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The shuttle was dark, lit only by the dim glitter of far distant stars and the soft glow of the Enterprise .
When pressed, later, Leonard McCoy would say that he had never expected space to kill him in such a detached way. For years he had touted that space was disease and silence, emptiness and danger without any regard for life. He had been certain that he would be killed by some malevolent disease, perhaps murdered by an alien bent on violence or ill-guided due to a cultural misunderstanding. At worst, he had thought, there would be a fiery crash and he would be thrown into space, asphyxiating as his blood boiled within seconds.
But when it came to it, he was stuck in a dead shuttle, alone, dying slowly and miserably.
When it came to it, he was sitting in the pilot's seat, his eyes lidded and heavy as he stared out into the vastness of space.
He hadn’t even been able to apologize to Jim before it happened.
///
Some hours before
Leonard settled into his customary seat at the conference table as the briefing room filled with the rest of the senior crew of the Enterprise . They had all sat around the table just hours before as Jim had outlined their final plan regarding the transport of some alien ambassador.
Everything seemed to be about ambassadors, these days, when they weren’t rushing headlong into some deadly conspiracy or contracting some far-fetched mutating virus. Hell, Leonard had suddenly become something of an expert on xenobiology, despite that being the entire reason M’Benga was aboard the ship.
Outside the small window, stars flashed by at lightning speed. They were at warp, like they always were. Leonard had long since become accustomed to the idea but something deep in his subconscious still rankled at the thought. It was unnatural, he had decided, for humans to travel faster than a run.
Jim sat at the head of the table, intent on his padd. His hair was tousled, like he had been running his hands through it for the past hour. Leonard allowed himself to simply gaze at Jim for another moment before tearing his eyes away.
Beside him, Nyota brushed her shoulder against his. He offered her a terse smile in return.
Leonard had promised himself that he would no longer linger, no longer treat Jim any different than the rest of the crew members on board. He had decided to begin drawing back, starting by throwing himself deep into his work, signing up for professional development courses and xenobiology conferences for the next four months straight. He’d figured that, regardless of how his slow and steady retreat might hurt Jim, he would have to respect the desires of his CMO, at least in a professional capacity.
Of course, he didn’t mean to hurt Jim. When he thought about it, truly thought about it, he knew that Jim cared about him, that he wholly loved and respected him. Which, in Leonard’s opinion, was all fine and good until his friendship with Leonard started dragging Jim down.
Jim was meant to soar. He was at his best when he was sitting in the captain’s chair, fulfilling his purpose with aplomb, if nothing else. All Leonard was doing was hanging on his coattails and desperately holding on. It was clear that it was time for him to let go.
Spock, Leonard knew, would surge forward to fill the gap as resident best friend. He and Jim were already joined at the hip as it was, and Leonard’s slow disappearance would only accelerate that process.
Jim set down the padd and rose, clasping his hands together. He drew breath before speaking, his eyes sweeping the room. “There’s been a change of plans,” he announced, and the assembled crew groaned as one.
“I know, I know,” he said, placating. “This is the final decision, for real.”
“That’s what you said last time,” complained Scotty. “Do I need to have the shuttles ready or no?”
Jim checked his padd. “That’s a yes on the shuttles, Mr. Scott.” He raised his head and addressed the rest of the room. “After sitting in on three hours of deliberations, it has been decided that we will be transporting the Alonid ambassador via shuttle onto the Enterprise , due to xer status as a respected elder.” Jim paused, pressing his lips together and making eye contact with Leonard.
“Unfortunately, Bones, you’ll have to be onboard. Xe are currently suffering from long-term effects of a disease endemic to their race that’s similar to the Andorian Flu.”
Leonard bristled. “Dammit, Jim, you could’ve told me as soon as you knew, prepping those shuttles takes hours. Now I’ve gotta get it ready, so if you’ll excuse me,” he said, standing. Besides, Jim didn’t need to coddle him like that -- he knew what the goddamn disease was called, thank you very much.
“Bones,” said Jim, his voice low, “you are not dismissed.”
Leonard glared at Jim before sinking back into his seat. Jim rarely admonished him like that and he could feel his shoulders rising up to his ears. Even knowing that he was trying to make Jim dislike him on purpose, a public rebuke still stung.
Sulu frowned gently at him and Leonard shook his head. He was fine; it was nothing Sulu had to worry about, anyways.
After rattling off far too detailed transportation directions to Scotty and Chekov and confirming policy with Nyota, Jim adjourned the meeting.
Leonard stood to leave with the rest of the crew until Jim called his name.
“Bones, actually, stay back a minute, if you don’t mind.”
Leonard stilled and closed his eyes. As soon as he heard the last footsteps leaving the room he opened his eyes and turned to face Jim.
Jim was still in his seat, his elbows resting on the table, his body language open. He looked tired, dark circles coming to under his eyes.
“Captain?” asked Leonard, holding in his grimace. Distancing himself from Jim, in a word, sucked. It was taking a greater toll on him than he had expected, despite the knowledge that he loved Jim like a dying man loved air.
Jim clenched his jaw. “Look,” he said, his eyes bigger and bluer than they had any right to be. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about the shuttle earlier. Not that I got the chance, since you’re so fucking busy lately.”
“Then why’d you fucking stop me from leaving?”
Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. “I thought you’d appreciate hearing the details of the transport, since you’re gonna be on a shuttle anyways. I know you like knowing the route ahead of time, I was just trying to be thoughtful.”
