Work Text:
J. Alfred Prufrock, it was written, measured his life in coffee spoons. Leonard McCoy measures his in TV dinners.
Fettuccine Alfredo. Fried chicken and mashed potatoes with country gravy. Salisbury steak.
He's never been much of a cook. Jocelyn took care of that part of the marriage in exchange for his cleaning, which he was accustomed to doing anyway. He took it too far sometimes, getting unnerved and cranky when something ended up out of place or askew after he'd gotten it just right. The only time he ever yelled at Joanna, his darling baby girl, was the night she spilled a glass of milk all over the glass tabletop he worked so hard to keep spotless. The liquid streamed into the grooves between the glass and the edges of the table, unhelpfully decorated with wicker, and Leonard just knew it would take hours to get out that damned curdled smell. He yelled and raged, as if it would help any, while Joanna bawled and fled to the arms of her mother, who reserved all of her anger for Leonard later that night. She practically pushed him out of the bedroom and onto the couch, where he curled up awkwardly under a thin blanket, the sour stench of the milk embedded under his fingernails and ripe in his nostrils.
All that fuss over a glass of spilled milk. And how clichéd is that?
Now, there's no one around to spill anything, to cry or to call him an idiot when he gets bent out of shape. There's not even anything to get bent out of shape about.
Leonard keeps an immaculate one-bedroom apartment, close to the hospital and quiet at all times, other than the occasional sounds of piano and violin that come from the apartment next door. Every night he comes home from a long, thankless shift, hangs up his coat and scarf on the rack by the front door, toes off his shoes, and sits down to watch television. Sometimes, he watches the news, which makes him even more irritable and annoyed with the world than his job. He turns it off after a while and goes into the kitchen, where he chooses a TV dinner from his stockpile in the freezer. He pops it into the microwave, then sits at the table to eat when it's ready, the entire room silent save for the sounds of his chewing. After that, Leonard retires to the bedroom, where he changes into his pajamas and lies down to read for a while.
Sometimes he hears that faint music coming from beyond the wall; it doesn't bother him. Sometimes Joanna calls to say hello. It kills him that he can't see her again until Christmas. She's eight years old now, going on nine. The framed photo he keeps by his bed is her third-grade portrait—multicolored stars in the background and a big smile, full of crooked teeth, just screaming for the braces she'll need in the very near future. Joanna's just taken her new portrait and Jocelyn keeps sighing when he mentions it, says it'll be in the mail in a few days. He's not holding his breath.
When he's tired, he picks up the photo and kisses the protective glass lightly, then sets it back down on his nightstand. He turns off the bedside lamp, puts his reading away, and settles in for sleep.
Leonard wouldn't call it living, exactly. But from the day he moved out of his old house, to this moment in time and probably forever after, this is life. And it'll have to do.
*
One morning, Leonard stubs his toe on the foot of his bed.
"Son of a bitch!" he shouts. He nearly knocks over a lamp, hopping around on his good foot.
It doesn't get better from there. He gets a sudden burst of freezing water, right in the middle of his shower. He nicks his jaw while he's shaving, twice. He drops his toothbrush in the toilet. Leonard spends a good minute staring down at the plastic stick bobbing there in the water, taunting him. He grumbles and adds a trip to the pharmacy to his mental to-do list.
By the time he burns his thumb on his toaster oven, he's ready to throw in the towel on the day completely and call out sick. For whatever stupid reason, he decides to carry on, even though he's running late, what with the long-running list of household calamities he's been accruing.
Leonard finally makes his way out of his apartment fifteen minutes later than he normally does. He's fumbling with his keys and cursing under his breath when he hears a soft voice speak to him.
"Good morning. Leonard, right?"
He looks up and finds himself staring at the beautiful woman who lives next door. She somehow manages to be petite and statuesque at the same time, dressed in a classic beige trench coat and shiny black pumps, her keys in one hand and a suitcase in the other. When she smiles at him, it's as blinding as the diamonds hanging from her ears. Leonard struggles to muster up some kind of friendly gesture in return.
"Hi, uh…yeah. That's me. Morning."
"I'm Nyota. I live here with my partner… Funny how we've never bumped into each other before. I mean, you've been here, what? Six months now?"
"Seven," he replies. He nods and clears his throat. "I'm running later than I should be, s'probably why. Supposed to be at work in twelve minutes."
"Oh, well, I don't mean to keep you. I just thought I'd introduce myself." Nyota smiles at him again. She tilts her head in a manner that reads to him as gentle pity. "You should come over for coffee some time. We would love to get to know you."
"Yeah, maybe." Leonard hooks a thumb behind him, toward the elevators. "Look, I gotta run. Thanks. For, um, saying hi."
He turns on his heel and leaves before she can answer.
All day at the hospital, there's a distinct tinge of dread in the air that has Leonard even more on edge than usual. He corners Christine in the break room to see what's going on. She's already jittery, on her fifth day of a smoke-free existence, and Leonard's noticed that she's been looking everyone up and down like they're walking nicotine sticks, come to mock her pain.
"There've been rumors of layoffs," she says flatly. She's drinking coffee and chewing gum at the same time, which Leonard finds inherently disgusting. He's not going to say anything, though, at least not while Christine is being civil. "Nothing definite yet but everyone's scared."
"They wouldn't lay people off now, would they? Not so close to the holidays."
Christine barks out a bitter laugh and rubs two fingertips across her bottom lip—a nervous habit, left over from the constant hand-to-mouth motion of smoking. "For such a jaded old grouch, you can be so naive sometimes, Len," she says. Leonard slurps his coffee and rolls his eyes in reply.
Two hours later, he spies Geoff M'Benga walking down a corridor, carrying a large cardboard box and looking like someone flushed his goldfish. Or, in this case, his career.
"Shit," Leonard mutters. He rushes over to Geoff's side. "Good god, man, say it ain't so."
"Oh, it's so," Geoff answers snidely. "Never mind all the blood, sweat, and tears I leaked all over this place. Not like I have a mortgage payment to make this week or anything." He exhales, his lips pursed into an unhappy but resigned slant. He nods to Leonard. "Nice working with you, Len. Hope they treat you right."
Leonard thinks about offering to help Geoff carry his things to his car but then Geoff is already walking away and the opportunity has passed. He just stands there, hands at his sides, and watches a damned good doctor walk out of a hospital that truly needs him. Christine appears at Leonard's side a moment later, arms folded across her chest and loose strands of blond hair framing her sour expression.
"Well, we're fucked," she says.
No word on Leonard's fate appears for the rest of the day, though he does hear about more layoffs scattered throughout the hospital departments, all carried out in the most hush-hush manner possible. All nice people, most of them ranging somewhere between competent and good at their jobs. By the time Leonard gets home, his nerves are fried from the suspense of waiting. He foregoes watching the news for some mindless sitcom instead, and pours himself a glass of bourbon to go along with tonight's frozen dinner of meatloaf, corn, and potatoes.
He nearly jumps out of his skin when someone knocks on the door. Leonard puts his drink down and goes to answer it, surprised when he sees Nyota's partner standing there, looking incredibly academic in an argyle sweater vest over a button-down and perfectly pleated trousers. He can never remember the guy's name, though he's glimpsed it on the building's lobby roster enough times. Brock? Spook?
"Hello, Doctor McCoy. I'm Spock," the man says.
"Oh...right." Leonard furrows his brow and nods. "Nyota's partner, right? How can I help you?"
"I would like to invite you to dine with us tonight."
Leonard fights the strong urge to slam the door in the guy's face. "Ah, well...mighty nice of you, Spock, but I've already got something going. That is, I'm heating something up. You know, in the microwave."
"I see." Spock nods and Leonard can swear that the man almost looks relieved by the turndown. Which would make sense, given that he seems about as social as a doorstop. Not that Leonard has room to judge. "Nyota suggested that we have dinner in order to get to know each other. Perhaps another time?"
"Yeah, sure. Another time." Leonard takes a step back and begins to push the door closed. "Tell her I said thanks. And hi."
"I'll do so," Spock says, nodding in acknowledgment. "Have a restful night."
"Sure," Leonard says, glancing away. When he looks up again, Spock is already gone, retreated back into his apartment. Leonard shuts his front door quickly and allows himself a shaky, grateful breath.
His meatloaf dings, ready to eat.
