Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Leonard leans out the window and observes the stewing mess of reporters in front of his hotel. Before he pulls back, a man points up in his direction and shouts something. The crowd shifts with intent, loud hollers, and cries of "Doctor McCoy!" He quickly latches the window back into place and retreats into the cool silence of the small kitchen.

He cannot think, has barely even slept in the last few days. He's had to relay strict orders for no comm-calls except from those on a very short list of names. Simply walking out of the hotel becomes a nightmare of noise, light, and grabbing hands. Leonard only wants a little peace.

The decision is easy.

He scribbles a short-hand message on a PADD, codes the locks engaged and places it into the hands of a bewildered but eager hotel portman with the instructions and address for immediate delivery. He knows from experience that the receiver of his request, his friend, will be prompt in scheduling what he desires. Now it's only a matter of reaching the destination with stealth.

McCoy pauses briefly over the night bag he packs. Should he comm Jim or Spock before he goes? When he realizes that no, he won't, that he cannot remain sane in the presence of others any longer, he feels a small knot of guilt form in his chest. They promised each other to remain together; it's part of a relationship—even a triad such as the one forming between them—to let your partners know basic details like why you might suddenly disappear.

He admits that he doesn't want to be followed. Where he is going is a place that McCoy has planned on sharing with them in the future, has always told himself that he would when all three schedules align for leave. But now, at this moment when all is chaos and misery, Leonard only feels the need to escape. Alone.

So he goes before dawn, when the mass interviewers and nosy busy-bodies are quieter and less on-guard, because Doctor Leonard McCoy has never shown a tendency for night-owlism in the past two weeks. In fact, he's made it crystal clear in a few short phrases his dislike of the attention and hubbub of the people awaiting his arrivals and departures from his room. The good Doctor is often seen with an irascible expression even when he heads off into the city between Captain Kirk and the Vulcan Spock. Now, however, everyone is too relaxed to notice the inordinately hunched bell-hop who sidles along quietly into the street—strangely, with a bag hitched over his shoulder—and sets a brisk pace through the San Francisco shadows.

"Thank you, son." Leonard climbs out of the old truck and shakes the hand of the young, amiable driver.

Len had caught a ride about two miles outside of the south-central transport station in a small town of Alabama. The two had spent the next hour leisurely chatting about vehicles like the antique baby blue truck that rattled down the back dirt roads of semi-rural country-side. They had both agreed that these days such rarities in transportation were still a part of the deep South where people are generally slower (too stubborn) to give up their past. Len maintained the identity of a traveling Georgian (which, technically, he is) who is in a slow amble to visit an old friend. He did not talk of personal matters, which the fellow accepted with courtesy—in particular, not his profession or (newly augmented) fame. He'd introduced himself as Leo; the young black-haired man was Jimmy (which brought a sudden grin to Len's face). They spoke of old Southern comfort and, as the two men journeyed across open land, they were kindred spirits of slow-lane living and sweet tea on a shady porch.

McCoy departs from his companion at a crossroads he remembers well. About one-quarter of a mile due north is a little off-beaten path through the pines into private land. It's known only to a select few and traveled infrequently. Leonard enjoys the fresh air and the sunlight that dapples in patches over the path. His shoulder muscles are relaxing and his mind calms.

He's almost there.

The kitchen door opens immediately after his first, soft knock. A silent woman—the housekeeper—nods gravely at him, does not address him by name, but merely turns on her heel and leads the way to the upper floors by narrow hallways (once used by servants of the manor house centuries ago). She leaves him standing in the door of his favorite room. Leonard drops his bag to the floor, strides over to the bed and sinks down onto its coverlet edge. It's so tempting to just slide into the covers, but his mother—bless her—taught him proper household manners. So he takes the few minutes to unlace and remove his boots, arrange them at the foot of the bed, before allowing his body to sink into the down comforter and sigh into a pillow. The air is deliciously cool this late in the year, with autumn on the verge of winter. His ears register the sound of rustling leaves through the open window to his left (an oak, he recalls, tall and old). Then there is the slow muting of senses as he folds into the rest of a weary man.

His last thought is of a dark golden-haired Captain and a tall, angular Vulcan. He imagines the phantom presences of each on either side of his body, barely disturbing the sheets as they settle onto the bed. His fingers twitch once, and Leonard is lulled into oblivion.

"Bones is gone."

Spock takes his time, completes the message that he is composing on his PADD, before acknowledging Jim's statement (and the anger underneath). He says nothing to Jim, however, only looks calm.

Jim is far from calm. He is not simply angry; he is worried because when Bones just up-and-disappears that means the man is at the far end of his rope. As McCoy claims to know James Kirk and his moods like the back of his hand, so does Jim know the tell-tale signs of Leonard McCoy's. In fact, he has been aware of a deep tension in the doctor since the press release two weeks prior. All of the Enterprise crew, currently stationed on Earth, are being hounded by packs of news-hungry wolves that loiter around every corner. Jim was hoping to be able confront Bones sometime soon for a little reverse psychology (which Jim has learned vicariously as Len's test subject on many an occasion). He can get McCoy riled up quite easily that, in turn, is actually a good method for relieving pent-up tension. Bones points his finger, harangues, and then Jim nods quite solemnly and apologizes, maybe throws an arm over McCoy's shoulders. It's a system between them that Spock claims to find fascinating. Jim just knows that it works.

"Spock, don't sit there and tell me that you aren't curious. Bones didn't even tell us he was leaving!"

"I have made no statement."

"You act like you don't care!"

Spock takes these words in stride, as always, because like Jim knows Bones, so Spock knows of Jim's sharp—often soon-regrettable—reactions to a situation that upsets the Human.

He blinks and replies, "Leonard's well-being is a matter of importance to us both, Jim." He pauses. "You have questioned the hotel management." Spock states, not asks.

