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The Greater Good (Kirk/McCoy NC-17) 2/6

  • Aug. 16th, 2011 at 5:06 AM
emiliglia: (au!kirk/mccoy)
Master Post & Mix - Part 1

San Francisco

Five years later


“It's not working,” Leonard says with an exasperated sigh. It's the story of his life – he couldn't save his father just like he can't save this rat. He couldn't save his marriage, either, but that hadn't been the disease's fault. The disease had just been the last straw.

He can at least do for the rat what he hadn't been allowed to do for his father. She's in her cage, hunched and panting, making shrill little noises because it hurts and she's scared, and Leonard thinks they know more about the world than people give them credit for.

The lab manager, Spock, is watching stoically. “I can tell Chekov to-”

“No, I'll do it,” Leonard interrupts. He always does it. He hates the researchers that don't have the balls to actually see what the study does to the animals and take responsibility for it.

Spock steps into the other room as the carbon dioxide starts to slowly seep into the cage, making the rat gradually falling asleep before succumbing completely. It hits Leonard every time how oddly peaceful it is, and he forces himself to watch the rat's last breaths to try and keep away the memories of his father's own.

It's yet to actually work.


He's taking his lunch break on a bench in the Presidio, and Leonard almost doesn't recognize him with a full beard and wearing a hooded sweatshirt like its his blinders against the world, but then their eyes happen to meet, and those he would recognize anywhere.

“Jim?” he calls, his mouth feeling dry. “Jim Kirk?”

Jim pauses, his hands still shoved deep in the hoodie's pocket. There's no flash of recognition, and Leonard starts to think he maybe shouldn't have said anything when he saw Jim; the last time they saw each other had been right before Jim left for Mayport.

“It's Bones,” he tries, and it's the first time the nickname's been voiced since Jim himself last used it. It feels odd in the atmosphere of the park overlooking San Francisco Bay instead of back in Atlanta, but it matches the surreal feeling of seeing Jim again. He hadn't thought of Jim in a while, hadn't ever known where he'd been deployed to or if Jim were even still alive.

It isn't until Jim fakes a smile that Leonard thinks he should've kept his mouth shut. Saying it hadn't ended well the last time they saw each other is a gross understatement. “Oh... Hey...” Jim runs a hand over his jaw. “How've you been?”

Several options run through Leonard's head before he settles on, “Fine. You?”

“Also fine,” Jim replies hurriedly, and he's looking around like he's trying to focus anywhere but on Leonard.

Or looking for an out, Leonard thinks. The Jim that Leonard had known, or at least thought he'd known, would've twisted that into a come-on, but instead he seems distracted. Anxious. Leonard decides to put Jim out of his misery, which he tries not to laugh at the irony of how this would be the second time today he's had to do that.

“Well, I gotta get back to the hospital, but it was good seeing you.” Leonard doesn't know if this is the kind of situation that warrants a handshake or not, but Jim seems to make that decision for him when he shoves his hands back into the pocket of his hoodie.

“Yeah, sure,” Jim replies, and Leonard watches his retreating back, not exactly sure what to think.


Leonard glares at the helicopter as he stands on the pad, like he's daring it to even think about trying to crash while he's inside of it. He volunteers for these tasks, now, instead of waiting to be assigned – makes him feel like he has some sort of control – but it doesn't mean he likes flying better.

It helps that the pilot has a smooth touch with the controls and talks to the machine like a beloved pet. Leonard only volunteers when he knows it's going to be Sulu flying.

The elevator opens, and Sulu steps out, but he's not alone. “The parking garage has a backup helipad if it's too windy to land safely up here,” Sulu's saying like he's giving an orientation tour. He claps Leonard hard on the shoulder without even looking at him. “And this is Doctor McCoy, the best damn surgeon in the Bay Area. This one time, the patient was crashing, and McCoy here opens the guy's chest and massages his heart in the back of my chopper.”

Leonard doesn't even get the chance to act properly humble as he finds his gaze locked with Jim Kirk's like they're both daring the other to say something.