*
Leonard starts the next morning by stubbing his toe again, this time on the base of his bathroom sink. He lets out a few creative profanities and, after he finally calms down, growls out another round when he realizes he forgot to buy a new toothbrush.
He goes straight to his office at the hospital and sits down to check his e-mail. He's greeted by a cheerful memo from the Chief of Medicine about how his hours are getting cut. Severely. Effective immediately. Leonard stares blankly at the computer monitor for a few moments, then drops his forehead to his desk with a hollow thud.
"I figured I'd let you see it first," he hears. It's Christine, standing in his doorway, looking strangely relaxed. "Before I came in here to commiserate."
"You smell like cigarette smoke," Leonard says weakly, peering up at her. Christine shrugs and looks down at her feet.
"If you can't light up after news like that, then when can you?"
Just like that, Leonard finds himself sitting in the hospital parking lot a few hours later, with about half of his usual hours under his belt for the day. This time, his forehead connects with the rubbery arc of his steering wheel as he recalls his meeting with Doctor Komack, during which it was explained in short order that along with slashed hours came slashed paychecks. Leonard excused himself to return to his office, rather than sticking around and putting a permanent indentation in Komack's nose. Once he was back at his desk, he looked up his bank account and took in the sad, sad state of affairs. He thinks of it now and lets out a shaky breath, grips the steering wheel with both hands.
There's just about enough money in Leonard's checking account to pay this month's rent, alimony and child support, and, if he's lucky, a flight down to Georgia to see Joanna during the upcoming holiday. It's a big if. And buying Joanna actual gifts for said holiday is nothing more than a pipe dream at the moment. Plus, those frozen dinners won't buy themselves.
Against Leonard's better judgment, he calls Jocelyn, who isn't too happy to hear from him.
"What is it, Len? Kinda got my hands full over here."
"My hours got cut at the hospital," he says quietly. He looks toward a side entrance of the hospital, where Christine is smoking a cigarette, obviously hoping not to be spotted. "It's, ah… I don't know how I'm going to make it work. Christmas, I mean. I know I said I'd come down, but…"
"Oh, Jesus, Len," Jocelyn whispers, and Leonard knows Joanna must be in the room with her. "You have to come. It's all she can talk about, seeing you."
"I know, I mean—I want to. You know I do. But I'm looking at a third of my wages going down the toilet, and—"
She sighs, a sound that Leonard knows all too well. "You're calling for money, then. Is that it? A loan? You want me to waive your child support this month?"
"Christ, Joce, of course not. I would never try to weasel out of supporting Jo."
"Well, then, you'll have to think of something," Jocelyn says. She sounds surprisingly sympathetic. "Unless you called for permission not to come. Which…I mean, it might be fine. She's getting to be a big girl. She might not even care."
"That's not why I called." Leonard scrubs a hand over his face. Yes, that's exactly why he called, and he's struck by how stupid he can be. The divorce was hard on Joanna and she doesn't need a pile of broken promises on top of everything else. It was bad enough that he had to spend Thanksgiving alone with a tray of limp turkey breast and watery mashed potatoes; the idea of a lonely Christmas in his tomb of an apartment, a Hungry Man dinner in the microwave and It's a Wonderful Life on TV, makes him want to drive his car through the brick façade of the hospital. Jocelyn was kind enough to invite him down and he's not going to give up that offer without a fight. He's got to find his way to Georgia. "I'll figure it out," he says hastily. He nods to himself, as if he can make himself believe it. "I'll work something out."
"Okay," Jocelyn says. "Good luck." Leonard listens for an edge of sarcasm in her voice but doesn't hear it. It makes him feel like there's actually someone in his corner.
"Thanks," he replies. He means it.
*
Leonard spends the rest of the afternoon attempting to call in favors, looking for part-time medical work at any venue he can think of. The recession's iron grip seems to be tight everywhere, though, and he finds himself wading through a sea of Sorry, It's not a good time, and Len, man, I wish I could.
"Thanks anyway," he says for the umpteenth time, and hangs up his phone.
Leonard runs his fingers through his hair and groans, staring down at the table for a few minutes. Then he goes to take a piss. He runs his tongue over his teeth as he washes his hands afterward, cringing at the scummy feel, then remembers he still doesn't have a toothbrush. He laughs mirthlessly as he fetches his coat and keys. He probably can't even afford a toothbrush right now.
The pharmacy is closed by the time Leonard gets there and he's forced to travel to the mall located further down the expressway. He loathes the place but it's open until nine and there's a CVS in there, and damn it, he really wants to brush his teeth already. Leonard drives over and finds a parking spot that's so far away from the mall entrance; it might as well be in another time zone. He finds the CVS quickly and grumbles at the sheer number of toothbrushes for sale—who needs so many different kinds?—and picks one that's boring and blue. It suits him.
It's a few days after Thanksgiving and the mall is decked out with enough holiday decorations to either blind a person or drive him mad. Leonard walks around, his little CVS baggie in hand, and takes it all in: the maudlin holiday music, the screaming children, the twinkling lights and overly flashy tinsel. He's about to call it quits and return to his car when he gets distracted by a display in a store window, featuring an honest-to-god children's chemistry kit. He didn't know they still made those things. Leonard smiles and imagines Joanna using the kit, experimenting and testing formulas. She's a whiz at science already, and math, too. It's one more item that Leonard can add to his wish list of gifts for Joanna, which is already as long as his arm and growing more implausible by the minute.
"'Scuse me," Leonard hears, just as someone shoves by and knocks him off balance. He swivels on his feet, about to bark out a curse, when he spots the fluorescent gleam of the Archer's superstore across the way and the sign in the window: Holiday help wanted.
He takes a deep breath and walks over there before he can talk himself out of it.
The store is pretty crowded, considering that it's nearly seven on a weeknight. The holiday rush, Leonard supposes. He waits in line to talk to an employee, rubbing his temples as "Jingle Bell Rock" pumps loudly from the overhead speakers. Between the excruciating music and the ungodly amount of people ahead of him, he's all but ready to turn tail and leave by the time he gets close to the front. Then, suddenly, the three customers ahead of him get called in quick succession, and there's a redhead with a bright smile waving him to her register.
"Hi, how can I help you today?" she asks as he approaches, smiling big. Leonard wonders just how long she's been on shift.
"Uh, yeah. I'd like, to, um…apply for a job," he says awkwardly, trying to keep his voice down. The redhead—Gaila, her nametag says—tilts her head and gives him an odd look.
"Really?" Leonard nods and she shrugs, reaching under the counter to pull out an application form. "Okay. You'll have to fill out the front and the back of this sheet, and then there are these supplementary pages about job history, which you can—"
"You gotta be kidding me," Leonard grunts, looking through the papers. "I'm not applying to be President of the United States or anything, here. Next you'll be telling me you need a urine sample, too."
"Sorry, it's policy," she says. She looks Leonard up and down, making him aware of the fact that he's still wearing his hospital scrubs under his unbuttoned coat. "You look like you could probably provide a urine sample if we needed one, though."
Leonard sighs, leaning an elbow on the counter. "Listen, I really don't have the patience for all this. Can I just talk to the manager?"
Gaila shrugs. "Sure." She grabs the sleeve of a silver-haired man as he attempts to walk past her. "Hey, Boss Man," she says. "This guy wants to talk to you about a job." The man pauses and gives Leonard another once-over, and though he looks harried and exhausted, he still manages to smirk.
"No offense, but I think you might be a little overqualified, Doctor."
"Tell me about it," Leonard drawls. "Look, my hours just got cut at my main job and I need to make some extra money so I can visit my daughter on Christmas. You're looking for help and I'm willing to do whatever you want, including working side by side with high school kids." He motions to Gaila, who pouts at him.
"Hey, I'm in grad school," she says.
"Is that right?" the man asks. He purses his lips thoughtfully. "I'll assume you have a high school diploma?"
"What gave me away?" Leonard asks, unable to help a scowl. The man just smiles at him.
"Can you work nights or weekends?"
"Sure. Both. Whatever."
The man's eyes seem to light up, then, and he points his pen at Leonard. "Great. You're hired." He motions to Gaila as he walks away. "Still gotta fill out the forms, though."
Gaila smiles sweetly and holds out the forms for Leonard once again. He grumbles as he takes them and looks for a quiet spot to fill them out.
