#captainpiners

url: 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-CLINT BARTON

icon: 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-BRUCE BANNER

theme: 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-KATE BISHOP

organization: 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-KAMALA KHAN

mobile: 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-CAROL DANVERS

overall: 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8-9-SAM WILSON

comments: i love your theme sO MUCH wow and your about page too!! it's awesome ahh +f

awwww what a cutie

-

There are worse fates than this, Jim thinks as he flips the lock on the deadbolt. A lot of people run away from their past and problems and own them like an unwanted gift they're too guilty to part with. Jim doesn't own his past anymore. He owns a bookstore. 

He's about to walk away from the door, the early autumn air is exceptionally bitter this morning, but he notices the figure practically slumped in the vestibule. Scruffy, still in scrubs and with a fraying jacket that looks just as worn down as the man himself. 

Jim sighs and waves his hand to Chekov at the cafe counter. They're going to need a lot of coffee. Possibly spiked.

-

I'm a man set in my ways. Leonard McCoy said one night when Jim kept the store open later than he should and sat on the threadbare couch around the cafe area, a little too close, sharing a bottle of something a little too sweet.

Jim laughed and said that sounded like something a character in any of the books on his shelf would say. 

-

The first time Doctor McGrump comes in, Jim's reorganizing his Must Read table. This table is organized bi-weekly because as Chekov says, Jim inhales books like people inhale air. It gets lonely in his studio and he has shoddy bootleg cable. Books are company. Books are the opposite of loneliness. 

"'Scuse me," Smooth southern drawl like buttery maple syrup on a short stack startles Jim out of arranging the books into a star. He drops Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close on the floor. "I'm looking for a book."

Jim whirls around, a witty stuck on the tip of his tongue when he gets a look at the guy. Stubble and green eyes, floppy brown hair and a screwed up expression (is he allergic to books?) and definitely the hottest guy Jim has seen all week, month, year, forever. "Uh, yeah." Jim rubs his hands on his pants for lack of anything to do with the rebellious digits, and licks his lips. "Anything specific?"

"It's for my daughter. She's read most of the popular teenager fiction, young adult, I think it's called?" 

Jim nods, focusing so much on the way the way there might be noticeable grey in the man's stubble that he trips over daughter. Daughter means wife. White picket fence. Happy family and definitely no room for Jim Kirk, collector of books and lost causes. Fuck. "Yeah."

"Well, she's coming to visit me this week and I'd like to have a few books for her."

Jim feels a million years lighter, like balloons are tugging him up and up into the ceiling. Visiting means separation? Divorce? He grins, realizing he's a very bad man to want another person to be divorced. "I've got some ideas."

-

He loads McCoy up with his usual picks. (Yes, he's twenty-seven and still reads young adult fiction). The new Jandy Nelson, his favorite from Walter Dean Meyers, Jacqueline Woodson, a few underrated novels that usually skip the notice of the top YA lists. Well, fuck that. He makes his own lists. 

McCoy buys all ten. Jim had only intended to give him a few choices but McCoy waved him away said, "Trust you," and handed Jim his credit card. He was impressed. 

-

"What made you open a bookstore?"

"Books are easier to deal with."

"Than what?"

People. Responsibilities. Expectations. You name it, I'm running from it. 

It was his brother's. 

With big blue eyes, everyone was always telling him how big and blue his eyes were, he blinked up at his brother, back straight, big book bag banging behind him. He wanted to go to school like Sam. Wanted to be a big boy like Sam. 

Sam was home when his mother was not. 

Sam's stories of their father, always whispered like the words he wasn't supposed to hear so sad, pitiful, tragic, were bright and full. Filling up their mom's silences, filling up her absences, filling up her when she thought they were asleep she'd peak on them under the fort that Sam made them and almost smile, like she could just remember how. 

And then Frank came. Uncle Frank with his too loud words piece of shit, asshole, worthless brat. And touching everything Sam said was Dad's until Sam's room was bursting with all the things that he didn't want Uncle Frank to touch. 

But it was still Sam and Jim, together, hiding from Frank in the barn, out in the field, in town. 

"Those Kirk boys, again." The shopkeepers would say, smiles rueful and a little sad, telling the boys to mind themselves and be good now. Everyone knew that Frank was a bastard but everyone also pretended they didn't. 

And then Sam left. 

The farmhouse wasn't home. Nowhere was home. Nowhere would ever be home. Not even the promise of a school on a whole other planet, for gifted boys like you could be home. 

It turned out to be hell. Jim thought he knew hell when Frank was barreling through the farmhouse, when they hadn't heard from their mother in days, when Sam said sorry, I have to go and didn't take Jim with him. 

Hell was Tarsus IV. Hunger fading to fullness with no food in the belly. Dust and a too wide smile of a man who said it's okay, Jimmy, you're special. I'll never hurt you. And then spent the rest of the days, months, proving the opposite. 

He learned to hate the word home, when another social worker, unable to get into contact with his mom, set about finding him a temporary home. Or when he bounced from shitty Iowa town to shitty Iowa town, causing trouble and making another name for himself than poor kid. 