“It's good to meet you, Doctor McCoy,” Jim says, offering his hand. “Jim Kirk.”

Well, if that's the game he wants to play, Leonard thinks. “Likewise. Now how long have you been flying for?”

Sulu laughs, seeing Leonard's question as Leonard had intended – paranoid, scared, and distrustful. “Jim was in the Navy. Their loss, our gain, right?”

Jim's eyes are cold, hard, like he's angry that Leonard has been able to uncover that much information already. The only way Jim could've gotten out is through a discharge, and Leonard almost finds himself hoping that it had been dishonorable because anything else would mean his physical or mental health has been seriously compromised.

He watches Jim run a hand across his beard and thinks about Jim's behavior when they'd run into each other in the Presidio not even a week earlier. Leonard had assumed that Jim's uncharacteristic behavior had been because of how things had ended between them, but now he isn't so sure.

They fly to Oakland with Jim in the co-pilot seat, Leonard sitting behind Sulu so he can watch Jim better from the bench in the back. It's a mild day, definitely not warm enough for the beads of sweat that Leonard can see on Jim's face. Jim keeps rubbing the palm of his hands against his pants, too, during the flight, and the line of his jaw is tense when Sulu has him land the chopper.

The helicopter touches down with a lurch that has Leonard's heart racing and his stomach feeling like it bottomed out, but instead of ranting and yelling, all he can do is wonder what the hell happened to Jim? Where's the self-confident kid that had talked Leonard through his aviaphobia all those years ago?


“Did Hikaru ask about me?” Chekov asks as he assembles clean cages for the rats. Leonard may prefer Sulu as a pilot, but he can't handle the subsequent interrogation by his research assistant every time they're in an off cycle with their on-and-off relationship. It almost makes Leonard wish he hadn't introduced them at the hospital's holiday party last year, but they are actually good together when Chekov's laser focus is on his relationship with Sulu instead of his work.

You have a soft spot for the kid because he reminds you of you, so wrapped up in the science that you forget about everything else, the voice in Leonard's head that still sounds like his ex-wife says. They'd been good together, too, when Leonard's head hadn't been so wrapped up in medicine that he nearly forgot she existed.

Leonard pulls his eyes away from the cell culture under the microscope, “Talk to him yourself; I'm not your couples therapist.” He makes the mistake of making eye contact, though, seeing the slight pout and the wide-eyed expression Chekov uses that always has Leonard folding. “He was busy with a new pilot, so no, he didn't ask about you.”

“I bet the new pilot isn't anywhere as good as Hikaru,” Chekov says like he's daring Leonard to say otherwise. Leonard stays quiet, not wanting to talk about how he knows what kind of pilot Jim used to be compared to what he is now. “Are these the samples from Fifty Two?”

“I just don't know what I'm not seeing.”

“Don't worry, Doctor, you'll figure it out,” Chekov says with so much optimism and enthusiasm that Leonard can't help but give him a small smile in response.

Chekov loads all of the clean cages onto a cart and wheels them in the direction of the animal room.

“Now call Sulu, or I'm going to fire you,” Leonard calls after him, rolling his eyes at the sarcastic salute Chekov throws his way.


Leonard should have suspected that when Chekov called out a few days later, Sulu wouldn't be there, either, despite being the one listed as that shift's Medevac pilot.

“Do you even know where you're going?” Leonard asks when he climbs aboard to see Jim running through the pre-fight.

“I wouldn't be here if I didn't,” Jim responds tersely, but before Leonard registers what he's doing, he finds himself in the cockpit pulling on the headset that had been resting in the co-pilot's seat. He may not be able to fly, but he's been flown around so many times that he's fairly confident in his ability to navigate.

The silence during takeoff is uncomfortable, and Leonard lets out an uneasy breath when they're moving forward instead of just ascending.

“You're better now,” Jim says vaguely, but Leonard knows he means in comparison to that first flight together, to when they'd first met.

“I grew as a person,” Leonard responds dryly. “It's how the world works, you know; time passes and people change.”

Jim glances over at Leonard, and what he says next takes Leonard completely off-guard. “I'm sorry about, well, everything. The way I acted.”

