A/N: Thank you all so much for supporting this story, even though it took me much long than it should have to finish it. You can find the link to pictures of the house on my page, and feel free to come talk to me about the story or anything else there!

Jim didn't even listen to the whole message, but threw everything in his suitcase, and called the airline for the first ticket to Atlanta that was available. The flight left in three hours.

Jim arrived in the Atlanta airport just under nine hours later, and retrieved his luggage and a rental car immediately. He didn't stop on his way to Bones' house, their house, and sped the entire way there, as if by getting there sooner, he could fix Bones faster.

He turned into the driveway with its patched stonework, and up the driveway with its manicured trees, and into the yard with the garden starting to bloom and the magnolia tree's flowers starting to burst. He stepped out of the car and felt like he had been punched in the stomach. He ran his finger over their photograph, as he always did when he was nervous, and walked up the stairs to the front porch, which looked the same as it had fifteen years ago. The porch swing where Bones had first said he loved Jim was swinging gently in the breeze as Jim knocked on the door.

A young woman opened the door. She was much, much older than the last time Jim had seen her, with straight, blonde hair that tumbled past her shoulders, and kind, hazel eyes just like her father's. Joanna, so beautiful, but already worn with worry as though she had suffered too much already in her young life. She didn't smile or hug him in greeting as she once had, but looked at him and said, not bothering to mask the undertone of hostility in her voice,

"You decided to come, then."

Jim decided to ignore the jab at him and said, simply,

"Where is he?"

Joanna wordlessly led him upstairs, and Jim tried to ignore the tightness in his throat as he looked around the house. They walked upstairs to the bedroom that he and Bones had once shared, so long ago. She opened the door and murmured,

"Daddy, someone's here to see you."

She stood back to let Jim past, her eyes narrowing suspiciously at him as she did. He didn't blame her.

The room was completely changed. The bed had been taken out and replaced by a standard hospital bed. There were tubes, bottles, and beeping machines everywhere. What had changed the most, however, was Bones. He was sitting up in the bed, propped up on several pillows, one thin hand lying on top of the sheets. His once thick hair was gone now, replaced by a blue bandana that covered his bald head. His t-shirt hung loosely off his shoulders, and his eyes were glassy.

"Jim," he breathed hoarsely, coughing gently as he did so. Jim knelt by the bed, taking Bones' emaciated hand as he did so. He said nothing; there was nothing he could say.

"Makes that stupid nickname make more sense," Bones whispered, clearly holding off another cough, "I really am just a bag of bones."

"I-Bones, what-"

"Lung cancer. Stage IV. Guess all that smoking in my twenties caught up with me."

Jim rested his head on Bones' hand, guilt crushing him like a giant, immoveable boulder.

"Bones-"

"I don't need any more apologies, I get plenty of those from everyone else around here."

Jim said nothing, but reached out and stroked Bones' thin face. He was cold, and he closed his eyes and hummed gently against Jim's touch, and, for a second, it felt like the world righted itself.

In the following weeks, Jim became Bones' round the clock nurse. He hardly ever left his bedside, and did anything and everything for him that he could. Joanna said that he just liked the company, and they spent a good amount of time watching sports of playing Texas Hold'em on Bones' bed. They did their best to make him comfortable, but stage IV lung cancer wasn't something you could ever prepare for. Bones' doctor, M'Benga, showed up to the house every week to check in on him. Bones hated these visits, because they made him feel "inferior" but Joanna had insisted, and after all these years, Bones was still wrapped around her fingers. Jim would sit with him and hold his hand, as M'Benga talked about charts and X-Rays, and certain options Bones had. Bones included Jim in all of these decisions, and when Jim had voiced that he didn't feel he had the right to make them, he and Bones had ended up having a long, long talk that involved apologies that had nothing to do with Bones' illness.

About a month after Jim had arrived, M'Benga was just finishing his visit, when he asked to see Jim downstairs. Before Jim could respond, Bones snapped,

"Whatever you got to say, Doctor, you can say to me. Over thirty years as a medical doctor has taught how to keep it together."

