[fic] Armed With Every Precious Failure 2/2 (Star Trek: AOS)
Armed With Every Precious Failure
Part Two of Two
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Rating: Adult (language, themes)
Ship: Kirk/McCoy
Summary: Keep his hands clean. His father’s most important lesson. Leonard’s are covered in blood, and yet he offered one to Jim.
A/N: For 1297, with love (and for contributing in the help_chile drive). Many thanks to linelenagain for beta reading. This part is 5,800 words. (Approx. 10,000 words total.)
ETA: This Body of Wonder and Uncertainty is a short, smutty follow-up.
Part One
Part Two: January 2256
Jim says, “Okay, Bones, walk me through this. What’s the first thing you do?”
“Strap myself in.” Leonard pulls the safety harness across his chest. The metal parts connect with a reassuring click.
“Good. Next?”
“Make sure all of y’all are strapped in.”
“I love the way you go all Southern when you’re trying not to panic. Fine, we’re all strapped in. What do you do next?”
Leonard stares at the helm’s interface. “Vomit,” he says decisively.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Jim’s pissyness amuses Leonard. It’s a distraction, anyway. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see that the kid’s actually glaring, his lips pursed tightly.
“Sorry, sorry.”
“Bones, I’m serious. Someday, both our lives might depend on your ability to pilot one of these things and get us back to the ship.”
“God help us,” Leonard mutters, “if we ever find ourselves in those dire straits.”
Jim leans across the console and squeezes Leonard’s wrist, making him look up. “No. That’s not how it’s gonna be. Come on. I know this is just a sim, but you have to take it seriously. I need you to take it seriously. I don’t want either of us to die because you can’t pilot a shuttle. There’s no reason for you not to be able to do this.”
Jesus, he’s intense. In the shuttle’s artificial lighting, his eyes are almost electric blue. His brow is heavily furrowed, making him appear a lot older than twenty-two.
“All right.” There’s a knot tightening in the pit of his stomach, and his throat feels strangely thick, but Leonard swallows around that and tries to focus.
“So,” says Jim, releasing his wrist.
“So.” Leonard swallows again.
“The Klingons are closing in. The rest of the away team is injured. No one’s bleeding out on the floor, but you’re the only one who’s fit to fly. All our lives are in your hands. My life is in your hands.”
“So, no pressure. Good.”
“What do you do?”
There’s a sickly sweet taste in Leonard’s mouth and his palms are clammy. Still, he manages to keep his hands steady as he moves them over the interface. He knows how to pilot these Class F shuttles; he’s read the manual cover to cover. The problem is when they start to shake … like this one’s starting to shake as he engages the thrusters. Leonard reminds himself that this is just a sim, they’re not actually about to blast off.
“You’re doing great,” Jim says. “Really great. We’re in the air. Just remember to breathe.”
“Fuck you.”
“Breathe.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
He can’t. He’s trying, but he really can’t. His throat feels completely constricted, and black spots are beginning to dance before his eyes. He’s going to pass out, and they’re going to crash and die.
“Bones. Look at me.”
He shakes his head.
“All right. I’m coming over to you.” There’s a distant click as Jim unbuckles his seatbelt.
“No,” Leonard chokes out. “First rule. Seatbelts-” He is shaking now, shaking all over, and his heart his hammering wildly. “Oh, God. Jim-”
“I’m here.” And he is there, a cool palm pressed to Leonard’s forehead, like he’s checking for a fever. The other hand grips Leonard’s left shoulder. “I’m here,” Jim murmurs again, his mouth close to Leonard’s ear. “I’ve got you. Just breathe. C’mon. Breathe.” Jim inhales deeply, and Leonard sucks in an instinctive breath.
“Good.” Jim slides his hand into Leonard’s hair. His fingers tangle in the sweaty locks. “You can do this. You can graft neural tissue to the cerebral cortex. Fuck, you developed the procedure. I don’t know what it entails, but I’m pretty sure if you can do that, you can do this.”
“You’d be surprised,” Leonard mutters through gritted teeth, “how many doctors can b-barely write an - an English s-sentence or-”
“You can. When you’re ready, I want you to take us up to atmosphere cruising velocity. When you’re ready.”
Leonard’s fingers move across the interface with a clumsiness that shames him. His hands never tremble during surgery. Never. Afterward, sure, but not during. And those are living bodies he deals with in the OR; this is just a dumb machine. He can do this.
“Mach Two,” the computer informs them in a tinny female tone.
“You can do this,” Jim whispers, and presses his lips gently to Leonard’s temple.
Something in Leonard stutters. “Got an interesting teaching t-technique there, kid. Are you this w-way with everyone?”
Jim doesn’t answer right away. Leonard feels the puff of air as his mouth opens. But then the shuttle tilts and lurches. Leonard falls forward; the edges of the seatbelt cut sharply through his uniform. Jim grunts as he slams into the back of the seat.
“Danger,” the computer says. “Atmospheric dist-”
“You can do this.” He can barely hear Jim over the roaring in his ears. “You can do this, Bones, you can do this.”
His throat closes up. The edges of his vision darken. His heart starts shuddering like it’s trying to shrink in on itself.
“Bones-”
He can’t. He can’t he can’t he can’t.
*
He doesn’t piss himself or lose consciousness, or even vomit. Still, afterward, he has no memory of Jim ending the simulation and unstrapping him, and only the vaguest recollection of Jim half-carrying him back to the dorms, frosted grass crunching underfoot, the sky blue and brittle.
Jim hardly says anything as he strips Leonard down to his boxers, undershirt, and socks, then tucks him into bed. Then he disappears and Leonard lies there in the darkness, shivering under the blanket, his blood moving sluggishly through him. He wants to get up, but he’s afraid that if he does, the bed will start lurching just like the shuttle, and he’ll really fall apart.
Jim returns about five minutes later, cradling a mug of steaming liquid. As he sets it down on the nightstand, Leonard croaks, “Better be something alcoholic in there.”
Lowering himself to the edge of the bed, Jim replies, “’Course there is. What kind of a friend d’you think I am? Don’t answer that.” He seems engrossed in the ends of his hands, which rest against his thighs. “I’m sorry I pushed. I should’ve stopped the sim as soon as you started freaking out, but I wanted to have something to celebrate.”
That last thing doesn’t make a lick of sense to Leonard, so he ignores it. “S’okay,” he says weakly. “Wasn’t meant to be.”
“C’mon, don’t say that. I’m not a shrink. I just know what works for me. When something scares me, I usually leap right into it. I thought maybe piloting the thing, being in control…”
Leonard is tempted to remind Jim that he has a phobia, which isn’t like normal, rational fear. Instead, he pushes himself up against the pillows and asks quietly, “What scares you?”
“You know,” says Jim, “counselors have been asking me that since I was five and climbing all over the roof of my uncle’s barn.”
“I’m asking.”
“As a counselor?”
“As a friend, of course. I want to know. What terrifies you?”
“Well,” says Jim, hitching his shoulders in a gesture that’s not quite a flinch and not quite a shrug, “I really don’t want to talk about it. It’s not intimacy, though. A lot of people - a lot of people I used to date, or who wanted to date me, I guess - thought I had intimacy issues, and I don’t. I just have trouble confining my intimacy to one person, and they had issues with that.”
Leonard sips his tea - which is really more honey and brandy than tea - and lets Jim babble. There’s something festering beneath it. He’s curious, and for all the wrong reasons. He’s not interested in fixing Jim; right now, he doesn’t think he could if he tried. He just wants something from the kid, something more than this gentle attention.
