What Remains
Fandom: Star Trek Reboot (AU)
Pairing: Kirk/Spock, Kirk/Mitchell
Rating:R
Warnings: None
Summary: In answer to Eimeo's challenge. - An AU K/S fic based on the film "Truly, Madly, Deeply." Basically, Kirk's lover, Gary Mitchell, has recently - and unexpectedly - died and he's having a hard time getting past his grief. While Kirk hovers on the verge of despair, Gary comes back to haunt him benignly and, surreptitiously, to help him move on. Because Kirk has just met a mysterious man named Spock, who could be so much more to him if he can just let go of Gary's memory and fact up to a future without him..."
Chapter Two
San Francisco is bathed in mellow sunlight, the slight dawn mist having lifted by mid-morning. It’s too early in the year for the heavy fog which often cloaks the city during its summer months, but April is often mild and sunny, and this day is no exception.
Jim walks quickly across the campus, heading toward the mess to meet Bones for lunch. Lost in his own thoughts, he keeps his head down and tries not to attract anyone’s attention by avoiding eye contact. Fortunately, people seem to take the hint and no one approaches him.
He enters the mess and heads straight to the nearest replicator. He has little appetite for food, but considers that if he doesn’t sit down with an adequate and healthy lunch Bones will only worry, which will lead to medical advice as Jim prefers to call it. Jim himself would prefer a quick sandwich, or even just a few fries, but decides that he really should try and get something green onto his plate, if only to placate Bones. Having made his selection, some kind of congealed-looking pasta in a cheese sauce with a limp side salad, he moves away from the replicator to survey the airy and sunlit mess hall.
He spots Bones at a small corner table, hunched over a PADD, his fork making a steady journey from plate to mouth and back again. Jim quickly makes his way over, not stopping to acknowledge anyone else.
He slumps down heavily opposite his friend, who immediately looks up and gives him a quick once over, no doubt taking in every little detail of Jim’s appearance and demeanor. Jim resists the urge to squirm in his seat; he knows that Bones misses nothing, so instead he holds himself still under the scrutiny and keeps his eyes averted. Keeping his expression suitably neutral he contemplates the unappetizing food on his plate.
Doctor Leonard McCoy has been his friend since he started Starfleet Academy some two years ago. His best friend, someone Jim considers a kindred spirit. Not that this is ever articulated, except maybe when both of them are too stinking drunk to either remember or care the day after.
“You look a little better today,” Bones murmurs casually. Jim glances up quickly from under his lashes but Bones is back looking at his PADD, or at least feigning interest in its contents.
“What?”
“Just saying, you look a little better, have you added more highlights to your hair?”
Jim looks at Bones askance, fork aborted on its voyage to his mouth.
“Bones what are you talking about?”
“Just saying, is all.”
Jim narrows his eyes as he scrutinizes his friend. Bones seems to have changed tactics; it’s not like him to compliment Jim on the state of his hair. Or to compliment him at all in fact, usually it’s just insults. This, Jim thinks, is probably an attempt to throw him off balance.
Ignoring Bones, he turns his attention to the tall window on his left. His gaze drifts outside to the small garden area. Minimalistic in its design, a thin strip of gravel and decking sweeps in an arc hugging the wall of the building. Planters of polished metal sparsely populate the garden, their contents swaying gently in the faint breeze, in complimentary shades of green.
“Are you depressed?” asks Bones.
“No.”
“Everybody’s just worried about you.”
“Everybody?” He frowns. “Who?”
“You’ve just disappeared! You’ve dropped off the map, you don’t invite people over, you don’t sleep enough, and I can guarantee you’re not eating properly.” Bones’ voice rises as he warms to his subject, the contents of his PADD forgotten. Jim relaxes slightly. This is more like Bones’ usual self.
“You look terrible,” Bones adds, a frown drawing his brows together.
“Gee thanks, except for my hair?”
“Is it still Gary?”
“What? Of course not!”
“I can understand that. Lord knows I think about Jocelyn. I miss her sometimes, and I hated her…at the end that is. Well, we both hated each other at the end. The point is, I understand, but you have to get yourself out there again. Get on with your life. Meet new people. You’ll never meet anyone, stuck in the house all the time.”
A sharp pain twists in Jim’s chest, blinding in its intensity. He looks at Bones in surprise, his mouth dropping open as he freezes for a few seconds before exploding into motion.
“What the fuck, Bones?” Jim scrapes his chair back roughly as he stands, glaring down at his friend.
