Chapter Text
Prologue
Jim Kirk might have been a fresh-faced farm boy (isn't that a joke) when he joined Starfleet at the age of twenty-two, but he wasn't naive. With Riverside being home to the 'fleet's ship yards, there were aliens who worked and lived nearby, and sometimes frequented the same bars. It was true there weren't many. Even at the Academy, the ratio of humans to other species was pretty high, but there were constant recruitment attempts on the other member planets to raise the numbers.
Vulcans were the rarest of the rare. Until he met Commander Spock during his academic hearing, Jim hadn't seen a single one outside of historical videos. Few of his fellow cadets had, for that matter. The Federation's fourth founding race didn't have much use for Starfleet, which made the distress call a bit of an irony before they knew what was going on. Vulcans didn't have the best of reputations, either, dating back seventy years when they had held humans back from going faster than warp four. They were admired for their logic but disliked for their condescending attitude toward Earthers.
Spock fit the stereotype too well. Tall, dismissive and no sense of humor. He'd had the gall to remind Jim what happened when fate caught up to starship captains, as if Jim hadn't known that his entire life. He wished the hearing hadn't been interrupted, because he'd have loved to finish what he started and tear the Vulcan down a notch or three.
Instead, thanks to his best friend, he was sitting on a shuttlecraft feeling like he was dying.
"I may throw up on you," he said to Bones, echoing their first meeting and feeling very much resentful their places had changed. He sulked in his seat, trying to keep his lunch down, and wondered what he was supposed to do when he stopped feeling like shit. Hide in medical for the rest of the trip? Or was he supposed to skulk around the Enterprise for the entire tour of duty while keeping out of Spock's sights? It wasn't like Pike would be happy to see him, either.
As it turned out, he wouldn't have to worry about that problem after all.
*
Spock kept talking over him, and it was really beginning to piss Jim off.
It was a like a real-life version of the Kobayashi Maru test: six Starfleet ships destroyed, Vulcan consumed by a black hole, Captain Pike missing, and an acting captain who wouldn't listen to what his first officer was saying. The Romulans were setting up another trap; it was so clear Jim couldn't believe no one else could see it. He leaned against the rail, watching as Bones' brain melted at the theoretical physics over the talk of alternate realities, and realized the time for talking was over. They needed to act, it had to be unconventional, and they needed to do it now.
The only hitch in the plan was that Spock refused to listen to him, and shut down every suggestion before Jim could fully voice it. For a man who'd seen his home planet destroyed, Spock was too rational but he was still being obtuse about what needed to be done. He was fixated on rendezvousing with the alpha fleet in the Laurentian system so they could lick their wounds. It was the worst thing they could do.
"Spock, don't do that," Jim protested loudly as the order was given. He felt like he was repeating himself, but he'd say it again and again until he was heard. "Running back to the rest of the fleet for a confab is a massive waste of time!"
Sitting in the captain's chair, Spock looked up at him as if he were bored of the conversation. "Those were the orders given by Captain Pike when he left the ship."
"He also ordered us to come back and get him," Jim shot back. "Spock, you're the captain now. You have to--"
"I am aware of my responsibilities, Mister." For the first time, there was a glimmer of emotion beneath the stoney facade. Spock was beginning to get irritated, and that was more than he'd shown at the hearing. Then again, he'd just lost his home planet to a black hole, so it would figure it would affect him somehow.
Jim pressed on what he hoped was an advantage. "Every second we waste, Nero's getting closer to his next target."
"That is correct, and I am instructing you to understand that I alone am in command."
The bastard didn't deserve it, and not for the first time, he wished Pike hadn't fucked off to meet Nero in what they knew was a trap. Jim's hands hurt from clenching his fists, but he was trying so hard not to lose his temper or throw a punch. He was the better man. "I will not allow us to go backwards --"
Now Bones was stepping in, adding his own voice to the mix and trying to talk Jim down. Damn him, why was he siding with the Vulcan? Couldn't he, of all people, see how Spock was wrong? Jim pitched his voice to shout over them both. "--instead of hunting Nero down!"
Spock shot to his feet, a dangerous glint in his eye, and Jim got the sense for just a second Spock might have preferred nothing else in the universe than to ignore Pike's last order and to do just that. Maybe he needed to appeal to that, to draw him out and to somehow crack the veneer of logic masking Spock's emotions. His rising hope died a heartbeat later as the calculated tone resumed. "Security, take him to the brig."
That wasn't what he expected to hear, and Jim blinked, realizing the entire bridge was staring at them in varying states of dismay. He glanced at Uhura for a moment, but there was something off about her expression that he was sure he didn't understand. As the security guards took hold of Jim's upper arms, he looked for Bones, still standing on the other side of the command chair, and saw the look of disappointment on his face.