*
The next few days go by in a blur. Leonard works mornings and afternoons at the hospital, comes home for a quick frozen dinner, and then attends his mandatory training sessions at Archer's. The training is ridiculous, chock full of information that Leonard is sure he'll never have to actually use. He's also forced to watch a sexual harassment video that leaves him wanting to claw his eyes out.
He gets assigned to "cashwrap," the fancy term for the area where people go to buy stuff. Gaila is clearly the queen bee here, and she gets the dubious honor of teaching Leonard and another new employee how to wrap gifts.
"Why can't we just point them toward the gift bag section?" Leonard asks, his arms folded across his chest.
"It's policy," Gaila replies. This seems to be her answer for everything. "So then you just tuck in the corners like this, fold it over, and…ta-da! Wrapped."
"It is like a math equation," the other guy says. His name is Pavel, a skinny Russian whiz kid who majors in physics and took extensive notes throughout the training sessions. He's studious to a fault and he hangs on Gaila's every word, which she loves. "If you think of it as a problem to solve, it is not so hard." He beams at the two of them and Leonard rolls his eyes.
"Yeah? Well, what if someone wants to buy a stuffed animal, genius? Where's the equation there?"
"That's a little trickier, obviously." Gaila clears away the scotch tape and scissors. "When it's really busy, we'll probably assign one or two people to man the gift-wrap station specifically."
Leonard hooks a thumb over at Pavel. "Let him do it if he's so excited about it."
"Thank you, Leonard," Pavel says, smiling obliviously. "I would like that."
Gaila giggles and pats Leonard's shoulder. She's a bit touchy-feely, which Leonard isn't used to. He ends up twitching in response every time.
"Okay, that's settled," she says. "Now man your battle stations."
Leonard has no idea why Chris, the smirking manager of the store, assigned him to cashwrap. If there's one thing Leonard is not, it's a people person. And standing behind a register, he's exposed to all sorts of people, most of whom he would never speak to under normal circumstances. He's also saddled with strict orders to hock an expensive and overpriced store membership to every customer he sees, most of whom don't need it or don't want it. Of course, Gaila is great at selling memberships. Leonard thinks it doesn't hurt that most of her wardrobe consists of clingy V-neck sweaters. He can't say so, though, because that would be sexual harassment, as he's been taught by an outdated and patronizing VHS tape made in 1986.
At one point, both Leonard and Gaila's registers are free, just in time for a devastatingly handsome business-type to walk over to the front of the store. He's wearing a perfectly tailored suit and his golden hair reflects the harsh overhead lights, tousled just enough to make him look boyish, despite the chiseled good looks. The man stops and looks between the two registers, weighing his options, and Gaila straightens, plastering on her best come-hither expression.
For whatever reason, the man decides on Leonard's register, setting down two paperback novels on the counter and smiling some kind of wicked movie-star smile.
"Hi there," he says, then peers down at Leonard's nametag. "…Leonard."
"Hello." He flips his nametag over and tries to suppress his annoyance as he reaches for the books. "Did you find everything you were looking for tonight?"
"Now that I'm here, yes."
The guy flashes the cheesiest grin imaginable and Leonard rolls his eyes at the overt arrogance, which only seems to intensify the glee. Leonard busies himself with scanning the books: bullshit Tom Clancy toilet reading.
"Those are for a flight I'm taking," the man pipes up, as if he can sense Leonard's judgment. "I like to have something mindless at the ready when I travel."
"Right," Leonard says. He doesn't much care and he's not sure why this guy would care about him caring, anyway. As good looking as the man may be, Leonard absolutely detests making small talk with strangers. He exhales and looks up, ready to get the transaction over and done with. Except there's one more thing he has to ask. "Do you have an Archer's membership card?"
"No." The man smiles anew and folds his arms on the counter, looking up at Leonard with interest. "Should I?"
"If you're a frequent customer, sure."
"I'm not at the moment, but maybe I could be. Do you have some sort of sales pitch you could give me?"
Leonard sighs before launching into his memorized pitch in the most monotone voice possible. The membership program is bullshit. Enrollment costs twenty-five dollars and then you get ten percent off all purchases, which means you have to spend 250 dollars a year before you actually start saving any money. Gaila somehow convinces all these poor saps to enroll, who only come in to purchase something random out of boredom. Leonard stares at a point in the distance and drones on about how much the man can save on all his favorite books, CDs, and movies, until he's interrupted by an unexpected burst of enthusiasm.
"Great!" the guy says. He pulls out his wallet quickly. "I'm an avid reader. And I like movies and CDs, too. Sign me up, Leonard."
Leonard blinks in shock and hands over one of the blank membership forms. Then, after a bit of fumbling around with the computer, Mr. James T. Kirk has a shiny new Archer's card which finds itself a home in a rather sparse collection of other cards; Leonard sees two credit cards and an ID in the man's slim wallet. That's it.
"Well, this is exciting. It's like we're going on an adventure," he says. Leonard looks at him blankly as he finishes the transaction. He hands back the man's credit card—platinum, of course the idiot is wealthy, too—as well as the bag with the two books. But the guy won't be deterred. "I'm Jim, by the way. I know the card says James, but you can call me Jim."
Leonard just sighs and nods. "Okay, sure. Have a good night."
"See you soon, Leonard."
Jim winks and then heads for the exit. Once he's gone, Pavel starts clapping from a few registers away.
"Congratulations, Leonard! Your first membership sale!"
"Oh, like he really had to work for it," Gaila says. "That guy was aaaall over him."
"He was a pest," Leonard says, deflecting easily. Even so, Gaila's words do put the smallest of smiles on his face. He's not sure if he's enjoying her jealousy or if he's pleased by the observation. Maybe a little of both.
*
Leonard doesn't tell anyone he knows that he's working at Archer's. It's not that he's embarrassed. Or, well, maybe he is a little bit, given that he thought his years spent in slavery, a.k.a. med school, would keep him safe from the pitfalls of retail forever. He misses a phone call from Joanna and when Jocelyn e-mails to find out what's going on, he just tells her he's working a second job and he's strapped for free time. No untruths there. Christine comments that he looks more tired than usual and he gives her some story about insomnia. Telling her he has a second job would lead to questions and he really doesn't need everyone in the hospital knowing that he's ringing up copies of Oprah's latest book club selection. Christine's pretty bad at keeping gossip under wraps. He thinks of it as self-preservation rather than lying.
On the bright side, he likes his new coworkers, for the most part. Gaila's a pistol and Pavel's just about the smartest kid Leonard's ever met. He thinks it's too bad Pavel's studying physics instead of doing a pre-med track. Then again, he's never heard of a physicist working part-time at the mall to make ends meet, so what does he know? Now and then, he has interesting chats with Chris and Scotty, the café manager. Scotty's an artist with caffeinated drinks when he's allowed to go off the menu and it's mainly thanks to him that Leonard's able to stay awake through his night shifts.
The job itself continues to require more of a friendly bedside manner than being a doctor does, and Leonard gnashes his teeth through every shift. There are the customers who always try their best to get something for nothing; the backseat drivers who think they know how to do Leonard's job better than he does; the occasional hoodlum; the nutjobs who smell bad and special order five items at a time, never to be purchased; and the complete idiots who can't read the text of a coupon or store sign to save their lives. And then there's Jim Kirk, who now shows up at the store every night and buys something as ridiculous as his perpetually smiling face. And he always, always waits in line until Leonard's register is free, often letting people behind him cut ahead. Gaila gives Leonard a knowing look each time and he shakes his head in response.
On the night that Jim arrives at the cashwrap with a blu-ray copy of Sex and the City 2, Leonard's eyebrow leaps into a severe arch.
"You want to buy this?" he asks incredulously.
"It's a Christmas gift. Ever heard of Christmas, Leonard?"
"Unfortunately, yes." Leonard grunts and scans the DVD. "If it's a gift, you want it wrapped?"
Jim's own thick eyebrows lift toward his hairline. "You guys do that?"
"Yeah. Here, hang on."
Leonard heads to the gift wrap table and gets to work, ignoring Gaila when she sashays past and bumps his hip purposely. He returns to the counter a few minutes later and hands Jim his immaculately wrapped DVD.
"Wow, this is fantastic," Jim muses. "I never learned how to wrap gifts this well."
