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Sitting at the bar of a random saloon like thing he couldn't even remember the name of, Leonard gave the woman next to him a once-over or maybe it was a twice-over, he really wasn't sure anymore. She was his type; his usual definition of type, at least, the kind of woman he always thought was his type. Jocelyn had been his type, too.
A huge part of his brain, the one which had been the most active since the divorce told him that a distraction like this was exactly what he needed - long brown hair, beautiful but simple, not special but something nice and shiny to look at.
Leonard wondered though why, even if so much of his thinking mind thought she was what he needed, he couldn't even feel attracted to her. It was as if he knew that he should find her attractive, theoretically, but he simply couldn't. He had no interest in her because slowly but steadily the part of him who had helped him getting through many lonely nights after his relationship with Jocelyn had gone to hell and which told him that woman is clearly your type was dying, nearly dead by now, actually.
The longer he looked at the woman and noticed more and more how his old self would have already started a conversation, the less he actually felt like interacting with her, the less interested he became. It made him only feel worse; being lonely, starting a new life because he had been forced out of his old one by his ex-wife's lawyer, changing into a person he couldn't identify as himself, the one thing he wanted to do was to forget. Forget that he was alone, forget that they took his baby girl from him, forget that he, even when he hated the darkness and silence of space, had entered Starfleet.
It all had become a little bit too much to deal with and he wanted to forget, just for some few, rare moments of inner silence. Not peace; god forbid, no peace for Leonard McCoy, but rather, silence. Since the woman obviously did nothing for him, McCoy realized that he had to turn to the next best thing to empty his mind with – alcohol. Lots of it.
These days Leonard didn't even bother to start with something simple like beer because it barely had any effect whatsoever on him. He started with shots to create a fog in his mind and later, when he didn't need to cut his train of thoughts off so desperately, he ordered Whiskey or Bourbon or something equally tasty.
The woman next to him giggled and smiled at him, noticed his stares, probably, and she was discussing if talking to him was a good idea. Leonard could see that in her eyes and if he had smiled at her now, she would have moved closer for sure. But since Leonard knew that she wouldn't be a solution for any of his problems he quickly emptied his glass, threw some money onto the counter and left the bar, heading for the toilets.
He entered the small bathroom, stumbled to the sinks and steadied himself, basically holding himself upright with his hands. He looked into the mirror and was struck by the reflection, by the man who looked right back at him.
Three-days stubble, split lips and tired, bloody and broken eyes. He looked like shit and the fact that he also felt like that made him be content in his depressions. Why was it that no matter how much he drunk, forgetting always was still so damn difficult? Why could he still hear the laughter of his little girl? Why could he still feel the weight of the suitcase, packed with a few things, clothes mostly, in his hand when he had left his home? Wasn't drinking there to forget about all of that, if only for the silence of one night?
He made his way out of the bar, the saloon, and stumbled a little bit when he turned around in a circle, trying to remember in which direction the next train station had been. Taking a deep breath, he started his way down the road in the direction he thought he had come from earlier that night. His path wasn't straight, he was walking like a snake with a spine, and when one swaying step positioned him a little bit too close to the road, a passing car nearly hit him, making a loud noise which made Leonard's heart jump and startled himself.
“Fucking Jesus Christ!” He yelled in shock and then in anger, “Drunk man walking here, you asshole, open your goddam eyes, what do you have them for?!”
When he finally made it to the station a digital sign told him that the next train to Starfleet campus would come in two minutes so he sat down on one of the metal benches and let his head fall against the glass behind him. He was still drunk; the cold night air didn't help to sober him up like it used to.
When the train arrived he stumbled into it, falling into a seat and drove back to the hell which would have it's grip on him for at least the next three years in which he had to learn and obey again like students did. HE was a student now, once again, even when he remembered how he swore to never study anything ever again when he became a doctor.
It didn't take him long to wander through the night to the building which contained his flat because god bless the small things like his age and title. Those guaranteed him a small home on campus without having to share his rooms with an 18 years-old, cheery person who just started life and who was excited about everything.
Back in his flat he dropped gracelessly onto the couch, face first. He kicked off his shoes, somehow and managed to shrug off his jacket, the same one he wore when he was so stupid and entered a recruit shuttle to Starfleet.
