RESOLUTION - Too Close, Jimmy Boy (Kirk/McCoy)
Two months.
Two months and one day since the Klingon attack that took the lives of a dozen crewmembers from Engineering and Medical, including one pregnant command-track lieutenant that Jim had been lucky enough to talk with, before her death, off-duty. The services are to be held today but as the captain slips on his dress uniform, he feels his throat close and the stiffened satin cling to his skin, choking him.
The doors open with a muffled swish and a form leans against the wall, arms crossed.
“It’s time, Jim.”
“Yeah.”
He takes longer than he needs to on the last button, trying to stall for time. He’s scared.
He’s up behind the podium, in front of all of his crew, without the natural exceptions, his heart thudding rapidly. He can feel Bones’ eyes on him and he relaxes only slightly.
An officer steps forward, her eyes set forward as she puts the whistle to her lips and lets the boatswain tune ring through the room three times. In between her whistles, the klaxon goes off to begin the ceremony.
“Today, we gather to mourn the loss of our officers, our comrades, our friends. Today, however, should not be a day of sadness but a joyous celebration of the lives they lived and the lives they shared with us.” He swallows, his throat tightening up as he sees the pregnant lieutenant in his mind again. “I have been lucky enough to meet each and every one of you in the past few years we’ve spent together aboard this great vessel and I must admit that every friendship I have made with all of you has only made this job better each day.” A pause. Jim, he tells himself, get a hold of yourself. Be a man. Your ship needs you, they all do.
“If I may, Captain, say a few words on behalf of those lost in Medical,” Leonard graciously saves him, standing and taking Jim’s hand behind the podium. His voice softens so only he can hear. “You did fine, kid.”
The brandy tastes mildly of the cleaning solution for Sick Bay but Jim doesn’t mind. It takes away the pain.
“Slow down, darlin’,” the doctor murmurs into his hair, reaching to the orange curved bottle.
Jim hands it over reluctantly. He takes a glance over at the chronometer above the bedside table. “I’m just glad today is over. I hated speaking in front of them.”
“I’m just glad you were here to say anything at all.” Leonard whispers after a long moment.
The young captain trembles beneath the tightening arm, his eyes stinging with new tears. The thought had never occurred to him, dying and all. It was an accepted part of his life and he was ready for it whenever it came for him. But now that he had Bones, the idea hurt.
“Bones?”
“Yeah, kid?”
“Thanks.”
They settle into a content silence as the quiet hum of the Enterprise lulls them to sleep, the stars casting dim lights across the room.
Two months and one day since the Klingon attack that took the lives of a dozen crewmembers from Engineering and Medical, including one pregnant command-track lieutenant that Jim had been lucky enough to talk with, before her death, off-duty. The services are to be held today but as the captain slips on his dress uniform, he feels his throat close and the stiffened satin cling to his skin, choking him.
The doors open with a muffled swish and a form leans against the wall, arms crossed.
“It’s time, Jim.”
“Yeah.”
He takes longer than he needs to on the last button, trying to stall for time. He’s scared.
He’s up behind the podium, in front of all of his crew, without the natural exceptions, his heart thudding rapidly. He can feel Bones’ eyes on him and he relaxes only slightly.
An officer steps forward, her eyes set forward as she puts the whistle to her lips and lets the boatswain tune ring through the room three times. In between her whistles, the klaxon goes off to begin the ceremony.
“Today, we gather to mourn the loss of our officers, our comrades, our friends. Today, however, should not be a day of sadness but a joyous celebration of the lives they lived and the lives they shared with us.” He swallows, his throat tightening up as he sees the pregnant lieutenant in his mind again. “I have been lucky enough to meet each and every one of you in the past few years we’ve spent together aboard this great vessel and I must admit that every friendship I have made with all of you has only made this job better each day.” A pause. Jim, he tells himself, get a hold of yourself. Be a man. Your ship needs you, they all do.
“If I may, Captain, say a few words on behalf of those lost in Medical,” Leonard graciously saves him, standing and taking Jim’s hand behind the podium. His voice softens so only he can hear. “You did fine, kid.”
The brandy tastes mildly of the cleaning solution for Sick Bay but Jim doesn’t mind. It takes away the pain.
“Slow down, darlin’,” the doctor murmurs into his hair, reaching to the orange curved bottle.
Jim hands it over reluctantly. He takes a glance over at the chronometer above the bedside table. “I’m just glad today is over. I hated speaking in front of them.”
“I’m just glad you were here to say anything at all.” Leonard whispers after a long moment.
The young captain trembles beneath the tightening arm, his eyes stinging with new tears. The thought had never occurred to him, dying and all. It was an accepted part of his life and he was ready for it whenever it came for him. But now that he had Bones, the idea hurt.
“Bones?”
“Yeah, kid?”
“Thanks.”
They settle into a content silence as the quiet hum of the Enterprise lulls them to sleep, the stars casting dim lights across the room.