"He left at 2300 hours dressed as a bell hop. Apparently the manager discovered one of his staff supporting a new leather jacket on duty and grilled the boy."

Both of Spock's eyebrows lift. "Fascinating. I did not realize that Doctor McCoy was an expert in espionage."

That brings a rueful smile to Jim's face. "Sometimes I feel that we barely scrape the surface of Leonard McCoy. There's no telling what tricks Bones has up his sleeve."

Spock, long used to colorful (strange) Human turns-of-phrase, merely nods in understanding. He rises from his chair, clasps his hands behind his back, and awaits the Captain's instructions.

Jim does not disappoint. He says, "We'll find our errant doctor, Spock, because Bones made one fatal mistake: He sent a package ahead of his departure and—" Jim walks up to Spock, places one hand on each Vulcan shoulder. "—that, my genius Vulcan, I suspect will lead us directly to him."

"Affirmative."

Jim's hands tighten marginally while his thumbs stroke the fabric of Spock's uniform. He smiles. "But not yet. Let's give Bones a moment or two to think he's safe, before we go hunting." Kirk leans in, his smile growing wider. "Then he'll have to come up with a very good excuse for not informing his lovers—"

"Captain and First Officer," Spock interjects, seemingly not bothered by just how far into his personal space Jim is.

"—lovers of his sudden plans to ditch town."

"Jim." Spock says this word with a barely imperceptible inflection.

"Hmmm?" Kirk's eyes are merry.

"I calculate a sufficient probability that Leonard does not require immediate location."

"Really? Then shall we save the hunt for tomorrow morning?"

"Indeed."

They do so, though there is a time or two when they reach for their third and only then remember the circumstances. In the morning, they set to finding Leonard McCoy with a fervency and dedication that many envy and most respect. Even before lunch, the first lead has been uncovered and Captain Kirk sends a missive to Starfleet Command that only says Kirk, Spock, and McCoy are collecting overdue shore-leave and Command will be notified of any details later. When Spock ponders waiting for a reply, Jim tugs him out of the apartment and to the transport station. There's no turning back after that. They're off to collect Bones.

Chapter Text

Leonard wakes up to warm sunshine coming through the windows whose curtains he'd forgotten to draw closed. He takes a moment to reorient and remember where he is. In less than twenty minutes, his meager items are unpacked, he's showered and dressed in a pair of dark blue trousers and a white shirt which he leaves open at the neck. He pads barefoot down the carpeted hallway, hands tucked in pockets, to a small set of stairs hidden discreetly at the corner of the hall. He ascends them to a partially open door and onto the balcony that overlooks acres of carefully cultivated gardens.

There is a middle-aged woman perched on the edge of a chair with her arms folded on the balcony railing. She looks up as McCoy casually leans down and places a kiss on her cheek.

"Morning, Ma'am."

"Leonard," she returns the greeting and sighs softly. "I take it you slept well."

"I did indeed. Best night I've had in ages." His eyes crinkle at the corners as he smiles.

She is quiet, then, as she slowly peruses him from the bare feet up to the smudges under his eyes. "I'm surprised that you haven't contacted me before now, Len. That mission of the Enterprise's has been all over the news."

Leonard acknowledges the solemnity of her words with a short nod. When she pats the seat of the chair beside her, he accepts the invitation and sinks down into a slump of limbs. "Claire," he says, "you wouldn't believe the hell I've been through." His accent thickens with each word. "I just… couldn't take a minute more. I was going crazy, darlin'."

Her response is all sympathy. "Well, you're here now. You just rest up."

"I plan to."

There is a moment of comfortable silence between old friends. Then Claire asks, "Can I tell Tommy that you're here? It would do him a world of good to see you."

"Sure, I'd love to see him. How's he doing?"

"Much better." She reaches over and squeezes his forearm. "Thanks to you."

Leonard shrugs at that. "I'm a doctor, Claire. Can't be much else, really."

Claire catches his eye and says, "Why, you're a saint!" They both laugh. Then the woman stands up and tells her companion that there are some newly arrived guests in the east wing who require placating. "For gosh's sakes, I don't understand people these days—this is a retreat, not a resort!"

McCoy implies that he'd be more than willing to slip any disrespectful persons a sedative or two into their dinner wine. After all, only a fool cannot appreciate a fine Southern estate and country air.

Leonard stretches out his legs and leans back to take in the splendid view. As his eyes drift shut, Claire stays over his shoulder as she departs, "Oh and, Len? Welcome back. We've missed you."

Spock replies, "Not to my knowledge, Captain. Doctor McCoy's acquaintances and colleagues are numerous. It is unlikely that…"

Jim interrupts unceremoniously. "You looked up this address, Spock. It's in the middle of nowhere."

"An incorrect assumption. I confirmed by satellite that there is indeed a large area nearby which indicates a structural development, yet is notably isolated from other communities."

Jim looks unhappy. "Private property. Any registry records?"

"I am accessing the information now."

Jim shifts his weight in the small shuttle seat, drumming his fingers on the armrest. Spock continues to work and does not acknowledge Jim's fidgety movements. Eventually, the Vulcan speaks.

"Estate dating from early Terran nineteenth century, placed in the family name of DeMont." There is the sound of soft beeping. "Jim," Spock pauses. "The current owner of the DeMont estate is listed as Leonard Horatio McCoy-DeMont."

Jim takes a second to soak up those words before he is hanging halfway into Spock's lap to read the PADD. "Well… damn. Really?"

Spock's eyebrow goes up. "I do not perceive a reason for doubt, Jim."

"But Bones never mentioned that he owned property in Alabama! And his last name? Is that a family name or…" Jim swallows. "…from marriage? I don't think Jocelyn's last name was DeMont, Spock."

"Doctor McCoy does not have a record of a second marriage."

Jim stares at Spock. "You checked? When?"

If a Vulcan can look indignant, then Spock does at this moment. "Captain, as First Officer, it is a part of my duties to review all crewmen records."