"I taught him everything he knows," Gaila says, flicking her hair back. Jim looks between her and Leonard and grins crookedly.
"Well, not everything, I hope."
"Go home, Jim," Leonard sighs.
"Okay," Jim relents, stepping back. "But I'll be back tomorrow."
And he does come back, this time with another guy who, like Jim, is extremely attractive and knows it. He's Asian and looks athletic, standing in a long, wool peacoat, unbuttoned to show off an immaculately cut suit that mirrors Jim's own wardrobe—a coworker, maybe. Leonard spots them standing in line at first, eyeballing all of the cashiers and whispering to each other animatedly. Jim waits for Leonard's register to open up, and the friend smirks and rolls his eyes behind Jim's back when they finally walk up to the counter. Leonard knows the feeling.
"Hey, Leonard," Jim says cheerfully. He nods toward the other guy. "This is my friend, Hikaru."
"Hey, man," Hikaru says, as if this is a social gathering. This time, Leonard's the one to roll his eyes.
"Great. What cockamamie thing are you buying tonight, Jim?"
Jim places seasons one and two of Bones down on the counter and smiles like the cat that ate the canary. And Leonard knows exactly why: It's his own "staff pick" in the DVD area of the store. Leonard eyeballs the DVDs briefly before scowling up at Jim.
"Who's this for?" he asks.
"It's for me. Never seen it before, but I figure you have good taste, so I'll give it a shot."
Leonard grunts and scans the DVDs. "You must have a lot of money to burn if you're buying things on the assumption of my good taste, kid," he says. Jim laughs and shrugs, about to say something, but then Hikaru interrupts.
"Damn, you were right, Jim," he whispers, looking to the other end of cashwrap. Where Gaila is standing. "Everyone who works in this store is hot."
"Oh, for god's sake. You brought him here so you could ogle women together?"
"So he could ogle women," Jim corrects. He grins and slides his membership card and credit card across the counter. "I came so I could ask you for your number."
"Forget it," Leonard says. He frowns over at Hikaru, who wanders away toward Gaila's register, likely bored of the conversation. He runs Jim's card through the register with a little more force than necessary. "Not gonna happen."
"Well, let me give you my number."
"I already have it. It's in the system. Your membership, remember?"
Jim grins brightly. "Okay, great. Then give me a ring, Bones."
"I'm not—what did you just call me?"
"I looked up the show on Wikipedia," Jim says. He holds up a smart phone, as if that explains everything. "You know, Bones? It says that this Temperance Brennan character is 'known for her rational more so than social skills.' That pretty much sounds like you. I think it fits."
"I'm not a TV character," Leonard snaps. He points down at the electronic screen. "Now sign on the goddamn line."
"If I do, will you give me your number?"
"No."
Just then, Hikaru comes bounding back over, brandishing a piece of paper. "Hey, Jim, check it out! I got the redhead's number."
Jim huffs and looks at Leonard imploringly. "Bones, you're making me look bad, here."
"Take your DVDs," Leonard says, all but shoving the bag of merchandise at Jim, "and don't ever call me that again."
And Jim does take the bag, but it's with the most pathetic, kicked-puppy look that Leonard's ever seen on a grown man's face. He recovers quickly, though, plastering on a carefree smile that's so obviously forced, it weakens Leonard's resolve. Jim's obviously not used to being rejected—and why would he be, with those movie-star good looks and sparkling blue eyes? Not to mention his fine-tailored wardrobe that stinks of money. Jim reaches into his wallet and pulls out a business card, offering it to Leonard with that same hopeful expression. Leonard, perhaps stupidly, takes the card; he has a fleeting, frightening thought that the sudden cheer in Jim's eyes makes any bad consequences worth the risk.
"Just think about it, okay? It doesn't have to be anything fancy. Just coffee."
Leonard sighs. "Jim, even if I wanted to, I can't. I don't have the time."
"Well...just in case some time suddenly falls into your lap."
"In which case, Jim might follow suit," Hikaru chimes in, grinning. Leonard forgot he was even there and he gives him a dirty look.
"Damn it, you miscreants. I have customers. Get the hell out of here already."
"These guys bothering you, Len?" someone says. It's John Henderson, the night security guard, looking pissed off and menacing as he advances on Jim and Hikaru.
"Don't worry about it, John. They were just leaving." Leonard gives them a meaningful look and they back away, hands in the air as a sign of surrender.
"Hold onto that card, Bones," Jim says as he walks off with Hikaru. He turns as he nears the door. "And think about using it!"
Leonard pockets the card with a sigh. He knows he's going to think about it a lot more than he cares to.
*
Leonard sets Jim Kirk's business card down on the dining table and stares at it as he eats his cornflakes. It seems to stare back at him, glossy and pristine, doing its best to entice Leonard to dial one of the three phone numbers listed in the corner.
It's not that he doesn't want to call. The problem is that he does want to. Badly. The apartment is dead silent when the TV isn't on or when the music isn't playing from Nyota and Spock's place. And he's lonely. He misses the thump-thump-thump of Joanna running through the house, racing from one room to the next. He even misses Jocelyn calling his name, even though it felt like needles in his brain toward the end. Hell, he misses the sound of someone else breathing in the same room.
It's just so...quiet. And yet, he isn't quite sure he'd know what to do with noise anymore.
He's jolted from his thoughts when he hears a knock at the door. Leonard rises from his seat, swallowing the last of a mouthful. He's not expecting any packages and it doesn't smell like the building is burning down. When he opens the door, he's surprised to see Nyota and Spock. Nyota smiles, bright as southern sunshine, and Spock stands ramrod-still beside her, his hands clasped behind his back.
"Good morning, Leonard," Nyota says. "I hope we're not disturbing you."
"Ah...no, not at all. Got a few minutes before I have to leave for work. What can I do for you?"
Nyota looks up at Spock as though she expects him to start talking. He glances down at her before he does exactly that.
"When we discussed dining together in the future, we neglected to choose a date."
Leonard blinks and holds onto the doorknob with one hand. This Spock guy tends to sound like a robot. A very erudite robot. "I suppose that's true."
"We're having a holiday party in a few days," Nyota says. "Saturday night. We thought it would be lovely if you could attend. If you're free, that is. I don't mean to assume."
"Well, I..." Leonard's brain goes fuzzy with static as he processes exactly what's happening. Saturday is his day off and he doesn't have plans beyond sleeping late and then sitting in his living room with a frozen meal, but the thought of dining with strangers makes him a little panicky. He fumbles for some kind of excuse, anything that might sound feasible, and comes up empty. Then he thinks of Jim's card, sitting on his table—an intruding object in his normal, boring every day life, and he wonders if maybe it wouldn't be the worst idea to mix things up a bit. "Uh, yeah. I'm free."
"Well, fantastic!" Nyota smiles and looks between Leonard and Spock, her sleek ponytail swishing. "We'll be starting around seven but come by any time. It'll be very casual, nothing fancy. And don't worry about bringing anything. Spock has everything covered."
"Indeed," Spock says. "Please alert me to any food allergies you might have."
"No food allergies," Leonard replies, smirking faintly. He scratches his head. "You sure you want me to come? We don't really…I mean, I'm just your neighbor, not your friend. I wouldn't want to intrude."
"Don't be silly!" Nyota says, shaking her head. "The idea is that we want to be friends. And we would love to see you there."
"Well, it's mighty nice of you," Leonard says. Then, quietly, "Thanks."
"We'll see you on Saturday," Nyota says, a rather triumphant smile on her face. She ushers Spock back toward their own apartment. "Have a good day at work."
"Have a pleasant morning, Doctor McCoy," Spock adds.
"Yeah, sure. Um...you, too."
Leonard shuts the door and glances back at Jim's card on the dining room table. It gleams under the overhead light, almost like a wink.
*
Jim doesn't show up to the store for a few days. Leonard wonders if he's run out of money to spend on things he doesn't need. Or maybe John scared him off. In the meantime, he's heard all about Gaila and Hikaru's blossoming courtship, to the point that he learned a new term from Pavel: "TMI." Gaila never mentions Jim, though, and Leonard finds himself wondering more and more about what's happened to his erstwhile suitor.
Of course, Jim's absence could also be explained by the fact that Leonard hasn't called him. After enduring a day of the business card's mocking, he ended up shoving it between two medical texts in his bookshelf. Out of sight, out of mind. Except not really.