M'Benga sighed, knowing that he would never convince Bones to change his mind,

"Leonard, I'm going to be blunt; your time is running out. The last scans we did were not at all promising, the last round of chemo seems to have done next to no good. The tumors in your lungs have, as you both know, spread, and you are honestly very lucky that your brain has been spared. You don't have much time and I wanted to talk about some alternative options you have. I know that you are very attached to this house, and that you would like to remain here, but there are some excellent hospice options in the area, and they could-"

"I want to die in the house I lived in, M'Benga."

"I understand that, Leonard, but the longer this goes on, the harder it will be to care for you, and I'm sure Jim will agree that-"

"Bones is staying where he's comfortable, and that's here."

M'Benga sighed again, and, looking though he was swallowing something bitter, said,

"As I said, your last scans were not promising, and I would give you, optimistically, a month. And you might have to be rushed to the hospital in case your lungs need to be drained of fluid again. I can give you a list of hospice options in case you change your mind."

Jim's eyes flitted to Bones, who remained impassive, but Jim could sense that a blowup was coming, and soon. Jim had been seeing the anger bubbling under Bones' surface for weeks, and knew it was only a matter of time before it made an appearance.

The explosion happened nearly two weeks later, when Bones was hardly able to get up anymore. He could hardly walk because his own body was turning against him. His bones ached, and though he was taking ever pill known to man, that didn't do much for him. Being Bones, however, he was insistent that he could get up by himself and take care of his basic needs, thank you very much, Jim.

Against his better judgment, Jim let him do it, and had said he would be just down the hall if Bones needed anything at all.

It wasn't long before Jim heard a terrible crash and came sprinting into the bathroom to find Bones sprawled on the floor. He was fallen, grabbed the towel rack, and had pulled it down along with some glass bowls on the counter, which had shattered and cut Bones' hands. His hands were bleeding and he was shaking when Jim knelt beside him with the first aid kit in his hands. Bones pushed him away with as much vigor as he had left and snapped,

"Dammit Jim, I'm a doctor; I can do it myself."

"Bones," Jim implored, "You can't do everything yourself. Let me-"

"I can't do anything myself, Jim! I can't clean the house, I can't cook, I can't ride, I can't walk outside, hell, I can't even walk to the fucking bathroom. I'm-I'm useless, Jim."

"No, Bones! No you're not, you- look at me, you'll never, ever be useless. I underst-"

"You don't understand, Jim, you cannot understand. I'm dying. I won't be here much longer, and I'm scared as hell. I'm not supposed to be this afraid, I'm a doctor, I've seen far more death than most people can imagine. I killed my own father! I've seen death in every form, but I can't deal with it myself. I'm so fucking weak I can't even own up to the fact that I'm dying. I keep thinking they'll find some radical new treatment that can fix stage IV lung cancer; keep hoping this isn't the end for me. But it is, Jim. I'll never see Joanna settle down and get married; I'll never be able to grow old with you. It's over for me, and I can't even walk outside and ride my damn horse to take my mind off things. So no, Jim, you don't understand what it's like to be dying."

He was breathing hard, seconds away from a coughing fit. His hands were still bleeding, but he had clenched them into fists as he spoke. Jim gently took them and, without saying anything, began to bandage them. He then helped Bones to his feet, and guided him to his bed. He placed a soft kiss on the edge of Bones' mouth, and left without a word. He may not be able to help Bones beat cancer, but he could, at least, make his remaining time the best that it could be.

It was several days after Bones' outburst that Jim set his plan in motion. He woke Bones, gave him his morning medication, and then lifted Bones up as easily as if he were a rag doll.

"Christ, Jim, what are you doing?"

"It's a surprise."

He carried Bones down the path to the stables, where Bones' horse was standing, saddled and waiting, with a mounting block placed by his side. Bones' eyes widened in his thin face and he whispered,

"But, Jim, I can't-"

"Not by yourself, Bones, but I'm going to help you."

Jim set Bones on the saddle, and then swung himself up as well, settling himself behind Bones as Bones held the reins in his hands.

"Darlin' I-"

"I can lead the way if you want."

"No," Bones whispered, "No, I can do it."

They set off, Jim holding Bones in place as they made slow circles around the paddock. Bones was still a complete natural, and only occasionally needed Jim's help to make the little gelding go a little faster. Jim had to hold Jim back, making sure he didn't do too much too fast, but the air and the fact that he was back on his horse seemed to give Bones new life, and he sat up straighter and straighter the longer they rode.

