Uncovered (Kirk/Pike/McCoy, PG-13)
Cliche-ridden schmoop (bedside-vigil flavored) for the "Hot and Cold" Flash Fic challenge at jim_and_bones . Thanks to scripps for the lovely prompt!
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“They say the fever will break sooner or later,” Jim says, eyes on Bones’ pale, still face. “They say he’s in no danger as long as his temperature stays where it is and they keep fluids going into him. They say a lot of things, and I try to listen, I do. But there’s only one doctor I trust.”
He watches his own hands fuss ineffectually with the covers and doesn’t look at Chris. He’s always Chris here, in Jim’s quarters, even though he’s the Admiral everywhere else outside, including in Jim’s head. It’s important to do that because there are times--however few--that Jim wants and needs authority. Now is one of those times, though the irony is that now, he needs it from Chris.
He knows he won’t get platitudes, and he doesn’t. Chris paces and checks his comm link and fidgets with Jim’s stuff and doesn’t let his mood rise and fall with the numbers on the portable medical scanner. He doesn’t do much of anything, because there’s nothing he can do. But being there is some kind of help.
Jim hears a clink and turns to see Chris plucking a glass from a shelf of his bookcase.
“That’s a trick goblet I picked up on Nashira Prime. The red gunk in it is a tiksotropic gel that liquefies when you shake it. You can dump it all over something or someone, and then it solidifies and you can peel it off a few minutes later. It’s pretty funny. One night we--”
Chris just smiles, not even raising an eyebrow, and puts it back on the shelf. Jim glances around his quarters and realizes that there’s not a thing in them that doesn’t have some kind of association with Bones.
“Shit,” he says finally. “I hate this.”
“I know.”
Chris comes up behind him and puts a hand on the back of his neck. When Jim lets his head relax slightly against it, Chris takes it as the small bit of encouragement that it is and runs his fingers up through the short hairs, just once. Jim shivers.
One of the many, many things that’s awful about this situation is that he wants Chris to take him to bed, badly. He wants it because it’s easy and safe and Chris knows him well enough to bring his exhausted body to brain-whitening orgasm, and then he’d be able to sleep, and Chris would hold him, and everything else would go away.
And Bones would still be unconscious in their bed, sweating out the water and chemicals the IV is patiently pumping into him.
Jim pulls away from Chris’s hand with a little jerk, grabs a clean cloth from the stack the nurse left behind, and wipes Bones’ forehead.
“You don’t have to prove anything, you know,” Chris says. “Not to him, not to anyone else; least of all to me.”
Jim nods absently and keeps his eyes on Bones and away from temptation.
They stay like that for another 5 or 50 minutes, Jim making sure the covers stay smooth and Bones’ damp hair stays out of his face, Chris milling around like a guy waiting at a shuttle depot, not paternal or seductive, just there.
Bones starts to shiver. It’s a just a tremor at first but progresses to full-on shakes. There’s no change in his actual body temperature, just his fucked-up personal thermostat. Bones stirs, and frowns, and makes fretful noises that cut Jim like glass.
“‘Is he okay? Should we call M’Benga?” Chris has got his comm out and flipped open, just in case.
“No, he’s done this before. Geoff says it’s normal.” Jim’s no doctor but normal and Bones seem to have parted company a while ago.
“Good.”
“He might need some more blankets, though.” Grateful for something to do, Jim is ready to dive for the closet, but Chris grabs his wrist.
“He needs you. For fuck’s sake, Jim, this is enough. You couldn’t torture yourself enough with him in Medbay and you on the Bridge, so you brought him here, and now you won’t even let yourself touch him.” He lets go of Jim’s wrist and takes him by the shoulders. “You, personally, did not do this or allow this to happen. Get over it.”
“I’m the captain, I’m--”
“Yes, yes. But even God must understand about unintended consequences. Stuff happens, Jim. That’s pretty much the M.O. for this universe.”
Those hands again. This time, though, Jim doesn’t feel traitorous arousal, just warmth.
“Get in bed with him, Jim. Everything will be easier then. You’ll see.”
As soon as Chris says it, Jim feels such longing that tears start into his eyes, but he--
“Can’t,” Jim says, ashamed.
“Sure you can. Just take this off.” Chris grips the bottom of his uniform shirt. He tugs, and Jim lets him, because his smile is kind and it’s a little bit bit funny, even though Bones is the one that always calls him kid. Jim lets Chris undress him down to his underwear and is almost ready to climb into bed, but then he makes the mistake of looking at Bones again.
“Can’t.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Chris rolls his eyes, utterly patient. “He loves you. It’s easy. Here, I’ll show you.”
And to Jim’s actual amazement, Chris begins to strip off his own clothes, until he’s standing there in his undershirt and briefs.
“What the fuck are you planning to do?”
“Wrap my arms around your boyfriend and keep him warm, since it seems like you can’t.” Jim’s lost the plot now; he’s not sure whether Chris is administering shock therapy, challenging his manhood, or what. In any case, he’s sure enough climbing into Jim’s big bed on the far side. He moves carefully so as not to disturb the drowsing, shivering man, and when he’s close enough he rolls Bones onto his left side and pulls him into his arms. Bones’ tremors lessen almost immediately.
The sight of Bones in Chris’ arms makes Jim feel like someone poured warm water down him from head to toe.
“C’mon, Jim,” Chris whispers, and Jim obeys, lifting the cool, smooth covers and climbing in. He pulls nose-to-nose with Bones and the heavens don’t rip open, and Bones’ eyes don’t fly open to accuse him of negligence or something worse.
He puts a hand on Bones’s waist and finds Chris’s there already.