That was like a slap to the face, and enough to quell the rebellion stirring in his gut. Although he would've preferred to haul off and fight the guards like his Iowa days, he allowed them to manhandle him toward the turbolift as embarrassment coloured his cheeks.
He left the bridge without another word, and feared for the worst.
*
The brig cell was as clean and bright as the rest of the ship, but the bunks weren't meant for comfort. Jim lay back and tried not to think about what was happening as the time passed.
Cupcake was the officer supervising the brig that day, which just figured. He sat at his desk, staring at Jim and letting out the odd chuckle as though he thought this was the funniest development in the universe. Jim gave up glaring at him after the third or fourth incident, and instead focused on the ceiling and its strange lack of features. No tiles or divets, just smooth metal overhead.
After a few hours, he began to wish he had a padd to keep his mind occupied.
"Do you want a harmonica?"
Jim smiled at Bones' voice and quipped, "Nobody knows the trouble I've seen."
"You’re not getting a ‘Glory Hallelujah’ from me,” Bones said, stepping in. "Look, Newman, give me a few minutes with him. I promise I won't break him out."
So Cupcake had a real name; unlike his dogged pursuit of Uhura's elusive first name, Jim hadn't bothered to get to know the burly cadet since that first bar fight in Iowa. He was surprised there was grunted assent, and when he heard the doors to the brig open and shut, Jim finally looked over. Bones was leaning against the far wall, arms crossed tightly over his chest, and damn, he was looking anxious with dark shadows under his eyes.
"I won't joke about conjugal visits," Jim said. "What's going on, or do I want to know?"
"We're still on red alert," Bones said, and didn't even react to Jim's weak joke. The strain was evident in his voice as he spoke. "We're also on battle status. From what I was told, the Enterprise established contact with the fleet and they've been updated on what's happened to Vulcan. We're rendezvousing with them within the hour."
"Then shouldn't you be getting Sickbay ready?" Jim asked.
"Already done," Bones said, but then he faltered and stared at his boots for a long moment. From the motion of his throat, he was trying to force words out past the panic that was building in his chest, and he wasn't willing to let the emotions out yet. "Jim, we've lost contact with Earth."
The news made Jim's gut twist into new knots, and he understood the fear in Bones' eyes. He was thinking about his daughter, and how the safety of home was anything but that at the moment. "Fuck."
"Yeah," Bones murmured, and when he looked up, every emotion he was feeling was visible in his hazel eyes. "Damn it, Jim, I'm sorry I didn't back you up on the bridge."
Feeling his lips form into a wry smile, Jim shrugged. "Hasn't been my day, I guess."
"Then it's a good thing you don't believe in no-win situations," Bones said, "because the day sure as hell isn't over yet."
It should've been reassuring. Jim knew how much Bones relied on that admittedly arrogant confidence, and how it had helped him overcome his own aviaphobia. He wanted to draw strength on his faith, but behind bars – or at least transparent aluminium – all Jim could do was snort his derision. "Yeah, I'm a fat lot of good stuck in here."
"I'll see what I can do," Bones said.
"Oh?" Jim raised his eyebrows.
"I'll go up there and argue for your release," Bones said. "I'm Acting CMO, after all. That's got to mean something in the grand scheme of things."
That his friend might've earned a field promotion hadn't occurred to Jim. When they were in Sickbay, they were too overwhelmed by disoriented and panicked Vulcans for him to understand the full scope of the damage sustained to the medical bays in that first attack, and he'd never had a chance to read any of the status reports before being hauled to the brig.
"Nice," Jim said, nodding briefly and not dwelling on what the promotion actually meant. "That might not be the best move, though. If Spock's still pissed off at me, and I'm certain he is, there might be better things to suggest."
"Whatever you think will work," Bones said. "Tell me what you'd do, and I'll go argue for it."
"Okay." Getting to his feet, Jim paced as he contemplated the situation. "So if we're rendezvousing with the fleet, as you said, Spock and the other captains are going to hash out a tactic that they're going to implement. Our fleet at Vulcan looked like they tried to engage Nero directly in orbit, so instead what's probably going to happen is that they're going to drop out of warp near Mars so they can approach on impulse and attack Nero that way. The only thing that'll do is draw out the slaughter."
"And we'll still lose Earth in the process," Bones finished, and moved to press up against the transparent barrier. If they weren't separated, Jim would've offered him a hug, in the spirit of shoring up their mutual defences against what was coming. Instead, Bones held up his hand, fingers spread, and Jim stepped over to mirror the motion. "We can't let it happen again, Jim. Not to Earth."
"We won't," Jim promised.
"Then I can't believe I'm saying this," Bones said, with a smile that was a ghost of its normal self and with only a glimmer of hopeful humour, "but what would Jim Kirk do? Short of reprogramming the computers, that is."
