

“Why the hell do you call me that?” Leo asks, pushing Jim’s booted feet off the circ desk. 

“Saw you studying them the other day. Seemed fitting. Pre-med, Bones.” Jim actually fucking winks. 

Leo, not Bones, never Bones, does not growl. He just marches back to the information desk and finishes typing the paper he’d been working on. 

It only takes Bones a few months to break any and all attempts to ignore Kirk. They end up having sex in the library before their shift two weeks before graduation. 

Jim follows Bones to med school and when they tell everyone who asks how they met later on, when they’re married and settling down with children who may or may not share Jim’s adorable ruffled hair and dopey grin, Jim just shrugs. “I charmed him in the library.”

Bones discovers he has Xenopolycythemia one year after he and Jim get married. Jo is ten. M'Benga and Chapel call him into Starfleet medical where Bones is ashen faced and quiet, too quiet. 

“No no no no no.” Jim says brokenly, which startles Bones into action. He kisses Jim’s temple, his cheek, the side of his mouth, as if Jim is the one who just found out he has less than a year to live. 

Jo doesn’t take it much better. 

“You better fix him, Jim.” She tells him in the hallway. Her eyes are hard and her fists are clenched. “You better fix him like he fixed you.”

She doesn’t talk to him after that.

For the next few weeks Jim calls in every favor he’s owed. Wheedles new favors from old friends and some enemies and learns everything he can about the deadly blood disease. 

He can’t look Jo, or Bones, in the eye until he figures this out. Until he saves Bones. Because without Bones, who is he?

Bones is on a bed in medbay when Old Spock contacts him. Jo is a constant presence at his bedside, making up a fort between the two visiting chairs (probably a subtle nod to the fact that Jim is not welcome until he finds a cure.)

Jim is just about to beg for forgiveness, to sit on his knees and put his head on the bed and grieve when his comm beeps. 

“I am sorry for delaying this for so long, old friend.” Ambassador Spock tells him, the Vulcan’s policy of not interfering apparently having another exception. He walks into Starfleet Medical with a cure before Jim even has the chance to reply. He finds the nearest bathroom and promptly throws up, dry heaving mostly because there is nothing at all in his stomach. 

He is raw and broken when he begs a cigarette off of an expecting father outside of Medical. His hands shake and he inhales, exhales, knowing the shit he’d get from Bones if he ever found out. 

“It will be okay.” Old Spock tells him, appearing out of nowhere just like his younger counterpart and nearly making Jim drop the cigarette. 

He stamps it out at Spock’s raised eyebrow and swallows the taste of smoke. “Thank you.”

Joanna finds him as soon as he makes his way back up to Bones’ room, running at him at full force and knocking the breath out of Jim as her head collides with his stomach. “I’m so sorry, dad. I was so scared. I’m sorry. I was afraid to lose him and you. I’m so sorry.”

They both cling to each other, Jim sucking in breath and snot and tears, and gently rubbing Jo’s back as she exhausts herself, collapsing into Jim. 

“It’s okay. It’s okay.” He tells her and kisses the top of her head and eventually she tires herself out so he carries her back to her fort in Bones room and kisses his husband’s forehead, feeling like he can breathe again for the first time in months.

“i would really love to see jim freaking out about having kids and turning into a mollycoddling fool when the bridge crew sees one (or more) of the kids for the first time.” -dammitmccoy

George has just started walking when they take him on the Enterprise. He’s an adorable little ball of light blonde hair and sun kissed freckles who reaches for everything he sees. “DA!” He says in delight, as if he knows that the ship basically sings whenever Jim boards. 

The crew they pass is torn between standing at attention and bending down to coo at the little boy. It isn’t every day that you get to see your Captain in bite size form and George’s flailing chubby little arms and his one toothed grin are enough to bring even the most dedicated of Starfleet officers to their knees. Jim should know. 

Jim is only one step behind his son, taking the smallest of steps to keep up with Georgie’s very tiny ones. Bones lingers in the background, having done this all once before, not quite as protective. 

George lurches a little as he takes a step too large for him to compensate for and nearly falls but Jim scrambles to catch him. The toddler babbles his thanks and is back to walking without Jim’s help in no time. 

“You should let the kid fall, Jim. It won’t hurt him.” Bones says. 

Jim just about splutters at that. “No way.”

“He has to learn, kid.” Bones says as Jim continues at his slow pace down the hallway. 

