This is an idea that's been niggling in the back of my mind all day, and it seems like it's finally taking shape. It sort of started when I read IsMayDevain's update to What Sulu Sees this morning – which, by the way, is a great story, if you haven't checked it out, you should do so.
This is a character study, of sorts. Starting Academy-era, and moving forward through Into Darkness. It's really pretty different from what I normally write, but I don't fight the muses. Some minor warnings for hints to Tarsus, abuse, and Jim being Jim. Sort of ambiguous when it comes to pairings. There's a hint of Kirk/McCoy, but nothing explicit. Could be seen as pre-slash or gen, your choice! Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek. I would love to own Karl Urban, though. And Chris Pine.
He burns.
Bright and hot, like a shooting star across the night sky.
And that's the problem right there, because sooner or later, the star burns out. And Leonard knows that his star will do so sooner, rather than later.
Jim had told him himself, once, neck deep into a night that both claimed no knowledge of the next day – Leonard kept it to himself that he remembered more than he let on – that he had long known that he was going to die young and probably due to his own stupidity. Not that he had put it in those words.
But Leonard knows what Jim meant. He knew his best friend, after all. And if those words on that night that he doesn't remember had instilled a sense of alarm and fear in him – along with a surge of desire to protect his idiotic genius – well, Leonard is good at keeping his thoughts to himself.
But it does make him pay closer attention. And sure, while he had known before about the crazy death wish Jim seemed to harbor, it puts it into harsh perspective, to actually be looking for it, watching for it, knowing it's coming and being unable to stop it.
He's a doctor. That has nothing to do with why Jim shows up at his door after every bar fight, every run in with danger. Leonard counts himself lucky that Jim comes to him at all. It would be just like the jackass to hide any injuries and pretend that he isn't actually trying to kill himself.
Instead, those quiet moments where Jim actually lets Leonard fix him up, give way to conversations about everything and nothing. Because for all Jim knows how to fill the silence, he tends to talk a lot without actually saying anything.
That's not to say that Leonard doesn't learn anything about his wayward best friend – or really only friend, when he thinks about it, but that's just depressing, so Leonard decidedly doesn't think about the fact that the idiot is his only friend.
He learns that Jim's favorite color is blue. That he's allergic to shellfish, and bee stings, and nearly every kind of pain killer known to man – which sure puts an edge on the whole fixing him up after bar fights and death-defying stunts thing.
He learns that Jim spent some time off planet when he was a kid, living with his aunt and uncle, but for some reason, things didn't work out, so he ended up back on Earth.
That he has an older brother who ran away right before Jim went off planet. That his mother remarried a 'bastard who shouldn't have even been given a license to breathe' – Jim's words, but Leonard finds himself agreeing without even knowing all the details.
Because Jim might be a bit of a hothead, and get into an exorbitant number of bar fights, but for all his temper, he rarely has a bad word to say about anybody. So if he's calling his stepfather a bastard, the guy probably is.
The words are never said, but Leonard is a doctor. He knows how to read between the lines, and he knows the feeling of old scars and injuries beneath his steady hands. Wounds left too long to be properly healed by the time they were tended to.
And though Jim never says anything, Leonard can feel their shape, rough lines that stick out against the tan of Jim's skin. He touches them and sees a young child thrown down a flight of stairs, into a wall, onto the floor. He feels the jagged marks that seem to cover so much of his best friend's body, and can't help but wonder if some came from a beer bottle – according to Jim, his stepfather was a bit of an alcoholic, and Leonard knows his friend well enough to know that the bastard is probably more of a drunk, and Jim is just trying not to make a big deal of it.
So while the words are never spoken, Leonard knows enough. He knows enough to be able to understand a bit of why Jim is the way he is. He knows enough to never ask for more. Jim wouldn't tell him, anyway, so why bother wasting the breath.
He knows enough to know that he really can't do anything, and that just pisses him off. He's not a man to sit around and wait for trouble, but unfortunately, he can't see another option. He sees the dark storm headed Jim's way, and knows that the younger man is in trouble. But how can you save a man whose only danger is himself, and who won't admit that he needs help?
