withthepilot (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
withthepilot) wrote2010-01-18 05:27 pm
withthepilot) wrote2010-01-18 05:27 pm
Entry tags:
Fic: Kitchen Consequential (8/18)
Title: Kitchen Consequential (8/18)
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 4,267
Pairings/Characters: Kirk/McCoy, Jocelyn, Joanna, Pike
Disclaimer: Do not own or claim to own.
Warnings: AU set in New York City, 2009, with flashbacks to five years prior. Many references to the ST: XI canon.
Summary: All paths lead to the kitchen for the staff members of Enterprise, the newest critical darling on the New York restaurant scene. It's here that they come together as a team and find out just where they belong. Chapter 8: Len didn't expect to find himself all the way uptown with a roommate like Jim Kirk, but he adjusted; they both did.
A/N: Apologies for the slight delay in updates, if anyone cared or was paying attention. This chapter is pretty much for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
seventeen76, who demanded suggested I use this plot device, and then I ran with it. And yes, the mentioned intersection is real.
For a comprehensive list of series pairings, links to prior chapters and author notes, please visit the master post.
Len was barely out of the subway and his phone was already ringing. He bypassed a puddle of something he was sure couldn't be water and looked at the name on the screen, sighing inwardly: Jocelyn. The only person Len liked hearing from less these days was his father, with all of his "You should have stayed in med school" and "Culinary school, please" talk; his ex-wife forfeited the dubious distinction of being the worst person in his phonebook just because a call from her often meant the possibility of seeing Joanna.
"Hullo?" he answered, stepping onto the street, squinting in the fading daylight of the autumn afternoon.
"Len, it's me. You busy, or can you talk?"
"I can talk. I'm just heading home from class." He started walking up Broadway, shoving his free hand into his coat pocket. The neighborhood was primarily Dominican and he looked around, taking in the colorful surroundings that were beginning to grow on him. Granted, he liked living in the West Village a whole lot more than he liked it here—it was closer to everything and had more conveniences—but it was full of rich yuppie families that just reminded him on a daily basis of his own family dream that had failed spectacularly. He didn't miss the place much. "Everything okay? How's Jojo?"
"She's good. She got a check plus on her math homework today, so she'll be ready for the pre-med track soon."
Len had to smile at that; he was pretty sure he could hear Jocelyn smiling on the other end, too. "That's either good news or terrible, awful news."
"You be the judge, I guess." Len heard some clatter in the background and could tell Jocelyn was in the kitchen, likely making dinner for Joanna. "I actually do have some possible good news for you."
"Yeah?" He looked across the street at the supermarket and trying to remember just what kind of food he had waiting for him in his cupboard at home. "What's that, then?"
"Well, I was thinking. How would you like to have Joanna for Thanksgiving?"
Len went wide-eyed in surprise, pressing the phone closer to his ear, losing all track of his mental grocery list. "Are you serious? I mean, I can't afford to go back home and neither can Jim, so we were just gonna stay here, but...really? How come?"
"Believe it or not, I have to go to a conference," Jocelyn said on the other end, sighing. Len's face screwed up in surprise.
"A conference? On Thanksgiving?"
"Yeah, well, it ends the day before. And there's just no way I'll be able to fly back in time to either make Thanksgiving dinner myself or pick up Joanna and take her all the way to my parents' place, so..." She paused, and Len could just picture her leaning against the cabinets under the sink, her arms folded across her chest, all business. He smiled at the thought; he had always liked that about Jocelyn, the way she didn't mess around and let her body do the talking when it counted. "I was thinking, why subject her to my crazy schedule? I bet she'd like to spend the holiday with her daddy."
"Joce..." Len walked a few paces, stopping in front of the Domino's and exhaling heavily. A delivery boy stepped out of the store and gave him an odd look. He shook his head and willed his bottom lip not to quiver in sheer happiness. "I would just love that. That's a dream come true. Jim and I'll give her a great Thanksgiving."
"Hmm, yeah, you and Jim," she replied, her smirk almost audible. Len couldn't help but wince. Jocelyn and Jim had only spoken twice; the first time, Jim had been drunk and picked up Len's phone when it rang, then proceeded to launch into a rambling rant on how Jocelyn was evil and had ruined Len's life and probably possessed some kind of golden vagina if it meant she was able to keep him for so long. The second time, he had called, at Len's command, to apologize profusely. After that, Len had resolved not to talk about his ex-wife anymore when he was drunk late at night. "How is Jim?" she asked. "Has he found a golden vagina to call his own yet?"
"If he has, I don't wanna know about it."
"Well, how about you, big boy?"
"Joce," Len grunted, trying to sound as admonishing as possible. He rolled his eyes when she just laughed in response. He didn't quite know if she was inquiring about his own sex life, or whether he was the, well..."golden" one in question. He decided to go with the former. "He and I are too busy to date right now, anyway. School's kicking our asses, more than we expected, and we've both got jobs, to boot. We barely get any time to sleep or eat, let alone paint the town red."
"That's not what I meant and you know it," she sighed. Len chewed his lip and most definitely did not blush. "But, okay, you're busy. School is difficult?"
