'Troubadour to Starfleet Command- evacuation order has been given.'
'Most of the crew are dead, the remaining crew are evacuating the ship. Please send help'
Leonard forgot how good it feels to directly save a life in the middle of an emergency. All the adrenaline pushing him through the chaos as his instincts take over and he pulls a poor soul back from the brink of death; he didn't have that in the classroom. He'd never wish for his skills to be needed by anyone ever, but the feeling of knowing they're going to live to see tomorrow is euphoric. Despite the small explosion in science lab eight, which brought four people- one critical, to sickbay, today was a good day; they managed to save Ensign Brooks's life.
Leonard's three hours late because of surgery and his famished stomach isn't inclined to let him forget it. He can't wait to get back to his quarters and see Jim. He's still energized so maybe he can persuade Jim into doing something tonight.
"Honey, I'm home," enthuses Leonard as he walks in the door only to be greeted by silence. He isn't concerned; sometimes Jim gets so focused on something the rest of the world ceases to exist. He'll just work on dinner and maybe Jim will surface.
Their quarters fills with the delicious aroma of lasagna and garlic bread but still no sign of life from Jim. Leonard sets the table then heads to the living room to track down his husband.
Jim's blanket fort which has become a permanent fixture in front of the viewing window is empty. Jim doesn't leave their quarters during alpha shift at all and he isn't willing to go out during beta shift unless necessary and only then if Leonard agrees to come with him, so he has to be in their quarters somewhere. He must be in the bedroom. Hopefully he decided to get some sleep in an actual bed and not his blanket fort which he's taken to doing lately.
Leonard makes it to the other side of the couch when he realizes his good mood is going to come crashing down. Tatters of his uniform shirts create a trail from the living room to the bedroom.
The door to the bedroom slides open. Each second it takes is a painful shard of dread piercing Leonard's heart. His brain envisions every horrible soul crushing scenario that could await him just beyond those doors and none of them are anything he wants to experience again.
The relief of seeing Jim in one piece almost brings Leonard to his knees.
They can weather whatever this is, what's important is that they're together to do it.
Jim's barricaded himself in the corner of the room; the mattress flopped on the floor between the dressers and the wall to deter anyone trying to approach him. He doesn't acknowledge Leonard, just sits in the corner muttering to himself as he continues to rip apart Leonard's uniform shirts.
"Jim?"
Leonard slowly climbs over Jim's obstacle course, careful not to spook him should he realize he isn't alone anymore. He sits on the floor, cross legged about a foot and a half away from Jim; close, but not close enough to make Jim feel cornered.
He can finally make out Jim's quiet litany. "Can't show rank. That's what he looks for. They'll take the highest ranking officer. You can't have Bones."
Leonard feels like he's been used as a punching bag by a Klingon. His heart starts to speed up as he's assaulted by the bone seeping cold and stale rotting smell of Nero's ship. It kills him that this is where Jim goes. The words of warning make Leonard want to throw up.
Jim's not trying to destroy his uniform shirts in a fit of rage or in protest. He isn't trying to destroy the shirts at all, rather he's trying to remove the rank insignia on the sleeves that prove Leonard holds the rank of Lieutenant Commander. A rank that comes with protocol, seniority and classified information that the enemies of the Federation would be after- the rank held by the first officer of the USS Troubadour when Nero took him and tortured him to death.
"Jim?" he tries again, gently placing his hand on top of Jim's.
Jim stops pulling the silver stripe off the sleeve. He stills but doesn't look up from his work.
Leonard tugs the shirt from Jim's grip. Jim holds tight for a second but then lets it go without much of a fight. He tosses the ruined shirt over his shoulder. "You're not on Nero's ship. He's dead and nobody is going to take me from you. You survived Jim. We survived."
Jim still doesn't look up. He's weaving his thumbs through his fingers now that he doesn't have a shirt to modify. His shoulders droop at the sound of Leonard's voice and his tension begins to fade along with the memories.
"Can you tell me where we are?" asks Leonard.
Jim nods his head, his long bangs bouncing along his scar.
Leonard sits silently. He'll sit as long as it takes. Rushing things will only lead to a bigger and messier break down.
"USS Enterprise," says Jim, brokenly.
"And I'm right here," adds Leonard, softly.
"And you're right here," Jim repeats dutifully. He finally looks up meeting Leonard's gaze; bright blue eyes glossed over with tears that pool down his face. "Bones?"
