Love Like Ghosts

by eldritchhorrors

Bones said, "Ya know that story? The one where Pike meets Kirk and there's mentoring and bonding and they tiptoe through the tulips together into happily ever? Well, this ain't it. Idiot." Kirk/McCoy, but Kirk/Pike at the beginning. Complete!

12. Chapter 12

"It may be that you are settled in another place, it may be that you are happy, but the one who took your heart wields final power."

— Jeanette Winterson

He'd given himself another shot to clear the rest of the hangover, and sucked down some fluids to rehydrate himself a bit past mummified. He thought about leaving his hand, swollen and hurting and fucking deserving it, but a CMO didn't have the luxury of self-flagellation, so he attached a regen bumblebee so he could stew through its steady hum.

He managed to com Chapel, letting her know he would be out for the first quarter of his shift and not totally alienating her in the process, but everything beyond that was brooding- the likes of which he usually only reached when fully liquored up and in a snit. Which was probably part of the problem.

It was a productive brood, though, and at the end he had a list of things that needed doing.

He dressed with careful economy, not wanting to fuck with what chemicals and technology had just fixed, then grabbed a flat, expanding it into a small box. In went the whiskey, then the glasses, and, after a moment's consideration, even his flask. The box felt too light as he walked it down the corridor, especially since it seemed to carry the burden of last night's failures, at least in his head. He knew that the alcohol had come after, when the damage had already been done, but it was tied together in his mind, a synthesis of all the bad, and he couldn't part one from the other.

He had no stomach for it.

"Scotty!"

His forced march took him to the angry bowels of the ship, where the tech-monkeys congregated to do engineering stuff. It was slightly gratifying, the way they all jumped at the sound of his voice as he called for their malevolent overlord.

He'd come to an understanding with Scotty, a byproduct of being the older, jaded cranks on a ship full of the young and naive. Scotty did his best to not kill his ensigns, and Leonard patched them up while giving them the verbal dressing down they all needed and deserved for being too stupid to live.

"Scotty!" Apparently, the tech-monkeys were more educable than he thought, because most of them bolted at the sound of his voice.

"Aye! Could have just commed me." Scotty's voice was close, but muffled, and when Len looked down, he found him, under a console, face obscured by a mess of tri-colored wiring.

"Scotty. Got something for ya."

Scotty pulled himself forward on the frictionless slider, pushing the wires to the side so that he could blink at Len with interest and a grin. "Oh?" The grin held for a moment then lost its structural integrity as he got a good look at the brown study of Len's face, the firm set of his jaw. "Oh." Monty raised his eyebrows as he took in the box as well. "Let's see it then."

Len sat the box next to him and flipped the lid so Scotty could lean over and check out the contents.

"Oh." He drew out the vowel, as if he'd come to an understanding. "It's like that, is it?"

"Just-" Len huffed, uncomfortable with the fact that Scotty probably saw a hell of a lot more than Len gave him credit for. "Take it."

Scotty's eyes were serious for a moment, but then he grinned in an abrupt about face. "Sure, Doctor McCoy. But I gotta tell ya'. I don't usually put out till the third date. Me mam, y'see. She raised me to-"

Scotty dodged to the side, narrowly avoiding the toe of Len's boot. He smiled at the move, though, and Len figured that was because he'd accomplished his task, making Leonard crack a smile. A small one, still sad, but it was there.

"Just take it. And forget about it." Len glared, just because he could.

"Sure, sure. And just, so's you know, if you feel the need to share a glass..."

"No. Thanks, but I don't think that's a good idea."

"No?"

"No." Len looked at a glowing little readout that promised to toggle between power supplies. "I've got some stuff to consider. I don't need anything to interfere with that."

"Well then." Scotty picked up the box and tipped it to Len in a toast. "Best of luck to ya' then, Doctor."

"Yeah. Best of luck to me."

He'd need it. Item one had been crossed from the list and item two was looming large: he needed to find Spock.

This was going to suck balls.

88888

It took a few days to get some alone time with Spock, but he had gone through official channels and scheduled a half hour block for groveling. He assumed Spock could have seen him sooner, but he also assumed that Spock drew it out on purpose to get Len to squirm a little. Or maybe Len just assumed that because he thought everyone was as petty as Len himself could be when in high dudgeon.

It wasn't outside the realm of possibility.

If it was pettiness, damn if it wasn't working. In the three days he'd been waiting, he'd imagined almost every scenario possible for this apology, with half of the imaginary Spocks saying something like "Apologies are illogical," and a few (just a few) deciding to throttle him for good measure.

Len couldn't blame any of them.

He'd wanted to apologize to Pike first, but he'd been put into a medical coma and transferred to the relief ship, out of Len's hands. There'd been no opportunities for apologies, so there had been no way to make Len feel less weasel-like on that front.

He'd never been to Spock's office, but he found it easily enough, wedged in between astrometrics and science storage. It was small, and simple and gave Len a headache with its logicality. Everything was white and it must've been a bitch to clean except that Spock probably never made a mess in his life, probably even kept his playdoh from mixing colors or getting funny hairs in it when he was a kid, and why the hell was he here again?

"Commander Spock?" Christ, this was as bad as med school, when he'd had to beg that Bolian Prof for an extension.

"Lieutenant Commander McCoy." Spock's voice was a perfect monotone with absolutely no inflection, and it raised Len's hackles, because it felt judging and superior.

Leonard had to take a breath, and remind himself why he was here. What he was doing. Why Spock was not the bad guy.

Suddenly, Len was feeling tired.

"Can I come in?" Len regretted it almost as soon as it left him mouth, because he guessed that Spock was going to say something obvious about him already being in the room. If that happened, Len didn't know if he'd be able to swallow a retort, then they'd be at it again.

But...Spock surprised him. Spock's lips slightly pursed, as if biting off a comment, and he nodded, allowing Len greater ingress into his domain. "Please."

Len couldn't sit down for some reason, probably something to do with already being too vulnerable, and instead propped himself against the wall on one shoulder, looking at Spock, but not meeting his eyes. "I don't like being a cliche."

"Excuse me?"

"I had it all planned out- what I was going to say. How I was going to apologize. But now that I'm here I can't remember most of it. No big loss. It was trite anyway." Len gave a slow nod. "That's such a cliche."

"Is this an apology?"

"I was raised by firecrackers." Len caught the twitch of Spock's fingers around a small pinlight and realized that he was probably as uncomfortable as Len was. Oddly human. Oddly comforting, that he could be so thrown by a non sequitur.

"I do not see what your-"

"I'm getting there. Can't hurry a southerner and his story." Spock looked like he was going to speak again, argue the point, but Len held up a hand to stop the question he knew was coming. "There is a point to this. I promise."

"Proceed."

"Firecrackers. My family. My father, he had an opinion about everything. The whole family is like that. Strident and emotional. Hot headed, you understand." When Spock nodded, he continued. "But good people."

Len looked at his hands, evaluating the cuticles and frowning at one ragged edge that would have to be smoothed. "Maybe you know. Some humans are more empathic than others, not quite psi null. McCoys, they can't not help- doctors, the whole lot of 'em- but they take on extra hurt in the process."

"I see."

Leonard snorted, but didn't challenge him on it. "I used to be better at this. Divorcing myself from my work, separating Leonard McCoy and Doctor McCoy. But I hit a rough patch not too long ago, and I've been cobbling myself back together in bits and pieces."

Rough patch was putting it mildly. He'd been out of his gourd. "I'm not very good at it."

That's when it began to get uncomfortable. Hands tightened till he could feel the crack of a knuckle. "This entire..." What should he call it, anyway? Debacle? Clusterfuck? Culling? He couldn't think of a way to describe it to someone who had just been the focus of genocide. "It hurts. I couldn't do enough. I wasn't enough, and then, when I saw what happened to Jim. It was Jim." Len took a deep breath to brace himself. "I'm sorry Spock. I was looking for someone to be mad at, and for some damn reason I focused on the one person I shouldn't have." He hung his head, looking for his courage...and finding it. He carefully arranged the fingers of his right hand in a Vulcan salute and raised it towards Spock, hoping like hell that it would be taken as it was meant. "I grieve with thee."

There was a tense moment before Spock spoke. "Doctor McCoy." Len looked up, and Spock's eyes were round. He hadn't cracked his mask, but his face looked softer around the edges, less stern. But still somber.

"I am sorry," Sorry didn't cut it, but Len repeated it with Baptist sincerity anyway.

Spock stood, placing his hands behind his back. He contemplated his desktop for a short time before looking up again. "I thank thee." He stopped, but his face looked like it was cycling through a number of thoughts, and Len didn't really want to remain to hear them, already uncomfortable with Spock's ready forgiveness.

He straightened his spine so he could make his exit, but Spock put up a thin palm and stayed him.

"I would have you know." Spock looked slightly pained at this, but kept on. "My mother was a firecracker as well."

88888

Engineering was hemorrhaging ensigns at a steady rate as they dealt with keeping the jerry-rigged machinery together. They were doing a hell of a job, but as soon as Leonard released them back into the wild, it seemed like two more took their place. Hand injuries were common- plasma accidents, lacerations- and then there was the current dumbass of the moment, the one who thought micro-welding without a sensitive dichroic shield for three hours was a good idea. Made Leonard's brain hurt.

He'd hand the man over to an ophthalmologist to get his eyes checked out. He could do the procedure, but not without smacking the guy in the back of his head till he disgorged the stupid he must've eaten for breakfast. The guy had a painful UV burn from hell too, to top it all off. Len thought about leaving that treatment till last, hoping he'd learn his lesson with some tough love, but couldn't bring himself to do it. Instead, he broke out the sensor jelly to slather on with gentle hands. It would help the B.R. unit do its job, reconstructing the burnt skin. Luckily, the dumbass was in much better shape than Jim had been when he'd undergone the procedure back at the academy.

