A/N: This is a sequel to Salty Ghosts, although perhaps could be a stand alone if I explain that the Enterprise had been called to rescue colonists on Cerberus who were suffering a famine. One of those rescued was McCoy's daughter Joanna, as per Star Trek canon (I think?), but Jim is a little messed up as he remembers Tarsus, and Bones tries to help. There, summary of Salty Ghosts in two sentences :)
Enjoy, and please review. Also, warning for swearing. The poem is Sea Fever, by John Masefield.
Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek, I merely play with the fandom :D
'I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by.'
(John Masefield)
The kiss – just a gentle press of Jim's lips on his – is short. Jim's eyes are closed, his face pale and drawn and tired and Bones knows that this, this discussion? It needs to wait.
So when Jim pulls away, refusing to look Bones in the eye, McCoy gets up, rests a hand on the kid's arm, and tugs him to his feet. He glances at Jo, checking she's resting calmly, and steers Jim out of the Medbay.
"You need to sleep, Jim," he says quietly, and it is a testament to how bad Jim is feeling right now that he doesn't protest. "We'll talk later."
It doesn't matter that it's only eight o'clock in the morning, or that Jim should technically be on duty in a short time, or that this is the longest Bones has been away from Jo since she was rescued and he is already overtaken with a need to check she's alright. This is about Jim, and if Bones knows him at all – and he's pretty certain he does – then he also knows that the kid will not have slept in days, not since they found out about Cerberus, and he will most likely not have eaten either.
"Okay," Jim mutters tiredly, allowing himself to be led through the corridors and stirring only to enter his door code when they reach his quarters. McCoy lets him collapse on the bed, reaching down to take off his shoes and pull the duvet up. Jim wriggles out of his trousers first, then his gold top, and finally relaxes into the pillow.
"Sleep," Bones orders, his voice soft in comparison to his words. "I'll be here."
Jim mumbles something unintelligible, and McCoy hesitates for only a second before placing a small kiss on Jim's head and retreating out of his bedroom to allow him to sleep.
He falls back onto Jim's sofa with a sigh. He'd known it would be bad, knew that this day was coming ever since he became CMO and got unrestricted access to all the crew's medical files. He'd looked at Jim's out of idle curiosity, having already seen it several times when treating him at the academy, and hasn't quite decided whether that was the best decision he'd ever made – because Jim sure as hell would never tell him – or the worst.
(Who needs to know what their friend looks like when they're thirteen and so emaciated they should be dead?)
But regardless, that decision means he knows exactly why Kirk is struggling now and can help, instead of hovering uselessly whilst Jim does everything he can to keep his secrets. It is a defence mechanism more than anything else, he thinks, a way to protect himself from those who seek his past to hurt him with it.
"McCoy to Spock," he says tiredly into his comm, slouching against the captain's sofa and wondering whether it would be worth giving Jim a sedative to help him sleep.
"Yes, Doctor McCoy?"
"The Captain will not be on duty today, Mr Spock," Bones informs him briskly. "He is on medical leave for today and tomorrow."
There's a noise from the next room, and McCoy holds his breath, but it seems Jim was simply shifting. Good, the kid needs sleep without nightmares.
There is a pause from Spock as well, until, "May I ask why, Doctor? I was not aware the Captain had been injured."
"He hasn't," Bones snaps, then regrets his harshness. "Maybe you should come down when you have a moment, Spock."
"Certainly, Doctor. Would that be to Sickbay or the Captain's quarters?" Spock's voice is even, but McCoy flushes anyway.
"His quarters," he replies, recalling his promise to Jim to stay. Jo will be out for most of the day; she spends a lot of time simply drifting in and out as her body and mind recovers. Jim, on the other hand, struggles to sleep longer than a few hours without waking.
"Message received, Doctor. I shall see you shortly."
"Lovely," Bones mutters to the empty room, before standing to replicate himself some coffee. He needs caffeine before he can deal with the hobgoblin. He sits back down again, and grabs the comm.
"McCoy to Medbay," he says tiredly, recognising the need to inform Chapel of his location.
"Medbay here," comes Chapel's calm voice, and Bones runs a hand over his face.
"Christine," he says, then stops for a moment. "I need you to supervise Jo and sickbay for today, if you can."
"Of course, Doctor." Her voice is professional, but then slips a little into something softer. "What would you like be to tell Joanna?"
McCoy hesitates. Jo will be upset if he doesn't give her a reason – presuming she even wakes up for long enough to speak today – but she's eight, and it's Jim, and he can't betray his trust like that.
