madimpossibledreamer (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
madimpossibledreamer) wrote2017-10-26 11:32 pm
madimpossibledreamer) wrote2017-10-26 11:32 pm
Entry tags:
To Survive, To Live
1. It's not often you get to attend a surprise conference. It's also kind of exhausting. I'm exhausted.
2. This one is...odd. Kind of dark. But hopeful?
3. Warnings: References to Tarsus (I recently watched The Conscience of a King). Panic attacks. Weird (and occasionally not weird, but that's more unusual than not) coping mechanisms. Weird, kinda broken manipulative Kirk (though that might honestly be canon with the movies. We don't get to see directly in his head.)
4. Now that I think about it, we used to have a restaurant named McCoy's. It was pretty good food.
5. Oh, yeah, this occurred to me when I was working at a greenhouse. I was like "oh, yeah, this would probably be therapy, especially if it was growing food and not trees".
6. Also, this was written at ridiculously in the morning o'clock. It has since been proofread, though. I think that it contributed to the really weird tone though.
~Dreamer~
Main Points:
Star Trek (the 2009!movie verse)
Summary: Honestly Kirk might give Sulu permission to grow a garden on the Enterprise. And he'll help.
Word Count: 2176
Rating: Gen
He knows that they made a connection. For one thing, Bones was drunk, and Jim always feels an extra special connection with drunks.
More than that, though, they don’t belong. Too old, too jaded for all of this. They’ve both seen nasty things in their lives, been through darkness in a way that’s just…just nice and safe and theoretical for most of the cadets here.
But Bones is hurting. And he hasn’t learned that shoving people away isn’t good, isn’t healthy. Well. He probably knows, theoretically. But he’d just growl like a wounded dog at anyone who suggested that, as a physician, maybe it’s his job to heal himself, too?
He guards his hurt. Treasures it, snapping at anyone who might take it away. So Jim uses what he knows of people and playing them and keeps himself just as much in Bones’ life as the doctor can stand. First and foremost, he names Doctor McCoy his primary physician, because he’d rather his doctor snarl at him that he’s a goddamn reckless asshole than have to play keep-away because he can’t bring himself to get over his lingering trust issues. It’s something he’s just going to have to get over when he’s Captain, since he’s gonna need a crew and he absolutely refuses to have one he can’t trust, but he’s already got his eye on Uhura as his Communications Officer. She thinks he’s still being an ass who won’t take no for an answer, but he knows she enjoys pulling him down a few notches and he wouldn’t even consider her for his ship if she actually fell for his bullshit. If he can pull it off, Bones will be his CMO, but he has to actually pull off being friends with the guy first. He’s still working out who else he wants on his ship, though (unfortunate personality issues aside), Cupcake is a good officer, and he’s even pretty sure that the guy would enjoy being on the same ship if only so they can snipe at each other.
Maybe it’s messed up that he actively seeks out people who yell at him, but he’d rather honesty than polite fictions, and if people are yelling at him when he’s being dumb then he’s decently certain that they care and that they’re not hiding anything or trying to play him.
Anyway, he inserts himself in the man’s life. Not too much. He doesn’t go and haunt the clinic on Bones’ shifts, even though he’s memorized every detail of the man’s schedule by now. Is that creepy? That’s probably creepy, or at least, not normal, but he’s never been normal, doesn’t know how to do normal. He ends up sitting with McCoy, sometimes, in the Mess, just setting his tray down casually next to the grumpy doctor. Casual, in general, is the way to play it, like it’s just natural to act like they’ve been friends for years. He drops a few hints here and there. Living up to the legend. Lack of friendship when he was a kid. Figures that’d be enough to explain to McCoy why he’s interested in a ‘washed up country doctor’ (which, it hurts Jim a little inside, every single time Bones refers to himself like that).
