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The corn sways tall above him, reaching for the blue, blue sky far out of reach. Still, Leonard tries, stretching out a hand towards the stalks and stray clouds alike. He reaches for the space that's just beyond the sky; the space he knows down deep in his bones.
Bones.
A ripple of laughter mingles with the cool breeze that displaces Leonard's hair.
"Found you!" The declaration is announced in a voice in the crackling grip of puberty. Its owner stays just outside of Leonard's sight, and he doesn't feel like craning his head to the side to look behind him.
"Not like you had to look hard," Leonard snorts, and it's a light, humored sound. The sun is warm where it filters through the stalks, and he feels relaxed, peaceful. "You always know the best hidin' spots."
An echoed snort. "'Course, but I ain't about to tell them where you are."
Leonard frowns, blinking as the flutter of hair golden like the corn teases at the edge of gaze. He closes his eyes.
For some reason, he doesn't feel like seeing the boy behind him. The decision sits like a knot in his stomach, but he knows he should follow that gut feeling no matter what. He thinks he won't like what he sees.
There's silence, but neither of them try to fill it. Then, Leonard asks: "Why are they lookin' for me?"
Fallen corn leaves crunch under the other boy's weight. He doesn't answer right away and, when he does, he says: "Mama's goin' off again. I think I might go with her, only she don't know it yet."
Leonard breathes out softly, not moving at all as the other boy settles on the ground beside him facing the opposite direction. Shoulder-to-shoulder, they lie against each other. Leonard opens his eyes and turns his head.
Jim's profile greets him, young and earnest, already showing signs of the attractive adult he'd become. Leonard pauses that thought; he doesn't know how he knows that. Like an overlay, Jim's adulthood peels away and dissolves, and Leonard is left staring at the beginnings of a swollen, bruising eye.
"Jim," Leonard breathed painfully, fingers twitching where they lay against his stomach. He had been right; he doesn't like what he sees.
Jim just stares at the sky, one hand moving to the side to pluck at stalk beside his hip. "I ain't gonna let him touch me anymore."
Leonard's throat works, and there are so many things he wants to say, but what he chokes out is: "This isn't Georgia."
The sudden urge to clarify this fact swirls around the tip of Leonard's tongue. He knows where he is. He just doesn't remember how he got here.
Jim meets his gaze, long lashes obscuring part of the blue of his eyes. The angle he turns his head presses his temple to Leonard's forearm. It feels warm like the sun.
"Len," Jim says, and his smile is soft and too knowing for his age. Leonard shivers. "You wanna stay the night? Mama won't mind; she likes you."
"I'll always stay with you," Leonard says, and the truth of it rings solemn and secret in their little cove of cornstalks.
"Good. I think we're having meatloaf," Jim says and folds his arms beneath his head. He makes a face as Leonard's body gets in the way, so he shifts around until the back of his head is resting on Leonard's stomach. "She makes good meatloaf."
Leonard goes back to looking at the sky. "I've never had your ma's meatloaf."
Jim murmurs something else, but Leonard's fingers are stroking through Jim's hair, so it's slurring and sleepy, and Leonard doesn't quite hear it as he lets himself fall back to sleep under the Iowan sun.
He thinks it's a string of numbers.
The next time Leonard wakes up, he's face down in shitty, cotton sheets and tangled in a familiar plaid duvet. He stares at the covers through one eye for a long time and thinks: This is right.
This is Georgia. This is his shitty bed in the crappy apartment he'd called home before he met...
...before he met whom? He frowns, mind trying to grasp at the illusive person before they slip through his fingers. There's something there, something snapping at him that that person is important. A woman, maybe. When a warm weight shifts into him, tiptoeing fingers across the base of his spine, the thought slips fully away.
He lets his gaze go fuzzy, lets himself press back into the weight with a pleased rumble. Laughter, rasped and low, nuzzles against his ear, in the crook of his neck.
"You've got clinic this morning," Jim says, letting the tip of his tongue sweep out against Leonard's skin as he speaks. It's a dirty, underhanded trick, and Leonard has never loved Jim more.
Leonard groans into his pillow, unwilling to move, even moreso when Jim's weight slips across the back of his thighs. Jim's hands press down and dig into Leonard's spine as he kneads the muscles he finds.