"Not difficult, just time-consuming. And tiring." He exhaled and ran a hand through his hair, glancing back at the Domino's again. That disgusting, gloppy excuse for pizza actually smelled pretty good, just then. "I swear, most nights Jim and I aren't working, I come home and find him already passed out in my bed, just snoring like a—"
"In your bed?" she asked, interrupting. She let out a loud peal of laughter that made him grimace. "I guess that answers my question after all!"
"It's just because his bed's so damn small and uncomfortable," he muttered. He thought about saying more but knew it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference with her.
"Yeah, okay. Sure. Oh, hey, Jojo! Wanna say hi to your daddy?"
Len perked up at the prospect of talking to Joanna, smiling immediately once he heard her voice in the background. He waited as Jocelyn handed off the phone to her, instructing her to hold it with both of her small hands, so as not to drop it. Joanna breathed an excited gust of air into the receiver and Len knew he was already all lit up like a Toys R' Us on Christmas Eve.
"Daddy?" she asked, in her sweet baby-doll voice.
"Hey there, sweetheart. How's my best girl? I hear you're a math genius. I'd better start saving for Harvard, huh?"
"Daddy, it was just homework," she chided. He had to laugh softly; she was getting to the age when everything Daddy said was becoming a little sillier and less funny, and she wasn't too shy to let him know. Just like her mother, he thought. "I'm good. Mommy has to go on a trip next month."
"I know, baby. But you can come up here and spend some time with me." And Jim, he thought, but Joanna didn't know who Jim was yet. He suddenly felt a pang of worry of whether they'd get on well or not. Jim was so gregarious that Len was willing to bet the house on the notion that he loved kids. And who wouldn't love Joanna, anyway? She was a tiny bundle of perfection. And if she was getting older and growing to be less of a tiny bundle, well, he didn't care to think about that. "What do you say, Jo? Wanna spend Thanksgiving with Daddy and his friend?"
"Yep." Len could feel the force of her fierce little nod, the one she always did when her mind was thoroughly made up. "Will your friend like me?"
"Of course, Jojo. He's gonna be crazy about you." And, just like that, Len was so sure of their inevitable connection that he decided to call it a fact. They'd get on like a house on fire; they'd have to, if Jim wanted to keep being Len's friend.
He spoke to Joanna a few minutes more, leaning against the storefront window as he heard all about what was going on in school and some junk about a "cuuuute" boy named Corey, who Len already didn't like and could tell was up to no good, despite being a second grader. Then he said his goodbyes and Jocelyn took the phone back; she snorted at him when he voiced his very important concerns about this Corey character.
"They're seven," she drawled. "They still give each other cootie shots."
"Oh. Well...it's good that they're concerned about prevention," he huffed.
Jocelyn spent the rest of the conversation laughing at him and concluded that she'd call again soon with more details about her trip. Despite her efforts to mock him, Len was still all smiles by the end of the phone call. He moved to cross the street and head to the supermarket, but hell, he'd already spent all day cooking at school and deserved the break. Plus, Jim loved that gross Domino's stuff; Len assumed his occasional bad taste came from growing up in the sticks and not having had the opportunity to consume caloric, preservative-laden food throughout his youth.
Well, it was the least he could do. Len turned on his heel and headed into the pizzeria, pulling his wallet from his back pocket.
*
Len and Jim lived in Inwood for one reason and one reason only, and that was Jim Kirk's incredible lack of maturity. Their apartment—no joke, really, as Len told everyone who asked, both in New York and back in Georgia—was located on the relatively unimpressive corner of Seaman Avenue and Cumming Street. They'd only been hunting for a few days when the realtor took them to see the place and Jim was already hysterical with laughter when they approached the intersection, just from getting a glimpse of the perpendicular street signs. Len had balked at the way Jim was all set to sign the lease before they'd even stepped foot in the damn apartment.
"Len, it's a sign!" he'd exclaimed, reaching into his messenger bag to get out his dinky digital camera. He handed it over to Len and ran over to the signpost, waving his arms. "Take a picture! And make sure you get everything in the frame!"
He'd sighed and done as he was told, snapping the photo, his fate sealed. There might as well have been a damn welcome mat on the sidewalk, right under the soles of Jim's scuffed shoes.
As it was, the apartment hadn't turned out to be so bad; in fact, it was kind of a perfect fit for their situation. It was advertised as a two bedroom but further inspection proved that it was more like one and a half, with one bedroom substantially bigger than the other. The smaller room could likely fit no more than a dresser and a twin-sized bed. Jim didn't seem to mind, as he had few possessions with him here in New York, and not much by the way of money, aside from whatever meager salary he made at his part-time job and the occasional checks his mom had promised to send (though none had yet arrived at that point). Len wasn't exactly flush, having to pay both tuition and child support to Jocelyn, but the fact did remain that he came from old money and was generally much better off than Jim. He took the larger bedroom and Jim agreed to set up shop in the smaller room, in exchange for a smaller tab on the monthly rent. And just like that, Len suddenly had the dumbest street address in all of New York City and Jim had an obscene anecdote for everyone he came across.
The night they signed the lease, Pike had taken them out for a nice meal, likely grateful and happy that Jim was finally going to be out of his hair.
"Where'd you say this place was again?" he asked, squinting at Jim across the table.
"Only the best spot on Earth," Jim said, sipping his wine. Len stirred his soup and tried not to roll his eyes too hard when Jim leaned forward conspiratorially. "It's on the corner of Seaman and Cumming."