Leonard’s stomach clenched and he gritted his teeth, resolute. “I appreciate the gesture but it doesn’t help me one bit. Do you even know how long it’ll be to get the shuttle ready?”
Leonard shook his head and walked out of the room, heading towards medbay.
Jim appeared next to him a second later, jogging out of the briefing room to catch up. He took hold of Leonard’s arm and held him still, frowning. “What’s wrong with you? I don’t have time for your pissy little attitude right now.”
“Well,” said Leonard, his voice tight. “I don’t have time for your apologies when you’re actively obstructing my duties.” He looked down at Jim’s hand on his arm, felt the warmth bleeding through his uniform. “Let me go, Jim.”
Jim released his hold, the furrow in his brow deepening, his mouth open ever so slightly. Leonard turned and stalked away, carefully ignoring the obvious hurt and confusion stark on Jim’s face. He needed to make a clean break, not drag Jim down with him.
He took a shuddery breath as he turned the corner and purposefully did not look back.
///
Leonard stood just inside the stockroom of the medbay, absently listening to Christine’s tirade about their limited knowledge of the Alonid-Andorian Flu -- the official English name for the disease, as the name in the native language was unpronounceable by human mouths.
Leonard held a padd in one hand and was poking through the contents of his slapdash medical supply box with the other, carefully cross-referencing each item with the symptoms of the long form of the disease as well as any known Alonid allergens.
He had been truthful when complaining to Jim earlier -- it was an hours-long process, hampered by their limited understanding of Alonid biology. Leonard himself had only ever met one once before, a young adult, blissfully and naively exploring the wonders of the galaxy.
Alonids, from what he understood, were graceful, grey-skinned beings that stood about ten feet tall. The adults were tripedal, but the younglings were fully sexruped, with forelimbs that deprecated into arms of limited use upon maturity. As such, their biology was a nightmare and that was only barely acknowledging their trilateral symmetry, rather than the bog-standard bilateral symmetry that all humans and most aliens seemed to possess.
“How’s your progress, Doctor?” asked Christine, appearing at his side.
Leonard set down the padd and looked at her. “Finished, far as I can tell. They’re so new to the Federation that they haven’t properly finished translating all their medical records into ‘fleet standard, so I’m going on guesses here.” He gestured towards the box. “Look like there’s anything obvious I’m missing?”
Christine gave a brief once-over of all the supplies, her brow knitting in concentration. After a good few minutes she shook her head. “I wouldn’t add anything else. Do you want me to help you carry these to the shuttle bay?”
Leonard shook his head, sealing the box and peeling off his gloves. “I can carry it myself, but I appreciate the gesture.”
Christine shrugged. “It’s an excuse to get out of medical, at least. I feel like there’s an entire ship that I’m barely a part of.”
Leonard pointed at her. “You should be grateful for that life. What I wouldn’t give to only know here and my quarters, you wouldn’t believe.”
Christine cocked her head as Leonard hefted the supply crate into his arms. “You don’t like being on the bridge all the time?”
Leonard grimaced. “I don’t know why I’m up there all the time, to be honest. It’s not like I’m exactly helping explore new worlds, as they say.”
Christine squinted at him, suspicious. “If you say so,” she said, “but I think you’re lying.”
“Thank you for your honesty, Christine,” said Leonard, nodding at her before making the long, lonely walk to the shuttle bay.
The shuttle itself, once one of the technicians had pointed him to the correct one, was surprisingly cramped. Leonard frowned at it as he stepped inside, the door sealing automatically behind him.
Inside, the shuttle had obviously been retrofitted for the ambassador. A rather interesting seat occupied about half of the space, clearly designed for beings taller than the shuttle had headroom.
Leonard stepped around it and set his supply crate on the ground, keying the code into the supply panels at the back of the shuttle. There wasn’t a lot of wiggle room, as Starfleet was a fan of using every centimeter available to hold some kind of doodad, but Leonard swept a critical eye over the arrangement and began rearranging, removing some of the less-used supplies and stashing them in the secondary, less accessible supply panel.
He was about halfway through his work when a sound louder than anything Leonard had ever heard split the air. For the briefest of moments he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think -- everything was drowned out by the squealing of metal, followed by the deafening quiet of space. For a split second, suspended, Leonard could equally see inside the shuttle bay of the Enterprise and into the inky void of space.
Then he was thrown against the supply panel, hitting his head against something sharp and hard and falling unconscious as he slumped to the floor.
///
Jim was sitting in the captain’s chair, tapping a padd against his thigh as he stared out the viewscreen.
He felt jittery, and it didn’t take a genius from Iowa to understand why. First, obviously, was the upcoming transport of the Alonid ambassador. It was becoming increasingly common for him and the crew at large to be called in to play diplomat. He was almost used to it, taking careful steps back and making sure he respected all cultural differences, whether or not they set his teeth on edge.
Second, and hopefully less obviously, was Bones. At first he had thought that Bones genuinely was busy, that he hadn’t been purposefully ignoring him. He had seen that he’d signed up for a nightmarish amount of additional training, but had assumed that he was just trying to get a step ahead of whatever they might encounter next.
Soon enough, however, he had seen Bones’s actions for what they really were. The final straw had been seeing Bones enter a room, waving to him, and Bones frowning and turning on his heel, out of the room. Jim hadn’t paid attention to the rest of the conversation he had been part of, too stung to listen.
Jim had wracked his brain for what misstep he had taken, what line he had crossed. For all the restless nights and sleepless hours since, he hadn’t a clue what he had done wrong.
The only explanation he had been able to dredge up was that he had been too forward, pushed Bones too far against his boundaries. Bones had always given him leeway, and maybe he was finally done with Jim.