He hums, musing. "You told me not let you oversleep today," He reminds Leonard, the heat of him branding him into Leonard's body. His hands are steady, sure. They're fucking delightful, and the only way they could get better is if one of them was holding a cup of coffee.
Jim laughs. "That can be arranged, Doctor."
Two reasons lust shoots right down to Leonard's cock: Jim is happy, and Jim is kinky.
"'M not a doctor yet, Jimmy," Leonard protests, practically putty under Jim's massage as it goes lower and lower down his spine.
"Close enough," Jim says, and his smirk is loud and clear. As are his thumbs that are spreading Leonard open.
Leonard didn't oversleep, but he loses his leisure time in the shower to Jim's tongue, hot and wet and sliding into him with two of his fingers.
Later, he runs from the bus station to the clinic, and he feels the stretch of Jim's cock the whole way.
Jim is home first that evening. Leonard finds him passed out at the rickety table in his kitchen at half past ten. Beneath Jim's feet, the linoleum cracks and peels, stained yellow with age.
He hesitates in the kitchen doorway, looking at the tired slant of Jim's mouth. "Damn it, Jim," He sighs lowly to himself. There's a knot in his stomach. This feels routine, familiar. Lifting Jim into his arms and letting the kid practically strangle him in his sleep...It's habit, longstanding.
But...
Right actions, wrong place. It's a case of dejá vu, and Leonard deals with these more often than not. It's why Jim lives with him, slipping easily into his home and his heart. Jim is a solid, negative space of dejá vu, and Leonard learns to live around it. Mostly because Jim just kisses the words away with deep, insistent pulls of his mouth whenever Leonard questions it.
Leonard lowers Jim onto their bed and strips them both before he climbs in after. He's exhausted and wants the sweet oblivion of sleep and Jim's warmth. He tucks himself into Jim's back and yawns.
"We're goin' out to dinner tomorrow," Jim murmurs into the dark.
Leonard grunts and rubs his face against the knobs of Jim's spine. "I'll take a change of clothes with me just in case."
They breathe in sync for a few moments before Jim turns around to press into Leonard from the front. "My engineering exam is tomorrow."
Leonard freezes. He knows this. It's on the calender. Bright pink letters to help Jim remember. "You've got this. You've been studying for weeks. This is what your FastTrack is all about."
Jim's eyes are dark, which makes sense because the whole room is dark, but Leonard feels as if his gaze holds a world of disappointment. "If I fail, I'll be behind your residency by a year," Jim whispers.
"You're not going to fail," Leonard says. "I've never known you to fail anything in your life, Jim Kirk."
Jim smiles. At least, Leonard thinks it's a smile. He yawns and hooks an arm around Jim's waist as he closes his eyes. Jim presses a kiss to his heart, whispering further.
"I failed you," goes unanswered in the night. Leonard convinces himself he didn't hear it anyway.
Jim passes, because of course he does. What's miraculous is that Leonard manages to leave the clinic on time for dinner. He heads for the restaurant and can't stop his grin in the face of Jim's fool-smile.
Jim leaps up from his seat and grabs Leonard up in a hug. "I did it!"
"I never had any doubt," Leonard mutters into Jim's shoulder, hanging tightly onto him in return.
"Fascinating as the display is, I do believe it's customary to have dessert after the main meal."
Leonard stiffens, jerking away from Jim to glare down at Spock. "No one asked you, you damn Hobgoblin!"
There's a beat of silence, but then Spock smiles and stands to shake Leonard's hand. "It's good to see you again, Leonard."
"God, it's been /months/!" Leonard exclaims, shaking Spock's hand in turn. "How have you been? How's-Oh my sweet, Georgia peach."
Nyota is standing from her chair, glowing and very obviously pregnant.She's grinning and Leonard's rounding the table to gather her up in a hug too. "How did he ever talk you into this?"
"What can I say? He was very persuasive," Nyota laughs. "So good to see you. I've missed you." She kisses his cheek, and Leonard returns the gesture, helping Nyota return to her seat, and the next few minutes are spent congratulating the happy couple.