Home might have been Starfleet. Pike's offer sounded like a promise of something like it. 

But then he met Bones. Who apparently had a home all his life, tried to make one with an ex-wife, and failed miserably. 

And it wasn't until then, when he and Bones settled into a crappy apartment off campus, both too old for dorm life, that he started to settle into the idea of making a home with someone. 

And then, Bones became home. 

One morning, Sunday, waking up to grit in his eyes but so fucking happy, no guilt, fear, sadness, pushing through just so happy. And Bones curled beside him, warm and there and for the first time he realized since Sam that home can be a person. 

Home was Bones. 

Wherever they were together and he told Bones that once and the other man laughed and laughed but than kissed him sweetly. 

Bones' voice is gruff as hell and his facial expression could generously be called, furiously shot-to-pieces. It's as if someone shattered his head and taped it back together: a lip of grief, an eye twitch of anxiety, a forehead scrunch of angry. 

Jim's been chipper for the past twenty-three hours. He can't find it in himself to not be. He can't worry about how he might feel or about what might happen. Starfleet never apologizes to you when they give you an order but this time they did. High risk and extremely top-secret might as well just be labelled as suicide mission. 

Jim's been on those before. But never when Bones knew about it. 

But Jim made a promise right when they get married. Whispered it in his ear on the alter, kissed it into Bones' skin every day since and tried to uphold it. 

I'm never going to leave you. Not if I can't help it. 

They just got into an argument last night about the types of things Jim can't help. 

He never knew what a promise was before Bones. His mom sure as hell didn't keep them. But Bones made it simple. Showed Jim that living doesn't have to be all about surviving one moment after the next. How love isn't something that gets stolen away the minute you express it. 

And for that, and a million other reasons, Jim's got to do this.

This being neutralizing a threat to the Federation, immediate and worrisome enough that Jim's working with Section 31 again. 

The Crew, his bridge crew that is, doesn't know that he has Section 31 officers on board the ship. They don't know how many times he was recruited. They don't know that one time, he didn't turn them down

He never wants then to.

If he dies on this mission, probably like Starfleet thinks he will, maybe someone will tell Bones. He deserves to know. But Jim can't tell him. 

Can't tell him that when Bones was dying and there were no other options, Jim went to them and traded his service for a cure. They say, "Jump", he asks, "Off what?"

He never thought to make Bones promise him too. 

So he kisses Bones like it's the last time on the transporter pad. He hears the titter of the crew and the throat clearing of his Section 31 comrades, the emotionless bastards. 

"Be right back," he breathes into Bones' mouth. "I promise."

No matter the condition. Maybe Bones can put him back together. 

And then he's gone. 

-

Leonard doesn't want the folded fucking Federation flag. They can burn it for all he cares. 

They'll no doubt give it to him in a few weeks. 

Chekov and Scotty hacked into a secure feed. Jim and his team are officially MIA. 

And all he can think about is the folded flag that Jim purposely didn't point out on a trip back to the farmhouse in Iowa. The first and last. 

Fuck him. 

Spock Prime came aboard a few days ago, asking to speak with the Doctor only. Blamed himself. If he had given Jim the cure (what fucking cure?) he wouldn't have had to make a deal with the devil. 

Took him only a few hours to connect the dots at the end of a very lovely bottle of Romulan Ale. The remains of which are shattered on the other side of their quarters. He managed to knock over most of their picture frames too. Felt a bit successful and petulant after it. 

"No news is good news. Especially with Jim." the Old Vulcan told him. He spent a lot of time swallowing bile after that. This guy didn't know his Jim. And he said as much before he kicked him out. Kicked Spock and Uhura, Carol and who knows who else out too. 

Don't need them. They didn't make a promise they knew they were just going to break. 

He falls asleep at some point. Ignoring the chiming of the door and the buzzing of his comm. 

-

Bones is slumped over in a worse position than the night they decided to share their secrets. Well, most of them. Jim couldn't swallow anything other than cheap beer and Bones kept pouring. 

Turns out guilt feels just a bit better when they share it. 

He wants to run over, kiss the sleep away from his husband's face, and maybe the grief already etched in the lines of his forehead. That would be easy. But Jim's heard a bit about what went down in the last few months--and Christ he didn't think this was going to take that long--and knows that this isn't that simple. 

So he kneels, very gently in front of the chair and lifts Bones' head. Smooths away his hair, kisses his forehead, rubs a hand down the back of his neck. 

"Hey," he says softly when Bones stirs. 

"Jus dreamin'." Bones slurs, full on twang and it would be adorable if Jim's heart wasn't shattering like Bones' face when he first left. 

"Not dreaming. I'm home. I'm so sorry." He kisses Bones as lightly as possible, the corner of the mouth, back of the ear, all his favorite places. 

Bones mumbles and falls back asleep. "Not dreaming."

Jim sighs, sees the broken pieces of the bottle across the room and bends to pick them up. 

He deserves this. To be thought of as just a dream. 