Right in front of his face lied the remote and because of because he took it and turned the TV on. He scanned through the channels, his head resting on one arm, the other one hanging down, his feet and legs lying on one arm rest of the couch. He sapped through the channels four times before he settled on some random cooking show, grunting because of course at this time nothing interesting to occupy his mind would be on. But then the one thing which managed to occupy his mind were surgeries so there was that, no surprise.
He didn't move even when his neck started to hurt a little and the remote dropped out of his hand because he was just too bored, because he just couldn't care anymore to use the muscles in his hand to hold it. His eyes registered the show; a man was handling fruits and cut them, smashed them, cooked something else, what-the-hell-ever but his mind was racing again.
The divorce had been messy. A lot of screaming had been involved, tears and dirty words and innocent questions of his little girl who had asked why he wasn't home at the evening to tell her a story and it only had driven the knife his wife had been pushing into his chest steadily deeper.
So much pain, so many injuries, so many curses.
'Dammit Joce, what did I do to upset you that you felt like ruining my life?' He thought because, summed up, that's what happened. The first true love in his life had given him so much and had taken everything again after Leonard had given everything he had for his family, his last energy to save his marriage, his last breath to kiss his daughter goodnight. But still, for Jocelyn, nothing had been enough and she bitched and argued at him and when she said he had to leave he finally knew that it was fucking over. It had sucked then, it sucked now and maybe if he had refused to leave, maybe things would be different now but he wanted her to stop making noise so Joanna could sleep peacefully so he had left and he had stopped coming back soon afterwards.
Suddenly Leonard felt the need to verbalize just how cruel his ex-wife had been and just how much it all sucked. He sat up and fished for his cell phone in his jacket, hitting the speed-dial button for Jim Kirk when he got a grip on it. He held it to his ear, hearing it ring once, twice, before he closed the phone quickly again and ended the call. He gritted his teeth and stared at the TV, seeing a man cutting carrots and smiling, talking and Leonard didn't know what to do.
He and Kirk; god, were they even friends? They knew each other for maybe three weeks, had talked like, five times by now and even if the kid seemed to be liking him, calling them friends was a little bit over the top.
They had classes together, they had spent their lunchtimes together, once or twice but Leonard didn't even know where Kirk lived and Kirk didn't know where Leonard lived. Maybe, in a few months they would become friends but until then McCoy couldn't just call the kid, the child of a hero, to rant about his own miserable life. Kirk probably had better things to do and wouldn't want to listen to the problems of an old guy anyway.
“Fucking dammit McCoy.” He dropped the phone like he had dropped the remote control before and sank into the back of the couch, closing his eyes, swallowing dryly. He'd just sit like this, here, and wait until the morning came, a Sunday morning which was worse then any other morning because he had nothing to keep his hands or mind busy. Sundays had been his favorite days when he was younger. How come that he hated them now?
All that was left inside of him was exhaustion, he was drunk and tired and so sick of all of it, and no person there with him who could give a single fuck. No one cared. He reopened is eyes because he wasn't physically tired, he couldn't sleep, staring blindly at the ceiling instead of the TV. He considered to stay like this until eternity ended but just as he was thinking that at least this day was over, the room started to twirl around him, spinning out of control.
“Urgs,” he groaned, struggling to stand up for a second before he hurried into the small bathroom. Using the walls to guide him and hold him up, he made it to the toilet before his stomach decided that enough was enough and emptied itself.
He moaned between convulsion and after a few minutes, heaving several times, he sat back on his ass, his head resting on his arms. He waited for another sick feeling but it didn't come and he was left with the dull pounding in his head and his always-there thoughts and blames.
When Leonard felt well enough to move, he managed to get to his feet, spill some water at his face and rinse out his mouth. He caught a glimpse of his reflection but he ignored it. After that he turned off the light, slowly walking back into the living room and sat down on the brown couch again. He pressed his hands against his eyes, seeing sparks and lights and stars, the numbing feeling caused by the alcohol leaving him nearly completely. He still wasn't sober but the large part of alcohol he consumed was now gone, out of his body, so he wasn't even in a really drunken state anymore.
He knew that no matter how he felt now he would only feel worse in the morning so he figured it was time to face sleep, hopefully a quiet one. He didn't bother to undress or even get into his bedroom, he just lied down where he was, closing his eyes, dragging the blanket he always had on the couch over himself. He lied like this for five, then ten minutes before he realized that he was wide awake, staring at the TV again, at the guy who was- what was this man even cooking, Leonard had no idea.
He felt like crying.
