mijan | Fic: "If You're Going to San Francisco..."

Title: "If You're Going to San Francisco..."
Author:

mijan
Rating: PG
Summary: An outtake scene from the shuttlecraft trip. What happened after the scene cut away? Here are my thoughts on that.
Canon: Based in the ST:XI universe, but strongly influenced by TOS.
Total Length: 2,167 words
Characters: McCoy, Kirk
Disclaimer: Gene Roddenberry and Paramount Pictures own these pretty boys. I just play them like puppets in my cardboard box theatre.

Notes: I started writing this about ten days ago while on an airplane, flying from Kansas to San Francisco. Looking down at the plains and the mountains, anticipating seeing San Francisco for the first time, this was just begging to be written. I finished it while overlooking the city from my room at the inn. I haven't had a chance to post it until now, so... here it is!

"So why are you on this flying tin can, kid?" McCoy asked as he accepted his flask back from Jim. "No uniform, and you're a damned mess. Running from something?"

Jim chuckled to himself. "Nah. I guess you could say I'm here on a dare." No need to go into details with a guy he'd just met, Jim reasoned.

"Right," McCoy said slowly, eyeing Jim's shirt and face meaningfully. "Then what the hell happened to you?"

"What? Oh." Jim looked down at his shirt, which still had dried blood on it. "I never quite did get the hang of clothing reprocessors," he said in the manner of a brush-off.

McCoy snorted. "Uh-huh. How did the other guy look?"

"Oh, about like that," Jim said under his breath, indicating with a tilt of his chin towards the oversized cadet sitting further down the row. "But I'm sorry to say, he was that ugly when we started. Didn't see much of the other three."

One sceptical eyebrow shot upwards, appraising him. "You took on four, huh? Great. Reckless and sarcastic."

"As if I've got a monopoly on sarcasm between these two seats," Jim said lightly. "Besides, Cupcake there pulled the sucker-punch to start the mess. Clearly, he recognized my obvious advantage in a fair fight."

"And you got into a brawl with fellow cadets the night before shipping out why?"

"Well, I wasn't planning to enlist yesterday."

The second eyebrow jumped up to join the first one. "Sarcastic, reckless, and impulsive." McCoy leaned his forehead into his hand and grumbled something that sounded like "goddamned kid gonna get himself killed out there."

Jim scowled. "Hey, give me some credit here. I can take care of myself."

McCoy rolled his eyes and leaned his head around, looking more at Jim's face and less at his bloodied shirt. From there, Jim got a better whiff of the bourbon that McCoy had been drinking, but the man's eyes were still steady, as if he'd either drunk less than it seemed, or he was far too accustomed to the liquor. Jim guessed the later.

"All that just from last night, huh?" McCoy said appraisingly.

"Yep."

"Didn't go home?"

"Nope."

Eyes narrowed slightly. "Didn't see a doctor?"

"Not a chance."

Then, without so much as a warning, McCoy reached up and lightly grasped Jim's chin, which shocked Jim for two reasons. First, he wasn't used to having anyone touch his face unless he was in the middle of a good fuck or a bad fight. Second, he was taken aback by McCoy's hand itself. Less rough than Jim had expected from such a gruff man, the touch was gentle and strangely soothing.

"What?" Jim asked uneasily, beginning to lean away, hoping this strange guy would take the hint and let go.

"That nose needs to be reset, you might have a hairline fracture under your left eye socket, and you've got at least a mild concussion."

Surprised by the almost-professional tone, Jim finally pulled back, ducking under McCoy's reach. "Hey, who asked you? If I wanted to see a doctor, I'd go find one."

"Just your luck, kid. You did." He took another swig from his flask.

Jim recalled the scuffle of a few minutes ago between the Lieutenant and McCoy, and nodded slowly. "Oh yeah, so I heard. I thought you were bullshitting."

McCoy shook his head to himself as he capped the flask and tucked it back in a jacket pocket. "The one goddamned thing she couldn't take from me," he said darkly. He jerked his head towards Jim again. "You get your ass to the infirmary when we land at the Academy and get yourself patched up."

