“Bones, love of my life, sole owner of my heart, can you promise me something?”

Jim locks himself in Bones office, not that his husband would notice really, because he’s too busy focusing on the PADD in front of him, glaring at it the way he glares at ensigns who don’t show up for vaccinations on time. 

“You say something, Jim?” Bones says after a minute, blinking up at Jim. 

“Can you not make Chekov cry again? Sulu might challenge you to a duel, and we know you can’t handle a sword, so I’ll have to do it, and I really don’t want to be eviscerated by my pilot.”

Bones sighs, rubs at his temples. “I didn’t make Pavel cry. I just wasn’t happy with the news he delivered. Might’ve overreacted.”

“You taught him some curses even I haven’t yet. And he thinks you’re mad at him. He’s commandeered the communications hub to make you an apology card.”

Jim leans into Bones, slotting himself into place the way he has more times than he can count. He knows about the news Chekov delivered--and he wished he hadn’t. He’s already been on the comm all day, figuring out ways around it. 

“I’m sorry we won’t be back Earth side for your birthday.” He says into Bones’ hair. 

“No big deal.”

“Mr. Chekov wouldn’t agree with you.”

He hears Bones’ huff of breath. “Every birthday I’ve seen her. I don’t even know what it would be without that.”

Jocelyn is militant about Joanna’s visitations. She gets to see Bones on her birthday, but she had the flu, and his. And the brief shore leaves on Earth, which every year during Bones’ birthday they’ve been on the Enterprise, has coincided. Not that Jim had anything to do with that. At all. 

But this year they’re too far to make it back. A milk run and a rescue mission back to back will place them to many systems away from Earth to get back in time. Jim tried pulling favors to get Jocelyn and Jo on a ship so they could meet halfway--no dice. 

“I’m so sorry, babe.” Jim threads his fingers into the nape of Bones’ neck. He knows about shitty birthdays. Before Bones, before the Academy, his birthday consisted of a warm body and bottles of whatever took the edge off. 

Bones takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, turns his face into Jim’s neck. “It’ll be fine. Just a day, right?”

Right.

“Jim.” 

“Nope, not right now.” Jim tells the guts of the display system. 

“Excuse me?” The voice incredulously asks. 

Jim’s head collides with the panel door. “Shit, ow, sorry, Uhura. What’s going on?”

“I’ve heard back from all the departments, we’re a go for the non-essential blackout.”

He could kiss her. “Oh, thank god.”

“What else do you need?”

“Right now? For this display to stop being a little shit.” 

Jim hears Uhura’s shoes click clack on the floor before smelling her floral perfume as she settles down next to him. “Want me to get Scotty?”

“I’ve got him and Chekov running Bones interference.”

“Good luck with that.”

“That’s what I said.” Jim slams the panel door closed sends a silent prayer to any deity that might be listening that this works.

“Bunch of halfwits. Who shaves off their eyebrows twice?” Bones says as he enters their quarters.

Jim winces and makes a mental note to send Chekov and Scotty a fruit basket or something later. 

Before Jim can get farther into their rooms, Jim stops him. “Bones! I haven’t seen you all day. We were supposed to have birthday lunch.”

“Thank the entirety of engineering who decided to actually show up early for their checkups.” Bones grumbles and accepts a kiss. 

“Aw, its like they wanted to give you a birthday present.”

Bones snorts. “Please tell me we can drink now.”

“Not yet. We’ve got that safety seminar, remember. On the observation deck?”

Bones face scrunches up. “This day keeps getting better and better.”

Jim tugs Bones into the hallway, nodding at two ensigns who quickly salute and then dart off, knowing smiles following behind. 

“I’ll make it up to you, I promise.” Jim says, pushing the wide double doors of the observation bay open. The large windows have been replaced with the display screens he installed earlier. 

Bones grumbles about being the first to arrive as Jim checks his comm. Right on time. 

The displays blink on and Jo’s toothy seven-year-old grin fills the large screen. Bones gasps--actually takes a shuttering breath and stumbles forward. Thank goodness, Jim’s there to hold him up and push him into a comfortable chair. “Jo? Baby?”