"Uh huh." Pike nodded, his expression a careful blend of patience and confusion. "And where is that, Brooklyn?"
"It's in Manhattan," Len said, gruffly. "Sort of."
"It's pretty far uptown," Jim agreed. Their waiter came by and placed salads in front of him and Pike, offering sprinkles of cracked black pepper. Jim just kept talking as he picked up his fork—the wrong fork, Len noted. "But it's totally worth it to have that address. I mean, we're going to have the best parties ever. Or at least, the best party invitations. And we're going to pick up so many girls when we tell them where we live. It's gonna be awesome. Hey, man, you are doing a great job, by the way," he said to the waiter, who smiled dutifully, slipping away. Jim shook his head and smiled, spearing a leaf of radicchio with his fork. "I swear, the subway service in this town sucks, but the restaurant service? Grade fucking A."
Pike and Len had exchanged a look then, and the older man's expression was one that Len wouldn't soon forget. It read: You're his babysitter now, kid.
Len thought of that look as he trudged up the stairs to his apartment, hot pizza boxes propped up with one hand. Jim had actually calmed down a lot since classes started, mainly because there was simply too much shit to concentrate on to be a clown all hours of the day. Len hadn't been lying to Jocelyn when he'd said their coursework was exhausting, and he was more used to it than Jim, having survived the rigors of med school—until he dropped out, of course. Still, he'd put more than enough time in to prepare himself for the present workload. Jim, on the other hand, had taken his old job at that roadside diner straight out of high school and never bothered with college, even though he was certainly smart enough. Len had asked him once why he didn't try and Jim had just shrugged and said, "It wasn't in the cards." And Len supposed that was true, if it meant Jim was destined to cross paths with Chris Pike one day.
He unlocked the front door and stepped inside, looking around for a sign of life. "Jim?" he called, receiving no answer. But Jim wasn't working tonight, so he knew he was around somewhere. He put the pizza down on the coffee table in the living room and went to Jim's room as a perfunctory thing, not really expecting to find him there. Just as he suspected, the sheets on the twin-sized bed were rumpled and unmade, falling off one side of the mattress to pool on the floor; there was no Jim in sight.
A few more steps down the hall and then Len entered his own bedroom, and there was his roommate, sound asleep and shamelessly sprawled on his stomach in his double bed. He'd been coming home to find Jim there often as of late; the kid claimed he had trouble sleeping in the twin bed, that it was smaller than what he was used to back at home in Iowa. But Len highly doubted he had a very large bed growing up, and knew damn well that he'd been content to sleep all day on Pike's narrow sofa. He figured Jim was homesick, lonely, and he couldn't fault him for that, especially when the guy had never even ventured out of the Midwest until a few months prior. He was far away from his mother and his family and everything that had ever been familiar. And hell, New York was loud and scary at the best of times—even late at night, safe in his own bed, Len was often startled by the sudden honk of a passing truck or the deafening noise of a souped-up car stereo, blasting some kind of thumping Latin music. They were both adjusting, here. And it was keeping that in mind, after a week of grousing at Jim about staying put in his own goddamn room like a goddamned adult, that Len stopped pushing him away and just let him remain in the bed. And like a stray cat that gets fed once by the feline-loving neighborhood kook, Jim just kept on coming back.
Len sat on the edge of the bed and nudged Jim's shoulder lightly. He knew the kid had to be exhausted, but he was also willing to bet he hadn't yet eaten. "Jim. You awake?"
"Hrm...? Yeah, yeah, m'wake," Jim slurred, lifting his head blearily. "Time is it?"
"Not morning, don't worry." Len smirked and patted his back. "I got dinner. That god-awful Domino's crap that you like."
"Yeah?" The sleepy glaze in Jim's eyes melted away a bit, his eyebrows lifting with interest. "Did you get chicken kickers, too?"
"Yes, I got those weirdo chicken-like nugget things." He thought about them with a grimace: some kind of substance that was definitely not chicken, deep-fried and glazed with tangy, practically neon-colored grease. "I'll eat them, but I may throw up on you."
"Mmm, Bones, you're too good to me," Jim smirked, smiling as he closed his eyes again. Len bristled slightly, in response to both the sleep-sated honey coating to Jim's voice and that damned nickname—he'd been calling Len "Bones" for a couple of weeks now and he still wasn't sure how he felt about it. It started after Len demonstrated his deboning abilities on a catfish to the rest of their class, getting the task done in record time and with perfect precision—he'd gone fishing a lot with his grandfather when he was a boy. But every time Jim said it, he got this wistful look on his face, like there was something more to the moniker than just a skilled hand with seafood. It left Len at a loss.
"Damn it, Jim, I told you not to call me that," he sighed. "Now, come on; I've got half a pepperoni pie with your name on it."
"Think there's any beer left?" Jim asked, sitting up and extricating himself from the tangle of Len's bed sheets. They were both pleasantly surprised to find a brand new six-pack in the fridge.
*
Forty minutes later, Jim propped his feet on the coffee table, trying to get as comfortable as he could on their rather cheap IKEA sofa, stained napkin still tucked into the collar of his T-shirt. He picked up his third beer, making a noise of contentment when he heard the satisfying, cool hiss of the can's mouth popping open.