Leonard watches the way Jim interacts with others, and comes to the startling realization that Jim has no real ties to this life.
Jim is a likeable man. He's popular, smart – genius, really – and knows how to use that roguish grin to his own advantage.
Leonard knows that Jim is good looking, and not above using his body to get his way. Not that Jim would ever make someone do something they didn't want to, but it's Jim's actions that Leonard is more interested in. He feels like those actions, that ability to use every advantage to get what you need, says something about Jim, and Leonard isn't sure he wants to know what.
The point is, people on this campus – most people anyway – like Jim. But Leonard can see that he's playing a role, being the popular son of a Federation hero that everyone expects, and there are really very few that Jim actually interacts with on another level.
Himself. Gaila. On occasion Captain Pike. He likes to argue – he calls it spirited debate – with Nyota Uhura from the Communications track, but they don't really do anything besides that, so Leonard doesn't count it.
Then again, maybe he should, because when Jim is arguing with the beautiful Cadet, there's a spark of something in his eyes that Leonard finds lacking most of the time.
Fire. Defiance. Life.
The role Jim plays with everyone else is so ingrained that Leonard only notices it in its absence. When Jim is with him, in private, without others around. When he's arguing with Nyota.
It speaks of a lifetime of playing this role. Being the son of a man who had given his life to save eight hundred others.
Leonard doesn't really think about it too much, but when he does, he can't help but kick himself over never really taking the time to consider the story from Jim's side.
Every time someone told him how much he looked like his father, did Jim just hear another person telling him that it was better to be someone else, rather than himself? When people told him how much of a hero his dad was, did Jim hear that he would never be able to match up?
Truth be told, Leonard had never really thought about it like that before. Not until he finds Jim staring out at the stars on a deserted Observation Deck just hours after defeating Nero, and avenging Vulcan and the Kelvin in the process.
Jim doesn't say much that night, but his quiet, "Eight hundred versus ten billion. Wonder if that'll make a difference," sends shivers down Leonard's spine, and he wonders who Jim's aiming that comment at.
He's not sure if he wants to know, but he thinks that not knowing might be even worse.
It's not until they get back to Earth, and he hears countless people telling him how "his dad would be so proud" that he gets it.
Because for Jim, he'll never be able to escape George Kirk's shadow. It'll always be there, in the mother who looks at him and sees his father, in the Starfleet officials who compare his actions to those of the older Captain Kirk.
In the media coverage, and the public that eats up the headline of Jim Kirk avenging his father's death.
Jim hates it. He smiles and puts on a good show, but Leonard knows his best friend, and he can see how much the young Captain hates always being compared to a dead man.
And really, Leonard does get it. He would hate to always be compared to someone else too.
But Jim isn't the sort to talk about feelings, so Leonard just watches, grinding his teeth and glaring at anyone who mentions George Kirk.
His actions don't go unnoticed by any of the impromptu Command Crew, but none of them will say anything in public.
Perhaps because they also see the signs in their young Captain, same as him.
Good. If that means he'll have some help in keeping an eye on the idiot, well, Leonard's all for that. He might be very protective of his best – and only – friend, but he welcomes the assistance.
Jim needs all the watching he can get.
The rest of the Command Crew might not know everything he does, but they're smart, and they can probably figure some of it out.
And while they may not have really known Jim before, after the Narada, they turn into a unit. Seven people who are thrust together by fate and chance, who were forced to step into roles beyond their capabilities, and rising to the occasion, coming out ahead where other, more experienced officers would have failed.
The Narada had turned them into colleagues. The aftermath turned them into friends.
So when they get back to Earth and Jim changes from a Captain who always had time and a word of encouragement for his crew, to a straight-backed, stoic officer, all emotion hidden behind a calm mask of indifference, of course they're worried.
They won't get anything out of Jim, Leonard knows. Jim is as protective of his emotions as a Vulcan, and he won't share anything he doesn't want to.
He pretends. When Sulu and Chekov invite him out for dinner, Leonard sees the fake enthusiasm Jim portrays. And the two men buy it. They go out, they have fun, and Jim fakes it the whole time. Neither the pilot nor the Navigations officer notice.