“Fuck my life, fuck sleep,” he muttered, swallowing the tears he refused to let out. He lied like this for a while before he got enough motivation to sit upright. The blanket was around his shoulders, soft and warm and Leonard stared into nothingness, started at pixel his mind put together to a cooking show.
“Sleeping is so overrated, seriously,” he said to no one and decided that the sun would be back soon enough and that he could always find something in the day light to do but for now, he was without any real distraction.
He grabbed the remote and flipped through the channels again, this time stopping on a stupid reality TV show he hated but Jocelyn loved.
“Damn it,” Leonard gritted his teeth, sapping further to see if he could find something else, anything else but the program around 1AM was the worst of the worst, that much was clear. He was about to randomly throw the remote control at the TV when his phone, lying on the glass table, started to vibrate.
Leonard stared at it as if it had grown a head and started to talk in Japanese because it wasn't an sms which caused it to move, someone was calling him.
He took it and the name which was shown on the display made McCoy question himself and the whole rest of the world.
He pressed a button and put the phone to his ear.
“Yeah?” Leonard said, his voice hoarse and unsure, but he was sure Kirk couldn't hear that in just one word.
“Uh, hey Bones. I'm calling back because you called me a few minutes ago? What do you want? I mean, why did you call me?”
Great.
“No particular reason?” It sounded more like a question and McCoy hated himself so much for it because it made obvious that he was in distress and Kirk maybe was young but he was too smart for his own or/and McCoy's good.
“You just called me, in the middle of the night, on a Saturday slash Sunday because of no particular reason?” The kid said, sounding suspicious and McCoy closed his eyes, putting his free hand on his face and groaned.
“Yes exactly, that's what I did.” He got out but it sounded weak and it was a lie and they both knew it. For a long moment it was silent on the other side of the phone and Leonard thought that maybe Jim would just drop it and end this weird conversation so they both could forget about it entirely.
“Hey you know Bones, I've never been to your flat. Where do you live?”
“Why do you wanna know?” He asked back because giving Kirk his address seemed... wro-, no, actually it seemed right.
“Oh, no particular reason, Bones.” Kirk's voice sounded teasingly and Bones grunted before he told Jim his address and apartment number.
“Wow, you get to live in an own flat? Being old doesn't seem to be too bad. Anyway, I'll be there soon.” And before Leonard could reply with the words Did you just call me OLD? Jim had hung up on him and he was left with mostly-silence and a phone in his hand. He stared at it, blinking, and tried to remember which idiot wrote the script to his life.
Minutes passed in which depression about his life turned into anger about himself and nervousness about the fact that, apparently, Jim was on his way to Leonard right now.
How did that happened? What did he do? Why would that kid decide to come over in the middle of the night, visit McCoy when they only knew each other for three goddam weeks? When their relationship wasn't even entitled as friends?
He took the remote and shut off the TV, sitting in the semi darkness of his room, weirdly freaking out about his soon to come visitor without any reason. Without any real reason. He sat still, his cheeks heating up, his heart loud in his hears while he cursed himself and his action from earlier, his need to talk to someone. Why did he call Jim? Why did he DO that? Sure, he liked the kid and sure the conversations they had always were really nice; comfortable, even, like conversations hadn't been in a long time for McCoy.
“But coming over when the other one is depressed in the middle of the night on a weekend? I guess the kid likes me more then I thought...” He mumbled under his breath, shaking his head. Leonard wasn't sure how much time passed but it had to be around 15 minutes when his doorbell rung.
He jumped at the loud sound but stood up to open the front door.
Leonard didn't know what he expected but a bloody, sheepish grinning Jim Kirk who held up a bag with food wasn't it.
“What the hell did you do, run into a wall and then just because of the fun of it jumped off of a building afterwards?!” McCoy said, completely forgetting about the fact that he had problems and that this should be awkward. Jim looked horrible; his face was swollen, bruises forming around his right eye and jaw, his lip and one eyebrow split and McCoy was sure that the chest and stomach as well as the kid's hands would look the same.
He dragged Jim inside by his shirt, kicking the door shut. He lead the way into the living room, pushing Jim down on the couch, pointing a finger at him, saying, “Stay there, for heaven's sake, and try not to bleed on my blanket!” before he left to grab a med kid (one he put together himself and which therefor was way better then normal med kids, containing several regenerators).
When he came back Kirk was still grinning and he had opened one of the cartons with Chinese food inside, digging into the noodles and eating them hungrily, barely chewing.
Jim pointed at the second carton on the table.