He'd been trying to not think about Jim, but as he finished up with the jelly, and applied the slurping suction of the bioskin, he couldn't keep Jim out of his head. Not that he was able to duck the inevitable anyway. He'd have to detail this current idiocy in a report to the captain.

When he'd removed the slimy gloves and tossed 'em into the 'cycler, he got down to the nitty-gritty of his paperwork. As much as he hated to piss on a person's parade, he put it in writing that the ensign should be sent back to the academy for at least another semester. It boiled down to "his cornbread ain't done." And when he wrote that, he smiled a quick smile, thinking about Jim's probable reaction to his Mississippi bullshit, and just as quickly the smile morphed into a scowl.

It had been a damn lifetime of not talking to Jim- but actually only a week since his own meltdown. He submitted minimal reports and other terse nitpicky paperwork that needed validation and Jim's replies were choppy and impersonal in that harried I-can't-deal-with-this-right-now way, and the entire exchange left a bad taste in his mouth because passive aggressive wasn't how they did things.

There'd only been a few uncomfortable nods here and there in the hallway before he turned tail, his spine still yellowing every time they'd come even close to contact, averted eyes and everything, because Len was a chicken heart. He was feeling sorry for himself, but he also felt sorry for Jim, and caught himself wondering, more than once, about how well he was faring.

Was he eating? Still angry?

Crappy as the long shifts and crew idiocy were- the laundry schedule, the food, the goddamn peanut butter- even worse was the fact that every day brought him closer to some kind of a reckoning, as if docking the ship was D-day for his emotional well-being.

God. He didn't know what to say. Couldn't say it here anyway, with no time and no privacy. Couldn't even figure out what Jim wanted from him, if he wanted anything from him after what had been said and done. He saw Jim and ached to speak with him, but he also feared the outcome of that talk, because there was no telling what sort of conclusions Jim had reached. It was one thing for Jim to know, academically, that Len was an asshole. It was another for him to get a wet smack with the truth of it.

Len was stuck in a miniature hell of his own making now, but it seemed like a smaller, less bureaucratic evil than the fresh one waiting for him on Earth.

Christ. This is what it had come to. Even the mention of his home planet was making him twitch.

He had decisions to make, and he had to make them without much data. He never thought he'd be envious of a Vulcan, let alone Spock, but for a brief moment he imagined being a touch telepath, so he wouldn't have to worry about what someone else might be feeling. Must be security, knowing how craptacular things were without talking about feelings. He was already well acquainted with his own feelings, and right now, shame was at the top of the list.

So he'd just go with what he'd been taught.

Begin as you mean to go. His momma had raised him right. Would have told him to hike up his big britches and carry on, minding his P's and Q's.

The conversation with Spock was a good start. He'd have to work his way up to the big ones.

88888

To his surprise, it wasn't all bad. Once the adrenaline from their triumph had run its course, things became grim, yes. There weren't any rose gardens, but a few bright spots popped up to lighten the drudgery.

"What the hell?" Len was nearly bowled over by a perky girl with a wide smile. Carrying a...a loofah on a stick, like some tribal totem.

"Sir?" A passing ensign followed his line of sight and gained a look of comprehension. "Oh. The prize."

"What prize?"

"It's the big one, sir. Captain's water ration."

"For what?"

"Ah, job well done. The big one is the water ration. Smaller ones are things like candy. Things people stashed. Um...first dibs on food in the mess. Sir."

"Huh." Leave it to Jim to cobble a quick fix for the lingering morale problem. He didn't know where Jim was bedding down, but he was damn sure it wasn't the captain's quarters.

"The Captain said that he preferred sonics anyway." The ensign sounded dubious, which meant the kid probably had more than two brain cells to rub together. Leonard snorted when he heard that, cringing internally at not being able to call the stupid beautiful bastard on his lie. Jim was a hedonist of the first order that who used hot water over sonics anytime it was offered.

But after several days of witnessing the silly walk of loofah triumph, its effect on the crew was obvious. Every day during alpha shift someone was chosen by Spock to negate any accusations of captain's favorite. And everyday you could see someone heading to the captain's shower with the stupid loofah and a wide, smug grin, almost as smug as the one Jim wore at his "yeah, I'm the greatest" best.

Leonard himself was chosen after a particularly brutal day treating six burn victims. He didn't take it, insisting that it go to someone who needed it more, but it still made him warm up a little, because he figured it was Spock's way of saying he was forgiven.

But not every bright spot he found was Jim's doing, at least not obviously.

The mess crew administered an unofficial survey then talked amongst themselves. The crew agreed to take a hit during breakfast for the sake of having a treat, and with culinary ingenuity that was every bit as impressive as Scotty's quick fixes, they had honest to god cake. Twice in a week. The frosting was suspiciously pink, but he wouldn't quibble over the color when it was cake.

Sometime later, after the days had run together and all he knew was that they had passed the median toward the home stretch- that evening (morning? he didn't even know anymore on this raggedy-ass upside-down tin can), before gamma, he went to the mess for coffee and some company that wasn't directly subordinate to him, drugged up or in pain. Probably a common goal, because there was more crew lingering than he would have guessed at. The lights were dim-to conserve energy and mimic night, and the conversation was mellow. If he squinted to blur his vision, he could almost convince himself that he was somewhere far removed from space.

It was probably one of those congruencies of circumstance that could never be duplicated on purpose, but it somehow seemed inevitable when Uhura started to sing, a bare whisper at first, but gaining strength as everyone everybody around her tuned in.

It was something slow like a southern river, a jazzy tune he recognized like a handful of older songs- bluesy ballads and Celtic laments, something everyone could hum under their breath- until another voice joined hers in the chorus, an alto married to her soprano, then a tenor, then another soprano. Soon everybody was singing, regardless of vocal talent. Words about love and pining and hope, moon and June stuff, stuff that should have been depressing, but somehow it wasn't. A little seed of unity and brotherhood that made Leonard forget, just for a while, about anger or the past- he added his own gruff voice to the mix.

When Nyota hit the final note, it didn't break the bubble of well-being that had shrouded them, but it put a period on the evening, and everyone drifted off in ones and twos, not speaking for fear of breaking the spell. It had been so dreamlike that the next morning he wasn't quite sure if it had actually happened. No one spoke of it, but there were looks exchanged by strangers, acknowledging that they too shared in the experience, been part of something good.

It wasn't quite Casablanca, but it had been something.

The Trip- and it would always be called The Trip- was bad, but it could have been worse. But even the bright spots that made the time seem precious seemed to pale next to the solidity of Jupiter station as it filled the view screens for the first time. He'd avoided the viewports like he avoided parasites and plague, but he still found himself cramming into the already bursting observation deck to get a look at the gas giant coming closer and closer, filling the black void with color, light skimming over the station hull as it torqued to reveal an empty bay. The entire ship seemed to exhale in relief when the ship clicked into dock courtesy of a wonky inertial dampener, and they felt each hydraulic clasp drive into place, a series of six ship-wide tremors that said home.

Eagerness and anxiety were both heavy in the air as everyone rushed about tending to last minute ship debarkation duties. There was happiness that they were back, only hours away from loved ones and celebrations. Trepidation, because Starfleet had not yet communicated how the debriefs were going to occur, nor how the press should be handled. Worry, because everyone knew that Jim had practically stowed away and Leonard had helped him do it.

No one knew what was going to happen, least of all Jim and Len. And Len would be the first one to point out that aboard ship how the captain and CMO felt was usually how the rest of the ship felt, too.

So what if he had the jitters? If he wanted to see Jo so much his chest ached? If he was giving himself a hernia with the what-ifs and what-nows and hoo-boys? Everyone else had them too. Trickle-down psychosis, with him at the top doing the pissing.

He wasn't proud of it, but you couldn't pretend away that kind of thing.

Sickbay Two was almost finished. The working equipment was wrapped in plastic sheeting and marked, placed against one clear wall. The items needing repair were marked with blue tape, and a tag listed what had to be fixed. The red tagged items had already been sent to engineering to be stripped for usable parts, recycling and toxic disposal.

Drugs, locked up.

Surfaces, biocleansed.

Medical staff, thanked wholeheartedly for putting up with his shit.

It had been a rough trip, and a rough mission, but as Leonard looked around the sickbay, so sealed and silent, he couldn't help but feel a little pang.

For however short a time he'd been CMO, it didn't feel long enough.

He'd been scared. Good lord, he'd been scared. But he'd been necessary to a lot of folk too, people who thanked him later and didn't mind getting a grunt in response. Real work, with no foolin' around. Despite the fear and uncertainty, despite the mess of unresolved shit between him and Jim, it'd been good. Amazing really. Almost addictive. Jim obviously didn't know shit about real adrenaline, because if he had he would have been med track instead.

He'd gotten to be a doctor - in a way that never seemed to materialize in a clinic or hospital.

And that was the bitch of it.

Fear and Jim aside, this trip had been far, far too short. Because for a very small while there, it had seemed like he belonged.

88888

Most everyone was off the ship now, taken planetside via shuttle craft. Only a handful of senior bridge crew remained, and they were now filtering into the transporter room. Upon docking they had finally learned they were to beam directly into the Admiralty offices, directly into debrief.

He could have kicked himself, for not considering that. He'd been avoiding Jim, putting off their talk till they were on solid ground, but now he was filled with anxiety. The debrief could last forever, and there was no guaranteed good outcome- not for any of them. Who knew when he'd actually get to talk to Jim? Len didn't think he could stand to leave without some sort of ...something.

Encouragement. Closure. Something that said there was still a bit of them left.

Nervous as hell, but he didn't look like the only one floating that boat.

