Fic: Heliotropism (1/1)
Title: Heliotropism
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Word Count: 1,096
Summary: And it’s been a long time in coming, if they’re honest; the loss, the hole it left - they’d always known it couldn’t stay gaping forever. For team_jones at st_respect’s Ship Wars, for Challenge Prompt #2: “Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone.” Warnings for Major Character Death, Suicidal Themes. Spoilers for Star Trek XI (2009).
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: This is not a happy fic.
Heliotropism
The crew understands what’s happening long before their captain does.
And it’s been a long time in coming, if they’re honest; the loss, the hole it left - they’d always known it couldn’t stay gaping forever.
Not even the infamous Jim Kirk could last like that for long.
The fact is, McCoy wasn’t quite like the rest of them, at his core. He’d never wanted the stars, never trusted his life to the blackness, the void - and even Jim, in the end, couldn’t anchor him, couldn’t keep him where he belonged, no matter how much they’d both wished that he could.
So when the Enterprise changes course for Earth unexpectedly one morning - eight months and four days after the good Doctor had left them - no one is surprised. Spock stands closer to the Captain’s chair for the whole of Alpha shift. Sulu drops them to warp factor three in order to delay the inevitable, his hand resting on Chekov’s arm as his shoulders shake a little - because he’s still young enough to have held out hope against what they all knew would happen. And if Nyota swipes at her eyes every few minutes for the whole eight hours, until the tender skin around her lashes is flushed red, too dry; well, it’s nothing they weren’t expecting. Even if it kills them.
Truth is, they’d always known Leonard McCoy would return home, in the end.
And they always knew that, when he finally departed this world, this life of endless night for one he’d always known better, it wouldn’t take long for James T. Kirk to follow him.
__________________
It’s long overdue, really - he should have come sooner.
He thinks, though, that it was mostly a matter of acknowledging it, of making it real - to see him now, so far away from where Jim lives his days in the flesh, yet still so close to the steady dirge beating in his chest. If Jim had witnessed physical proof of the end of their journey together, it would have stifled the illusion, the soft shadow of Leonard that still lingered everywhere, just beyond Jim’s reach: the scent of him fading on the sheets. It would have proven everything illusory, tricks of the light, and he’d known that was one thing he wouldn’t be able to survive; and he hadn’t thought he was ready for the dark just yet.
He’s ready now.
So Jim asks where he can find him, voice quaking like it’s the end of the world, and maybe - just maybe - it is; and it kills him a little that he even has to ask, that he doesn’t know.
He’s in the back, they tell him: Section L. Number 782.
And it’s real, now. Solid. No more room for denial.
So he breathes deep and dives in head-first, knowing full well he won’t be coming up for air again.
__________________
The grove is green with life - such life - and it mocks him, mocks them all; for as many times as it leaves, diminishes, it’s never forever - it always comes back.
The feeling that splits his chest nearly cripples him with its irony: oh, if only.
His fingers fall, sink into the etchings, the rough outcroppings in the stone; and while it’s all true, what the letters say, they’re not adequate, not enough.
Beloved Husband. Father. Friend.
Everything.
It should say: Beloved Everything.
He doesn’t notice the tears until the breeze strikes cold against his skin, until there are too many to follow the tracks where they lead. He barely breathes against the weight of never, of always - of last rites and loss lingering on the air. All that exists are the wings of the birds - of his heart - in the fog, broken on the crests of impending dawn.
He hardly knows what he’s doing when he sinks against the marble, trembling lips pressing foolishly, achingly, to the calligraphic ‘M’ that spells out the one thing in the galaxy - the universe - that Jim Kirk couldn’t endure, the one loss he couldn’t shake. The pang that shivers behind Jim’s ribs at the cold press of stone against his mouth - the same dead lips he’d bid his shaking, sobbing farewells to, only he couldn’t, not really; not ever - it wracks him to his core: the last mortal wound he won’t survive, not without the only hands that have ever understood how to make him whole again.
He doesn’t mind, though. It’s time. A soul can only survive so long without a reason, after all - without a will; the world can only turn so long in the shadows. And it’s not so much that there’s no sun anymore - no light; it’s more that he doesn’t have the eyes to see it, the heart to feel it.
It’s long past time.
It doesn’t hurt, just feels numb going in at his neck, one last reminisce of what used to be, chilling for a moment before everything stops, stills, turns to black; but it doesn’t matter. None of it ever has.
The sun rises, and it is brilliant - all hazels and blues; the lush impressions singing him into his first dreams in far too long, carrying him away from the last nightmare he’ll ever know.
He doesn’t smile, not with his lips, but his chest feels lighter, like the broken pieces have finally fallen, finally given up; and fuck, but it’s a beautiful feeling, that surrender - a softness, a certainty he’d only ever known with his Bones by his side.
So he breathes in one last time, starts to drown, forgets every promise he’d ever made to the man he loves to hang on, to keep fighting; Jim has to hope that Leonard would understand. It’s too much, too heavy. He’s always needed his Bones more than he needed air.
Yet where his hand dug damp against the soil, it slips now into the grasp of another; a warm palm he’d know anywhere, the one that slides his missing pieces into place before the world fades away.