“Didn't know what you like so I bought the same as I have.” Leonard rolled his eyes, took Jim's food out of his hands and put it away.
“Hey I wanna eat- Ouch!” Jim tried to grab it back but McCoy sprayed disinfection spray onto the hand Jim used to reach out with. Since the knuckles there were open and bloody it probably hurt like hell.
“Sit still and let me take care of your injuries; you can eat after that!” Leonard grumbled and started to unpack the med kid which he had put down next to the food.
“But by then it'll be cold!” Jim whined as if cold Chinese takeout was the end of the world. McCoy stared at him, unimpressed by the puppy eyes and the pouting lips.
“Then you better hold still so I can work as quick as possible.” He took Jim's hands, turning them around to inspect them properly. The skin was cut, bruised and bloody, the knuckles red and swollen but gladly nothing was broken. He took the regenerator gloves out of the med kid and put them on Jim's hand before he turned to Jim's face. He couldn't do much about the split lip but he patched the cut above Jim's eye together, fixing a small regenerator there, too.
Leonard's hands worked steady even with some rest alcohol still in his blood. He tried to be as careful as possible, not wanting to hurt the kid further but he had to press down a few times and Jim flinched but never much. Leonard was surprised that Jim let him work in silence and wasn't complaining loudly. Jim didn't even seem to be uncomfortable with the closeness between them; McCoy was sure that Jim could feel his breath on his face.
When he pressed his fingertips against Jim's split bottom lip again Jim hissed.
“Sorry,” Leonard muttered before he withdrew his hands from Jim completely.
“The regenerator gloves have to work for 15 more minutes, the one above your eye for five more. I can't do much about the bruises, you have to go to the hospital if you want them to heal. Now strip.” McCoy explained, already activating the biggest regenerator he had and which was for chest injuries. When he looked back at Jim the kid raised an eyebrow but wasn't moving or making any motion to put off his shirt, he just stared at Leonard.
“What? With a face like that and hands like that I'm damn sure you got a few blows to your rips, too. Shirt off so I can look if anything is broken.” Jim seemed to be considering a 'no' but then obeyed and shrugged out of his jacket and shirt, putting both on the couch.
“You know, I thought we would spend the night watching crappy TV and talk about the fact that you called me because you're lonely and depressed and not that you would take care or my injuries.”
“I'm not lonely and I'm not depressed, I'm fine,” Leonard replied casually. He tried to remember if he ever had a not-casual conversation with Jim.
“Well, I'm probably still a little bit drunk but nothing I can't manage. But how are you, huh? How did you end up like this?” McCoy asked wile pressing his hands against Jim's chest and rips. He could feel that the kid shivered and he could see that Jim's nipples, well, got hard, but that probably just meant that Leonard's hands were cold.
The skin above the rips was obviously bruised but again, nothing broken. McCoy fixed the regenerator around Jim's upper body, telling it to start and do it's job.
“If I tell you that it wasn't my fault you're not going to believe me, huh?” Jim said and smiled his slightly sheepish smile again. McCoy rolled his eyes, grumbling and leant back, motioned with his hands that Jim was free to put his clothes back on.
“You're damn right kid, I won't believe you that.” The shirt Jim put back on was dark red and fit him nicely. It was no problem to wear it over the regenerator since the machine was some new kind of mat McCoy had gotten from the hospital he had worked at before; it was thin enough to wear it under clothes.
“I had an argument with some guy at some bar. We disagreed about something and stupidly he had two friends and I was alone. So. That's how it happened,” Jim told Leonard, shrugging and grabbing the opened food carton from before.
McCoy didn't push the matter because where would be the use in that? Jim had been in a bar fight and if Leonard was right the kid would end up in another one pretty soon. Jim seemed to be the guy who couldn't back out of a fight.
“You’re lonely,” Jim stated between two bites, obviously not letting go of the fact that McCoy had called him first.
“No I am no.” Leonard replied, getting up from the couch to pace the room. “Lonely, not at all. I've been on my own for months now, ever since my ex-wife decided to ruin my life. And, believe me, if you could have seen the woman I could have taken home with me tonight...” McCoy realized that he really didn't want to talk about his evening because maybe Jim would question why he didn't bring said woman home.
“I'm just saying, I chose my current situation, okay.”
While Jim was eating, his eyes following McCoy it was clear that he didn't believe the doctor.
“But you called me.”
Leonard was embarrassed by the truth of that statement and flushed pink.