"We've been meaning to call you two for some time, but we know you've been quite busy," Spock says and, under the table, Jim presses his thigh to Leonard's.
We'd like you to be the Godparents," Nyota says.
Leonard's heart stutters even as his smile returns wider than ever. "That's just great!"
Their server appears, and they order their drinks and dinner. The conversation flits between Jim's new degree and the baby.
Around Leonard's second drink, he's feeling the most relaxed he's felt in weeks. Jim is explaining a new core engine facet to Spock while Nyota excuses herself from the table. Leonard watches her go to assure her path and catches sight of red curls over a slender shoulder.
His gaze is drawn upward, and the woman is laughing. She's a server, and there's a small group she's talking with near the door to the kitchens. Something about the curl of her lips is familiar in a bone-deep way. He looks for her name tag.
"Len?"
Leonard blinks, finding himself standing at the table. Jim and Spock are watching him, the former with puzzlement and the latter with bemusement. But Leonard is saved by Nyota's return. "What? I was going to pull her seat out for her."
Nyota snorts delicately. "I'm pregnant, not invalid, but the thought is appreciated."
Spock helps her anyway.
They all settle again, and their food is brought out in short order. Leonard stares at his pasta for a long moment, unsure why he feels itchy and too big for his skin.
"Have you guys picked any names yet?" Jim asks.
"Amanda is so sure it's going to be a girl," Nyota says, and something comes to attention again inside of Leonard. He drops his hands to his lap. "So if it is, we're thinking Joanna."
Leonard goes absolutely cold. The name rattles around his bones, echoing and haunting.
"That's a pretty name," Jim says. "What if she's wrong and it's a boy?"
"We'd like to name him James," Spock replies this time, and no one seems to notice that Leonard can't breathe. "For everything you've done for us."
Joanna.
Jo. Dark curls, infectious giggles, and her mother's beautiful eyes.
"I haven't done anything," Jim says, shy and abashed. Normally, Leonard would think his blushing was adorable, but Leonard. Can't. Breathe.
He stumbles up and out of his chair, knocking it back until it tips to the floor.
"Len?" Jim questions again, eyes wide and concerned. Spock and Nyota have the same expressions.
But Leonard ignores them. He suddenly has to find that server. He has to find her, see her name. He trips over his feet before winding his way through the dining tables.
He can feel Jim following him.
"Ma'am!" Leonard calls to a young girl near the back. "Ma'am, I'm looking for your server with the red hair... A-about yea-high?"
The girl gives Leonard a strange look, but disappears through the door to holler into the chaos of workers.
"Leonard, what's wrong? Are you okay? You don't... You look pale." Jim chews his lip, cautiously lacing their fingers together. Leonard ignores him, but to squeeze his hand and, when the red-haired server from earlier emerges, he sags back into Jim with a choked noise.
"Marie," He breathes. "I... I'm sorry. I just...thought I knew you."
She just smiles and winks and goes off to check on her guests. The patrons go back to their meals, and Jim stands solid and still, a perfect support for Leonard who feels like his legs are jello.
"I'm sorry," Leonard whispers.
"For what? It's okay," Jim says. "Come back to the table and have some water. You're just tired, I'm sure."
Leonard privately agrees because he's apparently losing it. He has no idea who he thought that woman was, and can't pinpoint why them naming their daughter that was so shocking.
He personally likes that name too.
Leonard feels shaky and unsure as he retakes his seat. He smiles wobbly-like at Spock and Nyota. "Sorry, just on edge from clinics," He lies, and they reply their understanding.
The meal continues, and Leonard attempts to eat as the topic moves back to Jim tentatively.
"It's my understanding that they plan to implement the new warp cores in next month's flight sims," Spock says and Jim shifts, thigh pressing to Leonard's again.
"So I heard from Pike. He's going to make sure I'm on pretest. I doubt I'd make it very far onto the ship," Jim jokes.
Nyota smiles in understanding. "I'm so proud of you. You're still doing what you love despite your fear."
"Fear?" Leonard coughs on a noodle, knocking his fist into his chest. "What fear?"
They all look at each other, but Jim is staring at his plate like Leonard's question is an act of betrayal.
"You know... Jim's fear of flying," Nyota says quietly. "After his-"
"No," Leonard says calmly.