His plan only kinda works. He manages to distract the doctor sometimes, but he manages just to be an annoying acquaintance that the man’s vaguely fond of. But Bones does nag him to eat, which is good, since he sometimes forgets, and it means McCoy does care, even if it’s not that much. It’s okay; he can work with it.
But Bones scheduled a physical for him today. It’s not a huge deal, usually, but today he just woke up in a bad headspace. He can work through it. He’s figured out how to deal with his issues years ago. It usually involves distracting himself with work, and just ignoring nutrition and just eating comfort food, since he can keep that down. He disappears. He doesn’t answer his communicator, because he can’t be bothered to even be fake-friendly on days like this.
But recently he’d heard that the chefs were looking for extra help in the Starfleet garden. Maybe they were planning on making it mandatory, some sort of physical labor for the candidates, but on a whim he decides it’s just what he needs. He can reassure himself that there’s food, and no one’s going to go hungry, and he’s actually useful.
So that’s where Bones finds him. He’s probably been having a quiet panic attack, given that he’s pretty sure that the doctor’s been yelling at him for a while now and he only realizes it when he feels the bite of a hypo at his neck. He’s probably freaked out McCoy too, considering that while the doctor tends to not be too gentle with him, he’s actually fierce and violent with the medical instrument this time. In anyone else, it’d probably manifest as shaking hands.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” the man growls. He probably doesn’t expect an answer.
Which is why Jim can grin up at him, sunnily, lopsided, just a little twisted and wrong and lost. “Do you want the laundry list?”
“Jesus,” Bones swears, more affected than any other time Jim’s seen him, and for a man who wears his heart on his sleeve that’s saying something. (Maybe it’s all the phrases that get him. He’s got this weird nostalgia thing that no one understands—but maybe his dad would’ve, maybe that’s where he got it, considering that car he ditched, literally—but it’s like Bones stepped out from another century and that feels more at home than anything else other than in space. He just doesn’t use most of those phrases out loud. He resolves, right now, to use all of them he can think of, some time when they’re drunk together, just to see if he can make McCoy laugh. He does, but that’s later.)
He smiles, long and slow, and winks, exaggerated, just to make him scowl. “Nope, but given some of the rumors floating around campus I’ll forgive you that little mistake.”
“Dammit,” McCoy breathes out, and that’s probably another thing on the list. Jim prefers to use his cursing for effect, just like everything else. Bones uses it like it’s a lost art, and he’s got to respect that. “Kid. Jim. You missed your appointment.”
They’re finally having a real conversation. Jim should be happier about that, but he’s feeling lost and empty in a familiar way, so he can’t muster much. “Yeah. Today was just…a bad day.”
“You’re sure you weren’t just ducking out of seein’ a doctor?” the man asks him, and—
Wow, someone snarking at him is just a panacea for every situation, isn’t it? He still feels really weak, but he manages a slight smile, a real one, and there’s that spark of hope back.
And, even better, he’s ninety percent sure that McCoy’s doing it on purpose, giving him a stable ground, something to focus on.
“What do you know about starvation?” he asks, going back to what he’d been doing (thinning, he notes, detached, and also that Bones flinches when he does, but he definitely can’t not do anything with his hands during this conversation and he’d rather not be looking at the doctor’s face).
The silence goes on long enough that he feels compelled to fill it. “Malnutrition, for one thing. Weight loss, dizziness, bleeding gums, decaying teeth. Slowed reaction times and metabolism. Dry skin. It can cause anemia or make infections worse. Growing teenagers can end up with reduced lean body mass, resulting in general weakness or organ damage. Osteoporosis, which means your bones are easier to break. Diabetes, asthma, allergies, heart disease, other diseases. Dehydration, low temperature, low blood pressure, shock. Muscle spasms. Hallucinations. Earth declared it a fixed problem after World War III, but that’s just the party line. It’s still sometimes a problem on ships or colonies.”
He sounds almost like McCoy during one of his rants, other than the fact that he still sounds like he’s a robot from one of those early twentieth century vids, rather than a human.
