fic: baby, you can lay me down.
prompt: #7 - DREAM ON: jim, injured on an away mission, falls into a coma. he keeps hearing bones talking to him in his dreams.
rating: pg-13
warnings: angst, and swearing
word count: 2,565
disclaimer: title from the dirty heads' lay me down. anything else you recognize is also not mine.
author's note: this was my pinch-hit for the Sweethearts Challenge at jim_and_bones . i also filled prompt #33, here.
this is from jim's point of view, and bones's point of view can be found here at pearlstar178 's livejournal. go check it out!
- -
There are only a few more feet to go, and Jim is tired. He digs his last cam into the rock face and waits for it to spring into place, then threads the rope through it. Pausing, suspended thousands of feet above the city, he tilts his head back, giving himself over to the rush of vertigo that reminds him where exactly he is: stuck without communication on one of the most ass-backwards planets this side of Rigel V.
He glances down. Antaghadar sprawls for miles, one of the largest cities he’s ever seen, and definitely the most difficult to navigate while keeping his head down. He’d lost both Peters and Yt somewhere near the cathedral-like giant at the edge of the outlying quarters, and now he has no way of contacting them, having been stripped of all his technology-communicator, phaser, even the data chip he keeps in his pocket with pictures from their most recent shore leave. They’d made a big deal of that one, the High Consul, since their own technology hadn’t advanced enough to be able to read it. Jim chuckles at the sudden image he gets of the Antaghadarin Priests, years from now, finally cracking the chip and finding a whole bunch of pictures of the sunburnt and smiling Bridge Crew instead of ‘Fleet secrets like they’d expected.
The laugh makes no sound over the whistling of the cold air up here, which reminds Jim that he needs to reach the summit right the fuck now, so he can warm his hands up and try to pull together the various electrical (they still run their shit on electricity, and yet they expect to overpower the Enterprise? ha-dee-fucking-ha.) components he managed to pilfer on his way here.
Jim narrows his eyes at the few feet ahead of him. Without any more cams-he’d stolen the climbing equipment, too-he’ll have to cinch his hands in the crevasse. He’s done it before, so it should be a breeze. But he’s cold-the planet’s temperature is several degrees lower than he’s comfortable with-and his hands are almost numb.
He pulls himself up, wedges his hands into the rock. Doing his best to grip with this palm, he reaches with his right hand and levers himself up again-
And then he falls.
The top cam snaps away from the rock, and then the next, and he counts them as he goes down, one after another, until there are three left and he’s still so high above the ground, probably eight hundred, nine hundred feet.
He’s watching the arc of the rope after the third snaps, thinking sort of abstractedly about how Bones will fucking kill him if he gets out of here alive, when everything goes black.
- -
When he wakes up he discovers he is bound.
No part of him is capable of mobility; his arms are completely tethered to the bed he is, presumably, stuck in, legs and torso secure, even his head completely fastened down.
He blinks at the white sky above him.
- -
Bones, who is sitting near him in the grass, is wearing the same suit he’d worn to Jim’s award ceremony after-party; black jacket, blue-white dress shirt, top three buttons undone. He’s sitting with his legs bent at the knee and Jim can see his socks-they have fish on them!- and a small amount of ankle. Of course Bones would wear ridiculous socks. Jim grins at him, leans back. He feels better, like he hasn’t just fallen to his death-oh, fuck, this better not be the fucking afterlife, he hasn’t managed to get Bones in the sack yet.
And furthermore, did Bones die? Because he’s here.
Jim seems to have landed in the middle of Bones’s tirade. “And if you fucking think I’ll just sit here and watch you throw yourself around like it doesn’t fucking matter-“
“Bones, I don’t-“
But Bones continues on like he hasn’t heard Jim. “-because I’m fucking serious. If you do something this goddamn stupid again I’m quitting.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jim scoffs, and tries to scoot closer, except for some reason he falls flat on his back instead and everything goes dark.
- -
He’ll be fucking fine, Bones is yelling. Jim wants to open his eyes and calm his friend down, but he can’t.
We must be logical, insists Spock, who sounds very close. We must be prepared for any outcome.
Bones snorts. The only possible outcome here is you go back to the fucking bridge and let me do my fucking job.
Doctor, there is a seventy-nine point eight four three percent chance that he will not wake from this state in the time which Starfleet Command has allotted for his recovery. If this becomes the case, we will need to transport him to more secure medical facilities.