Jim's head comes up slowly. "What?"
"I said no," Leonard answers. He sets his silverware down and pushes back from his seat. "That is the stupidest fucking thing anyone has tried to pull on me. There's no way in a good, goddamn Hell that James Tiberius Kirk is afraid of flying. I'll take the half Vulcan smiling and expressing himself. Hell, I'll even take that we're all livin' it up in the backwaters of Georgia of all places, but you cannot convince me that Jim Kirk is afraid to fly."
Jim stands, making a sharp noise. "You're an asshole."
"Jim, you were born in the stars!" Leonard protests, but it's too late. Jim is already striding out of the restaurant with Spock soon after. Nyota just sighs sadly like she's disappointed in Leonard.
Spock returns a few minutes later; long enough that Leonard has paid for the meal, and Nyota has not said another word to him. She just sits there, looking sad with her hand on her belly.
"I am not certain what that display was meant to accomplish, Leonard, but Jim will be coming home with us tonight."
Leonard feels a fist around his heart, but he nods and swallows past the sudden lump in his throat. He /knows/ now that something isn't right. He just doesn't know what that means yet.
Nyota stands as Spock pulls her chair out. She moves around the table slowly and leans down to kiss Leonard's temple. "We'll take care of him, Leonard. Good night."
Leonard thinks he might have said something, but the silence in their absence is ringing. The other patrons continue on as if nothing had happened. Marie flitters in and out of his sightline.
He eventually stands and goes home.
Jim doesn't come home over the next week. At least, not when Leonard is there, but Leonard knows he's been there. His favorite shirt is missing, which means Jim has taken it for comfort.
Leonard racks his brain, trying to figure out what the hell is going on. As he does, he keeps going to his clinic. That's when he notices the numbers. The same string of numbers that repeat.
42 pints of blood.
.32 mm femur fissure.
97 statewide cases of mono.
4 days without Jim.
Leonard sits with the other residents, going over files: Georgia District 42, patient case 239, 7 broken bones, 4 screws.
Leonard starts to see the numbers in his sleep, and when he wakes, startled and alone, he digs them into a beaten up notepad and pretends that Jim is snoring softly beside him.
It's 93 degrees out the next day, unseemingly warm for this time of year, and it's been 5 days, 8 hours, 15 minutes and forty-tw-no wait, 43 seconds since Jim left him at dinner.
Not that Leonard is counting.
He's not, but the numbers won't stop. They're everywhere, and his life is falling apart. He sits on a bench in a park with happy kids running around and drinks.
He drinks until the idea of calling Jim doesn't burn like acid in his throat.
When he goes to finally make the call, the phone won't connect.
He's dialed in those fucking numbers. The tone is aggravating to his booze-laden ears, so he throws the phone far away from him. It disappears in the trees. A few children skirt warily away from him.
He barely makes it inside his apartment when he gets home. The door shuts behind him just barely, and he's already sliding down the wall. The wallpaper peels after him, and he laughs.
He laughs so hard that he cries, and he starts ripping the wallpaper off the wall. There, in agonizingly-red letters, are the very numbers he can't get out of his head.
He blinks and drags himself up to his feet to stumble further into the apartment. The place is a wreck. The numbers are written everywhere, red and red and red. Drowning the colors of everything else.
Leonard passes out on the living room floor.
The next day, Leonard pulls himself together. He showers and shaves, eats a full meal, and ignores the numbers on almost every surface. He sits at the rickety table and writes Jim a good bye letter. He's not sure when Jim will see it or if it'll even matter, but Leonard feels better for having penned it.
6 days without Jim, and Leonard has had enough.
He leaves the letter on the table, grabs his wallet, and leaves. He's booked a bus ticket out of Georgia. It's going to be a long trip, but Leonard knows he'll sleep through most of it.
Later, he presses his temple to the cool glass of the bus window and wonders what Iowa looks like in the winter time.
It looks like shit.
Leonard stands in the center of the dead cornfield, staring at the husk of a house in the distance that used to be the Kirks'.
Coordinates 42.032974, -93.581543.
Frank had burned the house down, drunk and smoking too much. Poor bastard had died, trapped inside. Jim had not looked back.