Kirk pats him placatingly on the shoulder. "So as far as Starfleet knows, Bones is only once-divorced."

"By Starfleet records, correct," Spock agrees.

They both turn back to the PADD with the word McCoy-DeMont glaring in unforgiving black and white. It's something they don't know about Leonard; perhaps a piece of information about their partner about which they should have known. Then there is no more time to contemplate the mystery before them because the overhead speaker announces an imminent arrival at their programmed shuttle stop. Kirk and Spock need only switch shuttles once more before they arrive at the proper Alabama terminal.

McCoy grins and swoops up the child from the bed to twirl him around. "Hey there, Tommy. What… higher? Sure thing, kiddo!" The boy squeals with delight. Finally, he sets him back down on the edge of the bed. "Now hold out your leg… no, Tom-boy, the other one. Good." He makes a show of checking over the limb with great big hmmm's and aha's that keep the child's eyes wide as saucers. Then he pulls the pants leg back over the sock before ruffling Tommy's hair.

"Is it gettin' better?"

"Sure is, little man. Soon you'll be climbing up the Fiddler's Oak to touch the stars."

"Yeah!"

A voice says from the doorway, "Now don't be giving him those kinds of ideas, Doctor McCoy."

"Boys are known for their brilliant ideas, Ma'am. Just 'cause I said it, don't mean he wasn't already thinking it. Right, Tommy?" He winks conspiratorially at the young boy who giggles in response.

Claire keeps her arms folded like a scolding mother but her eyes are twinkling. "Do I have to separate you two?"

"No!" When Claire looks sternly at her son, he tacks on a sheepish "Ma'am."

"Tommy, I know you've been in that dusty library—"

"I was readin' about pirates, Mama!"

"Nevertheless, I can see your dirty pirate hands from here. Go on now and wash 'em."

Tommy scoots off the bed with a "'Kay." Len lets the boy stead himself against the doctor's body before he limps off in the direction of the bathroom.

Leonard turns to Claire and says, "He is doing better, but I'd like to take a look at Phil's notes on his treatment."

"Doctor Oshlakov's log book is on my desk in the Blue Room."

McCoy nods and stands up. They lock eyes and unsaid words pass between them. Then Claire breaks the silence. "C'mon then, Len. Cook's preparing a special dinner for you."

"Oh Lord, I hope it's her Hunter's Stew. I've been craving that since the moment I set foot on Earth."

"Well, let's collect Tommy and go down to the kitchen to see, shall we?"

"We shall, my lady." He bows and lets the woman slip her arm through his. "I suppose I oughta visit the hospital tomorrow."

Claire smiles up at him. "I suppose you should."

Tommy is elbows-deep in running water and suds. He has to be enticed to Cook's domain (apparently the woman is scary-large to small boys) with the promise of a sweet. Leonard carries him on his shoulders all the way to the kitchen.

Chapter Text

“Can I help you, Sirs?” a stern-faced lady queries to the strangers as she appears from a side parlour onto the main foyer. Kirk had been eyeing the lush surroundings with surprise and Spock studied an antique painting over a side table.

Jim flashes his most charming smile. “Morning, Madame. We are looking for Doctor McCoy. Can you help us?”

Her stoic expression rivals Spock’s when she replies, “I am afraid that I cannot assist you in such a matter.” Jim is about to speak but she bides them to follow her into the parlour from which she came. The woman gestures to a portrait sharply. “This is the late Doctor McCoy. You must understand, gentlemen, that your request cannot be fulfilled.”

“Fascinating.” Both of Spock’s eyebrows have ascended towards his hairline. “I presume that this must be Doctor McCoy’s ancestor.”

Jim agrees with a grunt, in awe at the uncanny resemblance this doctor bears to Bones. Then he turns on their hostess. “We want Leonard McCoy, who is very much alive.” His eyes narrow. “But you already knew that, didn’t you? Where’s Bones?”

“There is no Leonard McCoy listed in our guest registry. You may peruse the book for yourselves. However, unless I can help you in any other way, I must ask that you take your leave. This is private property.”

The Captain just crosses his arms and smiles. “Well, if you accommodate guests, then consider us your newest ones.”

“I apologize but a reservation is required. If you would like, we can decide on suitable future date for your stay, though I must warn you both that we have no openings for the next three months.”

Jim obviously does not appreciate her polite dismissal any more than he would a blatant order from Starfleet Command. “I don’t like to be very public about this, but I can tell that you are a discerning woman. I am Captain James T. Kirk of the flagship Enterprise and this is my First Officer, Commander Spock. Now,” he pauses for effect. “I need to find my Chief Medical Officer—which would be Doctor McCoy. If I have to go to Command in order to secure your full cooperation, I will.“

She is not impressed. “Captain, Commander. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I am unable to accommodate your wishes at this time. You may contact your superiors in Starfleet.” She may not be impressed but Spock is, apparently, that she calls Jim’s bluff.

“How may I address you?” he asks in his solemn Vuclan way.

“My name is Moira. I am the housekeeper of the DeMont Retreat.”

“I am Spock.” He lifts his hand in traditional Vulcan greeting. “Live long and prosper.”

“And you, Mr. Spock.”

“Might I inquire of the services available here at the DeMont?”

Jim looks between the expressionless two and wisely does not interrupt their strange social acceptance of one another.

“If you will follow, Mr. Spock, Captain Kirk.” She leads them through the parlour to an adjacent room that is clearly a small office. They both sit when she gestures to unoccupied chairs. Moira hands them both a PADD and says, “Excuse for one moment, please.” Kirk and Spock scroll through a brochure that emphasizes the very discreet and exclusive policy of this estate. Moira returns to them five minutes later and begins with a firm “Let me tell about our DeMont Retreat.”

“Ma’am!”

Claire halts in the middle of scribbling in an accounting ledger. “Daisy. Yes, what is it?”