“’m guessin’ there’s a reason you know all this,” Bones says, and it’s—
It’s not pity. Which makes him feel so much relief that he actually feels a little faint. It’s sympathy and it’s care and most of all it’s seething anger.
“There is. But it’s classified, so we never had this conversation.” He feels the sudden urge to sit and stop it with his hands, so he does.
“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t go and take this up with goddamn Starfleet,” McCoy snarls, and his hands—
His legendary hands are shaking.
Jim thinks that one over. “I’m not sure I can protect you from all the other inmates who’ll want a piece of your sweet ass?”
Bones snorts and immediately schools his expression back into that scowl. “Dammit, Jim, that wasn’t funny.”
“It was a little bit funny.” He really is feeling better. Which makes him that much more determined to have Bones on his ship, because damn, if this is what he can accomplish with a hypo and a few words? He can fix anything. “Okay, I was one of few survivors on a colony where everything went wrong. At some point when I think you won’t immediately turn homicidal, I’ll tell you the whole story. I’m mostly over it, partly because it wasn’t as long as it felt. There’s a few things. I actually had to try harder than anyone else to get to where I am physically. My bones are more prone to getting broken, and I’ll forget to eat sometimes. After a while, you just…stop thinking about it, ‘cause thinking about it makes it worse, so sometimes I won’t realize I’m actually hungry. You might laugh at me, but I actually have better control than most people, which is how I deal with all the crap in my head.”
“But when it breaks, it’s worse than for most people,” Bones replies knowingly, and, wow, his plan apparently was working better than he thought because somehow the doctor already knows him that well. Though maybe that’s just the fact that they’re kindred souls or whatever.
“Yeah,” he acknowledges. “Usually, I get lost somewhere away from people and have my panic attack and am done with it, but, well.” He sighs.
“You’re invited to have your panic attacks in my dorm room. Y’ idiot,” McCoy responds, and the rush of happy-safe is a little overwhelming.
“Probably make you happy as my doctor,” he smiles, a little lonely, and gets a gentle shove at that.
“And your friend,” Bones corrects—and, well, success! He can’t help the giddy grin he directs at the doctor, who rolls his eyes, but—yeah, that’s actually a hint of a smile back, is he hallucinating?
“I’m probably more broken in the fact that I’m not more messed up,” he admits. “But I—the thing is, if I’m not functional, I’m letting all this stuff beat me. I’m too stubborn.” On reflection, “…I really could use some more sleep.”
“Well, I can probably help with that.” At the cheesy eyebrow raise and grin, “…Not like that, Jim, stop that. You’re not allergic to the sleeping hypo, right?”
“Don’t think so. At least, I haven’t had a reaction before, though I’ve never tried one.” Jim shrugs. “And yeah, the allergies is probably another side effect. Fun, right? If I haven’t eaten or have had a panic attack, just make sure I eat something. Something I wouldn’t have had access to on a colony. Nutrition doesn’t really matter at that point; I just need food in me. I’m probably one of the few people who still takes vitamins in this millennium.”
“So, how’s apple pancakes sound?” Jim’s stomach answers for him, and that’s definitely a smirk. “Great. You’re comin’ with me.”
He’s still out of it enough he doesn’t really register until they reach their destination, but oh yeah, it’s dark, and this is—is this really what the medical quarters look like? He privately resolves to up his game to sleeping on this couch a lot, because it looks—and yeah, he’s not wrong, it is comfier than his bed in his own quarters. “The restaurant McCoy’s?”
“Jim, it’s two in the mornin’. You might have a charmin’ smile and convincin’ words but I don’t think even you could get a closed restaurant to make us pancakes. I do actually know how to cook, thanks for the vote of confidence.” Bones might be still scowling dangerously, but Jim’s intuition says that the doctor’s happy, and that’s good because it makes him happy, and he might actually get to sleep tonight, too.