He goes to sleep in the corner of the couch, his whole body aching, his head pounding as if he's already sharing in Bones' hangover. 

-

Not a dream. Not a dream. Not a dream. 

He wakes with a start, like when you dream you're falling and suddenly as you're just about to hit the ground, you're awake.

Nausea is no match for realizing it was a dream. 

Jim's not here. 

He's about to fucking collapse on the floor, pathetic, as if someone cut the puppet master's strings when-

"Hey, Bones."

He barrels into Jim. He wants to punch him, kill him, for this. But he's here, he's alive, he's here. He promised, he's back. 

They're breathless and panting and Jim's face is wrecked. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He's babbling and all Bones can do is grab the back of his head and pull his face forward. He remembers the type of kiss Jim gave him when he laughs and figures it's about time to return the favor. 

"I hate you. I love you." He manages to get out as Jim lips mangle in his own, as teeth smash together. 

"I'm sorry, I love you. I promise."

Bones had his hand in a vice grip around Jim's wrist (mostly because he's afraid he'll lose the kid to the adoring admirers crowding the bars and no one wants a repeat of that time second year at the Academy...) when a bunch of cadets push through them, breaking the connection. 

"Fuckkk, Jim!" Bones shouts but that might as well be the same of trying to speak underwater for all that his words are garbled and swallowed up by the crowd. 

Jim turns back, wide eyed as the sea of young Starfleet officers blocks him from Bones' vision. He shouts but he might as well be mouthing words.

A few minutes later and Jim finds himself outside of the next stop on the tour with Scotty, Keenser, Chekov and Uhura. 

The rest, of course, are still at the bar. 

"We should definitely go back. It's only illogical that they stay there." Uhura says chugging a water bottle with one hand and fanning herself with the other. 

"No. No. It's logical that we go to the next bar. And here, ta da. They're the illogical ones." Jim tells her, shaking his head back and forth so hard that he's sure teeth dislodge. Can teeth do that? That's bad. He should call Bones.

And so he does. There's a lot of noise at the end of the comm but Jim manages to convey, mostly in hand gestures, where they are. 

"Okay. You stay there. Don't get drunker without me." Bones tells him. "Love you."

Chekov burps in the background and Jim grins into the comm. "Aw, Bonesie. I love you more."

"No, I love you more."

"Shut up, Bones. I love you more. I'm captain."

"And I get to override your stupid ass decisions because I'm CMO. I love you more."

"AND I LOVE YOU ALL MORE," Sulu shouts before taking Bones comm from him and tossing it behind him. 

It's really bad at first. 

George has never seen Dad so...broken. 

Not in all the times that he was recovering from being on the brink of death. Not the one time Maddy ran away or when Grandma Kirk died or anything. 

He just looks defeated. Like the last burst of energy he had was spent on throwing that plate at the wall when Papa said he had Xenopolythemia. 

The Victorian becomes like a tomb. Everyone tip toes around and whispers, being careful to stay out of Dad's way. Aunt Ny and Uncle Spock come and try to coax Dad to get out but he stays locked up and only leaves when it's time to visit Papa. 

They have one awful night when Jo drives them to the hospital (Dad hasn't been home in two days) and they find a flurry of activity in Papa's room. 

Alarms are blaring and doctors are screaming at each other and nurses scramble to move equipment and Dad just remains hunched down by Papa's bedside. 

"Please don't leave me. Please don't leave us. You promised, Bones."

And they're pushed out of the room. Abby screams and Maddy runs away but George just stays there, frozen. 

Papa's put in a coma after that, which is supposed to protect him but it sounds like that's just an easier way for the doctor's to let him go. 

They don't see their dad for another day and when he comes home, he smells of the bars across from the academy and he's got the nastiest cut on his bearded cheek. 

He falls to his knees in front of Jo when the brood comes out of their hiding spots. "I'm sorry," he rasps and she slaps him in the face. 

Dad doesn't even look like he registers it.

"We don't want your sorry." Jo whispers. "We want you to make it better."

She puts him to bed and cooks them breakfast and George pretends he doesn't hear her crying in the bathroom. 

A few days later a call comes in the middle of the night. 

George is sure that this is it. This is the moment when some nurse at the hospital tells them she's very sorry but that Papa passed away. 

He can't breathe as he pads his way on bare feet to his parent's room to find Jo slumped over on the floor, hands making a mess of each other. Maddy is peeking out of her doorway, holding onto the threshold for support and Davie is holding Chrissy's hand and Abby in his arms at the end of the hallway. 

No one speaks. 

"Yes, Thank you. Thank you. I'll be right there." Their dad's voice sounds ten years younger. They hear drawers slam, rustling of clothes, stomping of feet as he tries to throw clothes on. He throws open his door and nearly stumbles over Jo. 

"Get dressed, baby. They've found a cure."

They nearly dance their way into the car and giggle all the way to the hospital. Abby does a cartwheel to the entrance and Jim nearly kisses Old Spock on the lips when they meet him in the waiting room. Apparently, this was one thing he was willing to interfere with. 

It becomes easier after that.