fic: Sentinel
John is never sure if Jim is quite as oblivious as he seems. He’s never spent this much time in one place before, never stuck around with the same group of people for more then a year or two. But it’s going on four years now sticking with Jim Kirk, and John knows that he’s had to have picked up on a couple of things that the older man can’t always hide. His body for one. His staff is always commenting on how their boss works himself to death, and seems to barely get more then a few hours of sleep each night, half the time caught on the cot in his office. But then there’s the fact that John has no time at all to work out, yet maintains a fantastic ‘structural base’ as Spock might say. So far no one’s commented on it, but John’s still waiting for the day.
And then there’s the occasional away mission where he’s forced to take action. So far John is almost positive that each time it’s only been a last resort, that he only uses his secret skills when there’s no other option. But he forced himself to admit that it’s not totally true. John can’t quite say that every single one of them had been as a last resort, but dammit, he needs some sort of recreation because that much pent up fury and frustration isn’t healthy. He would know - he’s a doctor. John’s almost to the point where he’s really tempted to ask Spock for help, despite his dislike of the hobgoblin. He discards the idea almost as soon as it emerges half formed from his mind every time; because he figures Spock will just suggest meditation or some other shit like that. John scoffs. Meditation. Right.
But John’s afraid to find his way into the gym, not wanting repeats of the incidents during his time at the Academy with utterly destroyed punching bags and equipment. But he can stretch and practice his boxing, can’t he? So occasionally John finds himself in one of the smaller crew gyms in the depths of Gamma shift, when most of the crew is sleeping and the skeleton personnel awake are all at their stations. He’s in the middle of working up a real sweat for the first time in far too long when he realizes someone is in the room with him. John spins around, fists at the ready with instincts born of years of conditioning for an attack, when he realizes it’s only Spock. The Vulcan is eyeing him with something that looks a little like respect, and a little like wariness. John sighs.
“Doctor?” The other man says after a moment.
“Yeah, Spock?” Leonard answers tiredly, really hoping Spock’s not going to push, because he is just not in the fucking mood right now.
He doesn’t, just continues to watch him as one watches a cornered animal, expecting him to lash out at any instant. “Never mind, I will continue on my way and leave you to whatever it is you were accomplishing.” Then he turned on his heel and left, leaving a thoroughly confused John behind him, gaping slightly at his retreating back. What the hell?
John does his best to put the incident out of his mind the next day, and Spock gives no indication that it ever happened. At least, until he shows up again a few days later. “Doctor.” He inclines his head slightly, serenely watching as John swipes a hand across his forehead and does his best to figure out what the hell the Vulcan wants. “It has come to my attention as per my last visit that you lack a sparring partner. I volunteer my assistance.” Surprise, hesitation, and uncertainty flash across the older man’s face before he schools it into an emotionless state.
“You’ll rip me limb from limb Spock.” Leonard says after a moment. He arches an eyebrow gracefully.
“Somehow, I doubt that Doctor.” John stifles a laugh.
He’s glad for the company, glad for the respite from the aching emotions that follow him no matter what. It’s an insight into the mind of Jim, John realizes suddenly later, once again patching the captain up after an away mission when he got into a situation involving the business end of spear. It’s like nothing else exists for those stolen moments, that whatever pain and drama might drown him outside of this; it no longer exists in that small set time. Maybe that’s why Jim gets into so many bar fights, because Leonard is aware of the sort of trauma that his best friend carries with him. The whiskey burns a little going down, but the taste is familiar and comforting.
John tenses a little bit when a long shadow falls across the room as the door whooshes open. He inhales, and the unique scent of vanilla and some other scent he can’t quite identify reach his nose, the pure smell that is just Jim. “Jim.” The other one swore. “How the hell do you do that? You’re not even looking this way, and I didn’t say anything at all! I could have been Chapel or anyone else!” Leonard hides a smile, spinning in his chair to face the captain. “What is it now Jim? Bajoran Herpes? Andorian Shingles?” A soft laugh escaped his friend. “Nothing Bones! How often do I have to tell you I’m clean?” Bones just rolls his eyes. “What is it then?” Jim grins. “I’m busting you out of here. You work too hard. Bring your alcohol, we’re going back to my quarters and getting good and drunk.” Panic temporarily flashes through him at that. It takes a hell of lot more alcohol for John to get drunk then Jim’s going to realize.