And the pancakes are delicious.
2. This one is...odd. Kind of dark. But hopeful?
3. Warnings: References to Tarsus (I recently watched The Conscience of a King). Panic attacks. Weird (and occasionally not weird, but that's more unusual than not) coping mechanisms. Weird, kinda broken manipulative Kirk (though that might honestly be canon with the movies. We don't get to see directly in his head.)
4. Now that I think about it, we used to have a restaurant named McCoy's. It was pretty good food.
5. Oh, yeah, this occurred to me when I was working at a greenhouse. I was like "oh, yeah, this would probably be therapy, especially if it was growing food and not trees".
6. Also, this was written at ridiculously in the morning o'clock. It has since been proofread, though. I think that it contributed to the really weird tone though.
~Dreamer~
Main Points:
Star Trek (the 2009!movie verse)
Summary: Honestly Kirk might give Sulu permission to grow a garden on the Enterprise. And he'll help.
Word Count: 2176
Rating: Gen
Jim’s pretty sure that he can pinpoint the exact moment Bones goes from finding him a ‘goddamn pain in the ass’ just like all the other bright-eyed bushy-tailed cadets to an actual person. Worth talking to.
He knows that they made a connection. For one thing, Bones was drunk, and Jim always feels an extra special connection with drunks.
More than that, though, they don’t belong. Too old, too jaded for all of this. They’ve both seen nasty things in their lives, been through darkness in a way that’s just…just nice and safe and theoretical for most of the cadets here.
But Bones is hurting. And he hasn’t learned that shoving people away isn’t good, isn’t healthy. Well. He probably knows, theoretically. But he’d just growl like a wounded dog at anyone who suggested that, as a physician, maybe it’s his job to heal himself, too?
He guards his hurt. Treasures it, snapping at anyone who might take it away. So Jim uses what he knows of people and playing them and keeps himself just as much in Bones’ life as the doctor can stand. First and foremost, he names Doctor McCoy his primary physician, because he’d rather his doctor snarl at him that he’s a goddamn reckless asshole than have to play keep-away because he can’t bring himself to get over his lingering trust issues. It’s something he’s just going to have to get over when he’s Captain, since he’s gonna need a crew and he absolutely refuses to have one he can’t trust, but he’s already got his eye on Uhura as his Communications Officer. She thinks he’s still being an ass who won’t take no for an answer, but he knows she enjoys pulling him down a few notches and he wouldn’t even consider her for his ship if she actually fell for his bullshit. If he can pull it off, Bones will be his CMO, but he has to actually pull off being friends with the guy first. He’s still working out who else he wants on his ship, though (unfortunate personality issues aside), Cupcake is a good officer, and he’s even pretty sure that the guy would enjoy being on the same ship if only so they can snipe at each other.
Maybe it’s messed up that he actively seeks out people who yell at him, but he’d rather honesty than polite fictions, and if people are yelling at him when he’s being dumb then he’s decently certain that they care and that they’re not hiding anything or trying to play him.
Anyway, he inserts himself in the man’s life. Not too much. He doesn’t go and haunt the clinic on Bones’ shifts, even though he’s memorized every detail of the man’s schedule by now. Is that creepy? That’s probably creepy, or at least, not normal, but he’s never been normal, doesn’t know how to do normal. He ends up sitting with McCoy, sometimes, in the Mess, just setting his tray down casually next to the grumpy doctor. Casual, in general, is the way to play it, like it’s just natural to act like they’ve been friends for years. He drops a few hints here and there. Living up to the legend. Lack of friendship when he was a kid. Figures that’d be enough to explain to McCoy why he’s interested in a ‘washed up country doctor’ (which, it hurts Jim a little inside, every single time Bones refers to himself like that).
His plan only kinda works. He manages to distract the doctor sometimes, but he manages just to be an annoying acquaintance that the man’s vaguely fond of. But Bones does nag him to eat, which is good, since he sometimes forgets, and it means McCoy does care, even if it’s not that much. It’s okay; he can work with it.