“Daddy!”

Jim’s not sure he can hand out commendations for this but he desperately wants to. He owes his crew. Big time. 

For all that their ship is high tech, best in class, and so on, they still can’t get past communication blackouts this far into the black. And Starfleet, no matter how much they owe Bones, can’t just grant resources to pushing a video call on a flagship’s CMO birthday. It took some major juice--the juice that running all systems and causing a virtual blackout would do--to power this call. 

But hearing Jo sing happy birthday and Bones blink away happy tears and grip his hand so tight that Jim thinks his husband’s palm lines are imprinted on his own--is worth it. 

“When you come home, Jim says we’re going to spend a whole week together!”

Oh yeah, and he managed to call in that favor after all. Couldn’t get Jo here in time but he could get Joce and Clay a Risa vacation in exchange for a week with Jo when they dock on Earth next month. 

Bones squeezes his hand again and mouths, Thank you. And Jim leans into him and hopes he knows that no thanks is necessary. 

“Happy birthday, Bones.” He says instead, kissing his temple and grinning as Jo holds up a large poster happy birthday sign. 

Maybe birthdays don’t have to be so bad after all. 

“Kid.”

Bones gently nudged Jim’s shoulder, the only portion of him not pressing into Bones like he was the most comfortable cushion. No reaction but a snuffle of a snore. 

“Jim, babe, we should go to bed.”

He didn’t know why he was whispering. He didn’t know why he was even bothering. Half of his body was numb from being in the position for as long as he’d been. They started curled together watching an Old Terran documentary on space, pre-warp. They fascinated Jim but even a bowl of kettle corn popcorn and his endless commentary drowning out Neil deGrasse Tyson’s narration, didn’t stop his husband from drifting off. 

Even though pins and needles were working their way up his left arm, he couldn’t deny feeling content where he was: Jim slotted against him like the perfect complementary puzzle piece, warm and whole and snoring adorably. 

And so Bones decided he wouldn’t move him, couldn’t really. He would just stay there, watching and waiting to drop off into easy, warm sleep.

Leo doesn’t get homesick. 

He’s made his peace with all the reasons that he had to leave Georgia. He doesn’t worry much about his mama--he knows she’s surrounded by her brood, sisters and great-nieces and nephews a plenty. That she keeps busy with a book club that really is an excuse to eat baked goods and gossip. 

And he has a life in San Francisco. He has a career he grew into and Jim--whatever the kid is to him, he knows that Jim makes San Francisco feel like home. 

But sometimes--it’s the way the breeze stirs on a summer night in San Francisco, or it’s the warm, comforting smell of brown sugar and cinnamon from the mess on one of their pie nights, or it’s if he hears a certain old Terran country song--he feels a tingling, sense of urgency to be back on his mama’s porch, drinking her peach sweet tea, listening to her infectious laugh. 

He’s feeling that way--a bit sorry for himself, a bit nostalgic. He could go for Eleanora McCoy’s peach cobbler with a scoop of vanilla ice cream from Van’s in town. He desperately wants to be playing rummy on the back porch with his cousins. He realizes that it’s been a year since he’s been home like a punch in the gut, enough that he has to brace himself on the threshold to his and Jim’s shared apartment. 

He allows himself a moment, two, three, to breathe deep before he lets himself in, door swinging open. 

And then smells it. The sweet, tang of peaches, the cinnamon sugar blend of that makes his mouth water right there in the doorway. 

And then, he sees the cause. As if all the contestants of that baking show under the pastel colored tent just left mid-bake, the small galley kitchen nook is full blown chaos. Bowls full of batter, flour fingerprints on every surface, brown sugar trailing from the sink to the fridge, and on the counter, a pan of burnt crumble, next to a glass dish of yellow looking congealing liquid.

 Jim pops up from around the corner, sheepish and with peach on his cheek. 

“Oh, bless your heart.” Leo says, trying and failing to contain the snort. 