They reach the turbolift and George stands before it his eyes wide. “Da?” he asks. 

“Turbolift.” Jim tells him. He makes a movement with his hand accompanied by a whoosh. Bones snorts. 

They take the few steps into the lift and Bones lifts George up into his arms, the little boy giggling as Bones plants a raspberry on his belly. “Pa!” He says happily and hits Bones in the cheek with an open mouthed kiss. 

The doors open onto the bridge and George whirls around in Bones hold, taking in the bright, blinking lights and the noise. “Wooooow.” He says, picking up the word he must have heard from one of his parents and mimicking it like the little sponge he was. 

The whole Bridge had paused at their arrival and laughed at the little boy’s enthusiasm. Bones put him down but kept a close eye on him as he stumbled up the small ramp. 

“Keptin on ze Bridge!” Chekov announced and Jim nodded thankfully. 

“Future Captain too, it would seem.” Uhura said, stepping closer. She’d seen the little boy before, of course, she was his godmother after all. 

“Few years and a few books to prop him up in the chair and I think we’re good.” Jim told her, giving her a kiss on the cheek. 

“Na.” George said in his own baby language for Nyota. He put his hands up in a gesture to be held. She complied immediately and he buried his head in her neck. 

“You could probably leave now.” Uhura told Jim and Bones as she rocked George. “I can watch him forever.”

She laughed at Jim’s facial expression and put down George who babbled happily before tottering over to the Chekov’s now empty chair, patting it. 

Bones took a few shots of George on his camera. 

“You see, Keptin! He wants to be a navigator, like me!”

George quickly moved on, having spotted the big, shiny chair in the middle. Sulu lifted the kid up and the whole Bridge took a moment to sigh at the adorableness of the toddler kicking his legs in the chair. “How cute!” Someone said. 

Bones took another few pictures. George pointed to Jim, doing his adorable backward wave. “Da!”

Jim grinned at Chekov. “Think that settles it, Mr. Chekov.”

In Medbay, Bones is CMO, Jim’s doctor, wielder of hyposprays and master of the glare of doom that makes ensigns scurry and Chapel roll her eyes.

 In their quarters, Bones is Jim’s husband, one half of an equation that Bones will never be able to solve nor is he unwilling to try. They work and that’s it. He’s terrified and worried, hands itching to do here what they already did in Sickbay: fix, heal, patch up. He can only caress, rub, smooth over bandages and sweaty hair on the back of Jim’s neck after he wakes up from a nightmare-one that’s probably shared.

 “Please, please, don’t do that again.” Bones asks, kissing down Jim’s shoulder, inches away from the arrow wound that stopped Jim’s heart for thirty seconds earlier that day.

 “I’m sorry, Bones.” Jim said and wrapped one hand around Bones neck, his cool hand and even colder ring causing Bones to shiver.

“I just,” Bones punctuates the pause with a kiss. “Love you,” Another kiss. “Too much.” Kiss. “And it fucking kills me.” Gentle nip. “When you’re hurt.”

 Jim’s fingers play with the hair on the back of Bones’ neck. His face is scrunched up, like when he goes over Scotty’s budget reports or has a nasty round in poker.

 Bones catches the side of Jim’s lips with his mouth, the rest of his face immediately smoothing out.

 “Just please don’t make it so I can’t fix you. I don’t know what-“ Bones says inches apart from Jim’s mouth but the other man closes the distance.

 They’ve had this talk before. In many different ways. Bones knows they’ll have it again. And he knows Jim hears him, knows he cares. But he also knows that if Jim’s faced between sitting out a dangerous away mission or going down to help protect his crew, he’ll do it, and take all arrows, phaser shots, in the process. And Bones will do whatever it takes, no matter what, to patch him up again.

One of the main reasons that Jim thinks he was promoted to Admiral is because if he wasn’t present at the second Thursday of every month’s Admirality meetings, many would die of boredom. 

This meeting, the second Thursday of May, finds Jim in his usual spot, two seconds away from saying something very rude about Komack’s proficiency in bed. 

The text stops him. 

It’s from Bones. 

His husband has a preternatural sense about Jim’s tendency to get into fights. It would be weird if it wasn’t so adorable. 

Dude. You forgot to pack Davie lunch. He had to beg for scraps from his friends. 

Jim raises his eyebrows. He wasn’t aware he was on lunch duty today. He almost blows a raspberry at Komack as the man suggests some ridiculously recruiting policy. Why the fuck Komack is on recruiting is bullshit. Pike would shit himself. 