But Bones scheduled a physical for him today. It’s not a huge deal, usually, but today he just woke up in a bad headspace. He can work through it. He’s figured out how to deal with his issues years ago. It usually involves distracting himself with work, and just ignoring nutrition and just eating comfort food, since he can keep that down. He disappears. He doesn’t answer his communicator, because he can’t be bothered to even be fake-friendly on days like this.
But recently he’d heard that the chefs were looking for extra help in the Starfleet garden. Maybe they were planning on making it mandatory, some sort of physical labor for the candidates, but on a whim he decides it’s just what he needs. He can reassure himself that there’s food, and no one’s going to go hungry, and he’s actually useful.
So that’s where Bones finds him. He’s probably been having a quiet panic attack, given that he’s pretty sure that the doctor’s been yelling at him for a while now and he only realizes it when he feels the bite of a hypo at his neck. He’s probably freaked out McCoy too, considering that while the doctor tends to not be too gentle with him, he’s actually fierce and violent with the medical instrument this time. In anyone else, it’d probably manifest as shaking hands.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” the man growls. He probably doesn’t expect an answer.
Which is why Jim can grin up at him, sunnily, lopsided, just a little twisted and wrong and lost. “Do you want the laundry list?”
“Jesus,” Bones swears, more affected than any other time Jim’s seen him, and for a man who wears his heart on his sleeve that’s saying something. (Maybe it’s all the phrases that get him. He’s got this weird nostalgia thing that no one understands—but maybe his dad would’ve, maybe that’s where he got it, considering that car he ditched, literally—but it’s like Bones stepped out from another century and that feels more at home than anything else other than in space. He just doesn’t use most of those phrases out loud. He resolves, right now, to use all of them he can think of, some time when they’re drunk together, just to see if he can make McCoy laugh. He does, but that’s later.)
He smiles, long and slow, and winks, exaggerated, just to make him scowl. “Nope, but given some of the rumors floating around campus I’ll forgive you that little mistake.”
“Dammit,” McCoy breathes out, and that’s probably another thing on the list. Jim prefers to use his cursing for effect, just like everything else. Bones uses it like it’s a lost art, and he’s got to respect that. “Kid. Jim. You missed your appointment.”
They’re finally having a real conversation. Jim should be happier about that, but he’s feeling lost and empty in a familiar way, so he can’t muster much. “Yeah. Today was just…a bad day.”
“You’re sure you weren’t just ducking out of seein’ a doctor?” the man asks him, and—
Wow, someone snarking at him is just a panacea for every situation, isn’t it? He still feels really weak, but he manages a slight smile, a real one, and there’s that spark of hope back.
And, even better, he’s ninety percent sure that McCoy’s doing it on purpose, giving him a stable ground, something to focus on.
“What do you know about starvation?” he asks, going back to what he’d been doing (thinning, he notes, detached, and also that Bones flinches when he does, but he definitely can’t not do anything with his hands during this conversation and he’d rather not be looking at the doctor’s face).
The silence goes on long enough that he feels compelled to fill it. “Malnutrition, for one thing. Weight loss, dizziness, bleeding gums, decaying teeth. Slowed reaction times and metabolism. Dry skin. It can cause anemia or make infections worse. Growing teenagers can end up with reduced lean body mass, resulting in general weakness or organ damage. Osteoporosis, which means your bones are easier to break. Diabetes, asthma, allergies, heart disease, other diseases. Dehydration, low temperature, low blood pressure, shock. Muscle spasms. Hallucinations. Earth declared it a fixed problem after World War III, but that’s just the party line. It’s still sometimes a problem on ships or colonies.”
He sounds almost like McCoy during one of his rants, other than the fact that he still sounds like he’s a robot from one of those early twentieth century vids, rather than a human.
