Fic: Your Circle Starts to Overflow
Title: Your Circle Starts to Overflow
Author: sunriseinspace
Character(s): Jim Kirk / Leonard McCoy
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I own nothing about Star Trek (2009), its plotlines or characters, including any recognizable dialogue.
Summary: Jim finally crashes after the events of the movie.
A/N: Inspired by September 13th's Semiweekly Man-on-Man pictures at the jim_and_bones comm (member-locked, with an age restriction to join).
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It's the door sliding open that wakes him out of his doze. He blinks blearily at the ceiling, feeling the sandpaper grittiness of his eyelids as they scrape over his eyes, and rolls to face the entrance, squinting to see through the glare from the light shining down on the couch.
"Jim?" He sounds like he's been gargling gravel, the stresses of the past few days showing themselves in his worn-out voice.
There's no response beyond the sound of boots shuffling across the carpet and, slowly, Jim emerges into the pool of light spilling across the couch. He's looking decidedly worse for wear, bruises standing out in sharp contrast on his cheek and neck, eyes glazed and haunted. Leonard feels his heart clench as he looks at the kid; Jim rarely shows his weaknesses and it's a gut-punch every time. With a heartfelt sigh, he rolls to a sitting position, worn blue jeans pulling tight across his thighs while his sweatshirt slowly slides back into place around his waist. Hands braced on his knees, he levers himself to his feet, back and knees aching as he walks over to rest a firm hand on Jim's shoulder.
"C'mon, kid."
He pulls Jim over to the dresser, tugging out a red flannel shirt and a pair of drawstring pants - comfortable clothes, suitable for lounging and wallowing for days on end. Jim's almost doll-like as Leonard strips off his command tunic and trousers and dresses him in the fresh clothing, towing him to the bathroom to run a damp washcloth over his face and neck. The pliancy of his limbs and the glassy sheen in his eyes is disturbing, something Leonard's never seen before and would dearly like to banish as soon as possible. He foregoes the dermal regenerator or tricorder, instead pulling Jim back over to the couch. After flopping comfortably on his back, he tugs on Jim's hand until the kid settles on top of and next to him, wedged between Leonard's body and the back of the couch, securely and safely held where nothing else will hurt him.
They lay in silence for a while, the echoing pops and groans of the mostly empty building background noise to the reassuring cadence of heartbeats shared between them. Leonard feels himself sliding back into a doze, Jim's weight soothing as he sprawls across Leonard's chest. Unconsciously, he strokes a thumb across the warm arch of Jim's side, the taut give of his flesh a magnet he can't resist, feeling drunk with exhaustion.
Jim draws a shuddering breath and Leonard's eyes snap open, the change in Jim's mood palpable in the tension suddenly present in his body. He shifts his arms until they're wrapped around Jim's shoulders, holding him in place when he starts to pull away. They struggle for a moment, Jim half-heartedly trying to get away and Leonard determined to keep him close, a classic Jim-response to stressful situations and one Leonard is well-versed in dealing with. Eventually the fight runs out of Jim, leaving him boneless and limp as he slumps back into place across Leonard's chest, his face pressed into Leonard's left shoulder as he pants wetly, shoulders hitching on the occasional stifled sob.
"So many people, Bones," he moans, voice muffled by Leonard's sweatshirt. Clammy fingers slide against his sides, dragging up under the warmth of the shirt as Jim worms his arms under Leonard. "I was too slow. I should've connected it sooner, we could've stopped it, warned them," he mumbles brokenly, words slurring with exhaustion and emotion as they spill out of his mouth. "God, Bones, Kevin and Gary and-and Gaila." And that's when he really breaks, body clenching and releasing with the tide of grief sweeping over him, hands curled into fists against Leonard's back.
Leonard cards his fingers through Jim's hair, murmuring softly into his ear, arms tight and hands gentle as he anchors Jim, steering him safely through the sudden onslaught.
"It's okay, darlin'," he whispers, pulling back slightly to press a kiss to Jim's temple. Jim shakes his head, crushing his face closer to Leonard's shoulder, holding him tight enough he's surprised Jim can still breathe. "It's okay."
"'snot okay, Bones." His voice is weaker now, rough and breathy, body still and hands loosening slightly - all indications of how close he is to sleep.
Leonard smiles sadly up at the ceiling, leaning his head back on the arm of the couch with a sigh. Jim snuggles his face into a comfortable position on Leonard's shoulder, breath still hitching occasionally on a sob. Closing his eyes, surrendering himself to the warm weight of Jim across his body, Leonard lets himself go boneless on the couch as Jim snuffles once more.
"It will be, Jim. Someday, eventually, it'll be better."
He falls asleep to the moist puff of Jim's breath against his neck.