“You were certainly the last person I expected to see strolling through the Presidio while I was on my lunch break,” Leonard admits.

“Yeah, you sort of blind-sided me, too. I, uh, have had a lot of shit going on recently and seeing you again just added to it. I was a dick to you back in Atlanta. I really liked you; it scared me, and I thought it'd be easier on you, if I'd gotten killed, to remember me as some dead asshole you fucked instead of, well, whatever.”

Leonard stares at Jim, completely dumb-founded by this sudden onslaught of information. “Why are you telling me this?”

Jim doesn't respond for a few long minutes. “Because I need to believe that things can be fixed. Healed.”

“How come you aren't in the Navy anymore, Jim?”

But Jim seems to be done sharing for the day, and any further words exchanged between them during the rest of the flight are strictly professional as they go between the hospital and the location of a twelve car pile up, Leonard fighting to keep the worst-off patients stable until they get to the OR.

Jim looks pale and shaky by their fifth and last trip of the day. It makes Leonard wonder if that's how he'd looked the first time they met, which isn't the condition he wants to see the one piloting the damn helicopter. Leonard gives a run-down of the patient's condition to the receiving surgeon on their elevator ride down from the helipad to the operating room, and when Leonard returns to the helipad to retrieve his kit and to check on Jim, the helicopter is already powered down, and Jim is nowhere in sight.

You've always liked broken people, he can hear Jocelyn saying. Maybe you should try to fix yourself for a change.

Leonard heads to the locker room to change out of his bloodied scrubs, but he runs into the Chief of Surgery, Doctor Boyce, who tells him to just go home. Leonard tosses his scrubs, showers, and does just that.


He doesn't think it's stalking when he looks Jim up later on the internet. Leonard tells himself that it's his responsibility to make sure the Medevac pilots are stable enough to be entrusted with the lives of medical teams and their patients.

All he can find is Jim's name on a list of men and women who received various commendations, and the page is dated from nearly one year ago.

I really liked you.

Because I need to believe that things can be fixed. Healed.

Leonard's not egotistical enough to think that Jim had been talking about them. Well, he had been, but in the sense that, for Jim, mending things with Leonard means that there's hope for him in addressing the larger issue. Something that Leonard doesn't doubt has to be the reason Jim is no longer in the Navy and is instead in San Francisco picking up Medevac flights in between... what, exactly?

It's not stalking if it keeps people from being placed in unnecessary danger, Leonard repeats in his head.


He doesn't exactly intend to stop by the VA center before his shift the next day, but with how out of the way it is in his commute, Leonard can't exactly call it an accident, either.

Leonard has no idea why he's there or what he plans on doing. He figures they should have some sort of record on Jim, but without actually being listed as his doctor, there's no way Leonard can have access to it short of Jim bleeding out in the OR and Leonard needing to know if there's any medications he's allergic to.

He pulls up to the curb, idling and staring out the windshield like the answers will be written in the glass.

Leonard puts his truck in reverse and turns to look out the back window when he actually does see Jim. He still hasn't shaved, and he's wearing glasses, but he looks neater somehow, wearing jeans and a T-shirt and looking like he'd actually maybe combed his hair.

A thought that isn't fair, Leonard knows, because the only time he's seen Jim looking sloppy had been that chance encounter in the Presidio, and Jim could've been out for an afternoon jog or something.

It's only when Leonard catches sight of Jim's small smile before he hugs a woman dressed in fatigues, her dark hair pulled back into a severe bun, that Leonard actually feels like he's intruding.

He goes to work, volunteering for the emergency room rotation because it's always busy, which means he has less time to think.

Less time to think about how right his ex-wife seems to be, that he is a selfish bastard and needs to learn when to just leave things well enough alone.


Leonard strikes the stainless steel surface of the counter at the same time that Chekov curses in Russian under his breath.

“One Hundred and Eight didn't make it,” Spock says, pointing out the obvious, and it makes Leonard glare at the other man.