"Well," Jim began, and tried for a calm voice and a clear mind as he thought about how he would direct the ship if he were in the captain's chair. He also tried to do it with a level head, and shoved his resentment aside all over again. It wasn't easy with the dearth of tactical information, but a plausible solution came to mind a few moments later. "I'd need input from the helm on the precise way this would happen, but that's not a big problem right now. The gist of it is this..."
He sketched out the details, while Bones listened intently. He had his brows furrowed, repeating the cogent details like he was cramming for his Starfleet basics midterm. It wasn't perfect, but by the time Bones left a few minutes later, Jim was satisfied that he would deliver his plan coherently.
Time passed again, and he wasn't surprised when no one came back for him.
He could only imagine what was happening up on the bridge, and wished he were there to press for the action they needed to take. It wasn't hard to picture what was probably happening as the Enterprise headed for Earth with the fleet in tow, and though he had no idea if Bones had sold his plan to Spock, he really hoped he had.
When the battle began, he pressed himself up against the back of the bunk and clutched the edges as the ship was tossed about. Across the room, he saw Cupcake trying to anchor himself to the desk with white-knuckled intensity. Not really wanting to engage in conversation at the moment, even to help with his nerves, Jim closed his eyes and found himself murmuring what might have been nonsensical nothings under his breath. He tried not to focus on the words, but was aware of his intention: "We need to win. We have to win. Bones needs to see his kid again, and we need to go home again."
Maybe someone was listening.
He wasn't sure when the Enterprise stopped shaking, but he allowed himself to uncurl his fingers from the frame – but slowly, just in case it began again. He saw Cupcake doing the same, so he got to his feet and went to the cell door.
"Find out what's happening," he called.
Cupcake glowered. "You're not in any position to make demands, pumpkin."
Jim rolled his eyes to cover his exasperation. "You don't need to be a prick about it, Cupcake, but seriously, call the bridge and found out what just happened."
The guard looked like he was thinking up a zinger of a reply, but the ship-wide intercom interrupted whatever he was going to say. The screens near his desk activated as the speakers turned on, but instead of Chekov's earnest and calm announcement what felt like days ago, Captain Spock's appearance was anything but that. He looked dishelleved compared to his normal self, and a part of Jim's mind noticed that he hadn't changed from his science-blue overshirt yet. Behind him, the bridge was swarming with activity and every visible panel was covered with red lights. To the casual eye, Spock was wearing his Vulcan mask but Jim thought he saw a careful numbness informing his expression as he stared at the camera.
That, more than anything, made his gut sink.
"This is Acting Captain Spock," he began. "I am cancelling battlestations but continuing the red alert. The Romulan ship has been neutralized, but I regret to inform all crewmembers that the planet Earth has suffered the same fate as Vulcan. I am ordering the Enterprise to return to search for survivors. I will require the entire crew to stand by to perform any and all duties required. In the absence of Starfleet Headquarters, Commodore Garth of the Defiant is in command. As the situation progresses, I will update you. Spock out."
There was a numb sensation in the centre of Jim's chest, and he could only stare across the brig to meet Cupcake's stunned face, all traces of his earlier antagonism gone. Cupcake ran a hand over his balding head and blinked away sudden tears. "Holy shit."
"Yeah," Jim echoed faintly.
Cupcake sat heavily in his chair. "Mom, Dad, my kid brothers..."
Murmuring some kind of condolence, Jim wandered back to the bunk and thought of what he'd never see again. The family farm, Frank (and yeah, Jim felt bad about that), the few buddies he had at home, the contents of his dorm room, the Academy, his favourite haunts around San Francisco, and a bright, hazel-eyed girl living in Georgia who'd just wanted her daddy to come back home.
*
In the days that followed, Jim couldn't help feeling like he was sleepwalking through a nightmare and unable to wake up.
On the bright side, he was out of the brig. With every available personnel needed to mitigate the effects of the disaster, Spock had allowed Jim's release in order to assign him to recovery detail. He also had strict orders to avoid the bridge under the threat of being marooned on the nearest planetary body. That suited Jim fine, though he found himself resenting the Vulcan more and more as he moved through the ship and helped where he could. Even fewer Earthers had escaped than Vulcans, and it reminded Jim of stories he'd read as a kid about the HMS Titanic: panicked civilians fighting for life boats and pushing the weaker ones away. A few rich families had escaped in their star yachts, but the mass unwashed of Earth had disappeared into the black hole.
Unlike the destruction of Vulcan, Jim had yet to watch the actual footage. He just couldn't stomach it.
He caught glimpses of Bones in all the turmoil, but could never stop long enough to talk. Circumstances wouldn't allow it and it was clear Bones was fixed on professional mode. Each time Jim saw him, he was looking worse and worse. Everyone was rough around the edges and stumbling around in varying stages of grief -- mostly denial though many had progressed to anger -- but he could see that Bones was inches from coming apart at the seams. His expression looked blank, his jaw covered with stubble, and while everyone had dark circles under their eyes from the stress, on Bones it just looked scary. He reminded Jim of the half-crazed man he'd been on the shuttle three years ago, but this time there wasn't anywhere he could go for a clean start.
