Fic: 3am at the end of the world (Kirk/McCoy)
While I've been working on unfinished fic before the premiere (MAY 15TH AHHH), I realized I had this on my Google Drive. It was originally written as a commentfic for a friend over a year ago, and somehow never got posted elsewhere. So, here it shall be posted. It's short and angsty, and I quite like how it turned out.
Title: 3am at the end of the world
'It's been two months and he should be fine.'
Author: Dala
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: standard applies
Warning: reference to past trauma
3am at the end of the world
He wakes quietly, without so much as a gasp. He feels his body jerk with the shock of it and then freezes. But Bones, lying on his stomach with an arm slung casually over Jim's waist and his head turned away, sleeps on. The moment of panic builds even as he's trying to talk himself down from it, tells himself he's being ridiculous. Heart pounding in his own ears, he shifts sideways on the mattress until he can slip off the edge and away.
In the bathroom, he waits until the door slides shut before he orders the lights on low. Avoids glancing in the mirror as he passes it, knowing what he'd see of himself -- a shade too thin, dark hollows beneath his eyes, smooth skin where a beard had recently grown rough and unkempt. He tucks himself into the space between the toilet and the shower, drawing his knees up and locking them in place with clasped arms. It doesn't slow his pulse, but at least he's not disturbing anyone.
Or so he thinks; the door opens soundlessly after a few minutes and Bones pads in, the sleepy grumpiness on his face falling swiftly as he takes in Jim on the floor.
"You okay?"
He crouches down, balancing on the balls of his bare feet. Jim stares down at them, wanting to cover the long toes and the pale undersides of his heels. Bones dislikes the chill of the ship's standard temperature cycle but he won't change it, preferring instead to complain and run his cold feet up Jim's legs.
"Yeah," Jim says, his voice thick not with sleep but with wakefulness.
"Want to come back to bed?"
Bones' hand enters his field of vision as he reaches toward Jim's leg. He tries hard to hide the flinch but he can't, not this late at night, and Bones closes his fingers into a fist and lets it fall.
"Okay, darlin'," he says softly. Jim's gaze follows him as he stands, because even if he can't quite meet Bones's eyes he doesn't want to let him out of sight. He wets his lips, tries to gather the words to ask for -- for so much more than he deserves, it's been two months and he should be fine or at least better, shouldn't still be dreaming of straps holding his limbs fast and cold alien fingers touching his mind and the sound of Lieutenant Vilchek's (Gina's) screams as she died.
Then Bones is back, two pillows under his arm. He holds one out; Jim folds himself around it before he realizes that it's probably meant for his back, and he can't quite bring himself to let go. Bones lays the other pillow on the floor by Jim's feet and stretches out onto it, closing his eyes with a sigh.
Jim watches as he first pretends to sleep and then slowly succumbs to the real thing, mouth falling slack upon the pillow. He stares at the wall for some time, letting the fading memories and the sharp images of the dreams wash over him. Then he looks down at the man who is sleeping on a metal bathroom floor so Jim won't have to be alone and feels such a swell of love and pride and gratitude that it eclipses everything else, at least for now, and for now is good enough.
Leaning forward on his feet, wincing at the protest of stiff muscles, he brushes his knuckles across Bones' cheek.
"C'mon," he whispers, and smiles when Bones squints up at him. Maybe he did leave a part of himself behind in that dark room on a blacklisted planet, but it wasn't this part.
Bones climbs into his side of the bed, still keeping his distance though the shadows in his eyes seem to have cleared. Jim abandons his own pillow to tuck his face into Bones' neck, curling his fingers into the worn cotton over Bones' heart. Warm arms settle around him, not to confine but to protect, to comfort; and Jim takes it without worrying about how much he has to give in return.
Title: 3am at the end of the world
'It's been two months and he should be fine.'
Author: Dala
Rating: PG-13
Disclaimer: standard applies
Warning: reference to past trauma
3am at the end of the world
He wakes quietly, without so much as a gasp. He feels his body jerk with the shock of it and then freezes. But Bones, lying on his stomach with an arm slung casually over Jim's waist and his head turned away, sleeps on. The moment of panic builds even as he's trying to talk himself down from it, tells himself he's being ridiculous. Heart pounding in his own ears, he shifts sideways on the mattress until he can slip off the edge and away.
In the bathroom, he waits until the door slides shut before he orders the lights on low. Avoids glancing in the mirror as he passes it, knowing what he'd see of himself -- a shade too thin, dark hollows beneath his eyes, smooth skin where a beard had recently grown rough and unkempt. He tucks himself into the space between the toilet and the shower, drawing his knees up and locking them in place with clasped arms. It doesn't slow his pulse, but at least he's not disturbing anyone.
Or so he thinks; the door opens soundlessly after a few minutes and Bones pads in, the sleepy grumpiness on his face falling swiftly as he takes in Jim on the floor.
"You okay?"
He crouches down, balancing on the balls of his bare feet. Jim stares down at them, wanting to cover the long toes and the pale undersides of his heels. Bones dislikes the chill of the ship's standard temperature cycle but he won't change it, preferring instead to complain and run his cold feet up Jim's legs.
"Yeah," Jim says, his voice thick not with sleep but with wakefulness.
"Want to come back to bed?"
Bones' hand enters his field of vision as he reaches toward Jim's leg. He tries hard to hide the flinch but he can't, not this late at night, and Bones closes his fingers into a fist and lets it fall.
"Okay, darlin'," he says softly. Jim's gaze follows him as he stands, because even if he can't quite meet Bones's eyes he doesn't want to let him out of sight. He wets his lips, tries to gather the words to ask for -- for so much more than he deserves, it's been two months and he should be fine or at least better, shouldn't still be dreaming of straps holding his limbs fast and cold alien fingers touching his mind and the sound of Lieutenant Vilchek's (Gina's) screams as she died.
Then Bones is back, two pillows under his arm. He holds one out; Jim folds himself around it before he realizes that it's probably meant for his back, and he can't quite bring himself to let go. Bones lays the other pillow on the floor by Jim's feet and stretches out onto it, closing his eyes with a sigh.
Jim watches as he first pretends to sleep and then slowly succumbs to the real thing, mouth falling slack upon the pillow. He stares at the wall for some time, letting the fading memories and the sharp images of the dreams wash over him. Then he looks down at the man who is sleeping on a metal bathroom floor so Jim won't have to be alone and feels such a swell of love and pride and gratitude that it eclipses everything else, at least for now, and for now is good enough.
Leaning forward on his feet, wincing at the protest of stiff muscles, he brushes his knuckles across Bones' cheek.
"C'mon," he whispers, and smiles when Bones squints up at him. Maybe he did leave a part of himself behind in that dark room on a blacklisted planet, but it wasn't this part.
Bones climbs into his side of the bed, still keeping his distance though the shadows in his eyes seem to have cleared. Jim abandons his own pillow to tuck his face into Bones' neck, curling his fingers into the worn cotton over Bones' heart. Warm arms settle around him, not to confine but to protect, to comfort; and Jim takes it without worrying about how much he has to give in return.