I’m not letting him out of my fucking sight. Bones sounds like he’s trying to cut Spock open with his voice. Jim can picture the two of them; Spock, straight-backed and rigid, unintentionally conveying concern in the softening around his eyes, and Bones, sitting slumped forward at his desk, glaring up at Spock, the anger behind his eyes bringing their argument to the same level despite the height difference. In Jim’s mind’s eye, Bones is dressed similarly to the first day they met-he’s wearing his blue uniform shirt and black pants, but on top of that he’s layered several coats and sweaters like they can protect him from whatever truth Spock is trying to get through to him. If he goes, I go.
Doctor-
He’s too much of a dumbass to ever admit when something’s wrong. I know him. I’ve patched this kid up too many times to let some fool-ass doctor somewhere destroy all my hard work.
There is a long pause, some shuffling. Then someone’s hand is on his forehead, smoothing back his hair. When had it gotten that long?
Fucking hell,kid. You’re killing me here.
- -
This time, they’re standing on the Golden Gate Bridge, and Bones isn’t looking at Jim. He’s staring down, watching as crews drag the Nerada’s destroyed drill from the water. They came here, the two of them, to watch, and Jim doesn’t know how they got here again.
Jim tips his head back, baring his teeth at the cloudless sky, daring it to challenge him once he finally gets up there.
“Come back to me,” Bones mutters, so quietly Jim almost misses it. His eyes are red-rimmed when he turns to look at Jim, who wants to reach out and put his hand on his shoulder, make the pain stop. “You’ve got to fucking come back. I can’t-“
He looks away again, not down this time but across the city. Jim follows his gaze, fairly certain what Bones is saying makes no sense. “Who you talking to, Bones?”
“What’m I supposed to do if you’re- I’ve got no fucking reason to be out here.”
Jim swallows. Blinks.
- -
Jim? Can you hear me? There is a bright light flickering in his eyes and a hazy shadow just behind it. He tries to reach out for it but misses, or maybe he doesn’t even move his hand.
Another voice. Chapel. Leonard. I may have-it was out of the corner of my eye-I don’t know if-
She falls silent. The light switches off.
Bones presses his forehead to Jim’s and exhales, quickly, once. Goddamnit.
- -
In their dorm room, Jim wakes up to the sound of Bones puttering around, closes his eyes again. It’s probably Saturday. He’s got a killer headache.
“Jim, they want to transfer you to Starbase wherever-the-fuck tomorrow,” mutters Bones, sounding close. Jim wants to open his eyes but they’re so heavy, so he just lets himself settle more into the mattress and let Bones talk to him. “I’ve drafted my resignation application.”
There’s a hand on his shoulder, Bones’s hand, and as he talks it drifts down his arm until, at last, their palms meet, the tips of his fingers just tucking between Jim’s.
- -
When he wakes up, he’s in Sickbay.
Bones is curled over the biobed, the top of his head pressing against Jim’s hip, his mouth slack, drooling onto the sheets. His eyes look bruised, like he hasn’t been sleeping well. Jim tilts his head down and twitches his fingers against Bones’s cheekbone.
Bones startles awake. For a moment, they stare at each other, and Bones looks like he’s about to cry. He doesn’t, thankfully, but he does make a sort of strangled sound and swoop forward to press his mouth sloppily to Jim’s chest, just above where Jim’s heart is.
Then he’s wrenching away, hollering for Chapel, barking instructions, and everything becomes a whirl of white and blue as the nursing staff and Bones run diagnostics on Jim’s body.
- -
“Do you remember your name?” Bones asks, hovering over him. Usually when Jim comes back from an away mission shot to hell, or drugged, or whatever-the-fuck-else, Bones looks fit to kill. Now, he still hasn’t lost that half-anguished look he had when Jim first woke up. It’s too much.
Jim closes his eyes. “James Tiberius Kirk.”
Bones snaps, suddenly, “Keep your eyes open, Jim."
He does what he’s told, and then raises an eyebrow at Bones. “Why?”
Ignoring him, Bones makes a note on his PADD and then says, “Tell me about me, please.”
“Bones, what the fuck?”
Bones glowers at him. “I’m trying to make sure you’re still conscious of what the hell’s going on.” When Jim just stares at him, he purses his lips. “Jim, come on.”
“Okay, okay.” He thinks. “Uh, I met you on the shuttle. You had total crazy eyes, man.” He laughs, then sobers at the look on Bones’s face. “Uh, and then you helped me onto the Enterprise when-“
“How?”
“You dosed me with, uh, fleas.” He glances around. “Bones, what the hell is all this crap?”