“If it’s not intimacy,” he says, “and it’s not heights - apparently - what is it? I promise I won’t try to psychoanalyze you.”
“Yes, you will. That’s just the way you are.”
Leonard doesn’t like that - the words and the warning beneath them - but he keeps probing. “Fine, I’ll keep my professional opinion to myself, if you prefer. But I think I deserve to know. You know what scares me. Fuck, you pushed me to confront it.”
“You let me push you. Anyway, you told me what scares you the first time we met. ‘Hi, I’m McCoy-Leonard-McCoy, and I’m scared shitless of flying in shuttles. Is this seat taken?’”
“Yeah, and?”
“And?” Jim rubs his palms against his thighs. “You’re talking like I owe you something.”
“You think you don’t?”
“I don’t think,” says Jim, “that I owe anybody anything.”
“Jim…” The tea, honey, and brandy are helping; he’s starting to warm up. He’s also starting to feel annoyed. “If you don’t think you owe anybody anything, what are you even doing here?”
Jim looks at him finally, a sideways glance that keeps half his face in shadow. “Excuse me?”
“Didn’t you tell me once that one of the worst things about losing your dad the way you did was the fact that people think you’re just going to follow in his footsteps? That you’re his replacement?” He hears the words coming out of his mouth and he doesn’t like them, but he can’t make himself stop. “If that’s not true, why the hell are you even in Starfleet?”
“Shut up.” Jim’s voice is low, almost a whisper.
“No.” Leonard sets his tea on the nightstand and pushes himself up further. “Talk to me, Jim, walk me through this. You finished high school and basically spent the next four years drinking, fucking, and getting into fights. Feel free to jump in and correct me if any of this is wrong. You’re a genius, but before this summer, you hadn’t done one worthwhile thing in your adult life. You have a rap sheet as long as my arm. Captain Pike comes along, recognizes your name, figures out whose son you are, and offers you a spot on the very next transport shuttle to San Francisco. You’re telling me you don’t owe anyone anything?”
“A hit,” Jim says, laying a hand over his heart. “A very palpable hit. So you’re saying I owe something to Pike and Starfleet and maybe my father. Fuck them. What do you think I owe you? What’ve you done for me?”
“What have I…?” He can’t believe he’s hearing this. There are so many things he could say. (Who puts ice on your bruises, and heals your fractures? Who calls in the morning to make sure you’re still breathing? Who lets you crash at his place, just because you don’t want to deal with your asshole roommate? Who lets you push him into doing things that scare the crap out of him? Who, until now, has never asked you to justify a goddamn thing?) But the words freeze on his lips.
“Let me put it another way,” Jim says. “What do you want from me?”
So many things he could say. (Your friendship. A little more trust. For you to love yourself as much as I’m starting to think I love you.)
What comes out is: “What do your one-night stands get?”
It’s downright eerie the way Jim’s expression doesn’t change at all. “I can show you,” he says, leaning toward Leonard. “You want me to make you come? ‘Cause I can. I can make you come screaming. D’you think that’s fair? Come on.” He starts to tug the blanket away. “It’ll feel good. And you need it. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who needs it as badly as you.” He puts his hands on Leonard’s thighs and presses down hard.
“Stop it.”
“What if I don’t want to? Maybe I want to suck your dick. Maybe I’ve wanted it for a long time. Maybe I’m curious. Do self-righteous, chickenshit, Southern pricks taste like everyone else?”
“You wanna know if I taste the same as the dozen or so dicks you’ve sucked this week?” It’s like picking at a scab, he thinks. Each little rip stings and raises a drop of blood, but he can’t stop. There’s a familiarity to it; he and Jocelyn used to go at each other a little like this.
“Only a dozen? You wound me. And don’t forget all the pussy I’ve eaten. And all the … you know, I don’t even know what some of the aliens I’ve fucked call their genitalia. Interlocking parts are interlocking parts. That’s basically the extent of my anatomy lesson. Pretty shocking, isn’t it?”
Leonard’s stomach muscles tighten as Jim strokes his thighs. The blood rushes from his head to his dick, and it takes almost all of his strength to bite back a moan. He’s on the shuttle again. His universe has narrowed to one tiny pocket of air surrounded by a vast, dark nothing. With every movement, with every breath, his universe trembles and shrinks a little more. He’s going to be sick.
Somewhere in the darkness, Jim says, “You want me. I fucking knew it.”
“What I want,” says Leonard, looking away, looking everywhere but at Jim’s face, “is for you to get the fuck out.”
*
Jocelyn never understood about his father: why his death hit so hard, or why Leonard almost quit medicine as a result. He tried to explain it to her, though, in all fairness, he probably didn’t try as hard as he could have. He didn’t tell her everything. She thought he was being overly emotional. Grieving too hard. She thought it would have a negative effect on Joanna.
“You know, there’s a reason you’re not supposed to treat your own family. Anyway, it was his time, Len,” she told him with a sigh. (He was really coming to resent the way she sighed after every other statement.) “I’m not saying get over it, I’m saying … you did everything you could, and sometimes that’s just not enough.” (Another sigh, with the implication: I’m doing everything I can, and it’s not enough.) “You’re a doctor, not a magician. You’re not God. Please, try to think of Jo. Think of what it means for her to see you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Drinking. Not sleeping. Not eating. Not working.”
“I thought you wanted me to spend more time at home.”
(Sigh.) “I didn’t mean like this! I mean, look at you. It’s been four weeks - almost a month. You’re a grownup. Act like it. Instead of mourning his death, start celebrating his life. Your father was a good man. He wouldn’t want to see you like this.”
She didn’t understand. Grief heals so much more quickly and cleanly than guilt.
*
It makes sense that Jocelyn would come to mind right after Jim storms out, leaving Leonard with a pounding headache and half a hard-on. He licks his palm, slides his hand into his boxers, and gropes himself while he thinks about the two of them. Not exactly conducive, but he feels like he left at least half his brain cells at the simulation lab.
Self-righteous, chickenshit Southern prick.
It hurts. Leonard’s been called far worse things, and it’s clear Jim was lashing out, but he wasn’t wrong.
For the first time, it occurs to Leonard that Jim’s good opinion matters.
Too late now.
Jocelyn and Jim. He pushed both of them away. Decided at some point that their departures were inevitable, so he might as well help them along. Still, they’re not equivalent: he and Jocelyn were married for seven years; he’s only known Jim since the summer.
He’d been so young when he’d married Joss: twenty-one, almost two whole years younger than Jim Kirk - and right now, it’s hard to imagine anyone younger than Jim Kirk. He’d felt so grown-up, though. Twenty-one, and already two years out of college. Working hard on his Master’s thesis. So fucking brilliant. Such a promising future. He was already living the life he thought he wanted, so why wait? Why not marry his girlfriend and make a baby with her?
As soon as his thoughts turn to Jo, he pulls his hand out of his boxers. His face burns; he’d actually forgotten that he was trying to jerk himself off. It doesn’t matter, he thinks as he grabs the blanket and yanks it up to his shoulder; he’s gone soft anyway.
With a grunt, he rolls onto his side.
Jocelyn, Joanna, Jim. Maybe he’d be better off if he avoided people whose names begin with J.
Jocelyn.
She liked his idea, at first. Four years his senior, and nearly done with her Master’s in Music, she wanted a baby and was willing to put her career on hold, at least until Joanna was old enough for pre-school. He took her acquiescence for love, and maybe it was in the beginning. He must have loved her too, back then. Despite their parents’ misgivings, they felt happy. Then Joanna came along.
Joanna.