So it's safe to say that Leonard is surprised when he finishes his shift on Friday night, clocks out and walks into the chilly air of the parking lot, only to run into Jim Kirk. He's standing there in one of his nice suits and a coat that's not nearly warm enough for the weather.
"Good god, man," Leonard exclaims, touching Jim's arm. He can feel Jim shivering. "Are you insane? You'll catch your death."
"Bones, you're a doctor. You should know that people don't really get sick from going out into the cold."
Leonard looks up abruptly. "And how do you know that?"
"Hikaru," Jim says, smirking. "His new lady friend likes to talk, apparently."
"Well, that's just peachy." He glares at Jim, annoyed. "So, what is this, plan B? Stop haunting the store and start hanging around the mall parking lot, grilling my coworker's arm candy of the week for information?"
"You didn't call," Jim says simply, as if that's explanation enough. Leonard gives him an incredulous look and Jim ducks his head, rubbing the back of his neck shyly. "I figured I would try something more aggressive. I was really hoping you'd call."
"Kid, I'm telling you: You're barking up the wrong tree. I'm very flattered, okay? But...it's not worth thinking about. So just go home."
Jim purses his lips and huddles further into his unseasonal coat. "Well, I would, but I haven't seen any cabs around here."
"You took a cab here?"
"No, Hikaru gave me a lift. Then he picked up Gaila and I figured..." He trails off, shrugging sheepishly. "Well, I figured worst case scenario, I'd take a cab home."
Leonard huffs, gesturing to the empty parking lot that surrounds them, all lonely asphalt. "Damn it, Jim. This is a mall. Cabs don't hang out around here. You see this giant parking lot? It's reserved for all the cars that people drive here, which they park while they shop, and then get into and drive the hell home."
Jim tilts his head and peers at Leonard. "Well, you have a car, don't you?" he asks. At first glance, he's all guileless eyes and innocent smile, but Leonard can see the mischief behind the facade. And in that moment, he knows that Jim planned this. He grunts and reaches into his pocket for his keys.
"No talking," he says, walking toward his car. "Just tell me where you live and then zip it."
"Actually, I was thinking we could get coffee or a drink or something."
"Jim, I told you—"
"You told me you didn't have time to get coffee. Yes, I know." Jim catches up to him and nudges Leonard's arm with his own. "But you're done with your shift now. And tomorrow's your day off."
Leonard squints in confusion as he unlocks the car door. "How do you—just how much does Gaila know about my schedule?" Jim whistles innocently and Leonard sighs. The fates are obviously conspiring against him. "All right, fine. One cup of coffee. Then I put you in a cab and you go home."
Jim climbs into the passenger seat with a happy grin. "No problem, Bones."
*
As it turns out, one cup of coffee turns into two, not to mention a lot of looking around on Jim's part. He seems to touch nearly everything in Leonard's apartment, from the dust-free tabletops to the photos of Joanna and Leonard's parents. He lingers by the bookcases, running his fingers over the spines of medical texts and journals. Leonard sips his coffee and lets himself gaze at Jim's hands, long and pale and elegant as they touch hardcovers and paperbacks with respect that borders on reverence.
"Boy, you really are a doctor," Jim says. "This place is like a medical library."
"Jim, will you sit down and finish your damn coffee already?"
"I'm getting to it." Jim smiles and leaves the books alone, wandering back into the kitchen. "I'm taking it all in. I didn't exactly expect to end up here tonight."
Leonard sighs. "Yeah, well, that makes two of us."
Jim sits down at the table and goes back to his coffee mug, wrapping his hands around it and tilting his face toward the steam. They're fairly close to each other and Leonard can appreciate Jim's features now that they're not stuck under the blindingly bright lights of Archer's. He's far from perfect; he has patches of pockmarked skin and his lips are in desperate need of some chap stick. Leonard can also spot a few scars here and there, probably left over from childhood falls and scrapes.
Still, there's something about Jim. He makes all those imperfections work for him. Despite each one—and perhaps because of them—he's absolutely gorgeous. In fact, Leonard has no idea what the hell a gorgeous guy like Jim is doing sitting here in his apartment. He laughs faintly and Jim looks up.
"What?"
"I dunno, it's just...this. You, in my apartment. I don't think I've ever let another soul in here before, let alone a complete stranger."
"I'm not a complete stranger. I know you're a doctor—"
"Surgeon, specifically," Leonard notes. Jim leans forward, looking impressed.
"Okay, great, surgeon. You have a daughter, who I guess doesn't live here. You enjoy using colorful language. You like Bones... I watched some episodes, by the way. Good show."
Leonard shrugs. "It's a guilty pleasure, I suppose. Haven't seen it in ages. Haven't had time."
"Right, because you've been working your ass off at two jobs." Jim eyes him critically as he takes a sip of his coffee. "Now, what I don't understand is why you're working as a cashier at Archer's when you're a brilliant surgeon."
"And how would you know if I'm brilliant?"
"I just know these things. I can tell."
Leonard grunts in reply and hunches over his mug. Jim laughs and scoots his chair closer to the table, nudging their knees together. The unexpected sensation makes Leonard shift back instinctively. They give each other fleeting, guilty glances.
"I need the money," Leonard says. He clears his throat, as if that will also clear the air of any awkwardness. "No shame in it. It's a decent place. Nice people."
"Oh, yeah, no, I didn't mean to imply... I mean, I know it's not ideal, but—"
"Well, of course it's not ideal, Jim. What would be ideal is if they gave me back my old hours at the hospital and the recession ended and the government sent us all sacks full of money. But that ain't gonna happen, so for the time being, I'm working at Archer's. Where I pretend that I give a shit about membership card sales and wrapping presents for people's spoiled brats and telling every pain in the ass customer I encounter to have a great day, when I really, really, truly don't."
Jim purses his lips as he listens, then pauses before he speaks. "To be fair, Bones, if that's the best you can do at pretending you give a shit, then you need some pretending lessons. It wasn't exactly your stellar sales pitch that sold me on that membership card."
Leonard feels his cheeks flush. "Let's drop it already. Tell me something about you. Besides the fact that you're annoying as all get-out and don't know when to let sleeping dogs lie."
"Well, those are the most important things," Jim says, winking. "Let's see...I work at an ad agency. The recession affected us, too, but Hikaru and I are good enough at our jobs that we practically run the place. Other than that, I'm from Iowa originally...single. An Aquarius." He grins at Leonard, who rolls his eyes. "I don't live too far from here. I dunno. I'm kind of dull, to tell you the truth."
"You couldn't be duller than me."
"I'm dull enough to have time to visit a random guy at the mall every night."
"All right, maybe you are duller," Leonard says, which earns him a laugh from Jim. He smirks in return. "Anyway, you haven't come around lately."
"I figured I'd back off a little. Let you call me. Which you didn't. Plus, that security guard is kind of scary."
Leonard scoffs. "Who, John? Trust me, he may look menacing, but he's soft on the inside. Like a big ol' cupcake."
"Is that right?" Jim asks. He smiles in this way that makes Leonard's insides twist up—but in a pleasant way, not in a just-ate-a-rancid-TV-dinner way. Leonard blinks nervously and goes back to his coffee, diverting his eyes long enough to take a swig. When he looks up again, Jim is out of his chair and headed to the fridge. "Speaking of cupcakes, do you have anything to eat? I had a light dinner tonight. I'm starved."
"Uh, well," Leonard starts to say. He's interrupted by Jim, who's got the freezer door held open.
"Holy shit!" he exclaims. "I've never seen so many frozen dinners in my life, Bones! Not even in a supermarket! You eat these?"
"I don't like to cook." Leonard frowns up at him. "I'm bad at it."
"Jesus H. Christ, Bones. When was the last time you had a home-cooked meal?" Jim looks in the fridge and shakes his head at the bottles of seltzer, ketchup, and mustard he finds in there. "I've heard of bachelorhood, but this is ridiculous. Those things are full of preservatives and sodium. You're a doctor; you should know that."
Leonard bristles and runs a hand over his face, his cheeks getting hot. He doesn't like the way Jim keeps nitpicking at things, peeling back the layers of Leonard's pathetic life and revealing things that aren't meant for other people to see, let alone judge. "Jim, don't start," he warns.