The same wasn't true for Jim. He'd finishing helping to process the latest group of survivors when Spock called him into a meeting in the captain's ready room. It was the first time they'd spoken since Jim's stay in the brig, as his release had been an order over the intercom. With Captain Pike now officially reported as killed in action, the current fleet commander – Commodore Garth of Izar – had permanently appointed Spock as captain but he'd yet to start wearing the gold tunic. Jim wasn't sure what he thought about that as he stood just inside the door so it could shut behind him.
"You asked for me?" Jim wasn't ready to add the honorific yet, but he kept his tone even.
"Have you rested yet, Mr. Kirk?" Spock asked, and somehow he managed to voice it in a way that didn't sound patronizing. The crisis and the Vulcan's own personal grief seemed to have etched new lines in his face, reminiscent of the elders rescued earlier.
"I'm fine," Jim said, and that much was true. He was still wired for academic life. He was used to late nights spent studying and completing projects, and not to mention partying. There were still miles to go before he needed serious shut-eye.
Spock nodded, and steepled his fingers. "Mr. Kirk, I believe the Earth saying is that our professional relationship has gotten off on the wrong foot."
The comment stunned Jim for a long moment, and he had to blink a few times before he found himself capable of responding. "Wrong foot, huh?"
"I have reviewed my actions from the time I took command of the Enterprise, and I see I made certain decisions that may have detrimentally affected the outcome," the Vulcan continued. "I allowed my reaction to your Koyabashi Maru test to color my perceptions of you, and as such did not listen to your counsel when you were acting as my first officer. Captain Pike had been wise enough to listen to you, and I should have done the same."
"Well." Again, Jim felt stunned by the words. "So you're saying you regret not listening to me."
"Regret is a human emotion." The way Spock said it made it sound like a practised excuse, but Jim remembered their confrontation on the bridge and what he'd seen reflected in the Vulcan's eyes.
"Oh, I think it's more than just a human emotion," Jim said.
A tiny quirk appeared at the corner of Spock's mouth. "Perhaps."
"So you're apologizing."
Spock bowed his head. "I am."
"I see." Jim paused, and realized he needed to continue. He was probably rubbing in the facts, but he had to give voice to the elephant in the room. "You realize that if we'd acted earlier, Earth might still be here."
"I do," Spock said, and his voice sounded quieter. "I have reviewed our situation many times in order to understand where our performance may have been improved, and the thought has certainly occurred to me several times. However, nothing is certain."
"No, nothing is," Jim echoed, and shifted his weight for a moment. "All right, I accept your apology. Is that all? I've got work to get back to."
"I have an offer for you," Spock continued, just as Jim was finishing his phrase. "As I am now the captain, I have promoted Ensign Chekov to science officer, and am in the process of reorganizing the bridge crew. I have yet to find a suitable replacement for tactical. I believe you were the top student in your class, Mr. Kirk, and I would like you to accept the position along with a full promotion to lieutenant commander."
Jim stared at him. "You're offering me a position on the bridge?"
"I am." There was a faint twist to his lips that might've been a smile. "I believe that in another context, we would be able to work well together."
A part of Jim wanted to hesitate and give himself time to consider the opportunity. The truth was that he knew this was the place for him, and he'd like to think that Pike would've wanted to include him on the bridge crew if circumstances had been different. Jim nodded, and extended his hand to Spock's. "I'll take it."
"I am gratified," Spock said, and at least that sounded honest. He shook Jim's hand after a moment's hesitation, and then retreated behind his desk. "And now, I have something else to discuss with you. I have received a letter of resignation from Chief Medical Officer McCoy."
The news didn't surprise him, but it still felt like a stone sinking in his gut. "I didn't know that."
"I have yet to acknowledge his request," Spock admitted, "but I require your insight into the situation. I realize Dr. McCoy is a friend of yours, and while I do not wish to pry, I want your assessment of his mental state. I am aware that he has lost family, and is thus emotionally compromised. However, the condition of his enlistment does not allow me to grant his request, and our current needs in regard to personnel requires every able-bodied person to remain at full strength."
It didn't take a stretch of the imagination to know how Bones was doing. "He lost his daughter. He's taking it especially hard."
"Do you believe his grief would compromise his performance as a physician?" Spock asked.
That was a harder question to answer. "No, he's too much of a professional. He can do his duty, which he's doing right now as we speak. He's coping, but barely. That's what humans do." Until they can't, whispered a worried part of his mind.
"I am aware of that quality," Spock said. "It is, in fact, one of the more reliable traits humanity possesses."
"I'll take that as a compliment," Jim said.
"It is intended as such." Spock tapped his fingers on the desktop for a moment. "I have no desire to allow someone as skilled as Leonard McCoy to leave Starfleet, especially at a time such as this, but I do not want to force him to remain. If I permit him several months' leave, do you believe it would suffice?"