It was a somber thing. Each of them, in their own way, bracing for the possibility that they might never see the inside of a 'fleet ship again. Each, again, hopeful that their contributions outweighed their failures.

Chekov and Sulu stepped up to the platform, both trying to look hard edged and confident, and both looking a bit sheepish instead. Uhura and Spock followed, with nods of approval instead of handshakes. The four then turned to Leonard, waiting for him to step onto the pad, but he shook his head.

"Y'all go ahead. I'm gonna wait for Jim."

"It's been a pleasure working with you, Doctor." Uhura, ever the diplomat. Chekov and Sulu smiled in agreement.

He couldn't help but smile at the entire postcard. "No it hasn't. But thanks all the same. I'll see you around."

And in a bend of light, they were gone.

Leonard found a place to lean while he waited. Scotty was manning the controls, and though usually a talker, he was also damned perceptive. He kept silent as he calibrated something on a haptic screen, only occasionally looking up to check on Len. If- when this was over, and Leonard had the good fortune to be stationed on a ship with Scotty, he'd make an effort to become friends. Scotty had been amazing getting the sickbay equipment online, and understanding when Len overloaded the already taxed machines with even more patients. And just now, he'd shown something deeper, close to understanding. It wasn't every day you found someone who understood the value of silence.

At least, he hoped it was understanding. He had no idea how long Scotty had been chained to that ice rock. It might not be understanding- just habit- poor bastard.

And then...Jim was there.

"Hey."

"Hey." Jim was slightly guarded, but at least it wasn't rejection. He looked expectant, and Len had to stop himself from shuffling his feet in the guilty way that garnered him headslaps when he was a kid.

"I...uh." Brilliant sally, McCoy. Just brilliant.

"Yeah."

"Can I go first? I really want to get this out." Been festering inside him for too long.

"You don't need-"

"Yes. I do." Leonard scowled, which had the opposite of its intended effect and made Jim smile. "And you need it too."

"I know what I need." Jim had said it before, but this was the first time Leonard believed him. He didn't know quite why. Jim's confidence? But Jim always looked confident. The tone of his voice? Didn't mean squat. Jim finally looked at home in his own head, but Len couldn't tell how he knew that. Doubted Jim could, either.

"I know that. And that's the point," Leonard said.

"Look, I said some things that-"

"Were spot on. And I need to apologize. Because I said a lot of bullshit. And I only meant half of it, and I'm working on the other half that I did, because it's wrong, and I'm sorry." Christ, that was long and choppy and made him sound like ten kinds of moron, but the words that needed saying weren't coming out properly strung together.

"Don't apologize." Jim cocked his head to the side, slight concern and something like worry flirting for a moment as he brought up a hand to Leonard's arm. The squeeze was brief and the hand pulled back too soon. Tentative, unsure, and that told Len more than anything else that this thing needed to be resolved soon, because Jim should never have to worry about how that kind of touch, any touch, was received.

"I just don't want you angry at me. Hell, I'm angry at me. I didn't realize how much of a jackass I'd become until I was-"

"I'm not mad at you."

Leonard just rolled his eyes and harrumphed.

"I'm not. I haven't been avoiding you because I'm angry." Jim glared at his incredulous what-the-fuck-man face. "I didn't want to pressure you. I wanted to give you time to think. And I'm sorry, too." He didn't, wouldn't say he'd been too harsh, too captainy. Jim didn't really lie to Leonard, and he wasn't going to start now. He hadn't even been overly harsh. Len had been harsh enough on himself, and Jim already knew that.

"I know. I'm a mess, Jim."

"Not anymore." Jim said it with a quiet certainty. It was a dangerous man that could gut someone with three words. Submersed in relief. Removal of tension that was so abrupt, the pleasure of its lifting was almost orgasmic. Featherlight. Weightless, as Jim let him off the hook, no longer dangling.

He was grateful to Jim and proud of him all at once. Jim had grown up so much- was more of an adult than Len. "How do you figure that?"

"You know when a scab gets to the itchy healing stage, and it's worse than the initial wound?"

"Yeah."

"This is your itchy healing stage."

Relief, of a different sort, that almost made him grin. This was more like them, dorky and dumb when left to their own devices. "Your metaphors. Horrible."

"It's not like I'm a writer, and you aren't changing the subject." Jim scowled again, but his lips were quirked up. "Decisions- I want you to know what you're taking on before you actually do it. I want you to make the choices you do because you want them, not because I just happen to be there. I'm not going to tip the scale for you."

"And I appreciate it. But, Jim. They aren't just my choices. Not anymore." Standing on a cliff and stepping off. Taking that kind of plunge couldn't compare to this. He was admitting a lot. Too much, too much, some part of him was yelling, a little voice that sounded like Joce at the very end.

"Is that so?" Jim must be fucking with him, with that flat tone and flat face that didn't tell him a thing.

"Yeah." He'd said it. He'd meant it. He was sticking to it.

"I dunno, Bones. I think they are your choices. I think that you need to own these, think good and hard about them. On your own. I don't want questions later, no room for error. You know what I'm like. All of it: the good, the bad, the even worse. And you had better know your own self after all this." A slow curl invaded Jim's lips, twisting at one end. "Any choices after this? You can negotiate." The curl became a smirk; a raised eyebrow, an innuendo all on its own.

"A choice, huh?"

"Several of them. I've talked to Pike, too, you know."

Wasn't that comforting. Leonard took a moment for himself, shaking his head in thought. Scotty was doing a damn fine job pretending to be absorbed in some algorithm that was probably as boring to him as an icicle. Could probably feel the tension between them, enough to give him a good idea about what was what. Len wasn't ashamed of this, but he was glad that major revelations were being tabled until they were alone.

"And what if I choose wrong?" He hoped like hell he didn't sound as nervous as he felt, but the gentling of Jim's face told him all he needed to know.

"See, that's where this is awesome. I believe in you. And you can't go wrong. Because you'll be doing what's right for you." Jim stepped up to the platform, waiting for Leonard to do the same. "Don't worry about what I want, Bones. I'll be okay. No matter what."

And the future shimmered.

88888

He hated Komack with the intensity of a hundred colliding suns.

"Lieutenant Commander McCoy, you do realize that you violated Starfleet Code 876.4, which states that..."

"Lieutenant Commander McCoy, when you smuggled, yes, smuggled, cadet Kirk onboard that..."

"Would you say that you benefited from CMO Puri's death, Lieutenant Commander?"

The initial debrief was just as brutal as he'd imagined. What he hadn't considered was that there would be several rounds. He'd been kept in closed conference for hours as they took his statements, admirals sitting stony faced across from him, giving nothing away as he told what he knew. He probably wasn't as politic as he should have been, but he was tired and cranky and worried about everyone else, and it's not like they had been there and would they please just stuff it?

Uniformed goatfuckers couldn't even give him a goddamned candy bar to get his blood sugar up, or a coffee to keep him from killing them, so as far as he was concerned, they were asking for his unedited, unvarnished opinion.

Sackless shit-eating toss-up kneebiters.

He hadn't actually said that, but it was a near thing.

He had finally been released, so he could eat and shower and rest or whatever it was people did to celebrate being back on terra firma, but he was to report back to the admiralty at 1330 the next day.

Probably needed to corroborate everyone's stories, figure out what details they wanted, and plan how best to nail him to a wall.

He'd make sure to bring a Snickers.

He didn't see Jim or any of the other bridge crew as he was leaving, and none of them were responding to their comms, so he supposed they were still being grilled. There were several messages from his ex-wife, but she already knew he was alive, and they'd keep till the morning. He wanted to talk to Jojo so bad, but he knew he had to be at full cognitive function to deal with her momma beforehand. Which meant rest and a real southern breakfast. Grits! He'd blow Komack for grits and hot sauce.

He mooched down the steps of AdCom, figuring that he'd go back to his room and sack out for a while before trying the staff comms again. He simmered about the interrogation for all of five minutes before reality crept into his peripheral vision.

Everything was really quiet. That's what initially made him look up from his feet. There were a few cadets rushing around, but only a handful. Steps slowed, then stopped, and he stood in place, turning for a 360 panorama. Stretches of vast lawn with only a few groups- smaller groupings of quiet people. Too quiet, too few. Buildings that had once vented a steady stream of cadets instead looked solemn, and sad- the Academy, once a lady, now a palimpsest. The old writing scraped away, revealing the empty vellum underneath. And yes, he was anthropomorphizing a bunch of buildings, and Jim would laugh at him for mixing his metaphors, but almost anyone there probably felt the same. The 'fleet grounds weren't just a school.

It was one thing to know something intellectually, and quite another to be hit with the full brunt of hard fact.

Hushed words instead of vibrant voices- whispers like a requiem. Library manners filling the whole of its echoic walls, more powerful than a room of wailing mourners.

It was awful.

The first two years' cadets were still here, of course, but only about half the junior class had stayed behind. Those that had enough credits, the better students, had been aboard ships. Of the senior class, fewer than 20% survived.

So.

No.

He wasn't going to get mad over a series of briefings. Not anymore. Not when the alternative could be so much worse.

The abrupt change of direction happened almost without conscious thought. He was tired and wanted a real bed, but he didn't think he'd be able to rest without checking in to SFM. The long route added a few minutes to the walk, but the shorter trip would take him past the Remembrance Day memorial, and he didn't want to look at it right now. It'd been put in place to commemorate a long-ago battle, but it had become a symbol to remember the fallen, a family holding hands, staring at the sky. He knew there'd be piles of ephemera- notes, prayers, trinkets and flowers left by people that didn't know what else to do to find solidarity in their pain. It always happened after a tragedy, and he always had to look away after leaving something of his own.

He'd do it, but not today. Today he wanted to concentrate on the living.

He wouldn't be able to sleep without some sort of closure to the day.

