The Doctor, the Hag, and the AU, or, Bones and the Hallmark Christmas Movie Curse

Chapter 7: Manicular Vehicleslaughter

Jim and Spock go on a car ride to the country club. Bones is there too.

“Alright, if I were Jim, where would I be right now?” Bones asked himself, walking through the main thoroughfare in hope of spotting either his idiot or his idiot’s idiot truck. “Huh, would you look at that,” he said in surprise when he immediately spotted Jim parking his truck along the curb in front of a row of shops. Bones really didn’t expect to find him at all, let alone this soon.

Jim stepped out of his truck and jogged across the street. Bones noticed that he didn’t look both ways before crossing and felt slightly less bad about hitting him with a car the day before. He shook his head and walked quickly towards Jim’s truck, glad to see that there wasn’t really anyone around to see him breaking into the truck.

He stood at the passenger’s side door, realizing he had no idea how he would get in without breaking a window. He briefly considered hiding in the box of the pickup, under the tarp with the supplies that Jim was going to deliver to the country club, but he knew he’d be discovered there eventually, if he didn’t freeze to death first. Bones looked up and down the sidewalk to see if anyone was watching. When he was sure that the coast was clear, he stepped closer to the truck to investigate the lock. Unfortunately, he knew nothing about lockpicking.

“I don’t suppose…” he muttered to himself as he pulled the latch on the door, not expecting the door to open. To his genuine surprise, the door clicked open. He stood there dumbly for a moment, baffled that the truck would just be unlocked, but was jolted into action when he spotted Jim out of the corner of his eye as he returned to his truck.

Without thinking about whether it was a good idea or not, Bones jumped into the truck, shut the door with a grimace as it slammed a little too loudly, and dove over the seat, landing on the floor of the backseat. “Ow, fuck,” he cursed as he landed on a toolbox. He shoved it aside and looked around for a way to better conceal himself. Luckily, the backseat was full of junk. Along with the toolbox was a pair of boots, a pile of gloves of different materials, a spare tire, and a pile of blankets. He snagged a blanket and pulled it down on top of him then froze when he heard the driver’s side door open.

Bones couldn’t see anything from his position on the floor of the truck, and had no indication of where Jim was driving, but he noticed when the twists and turns stopped and they accelerated up to a speed too high for driving in town. Shit, Bones thought. They were on route to the country club, but Spock wasn’t with them. Bones was mentally cursing at his failed plan, wasted time, and the abundance of potholes on the gravel rural road when Jim’s cell phone rang.

Jim pulled over and parked on the side of the road, unable to drive and answer a phone when he had one arm in a sling. “Hello?” He answered. Bones couldn’t hear who was on the other end of the line, but he breathed a sigh of relief when Jim said, “Oh, Spock. Hi. What’s up?” Shortly followed by, “Yeah, sure. That’s no problem. I’d be glad for the company. Where are you?” Then, “Great, yeah, I’ll see you in ten.” He hung up, and Jim shifted the truck back into drive, then did a six point turn that was extremely awkward due to having to turn the truck and shift between gears with the same arm. Bones wondered if Jim should even be driving, really. He wasn’t sure about this universe’s Jim, but his Jim was a terrible driver even when he had the use of both his arms. Suddenly he wasn’t too sure if any of this was a good idea.

“So, why do you need to go to the country club?” Jim asked after they were once again on their way, only this time with Spock.

"I have been informed that it may be worth investigating the country club's affairs." Spock answered distractedly through gritted teeth. "James, perhaps you should allow me to drive."

Bones wanted to shout out in agreement as the truck struck yet another pothole.

"Don't worry, I've got it," Jim said as he drove directly through another pothole. "And please, call me Jim."

"Jim, I insist that you let me drive." Spock said sternly.

After a beat of silence, Jim took his foot off the gas, bringing the truck to a stop. As the two got out of the car to switch places, Bones let out a deep sigh of relief. His kidneys could only take so much. The doors slammed shut one after the other, and Bones heard the deep clicks of the gear being shifted into drive. They were on their way again, driving through far fewer potholes with Spock as the driver.

