Chapter Text
All in all, it had been a pretty rough month.
Christmas was just around the corner and Jim had been getting commissions up the ass for about four weeks straight. He loved his job, he really did. But you can only do so many cat portraits without loosing your mind.
The day before Christmas Eve, he decided to make his roommate stay home and get into the Christmas spirit. Everyone needs a day off, even his grumpy southern doctor. Who was now wrapped up in about four blankets muttering something about 'godforsaken New York' and it's 'cold as balls weather.'
Jim, the ever productive roommate he was, decided to cook a chicken for the two of them. Which sounded easier than it was.
"Figure it out your damn self," Bones grumbled from his perch on the couch.
"I'm just an artist, Bones! I can only do so much. I'm fairly certain this chicken isn't even cooked."
"It's been in the oven for like three hours!"
"Well obviously the oven is broke."
"You're broke, Jim," McCoy grumbled as he unfolded himself and started to walk to the oven.
"I'm telling you, Bonesy. There is something very wrong here." Bones sighed, gave Jim a long, disapproving look and opened the oven door.
"Jim."
"Yes?"
"You didn't even turn the goddamn oven on. You turned the stove top on."
Jim groaned and sunk to the floor. "I swear I did Bones. I thought I did everything right..."
"This chicken is so undercooked I think if I gave it CPR it would literally get up and slap you in the face."
Jim ran his hand through his hair. "I give up. I give up. I'll never be Paula Deen. I accept that. But it's not actually that bad, is it?"
"It still has feathers."
"It totally does not!"
"Hey, Jim," McCoy chuckled, "Why did the chicken cross the road?"
Jim paused, and looked up at his roommate miserably. "Why?"
"Because you didn't fucking cook it!"
McCoy slammed the oven door and went back to his perch on the couch. "Why don't you just go pick something up and bring it back?"
Long story short, that's how Jim ended up in Central Park handing a bucketful of fried chicken to a homeless woman on a park bench. "Bless you, sir. Bless you," she muttered, tears in her eyes. In the scheme of their lives, chicken wasn't that big of a deal to him or McCoy, and to this woman it seemed to make her year. Also, it would piss Bones off. That was fun too.
Sighing, he walked a little ways and stopped at another bench just to rest for a minute. Central Park was obviously not a very safe place, especially lately. Jim had been carrying a pocketknife on him. Not that he'd ever have the balls to use it, but he felt he needed the protection. There had been about five murders here just this month.
...And probably six if he didn't text McCoy about the chicken. He pulled out his phone and simply typed:
man up or go hungry tonight. Love ya, Bonesy. ((((:
He had just finished typing it when he was startled by a voice coming from right beside him.
"It was very kind of you to present that woman with sustenance."
Jim's first thought was to run. Anyone talking like that next to him on a small park bench in Central Park had to be some sort of creep.
And he totally would have ran. If he hadn't looked to where the sound had come from.
The man next to him was gorgeous. His skin was spotless and stark white, it almost glowed under the Christmas lights. He adjusted himself so that he could sit right next to Jim. His movements were elegant, fluid, and purposeful.
So, to put it bluntly, totally hot. Instead of running like a sane person, Jim decided he could hang around a few more minutes. Even if he was sitting next to a murderer. He was a sexy murderer, so it would have to do.
"What?"
"I said that it was kind of you to present that woman with sustenance. I am around here often and I've never seen anyone speak to her."
Be cool. Be cool. You got this, Jimbo. "Yeah, well, that's what I do. I'm just a jolly guy."
Jim wanted to shoot himself. A jolly guy? What the actual fuck is wrong with you Kirk holy shit.
"It was indeed in the Christmas spirit," the man agreed, a hint of a smile on his face. "This Christmas hasn't been the most cheerful. It is good to see some kindness in the midst of all the madness."
"Yeah, Christmas shoppers are crazy," Jim agreed. The man paused, like that wasn't the answer he was expecting.
"Yes, Christmas shopping is hectic. However, I am not giving or receiving any gifts this year."
Jim paused. "Oh yeah? Why's that?"
"It is simpler," the man stated, his eyes drifting to the glimmering lights.
