Rating: PG This part (R overall)
Summary: No matter how hard you run, how you try to hide, the past always catches up to you.
Author's Note: cookiechris80 demanded happy boys. This is the first part of my giving in to her demands.
It had been ten years. Two of those had been spent on Corinthium, and the rest had been spent moving from world to world in crappy freighters and freetraders' ships, avoiding any mention of Starfleet, and especially the Flagship. He didn't want to see any of his old friends, especially Jim; it would hurt too much. But he couldn't help but check his drop boxes, having attached a few of his anonymous identities to them. Almost ten years to the day after Leonard McCoy took a header into a ravine, he received one hit, from the same anonymous account that he'd used to send his 'last' goodbyes.
If you're out there, I need you.
A set of coordinates was attached, and the date was only a week previous. He should have deleted the message, obliterated the account, and moved on again. He should have ran right then, stopped checking the drops, maybe destroyed them, too. But something in him, the remains of John Grimm, of Leonard, of Bones woke up and took notice. He was on a freighter the next day, already thinking about the hops to get close to where Jim's coordinates were. He pulled money out of all of his accounts, enough to get a speedy single-ship to help him on the last leg. Just before he bought the speeder, another message pinged in the drop, not 5 minutes old.
Another set of coordinates; a little further away, but still in a place he knew of, a little slave-ring he thought he'd busted four years before. He got to his destination, bought his speeder, and didn't sleep for three days in his haste to get where he was going. He slept for 12 hours once he hit the system, and then tentatively sent a message to the address Jim had sent from.
I'm here; clarify orders.
And less than 5 minutes later:
We're being held prisoner under the main temple. I managed to steal the PADD and hack an account out of it.
But he couldn't be sure it really was Jim.
Answer one question: why did you call me Bones?
The answer came almost immediately, and he grinned humorlessly at the Kirkian answer.
There was an old story I read once, about battlefield doctors, and how they were called sawbones. Also, you're a talker when you're drunk, Mr. 007.
And so he geared up, and went down to the planet.
End of Part One. (Part Two)