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Polaris >> Leonard "Bones" McCoy X Reader

Title: Polaris

Paring: Leonard "Bones" McCoy X Reader

Warnings: Fluff, angst, cuddles, futuristic earth city scape slice of life.

Spoilers: None. Features content from Star Trek (2009) and Star Trek: Into Darkness (2013), but set before Star Trek: Beyond (2016) - because I haven't seen it yet.

Author's Note: Hey Readers! Sorry for not posting in a while, the inspiration bug hasn't really bitten me lately (AKA: writer's block). But I was requested on Tumblr by a fan of Star Trek to write some fluffy Leonard McCoy and you all know me, I'm a huge fan of our resident grump Bones, and I complied!

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You were from Maine, he from Georgia, and you loved the cold, and he, the warmth of a Sunday sun on his shoulders that drove him to keep working until moonrise. You liked the crisp bite of a well-kept wine, but mostly the bubbles of a fun drink to sneeze about, and he the dry, firm caress of aged whiskey, but mostly swigs of water to keep going throughout his days in the Medbay. Despite these opposites, you were very much attracted to one another, and would even go as far as to say that you loved him, and he you.

But those words hadn't been said yet, and for all you knew, it would take another five year mission and perhaps a run in with his ghastly ex-wife to utter those three words.

Leonard wasn't a very emotional man - sure, he often showed his exasperation for Captain Kirk often and loudly, and his intolerance of Mr. Spock's Vulcan ways, but never the behind the scenes lover things. Well, behind the scenes, the two of you lovers weren't really that ... affectionate. You'd known each other throughout the training at the academy, had started dating just before you were assigned to the USS Enterprise with Captain Pike, rest his soul. And then the Khan incident happened, but you were Earthbound for the whole thing, watching the stars and hoping - praying - that your Bones would make it out alive.

And he did.

And there you are, now, laying between the sheets, watching the peeling paint from the roof of your shoddy apartment in the Starfleet paid-building in New Mexico, listening to the faint hum of cars out on the street in the night traffic, and the dull roaring from the man who lays beside you. He denies vehemently that he snores, those eyebrows of his protecting his honour evermore, but it's true. It isn't a bad sort of snoring, not like the man who used to live beside you in the rooms on board the Enterprise.

It's ... comforting. A quite comforting reminder that the hand that seeks yours in the night to hold is there, and not a dream that you can hear.

There's a shift in the bed sheets, but it's you, and you slip out as carefully as you can to walk to the little balcony across from the bed. It's midyear, the kind of weather that leaves you warm throughout the day and night, the glow of sweat keeping you alive. As you sneak out, you taking a seat upon the box outline of the air-conditioning unit, and watch the city around you.

There are cars, the ones you'd heard, and they're down on the street trying to get to destinations you will never follow to, or know. There's the odd pedestrian but at the hour it is, they are most probably inebriated, or trying to be. The nightlife of wildlife is limited, seeing as in the last hundred years or so the protection for Earth animals has decreased, and thus, their numbers declined. But if you squint, you're not sure if there's an owl above the fire escape of the building opposite.

Your mind goes back to three days ago, when you heard that Leonard was making the trip back from Georgia. He was visiting Joanna, doing the right thing by being a father, and there were another few days before the pair of you were needed back out for the next mission. Thus, hours earlier, you unlocked the door for Leonard to enter, and after pizza and watching reruns of the ancient show Whose Line Is It Anyway (it was either that or Arsenic and Old Lace ... nothing good is on after ten o'clock in your town) and crashed in the bed half an hour later.

Three days you spent calculating words shared between the two of you, trying to beep Nyota, or young Pavel Chekov on the communicater (to no avail), of inquisitive, intrusive thoughts.

But here you are.

It's almost one in the morning, and the stars aren't as bright here in the south as they are when you're actually out there within them, and you miss the taste of adventure and the promise of new planets, and life, and the excitement that follows. You miss wearing your uniform, even if it is a little small for you, and you miss the great rush of waiting until the shift is over to take Leonard by the collar and make out in the supply cupboard.

"What're you doing out here, darling?" The sleepy growl of Leonard McCoy questions, his body following the head peering out to see what you were up to. It was unusual that you had fled from the bed - for him, maybe, but when he was sleeping deeply on board the ship between shifts, you'd sneak out of the room to the gallery, or even Hikaru Sulu's greenhouse to sit alone with your own thoughts. It was nicer than being awake, and alone with him by your side.

"Go back to sleep," you whisper, watching the moon. "You need to rest, we're going up today."

"At least shift over so I can sit with you," he grumbles good-naturedly, mussing your hair with the hand that loops around your waist, grabbing a blanket from the chair inside to share with the other. "Have you found the north star yet?"

You shake your head. "Wasn't looking," you mumble, pulling the blanket up. You hadn't realised the air had gotten cooler in the last few minutes, and suddenly were very grateful for Leonard's forward thinking. "Just came to clear my head."

"Too much in that brain, or just confusing things clouding your judgement?" he asks, lowering his lips close to your neck, pulling back the hair by your ear to plant a small kiss. "You know, I'm not the heaviest sleeper in the world, _______."

At that, you feel your face heat up, but you're not sure if it's in shame, or not. "You know that I ... leave in the night?" you whisper.

He nods. "_______, I'm human, not jumping to conclusions," he takes a deep breath, and moves closer to you, pointing to the sky. "There's Polaris, right there," he smiles, and in the light of the moon and the fading lights of the neon of the street below, the face of Leonard McCoy is ever so beautiful, and you cannot deny that fact. "And here's me telling you something too late," and deep breath, then, -

"Don't just say it because it's what people say to other people, who are ... in love," you interrupt. "Say it because you mean it. Say it because you're ready."

Leonard McCoy doesn't miss a beat, and replies, "I'm a darn idiot for waiting this long, _______. I see the way your eyes look when you think I don't notice, that sad look you have when you see damn Spock and Uhura holding hands -," Swallowing, and not just a build up of salvia, but pride, he adds, "I love you, ________. Ever since you transferred into nursing, and destroyed my perfect record for beating everyone." His fingers card through your hair, softly, slowly, untangling what sleep has knotted it into. "I don't care if you like wine, or the cold, or even time to think about us -,"

You turn to face him, your faces so close that you can see his eyelashes, see every freckle upon his cheeks, see his eyes watching you right back, and swiftly, pulling his neck closer, you connect the both of you together to kiss.

"Took you long enough," you smirk, biting his lip. "But good news, doc, because I love you too."