Or perhaps Bones had figured it out -- had realized that just friends aren’t content to spend hours simply watching the other work, had realized that Jim didn’t spend nearly as much time with anyone else, had realized that Bones wasn’t just anyone to Jim.
Bones had been particularly assholeish in the briefing. Jim knew he wasn’t the only one who had noticed, knew he wasn’t the only one who had caught on to whatever tension was going on between them.
To be fair to Bones, Jim had been a bit of a dick in the meeting as well, but he’d just wanted to force Bones to talk to him, tell him what he’d done wrong.
Sulu had even asked if he and Bones were okay, after the briefing. Jim had reassured him that everything was fine, the lies chalky on his tongue.
“Captain,” said Spock, drawing Jim out of his reverie. He had used the voice that meant that Spock was annoyed that he had had to repeat himself and Jim winced, sheepish.
“Yes?”
“You instructed me to alert you when we were two hours away from the Alonid planet.”
“Yes, I did,” said Jim, nodding. “Thank you.”
At that moment, the world titled abruptly and Jim gripped the captain’s chair as the ship swung violently. Out of the corner of his eye he could see crewmembers falling over, scrabbling for a hold.
Alarms blared as red alert kicked on automatically.
“Mr. Sulu,” yelled Jim, “get this ship under control.” The viewscreen showed standstill stars, not the typical light trails of warp travel.
“Yes, Captain,” said Sulu, his hands moving frantically. “We’ve dropped out of warp.”
“I can see that,” said Jim testily. “Tell me something I don’t know. Spock?”
“It appears that we have been attacked,” said Spock, his voice even as he bent over his station. The ship came to a halt as Sulu killed the engines, righting the Enterprise .
“Find out what it was. Mr. Chekov, damage report.”
“Shuttle bay and nearby sectors have been breached, sir. The ship has sealed all appropriate sections. The attack was physical in nature, sir. No signs of lasers or torpedoes of any kind.”
Jim frowned and nodded. “Bridge to medbay,” he said, tapping the button on the side of the armrest. “We’ve been breached, no firefight. Send a team to shuttle bay and nearby sectors, Mr. Chekov will send a report.”
“Yes, sir,” came M’Benga’s voice over the comm. A spark of worry flared in Jim’s chest but he pushed it down. Bones wouldn’t let whatever disagreement they were having get in the way of an actual medical emergency. In all likelihood, Jim reminded himself, M’Benga was closest to the comm. He was certainly senior enough to respond to a call from the bridge.
Jim took a deep breath and turned to Spock. “Spock, report.”
Spock nodded towards the viewscreen, which now showed a large, pulsing cube floating level with the ship. Jim stared at it, rising out of his seat and stepping closer towards the viewscreen. “What the hell?”
///
“The pattern of the attack does not indicate malevolent intent, Captain,” said Spock. He had moved to stand next to Jim, his hands held carefully behind his back. The cube remained in front of the ship, pulsating ominously.
“Perhaps,” said Jim. “Mr. Sulu, I want a full scan. Ms. Uhura, open all hailing frequencies.”
“Yes, sir,” said Sulu.
“Hailing frequencies open, sir,” said Uhura.
“Captain,” came a voice so low that Jim felt his jaw rattle. The bridge fell silent, save for the muted blaring of alarms.
“I am Captain James T. Kirk of the USS Enterprise ,” said Jim. “What is your business here?”
The response came a moment later, presumably from the cube. “I,” it began. “I do not know, Captain. All I know is that your ship was passing through all of a sudden, like a fly on a gust of wind. I must have swatted it away. You are so small, after all.”
Jim exchanged a baffled glance with Spock. “May I ask who you are?”
The voice came again, vibrating Jim’s chest. He gritted his teeth and forced himself not to react, centering himself.
“I am, Captain. I do not have a name, any more than you do have a name. I simply am.”
Jim blinked and forced himself not to comment on the impermanence of names and how one could choose whom and how they were. He had chosen his own name himself and felt quite attached to it now, and perhaps that was what the being was talking about -- how he truly was James Tiberius Kirk precisely because he chose it, rather than anything else.
“Well,” said Jim, “you did break open our ship.” He forced himself to remain calm, to focus on his breathing, the feeling of his uniform against his skin, his feet grounded on the smooth floor. He would not flare up in anger about the injustice of it all, how their ship had been violated without even a hint of intention.
“I am sorry, Captain,” came the grating voice. The entire crew cringed into their seats. Only Spock seemed entirely unaffected by the voice, his face as placid as ever. “I merely thought you were a nuisance.”
On the viewscreen, the cube -- which Jim now realized was less strictly defined as a cube and more of what a multidimensional being would look like, when realized in a mere three dimensions -- flared purple.
“I have no business with you,” continued the being, “but I will allow you to remain in the area for as long as is necessary.”
Jim looked to Spock, who seemed perturbed. Spock raised an eyebrow at him and Jim shrugged minutely. Spock didn’t have any idea either, then.
“Thank you,” said Jim hesitantly. He looked around at the rest of the crew -- Sulu looked rattled but none the worse for wear, while Chekov looked like he was close to passing out. Jim remembered that the kid had preternaturally good hearing and grimaced internally. Such a voice couldn’t be good on sensitive ears.
“Is there any way that you could help repair the ship?”
“Oh, Captain,” said the being, the voice pitching incrementally deeper. Jim reached for his chair and held to it for support, his knees weak with the strength of that voice. Jim could feel the reverberations deep in his marrow. “I almost destroyed you with a simple wave of my hand. If I tried to intervene I would crush you more likely than not.”
