The upheaval of the shuttle, throws Leonard back, sending him crashing to the floor. The hard carpet on the floor burns and scratches against his face as the momentum drives him along. Jim's in a better position, being able to grab a hold of the pilot's chair and keep his feet beneath him. Leonard can hear him frantically tapping at the console as he attempts to figure out what horror has its grips on them.
The jarring impact doesn't break anything but it isn't exactly soft. Leonard can already feel the bruises forming at different impact points. 'Shuttles are pretty safe' his ass. Jim's acrobatic manoeuvres were more than enough today, he doesn't need actual turbulence throwing their weight around.
"Shit," says Jim, banging his fist against the console.
God, Leonard doesn't want to hear that right now. "What's wrong?" he demands, wiggling into a sitting position. It's not like it matters much, the shuttle's too dark for him to see the look on Jim's face. He's not sure if that's a good thing or not right now, but Jim's usually pretty cool under pressure and this doesn't sound like calm.
"Hold on," snaps Jim. There's more frantic tapping but nothing changes.
Leonard's jaw clicks shut. He sits there alone in the dark waiting for good news- just him and the darkness because without the lights to showcase the walls of the shuttle, he might as well be adrift in the vast nothingness of space, or worse, locked up and frozen in an air tight coffin. There isn't even the dull hum of the engines or life support to drown out the rapidly growing pace of his heart as it begins to pound away in his ears.
And there's that feeling again- drowning in the murky waters of an endless void. He wants to call out for Jim, to have a firm hand to remind him he's not alone but his throat closes up. He's not just lost in the ocean this time, the waves are crashing over his head pulling him down to get swept up in the undertow.
He reaches out blindly, his hand bumping something hard, a wall-maybe? He continues to fumble along, looking for something familiar to reorient himself and confirm that he didn't get jettisoned out an air lock while a genetically enhanced super human chokes the life out of Jim. This time he hits what could be a chair. Or maybe it's the edge of a cryo tube lid that's quickly closing in.
Leonard squeezes his eyes shut tight. "I'm on a shuttle. With Jim," he mumbles. "I'm on a shuttle with Jim and not it a cryo tube." His shoulder bumps against something as he tries to crawl forward to where Jim should be. The darkness is closing in. The walls are getting closer and colder, and this time the damn lid won't open. No matter how hard he pushes or bangs against it, the cryo lid won't budge. He can't get out. He's going to be stuck here for all time-helpless.
Beyond the frost covered glass is Jim, beaten and bloody. Khan's not going to stop until he turns Jim's bones into pulp. All Leonard can do it watch. As Khan stands triumphantly over Jim's limp body, Nero drops his poisonous crippling slug on Jim.
"Such a bleeding heart. You get to watch."
Watching is all Leonard ever seems to be able to do.
"There," declares Jim as the emergency lights come up. It's mostly the soft blue glow from the console and the dull amber light of a few small pot lights near the floor, but enough that they can see one another. Life support is functioning so they won't freeze to death or run out of air, however the engines aren't taking them anywhere anytime soon. Jim sends a message to the Enterprise advising them of the situation. They'll just have to ride it out until the ship returns; looks like they're going to have time for that romantic stargazing session after all.
"I've got good news and bad news," declares Jim, swivelling in his chair. Crap, he's really starting to regret his decision today. Leonard's managed to crawl his way into the corner of the shuttle, looking far worse and distraught than Jim's ever seen him.
Jim's flying out of the pilot's seat and on his knees in front of Leonard in the blink of an eye. "Leonard can you hear me?" he asks frantically. He doesn't know where to put his hands with Leonard folded into such a tight ball. This doesn't look like the sort of episode regulated breathing or directed refocusing is going to abate.
Leonard doesn't really give an answer, just continues to shake his head and engage in full blown hyperventilating. Jim looks around the shuttle helplessly. This is far beyond anything Jim knows how to remedy. It's just the two of them and the only one that's any good in a medical emergency is having the medical emergency.
Jim curls his hands into tight fists and takes a deep breath. Watching Leonard hyperventilate is making him hyperventilate and the last thing they need is both of them to pass out in a powerless shuttle. He spots Leonard's medical bag sitting on the shelf. He's been there more or less when Leonard's had to treat him for panic attacks, he can bumble his way through this. The situation isn't giving him much of a choice.