He must've only ever looked at Pike through beer goggles or rage-colored glasses. That was his first thought, his first shock. Once those glasses were forcibly removed he was able to see the man.

Before, he'd been an abstract idea that held authority over him, or a boogeyman that could chew Jim up and spit him out. A hardass, a soldier. Or a caricature of the older prof having it on with his student. Fucking remote. Now, knowing what Pike was like, and reconciling that with the real person...

"Doctor McCoy."

Pike had been given a private bed in one of the swankier rooms that was decorated like a moderate hotel instead of washed in bland clinical green. There were plenty of gifts, too, tasteful potted plants that must have been from bosses and peers, and obnoxious silver balloons, get-well holos and stuffed monstrosities that could only come from family or cadets.

Leonard preferred the garish stuff. It was cheerful in the way of homespun Christmas trees.

Intelligent foam cradled Pike and the apparatus feeding into his neck, morphing to the shape of his body as he moved. He was resting at fifteen degrees when Len entered the room, but it adjusted to a thirty percent incline when he started to strain upwards, reading his kinetic movement.

Noticing where Len was looking, Pike waved a hand towards the goodwill in the corner. "Aunts. Uncles. Cousins. My brother. Some nieces and nephews."

"Nice." And it was nice, knowing that not everybody had as fucked a family relationship as he did.

"Not remotely. The nice stuff is from the admiralty. And from the ass kissers." Pike's face was wry, but attempting a smile. "I like the fun stuff better."

"The silver fox was a nice touch. Jim?"

"I think so."

"Must've called ahead. He's still in debrief- probably won't cut him loose for hours." Len grimaced at the thought.

"Don't worry about it. He's tritanium."

"M'not worried about him."

"You?" Pike's voice was laughing disbelief.

Len shook his head, giving Pike a pointed look, which made Pike snort before responding. "Don't worry about me. I'm sure you looked at my charts. The polymer completely bonded to the toxin. We're just waiting on removal."

"Waiting on me, you mean."

"If you want to do it."

Leonard sighed, bringing a hand up to rub at the back of his neck as he looked down. Jim had mentioned his choices, but hadn't spelled them out, because they weren't simple, like whether or not to perform a surgery. These were existential choices based on his own autology. Could he give Jim the autonomy he needed? It wasn't that he didn't trust Jim- he had to work on trusting himself, and he couldn't do that if he couldn't hold himself to his own high standards. And holding out for favors had no part in that. Did he want to do it? Yes. But...

"Not like this."

He looked up in time to catch Pike's sudden look of consternation. Upset? There was a lot going on there, and Leonard didn't understand most of it, but he understood enough to backpedal. "I'm going to do it. I came here to say I'm sorry I'm an asshole, and to tell you that I'll do it."

Pike's smile was satisfied, but his iceberg eyes were wary. "But?"

"No buts. I'm going to do it." Leonard cocked his head, forehead wrinkling as he took the plunge. "And you don't need to give me any recommendation. I'm not doing this for a recommendation. You were right. Shesset and Dilori couldn't find their collective asses with all four hands and a map." This was his apology, the grand gesture, and Pike was smart enough to know it. Len's palms were sweaty, and he dearly wanted to rub them dry, but he thought that would give too much away. How scared he was, how regretful.

"What about Jim?"

"What about him?"

Pike raised an eyebrow at that, and it was effective, even if it wasn't quite in the same class as Leonard's or Spock's.

Len colored, but stood his ground. "He has nothing to do with this. You need the best care available- I am the best care available. I've already got a tentative schedule for aftercare and rehab put together, but it depends on how the surgery goes. But don't think..." Len shook his head, pissed at himself, but trying not to look it. "Don't think that you owe me anything. I'm a doctor, dammit. This is who I am." If anything, he owed Pike.

Pike relaxed all over, and it wasn't until then that Len realized how tense the man had been. Now...now he looked like a cat licking cream. The abrupt change was startling, and too damned revealing. Pike's face lit up like a flare. Len had expected him to be depressed over his losses, but he was still himself- powerful, triumphantly alpha.

When Pike spoke, he practically crowed. "I knew you'd be a great CMO."

"I'm not CMO material. I think we established that." It was spoken a little harsher than Len had meant, because this was fucking disturbing, and what the hell was the man thinking, smiling like that? He wasn't exactly like Jim, but he was so similar that Len felt a familiar tugging in his chest, a stutter of breath in his throat.

"And apparently, I'm not captain material. But maybe I can be admiral material."

"You're a great captain."

"Oh yeah? Then why don't you trust in my choice of CMO?"

"I told you-"

"I heard you, too. And despite what you think-"

Len opened his mouth to argue, but was cut off by Pike.

"Despite what I told you, I'm not giving you the rec because of my vertebrae."

"But-"

"We won't know for sure until we get the aerospace architectural engineer's survey, but I don't think there is any way I'm getting the ship back. But even if I still had the Enterprise, I'd want you. There are plenty of doctors here that have skills, experience, accolades." Pike waved his hand in dismissal. "The 'fleet is full of that. But what I want... for myself, for Jim..." His eyes crinkled- charming, which Len hated. "...Is someone with heart. You don't give up, even when it's in your best interest- people, not probabilities. You don't sugarcoat, even when things are hard. You care- even when it kills you. You care so much, you're willing to forgo the recommendation of a lifetime, because it's interfered with your moral compass. I picked Jim because of what Starfleet's lost. I'm picking you for the same reason."

"You're reading too much into it." He turned to the familiar scowl, to mask his shock, wariness, the small core of pleasure at the genuine compliment. He'd never done this gracefully, and cursed the way he came off sullen and embarrassed. Probably blushing.

"I don't think I am. And I want that compass. Since I can't have it for myself, I think I'll give Jim the option. Let him put up with you. Poor bugger."

"But-"

"Tomorrow good for you? 1200-ish?"

And Len figured he wasn't quite as immovable as he had thought, because surrender seemed to be the only option. He sighed. "I've got a debrief."

"You had a debrief. Now you've got me."

"How?"

"I called Archer. What can I say? He likes me."

"No. I meant, how did you know I'd say yes?"

"Because. I think I finally have you figured out."

Leonard was used to seeing Pike on an angry tear, or behind a desk, or loopy with a pain shunt. This new Pike didn't just have a lot in common with Jim. He seemed to be channeling a lot of Leonard too. And Len knew when it was easiest to just give in and go with it. "Bastard." He sounded resigned, even to his own ears.

"Prick." Pike flashed a smile.

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"It was a good thing you did here." Jim leaned against the wall next to the door of the med lounge, looking collected in his blacks and a cadet's jacket. Len didn't ask, but he assumed that Jim was either in limbo or wanted the anonymity of the cadet uniform over the gold of his field promotion.

"Gotta admire a man that can blackmail me and still make it one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me." Selecting him to perform the surgery, recommending him for CMO, talking sense to him- pick one.

Leonard passed his gloved hands through the sonic unit before stripping the gloves, peeling away the delicate sensors with deliberate care.

Pike was in recovery after three hours in the surgical enclosure. The contact work had been performed by nanos and sonics, but the virtual direction was all Leonard. The guided nanos entered the body via hypospray, and were positioned as receivers for the sonics, which broke up the polymer. Once it was reduced to small particulate matter, he flushed it along with the absorbed toxin- no further damage. It sounded easier than it actually was; a doctor had to have excellent spatial awareness and medical intuition. One wrong move...

"I watched part of it."

"Dead boring. And you weren't supposed to have access." Leonard could feel a slight blush forming due to Jim's innocent voyeurism. It was a strange procedure to watch, even for those familiar with it. Med gloves manipulating the holo projection to place the microscopic nanos, movement so fluid it wouldn't look out of place with a floreo or lotus hand position in a belly dance.

"Funny thing. Everyone's being super nice to me. Com codes. More pies." He paused for effect, because he was a dramatic SOB. "Access."

Leonard grunted at that as he removed his scrub top, leaving the black undershirt behind. He tossed it aside in favor of a long-sleeved knit in an indeterminate green, worn thin and soft. But getting dressed seemed to sap something out of him, so he boosted himself up onto a metal table next to the wall.

Jim seemed to expect something from him, so he assembled his thoughts, kicking his feet while his hands clutched the edge of the steel top. It took a moment or two- he hadn't expected Jim here, or now, but he was finally able to find words.

"I'm sorry."

"I know. You said."

"Not just about that. I did what you asked, and thought about things. But not just Pike, and me being a bastard. Or the shitshow with Spock." Leonard didn't look up yet- wasn't confident enough to look at Jim and get it all said. "You didn't say it in so many words."

"I didn't have to."

"No." Leonard nodded, and felt a little ball of gratitude well in his throat. "I thought about us; how we are. And a lot of it's good." He could feel Jim's agreement, even if he couldn't see it. "But a lot- well. If I was dealing with your pain, it meant I had no time for my own, and I was comfortable with that."

"Bones."

"I've come to terms with it. There's no ownership here. You don't need me. And I don't need you. Not like I thought I did two weeks ago."

The floor had a fascinating Greek key pattern that was completely at odds with the Neu Bauhaus interior of the surgical wing, and Leonard couldn't take his eyes off it. Even so, he knew Jim was retreating into his shell. Didn't need to look at him to sense that. It was almost a taste in the air. "I don't need you with me."

And Jim's retreat was full on thrusters, which was stupid, but that was Jim all over, and Leonard was supposed to be the one to overreact, so he looked up, and goddamn...

"Jim, I don't need you, but that doesn't change the fact that I want you like crazy. You're my best friend, and that'll never change. If you're a hotshot captain and I'm a podunk M.D. in Shitsville, Virginia, I'll still want you. You decide to become a beach bum and play guitars at people, I'll want you then, too."