"Tell her I'm sorry, something important came up but I'll see her tonight, I promise," he says at last.
"I will," Chapel says, and there is concern in her voice. "Is the Captain all right?"
Bones huffs a breath. Christine was always too smart for her own good. "He'll be fine," he says, but it's empty words, and Chapel will pick that up.
"Okay," is all she says. "If you need anything else, Leonard, let me know," and she's saying that as a friend, not a subordinate, and it means a hell of a lot more.
"Thanks, Christine," McCoy replies, and ends the call.
He wanders into the bedroom again, looks down at Jim, curled up under the duvet, his cheek resting on the pillow. He looks young, too young to have the scars he has, and Bones wants nothing more than to reassure him he's not alone anymore.
It'll have to wait.
The door chimes, and Bones curses, glancing at Jim to check he hasn't woken. He stirs, and McCoy holds his breath, but he doesn't open his eyes. He creeps away from the bed, but swears under his breath when he is fixed by those bright blue eyes, dulled by exhaustion as they are.
"Bones?" he hears Jim murmur, turning on the bed to face him fully. There is a slight frown marring his forehead.
"Go back to sleep," McCoy says, his voice gruff. "You're exhausted."
The door chimes again, and Bones throws it a glare. Jim slowly pushes himself up.
"Who's that?" he asks, and Bones can practically see his brain come back online.
"Jim, sleep," he growls. Jim raises his eyebrows at him.
"Stop mother-henning me," he orders, but Bones can see the fatigue – and more minutely but perhaps more importantly, the tiny tremors in his hands and the puffiness of his bottom lip where it has been bitten.
"Jim," Bones says helplessly, as Jim orders the door to open.
"I'm fine, Bones," Jim tells him.
"Even you don't believe that," the doctor tries to argue, but Jim is already pulling himself out of bed. "Go back to bed, Goddamnit!"
"Is everything alright?" comes Spock's even voice from the other room, and Jim is striding forward, pulling on his Captain's mask, as McCoy calls it.
"Spock," he says with a smile that makes Bones want to scream. "What are you doing here?"
"I called him," McCoy admits, his voice unapologetic. "You're on medical leave for two days, Jim, I needed to tell Spock why."
Jim turns to him, anger on his face for a moment before he pulls himself together. "Medical leave?" he demands. "Why?"
"Don't you dare pull that on me," Bones growls. "You know exactly why."
"Oh, do I?" Jim says, throwing his hands up. "Why don't you share then?"
Spock watches with an unreadable expression, and McCoy's face darkens. "You need to sleep," he insists. "I bet you haven't slept properly since we got the news about Cerberus, have you?"
Jim doesn't answer, just offers him a glare, and Bones knows that every single shield Jim has got is slammed into place now, the foundations strong and the walls solid.
"Captain-" Spock begins, and Jim whirls to face him.
"What, Mr Spock?" Jim says, his voice mocking. "Are you going to tell me what a fuck up I am too?"
"You are acting illogically," Spock returns, his voice calm. "No one has accused you of that which you speak."
"Jim, just calm down," Bones tells him, sensing the situation raging out of control.
"You don't get to do this," the man says, and his hands are once again shaking. He's hysterical, Bones knows; sleep deprivation and mental strain catching up on him.
"Captain, I agree with Doctor McCoy's assessment. It would perhaps be better if you sleep, and I will take over your duties for the moment."
"I am capable of doing my job-" Jim begins to protest, and Bones loses it completely.
"Damn it, Jim!" he says harshly. "You are exhausted. You are overwrought. And if you do not sleep I will sedate you myself, you idiot."
Jim looks at him for a second, shaking his head, his expression angry. Bones stands his ground. Spock watches.
Then, before McCoy's eyes, the fight seems to drain out of Jim, and his shoulders slump.
"I don't want to sleep," Jim admits, quietly. Spock takes a step forward.
"Captain," he begins, but Jim shakes his head.
"Jim," he corrects, his tone frustrated and bitter but mostly just tired, and Bones lays a hand on his arm.
"Jim," Spock allows. "Perhaps I could assist in the matter? Vulcans are proficient at calming minds."
Bones glares at him; Vulcan voodoo is precisely what Jim doesn't need right now, his head is screwed up as it is, thank you very much. But it doesn't matter, because Jim is shaking his head again anyway.
"I don't want you in my head, Spock," and his tone is so honest that Bones just looks at him for a second, and he spots that even the hobgoblin's eyebrows twitch in surprise.
"I would not be able to see anything but your surface thoughts," Spock tries to explain, but Bones is irrationally pleased that Jim is having none of it.