Jim's polite about it, and maybe he does have fun, but Leonard knows that Jim is just going through the motions.
It's the same when Scotty stops by to pick Jim's brain about something Engineering-y. Leonard doesn't know what they're talking about, but then, he's a doctor, not an Engineer. Neither is Jim, come to think of it, but he's smart enough to understand what Scotty's talking about.
Spock and Nyota come by together, and they talk about something related to the Academy. Leonard doesn't pay too much attention, beyond keeping an eye on Jim so that he can subtly – or not – insist the duo leave when Jim's ready for solitude.
It gets to that point rather quickly, and once the Vulcan and Communications Cadet are gone, Jim looks over at the doctor, his bright blue eyes shining with some unknown emotion. He whispers a simple "Thanks," before disappearing into the bedroom, but Leonard can read everything in that one word.
Jim's reaching a breaking point. He doesn't know how long it'll be before it happens, how long Jim will be able to stave it off, but he does know it's coming.
There's only so long a guy can move forward, when all he's ever known is pain, anger, and sadness.
After all, how is he supposed to know what living is like, when he's had the shadow of a dead man hanging over him his whole life?
Leonard knows Jim, better than just about anyone else in the universe, and he knows that nothing he says will make a difference, so he just resolves to be there at the Captain's side, come hell or high water.
And that's where he stays. When they give Jim the Enterprise, officially, and Jim immediately asks him to be his CMO. They ship out soon after, with Nyota at Communications, Sulu and Chekov at the helm, Scotty down in Engineering, and Spock taking on the Science station as well as the First Officer position.
Months pass by both quickly and slowly. Leonard hates being trapped in a tin can, but he puts up with it, suffering in silence, because the truth is, he'll go anywhere Jim goes. He gave up a lot of preconceived thoughts and notions when he sat down in that seat on that shuttle three years ago. When he shared his booze with the stranger next to him, and ignited a friendship the likes of which he had never even imagined possible before.
He sees the inevitable end coming, and it kills him that he can't stop it. He's a doctor, god damn it, and he can't even fix his best friend.
He watches – and sometimes participates – in away missions that usually end up just short of unmitigated disaster, with the rare success story of getting the entire away team back unscathed.
He listens to Jim's rants on how he needs to submit a request to ban the color red from any Starfleet uniform, and puts in his own opinions from time to time. He gives the Captain a dressing down on having so little regard for his own life, and yells at Jim for scaring the living daylights out of him.
There always seems to be more time. That's what Leonard tells himself. That there will be time to talk, time to tell Jim how much he means to the grumpy doctor. He hangs on to the promise of tomorrow. The idea that he will have another chance.
But that's the problem with life. You never think that you won't get another chance, and then one day you don't.
Pike dies. Khan. Marcus.
It all swirls together, putting their lives, and the lives of everyone on Earth in danger.
It isn't until Jim is honest to god lying there in a body bag in his Medbay that Leonard realizes how stupid he was for waiting. He's been watching the beginning of the end for months, years even, if he's honest with himself. Why had he put it off? Why hadn't he taken the time to just let Jim know that he mattered?
Because you never think that you won't get another chance, and then one day you don't.
Leonard doesn't know how to live without Jim. They've been two for so long, that Leonard doesn't know how to be one. He doesn't even think he can be one anymore.
The tribble saves the day, but it's still a rough time, and Leonard can't think about anything other than how he's supposed to go on if Jim doesn't make it.
He doesn't witness it, but later, he hears about the reactions the rest of the Command Crew had to Jim's death. Spock had actually screamed. Uhura had broken down crying on Scotty's shoulder, while the Engineer held it together until later that night, where he had reportedly demolished his office. That had been after they had found a way to potentially save Jim, but Scotty didn't deal with emotion well.
According to the work order, one of the labs in the botany department needed to be completely rebuilt, and if the security footage that could have proven just what had happened had mysteriously disappeared, well, Leonard wasn't about to question it. And if anybody asked, he'd alibi Sulu.