Jim's eyes, guarded before, widened a bit in surprise, but the grin Leonard was expecting never materialized. Still, Leonard soldiered on, before he lost his nerve. "You're your own man. You may have needed me at one time, but that's over with- has been for a long while. I thought we were always equal, but I was so worried about you growing up that I forgot to get on with the growing up myself. I forgot to trust you, and we both paid for it. But I want that. Even scales- I want that like blazes." He petered off, not quite sure how to finish; never having gotten that far in his own head. "And that's all I have."

He was all out of words. And if the ones he had used weren't good enough...

He cleared his throat, then looked back down at the floor as Jim moved, first to his side, then boosting himself up to the table to sit next to Len, thighs brushing.

"I'm not a coward."

It wasn't what Len was expecting, and he couldn't help but respond. "No one said-"

"I'm not. But let me get through this. Alright?"

Leonard was confused, but nodded at Jim to continue.

"I'm kind of angry with Old Spock. He did this thing, a mind meld." Jim batted his arm when Len stretched towards a tricorder and groused about Vulcan voodoo mind whammies. He removed the tricorder from Len's reach and pulled him by the hand, to keep him from hopping off the table. Leonard would have protested, but he could sense how serious Jim was, despite the levity in his voice.

"I saw the other me. That wasn't so bad. Yeah, he had a father, but he had a lot of the other baggage too, so I didn't feel too bad. It made a big difference though, skewed things just enough. Different histories. Different interests. I like Go and chess bores me."

"But you play it."

"Pike liked it. Doesn't mean it gets my nipples hard. I'm well-read in history, but not married to it. We both love Shakespeare, but he didn't have my thing for twentieth century lit or music. I hate fucking antiques. "

Leonard grimaced as he remembered the particular way that came about. He'd heard about the car in more than one drunken ramble.

"That Jim died alone, which was just stupid, because he was surrounded by people who loved him. I'm not that Jim and never will be. Nature versus nurture. Old Spock-he and Old Jim, he wanted to give me a chance to be like them. To be with Spock, which is kind of weird. I'm not the best judge of healthy relationships, but it was a pretty messed up dynamic- I mean, Spock tried to erase his feelings completely in a Vulcan ritual, even though they had a thing. You think I'm fucked up? Try living in his head. Spock 2.0 told Uhura that she had 'optimal interpersonal ergonomics'."

Leonard couldn't stop his lip from curling in humor, but that didn't change the fact that this was dead serious. Cards on the table, everything out there. For Jim to be this open and honest about, well, everything, was unprecedented.

"He said it would be the defining friendship of my life." Jim laughed. "I think Old Spock is deluding himself. No matter what kind of Vulcan voodoo he does, we aren't those people. That Jim still had brown eyes, Bones. Brown eyes, but he had been there. Tarsus." The word had its own gravity. "Even the things that are the same, they kind of aren't."

"I figured that. I'm not a damn idiot Vulcan. I'll take common sense over logic any day."

" And," Jim continued, as if he hadn't been interrupted, "I think old Spock is just a bit of a romantic, but I don't believe in soulmates. Not his definition anyway." He bumped Leonard's shoulder with his own. "In his universe we didn't meet for another eight years or so." Jim shook his head, as if that was hard to wrap his brain around.

"I don't think a soulmate is someone you are destined for. I don't believe in that kind of fate, universe repairing itself or not. I think a soulmate is someone who helps you become a better person, fills up the empty spaces, helps you fulfill your potential. I think there are several chances at a soulmate if you keep your mind open and it's the right time." He was playing with the edge of his sleeve where the stripes should go, very determined not to look up.

"Maybe Spock could have been that for me, but not anymore- his window never opened. Maybe he was a soulmate in that universe..." Jim did look up this time, eyes naked. "But only because I hadn't met you first."

Leonard could feel himself turning red, mouth gaping. What could you say to something like that? "Christ, Jim."

"I know I'm still fucked up. I know I sometimes annoy the shit out of you." Jim shrugged. "I sometimes annoy the shit out of me, too. But I just wanted you to know. The other me pissed around and never said jack shit until it was too late half the time and I don't want to make the same mistakes. Just because he was a douchebag and a coward doesn't mean I need to be one. So, now you know." He looked shifty and nervous, but he didn't startle like a horse and bolt.

Leonard cleared his throat of a sudden obstruction. "Well." More throat clearing as Jim took on a look of alarm. Jackass. "I still don't like 'em blond. But I guess in your case, I guess- Oof."

Jim smacked him in the gut, but Len was so pleased with Jim he barely retaliated. Instead, he laughed. A real one, a deep one, the kind that shook your whole body and made your cheeks ache. "You know what the Gestalt Principles of Perception are?"

"Ship architecture. Engineering stuff."

"Psychology, too."

"Yeah."

"That's us, Jim. All of it. Common fate: same direction, same velocity. You're the figure fixed in space, I'm the ground."

"Sap."

But Len didn't care. Jim would just have to get used to it. "Closure...even I can't perceive our individual elements anymore."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He couldn't stop the grin that curled his lips.

Jim snorted, but it was a happy sound. "You're smiling."

"People sometimes do that."

"People. Not you." And now Jim's answering smile crept across his face in increasingly brave increments. Relief. "I like it. You should make a habit of it. Scare the kids."

"I'll see what I can do."

He pushed Jim until he was forced to hop off the table, then grabbed at the hem of his cadet reds, pulling it up, forcing Jim to raise his arms as he yanked it off, leaving him in his blacks. He wouldn't need it where they were going. He tossed it in direction of the recycler unit as Len pushed him again, pointing him at the door. Jim let himself be pushed, then took the initiative and made for the foyer that would release them onto the concrete and grass promenade.

"Drinks?" Jim's voice was light.

"Yeah." Len beat him to the door and pushed Jim through before following him down the short stair and into the bright day.

The sun was out. The clouds were fluffy. Birds were singing and it didn't annoy the piss out of him.

There were fucking flowers.

For the first time in a long time, it felt damn good to be Leonard Horatio McCoy. His arm went around Jim and Jim raised his eyebrow in question. Leonard raised his brow right back. "Buy me a Saurian brandy or five and we can discuss those empty spaces that need fillin'."

Jim's answering laughter echoed round the quad.

And the quad, which had been so empty and lonely yesterday, was suddenly filled with life.

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They were at a bar that wasn't one of their usual haunts. He supposed it had something to do with not confronting ghosts of conquests past. It was still a little hole in the wall. Bit of an older crowd, Leonard's age or older. Polished faux wood and brass. Too dark, and the flicker from the cheesy red solar candles didn't do much to lighten it up.

For people who didn't want to be recognized, it was perfect.

"Can I get something for you gentlemen?" The waitress was vaguely phosphorescent, stippling fading in and out like a cuttlefish, with the clipped monotone of someone whose translator was overclocking to keep up. She didn't even look up when they placed their order for bourbon straight up, and a jack and coke.

There weren't a whole lot of people, and the ones that were there were cozied up together in a corner just like them. Len was used to seeing morose singles nursing drinks at the bar, but he supposed that survivor's goodwill had temporarily halted the doom and gloom crowd that he had known so intimately.

"It's early, Jim. Too early. Stop worrying about it."

"I know. But..."

"Besides. We're looking pretty scruffy."

Jim laughed, and pulled out his chip to transfer credits as the drinks arrived.

The arrival of the Enterprise hadn't been disseminated in the news yet, but rumor was a bitch, and Jim was still tense with the possibility of being recognized.

The first drink loosened him up a little. Midway through the second, he'd become comfortable. Jim was usually like cryptochrome, with sensors calibrated for trouble and sex instead of color, but there wasn't enough malice or lust to pierce the mellow atmosphere, so they were left alone. The few looks slanted their way Leonard fielded with a scowl. But it's no different from what they usually got on a night out, so it seemed like anonymity was assured.

Not that Jim seemed to notice anymore. Jim's arm was around Leonard, and Jim's smiles were for Leonard, and he'd never had that much Jim Kirk wattage turned on him at once and he was drunker off that than he was his two, no, three drinks. It was no wonder that they weren't approached, because it was quite obvious who Jim was with.

"Hey!" Len waved at the waitress, who gave a funny half-nod, half-shake of the head before heading over.

"More of the same?" Same stilted words, but she finally looked at their faces, zeroing in on Jim, and smiled for the first time of the evening, dimpling and revealing sharp canines that were frankly terrifying.

"Uh. Yeah." Len squeezed Jim's shoulder as he went rigid under Len's palm, but waited till the waitress left for the bar before leaning over to whisper. "That wasn't recognition. She just thought you were sex on a stick."

"She thought I was lunch."

"That too. Like a praying mantis, maybe?"

"Ack."

Len snickered, and when the waitress returned with their latest round and whatever passed for flirtation in her species, Len took out his wallet to transfer credits, giving her a significant look as he tapped the transfer module with his small data wafer, his other hand on Jim's.

She hurried off, but had posed no real threat to anything but Jim's enjoyment of the evening.

Jim has to be wanted for more than looks, that much is obvious. Not for one night, no, but for anything longer term, he needed more than someone who finds him pretty, someone who wasn't impressed by beauty alone. For all the grandiose posturing, the kid isn't shallow- Len had seen him chase men and women who were more brains than beauty. Jim knew he was pretty, but he didn't impress himself with it. Contemptuous of those that didn't bother to look any deeper, even as he used it to his advantage; even as he relied on their blindness to keep the biggest parts of himself veiled.

He was the human embodiment of the Law of Pragnanz, the principle that states that well-arranged complex objects appear simple to the human eye. Or maybe he was the Law of Closure, the tendency to complete a partially obscured object. People took in the complexity of the man; the disparate elements, small facets, the dynamism, and smoothed him into a simpler shape because it was easy.

Leonard hated easy.