He jumps up and grabs the old worn kit that's seen far too much use in its life. "I've got his," he assures Leonard, or maybe it's an attempt to bolster some confidence in himself. He can feel Leonard's eyes on him as he rummages through the med kit. It's better than staring at nothing, even if Leonard's breathing is anything but normal. A response is a step in the right direction.
Jim looks questioningly at each vial he pulls out. Some are color coded and some have names printed on the vials with so many consonants strung together he doubts he could pronounce them. Nothing rings a bell from his own experiences and even if it did, Jim hasn't a clue how much to give someone. Jim looks apologetically at Leonard. "I don't know exactly what to give you." His husband is counting on him and Jim's so far out of his depth, it's almost comical.
"G…gi…give me th… th…that," chokes out Leonard as he desperately fights to get air into his lungs, "b…be…fore y…y…you hurt y…your…self." Last thing Leonard needs is Jim to accidently stabbing himself with something he's allergic to. His day is going just that well, Jim probably would.
Jim hands the kit over. He tries to pull the vials out so Leonard can see them better but if just feels like he's getting in the way. An eternity passes as he watches Leonard fish out the vial he needs with hands so shaky and uncoordinated it's like watching a seismograph go off. Jim should leave it in Leonard's hands, but the doctor's hands are shaking so badly he's having difficulty loading the hypo. "Here, let me," says Jim, grabbing the vial and hypo from Leonard. He slides the vial home, locking it in place. Jim angles it against Leonard's neck. "Here?"
Leonard nods quickly in jagged movements. The lack of proper oxygen is making his vision fuzzy. He can feel the cool burn of the medication entering his system as Jim dispenses it. In a matter of seconds his lungs and chest, which have been fighting their normal function, relax, slowly falling back into a steadier regulated rhythm. The wide-eyed panic vanishes from his eyes as they begin to tiredly droop.
Jim grabs him as the sedative takes effect on all his muscles and moves him like a rag doll until his head is propped in Jim's lap. It's kind of a relief to know he's sent himself off into oblivion where there are no air locks, cryo tubes, Neros or Khans, just sweet unconsciousness.
"I've got you," assures Jim, running his fingers through Leonard's hair as he drifts off. "You're safe with me."
Leonard runs his tongue over the roof of his mouth and teeth. It tastes like metal and morning breath. His head is practicing a steal drum solo and he feels like he tried to bench press a shuttle and lost. It's right up there with some of his worst hangovers. This is why he prefers the sedative properties of alcohol to chemical ones, because if you're going to be sporting that hangover feeling, you might as well earn it.
He still feels a little detached, which is probably a good thing, because shuttle in trouble, seems to be his trigger. Unable to dwell on that particular note at the moment is probably best for all involved. It can't be so bad though, he can hear Jim softly humming that song again; Jim's not the type to break out in spontaneous song when their lives are truly on the line. Plus Jim gets this intense twinkle in his eye like he's been waiting his whole life to get the chance to personally spar with death and so far, he's been rather giddy and relaxed not intense and alive.
Leonard clears his throat as he assesses what kind of motor skills he possesses while the sedative wears off. He's a little slow and a little sore. Probably a couple hours of muted terror in his future until his body decides he can reengage in a full-blown panic. There's a little trepidation flowing beneath the surface with all the intensity of an underground stream, but it's staying beneath the surface where it belongs.
"Oh, hey you're up," says Jim gently, abandoning his seat to rejoin Leonard on the floor.
No wonder Leonard's so sore. At least Jim found something to use as a pillow under Leonard's head. The chemical grogginess is going to be hard to shake but not as hard as the embarrassment of having an undeniable full blown panic attack. Leonard's supposed to be the one of them that has their shit together. And now his shit is very much out there and exposed, strewn all over the deck for Jim to look over and inspect or worse, trip over.
Jim helps him sit up. Just sitting up leaves Leonard needing to catch his breath; leaving this spot seems impossible right now. "Obviously we're not dying," grumbles Leonard, "yet." He's a little disappointed. Not that he's disappointed he's not dead, because obviously he's utterly infatuated with life and would love to continue the affair. No, he's disappointed that now his reaction feels like a gross over reaction. If he's going to have a meltdown would it be too much to ask that it was in the face of dire circumstance?