She upset his world when she entered it. Not her fault, of course, and he doesn’t wish that he and Jocelyn had waited. But the first moment he held her, he felt old. Not grown-up, but old. Stretched thin, really, between his love for her and his passion for his work. By the time Joanna was two, Jocelyn was feeling stretched thin as well. Her students weren’t enough; she wanted to return to performing, but her rehearsal time was never compatible with his hours at the hospital. He’d moved on to his MD by then. He was developing a technique for neural grafting. At twenty-four. There was interplanetary interest in his findings. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t slow down.
Education, career, marriage, fatherhood. It was too much, too soon. He really wanted to be the father Joanna deserved. And deep in his heart, he knew he was going to fail. Just like he knew, in his heart, that he wasn’t going to find his father’s cure in time.
Just like he knew he’d lose Jim eventually.
Damnit, Jim.
He kicks restlessly at the sheets, which have gotten bunched up at the end of the bed. He twists onto his other side so he’s facing the nightstand. There’s his PADD, his medical tricorder, and the mug of tea that Jim brewed for him.
It’s so strange. He can see himself getting up at some point, showering, and getting dressed. He can see himself showing up for his classes and his shifts at the hospital. He can see himself doing well at his studies, his job.
But that’s all he can see. That’s it.
It’s better like this. We’re too fucked up for each other. He’ll latch onto someone else, if he doesn’t self-destruct. And I’ll be all right.
Eventually.
Right now it feels like something hard and sharp is poking around under his ribs. It hurts a little more with each breath.
He closes his eyes. God, Jim.
But they had some good times. Between bouts of aggravation, there were moments when they really seemed to trust each other, to be looking out for each other.
At least I have my memories.
Yeah, he does.
Jim said that to him once, didn’t he? At least you have your memories. Lying in this very bed, pale and limp in the mid-afternoon light: like a stray puppy, or something rare and vulnerable that the sea had cast up and left stranded on Leonard’s shore.
What the hell had they been talking about? Dead fathers, Leonard thinks.
Memories. Like the brush of Jim’s lips against his temple, at least he has that.
And then he remembers something else Jim said, right before they started tearing into each other: I wanted to have something to celebrate.
Why those words come back to him now, Leonard doesn’t know. They still don’t make any sense.
And then suddenly they do. Leonard puts two and two together, and comes up with tomorrow’s date.
He opens his eyes. To no one in particular, he says, “Well, damn. I am the biggest fucking idiot in the universe.”
*
It takes a few hours for him to pull himself together, and in the end he’s barely in time to intercept Jim. He makes it to the kid’s dorm just as he’s leaving. Dressed in a clean pair of jeans, indigo silk shirt open to just below his clavicle, leather jacket slung over his shoulder, there’s no question as to his destination.
Leonard plants himself stolidly in front of him.
“What do you want?” Jim asks.
It’s late, and most of the campus is still on winter break. Three or four windows are faintly illuminated, but apart from those, the only light comes from the stars and the lamp some ways up the footpath behind Leonard. Jim’s expression, therefore, is difficult to read. He sounds angry, though. Leonard decides to take that as a good sign; anger is better than nothing.
“I want to talk,” he says.
“I don’t.”
“What do you want to do?”
It’s an idiotic question, but Jim seems to take it seriously. “I’d’ve thought it was obvious, but I guess I need to spell it out for you. I want to get laid. And I want to get drunk. Not necessarily in that order.”
“Most of the bars’ll be closing soon.”
“Yeah, but not all of them. Some of them’ll be open for a while. Not every sentient species is diurnal. You know, McCoy, you could stand to be a little more open-minded.”
Leonard snorts. “Was that supposed to hurt?”
“It was just an observation,” Jim says with a shrug. “Kindly get the fuck out of my way.”
“No.”
Jim’s nostrils flare, and his free hand clenches in a fist. Leonard casts about desperately for something he can use. Finally he just blurts, “You’re gonna freeze to death, going out dressed like that! It’s January, for fuck’s sake.”
Jim laughs. It’s a bitter, grating sound. “Like you really care.”
“I care,” Leonard says, ducking his chin into a fold of his woolen scarf. “And if your father were alive, he’d care too.”
“Fuck you!”
“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Leonard says, advancing until he and Jim are almost chest-to-chest. He can feel the air shivering between them, even through his thick coat. “You pushed me to try the shuttle sim because you wanted something to celebrate on your birthday. Because the fact that you were born has never been enough.”
Jim’s shoulders twist, and Leonard knows that there’s no way he’s getting out of this conversation unbruised, but he keeps going. “That didn’t work, so this is Plan B: getting so completely shit-faced and fucked that your birthday passes without your even being aware. Jesus fuck, Jim, do you really think that’s what he would’ve wanted? Do you think that’s what he died for?”
The leather jacket falls to the ground as Jim launches himself at Leonard, who doesn’t even try to sidestep. He just takes it, the full impact of the blow, and they both go sprawling.
They almost hit the pavement, but Leonard twists at the last second and they end up on the cold yellow grass, Jim on top. Knocked breathless, Leonard drops his head back and waits, heart hammering, for the fists to start flying. He doesn’t care what Jim does to him at this point. He’ll take pain. He’ll take anything.
Jim’s body tenses. He makes a raw, ragged sound deep in his throat. It’s almost a sob. Then he just collapses. Without a word, without another sound, all the fire and drive seem to leave him and he goes limp against Leonard’s chest.
It's scary, this total collapse. In a way, it's more frightening than the lurching of the shuttle because it's so wrong, it's uncanny, practically an abomination; Jim should not seem so defeated.
Leonard hesitates for maybe five seconds. Then he wraps his arms around Jim, sliding the fingers of one hand into his hair, curving the other hand protectively over the back of his neck. Holding him tightly, Leonard whispers, “I’m sorry. Oh, God, Jim. I’m so, so sorry.”
He feels the shuddering breaths, the slow, heavy tread of Jim’s heartbeat. His lips in the stiff blond hair, he says again, “I’m sorry. I was an asshole. I was scared and I took it out on you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He’ll repeat it all night if he has to, and into the morning. He’ll never stop saying it, if that’s what Jim wants from him, if that’s what he needs.
By and by, though, Jim stirs and Leonard falls silent, waiting. Jim turns so that his head is tucked under Leonard’s chin, and lifts one hand to clutch at a fold of Leonard’s scarf. They lie quietly like that for a minute more. Then Jim says, “I’m not afraid of dying. I’m not even afraid of dying alone. But I don’t want to be nothing. I don’t want to go through life and not have it mean something. At the same time, I don’t want to be something just because it’s what people expect me to be because of my father. People expect me to be something. Captain of a starship. Some kind of hero. And that’s great. That’s a great destiny. But they don’t know me. They think they know me because of my father, but they don’t know me at all. That’s what terrifies me.”
“You’re not nothing,” Leonard says. “You’re Jim Kirk and no one else, and you could never be nothing. And you didn’t have to tell me that.”
“I wanted to. I guess I kind of owe it to you after pushing you this afternoon.”
“You don’t owe anything to anyone, darlin.”
Jim shivers - that silk shirt really isn’t warm enough - so Leonard wraps him in his coat. It’s a large coat - he thought he’d be wearing it with multiple layers underneath, San Francisco being so much closer to the Arctic than Atlanta - so there’s just enough room for the two of them.
Stroking Jim’s back, Leonard says, “Why didn’t you tell me before? About tomorrow being your birthday? I’d’ve understood. I wouldn’t’ve been angry.”