“Mistress M says there are two Starfleet officers in the front hall.” Daisy creeps closer to whisper, as if the words might echo. “They’re here for the Doctor, Ma’am.”

Claire blinks and lays her pen to the side. “What is Moira doing with them right now?”

The maid grins broadly. “She’s giving ‘em her favorite spiel on the grounds, Ma’am. Right bored they’ll be, soon.”

She laughs on the inside while managing to maintain a cool expression… barely. “Have two rooms prepared for our guests.”

“Ya sure?”

“Positive.” Claire walks Daisy out into the hall. “Go down to the stables and send Davey to wait for Len. Have him come in through his usual route, understand?”

“Will do, Ma’am!” The maid is off to complete the lady’s biding.

Jim is surprised when Moria leads both himself and Spock without a word up two flights of stairs to a bedroom. She turns and says to the Captain, “You may reside here. Lady DeMont has asked that you dine with her tonight. I hope this suits you?”

He feels dumbfounded for only a minute, but he recollects himself in time to tell Moira, as she is about to walk off with Spock in tow, “Don’t worry about Spock. We’ll share the room.”

The housekeeper stops, turns to look at him over her shoulder. Again, she has no expression but Jim would bet that her observations and subsequent conclusions are rather quick (and correct). Moira inclines her head to Mr. Spock, who inclines his head in return as if to say Yes, the arrangement is acceptable and thank you. “Very well. I will notify the maids to bring up an extra set of bathroom accoutrements. In the meantime, can I assume that the two bags in the foyer are the only luggage you’ve brought?”

“Yes,” Jim says somewhat contritely.

She nods to them both. “Good day, Captain, Mr. Spock. Dinner begins promptly at seven o’clock. You may dress casually.” With those words, the super-collected Moira leaves them standing in a gorgeously lavish hall decked in apricot and gold.

Jim looks to Spock. “Lady DeMont.”

“Indeed.”

The question is not only where might Bones be, but is he truly McCoy-DeMont, proprietor of such a wealthy Southern estate? And, above all, why didn’t he mention it?

“Hey there, Dave. Looking for me?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Just give me a minute to finish up here, and I’ll come along.” When Davey turns back to his idling in the sterile white halls of the hospital, Leonard adds, “And don’t call me Sir, son. It makes me feel much too old.”

“Yes, S—“ Davey blushes.

“Doctor McCoy will do just fine.”

“Yes, Doctor McCoy.”

Len pats a nurse on the arm and iterates a set of instructions for Old Crombie still wallowing about behind a drawn screen with his aches and pains (it’s arthritis). The old man generally ‘forgets’ to come in for regular shots and osteo-regeneration unless McCoy is “doctoring the folks” as he puts it. Then Len seeks out the upper administrative floor and the office of the hospital director. He trades a few words with the man—a long-time friend—and makes sure that the hospital funds are sufficient this time of year. McCoy knows from experience that it is better to get in all the extra medical supplies and stow them away from the incoming winter days. This part of the country keeps a high ratio of elderly—and despite the advanced technology of this day and age—the human body always needs more care with advanced age.

He finally raps up the day’s rounds and short meetings with the department heads to find Davey not loitering about in the hallway any longer. In fact, the young man is very much engaged—chatting up a pretty brunette nurse. It brings a smile to McCoy’s face.

“Sorry to be interrupting your wooing, son, but didn’t you have a reason for coming down here?”

Davey hangs his head a little which almost makes Leonard feel bad, so he gives the man a sharp slap on the back. “I’m sure Georgette here will be pleased if you offered to take her into town…”

Georgette is as wide-eyed as Davey and they both remind McCoy so much of himself at that age; ‘cause Lord if he didn’t feel awkward as a youngster too. (It’s amazing how far along he’s come since then.) After the two young people fix up a date between them (somewhat shyly), Len takes Davey by the arm and literally has to drag him like a stubborn puppy down the street and out of sight of the hospital.

They slow to nice brisk pace towards the DeMont lands. Eventually, McCoy pulls out of his reverie and says—no doubt disturbing the young man’s reverie too, “Why’d Claire send you to meet me, Dave?”

“Heard there were two fellas come to the estate looking for you, Doctor McCoy.”

Leonard stops in the middle of the path.

“Was one of them Vulcan?”

“You mean the green—“

“Pointy-ears, yeah, yeah—that’s a Vulcan alright. Damn.” Leonard turns in a short (confused) circle like he’s trying to decide which way to run. Then he sighs, quite loudly. “Damn it, Jim, Spock,” he mutters. So his peace only lasts a couple of days. So be it.

“Let’s go home before it gets dark.”

Leonard refuses to go around the back way and keep out of sight. Contrary to Claire’s assumption that he wants to avoid Kirk and Spock, McCoy is set on confronting them. In fact, the more thought he gave the situation, as he and the stable boy approached the main house, the angrier he became.

Were they that damned possessive that he couldn’t be gone for less than a week without being tracked down? McCoy certainly doesn’t consider himself to be attached at the hip to either Jim or Spock. He’s an adult, damn it! He is a grown man who is capable of taking care of himself, can leave when he chooses to, and go where he wants.

Of course, his more sensible self—that he ruefully wants to call his Spock self—reminds Leonard that he is to blame too. After all, didn’t he just up and go without warning? It’s a mess, all of it. And now, Len is caught unprepared. Surely they’ve done some research, and most probably in Spock’s case, formulated a series of logical theories. He only hopes that he won’t lose his temper too much, or that Jim won’t explode either, before they can sit down and talk about the DeMonts.

Leonard enters through the front entrance and finds the housekeeper (good old tough-as-nails Moira) waiting for him—as if she expects no less from Doctor McCoy than to step up to the challenge. (Sometimes this woman is uncannily good.) She says without preamble, “They are in the Revoir Room taking dinner with the Lady.”