"God, I fucking love Domino's," he commented. Len grunted faintly and flicked through television channels, idly gnawing on his last slice of pizza. Jim perked up when he got to a crime procedural show, gesturing at Len to stop. "This is good, this is good."
"This sucks," Len countered, but he stopped browsing, as requested, and put the remote down.
"What's so sucky about it?"
"They never get the medical stuff right on these shows." Len squinted, picking a piece of pepperoni off his slice and eating it alone. "I mean, there's no way they can do stuff like this...the technology's just not there."
Jim tilted his head back on the rather sturdy cushion, peering over at him. "How do you know? Maybe they do. You weren't studying to be in CSI or to work at a morgue."
"No, I was studying to help live people keep living. A lot more fun in that."
"This looks fun," Jim said, shrugging. Len happened to look over just as he finished a sip of beer and licked his lips. "See, picture it. There's some random dead guy and no one can figure out what happened to him and his family's devastated, until you come along and do some freaky scientific magic, and then boom: case closed, family avenged, cold-blooded killer in jail. All because you've got the mad crime-solving skills."
"I think all the nitrates have destroyed your brain cells," Len replied, flatly.
"If keeping my brain cells means no more Domino's, then who needs 'em."
"Not you, wonder boy."
They sat like that for a while, finishing off the last of the food and the beer, sinking further into a fast-food stupor. It was comfortable, though, as all their quiet moments were, and Len enjoyed it as much as he could, knowing said moments were rare with Jim Kirk's big mouth around. After a while, one of them shifted somehow and they ended up touching shoulders on the couch. Len only tensed for a second before he told himself it was okay—just as okay as it was to have Jim asleep beside him in his bed, though they didn't touch there, not beyond the occasional morning when Len woke up with Jim's arm slung around his middle. And that wasn't bothersome or strange, so much as it was...nice.
Len looked over at him during a commercial for potato chips or cars or something, speaking only when Jim realized he was being watched. "So," he said.
"Something wrong?" Jim asked, cocking his head.
"No, just..." He shrugged, searching for the right way to bring it up. "I spoke to Jocelyn today. On my way home."
"Oh. Right." Jim nodded faintly, the line of his mouth visibly tensing at the mention of Len's ex-wife. "My buddy, Joce. How was that, then?"
"It was...good, actually." Len nodded to himself, twirling his pizza crust between his fingers nervously. It made him even more nervous that he was nervous because he had no idea why he was nervous. "She asked me if I wouldn't mind Joanna coming up here and spending Thanksgiving with me, since she'll be out of town for work, and...I wanted to run it by you, see what you thought."
"Really? Joanna?" Jim seemed to light up somewhat at the idea and that alone was a relief to Len. But then his expression turned serious. "Well, you know what that means, don't you?"
"No, what?"
Jim smiled easily at him. "We have to scrap my original plan of turkey sandwiches and forties and make the most delicious Thanksgiving dinner ever."
Len laughed, but kept an incredulous look on his face. "That was your plan. Turkey clubs and forties of Coors Light." He held up his half-empty beer can for emphasis. Jim shook his head.
"Heineken. It's a special occasion."
"You're a class act," Len said, snorting. He took a pull from his beer and then looked back at the TV. "Well, good. I'm glad you're okay with it because I already said yes."
"Why wouldn't I be? She's your daughter, Bones—I'm dying to meet her." Jim paused then, worry lines creasing their way across his forehead. "Do you think she'll like me?" he asked. Len barked out a laugh and shoved his shoulder playfully. It wasn't fair when Jim was being so cute; it made Len want to cut him a break when he really deserved to be taunted and derided.
"I think the chances are good, seeing as how she asked the same thing about you."
"Oh, good. So I'm not the only one shaking in anticipation." Jim grinned at him and when Len realized that he was being sincere, he felt his heart thump a little heavier in his chest. He had to work to pay attention to what Jim was saying next. "Is it just gonna be the three of us, then? Maybe we should invite some of the other people from school who can't make it home. Like Kevin or Uhura."
"Maybe," Len said, shrugging. He thought Riley was kind of a pissant, even though Jim seemed to like the guy, but Uhura was a great girl—a damn good cook with lots of ambition, who moved around the kitchen like she had a fire going under her behind. She had a serious work ethic, too, making sure that practically no one in school besides the instructors knew her given name, insisting she be called "Uhura" at all times. Also, she seemed to loathe Jim, which Len couldn't blame her for one bit, seeing the way he shamelessly flirted with her. It was both kind of tragic and heartwarming that Jim wanted to invite her over for Thanksgiving dinner. "We can talk more about it," he said.
"Either way, it'll be a real, honest-to-god Thanksgiving."
Jim nodded sharply and once again, Len was reminded of Joanna. He reached over and ruffled Jim's hair, letting his hand linger a bit in the thick, dark blond tufts. In a few hours time, they'd give up the ghost, turn off the TV and head to bed, Jim slinking under the covers behind Len as he turned off the light. And when Len awoke the next morning, he'd find he was the one hugging Jim around his waist for once, his nose pressed to the kid's hair, inhaling the very same scent that permeated all his dreams.
For now, he simply chucked Jim's shoulder lightly and took a moment to drain the last of his beer. "Whatever you say, Jimmy," Len conceded, smirking at his infectious enthusiasm. "I'll even let you plan the menu, wonder boy."