“I thought you might’ve wanted an out. Of … this thing,” he clarifies, while Leonard just blinks at him, mystified. “Figured I’d offer it to you. See if you took it.”
“What made you think I’d want an out?”
“I don’t know. I mean - you give me mixed signals. Sometimes I think you really like me. Sometimes I’m pretty damn sure you want me. But you never make a move. Or you snarl and growl and I get the impression you don’t really approve of me.”
“I like you,” Leonard says in an emphatic tone that Jim had better not misinterpret. “I more than like you.” He swallows. “I want you. As for my approval… You don’t need it.”
“I want it,” Jim says. “It actually means a lot to me. I’ve never met anyone who cares about people like you do. You really give a shit, and you never asked anything of me. I was just being an asshole before. You’re not a coward. I know that’s what I implied, and I meant to imply it, but it’s not true. The first time I met you, you were doing what scared you.”
“I was drunk.”
“You were doing what you had to do to get through it. You keep trying, and eventually you’ll be able to do it sober. I know you will. I mean it.”
It’s crazy, especially after today, but Leonard believes him. And he says, “You’re not a whore. And yeah, I meant to imply it too, but it’s not true.”
“I like sex,” Jim says.
“Sex is fine. Sex is great.”
“Sometimes I like sex with multiple partners. And multiple species. Sometimes at the same time.”
“Jim…” He presses his cheek against his hair. “I don’t like the fighting. I don’t like it when you get hurt, and I want you to start taking better care of yourself. But the sex…” He sighs. “I meant what I said a while back. If you’re all consenting adults, and you’re being careful, there’s nothing wrong with it. And it’s not like I have any right to judge, anyway. Though…” He hesitates. “It’s just possible I’m a little jealous.”
“Of me?” Jim sounds incredulous.
Leonard cuffs his shoulder. “Of them, you idiot.”
Jim laughs. It’s soft but unconstricted; it’s the best thing Leonard’s heard in a long, long time. “You could come with me sometime. You could. Sexy guy like you.”
“It’s not my thing,” Leonard says with some regret. “I’m old-fashioned.”
“Fine,” says Jim. “Then you’ll be the one I keep coming back to. The one I come home to.” And with that, he tugs Leonard’s scarf open and kisses his neck.
His lips are soft and warm and eager, and Leonard wants to let go and have that be the last word, but he can’t. Jim was honest; now it’s his turn. Before he does anything else, he needs to wash his hands.
“Don’t,” he says. “Wait - you… There’s something I have to say first.”
Jim gives the pulse at his throat one more kiss, then settles himself against Leonard, his hand resting over his heart. “What is it?” he asks, and his voice is so full of gentle concern that it almost rips Leonard apart.
He stares at the sky. It’s a clear night; the stars stand out sharply against the black. He always liked looking at them, even though the idea of flying among them chills him to the core. He reminds himself that he’s not a coward. Then he takes a deep breath and tells Jim everything.
Not in explicit detail: he’s tired and cold, and he can feel Jim shivering. Just everything he needs to know.
About his father being diagnosed with Hammond’s Disease. About the near-constant, crippling pain he faced. About the loss of his autonomy, and his dignity. About how Leonard assumed responsibility for his care, though it meant abandoning his other cases, and neglecting his research, his wife, and young daughter. About how, when his father’s pain became unmanageable, Leonard helped him end his life.
About how, only two weeks after his father’s death, a doctor at a lab in New York discovered the cure for Hammond’s Disease.
Leonard is aware of the intense gaze, of the fingers stroking his hair. “He begged me,” he finishes brokenly. “My father, one of the proudest men I’ve ever known. He begged me. I could’ve waited. Two more weeks. I knew about Catherine Yang’s research. I didn’t have any real hope at that point, but I’d read all her papers, I knew what she was working on. I could have kept him in a coma, or in stasis…”
Jim brushes his fingertips over Leonard’s lips. “Bones.”
“It fucked me up.”
Jim kisses his forehead. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. How can you, of all people, tell me it’s okay?”
“Me of all people.” Jim’s lips twitch. “Why didn’t you tell me before? After that Early Starfleet History lecture, when I came over with Chinese food and wouldn’t shut up about my father … why didn’t you say something then? You didn’t think I could handle it?”
“I don’t know.” He really doesn’t. What he’d been thinking, why he’d been so certain Jim would abandon him when he found out, how he’d convinced himself that it wasn’t just inevitable but right - it’s all gone from his mind. “I don’t know,” he says again helplessly.
“I do. You didn’t say anything before because you thought I wouldn’t understand. Or that I’d resent you. Because you had what I wanted, and you gave it up. Bones.” He raises himself so he can frame Leonard’s face with his hands. Sweeping the pads of his thumbs over Leonard’s eyebrows, he says, “You’re not a murderer. You did what he asked. You did the right thing. I know, because I trust you. I’m not surprised it fucked you up. It was your father. And Yang’s timing sucked. It sucked so much. But you respected your father’s wishes. You let him go when he asked. You gave that much control and dignity back to him. Bones, it’s okay.”
“My wife didn’t understand.”
“I’m not your wife.”
“Thank God.”
He doesn’t know if he feels better, having confessed. He feels freer, as if a knot around his heart has been loosened. Jim is kissing him again, and making an odd, ruffling sound that Leonard takes a few moments to identify as laughter.
“God, Bones. We’re both so fucked up, we belong together.”
It does something to him, changes something inside him - those words, that laughter, the insistent press of those lips against his eyelids, his cheeks, his temples. Suddenly he’s kissing Jim back and grabbing at him, holding him while he pushes himself up off the grass. Now seated with Jim in his lap, kissing his mouth, his fingers begin an exploration. They start low, ghosting over Jim’s belly, and work their way up, flicking buttons open until the silk shirt slides away and he can press his mouth to that pale, well-muscled chest.
He feels the gooseflesh and the hitching breaths, feels Jim catch his shoulders for balance and arch his back. Leonard pinches one hard nipple and twists it, while his lips capture the other. He curls his tongue against the tiny nub of flesh, laving, then sucking hard.
Jim’s grip tightens. “God, Bones,” he breathes.
He wants to drink Jim in, take him deep inside himself and hold him there. He wants to make love to him all night and into the morning. He wants to taste him as the dawn warms him, take care of him, celebrate him.
Stroking the back of Leonard’s neck, Jim says, “What did you call me before?”
“Mmm?”
“When you said I didn’t owe anything to anyone. You called me something. I think you called me darling, except you said it in that sexy Southern accent.”
Leonard gives Jim’s nipple one last swirl with his tongue and looks up. “Darlin?” he drawls.
Jim melts against him. “Yeah. Like that.”
“Think I could get used to that,” Leonard says as he nuzzles him. “If that’s what you like, darlin.”
Jim shivers, laughs, and tugs his scarf again. “Come on, let me take you home.”
“You want to go back to your place?” Leonard scowls uncertainly.
“Sure. We’re right here, and my roommate’s still on Lunar One.”
“I’ve seen your place. It’s a disaster area. Come over to mine. You’re dressed for going out.” Half-dressed, anyway: the silk shirt is hanging around Jim’s elbows now.
“You’re dressed for an Arctic expedition,” Jim retorts. “It doesn’t follow we should get a dogsled. Besides, I have something that needs taking care of … now.” He bucks his hips, and stars sizzle in Leonard’s belly and groin as they connect. “You’re going to want to do something about that, Doctor.”
Leonard pulls him down into a hard, hungry kiss. He’s never tasted anything as hot or sweet as Jim’s mouth. He can’t remember the last time he felt so young and eager. “Your place,” he growls.