That made Jim pause. "Didn't you just say that we can't afford to let people stand down at a time like this?"
"I am quite aware these are extraordinary times," Spock admitted, and there was strain in his voice that came from personal understanding of how extraordinarily shitty everything was. "As captain, it is my prerogative to make exceptions when it may lead to a better functioning crew. That is a logical outcome, and from the last estimate from engineering, we will spend five months in orbit of Centaurus in order to effect repairs. I can spare our chief physician that long."
"So you do have a heart," Jim said, a little drily, but nodded. "It's something, anyway. I'll go tell him, if you don't mind."
This time, Spock looked a little relieved. "Thank you. I will place it in his file, but I do admit, I have not been keen on facing him."
"You're welcome," Jim told him, but there was something about Spock's words that had him wary all over again. The admission of reluctance sounded out of character, if only for the Vulcan profession of not having emotions, but it also made him wonder about what had been said while he was in the brig. He knew what he'd told Bones to say while imploring Spock to change his mind about reuniting with the fleet, but instructions were always open to interpretation and Bones wasn't one to hold his tongue. Whatever he'd said, it couldn't have been too insubordinate because anything otherwise would've had Bones sitting in the brig right next to him. Given the pressure of the moment, and in spite of Bones technically being on Spock's side during that first confrontation on the bridge, Jim wouldn't be surprised if Bones had used some strongly-worded language. "That's also not very logical of you, Captain."
The use of Spock's rank, the first time he'd uttered it aloud, was meant to soften his words into something bordering on a tease. From the faint quirk of his eyebrow that felt something like a shrug, Spock seemed to be taking it that way. "Vulcans are far from perfect, Commander."
"Not that different from humans, then," Jim said, and took that as his cue to leave.
Delivering Spock's news, however, proved to be easier said than done. It was probably just a coincidence, but Bones seemed to be making himself scarce. There was a legitimate medical emergency the first time Jim stopped into Sickbay, where Bones was in surgery, but the next two times, he was apparently off-site dealing with more of the wounded. When he stopped by the fourth time, he found himself pulled into the nearest storage closet by Nurse Chapel. They'd been introduced earlier when she'd wrapped Jim's injured hand from taking out the Narada's drill, and she'd responded to his tamed-down flirtation by delivering a hypo that would've made Bones proud.
"He's still out," she said right off the bat, cutting off any of Jim's temptations to make off-coloured jokes. "I need your help, Kirk. It's about Dr. McCoy. I know you two are friends."
"Is he okay?" For several long moments, Jim imagined something horrible happening – a control panel somewhere shorting out when Bones was nearby, a toxic chemical leak, or the worst of Bones' nightmares, a hull breach. At least, it was his worst nightmare until today.
She snorted. "Is anyone right now?"
"Fair, but you know what I mean," Jim said.
"He's taking it harder than most," she finally admitted, arms crossed over her rumpled white tunic. "You need to get him out of medical for his own good."
Pulling a resisting Bones from Sickbay where he had easy access to any number of hypos only meant bad things in Jim Kirk's book, and he shook his head. "The man's my best friend, but I don't come between him and his job. I don't have a death wish."
"Then let me put it this way," Chapel told him, her voice soft but firm. "We've had a rota for taking breaks since the initial influx of patients died down, and most of us have had periodic breaks. He hasn't. We've all lost someone today, Mr. Kirk. My fiance, Roger, was at the Starfleet technology research centre in Tokyo. I understand the appeal of working to avoid your grief all too well, but Leonard's got to stop and get some rest. He's making a martyr of himself, and that's the last thing we need right now."
Jim murmured a condolence at her words, and let out a soft sigh. "All right, but only if you've got a hypo ready for me to use."
He meant it as a joke, but it fell flat as Chapel wordlessly handed over a filled hypospray. "It's yours."
"Holy shit," Jim breathed, staring at the tool in his head. "You're serious? What's in here?"
"Enough sedative to knock out a very stubborn physician," she said, and pulled out a second from the same pocket. "I'll watch your six when you confront him."
"This is called mutiny in my stream at the Academy," Jim said, and glanced at the closed door and wondering how much of their conversation could be overheard in the main part of Sickbay. A second later, he realized that the other personnel were probably playing interference for Chapel while she orchestrated her intervention.
"Shut up and do it," she ordered, but there was little heat in her words. "He'll be back by now."
Slipping the hypo into his waistband and making sure he pulled down his black shirt to cover it, Jim cleared his throat and aimed for nonchalance before heading back into Sickbay. There wasn't anyone around his immediately vicinity except for Chapel, which only confirmed his suspicion. It took a few minutes to actually find Bones, and he finally located him in another ward where he was overseeing a patient. Jim waited until they were through, and then slipped in next to him.