“Thanks; I hadn't noticed,” he bites, pulling off his nitrile gloves and tossing them in the trash. “Run the blood. I want a full genotype workup, just like the rest of them, to compare to Fifty Two as well as the usual tissue samples.” Leonard runs his a hand through his hair and over his face. They only have twelve animals left and were only going to be granted more if progress had been shown. Over one hundred tested treatments, and only one has succeeded, but they've yet to determine why. It's bad enough that the hospital is giving him the bare minimum of funding for this, and none of the pharmaceutical companies he'd contacted had been interested.

“We're sorry, Doctor McCoy, but this disease doesn't affect enough people to warrant pouring time, money, and resources into finding a cure.”

“Doesn't affect enough people? Tell that to the families who have lost someone. How many people does it need to kill in a year before you're willing to put a price on it?”

His pager buzzes on his hip, displaying the emergency code for a mass trauma and that all surgeons not currently in surgery need to get their asses down to the ER now.

Not even lunchtime and it's already looking to be one of those days.

The emergency room is busy, but at Leonard quickly assesses the people standing around, it seems more like the few injured people had a lot of friends or family coming in with them. And the police. Fantastic..

He doesn't see Boyce anywhere yet, or even Puri, the Chief Resident, so he heads over to the nurse's station, the calm eye in the center of this hurricane of frantic-looking people. “What's going on, Christine?”

She's sorting intake forms while handing out new ones, complete with a pen and a clipboard, to the people that keep coming up to the station. Leonard starts looking through what's been filled out already, checking for anything that sounds like it could be worse than it looks. “Driver of an SUV lost control, rear-ended a parked car, and the impact spun him into pedestrians on the sidewalk before stopping in a coffee shop. And I do mean in. The driver's already in surgery along with a woman who was pinned between the SUV and the pick-up counter. The PD are taking statements while waiting for the tox panel to come back.”

Leonard sighs. “This is mostly tourists and high school kids looking for a lawsuit or an excuse to get out of classes for the day. Weed out the ones that are faking it by waffling on their insurance and getting some parents called.” He holds up one form in particular. “Send the guy complaining of leg pain from running away from the SUV home with a cold pack and a gym brochure.”

Christine gives a wicked smile. “You do know that's like dirty talk to me, right?”

“Just get to work, Nurse Chapel,” Leonard replies, intentionally making his accent more prominent. Christine laughs as Leonard heads into the pit to start seeing patients.

Five twisted ankles, nearly one hundred sutures, two simple fractures, four dislocations reset, and one concussion later, Leonard pulls aside the privacy curtain around the next bed only to stop dead in his tracks. “Jim?”

Physically he seems fine; Leonard can't see any blood, and none of his joints look dislocated, nothing broken, but Jim's expression is tight, his body tense, and he's sitting on the edge of the bed curled in on himself. His thoughts jump to abdominal trauma, liver or kidney damage, and he moves closer, trying to get Jim to meet his eyes since he needs to examine him, but Jim seems like he's somewhere else entirely.

“Jim, I'm going to need you to lie down so I can examine you.”

There's no response. Leonard can't exactly stand around waiting; if Jim needs to get to the OR, he can't afford to wait any longer.

Leonard reaches out, grabbing Jim by the upper part of his left arm to steer him downwards, and it's like throwing a switch. Jim grabs Leonard's wrist with his right hand, his breathing suddenly harsh, and then his eyes flicker to Leonard's, and it's like Leonard can see the moment lucidity overtakes him.

“Bones,” Jim gasps, and Leonard hates himself for the way his heart lurches at the nickname he hasn't heard in five years. Jim takes in his surroundings. “I'm at the hospital.”

“Yes, Jim, that's right, and I need you to lie down so I can make sure you're not sitting here bleeding out because of liver damage.” Jim does so quietly, allowing Leonard to palpate his stomach without showing any signs of discomfort, and Leonard's satisfied that everything feels normal. “Do you know what happened?”

“There was a chopper accident.”

“A helicopter?” Leonard asks, confused. That's nothing like what Christine had told him.