Leonard frowns at the charred remains.
"This doesn't make any goddamn sense!" He shouts. Why not? No one can hear him. "Frank's still alive, rotten bastard of a step-father that he is! And why...why would the state let this stay here?! It's a farmland for Christ's sake!"
Leonard stomps across the decayed detritus of corn, taking offense to the very crunch of it.
Fucking Iowa.
“What am I even supposed to do here?!" Leonard keeps complaining. "Why here? I'm a doctor, not a detective!"
Leonard stumbles over some cracked wood near what used to be the entry to the basement. He catches himself barely, hissing at the twist of his ankle. Something scratches down below, and Leonard freezes.
His hearing strains for the sound again, but nothing comes. He looks around and then groans.
"Of course," He grumbles and crouches down to start yanking charred boards out of the way. He works with focus, ignoring the splinters that set in for speed. When he's able to see the darkness of the basement, he sits back on his heels and blows out a breath.
"I miss you, Jim," He says out of nowhere.
"Then come home," Jim says from behind him. Leonard is too tired to be surprised. Pieces of two lives are meshing together, and he really just wants another drink.
"I'm trying, Jim,' Leonard replies, turning to look at where his friend, his lover, stands at the empty doorway to the farmhouse. Spock and Nyota flank him, but for now they're quiet.
"All you have to do is take my hand," Jim says, and he's crouching down to Leonard's level, making it as easy as possible to do just that. "Take my hand, and it'll be like we never fought. I love you."
Leonard's breath burns in his lungs. Never has Jim said it that way, meant it that way for Leonard.
"This isn't real," Leonard says, and his voice cracks. "We aren't...We've never done this. You wouldn't want this if you were real."
"Len," Jim chokes, eyes wet and earnest. "Len, I'm real. Please believe me. Don't leave me, please. I can't do this without you."
Leonard gets to his feet, aching all over. He's weary and heartbroken. He should've known from the very start just by the simple fact that Jim Kirk has never tried to sleep with him.
"I made you a promise," Leonard says and wipes a sooty hand at his eyes. Why is he the one always so fucked over? Why can't he stay and have this? Why can't he be happy? He can't look back, not now. "Jim Kirk was born in the stars, and I'll follow him until I die."
With nothing but blind gut instinct leading the way, Leonard jumps into the darkness of the basement.
~~
Leonard comes awake violently, great gasping breaths tearing through his lungs. The force of them leaves his body swaying from the hook he's hanging from. He has no feeling in his hands, and not much in the rest of his body, but he finally manages to blink his eyes open.
Wherever he is it's dark, and Leonard can't see much past the tip of his nose. He can see the glint of the hook above him as he sways and, by extension, the shadows of his near-bloodless fingers.
He shakes his head a little and feels sluggish. The side of his face is tacky with what he's sure is blood, and he wonders how long his head wound has gone unattended.
He wants to call out to see if there's anyone else nearby, but he knows better than to alert any enemies to the fact that he's awake. Enemies.
The distress call that led them to the abandoned Rheasian Station... He closes his eyes. They should've known, but Jim always has a heart of gold and, while he'd taken their landing party prepared for resistance, they hadn't been prepared for the swarm of Rheasians to ambush.
They'd lost two security officers in the initial scuffle. Leonard feels his gut roll at the memory, but his priority now has to be getting off the hook, not mourning the dead.
It's harder than it sounds. Or maybe it's exactly as hard as it sounds. Leonard has had all the proper fight training, defensive and offensive, that any cadet and Starfleet officer is required to have, but damn it. He's a doctor, not a prize fighter. He's meant to help, not harm.
It also doesn't help that his body is basically a lead weight, holding him towards the floor. His feet barely brush against it, but he manages to twist his hands up around the hook.
He takes a breath, then another, then he heaves himself upwards. He can't stop the noise of agony that rips from his throat, can't keep it behind his teeth. It feels like every bone in his body has been broken, jagged pieces tearing at his vulnerable skin. He knows, logically, that it's just the nerve-endings coming alive again, but it doesn't make it hurt any less. Once he gets started though, he can't stop. He keeps going, pulling himself up the hook in extraordinary fashion. If it weren't life or death, he’d stop to be impressed at himself.