4/3/2010
Part Two of Two
Fandom: Star Trek AOS
Rating: Adult (language, themes)
Ship: Kirk/McCoy
Summary: Keep his hands clean. His father’s most important lesson. Leonard’s are covered in blood, and yet he offered one to Jim.
A/N: For 1297, with love (and for contributing in the help_chile drive). Many thanks to linelenagain for beta reading. This part is 5,800 words. (Approx. 10,000 words total.)
ETA: This Body of Wonder and Uncertainty is a short, smutty follow-up.
Part One
Part Two: January 2256
Jim says, “Okay, Bones, walk me through this. What’s the first thing you do?”
“Strap myself in.” Leonard pulls the safety harness across his chest. The metal parts connect with a reassuring click.
“Good. Next?”
“Make sure all of y’all are strapped in.”
“I love the way you go all Southern when you’re trying not to panic. Fine, we’re all strapped in. What do you do next?”
Leonard stares at the helm’s interface. “Vomit,” he says decisively.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”
Jim’s pissyness amuses Leonard. It’s a distraction, anyway. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see that the kid’s actually glaring, his lips pursed tightly.
“Sorry, sorry.”
“Bones, I’m serious. Someday, both our lives might depend on your ability to pilot one of these things and get us back to the ship.”
“God help us,” Leonard mutters, “if we ever find ourselves in those dire straits.”
Jim leans across the console and squeezes Leonard’s wrist, making him look up. “No. That’s not how it’s gonna be. Come on. I know this is just a sim, but you have to take it seriously. I need you to take it seriously. I don’t want either of us to die because you can’t pilot a shuttle. There’s no reason for you not to be able to do this.”
Jesus, he’s intense. In the shuttle’s artificial lighting, his eyes are almost electric blue. His brow is heavily furrowed, making him appear a lot older than twenty-two.
“All right.” There’s a knot tightening in the pit of his stomach, and his throat feels strangely thick, but Leonard swallows around that and tries to focus.
“So,” says Jim, releasing his wrist.
“So.” Leonard swallows again.
“The Klingons are closing in. The rest of the away team is injured. No one’s bleeding out on the floor, but you’re the only one who’s fit to fly. All our lives are in your hands. My life is in your hands.”
“So, no pressure. Good.”
“What do you do?”
There’s a sickly sweet taste in Leonard’s mouth and his palms are clammy. Still, he manages to keep his hands steady as he moves them over the interface. He knows how to pilot these Class F shuttles; he’s read the manual cover to cover. The problem is when they start to shake … like this one’s starting to shake as he engages the thrusters. Leonard reminds himself that this is just a sim, they’re not actually about to blast off.
“You’re doing great,” Jim says. “Really great. We’re in the air. Just remember to breathe.”
“Fuck you.”
“Breathe.”
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
He can’t. He’s trying, but he really can’t. His throat feels completely constricted, and black spots are beginning to dance before his eyes. He’s going to pass out, and they’re going to crash and die.
“Bones. Look at me.”
He shakes his head.
“All right. I’m coming over to you.” There’s a distant click as Jim unbuckles his seatbelt.
“No,” Leonard chokes out. “First rule. Seatbelts-” He is shaking now, shaking all over, and his heart his hammering wildly. “Oh, God. Jim-”
“I’m here.” And he is there, a cool palm pressed to Leonard’s forehead, like he’s checking for a fever. The other hand grips Leonard’s left shoulder. “I’m here,” Jim murmurs again, his mouth close to Leonard’s ear. “I’ve got you. Just breathe. C’mon. Breathe.” Jim inhales deeply, and Leonard sucks in an instinctive breath.
“Good.” Jim slides his hand into Leonard’s hair. His fingers tangle in the sweaty locks. “You can do this. You can graft neural tissue to the cerebral cortex. Fuck, you developed the procedure. I don’t know what it entails, but I’m pretty sure if you can do that, you can do this.”
“You’d be surprised,” Leonard mutters through gritted teeth, “how many doctors can b-barely write an - an English s-sentence or-”
“You can. When you’re ready, I want you to take us up to atmosphere cruising velocity. When you’re ready.”
Leonard’s fingers move across the interface with a clumsiness that shames him. His hands never tremble during surgery. Never. Afterward, sure, but not during. And those are living bodies he deals with in the OR; this is just a dumb machine. He can do this.
“Mach Two,” the computer informs them in a tinny female tone.
“You can do this,” Jim whispers, and presses his lips gently to Leonard’s temple.
Something in Leonard stutters. “Got an interesting teaching t-technique there, kid. Are you this w-way with everyone?”
Jim doesn’t answer right away. Leonard feels the puff of air as his mouth opens. But then the shuttle tilts and lurches. Leonard falls forward; the edges of the seatbelt cut sharply through his uniform. Jim grunts as he slams into the back of the seat.
“Danger,” the computer says. “Atmospheric dist-”
“You can do this.” He can barely hear Jim over the roaring in his ears. “You can do this, Bones, you can do this.”
His throat closes up. The edges of his vision darken. His heart starts shuddering like it’s trying to shrink in on itself.
“Bones-”
He can’t. He can’t he can’t he can’t.
*
He doesn’t piss himself or lose consciousness, or even vomit. Still, afterward, he has no memory of Jim ending the simulation and unstrapping him, and only the vaguest recollection of Jim half-carrying him back to the dorms, frosted grass crunching underfoot, the sky blue and brittle.
Jim hardly says anything as he strips Leonard down to his boxers, undershirt, and socks, then tucks him into bed. Then he disappears and Leonard lies there in the darkness, shivering under the blanket, his blood moving sluggishly through him. He wants to get up, but he’s afraid that if he does, the bed will start lurching just like the shuttle, and he’ll really fall apart.
Jim returns about five minutes later, cradling a mug of steaming liquid. As he sets it down on the nightstand, Leonard croaks, “Better be something alcoholic in there.”
Lowering himself to the edge of the bed, Jim replies, “’Course there is. What kind of a friend d’you think I am? Don’t answer that.” He seems engrossed in the ends of his hands, which rest against his thighs. “I’m sorry I pushed. I should’ve stopped the sim as soon as you started freaking out, but I wanted to have something to celebrate.”
That last thing doesn’t make a lick of sense to Leonard, so he ignores it. “S’okay,” he says weakly. “Wasn’t meant to be.”
“C’mon, don’t say that. I’m not a shrink. I just know what works for me. When something scares me, I usually leap right into it. I thought maybe piloting the thing, being in control…”
Leonard is tempted to remind Jim that he has a phobia, which isn’t like normal, rational fear. Instead, he pushes himself up against the pillows and asks quietly, “What scares you?”
“You know,” says Jim, “counselors have been asking me that since I was five and climbing all over the roof of my uncle’s barn.”
“I’m asking.”
“As a counselor?”
“As a friend, of course. I want to know. What terrifies you?”
“Well,” says Jim, hitching his shoulders in a gesture that’s not quite a flinch and not quite a shrug, “I really don’t want to talk about it. It’s not intimacy, though. A lot of people - a lot of people I used to date, or who wanted to date me, I guess - thought I had intimacy issues, and I don’t. I just have trouble confining my intimacy to one person, and they had issues with that.”
Leonard sips his tea - which is really more honey and brandy than tea - and lets Jim babble. There’s something festering beneath it. He’s curious, and for all the wrong reasons. He’s not interested in fixing Jim; right now, he doesn’t think he could if he tried. He just wants something from the kid, something more than this gentle attention.
“If it’s not intimacy,” he says, “and it’s not heights - apparently - what is it? I promise I won’t try to psychoanalyze you.”