Leonard knew that Jim had liked it that way at one point, but there had also been little reason for anyone to see beyond the show Jim put on. Fame had changed that. Now Jim was a hero with a "mysterious past" and the attention bugged him. It would be impossible to reconcile his accomplishments with the face he was used to presenting the world, but Len was sure he'd bluster his way through it. In a way, Len was happy about it, as if Jim had gotten a do-over, wiping away the last vestiges of the old him, and allowing the real Jim to take his place.

Jim was still Jim to the marrow, but the perception of him was shiny. Sparkly. Brand-spanking new.

A paradigm shift.

They could have gone straight to their room, but he wanted Jim to know that it wasn't about fucking. It was about being with Jim, enjoying him, and they didn't need to be naked for that.

"You wanna talk about the debrief?" He was pretty sure what the answer would be.

"No." Amusement in Jim's voice.

"Good."

It must've been difficult, much more than Leonard's, even if Pike had intervened like Leonard suspected. Jim was a piss-poor apologist, so it was safe to say he hadn't dressed up his actions. Hotheaded, brutal. Brave. Perhaps foolish. All treated with the same mixture of insight and balls-out bravado. Hopefully his natural charisma on top of his very real ability would carry him through- in the meantime Len would worry that it wasn't enough.

Len had been compelled to ask, but that was just manners and Jim could figure that out with his brain tied behind his back. Jim didn't have to tell him a damn thing, the truth was writ so large on his face. Jim didn't want the admiralty in bed with them, and Len for damn sure didn't want them oppressing the atmosphere, so he'd recommended the bar for decompression instead of immediately pinning Jim to a wall with tongue and hands like he'd wanted. They'd put off their holy-shit-I'm-alive celebration for far too long, but it could keep for a few more hours as they snacked on pretzels, drank, and shared small, fleeting touches.

Once the wall-pinning happened, Len didn't plan to come up for days.

Len kept receiving I-see-what-you-did-there looks over the rim of Jim's glass, but his blue eyes were smiling and his shoulders were unknotting, so Jim could bite him, it was a good call. By unspoken consensus they were getting mildly drunk, but loose and easy was a good thing- no, a great thing. So was the slow build up, which might have been giving Len a deferred gratification kink, because he was enjoying the way Jim's tongue licked the rim of his collins glass, tasting the dots of moisture that gathered. And the way Jim pressed his lips to the glass- not drinking, just holding there for too long a moment to be anything but deliberate.

This seemed appropriate, somehow. Alcohol and avoidance was how they'd met, how they'd functioned. For years it'd served either as a lubricant between them, making sure they didn't rub each other the wrong way- or it'd served as a glue, holding them together when they were too fucking annoyed with each other to not tear each other apart for one more sober moment.

Fitting, that it would help in this too. Not-healthy, no-how, but that's just how it was.

Leonard put an arm around Jim's shoulder and squeezed, pulling him into his side with a sly grin.

"You doing okay?" Len's voice was low, for Jim's ears only. He left his arm there, but allowed the hand to trail Jim's arm, feeling the hairs become rampant under his caress as Jim's eyelids fluttered to half-mast, head tilting back slightly to expose a throat that glowed with the faint traces of sweat.

"I'm great. Fantastic." Jim teeth worried his lower lip for a moment. "Slightly drunk."

Not healthy, but he'd given up on 'physician heal thyself' a long time ago. He'd had healthy, and look at how that'd turned out. Fucking miserable.

Instead, maybe he'd try happy this time around.

Joce- she'd always looked so strong and stoic when he'd gone off the rails, quietly putting up with his shit with a sigh and an 'oh, Leonard', and he'd quietly resented her for it in turn. Leonard didn't need quietly supportive. Like most McCoys, he needed a good swift kick in the pants. Someone to argue with him, and tell him when he was being a damn fool. Hell, argue with him period-depth instead of dishwater. Len knew he was a hard man to get along with, intensity that could only be met with equal intensity, otherwise the other partner got run over. Jim or one of the other bridge crew could probably come up with a good physics simile, but Len'd always hated math as a science, and he was a doctor, not a poet.

The truth of the matter was that Len was an all or nothing kind of guy, but Joce wasn't an all or nothing kind of girl- they had just been too young to realize it. She wanted soft and steady, boring and beige. And somehow she thought Leonard could be the one to give it to her.

But Jim...he looked at Jim. Admired the tectonics of his body. His perfect profile, small scars, and light stubble. More than that- the bullheadedness, the vitality, the survivor's will.

The beauty that sometimes crippled him- that had nothing to do with his face and everything to do with the core of him.

The stubborn cuss.

He rested his forehead against the curve of Jim's neck, closing his eyes and breathing in the musk and the salt and the whiskey, so strong in his nostrils it was almost like he'd stuck out his tongue and drawn it over Jim's quickening pulse.

One Mississippi. Two Mississippi. Three Mississippi.

All or nothing.

Three years ago it'd felt like he'd chosen the nothing. And it had taken those three years to figure out he'd thought wrong.

Jim turned into him slightly, his breath grazing Len's temple with a huff, nose nuzzling with a whisper of movement.

Len's breath hitched in his chest.

"Yeah?" He spoke into Jim's shoulder, and this time he didn't stop himself from dragging his lips across the tendon.

Jim answered with a quick intake of air, and a light shudder as Len's tongue barely touched his earlobe at the end of its journey. "Yeah. Yeah, I think I am."

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He should be nervous. This was his second iteration, after all. Should be damn nervous.

Wasn't.

They didn't speak at all on the way to the dorm, didn't touch as they wound their way through the streets, paths and grassy hillocks that led to the med housing. No horror vacui for them. Just comfort, and anticipation like wine held against the roof of the mouth. They didn't dawdle, but they weren't running, either. Smiles were plentiful, even if they shied away from too close scrutiny. One touch would lead to two touches would lead to knees scraped threadbare in a dirty alley as tongues touched membrane, touched moist heat, touched heart... god.

They weren't men intent on a quick, dirty fuck as stress relief. This wasn't some drunken hellyesnow idea that would curdle in the morning light. This had been in motion ever since they met- iceberg movement. Continental shift, expansion of the universe- huge, slow-moving and monumental- and damn if that didn't sound grandiose and the definition of asshole, but that was how Leonard felt.

He'd say epic, but that was more of a Jim thing to say, anyway.

That kind of motion didn't end with a two-minute against-the-wall rut. Leonard knew that, viscerally; more instinctive than cerebral. Jim... might know that. But even if he didn't, he soon would.

Jim got to the door before him, but came to a stop without pressing his fingers to the biometric pad. At first Leonard thought he might be balking, but he came up behind Jim, and felt the tension that haloed him like an aura, so tight he was practically vibrating with it. He wasn't balking...he was about to buckle. Too aroused, too-

The air left his lungs with a whoosh, and before he realized what was happening, he had Jim pressed against the door, hands pinning his shoulders and cock snug against his ass. He breathed in the herbal smell of Jim's shampoo as he slotted his head on Jim's shoulder, mouthing at his ear, voice so quiet they could barely hear him over their own harsh breathing.

"God, you smell good. The things I want to do to you." The bite that followed was light. Lighter than the reaction, which started at Jim's knees and coursed upwards in a way Len could feel, pressed as he was against him.

"Bones."

"What do you want, Jimmy?" He'd always had a thing for his partners telling him what they wanted, how they wanted it. He might give it to them, might withhold it to ratchet everything up to unbearable, but he wanted the words. "What do you want me to do to you?"

One hand left Jim's shoulder, easing down, touch light enough to tickle as he eased under the shirt, finding the smooth warm skin of his side, his abs, ribs, skirting nipple.

"Nice." Jim hummed, like his body was humming.

"Not an answer." Rubbing. Rubbing. Nipple plumping. Not pinching, just a smooth stroke on that one bit of pebbled flesh he found so, so sensitive.

"I don't know." Jim turned his face away, even as he bucked back into Leonard's dick. "I always had a game plan. A bunch of scripts for how this kind of thing would go. But I haven't-" Jim bit off what he was going to say, before deciding he might as well plunge. "I don't want scripted with you. I don't want what I've already had."

"You don't think there'd be a difference between this-" And he did pinch here, making Jim whine high in his throat. "And some formula?"

"No! I know it couldn't. But I didn't want..."

"What?"

"I didn't try to fantasize about you. I didn't want to put you in one of those scenarios."

Leonard removed his hand, backing away, giving Jim room to move. "My hero."

Jim turned around with a scowl that could match Len's best. "You jackass. This is a completely different rubric."

"Yup. But if you can still pull words like rubric out of your ass, I'm doing something wrong." This time, he pressed himself against Jim's front, and the feel of groin meeting groin made both of them groan. He joined his sweat-damp cheek to Jim's, stubble meeting stubble. "Gonna fuck you, Jim. It's gonna be good, and slow, and long- and you are gonna fucking sing on the end of my cock."

"Oh god."

Jim responded to the sound of his voice with a whole body tremor that made Len simmer, just thinking of the possibilities. "You want that, Jimmy?" The grind of his hips, even through layers of fabric, was about to make him lose his mind.

"Yes. Fuck yes."

"Then open the goddamn door," Leonard rasped before kissing him.

Jim opened the goddamn door.

"Computer. Lights. Fifty percent." Jim pulled away just long enough to bark the command before pulling Leonard back to him, mouth swallowing anything Len might have cared to say.

Jim's mouth. His mouth! So hot, slick with spit, tongue thrusting just like his hips, exploring Len's mouth, teeth, the softness of his cheek, the ridges of his palate. Jim was good with his mouth. Better. Best. But Leonard was good too, and tried to wrangle Jim back down, back to soft and slow, but the kiss picked up even as Jim tried to climb him, climbing a tree to touch a star, and that was just not how this was going to happen. Not this time.