Luckily, the kid’s a bit too self-absorbed to notice otherwise. He’s never noticed that Leonard is never more then a little bit tipsy at best, despite the fact that he can drink Jim under the table before even hitting that point. And when Jim gets drunk, he gets talkative. Well, John amends himself, more talkative. He likes to push Leonard about his past, which had led to a long and detailed history about Georgia and horses and an old country doctor practice that’s so convincing, John himself half beliefs that it really did happen. He’s even got a stock of ‘stories’ of his college days at Ole Miss and medical school. But nonetheless he finds himself being dragged out of the sickbay not entirely under his own power. (or so he lets Jim think) His shift did end two hours ago, so he’s not doing anything wrong in abandoning his post. M’Benga can handle anything, and it’s easy enough to locate him if something should go wrong.
Jim drops haphazardly into a chair once in his quarters, and John slides less wildly into one across from him, plunking two bottles of whiskey on the table with an expression that looks like a cross between a smirk and a scowl.
Two hours later, Jim is completely smashed, and John is about a quarter of the way there, despite having consumed more alcohol then the captain. It’s enough that when Jim starts asking him questions about his family, he’s spacey enough to mention Sam. “Didn’t… know y’had a sister Bones.” He asks shakily, struggling to stay upright.
“Sam’s dead. Died two ‘undred years ago, or close t’it.” John slurs slightly. It’s then that Jim’s stomach has decided it’s had enough, and John is forced to help the man out and get him into bed.
In the morning, John is horrified to remember what had occurred. Jim is the first person in a very, very long time that he can let his guard down around, and he’s coming dangerously close to revealing things no one ever needs to know, not if he wants to stay a free man and not a lab rat - or be looked at with respect instead of revulsion. Aside from the occasional curious glance the incident isn’t mentioned again, but John’s taken to avoiding Jim whenever possible, much as it hurts to separate himself the one person he genuinely cares about - a first since Sam died. He doesn’t go up the bridge like he’s prone to doing, standing just off to Jim’s side and watching with a calm eye the goings on. He doesn’t take his meals with captain anymore, doesn’t spend his off-duty time with him. But John can’t afford to slip up. He can see confusion in the other man’s face when he delivers his reports, or when he’s injured as normal on a mission.
Bones just patches him up gruffly and sends him back on his way with a half-hearted ‘be more careful next time kid’ and leaves it at that. During what has become a weekly ritual of sparring seasons, Spock doesn’t mention Jim or Leonard’s avoidance of him, for which John is infinitely graceful. But of course, fate had a way of intervening.
It was supposed to be simply a diplomatic mission, helping to negotiate a treaty between two warring factions on the planet’s surface, but it’s the Enterprise. Nothing is ever that simple. The planet is important strategically, and it really shouldn’t surprise anyone that the Klingons show up. They’re bent on wrecking the peace that would lead to the planet joining the Federation, and the landing party is caught in the middle of it. They’re split up almost instantly, Jim and Leonard taking cover in an alcove off to the side, and Spock and Uhura trapped in a secondary room off the main section. The feral aliens have apparently had enough of killing each other, and turn to the Enterprise crew. Their phasers are burning in their hands, and Kirk makes a comment that he didn’t know Bones was so good with a gun, picking on his deadly accuracy.
Leonard’s suddenly stops firing. “We can’t get out of this like this Jim.” He whispers softly.
“What?” Jim looks panicked for a second. “Don’t give up on me Bones, we can survive this, and we will!”
John shook his head. “Do you trust me?”
Jim blinks in surprise, but nods. “With my life Bones.” A smile quirks at the corner of his mouth. “Then I hope you don’t hate me when this is over.” And with that, he attaches the phaser back on his belt and walks into the fray taking place, with Jim watching horrified behind him.
Several of the big aliens rush him immediately, and John hears a sound of surprise from behind him as he spins and tosses him over one shoulder, following with his own body and pressing a knee into the small of his back. A quick twist, and he breaks the alien’s neck, spinning out of the way quickly as a bat’leth whistles through the air to where he’d been a millisecond before - faster then any human could manage. Jim can only watch in shock as Bones - his Bones, the one that barely passed the self-defense course at the Academy - proceeds to decimate all of the Klingons still in the room. Even swipes that would seriously wound another man didn’t phase him, although when one manages to plunge a blade through his shoulder, it only takes the man a few minutes before he’s back to using both his arms. Jim can’t believe his eyes.
By the time Bones is done, what used to be a room filled with Klingon warriors is filled only with blood and bodies. One of them groans slightly and twitches, and without a moment’s hesitation, Bones stalks over to him and shoots him once in the heart and once between the eyes. When he looks up, Jim is startled at the utter lack of emotion in his eyes, and the coldness that sends a chill down his spine.