Jim nodded slowly. It had been stupid to ask. Of course the being would crush them, if it was large enough to knock them out of warp with a swipe of its hand.
“I am done talking,” said the cube. “You may stay as long as you need.” At that the cube flared bright and Jim held his hand in front of his eyes reflexively, squinting until he could see again.
In front of them the viewscreen showed nothing but empty space, the being gone.
///
Leonard found himself facedown, covered in what felt like a thousand tricorders, with an odd, coppery taste in his mouth. Blood, his mind supplied helpfully.
He took a moment to try and flex all his fingers and all his toes -- everything seemed to still be in working order, despite lying prone in the dark with no memory of how it all had come to pass. His arm, he registered, was throbbing with a dull, fiery pain.
Slowly, gingerly, he pressed himself up into a seat, shedding a few tricorders and some more complex medical supplies as he did so. His eyes were slowly adjusting to the darkness, the shadowy shapes of the shuttle rendering around him. He pawed through the tricorders and ran the only working one he could find over himself, ascertaining the damage.
He had fractured his ulna and had a gash on his temple that was still bleeding. His lip was split and he likely had a concussion, but tricorders were notoriously finicky when diagnosing those.
He rifled through the supplies on the ground and wrapped some sanitized gauze around his head, bandaging the open wound. Normally, he would have just used a dermal regenerator, but the potential concussion and lack of a mirror made him cautious.
His own needs taken care of, he finally looked around the shuttle. He could only remember the sound of the world being split in twain, the simultaneous vision of the ship and open space, and a violent, sudden movement. Presumably, he had been thrown against the open supply panel and cracked his head and arm before falling down.
Shakily, he stood and walked to the fore of the shuttle, clutching his arm close to him. Peering out the window, he could just see the vastness of space, an almost impenetrable darkness. The only light came from distant stars and the blinking of the Enterprise . He could see her gaping maw, the tear from whence he had been flung.
As if his body was separate from himself, he could feel his breathing become shallower, his heart rate speed up. His hands began to shake and he sat down heavily in the pilot’s seat.
At last, his worst fear had been realized. Shuttles had never agreed with him, space even less so. What better, he thought, hysterical, than to die adrift in a shuttle, bleeding out from a head wound?
As he turned over the thought that he was truly going to die in the shuttle -- alone, unmoored, unforgiven -- his mind flashed through his other, secret, worse fears. Jim, lifeless by his hand, followed by Joanna, Spock, Nyota, the rest of everyone he cared about in quick succession, over and over and over again.
He managed to inhale deeply on the third try, his whole body shaking. No, dying alone in a shuttle was not his worst fear.
He thought again to Jim and the last time it had been just the two of them in a shuttle. Not since the Academy, he realized with surprise, the day before Leonard had successfully completed his piloting course. Jim had been the one to tutor him through it, coaxing him into the air at all times of day, all kinds of weather. He had been painstakingly patient and endlessly encouraging, always assuaging Leonard’s fears and putting them gently to rest.
Leonard stared blankly at the controls in front of him; he couldn’t let all of Jim’s work be for naught. He inhaled a rattling breath and leaned forward, eyes narrowing in concentration.
The familiar wave of nausea that always accompanied shuttle rides hit him and he breathed through it, holding onto the memory of Jim walking him through how to start a shuttle, the long list of switches to flip and buttons to press to get the damn thing off the ground.
Leonard went through the sequence to no avail and punched the side of the wall, manic in his desperation. He repeated the sequence fruitlessly and tried to run a systems check, procuring nothing. He ran through the starting sequence twice more before sitting back in the seat, pressing his broken arm to his stomach.
Haltingly, he tried the emergency sequence, tried to turn on floodlights, sirens, all hailing frequencies, everything.
Nothing worked. He wasn’t sure how long the oxygen would last -- if all power was cut, he didn’t expect that life support would be maintained. It was getting colder, anyways, and he knew life support should maintain internal temperatures.
Artificial gravity, for some reason, was still working. Distantly, he remembered Jim telling him that grav was on an entirely separate circuit due to power demands. If he knew more about shuttles, perhaps he would have been able to reroute the power to life support, communications, even something as simple as lights.
As it was, he sat back in the pilot’s chair. If he was to die, he figured, it was nice to do it sitting down, rather than floating stupidly a foot above a perfectly fine seat.
He wondered if Jim had noticed he was missing yet. At the rate he’d been avoiding Jim lately, he figured it was unlikely. Jim, bless him, was probably stewing up on the bridge, trying to give him space.
He was probably trying to deal with a bigass hole in his ship, realized Leonard. He stared at the Enterprise , hoping against hope that someone, anyone, would notice a dead shuttle floating in empty space, drifting further away minute by minute.
///
Jim paced, his boots clacking on the floor of the briefing room. They were a sitting duck and he hated it, hated feeling useless like this. The problem was that there wasn’t anything actionable he could do -- they had been knocked out of the sky in largely unpopulated space, a strange pocket of wasteland emptiness.
He had already had Uhura alert Starfleet of their predicament and send out low priority distress calls, but both would take forever on subspace frequencies. He needed to gather the crew that he had and then slowly limp their way towards salvation and a really good mechanic.
It was quiet as the senior officers seated themselves at the table. Things weren’t exactly going to the plan he’d outlined mere hours before. Scotty looked the most distressed, save for M’Benga next to him.
