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In the end, Leonard decided, when he thought back on it, better the rain than anything else that could have gone wrong that day. Better that the rain had come when they’d been nearly back at the barn; better that nothing had happened to derail Jim’s riding lesson, hard-won as it had been.
He’d tried not to press, of course. Jim was allowed an irrational fear just as much as anyone else––Lord knew Leonard had enough of ‘em––and, well, a fear of being thrown from a horse wasn’t exactly irrational. But Jim had watched him ride the day before, even gotten so far as offering Hyperion an apple, and Leonard had merely mentioned that night (both of them perched on the rickety porch furniture, crickets chirping, fireflies flickering) that Halimedes is old and gentle and simply loves to amble these days. In the morning Jim had given him a nod and a careful, considered okay, and out they’d gone.
It was early enough the heat wasn’t unbearable, early enough that the fields were quiet and when they lapsed occasionally into comfortable silence there was only been the sound of Halimedes’ breathing and his hooves crunching through the grass, stiff with several months of drought. Leonard kept the reins looped around one hand as he guided Halimedes along, and after one of those silences, he let his free hand brush Jim’s thigh. “You’re doing great, kid. How’s it feel?”
“Good.” It was slow, almost uncertain, followed by a nod. “I, uh… didn’t expect that, honestly. Thought I’d get into the saddle and just say hell no, not for me. But I wanted to try.”
He was glad he’d waited to say more when Jim continued, “Felt like it was fair, you know? You’ve tried enough for me. The flight sims, the climbing, hand to hand…”
“Jim, I don’t… hell, I didn’t make you think you owed me anything, did I? I know I groan and complain, but––fuck. All that’s part and parcel of Starfleet. I knew when I enlisted I’d be in for it all. And if I have to do it, I’m glad it’s with you, if I haven’t said that enough. You’ve made it more’n bearable. … But this–you don’t have to… prove yourself to me.”
“Wasn’t that.” He looked up to see Jim smiling, bemused, and he could roll his eyes at himself for carrying on like a fool, same as he had when he’d collapsed next to Jim on that shuttle. Jim talks to just about everyone, easily and steadily and charming as all hell, but Leonard, well, he can be a taciturn son of a bitch and his talking may as well be a fifty-fifty split between annoyed tirades and whatever perverse anxiety is spiraling through his overworked brain at any given time. Like now.
“Wasn’t?”
“Nope.” Crunch, crunch, crunch. The even plunk of Halimedes’ hooves in the grass. The muscles of Jim’s thigh shifting under his hand. “I just… thought about it, was all. Trusted you enough to come here, first time you asked, every time since. Trust you to be my doctor. Trust you to… actually give a damn if something happens to me. So trusting you with this didn’t seem like all that big a deal. You know. By comparison.”
Jim. Typical Jim. Anything that seems dashed off, rash, unconsidered always has thought behind it. Mind off on twenty tracks at once, the way it’ll have to be when he’s a captain, only these days––unfettered from Starfleet militaristic bullshit out here in Georgia, but numbered, ticking down the three years Jim promised Pike––those diplomacy skills are being put to use helping Jo rule her pretend kingdom, or reassuring Gram there’s absolutely no way Annabeth Brown’s cobbler could’ve been good enough to beat hers at the last state fair.
They settled into talking about other things, unimportant things, engaged each other enough that they barely heard the rumblings of the oncoming storm, barely noticed the darkening of the sky. When the first droplets hit his face Leonard really had to think to place it, because this wasn’t San Francisco where it feels like it rains every damn day, this was Georgia, dry as hell Georgia, planting season delayed Georgia, and––rain, really, finally?
“Squeeze a bit with your calves, okay? Hal doesn’t go much faster’n this, but may as well get as ahead of the rain as we can… good,” he added, when Halimedes quickened his pace just enough, his gait almost in time with the rain coming down more steadily now. And Jim laughed––comfortably, happily––and tilted his face up to the sky, and Leonard found himself tracing the path of raindrops down Jim’s cheekbones.
By the time they made it into the barn it was pouring, fat drops hitting the ground and splattering, thunder rolling through the sky. (It reminded him of their flight to San Francisco, returning from the trip prior to this one, the storm that had set his teeth on edge and the way Jim had talked low into his ear the whole time, explaining the types of clouds, anticipating the turbulence, telling him it would be fine.) The smell of the storm was already suffusing the air, perhaps the only part of rain he liked besides the knowledge the parched land was finally being taken care of––it was earthy and warm and drowning out even the scent of Jim as he stood close to help him out of the saddle and onto the mounting block.