Bones rolls his eyes. “Apparently you’re really popular around here, kid.” He gestures at the flowers, cards, stuffed animals perched on the table across from Jim. “You’ve got a few admirer’s. Plus, you missed Valentine’s day-I threw out all the chocolates. Hope you’ll survive.” He winces at his own words and stands up to adjust something on the biobed. It’s then that Jim realizes he’s not in the general Sickbay but one of the quarantine rooms.
“How long have I been out?”
There’s a silence. Bones looks away. “About a month.”
Jim gapes at him. When Bones still won’t look at him, he pauses to actually think about this. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah,” says Bones. “Yeah. Exactly.”
- -
Once he’s awake, he bounces back pretty quickly. While Jim was out, Bones performed three surgeries-one of them neurosurgical-on the side of Jim’s skull. The weeks he was in a coma were enough for the tissues to begin to heal, and while Bones won’t let him out of Sickbay without a disinfectant bandage, his only real physical issue is the entropy his unused muscles have sustained, despite the biobed.
He heads to the Bridge immediately after Bones releases him. He’s greeted warmly by everyone, even Uhura, who actually smiles at him from her post. First things first; he hails Starfleet Command and assures Pike he’s ready to resume command.
“You’re lucky you’ve got McCoy keeping you together,” Pike says, just before Jim hangs up.
- -
Later, when he gets back to his quarters-immaculate, of course; Bones has totally been in here, cleaning, like he always threatens he will-he comms his friend. “Bones, when you get off shift, get the hell up here.”
He considers pouring himself a drink but thinks better of it. With the head wound, he probably shouldn’t. Instead, he reads into the files on the past month; he gets through about a page and a half of Acting Captain’s Log transcripts and deems them Bo-ring, so he switches to reading up on how the operations went in Sickbay.
When the door chimes, he gets up to answer it himself. Bones pushes past him and heads straight for the liquor cabinet, but Jim stops him with a hand to his arm. “Bones,” he starts, “Listen, man. I’m really fucking sorry.”
Bones stills under his fingers. He doesn’t turn around.
“Uh,” Jim continues, “I scared you. A metric fuck-ton, I bet. And I’m-I’m really sorry.”
Bones still doesn’t say anything. “I, uh. Saw that you’re resigning. Or, no-I think I dreamed that. But it’s true, isn’t it?” When Bones nods, minutely, he continues, “I’m coming with you.”
He gets a reaction from Bones this time. “Absolutely not, you fucker,” he growls, turning to finally look at Jim. “You’re staying right the fuck here.”
“I thought you wanted-“
“What? For you to sit around on some Starbase, twiddling your thumbs, just so you don’t get yourself into any more danger? I know you; you’d wind up finding something foolhardy to get into wherever you are. At least here it’s somewhat productive.” Bones steps closer. “And I’m not leaving, either, so get that out of your head.”
“But your resignation letter-“
Bones closes his eyes. “I didn’t send it.” When his eyes come open again, he looks fucking heartbroken. Jim’s so used to Bones being the most stable of the two of them that the look is unsettling-it weighs down inside his throat, like Bones has reached in and twisted his lungs and esophagus together with those sure surgeon’s fingers. “You… you woke up before I could.”
Jim grabs for him, terrified. Bones is giving him a look he’s never had trained on himself before, the same look Spock had when Chekov couldn’t save his mother. Heartbreak. Fucking love. Since he has no way of dealing with that, he lets Bones bury his head in the juncture of his shoulder and throat. When Bones draws a shuddering breath, Jim kisses the top of his head and whispers, “I’ll be okay, Bones,” and “you saved me.”
“Fucking-“ Bones mutters against the skin of his neck, and Jim can’t repress a shiver. “Fucking hell.”
“What?”
Bones growls, “Shut the hell up,” and rears back, eyes wild, to look Jim in the face. “You scare the shit out of me every day, Jim. You just-“
Closing his eyes, Jim feels himself swaying on his feet, suddenly bone tired. “Bones-“
And as always, Bones understands. He tugs Jim toward the bed, pulls the covers back and tilts him down onto it. He doesn’t let Jim pull his boots off-just does it for him, and his uniform pants. When he lifts Jim’s shirts over his head, careful of the bandage on the side of Jim’s skull, he says quietly, “I’m ordering you to two days of rest.”
Jim looks up at him for a moment. Then: “You too, Bones.”