Jim stared, his mind racing. There was only one reason M’Benga would be in the briefing room and he rebelled against that thought, not even giving voice to it. There had to be another reason M’Benga was sitting in front of him, he thought, even as a deep disquiet settled into the pit of his stomach.
M’Benga reluctantly made eye contact with Jim and shook his head, his face drawn.
“Where is Doctor McCoy?” bit out Jim, his voice flat.
“He was outfitting a shuttle at the time of the attack, Captain,” said M’Benga, his voice soft. “We have not heard from him since.”
The world narrowed to a pinprick and Jim leaned heavily on the table as the world began to tip once again. Jim could only hear static, the blood rushing through his ears drowning out everything else.
He had been the one to prevent Bones from outfitting the shuttle earlier, all because he wanted to force Bones to talk to him. He had just wanted to know what he had done wrong, to know how to start down the road to fixing whatever he had broken.
Jim thought back to their first meeting, on that fateful shuttle in Riverside, Iowa. Bones had been different then, harsher and louder, and had rattled off all his worst fears about space and flying. Jim had sat there, entranced, and made it his mission to go into space side by side with that man. To teach him how to fly.
He knew Bones had come to tolerate space for him, had agreed to be up in the black all because of Jim. He was adrift on a shuttle, living out his worst fear, because of Jim.
Bones’s fate was on Jim’s hands and he knew it.
“Scan the area for shuttles,” said Jim, managing to keep his voice from breaking. There was a chance -- slim as it was -- that Bones was still alive. Shuttles were meant for space, after all.
He wouldn’t rest until he had done everything he had to find him. He would never leave Bones behind if he couldn’t help it.
“I want scanners and a visual sweep. Place anything we find in the supplementary bay,” said Jim. He straightened and opened his eyes, carefully avoiding looking at anyone else.
Except M’Benga, who looked harrowed and cracked raw. But he had expected that, considering he had been the one to break the news. Jim knew that it was common knowledge that he and Bones were best friends, but he didn’t know how far that knowledge extended. No one, Jim hoped, knew the true extent of his feelings.
“Thank you for informing me,” he told M’Benga. “How is medbay?”
M’Benga shifted in his chair, looking noticeably more comfortable with that question. “We’re working on it, Captain,” he said. “There were only a few injuries on our side of the breach -- mostly people thrown around during impact. We have a few ensigns under regenerators but nothing that we can’t handle.”
Jim inclined his head in thanks. Steeling himself, he looked to Uhura, who looked about as wrecked as Jim felt.
“Please alert the Alonids of our predicament and express our deepest apologies for missing the rendezvous. As soon as you know who our replacement is, send that along.”
“Yes, sir,” said Uhura, quiet.
“Scotty, how long until we’re capable of warp again?”
Scotty grimaced. “We cannae warp with a hole in her, Captain. This ship closed herself all off before anything important could get loose, and we’re lucky the cube missed the nacelles, but we’ll need to dock for repairs. It’s a week’s work at least, and that’s not counting travel time.”
Jim nodded. “Dismissed. Chekov, Sulu, the second you get your eyes on a shuttle you let me know.”
The crew nodded and left, their footsteps heavy as they went. Jim turned to look out the window, his eyes unseeing.
Bones was out there, somewhere. He had to be.
“We’ll find him, Jim,” came Uhura from behind him. She rested a warm hand on his shoulder and he turned, allowing himself to be enveloped in a hug. “He’ll be okay.”
Jim nodded, breathing hard, trying not to let himself weep into her shoulder. Eventually, he calmed enough to let her go, stepping back an arm’s length away.
“I know,” he said, his voice thick. “I know.”
///
Leonard arranged himself in the pilot’s seat, one foot snug up against the armrest and the other flat on the ground. He had no idea how much time had passed since the explosion -- or what he assumed was an explosion, since he didn’t witness a firefight and hadn’t seen anything to indicate otherwise.
He knew that the life support on the shuttle wasn’t working; he already exhibited the telltale symptoms of hypoxemia. His rapid heartbeat and shortness of breath, while attributable to living out one of his worst fears, was likely due to the slow depletion of oxygen.
He was cold, too. His teeth chattered and goosebumps had broken out on his skin long ago. He had swaddled himself in the emergency blankets they kept on shuttles but knew they wouldn’t do too much against the cold death of space.
The Enterprise still glittered from afar, her steady presence a comfort. Leonard was glad, at least, that he could see her in his last moments, a reminder for those he loved.
He had no idea why she was still there. He knew the emergency protocols for ship damage, knew that utmost importance was given to life support systems and warp core maintenance. A small flicker of hope reared its head and he thought for the briefest of seconds that, perhaps, Jim was looking for him.
He wished, foolishly, that he hadn’t been so short with Jim earlier that day. That he hadn’t been closing himself off in the dull hope that Jim would be able to just let him go. He wished that he’d fessed up to Jim years ago, just so that he’d have done it. He knew Jim didn’t love him back like that, but as long as Jim knew, as long as he at least understood how Leonard felt, that would have been enough.
His mind drifted to Joanna again. He hadn’t seen her in person since he’d embarked on this godforsaken five year mission. He wished he could tell her he loved her one last time, make sure she knew he loved her and was proud of her.
Leonard opened his eyes -- when had he closed them? -- and watched the stars. He was no longer drenched in bone-rattling fear; he had moved fully through the cycle of anxiety to a soothing, premortem peace.
He took another deep breath and allowed his eyes to flutter closed, succumbing at last to sleep.