“Just a test, “ he said. “Now I know that you'll even answer your phone in the middle of night. Or at least call back when I called you but you couldn't answer.”
“You can call me any time, Bones,” Jim said, “Whenever and why-ever.” The kid smirked, stuffing more of the noodles inside his mouth. Jim was eating slower then he had before and also seemed to survive the fact that his food was nearly cold now.
“I could put your food in the microwave to warm it up,” Leonard offered, stopping the pace behind the couch but Jim shook his head.
“And I'm NOT lonely, I-” McCoy stopped in his words when his eyes met Jim's, blue and crystal clear and he could see in them that Jim wasn't buying his lies, not a single one. He looked to the floor, crossing his arms in front of his chest.
“Okay, so maybe I am a little lonely, who cares?” He glanced at Jim, “Don't you ever get lonely?”
Jim shrugged again, putting the carton of food down in his lap, resting one arm on the back of the couch so he could face McCoy.
“I usually have no problem with being alone but if I want company I always get some quickly. So, uh, usually, I don't get lonely, no.”
“'Course you don't get lonely,” Leonard muttered under his breath, upset somehow, maybe a little bit angry. “What am I thinking, you and lonely?” He laughed drily, “You're the son of a famous hero, a genius too, good looking and you have connections through your parents.”
Jim opened his mouth to say something but McCoy wasn't ready to be interrupted so he simply kept talking, pacing again.
“It's not that I don't wish you to have an easy life, it's not that I don't wish anyone an easy and nice life but you know, why has my life to be so hard and unfair? What did I do to deserve this shit? Being divorced, never getting to see my only child just because my ex-wife had a better lawyer? How did I even end up in Starfleet for heaven's sake?! I hate space! It's disease and danger, all wrapped in darkness and silence! We're gonna die out there and for what? Honor? Pride? My father's dead, my mother doesn't care, my ex-wife wants me dead anyway... What am I doing this for?”
As Jim silently listened to Leonard's ramble, Leonard noticed that that's what he wanted, needed, what he had hoped for when he had called Jim first. He just needed to talk to someone about this. He just needed a listener, someone who wouldn't judge or offer solutions. Just someone who was there because being lonely did the strangest things to people. He didn't need someone who talked back, just someone who heard him.
Leonard realized that it wouldn't have mattered, exactly, who listened but he was glad that it was Jim. He liked the kid; he was young but also had been through situations other people never had to deal with and he probably understood the misery at least partly.
McCoy's voice faltered and turned from causal to strained.
“They took my daughter from me and I am not even allowed to fucking visit her. I can't be her father because I am forbidden to go near her. She was everything I had, the most important thing in my life! And my wife, Jocelyn, she just took her away from me, forced me to leave and the only goddam place I could go was space and god, of course that's the place I fear the most.” Leonard said, swallowing tears which again burned in his eyes.
Leonard knew how pained his voice must have sounded. He stood behind the couch, pressing the back of his hands against his eyes and tried to get a grip on his emotions. He took a deep breath, forcing the tears away, forcing the feelings welling up inside him to calm down.
“I- I should go to bed. You can sleep on the cou-” Leonard started but Jim interrupted him.
“You're not going to get any sleep if you head off now and lie down in your bed, Bones.” The look in Jim's eyes was way to wise for a young guy like him, the spark of knowing and the fact that he was right. Leonard held his breath for a moment, unsure of what to do.
Jim saved him form having to decide.
“Your food's gonna get cold or well; it's probably cold by now,” The kid grabbed for the remote, switching channels.
“Do you have beer?” The light voice and the fact that Jim completely ignored the thick emotional nearly-dust in the room, the tension, made it easy for Leonard. As if he hadn't just revealed his whole heart and fears.
“Sure,” He answered, his voice still thick with emotions. He left the living room, entering the small kitchen, listening to the sound the TV made and the humming of the fridge when he opened it. It was pretty much empty, only a carton of milk, some cheese and three beers inside it. The brown bottles were cold to Leonard's touch when he stroked the glass with his thump, a last thought ghosting through his head.
I'm not gonna let anyone take anything from me ever again.
When he returned to the living room Jim sat on the couch, legs crossed, blanket over them. The kid seemed to enjoy himself, watching some random shoot-and-explode movie, eating noodles-
“Is that my food you're eating?!” McCoy asked, falling onto the couch next to Jim, putting the beer bottles on the table.