“Yes, you will. That’s just the way you are.”
Leonard doesn’t like that - the words and the warning beneath them - but he keeps probing. “Fine, I’ll keep my professional opinion to myself, if you prefer. But I think I deserve to know. You know what scares me. Fuck, you pushed me to confront it.”
“You let me push you. Anyway, you told me what scares you the first time we met. ‘Hi, I’m McCoy-Leonard-McCoy, and I’m scared shitless of flying in shuttles. Is this seat taken?’”
“Yeah, and?”
“And?” Jim rubs his palms against his thighs. “You’re talking like I owe you something.”
“You think you don’t?”
“I don’t think,” says Jim, “that I owe anybody anything.”
“Jim…” The tea, honey, and brandy are helping; he’s starting to warm up. He’s also starting to feel annoyed. “If you don’t think you owe anybody anything, what are you even doing here?”
Jim looks at him finally, a sideways glance that keeps half his face in shadow. “Excuse me?”
“Didn’t you tell me once that one of the worst things about losing your dad the way you did was the fact that people think you’re just going to follow in his footsteps? That you’re his replacement?” He hears the words coming out of his mouth and he doesn’t like them, but he can’t make himself stop. “If that’s not true, why the hell are you even in Starfleet?”
“Shut up.” Jim’s voice is low, almost a whisper.
“No.” Leonard sets his tea on the nightstand and pushes himself up further. “Talk to me, Jim, walk me through this. You finished high school and basically spent the next four years drinking, fucking, and getting into fights. Feel free to jump in and correct me if any of this is wrong. You’re a genius, but before this summer, you hadn’t done one worthwhile thing in your adult life. You have a rap sheet as long as my arm. Captain Pike comes along, recognizes your name, figures out whose son you are, and offers you a spot on the very next transport shuttle to San Francisco. You’re telling me you don’t owe anyone anything?”
“A hit,” Jim says, laying a hand over his heart. “A very palpable hit. So you’re saying I owe something to Pike and Starfleet and maybe my father. Fuck them. What do you think I owe you? What’ve you done for me?”
“What have I…?” He can’t believe he’s hearing this. There are so many things he could say. (Who puts ice on your bruises, and heals your fractures? Who calls in the morning to make sure you’re still breathing? Who lets you crash at his place, just because you don’t want to deal with your asshole roommate? Who lets you push him into doing things that scare the crap out of him? Who, until now, has never asked you to justify a goddamn thing?) But the words freeze on his lips.
“Let me put it another way,” Jim says. “What do you want from me?”
So many things he could say. (Your friendship. A little more trust. For you to love yourself as much as I’m starting to think I love you.)
What comes out is: “What do your one-night stands get?”
It’s downright eerie the way Jim’s expression doesn’t change at all. “I can show you,” he says, leaning toward Leonard. “You want me to make you come? ‘Cause I can. I can make you come screaming. D’you think that’s fair? Come on.” He starts to tug the blanket away. “It’ll feel good. And you need it. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone who needs it as badly as you.” He puts his hands on Leonard’s thighs and presses down hard.
“Stop it.”
“What if I don’t want to? Maybe I want to suck your dick. Maybe I’ve wanted it for a long time. Maybe I’m curious. Do self-righteous, chickenshit, Southern pricks taste like everyone else?”
“You wanna know if I taste the same as the dozen or so dicks you’ve sucked this week?” It’s like picking at a scab, he thinks. Each little rip stings and raises a drop of blood, but he can’t stop. There’s a familiarity to it; he and Jocelyn used to go at each other a little like this.
“Only a dozen? You wound me. And don’t forget all the pussy I’ve eaten. And all the … you know, I don’t even know what some of the aliens I’ve fucked call their genitalia. Interlocking parts are interlocking parts. That’s basically the extent of my anatomy lesson. Pretty shocking, isn’t it?”
Leonard’s stomach muscles tighten as Jim strokes his thighs. The blood rushes from his head to his dick, and it takes almost all of his strength to bite back a moan. He’s on the shuttle again. His universe has narrowed to one tiny pocket of air surrounded by a vast, dark nothing. With every movement, with every breath, his universe trembles and shrinks a little more. He’s going to be sick.
Somewhere in the darkness, Jim says, “You want me. I fucking knew it.”
“What I want,” says Leonard, looking away, looking everywhere but at Jim’s face, “is for you to get the fuck out.”
*
Jocelyn never understood about his father: why his death hit so hard, or why Leonard almost quit medicine as a result. He tried to explain it to her, though, in all fairness, he probably didn’t try as hard as he could have. He didn’t tell her everything. She thought he was being overly emotional. Grieving too hard. She thought it would have a negative effect on Joanna.
“You know, there’s a reason you’re not supposed to treat your own family. Anyway, it was his time, Len,” she told him with a sigh. (He was really coming to resent the way she sighed after every other statement.) “I’m not saying get over it, I’m saying … you did everything you could, and sometimes that’s just not enough.” (Another sigh, with the implication: I’m doing everything I can, and it’s not enough.) “You’re a doctor, not a magician. You’re not God. Please, try to think of Jo. Think of what it means for her to see you like this.”
“Like what?”
“Drinking. Not sleeping. Not eating. Not working.”
“I thought you wanted me to spend more time at home.”
(Sigh.) “I didn’t mean like this! I mean, look at you. It’s been four weeks - almost a month. You’re a grownup. Act like it. Instead of mourning his death, start celebrating his life. Your father was a good man. He wouldn’t want to see you like this.”
She didn’t understand. Grief heals so much more quickly and cleanly than guilt.
*
It makes sense that Jocelyn would come to mind right after Jim storms out, leaving Leonard with a pounding headache and half a hard-on. He licks his palm, slides his hand into his boxers, and gropes himself while he thinks about the two of them. Not exactly conducive, but he feels like he left at least half his brain cells at the simulation lab.
Self-righteous, chickenshit Southern prick.
It hurts. Leonard’s been called far worse things, and it’s clear Jim was lashing out, but he wasn’t wrong.
For the first time, it occurs to Leonard that Jim’s good opinion matters.
Too late now.
Jocelyn and Jim. He pushed both of them away. Decided at some point that their departures were inevitable, so he might as well help them along. Still, they’re not equivalent: he and Jocelyn were married for seven years; he’s only known Jim since the summer.
He’d been so young when he’d married Joss: twenty-one, almost two whole years younger than Jim Kirk - and right now, it’s hard to imagine anyone younger than Jim Kirk. He’d felt so grown-up, though. Twenty-one, and already two years out of college. Working hard on his Master’s thesis. So fucking brilliant. Such a promising future. He was already living the life he thought he wanted, so why wait? Why not marry his girlfriend and make a baby with her?
As soon as his thoughts turn to Jo, he pulls his hand out of his boxers. His face burns; he’d actually forgotten that he was trying to jerk himself off. It doesn’t matter, he thinks as he grabs the blanket and yanks it up to his shoulder; he’s gone soft anyway.
With a grunt, he rolls onto his side.
Jocelyn, Joanna, Jim. Maybe he’d be better off if he avoided people whose names begin with J.
Jocelyn.
She liked his idea, at first. Four years his senior, and nearly done with her Master’s in Music, she wanted a baby and was willing to put her career on hold, at least until Joanna was old enough for pre-school. He took her acquiescence for love, and maybe it was in the beginning. He must have loved her too, back then. Despite their parents’ misgivings, they felt happy. Then Joanna came along.
Joanna.