"I was already counting on it," Jim said. He looked smug as he rolled his shoulders and drank some more, turning his attention back to the TV screen.
Previous: Chapter 7 || Next: Chapter 9
Rating: PG-13
Word count: 4,267
Pairings/Characters: Kirk/McCoy, Jocelyn, Joanna, Pike
Disclaimer: Do not own or claim to own.
Warnings: AU set in New York City, 2009, with flashbacks to five years prior. Many references to the ST: XI canon.
Summary: All paths lead to the kitchen for the staff members of Enterprise, the newest critical darling on the New York restaurant scene. It's here that they come together as a team and find out just where they belong. Chapter 8: Len didn't expect to find himself all the way uptown with a roommate like Jim Kirk, but he adjusted; they both did.
A/N: Apologies for the slight delay in updates, if anyone cared or was paying attention. This chapter is pretty much for
seventeen76, who For a comprehensive list of series pairings, links to prior chapters and author notes, please visit the master post.
Len was barely out of the subway and his phone was already ringing. He bypassed a puddle of something he was sure couldn't be water and looked at the name on the screen, sighing inwardly: Jocelyn. The only person Len liked hearing from less these days was his father, with all of his "You should have stayed in med school" and "Culinary school, please" talk; his ex-wife forfeited the dubious distinction of being the worst person in his phonebook just because a call from her often meant the possibility of seeing Joanna.
"Hullo?" he answered, stepping onto the street, squinting in the fading daylight of the autumn afternoon.
"Len, it's me. You busy, or can you talk?"
"I can talk. I'm just heading home from class." He started walking up Broadway, shoving his free hand into his coat pocket. The neighborhood was primarily Dominican and he looked around, taking in the colorful surroundings that were beginning to grow on him. Granted, he liked living in the West Village a whole lot more than he liked it here—it was closer to everything and had more conveniences—but it was full of rich yuppie families that just reminded him on a daily basis of his own family dream that had failed spectacularly. He didn't miss the place much. "Everything okay? How's Jojo?"
"She's good. She got a check plus on her math homework today, so she'll be ready for the pre-med track soon."
Len had to smile at that; he was pretty sure he could hear Jocelyn smiling on the other end, too. "That's either good news or terrible, awful news."
"You be the judge, I guess." Len heard some clatter in the background and could tell Jocelyn was in the kitchen, likely making dinner for Joanna. "I actually do have some possible good news for you."
"Yeah?" He looked across the street at the supermarket and trying to remember just what kind of food he had waiting for him in his cupboard at home. "What's that, then?"
"Well, I was thinking. How would you like to have Joanna for Thanksgiving?"
Len went wide-eyed in surprise, pressing the phone closer to his ear, losing all track of his mental grocery list. "Are you serious? I mean, I can't afford to go back home and neither can Jim, so we were just gonna stay here, but...really? How come?"
"Believe it or not, I have to go to a conference," Jocelyn said on the other end, sighing. Len's face screwed up in surprise.
"A conference? On Thanksgiving?"
"Yeah, well, it ends the day before. And there's just no way I'll be able to fly back in time to either make Thanksgiving dinner myself or pick up Joanna and take her all the way to my parents' place, so..." She paused, and Len could just picture her leaning against the cabinets under the sink, her arms folded across her chest, all business. He smiled at the thought; he had always liked that about Jocelyn, the way she didn't mess around and let her body do the talking when it counted. "I was thinking, why subject her to my crazy schedule? I bet she'd like to spend the holiday with her daddy."
"Joce..." Len walked a few paces, stopping in front of the Domino's and exhaling heavily. A delivery boy stepped out of the store and gave him an odd look. He shook his head and willed his bottom lip not to quiver in sheer happiness. "I would just love that. That's a dream come true. Jim and I'll give her a great Thanksgiving."
"Hmm, yeah, you and Jim," she replied, her smirk almost audible. Len couldn't help but wince. Jocelyn and Jim had only spoken twice; the first time, Jim had been drunk and picked up Len's phone when it rang, then proceeded to launch into a rambling rant on how Jocelyn was evil and had ruined Len's life and probably possessed some kind of golden vagina if it meant she was able to keep him for so long. The second time, he had called, at Len's command, to apologize profusely. After that, Len had resolved not to talk about his ex-wife anymore when he was drunk late at night. "How is Jim?" she asked. "Has he found a golden vagina to call his own yet?"
"If he has, I don't wanna know about it."
"Well, how about you, big boy?"
"Joce," Len grunted, trying to sound as admonishing as possible. He rolled his eyes when she just laughed in response. He didn't quite know if she was inquiring about his own sex life, or whether he was the, well..."golden" one in question. He decided to go with the former. "He and I are too busy to date right now, anyway. School's kicking our asses, more than we expected, and we've both got jobs, to boot. We barely get any time to sleep or eat, let alone paint the town red."
"That's not what I meant and you know it," she sighed. Len chewed his lip and most definitely did not blush. "But, okay, you're busy. School is difficult?"
"Not difficult, just time-consuming. And tiring." He exhaled and ran a hand through his hair, glancing back at the Domino's again. That disgusting, gloppy excuse for pizza actually smelled pretty good, just then. "I swear, most nights Jim and I aren't working, I come home and find him already passed out in my bed, just snoring like a—"
"In your bed?" she asked, interrupting. She let out a loud peal of laughter that made him grimace. "I guess that answers my question after all!"