"Nnnn-" He pulled his lips away, which was harder than it should have been as Jim worried Len's lower lip between his teeth. "Oh no. That isn't how this is going down. None of that jackrabbit shit tonight."

"Mmm. But-"

"No buts." Len pushed Jim back a few inches, then pushed harder, until Jim got with the program and allowed enough room between them to get a full picture. Len's eyes never faltered in their examination of Jim's pale blue, even as Len's shirts came off one after another, the green knit skinned neatly and efficiently. The undershirt, tighter, hotter, peeled off slow and slinky with arms crossed, arms bulging as they tensed and pulled up. The S-curve of his body moving, moving like he'd seen Jim move before, an articulated snake of hard muscle and smooth flesh as the material was pulled over his head to be tossed away. Mirroring to gain positive attention was an old concept, but it worked, if the look on Jim's face was anything to go by.

Never knew, never imagined blue could burn so hot, but Jim's eyes were the steam of dry ice as Leonard touched himself, hand starting at his trapezius, down to his external obliques. When Len reached the inguinal ligament, the cut that traced down, down into his slacks, down towards his groin, full and too tight in his scrub trousers, Jim sucked in a breath that sizzled, sparking in the air like ball lightning.

Len couldn't resist, tracing one finger over to the fastening of his scrubs, teasing at it before smoothing it back to his hip, then again, and once more until Jim made a sound of frustration somewhere between a growl and a laugh.

Boots toed off. Fastening, opened. Scrubs, hip-checked to the floor. Boxer briefs, black and piped blue to throw his cock into sharp relief, seams aligned to define the hard length, pulsing and hot, eager between his legs. He cupped himself in one hand, balls cradled in his palm, fingers playing at the base of his cock as he gave a soft squeeze. "Ummh."

He took a step toward Jim, but Jim, counterintuitively, he thought, backed away.

"Christ, Bones. No. Gotta finish this. I have to see it."

Len groaned again, because he never thought he'd be any sort of exhibitionist, but the idea of Jim watching him, wanting to watch him strip, made his balls firm up under his hand. Hand that moved, flirting with the waistband, then with muscle. Traveling under cotton knit, over pectineous, adductor brevis, longus, magnus. This might be the only time he would curse being a doctor, embracing his calling, because he couldn't divorce what he knew of emotionless anatomy from what he was doing now. This deserved richer words than the detached clinical jargon he used every day.

It didn't feel clinical. It felt like poetry, like dance, like humanist triumph.

Cock, not penis, he thought, as he gripped himself in one hand, pulling the fabric over the moist head of his cock with the other. The foreskin was already pulled back over the glans, glistening in the half light as his underwear fell to his ankles to be kicked away. He spread more fluid with his thumb, then repeated the movement when Jim seemed hypnotized by the motion.

Testing a hastily formed hypothesis, he stroked over the slit with his index finger, gathering fluid. He pulled the finger away so slowly that a string of pre-come remained connected, stretching and bobbing until the tension became too great and it popped.

And goddamn, he loved being right, because Jim's eyes followed that finger as Leonard brought it to his own mouth, swallowing it to the second knuckle before slowly withdrawing it.

"Shit. That's..."

Len looked at Jim, heavy-lidded- half with want, and half with get-on-with-it-already-you-moron.

"Shit. Yeah." And Jim started his own strip, which was more about speed and less about tease, but no less amazing for all that. He was made even paler under the slightly blue tint of the light globes, a stark contrast to the blacks that were being discarded. Skin, delicately pinked in the creases, hollows and crests. Nipples, armpits, belly button and ripple of abdominal flesh.

Leonard wasn't surprised that Jim'd gone commando, but that had never been a source of much titillation for him. He could appreciate it now, though, since it put Jim's cock on display just that much quicker. Lots of men looked funny naked, no matter how attractive, and that was a fact- Len had seen more than enough frontsides and backsides to make that plain. But Jim...Jim was another animal altogether. He had one of the prettiest cocks Leonard had ever seen.

A little shorter than Len's, but well above average. Full and broad. Purplish at the cut head, running to deep rose at the root. A slight upward curve that meant Len would have to be in a sixty-nine position to swallow it to the base as Jim fucked his throat. Heavy balls, lightly coated with tightly curled dark hair.

Jim, that sonofabitch, took a note from Len's example, and mirrored his previous movement. Index finger to wet head, to mouth where it traced like lipstick, and Christ, God and fuck he wanted to taste Jim's lips, get the flavor of him there.

Jim's face, between his palms as his taste buds searched for sweet and musk. Finding it from one side of his upper lip to the other as the smooth side of his tongue probed, finding it with the tip as it investigated the philtrum, then cheek, licking up to temple, his ear.

He came closer, body connecting, connected, striking sparks, filament lighting- first head to head, then root to root and chest to chest. Len was slightly taller, but not by enough to make a difference in the way their cocks pressed between them, rubbing into hips made slick with leaking fluids.

Jim's arms were around him, hands scuttling down his nobbled spine, past the lumbar region to dip into dimples before his fingers spread to sample the firmness of his ass. He flexed his glutes involuntarily, letting out a moan as the fingers bit in, then smoothed to the crease at the thigh to heft up, pulling Leonard in harder, more.

"Sensitive ass?"

Len's head fell back as Jim squeezed again, this time with a bit of nail. "Oh. Yeah."

"Okay." Jim's face fell forward into Len's shoulder. He was panting in a gratifying way. "Okay. We." Jim took a stuttered little breath, then tried again. "We have to fuck. Like, right now, Bones."

Leonard laughed, even though it came out sounding a little pained. "Jim..."

"Three years, Bones. We've talked enough."

"I was just about to agree with you is all."

"Oh." Another stutter as he brought his head up. "Oh."

"Yeah." Leonard tried, but he couldn't keep the smug out of his voice. "Oh." He pushed Jim yet again, but this time Jim's legs were against the bed, and he fell back, bouncing against the mattress. The shell-shocked look didn't last for long, though, and he scooted back, spreading eager legs at the same time.

Len looked his fill for a moment, letting Jim experience the weight of his regard as it traveled over his body, ending at the crease of his smooth ass.

"You want it bad," Len stated. It wasn't a question.

"God, yes."

"So bad, I bet there won't be much resistance, will there?"

"Bones." And Jim was almost blushing, which just about made Leonard lose his damn mind. Jim's hand reached for his own cock, but Len didn't want that yet.

Slow. Easy.

Slow. Easy. Like a mantra because he was going to need the concentration or he was going to explode.

He was still looking, but walked to the bedside table to open the drawer by feel, grabbing the bottle inside using the same method. "No resistance. I'm just going to slide into you like butter, ain't I?"

"Please."

"Please, what, Jimmy?"

Leonard hit the bed on his knees between Jim's spread thighs, bottle of lube dropped between them. His palms were next, lying heavily on the insides of Jim's knees, pressing him wider.

"You can't..."

"Can't what? Talk dirty to you?" Leonard smiled, and he knew it was an evil smile, but he didn't feel like repressing it. "You like it."

"It's going to make me come!" Jim's voice was wrecked, his face pink and pebbled with sweat, neck tendons straining in a way that went straight to Len's cock, because his words were doing that to Jim. Just speaking, and Jim was on the verge.

"Not my voice." And that was his cue. He grabbed the warm velour of Jim's dick tightly. A firm stroke up, gripping at the rim of the head before completing the round-trip back to the base.

"Fu-"

He bent, pressing nose to soft skin pulled taut over coursing blood. The smell, all Jim, but deeper, more animal and anima than anywhere else he'd found. Temptation too great and his taste buds exploded with too much input to catalog. Memory tied to taste. Creating new ground to return to, but also a deja-vu of every good visceral feeling of being alive.

Goddamn joy.

He lipped there, wet and messy and wonderful, enjoying the fine grain of satin against the interior of his mouth and the needy sound clawing its way out of Jim's throat. Lipping, then licking down, letting himself be pulled. Tongue pointed to trace a thin line, dividing balls, hitting perineum. Down, down, moistening the crease of Jim's ass, which clenched and released like an engraved invitation.

Jim wasn't talking. Was looking- Len could feel it, scalp tingling with the weight of his gaze as he licked. Speared muscle. Pursing his lips around Jim's hole before sucking.

Jim howled, so he did it again and again, to hear that noise again, that and the begging that followed. Jim's thighs were shaking under Leonard's hands, which were shaking too.

"Please!" Jim whimpered. And what a difference context made, because he'd have teased Jim something fierce if Len hadn't been the one to torture that sound out of him.

Leonard rose up over Jim on one hand, getting close and slicking his fingers with lube. He slid those digits over that pretty, pretty cock before dropping down, tapping lightly, once, twice- enjoying the way Jim jumped. He didn't give Jim any other warning before spearing him on two fingers, deep, deep.

Jim's upper body seemed to sigh and collapse, even as his hips bucked forward with searching greed.

"Like it?"

Jim didn't answer with his mouth, but with a clench of his ass around Len's fingers. "More." His voice was wrecked, and it wrecked Len to hear it.

"Like this, more?" He added a third finger, just to tease. He knew Jim didn't need this kind of prep, somehow knew that Jim was the type that liked a bit of burn. But he looked so good writhing, felt so good melting like wax against the pads of Len's fingers- Len couldn't hurry this.

"Nnnnn-"

"Like my cock, more?" A hard shove of his hand, biting deeper, truer. Prostate lighting up, plasma bright and blinding. "God, you look so good like this."

Jim. So pliant beneath him as Len stretched him. "You're gonna be raw and red, Jimmy. And I'll remind you of it. Touch your puffy, sensitive ass to remind you, so I can see your face and remember this...really feel it, every damn hour till it heals on its own. So, so good."