He frowns at his comm as he types. 

I’m sorry?

Bones response is immediate: They had to send him to the nurse for an apple. 

Jim grins. I love apples! They’re good for you. And I’ve found the opposite to be true, one a day does not keep the doctor away. 

You’re incorrigible. 

You love me, though. 

You know Davie is probably traumatized now. 

Bones. You know I would never let the kid starve. He’s got a tab at the cafeteria. 

I know, kid. You’re a good dad. 

Damn right. Now let’s pretend there’s some sort of emergency so I can get out of this meeting. I may punch Komack in the face. 

Jim grins when Bones’ response comes through. Wouldn’t be the first time. 

He makes his hasty retreat and beats it home to find Davie on the Victorian’s steps, tossing a baseball in the air. 

“Hey kiddo, what’s up?”

“Sorry about lunch.”

Jim frowns at him. “Nothing to be sorry about.”

“I forgot about the money. And I know you’d probably be upset if Papa told you.”

“I’m not upset.” Jim says, walking up and ruffling his son’s hair. 

“Well, you don’t like us not having lunch. I know that.”

They’ve never talked about Tarsus. Not really. They will when Bones and he think the kids are ready. But his children know how he feels about wasted food and missed meals and it means a lot that Davie mentions it. 

“Thanks you for that. I appreciate it. But I knew you’d be okay. If you were skipping meals on purpose or didn’t remind me to pack you lunch for a reason, I’d be mad.”

Davie shakes his head. “Nope. Just forgot.”

“You know you can call me next time, right?”

The ten-year-old rolls his eyes. “I’m not a baby.”

Jim grabs him close and pulls him up so they can walk toward the house. “You’ll always be our baby, David.”

Davie pulls away. “Aw, dad, come on!”

Jim laughs as they enter the house, the sound mingling with Abby’s shrieks and Chrissy’s singing. Home sounds. Good sounds. He sighs and lets the anxiety (His kid without food? Christ.) float over him, replaced by the warmth he always feels when he enters his home. 

“Hey, honey! I’m home!” He shouts as he sees Bones’ form move around in the kitchen. He catches the roll of his husbands’ eyes, so like their son it’s uncanny, and walks in to greet him. 

Joanna McCoy groaned, throwing her arm over her eyes as she tried to open them. It was to bright in her room and she was laying on rocks. 

She managed, cracking one eye open for a moment and stared up at the face of her father, a blurry, grinning blob. “Morning, sunshine!”

She groaned again and lifted her head, immediately wishing she hadn’t. “What the hell is your problem?”

When she got to an upright position, she realized that she was not in fact on rocks but right in the entrance way of her room. She still had her clothes on, which smelled of cigarette smoke and something rotten. She gagged. 

Jim put a garbage bag under her as she threw up bile. He rubbed a hand gently over her back as she kept gagging. 

“What the FUCK happened?” She said, taking one last spit. 

“That would be the question of the hour. Did you have fun last night?”

“Define fun.” She said, smashing the heels of her hands into her eyes. 

“Well, you comm’d me and your dad five times. One comm of which read, Why wasn’t I allowed to do this before? IT’S FUN!" 


"Oh yeah, they got better from there. But the best was when you came home. We had to explain to the kids that you weren’t dying, just very very happy.”

Joanna frowned. “They saw me?”

“You woke the whole house up when you tried to kick down the door." 

"Oh god. How angry is dad?”

“You may or may not be grounded for a period of time. But he sent you this.” Jim held up a hypo with what Joanna assumed to be the hangover cure her dad spoke of like it was a miracle. 

“I’m never drinking again, you can tell him that. I promise.”

“It’s okay. You’re allowed one.” Jim said, leaning forward to kiss her on the forehead and getting up. She hadn’t realized that he’d been sitting on the floor with her. She wondered how long he’d been there. 

“You’re not going to yell?" 

Jim paused from just beyond her door. "Nah. I promised you once I wouldn’t, remember?”

Joanna did. Everything else was fuzzy but that memory was intact. When Jim had asked her if it was okay to marry her father, she had said that it was fine as long as he wasn’t a mean step-daddy like Jocelyn’s other husband. As long as he didn’t yell when she really didn’t mean to be bad. Then they would be okay. And he kept it. He never yelled. She knew he had his own feelings about nasty step-fathers. 

“Love you, dad.” She said. 

“Love you too, Jo Jo.”