oldfashionedfutureboy | Looking down through a tide of no return

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jiminykirkit,
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Looking down through a tide of no return

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This isn't how he'd wanted to handle things. This isn't something Leonard's particularly proud of, isn't something he rightly knows how to handle. By all rights he should do what they all do in times of trouble- talk to Jim, talk to Spock, talk to the command crew that's become a second family to him but- he's older than the lot. Settled in with enough dignity and pride to want to handle this his own way, even if it ain't rightly all that fair. So when the tests come in and he gets a proper read on what's happening? The only person with any idea at all is Chris Chapel. Saint that she is- she keeps mum. Lets Leonard get his recommendations and arrangements all typed up for when they finish the trip to earth.

At least he caught it early.

At least he caught it close to home.

At least there are enough regulations, expectations, interviews and social obligations keeping crew and Jim Kirk busy while Leonard quietly packs a bag and sends everything he'd typed up and prepared in that one agonizingly long week back to their pretty blue marble. The Enterprise will ship out- with a new CMO. The message to Jim cites age, joints, and a desire to retire comfortably- nothing alarming, nothing that should have the man running to haul him back out to the stars again- promises to keep in touch. That he's welcome to visit when the next five year trip's come and gone.

Nevermind that he'll be gone. That he's on the first Shuttle to the ranch as soon as he's turned in all his notes and data, tendered his resignation, and sent time delayed messages of condolence and farewell to the crew that's kept him crazy and kept him alive over the past short while.

The last thing they need to do is watch him hammer away at a wasting disease and hope for a miracle.

Better to head to a house he hasn't lived in for years, better to tell his flesh and blood family what's happening, what to expect. A little more than a year is what he's got. Less, maybe, with all the running around he used to do. Is it any wonder he wants to spend that last year with his boots on the ground, familiar stars overhead, home? Comfortable. There's not much that can be done for him other than to be...comfortable.

Content.

He'll get more writing done than he's ever managed before, having to jump from patient to patient, crisis to crisis. Got a lifetime of messages to record and leave behind for the crew, for Jim. Decades of messages for Jim because he knows- he knows Jim will need it. That it won't be as good as having him there to help but he can't be there if he's going to be six feet under. Maybe he'll feel cowardly when they ship out. Maybe he'll feel like just another asshole that's abandoned him-

Maybe Jim'll hold it against him. Get angry. He'd have a right to it.

God knows what he wrote before heading home wasn't near good enough an excuse for simply vanishing from Starfleet Headquarters during what was meant to be a brief 72 hour report and restock before they head out again. Everyone got messages and only M'Benga and Chapel checked in with him while he was enroute, just. Offering condolences. Notes of studies they looked up. Medications that can ease symptoms. They understand what it is Leonard's doing, wandering back to his own graveyard of a cottage, empty of the wife that left him and the bones of a life he'd abandoned in favor of the stars. It aches, a little, pulling the dustcloths off the old sofa and bed, airing out the place. To think of everything he'd wanted to build, everything he'd never see.

Maybe it hadn't kicked in just yet, what that ticking clock in the back of his mind meant. Maybe this was just another way of running. But he doesn't burst out the bourbon just yet. Gets his kitchen sorted, the firewood for the actual hearth chopped for when the nights get cold, settles up on the porch to watch the sunset. Let his body finally sink in to the gravity of the situation and rest. He'll have to leave Jim a handwritten apology, he figures. The entirety of his journal will go to Jim, every bit of research, every thought and memory, every emotion save one.

You don't really tell someone you love them when you've discovered you've got a terminal illness.

On the one hand some might say it didn't need say'n, that Jim knew every gesture and worried snipe and sharp hand to the shoulder to haul him back from the edge were those three little words carving away at the spaces they didn't touch, stitching them together like cloth. Pulling away felt a little like unraveling and now? Now he's entirely unspooled, that last secret held bittersweet on his tongue like honeywarm whiskey, watching the horizon.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

Jim has to believe, right? Bones has pulled off the impossible before. Hell, so has Scotty, Spock, Uhura - the Enterprise is a ship full of impossible geniuses. When there's a life in the balance, or an entire ship's worth of lives, they've done it time and again.