Jim runs a hand over his face, scratching his fingernails through the dark blond hairs on his jawline. “No, I meant a Hummer; I think the guy was driving a Hummer. A yellow one. I was across the street, tried to help best I could.” Even lying down, Leonard can see Jim's shoulders slump. “He didn't kill anyone, did he?”

“The most critical patient is still in surgery. Even if she gets through that, depending on how bad everything is, she could still be touch-and-go for some time.”

“Is that the correct time?” Jim asks, staring at the wall clock passed Leonard's head and over the nurse's station.

“Unless the batteries died.” Jim doesn't look pleased by this news. “Why?”

“You know, I do actually feel dizzy. Maybe I should stay overnight to make sure it isn't a concussion or something.”

“You actually want to stay?”

“Better that than me leaving and dropping dead in two hours, right?”

None of it makes sense to Leonard until, with a sudden clarity, it does. Jim no longer in the Navy and then Leonard had seen him outside the VA center. He knows the center has transitional housing, but the space is limited so there has to be a curfew before they give your room to someone else.

“I can get you a hotel room-” Leonard starts, but it seems to be the absolute worst thing he could say as Jim automatically bristles, pulling himself back into a sitting position and sliding as far from Leonard as he can manage without actually getting up and walking away.

“I don't need your goddamn charity,” Jim growls.

“Well I can't give you a bed here; it's the largest hospital in the city. The beds are for the people who are actually sick.”

“Fuck you,” Jim responds, and this time he is walking away. Jim hadn't even signed his release form.

Leonard throws the clipboard with Jim's paperwork against the wall. Like he'd said, it's one of those days.


You just can't leave well enough alone, can you?

It's stupid, he knows. A city of over eight hundred thousand people and he's trying to find one.

The phone number on Jim's intake forms goes to the voicemail of a Nyota Uhura, so that's a dead end. Leonard drives to the VA center first, but none of the people outside of it are Jim. Leonard parks his truck, trying to figure out where the hell he should look next (would Jim be desperate enough to try lockup?) when a trail heading out into a copse of trees catches his eye, and he bets that it's the coastal trail that'll take him to the Presidio.

He drives along El Camino del Mar until it ends, taking the roads that get him to the parking lot on Baker Beach. The Pacific Ocean is still a sight he's trying to get used to – always looking choppier and more dangerous than he remembers the Atlantic being when at his family's summer home on Saint Simon's as a kid. The Pacific's yet to show him that she's earned her name.

Leonard grabs an umbrella from the door compartment and starts to walk. He has Jim's release forms in his pocket like a bad excuse; it is his ass on the line if anything happens to Jim, whether he'd been anywhere near the accident or not.

He's been walking for maybe fifteen minutes when the wind shifts and it starts to rain. One good gusts has his umbrella inside out, and isn't that just perfect? He throws it in the next trash receptacle he walks by, and is trying to decide between heading back to his truck or waiting out the rain in a gazebo he can see a little ways away when a crack of lightning overhead makes up his mind for him. He is not going to stand around in some gazebo just asking to get hit when he can be safe, and out of the wind, in his truck.

The jog back to Baker Beach is wet and muddy and then wet and sandy. The sand has adhered itself to his shoes and his pants from the knee down, and Leonard fails at trying to convince himself that the sand he feels in his shoes is all in his head.

But then Jim's there, sitting in the middle of the beach, staring out of the water. Leonard thinks that they've really got to stop meeting like this.

“Tallest thing out here, you're just asking to get struck by lightning,” Leonard says.

Jim looks up at him, blinking away the water gathered on his eyelashes. “Well that would be you, now, wouldn't it?”

“Yeah, I guess so,” Leonard responds, lowering himself to sit beside Jim. “Listen, if you won't let me get you a room, I have an empty room and a futon.”

“I'm not sleeping with you.” Jim's looking back across the water. There's not much to look at – can't see the Golden Gate Bridge from this beach. It's just a lot of gray waves and more gray sky.

“That's not part of the agenda, here.”

“Then what is?” Jim looks genuinely confused, like he doesn’t understand that Leonard cares enough to not want him to get sick or get struck by fifty thousand degrees worth of electricity, and if Jim needs Leonard to spell it out for him, he will.