"I know it may not feel like it, but I promise you, you're not dying. I've got you." Jim's intimately familiar with the whole process and honestly he probably wouldn't be able to survive it let alone be as functioning as he is if it weren't for Leonard. Leonard's been the rock on which Jim's built his foundation. He doubts he's structurally sound enough to support Leonard, but by god he'll certainly try. He just hopes he doesn't let his husband down.
Leonard shakes his head, regretting it immediately as his stomach and vision start to roll. In his panic he might have gave himself a slightly higher dose than necessary. "No. The shuttle's status," he corrects. Medically he knows this incident won't kill him, hell, it's a biological reaction; it's the universe he's concerned about. It seems hell bent on using them for target practice.
Jim winces. "We're dead in the water. Just minimal power. Life support is functioning and I've sent a distress call out to the Enterprise," informs Jim. All things that equal less than ideal but nowhere near catastrophic end.
"Great. So we won't suffocate or freeze to death immediately," grumbles Leonard. The thought of being stuck in a floating coffin sends panic nipping at his heels and that underground spring of dread bubbling toward the surface.
Jim looks a little pained. He was aiming to be a little reassuring. "It might get a little cold. We have to put minimal demands on life support so I can boost the distress signal. Something hit the shuttle and damaged the relays from the outside. We don't have the parts to go out there and fix it."
Leonard thinks back to the graveyard of parts covering the shuttle bay floor. Great, sitting in the cold and dark in a floating coffin; the universe is really looking to test Leonard's resolve today. Who would have thought delivering a medical lecture to a bunch of Vulcans would be the best outcome for today.
"But we have blankets and each other to stay warm. And a romantic show to watch outside. Could be worse," says Jim with a seductive wink, hoping to shine some light on the bright side of this disaster. Or at least draw attention away from Leonard's mounting pile of triggers. He makes a mental note of each one and engages in a moment of self condemnation for not noticing them sooner. Jim's one job is to take care of Leonard; it's not like he has a career or anything to distract him from that, and yet somehow he's failing epically. "How are you doing?"
Romance is the furthest thing on Leonard's mind right now. It's been the furthest thing from his mind for awhile. Every night when he wraps his arms tightly around Jim, it's more for reassurance that Jim is safe rather than some play for sexual favour. He tilts his head with a fake smile that doesn't last long. "Peachy. Everything's just peachy."
Jim frowns. It's not even a convincing lie. Hell, Leonard's not even trying to make it convincing and that's its own kind of scary. He looks Leonard straight in the eye, all traces of humour replaced with steadfast seriousness. "Alright, hit me with it. How long has this been going on?" Jim's the master of hiding personal issues and this screams tip of the iceberg.
"What do you mean?" grumbles Leonard, bringing his knee up so he can prop his elbow on it while he cradles his head.
"As the resident hot mess in this relationship, I don't think that was your first one," says Jim. Leonard just looks away which is confirmation enough. He wracks his brain looking for signs that Leonard's been slowly falling apart since Khan but comes up empty. So either Jim's too much of a mess to notice that his husband has been suffering, or Leonard is remarkably skilled at deception. Either option leaves him feeling terrified.
"Don't worry about it, Jim," sighs Leonard. He can't burden Jim with the stress of having to worry about him. He doesn't want to worry about Jim worrying either. He'll get a handle on this, he always does. Leonard is very skilled at putting his jagged pieces back together into something that resembles himself. He's had to; otherwise those closest to him tend to cut themselves on his sharp edges. "How long do you think it will take the Enterprise to get the distress call?" There are more pressing issues at the moment.
"You always do that," counters Jim, a little hurt. Leonard knows every inch of Jim, every scar, both physical and mental. He's not sure he's scratched through the surface of Leonard yet. Sure he knows all the amazing things like how big Leonard's heart is, or that even after he yells at the junior officers for injuring themselves due to being klutzy he makes a point to subtly check up on them the next day. He knows the small things, like Leonard prefers the right side of the bed, or the handle to his coffee cup to be pointed diagonally away from him, or how he scrunches his brow in his sleep just before he wakes up if Jim's watching him. It's just the vulnerable dark parts Leonard seems keen on hiding since Jim originally declared his love.
Leonard's not up to arguing right now. Why can't Jim just drop it, or better yet, that tin can they call home show up on sensors and save Leonard from this? "Do what?"