“You’re home early!” Jim scowls, throwing off his Kiss the Doc apron that he bought for Bones last Christmas. 

“And I caught you mid-murder?” Leo asks, cheeks hurting from how much he’s smiling. “What’re you even making? You only step foot in the kitchen when I make you clean.”

He takes a step around Jim to grab a towel, ready to wipe the peach off his cheek when he sees it. 

On Jim’s PADD, a blown up photo, familiar handwriting on a worn yellowing recipe card. “Is that?” He breathes. 

“I think I ruined it.” Jim says.

“My mama’s peach cobbler recipe.”

“I’m sorry. I know you can’t get home and you’ve been missing it--”

“How’d you know that?” Bones asks, searching Jim’s face, his freckles, his brilliant blue eyes, the way his lips are pursed thin in the way he gets when he thinks he’s about to disappoint you.

“You did look up shuttle tickets last night and asked me if I had off next weekend, before you got assigned those clinic shifts.”

“And you decided to try to make me cobbler?”

“Ellie talked me through it!” Jim says, almost defensively. 

Leo chokes. “Ellie?”

“She said Mrs. McCoy sounded like her mama.”

Jim picks up a dish, with what looks like scrambled eggs, and sets it in their tiny sink.

“You didn’t have to do all this for me.” Leo says.

Jim shrugs. “I wanted to.”

They stand in silence, Bones stunned, Jim embarrassed. 

“Can I try some?” Leo asks. 

“You want to?”

“If it tastes half as good as how it smelled when I came in, I definitely need a plate.”

Jim hides a grin behind his hand as he peels off the offending peach off his cheek, grabbing oven mitts--Jim in oven mitts!--and reaching into the oven. 

And where before there might have been a lurch, a wave of melancholy almost too heavy to swim away from, is just joy at the sight at it. And Jim who smiles softly at Bones as if he knew, and of course he did, that this is what Bones really needed most. 

Maybe it should hit him, like his earlier homesickness, but instead it’s like opening the curtains and windows on the first day of Spring, a lightening, settling of the knowledge of how much he fucking loves Jim Kirk. 

Jim scoops some and then moves around Leo in a complicated jig to grab, wonder of wonders, a pint of Van’s vanilla ice cream “Your mom shipped it up.” Jim says as Bones’ eyes nearly bug out in pleasure. 

He wants nothing more than to dig in, to sit with this brilliant man’s kind gift. But instead he tugs Jim close, unexpected, but about damn time. And he kisses him in their small mess of a kitchen, enough so that the homesickness fades around Jim, and the taste of sweet peaches. 

Bones hates shuttles, shuttle pilots, shuttle staff and god forbid, Jim on a shuttle. 

Jim is like a five-year-old on a sugar high on his way to an amusement park on shuttles, wired and restless. He makes Bones get up at least five times so he can walk down the small aisle and then grins sheepishly at Bones when he gets yelled at by a steward and has to come back to his seat. 

“Calm down, will you?” Bones barks at him through gritted teeth. There’s no turbulence, really, but he can imagine all the ways the shuttle might suddenly go down or might encounter an air pocket of space or--

“Bonessss, wanna listen to something together?” Jim asks, pulling out a backpack from under his seat that Bones doesn’t remember putting their. 

“Wanna shut up?” Love of his life or not, Bones will trap him in the bathroom if he doesn’t quit distracting Bones from catastrophizing the rest of the trip.

Jim pulls out a PADD and jabs his fingers at the screen. Finally, he pulls out his pods and Bones’ pods, which he thought Jim stole, and inserts them into Bones ears, fingers brushing lightly so that gooseflesh rises behind his ear to the nape of his neck. 

The noise of the thrusters is soon replaced by a burbling noise. 

“Hello and welcome to to my oasis.” A smooth voice begins, just above a whisper. 

Bones screws up his face. “Is this a sex thing?”

Jim huffs a laugh before resting his head on Bones’ shoulder. “Just listen.”

“You’ve found me on the best day. Today, I’ll be talking a walk down the stream, cataloguing what I see on this bright morning. Will you join me?”