"Got a moment?" he asked quietly.
Bones might have startled a bit, but after that first reaction, didn't look at him. "So Spock let you out finally."
"Yeah, a while ago," Jim said, eyebrows going up. "I saw you about hours ago on deck seven, and you actually said something to me. You don't remember that?"
Bones fixed him with a stare made darker by the circles under his eyes. "I had more important things to consider. It's kind of busy around here, or haven't you noticed?"
"I know." Jim waited a second, and noticed the furtive glances that Bones' assistant and the other medical staff were sending his way. Chapel probably was waiting for him to get on with it as she kept her own expression perfectly neutral. He made sure he kept his voice low. "Look, I have the feeling you've been relieved of duty, probably a while ago."
"And I told them no."
"Fine, but I'm off-duty right now," Jim lied, "and I need my doctor to have a look at me."
If Jim had learned anything about Leonard McCoy in the last three years, it was that he could defuse any tension by appealing to his friend's overdeveloped need to take care of others. Bones huffed a sigh, and gestured to the nearest biobed on the other side of the room. "Then take a seat."
Jim shook his head. "Not in here, it's too crowded."
"That would be a first," Bones said, but the snark he managed sounded weak. "My office?"
"No, but maybe the quarters you were assigned to?" Jim faked a yawn, and then regretted it because it came out feeling way too real. His vision blurred for a second with fatigue until he blinked it away. "I should get some rest but I can't see myself falling asleep on my own, you know?"
A faint excuse for a smile appeared on Bones' face. "Okay."
"Yeah?" This was going to be easy, Jim hoped. Just hopefully not too easy.
"Let me go get a sedative," Bones said, but stopped as Chapel promptly handed over the one she'd shown Jim just minutes earlier. Bones looked at her suspiciously, scowling. "Isn't there somewhere else you should be instead of dogging my footsteps, Nurse?"
The comment didn't even faze her. "Just doing my duty, Doctor."
"Carry on," he muttered, and gestured for Jim to lead the way.
There was an obstacle in carrying out his assignment. The billet that the quartermaster had originally assigned to Bones had suffered damage in the same torpedo strike that had wrought havoc in Sickbay, and the rooms were now cordoned off. Bones stared at the blackened door for too many moments before turning a stunned gaze to Jim. "I guess this won't work."
"What about the CMO's quarters?" Jim suggested, desperate to move away from the area.
Bones agreed, but then he wasn't sure where it was located. A quick check with the computer, another ride in the 'lift, and they were in front of the door marked SAGUN PURI, M.D. To their combined surprise, the door opened when Bones keyed in his code. The lights flickered on, and the first thing Jim saw was boxes full of the late Dr. Puri's belongings. The man had never had time to unpack before their launch. Bones walked past them into the living area and raised his right eyebrow. The expression was so normal, Jim almost forgot his purpose for luring Bones here.
"Well?" Bones held up his scanner, and then frowned as he realized something. "You're wearing gold."
"Yup, Spock accepted me back into the fold," Jim said. "I'm on the bridge crew and everything. It's surreal."
Bones' mouth twisted at the corner. "Then take off your damn shirt."
Remembering only at the last second about the hypo stashed in his clothes, Jim managed to hide it in his shirt as he bared his bruised torso to Bones' scrutiny. "I think the worst of it is healing."
"I'll be the judge of that," Bones muttered, the scanner whirring next to Jim's chest and head. "You look like shit, Jim."
"No, I just feel like crap," Jim said. "You, however, look like shit."
The scanning continued even as Bones glanced up at him with narrowed eyes. "Tell someone who has the time to care."
"I guess that's me, then. Good thing I noticed." Jim paused, and then softly offered, "I'm so sorry, Bones."
The tricorder wavered in Bones' usually steady hands, and he was pretending he hadn't heard as he fixed his gaze firmly on the screen. "Everything looks like it's healing the way it should, which is one good piece of news. You just need to get some rest."
"Only if you do, too," Jim told him.
Closing his equipment with a sound that sounded final, Bones shook his head. "I can't."
"Yeah, I know, you're busy, but seriously, Chapel told me they can spare you for a bit," Jim said. "Like I said, you're off-duty now. The worst is over."
Bones snorted, glancing up with a expression that was a strange mix of fond exasperation and sheer exhaustion. "You don't get it."
"Then explain it to me," Jim said, and kept his tone gentle. "It's just the two of us here. Jim and Bones. You know you can tell me anything. I'm listening."
Whether it was the difficulty of finding words past his exhaustion or trying to express something incredibly difficult to voice, it took Bones several moments to speak. His gaze dropped back to the carpeted deck as he struggled. "I know myself, Jim. If I stop right now, I won't start again. That'll be it. If I can keep on going until we're docked, then I know it's safe to go."
There was a chill down Jim's spine as he listened. "What do you mean?"
