Fic: I Never Meant You Any Harm
I'm tryin' to clear out and finish up some of my WIPs. So, here, angsty fic, posted at freakishly-late/early-o'clock. :)
Title: I Never Meant You Any Harm
Author: sunriseinspace
Character(s): Jim Kirk, Leonard McCoy, Nyota Uhura, Spock, Montgomery Scott, Chris Pike
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I own nothing about Star Trek (2009), its characters or plotlines, including any recognizable dialogue. Also, the italicized lyrics belong to the Alan Parsons' Project.
Summary: (They’re both miserable, but they won’t admit it.)
A/N: What is this, I don’t even...
--
If it’s getting harder to face every day
Don’t let it show, don’t let it show
--
“Did you hear what happened?” he hears as he walks past a table in the Mess hall, eyes straight ahead, shoulders back, unflinching.
He knows it’s not meant for his ears, knows that he’s brought this on himself, knows that there is no shame in his actions. He did what he needed to do, he tells himself, what was necessary and right and damn the consequences.
It doesn’t stop the pain, though. Doesn’t take away the regret or the bitter bite of shoulda-coulda-woulda stinging the back of his throat.
He walks straight and proud to the meal line, grabs a tray and starts gathering things for lunch, while the whispers rage like wildfire behind him.
--
Though it’s getting harder to take what they say
Just let it go, just let it go
--
“How are you holding up?” Chapel asks him, as they sort through the new shipment of inventory recently arrived from Starbase 9. He doesn’t reply at first, reaching for a pack of gauze bandages and scanning their label, recording the quantity on the PADD in his hand.
“I’m fine,” he says, voice flat and inviting no questions. He can feel her eyes on the side of his face, concerned but not motherly as she picks over his answer.
“Scotty said he didn’t even look at you when the away team beamed back from their last mission.”
He grits his teeth and digs a box of hypospray cartridges out from behind a box of gloves, checking the contents and sighing in frustration as he realizes it’s the antihistamines they’d been unable to find last week. He pulls open the top of the box and pokes through the capsules, deliberately ignoring Christine’s comment.
“Doctor?” she prompts when she realizes this. “Is it true?”
“The Captain is a very busy man,” he snaps, slamming the box back onto the shelf. Christine jumps, her PADD chirping reproachfully as her hands tighten on it, and he sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose. People aren’t going to understand, Jim had said and, damn it to hell, was that the understatement of the century. “He had reports to make and receive, there wasn’t any time for idle chatter,” he says, tone softer, gentler as he reaches for a canister on the top shelf.
There’s silence in the storage closet after that, aside from the give and take necessary for their task. It doesn’t stop Chapel from shooting little searching looks in his direction, or the way she’ll take the occasional breath to say something but never voices it. He knows she’s worried but there’s nothing either of them can do to change things, so he just holds his silence.
He wonders what Jim’s doing right now, what he’s thinking, then pushes the thought away, shoulders heavy with the knowledge of what he can’t have.
--
And if it hurts when they mention my name
Say you don’t know me
--
“Len! Over here!” Uhura calls behind him and his feet stick in place, midstride. He doesn’t dare turn around, can’t trust himself to keep up his calm façade if he turns. So, instead, he settles into a nook under a nearby viewport and pulls out his PADD, using it as a cover as he shoot surreptitious glances over at where Uhura and Scotty have been joined by Bones and Chapel.
He’s too far away to clearly hear their conversations, but he can see all of the little nuances - the way Uhura’s eyes linger on Bones’ face, the tightness across Chapel’s shoulders as she situates herself close to Bones’ side, the concern hovering around the edges of Scotty’s smile. Bones looks tired, he notices, feeling a sharp stab of guilt deep in his stomach. Eyebrows tightening in consternation, he turns his attention back to his PADD, forcing himself to focus on the report he’s got pulled up on it.
Thirty minutes later, he’s bored to death of reading Sciences’ efficiency reports, so he stands, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back to relieve the kinks garnered from sitting so still for so long. He’s tired, but too keyed up for sleep, so he crosses the Rec room and replicates a cup of tea, the soothing fragrance taking the edge off of nerves he hadn’t even noticed until they were gone. He heads slowly back to his seat, taking a circuitous route to stretch his legs and put off going back to his reports. He steers carefully clear of the table where Bones is sitting, though, too afraid of his reception and own reaction to chance it.
“...Jim?”
His head snaps up when he hears his name, turning reflexively to catch the look on Uhura’s face after her question. He can’t see Bones’ face, but the man shifts awkwardly in his chair, a hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck, a tell Jim’s more than familiar with - Bones is painfully uncomfortable with the situation.
“It’s none of my business what his plans are,” Bones says and Jim closes his eyes at the ache that produces. “I’m gonna see ‘bout heading down to Georgia, visit with my little girl while I have the chance,” he continues, outlining what are obviously his plans for shore leave.
Jim hesitates for a second more, staring at the back of Bones’ head, until Uhura meets his gaze, her eyes cool and suspicious. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he leaves the Rec room, abandoning his PADD and all but fleeing under the searching weight of her stare.