Maybe later.
His position is precarious, body swinging wide as he struggles to get further up the hook until, finally, the chain around his wrists clinks free of the bend. And Leonard falls. It's only a few feet back to the floor, but it stuns him. He stays there on his side for a moment and listens to see if any Rheasians are coming for the disturbance.
As he does, he, forces his brain to rapidly catalog each part of his body for injuries he might not be able to see. Dizziness most likely from the head injury, loss of blood, lack of nutrients. His left ankle is swollen, possibly a fracture in the bone. He'll live, if they make it out of here.
He has to find Jim, so he rolls to his knees and uses his bound hands to push himself up. He tests his weight on his injured ankle and grimaces, but it'll support him to a point. Not that he has a choice. The Rheasians have stripped him of all his medical supplies and his phaser, anything he could use as a weapon.
"That's just typical," he mutters lowly and tries to take stock of whatever room he's in now that he's on his feet. There's light coming from a door a ways down the room, but it's not enough to illuminate Leonard's surroundings.
He shuffles forward towards it anyhow, hoping there's a light switch near it. He doesn't see the body on his right until he runs into it. It scares the shit out of him, his own body jerking backwards which causes him to hiss in pain.
It's not a Rheasian at least, or he'd be dead already. Plus, while the body is hard, it's not an exoskeleton or slimy. He reaches forward quickly, fingers carefully touching the fabric over the body. He lifts his hands higher and hopes he can tell who the body is by touching the face alone.
He can. It's Spock.
He feels a great swell of relief to feel Spock's heart beating when he drops his hands back to Spock's side and tries to shake him awake.
"C'mon, Spock," he says through his teeth, low and urgent. "Snap out of it, man!" But Leonard knows that if Spock is strung up like he was, then the Vulcan is probably experiencing a hallucination as strong as Leonard's own. A part of him is curious as to what Spock is being shown, but he has more pressing concerns.
"By God, you're heavy," Leonard grunted, face mashed into Spock's stomach as he tried to lift the Vulcan enough to free his hands from the hook. He manages, just barely, covered in sweat and blood, and they both tumble under Spock's weight to the floor.
Leonard's breath is knocked out of him, and he sees stars as Spock's shoulder slams into his face. He lies there, under Spock, and tries to regain his senses. He squeezes his eyes shut and remembers Jim curled against him in the bed in the dark. "I failed you," Jim had said, and Leonard knows it was only his subconscious trying to wake him up, but he feels those words in his gut now, and he has to, has to find Jim now.
He rolls Spock onto his back and spends a few minutes checking him over for injuries. He's faring better than Leonard because of his Vulcan biology, but Leonard can't wake him up. He rests there for another moment, bound hands resting against Spock's heart for comfort. Not that he'd ever tell Spock that, in a pig's eye.
Still, having Spock awake would've meant breaking the chains that bind them, but Leonard will cope. He drags himself to his feet. "I'll be back, Spock. Just...take a nap..." And then he's scuffling his way towards the door again, hoping that when he gets the lights on -if he can- that Jim will be in the room with them too.
It doesn't take Leonard that long to make it to the door, but he wastes time feeling his way up the walls around it to look for a panel, a switch, anything. Eventually, a dim light floods the room, and Leonard nearly hisses like damn cat when it's far too bright too soon. He hides his face in his arm until his gaze can adjust then blinks blearily around.
His shoulders sag. The room he's in is basically an empty rectangle. There are a few hooks hanging from the ceiling, including the ones he and Spock must have been on. But...There's no one else in the room. There's a puddle of mixing red and green blood around where Spock lies, evidence of their fall. Leonard's nose throbs, and he's pretty sure Spock broke it.
He won't be telling Spock that either.
Leonard tests the door and, when it opens then quickly shuts with another button press, he breathes a sigh of relief. He needs a weapon, though, he knows. He turns to lean back against the door and looks up at the hooks. If he could get one down, it’d be sharp enough to break through the Rheasian exoskeleton to the vulnerable flesh beneath.
Pain radiates still from his ankle as he hobbles back towards Spock and the hooks. He stretches as much as he can, fingertips knocking the hook out of the way more than into his grasp, and he curses a blue streak.