"Act like I wouldn't understand." Jim tries to hide the bitterness from his voice but traces slip out around the edges. Out of anyone, Jim's probably most likely to understand.
"Would you?" counters Leonard, tiredly. Jim's so busy rushing headlong into danger to save people, Leonard highly doubts he spares a thought about the people that have to watch him do it. It's not that Leonard isn't proud or him or even a little envious of just how amazingly selfless and brave Jim can be, it's just hard to watch it happen. "Do you know what it's like to watch people torture one of the few people you give a damn about? All because they keep making themselves the target to protect you? You take to trouble like a duck to water. And I'm afraid one day I won't be able to put you back together. Haven't done the best job of that so far," he adds glumly.
Jim will forever carry the scars of Nero's handy work, both because Leonard was incapable of protecting Jim in the first place and because Leonard and modern medicine lacked the skills to repair Jim after. Leonard doesn't need to find new ways to pile onto Jim. And he certainly doesn't want to watch Jim find new ways to break himself.
Jim folds his arms over his chest. It hurts to watch Leonard beat himself up for Jim's choices. Especially when Jim's stats aren't any better. "I sat there plenty of times while they used you as a punching bag. When Ayel went after you for stealing those medical supplies, I almost died. And for the record, you're the only person I care about." Nero was a decade ago; it couldn't be possible Leonard's been struggling since then. He silently prays he would have noticed long before now if that was the issue.
"Jim, I had to watch them take you apart piece by piece while they took away everything I needed to put you back together again. And the worst part, was when we were back on the Enterprise, surrounded by all the technological advances available, I had to sit there and listen to the medical report listing all the things I was never going to be able to fix. But do you know what really eats at me?" asks Leonard, his voice rising slightly. "While I was sitting there listening to your diagnosis of injuries sustained to protect me, I couldn't find it in myself to want to take it back, to set us on a different course where we didn't end up on that ship, because that ship was the place where you proposed to me. The most horrible moment in our lives and it's the soil that grew something so great."
"I don't regret it either," assures Jim. Yeah, he could do without the crippling injuries, both physical and mental but he's with the person he loves on an amazing ship with a crew that's slowly becoming family. It's not how he pictured it, but it is what he wanted.
Leonard's far from done. "And then Khan comes into our lives and tries to kill us all, and I can't even be completely sad about that either, because it's the most alive I've seen you in ages. And now we're on a ship where the opportunity to get yourself killed is around every corner and I have to worry you're going to chase that high right out the nearest airlock." Leonard waves his arms for emphasis.
"I'm not," promises Jim solemnly. That's not what he was doing… technically. It's not what he plans to do.
"It's a long life, Jim," warns Leonard, "I don't want to go through it without you."
"How long have you been worrying about that?" asks Jim, quietly.
"Since about a month after I met you. What idiot eats something they're allergic to?" demands Leonard, exasperated.
"In my defence," counters Jim, because despite all evidence to the contrary, he's not suicidal, "I did not know that was the Andorian word for Orion shell fish nor that you can make an alcohol out of it."
"You could have asked Gaila since she was the one that smuggled it back."
"I was too busy using my tongue for other purposes, to ask her anything," say Jim with fondness. Gaila was the first person Jim met whose broken pieces mirrored his own and managed to glue them back together with the same substances. It was great having a partner crime back at the academy. "I don't think you've been having panic attacks since then and over that, so how long?"
Leonard's life isn't built on that strong of a tapestry. If Jim keeps picking at this particular thread, it's bound to come undone. "I just have to start booking sessions with Dr Zuk again," assures Leonard. A little maintenance and self care and Leonard can shove the monsters back in the closet where they belong.
Jim hasn't heard that name in forever. Leonard started seeing Zuk after Boyce retired; Boyce who was assigned to certify Leonard fit for duty after Nero. Jim was rather proud Leonard stuck with it, long after Jim told his therapists and councillors where to go once he checked out of the hospital, and then again after he lost command. "You haven't talked to Zuk since…"
"Since we settled on the farm."
Oh. That's longer than Jim thought. He was sure Leonard quit therapy after he resigned his active service in Starfleet. "Why'd you stop then?" asks Jim, not sure if he's prepared for whatever the answer might be. He reaches around the pilot chair to tap at the flashing button on the console that's caught his eye.