///
The armrests of the captain’s chair were smooth, save for the small cluster of buttons on each side. Jim worried at the ends of the armrests, his fingers ghosting across the buttons in a relentless tattoo. His leg was jouncing restlessly, the back of his boot squeaking quietly each time he compressed it.
Hours had passed since the attack. Hours since Bones had been jettisoned into space, alone.
Jim had been in love with Bones for years. If he thought about it, truly thought about it, the seeds had been sown the first moment he laid eyes on the other man. There had been something pulling him in since the very beginning, something drawing the two of them inextricably together.
Countless times over the years he had almost told Bones how he felt, stopped only by his own surety that Bones didn’t want him that way. But Bones had to know, he reasoned. He had held Jim’s heart in his hands for nearly as long as they had known each other.
That was the only thought keeping him in check. Bones was alone, stuck in a shuttle and probably scared out of his mind, but he had to know that Jim loved him.
Chekov made a small ‘oh’ noise and Jim was at his shoulder in a flash, parsing the results as Chekov read them out loud.
“One shuttle, Captain,” said Chekov.
“Hail them,” snapped Jim.
“Their hailing frequency is damaged, sir,” said Uhura. “They aren’t sending or receiving full strings.”
“Their life support systems are on, Captain,” added Chekov. “Not even gravity control. I can see,” he paused, leaning closer to his desk, “three life forms, sir.”
Jim exhaled shakily. Not Bones.
“Good job finding them, Chekov, well done,” said Jim, clapping Chekov on the shoulder. “Tractor them into the supplementary shuttle bay and alert medical.”
A short while later Jim met the three very relieved redshirts and welcomed them back aboard. No matter how worried he was about Bones, he had a duty to his crew. He was their captain, after all.
He made his way back to the bridge, thoughtful and anxious. They had resorted to visual scanners, as the cube being severely distorted their lifeform scanners unless they were working with pinpoint accuracy.
In a whole space field, pinpoint scanning could take days.
“Captain Kirk,” called Rand as he entered the bridge, stalling his approach.
Jim pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes, Yeoman?”
Rand frowned at him. “You should take a rest, sir. You’ve been on duty for ages.”
Jim rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand until he saw grainy stars. “I can’t, Janice,” he said softly.
“Will you eat, at least?”
“I’m not hungry.”
Rand took a step closer. “He’d be pissed if you collapsed on your feet before we found him. An apple, sir.”
“No thank you,” said Jim. He pushed past her and sat back in the captain’s chair, staring out at the viewscreen. If he just looked hard enough, he felt, he would see Bones.
Bones had been on edge, lately. He’d left rooms when Jim arrived, ignored openings in conversations, shied away from Jim’s touch. That part stung more than anything else, as even when Bones was in his worst moods, he always accepted contact with Jim.
Jim knew he was tactile, overly so, but had assumed that Bones had long come to terms with Jim’s physicality. He still had no clue what he had done wrong, what oversight he had made, what line he had crossed to make Bones finally, terribly grow distant.
He had asked around, of course. First he’d checked with Chapel, asked if there’d been anything going on in Bones’s life that he wasn’t aware of. She’d shaken her head and looked at him softly in a way that made him feel like he was being slowly, sadly dissected.
He’d made sure Joanna was okay, made sure he hadn’t missed any important dates. He’d checked in with Uhura, asked if she knew if anything was wrong with Bones. She had pressed her lips together and looked at him with something akin to pity. He hadn’t had the heart to press her harder.
Chekov cleared his throat, startling Jim out of his reverie. “Captain?” he said, hesitantly. “There’s a dead shuttle, sir. From the Enterprise .”
The bridge fell silent. Jim could hear his heartbeat thundering in his ears, could feel his pulse spike at his wrists.
“Is there anyone on board?”
“It’s hard to tell, sir,” said Chekov. “There appears to be one lifeform. Tractor beam is locked on.”
“Thank you, Chekov,” said Jim before sprinting off the bridge. He could hear Uhura following behind him, calling his name, but he couldn’t force his legs to stop.
They arrived at the supplementary shuttle bay at the same time as M’Benga and two security officers. Jim nodded at them before snapping his attention to the shuttle doors.
It felt like an age before they opened and pulled in a single shuttle. It was the one they had planned to take to collect the Alonid ambassador, the shuttle Bones had said he was going to stock.
The green light flicked on above the entrance to the shuttle bay and Uhura was holding Jim back, her hands tight on his waist.
“Let me go,” grunted Jim.
“You’ll only get in the way,” she said, steadfast. “He’s either going to be okay or not and you’ll only make things worse.”
Chastened, Jim relaxed and Uhura let him go, her eyes watchful.
They had opened the doors to the shuttle and M’Benga and both officers had disappeared inside, the one-way glass preventing Jim from knowing what went on inside. Jim’s mind was carefully, excruciatingly blank. He wouldn’t allow himself hope and he wouldn’t allow himself despair.
At the shuttle a floating gurney appeared, with someone strapped to it. Before Jim could make a move the spare security officer jogged towards him, catching his attention.
“It’s Doctor McCoy, sir,” they said, their eyes flicking rapidly between Jim and Uhura. “Doctor M’Benga said to tell you that he’s alive. They’re taking him down to the OR.”
Jim’s knees buckled. Uhura held tight to him, keeping him upright.
M’Benga and the gurney passed them at a light jog. Bones lay on it, unconscious, his skin pale. Blood had dried in a trail from underneath his bandage on his temple down to his mouth, accompanying his split lip.
Jim couldn’t tear his eyes away. Bones was in front of him, alive. His chest was barely moving but Jim’s entire world narrowed to the steady up and down, inhale and exhale.