Oh Lord.

Leonard thinks he has steeled himself, but when he pauses in the entryway to the large and decadent dining room, McCoy sees Captain Kirk bouncing Tommy on his knee as the boy shoots rapid-fire questions. It’s quite a sight.

“…and did you get to touch a star, Cap’n Kirk?”

Jim has that very patient (and tender, McCoy thinks) look on his face as he answers. “Why I not only touched them, I roamed all over the stars and back!”

“And did you fight any pirates?”

McCoy clears his throat before Jim can reply to that one. The Captain looks up at his CMO, clearly startled. Spock, however, has been watching McCoy since he turned the corner. It’s Tommy who leans way back (Jim has to make a hasty grab to keep the boy from tumbling off his lap) and announces “PA! Pa!” He squirms until Jim has to set him down on the floor, and points up at Kirk. “Look! It’s the Captain of the Enterprise! And…” The boy squints in the direction of the Vulcan. “…umm… What’s your name again?”

“I am Spock.”

“S’ock. That’s S’ock. He’s from the Enterprise too.”

Leonard cannot help but be amused; he thinks Spock has just earned a new nickname. “Well, I’ll be. To what do we owe the pleasure, Captain and… Spock?” He stops himself just in time from saying S’ock.

Jim’s smile never wavers, though his eyes have grown dark. To stall, Len picks up Tommy and addresses Claire who has been watching them quietly. “Time for bed?” She nods. “Excuse us,” he says to the two officers. Tommy protests all the way out the door.

Jim calls out behind him, “Hey, Bones. See you later.”

He has no doubt of that.

Claire finds Leonard hanging out on the balcony in the dark. She slips alongside him and rests her shoulder against his. “They aren’t like I expected.”

“And what were you expectin’, darlin’?”

She’s quiet. “I thought— Well, we all hear stories about the Enterprise and her Great Captain. I mean, Len, I know that ya’ll must be worth your weight in gold. You’re on that starship and I know you—you wouldn’t waste your time or talents on people who don’t deserve to serve with you. I knew that they must be a special crew…”

“But?”

“But I wasn’t prepared for how humble he is.”

“Who? Jim?” McCoy barks out a laugh. “Are we talking about the same man? I'd say he’s pretty full of himself!”

Claire smiles. “He’s got charm, if that’s what you mean. He’s got the qualities of a good captain…”

“A great captain,” Len mumbles.

“…and a good man.” She turns to look up at McCoy then, her face intent. “So does Spock. I can see why they mean something special to you.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“From the way you complain about your reckless Captain and, I quote, ‘that computer of a Vulcan.’ Really, Len, who do you think you’re fooling?”

“Next you’ll be giving me that line about how a woman always knows.”

Claire replies, “She does.” When McCoy just hmphs, she laughs at him. “My poor Leonard, all the world’s against you, aren’t they, hon?”

“Sure is looking that way. Claire…” he trails off, unsure of how to say the words.

Luckily, this woman is very astute. She squeezes his hand, saying, “I know. You haven’t told them about us. Don’t beat yourself up over the past; what’s done is done.” Releasing her hold on him, Claire pulls her shawl tightly about her shoulders and steps back. “Besides, I think that Captain Kirk and Mr. Spock might surprise you.”

Whatever Leonard McCoy sees in Claire DeMont’s eyes, it must comfort him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” She gestures to the stairs that disappear out of sight into the estate. “Well, go on then! It’ll be okay.”

As McCoy takes the first step away (and towards a confrontation that slightly frightens him), he says softly, “Thank you, Claire. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

She makes no reply. Their mutual understanding runs deep.

Chapter Text

First, McCoy goes to his rooms for a quick glass of brandy and to strap some steel to his backbone. He doesn't quite understand why he is so worried about talking with Jim and Spock. If they believe that he is hiding a terrible secret, then they will be disappointed. McCoy with a double life? The thought makes him chuckle (nervously).

No, indeed. Not Leonard. He likes to think that what you see is what you get. (He hopes so.)

The doctor opens his door and steps inside the main living area. The room is dark. He is reaching for the lights when a voice says in his ear "Hello, Bones."

McCoy flings out an arm in surprise; it's instinctive from Jim's insistent training regime for all crew members. There is a resounding soft thud, followed by "Hey!"

The room brightens. Leonard stares at the scowling Jim. "Christ! Are you trying to put me in an early grave, Jim? Don't do that."

"Well, I wasn't but now I'll have to reconsider, Bones."

McCoy pushes off of the doorframe on which he is slumped. He rolls his eyes. Then he takes a long look around the room. "Where's Spock?"

"Spock wanted to wait for you in our rooms. Said you'd show up. I thought otherwise."

Anger flairs inside McCoy, but he doesn't give in to it yet. "I was, Jim. You were wrong."

Jim's eyes narrow. "Then why are you here?"

Leonard lets exasperation coat his voice. "Look, Captain, you may not think much of me right now, but I am not that cowardly."

"So why come to Alabama in the first place?"

"Damn it, Jim! Stop goading me, or I'm going to take your bullshit pretty damned seriously in a second."

Jim's face darkens with temper. "My bullshit? MY bullshit! What about yours?"

That's it. Those words snap something fragile inside McCoy. "Forget it. You think I've been lying to you all these years, Jim? Fine. Then you don't know me—" He jabs a finger at his chest. "—as well as I thought you did." His accent is very thick. He tries to push past Jim, but the man won't budge an inch. So instead he gets right into Kirk's face. "Move outta my way, Jim."

"No. You don't get to run."

"I'm not running, YOU BLASTED FOOL! I'm gonna find the saner part of us, 'cause he's about the only person I can talk to right now without thinking of violence!" The irony doesn't escape Len in the least.

Jim clenches his fists. "You married, McCoy?"

Leonard's brain needs a minute to process Jim's ridiculous question. "What?"