"It's just because his bed's so damn small and uncomfortable," he muttered. He thought about saying more but knew it wouldn't make a damn bit of difference with her.
"Yeah, okay. Sure. Oh, hey, Jojo! Wanna say hi to your daddy?"
Len perked up at the prospect of talking to Joanna, smiling immediately once he heard her voice in the background. He waited as Jocelyn handed off the phone to her, instructing her to hold it with both of her small hands, so as not to drop it. Joanna breathed an excited gust of air into the receiver and Len knew he was already all lit up like a Toys R' Us on Christmas Eve.
"Daddy?" she asked, in her sweet baby-doll voice.
"Hey there, sweetheart. How's my best girl? I hear you're a math genius. I'd better start saving for Harvard, huh?"
"Daddy, it was just homework," she chided. He had to laugh softly; she was getting to the age when everything Daddy said was becoming a little sillier and less funny, and she wasn't too shy to let him know. Just like her mother, he thought. "I'm good. Mommy has to go on a trip next month."
"I know, baby. But you can come up here and spend some time with me." And Jim, he thought, but Joanna didn't know who Jim was yet. He suddenly felt a pang of worry of whether they'd get on well or not. Jim was so gregarious that Len was willing to bet the house on the notion that he loved kids. And who wouldn't love Joanna, anyway? She was a tiny bundle of perfection. And if she was getting older and growing to be less of a tiny bundle, well, he didn't care to think about that. "What do you say, Jo? Wanna spend Thanksgiving with Daddy and his friend?"
"Yep." Len could feel the force of her fierce little nod, the one she always did when her mind was thoroughly made up. "Will your friend like me?"
"Of course, Jojo. He's gonna be crazy about you." And, just like that, Len was so sure of their inevitable connection that he decided to call it a fact. They'd get on like a house on fire; they'd have to, if Jim wanted to keep being Len's friend.
He spoke to Joanna a few minutes more, leaning against the storefront window as he heard all about what was going on in school and some junk about a "cuuuute" boy named Corey, who Len already didn't like and could tell was up to no good, despite being a second grader. Then he said his goodbyes and Jocelyn took the phone back; she snorted at him when he voiced his very important concerns about this Corey character.
"They're seven," she drawled. "They still give each other cootie shots."
"Oh. Well...it's good that they're concerned about prevention," he huffed.
Jocelyn spent the rest of the conversation laughing at him and concluded that she'd call again soon with more details about her trip. Despite her efforts to mock him, Len was still all smiles by the end of the phone call. He moved to cross the street and head to the supermarket, but hell, he'd already spent all day cooking at school and deserved the break. Plus, Jim loved that gross Domino's stuff; Len assumed his occasional bad taste came from growing up in the sticks and not having had the opportunity to consume caloric, preservative-laden food throughout his youth.
Well, it was the least he could do. Len turned on his heel and headed into the pizzeria, pulling his wallet from his back pocket.
*
Len and Jim lived in Inwood for one reason and one reason only, and that was Jim Kirk's incredible lack of maturity. Their apartment—no joke, really, as Len told everyone who asked, both in New York and back in Georgia—was located on the relatively unimpressive corner of Seaman Avenue and Cumming Street. They'd only been hunting for a few days when the realtor took them to see the place and Jim was already hysterical with laughter when they approached the intersection, just from getting a glimpse of the perpendicular street signs. Len had balked at the way Jim was all set to sign the lease before they'd even stepped foot in the damn apartment.
"Len, it's a sign!" he'd exclaimed, reaching into his messenger bag to get out his dinky digital camera. He handed it over to Len and ran over to the signpost, waving his arms. "Take a picture! And make sure you get everything in the frame!"
He'd sighed and done as he was told, snapping the photo, his fate sealed. There might as well have been a damn welcome mat on the sidewalk, right under the soles of Jim's scuffed shoes.
As it was, the apartment hadn't turned out to be so bad; in fact, it was kind of a perfect fit for their situation. It was advertised as a two bedroom but further inspection proved that it was more like one and a half, with one bedroom substantially bigger than the other. The smaller room could likely fit no more than a dresser and a twin-sized bed. Jim didn't seem to mind, as he had few possessions with him here in New York, and not much by the way of money, aside from whatever meager salary he made at his part-time job and the occasional checks his mom had promised to send (though none had yet arrived at that point). Len wasn't exactly flush, having to pay both tuition and child support to Jocelyn, but the fact did remain that he came from old money and was generally much better off than Jim. He took the larger bedroom and Jim agreed to set up shop in the smaller room, in exchange for a smaller tab on the monthly rent. And just like that, Len suddenly had the dumbest street address in all of New York City and Jim had an obscene anecdote for everyone he came across.
The night they signed the lease, Pike had taken them out for a nice meal, likely grateful and happy that Jim was finally going to be out of his hair.
"Where'd you say this place was again?" he asked, squinting at Jim across the table.
"Only the best spot on Earth," Jim said, sipping his wine. Len stirred his soup and tried not to roll his eyes too hard when Jim leaned forward conspiratorially. "It's on the corner of Seaman and Cumming."
"Uh huh." Pike nodded, his expression a careful blend of patience and confusion. "And where is that, Brooklyn?"