Jim sucked in a deep breath and the world returned in color, widening again. He felt lightheaded with relief, the staggering weight of Bones’s life returned to him.
“Uhura,” said Jim.
“Yes?”
“Let the bridge know we have him, they’ll want to know. Have Sulu crosscheck the roster, but I think Bones was the last person unaccounted for.”
“Yes, sir,” she said, allowing Jim to walk under his own power as she stepped to the side.
In medbay, Jim found Chapel just before she joined M’Benga in the OR. “Will he be okay?”
Christine took one look at Jim and sighed, touching his arm gently. “He’ll be fine, Captain. If you please,” she said, skirting past him and snapping on her gloves.
Jim stared after her. He knew she and M’Benga were competent; if either of them had a mind to, they could be pulling CMO roles on any other ship in the fleet.
“Come on, Jim,” said Uhura, leading him towards the seats just outside.
Jim followed her lead and sat down. They were in the side room of medical, surrounded by empty biobeds.
Things had been relatively calm, mused Jim. He hadn’t had to file an incident report in weeks; their last three diplomatic stints had resulted in acceptable negotiations for all parties involved. A month ago, he had personally welcomed another planet into the Federation. The month before, he had officiated three separate onboard weddings.
And now Bones was in the OR and it was Jim’s damn fault.
“I should go back to the bridge,” said Jim, suddenly remembering that no matter who was in surgery, he was still the captain. He stood, frazzled. “Shit, I’ve gotta go.”
Uhura tugged him back down. “They have it under control,” she said. She offered him a smile. “We all understand what he means to you, Jim. It’s okay to allow yourself this.”
Jim exhaled and put his face in his hands. He felt the beginnings of his five o’clock shadow, the dark circles under his eyes. He exhaled again, returning to himself.
“Well, you don’t have to stay here with me,” said Jim. “Let me know if there’s anyone else missing.”
Uhura nodded. “Will do, Captain,” she said, squeezing his shoulder.
Jim sank into his chair. Bones had to be okay. He had to.
///
Leonard woke up with a wheezing gasp, air shocking his lungs. In truth, he hadn’t expected to wake up again, so despite the discomfort, it was a pleasant surprise.
He could tell he was in the Enterprise ’s medbay, could hear the gentle whistle and hum of the various machines they had scattered throughout. Above him, he could hear the reassuring beeping of his monitors, the steady pulse of his heart rate.
He peeled open his eyes and sat up cautiously. While he had no idea how long the whole ordeal had lasted, what with him being knocked out as the shuttle was ejected from the ship and falling unconscious some time before he was rescued, he had half expected it to be daylight on the ship. Instead he saw the dim blue lights of delta shift soft overhead.
He looked to his left and was surprised to see Jim, still in his uniform and curled up in a chair next to Leonard’s biobed. Jim was deep asleep, his head lolled back and his eyes closed. Leonard’s heart clenched at the sight. He had resigned himself to never seeing Jim again and it took all his willpower to not reach out and touch him and make sure he was real.
Leonard swallowed. By all rights Jim shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t be asleep at his side as he came out of -- and Leonard did a quick scan of his body only to discover he had been in surgery and someone had used a regenerator on his arm and his temple -- sedation. Jim should have been relieved he was alive, sure, but not sitting at his bedside like a worried lover.
A deep tiredness swept over Leonard before he could explore that thought further and he sank back down into the bed, letting sleep take him.
Leonard awoke sometime later. It was morning, that he could tell, with the bright lights of daytime medical shining above. He turned his head to the left only to find the chair vacant. He fought down the crushing disappointment that flooded his chest as he processed that Jim hadn’t stayed long enough for him to wake up.
It was better, he rationalized, that Jim wasn’t there when he woke. He could sort through his death’s door revelation that he had to tell Jim how he felt, but now with the knowledge that he was still alive.
Hesitantly, he adjusted the bed to an upright position and pressed the attendant button. Christine appeared in an instant, her smile wide with relief.
“Len,” she said, passing a tricorder over him, “I can’t tell you how relieved I am to see you awake.”
Leonard raised an eyebrow. “You missed me that much?”
“Someone certainly did,” she muttered. “How are you feeling?”
“Nothing too bad. I’ve got a headache, though.”
Christine leveled him with a look. “You won’t get out of here that easily. We’ll keep you down here for another day at least. You had dangerously low oxygen levels and were nearly hypothermic.”
Leonard nodded minutely. “Do I have a concussion? I couldn’t tell if I was just jolted from the impact or if it was something more.”
Christine consulted her padd, holding it away from Leonard when he made a grad for it. “No signs of concussion, but thanks for bringing it up. We’ll run you through some tests later to make sure.”
Leonard sat still as she hovered around him, manually checking his arm and his monitors. Eventually he broke the silence.
“How did you find me? My shuttle was completely dead.”
Christine pursed her lips. “The story goes that your captain lost it a little when he realized you were gone.”
Leonard must have made a face, if Christine’s response was anything to go by.
“Oh, come on,” she said, smacking his uninjured arm lightly with the padd. “You really think he’d be fine when he realized you were stuck in a shuttle out in the middle of nowhere? He’s Jim Kirk. I’ve seen him twice in my life off this ship when he wasn’t by your side.”
Leonard looked away. That was the whole point, wasn’t it. He was Jim Kirk, and Leonard had fallen so hard and so fast that he’d never taken a moment to think about what it meant for Jim.
That was what he had been trying to do, lately. Just to give Jim space to breathe, to expand, to become who he was meant to be without Leonard dragging him down.