Bones winces as he realizes he’s said the wrong thing, but he keeps going anyway. “Just come out for a couple quick drinks, Uhura and that Orion Cadet she shares a room with are having a party this evening. We could pop in, see what it’s like.”
Jim shakes his head quickly.
“You never even want to go out for a drink anymore,” Bones accuses. “Just a few drinks together,” he adds almost pleadingly.
Jim softens his expression. “I can’t, I can’t…” He stops a second to swallow past the lump in his throat. “I just can’t,” he whispers. He turns away from the table and stalks out of the mess; just catching Bones mutter under his breath, “Well that went well.”
****
Darkness sweeps over the bay. The lights of the city flicker on one by one as dusk falls. The air is crisp and clear, but much cooler. The stars shine cold and bright in the darkening sky.
Weary and heartsick, Jim walks home in the gathering twilight. He pulls his coat collar up under his chin to keep out the slight chill in the air.
He walks slowly towards the house, the one he used to share with Gary, but where he now lives alone. His thoughts turn back to the time they both left the flat endless fields of Iowa behind to enlist at the Academy, pursuing their shared dream to explore the stars together. They arrived in San Francisco and settled in a fixer-upper with a bay view. Gary had moaned about the many repairs that needed to be done, but Jim had loved it, or at least had not minded it so much as long as he could be with Gary.
He turns away from thoughts of Gary and what should have been. It’s too painful to dwell there. Jim muses sadly that he should have taken Bones up on the offer of dropping in on Uhura’s party, instead of sitting at home by himself.
At the thought of Bones he feels a pang of guilt as he casts his mind back to their lunchtime confrontation. He’ll have to apologise. Bones is only worried about him, that’s all. Jim resolves to make amends at the first opportunity.
He quickly ascends the steps to the front door and bends to activate the retinal scanner.
“Lights,” he calls as he enters the house. The hallway beyond explodes into brightness, forcing him to blink furiously as his eyes adjust, squinting in the glare.
He drops his PADD on the kitchen table and goes to the bedroom to change.
He puts on extra layers of clothing as the heat is not working again. One baggy sweater, a pair of worn jeans and two layers of socks later, he goes to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of whiskey. He takes the drink with him into the living room and goes to stand at the window, to stare out at the lights glinting along the street below.
In between sips he cradles the whiskey protectively against his chest and loses himself in thought. He stands this way for a long time - he’s not sure how long - until finally his stomach rumbles with hunger. He reluctantly drags himself to the kitchen and lacking the patience to put together a good meal he replicates some oatmeal, which he quickly eats before leaving the bowl by the sink to clean later.
He pours another whiskey and takes it to the sofa, where he sits and flicks listlessly through the stations on his holo-vid, the light flickering pale shadows over the dark sitting room. Leaning his head on the back of the sofa, he puts his feet up on the small table in front of him and closes his eyes. He is bone weary, so tired he could sleep for weeks. He drifts into a dream-like state between waking and sleeping, lulled in part by the whiskey warming his veins.
There’s a sudden buzzing at the door and Jim frowns as he glances at the chronometer. The luminous red numbers read 11:40. Who can it be at this time of night?
He shuffles to open the door in response to the increasingly insistent buzzing of the doorbell. Pavel Chekov, a fellow cadet at the Academy, stands framed in the open doorway, a smile blooming large and bright on his young face. Jim lets a small sigh escape before he can stop himself.
“Hey man, everything okay?”
“Fine, Fine.” Chekov nods.
Chekov is looking past Jim into the house beyond, and Jim knows he’s angling for an invite in.
“Pavel, it’s almost midnight.”
The other man seems preoccupied, more oblivious than usual as he makes to move past Jim. As he does, Jim is assaulted by the smell of alcohol. It takes a second to register, and then he remembers Uhura’s party.
“Yes, yes.” Chekov nods again. “But, I come to see if you still want me in zhe morning. For zhe flight simulation test…..”
“Oh yeah, I do,” he says, but he’s not so sure anymore. Chekov can hold his liquor well, but he’s not completely immune to hangovers.
Chekov is suddenly preoccupied with something in the kitchen. “What is wrong with your cupboard doors?”
Jim suppresses a grimace. “I can’t close any of my kitchen cabinets. Most of the hinges are all bust.”
Chekov moves straight past him and makes his way unsteadily into the small kitchen where he starts opening and closing cupboard doors and inspecting them closely. Being slightly drunk only seems to ensure his rapt concentration on the recalcitrant doors.