"I'm right here," whispers Leonard, scrambling to sit right next to Jim. He pulls Jim close, wrapping his arms tightly around his husband.
"You were late. You were late and there are spying programs on my PADD they thought I wouldn't notice and... I thought..."
"I know what you thought." Leonard places a kiss on the top of Jim's head. That's not going to happen, Jim."
They sit like that for hours, drinking each other in.
"You shouldn't display your rank like that. It makes you a high value target," informs Jim, like his point is still valid even if his methods are not.
"I'm a doctor, Jim. I don't have any information of any value in that field. Nobody is coming for an old county doctor. They'll just be disappointed if they take me."
"I've never been disappointed with you."
"Captain, I have your secure channel to Admiral Pike," breaks the contemplative silence of Spock's ready room.
"Put him through," orders Spock. The comm. chirps as the communication officer complies from the bridge. The view screen on his desk comes to life with a barrage of bright florescent colors and what appears to be a party at a tropical resort unfolding in the background.
"This better be good," says Pike, turning the camera angle to frame him better as he removes his sunglasses.
"I apologise for interrupting your vacation, sir," starts Spock.
"Be less sorry and get to the point quickly. I have an activity scheduled in five minutes," informs Pike sternly. There's a fondness in his gaze that softens his tone.
"I have concerns about the crew," Spock states.
Pike leans back in his longue chair. The contemplative look he wears seems out of place against his tan skin and flower print shirt. "You've been in the chair for ten minutes. You've got to give them and you time," he says sagely. He remembers his first time a ship was all his; questioning every decision he made and fretting he was dropping the ball somewhere.
"I am concerned time will not fix this particular issue."
Pike smiles. "McCoy will warm up to you. The blistering bear act never goes away but it's how he shows he cares. You have to give it as good as you get it, Spock. Let the kids in the candy store but don't let them run it."
Spoke arches an eyebrow at the mention of McCoy's name. A compliment of over four hundred crew and Pike zeroed in on one. He's not sure he understands the metaphor either or the human need to use them but he has more pressing concerns to address in Pike's time limit. "It is not Dr McCoy, I'm calling about."
"What did Jim do?" asks Pike with a haunted shadow of a smile.
There are few humans that manage to pleasantly surprise Spock, Christopher Pike has the tendency to do it often. "You know about his companion?"
"How else do you think you managed to pull all the strings for McCoy to come aboard? It will do you and them both a world of good to be on the Enterprise."
Spock clearly hasn't given Pike's chess game the respect and consideration it deserves. "His limited interactions with the crew have not yielded the best results. I am worried about his erratic behaviour."
Pike's silent for a long time. Even the luxurious and vibrant island getaway isn't enough to temper the melancholy that takes hold. "The thing you have to understand about Jim, is he was on track to be one of the best and youngest captains Starfleet has ever produced. It was his bravery that saved Starfleet from Nero's attack and as a result, he was dealt a bad hand. What Nero did to him... the kid's never going to see a captain's chair or command of any kind, but I assure you he has the best interest of the ship at heart. He helped save Vulcan. At the very least you owe him a fair shake at adjusting to life aboard a ship again. "
Spock wishes he shared Pike's confidence but he has over four hundred other crewmen to consider not just one soul that Starfleet didn't see fit to keep within its ranks. "How do you know he will not become a danger to the crew? The other day he seemed to not know where he was and when I spoke to him, he became hostile."
"If you want to know the nuances of Jim's... personality, talk to McCoy. And read this." Pike taps at his PADD and a file from Starfleet appears on Spock's computer. Re: medical termination of James McCoy. "I can't tell you Jim's situation and general personality won't make him a pain in your ass, but I assure you, I wouldn't have put him there if I didn't think it would be beneficial for both of you."
Leonard should really be paying more attention to what he's doing, but he's more focused on watching Jim fiddle with the pictures on the wall. Jim's looking for bugs and other surveillance equipment. It's the middle ground between' losing his shit Jim' who's stuck on Nero's ship and 'here and present Jim.' Leonard's happy to ride out the middle ground, though it's a slippery slope to fall right back into full blown episode territory.
"Ouch!" cries Leonard, yanking his hand back and giving it a gentle shake.
"What happened?" asks Jim, looking concerned. There's a heightened sense of energy rolling off of him, like he's ready to spring into action against anything that would dare harm the man he loves.