When he tugs Bones down onto the bed next to him, Bones doesn’t fight it. Instead, he curls up behind Jim and kisses the space between his shoulder blades. Jim hums a small happy sound, and settles back into the circle of Bones’s arms.
rating: pg-13
warnings: angst, and swearing
word count: 2,565
disclaimer: title from the dirty heads' lay me down. anything else you recognize is also not mine.
author's note: this was my pinch-hit for the Sweethearts Challenge at jim_and_bones . i also filled prompt #33, here.
this is from jim's point of view, and bones's point of view can be found here at pearlstar178 's livejournal. go check it out!
- -
There are only a few more feet to go, and Jim is tired. He digs his last cam into the rock face and waits for it to spring into place, then threads the rope through it. Pausing, suspended thousands of feet above the city, he tilts his head back, giving himself over to the rush of vertigo that reminds him where exactly he is: stuck without communication on one of the most ass-backwards planets this side of Rigel V.
He glances down. Antaghadar sprawls for miles, one of the largest cities he’s ever seen, and definitely the most difficult to navigate while keeping his head down. He’d lost both Peters and Yt somewhere near the cathedral-like giant at the edge of the outlying quarters, and now he has no way of contacting them, having been stripped of all his technology-communicator, phaser, even the data chip he keeps in his pocket with pictures from their most recent shore leave. They’d made a big deal of that one, the High Consul, since their own technology hadn’t advanced enough to be able to read it. Jim chuckles at the sudden image he gets of the Antaghadarin Priests, years from now, finally cracking the chip and finding a whole bunch of pictures of the sunburnt and smiling Bridge Crew instead of ‘Fleet secrets like they’d expected.
The laugh makes no sound over the whistling of the cold air up here, which reminds Jim that he needs to reach the summit right the fuck now, so he can warm his hands up and try to pull together the various electrical (they still run their shit on electricity, and yet they expect to overpower the Enterprise? ha-dee-fucking-ha.) components he managed to pilfer on his way here.
Jim narrows his eyes at the few feet ahead of him. Without any more cams-he’d stolen the climbing equipment, too-he’ll have to cinch his hands in the crevasse. He’s done it before, so it should be a breeze. But he’s cold-the planet’s temperature is several degrees lower than he’s comfortable with-and his hands are almost numb.
He pulls himself up, wedges his hands into the rock. Doing his best to grip with this palm, he reaches with his right hand and levers himself up again-
And then he falls.
The top cam snaps away from the rock, and then the next, and he counts them as he goes down, one after another, until there are three left and he’s still so high above the ground, probably eight hundred, nine hundred feet.
He’s watching the arc of the rope after the third snaps, thinking sort of abstractedly about how Bones will fucking kill him if he gets out of here alive, when everything goes black.
- -
When he wakes up he discovers he is bound.
No part of him is capable of mobility; his arms are completely tethered to the bed he is, presumably, stuck in, legs and torso secure, even his head completely fastened down.
He blinks at the white sky above him.
- -
Bones, who is sitting near him in the grass, is wearing the same suit he’d worn to Jim’s award ceremony after-party; black jacket, blue-white dress shirt, top three buttons undone. He’s sitting with his legs bent at the knee and Jim can see his socks-they have fish on them!- and a small amount of ankle. Of course Bones would wear ridiculous socks. Jim grins at him, leans back. He feels better, like he hasn’t just fallen to his death-oh, fuck, this better not be the fucking afterlife, he hasn’t managed to get Bones in the sack yet.
And furthermore, did Bones die? Because he’s here.
Jim seems to have landed in the middle of Bones’s tirade. “And if you fucking think I’ll just sit here and watch you throw yourself around like it doesn’t fucking matter-“
“Bones, I don’t-“
But Bones continues on like he hasn’t heard Jim. “-because I’m fucking serious. If you do something this goddamn stupid again I’m quitting.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jim scoffs, and tries to scoot closer, except for some reason he falls flat on his back instead and everything goes dark.
- -
He’ll be fucking fine, Bones is yelling. Jim wants to open his eyes and calm his friend down, but he can’t.
We must be logical, insists Spock, who sounds very close. We must be prepared for any outcome.
Bones snorts. The only possible outcome here is you go back to the fucking bridge and let me do my fucking job.
Doctor, there is a seventy-nine point eight four three percent chance that he will not wake from this state in the time which Starfleet Command has allotted for his recovery. If this becomes the case, we will need to transport him to more secure medical facilities.