"You heard me. McCoy-DeMont. I was willing to give you the benefit of the doubt, but when Tommy called you—"

The doctor laughs, but before Jim Kirk can say another foolish word, Leonard wraps a hand around the back of the man's neck, yanks him forward, and kisses the hell out of him. When he breaks off for air, he says, "You're crazy, Jimmy. Crazier than a coon-hound on a scent."

Jim licks his lips and manages a small noise. Leonard pretends that it is acquiescence. So he rubs the cool metal of his Mama's ring against the skin of Jim's neck.

"I've only been married once in my life, Jim-boy, and I've only got one kid by blood. Tommy is Claire's son but he ain't mine."

"Okay."

This gives Leonard pause. "That's all you wanted to hear?"

Jim has come back to himself, obviously, because he has a small smile on his face. "Well, I would appreciate a little more detail, Bones, but another kiss will do for now. C'mere." He loops an arm around McCoy's waist so he cannot step back.

"Now wait just a minute, Jim, what about Sp—" The name is muffled by Jim's ardor. Finally, he is able to say, "Alright, slow down. It's the middle of the day and we've left the Vulcan by himself."

"Oh, don't worry about Spock. He's outside in the hallway."

McCoy stares at Jim. "You lied to me."

"No, I never said he was in our rooms. I said he wanted to wait for you there."

"So you talked him into a fool plan! Shoulda known. God, you'd think a Vulcan would have sense enough to say no."

Jim continues on, ignoring Leonard's blustering. "You've got a nice-sized bed in there." Jim shows no shame in snooping like a decent man would, McCoy thinks. "Spock!" He shifts them, not releasing the doctor from the circle of his arms as he spins towards the door.

Spock enters. "My hearing is quite functional, Captain."

"So Bones isn't married."

"Indeed."

"Why you eavesdropping, overgrown elf!"

"Vulcans do not… eavesdrop, Doctor."

"No, just blame it on your superior hearing. Damn it, Spock, can't you get Jim off—"

"I see no logical reason to comply. Is he harming you?"

McCoy flushes. Spock knows that Leonard is too much of a gentleman to describe where Jim's hands are currently wandering. The Vulcan is very amused, he can tell. (Just wait, you green-blooded hobgoblin. You'll get yours.) "Jim, stop that or I won't be explainin' anything—" He includes Spock in his glare. "—to either of you!"

"We've got plenty of time, Bones. We're on shore leave."

Leonard would thank his sneaky Captain but that will only make the man more smug. "Fine." He gives in. "Tomorrow, I'll take ya'll to St. Leonard's."

Jim actually goes still for a second. "What?"

"St. Leonard's Hospital. I might as well show you my hospital."

"You've got a hospital?"

McCoy enjoys a great sense of satisfaction. He grins and says, "I sure do."

Spock's "Fascinating" is only the icing on the cake.

Chapter Text

Leonard wakes to the soft sound of tinkling chimes that indicates a visitor is outside of his suite. He silently thanks Claire for her tasteful addition to the manor house comm-system because chimes are much more pleasant than the annoying buzzers used in starship quarters. It solidifies the fact that he is truly not space-bound and on good solid Southern earth. And best of all, it doesn't wake up Jim.

So McCoy slides out of the bed and dons a robe. Spock, as usual, has already risen and found a way to occupy himself this morning—probably on the grounds' gardens, sitting under a tree in meditation. Len smiles at that image.

He opens the door to find the housekeeper, straight-backed and blank, facing him.

"Moira?"

"Breakfast is being served in three quarters of an hour, Doctor McCoy."

"Yes. Right, thanks. I'll just—"

"Please inform your guests as well." McCoy raises an eyebrow. "I will have extra towels and robes brought to your rooms shortly. Good day."

Len shuts the door with a laugh. Can't get nothin' past that woman. McCoy knows this from much past experience. He returns to the bedroom to find Jim stretching awake. He picks up the nearest object at hand, which happens to be a soft slipper, and tosses it at Kirk.

"Get up."

"Give me a good reason."

"Food."

Jim rolls out of bed and sweeps past McCoy into the bathroom, calling over his shoulder, "Well, hurry up, Bones!"

Claire is already seated at the table, sipping tea, with a half-eaten scone on her plate. She remarks absently, "Help yourselves." Jim doesn't need to be told twice because he's already located the buffet table by scent. McCoy takes a seat across from Claire and plants his elbows on the table.

When Jim finally scoots in beside him, a plate bearing twice its load capacity, Leonard takes one look at the selection and remarks, "Cook's skimping out on us."

Claire meets his eyes. "And have you introduced your friends to her yet?"

Jim's "Who's Cook?" is ignored as Len groans. No wonder. "I'll correct that mistake."

"Food's good to me," Jim says between mouthfuls.

Leonard is torn between lecturing him on eating a proper healthy meal—not all that bacon and butter—and table manners. Instead he tells Jim that Cook's food is usually even tastier when she isn't feeling left out. Jim seems astonished that Southern cooking can get better, but McCoy can already see the scheming in his eyes to charm the chef.

Spock joins them after fifteen minutes of small talk. He sits without loitering on McCoy's right. Jim has another plate (only half-full because Leonard filled it himself) of food and Len stirs a black coffee. When Spock decides to speak, he turns to Claire. "Lady DeMont, the landscaping of your estate is most pleasing."

She smiles. "Thank you, Mr. Spock. We try to keep a sense of serenity about us."

Spock inclines his head in agreement.

"We also have meditation room. Moira will be glad to show you where it is, and I hope that it suits your needs. We try to accommodate all manner of guests here at DeMont."

Spock thanks her.

Jim wants to know, "Where are your other guests?"

"This is a personal wing of the estate, Captain. As Leonard's… friends, your privacy is of the utmost importance to us." Her eyes are twinkling as she adds, "Besides, your presence might cause quite a stir here, if it were known. I have some delicate clients, you understand."