“Can we take those off?” Jim held his hands up, referring to the regenerator gloves and ignoring McCoy's question.
Leonard was stunned for a second or two before he decided that no, he wasn't even hungry and being annoyed by Jim wouldn't help anything so he nodded, reaching out and shutting the gloves off. Jim pulled them away from his hands, letting them drop into his lap and tried flexing his fingers. He smiled before he took his food back into his hands, shoveling noodles inside his mouth. Leonard followed the movement with his eyes, still a little bit perplex with the whole situation. Again, the rational part of him knew what was going on, theoretically, but he couldn't quite catch up with the turn of the events.
Jim ate and watched TV while McCoy stared at him. Minutes passed by, silently, and Jim started to pull and tug at the regenerator above his eye, not trying to take it off but it probably was itching.
Leonard's head was empty but when Jim just couldn't stop touching the damn regenerator Leonard's training as a medical student popped up and he batted the kid's hand away, grumbling something about nervous habits and patients who couldn't keep their hands still and then deactivated the small machine, dropping it into the med kid.
After he did so Jim gave him a small smile and finally taking one of the beers McCoy had put on the table, opening it and taking a sip before he focused his attention back on the TV. Leonard was amazed by that because the program clearly couldn't be much more boring.
He realized that he was still staring at Jim.
His cheeks flushed slightly when he turned away, coughing and leaning back against his couch. He was far from sitting upright, his feet ending up on the table, hands interlaced, resting on his stomach.
McCoy had NO idea how they ended up like this, Jim chewing cold Chinese take out, watching pointless shows around a time they shouldn't even be awake. But he knew that the possibility of crying himself to sleep that night was starting to get damn small.
And he liked that.
oOo
Leonard didn't dream that night. Usually nightmares haunted his dreams, painted the inside of his eyes with tears, soaking his clothes with sweat and left him with desperation every time he woke up. He never managed to sleep long either, rising with the sun; but surprisingly that Sunday morning he probably would have slept until noon if not for the sound of a closing door which woke him up.
Leonard sat up straight, startled by the late morning light which fell on his face and regretted the movement instantly.
He groaned, one hand messaging his neck.
“I'm too old to spend a night on the couch,” He murmured, realizing that the red, fluffy blanket Jim had used the previous evening was covering him now. He distantly remembered falling asleep in a sitting position while they watched a movie in which cars exploded messily and people were shot. He had no idea if the movie had an Happy Ending because he hadn't been awake when it had ended.
The next things Leonard noticed were, first: He didn't wear trousers. Underwear, yes, the jeans from yesterday, no. Those were gone. And second, he smelled coffee.
His stomach rumbled loudly. Leonard moved his feet (without socks he noticed, were did his socks go?) and sat them down on the carpet, feeling it soft but solid, grounding. His head hurt a little bit and his eyes were hard to open, so he blinked a few times to adjust to the day light. He rubbed his face and stood up, a yawn escaping him and the standing up became a stretching, his arms and hands high. He cracked his spine too, making a sound that he knew wasn't healthy but felt good.
As awake as he could get he made his way into the kitchen, only remembering that a closing door had woken him up when he saw Jim.
Who stood in his kitchen, unpacking milk, bread, bacon, cheese and several other things that existed in every normal household.
“Oh, hey. You're awake.” Jim said and gave him a smile while closing the cupboard he had put in a bag of flour.
McCoy blinked, his brain wrapping itself around Jim's words, slowly, but gave up half way.
He grumbled, “No' really, no.” and continued his way to the coffee machine. It was ready and Leonard reached out for his usual cup which stood right next to the coffee machine, always stood there. Just not today. For a moment he was confused, thinking that maybe his brain was wrong and he never had a green, big cup but then he was sure of himself again.
His hand stilled in the motion, hanging in the air before he turned his head into Jim's direction.
“Where's my mug.” He asked but it didn't sound like a question. It was a combination of words to state the obvious but Leonard was tired and not wake enough to say: 'You bought food and you cleaned my kitchen, made coffee and took my mug away. You moving in or what.'
Leonard slightly wondered (and it was that thought that made him realize he was beginning to function) if a certain part of his friendship with Jim had escaped his memory. Maybe a conversation, a situation which made them go from fellows to friends, and he only couldn't remember it.
“I cleaned it and put it away,” Jim answered and shrugged and continued to store away the food.