“Bones.” Jim says after a moment, looking at his bloody chief medical officer. “I think it’s time we had a serious talk.”
Back to Guardian l To Protector.
And then there’s the occasional away mission where he’s forced to take action. So far John is almost positive that each time it’s only been a last resort, that he only uses his secret skills when there’s no other option. But he forced himself to admit that it’s not totally true. John can’t quite say that every single one of them had been as a last resort, but dammit, he needs some sort of recreation because that much pent up fury and frustration isn’t healthy. He would know - he’s a doctor. John’s almost to the point where he’s really tempted to ask Spock for help, despite his dislike of the hobgoblin. He discards the idea almost as soon as it emerges half formed from his mind every time; because he figures Spock will just suggest meditation or some other shit like that. John scoffs. Meditation. Right.
But John’s afraid to find his way into the gym, not wanting repeats of the incidents during his time at the Academy with utterly destroyed punching bags and equipment. But he can stretch and practice his boxing, can’t he? So occasionally John finds himself in one of the smaller crew gyms in the depths of Gamma shift, when most of the crew is sleeping and the skeleton personnel awake are all at their stations. He’s in the middle of working up a real sweat for the first time in far too long when he realizes someone is in the room with him. John spins around, fists at the ready with instincts born of years of conditioning for an attack, when he realizes it’s only Spock. The Vulcan is eyeing him with something that looks a little like respect, and a little like wariness. John sighs.
“Doctor?” The other man says after a moment.
“Yeah, Spock?” Leonard answers tiredly, really hoping Spock’s not going to push, because he is just not in the fucking mood right now.
He doesn’t, just continues to watch him as one watches a cornered animal, expecting him to lash out at any instant. “Never mind, I will continue on my way and leave you to whatever it is you were accomplishing.” Then he turned on his heel and left, leaving a thoroughly confused John behind him, gaping slightly at his retreating back. What the hell?
John does his best to put the incident out of his mind the next day, and Spock gives no indication that it ever happened. At least, until he shows up again a few days later. “Doctor.” He inclines his head slightly, serenely watching as John swipes a hand across his forehead and does his best to figure out what the hell the Vulcan wants. “It has come to my attention as per my last visit that you lack a sparring partner. I volunteer my assistance.” Surprise, hesitation, and uncertainty flash across the older man’s face before he schools it into an emotionless state.
“You’ll rip me limb from limb Spock.” Leonard says after a moment. He arches an eyebrow gracefully.
“Somehow, I doubt that Doctor.” John stifles a laugh.
He’s glad for the company, glad for the respite from the aching emotions that follow him no matter what. It’s an insight into the mind of Jim, John realizes suddenly later, once again patching the captain up after an away mission when he got into a situation involving the business end of spear. It’s like nothing else exists for those stolen moments, that whatever pain and drama might drown him outside of this; it no longer exists in that small set time. Maybe that’s why Jim gets into so many bar fights, because Leonard is aware of the sort of trauma that his best friend carries with him. The whiskey burns a little going down, but the taste is familiar and comforting.
John tenses a little bit when a long shadow falls across the room as the door whooshes open. He inhales, and the unique scent of vanilla and some other scent he can’t quite identify reach his nose, the pure smell that is just Jim. “Jim.” The other one swore. “How the hell do you do that? You’re not even looking this way, and I didn’t say anything at all! I could have been Chapel or anyone else!” Leonard hides a smile, spinning in his chair to face the captain. “What is it now Jim? Bajoran Herpes? Andorian Shingles?” A soft laugh escaped his friend. “Nothing Bones! How often do I have to tell you I’m clean?” Bones just rolls his eyes. “What is it then?” Jim grins. “I’m busting you out of here. You work too hard. Bring your alcohol, we’re going back to my quarters and getting good and drunk.” Panic temporarily flashes through him at that. It takes a hell of lot more alcohol for John to get drunk then Jim’s going to realize.
Luckily, the kid’s a bit too self-absorbed to notice otherwise. He’s never noticed that Leonard is never more then a little bit tipsy at best, despite the fact that he can drink Jim under the table before even hitting that point. And when Jim gets drunk, he gets talkative. Well, John amends himself, more talkative. He likes to push Leonard about his past, which had led to a long and detailed history about Georgia and horses and an old country doctor practice that’s so convincing, John himself half beliefs that it really did happen. He’s even got a stock of ‘stories’ of his college days at Ole Miss and medical school. But nonetheless he finds himself being dragged out of the sickbay not entirely under his own power. (or so he lets Jim think) His shift did end two hours ago, so he’s not doing anything wrong in abandoning his post. M’Benga can handle anything, and it’s easy enough to locate him if something should go wrong.