Then, he nearly comes out of his damn skin when something catches him around the legs and lifts him up towards the hook. He starts struggling immediately, bringing his bound hands down to defend himself.
“Calm yourself, Doctor,” Spock says against his thigh, voice deep and hoarse. His expression is pinched, brows drawn down as he peers up at Leonard. The broken ends of a chain hang from Spock’s wrists. “I am merely attempting to aid you in your endeavor.”
“Goddamnit,” Leonard breathes. He’s shaking, and he’s sure Spock can feel it, but he distracts himself by reaching for the hook. It takes a few tries, but he manages to get a hold of the hook and pulls it free from its chain.
Spock lowers him back down then takes Leonard's wrists in both his hands. He frowns further as he looks over Leonard's blood-covered face, but says nothing as he snaps the chain between Leonard's hands.
"Thanks," Leonard says, immediately rubbing at his wrists as Spock catches the chain before it can clatter to the floor. He disposes of his own at the same time.
"You are injured, Doctor," Spock states, sticking close to Leonard even as he observes the room they're in.
"I'm fine, but I don't know where Jim's at." Leonard hands the hook to Spock then gestures at another one. Spock gives a nod then they repeat the process of retrieving another hook.
"It's wise to assume that Jim in still on the Station and most likely in a dream-like state."
"Dream-like," Leonard snorts, heart aching.
Spock glances at him, brow arched. "Yes, as I assume you were too,"*
Leonard doesn't meet his gaze. "Yeah, I was too."
"I've always wondered at the Rheasians manner of submission. It's curious that they use such a method to keep their food supply from resisting. It felt..."
"Real," Leonard mutters. They're quiet for a moment, and Leonard's glad that Spock isn't nosy like a human would be. He really doesn't want to talk about what he broke free from.
"We must find the Captain," Spock says. "Are you well enough, Doctor?"
"I'm sure as hell not staying here," Leonard gripes and tightens his grip on the hook.
Spock nods and leads the way back to the door. The hallway beyond their room is dim and quiet. The station isn't that big, Leonard thinks thankfully, and they find where they'd been ambushed rather easily. The security officers’ bodies are still there. Apparently, the Rheasians weren't interested in the dead.
It's a good thing for Spock and Leonard, because their communicators and phasers are still on them. Spock quickly divests them of their items and hands a set to Leonard.
"Spock to Enterprise," Spock says quietly as they lean around a corner.
There's no answer, and Spock tries a few more channels to hail their ship. Leonard's mouth thins. They speak no further as Spock indicates a room near the other end of the hall. They move quietly, Leonard limping behind the Vulcan.
When they burst into the room, the three Rheasians that had ambushed them are there. One has its pincers in Jim's neck where he hangs from a hook. The other two immediately hiss like Terran roaches and attack.
Spock fires his phaser, but it's not strong enough to penetrate the exoskeletons. It stuns them, though, and Leonard's vision has gone red. Jim is /hurt/, badly, worse than Leonard. He can't breathe all over again, and he launches himself at the nearest Rheasian and tears into it with the hook.
After minutes of blind battle, Spock grabs Leonard's shoulder. "That's enough, Doctor!" He states firmly, making sure all Leonard can see at the moment is Spock's own gaze. "The Rheasians are dead, and the Captain is in need of your assistance."
Leonard blinks dumbly then looks down at his hands. They're both drenched in yellow goo, as is the hook in his left hand. He drops the hook, stumbling to his feet.
"I...Oh God." He thinks he might be sick, but Spock grabs at him again, shaking him once.
"Leonard!" Spock says, hoping to shock Leonard into awareness most likely. "Jim needs your assistance."
"Jim..." Leonard yanks away from Spock to where Jim kneels on the floor. Spock has already freed him, and Jim is staring at one of the Rheasians, more out of it than even Leonard had been.
Leonard drops down in front of Jim and immediately begins checking him over. Jim drags a vacant gaze up to Leonard's face and their eyes meet and hold.
Don't leave me, please. I can't do this without you.
