wook77 | Fic: The Lengths We Go To (Kirk/McCoy, Rated: PG)

Title: The Lengths We Go To
Author:

wook77
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Rating: PG
Wordcount: ~1500
Warnings: Modern Day AU
Summary: McCoy loves Joanna. Jim loves McCoy. Rita's gotta go.
A/N: Because I am a big, big failure at deadlines, this is unbeta'd. Written for

space_wrapped and prompt #77: A Retelling of the Gift of the Magi.

There's not much that Jim wouldn't do for Bones and there's plenty that he wants for Bones. He wants a better place to live, one that's not in the middle of trailers that either contain meth labs, hookers or hookers cooking meth. And that's not counting the sex offenders, the pimps and the illegal immigrants from so many countries that Jim's learning new ways of saying "fuck you" every day. It's one phrase that doesn't need translating but it comes in handy whenever some bill collector comes banging on the door of their trailer looking for payment.

He wants Bones to get his medical license back. Jim wants that so bad that he wishes, every once in awhile, that Bones had never met him, had never treated him when he'd been broken and left for dead on the street, had never put his license at risk by not reporting Jim's gunshot wounds when Jim had begged him not to report them. He wants Bones to be back to that doctor that had treated him with a growl, a smile with just a hint of bitterness around the edges and righteousness throughout.

He wants Bones to get his smile back. He wants Bones to trust the world again, to trust that doing the right thing will win out in the end.

He wants Bones to be able to afford to go to Georgia to visit his daughter, the one that he tells Jim about while they're sleeping on the lumpy mattress on the floor of the tiny trailer that's barely big enough for a stove and a shower. He wants this more than anything else because this is something that Jim can do for Bones.

It's just that they have, between them, twenty-six dollars and eighty-one cents. It's not enough to pay the rent on their shithole next month. It's not enough to keep the heat on. It's definitely not enough to get a Greyhound to Georgia all the way from Des Moines. The worst part is that that twenty-six dollars and eighty-one cents is after Jim's donated his monthly allotments of plasma and sperm at the various facilities.

Jim wants to howl and rage, throw things around while he has a breakdown over the fact that the man who has given up everything to be with Jim will celebrate Christmas with nothing. There's no money for a tree, or the lights to go on it let alone ornaments. There's no Christmas ham like Jim remembers from one of the foster homes he'd lived in when his dad died and his mum had fled into the military, leaving Jim and his brother behind to pick up the remnants. The need to rage and throw and scream is so strong that the yell is out his mouth before he thinks about it. His hand is wrapped around Bones's antique stethoscope, the one that his great great great grandpappy had given to his son who had passed it to his son and so on until it had ended up in Bones's hands. He's just about to launch it across the room when his eyes focus on the glittering candle in the window.

It wouldn't work.

It had to work.

He's James T. Kirk. It'll work.

He carefully sets the stethoscope down and then grabs his keys and his coat before scooping the strap of the carrying case off the sofa. Unquestioning of the plan, he's in his beat-up twenty-year-old clunker with the hood held down by duct tape and a cleverly placed screw. He can get his hands on another guitar. He can't possibly replace Bones.

The pawn shop owner knows Jim on sight. It's not something that he cares to reflect on, especially not right now as he hands over his girl, his best and brightest hope for getting the fuck out of Des Moines. The asshole strings Jim along, hemming and hawing over the guitar and its little nicks and bruises from years of loving care. Bastard's trying to cheat him and Jim knows it. What's more, the bastard knows that Jim knows that he's about to be cheated.

"You don't want the guitar, I can always call Sammy," Jim says studiously offhandedly. And, just like that, the owner's a bit less reticent about taking the guitar and a bit more generous with his funds. There aren't many people here that wouldn't react to the name of Jim's brother and the current ruler of Des Moines's drug world. No one needs to know that Jim hasn't talked to Sam since he'd been shot that last time and Bones had tossed his career away for Jim. If Bones can toss out his career for Jim, Jim could damned well toss out his older brother.

"Pleasure doing business with you." Jim gives a jaunty wave as he pats the pocket of his shirt before sauntering out of the pawn shop. With the seven hundred dollars burning a hole in said pocket, he wonders if he should buy a plane ticket rather than a bus ticket for Bones. Maybe he should just let Bones decide. Just as quickly as the thought scampers through his head, he nixes it. Bones would want to spend the money on the past due electric bill or new tires for Jim's van or any of a thousand different necessities.

It's Christmas. It's not the time for necessities. It's the time for frivolous trips to see a daughter that Jim knows Bones misses more than anything else in the world. It's a short trip from the pawn shop to the bus station and Jim gets Bones a ticket to Atlanta. He pockets the rest of the cash for those necessities that Bones will bitch about as he takes his gift.

If he hurries, he's got just enough time to get home, pack a suitcase for Bones and then drive him to the bus station. Jim doesn't think about the fact that the ticket is only one way. Instead, he concentrates on the way that he'll spill the surprise to Bones, the way that Bones will light up, curse words flying out of his mouth as he hides his happiness behind bitter sarcasm. Christmas with his daughter is the greatest gift that Jim can give Bones. It's the closest he'll get to getting Bones his life back.

He's barely pulled the suitcase from the small closet in the larger closet that masquerades as their bedroom when Bones gets home. Taking a deep breath and focusing on Bones's joy for Christmas with Joanna, Jim packs Bones's favorite clothes and then lugs it into the other room.

"What's this?" Bones asks as Jim hauls the suitcase the rest of the way.

"You're going on a trip."

"Huh?"

Jim sets the suitcase down, grabs the bus ticket and forces a bright, happy smile. As he hands over the ticket, he says, "Happy Christmas, Bones."

"What's this?" Bones looks at the envelope and then back at Jim before glancing at the suitcase and then back to Jim once more.

"I bought you a ticket to Atlanta. Christmas with your daughter, Bones. My gift to you," Jim says and sees the way that Bones's lips open, the way his face twists and Jim knows exactly what's about to spill out. "And don't worry about the cost. I already paid the electric and the rent. I even bought groceries. Just take the ticket."

"You go back to work for your brother?"

"No."

"Then where'd you get the money for all this?"

"None of your business."

"Jim."

It's all Bones has to say. Between that and the look that says "tell me before I assume the worst", Jim's confession pours out of him. "I wanted to get you something good for Christmas so I sold Rita."

"You sold Rita? Jim, you love her."

"I love you, you love Joanna. Ipso facto, Rita had to go."

"Jim."

"You gave up everything for me. Why wouldn't I give up a stupid, fucking guitar for you?"

"Because that guitar was your dad's. Because that guitar was your ticket to getting the hell out of this trailer park and into better things? Because you…"

"Because I sold my soul and yours along with it for that guitar?"

"Jim, it's not like that." Bones crosses the room and embraces Jim, hugs him tight enough that Jim doesn't bother trying to escape, he's too busy feeling safe.

"What's it like then if it isn't that I worked for Sammy and brought you down to our level? You already gave me the best thing ever. I just wanted to give you something, too."

"Jim." This time, Jim hears all sorts of promises and explanations in his name. "It'll work out."

The rumble of a train through the trainyard sounds and Jim startles. "You're going to be late to the station."

"Gotta get you a ticket, too."

"But – "

"But nothing. Come on, I'll introduce you to my daughter."

As Always, I'd love to hear what you thought.