Human Supernova

[Tonia watched him as he finished what he was doing. She handed him the PADD a bit surprised by the state he was in. She always saw him very busy doing many things at once. It didn’t seem to take a toll on him. However, now she could see his forced smile, tired eyes, and she heard his voice, once strong, now a bit…. less? She hoped she wouldn’t get in trouble… but she was not one to bite her tongue.]

[He smiled at her question, though far less out of some sort of captain's duty to be reassuring and instead more frankly. It was small. Jim ran his fingers through his cropped hair, twirling his stylus as he considered the question.]

Whiskey. [Jim slammed the glass down on the table, grimacing as it burnt on its way day.] It was a gift, [he added hotly, licking his bottom lip with a sharp jerk of his head. A gift from someone that didn’t know better, clearly.

[Right. The loud bang of the glass against the table only caused the smallest of twitches in his eyes, and he crossed his legs and shrugged nonchalantly. Maybe mistakenly, but he took the task of keeping a cool head while he was there.

[Jim shrugged carelessly, leaning back in his seat. Kicking his feet up on the desk, he leaned down to fetch a second glass from the bottom drawer. It was easier to function when he gave himself something to do, and if that something was 'entertain' then so be it. Or just drink, honestly, that worked fine on its own. It didn't help his mood, but at least it mellowed him out.]

[Tonia walked quickly toward the bridge. Earlier she had spoken to the Commander and hoped she would see a difference. She carried a folder in hand. For once she was excited to be back on duty. Maybe it was because of all the things he told her. The doors to the bridge opened and she walked in with a straight face, trying to conceal any bias or emotion as she approached the Captain.]

[Jim's head jerked up. He met her eyes with a slightly squint, a line between his eyebrows. He looked a touch startled, his eyes slightly bloodshot. Without saying anything, he ducked down to tap out a few more lines on the PADD in his lap; he needed to write down the end of the line before he forgot it, after all. Releasing a long breath, Jim leaned back in his seat and set it down against his leg.

[It was a miracle that he had found him. Sure, that particular day of the year, Sam knew Jim wouldn’t exactly be all happiness and sunshine. Hell, for as much as he tried, there was that reminder prodding at the back of his mind and it wouldn’t leave him alone. No matter how much he tried to dismiss that date as just another day.

Whiskey. [Jim slammed the glass down on the table, grimacing as it burnt on its way day.] It was a gift, [he added hotly, licking his bottom lip with a sharp jerk of his head. A gift from someone that didn't know better, clearly.

Jim turned his head to press into the heat of Leonard’s throat. His constricting hold on the older man slackened gradually as his breathing broadened and slowed, the narrow-tunneled vision he had been suffering easing. He sank into Bones’s deliberate rhythm, buried it under his ribs where it belonged. He moved slowly as his overtaxed body eased. The arm that had clamped Bones to him slid down slowly until his hand was curled lightly around Bones’s waist. The one against the small of his back slid slowly, a slide of fingers seeking heat. His thumb slid under the hem of the man’s uniform first, feeling out the ridges of his spine, edging the shirts up higher until he could flatten his palm against Leonard’s skin.

Jim was relaxing, he could tell through their close proximity and the softer whine of the machines. Leonard pressed his lips to the top of Jim’s head, nose brushing against the man’s golden hair, inhaling all of the familiarities that were Jim. The aura that emitted from him, the pace of his chest rising and lowering normally, the quick pace of his heart, the heat, the touch, the everything. With that he let out a sigh that felt as if it had been trapped in his lungs forever. How he could ever be mad at this kid was beyond him for the moment, mind too fogged with 

"'D be more lost without you," Jim answered with an exhausted insistence. He'd never been a particularly clever liar emotionally. He'd never learned how to guard his feelings, never built a wall. Running away had always been his defense but, for once, he had no intention of running. Not anywhere. Spock was vastness, dark and unfathomable, the space they drifted through. And if he was that then Bones was his Earth, his ground, something stable he could grip, could tether himself to.

Jim watched the shifts in expression on the young man’s face with a sort of exhasperated fondness. Briefly, he wondered if he should tell the ensign that Lieutenant Sulu had already attempted to take responsibility for the Enterprise shutting herself down while he was Acting Captain. Would that be betraying the man’s confidence? Doubtlessly the subject would or had come up between them, wouldn’t it? Regardless, the event had passed. Considering the emergency, casualties had been minimal. He still had letters to write, of course… never his favorite activity. Perhaps he’d ask Sulu if he wanted to help write lieutenant Denisova and lieutenant Tumak’s letters, if he felt the need to take responsibility for the events on the planet. He wouldn’t allow him to take responsibility for the events above the Enterprise, though. And Chekov? Not at all. He was an ensign. Jim had already saddled him with far more than he should have. He’d failed as the navigator’s superior officer.

His head tilted up, catching and mirroring Kirk’s smile and releasing a heavy, relieved sigh. He could rip off the red shirt right now and continue on wearing nothing but the black undershirt until he was able to put back on the yellow shade he was familiar with and fonder of. “Yes, sir,” He eagerly replied with a nod and a slight bounce on his heels.