"No need," Jim shrugged. "It'll be fine. I hate doctors." He rethought that. "No offense, of course. Maybe you don't seem so bad."

At that, McCoy actually chuckled dryly. "Then after in-processing, come with me. I'll fix it."

Jim felt his stomach lurch uneasily. Who was this drunken quack of a doctor, and why did he give a shit? Maybe he didn't, Jim reasoned. A new divorcee, out of money and luck, with only his profession and his bones left to his name? Maybe he needed something to do. Maybe he needed to focus on something other than his own misery. It didn't make the unsettled feeling in Jim's stomach go away though. He didn't like the idea of anyone taking care of him for anything.

"Uh, thanks –"

He was interrupted by the lurch of the shuttlecraft as it lifted off the ground. As always, Jim felt the little thrill that he'd always gotten whenever he travelled by air. He loved to fly, and he felt himself lean forward just a little bit in anticipation. And that's when he noticed McCoy's knuckles going skeletal white as he strangled the safety harness over his chest. They perfectly matched the clenched jaw, the lines of tension around eyes that were tightly squeezed shut, and the sudden pallor in McCoy's cheeks. Damn, the guy really does hate flying. I hope he knows what he's got himself into.

He would have just brushed it off, appreciated the swig of booze, and let the guy suffer on his own, but McCoy was the first person who had shown him even a hint of concern – whatever his motive might have been – in years. Sure, Jim wasn't exactly comfortable with that, but that didn't mean the gesture should be ignored. Jim leaned in a bit closer.

"Hey McCoy?" he whispered. No response. "Uh… Leonard?" If anything, the man's eyes squeezed tighter shut. Frowning, Jim nudged the man's knee with his own. "Hey, Bones?"

One eye popped open, a mix of fear and confusion swimming beneath a hard front of irritation. "What?"

"You really hate flying, don't you?"

"Gee kid, ya think?"

Jim cocked his head. "Well, you're going to have to get over that, ya know."

He snorted while simultaneously adjusting his grip even tighter on the safety straps. "Yeah. Fixin' phobias ain't like mending a broken nose."

"I didn't say it was. But if you want to get through Starfleet… maybe if you talk to one of the counsellors –"

"I'll be fine," he snapped under his breath. "I hate fucking psychoanalysts, masquerading as doctors, using their so-called advanced knowledge to ruin your entire life because your wife is slipping them your own money under the table so they'll sign off –" He stopped cold, and Jim knew he hadn't meant to say so much. He growled, closed his eyes again, and shifted his grip again on his safety straps. "'Nuff said." Seconds later, he blanched as the shuttlecraft banked into a turn as it climbed into the upper atmosphere.

Jim slowly nodded to himself. This wouldn't do. For years, nobody had given a shit about Jim Kirk, whether it was for his education, his mother's lunatic boyfriends, his injuries from crazy stunts he always found himself pulling, or… anything. Whatever McCoy's reason for giving a shit about the broken, bloody, beaten mess that was James T. Kirk, the fact remained that he did. And it looked like McCoy was broken, too. "Well, tell ya what, Bones. After in-processing, and after I go back with you to let you fix my nose… you let me help you."

This time, both of McCoy's eyes snapped open. "What?"

Jim fixed him with a steady gaze, still not quite sure what was making him say this. "Let me help you with that."

Seemingly reassured by Jim's own impression of calmness, if only temporarily, McCoy searched Jim's face, and Jim couldn't help but think of a man dying in the desert who can't believe that the oasis isn't a mirage. "Why?"

Jim tipped his head. "You offered to help me first."

McCoy's eyebrows furrowed in a scowl. "You're not a psychoanalyst, are you?"

Jim almost laughed out loud. "Fuck, no. More people would say that I need one."

For a long moment, McCoy stared at him. Finally, he gave a grunt and a nod before closing his eyes and shrinking back against his seat. It was all the affirmation that Jim was going to get, he knew, but hell… good enough. Why not?