It squeezes. The last thing he knows is that he squeezes back.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Kirk/McCoy
Word Count: 1,096
Summary: And it’s been a long time in coming, if they’re honest; the loss, the hole it left - they’d always known it couldn’t stay gaping forever. For team_jones at st_respect’s Ship Wars, for Challenge Prompt #2: “Ain't No Sunshine When She's Gone.” Warnings for Major Character Death, Suicidal Themes. Spoilers for Star Trek XI (2009).
Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot.
Author’s Notes: This is not a happy fic.
Heliotropism
The crew understands what’s happening long before their captain does.
And it’s been a long time in coming, if they’re honest; the loss, the hole it left - they’d always known it couldn’t stay gaping forever.
Not even the infamous Jim Kirk could last like that for long.
The fact is, McCoy wasn’t quite like the rest of them, at his core. He’d never wanted the stars, never trusted his life to the blackness, the void - and even Jim, in the end, couldn’t anchor him, couldn’t keep him where he belonged, no matter how much they’d both wished that he could.
So when the Enterprise changes course for Earth unexpectedly one morning - eight months and four days after the good Doctor had left them - no one is surprised. Spock stands closer to the Captain’s chair for the whole of Alpha shift. Sulu drops them to warp factor three in order to delay the inevitable, his hand resting on Chekov’s arm as his shoulders shake a little - because he’s still young enough to have held out hope against what they all knew would happen. And if Nyota swipes at her eyes every few minutes for the whole eight hours, until the tender skin around her lashes is flushed red, too dry; well, it’s nothing they weren’t expecting. Even if it kills them.
Truth is, they’d always known Leonard McCoy would return home, in the end.
And they always knew that, when he finally departed this world, this life of endless night for one he’d always known better, it wouldn’t take long for James T. Kirk to follow him.
__________________
It’s long overdue, really - he should have come sooner.
He thinks, though, that it was mostly a matter of acknowledging it, of making it real - to see him now, so far away from where Jim lives his days in the flesh, yet still so close to the steady dirge beating in his chest. If Jim had witnessed physical proof of the end of their journey together, it would have stifled the illusion, the soft shadow of Leonard that still lingered everywhere, just beyond Jim’s reach: the scent of him fading on the sheets. It would have proven everything illusory, tricks of the light, and he’d known that was one thing he wouldn’t be able to survive; and he hadn’t thought he was ready for the dark just yet.
He’s ready now.
So Jim asks where he can find him, voice quaking like it’s the end of the world, and maybe - just maybe - it is; and it kills him a little that he even has to ask, that he doesn’t know.
He’s in the back, they tell him: Section L. Number 782.
And it’s real, now. Solid. No more room for denial.
So he breathes deep and dives in head-first, knowing full well he won’t be coming up for air again.
__________________
The grove is green with life - such life - and it mocks him, mocks them all; for as many times as it leaves, diminishes, it’s never forever - it always comes back.
The feeling that splits his chest nearly cripples him with its irony: oh, if only.
His fingers fall, sink into the etchings, the rough outcroppings in the stone; and while it’s all true, what the letters say, they’re not adequate, not enough.
Beloved Husband. Father. Friend.
Everything.
It should say: Beloved Everything.
He doesn’t notice the tears until the breeze strikes cold against his skin, until there are too many to follow the tracks where they lead. He barely breathes against the weight of never, of always - of last rites and loss lingering on the air. All that exists are the wings of the birds - of his heart - in the fog, broken on the crests of impending dawn.
He hardly knows what he’s doing when he sinks against the marble, trembling lips pressing foolishly, achingly, to the calligraphic ‘M’ that spells out the one thing in the galaxy - the universe - that Jim Kirk couldn’t endure, the one loss he couldn’t shake. The pang that shivers behind Jim’s ribs at the cold press of stone against his mouth - the same dead lips he’d bid his shaking, sobbing farewells to, only he couldn’t, not really; not ever - it wracks him to his core: the last mortal wound he won’t survive, not without the only hands that have ever understood how to make him whole again.
He doesn’t mind, though. It’s time. A soul can only survive so long without a reason, after all - without a will; the world can only turn so long in the shadows. And it’s not so much that there’s no sun anymore - no light; it’s more that he doesn’t have the eyes to see it, the heart to feel it.
It’s long past time.
It doesn’t hurt, just feels numb going in at his neck, one last reminisce of what used to be, chilling for a moment before everything stops, stills, turns to black; but it doesn’t matter. None of it ever has.
The sun rises, and it is brilliant - all hazels and blues; the lush impressions singing him into his first dreams in far too long, carrying him away from the last nightmare he’ll ever know.
He doesn’t smile, not with his lips, but his chest feels lighter, like the broken pieces have finally fallen, finally given up; and fuck, but it’s a beautiful feeling, that surrender - a softness, a certainty he’d only ever known with his Bones by his side.
So he breathes in one last time, starts to drown, forgets every promise he’d ever made to the man he loves to hang on, to keep fighting; Jim has to hope that Leonard would understand. It’s too much, too heavy. He’s always needed his Bones more than he needed air.
Yet where his hand dug damp against the soil, it slips now into the grasp of another; a warm palm he’d know anywhere, the one that slides his missing pieces into place before the world fades away.
It squeezes. The last thing he knows is that he squeezes back.