Jim laughs good-naturedly. "I promise that we'll try to stay out of trouble. We've all had our fill of crowds."

"That's an understatement," Len mutters. He sighs into his coffee. "Claire, we'll be leaving for the hospital in a bit. Can I get you to bring Tommy in later? There's a new test I'd like to run, if it's alright with ya'll."

"Of course." She says, though not necessarily to Leonard, "I know that my son is in good hands." She excuses herself, then, to see to matters of business.

Leonard almost doesn't want to spoil the quiet breakfast by answering the questions in Jim's eyes. So he waits until Jim has placed his fork to the side and swallowed his food.

"Tommy just turned twenty-two years old."

It's obvious that Jim doesn't know what to say and that Spock is listening intently.

"Claire was in her fifth year on the Seoul II colony—she's a botanist—when she became pregnant with Tommy. All this time and we still aren't any closer to figuring out if the boy's deficiency started in the womb or within the first few years of birth." Leonard rubs his forehead as if a headache pains him (maybe it's just the memories). "Anyway, his natural growth development ceased around the age of six. We've made some progress with his mental capacity, but…" He trails off.

Jim squeezes his forearm. "It's okay, Bones."

He breathes deeply, thinks about all those yearly trips (before Starfleet) to visit Claire and Tommy. To see the hope in her eyes that eventually gave way to disappointment and resignation with each passing year and negative test results.

Spock and Jim allow him a minute to sit quietly. When he is ready, he starts at the beginning.

"My mother is a DeMont on her mother's side. Claire and I met each other for the first time at a family reunion when I was about ten years old. We aren't exactly blood-related, Jim, but we have always kept in touch.

The DeMont family is old money, if you can't tell by now. My grandmother had no siblings but two male cousins. The oldest died in his twenties; the second inherited this estate from his uncle, because it is DeMont tradition to pass down the holdings to the closest male heir." He thinks ruefully that that's why Fate had DeMonts produce so many women.

"I presume that you, by right of your mother, came to be the next male to inherit."

"Right as always, Spock. I was just into medical school then, hadn't met Jocelyn yet. I really didn't have a clue what the Hell to do with my new fortune, and I let it sit in a trust for a few years."

"So you're loaded, Bones."

McCoy chuckles. "Don't get your hopes up, Captain. I'm still a poor ol' country doctor. All the DeMont daughters and wives have been rightly pissed for generations about being cheated out of their inheritance—so they've talked impressible male DeMonts into as many legal conditions as they could, just to muddy the waters. It may sound like I'm rich, but the money is mostly tied up in this estate. 'Sides, what do I need it for, with Starfleet so generously covering my expenses?"

Spock does not bother to comment on McCoy's sarcasm. Jim just snorts and uses his fork to push around the crumbs of food on his plate.

"But I did find a way to direct some of the funds to restoring and supporting the local hospital."

Kirk's eyes light up. "Which they named St. Leonard in your honor!"

"No, it's been called that forever. I was named Leonard in its honor 'cause my grandmamma convinced my mama that it's a traditional DeMont name."

"Records indicate that your surname is McCoy-DeMont on the estate title."

McCoy waves a hand at Spock's statement. "A technicality. Can't have an owner not named DeMont in control, even if he is the heir. Luckily, I didn't have to make it legally binding; otherwise, ya'll would have a mouthful every time you wanted to address me."

There is another moment of silence. Then, "Tommy thinks you're his father."

McCoy nods. "Claire came back to Earth when Tommy was eight. It wasn't long after that we discovered Tommy's memory cannot maintain itself beyond the span of a couple years. I didn't want Claire and Tommy to have to go through the pain of re-hashing over his lack of a daddy all the time—cause he would ask a lot—so I offered. I can't really explain it better than that. It makes Tommy happy, and I don't mind. Jocelyn didn't like the idea, but I told Joanna when she was old enough to understand." McCoy smiles slightly. "If I'm not mistaken, she comes down here once in a while to visit and vid-comms Tommy pretty frequently. So technically, he's got a father AND a stepsister."

"Why didn't you mention this before?"

"Well, Jim, I just don't go around telling people. I mean, there's nothing shameful about Tommy, but Claire likes her privacy in caring for her son. We've got a lot of extended family, and some of 'em aren't too pleasant." McCoy leans back in his chair, chewing at his bottom lip. "I don't know. I was planning on talking with ya'll about this soon anyway, because I had planned to come down here on the next shore leave. But then we had to go off and divert another galactic disaster, get commended by Starfleet and plopped down on Earth…"

He shrugs. "There's no accounting for the kind of crazy life we lead. I should have remembered that."

Leonard pushes back from the table, indicating his closure of the subject. He tells Jim and Spock to go get ready. He has to be at St. Leonard's soon. Jim just props his socked feet on Len's vacated seat and dares the doctor to move him from the dining room with that tell-tale gleam of trouble in his eyes.

Spock is kind enough to agree with McCoy's request that he nerve-pinch their Captain and haul him upstairs, so Jim jumps up and out of reach from sly Vulcan fingers. Kirk leads the way back to their rooms, McCoy and Spock following behind at a more sedate pace.

Tommy meets them at the kitchen door, impatiently watching Captain Kirk flirt with Cook. "Where are ya'll going?" he wants to know as he never takes his eyes off Jim.

Spock answers. "We must depart for St. Leonard's Hospital, nu'ri-veh."

Tommy wrinkles his nose. "Oh. Is Cap'n Kirk going too?"

Len looks over at Jim, who is busy watching in delight as Cook makes him a special lunch packet of sweets. Damn, gonna have to keep a close eye on him. "He is, my boy. And later your Mama is gonna bring you to join us all."

Tommy looks like he can't decide if this is good or bad. He stops scuffing his shoe on the floor to suddenly turn to Spock. "I read that Vulcans are super-strong."