--
And if it hurts when they say I’m to blame
Say you don’t own me
--
“You know, when I told him about Komack’s stipulation, I didn’t expect him to take it this far,” Chris Pike says pointedly, his expression mildly bemused as his eyes play over the lines etching themselves deeper into Leonard’s face. Leonard raises an eyebrow and doesn’t answer, clicking idly at the game of Solitaire sharing the screen with his conversation. “You’re telling me you’re okay with his...exploits?” Chris presses, blue-gray eyes troubled at Leonard’s silence.
“I’m not his keeper,” Leonard reminds him, unearthing the king of hearts and shifting him to an open space at the other end of the board. His eyes catch on the stylized graphic, lingering on the empty spaces on either side of it - it’s painfully reminiscent of how the entire crew’s pulled away from Jim and rallied around Leonard, not something he’d ever expected or wanted. “Anyway, if it makes him feel better...”
Chris’ eyes are unyielding, calling bullshit on his feeble excuses.
“Leonard,” he starts, but Leonard can’t take this right now, doesn’t need the guilt trip on top of his loneliness, not after watching Jim’s bruised confidence in action all day.
“It’s better this way, Chris,” he says, cradling his forehead in his palm, blocking out his quarters and the computer screen until it’s just the memory of Jim’s blue eyes and Chris’ firm voice curling warmly in his ears.
“For who, Leonard?” Chris asks quietly before the console chimes to let him know the connection’s been terminated.
--
Even if it’s taking the easy way out
Keep it inside of you
Don’t give in, don’t tell them anything
Don’t let it,
Don’t let it show
--
“Captain, a word.”
Jim looks up from the PADD he’s holding and blinks at his first officer. Spock’s looking particularly stiff today, a sure sign something’s bothering him, though Jim can’t begin to think of what it might be. Saving the document, he stands and drops the PADD back into the Captain’s chair.
“Sulu, you have the conn,” he states, waiting only for confirmation before leading Spock off the Bridge and into his Ready Room. “What’s bothering you, Mr. Spock?”
“Lieutenant Uhura wished me to return this to you,” he says, holding out the PADD Jim’d been using last night. Jim takes it, sees that it’s still open to where he left it last night, and sighs, unaccountably frustrated by that simple fact. “She also mentioned that you appeared...perturbed upon taking your leave of the Rec room last night.”
Jim eyes the Vulcan, eyebrow raised as he considers Spock’s words. “Is this only Lieutenant Uhura’s concern?” he asks mildly, paging through the files on the PADD, shooting their organization all to shit just for something to do with his hands.
Spock straightens even more, hands moving to fold behind his back, and Jim feels his eyebrow try to crawl higher - Spock must really feel strongly if he’s working so hard to contain himself in all possible ways. “No, Captain. I admit to a certain...curiosity about your relationship with Doctor McCoy of late.”
Licking his lips, eyes flitting around the room without focusing on anything, Jim scrambles to find something to say, any excuse to put off Spock’s line of inquiry before it unearths something unintentionally. “Doctor McCoy and I... There’s... It’s nothing, Spock,” he finally ekes out, a headache starting to build behind one eye. “We’ve both been very busy recently. After all, the youngest captain in the Federation’s got a lot to prove.” His teeth snap shut on the last syllable and he hopes Spock doesn’t pick up on what lies beneath his words, barely hidden under a veneer of nonchalance.
Dark eyes study his face and he resists the urge to fidget, feeling more desperate to pass this inspection than he ever did the Kobayashi Maru. After a long moment, the rigid set of Spock’s shoulder relaxes just slightly and he nods.
“If that’s all, Mr. Spock?” Spock nods once more and Jim dismisses him back to the Bridge, taking a moment to sag against his desk, hands braced shoulder-width apart and eyes clenched shut. “Goddamn admirals,” Jim sighs vehemently, venom echoing around the edges of his words as he hangs his head between his shoulders. “Goddamn crew,” but he’s more amused this time, or at least tolerant, because them he understands.
Too bad it’s not the other way around.
--
Even though you know it’s the wrong thing to say
Say you don’t care, say you don’t care
--
“Len?” Uhura’s voice is as gentle as her fingers on the back of his neck, cool and comforting as she strokes mindless patterns on his nape.
“He’ll be fine. Up and about tomorrow,” he grinds out hoarsely, hands shaking slightly as he grips the edge of the biobed to keep from reaching for Jim’s hand.
“Are you okay?” she asks, moving her arm to drape over his shoulders in a loose embrace, her slight weight leaned comfortingly against his side.
“’M fine,” he says immediately, shaking his head in an attempt to forestall her questions. He doesn’t want to think about the way Jim threw himself in front of Leonard, of the sound the spear made as it landed solidly in the middle of Jim’s chest, of the flickering light in Jim’s eyes as the transporter’s light swirled around them seconds too late. “I’m fine.”
“Len.” God, she sounds like Jocelyn used to, back at the beginning, when he’d come home from a bad day at the hospital but refused to tell her and he hates the similarity - he’d always told Joce eventually and he fears that trend will spill over into now.
He stands abruptly, gently brushing her away from him so he can cross the ‘bay and start updating Jim’s records. He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the windows of his office and flinches away from the pain glowing hollowly in his eyes. Standing at the console, he takes a deep breath and releases it slowly, an old technique from medical school, shaking off his immediate feelings to achieve a more professional detachment.