Jim drops haphazardly into a chair once in his quarters, and John slides less wildly into one across from him, plunking two bottles of whiskey on the table with an expression that looks like a cross between a smirk and a scowl.
Two hours later, Jim is completely smashed, and John is about a quarter of the way there, despite having consumed more alcohol then the captain. It’s enough that when Jim starts asking him questions about his family, he’s spacey enough to mention Sam. “Didn’t… know y’had a sister Bones.” He asks shakily, struggling to stay upright.
“Sam’s dead. Died two ‘undred years ago, or close t’it.” John slurs slightly. It’s then that Jim’s stomach has decided it’s had enough, and John is forced to help the man out and get him into bed.
In the morning, John is horrified to remember what had occurred. Jim is the first person in a very, very long time that he can let his guard down around, and he’s coming dangerously close to revealing things no one ever needs to know, not if he wants to stay a free man and not a lab rat - or be looked at with respect instead of revulsion. Aside from the occasional curious glance the incident isn’t mentioned again, but John’s taken to avoiding Jim whenever possible, much as it hurts to separate himself the one person he genuinely cares about - a first since Sam died. He doesn’t go up the bridge like he’s prone to doing, standing just off to Jim’s side and watching with a calm eye the goings on. He doesn’t take his meals with captain anymore, doesn’t spend his off-duty time with him. But John can’t afford to slip up. He can see confusion in the other man’s face when he delivers his reports, or when he’s injured as normal on a mission.
Bones just patches him up gruffly and sends him back on his way with a half-hearted ‘be more careful next time kid’ and leaves it at that. During what has become a weekly ritual of sparring seasons, Spock doesn’t mention Jim or Leonard’s avoidance of him, for which John is infinitely graceful. But of course, fate had a way of intervening.
It was supposed to be simply a diplomatic mission, helping to negotiate a treaty between two warring factions on the planet’s surface, but it’s the Enterprise. Nothing is ever that simple. The planet is important strategically, and it really shouldn’t surprise anyone that the Klingons show up. They’re bent on wrecking the peace that would lead to the planet joining the Federation, and the landing party is caught in the middle of it. They’re split up almost instantly, Jim and Leonard taking cover in an alcove off to the side, and Spock and Uhura trapped in a secondary room off the main section. The feral aliens have apparently had enough of killing each other, and turn to the Enterprise crew. Their phasers are burning in their hands, and Kirk makes a comment that he didn’t know Bones was so good with a gun, picking on his deadly accuracy.
Leonard’s suddenly stops firing. “We can’t get out of this like this Jim.” He whispers softly.
“What?” Jim looks panicked for a second. “Don’t give up on me Bones, we can survive this, and we will!”
John shook his head. “Do you trust me?”
Jim blinks in surprise, but nods. “With my life Bones.” A smile quirks at the corner of his mouth. “Then I hope you don’t hate me when this is over.” And with that, he attaches the phaser back on his belt and walks into the fray taking place, with Jim watching horrified behind him.
Several of the big aliens rush him immediately, and John hears a sound of surprise from behind him as he spins and tosses him over one shoulder, following with his own body and pressing a knee into the small of his back. A quick twist, and he breaks the alien’s neck, spinning out of the way quickly as a bat’leth whistles through the air to where he’d been a millisecond before - faster then any human could manage. Jim can only watch in shock as Bones - his Bones, the one that barely passed the self-defense course at the Academy - proceeds to decimate all of the Klingons still in the room. Even swipes that would seriously wound another man didn’t phase him, although when one manages to plunge a blade through his shoulder, it only takes the man a few minutes before he’s back to using both his arms. Jim can’t believe his eyes.
By the time Bones is done, what used to be a room filled with Klingon warriors is filled only with blood and bodies. One of them groans slightly and twitches, and without a moment’s hesitation, Bones stalks over to him and shoots him once in the heart and once between the eyes. When he looks up, Jim is startled at the utter lack of emotion in his eyes, and the coldness that sends a chill down his spine.
“Bones.” Jim says after a moment, looking at his bloody chief medical officer. “I think it’s time we had a serious talk.”
Back to Guardian l To Protector.