“You want eggs and bacon for breakfast? Or is coffee enough?” The kid asked, pointing at the coffee machine. Leonard didn't move nor did he try to get himself a mug so when Jim opened a cupboard, got a mug out, filled it with coffee and shoved it into McCoy's hands and then shoved McCoy onto one of the two chairs, all he did was staring at Jim as if the kid had two heads.
Leonard remembered last night. A woman in a bar he didn't like because she looked so much like Jocelyn, he remembered random cooking shows, Jim visiting with take out, more pointless TV... But nothing unusual, anything which could explain why Jim had went out to buy things.
To-
To take care of me, Leonard thought and it startled him.
He sipped at his coffee, swallowing, inhaling it, really, before he managed to look away from Jim moving around the kitchen as if he lived here and Leonard was the visitor. Jim put a pan on the stove, eggs and bacon lying next to it and he was chatting about something (Leonard had no idea because he didn't really listen).
“-en he said that it wasn't his fault at all you know, but it was totally his fault and-”
“You bought food.” Leonard interrupted Jim. The kid stopped his motion of putting eggs inside the pan and turned around to look at McCoy.
“Well, I was hungry.” He raised an eyebrow as if Leonard was the one behaving weird.
“You bought food.” Leonard said again but with more force this time to make his point clear but Jim didn't get it.
“We know each other for maybe three weeks and I called you yesterday because I'm an idiot and you came here with food and stayed, watched TV with me after I was this close to a nervous break down! And you put a blanket on me when I fell asleep on the couch which means you either way slept on the ground or in my bed which I don't know if it's weird or not and now you're standing in my kitchen, on a Sunday morning, making goddam breakfast.” McCoy didn't wait for a response and just drunk more coffee.
“Yeah, and your point is?” Jim said, half shrugging, turning back to the food, moving it around in the pan. The smell of eggs and bacon filled Leonard's nose and his stomach roared loudly.
"My point is, Jim, that nobody just does those things for someone they just met!" Leonard's voice was rough with sleep when he put the now empty coffee mug on the table next to him.
Jim only shrugged again.
"It's a good thing we didn't just meet, then." He offered a smile to Leonard who took a few more steps into Jim's direction.
"This isn't a joke, Jim." He had risen his voice before but those words just came out like a whispers and he crossed his arms over his chest.
“It's- It's kind of a big deal, at least for me.” He tilted his head sideways, making a fist and not looking at Jim. He was doing it again, opening up, revealing emotions he normally had no desire to talk about.
He heard how Jim handled the pan and the food which was done by now and put onto plates. Leonard dropped his hands, blinking and caught the movement in his peripheral vision. He waited warily to see what the kid was going to do.
Jim had rested his hands on McCoy's shoulder before, in the shuttle when they took off to leave Iowa. McCoy had been scared and they had shared his alcohol and later when the shuttle had rumbled and shaken Jim's hand had landed on Leonard's shoulder, squeezing to calm him down. Jim lifted his arm to do it again now.
Leonard didn't know why, maybe because of the combination of emotional distress, hangover and the fact that it was way too early, he decided that no, a hand on his shoulder wasn't enough, wouldn't be enough. He made a step into Jim's direction, entering personal space, throwing his arms around the kid in an embrace and buried his head against Jim's neck.
Jim seemed to be stunned, one arm hanging at his side, the other one mid-air and wasn't moving. Leonard pulled tighter in a desperate attempt to get a positive response instead of a rejection because he wasn't sure if he could handle that.
But then Jim tentatively brought his arms to Leonard's waist, curling his hands into his shirt. The tension left McCoy's body and he sighed, puffed out air against Jim's skin. Jim wrapped his arms further around Leonard's back, tugging him even closer.
Leonard knew he needed the hug but he still was caught off guard by the feeling of comfort, offered and accepted. The physical contact made his body sag against Jim's as he let go of the stress and weight that pushed him down for so long. It looked as if Jim took these things off of him, carrying them but at the same time the kid leaned onto McCoy too.
Leonard trembled, feeling weirdly light, like a feather and he felt how Jim pressed his cheek against the side of his head, breathing out. McCoy smiled, would have huffed out a laugh but instead he closed his eyes shut, bathing in the scent that seemed to be Jim, absorbing the warmth which came with the human contact.
Time passed by and neither of them could say how much it was, how long they stood like this but they both felt pleasantly warm, a tingling sensation flooding them.
“How are you feeling?” Jim asked Leonard, his voice soft, barely more then a whisper. Leonard only heard it because Jim's mouth was next to his head, a distracting sensation, those lips brushing the side of his jaw.