“Len, he took that spear for you,” Uhura says as she follows him, as though he needs to be reminded of what happened before his own damn eyes. “He was willing to die for you and you’re, what...?” She trails off, unable to name his reaction to the situation, despite her extensive vocabulary.
His eyes squeeze shut, but he says what he needs to say, gritted out from between tightly clenched teeth. “I appreciate the Captain’s loyalty to his crew, even at the risk of his own life.” He thinks he’s going to be sick at the way the words sound on his tongue.
“What?” Uhura hisses, eyes catlike as they narrow in outrage. “I thought--”
He steels himself and turns to face her, wondering what she sees when she flinches like he slapped her. Her eyes flicker over his face, taking in every nuance of his expression, before she draws herself up to her full height, stalking over to get in his face.
“Goddamn you, Leonard.” She’s practically vibrating with rage. “You don’t even care anymore, do you?”
He lets his eyes fall shut and turns back to the console, pulling up Jim’s file as he listens to her leave the room, the force of her anger for Jim a tension that lingers in the ‘bay even after she’s gone.
--
Even if you want to believe there’s a way
I won’t be there, I won’t be there
--
“Jim,” he hears as he starts to surface out of unconsciousness and he wants to smile at the comfort it invokes. It’s odd - he has the feeling it’s been a long time since he’s heard his name said exactly like that, with tired stress and sharp consonants softened by the slightest hint of a Southeastern North American drawl - and a frown touches his face, twitching his eyebrows as he struggles to open his eyes.
“Bones,” he moans, his own voice weak and rasping, catching jaggedly in his throat. There’s a tickle building in his chest, what threatens to be a cough, but a straw appears at his lips and the cool water he greedily sucks down kills the urge. He sighs as he releases the straw, leaning back on his pillow and finally managing to crack his eyes open, squinting blearily in the abundant light of the Medbay. “Bones,” he says again, wondering what he’s done to land himself in a biobed this time, but he remembers between one blink and the next, an aborted flinch jolting his shoulders as he meets Bones’ concerned hazel eyes for the first time since leaving Spacedock over San Francisco.
Bones catches the movement, eyebrows drawing together and shoulders tightening as he straightens in his chair. They stare at each other for one breathless second and Jim can see all of the minute little changes in Bones’ face, all the little things he hasn’t let himself see before now. And it hurts, seeing the lines etched deeper around the corners of Bones’ mouth and eyes, the way the shine has left his eyes. Jim closes his eyes and tries to shift away, groaning when his back and chest protest the movement.
“Don’t move,” Bones warns and Jim wants to chuckle at his timing, but the ache from moving hasn’t dissipated, is coalescing into a stronger, sharper pain that takes his breath away. The biobed chirps a warning and he hears Bones curse under his breath before the familiar sting-hiss of a hypospray signals a gradual lessening of the pain. Blinking away tears of pain, Jim forces his eyes open, though he wants to close them again and savor the feeling when one tear escapes and Bones uses his thumb to gently rub it away.
“Jim,” Bones breathes, eyes dark and unreadable when Jim glances up at him. Bones opens his mouth to say something else, the line of his shoulders tense, but Nurse Chapel chooses that moment to walk out of the Store room, hands full of supplies to restock the carts around the Bay. Bones’ face closes off even further and he pulls himself back with stiff formality.
Jim makes himself sit quietly through the lecture he receives, only nodding when a response is required and nothing else. He watches the gestures Bones uses as he speaks with his hands, his own fingers plucking aimlessly at a loose thread in the blanket, steeling himself for the moment when Bones will walk away, back to the same duties performed by any Starfleet CMO.
He tells himself that the ache in his chest is a remnant of the spear lodged there not too long ago.
He doesn’t believe the lie.
--
But if you smile when they mention my name
They’ll never know you
--
“Heya, Doc!”
Leonard turns at the hail, waiting until Scotty’s caught up with him before continuing down the corridor.
“I take it the Captain’ll make it, then?” the Engineer asks, his expression wide open as he gestures to indicate Leonard’s presence outside the Medbay. “A lot of us were worried after that dust-up down on the planet.”
“The Captain’s on bedrest for the rest of the day, on limited duty tomorrow, and expected to be back on full duty no later than start of shift Friday,” Leonard answers gruffly, resisting the urge to fold his arms or clench his hands into fists. Instead he smiles, the expression stiff and likely obviously false. “He might actually have learned his lesson this time,” he says and nods genially at Scotty before turning to key himself into his quarters.
Just before the door slides shut, he catches a glimpse of Scotty’s face - white and suspicious and almost scared - and he wishes he could reassure the man. But, any more, he doesn’t know how to reassure himself, doesn’t know how to find that distance and equilibrium Jim’d said they needed.
He lies to himself and says it’s fine, he’s fine, they’re fine, it’s nothing, but in the silence of his empty quarters, he’s hard pressed to believe anything he tells himself anymore.
--
And if you laugh when they say I’m to blame
They’ll never own you
--
Shift’s been weird, he thinks, staring blankly at the viewscreen as he counts down the minutes until he can escape to his quarters. There’ve been less sideways glances in his direction, less whispering, but more of Uhura’s careful stare on the back of his neck. He glances over his shoulder, where he can just see the heel of her boot, and the feeling of being studied slides away for the moment. Shaking his head at himself, he shifts to find a more comfortable position in the chair, the center of his chest twinging slightly with a leftover ache.