"What's that?" asks Leonard, jumping at the chance to change the subject.
"Resending the signal," says Jim absently before reengaging his probing of what appears to Leonard's closely guarded secret. "If you stuck with therapy for that long, why did you stop once we settled on the farm?"
"Because I could finally sleep," confesses Leonard. His throat burns as he stares infatuated at the lines on the palm of his hand; there's a few more than there used to be. "I didn't sleep when we got back, I couldn't. Talking about things with someone who wasn't there helped. You finally deciding to stay with me helped even more. I could go to sleep every night on the farm and know you were going to be there when I woke up, safe and sound."
"And you can't sleep now?" This is news to Jim, who sleeps beside Leonard most of the night.
Leonard shrinks in on himself a little. After everything they've been through, it's devastating to know he's the one torpedoing their relationship. "I fake it until you get up to go to astrometrics or the gym to throw Chekov against the mat and then I lie there awake until shift starts thinking of all the ways I've had to stand there and watch while someone tortures you." Leonard takes a deep breath. Confession is supposed to be good for the soul, but it's leaving Leonard feeling gutted. "It started before Khan, more around the time I got mauled on that planet. I was stuck in sickbay helpless to do anything to help you through your episodes. It's intensified since the cargo bay."
Jim's stomach drops. He pushed for Leonard to take the assignment on the Enterprise; thought it would be good for Leonard. "Do you want to go back to the farm?" asks Jim hesitantly. He loves what they have here but if it does this to Leonard, he'll spend the rest of his life on that farm never looking at the stars again.
"No," assures Leonard, looking up. "Jim, this isn't your thing, it's mine and I just need to get back to working on it. And maybe avoiding shuttles until I do."
"You can lean on me, you know that right? I promise I won't break," swears Jim, hoping it's not a lie. Perhaps he hasn't been doing a good job of proving that.
"I know," agrees Leonard. He knows Jim isn't Jocelyn, who threw Leonard away at the first sign of weakness. It's just a bad habit that's been ingrained in Leonard. "It just feels like added pressure I don't need to put on you. You shouldn't have to worry about me all the time."
Jim reaches over, intertwining his fingers with Leonard's. "We're in this together." He raises their hands and places a chaste kiss on Leonard's knuckles and a second one where his ring should be.
"When did you become the healthy relationship one?"
Jim rolls his eyes. It's uncomfortable being the responsible one. "I blame Sulu and Uhura."
Leonard chuckles.
"You should eat," suggests Jim, coming back with the other half of the sandwich he replicated earlier.
Leonard curls into his blanket even more. It's probably his imagination but staring out the view screen from the co-pilot's chair makes it seem colder in the shuttle. "No thanks. I'd probably throw up on you." He's still a little groggy and lethargic from the medication.
Jim just shrugs, stuffing his face. He flops down beside Leonard in the pilot's chair.
"How can you eat when we're going to freeze to death?" asks Leonard. The very real chance that they could die out here would steal his appetite even if he thought he could eat. Jim either doesn't suffer that same compunction or has more faith a miracle will befall them.
"We're not going to freeze to death," says Jim screwing up his face.
"Pelted by meteors then," concedes Leonard. They are in an asteroid belt after all.
"We're not going to… where do you come up with these things?" demands Jim, trying to wrap his head around the preposterousness of the scenarios.
"We're in a dead shuttle floating in an asteroid belt. It's not that much of stretch." Truthfully though, it will probably be some scenario Leonard can't conceive. A giant space worm will probably eat them alive.
"It's not dead, just damaged and we have minimal heat." The way Leonard's carrying on you'd think they were in space suits drifting off into space alone.
"Whatever. Wake me when the ship gets here then," snarks Leonard, turning his back to Jim and pulling the blanket tighter around himself. Giving into chemical assisted sleep is probably better than sitting in relative darkness waiting for death. Besides, Jim keeps humming that tune and it has a way of both settling his nerves and irritating him.
Jim leans back in his seat, putting his feet on the console. The lights from the console bathe the cockpit area in an ethereal blue glow. Leonard has never looked more beautiful. Especially since for the first time in a long time Leonard's allowed Jim to see his cracks and broken pieces without fear Jim will cut himself on them.
"Though it's cold and lonely in the deep dark night, I can see paradise by the dashboard light," sings Jim softly.