Jim rubbed his hands together studied the man beside him. "You know," he said, changing the subject, "You really should be wearing a coat."
"I am warm natured. Also-"
He was interrupted by a short note chime from Jim's phone.
From: Bones
hope youre enjoying life right now bc your ass is grass when you get home
"I am sorry if I am interrupting your texting. I just wanted to-"
"Oh no! You're fine." Really fine.
"I mean, it's just my roommate. He's got his panties in a bunch."
The mans head titled at Jim's phrase. "If you need to be elsewhere-"
"No! Well, kind of. I mean, he's grumpy and southern, he can wait."
The mans eyes darkened. "I recommend you spend time with your loved ones while you still can."
"That's ominous as hell," Jim nervously chuckled.
"I didn't mean it in that way. I just simply believe that it is important to surround yourself in warmth and love while it is still possible. I did not mean to startle you."
"Yeah, no, sorry. I guess I'm just jumpy. Crazies hang around here and honestly I don't feel very safe. I have no idea why I came this way."
"Perhaps you were simply drawn to it."
"Yeah, I guess. It's pretty festive this time of year."
"I concur," the man hummed.
The words were spilling out of Jim's mouth before he could stop them. "Anyways I need to go before my roommate starts rampaging. Can I uh...can I maybe get your number? I've just...It's been nice talking to you."
The man paused, and eyed Jim warily.
"I promise I'm not a murderer. If that helps."
"I believe I know quite well what you are," the man stated, then took Jim's phone and started typing on it.
"Oh yeah? What am I, then?" The man shook his head and handed Jim his phone back.
"I suppose you'll have to find out later," he said teasingly. Jim rose his eyebrows. "My name is Spock by the way."
"Oh, yeah. I'm Jim. Jim Kirk."
By the time Jim got home, Bones was pretty much a big ball of fleece and anger.
"What the hell do you even do, Jim? I mean goddammit man I save lives everyday and you just buzz around here like a housewife on speed, leave for a casual stroll through murder-ville, and come back looking like everything is dandy."
Jim dropped his coat on the floor, plopped beside his best friend and ruffled his hair. "I'll have you know, Doctor, I committed a random act of kindness and met a very sexy stranger."
"Goddamn man you don't need to be hangin' around Central Park just for funsies it's not safe," McCoy snapped, "Not long ago I tried to treat a guy who got stabbed there. Three in the chest. He was in the morgue within an hour."
"Okay there's no reason to get all morbid-"
"I'm just sayin' be careful, Jimbo. Who was this guy anyway?" Jim paused, then checked his phone. "Spock. And he was beautiful and angelic and I was enchanted by his very being. Any more questions?"
McCoy cocked his head, "What was his first name?"
"Didn't give one."
McCoy let out a shaky breath. "This ain't funny, kid."
"That's why I'm not laughing. What's up with you Bones? Feeling territorial or something?"
"I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't rub things like this in my face."
"What are you talking about? Look, I just met a guy and he was weird but we kind of clicked. If it bothers you that much-"
"Hell yeah it bothers me! I can't believe you could ever throw something like that in my face."
"Bones, I'm not throwing anything in your goddamn face," Jim argued.
"My God, you really don't have any idea, do you? I have a hard time believing that." Bones stood and made his way to his room, not long after, he emerged with a newspaper in hand.
"What the hell is this?" Jim muttered, taking it from McCoy's outstretched hand.
"Obits, page 4."
"Look Bones I don't want any precautionary tales, okay?"
"This ain't a precautionary tale," McCoy hissed. "Did you really see that man in Central Park or are you just yankin' my chain? Because it's not funny, Jim. I know the names of everyone who has died under my care and you and I know damn well I keep record."
"Yeah, I know you keep record. I know you're sensitive about loosing patients. But I don't understand what this is about. What the hell, Bones?" Jim asked, turning to page four and scanning it's contents.
Breathless, he whispered, "Oh my God."
"His full name is S'chn T'gai Spock," McCoy started.
When Jim's eyes focused on the largest picture in the obituary column, his breath stopped halfway up his throat.
"And he's been dead for almost five days."