Shift change happens when he’s not looking, when he’s not expecting it - one second he’s staring at the viewscreen, the next Uhura’s at his elbow, her eyes soft and concerned as she tries to catch his attention.
“Come with me to the Mess hall?” she asks and it makes him stumble, knocks him off balance to land awkwardly on his feet.
“Of course,” he says, lost and bewildered but willing to play along - she rarely approaches him off-duty, so there must be something important she wants from him.
He walks alongside her to the meal line and the curious absence of whispers prickles at his skin, makes him feel wary and uncertain. After they find a table, he glances surreptitiously around the room, noting that there are still eyes following his every move with reproach and no understanding. He wonders how sick it is to be relieved by this.
“This is a surprise, Lieutenant,” he says, smiling at her as he arranges the items on his tray, picking up a fork and poking at the limp salad. Frowning at the wilted lettuce, he turns his attention to his burger, adding ketchup and mustard, all while trying to keep the mood light. “Does this mean you’re finally taking me up on my offer?” he asks with a leer, eyebrows waggling. “Does Spock know you’re here?” He laughs, forcing the sound out, but it peters out abruptly when he realizes she isn’t going to give back as good as she gets, the way she always does.
“Jim, what are you doing?” Uhura asks finally, her evenly modulated voice filled with quiet sadness as her dark eyes linger on his face. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t respond and she rolls her eyes at the gesture, though her solemn expression doesn’t lighten. “I mean, you’ve shoved Leonard as far away as possible, far enough that neither one of you will acknowledge the other is in the same room.” She sounds miserable and he wants to laugh because there’s no possible way she could feel worse than he does.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Uhura,” he responds casually, though any semblance of appetite he may have had coming down here has shriveled into a kind of cold nausea. Still, though, he smiles and takes a large bite out of his burger, chewing in the carefully modulated pattern he’s used to force himself to clear his plate since he returned from visiting his aunt and uncle on Tarsus.
“Dammit, Jim,” she snaps, slamming her hands onto the table and making the silverware and dishes jump. The half-masticated bite of burger in his mouth turns to ash as she glares at him, the phrase and her tone of voice and expression all combining to completely knock him off-kilter. She bites her lip and studies his face, eyes narrowing in concern when he finally manages to choke down his mouthful. “Why? I mean, did something happen? Is it Jocelyn?” she asks.
Huffing a self-deprecating laugh and shaking his head at himself, Jim carefully sets down his burger and wipes his mouth, appetite now completely gone and nothing, not even his memories of months without proper food, will enable him to take another bite. He pushes away his tray and leans his elbows on the table, taking a quick survey of the Mess hall.
“I will say this once and, afterward, the topic will remain closed, both in regard to myself and Doctor McCoy,” he says stiltedly, reminding himself awkwardly of Spock. Uhura raises one eyebrow, obviously reminded of the same thing, but doesn’t say a thing, dark eyes compassionate as she waits for him to continue. “It is not Doctor McCoy’s fault that we have...parted ways. It was my choice and my doing and I-" want to take it back every damn day “-don’t regret my actions. Jocelyn has nothing to do with it - there were certain...rumors brought to my attention and this was the...best way to remedy the matter.” He can see the question in Uhura’s eyes. He ignores it. “Now, if that’ll be all?” he asks, though he’s already standing, tray in hand and subtly edging toward the exit.
Uhura shakes her head, tears building in the corners of her eyes. “Jim,” she sighs, voice choked, and any resolve he may’ve had left deserts him. He shoves his tray at the recycler and flees the room.
He runs into Bones in the corridor outside the Mess hall and they freeze, staring at each other with wide-eyed amazement, until the moment pulls taut, crystallizes, and shatters. With a solemn nod, Bones draws himself up into an approximation of attention, eyes downcast to avoid Jim’s. And Jim just acknowledges it with a tired wave of his hand, laughing soundlessly to himself as he turns to walk away.
They finally managed to find distance between each other. Too bad the chasm threatens to be too large to bridge later.
--
Even if you feel you’ve got nothing to hide
Keep it inside of you
Don’t give in, don’t tell them anything
Don’t let it,
Don’t let it show
--
(They’re both miserable, but they won’t admit it.)
(They’ve both realized they were individually wrong and that maybe the other was a little bit right, but they won’t say it.)
(They know they’ve confused the crew, that Uhura and Scotty, Spock and Pike are all worried about them and for them, but they won’t do anything to change the way things are.)
When the admirals make an inspection of the ship and her officers a year into the Enterprise’s five-year-tour, they find nothing worthy of reproach - there is the proper amount of respect being shown the captain; aside from an accident or two, the captain has proven himself a level-headed, trustworthy, thoughtful individual, nothing like the brash, boisterous, cocky young man who smuggled himself onto the ship in the middle of a crisis; the department heads are all well-versed in their fields, even that quiet, angry CMO. No, they decide, there was nothing to worry about, when it came to the Enterprise’s commanding officer and his crew. They patted each other on the backs and congratulated themselves on a good job choosing such a strong crew for the flagship.
(They’re lonely, each missing the other, but each thinks the other’s moved on, new relationships and new friendships and nothing’s the same as it was before.)
(Each one tries to let nothing of their pain show. And each day, they get a little better at it.)