"I poked my damn finger." Leonard holds it up to take a look at the damage. It's not really bleeding much, but damn it smarts. He can understand why man was compelled to advance beyond using a needle and thread.
Jim comes over and settles on the couch next to Leonard's recliner. "Doing what?"
Leonard rolls his eyes. "Sewing my stripes back on my shirt," he says like he doesn't know who to blame for this inconvenience.
Jim looks kind of guilty but one of his coping mechanisms is to not apologise for things he can't consciously remember deciding to do. This time it's deciding the rank on Leonard's uniform shirt is going to identify him as a high value target for interrogation. It's not the healthiest play to pretend it didn't happen but Leonard's willing to work with whatever helps get Jim back on even ground.
It's probably easier to request new ones but trying to explain why he needs all new uniform shirts invites more questions than he wants to answer. Besides it's better to save his requisitions for when the shirts are completely unsalvageable. Just in case Jim gets this idea again.
"Shouldn't you be good at that? You are a surgeon," accuses Jim.
Leonard tries not to be insulted. His hands are a key skill in his profession. Then again, he isn't splitting his attention between Jim and his patient during surgery. "Most of us don't use a needle and thread any more. It's become somewhat of a lost art. Good thing grandma insisted us kids have the basic skills."
Jim slides off the couch on to his knees and crawls over to kneel before Leonard. Taking Leonard's hand he turns it over to look at the tiny dot of blood Leonard managed to draw. "Shouldn't you use a kiss?"
"It's called a thimble. What you're talkin' 'bout is a metaphor from Peter Pan," says Leonard.
Jim shrugs. "Then I'll just kiss it better." He places a feather light kiss on the tip of Leonard's finger and then another on the back of his large, steady hand, as a form of apology for all the things Jim's unwilling to voice.
"That's also a misconception. If anything, a kiss is going to expose a wound to germs and then next thing ya know, my hand falls off," grumbles Leonard.
"Then we better put it to good use before that happens," says Jim suggestively, depositing Leonard's shirt and sewing kit on the floor and pulling Leonard out of the recliner and towards the bedroom.
"How come you don't invite any of your co workers over for dinner?" asks Jim. He's sprawled out like a starfish across the bed with his head pressed against Leonard's side. Leonard's on his back staring at the ceiling, lost in the rhythmic stroking of Jim's hair, yet he knows the kid's staring out the window watching the stars lazily pass by.
It's not the post-coital glow question he was expecting. It's not even a question he'd expect any other moment either. Jim's never really been keen on fraternizing with Leonard's colleagues and damn right unwilling to make any friends of his own. "Do you want me to invite people over for dinner?"
Jim rolls on to his side and props himself up on his elbow so he can look Leonard in the eye. "It would be nice to know you're making friends," he says with mock concern, trying to emulate the apprehension a parent has as they send their child away to school for the first time.
Leonard snorts, reaching up and pulling the pillow out from under his head and smacking Jim with it. "Don't need friends. I got you."
Jim throws the pillow back at Leonard. "Seriously Leonard, you need some diversity."
Jim rarely calls him Leonard. It's a dead giveaway that they're either headed for a fight, or something is really bugging Jim. "I get diversity when I'm on shift. But if you're serious, I could see if Geoff and Christine are free," he offers.
Jim scrunches his face in distaste. "You're medical colleagues? Nah."
"Nah?"
"Sitting around listening to you geeks get your medical science on, isn't the stimulating dinner conversation I had in mind."
Clearly Jim has an agenda he's trying to work. Leonard should probably be a little terrified there's a scheme in the works but it's hard to deny Jim anything. "And just what colleagues did you have in mind?" he asks, leery of the answer
There's silence for a moment, like Jim's not sure if he should take his shot right now. "I saw Uhara's name on the crew manifest." Jim's taken the time to become familiar with every name on the manifest. If he's going to live with these people, he should know the basics. It doesn't hurt to check for any red flags for crewmen that might pose a threat later on. "Still haven't gotten that first name."
Leonard chuckles, soft and low. Those two have been locked in this game since day one. It's nice to know some things don't change, even when everything else seems to. "She hates you," reminds Leonard. Hate's probably a little strong but there's definitely hissing and spitting.
"I know," says Jim with a self satisfied, wicked grin. "It'll be great."