“How about you not developing pneumonia, for starters? I don't care if you leave some cash and call it money for food, clean the bathroom, or bake a goddamn peach cobbler, but do whatever it takes to get your stubborn ego to agree to the only thing keeping you from sleeping on a bench. Suffering nobly is not the same as denying help when it's offered.”

Jim's looking back at him, now, his mouth slightly agape instead of the serious line it had been in before. “You have this thing for broken people, don't you?”

“Well, I am a doctor,” Leonard says, pushing at the sand with the toe of his shoe, and he's so stuck on how closely the words ring to what Jocelyn used to say that Jim's sudden laughter startles him.

“Yeah, Bones, you are.” Jim's smile is just as radiant as Leonard remembers, and impulsively he reaches out, his hand holding Jim's face, his beard rough against Leonard's palm, before he even fully registers what he's doing. Jim's searching Leonard's face like whatever Leonard chooses to do will affect what happens with them from this moment onwards, but a sudden crack of lightning with the thunder barely three seconds behind has Leonard pulling away and rising to his feet.

Leonard holds out an arm in an offer to pull Jim up, and he allows a small smile when Jim takes it.


Leonard's building is a three story, six unit walk-up that had immediately tested his parallel parking skills as his street's at a twenty degree angle. It's an older looking building, and it's almost like something he'd find back in Georgia, so he likes it enough.

“I can go back to the hospital and sleep in an on-call room, if you'd prefer,” Leonard suggests on their way up the interior staircase, although he has no idea why.

“I think I'd prefer it if I thought you wouldn't trust me alone in your apartment,” Jim says. He pauses on the landing when Leonard stops to unlock his door. “Wait... You don't have a cat, right?”

“Nope, no cat.” Leonard opens the door slowly and then makes a point to not watch as Jim walks in and takes in his apartment. It makes Leonard feel exposed; he can't really remember the last time he had anyone over. “I have a washer and dryer in the bathroom, so you can borrow something to sleep in while your clothes get cleaned.”

“Sounds good.” Jim's response is accompanied by wet squelching sounds that must be him taking his sneakers off.

Leonard heads to his bedroom to grab a T-shirt and sweatpants. He can vaguely hear Jim padding around his apartment, and Leonard thinks he really should've framed some photographs or something because Jim's probably starting to think he's a serial killer.

He can't shake this nagging feeling that he's forgetting something, though.

“Hey, Bones? You, uh... Did you know you have a roommate?”

Oh, right.

Leonard changes quickly into dry clothes before going off to find Jim in the living room, staring at the animal on the arm of Leonard's recliner, standing on its hind legs and sniffing the air in their direction. Leonard hands Jim some items to wear himself before giving a sharp whistle as he leaves an arm outstretched, and the rat climbs down the chair to run across the floor to climb up Leonard and stop to sit in the middle of his hand.

“Jim, this is Miss Fifty Two.” Jim seems to pale a little at the name, glancing around like he's looking for more. Leonard runs a finger down Fifty Two's back before placing her back down on the floor. “Don't worry; there aren't fifty one other rats hiding in here.”

“Isn't it supposed to be in a cage?” Jim asks, and Leonard finds it more than a little amusing, now, the way Jim is watching everywhere he puts his feet on his way to the bathroom.

Leonard keeps talking even though Jim's closed the door. “She kept figuring out how to get out, so I stopped trying. Her food's in it, though, and it's where she sleeps.”

“Another one of your picked up strays?” Jim comes back out, and despite the facial hair and the dark circles under his eyes, he looks so young in Leonard's slightly-too-big clothes.

“Another survivor,” Leonard corrects, and it's a clarification that Jim seems to accept.


Leonard wakes the next morning to the clattering of pans and the sound of cursing. He swears himself, wanting to just go back to sleep, but he's always been the type that wakes up the moment his eyes open. He supposes he could go get some of his lab work done as he's not scheduled to be on-shift at the hospital today.