So if Bones says it can't be done, that means he's exhausted all the research, all the collaboration, all the experiments that he's done himself. He's right, right?

...this is going to be hard. So many times they've been at the edge, and pulled one last impossible solution out of someone's ass. Maybe not, this time. (Like it's not hard enough already.)

He finds himself nudged and yanked onto the worn sofa, with Bones' face pushed up against him, and lets out a breathless laugh. It's not that being with Bones is a rollercoaster of emotions. It's that Bones has always been there for him sharing the rollercoaster. This can't end.

If it has to end... at least Jim wants to be here with him.

"I'll remember everything," he says quietly, tucking away the symptoms into the back of his mind. Is that why Bones actually cut himself earlier? "The good and the bad. Don't worry about that. And I'll be in touch with Spock and Starfleet. Figure something out. Does all your family know?"

"Yeah. They're- a little pissed. Ma's not taking it well. Gran understands. TJ isn't talking to me." Thomas Jackson McCoy is a hard man with as much if not more heart than his grandson, and he'd been on this ride once before with David. It hurt then.

He didn't expect to have to go through it a second time, none of them did.

"Christine and M'Benga know. My family knows. You know. That's it. You and the rest of the crew were meant to keep on, not worry about me. Focus on the work." Now he's liable to get a Vulcan dressing down when Jim inevitably tells Spock- because it's going to happen. He doesn't mind it, but keeping secrets isn't something the three of them do, not now that they've found their legs.

"Pissed? Because you didn't tell them sooner...?"

He understands the 'not taking it well', especially given the way Bones' dad went out. That would've ripped all of them to shreds. It's never okay to lose a parent, and it must be even worse to lose a husband. Or a son. Jim won't claim to be the universe's biggest expert on functional families (because ha ha ha), but he knows that much. Damn, but to not even TALK to Bones - that makes his protectiveness flare, not that Bones actually needs it.

He palms his hair, then holds onto Bones again. "Now that we've covered how that's the biggest pile of bullcrap i've ever heard in my life because people care about you, can I talk to Chris and Geoff? And you know I'm gonna tell Spock, right? He needs to know what's going on."

"Li'l bit. I only knew for a coupla weeks before I came here." But he'd had suspicions of being ill for a little while longer. Nothing that led him to believe it was this major, though. This dire. "...he'll get over it, Jimmy. They're just...tak'n it hard."

None of them knew what he fought to get Jim back, only that he managed the impossible. They're a little frustrated he'd burn himself to the ground trying and failing to save David, managing to save Jim-

But won't do the same for himself.

He's tired.

He's allowed to want to rest.

"Yeah, you can. They've given me some articles on new treatments to limit symptoms or at least ease them." A beat, a long, weary sigh. "He's gonna yell."

In the way that he won't yell at all, but will glower and huff and be close to but not quiet yelling. Enunciating everything like he's biting words in half, like if he was less than perfect with his English Leonard's too thick to understand him.

"I'll go see them tomorrow, okay?" Not that he can make it better, but at least he can help Bones bridge the gap. The man needs his family, and sometimes it's easier for family to talk to the son's friend instead of the son.

Bones sounds utterly exhausted, and Jim doesn't like the way his heart's beating against Jim's own chest. Obviously this is weighing on him. is there a mental health element to the disease, as well? Whatever the fuck it is? Is there something messing with the chemicals in his brain to make him more depressed, more self-destructive?

...can he trust Bones' judgement as much as usual?

"And you're in touch with some kind of specialist, I imagine," Jim says warningly, worriedly, after that comment. Treatments are good. Chapel and M'Benga are good at their jobs and care about Bones. They're also not fucking here, and doctors shouldn't be treating themselves.

Jim snorts. "He loves you, too, y'know."

"Mhmm. On the terminal, fifth name down." After Ma, Gran, TJ, and Jim, a Doctor Elizabeth Lense. She's been feeding Leonard what's known about the local treatments, keeping up with his data- just to monitor his quality of life. Neither of them have a lot of hope for finding a cure but- one never knows. And if what he's going through can help someone else further down the line?

Why not try to help. It's not how he'd rather, but it's how he can. "M'Benga and Chris wouldn't let me leave the ship without call'n her in front of them. Threatened to hypo my ass and haul my unconscious body to your office to explain myself if I didn't."