"No, seriously. I'm coming back at some point and making you a real dinner. And lots of it, so you can have real leftovers. Honestly, Bones, Salisbury steak? I didn't even know they still made that stuff."
"Damn it, Jim!" Leonard yells, slapping a hand against the table. Jim jerks back and shuts the fridge door quickly, which Leonard finds endlessly satisfying. "I like Salisbury steak, okay? I like my boring TV dinners and my boring books and my boring apartment and you can't...you can't just come around with your dreamy blue eyes and your fancy-ass suit and try to change everything in my life! We're having a goddamn cup of coffee, for Christ's sake. I don't even know you!"
Jim looks taken aback at first, but then his mouth eases into that familiar, charming smile as he leans against the fridge, looking every bit the cocky, debonair bastard he knows he is.
"Bones," he says, "all I did was offer to cook you dinner. You're acting like I threw away all your clothes." Jim tilts his head and looks him over. "Which might not be a bad thing, actually."
"I like my clothes fine. And I told you not to call me—"
Someone knocks on the front door, cutting Leonard off. He throws a scowl over his shoulder at Jim as he goes to see who's there. It's Nyota, standing there in a silky-looking robe that frames her figure perfectly.
"Leonard, is everything all right?" she asks, her brow furrowed in concern. "I heard yelling coming from your apartment and, well...I've never heard yelling coming from here before. In fact, I don't think I've ever heard anything."
"Uh, yeah," Leonard says, embarrassed. "It's fine, thanks. I've just got company, and—"
"Bones, aren't you going to introduce me to—oh, wow. Uhura?"
Nyota blinks at Jim in surprise and pulls her robe tightly around her frame. Leonard looks between them, confused beyond belief.
"You two know each other?" he asks.
"We're coworkers," Nyota says, sighing. "Hello, Jim. I didn't know you and Leonard were friends."
"The best of." Jim slings an arm around Leonard's shoulders. Somehow, it doesn't make him cringe. "And as for us, I prefer the term colleagues. I mean, you did invite me to your holiday party and all."
Leonard's eyes go wide. "Wait a minute. You're going to that?!"
"Yeah, I am. Hikaru and Gaila, too." Jim nudges his side. "Wanna be my date?"
There's a stretch of silence as they both gaze at Jim in shock. Then Nyota lets out the most wicked giggle Leonard's ever heard.
"Oh, this is going to be good," she says.
*
"Eggnog, Doctor McCoy?"
Leonard looks up from his seat on the sofa and sees Spock standing above him, a large pitcher of the frothy holiday beverage in his hand. He looks a little ridiculous, with a red and green apron on, and a wool Christmas sweater that would make Leonard's own yarn-happy grandmother reel back in terror. Leonard is used to seeing Spock in dapper, understated outfits, not unlike the decor of the apartment he shares with Nyota. It's mostly blacks, whites, and beiges, with some splashes of red here and there. Leonard imagines that red must be Nyota's favorite color. There's a sleek black piano in the middle of it all, the one that Leonard hears at night sometimes. He smiles faintly to Spock and shakes his head, holding up the glass of wine in his hand.
"I'm all set, Spock. But thanks. And, uh...call me Leonard, okay?"
Spock nods and sets the pitcher on the coffee table, then perches on the sofa arm beside him. "Leonard, then. I trust you're enjoying yourself?"
"Sure," Leonard says. "Having a great time." It's not quite the truth, more like a bald-faced lie, but Spock doesn't need to hear about how anxious he is at the moment, stuck in a room of veritable strangers, aside from Gaila, who can't seem to pull herself away from Hikaru for more than ten seconds. Then there's Leonard's "date," who's busy regaling his "colleagues" with one stupid story after another, twirling a candy cane around as he talks, like it's some kind of prop. It's plain to see that Jim's indulged in quite a lot of holiday cheer at this point. He's loud and ridiculous and, above all, heartbreakingly handsome. Leonard isn't quite sure just why it's heartbreaking, but it is.
"Your friend Jim is an interesting character," Spock says. "Nyota has told me stories about him but I wasn't quite prepared for the real thing."
Leonard glances away from Jim. "He's not really my friend."
"I'm sorry—your date."
"He's not my date, either. He's...he's this guy who bugged me at my job until I agreed to have a cup of coffee with him."
Spock considers this, sipping from his own glass of eggnog. "Then I think that 'date' is an accurate description."
Nyota walks over on dangerously high heels, holding a glass of wine in one hand and a sugar cookie in the other. "Hi, boys. You two having fun?" she asks.
Spock nods and makes room for her to sit between them. "Leonard and I were just discussing the nature of his relationship with Jim Kirk."
"Boy, you cut right to the chase, don't you? There's nothing to discuss," Leonard grouses. "I'm a single, solitary man and it's going to stay that way. Jim and I are not dating."
"Hey, Bones," Jim suddenly says, stumbling away from his group of friends and toward the sofa. "I hear there's mistletoe in the bedroom! Wanna go make out?"
"Jim, you are not getting your rocks off in my bedroom," Nyota says sternly. Jim pouts at her.
"Aw, no fair. Spock gets to have all the fun."
"Jim, just how much have you had to drink?" Leonard asks sourly. It's a silly question, considering that he can smell the alcohol on Jim's breath, and he's standing two feet away. He suspects that Jim indulged in some pre-party drinks, too.
"Too much, probably," Jim says, looking fairly recalcitrant. "I think I might have to crash at your place, Bones. Oh, noooo."
"Oh, for god's sake," Leonard groans. He's already tired of Jim's schemes, and especially the way they always seem to work. "Fine. But you're sleeping on the couch."
"Sure, sure, Bones," Jim replies, nodding vigorously.
Leonard doesn't miss the knowing look that Nyota and Spock exchange.
Twenty minutes later, Jim is sprawled on his stomach in Leonard's bed, still fully clothed. Leonard peers at him from the bathroom as he brushes his teeth and wonders how just the hell he started off this month with a toothbrush in a toilet bowl and ended up with a gorgeous, strange man passed out in his bedroom. He changes into his pajamas as quietly as he can so as not to wake Jim, and then eases into bed beside him, shutting off the bedside lamp. For a few moments, it's perfectly quiet and still as he gazes up at the ceiling. Then Jim shifts closer.
"Holy crap," he whispers. "I'm in your bed."
"No shit, Sherlock," Leonard whispers back. The party's still going on next door and it's unlikely that anyone will hear them, but it still feels appropriate to keep his voice down. "I was going to dump you on the couch but you sort of landed here."
"Good place to land."
Jim scoots even closer, to the point that his leg rests right alongside Leonard's and his chin props itself against the curve of Leonard's shoulder. He thinks about pushing Jim away—he hasn't shared a bed with anyone since his separation from Jocelyn, let alone allowed someone to press against his body like this—but he just touches Jim's waist lightly instead, allowing himself one moment of weakness. He listens to the sound of Jim's breathing and barely recognizes his own feeling of contentment.
"M'a little drunk, is the thing," Jim mumbles into his shoulder. "But I like you a lot, Bones."
"Yeah, I kinda got that by the way you kept showing up at my store to buy garbage that you don't need," Leonard murmurs. Jim laughs softly, hiccups.
"Right? That was slick." He curls an arm around Leonard's middle and sighs contentedly. "Hey. Wanna know a secret?"
"Sure."
"I kinda hate the holidays. I mean...I go home for Thanksgiving, but then every Christmas I spend in my apartment, alone. 'Cause no one else is around. M'not quite rockin' a frozen dinner arsenal, but..." He laughs again, pushing his face into Leonard's chest and mumbling into the cotton of his pajama top. "Let's just say you don't have the market cornered on the sad bastard thing."
Leonard blinks into the darkness and licks his lips nervously. He hasn't even stopped to think that Jim might be a lonely guy, too, what with his carefree attitude and all-around self-assuredness. The idea that he could be the one for Jim and vice versa seems laughable, inherently ludicrous. But maybe...just maybe, Jim's onto something here. Talking to Jim is easier than talking to almost anyone else in the world, after all. Even when Leonard's bitching at the guy, there's something relaxed about it; he doesn't think everything to death or get tongue-tied the way he might around other people. Then there's their mutual physical attraction and the fact that Jim feels familiar and good against him, fitting against Leonard's body like he was always meant to be there. Leonard dares to reach up and gently touch Jim's hair, his hand only trembling slightly.