Jim falls back to lean against the hallway wall, and the surface is cool on the back of his head. He concentrates on that spot and uses it to centre himself. He just wants to go to bed, and he can’t dredge up the necessary energy to converse with his uninvited guest. Recently an inordinate amount of effort has been required just to dress, shower and study, to do anything at all in fact. He has to admit that in the last few months his life has been lived on autopilot.
But remembering his rudeness with Bones that afternoon, he resolves to try and make some effort to be friendly. Heaving a resigned sigh, he slowly closes the front door and moves to follow Chekov into the kitchen, where he casts around for something to say. His eyes land on the small, empty dish on the kitchen floor.
“So it turns out I’ve got rats,” he says. “Either one massive rat that never stops eating, or one thousand on a diet. A guy came this morning and put down enough poison to knock out half of San Francisco, and it’s disappearing.” He points at the poison dish. “Check it out.”
“I’m missing Russia”, Chekov laments, totally ignoring him.
“Right,” mutters Jim.
“Sometimes I think I hate Russia, but then a song goes into my head, or a taste, I remember the taste of Russian bread.” He shakes his head sadly and sits down hard on a chair, head in his hands. “Man should never drink. He remembers only his country, his family…his lovers….”
“Yeah,” Jim says too quickly, stopping Chekov right there. He really doesn’t want to talk about this, not now. Maybe trying to play the host wasn’t such a good idea after all. In the hopes of encouraging Chekov to leave, he adds. “Look, I’m going to bed. I’ve had a really, really stressful day. Shitty in fact.”
But Chekov has decided now is the time to address Jim’s rat problem. “In my country when we want to get rid of rats we do not poison zhem, we dance, to drive the rats away we dance.”
Arms raised above his head he starts to sing and dance around the room, stamping his feet loudly on the floor.
Jim slumps heavily against the kitchen door frame, arms folded across his chest. And admits defeat as he watches Chekov dance exuberantly and drunkenly around the room. Chekov’s words finally penetrate his consciousness, ‘his lovers?’ What the hell! Chekov must be all of seventeen. Jim shakes his head in bemusement.
He slowly slides down to the floor to sit against the frame, arms resting on his knees. He watches a smiling, tousled haired Chekov twirl unsteadily, and for the first time in a long time he manages a small genuine smile.
Pairing: Kirk/Spock, Kirk/Mitchell
Rating:R
Warnings: None
Summary: In answer to Eimeo's challenge. - An AU K/S fic based on the film "Truly, Madly, Deeply." Basically, Kirk's lover, Gary Mitchell, has recently - and unexpectedly - died and he's having a hard time getting past his grief. While Kirk hovers on the verge of despair, Gary comes back to haunt him benignly and, surreptitiously, to help him move on. Because Kirk has just met a mysterious man named Spock, who could be so much more to him if he can just let go of Gary's memory and fact up to a future without him..."
Chapter Two
San Francisco is bathed in mellow sunlight, the slight dawn mist having lifted by mid-morning. It’s too early in the year for the heavy fog which often cloaks the city during its summer months, but April is often mild and sunny, and this day is no exception.
Jim walks quickly across the campus, heading toward the mess to meet Bones for lunch. Lost in his own thoughts, he keeps his head down and tries not to attract anyone’s attention by avoiding eye contact. Fortunately, people seem to take the hint and no one approaches him.
He enters the mess and heads straight to the nearest replicator. He has little appetite for food, but considers that if he doesn’t sit down with an adequate and healthy lunch Bones will only worry, which will lead to medical advice as Jim prefers to call it. Jim himself would prefer a quick sandwich, or even just a few fries, but decides that he really should try and get something green onto his plate, if only to placate Bones. Having made his selection, some kind of congealed-looking pasta in a cheese sauce with a limp side salad, he moves away from the replicator to survey the airy and sunlit mess hall.
He spots Bones at a small corner table, hunched over a PADD, his fork making a steady journey from plate to mouth and back again. Jim quickly makes his way over, not stopping to acknowledge anyone else.
He slumps down heavily opposite his friend, who immediately looks up and gives him a quick once over, no doubt taking in every little detail of Jim’s appearance and demeanor. Jim resists the urge to squirm in his seat; he knows that Bones misses nothing, so instead he holds himself still under the scrutiny and keeps his eyes averted. Keeping his expression suitably neutral he contemplates the unappetizing food on his plate.
Doctor Leonard McCoy has been his friend since he started Starfleet Academy some two years ago. His best friend, someone Jim considers a kindred spirit. Not that this is ever articulated, except maybe when both of them are too stinking drunk to either remember or care the day after.