She upset his world when she entered it. Not her fault, of course, and he doesn’t wish that he and Jocelyn had waited. But the first moment he held her, he felt old. Not grown-up, but old. Stretched thin, really, between his love for her and his passion for his work. By the time Joanna was two, Jocelyn was feeling stretched thin as well. Her students weren’t enough; she wanted to return to performing, but her rehearsal time was never compatible with his hours at the hospital. He’d moved on to his MD by then. He was developing a technique for neural grafting. At twenty-four. There was interplanetary interest in his findings. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t slow down.
Education, career, marriage, fatherhood. It was too much, too soon. He really wanted to be the father Joanna deserved. And deep in his heart, he knew he was going to fail. Just like he knew, in his heart, that he wasn’t going to find his father’s cure in time.
Just like he knew he’d lose Jim eventually.
Damnit, Jim.
He kicks restlessly at the sheets, which have gotten bunched up at the end of the bed. He twists onto his other side so he’s facing the nightstand. There’s his PADD, his medical tricorder, and the mug of tea that Jim brewed for him.
It’s so strange. He can see himself getting up at some point, showering, and getting dressed. He can see himself showing up for his classes and his shifts at the hospital. He can see himself doing well at his studies, his job.
But that’s all he can see. That’s it.
It’s better like this. We’re too fucked up for each other. He’ll latch onto someone else, if he doesn’t self-destruct. And I’ll be all right.
Eventually.
Right now it feels like something hard and sharp is poking around under his ribs. It hurts a little more with each breath.
He closes his eyes. God, Jim.
But they had some good times. Between bouts of aggravation, there were moments when they really seemed to trust each other, to be looking out for each other.
At least I have my memories.
Yeah, he does.
Jim said that to him once, didn’t he? At least you have your memories. Lying in this very bed, pale and limp in the mid-afternoon light: like a stray puppy, or something rare and vulnerable that the sea had cast up and left stranded on Leonard’s shore.
What the hell had they been talking about? Dead fathers, Leonard thinks.
Memories. Like the brush of Jim’s lips against his temple, at least he has that.
And then he remembers something else Jim said, right before they started tearing into each other: I wanted to have something to celebrate.
Why those words come back to him now, Leonard doesn’t know. They still don’t make any sense.
And then suddenly they do. Leonard puts two and two together, and comes up with tomorrow’s date.
He opens his eyes. To no one in particular, he says, “Well, damn. I am the biggest fucking idiot in the universe.”
*
It takes a few hours for him to pull himself together, and in the end he’s barely in time to intercept Jim. He makes it to the kid’s dorm just as he’s leaving. Dressed in a clean pair of jeans, indigo silk shirt open to just below his clavicle, leather jacket slung over his shoulder, there’s no question as to his destination.
Leonard plants himself stolidly in front of him.
“What do you want?” Jim asks.
It’s late, and most of the campus is still on winter break. Three or four windows are faintly illuminated, but apart from those, the only light comes from the stars and the lamp some ways up the footpath behind Leonard. Jim’s expression, therefore, is difficult to read. He sounds angry, though. Leonard decides to take that as a good sign; anger is better than nothing.
“I want to talk,” he says.
“I don’t.”
“What do you want to do?”
It’s an idiotic question, but Jim seems to take it seriously. “I’d’ve thought it was obvious, but I guess I need to spell it out for you. I want to get laid. And I want to get drunk. Not necessarily in that order.”
“Most of the bars’ll be closing soon.”
“Yeah, but not all of them. Some of them’ll be open for a while. Not every sentient species is diurnal. You know, McCoy, you could stand to be a little more open-minded.”
Leonard snorts. “Was that supposed to hurt?”
“It was just an observation,” Jim says with a shrug. “Kindly get the fuck out of my way.”
“No.”
Jim’s nostrils flare, and his free hand clenches in a fist. Leonard casts about desperately for something he can use. Finally he just blurts, “You’re gonna freeze to death, going out dressed like that! It’s January, for fuck’s sake.”
Jim laughs. It’s a bitter, grating sound. “Like you really care.”
“I care,” Leonard says, ducking his chin into a fold of his woolen scarf. “And if your father were alive, he’d care too.”
“Fuck you!”
“That’s what this is about, isn’t it?” Leonard says, advancing until he and Jim are almost chest-to-chest. He can feel the air shivering between them, even through his thick coat. “You pushed me to try the shuttle sim because you wanted something to celebrate on your birthday. Because the fact that you were born has never been enough.”
Jim’s shoulders twist, and Leonard knows that there’s no way he’s getting out of this conversation unbruised, but he keeps going. “That didn’t work, so this is Plan B: getting so completely shit-faced and fucked that your birthday passes without your even being aware. Jesus fuck, Jim, do you really think that’s what he would’ve wanted? Do you think that’s what he died for?”
The leather jacket falls to the ground as Jim launches himself at Leonard, who doesn’t even try to sidestep. He just takes it, the full impact of the blow, and they both go sprawling.
They almost hit the pavement, but Leonard twists at the last second and they end up on the cold yellow grass, Jim on top. Knocked breathless, Leonard drops his head back and waits, heart hammering, for the fists to start flying. He doesn’t care what Jim does to him at this point. He’ll take pain. He’ll take anything.
Jim’s body tenses. He makes a raw, ragged sound deep in his throat. It’s almost a sob. Then he just collapses. Without a word, without another sound, all the fire and drive seem to leave him and he goes limp against Leonard’s chest.
It's scary, this total collapse. In a way, it's more frightening than the lurching of the shuttle because it's so wrong, it's uncanny, practically an abomination; Jim should not seem so defeated.
Leonard hesitates for maybe five seconds. Then he wraps his arms around Jim, sliding the fingers of one hand into his hair, curving the other hand protectively over the back of his neck. Holding him tightly, Leonard whispers, “I’m sorry. Oh, God, Jim. I’m so, so sorry.”
He feels the shuddering breaths, the slow, heavy tread of Jim’s heartbeat. His lips in the stiff blond hair, he says again, “I’m sorry. I was an asshole. I was scared and I took it out on you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” He’ll repeat it all night if he has to, and into the morning. He’ll never stop saying it, if that’s what Jim wants from him, if that’s what he needs.
By and by, though, Jim stirs and Leonard falls silent, waiting. Jim turns so that his head is tucked under Leonard’s chin, and lifts one hand to clutch at a fold of Leonard’s scarf. They lie quietly like that for a minute more. Then Jim says, “I’m not afraid of dying. I’m not even afraid of dying alone. But I don’t want to be nothing. I don’t want to go through life and not have it mean something. At the same time, I don’t want to be something just because it’s what people expect me to be because of my father. People expect me to be something. Captain of a starship. Some kind of hero. And that’s great. That’s a great destiny. But they don’t know me. They think they know me because of my father, but they don’t know me at all. That’s what terrifies me.”
“You’re not nothing,” Leonard says. “You’re Jim Kirk and no one else, and you could never be nothing. And you didn’t have to tell me that.”
“I wanted to. I guess I kind of owe it to you after pushing you this afternoon.”
“You don’t owe anything to anyone, darlin.”
Jim shivers - that silk shirt really isn’t warm enough - so Leonard wraps him in his coat. It’s a large coat - he thought he’d be wearing it with multiple layers underneath, San Francisco being so much closer to the Arctic than Atlanta - so there’s just enough room for the two of them.
Stroking Jim’s back, Leonard says, “Why didn’t you tell me before? About tomorrow being your birthday? I’d’ve understood. I wouldn’t’ve been angry.”
