Jim Kirk

Well, this is ten shades of awkward. McCoy doesn't even know what he's doing here -- yes, he does, he's here to make sure that neither Max nor Jim do something stupid and get themselves eaten by a wild animal or catch hypothermia because they didn't pitch a tent right. He's been camping a dozen times before, back when his Daddy was still in decent shape, but Jim seems eager to act the part and impress the kid, so he'll play along. "You two go do that, I'll get the tent ready."

Better that than lingering around Max, given that the last real conversation the two of them had involved the birds and the bees.

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Max stops chasing the dog just long enough to beam up at Jim, the word fire enough to catch his attention.

"We should make, like, a huge bonfire. One of those where you can use it for smoke signals. I can help get wood."

He glances over at the doctor, not really sure why he's coming, but Max thinks it's probably because him and Jim are friends. As long as he doesn't try and talk about that tape. Ever. "You can come with me," he offers.

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"Tent first," says Jim, "We want to get that done in daylight, because it can be kind of hard. Then we'll all go look for firewood."

Clapping his hands once, Jim beams around at the lot of them, including the dog. "Together. Bones, I think you've got the tent in your pack?"

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There goes any attempt to keep his distance from the kid. He shoots Jim a less-than-pleased look as he hauls the pack off his back and sets it on the ground to start digging out pieces of the tent. "I'm not here for the bonding," he reminds Jim under his breath, pitching one of the poles his way.

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Max bites his lip, shifting from foot to foot as he watches them talk quiet. Like grownups do all the time. He hates when grown ups talk that way. It's not supposed to be like that on a camping trip.

"Um, so, I put a tent together one time," he offers, trotting over and getting in between them. They can't talk that way if he's right there. "I can help. I'm good at this stuff. One time I helped build this whole giant fort and it was as big as the compound. Maybe bigger."

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Jim's shrieked why the hell not? is neatly cut off by Max's arrival, and he yanks on another grin. "Big as the compound, huh? Well, we probably don't need one quite that big, but I'm glad we've got an expert on hand."

Over Max's wolf ears, Jim gives Bones a look that he hopes conveys his desire that Bones be nice, or he won't get blown for a week. "Why don't you go unfold the tent, and then we can hammer the stakes in. That's totally the best part."

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McCoy doesn't roll his eyes, but it's a close thing. He shakes his head and relinquishes the tools he's brought along, too. "I'm a doctor," he mutters under his breath, "not a babysitter," he says, mostly to himself. "Watching over two children, overexcitable..." he continues to speak as he starts clearing the area around them.

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Max doesn't say anything, just drags the tent out and starts pulling it apart, trying to make sure it doesn't get tangled or anything. He wants to show them that he can do it right.

He glances up as they start to talk again, wondering if maybe the doctor is still mad he saw the tape. His chest seizes a little at the thought maybe Jim knows. Maybe he told him.

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"Stop muttering," Jim mutters at Bones as he passes, "Kids can hear that stuff, they're short, not deaf." Arriving at Max's side, he plants both hands on his hips and surveys his progress. "Pretty good work," he says, "You got it all undone without tangles and everything. Once Bones gets all the rocks and sticks up - " Including the one in his ass, " - We'll get this bad boy up and running. Bones!"

Jim turns his head to shout. "How are we for a tent spot, you find a good one?"

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He shakes his head, but he stops muttering. Maybe this isn't how he wants to be spending his day, but it could be worse. He's thought that Jim could constantly use something like this in his life and he's grateful that he's got it. "I got a space clear here, even if we're expecting a gargantuan tent, so we can start building anytime now."

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"Let's hammer the stakes in!" Max says, running over to gather them. He doesn't really think Jim will let him hammer alone, probably not if the doctor is right there.

"You've gotta swing really hard, like you're doing that game at the fair. Like, as hard as you can."

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"And aim just as good, I hope," says Jim, ruffling Max's wolf ears for a lack of access to his hair. "Better be you and me that hammers them in. Bones' hands are too valuable to take a hit." Jim grins across the site at him. "He's a surgeon."

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"More of a doctor these days," he admits, taking a deep breath and stepping closer. He looks at Max, apology in his gaze because he doesn't want to mention the tape, but at the same time, he feels like it's the giant purple elephant in the room. "I haven't cut into someone in a long time." Not since Rogue and the need to slide in the shunt.

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Max hesitates for just a second before picking the hammer up and handing it up to the doctor. "You want to go first?" he offers, thinking maybe he's feeling left out, because Max knows Jim way better. Plus the whole weird thing. "We can take turns."

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Jim looks between Bones and the offered hammer. "They're your fancy hands," he says, "Just be careful," adding in a lower voice, "M'kind of a fan of them, too."

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McCoy can't help his smug smirk at Jim's comment. He leans in towards Max, taking the hammer and shaking his head. "I think Jim thinks that I'm some kind of wilting flower. Or a klutz. I'm not sure which one's worse. What do you think?"

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"I think he thinks you can't do it," Max says with a tentative grin. "You should probably smash it really hard to show him you can. And then I can do it and then Jim can and then we're gonna build a huge fire!"

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"You know what?" Jim asks with a broad smile, "That is very observant, Max, that is exactly what I think, I was just too afraid to say so."

He hands Bones a stake. "Don't feel bad if you don't hit it on the first try."

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"You're a complete A-word sometimes," McCoy says conversationally to Jim as he takes the stake, taking the time to drag his fingertips along the inside of Jim's palm, shooting him a wry look before he sets to hammering. "And I think you're right, Max, I think that Jim thinks a lot of things. But we kind of like him for it, right?"