I’m not letting him out of my fucking sight. Bones sounds like he’s trying to cut Spock open with his voice. Jim can picture the two of them; Spock, straight-backed and rigid, unintentionally conveying concern in the softening around his eyes, and Bones, sitting slumped forward at his desk, glaring up at Spock, the anger behind his eyes bringing their argument to the same level despite the height difference. In Jim’s mind’s eye, Bones is dressed similarly to the first day they met-he’s wearing his blue uniform shirt and black pants, but on top of that he’s layered several coats and sweaters like they can protect him from whatever truth Spock is trying to get through to him. If he goes, I go.
Doctor-
He’s too much of a dumbass to ever admit when something’s wrong. I know him. I’ve patched this kid up too many times to let some fool-ass doctor somewhere destroy all my hard work.
There is a long pause, some shuffling. Then someone’s hand is on his forehead, smoothing back his hair. When had it gotten that long?
Fucking hell,kid. You’re killing me here.
- -
This time, they’re standing on the Golden Gate Bridge, and Bones isn’t looking at Jim. He’s staring down, watching as crews drag the Nerada’s destroyed drill from the water. They came here, the two of them, to watch, and Jim doesn’t know how they got here again.
Jim tips his head back, baring his teeth at the cloudless sky, daring it to challenge him once he finally gets up there.
“Come back to me,” Bones mutters, so quietly Jim almost misses it. His eyes are red-rimmed when he turns to look at Jim, who wants to reach out and put his hand on his shoulder, make the pain stop. “You’ve got to fucking come back. I can’t-“
He looks away again, not down this time but across the city. Jim follows his gaze, fairly certain what Bones is saying makes no sense. “Who you talking to, Bones?”
“What’m I supposed to do if you’re- I’ve got no fucking reason to be out here.”
Jim swallows. Blinks.
- -
Jim? Can you hear me? There is a bright light flickering in his eyes and a hazy shadow just behind it. He tries to reach out for it but misses, or maybe he doesn’t even move his hand.
Another voice. Chapel. Leonard. I may have-it was out of the corner of my eye-I don’t know if-
She falls silent. The light switches off.
Bones presses his forehead to Jim’s and exhales, quickly, once. Goddamnit.
- -
In their dorm room, Jim wakes up to the sound of Bones puttering around, closes his eyes again. It’s probably Saturday. He’s got a killer headache.
“Jim, they want to transfer you to Starbase wherever-the-fuck tomorrow,” mutters Bones, sounding close. Jim wants to open his eyes but they’re so heavy, so he just lets himself settle more into the mattress and let Bones talk to him. “I’ve drafted my resignation application.”
There’s a hand on his shoulder, Bones’s hand, and as he talks it drifts down his arm until, at last, their palms meet, the tips of his fingers just tucking between Jim’s.
- -
When he wakes up, he’s in Sickbay.
Bones is curled over the biobed, the top of his head pressing against Jim’s hip, his mouth slack, drooling onto the sheets. His eyes look bruised, like he hasn’t been sleeping well. Jim tilts his head down and twitches his fingers against Bones’s cheekbone.
Bones startles awake. For a moment, they stare at each other, and Bones looks like he’s about to cry. He doesn’t, thankfully, but he does make a sort of strangled sound and swoop forward to press his mouth sloppily to Jim’s chest, just above where Jim’s heart is.
Then he’s wrenching away, hollering for Chapel, barking instructions, and everything becomes a whirl of white and blue as the nursing staff and Bones run diagnostics on Jim’s body.
- -
“Do you remember your name?” Bones asks, hovering over him. Usually when Jim comes back from an away mission shot to hell, or drugged, or whatever-the-fuck-else, Bones looks fit to kill. Now, he still hasn’t lost that half-anguished look he had when Jim first woke up. It’s too much.
Jim closes his eyes. “James Tiberius Kirk.”
Bones snaps, suddenly, “Keep your eyes open, Jim."
He does what he’s told, and then raises an eyebrow at Bones. “Why?”
Ignoring him, Bones makes a note on his PADD and then says, “Tell me about me, please.”
“Bones, what the fuck?”
Bones glowers at him. “I’m trying to make sure you’re still conscious of what the hell’s going on.” When Jim just stares at him, he purses his lips. “Jim, come on.”
“Okay, okay.” He thinks. “Uh, I met you on the shuttle. You had total crazy eyes, man.” He laughs, then sobers at the look on Bones’s face. “Uh, and then you helped me onto the Enterprise when-“
“How?”
“You dosed me with, uh, fleas.” He glances around. “Bones, what the hell is all this crap?”