Just so Jim knows he's not the only one deeply invested in trying to keep him comfortable and breathing a little while longer. Sure they kept his secret but- not without making sure he'd get treatment, or at least valuable information for the management of this mess. "I check in every night 'round eight PM, fifteen minute call, send the daily data-"

He lifts his wrist to show a slim band that monitors his biometrics. "I can talk to her about gett'n you read in on what to keep an eye out for, if you want." Jim'll want, that's not even a question. Leonard would'a rather not done all this jumping through hoops but-

This was the price for wanting to wind down peaceful like, he supposes.

"...not that he'll admit it. We bond by ignoring how much we like each other, that's our whole thing."

Jim exhales. That's something, at least. He doesn't want to admit just how badly all this has rattled him. Not just that Bones is dying - though that's kind of like saying 'apart from that, how was the play, Mrs Lincoln?' - but that he would just run off without telling Jim. Hadn't thought the other man capable of that.

What else has Jim been assuming, without realizing?

He manages a weak grin at the thought of Chris Chapel hauling Bones by an ankle to his office.

"I need to give 'em both a raise. Yep, let's do that. Thank you."

And a snort. "I don't want to tell you how many times I've wondered if you two are madly in love and just haven't fucking figured it out yet."

For the first time since he got his diagnosis? Since he read the neat typed little memo spelling his inevitable demise-

Leonard McCoy laughs. It's rough-edged and harsh, just on this side of hysteria, his arms tight around Jim's waist as he tries his best to muffle the bulk of it into Jim's shoulder. God. Him and Spock? Him and Spock are united by their love of Jim.

There'd been jealousy on both of their ends when it came to dealing with the Captain, the newfound friendship between the man and half-vulcan, the level of easy intimacy already found in Leonard and Jim. It was a right goddamn mess for awhile, but they've gotten themselves mostly sorted.

His hauling off to lick his wounds in private, though, that'll rattle things up plenty. "No, Jim. We're not- he's a good friend, but I'm not in love with him."

That laugh almost sounds good. Almost.

Jim spreads his fingers on Bones' back, digging in. Trying to give him just as much strength and tightness in return. The man's holding onto Jim like he doesn't want him to move even an inch away, in spite of how badly he didn't want Jim to land on his doorstep, and Jim really doesn't like the tinge of wildness in his laughter.

It's still amazing to even hear Bones admit that Spock's his friend. "Well. Good to know," he says awkwardly, surprised at just how good it is to know this. Not that he really thinks that the two of them would leave him out, if they did shack up together. It's nice, though, to understand where things stand for them.

Spock may, however, know who exactly it is that Leonard does love more than platonicly, he'd been too close and too tipsy too often for it not to have vibrated out of his damn skull while handing the Vulcan a drink. Either him or Nyota had to have it figured out, probably both of them, they each have seen the best and worst of Leonard when it comes to the matters of giving far too many damns about one brilliant, exhausting man.

Not that Leonard would trade a single day of it for the world.

"...I'm sorry." He manages, once he catches his breath. "I didn't- I didn't wanna do this alone, but I didn't wanna drag you into a no-win scenario."

Jim's heart seizes at those particular words. Goddammit. At least he knows he's doing right by Bones even in Bones' own head, by being here. But there's so much pain in that, and his imagination's always been too good. He can see what it'll be like for Bones as time goes on, and he can see what it'd be like if he was the one who had to face this shitshow, too. It's one thing to face death at the end of a phaser, or a Klingon ripping your throat out with his pinky. A long, shuddery death with zero agency over yourself and considerable loss of dignity?

Fuck.

"Don't worry about me too much," he says quietly. "And I know that's near fucking impossible, because you'd care about other people no matter what. But you know what I mean. I'll be okay, as long as you let me be with you."

"Alright. Think I figured someone would show up- got the guest room ready while I was air'n out the house." Maybe he figured he'd let his mother stay with him now and then, or- someone. But part of him had hoped, quietly and painfully, that maybe Jim would show. Even if he was lying to himself about being ready to handle this on his own.

Gradually he lets up on his grip, pulling himself upright to sit. It's fine, there ain't much to the house, and he oughta give the grand tour now while he-

While he still can.