“I’m going to comm him now,” said Christine gently. “The only way I managed to get him to leave was to promise to let him know as soon as you woke up.”
Leonard nodded his assent slowly.
Christine frowned at him and leaned closer, inspecting him. “Len, is everything okay?”
Leonard took a deep, shuddery breath in, appreciating the out for what it was. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine, let him in.”
Christine stepped out of the room. Less than a minute later, Jim arrived at the door to the room, his breathing haggard as if he’d sprinted the entire way. He locked eyes with Leonard and strode over, laying his hands on the back of Leonard’s skull and pressing their foreheads together.
Leonard could feel that Jim was trembling, his fingertips light. Leonard breathed him in, the ever-present aniseed and citrus that was unmistakably Jim. He relished in the closeness for as long as he dared before leaning back.
Jim straightened, awkward, his eyes too big and too blue as his eyes roved over Leonard’s body. His gaze caught on Leonard’s temple, likely on the telltale too-pink of fresh skin from the regenerator.
“I thought I’d lost you, Bones,” Jim said, his voice cracking.
Leonard almost hadn’t seen Jim again. He had almost died with Jim thinking that he didn’t want to be near him. He had almost died.
“Bones, you’re shaking,” said Jim, his voice barely a whisper. Leonard looked down at himself and realized he was shaking uncontrollably.
“Jim,” he said, broken. In that moment, more than anything, he wanted Jim however he would have him. He would be content to take a step back and watch, but in the face of those bright blue eyes he was overwhelmed with the need to be part of it, to be as close to Jim’s side as he would be allowed.
Jim moved, crowding him on the biobed and holding him tightly. “You’re okay,” he murmured, over and over. “You’re okay, you’re here, we’re all okay.”
Leonard calmed slowly, Jim’s warmth pulling him back down to reality. He wiped his eyes -- he had been crying, apparently -- and sat up.
Jim was simply looking at him, the pools of his eyes unfathomably deep. In that moment he was unreadable, his face a careful mask.
Steeling himself, Leonard began to speak. “I’m sorry I’ve been avoiding you, Jim.”
Worry flashed over Jim’s face. “Bones, no, you don’t have anything to apologize for. You just got back, you’re still recovering, you don’t need to--”
Leonard spoke over him, intent. “I hate that I almost died and I’d spent the last week of my life trying to leave you alone.”
Jim’s expression cracked, revealing something raw and hidden. “What did I do wrong, Bones?”
Leonard shook his head and forced himself to look Jim in the eye. “I thought it’d be better if you didn’t have some lovesick fool trailing after you all the time.”
Jim, god help him, looked confused.
“Me, idiot,” said Leonard, helpless. “I’m in love with you and I know you don’t want me--”
Jim surged forward, cupping Leonard’s jaw with his hand as he kissed him. He was soft against Leonard’s mouth, soft and warm and achingly tender. Leonard could have cried again; he was subsumed, overwhelmed by how delicate it was.
Jim broke the kiss, his hand still warm on Leonard’s cheek. “Bones,” he said, lost. “You were living out your literal worst nightmare and I thought I would never see you again. The whole time I couldn’t stop thinking about how I’d never told you I love you and how I couldn’t take it if you died without knowing.”
Leonard ducked his head, blinking. Jim was in love with him. Rapidly, his world reoriented itself with a profound understanding.
Jim was in love with him and he was alive.
Jim tilted Leonard’s head up, looking him in the eyes. “You really thought I wouldn’t want you?”
“Jim, you’re brighter than any sun I’ve ever seen. I could never drag you down with me.”
“Bones,” said Jim, profound sadness warring with profound joy on his face. “I’ve loved you from the moment I met you.”
Unbidden, Leonard broke into a watery smile.
“I’m so fucking glad you’re safe,” said Jim. He leaned forward and enveloped Leonard in a hug, taking care not to squeeze his healing arm. “I’m so glad you’re safe.”
Leonard sighed into the hug, his entire body relaxing into bliss. He was in love with Jim, truly, and Jim loved him back.
Soon, Leonard fell back into sleep, his hand held tightly in Jim’s.
///
One year later
Leonard found himself standing on one of the Enterprise ’s viewing decks, looking out the window as he waited. Stars rushed past, the trail of their lights beautiful.
The doors behind him opened with a pneumatic hiss and he could hear footsteps behind him.
“Sorry I’m late,” said Jim, stepping close and wrapping one arm around Leonard’s waist. He nosed at Leonard’s jaw and planted a quick kiss before stepping back and waving a bottle at him. “I stole something fancy on the way.”
Leonard raised an eyebrow, watching Jim go to the bar. “Who do we owe this time?”
Jim set two glasses on the counter. “Scotty, actually. I think Chekov moved his locker.”
“The bastard,” agreed Leonard magnanimously.
Jim rejoined Leonard at the window, pulling him close and handing him a glass. Leonard nodded in appreciation and raised his glass, clinking theirs together.
“Happy anniversary, Bones,” said Jim, his voice warm. “I’m kind of glad you almost died in a shuttle.”
Leonard barked out a laugh. He looked at Jim, truly looked at him, and saw all the decisions they had made up to this point. The years of circling each other, unsure; the constant devotion to the point of recklessness; the bone-deep familiarity and comfort at the sight of the other.
Jim was Leonard’s home. More than the Enterprise , more than Earth, more than anything.
“You know, kid,” said Leonard, leaning into Jim’s warmth and kissing him softly, “I’m kind of glad too.”