He pulls himself out of bed, scratching his stomach absent-mindedly as he tries to mentally prepare himself for whatever disaster area the kitchen is going to look like. Instead of a tornado-wake, though, Leonard sees different ingredients sitting on the counter as Jim seems to be making omelets. And there's coffee. Leonard knows enough to get some caffeine in his system before even attempting to figure out what the hell Jim is doing.

His patience lasts about three sips. “What the hell are you doing?”

“Well, I wasn't going to clean your bathroom, and something told me that any attempt at a peach cobbler would just be met with criticism. Sure, I could've just left some cash, but then I would've felt like you were a futon pimp, and I remember hearing about a study once where a tangible gift is only good for three months, but an experience lasts much longer.”

That answered absolutely none of Leonard's questions. “So the point of the story is...?”

“That you, Bones, are going to experience a Jim Kirk omelet.”

Leonard knows for a fact that he didn't even have eggs in the fridge, forget half the other items Jim has spread out, so the fact that he went out and bought food, Leonard would consider repayment enough, but Jim seems really excited about making these omelets, and Leonard's never been one to turn down a hot meal.

“I need to check in on some test results at the lab today so you can actually go back and sign your release forms.” Leonard had completely forgotten about the copy in his pocket when he'd tossed his clothes in the laundry, and it had ended up getting disintegrated between the washer and dryer.

“Sounds like a plan,” Jim says, and Leonard doesn't miss the small piece of cheddar that Jim lobs to the floor for Fifty Two to scurry over and run back to her cage with.

Part 3 - Part 4 - Part 5 - Part 6


[identity profile] wrote:
Aug. 17th, 2011 12:25 am (UTC)
This is gripping, bb – I’m so worried about Jim. I love this: The Pacific's yet to show him that she's earned her name.

other survivor,” Leonard corrects, and it's a clarification that Jim seems to accept. oh my heart.

And Jim likes Fifty –two, awww!
[identity profile] wrote:
Aug. 26th, 2011 10:21 pm (UTC)
Fifty Two is fuzzy and adorable - what's not to like? ;)
ext_409703: (Keep Calm and Guh)
[identity profile] wrote:
Aug. 17th, 2011 02:31 am (UTC)
Erm, I may or may not want to make sweet sweet love to this fic. That is all.
[identity profile] wrote:
Aug. 26th, 2011 10:21 pm (UTC)
LOL! Just, erm, watch out for paper cuts?
[identity profile] wrote:
Aug. 17th, 2011 11:37 pm (UTC)
I am ALL in now. Love the humor & banter. And it just seems right Bones would have his successful rat having the run of his place.

Well done, bb.
[identity profile] wrote:
Aug. 26th, 2011 10:23 pm (UTC)
Can just see him lying on the floor petting her and trying to figure out what the hell he's missing. :P
[identity profile] wrote:
Aug. 18th, 2011 04:25 am (UTC)
I have a feeling this fic is going to keep me up half the night, I'm so completely engrossed. But I had to pause here to say that reading this bit here--"...I remember hearing about a study once where a tangible gift is only good for three months, but an experience lasts much longer.”--all I could think was that Bones's experience of spending two days in bed with Jim lasted a lot longer than the experience of eating an omelet.
[identity profile] wrote:
Aug. 26th, 2011 10:23 pm (UTC)
LOL! Yes, that's definitely true, but Jim's in denial about that whole thing and, well, who says no to food?
[identity profile] wrote:
Aug. 26th, 2011 10:58 pm (UTC)
who says no to food?

Two days in bed with Jim Kirk vs. an omelet. Um, me?
[identity profile] wrote:
Aug. 27th, 2011 01:09 am (UTC)
The former's not exactly on the table, though.
[identity profile] wrote:
Aug. 27th, 2011 01:44 am (UTC)
Oh, I know. And even if it were, it probably would be a bad idea at this stage. If anything, they're far more in need of a good hug, and food definitely falls into that same category. :)
[identity profile] wrote:
Aug. 30th, 2011 09:20 pm (UTC)
They can have endless days of sex and nudity later. XD