Chekov's reaction was the most worrying to Leonard; letting it out was good. It was healthy. But Chekov just buried himself in the numbers. Over and over again, he worked the equations, trying to figure out a way that the events could have played out that would have saved Jim from going into that chamber.
Several people had talked to Leonard about it, since the young Navigations Officer didn't appear to have any desire to stop any time soon.
Leonard wanted to help, but he didn't think he was the person to do so. The only one who could really reach him was currently lying on a biobed just inches from death.
And Leonard knew that Jim really could help Chekov. He had experience after all, having spent so many years doing the same thing with the Kelvin. Jim didn't think Leonard knew, but there wasn't much the doctor missed. Just because he didn't confront Jim about it didn't mean he didn't see it.
Just another thing Leonard wished he had taken the initiative to talk about. Goddamn moron and his self-sacrificing, self-destructive ways.
Jim wakes up. It takes way too long, and Leonard has aged another ten years waiting for it to happen, but he wakes up, and that's good enough for now. Leonard vows not to waste his second chance. He vows to talk to Jim about everything he's witnessed and worried about over the years.
Because Jim might not think there's anything wrong with burning too bright and too fast and dying young, but damn it Leonard doesn't ever want to know what life is like without Jim in it, and he has no plans on going out in a blaze of stupidity.
The Command Crew all stop by, letting Jim know how grateful they are for him, and how glad they are that he's still here. Jim doesn't say much, but the looks they all share promise more conversations and remonstrations later.
Leonard knows that at this point, they've all picked up on that thrice-cursed self-sacrificial attitude. He hopes that they'll be able to help prove his point, because he honestly thinks that Jim doesn't realize how much he means to them.
Jim seriously believes that his life is worth less than everyone else's, and Leonard hates that, because he knows how those beliefs came to be.
Leonard waits until Jim's discharged from the hospital, and they're back in the small on campus apartment that they share, not seeing the point in requesting separate dwellings, since they spend all their time together, and it's not like they're really on Earth that much anyway.
Once they're alone, he sits Jim down on the couch – decidedly not acknowledging how weak Jim still is.
He wants to yell. He tries to yell. He wants to rage and scream and shake Jim into submission. He wants the idiot to realize how much he matters.
But the truth is, he can't. He can't be mad, he's never been able to really be mad at Jim. Irritated, sure, but never downright angry. He lets out a huff of air and collapses onto a chair.
And Jim, being the irritating little shit he is, just gives him a sad smile. "I know, Bones," he says sadly. It does nothing to reassure the doctor.
Quite the opposite, actually.
Leonard glares at him. "When are you going to get it through your thick head? You're not invincible, Jim! And you're not worthless either!" Jim flinches minutely, his eyes dropping to the floor, and Leonard deflates rapidly. "Jesus, Jim, I know you think that your life doesn't matter as much as someone else's, but you can't keep doing this to us. To yourself." Jim still doesn't say anything, and Leonard sighs. "Can you try to imagine what my life would be like without you? I can't do it. I can't live in a world where you don't exist. I just wish you could see that."
Jim stands up rapidly, and then winces and pales, the reminder of his recent hospital stay coming back to haunt them. Leonard is on his feet in an instant, reaching for Jim, trying to assure himself that everything is all right, that Jim is just tired and sore. He's a damn good doctor, and he did his job well. He always double and triple checks himself when it comes to Jim, just to make sure that he hasn't missed anything.
Jim waves him off, and sits back down, much too slowly for Leonard's liking, but he does so without any signs of real pain, so Leonard lets himself relax as well, and reclaims his own seat.
Jim sighs wearily, rubbing a hand across his face. "You don't get it, do you." His voice is soft and quiet, with a near dead-like quality that sets Leonard immediately on edge. Jim glances at him and chuckled slightly, but there's no humor in his voice. "Have you ever done something so dangerous, that there's a very real chance you won't live to see the other side of it?" Leonard shakes his head minutely, wondering to himself if he should be worried, but this is the first time Jim seems to really want to talk about something real, and he doesn't want to jeopardize that. He and Jim have been best friends for years, but there are some topics that they just avoid on instinct.