The earlier gooseflesh is replaced by what Bones can only describe as a happy tingling at the base of his skull as the voice, gentle and pleasant, describes the paintbrush grass, bright clouds and eggshell sky, the description accompanied by the same burbling and rustle of the grass, birdsong and wind-chimes. 

Before he knows it, he’s fully entranced, eyes lightly closed as he imagines being there, feeling the warmth of a clear, sunny day, dipping his fingers in calm stream water, smelling actual gardenia and wisteria from the gardens.

He stirs seconds or maybe minutes later. A gentle finger is tracing letters into his shoulder: B O N E S

Jim’s soft breath, lazy yet steady, is is soothing in the crook of his neck. 

“Hey.” He blinks awake. 

Jim’s grin is less annoying than it was a few hours ago. “We’ve landed.” 

Bones swallows, nods. Feels rested for the first time in days, the anxious anticipation of the trip stealing hours of his sleep.

Ahead, he can see the stewards directing passengers off, helping a young girl with her hoverboard, a family bickering over who carries what bags. 

“Thank you.” He says after a moment.

“For what?” Jim says, taking his pods and Bones’ and putting them in their cases. 

“This is the first time getting off a shuttle that I’m not worried about getting on.”

Jim’s smile is soft as he presses a kiss onto Bones’ knuckles, thumb easing the tension from what most have been hours of white knuckling it. 

“Well, Chekov might get us drunk enough at this wedding that we might both be pretty out of it on the shuttle back.”

Bones rolls his eyes, shoulders relaxing, body settling back into CMO and husband, not paranoid shuttle passenger. “You know I packed enough hangover cures for the both of us. ‘Sides, Sulu already nixed the idea of a vodka infused cake, thank god.”

They disembark with little fuss and Bones stops himself from kissing the shuttle port’s probably disgusting floor. Years since his disastrous first shuttle ride and five-year-missions in an actual spaceship, and the shuttle still unnerves him. At least he had Jim, apparently there really is no one else he’d rather ride with. 

“Ah hell.”

Jim threw his comm down--he was about to text Gaila and tell her that the so called man of his dreams didn’t show--and looked up to see Dr. Leonard McCoy, looking much fresher than their last meeting on the shuttle. “Bones!”

“You’re the soulful human that Gaila insisted was the love of my life?” Jim ignored the scoff to appreciate the forearms stretched out under the sleeves of a dark green henley. Did Gaila tell him to wear that? 

“Gaila has a record for setting up eight-four couples at Starfleet alone. Bashaan and Hia are expecting triplets!”

McCoy grimaced. “This is probably a bad idea. I shouldn’t have come.” 

Before he could turn around, Jim nudged the chair across from him out with a push from his foot. “Why did you?”

McCoy looked from the chair to Jim and sighed, sliding in. “Gaila has been recalibrating my equipment at the clinic--I refuse to work with the way the previous doctor did it. She won’t finish until I went on a date.”

“And she set you up with me.” Jim sat back in the booth, content that if anything he was close enough to notice that he hadn’t shaved in a few days--something that would irk his CO--and Jim desperately wanted to reach out and touch the scruff there. 

“Looks like.” 

“Gonna be honest with you, Bones. You look fantastic. I look fantastic. This is my favorite bar and I owe Gaila one drink at least with you." He waggled his eyebrows at the other man. "What do you think?”

For the second time that night, McCoy grumbled, "Ah hell."

For the next three hours they sputter and laugh over the worst drinks on the menu. Drinks with names like Starfleet's Finest and The USS Inebriated. There are substitutions in order--Jim is allergic to a cheap synthetic alcohol that most bars prefer to use for mixed drinks but Bones doesn't mind, insisting that he'll pay for the up-charge for the shelf alcohol. 

"Ridiculous. Not your fault your allergic to the cheap shit." Bones said after matching Jim shot for shot. 

Their one drink turned into two, three and more, swapping stories about their most embarrassing moments (Jim was caught naked in the post office after sharting his pants on a class trip, Bones admitted that the hangover and subsequent upchucking on the shuttle was top humiliation). 