"It's in Manhattan," Len said, gruffly. "Sort of."
"It's pretty far uptown," Jim agreed. Their waiter came by and placed salads in front of him and Pike, offering sprinkles of cracked black pepper. Jim just kept talking as he picked up his fork—the wrong fork, Len noted. "But it's totally worth it to have that address. I mean, we're going to have the best parties ever. Or at least, the best party invitations. And we're going to pick up so many girls when we tell them where we live. It's gonna be awesome. Hey, man, you are doing a great job, by the way," he said to the waiter, who smiled dutifully, slipping away. Jim shook his head and smiled, spearing a leaf of radicchio with his fork. "I swear, the subway service in this town sucks, but the restaurant service? Grade fucking A."
Pike and Len had exchanged a look then, and the older man's expression was one that Len wouldn't soon forget. It read: You're his babysitter now, kid.
Len thought of that look as he trudged up the stairs to his apartment, hot pizza boxes propped up with one hand. Jim had actually calmed down a lot since classes started, mainly because there was simply too much shit to concentrate on to be a clown all hours of the day. Len hadn't been lying to Jocelyn when he'd said their coursework was exhausting, and he was more used to it than Jim, having survived the rigors of med school—until he dropped out, of course. Still, he'd put more than enough time in to prepare himself for the present workload. Jim, on the other hand, had taken his old job at that roadside diner straight out of high school and never bothered with college, even though he was certainly smart enough. Len had asked him once why he didn't try and Jim had just shrugged and said, "It wasn't in the cards." And Len supposed that was true, if it meant Jim was destined to cross paths with Chris Pike one day.
He unlocked the front door and stepped inside, looking around for a sign of life. "Jim?" he called, receiving no answer. But Jim wasn't working tonight, so he knew he was around somewhere. He put the pizza down on the coffee table in the living room and went to Jim's room as a perfunctory thing, not really expecting to find him there. Just as he suspected, the sheets on the twin-sized bed were rumpled and unmade, falling off one side of the mattress to pool on the floor; there was no Jim in sight.
A few more steps down the hall and then Len entered his own bedroom, and there was his roommate, sound asleep and shamelessly sprawled on his stomach in his double bed. He'd been coming home to find Jim there often as of late; the kid claimed he had trouble sleeping in the twin bed, that it was smaller than what he was used to back at home in Iowa. But Len highly doubted he had a very large bed growing up, and knew damn well that he'd been content to sleep all day on Pike's narrow sofa. He figured Jim was homesick, lonely, and he couldn't fault him for that, especially when the guy had never even ventured out of the Midwest until a few months prior. He was far away from his mother and his family and everything that had ever been familiar. And hell, New York was loud and scary at the best of times—even late at night, safe in his own bed, Len was often startled by the sudden honk of a passing truck or the deafening noise of a souped-up car stereo, blasting some kind of thumping Latin music. They were both adjusting, here. And it was keeping that in mind, after a week of grousing at Jim about staying put in his own goddamn room like a goddamned adult, that Len stopped pushing him away and just let him remain in the bed. And like a stray cat that gets fed once by the feline-loving neighborhood kook, Jim just kept on coming back.
Len sat on the edge of the bed and nudged Jim's shoulder lightly. He knew the kid had to be exhausted, but he was also willing to bet he hadn't yet eaten. "Jim. You awake?"
"Hrm...? Yeah, yeah, m'wake," Jim slurred, lifting his head blearily. "Time is it?"
"Not morning, don't worry." Len smirked and patted his back. "I got dinner. That god-awful Domino's crap that you like."
"Yeah?" The sleepy glaze in Jim's eyes melted away a bit, his eyebrows lifting with interest. "Did you get chicken kickers, too?"
"Yes, I got those weirdo chicken-like nugget things." He thought about them with a grimace: some kind of substance that was definitely not chicken, deep-fried and glazed with tangy, practically neon-colored grease. "I'll eat them, but I may throw up on you."
"Mmm, Bones, you're too good to me," Jim smirked, smiling as he closed his eyes again. Len bristled slightly, in response to both the sleep-sated honey coating to Jim's voice and that damned nickname—he'd been calling Len "Bones" for a couple of weeks now and he still wasn't sure how he felt about it. It started after Len demonstrated his deboning abilities on a catfish to the rest of their class, getting the task done in record time and with perfect precision—he'd gone fishing a lot with his grandfather when he was a boy. But every time Jim said it, he got this wistful look on his face, like there was something more to the moniker than just a skilled hand with seafood. It left Len at a loss.
"Damn it, Jim, I told you not to call me that," he sighed. "Now, come on; I've got half a pepperoni pie with your name on it."
"Think there's any beer left?" Jim asked, sitting up and extricating himself from the tangle of Len's bed sheets. They were both pleasantly surprised to find a brand new six-pack in the fridge.
*
Forty minutes later, Jim propped his feet on the coffee table, trying to get as comfortable as he could on their rather cheap IKEA sofa, stained napkin still tucked into the collar of his T-shirt. He picked up his third beer, making a noise of contentment when he heard the satisfying, cool hiss of the can's mouth popping open.
"God, I fucking love Domino's," he commented. Len grunted faintly and flicked through television channels, idly gnawing on his last slice of pizza. Jim perked up when he got to a crime procedural show, gesturing at Len to stop. "This is good, this is good."