The words slice through the last of Leonard's haze, and he looks away, running the tricorder over Jim's most visible injuries. "You look like shit, Jim." He can see Jim lick his lips on the edge of his sight, and he aches. "I need a damn scanner, a proper one," he says over his shoulder.
"I am working on it, Doctor," Spock says patiently, trying to find a frequency that Enterprise will pick up on.
"Any idea how long we were out?" Jim asks, and his voice is /wrecked/, shredded in a throat that sounds like he'd been screaming. Leonard swallows down his rage and finally checks Jim's face. Jim's eyes are bruised badly, one almost swollen shut with red peeking out.
Spock answers in the negative.
"You've got an orbital fracture, at least," Leonard says, and Jim's gaze, what little of it Leonard can actually see, is focused intensely on Leonard still. "Not to mention a host of other problems. Can't take you anywhere, Jim."
"Bones," Jim says quietly, and it feels like the first time in /years/ that Leonard's heard the nickname. It's not the one he wants.
~"Enterprise to Captain Kirk! Kirk?!”~
"We are here, Mr. Sulu. Please inform Mr. Scott of our coordinates for an immediate beam up. The Captain and Doctor McCoy have sustained multiple injuries." Spock’s barely finished speaking, and they’re already energizing. Leonard pretends not to notice how tightly Jim holds onto him.
And just like that, the nightmare is over.
Jim’s first order when they beam aboard is to have the Rheasian station destroyed. The Enterprise warps away as the station explodes, and Leonard gets Jim into surgery to fix the fractures in his face. Nurse Chapel whisks Leonard away, though, to treat his own injuries.
Spock rests for a night and becomes acting Captain the next morning as Jim spends a few days in recovery.
None of them speak about their dreams to each other, but Leonard notices Uhura watching Spock more closely over the next week or so, lingering and supportive.
Leonard chooses to drink his support. It’s a solid relationship if any, he feels. He sits in Observation Deck 4 and presses the cool glass against his cheek as he stares at the stars. It’s been two weeks since the Rheasians, and Jim has returned to duty with a fresh step and his usual smile.
Leonard assumes this anyway; he’s been avoiding straying to the bridge and chooses, instead, to remain in the medical wing. He insists that he’s got extensive inventory to work on. He almost believes it himself.
Tonight, though…
Tonight, he can’t sleep without feeling Jim pressed against him, can’t close out the breathy, heated call of his name in Jim’s voice.
“Goddamn Rheasians,” Leonard swears, leaning forward in his chair to pour another glass. The leather creaks as he moves, covering the soft step of someone onto the Deck. But Leonard would recognize that presence anywhere. He closes his eyes and refuses to look, letting instinct guide the glass to mouth.
“Found you,” Jim says, and his tone is almost flat, musing. Leonard listens to him come around the chairs and sit down.
“Not that you had to look hard,” Leonard replies, scratching a blunt nail along the rim of his whiskey. “You always know the best hidin’ spots.”
Jim sighs, and Leonard knows the script goes off-track here. He knows why Jim has come, but he doesn’t know if he can bring himself to tell Jim the truth. The love he feels for Jim is an anchor at the same time as it’s his very freedom.
“I was home,” Jim says, “and Dad was alive. He was teaching me n’ Sam how to play catch while my mother made lunch.”
Leonard’s fingers creak around the glass. Jim continues.
“I was so...happy, but whenever I looked at Dad, I felt like something was missing. I started having nightmares in the dream. I kept running through the cornfield, the same way, over and over. Looking.”
“What were you looking for?” Leonard asks, heart beating too fast, and leans forward to put his glass on the table. He finally looks at Jim, who is watching him steadily.
“Spock says you woke up first,” Jim says instead. “How did you know?”
Leonard stands, torn between leaving and telling the truth. Jim gets to his feet so that they’re on level, or so he can keep Leonard there; Leonard doesn’t know, figures it’s the same outcome really.
“They told me Jim Kirk was afraid to fly.” Surprise flashes across Jim’s face, but Leonard can tell that Jim realizes that’s not all to Leonard’s story. He reaches out and curls his hand into Leonard’s blue tunic, stepping forward. Leonard inhales, holds it, as he stares back at Jim.
“You, Len,” Jim says quietly. “I was looking for you.”
~*~