Title: I Never Meant You Any Harm
Author: sunriseinspace
Character(s): Jim Kirk, Leonard McCoy, Nyota Uhura, Spock, Montgomery Scott, Chris Pike
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: I own nothing about Star Trek (2009), its characters or plotlines, including any recognizable dialogue. Also, the italicized lyrics belong to the Alan Parsons' Project.
Summary: (They’re both miserable, but they won’t admit it.)
A/N: What is this, I don’t even...
--
If it’s getting harder to face every day
Don’t let it show, don’t let it show
--
“Did you hear what happened?” he hears as he walks past a table in the Mess hall, eyes straight ahead, shoulders back, unflinching.
He knows it’s not meant for his ears, knows that he’s brought this on himself, knows that there is no shame in his actions. He did what he needed to do, he tells himself, what was necessary and right and damn the consequences.
It doesn’t stop the pain, though. Doesn’t take away the regret or the bitter bite of shoulda-coulda-woulda stinging the back of his throat.
He walks straight and proud to the meal line, grabs a tray and starts gathering things for lunch, while the whispers rage like wildfire behind him.
--
Though it’s getting harder to take what they say
Just let it go, just let it go
--
“How are you holding up?” Chapel asks him, as they sort through the new shipment of inventory recently arrived from Starbase 9. He doesn’t reply at first, reaching for a pack of gauze bandages and scanning their label, recording the quantity on the PADD in his hand.
“I’m fine,” he says, voice flat and inviting no questions. He can feel her eyes on the side of his face, concerned but not motherly as she picks over his answer.
“Scotty said he didn’t even look at you when the away team beamed back from their last mission.”
He grits his teeth and digs a box of hypospray cartridges out from behind a box of gloves, checking the contents and sighing in frustration as he realizes it’s the antihistamines they’d been unable to find last week. He pulls open the top of the box and pokes through the capsules, deliberately ignoring Christine’s comment.
“Doctor?” she prompts when she realizes this. “Is it true?”
“The Captain is a very busy man,” he snaps, slamming the box back onto the shelf. Christine jumps, her PADD chirping reproachfully as her hands tighten on it, and he sighs again, pinching the bridge of his nose. People aren’t going to understand, Jim had said and, damn it to hell, was that the understatement of the century. “He had reports to make and receive, there wasn’t any time for idle chatter,” he says, tone softer, gentler as he reaches for a canister on the top shelf.
There’s silence in the storage closet after that, aside from the give and take necessary for their task. It doesn’t stop Chapel from shooting little searching looks in his direction, or the way she’ll take the occasional breath to say something but never voices it. He knows she’s worried but there’s nothing either of them can do to change things, so he just holds his silence.
He wonders what Jim’s doing right now, what he’s thinking, then pushes the thought away, shoulders heavy with the knowledge of what he can’t have.
--
And if it hurts when they mention my name
Say you don’t know me
--
“Len! Over here!” Uhura calls behind him and his feet stick in place, midstride. He doesn’t dare turn around, can’t trust himself to keep up his calm façade if he turns. So, instead, he settles into a nook under a nearby viewport and pulls out his PADD, using it as a cover as he shoot surreptitious glances over at where Uhura and Scotty have been joined by Bones and Chapel.
He’s too far away to clearly hear their conversations, but he can see all of the little nuances - the way Uhura’s eyes linger on Bones’ face, the tightness across Chapel’s shoulders as she situates herself close to Bones’ side, the concern hovering around the edges of Scotty’s smile. Bones looks tired, he notices, feeling a sharp stab of guilt deep in his stomach. Eyebrows tightening in consternation, he turns his attention back to his PADD, forcing himself to focus on the report he’s got pulled up on it.
Thirty minutes later, he’s bored to death of reading Sciences’ efficiency reports, so he stands, stretching his arms over his head and arching his back to relieve the kinks garnered from sitting so still for so long. He’s tired, but too keyed up for sleep, so he crosses the Rec room and replicates a cup of tea, the soothing fragrance taking the edge off of nerves he hadn’t even noticed until they were gone. He heads slowly back to his seat, taking a circuitous route to stretch his legs and put off going back to his reports. He steers carefully clear of the table where Bones is sitting, though, too afraid of his reception and own reaction to chance it.
“...Jim?”
His head snaps up when he hears his name, turning reflexively to catch the look on Uhura’s face after her question. He can’t see Bones’ face, but the man shifts awkwardly in his chair, a hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck, a tell Jim’s more than familiar with - Bones is painfully uncomfortable with the situation.
“It’s none of my business what his plans are,” Bones says and Jim closes his eyes at the ache that produces. “I’m gonna see ‘bout heading down to Georgia, visit with my little girl while I have the chance,” he continues, outlining what are obviously his plans for shore leave.
Jim hesitates for a second more, staring at the back of Bones’ head, until Uhura meets his gaze, her eyes cool and suspicious. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he leaves the Rec room, abandoning his PADD and all but fleeing under the searching weight of her stare.
--
And if it hurts when they say I’m to blame
Say you don’t own me
--
“You know, when I told him about Komack’s stipulation, I didn’t expect him to take it this far,” Chris Pike says pointedly, his expression mildly bemused as his eyes play over the lines etching themselves deeper into Leonard’s face. Leonard raises an eyebrow and doesn’t answer, clicking idly at the game of Solitaire sharing the screen with his conversation. “You’re telling me you’re okay with his...exploits?” Chris presses, blue-gray eyes troubled at Leonard’s silence.