"This sucks," Len countered, but he stopped browsing, as requested, and put the remote down.
"What's so sucky about it?"
"They never get the medical stuff right on these shows." Len squinted, picking a piece of pepperoni off his slice and eating it alone. "I mean, there's no way they can do stuff like this...the technology's just not there."
Jim tilted his head back on the rather sturdy cushion, peering over at him. "How do you know? Maybe they do. You weren't studying to be in CSI or to work at a morgue."
"No, I was studying to help live people keep living. A lot more fun in that."
"This looks fun," Jim said, shrugging. Len happened to look over just as he finished a sip of beer and licked his lips. "See, picture it. There's some random dead guy and no one can figure out what happened to him and his family's devastated, until you come along and do some freaky scientific magic, and then boom: case closed, family avenged, cold-blooded killer in jail. All because you've got the mad crime-solving skills."
"I think all the nitrates have destroyed your brain cells," Len replied, flatly.
"If keeping my brain cells means no more Domino's, then who needs 'em."
"Not you, wonder boy."
They sat like that for a while, finishing off the last of the food and the beer, sinking further into a fast-food stupor. It was comfortable, though, as all their quiet moments were, and Len enjoyed it as much as he could, knowing said moments were rare with Jim Kirk's big mouth around. After a while, one of them shifted somehow and they ended up touching shoulders on the couch. Len only tensed for a second before he told himself it was okay—just as okay as it was to have Jim asleep beside him in his bed, though they didn't touch there, not beyond the occasional morning when Len woke up with Jim's arm slung around his middle. And that wasn't bothersome or strange, so much as it was...nice.
Len looked over at him during a commercial for potato chips or cars or something, speaking only when Jim realized he was being watched. "So," he said.
"Something wrong?" Jim asked, cocking his head.
"No, just..." He shrugged, searching for the right way to bring it up. "I spoke to Jocelyn today. On my way home."
"Oh. Right." Jim nodded faintly, the line of his mouth visibly tensing at the mention of Len's ex-wife. "My buddy, Joce. How was that, then?"
"It was...good, actually." Len nodded to himself, twirling his pizza crust between his fingers nervously. It made him even more nervous that he was nervous because he had no idea why he was nervous. "She asked me if I wouldn't mind Joanna coming up here and spending Thanksgiving with me, since she'll be out of town for work, and...I wanted to run it by you, see what you thought."
"Really? Joanna?" Jim seemed to light up somewhat at the idea and that alone was a relief to Len. But then his expression turned serious. "Well, you know what that means, don't you?"
"No, what?"
Jim smiled easily at him. "We have to scrap my original plan of turkey sandwiches and forties and make the most delicious Thanksgiving dinner ever."
Len laughed, but kept an incredulous look on his face. "That was your plan. Turkey clubs and forties of Coors Light." He held up his half-empty beer can for emphasis. Jim shook his head.
"Heineken. It's a special occasion."
"You're a class act," Len said, snorting. He took a pull from his beer and then looked back at the TV. "Well, good. I'm glad you're okay with it because I already said yes."
"Why wouldn't I be? She's your daughter, Bones—I'm dying to meet her." Jim paused then, worry lines creasing their way across his forehead. "Do you think she'll like me?" he asked. Len barked out a laugh and shoved his shoulder playfully. It wasn't fair when Jim was being so cute; it made Len want to cut him a break when he really deserved to be taunted and derided.
"I think the chances are good, seeing as how she asked the same thing about you."
"Oh, good. So I'm not the only one shaking in anticipation." Jim grinned at him and when Len realized that he was being sincere, he felt his heart thump a little heavier in his chest. He had to work to pay attention to what Jim was saying next. "Is it just gonna be the three of us, then? Maybe we should invite some of the other people from school who can't make it home. Like Kevin or Uhura."
"Maybe," Len said, shrugging. He thought Riley was kind of a pissant, even though Jim seemed to like the guy, but Uhura was a great girl—a damn good cook with lots of ambition, who moved around the kitchen like she had a fire going under her behind. She had a serious work ethic, too, making sure that practically no one in school besides the instructors knew her given name, insisting she be called "Uhura" at all times. Also, she seemed to loathe Jim, which Len couldn't blame her for one bit, seeing the way he shamelessly flirted with her. It was both kind of tragic and heartwarming that Jim wanted to invite her over for Thanksgiving dinner. "We can talk more about it," he said.
"Either way, it'll be a real, honest-to-god Thanksgiving."
Jim nodded sharply and once again, Len was reminded of Joanna. He reached over and ruffled Jim's hair, letting his hand linger a bit in the thick, dark blond tufts. In a few hours time, they'd give up the ghost, turn off the TV and head to bed, Jim slinking under the covers behind Len as he turned off the light. And when Len awoke the next morning, he'd find he was the one hugging Jim around his waist for once, his nose pressed to the kid's hair, inhaling the very same scent that permeated all his dreams.
For now, he simply chucked Jim's shoulder lightly and took a moment to drain the last of his beer. "Whatever you say, Jimmy," Len conceded, smirking at his infectious enthusiasm. "I'll even let you plan the menu, wonder boy."
"I was already counting on it," Jim said. He looked smug as he rolled his shoulders and drank some more, turning his attention back to the TV screen.
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