The soles of his boots were slick with rainwater and he’d spun to hang the bridle back up and before he knew it he was flat on his ass, lucky he hadn’t smacked his head on the concrete, and Jim almost stumbled off the mounting block he was laughing so goddamn hard, hands on his knees as he keeled over, gasping for breath.
“What’s so damn funny?” Leonard grumbled as he got to his feet, grateful at least that when they’d left Nolan, one of the stablehands, had been mucking out the stalls, so the straw he’d fallen in was fresh and clean.
“I thought––” Jim wheezed, and god help Leonard if he didn’t want to sock the kid, tears were streaming from his eyes, “I thought I’d be the one on his ass today. Not you.”
“Not even an offer to help me up,” Leonard groused, though he didn’t really mean it, because Jim laughing that much, that hard, was lightening a heart that always felt anchored down. “Just you laughing your fool head off. Charmer, anyone ever tell you that?”
“Everyone but you, actually.”
Leonard stepped to the table he kept the brushes and tools on––laid out, Jim had teased earlier that morning, like a damn surgical tray, in the order he’d need them in––and passed Jim the curry comb. “Everything but his head and his lower legs. Same as you saw me do this morning.”
It didn’t surprise him that Jim’s motions were about as practiced as if he’d been doing it all his life––he’d felt Jim’s eyes on him that morning, committing it all to memory when Leonard had said they’d have to repeat the routine after the ride, leaning as quickly as ever. “I think he likes me,” Jim asserted, cocky as ever, and Leonard rolled his eyes.
“He’ll like anybody who gives him a bit of sugar.”
“Then we have that in common,” Jim cooed, and only the dirt on his hands stopped Leonard from sticking a finger down his throat.
“Wow,” Jim said idly, a moment later, the rhythm of his brushing never slowing. “My ego’s as bruised as your ass, Bones. Not often I get shot down like that.”
“... your meaning being?”
“That was an opening.”
“For what? ”
“You have a horrible ear when it comes to puns. A bit of sugar, Bones. As in give me some sugar. As in you could. You know. If you’re not a coward.”
“A dare, Jim?” Jim was very pointedly facing Halimedes, so he couldn’t see his face, see if the kid was going to turn around and start laughing his ass off again, joke successfully played. “Are you nine?”
“No.” A shrug, nonchalant. “Just eager to see what you’re made of.”
He stepped forward before he could think better of it, close to Jim, so close that when Jim turned his head Leonard barely had to lean in to meet his lips. The brush clattered to the floor and Leonard steered Jim lightly back, and Halimedes stood stalwart as ever as Leonard kissed and breathed in the rain-damp scent of Jim, sweat and rain and dust and Jim.
“Bones,” Jim gasped as they finally broke for air, a hand reaching out to touch Leonard’s chest, push him slightly away. “I wasn’t––you didn’t have to––you didn’t have to do that. It was a dumb joke, I didn’t mean to––”
“You didn’t.” He repaid the hand on his chest with a hand raised gently to Jim’s face, a finger tracing along one of his cheekbones, the one Jim had sustained a minor fracture to the semester before, a hand-to-hand mishap, honest mistake, that nonetheless had made Leonard see red thinking of the cadet whose hamfist had done it. “Was kind of a shitty dare, you know. … Didn’t provoke me into doin’ anything I didn’t want to already.”
The hand on his chest wandered, beginning to explore, hopeful, maybe even excited. “What else do you want to do?” Jim breathed, and there was a catch to it, almost nervous, like he didn’t think it could all be real.
“Finish brushing the horse,” Leonard husked into his ear, and a laugh came from Jim, at least until Leonard finished, “and then I’ll decide. Because it’s a long list. And maybe while you’re otherwise occupied I’ll think of a few more things to add to it.”
He didn’t laugh when Jim bent and fumbled to pick up the brush. No, he couldn’t laugh; it afforded him one hell of a view. And he really did mean to start narrowing that list down, but, well, he was only human.
Thinking could wait a minute or two. He just wanted to stare, to drink it in––the knowledge that this time, it wasn’t a kid outside a candy store stare, a kid who can’t put his hand in the cookie jar stare. No more wanting what he couldn’t have. No more wondering if there was even a chance for someone like him to have someone like Jim––spectacular, infuriating, star-born Jim.
If, when Jim turned back to him after Halimedes had been stabled, there was a smile on his face Jim had to kiss off, a smile that hadn’t been there just a few minutes before, Jim didn’t mention it, didn’t accredit it to himself like the cocksure bastard he was. He just smiled too, and lunged back in, and neither of them heard it when the rain and the thunder finally stopped outside.