Besides, he thought cynically, if Cupcake over there is going to be hanging around, it might be good to have a doctor for a friend. And the guy did share his booze.

Jim felt the shuttlecraft level out, and he glanced out the viewport. The sky was dark above and a vivid blue along the horizon. They were in the upper atmosphere. Below, the surface of the earth was slowly crawling across the bottom of the viewport. Jim watched as green fields gave way to tan plains, and then the Rocky Mountains jumped up and split the land, separating both the continent and Jim's old life from his new. Dark swaths of trees over brown mountains ran together with white salt flats and red smudges of iron ore eroding down ancient mountainsides, like the land was bleeding out beneath him. From here, the earth was a kaleidoscope of color and texture, spinning serenely in space like every other planet – a mystery and an adventure waiting to happen. No stale old farmhouse, no familiar faces, no man pretending to be his father…

Although it had taken some hard convincing from Captain Pike, Jim had to admit… as soon as he'd accepted the idea of joining Starfleet, it was like the whole thing had just gotten into his blood. All night long, his mind had raced with the possibilities. New planets, new stars, new adventures. Aliens, danger, challenges, mysteries – it was everything he could have wanted. He wasn't just walking away from his old life; he was racing towards a new one. It might be the same earth spinning below as the one where he'd awoken two days ago, pulled on a pair of jeans, and thought he'd fall asleep that night as the same miserable waste of space he'd been the day before… but it sure felt different.

It always looks so much better from up here, Jim thought.

"Really?"

Jim felt himself jump in his seat, and snapped his head around. McCoy was regarding him intently, and Jim realized he'd spoken aloud. Swallowing his sudden unease at letting out any of his private thoughts, he nodded. "Yeah, it does. You gotta see this."

Instantly, McCoy looked terrified again. "No way, not interested –"

"Bones, take a look."

McCoy flattened his lips stubbornly, but he leaned forward and looked out the viewport. Slowly, his eyes widened and the tight set of his mouth relaxed.

Jim nodded, even though McCoy wasn't looking at him. "You said she got the whole damn planet in the divorce, right? Well, look at it, Bones. There it is. You've got it. You're the one who's here to see it, so it's all yours. From here, she's a speck. She can't touch you from here. You're so far above her and the whole mess. He can't bother you, he can't trap you, he can't hurt you –"

"He?"

Jim felt his stomach clench, shocked and disgusted at himself. I've never let that slip… never said to anyone… damn, my head actually does hurt. Change in cabin pressure from the altitude, maybe… maybe they did hit me harder than I thought, he thought uneasily. He squeezed his eyes shut and rubbed the bridge of his nose, which was actually quite painful. "Sorry," he mumbled. "A friend of mine… uh… a woman… she divorced an abusive guy recently, and I was thinking about that, and…" His voice trailed off, and he was sure McCoy wasn't buying any of it. Shit, shit, shit… fuck.

But if McCoy didn't believe him, he gave no indication. Simply nodded his head, shrank back into his seat, and closed his eyes.

Knowing that it was better to simply shut up, wait out the shuttlecraft ride, and pretend he'd said nothing, Jim settled down into his own seat. Maybe he should just take off by himself as soon as they'd landed, and face Starfleet Academy the same way he'd faced everything else – on his own. Sure, his head felt fuzzy, and if he could admit it to himself, he was pretty sure he did have a concussion and a broken nose, but he'd had plenty of those before and had survived them just fine without any help. Yeah, that was what he'd do. It was better that way.

Then McCoy cleared his throat. "You're right."

Jim glanced sideways without turning his head. "Huh?"

McCoy's eyes were still closed, but he was nodding slowly. "It does look better from up here."

With a shaky breath, Jim gazed back out the viewport. In the distance, he could already see the gleam of the Pacific ocean shining on the horizon under the early sunrise. He felt an unfamiliar sort of smile creep over his face. Unfamiliar… but strangely right.

On second thought, maybe he would stick with McCoy.