Bones rolls his eyes. “Apparently you’re really popular around here, kid.” He gestures at the flowers, cards, stuffed animals perched on the table across from Jim. “You’ve got a few admirer’s. Plus, you missed Valentine’s day-I threw out all the chocolates. Hope you’ll survive.” He winces at his own words and stands up to adjust something on the biobed. It’s then that Jim realizes he’s not in the general Sickbay but one of the quarantine rooms.
“How long have I been out?”
There’s a silence. Bones looks away. “About a month.”
Jim gapes at him. When Bones still won’t look at him, he pauses to actually think about this. “Holy shit.”
“Yeah,” says Bones. “Yeah. Exactly.”
- -
Once he’s awake, he bounces back pretty quickly. While Jim was out, Bones performed three surgeries-one of them neurosurgical-on the side of Jim’s skull. The weeks he was in a coma were enough for the tissues to begin to heal, and while Bones won’t let him out of Sickbay without a disinfectant bandage, his only real physical issue is the entropy his unused muscles have sustained, despite the biobed.
He heads to the Bridge immediately after Bones releases him. He’s greeted warmly by everyone, even Uhura, who actually smiles at him from her post. First things first; he hails Starfleet Command and assures Pike he’s ready to resume command.
“You’re lucky you’ve got McCoy keeping you together,” Pike says, just before Jim hangs up.
- -
Later, when he gets back to his quarters-immaculate, of course; Bones has totally been in here, cleaning, like he always threatens he will-he comms his friend. “Bones, when you get off shift, get the hell up here.”
He considers pouring himself a drink but thinks better of it. With the head wound, he probably shouldn’t. Instead, he reads into the files on the past month; he gets through about a page and a half of Acting Captain’s Log transcripts and deems them Bo-ring, so he switches to reading up on how the operations went in Sickbay.
When the door chimes, he gets up to answer it himself. Bones pushes past him and heads straight for the liquor cabinet, but Jim stops him with a hand to his arm. “Bones,” he starts, “Listen, man. I’m really fucking sorry.”
Bones stills under his fingers. He doesn’t turn around.
“Uh,” Jim continues, “I scared you. A metric fuck-ton, I bet. And I’m-I’m really sorry.”
Bones still doesn’t say anything. “I, uh. Saw that you’re resigning. Or, no-I think I dreamed that. But it’s true, isn’t it?” When Bones nods, minutely, he continues, “I’m coming with you.”
He gets a reaction from Bones this time. “Absolutely not, you fucker,” he growls, turning to finally look at Jim. “You’re staying right the fuck here.”
“I thought you wanted-“
“What? For you to sit around on some Starbase, twiddling your thumbs, just so you don’t get yourself into any more danger? I know you; you’d wind up finding something foolhardy to get into wherever you are. At least here it’s somewhat productive.” Bones steps closer. “And I’m not leaving, either, so get that out of your head.”
“But your resignation letter-“
Bones closes his eyes. “I didn’t send it.” When his eyes come open again, he looks fucking heartbroken. Jim’s so used to Bones being the most stable of the two of them that the look is unsettling-it weighs down inside his throat, like Bones has reached in and twisted his lungs and esophagus together with those sure surgeon’s fingers. “You… you woke up before I could.”
Jim grabs for him, terrified. Bones is giving him a look he’s never had trained on himself before, the same look Spock had when Chekov couldn’t save his mother. Heartbreak. Fucking love. Since he has no way of dealing with that, he lets Bones bury his head in the juncture of his shoulder and throat. When Bones draws a shuddering breath, Jim kisses the top of his head and whispers, “I’ll be okay, Bones,” and “you saved me.”
“Fucking-“ Bones mutters against the skin of his neck, and Jim can’t repress a shiver. “Fucking hell.”
“What?”
Bones growls, “Shut the hell up,” and rears back, eyes wild, to look Jim in the face. “You scare the shit out of me every day, Jim. You just-“
Closing his eyes, Jim feels himself swaying on his feet, suddenly bone tired. “Bones-“
And as always, Bones understands. He tugs Jim toward the bed, pulls the covers back and tilts him down onto it. He doesn’t let Jim pull his boots off-just does it for him, and his uniform pants. When he lifts Jim’s shirts over his head, careful of the bandage on the side of Jim’s skull, he says quietly, “I’m ordering you to two days of rest.”
Jim looks up at him for a moment. Then: “You too, Bones.”
When he tugs Bones down onto the bed next to him, Bones doesn’t fight it. Instead, he curls up behind Jim and kisses the space between his shoulder blades. Jim hums a small happy sound, and settles back into the circle of Bones’s arms.