"I'm feeling like people should stop trying to confine me to quarters. The biobeds have fixed whatever was rattling about in my head and I really don't need to be under observation." He laughed at that, half at himself and half an awkward buzzing nervousness at being important to people. It seemed no longer how long he operated as CO above the Enterprise he still couldn't quite grasp that people genuinely cared about his well-being. Especially in greater numbers.

Got it. They’re docking at the moment. Seem to have invited themselves.

[Jim sighed, pushing his hair back. They weren't really supposed to allow ships to dock without permission but the Admiralty was far off and he had to function with some degree of autonomy or they'd never get a thing done.]

Jim flailed for several seconds, his eyes squeezed shut. He listened, concentrated on the sound of the other man’s voice, but all he could hear was the pain in the doctor’s voice. The pain he’d caused, apparently couldn’t stop causing. It wasn’t working, his concentration quickly wavering again until all was left was the panic, the hurt.

It seemed to be working. For a split second at least. The beeping of the machines dulled…before returning to their obnoxious tone, if not increasing the number of sharp beats. Of course he knew the procedures for dealing with this. Try and calm the patient, tell them everything was alright, face their fears, and if all else fails, calm their nerves with a shot of good old fashioned benzodiazpine and let that work its magic.

Jim turned his head to press into the heat of Leonard's throat. His constricting hold on the older man slackened gradually as his breathing broadened and slowed, the narrow-tunneled vision he had been suffering easing. He sank into Bones's deliberate rhythm, buried it under his ribs where it belonged. He moved slowly as his overtaxed body eased. The arm that had clamped Bones to him slid down slowly until his hand was curled lightly around Bones's waist. The one against the small of his back slid slowly, a slide of fingers seeking heat. His thumb slid under the hem of the man's uniform first, feeling out the ridges of his spine, edging the shirts up higher until he could flatten his palm against Leonard's skin.

From his obvious stiffness, Sulu visibly deflated, his expression taking on a fonder light while he recalled their first few intense assignments aboard the Enterprise, back when he had only been a fill-in for a woman he wasn’t all that enthusiastic about. “That’s different,” he tried to argue, a little quirk to the corner of his lips while he shifted on the edge of Kirk’s bed. “You were already filling out the shoes for captaincy. All I end up doing is second guessing my every thought. I go from being confident about my suggestions for the sake of the ship to gear-shifting the moment I sit in the chair.”

Jim turned, focusing entirely on decoding his young third. He scrutinized the man's expression, the slouch of his shoulders, the curve of his back. The way the man's hair was messier than usual, uncombed tufts in the back as though someone had recently run their fingers through it. Mostly he focused on the movement of his fingers, the play of emotions across his face. Despair, confusion, exhaustion, uncertainty, shame, disappointment, self-conscious blame.

He tried to listen, really he did. Jim squeezed his eyes shut, fingers curled tightly together. He concentrated on his breath, tried to count, tried to unclench the muscles around his ribcage. He tried to will his heartrate down. For all that he could only hear the drumbeat in his ears, loud and merciless. His breaths were all catch-breaths and sucked gasps, hiccoughs.

God, he was having an anxiety attack? Leonard had seen them in his medical files, but when he was a boy, not recently, even during and after all the climatic events of the past years. And now he was the cause.

Jim flailed for several seconds, his eyes squeezed shut. He listened, concentrated on the sound of the other man's voice, but all he could hear was the pain in the doctor's voice. The pain he'd caused, apparently couldn't stop causing. It wasn't working, his concentration quickly wavering again until all was left was the panic, the hurt.

Miserable. What a word. No, he wasn’t miserable. He had experienced that emotion before, and this situation was certainly not that.

He tried to listen, really he did. Jim squeezed his eyes shut, fingers curled tightly together. He concentrated on his breath, tried to count, tried to unclench the muscles around his ribcage. He tried to will his heartrate down. For all that he could only hear the drumbeat in his ears, loud and merciless. His breaths were all catch-breaths and sucked gasps, hiccoughs.

It was nothing he wasn’t aware of—Chekov had already tried to apologise to Scotty about the mishap and had encountered the same kind of assurance. But it was, ultimately, his mistake. Scotty’s trust in his aptitude that caused the him to give faulty equations to run through the ship. It might have even been something Scotty, himself, had missed, but when it came down to it, it was Chekov’s fault that pulled them into a forced evacuation.

Jim watched the shifts in expression on the young man's face with a sort of exhasperated fondness. Briefly, he wondered if he should tell the ensign that Lieutenant Sulu had already attempted to take responsibility for the Enterprise shutting herself down while he was Acting Captain. Would that be betraying the man's confidence? Doubtlessly the subject would or had come up between them, wouldn't it? Regardless, the event had passed. Considering the emergency, casualties had been minimal. He still had letters to write, of course... never his favorite activity. Perhaps he'd ask Sulu if he wanted to help write lieutenant Denisova and lieutenant Tumak's letters, if he felt the need to take responsibility for the events on the planet. He wouldn't allow him to take responsibility for the events above the Enterprise, though. And Chekov? Not at all. He was an ensign. Jim had already saddled him with far more than he should have. He'd failed as the navigator's superior officer.