“You look a little better today,” Bones murmurs casually. Jim glances up quickly from under his lashes but Bones is back looking at his PADD, or at least feigning interest in its contents.
“What?”
“Just saying, you look a little better, have you added more highlights to your hair?”
Jim looks at Bones askance, fork aborted on its voyage to his mouth.
“Bones what are you talking about?”
“Just saying, is all.”
Jim narrows his eyes as he scrutinizes his friend. Bones seems to have changed tactics; it’s not like him to compliment Jim on the state of his hair. Or to compliment him at all in fact, usually it’s just insults. This, Jim thinks, is probably an attempt to throw him off balance.
Ignoring Bones, he turns his attention to the tall window on his left. His gaze drifts outside to the small garden area. Minimalistic in its design, a thin strip of gravel and decking sweeps in an arc hugging the wall of the building. Planters of polished metal sparsely populate the garden, their contents swaying gently in the faint breeze, in complimentary shades of green.
“Are you depressed?” asks Bones.
“No.”
“Everybody’s just worried about you.”
“Everybody?” He frowns. “Who?”
“You’ve just disappeared! You’ve dropped off the map, you don’t invite people over, you don’t sleep enough, and I can guarantee you’re not eating properly.” Bones’ voice rises as he warms to his subject, the contents of his PADD forgotten. Jim relaxes slightly. This is more like Bones’ usual self.
“You look terrible,” Bones adds, a frown drawing his brows together.
“Gee thanks, except for my hair?”
“Is it still Gary?”
“What? Of course not!”
“I can understand that. Lord knows I think about Jocelyn. I miss her sometimes, and I hated her…at the end that is. Well, we both hated each other at the end. The point is, I understand, but you have to get yourself out there again. Get on with your life. Meet new people. You’ll never meet anyone, stuck in the house all the time.”
A sharp pain twists in Jim’s chest, blinding in its intensity. He looks at Bones in surprise, his mouth dropping open as he freezes for a few seconds before exploding into motion.
“What the fuck, Bones?” Jim scrapes his chair back roughly as he stands, glaring down at his friend.
Bones winces as he realizes he’s said the wrong thing, but he keeps going anyway. “Just come out for a couple quick drinks, Uhura and that Orion Cadet she shares a room with are having a party this evening. We could pop in, see what it’s like.”
Jim shakes his head quickly.
“You never even want to go out for a drink anymore,” Bones accuses. “Just a few drinks together,” he adds almost pleadingly.
Jim softens his expression. “I can’t, I can’t…” He stops a second to swallow past the lump in his throat. “I just can’t,” he whispers. He turns away from the table and stalks out of the mess; just catching Bones mutter under his breath, “Well that went well.”
****
Darkness sweeps over the bay. The lights of the city flicker on one by one as dusk falls. The air is crisp and clear, but much cooler. The stars shine cold and bright in the darkening sky.
Weary and heartsick, Jim walks home in the gathering twilight. He pulls his coat collar up under his chin to keep out the slight chill in the air.
He walks slowly towards the house, the one he used to share with Gary, but where he now lives alone. His thoughts turn back to the time they both left the flat endless fields of Iowa behind to enlist at the Academy, pursuing their shared dream to explore the stars together. They arrived in San Francisco and settled in a fixer-upper with a bay view. Gary had moaned about the many repairs that needed to be done, but Jim had loved it, or at least had not minded it so much as long as he could be with Gary.
He turns away from thoughts of Gary and what should have been. It’s too painful to dwell there. Jim muses sadly that he should have taken Bones up on the offer of dropping in on Uhura’s party, instead of sitting at home by himself.
At the thought of Bones he feels a pang of guilt as he casts his mind back to their lunchtime confrontation. He’ll have to apologise. Bones is only worried about him, that’s all. Jim resolves to make amends at the first opportunity.
He quickly ascends the steps to the front door and bends to activate the retinal scanner.
“Lights,” he calls as he enters the house. The hallway beyond explodes into brightness, forcing him to blink furiously as his eyes adjust, squinting in the glare.
He drops his PADD on the kitchen table and goes to the bedroom to change.
He puts on extra layers of clothing as the heat is not working again. One baggy sweater, a pair of worn jeans and two layers of socks later, he goes to the kitchen and pours himself a glass of whiskey. He takes the drink with him into the living room and goes to stand at the window, to stare out at the lights glinting along the street below.