The easy smiles that Jim earned from Bones--who leans into the nickname after the first hour--is worth the way his stomach lurches as their waiter brings the Vulcan Salute, a green liquor so pungent Bones gagged as he sniffs. 

"This is most certainly not Vulcan approved." Bones said. 

Jim hiccuped and toasted Bones and the room at large before taking a large gulp, resisting the urge to pinch his nose. 

The details of the next half hour were fuzzy. He knew that the reaction was immediate--though maybe Bones knew what was happening before he did, because he's out of his seat and slamming a hypo into Jim's neck as his eyes watered and he convulsed. It's horrible--the wild look in Bones face as he barks for emergency services, Jim's throat seizing as it tries to cough, his chest straining. 

He passed out as a stretcher and emergency bots storm into the bar, Bones saying, "I got you, Jim." 

"By far the worst date I've ever been on." Bones said when he woke up, his eyes bloodshot and skin pale. 

"Have you slept?" Jim rasped, nixing his plan to lift his head off the pillow. He recognizes the egg shell blue of Starfleet's emergency room walls, red stripes and insignias interspersed in no apparent pattern. The effect always makes Jim think he's hallucinating. 

"How could I? You are by far the worst patient I've ever had the pleasure of treating."

At Jim's look, Bones hid a rueful smile behind a hand. "Assisting. I know more of your medical history than they do here and you've been here six times since the start of term!"

"I'm an overachiever." Jim told him, hoping to see that smile again, rueful or not. 

"Do you scare the shit out of all your dates or am I just lucky?"

"Would you call a near death experience a date, though?" Jim asked and took the water Bones offered. He sipped gratefully, happy that only a little dribbles down his chin because he's as thirsty as he's ever been in his life. 

"Slow down, jesus." Bones reached for the cup and their fingers brush. McCoy snatched his hand away just as Jim releases the cup and the rest of the water spills all down Jim's hospital gown as if he wet himself. 

"Oh, lord." 

"I take it back. Post office shart? Not as embarrassing as this."

"Sure." Bones rolled his eyes but grabbed some towels, tossing them to Jim. 

"Pretty pathetic. Don't tell Gaila. She won't let me copy any of her notes in coding class."

"You copy her notes?"

"I use the class to sleep. I've mastered doing it with my eyes open."

Bones snorted. "Of course you did."

Jim found himself yawning. "I'm an actual infant."

Bones grin is immediate. "Exactly." He searched Jim's face for a minute, liking what he found and then looked toward the partition, where the noise of the emergency ward spills in. 

"Shift's changing soon. A friend, Nia is your doctor. You'll be in good hands."

Jim scrambled to sit up, spotting his comm on the bedside table. 3:45 AM 

"You--shit, Bones. You should be home, asleep or at least not with me, christ."

Bones rolled his eyes again. "Couldn't leave you looking like you did, half dead."

"You saved my life," Jim is struck suddenly by the realization that should have been obvious but is not. His brain felt like when you wake up after a  long nap, too fuzzy and slow. 

Bones waved a hand. "My job."

Jim doesn't think that Bones staying bedside hours after a patient has seen medical attention is a part of his actual job but he doesn't push it.  "Seriously. Thank you, Bones."

Bones shoved his hands in his pockets. Hair pushed back, stubble more apparent, even looking like exhaustion personified, he looked amazing. Jim blamed it on the oxygen deprivation for thinking this way about his actual savior. 

"Just don't do it again. But if you--well, if you need, I noticed you don't have an emergency contact. If you need one, if you've got no one more important, I could be--."

"You would do that?" Jim sat up more successfully than his previous attempt and searches Bones tired hazel eyes. There's no air of a man who's just making an empty offer. Bones doesn't seem like that kind of person.

"Yes."

"You might regret it." Jim swallowed the non-lethal lump in his throat.

"We'll see, infant."

And Bones left. And Jim slept. And it was two years before they started officially dating but they Jim and Bones still send Gaila a present on the anniversary of their blind date. She tries not to brag about it.