“I’m not his keeper,” Leonard reminds him, unearthing the king of hearts and shifting him to an open space at the other end of the board. His eyes catch on the stylized graphic, lingering on the empty spaces on either side of it - it’s painfully reminiscent of how the entire crew’s pulled away from Jim and rallied around Leonard, not something he’d ever expected or wanted. “Anyway, if it makes him feel better...”
Chris’ eyes are unyielding, calling bullshit on his feeble excuses.
“Leonard,” he starts, but Leonard can’t take this right now, doesn’t need the guilt trip on top of his loneliness, not after watching Jim’s bruised confidence in action all day.
“It’s better this way, Chris,” he says, cradling his forehead in his palm, blocking out his quarters and the computer screen until it’s just the memory of Jim’s blue eyes and Chris’ firm voice curling warmly in his ears.
“For who, Leonard?” Chris asks quietly before the console chimes to let him know the connection’s been terminated.
--
Even if it’s taking the easy way out
Keep it inside of you
Don’t give in, don’t tell them anything
Don’t let it,
Don’t let it show
--
“Captain, a word.”
Jim looks up from the PADD he’s holding and blinks at his first officer. Spock’s looking particularly stiff today, a sure sign something’s bothering him, though Jim can’t begin to think of what it might be. Saving the document, he stands and drops the PADD back into the Captain’s chair.
“Sulu, you have the conn,” he states, waiting only for confirmation before leading Spock off the Bridge and into his Ready Room. “What’s bothering you, Mr. Spock?”
“Lieutenant Uhura wished me to return this to you,” he says, holding out the PADD Jim’d been using last night. Jim takes it, sees that it’s still open to where he left it last night, and sighs, unaccountably frustrated by that simple fact. “She also mentioned that you appeared...perturbed upon taking your leave of the Rec room last night.”
Jim eyes the Vulcan, eyebrow raised as he considers Spock’s words. “Is this only Lieutenant Uhura’s concern?” he asks mildly, paging through the files on the PADD, shooting their organization all to shit just for something to do with his hands.
Spock straightens even more, hands moving to fold behind his back, and Jim feels his eyebrow try to crawl higher - Spock must really feel strongly if he’s working so hard to contain himself in all possible ways. “No, Captain. I admit to a certain...curiosity about your relationship with Doctor McCoy of late.”
Licking his lips, eyes flitting around the room without focusing on anything, Jim scrambles to find something to say, any excuse to put off Spock’s line of inquiry before it unearths something unintentionally. “Doctor McCoy and I... There’s... It’s nothing, Spock,” he finally ekes out, a headache starting to build behind one eye. “We’ve both been very busy recently. After all, the youngest captain in the Federation’s got a lot to prove.” His teeth snap shut on the last syllable and he hopes Spock doesn’t pick up on what lies beneath his words, barely hidden under a veneer of nonchalance.
Dark eyes study his face and he resists the urge to fidget, feeling more desperate to pass this inspection than he ever did the Kobayashi Maru. After a long moment, the rigid set of Spock’s shoulder relaxes just slightly and he nods.
“If that’s all, Mr. Spock?” Spock nods once more and Jim dismisses him back to the Bridge, taking a moment to sag against his desk, hands braced shoulder-width apart and eyes clenched shut. “Goddamn admirals,” Jim sighs vehemently, venom echoing around the edges of his words as he hangs his head between his shoulders. “Goddamn crew,” but he’s more amused this time, or at least tolerant, because them he understands.
Too bad it’s not the other way around.
--
Even though you know it’s the wrong thing to say
Say you don’t care, say you don’t care
--
“Len?” Uhura’s voice is as gentle as her fingers on the back of his neck, cool and comforting as she strokes mindless patterns on his nape.
“He’ll be fine. Up and about tomorrow,” he grinds out hoarsely, hands shaking slightly as he grips the edge of the biobed to keep from reaching for Jim’s hand.
“Are you okay?” she asks, moving her arm to drape over his shoulders in a loose embrace, her slight weight leaned comfortingly against his side.
“’M fine,” he says immediately, shaking his head in an attempt to forestall her questions. He doesn’t want to think about the way Jim threw himself in front of Leonard, of the sound the spear made as it landed solidly in the middle of Jim’s chest, of the flickering light in Jim’s eyes as the transporter’s light swirled around them seconds too late. “I’m fine.”
“Len.” God, she sounds like Jocelyn used to, back at the beginning, when he’d come home from a bad day at the hospital but refused to tell her and he hates the similarity - he’d always told Joce eventually and he fears that trend will spill over into now.
He stands abruptly, gently brushing her away from him so he can cross the ‘bay and start updating Jim’s records. He catches a glimpse of his reflection in the windows of his office and flinches away from the pain glowing hollowly in his eyes. Standing at the console, he takes a deep breath and releases it slowly, an old technique from medical school, shaking off his immediate feelings to achieve a more professional detachment.
“Len, he took that spear for you,” Uhura says as she follows him, as though he needs to be reminded of what happened before his own damn eyes. “He was willing to die for you and you’re, what...?” She trails off, unable to name his reaction to the situation, despite her extensive vocabulary.