Jim sighs again, his eyes making him look much older than his twenty six years. "It's a rush, I'll be the first to admit that. There's a certain thrill involved with doing something dangerous. And maybe that makes me a bit of a dare devil, maybe I have a death wish, I don't know. The point is, I grew up believing that my life really didn't matter. I learned that early on," he speaks over whatever Leonard might say – he had opened his mouth, but the truth is, the doctor really has no idea what he would say to that. "My mom could never look at me, my brother resented that I came home when our dad didn't, and my stepfather just hated me. I didn't know what affection was. I didn't know how to feel anything. I drove a car off a cliff when I was twelve, and it was the first time I felt alive."
Leonard recalls learning of that incident, three years ago, and he remembers the gut wrenching terror at hearing about how close Jim had come to going over the cliff with the car.
Jim bites his lip. "I'd be lying if I said there wasn't a split second where I considered not jumping out. I'd also be lying if I said I didn't regret jumping out later on. The point is, at twelve years old, I realized that danger made me feel alive. I've never felt more alive than when I was so close to death. I might have a bit of a death wish, Bones, but I just want to feel something. Is that wrong?"
Leonard stares at Jim for nearly a full minute, processing what he's just learned. Is it wrong? The idea certainly isn't, Leonard just wishes Jim had come up with a better execution. "Shit, kid," he mumbles, his gaze filled with compassion. He knows Jim hates pity, but he doesn't feel that, surprisingly. He knows that Jim has a past – everyone does, after all. And everything Jim's been through has just made him stronger. Jim might be one of the most emotionally stunted people Leonard knows, but if there's one thing he's not, it's weak.
Jim still flinches as if he's been slapped, and Leonard feels guilty. He knows he should say something, he just wishes he knew what to say. Finally, he decides that anything has to be better than silence. He leans forward in his seat, and wills Jim to look at him.
It doesn't work, but he speaks anyway. "You matter." Jim flinches again, but Leonard continues on ruthlessly. "Your life is not worthless. I understand why, Jim, but I need you to stop and think, for just a moment, about me. About Spock, and Uhura, and Scotty, and Sulu, and Chekov. About your crew. You might not realize it, but you mean so much to them. They care about you, they want you to be there for years to come. And I've seen the way you interact with them. It's like everything's just a mask. You hang out with Sulu and Chekov, and you're just pretending. You debate theories with Spock and Scotty, and languages with Uhura, but you're not all there. Why can't you let us in?"
Jim bites his lip, glancing over at the window. It's nearly nighttime, and if it weren't for the light pollution, they would have a beautiful view of the stars. "It doesn't work," he admits quietly. "I tried, you know. I spent years trying to get my mom, and Frank and Sam, to like me. I tried letting them in, and it just ended with me getting hurt."
Leonard feels the guilt doubling. He knew it had to be something like that, but the truth still hurts. He wishes he had an answer that made sense, but he can't fathom why anyone would throw someone as amazing as Jim away, the way his family did.
"I don't have any answers for you, Jim," he says softly. "I can't tell you why your family did that. It makes no sense to me. You're an amazing person, and you deserve so much better." Jim's looking at him with something akin to awe, mixed in with disbelief and surprise. Leonard realizes that he may have never heard that before. He's probably never heard someone tell him they love him, or that they're proud of him. At the very least, he hasn't heard it often. Pike might have said something, Leonard knows that Jim and the Admiral were pretty close. But it's definitely not a sentiment Jim is used to.
"I know you don't have a lot of reasons to trust me, but please just consider that we're not them," Leonard pleads. "We won't abandon you, and we won't treat you like that. We need you, Jim. I need you."
Jim glances at him sharply, and Leonard waits. It takes a few minutes for Jim to work up the courage to speak, and when he does, his voice is contemplative and raw, showing real emotion as he never really has before. "I do." Leonard is confused, so Jim clarifies. "I do trust you. Bones, you're probably the only person I've ever really trusted. I have no idea why, or how, but it's true." He sighs. "It's not easy to undo a lifetime of training and conditioning, but I promise to work on it, all right?"