"No," he says, firmer this time, and Bones steps in.
"Let me give you a sedative for today, Jim," he orders. "You're exhausted, and you need it. Tomorrow we will deal with the rest."
And damn if Jim doesn't look torn, and that, more than anything, let's McCoy know just how wrecked Jim is. He normally wants nothing to do with drugs of any sort.
"Will I dream?" Kirk asks quietly, and Spock is frowning, trying so obviously in his genius brain to figure out what the goddamn problem is but struggling from lack of information.
"I can make it so you won't," McCoy promises, and his heart hurts a little from this timid Jim. "Why?" he asks, because damn Jim needs to talk about this.
Jim just shakes his head, turning from them both and heading back in the direction of his bed.
Bones sees Spock taking a step forward to follow him and warns him off with a single look. The hobgoblin stills, agreeing silently to let McCoy deal with it.
Jim lays down on his side, facing away from Bones, and pulls the duvet up. "I can't stop seeing them," he says quietly.
"Who?" Bones asks, grabbing the sedative he'd brought down from sickbay with him earlier in case Jim needed or requested it.
"Everyone," Jim answers, but it's not an answer, not a real one, though it's all McCoy will get. He presses the hypo against Jim's neck gently, watching Jim's eyes close and sighing in relief as the tension drains from the man's body.
"Sleep well," he whispers, before glancing up and spotting Spock in the doorway, quiet and sombre and observing him with an unreadable expression.
They walk into the main area of Jim's quarters and McCoy sits down, preparing himself for Spock's questions. Sure enough, the man – Vulcan, whatever – begins.
"With what ailment does the Captain currently suffer?"
"Sit down," McCoy demands tiredly, before addressing the question. Spock does as he says, graceful in every move he makes. "Jim's not ill, just overwrought."
"This is due to the situation on Cerberus?" Spock asks, one eyebrow lifting. "Forgive me, but I do not understand the extent to which the Captain is concerned."
Bones growls. "Listen, you green blooded fool, just because you're emotionless does not mean the rest of us are-"
"Vulcans are not emotionless," Spock corrects, his head tilting to the side. "We simply choose not to flaunt our every thought."
"Whatever," Bones dismisses. "Jim is struggling because of something in his past, and Cerberus has brought up those memories." He still has not decided how much to tell the hobgoblin; Jim will kill him for saying anything at all, but he is second-in-command, and right now the situation is compromising Jim's command fast.
"May I ask what you speak of, Doctor?" Spock questions.
"You can ask," McCoy grumbles, but gives in. "Jim was on Tarsus IV during the massacre," he admits quietly, closing his mind to the images that he is reminded of. Jim, with brittle, patchy hair, bones showing through taut skin, eyes wide and sunken in his skeletal face. The medical images had been harrowing; the psychological reports perhaps more so. Unable to trust, wary. Avoids touches and startles at noises. Bitter and cynical and angry at the world that abandoned him and so many others on a dying planet with a mass murderer.
Spock says nothing for a moment, and in any other situation Bones would be crowing at that. Now, he waits for the Vulcan to assimilate the information.
"Cerberus reminds him of the massacre," he deduces at last and if his voice is tighter than normal? Bones doesn't judge.
He nods. "Tarsus left a massive scar on his psyche," he explains. "I don't think he ever got the help he needed for it. He's fine until something makes him remember and then he falls apart."
Spock inclines his head in agreement. "Are you aware," he asks in a low voice, "what list the Captain was on?"
McCoy shakes his head immediately. "I don't know a thing about what happened to him; he's never spoken to me about it. I have medical holos and psych reports but since he apparently said nothing in therapy, I'm flying blind."
Spock seems to accept this. "Then it seems, Doctor, that we will simply have to assist in any way we are capable of."
Bones finds himself in the curious situation of actually agreeing with the Vulcan, and scowls to cover it up. "Guess so," he answers reluctantly. "He needs to sleep and eat and then we need to get the hell away from this planet so that he can heal."
"Of course," Spock says. "If there is nothing else, Doctor, I must return to the bridge."
"Go," McCoy agrees, waving his hand towards the door. "Nothing more to do now. I'll comm you when he wakes."
"That would be satisfactory," Spock replies, rising from the chair and walking towards the door. "Goodbye, Doctor."
"See you later, hobgoblin," Bones grumbles, but there's no heat in the insult anymore.