His eyes squeeze shut, but he says what he needs to say, gritted out from between tightly clenched teeth. “I appreciate the Captain’s loyalty to his crew, even at the risk of his own life.” He thinks he’s going to be sick at the way the words sound on his tongue.
“What?” Uhura hisses, eyes catlike as they narrow in outrage. “I thought--”
He steels himself and turns to face her, wondering what she sees when she flinches like he slapped her. Her eyes flicker over his face, taking in every nuance of his expression, before she draws herself up to her full height, stalking over to get in his face.
“Goddamn you, Leonard.” She’s practically vibrating with rage. “You don’t even care anymore, do you?”
He lets his eyes fall shut and turns back to the console, pulling up Jim’s file as he listens to her leave the room, the force of her anger for Jim a tension that lingers in the ‘bay even after she’s gone.
--
Even if you want to believe there’s a way
I won’t be there, I won’t be there
--
“Jim,” he hears as he starts to surface out of unconsciousness and he wants to smile at the comfort it invokes. It’s odd - he has the feeling it’s been a long time since he’s heard his name said exactly like that, with tired stress and sharp consonants softened by the slightest hint of a Southeastern North American drawl - and a frown touches his face, twitching his eyebrows as he struggles to open his eyes.
“Bones,” he moans, his own voice weak and rasping, catching jaggedly in his throat. There’s a tickle building in his chest, what threatens to be a cough, but a straw appears at his lips and the cool water he greedily sucks down kills the urge. He sighs as he releases the straw, leaning back on his pillow and finally managing to crack his eyes open, squinting blearily in the abundant light of the Medbay. “Bones,” he says again, wondering what he’s done to land himself in a biobed this time, but he remembers between one blink and the next, an aborted flinch jolting his shoulders as he meets Bones’ concerned hazel eyes for the first time since leaving Spacedock over San Francisco.
Bones catches the movement, eyebrows drawing together and shoulders tightening as he straightens in his chair. They stare at each other for one breathless second and Jim can see all of the minute little changes in Bones’ face, all the little things he hasn’t let himself see before now. And it hurts, seeing the lines etched deeper around the corners of Bones’ mouth and eyes, the way the shine has left his eyes. Jim closes his eyes and tries to shift away, groaning when his back and chest protest the movement.
“Don’t move,” Bones warns and Jim wants to chuckle at his timing, but the ache from moving hasn’t dissipated, is coalescing into a stronger, sharper pain that takes his breath away. The biobed chirps a warning and he hears Bones curse under his breath before the familiar sting-hiss of a hypospray signals a gradual lessening of the pain. Blinking away tears of pain, Jim forces his eyes open, though he wants to close them again and savor the feeling when one tear escapes and Bones uses his thumb to gently rub it away.
“Jim,” Bones breathes, eyes dark and unreadable when Jim glances up at him. Bones opens his mouth to say something else, the line of his shoulders tense, but Nurse Chapel chooses that moment to walk out of the Store room, hands full of supplies to restock the carts around the Bay. Bones’ face closes off even further and he pulls himself back with stiff formality.
Jim makes himself sit quietly through the lecture he receives, only nodding when a response is required and nothing else. He watches the gestures Bones uses as he speaks with his hands, his own fingers plucking aimlessly at a loose thread in the blanket, steeling himself for the moment when Bones will walk away, back to the same duties performed by any Starfleet CMO.
He tells himself that the ache in his chest is a remnant of the spear lodged there not too long ago.
He doesn’t believe the lie.
--
But if you smile when they mention my name
They’ll never know you
--
“Heya, Doc!”
Leonard turns at the hail, waiting until Scotty’s caught up with him before continuing down the corridor.
“I take it the Captain’ll make it, then?” the Engineer asks, his expression wide open as he gestures to indicate Leonard’s presence outside the Medbay. “A lot of us were worried after that dust-up down on the planet.”
“The Captain’s on bedrest for the rest of the day, on limited duty tomorrow, and expected to be back on full duty no later than start of shift Friday,” Leonard answers gruffly, resisting the urge to fold his arms or clench his hands into fists. Instead he smiles, the expression stiff and likely obviously false. “He might actually have learned his lesson this time,” he says and nods genially at Scotty before turning to key himself into his quarters.
Just before the door slides shut, he catches a glimpse of Scotty’s face - white and suspicious and almost scared - and he wishes he could reassure the man. But, any more, he doesn’t know how to reassure himself, doesn’t know how to find that distance and equilibrium Jim’d said they needed.
He lies to himself and says it’s fine, he’s fine, they’re fine, it’s nothing, but in the silence of his empty quarters, he’s hard pressed to believe anything he tells himself anymore.
--
And if you laugh when they say I’m to blame
They’ll never own you
--
Shift’s been weird, he thinks, staring blankly at the viewscreen as he counts down the minutes until he can escape to his quarters. There’ve been less sideways glances in his direction, less whispering, but more of Uhura’s careful stare on the back of his neck. He glances over his shoulder, where he can just see the heel of her boot, and the feeling of being studied slides away for the moment. Shaking his head at himself, he shifts to find a more comfortable position in the chair, the center of his chest twinging slightly with a leftover ache.