"I can show you where to stow your gear."

Jim half wants to keep fighting. Fighting's easier than accepting, easier than hearing the quiet exhaustion in Bones' voice. Fighting shows that Bones still has that fire in him and he won't just let this disease walk all over him.

But at least he doesn't have to keep fighting Bones to let him be here.

Small comfort.

Everything's changing between them. It's unsettling as hell.

Jim looks at him for a moment when he sits upright, then yanks him into a tight, brief hug.

"Okay. It close to your room?"

Yes, blatant and obnoxious, but he needs to know he'll wake up when Bones needs him overnight.

Jim hauls him in so quick and so tight for a half second, despite everything, Leonard's worried he's gonna get hit. The sheer desperation in the hold is startling though-

Maybe not so much.

He did just vanish on the kid and that- he'd never promised to not, but it was pretty damn obvious when he went into space with Jim that he'd always be there, long as he could. "Just across the hall, yeah."

Leonard doesn't step away fully, looping an arm around Jim's shoulders like this is any other vacation, taking him up the stairs and to the left, the hall dividing the top floor pretty well in two after the wide landing with it's window and balcony looking out across the front of the house, a loveseat stacked with pillows and a folded over quilt on one arm. "Bathroom's here-"

Guest bath, the master bath is connected to his room, but the guest bath is pretty nice. No sonics in this place, all old world fixtures and hot water heaters, but it'd been built to last. "And here's your room. I'm-"

Gesturing to a door not three steps away. The guest room was going to belong to any kid he and Joyce had but-

That never happened. Not for them. Part of him is quietly grateful for it.

He'll sleep outside Bones' door if necessary. Hell, he'd prefer to sleep in the same bed, because he's good enough at waking up at suspicious noises that any change in breathing would rouse him enough. But he's not going to push that far just yet. He's already forced his way into the man's life.

Again.

The arm around him is good. Grounding. He leans against Bones gently, now and then, while they're moving around.

The guest room's set up well, with all the things he'll need, and he's brought a few with him anyway. "Good and close. Thank you," Jim says, plonking his bag on the end of the bed. Looks very comfortable.

Jim exhales in a huff. "You need to know, too. I don't give a damn about helping you shower or use the toilet or anything. You've done it for me more than once. Know you don't need that help yet. When you do, you'd better call me, or I'll kick your ass."

"...it'll be awhile yet before that's the case, but-" God it'll hurt his pride in no small way, but he might need it before he's ready to call it quits. "...Thanks, Jim."

It's hard, he knows this is hard, planning for it has been hard- "...Leav'n this place to you won't do much of anything, will it? I know you don't care for earth the same way I do."

Having a home with his feet on the ground- that doesn't matter to Jim the way it matters to Leonard. All this house might become instead of a place of refuge is a tomb to bitter memory.

It's good to know it'll be a while. Damn, he doesn't want to load Bones up with too much extra shit at this point, but he needs to make sure that Bones knows, that he knows that Jim won't give a damn when the time comes.

He shakes his head. "You deal with messy things when other people are sick. I can do it for you."

Especially given how much I love you, he doesn't think.

And a small wince at that, along with a frown. The words are like ashes in his throat. "I'll do whatever the hell you want. I can..."

Breathe, Kirk, breathe.

"...remember you anywhere."

"...Much as I'd like you to have somewhere to rest and get some privacy when you land- I'm not gonna tie you to this place." The house his family keeps? That'll probably go to Jim, and the memories will be happier. Here?

this little cottage that Jim's only seeing because Leonard chose it as where he'll spend his last year alive?

It'll only hurt.

He doesn't have words for how much he wants to make sure Jim doesn't hurt in this mess- but he can, does, pull Jim in with arms tight around his shoulders, pressing his face into Jim's hair. "I just want you here. That's all. Might've had the nerve to ask for that insteada runn'n if I weren't so damn scared. Didn't want both of us to be miserable."

Bones is right. He wouldn't know how to look after this place, not in the way that's intended. Jim's never been tied to any place in particular. There are some that matter to him, but what matters most is exploration. Enterprise. The people around him.

His heart breaks all over again as Bones tugs him in close. "I want to be here, and you should ask me for any damn thing you want. Any time."