"Got no idea what I'm doing here, Jim," he whispers.
Jim is already fast asleep and, for once, doesn't answer back.
*
Leonard opens his eyes blearily and blinks to adjust to the light in the room. When he finally focuses, he sees Jim's face hovering above, his sparkling blue eyes staring down at him.
"Jesus!" Leonard yells, clutching a hand to his chest. "What the—why are you staring at me?"
"You look cute when you sleep. I thought I'd enjoy the view."
"Damn it, Jim." He groans and leans up on his elbows, taking a deep breath to calm himself down. "How long have you been awake?"
"About an hour or so."
"You've been watching me sleep for an hour?"
"No," Jim says. He pouts and folds his arms across his chest defensively. "I also used your bathroom. Washed my face, brushed my teeth."
Leonard looks at him in alarm. "You brushed your teeth? With my toothbrush?"
"Well, it's not like there was a spare," Jim says, shrugging.
"Damn it. Now I have to buy another new one." Toothbrushes, Leonard thinks, rolling his eyes. Maybe he can start measuring his life in toothbrushes instead of TV dinners.
"What, you think my mouth is a dirty toilet or something? I'm offended, Bones."
"No, but—"
Leonard finds himself cut off when Jim shifts even closer, moving so that their mouths are mere inches apart. He swallows thickly and Jim smiles, reaching up to push some stray hair back from Leonard's brow. Jim's still in his clothes from the party, rumpled now, and he has faint creases along the skin of his neck from sleeping awkwardly on the bed. Leonard has a passing thought of tracing each of those creases with his tongue. It results in a very interested reaction beneath his pajama pants.
"I could show you," Jim says. He doesn't move in for the kill, not just yet, and Leonard can tell that he's asking for permission. He's caught between the urge to squirm away and to just say fuck it all and kiss Jim himself.
"This is moving pretty fast," Leonard says hastily. "I still don't really know you, Jim. And you don't know me. I don't do this sort of thing."
"Well, maybe you should give it a try." Jim can't seem to stop looking at Leonard's mouth. It's making him uncomfortable, but in a good way. Sudden warmth floods his gut, unfamiliar but not unwelcome. Jim grins; he can probably see it written all over Leonard's face. "Maybe it's just what the doctor ordered."
Leonard groans and tilts his head back. "Jim, that has got to be the worst pun on god's green—"
He should see the kiss coming, but he doesn't. And it startles him, so he grabs onto Jim's sleeve to steady himself. Soon enough, he's clutching at Jim's arms, pulling him closer and kissing back as good as he's getting. Leonard feels a surge of hunger as he slides his tongue into Jim's mouth, moaning lowly when Jim lets him. This man, this utter pest—he's suddenly all that Leonard wants. He maneuvers their bodies, pressing Jim's back to the mattress and practically pawing at his shirt, tugging at the ridiculous mother-of-pearl buttons until he gets to skin—glorious, golden skin. Jim lets out a lusty laugh and tugs at Leonard's lower lip with his insanely white teeth.
"You don't do this sort of thing, huh?" he asks, panting for breath. "Coulda fooled me."
"Changed my mind." Leonard kisses him again voraciously. He runs his hands over Jim's ribs, causing him to arch off the mattress. It's a beautiful sight. "Hope you don't have any plans this morning, 'cause you're staying right here 'til I have to go to work."
"No morning plans," Jim says, nodding and pushing his hands under Leonard's top. His hands are slightly cold against Leonard's flushed skin, making him shiver. "Which is good, 'cause we slept right through it."
"Wha? What time is—" He looks up at his alarm clock for the first time and curses when he sees the LCD readout: 1:16. "Shit! Why didn't you say something? I gotta be at Archer's in forty-five minutes! Shit, shit..."
Jim blinks and tries to pull Leonard back down. "What's the big deal? Call in sick!"
"I can't! I told you, Jim, I need the money. Leggo."
Leonard bats Jim away and scrambles off the bed, hustling to peel off his pajamas and change into clothes for work. Jim sits up and watches. He looks both adorable and bewildered.
"Jesus, Bones, why the hell are you so worried about money? Did your rent go up or something?"
"It's none of your—" He pauses to pull a sweater over his head. "None of your business!" He pulls on a pair of jeans and then runs to the dresser for his comb, trying to tame his wild, sleep-mussed hair.
"Well...do you need a loan or something? I could lend you some money, if you need it."
"Now, why the hell would you do that?" Leonard growls. The thought of Jim offering him a handout makes him incredibly annoyed, somehow. "You don't even—"
"Yeah, yeah, I know, I don't even know you. You've said." Jim rolls his eyes and stands. He's still rumpled and those eyes are trying to search Leonard's soul and he's so unbearably sexy that it's hard to look at him. "I know that you're a decent guy and that there's gotta be a good reason for you working your ass off like this, even if you won't tell me what it is."
"It's personal, Jim!" Leonard yells. His gaze flickers over to the photo of Joanna by his bed, the one with the stars and the crooked teeth, and Jim looks over as well. Leonard can see the gears whir into place in his head.
"...It's about her, isn't it?" Jim asks softly. He steps closer to Leonard, motioning to the photo. "Your daughter. She lives with her mom, doesn't she? And you want to see her for the holidays...but your hours got cut at the hospital. That's it, right?"
Leonard closes his eyes briefly, as if he can block out what Jim is saying. "Joanna. Her name is Joanna," he says. He takes a shaky breath. "And, yes, that's it. She's all the way down in Georgia and my ex-wife invited me, and I'll be damned if anyone's going to try and keep me from my little girl on Christmas."
"Bones," Jim says, softer still. He lays a hand on Leonard's shoulder and squeezes gently. "Is that all?"
"What do you mean, 'is that all?'"
"I'll lend you the money to see her. Hell, I'll give you the money to see her. It's not a big deal. I'll write you a check right now."
"You must still be drunk," Leonard says gruffly. Jim just laughs, like he always does. It makes Leonard angrier. "I'm serious, Jim. I don't take handouts and I'm not about to start. I'm real close to saving enough money to make the trip and buy her some nice presents, and I can't afford to take any days off, all right?"
"Oh, come on, Bones. Don't be like that. Here." Jim goes to the chair by the small desk, where his coat rests, and digs a checkbook and pen out of one of the pockets. He flips to a blank check and immediately starts writing. "Just tell me how much."
"Jim, I said no. And I mean it!" Leonard walks over and grabs the checkbook out of Jim's hands, ignoring the squeak of protest. "This is something I have to do on my own. It's about me and my family. And I know you're confused because no one has ever told you 'no' before, but you're not family, okay? You're no one. Do you get that? Does that sink into that big-shot head of yours?"
Jim looks at him blankly for a few tense moments. "Yeah," he finally says, a cold edge to his voice that Leonard's never heard from him before. "It does. I'm no one. Got it." Jim plucks the checkbook back from Leonard's hands and goes to retrieve his coat, pulling it on. Leonard's stomach drops in remorse and he runs a hand over his face, groaning.
"Damn it, Jim, I didn't mean it like that."
"No, you did. And that's okay. I waltzed in here and insulted your pride. I get it. Far be it from me to deny you of your very important fatherly suffering." Jim toes his shoes on and before Leonard knows it, he's already walking out of the bedroom toward the front door of the apartment. Leonard trails after him, not knowing what to say, yet feeling terrible all the same as he watches Jim pull his gloves on. Jim unlocks the door to let himself out and looks back at Leonard one last time. "For what it's worth, Bones? I do hope you make it to Georgia. Being alone on Christmas blows."
"Jim," Leonard says.
But then he's gone.
*
Working at Archer's quickly descends into a world of suck. At least, that's how Gaila puts it. Things get busier, the lines get longer, the customers get dumber. Chris, who looked chipper after he hired his extra help, goes back to being run-down and frustrated all the time. Pavel, sweet and understanding on even a bad day, looks like he wants to stab some particularly nasty customers in the face. Leonard begins each shift by crossing himself and praying for sanity, and then ends each shift by going home and downing a generous shot of bourbon, sometimes two. He wakes up in the mornings not feeling rested at all. Sometimes Chapel covers the front door of his office at the hospital while he takes a much-needed nap. It'll all be worth it, of course, once Leonard gets to see Joanna in the flesh; still, he nearly weeps with gratitude for every day that passes on the calendar.