Leonard nods quickly, still in shock. Jim doesn't share emotion freely, and when he does, you're never really sure if what you see is real, but Leonard has no doubt that Jim is being completely honest with him in this moment. "You don't have to do it alone," he says simply. "I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere."
Jim smiles softly. "I know. As crazy as it might sound, you're the reason I'm still here. I had no real reason to keep going, until I met you."
Leonard is surprised. He hadn't realized how much of an impact he had had on Jim.
Jim smirks, amused. "You might not realize it, but I've actually toned down the death-defying stunts since I joined the Academy."
He stands up, stretching carefully, and Leonard finds his voice. "And why's that?"
Jim glances back at him. "I found something worth living for." He looks around for his jacket, and pulls it on slowly, being mindful of his soreness. "I think that's enough of the touchy feely stuff for tonight, right? Let's go find the others and see if they're hungry."
Leonard can't find a reason to argue, so he follows Jim outside, walking in silence to the cafeteria. They find the others already there, and easily join the group. Leonard grabs two trays for himself and Jim, making sure the idiot Captain doesn't overexert himself – he did, after all, just get out of the hospital.
Leonard watches Jim as they eat, and even after the food is gone, they stay, talking and laughing, enjoying the fact that they are all there.
There's a difference. Nothing anyone who hasn't spent ample time studying Jim would notice, but it's there. His smiles are a touch more real, his laughter reaches his eyes, and the look on his face is almost wondering. As if he can't quite comprehend the fact that these people want him. Care about him. Would miss him if he were gone.
Leonard knows that Jim has gotten the low down on their reactions to his death, from various sources, and the doctor knows that Jim plans to have private conversations with each of them in the very near future. Perhaps not for the reason Leonard might wish, but because he knows that Jim will feel guilty for their reactions. It has nothing to do with Jim knowing that he should reassure them that he's alive – or at least, it didn't before their conversation earlier – and more to do with Jim not wanting them to blame themselves for his choice.
Leonard knows that he'll spent a day working with Scotty in Engineering, a morning persuading Uhura to teach him how to swear in Klingon – though Leonard is almost positive that's just because it enhances his image, not because he needs Uhura to teach him. He's certain Jim already knows how to speak Klingon, but he'll pretend, because it will make Uhura feel better.
Jim will spend an afternoon calming Chekov down, and drawing him out from the endless equations, making the younger man realize that what he's doing isn't healthy – never mind the fact that he's done the same thing on more than one occasion. That conversation will be about Chekov, not Jim.
Jim and Spock will spend an evening playing chess, talking about nothing and letting the simple actions reassure each other.
Jim will spend a morning letting Sulu pound him into the ground with a practice sword, under the pretense of teaching him how to fence, and the two will determinedly not talk about feelings or emotions or anything remotely related. But by the end of the practice session, Sulu will feel better, and Jim will know he's done his job.
But that's all in the future. For right now, Jim is starting to open up. He let Leonard in, and the doctor knows he'll learn to do the same with the rest of the Command Crew, in time. And it's his job to make sure they get that time.
He'll do everything in his power to keep Jim breathing, and that's a full time job right there.
Because Jim burns, bright and hot like a shooting star.
He ignites everything around him, inspiring and electrifying his crew, his friends. He instills a desire to protect, to follow, to love. And the most amazing part about it is that he has no idea.
But Leonard vows that he will spend the rest of his life showing Jim just how much he means to his crew. To himself. He doesn't want to keep putting it off, the way he has been for years. He doesn't want to keep telling himself that there's always tomorrow. That there will be time. He doesn't want to watch Jim self-destruct and pretend like he can't do anything to stop him. He can, he knows he can, and he refuses to lie to himself any more.
Because you never think that you won't get another chance, and then one day you don't.
I'm not really sure about this, but it demanded to be written, so here it is. Please let me know what you think!
* Oh, and please no one harp on the whole 'ten billion' people on Earth part. I tried to find some sort of projection that would let me know how much the Earth's population might increase by the 2200's, but I couldn't find anything. I'm just guestimating. I mean, we did go from 6 to 7 billion people in like, ten years. it's feasible that we'd be beyond 10 billion in a couple hundred years, right?