Not an offer he'd make to just anyone. This man bitched and moaned his way into Jim's heart basically on day one.

"..." He's weak. That'll be the excuse he'll think up after dinner. After a quiet beer, after the check in with his specialist and sending along the nightly data. When the house has gone quiet and all he can think of is how much he hates sleeping in the bed here alone-

He shouldn't ask. A large part of him doesn't want to, but he's standing in the hallway, dressed down to try to get some sleep, ready to leave Jim to it when his hand darts back to tangle their hands together.

Anything, Jim said, and he feels the worst kind of selfish, the worst kind of weak for swallowing past a suddenly dry throat and murmuring. "...stay with me tonight?"

There's something in Bones, something clawing its way up to the surface. He wants to ask a question, a favor, and it's hard for him, and -

Jesus. "Thought you were gonna ask me something difficult," he says immediately, squeezing Bones' hand. "Just promise me you'll kick me in the shin if I snore. Not the face."

........and he's thought of something himself, something that needs saying. Shameless and obvious it might be, but he tells himself he's being shameless and obvious out of worry. "You need to know I usually end up holding people I sleep next to."

Jim's quite pleased with how delicately he's phrased that. Didn't say that it's often while he's conscious, and very deliberate.

"You snore too loud I'm shov'n you off the bed." Leonard huffs, tugging Jim along back in the direction of his room. Covers are already turned down, window dragged up to let the cool air in- sure there's environment controls but he's on earth.

he wants to enjoy the weather while it's still easy.

"Like we haven't passed out together enough times for me to figure." Like he isn't sitting and all but pulling Jim into his arms and bullying him into a more comfortable position. Like no small part of him needs this.

First couple nights here, exhaustion took care of it, but tonight? He's rested and aware and...braced for the calls that will come in the morning. Jim'll let the crew know and they'll give him hell.

And he'll deal with that. In the morning.

"Hey," Jim protests amiably, grinning at the thought of waking up mid air.

Man has a point there. Post alcohol or just post a really long fucking day, they've fallen asleep in a heap many times. He's woken up with Bones' pointy elbow in his chest, or his face in Bones' armpit. Whatever works, really.

Now, though? He's hurriedly shoving off his pants, because the breeze through the window still won't make it too cold for him to sleep in boxers, and otherwise he's submitting gladly to Bones tugging him around. Sleeping wrapped around the other man, and vice versa, will be fucking perfect to convince his hindbrain that yeah, he's got him back.

(Not for long.)

Jim has an arm across Bones' hip, and his familiar weight and scent is incredibly relaxing. The morning's gonna suck, but that can wait until the morning.

Leonard- sleeps. Deeply and better than he had since his diagnosis, face pressed into Jim's shoulder, arm around his waist, just- breathing in the warmth of another body he's always trusted despite his better judgement. Dawn comes and where on the ship he'd be up and about?

Leonard lies in. Remains curled close, lashes tinted gold from the sun peeking through the window, hair spread like an ink spill over the pillow he's made of Jim, brows relaxed, chest rising and falling with the deep, even rest of the truly unconscious.

Years are shaved off him like this. No furrow in his brow, no clench of his jaw, no tension in his shoulders. No need to brace himself for the worst the galaxy can throw at him-

Just Bones, softened and sleep warm and quiet.

Jim wakes up comfortably and early. He can usually force himself to get four to six hours when necessary, when there's shit going down but there's literally nothing he can do but wait for a while, and get himself into the best possible state for dealing with said shit.

This shouldn't be possible, though. He's been worried. Learning the truth sure hasn't made him less worried. He should've slept fitfully at best.

Must be the man in his arms. Reassuring his hindbrain that yeah, things are horrible but he has the best person in the universe with him and they can handle everything together.

Stupid hindbrain.

Jim's lips curve in a reflexive smile, though, as he peers down at his best friend's face. Everything's softened while he sleeps. Eyes, forehead. Those tiny angry lines around his mouth.

...his mouth.

No, idiot. Take it easy. You act on that impulse and it'll come across as confused pity.

Looking down through a tide of no return

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a million years later, sorry

No worries, life happens sometimes!

bestest boyfr- er I mean friend (<333)

<3 <3 <3

Re: <3 <3 <3

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