Jim...really liked the voice, as low and sinful as Leonard could manage. Len could tell, because he turned redder, writhed more. "Touch it. Caress it. Everywhere. Then fuck it again, just to show you're mi-"

Fuck.

Double fuck.

He was an idiot.

Leonard backed away enough to put some air between them. Slowed his fingers, even as Jim tried to get more inside him. Pulled out completely.

"Bones, c'mon!"

"Jim."

"Fuck me."

"Jim." This time Leonard got his attention.

Jim looked at him, still breathing hard, still wanting, but quizzical. His what-the-fuck loud and clear despite no words being spoken.

"We're doing this all wrong."

"The hell?-"

"This is-"

"Fucking intense!"

"Hush." Leonard placed the fingers that had been up Jim's ass against Jim's lips, which was a bad idea, because Jim knew where those fingers had been, and his eyes darkened to midnight as he snaked his tongue out. Made Leonard want to bury himself between those pale, perfect thighs and rut until they both came hard.

"I said I don't own you. I don't tell you what to do." Leonard laughed at himself. "And then I go and try the opposite."

Rolled eyes did the talking since Jim's lips were still covered, but Leonard got the gist of the argument.

"I'm not saying I won't top. Just that...I won't top tonight." He couldn't miss the way Jim's whole body stilled, or the way Jim shook off the finger keeping him silent like a grade-schooler.

"What?" Wary of jumping to conclusions, but there was a banked flame there that said he'd calculated two plus two equaling...

"I want you to fuck me." Banked flame burst to life. There was no way Jim could deny wanting it. "I've spent so much time taking care of others, that...maybe I should let you take care of me, instead."

Jim reached out. Leonard thought he was going to grab him, but the unsteady hand reached for his face instead, caressing his jaw. Jim looked pained, but it wasn't alarming. It was vulnerable, and soft. Underbelly bared in trust. It pained Leonard too, an empathetic hurt.

Had he ever truly seen Jim until now?

Their faces got closer, but Len couldn't tell who moved. Then they were meeting in a kiss, and this felt different. Less frantic. Coming from a deep, clean well.

There'd been so much bad, wounds so old there was no memory of their absence. But the violent purge had shaken something loose, to be rinsed away like venom.

Stray traces falling away. Both of them reinvented.

God.

They didn't need to speak, no matter how revved up Jim got over the sound of Len's voice, filthy and hot in his ear. Leonard slowly fell to his side, facing Jim. The kiss broke, but he couldn't look away from Jim's eyes. Jim stared back, fierce but quiescent as Leonard took one of Jim's hands, slicked it with lube. Jim took over after a moment, rubbed his fingers to warm the liquid before he reached out to trace behind Len's balls, to coax his legs open.

Fingers tested against the density of compact muscle. The first went in easy, swallowed by muscle to the very end in one long slide. Len laughed, but it was part of them, Jim laughing too because Len was the one with no resistance this time, parting like butter under finger, then fingers. Two. Then stretched wide over three, skimming over his prostate with a delicate touch, a dragonfly skimming water.

More laughter, as they fumbled together for more lube, messily squirted into hands, spread too cool over heated cock. This was them- is them. More so now than they were before. Laughing. No performance, nothing artificial between Jim and Bones.

And he is Bones, he realized, as Jim prodded him over to his other side, long body pressed against his back. Jim named him, that day. Named him...and owned him, he would admit in some small, secret place that probably wasn't much secret. More Bones than he ever was a Leonard.

Not that he'd tell Jim that. Not right now, at least. He'd keep that one in reserve for the future.

His leg raised, cheeks parted as Jim rose up on one arm so that he could see Len's face. Cock burrowing into the crease, kissing the pucker of flesh with every nudge, Jim smoothed a soothing hand over Len's chest as there was pressure. Pressure. Then a fullness pushing past the ring, shy of too tight, and he was engulfing, engulfed, and the taking- inexorable. Pleasure, relentlessly filling him, penetrating deeper until there is nowhere left Jim wasn't touching.

He was in, completely.

They both took a breath to calm, too sensitized. Filled with rightness.

Jim was still looking at him, and he was carding Len's hair, smoothing the sweat from his temples back into the already damp strands.

"Hi." Jim grinned down, eyes crinkling.

Len tried to twist a bit more, to get a better look, but Jim just shook his head and pulled back a tiny bit before thrusting to the hilt. Len gasped, and there was barely air for breathing, let alone talking, but he somehow managed. "Hi, yourself."

The look on Jim's face became sillier, happier, and he leaned down to give Len a chaste mwah of a peck on the cheek, which was fucking hilarious, considering Jim had his dick shoved up his ass.

"Infant."

"Makes you a pedo, don't it?" He punctuated with another quick thrust.

"Guh." He could feel his eyes roll back, and just like that, it was serious. Not that it hadn't been. Always.

"Jim." He could hear the strain in his own voice.

"Yeah? Good?" Another short thrust that wasn't anything like enough friction. He'd like to ask for more, but this was Jim's show.

It was Jim's show. A few minutes of those staccato bursts-one inch, two, pull back, thrust-that gradually deepened, gradually quickened and intensified. Quicksilver against his back. A rhythm he'd probably be able to parse if he had a brain left in his skull.

Sweat and the burn of flesh against his back, and Jim was so hard against him, hard inside him, pulsing full and swollen and the slight sting of ass, groin, just that perfect acidic tang in his mouth, licking a battery. Sucking on the phosphorous tart of a live wire.

He was in the moment, caught in a time distortion because there was no beginning and no end, just what was being done to him. With him. Taken and taken- the immediacy of Jim's cock impossible to think around. The thickness of their combined musk heavy in the air.

His leg- raised higher. He knew because it was suddenly more. Fuller. Everything. Legs- smooth muscle and tendon snaked all around- a hard, impatient palm pulling him closer, firmer, harder, fuck.

Dick so deep they were welded together.

He was close. So close. And Jim was close too, he could feel the swell of incipient orgasm. Fast and fierce as they met with the slap of skin on skin. Moans with greater amplitude. Event horizon about to be shattered.

"Bones-" Jim's desperate voice biting off his name was better than a hand stroking his cock. A dozen tongues.

Serenade. Seraphim.

It was too much. Too much, and Leonard strained upwards, trying to get at Jim's voice, his mouth. Jim reached for that kiss as well, but Leonard came apart before they could meet, vision turning to glitter, cried out into the aborted kiss as something profound and aching was torn away from him, starting in his chest and touching everything else as it radiated outward like a birthing sun.

"Bones!"

Jim was there with him, shaking, mewling into Len's neck as he emptied himself with erratic jerks of hip.

Coming and coming and coming. Spending.

Spent.

Bodies went slack. Room becomes silent but for harsh breathing.

They lay like that for a long time, time marked not by minutes, but in small happenings. Breaths evening. Cock softening and slipping free. Hands moving again to pull close, to pet. Jim, holding him tight.

Life had a few perfect moments that could never be taken away or sullied. Len had thought he'd experienced them all. Acceptance to med school. Joce taking his ring. The birth of his daughter. It was beautiful that he could still be surprised, wasn't as jaded as he'd thought, because Jim had given him another one. The sex had been phenomenal, but it was this, the soft aftermath, that he would always remember.

"Mmm. Amazing. You're amazing," Jim whispered. There was awe in Jim's voice, humbling and almost crippling. "Don't know what I did to deserve you."

Jim meant it, but Len couldn't understand. "You deserve everything." He turned in Jim's arms so they're face to face, so Jim can see how much he meant it.

"But you..." Jim's forehead was against his as Jim breathed, smelling him like he could take Leonard into his body. "So much."

Len knew what he was trying to say, even though his brain didn't feel like it was working at full capacity yet. "Jim. I haven't done anything for you that you couldn't have done yourself. You did it all yourself."

"Not all."

"All of it." He meant it. Every last word of it. "You told me about Pike's recruitment speech, but that doesn't make a shit. Heavy-handed dare that even a five year old could see through, and you expect me to believe that's why you joined? You saw a chance and you took it. And you kept taking it, even when it was rough. You did it. Not Pike, not me. We were just along for the ride."

"I don't believe that." He'd seen Jim, the real Jim, before-on the ship. It had been similar to this, as emotionally naked. That Jim had been raw and bare bones, had met him with truth for truth, just like this. But this Jim was better. What Jim had now-fuck whatever the goddamn admiralty decided (Len would kill 'em all, see if he didn't)-was the only thing he'd ever really needed.

Hope was a beautiful thing. Jim could say what he wanted about belief, because Len didn't buy it for a second.

"Well, I do, and I'll keep saying it till you do, too." He thumped Jim in the head before snuggling down.

"Ow!"

"Now shut up. You're ruining my afterglow."

Jim laughed, and snuggled down too, even though his grip remained tight. Possessive. Call Len a romantic, but he couldn't help the way his throat thickened. One day, maybe he'd tell Jim what a big, fat liar he'd saddled himself with. Because he'd lied about ownership. Jim owned every particle of Bones McCoy, and that was the way Len liked it.

Must be crazy.

"You're a real Sir Galahad." Jim's voice was wry.

"That the best you can do? Nothing pithier, quote-boy?"

"There is one. Been thinking about it a lot." Jim buried his head in the pillow, hiding. "It's from Rouchefoucald. I...maybe I'll tell you. One day. But not..."

"Whatever you want. Whenever you want."

"Bones." Another soft laugh, but there was a little desperation in it. "I...I..."

Leonard took pity on him.

"I know, Jim. I know." He stroked Jim's head, tucked into his shoulder, feeling something dangerously close to equilibrium. "Me too. Just...remember that when I'm being a real asshole."

And when Jim was quietly shaking and sobbing into the flesh of his neck, Len pretended to believe him when Jim said it was just the cold, and hugged him close.

Love, like ghosts, is often spoken of, but rarely seen.

~ Rouchefoucald