“Um, better,” Bones said, “I actually feel better.”
“I’m glad that you do,” Jim said and squeezed Leonard who could feel Jim smiling against his cheek. They stayed like this, embraced in the other ones presence, the room charged with a thousand more things between them when Jim said: “I should probably leave after breakfast. I have to study.”
“Yeah, okay,” said Leonard, his mood deflating by the idea that Jim would leave him soon.
“And, you know, I promise I won’t, like, call you constantly for no good reason." He added because other wise it only would have sounded damn cheesy.
“You can call me,” stated Jim firmly as a response but then dropped his voice again, “If you need me, that is.” Leonard could feel how Jim tensed up and he didn't like it. Didn't like it at all.
“Okay,” He could have kicked his own ass. He said 'okay' as if it was no big deal when it was the biggest of deals and all he wanted was Jim to stay with him and only if it was for this one Sunday. If it only was for a few more hours he could escape memories, could escape the shadows of his old life and maybe, maybe laugh at jokes and make random conversation, maybe leave his flat and walk around the city just because of the fun of it, just because the sun shone warm today.
Leonard fought with the feeling of not wanting to let Jim go but he knew that he couldn't just say 'stay, I am still lonely and you're the only one who is willingly to put up with me' because that would have been weird.
Also, he was okay now. He didn't really need Jim right now and he was sure that Jim had things to do, not just studying (he was actually pretty sure Jim wouldn't study on a Sunday).
“I guess I’ll see you around then,” Leonard said, swallowing hard and withdrawing his arms, making a step away from Jim. The kid looked as if he wanted to say something but didn't know exactly what.
“I should leave,” repeated Jim but looking uncertain, not convinced of the idea.
“Yeah,” Leonard chewed on his bottom lip, catching the small smile on Jim's face, a small smile which looked sour and bitter, leaving as quickly as it had shown up. Jim pointed at the food, “I'm not really hungry anymore so, uh, you can eat it and-”
Leonard didn't know why he did what he did next but he did it. He interrupted Jim.
“I could help you with your studying. Or well, we could study together because I have lectures too, I mean, me-ean, we have lectures together.” It was not a question neither was it a statement or an offer; the only thing it was was awkward. Leonard felt weird for asking this of Jim because what if the kid didn't have to do any homework and it only had been a lie to escape his company? Leonard would have made a great fool out of himself because it sure as hell sounded desperate and as if he was trying to hit on Jim.
Not that he wouldn't have thought about that already but really, how high were his chances?
Suddenly the smile on Jim's face was back, more sincere now, brighter, actually reaching the kid's eyes.
“I have to get my things for that. So, uh, breakfast and then I go get my stuff? And we come back here or...?” Jim asked and Leonard shrugged but never leaving Jim's face.
“It's nice outside. We could go to a park, get some coffee on the way. Maybe visit the harbor?” Leonard wished someone would make him shut up because his words. His goddam words only sounded more as if he was trying to get Jim to agree to a date. Because seriously, was he offering a walk at the harbor and a kind-of-picnic?
Leonard couldn't look away from Jim, hypnotized by the blue of Jim's eyes. He felt his face heat up when Jim's smile became a little bit softer, small crinkles and dimples forming.
Adorable, offered his brain and how unhelpful was that?
“Sounds like a plan,” Jim said.
oOo
Leonard had always thought that Jocelyn was his type; his usual definition of type at least, the kind of woman he always thought was his type. A huge part of his brain, the one which had been the most active since the divorce told him that a distraction was what he needed; first he had thought that by 'distraction' different woman and pointless sex was meant. Then over time he thought maybe the 'distraction' he was looking for was work and change of location.
But all of it, the unknown, made him only feel worse; being lonely, starting a new life because he had been forced out of his old one and changing into a person he couldn't identify as himself yet.
He wanted to forget about it, for the longest of times. Forget that he was alone, forget that they took his baby girl from him, forget that he, even when he hated the darkness and silence of space, had entered Starfleet.
That was of course, until Jim Kirk stood in his kitchen and said “Sounds like a plan,” but meaning something else entirely.
He meant:
'Let's become the youngest Captain in Starfleet history with a half-vulcan/half-human First Officer and the best CMO the Fleet has ever seen and who saved the earth. Twice.'
'Let's be the first one to start a five year mission into space, discovering planets; boldly go where no man has gone before.'
THE END