Eventually, Jim had to bring them to a halt, because he was worried about Bones being up and about for so long. He carried Bones into the house, and set him on his bed. Bones reached for his hand, his eyes full of tears and said in a small voice,

"Thank you, Jim, so much."

Jim smiled at him, hoping he didn't look too broken; he was supposed to be the strong one after all.

As the days slipped by, Bones' condition gradually worsened. He coughed more, slept less, and started having trouble keeping his medication down. Jim stayed up all night sometimes, watching Bones, making sure he was all right during the night.

Joanna was in and out of the house, but always took time to sit with Bones for a while, to read to him, or to tell him what was going on in her life. She was studying to be a doctor, and Bones couldn't have been more proud of her.

One evening, Jim and Bones were sitting together, Jim reading to Bones from an old storybook, since he seemed to like those best nowadays, when Bones whispered.

"I love you, Jim."

"And I love you, Bones."

"Wish we could stay here forever."

"Me too, Bones. Maybe if we try hard enough, we can."

"You've been reading those storybooks too long, darlin'."

Jim merely smiled, and continued to read, watching Bones slowly fall asleep to the sound of his voice.

Jim jerked awake in the middle of the night; the machines had stopped beeping, and had suddenly gone flat. Jim scrambled up and held Bones face,

"Bones? Bones! Stay with me, Bones, stay with me. You can't go yet, Bones, you can't go yet. I love you, Bones, I love you so much. Please don't leave me, Bones. I'm all alone without you. Please, Bones, please."

Bones was gone. Joanna had called an ambulance when she had run in to see what was going on. They didn't even try to revive him.

Jim found a note on Bones' bedside table that morning.

I'm so sorry, Jim. I love you.

Bones

They made the funeral arrangements that day. Jim couldn't feel anything. They ordered the flowers. He screamed in his sleep. They called the people who needed to be called. He reached for a hand that wasn't there. They told them he was to be cremated. Jim rubbed his picture until it faded at the edges.

The funeral was quiet, only a few people Bones really knew were invited. Jim got a lot of condolences from people with good intentions. They had lots of food back at the house, in accordance to the southern tradition of sending people food when someone in their family died.

Joanna left that day, kissing Jim and hugging him like she used to. She said that there was something in Bones' closet for him, something that Bones had left him. He dragged himself up the stairs to the now empty room and opened the closet door. There was a note that said Jim at the top of a box, and Jim sat down on the floor and opened it.

The box was full of colored notes. Notes of every shape and size. Short notes and long ones. Every one was in Bones' handwriting. At the very top, there was a sheet of paper different from the rest and it said,

Jim,

This is every one I missed after fifteen years.

Yours always,

Leonard

Jim read them all feverishly, as though he could somehow bring Bones back if he read them with enough vigor.

I wish you would take out the damn trash. Do the laundry, it's starting to smell. We should walk to the pond today; it's such a nice day. I want to watch the Rebels game tonight. Let's go out to eat tonight. Let's go look at the stars sometime. I love you. Come back to me, please. I need you.

Jim sobbed as he read the notes, and shook uncontrollably on the floor of the bedroom that had once been theirs. He fell asleep that night on the floor, surrounded by notes and Bones' voice in his head, whispering to him in the dark.

He woke up the next morning and went downstairs, straight to the library, where he retrieved a pen and some paper, before sitting down in his old chair and writing his last note to Bones. Some might call it a letter, but he and Bones didn't write letters, they wrote notes. That's how it had always been with them, from the very beginning, and it wasn't about to change now.

Bones,

The funeral was yesterday, but I guess you probably knew that. I think it was more for Jo than anyone else. She went back to Atlanta after the funeral; school starts in a few days. I miss your coffee, and I hope it's okay if I take my mug back to New Jersey with me. I think Jo's going to sell the house. Seems like the right thing to do, someone else needs to make some memories in it. I still see you everywhere, that's probably not healthy, but I can't ask my doctor anyway. I know I didn't say it nearly enough, but I love you, Bones. I always will, too. No matter what. I just wanted you to know that, before I go back to being Professor James Tiberius Kirk instead of your Jim. Thank you for all the memories, Bones, they'll keep me going for god knows how long. I love you.

Jim