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"He's my favorite," Max whispers up at the doctor. "Don't tell Bill."

He turns back to the dog and lets out a howl, chasing it in a wide circle. "We need to tell ghost stories, tonight!" he yells.

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Having come just close enough to hear Max's confession, Jim grins so widely it seems like his face might crack in two. It's a dizzying ride, balancing his sudden surge of joy with the tingle he still feels where Bones has brushed his palm.

"We could do that," he says, moved to help Max chase the dog. "I know some serious doozies."

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McCoy sneaks the flask out of the bag he's got, settling his back against one of the logs he'd dragged over and watches the both of them. He's got no bones with Max running around like that, but he figured Jim was maybe two decades past this. He's going to need all the encouragement in the world.

Besides, the only ghost stories he knows go along the lines of 'and then, she took all his assets and won the custody battle, leaving the skeleton-man with nothing but his bones'. Jim already knows that one and it's not appropriate for kids. "If you two want to take a breather, how about you tell me what I'm cooking tonight."

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"Meat!" Max shrieks, making a flailing leap and wrapping his arms around the dog's middle. "Make me dinner, man!"

He collapses down to the ground, dog barking and wriggling with him.

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Jim reaches down, disentangling flailing kid limbs from paws and tail and fur, and throws Max over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

"Dinner is hot dogs on a stick," he says, carrying Max over to Bones. "Or boar dogs, whatever. And beans! We're eating like real campers tonight."

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McCoy's starting to get the wood piled for the fire, a grin on his face as he starts to put everything together for dinner, looking at Jim with a proud smile, digging out some of the food that he's found. "You say that now, but you tell me how much you like beans and boar dogs when you're eating 'em."

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Max laughs and kicks his legs as Jim carries him over.

"Hey Bones!" he yells, deciding that nickname is awesome. "Can I light the fire? I want to make it as big as you and Jim!"

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"This seems like an excellent time for a lesson in fire safety," notes Jim as he settles Max back onto the ground. "And everything tastes awesome cooked over an open fire," he tells Bones. Even vegetables, but I didn't bring any, because we're out here to have fun, not be healthy."

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"I didn't bring matches. Intended on doing this the old, old, old-fashioned way," he clarifies, a little uneasy about how long Max's patience is going to last (hell, let alone Jim's). "You ready to settle in and devote yourself to some time to make this fire?" he asks of Max.

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"Um..." Max falters, practically vibrating with the need to do something. Devoting time sounds grown up and boring but he really wants to set something on fire. "Are we gonna bash rocks together? I can do that!"

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"And carefully," says Jim, "Bones might be a doctor but we don't want any broken fingers ruining our good time. However." Dropping down by Bones, Jim sits back on his heels. "I think it's a good idea if we made as many caveman sounds as possible."

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McCoy turns into Jim's body, enough so that he can speak directly to him, even if Max can hear. "You're asking for that kind of trouble in front of this nice young boy? Jim," he chides, a bemused smirk on his lips. "And no, Max, we're going to use one rock as a starter. So, not bashing, but yeah, we're looking for a spark."

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"Um, but I'm pretty sure you need to hit the rock kind of hard," he insists, needing to at least bash some rocks if he's going to have to wait for his fire. "And, okay, let's do it now and then we'll make it huge and then eat and then Jim's gonna tell ghost stories."

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"We'll save those caveman sounds for later," Jim promises with an unwholesome smile. "But first," he says, turning to Max, "we need kindling. You think you can find us some small, dry sticks? We can't smack any rocks together until we do that."

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McCoy sprawls out against the dirt behind him as he waits for the kid to finish up with Jim's chores, an amused and practically doting look on his face as he looks at Jim like there's a dozen things he wants to tell him, but can't name a single one of them. "Kindling would help, bunches," he agrees, turning off those doe eyes when he looks back at Max.

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Max snaps to immediately, shooting them both a smile as he tears off with the dog trailing behind. He manages to grab an armful of sticks in between the jumping and yelling and rock kicking and runs in a wide circle, Les snapping playfully at his heels.

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Jim grins and watches Max tear around the clearing, body drifting until he's tucked comfortably against Bones' side. "He reminds me of somebody," Jim says of Max, completely oblivious to the fact that it's himself. "Good kid."

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"He reminds me that I'm grateful there are drugs that can curtail that kind of behavior," McCoy mutters, though he doesn't mean it seriously. He likes that enthusiasm, even if he doesn't exactly share it himself. It's...well, it keeps him feeling like he's still young enough to tolerate it. He shifts his arm around Jim's waist, scraping blunt nails against his hip. "You do know I had to explain the birds and bees to him because of you, right?"

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Max lets out a great warrior's yell as Les makes off with a piece of the kindling when it's piled up where the fire's gonna go. He's pretty sure there's enough but it doesn't stop him from leaping and wrapping his arms around one of his hind legs. "I got the wood!" he shrieks.

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Jim turns an aghast face away from Max and the pile. "What? Why?" he whispers fervently. "Christ, Bones, he's only nine."

Looking up, he gives Max two big thumb's up. "Good job, kid, now get us a few more big logs for the fire so we can make it huge."

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"Because he walked in on the damn tape," McCoy hisses back at him. "And he doesn't want you to know he's seen it, so keep hushed, will you?" It doesn't change the fact that he'd had to give him the birds and bees so he had some kind of idea as to what the hell Jim had been talking about. "He's nine and very scarred, now."

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