“I thought you might’ve wanted an out. Of … this thing,” he clarifies, while Leonard just blinks at him, mystified. “Figured I’d offer it to you. See if you took it.”
“What made you think I’d want an out?”
“I don’t know. I mean - you give me mixed signals. Sometimes I think you really like me. Sometimes I’m pretty damn sure you want me. But you never make a move. Or you snarl and growl and I get the impression you don’t really approve of me.”
“I like you,” Leonard says in an emphatic tone that Jim had better not misinterpret. “I more than like you.” He swallows. “I want you. As for my approval… You don’t need it.”
“I want it,” Jim says. “It actually means a lot to me. I’ve never met anyone who cares about people like you do. You really give a shit, and you never asked anything of me. I was just being an asshole before. You’re not a coward. I know that’s what I implied, and I meant to imply it, but it’s not true. The first time I met you, you were doing what scared you.”
“I was drunk.”
“You were doing what you had to do to get through it. You keep trying, and eventually you’ll be able to do it sober. I know you will. I mean it.”
It’s crazy, especially after today, but Leonard believes him. And he says, “You’re not a whore. And yeah, I meant to imply it too, but it’s not true.”
“I like sex,” Jim says.
“Sex is fine. Sex is great.”
“Sometimes I like sex with multiple partners. And multiple species. Sometimes at the same time.”
“Jim…” He presses his cheek against his hair. “I don’t like the fighting. I don’t like it when you get hurt, and I want you to start taking better care of yourself. But the sex…” He sighs. “I meant what I said a while back. If you’re all consenting adults, and you’re being careful, there’s nothing wrong with it. And it’s not like I have any right to judge, anyway. Though…” He hesitates. “It’s just possible I’m a little jealous.”
“Of me?” Jim sounds incredulous.
Leonard cuffs his shoulder. “Of them, you idiot.”
Jim laughs. It’s soft but unconstricted; it’s the best thing Leonard’s heard in a long, long time. “You could come with me sometime. You could. Sexy guy like you.”
“It’s not my thing,” Leonard says with some regret. “I’m old-fashioned.”
“Fine,” says Jim. “Then you’ll be the one I keep coming back to. The one I come home to.” And with that, he tugs Leonard’s scarf open and kisses his neck.
His lips are soft and warm and eager, and Leonard wants to let go and have that be the last word, but he can’t. Jim was honest; now it’s his turn. Before he does anything else, he needs to wash his hands.
“Don’t,” he says. “Wait - you… There’s something I have to say first.”
Jim gives the pulse at his throat one more kiss, then settles himself against Leonard, his hand resting over his heart. “What is it?” he asks, and his voice is so full of gentle concern that it almost rips Leonard apart.
He stares at the sky. It’s a clear night; the stars stand out sharply against the black. He always liked looking at them, even though the idea of flying among them chills him to the core. He reminds himself that he’s not a coward. Then he takes a deep breath and tells Jim everything.
Not in explicit detail: he’s tired and cold, and he can feel Jim shivering. Just everything he needs to know.
About his father being diagnosed with Hammond’s Disease. About the near-constant, crippling pain he faced. About the loss of his autonomy, and his dignity. About how Leonard assumed responsibility for his care, though it meant abandoning his other cases, and neglecting his research, his wife, and young daughter. About how, when his father’s pain became unmanageable, Leonard helped him end his life.
About how, only two weeks after his father’s death, a doctor at a lab in New York discovered the cure for Hammond’s Disease.
Leonard is aware of the intense gaze, of the fingers stroking his hair. “He begged me,” he finishes brokenly. “My father, one of the proudest men I’ve ever known. He begged me. I could’ve waited. Two more weeks. I knew about Catherine Yang’s research. I didn’t have any real hope at that point, but I’d read all her papers, I knew what she was working on. I could have kept him in a coma, or in stasis…”
Jim brushes his fingertips over Leonard’s lips. “Bones.”
“It fucked me up.”
Jim kisses his forehead. “It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay. How can you, of all people, tell me it’s okay?”
“Me of all people.” Jim’s lips twitch. “Why didn’t you tell me before? After that Early Starfleet History lecture, when I came over with Chinese food and wouldn’t shut up about my father … why didn’t you say something then? You didn’t think I could handle it?”
“I don’t know.” He really doesn’t. What he’d been thinking, why he’d been so certain Jim would abandon him when he found out, how he’d convinced himself that it wasn’t just inevitable but right - it’s all gone from his mind. “I don’t know,” he says again helplessly.
“I do. You didn’t say anything before because you thought I wouldn’t understand. Or that I’d resent you. Because you had what I wanted, and you gave it up. Bones.” He raises himself so he can frame Leonard’s face with his hands. Sweeping the pads of his thumbs over Leonard’s eyebrows, he says, “You’re not a murderer. You did what he asked. You did the right thing. I know, because I trust you. I’m not surprised it fucked you up. It was your father. And Yang’s timing sucked. It sucked so much. But you respected your father’s wishes. You let him go when he asked. You gave that much control and dignity back to him. Bones, it’s okay.”
“My wife didn’t understand.”
“I’m not your wife.”
“Thank God.”
He doesn’t know if he feels better, having confessed. He feels freer, as if a knot around his heart has been loosened. Jim is kissing him again, and making an odd, ruffling sound that Leonard takes a few moments to identify as laughter.
“God, Bones. We’re both so fucked up, we belong together.”
It does something to him, changes something inside him - those words, that laughter, the insistent press of those lips against his eyelids, his cheeks, his temples. Suddenly he’s kissing Jim back and grabbing at him, holding him while he pushes himself up off the grass. Now seated with Jim in his lap, kissing his mouth, his fingers begin an exploration. They start low, ghosting over Jim’s belly, and work their way up, flicking buttons open until the silk shirt slides away and he can press his mouth to that pale, well-muscled chest.
He feels the gooseflesh and the hitching breaths, feels Jim catch his shoulders for balance and arch his back. Leonard pinches one hard nipple and twists it, while his lips capture the other. He curls his tongue against the tiny nub of flesh, laving, then sucking hard.
Jim’s grip tightens. “God, Bones,” he breathes.
He wants to drink Jim in, take him deep inside himself and hold him there. He wants to make love to him all night and into the morning. He wants to taste him as the dawn warms him, take care of him, celebrate him.
Stroking the back of Leonard’s neck, Jim says, “What did you call me before?”
“Mmm?”
“When you said I didn’t owe anything to anyone. You called me something. I think you called me darling, except you said it in that sexy Southern accent.”
Leonard gives Jim’s nipple one last swirl with his tongue and looks up. “Darlin?” he drawls.
Jim melts against him. “Yeah. Like that.”
“Think I could get used to that,” Leonard says as he nuzzles him. “If that’s what you like, darlin.”
Jim shivers, laughs, and tugs his scarf again. “Come on, let me take you home.”
“You want to go back to your place?” Leonard scowls uncertainly.
“Sure. We’re right here, and my roommate’s still on Lunar One.”
“I’ve seen your place. It’s a disaster area. Come over to mine. You’re dressed for going out.” Half-dressed, anyway: the silk shirt is hanging around Jim’s elbows now.
“You’re dressed for an Arctic expedition,” Jim retorts. “It doesn’t follow we should get a dogsled. Besides, I have something that needs taking care of … now.” He bucks his hips, and stars sizzle in Leonard’s belly and groin as they connect. “You’re going to want to do something about that, Doctor.”
Leonard pulls him down into a hard, hungry kiss. He’s never tasted anything as hot or sweet as Jim’s mouth. He can’t remember the last time he felt so young and eager. “Your place,” he growls.
4/3/2010