"This isn't for me," Bones said, and he sounded close to tears. "Damn it, I'm a doctor, not a soldier. I can't do this again, and why should I? I did this for her, Jim, for my little girl because there was something more I could be doing while I couldn't be with her. I thought, hey, maybe I could make the universe a better place. You know what? It wasn't fucking worth it. Here I am, up in the black, and she's gone. The entire goddamn planet is gone, and here I am and I won't do it anymore. I'm resigning my commission."
He finished and sank down on the settee, staring at his hands. Jim felt at a loss for what to do next, and so after pulling on his shirt again and cramming the hypo between the cushions, he sat next to him and put an arm around his friend's shoulders. A moment later, he felt Bones lean against him with an aching sigh. That had to be something good, Jim hoped.
"You can't just walk away," Jim said to him. "We both owe five years' service."
"I haven't graduated yet," Bones said after a pause. "I'll just drop out."
"I don't know if it's as easy as that." Jim thought of the battlefield promotion to CMO, and how that was half of his dream of them being in space. He tilted his head to look down at Bones' face, wishing he could do something to make it better, somehow. "There's always something you can do without needing to leave Starfleet. We still have starbases out there, and somehow we've got to rebuild all over again. Anyway, Spock's going to reject your application, but he'll give you a leave of absence."
Bones shook his head. "I didn't ask for a leave of absence. It means I have to goddamn come back."
"After five months," Jim told him. "You can't just walk away from this, Bones. You know you can't."
"I can damn well try," Bones said, and when he looked back at Jim, his eyes were looking wild. For a moment, it was like stepping back three years to the first time they met when a panicked Bones had just been evicted from the shuttle's restroom. "Why are you being so stubborn about this?"
"Because I don't want you in the brig, or worse, a prison colony?" Jim shook his head, not quite believing he was having this conversation. "Take the leave of absence, Bones. Go out and do what you need to do, but when those five months are up, you need to be back here. The ship needs you, and I sure as hell need you."
He felt the snort through the fabric of his shirt, although the corners of Bones' mouth were lifting into something that might've been a smile. "You need a babysitter."
"I've got one already. Tall, dark, and Southern, you might know him," Jim teased gently, and rested his cheek on top of Bones' head. His breath disturbed the shorter hairs that stuck up in a stubborn cowlick, untamed from their usual style. "Listen, now isn't the time to make any decisions. This is a time for everyone to stop, mourn and regroup. That includes you. Make your decision later. Right now, you've got to rest."
"Don't want to," Bones said, and it had an uncharacteristic edge of petulance that melted away a moment later. The fight seemed to go out of him, too. "I still haven't watched it, you know. A part of me wants to believe that as long as I haven't seen it happen, it's not real."
"I know," Jim murmured, because at least that much they still had in common. He wanted to say more, but his stomach betrayed him with a growl of hunger.
“Idiot,” Bones said, wiping at his face and sitting up. “I bet you haven’t eaten anything substantial either.”
“Just a few ration bars,” Jim admitted. “It’s not like there’s been much time to sit down for a real meal.”
Bones muttered something about pots and kettles as he moved across the room to the small food dispenser. The bluster was a show, trying to push the grief away again, but Jim let it be for the moment. If that’s what Bones needed to cope, then he’d play along. Instead, he noticed a box among Puri’s belongings labelled “bottles” that seemed promising, and a cursory investigation revealed several bottles of alcohol. The late CMO had good taste, that much Jim could tell from a glance, and he pulled out a bottle of Saurian brandy that appeared to be a good vintage to Jim’s inexperienced eye.
"What's that?" Bones asked, giving him an uneasy glance as he brought sandwiches to the table. Resources were being rationed, so it wasn't probably wasn't possible to get anything fancier, but it was better than the regular rations and the low fuss suited the mood at the moment.
"My contribution to the meal," Jim said, and while Bones had a nervous twist to his lips, he accepted the open bottle with a curt nod.
They drank from the top because there weren't any glasses evident in the vicinity, and Jim wasn't eager to go through more boxes. They didn't toast either, though Jim thought about all those they'd lost in the last twenty-four hours, and ate in relative silence. Jim kept an eye on Bones, who was looking less grey but a good meal wasn’t going to do much for the circles under his eyes.
Jim thought briefly about the hypo, but left it hidden for the time being.
They migrated to the sofa again when the meal was done, leaving the dishes in place to be bothered with later. Jim brought the bottle with him, and they sat side by side passing the drink between them when needed. Despite the circumstances, this was still familiar and comfortable, and Jim found himself leaning against Bones' side; he was long past feeling the warm well-being that came from a good drink, but not enough to avoid feeling the quiet starting to weight down on them.
"So now what?" Jim finally asked.
Bones took the bottle back and took a long pull. "I don't know," he finally admitted.