Shift change happens when he’s not looking, when he’s not expecting it - one second he’s staring at the viewscreen, the next Uhura’s at his elbow, her eyes soft and concerned as she tries to catch his attention.
“Come with me to the Mess hall?” she asks and it makes him stumble, knocks him off balance to land awkwardly on his feet.
“Of course,” he says, lost and bewildered but willing to play along - she rarely approaches him off-duty, so there must be something important she wants from him.
He walks alongside her to the meal line and the curious absence of whispers prickles at his skin, makes him feel wary and uncertain. After they find a table, he glances surreptitiously around the room, noting that there are still eyes following his every move with reproach and no understanding. He wonders how sick it is to be relieved by this.
“This is a surprise, Lieutenant,” he says, smiling at her as he arranges the items on his tray, picking up a fork and poking at the limp salad. Frowning at the wilted lettuce, he turns his attention to his burger, adding ketchup and mustard, all while trying to keep the mood light. “Does this mean you’re finally taking me up on my offer?” he asks with a leer, eyebrows waggling. “Does Spock know you’re here?” He laughs, forcing the sound out, but it peters out abruptly when he realizes she isn’t going to give back as good as she gets, the way she always does.
“Jim, what are you doing?” Uhura asks finally, her evenly modulated voice filled with quiet sadness as her dark eyes linger on his face. He raises an eyebrow but doesn’t respond and she rolls her eyes at the gesture, though her solemn expression doesn’t lighten. “I mean, you’ve shoved Leonard as far away as possible, far enough that neither one of you will acknowledge the other is in the same room.” She sounds miserable and he wants to laugh because there’s no possible way she could feel worse than he does.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Uhura,” he responds casually, though any semblance of appetite he may have had coming down here has shriveled into a kind of cold nausea. Still, though, he smiles and takes a large bite out of his burger, chewing in the carefully modulated pattern he’s used to force himself to clear his plate since he returned from visiting his aunt and uncle on Tarsus.
“Dammit, Jim,” she snaps, slamming her hands onto the table and making the silverware and dishes jump. The half-masticated bite of burger in his mouth turns to ash as she glares at him, the phrase and her tone of voice and expression all combining to completely knock him off-kilter. She bites her lip and studies his face, eyes narrowing in concern when he finally manages to choke down his mouthful. “Why? I mean, did something happen? Is it Jocelyn?” she asks.
Huffing a self-deprecating laugh and shaking his head at himself, Jim carefully sets down his burger and wipes his mouth, appetite now completely gone and nothing, not even his memories of months without proper food, will enable him to take another bite. He pushes away his tray and leans his elbows on the table, taking a quick survey of the Mess hall.
“I will say this once and, afterward, the topic will remain closed, both in regard to myself and Doctor McCoy,” he says stiltedly, reminding himself awkwardly of Spock. Uhura raises one eyebrow, obviously reminded of the same thing, but doesn’t say a thing, dark eyes compassionate as she waits for him to continue. “It is not Doctor McCoy’s fault that we have...parted ways. It was my choice and my doing and I-" want to take it back every damn day “-don’t regret my actions. Jocelyn has nothing to do with it - there were certain...rumors brought to my attention and this was the...best way to remedy the matter.” He can see the question in Uhura’s eyes. He ignores it. “Now, if that’ll be all?” he asks, though he’s already standing, tray in hand and subtly edging toward the exit.
Uhura shakes her head, tears building in the corners of her eyes. “Jim,” she sighs, voice choked, and any resolve he may’ve had left deserts him. He shoves his tray at the recycler and flees the room.
He runs into Bones in the corridor outside the Mess hall and they freeze, staring at each other with wide-eyed amazement, until the moment pulls taut, crystallizes, and shatters. With a solemn nod, Bones draws himself up into an approximation of attention, eyes downcast to avoid Jim’s. And Jim just acknowledges it with a tired wave of his hand, laughing soundlessly to himself as he turns to walk away.
They finally managed to find distance between each other. Too bad the chasm threatens to be too large to bridge later.
--
Even if you feel you’ve got nothing to hide
Keep it inside of you
Don’t give in, don’t tell them anything
Don’t let it,
Don’t let it show
--
(They’re both miserable, but they won’t admit it.)
(They’ve both realized they were individually wrong and that maybe the other was a little bit right, but they won’t say it.)
(They know they’ve confused the crew, that Uhura and Scotty, Spock and Pike are all worried about them and for them, but they won’t do anything to change the way things are.)
When the admirals make an inspection of the ship and her officers a year into the Enterprise’s five-year-tour, they find nothing worthy of reproach - there is the proper amount of respect being shown the captain; aside from an accident or two, the captain has proven himself a level-headed, trustworthy, thoughtful individual, nothing like the brash, boisterous, cocky young man who smuggled himself onto the ship in the middle of a crisis; the department heads are all well-versed in their fields, even that quiet, angry CMO. No, they decide, there was nothing to worry about, when it came to the Enterprise’s commanding officer and his crew. They patted each other on the backs and congratulated themselves on a good job choosing such a strong crew for the flagship.
(They’re lonely, each missing the other, but each thinks the other’s moved on, new relationships and new friendships and nothing’s the same as it was before.)
(Each one tries to let nothing of their pain show. And each day, they get a little better at it.)