"A Vulcan has a strength capacity that is—"

"Oh Lord, Tom, don't get him started. Spock, please. I have a headache already."

Tommy is ignoring McCoy. "S'ock, I'm real big. I bet you can't pick me up."

Spock, of course, sees this for the devious little boy challenge that it is. He bends over and delicately lifts the child to eye level. "Is this satisfactory?"

Tommy grins and kicks his legs in the air. "No. Higher."

Leonard is clutching at his stomach and tightly clenches his jaws shut.

Spock complies. Tommy directs, "Now, to the left and mind the door, please."

McCoy thinks his gut is going to burst if he has to contain his laughter any longer. He's getting heartburn from the strain. Jim stands beside him, cookie to his mouth, as they both watch Spock calmly pass by the hallway entrance (for the third time). "I like that kid," he remarks.

Len is glad that they all agree.

Chapter Text

Spock always enjoys watching Leonard McCoy work; not that McCoy knows this fact. As Spock's visits to Sickbay increased in frequency over the years, he would explain the habit away as the First Officer's observational prerogative over the ship's personnel functionality. The doctor would bounce on the balls of his feet agitatedly, instruct Spock to keep his green fingers 'outta the way,' and eventually dismiss his presence altogether as some medical crisis or another occurred.

Leonard works with diligence, patience, and finesse. It's these professional skills that fascinate the Vulcan so thoroughly because Doctor McCoy has the brashest and most humorless bedside manner he has encountered. Spock eventually concluded that most patients under McCoy's care develop one of two emotions for the doctor: hatred or deep respect. Even when Chekov is running scared from Sickbay with medical personnel in hot pursuit, the navigator admits to a grave regard for the formidable Doctor McCoy—thus, Chekov insists, why he runs.

Watching his mate now, in his element, soothes Spock, perhaps because he knows that Leonard (whether he believes so or not) is most satisfied when working. Doctor McCoy is a healer at his core and a leader in his field of expertise. He brings a balance of logic and intuition to his profession—of which Spock approves—that inspires awe in the medical staff.

Such as now.

There are cheerful nurses that go out of their way to get McCoy's opinion and nod of approval over treatment plans. The administrative staff, while more subtle, keep the growing list of McCoy's appointments in proper, organized order. The department directors seek out Leonard for advice or just to invite him to lunch, dinner, maybe a coffee break.

Then there are St. Leonard's patients.

Spock suspects that some local people grace this hospital even if they aren't ill in the least, just to see Doctor McCoy. (News travels quickly.) Leonard takes time to talk with an elderly—and familiar, as he addresses her by name—woman who initially complains about strange leg pains; once Leonard begins to exam her, she proceeds to make overt attempts at prying into the doctor's love life. Miss Humbee is declared fit as a fiddle, a diagnosis with which she agrees quite heartily and thanks McCoy for "laying his healing hands" on her person. As she gathers her purse and shawl, though, she admonishes him for not introducing her to his friends, whom she heard—discreetly of course—were staying at DeMont. This entire scene is easy to observe from across the hall if standing at the appropriate, prudent angle.

While Spock slowly prowls the long white corridors and notes all the hustle and bustle of the hospital staff (seemingly more enthusiastic since Doctor McCoy's arrival), Jim goes straight to the children's ward. He entertains bored children with tales of daredevil-doing and evil Klingons. At one point, when Leonard and Spock check in on him, a gaggle of young tykes are crowded around his feet (one small girl in his lap), listening intently as if he were invoking the best Story-time in the history of mankind. Eventually, they have to wrangle the Captain from his faithful new crew, but only once Leonard promises to record Jim and his animated story-telling to send over to the child's wing every two weeks. The nurses seem to be in cahoots with the kids, so Len has little choice but to agree to the matter. Later, as he teases Jim about his new career, Bones will still have that soft look in his eyes even as he grins.

Tommy and Claire arrive at a quarter 'til two. The boy immediately greets Leonard, S'ock, and officially wraps around Jim like a monkey and shoves into his face a brightly colored drawing of a six-year old's version of the Enterprise (complete with eyes). It has Captain Kirk- and Tommy-like stick figures dancing atop the hull. McCoy is hanging off an engine in a lab-coat, and lime green Spock is haphazardly floating next to a bright red sun.

Claire is devious enough to disappear as soon as Tommy is distracted. After McCoy looks around for her, unsuccessfully, he then voices his query quite loudly with "Damn it, Claire!"

Tommy turns to Leonard, says, "Mama said you'd take me home," giggles and tacks on, "Dam'it!"

Leonard seems resigned and detaches the boy from Jim, tucks him under an arm and walks down the corridor. Tommy waves at every pretty blonde nurse they pass. At the lift, Leonard steps inside with his bundle, and instructs Jim and Spock to entertain themselves for the next hour.

They do just that, by listening to every garrulous staff member laud the doctor, his infinite charity and genius. Leonard McCoy—that wonderful (and less crazy than usual) DeMont—is a big name indeed. Spock gets in his fill of questions (and subsequent intriguing answers) as Jim soaks up funny stories; thus, this is how they learn about the good DeMont doctor of Alabama—a version of the McCoy doctor of Georgia, and still uniquely Leonard all the same. It is little surprise to those who know him so well that Leonard McCoy carries his heart of gold no matter where he goes.

The doctor returns with a sleepy boy on his shoulder, which he graciously hands over to Spock (who also sees the tiredness in Len's eyes). Jim wraps an arm around Bones' shoulders, Spock moves to the opposite of McCoy—boy in arms—and they turn as one for the exit of St. Leonard's Hospital.

Those who watch the trio and child go are already deciding in favor of these new acquaintances of Doctor McCoy's. In fact, it will become a general town consensus that Kirk and Spock should be welcomed back again. It's only right, of course, because a man like McCoy-DeMont, of a tender and generous nature, deserves absolute support in return.

-Fini