Jim's been broken for a long time, Bones thinks. He's heard the story of the father's car and a steep cliff, heard Jim tell it as if it was a thrill, a teenage rebellion, but knows it was more a tale of desperation and hatred and burning fear that no child should feel. Jim knows how to cope with things that would break many men, but it doesn't mean he's indestructible, and McCoy is reminded of that over and over again during the next few days. The kid is quiet, and solemn in a strange way, processing events in his own mind. Bones stays the night on the sofa for a few days, waking Jim up when the dreams get bad and sitting next to him until his breathing evens out.
"You don't need to do this," Jim tells him one night, when Bones is pressed against him on the bed, Jim's warmth seeping into his skin and his slight shaking assuring Bones that he is needed. It had been bad, that night, Jim's restlessness and stifled cries had woken him from his own dreams and he'd hurried to bring the kid back to reality.
"I do," Bones objects, immediately. "You're my best friend, kid."
"You need to sleep," Jim argues, looking up at him, his eyes ringed with black and exhaustion weighing his eyelids down.
"I'd rather be here," Bones answers, his voice quiet. He has no greater rationale than that, than the fact that he loves Jim as if they were family, tied together by something more than blood, a love that is not platonic and not romantic but something deeper. They are more than just an old country doctor and a genius repeat offender together; they are Jim-and-Bones, and that can never be taken from them.
Jim squeezes his hand, and leans forward, placing a kiss on Bones' cheek, as if he senses the direction of his thoughts. "I want this," Jim says, tiredly, his eyes shutting as he rests against Bones. "I know I'm not great right now, but I do."
"We'll get there, kid," McCoy replies quietly, his own hand trailing through Jim's hair. "There's no rush."
Jim falls asleep that night curled against him, his breathing soft and even in the still recycled air, and Bones watches him, a slight smile on his face. There are no more nightmares that night, only gentle comfort and innocent kisses.
Jim tells him one morning, three weeks after they left Cerberus, and one week after they sleep together for the first time. They are lying in bed together, two hours before they have to be on shift, and Jim is leaning on Bones' chest, his soft straw hair tickling his neck. Bones presses a kiss to his head, content, and Jim opens his mouth.
"I want you to know," Jim says, his voice firm but with an underlying sadness to it.
"Know what?" Bones asks, because it's been three weeks and he wasn't expecting Jim to bring it up again.
"About Tarsus," Jim hesitates, and Bones strokes a hand down his arm. "I want you to know what happened."
"You don't need to, Jim," McCoy tells him, his mind already flashing back to the image of Jim back then, an image that no matter what he cannot get out of his mind. Jim was young and starved and broken, and he wishes he could un-see it, because he never wanted to know what his lover looks like when he is fractured.
"I want to," Jim says again. "I was on the kill list, did you know that?" His voice is steady but his hand is gripping McCoy's. Bones shakes his head.
"I don't know much," he admits honestly. "Only that you were there, and were one of the few survivors."
"There were eight thousand people on that colony," Jim informs him. This Bones already knows. "Four thousand were massacred. Two thousand died of starvation. Only one-quarter of the colonists made it off that goddamn planet."
He is quiet again, and Bones plants a kiss on his soft hair. "I'm glad you did," he tells him, honestly.
"Did I?" Jim muses, his face drawn into a frown. "I don't think I ever really left Tarsus, not until I met you."
"And then?"
"You bitched at me, moaned at me, made me eat when I wasn't hungry, cleaned my face when I lost myself in a brawl, shook me awake when I was trapped in Tarsus in my dreams," Jim recounts, and Bones shuts his eyes. "You made me live again, made me realise that I could survive, even though six thousand people didn't."
Bones doesn't know how to answer that, is uncertain of what to say to comfort the man lying on him, shaking slightly, but so strong in spite of it. "I love you," he says at last, and it is perhaps the one thing he means most in the world.
Jim nods. "I am fucked up," he says at last, and Bones wants to deny it but knows that it is not what Jim needs right now. "Tarsus screwed me up so much that at fourteen, I didn't think I'd make it to twenty." He shifts, buries his face against Bones, and he wraps an arm around the kid, kisses him gently, and tries to infuse him with love.
"But you did," Bones tells him, and he thanks the world for that.
"Yeah," Jim agrees. "I fought so goddamn hard to get where I am now, and I'm fucking proud of that. I will always be a little messed up, and things like Cerberus will screw me up, but I'm okay, now."
"And you've got me when you're not," Bones adds, holding him close and breathing in the scent that is so uniquely Jim.
Jim smiles up at him. "Yeah, Bones," he agrees, "I've got you."
A/N: Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoyed it. Please do take the time to review, it'll mean the world to me.
Dreams