"So, investigating?" Jim asked, conversationally.

"Yes. I am a journalist from the city. I'm here to write a piece on the ice sculpture competition, but I was informed of a rumour regarding the country club that I found I couldn't ignore in good conscience."

"Huh. I'm signed up for that competition. I actually won it last year," Jim said.

"I know," Spock said. "I have been meaning to interview you for my article." Bones rolled his eyes. He could couldn't see either of them, but he could feel Jim's stupid grin.

"An interview, eh?" Jim asked, and Bones rolled his eyes again at his flirtiness. Though he supposed that was the point of all this.

"If you agree to it, of course," Spock answered.

Jim hummed, pretending to think about it. "I'll let you interview me if you tell me about this country club rumour." Jim was teasing, but Spock proceeded to tell him everything that Bones had fed to him earlier. Spock was concise and only needed a couple sentences to fill Jim in.

"Jeez," Jim said when Spock finished, his voice taking on a grim tone. "If that's true, it'll ruin the whole town."

"That is precisely what I thought," Spock answered.

"This is the first I'm hearing of this," Jim said, sounding frustrated. "Who told you?"

"He did not offer his name," Spock said, and Bones celebrated his anonymity for exactly one second before Spock added, "But I believe you know him. He signed up for the ice sculpture competition on your behalf."

Shit.

"Oh," Jim said, sounding surprised. "Yeah, Leonard. That's strange. He isn't even from around here. I wonder how he knows something like that. Turn left up here."

"I won't lie to you, Jim," Spock said, taking the turn at Jim's indication. "I am ninety-one percent certain that this ‘Leonard’ made up this rumour specifically to send me out to the country club on what is colloquially known as a ‘wild-goose chase.’"

Oh shit oh fuck-

"Why would he do that?" Jim asked.

Spock sighed. "I have come to the conclusion that there is no logical motive for doing such a thing," he admitted.

"So if you think it's fake, then why are you checking it out?"

"I can't risk the other nine percent."

Bones sat up, peering out the window of the truck, staying low. They had arrived at the country club a few minutes ago, and while Spock walked off on his wild goose-chase and Jim started to unload the box of his truck, Bones had decided he would forcibly extend Jim and Spock's time together.

Seeing that the coast was clear, Bones snagged a screwdriver from the toolbox he had bruised his ribs on earlier and quietly stepped out of the truck, keeping low. He dropped down to his hands and knees, wincing at the cold snow, and looked under the truck, hoping he would be able to recognize what he was looking for.

Bingo, Bones thought when he saw what could only have been the fuel tank. He laid down on his back and pushed himself under the truck, so that he had easy access to the exterior of the tank. Grasping the screwdriver in his fist and bracing himself on the bottom of the truck with his other hand, he gritted his teeth and punched the sharp end of the screwdriver into the tank with as much strength as he could muster. He cursed when the screwdriver glanced off the rounded tank. After a couple of tries with no success, he rolled out from under the truck and changed tactics, grabbing a hammer from the toolbox before returning to the slush below the truck. Holding the screwdriver to the tank like a chisel, he aimed his hammer and rammed it into the butt end of the screwdriver. He repeated it a few times, keeping the screwdriver in one spot, driving it further and further into the walls of the metal tank.

"Oh, shit, jeez," Bones sputtered as the screwdriver punctured the tank and a thin stream of gasoline shot out directly into his face. He quickly crawled out from under the truck and sat in the snow gagging, trying to wipe the noxious fluid out of his face. He picked up a handful of snow to try and scrub the smell of gas off his face and coat, but he abandoned the task when he heard voices. Not wanting to get caught, Bones scrambled into the backseat of the truck, shut the door behind him, and covered himself in the blanket. Once again, he had hidden himself just in time as Jim and Spock re-entered the truck, though this time he was cold, wet, and nauseous from the slush and spilled gasoline.

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