Leonard's suffering is increased tenfold by the fact that Jim no longer shops at Archer's. What worse is that Leonard actually misses him. Gaila, who probably heard a short version from Hikaru, has the good graces not to say anything about it. But that doesn't stop Pavel, who looks up at one point during a blessedly slow period and says,
"So, Leonard. Where has your friend Jim been?"
"Do I look like his babysitter?"
"I wouldn't let you near my kids," Chris says, coming by with his trusty clipboard in hand. Leonard rolls his eyes.
"Thanks for the vote of confidence."
"Leonard and Jim broke up," Gaila says, waving a hand. "That's all there is to it. Nothing else to see here."
"We didn't break up, we—"
"Oh, Leonard, that's terrible!" Pavel says. He gives Leonard a sympathetic look. "I am so sorry to hear it."
"Wait, who'd you break up with?" Chris pipes up.
"That guy Jim Kirk? With the nice suits. Remember him? Wouldn't go to anyone's register but Len's?" Gaila clarifies, smiling brightly.
"Ohhh, yeah." Chris nods slowly and hugs his clipboard to his chest. "Why'd you break up with him, Len? He was one of our best customers."
"We weren't dating!" Len insists, waving his hands around. "We didn't break up! There was nothing to break up!"
Pavel walks over and rubs Leonard's arm. "Don't worry, Leonard. You will find love again."
"Oh, for Christ's—I'm going on break," Leonard says, shooing the kid away. He storms past everyone and leaves the cashwrap area, making a beeline for the staircase to head down to the break room.
"Denial isn't just a river in Egypt!" Gaila calls after him.
Leonard pours himself a cup of the gutter sludge they call coffee down in the break room and consults the employee calendar. He's scheduled to work up until December 23, and then his time as a holiday employee at Archer's will be over. Leonard has plans to book a flight down to Georgia for the morning of Christmas Eve but he doesn't quite have enough money yet, and he's already pushed the limits of his credit cards with the gifts he bought for Joanna. Still, if he waits any longer, the airfares are bound to skyrocket.
He sips at his sludge and thinks of Jim with a wince. He wonders if he should have taken the money. It just wouldn't have been fair on either of them; Jim might have expected something in return and Leonard would have surely owed him something. And damn if Jim wasn't right—he does have his pride.
"Counting down the days?" Chris says, walking into the room. Leonard takes his eyes off the calendar and musters a tired smile for his boss.
"Not really. Just thinking about how I'm going to juggle my finances, is all."
"Cutting it close, huh?" Chris says, nodding. "Well, considering that you're a hard worker and I know the main reason you're here..." He looks thoughtful as he goes to pour himself a cup of sludge. "I might be willing to consider giving you an advance on your next paycheck. If that would help you out."
"You...you would? You can do that?" Leonard blinks and laughs in disbelief, shaking his head. "That—that would be great!"
"Yeah, I'll work it out with HR," Chris says. He waves a hand and smiles, shrugging it off. "There's a woman there who helps me out with stuff like this from time to time. I call her my number one. I'm sure I can get you a check by tomorrow."
Leonard stands there, stupefied by his good luck, not to mention the odd, sudden urge to grab Chris and hug the life out of him. "God, Chris...that's fantastic. I don't know how to thank you properly."
"It's always worthwhile to do a good deed during the holidays." Chris takes a sip of his coffee and his expression quickly goes sour at the foul, bitter taste. "Ugh. And if you really want to thank me, you can make a fresh pot of coffee that doesn't taste like day-old diarrhea."
"You got it," Leonard says, getting up to grab a coffee filter. He's going to make Chris the best damn pot of coffee he's ever had.
Just then, Gaila's perky voice appears over the store intercom. Leonard to the cashwrap! Leonard, you're sorely needed at the cashwrap!
He blinks and looks over at Chris, confused. Chris looks back at him and shrugs exaggeratedly, as if to say, Hey, man, don't ask me. Leonard exhales and abandons his coffee duties to make the trek upstairs.
When he gets there, Jim's standing by his empty register, his hands shoved into his pockets, patiently waiting. There's an item sitting on the counter, ready to be rung up. Leonard swallows hard and hesitates before going over. He looks at Gaila meaningfully and she holds up her hands.
"You know how he is," she says. "He didn't want anyone else."
Jim looks up when he hears Gaila and brightens at the sight of Leonard. He looks tired but still handsome, always handsome. Leonard finds himself struck at how glad and relieved he is to see him. He supposes he can't use the fact that they've only recently met as an excuse anymore, so he decides to just go with it.
"Uh, hi," he says, then shakes his head at his own uselessness. "You, uh, wanna buy that?"
"Yep." Jim slides the shrink-wrapped box toward Leonard. It's the fifth season of Bones.
"What about seasons three and four?"
Jim shakes his head and smiles thinly. "It's for you. I noticed the other day that you have every season but this one, so...now you can catch up at your own leisure."
"Jim," Leonard sighs, "you don't have to—"
"It's just a gift. A Christmas gift. You can accept a Christmas gift, can't you?" Jim looks at him imploringly and whatever was left of Leonard's resolve shatters like a tree ornament under Santa's boot. "It wasn't my place to offer to pay your way to Georgia. I know that now. I guess I just hated the idea of you and Joanna being separated at Christmas. I just wanted to help and I got way ahead of myself. So I thought maybe we could start over, y'know? Start...smaller."
Leonard smiles wryly and looks down at the DVD again. When he looks back up, he sees that not only are Gaila and Pavel staring at them, but also their respective customers.
"Oh, for god's sake," Leonard mutters. He picks up the DVD and scans it. "You got your damn membership card?"
Jim grins at him, and it's bright enough to rival the horrible overhead lights. Gaila and Pavel do little dances of joy next to their registers while Jim happily digs his card out of his slim wallet. Leonard just shakes his head and smiles to himself.
"I was going to get you a cookbook," Jim says, handing the card over, "but I still think I'd rather cook for you instead."
"I suppose I'll live," Leonard says.
*
That night, Leonard takes advantage of the quiet time while Jim's dozing to think about all of the new things he's learned about him: that he's extremely, extremely ticklish; that he enjoys snuggling on the sofa; that he likes to be—nay, insists on being the little spoon. He's found out that Jim is almost as good of a cook as he claims to be, and he's still sated from the actual home-cooked meal that Jim prepared for them. He's observed and noted some of the places on Jim's body that will make him gasp and arch and moan when he touches them—not all of the places, but some. And he's learned the taste of Jim's skin; so decadent and gorgeous on his tongue that he knows he's already hooked.
Leonard kisses Jim's bare shoulder and lets his gaze travel down the length of Jim's body. He's sweaty and sticky and just as golden as Leonard remembers. He tightens his arms around Jim's middle and smiles when Jim sighs happily.
"Hey, Jim," Leonard whispers. "You awake?" He's thinking now about the first thing he did when they got back to his place—and it wasn't jumping right into bed or lazy shower sex, though the former was indeed fun and the latter will be even more fun, come morning. Leonard let Jim get to work in the kitchen and immediately turned on his computer and booked a Christmas Eve flight down to Georgia.
"Mm, yeah," Jim mumbles, still half conked out.
"I got an advance on my paycheck at Archer's." He runs his hand lightly down Jim's bare side. He thinks, too, of the hints Jim's been dropping all along about his own lonely life, how he said he spends his Christmases alone. How no one deserves to spend that day alone. "I booked my flight to Georgia today."
"Yeah?" Jim asks. He turns his head and smiles blearily at Leonard. "That's great, Bones."
Leonard smiles back. "Yeah. I got you a ticket, too."
"Wha—really?" Jim squints as he processes it. Then, Leonard's suddenly engulfed by a pair of strong arms and a soft mouth pressed to his own. "Thanks, Bones," Jim whispers. "Really, just...thanks."
"It'll be fun," Leonard says. He kisses Jim again, for good measure. "I'll even let you write me a check for your ticket tomorrow."
Jim laughs and burrows closer against Leonard's body. "You're a saint, Bones."
Leonard smiles and shuts his eyes, already thinking of the trip that lies ahead of them, of seeing Joanna and introducing her to Jim. He supposes it's silly to keep measuring his life in TV dinners and toothbrushes; maybe he'll switch to happy memories instead.