“’m guessin’ there’s a reason you know all this,” Bones says, and it’s—
It’s not pity. Which makes him feel so much relief that he actually feels a little faint. It’s sympathy and it’s care and most of all it’s seething anger.
“There is. But it’s classified, so we never had this conversation.” He feels the sudden urge to sit and stop it with his hands, so he does.
“Give me one good reason I shouldn’t go and take this up with goddamn Starfleet,” McCoy snarls, and his hands—
His legendary hands are shaking.
Jim thinks that one over. “I’m not sure I can protect you from all the other inmates who’ll want a piece of your sweet ass?”
Bones snorts and immediately schools his expression back into that scowl. “Dammit, Jim, that wasn’t funny.”
“It was a little bit funny.” He really is feeling better. Which makes him that much more determined to have Bones on his ship, because damn, if this is what he can accomplish with a hypo and a few words? He can fix anything. “Okay, I was one of few survivors on a colony where everything went wrong. At some point when I think you won’t immediately turn homicidal, I’ll tell you the whole story. I’m mostly over it, partly because it wasn’t as long as it felt. There’s a few things. I actually had to try harder than anyone else to get to where I am physically. My bones are more prone to getting broken, and I’ll forget to eat sometimes. After a while, you just…stop thinking about it, ‘cause thinking about it makes it worse, so sometimes I won’t realize I’m actually hungry. You might laugh at me, but I actually have better control than most people, which is how I deal with all the crap in my head.”
“But when it breaks, it’s worse than for most people,” Bones replies knowingly, and, wow, his plan apparently was working better than he thought because somehow the doctor already knows him that well. Though maybe that’s just the fact that they’re kindred souls or whatever.
“Yeah,” he acknowledges. “Usually, I get lost somewhere away from people and have my panic attack and am done with it, but, well.” He sighs.
“You’re invited to have your panic attacks in my dorm room. Y’ idiot,” McCoy responds, and the rush of happy-safe is a little overwhelming.
“Probably make you happy as my doctor,” he smiles, a little lonely, and gets a gentle shove at that.
“And your friend,” Bones corrects—and, well, success! He can’t help the giddy grin he directs at the doctor, who rolls his eyes, but—yeah, that’s actually a hint of a smile back, is he hallucinating?
“I’m probably more broken in the fact that I’m not more messed up,” he admits. “But I—the thing is, if I’m not functional, I’m letting all this stuff beat me. I’m too stubborn.” On reflection, “…I really could use some more sleep.”
“Well, I can probably help with that.” At the cheesy eyebrow raise and grin, “…Not like that, Jim, stop that. You’re not allergic to the sleeping hypo, right?”
“Don’t think so. At least, I haven’t had a reaction before, though I’ve never tried one.” Jim shrugs. “And yeah, the allergies is probably another side effect. Fun, right? If I haven’t eaten or have had a panic attack, just make sure I eat something. Something I wouldn’t have had access to on a colony. Nutrition doesn’t really matter at that point; I just need food in me. I’m probably one of the few people who still takes vitamins in this millennium.”
“So, how’s apple pancakes sound?” Jim’s stomach answers for him, and that’s definitely a smirk. “Great. You’re comin’ with me.”
He’s still out of it enough he doesn’t really register until they reach their destination, but oh yeah, it’s dark, and this is—is this really what the medical quarters look like? He privately resolves to up his game to sleeping on this couch a lot, because it looks—and yeah, he’s not wrong, it is comfier than his bed in his own quarters. “The restaurant McCoy’s?”
“Jim, it’s two in the mornin’. You might have a charmin’ smile and convincin’ words but I don’t think even you could get a closed restaurant to make us pancakes. I do actually know how to cook, thanks for the vote of confidence.” Bones might be still scowling dangerously, but Jim’s intuition says that the doctor’s happy, and that’s good because it makes him happy, and he might actually get to sleep tonight, too.
And the pancakes are delicious.