In between sips he cradles the whiskey protectively against his chest and loses himself in thought. He stands this way for a long time - he’s not sure how long - until finally his stomach rumbles with hunger. He reluctantly drags himself to the kitchen and lacking the patience to put together a good meal he replicates some oatmeal, which he quickly eats before leaving the bowl by the sink to clean later.
He pours another whiskey and takes it to the sofa, where he sits and flicks listlessly through the stations on his holo-vid, the light flickering pale shadows over the dark sitting room. Leaning his head on the back of the sofa, he puts his feet up on the small table in front of him and closes his eyes. He is bone weary, so tired he could sleep for weeks. He drifts into a dream-like state between waking and sleeping, lulled in part by the whiskey warming his veins.
There’s a sudden buzzing at the door and Jim frowns as he glances at the chronometer. The luminous red numbers read 11:40. Who can it be at this time of night?
He shuffles to open the door in response to the increasingly insistent buzzing of the doorbell. Pavel Chekov, a fellow cadet at the Academy, stands framed in the open doorway, a smile blooming large and bright on his young face. Jim lets a small sigh escape before he can stop himself.
“Hey man, everything okay?”
“Fine, Fine.” Chekov nods.
Chekov is looking past Jim into the house beyond, and Jim knows he’s angling for an invite in.
“Pavel, it’s almost midnight.”
The other man seems preoccupied, more oblivious than usual as he makes to move past Jim. As he does, Jim is assaulted by the smell of alcohol. It takes a second to register, and then he remembers Uhura’s party.
“Yes, yes.” Chekov nods again. “But, I come to see if you still want me in zhe morning. For zhe flight simulation test…..”
“Oh yeah, I do,” he says, but he’s not so sure anymore. Chekov can hold his liquor well, but he’s not completely immune to hangovers.
Chekov is suddenly preoccupied with something in the kitchen. “What is wrong with your cupboard doors?”
Jim suppresses a grimace. “I can’t close any of my kitchen cabinets. Most of the hinges are all bust.”
Chekov moves straight past him and makes his way unsteadily into the small kitchen where he starts opening and closing cupboard doors and inspecting them closely. Being slightly drunk only seems to ensure his rapt concentration on the recalcitrant doors.
Jim falls back to lean against the hallway wall, and the surface is cool on the back of his head. He concentrates on that spot and uses it to centre himself. He just wants to go to bed, and he can’t dredge up the necessary energy to converse with his uninvited guest. Recently an inordinate amount of effort has been required just to dress, shower and study, to do anything at all in fact. He has to admit that in the last few months his life has been lived on autopilot.
But remembering his rudeness with Bones that afternoon, he resolves to try and make some effort to be friendly. Heaving a resigned sigh, he slowly closes the front door and moves to follow Chekov into the kitchen, where he casts around for something to say. His eyes land on the small, empty dish on the kitchen floor.
“So it turns out I’ve got rats,” he says. “Either one massive rat that never stops eating, or one thousand on a diet. A guy came this morning and put down enough poison to knock out half of San Francisco, and it’s disappearing.” He points at the poison dish. “Check it out.”
“I’m missing Russia”, Chekov laments, totally ignoring him.
“Right,” mutters Jim.
“Sometimes I think I hate Russia, but then a song goes into my head, or a taste, I remember the taste of Russian bread.” He shakes his head sadly and sits down hard on a chair, head in his hands. “Man should never drink. He remembers only his country, his family…his lovers….”
“Yeah,” Jim says too quickly, stopping Chekov right there. He really doesn’t want to talk about this, not now. Maybe trying to play the host wasn’t such a good idea after all. In the hopes of encouraging Chekov to leave, he adds. “Look, I’m going to bed. I’ve had a really, really stressful day. Shitty in fact.”
But Chekov has decided now is the time to address Jim’s rat problem. “In my country when we want to get rid of rats we do not poison zhem, we dance, to drive the rats away we dance.”
Arms raised above his head he starts to sing and dance around the room, stamping his feet loudly on the floor.
Jim slumps heavily against the kitchen door frame, arms folded across his chest. And admits defeat as he watches Chekov dance exuberantly and drunkenly around the room. Chekov’s words finally penetrate his consciousness, ‘his lovers?’ What the hell! Chekov must be all of seventeen. Jim shakes his head in bemusement.
He slowly slides down to the floor to sit against the frame, arms resting on his knees. He watches a smiling, tousled haired Chekov twirl unsteadily, and for the first time in a long time he manages a small genuine smile.