“Told you,” Chris says as Jim fits his body to Bones’s. “Everything’s easier than you think.”
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“They say the fever will break sooner or later,” Jim says, eyes on Bones’ pale, still face. “They say he’s in no danger as long as his temperature stays where it is and they keep fluids going into him. They say a lot of things, and I try to listen, I do. But there’s only one doctor I trust.”
He watches his own hands fuss ineffectually with the covers and doesn’t look at Chris. He’s always Chris here, in Jim’s quarters, even though he’s the Admiral everywhere else outside, including in Jim’s head. It’s important to do that because there are times--however few--that Jim wants and needs authority. Now is one of those times, though the irony is that now, he needs it from Chris.
He knows he won’t get platitudes, and he doesn’t. Chris paces and checks his comm link and fidgets with Jim’s stuff and doesn’t let his mood rise and fall with the numbers on the portable medical scanner. He doesn’t do much of anything, because there’s nothing he can do. But being there is some kind of help.
Jim hears a clink and turns to see Chris plucking a glass from a shelf of his bookcase.
“That’s a trick goblet I picked up on Nashira Prime. The red gunk in it is a tiksotropic gel that liquefies when you shake it. You can dump it all over something or someone, and then it solidifies and you can peel it off a few minutes later. It’s pretty funny. One night we--”
Chris just smiles, not even raising an eyebrow, and puts it back on the shelf. Jim glances around his quarters and realizes that there’s not a thing in them that doesn’t have some kind of association with Bones.
“Shit,” he says finally. “I hate this.”
“I know.”
Chris comes up behind him and puts a hand on the back of his neck. When Jim lets his head relax slightly against it, Chris takes it as the small bit of encouragement that it is and runs his fingers up through the short hairs, just once. Jim shivers.
One of the many, many things that’s awful about this situation is that he wants Chris to take him to bed, badly. He wants it because it’s easy and safe and Chris knows him well enough to bring his exhausted body to brain-whitening orgasm, and then he’d be able to sleep, and Chris would hold him, and everything else would go away.
And Bones would still be unconscious in their bed, sweating out the water and chemicals the IV is patiently pumping into him.
Jim pulls away from Chris’s hand with a little jerk, grabs a clean cloth from the stack the nurse left behind, and wipes Bones’ forehead.
“You don’t have to prove anything, you know,” Chris says. “Not to him, not to anyone else; least of all to me.”
Jim nods absently and keeps his eyes on Bones and away from temptation.
They stay like that for another 5 or 50 minutes, Jim making sure the covers stay smooth and Bones’ damp hair stays out of his face, Chris milling around like a guy waiting at a shuttle depot, not paternal or seductive, just there.
Bones starts to shiver. It’s a just a tremor at first but progresses to full-on shakes. There’s no change in his actual body temperature, just his fucked-up personal thermostat. Bones stirs, and frowns, and makes fretful noises that cut Jim like glass.
“‘Is he okay? Should we call M’Benga?” Chris has got his comm out and flipped open, just in case.
“No, he’s done this before. Geoff says it’s normal.” Jim’s no doctor but normal and Bones seem to have parted company a while ago.
“Good.”
“He might need some more blankets, though.” Grateful for something to do, Jim is ready to dive for the closet, but Chris grabs his wrist.
“He needs you. For fuck’s sake, Jim, this is enough. You couldn’t torture yourself enough with him in Medbay and you on the Bridge, so you brought him here, and now you won’t even let yourself touch him.” He lets go of Jim’s wrist and takes him by the shoulders. “You, personally, did not do this or allow this to happen. Get over it.”
“I’m the captain, I’m--”
“Yes, yes. But even God must understand about unintended consequences. Stuff happens, Jim. That’s pretty much the M.O. for this universe.”
Those hands again. This time, though, Jim doesn’t feel traitorous arousal, just warmth.
“Get in bed with him, Jim. Everything will be easier then. You’ll see.”
As soon as Chris says it, Jim feels such longing that tears start into his eyes, but he--
“Can’t,” Jim says, ashamed.
“Sure you can. Just take this off.” Chris grips the bottom of his uniform shirt. He tugs, and Jim lets him, because his smile is kind and it’s a little bit bit funny, even though Bones is the one that always calls him kid. Jim lets Chris undress him down to his underwear and is almost ready to climb into bed, but then he makes the mistake of looking at Bones again.
“Can’t.”
“Oh, for God’s sake.” Chris rolls his eyes, utterly patient. “He loves you. It’s easy. Here, I’ll show you.”
And to Jim’s actual amazement, Chris begins to strip off his own clothes, until he’s standing there in his undershirt and briefs.
“What the fuck are you planning to do?”
“Wrap my arms around your boyfriend and keep him warm, since it seems like you can’t.” Jim’s lost the plot now; he’s not sure whether Chris is administering shock therapy, challenging his manhood, or what. In any case, he’s sure enough climbing into Jim’s big bed on the far side. He moves carefully so as not to disturb the drowsing, shivering man, and when he’s close enough he rolls Bones onto his left side and pulls him into his arms. Bones’ tremors lessen almost immediately.
The sight of Bones in Chris’ arms makes Jim feel like someone poured warm water down him from head to toe.
“C’mon, Jim,” Chris whispers, and Jim obeys, lifting the cool, smooth covers and climbing in. He pulls nose-to-nose with Bones and the heavens don’t rip open, and Bones’ eyes don’t fly open to accuse him of negligence or something worse.
He puts a hand on Bones’s waist and finds Chris’s there already.
“Told you,” Chris says as Jim fits his body to Bones’s. “Everything’s easier than you think.”