At his tone of voice, Jim felt his heart ache again, and he reached out to grasp Bones' hand. If the situation were reversed, it would be Bones doing his best to ease the situation and to take care of Jim when things were going wrong. This situation felt insurmountable. It probably was, but Jim still felt compelled to offer something of a similar comfort, even though he was way out of his depth.
"Let me take care of you," Jim murmured, before pressing his lips to Bones' knuckles.
Bones looked at him with wide eyes, but he wasn't saying no. He wasn't saying anything else, either, but Jim leaned forward anyway and pressed a gentle kiss to his lips. It wasn’t the first time they’d kissed for comfort, and just like those other times it was the sudden need for more than just simple contact. They’d also been not entirely sober those times either, and Jim didn’t pay much attention to anything but the desire to slip his hands up under Bones’ shirts – the skin warm and alive despite everything else they’d underwent in the last thirty-odd hours – drove him on.
At first Bones wasn't responding, but after several heartbeats he was giving as good as he was getting. His hands were tugging at Jim's shirts, and it said something that he wasn't completely careful with the bruises on Jim's side. Given the circumstances, Jim wasn't about to complain, and it wasn't long before he found himself lying over Bones on the settee and staring into widely dilated hazel eyes.
They'd had better sex, but under the circumstances, it was pretty nice. The best thing about fucking for comfort, at least in Jim’s book, was the unspoken agreement that this wasn’t supposed to have any strings attached or expectations about the other. The one exception might be that they’d go on being the same good friends they were before their first fuck. Jim liked their connection, how easy it was to please Bones in bed, and not to mention how good it felt when he pushed himself into Bones’ warmth.
But this time, warned a little voice in the back of Jim’s mind that he wanted to ignore, might be different.
Caught in the moment, he lost track of who was unbuttoning what, and focused instead of having a handful of their cocks. Bones was mouthing at his jawline, eyes squeezed shut and moaning as his hands grasped at Jim's shirt and at the sofa. It felt good, and in concentrating on that, Jim willed himself to forget everything around them except for the pleasure of the man he was with.
They didn't come together, but then again, they never did. Jim came first, and kept the presence of mind to stroke Bones to completion. Still panting from the exertion, Jim settled down on Bones to nose at his throat and finding himself dwelling on the racing pulse beneath his lips. He could feel Bones easing down from his own orgasm, and although Jim knew it was probably a good idea to go clean up his hand and their cocks, he wasn't ready to move yet.
He wasn't quite convinced he'd come back to find Bones still there.
The thought chilled him, and he pressed himself closer to Bones in a way he'd never done before. He smoothed an anxious hand against Bones' arm. "You okay?"
"Yeah," Bones said, and even though it sounded like a lie, Jim let it be.
When he thought he felt Bones dozing off, Jim carefully pulled himself away in order to find a washcloth. He paused while cleaning Bones off, noting how even in exhausted slumber, the shadows weren't fading from his face. This small moment of comfort wasn't going to be enough. Jim wasn't fooling himself into thinking this would fix anything, but he hoped it could at least be the start of something more.
After another quick rummage through the boxes, Jim found a blanket that he draped over Bones' body, and then he tiptoed over to the comm unit. "Kirk to Nurse Chapel."
She responded almost immediately. "Chapel here. This better be good news, Kirk."
"Mission accomplished," Jim said. "He's out like a light, and I didn't even need the hypo."
"That's good," she replied, "and that order extends to you, too. I've reported you as being off duty. Get some sleep, Lieutenant."
The use of a rank he hadn't officially received surprised Jim, and he found it eased some of the resentment he still felt over the handling of the entire mission. It wasn't anything compared to two lost planets and a devastated best friend, but for his own wounded self, it was a small panacea. Jim found himself smiling as he bid her good night, and returned to the settee to burrow in next to Bones. For the next few hours, at least, he could escape.
*
Jim wasn't surprised to wake up and find Bones gone. He wanted to find him, but events conspired against him. The last-minute preparations for the ship's repairs kept Jim occupied until the moment they reached the primitive-looking drydock in orbit around Centaurus.
Despite the details of his duties, Jim couldn't help flashing back and seeing Bones' face. It reminded him in a cold chill of realization that his expression mirrored the few pictures taken from Jim's childhood, with his own mother still in the depths of grief while stubbornly hanging on for her boys. There was a mirroring of that look in Bones, even when he'd smiled, and it left Jim feeling desperate to escape the bridge and find him before it was too late.
What he found instead was a note:
Jim,
Thank you for caring for me last night, but I need you to trust me. You need to let me go, and trust that one day, I'll come back. It can't be before I'm ready, and neither of us are prescient so I can't tell you when that'll goddamn be. Might take those five months, might take longer than that. Just know that you've been a very good friend, and possibly the best I've ever had. Stay safe out there, and have a drink for me from time to time.
Yours,
Bones.
*
It wasn't what he wanted, but for the first time since the shuttle ride three years ago to San Francisco, Jim had never felt so alone.