"Remember what you promised me!"
Bones' voice is gruff as hell and his facial expression could generously be called, furiously shot-to-pieces. It's as if someone shattered his head and taped it back together: a lip of grief, an eye twitch of anxiety, a forehead scrunch of angry.
Jim's been chipper for the past twenty-three hours. He can't find it in himself to not be. He can't worry about how he might feel or about what might happen. Starfleet never apologizes to you when they give you an order but this time they did. High risk and extremely top-secret might as well just be labelled as suicide mission.
Jim's been on those before. But never when Bones knew about it.
But Jim made a promise right when they get married. Whispered it in his ear on the alter, kissed it into Bones' skin every day since and tried to uphold it.
I'm never going to leave you. Not if I can't help it.
They just got into an argument last night about the types of things Jim can't help.
He never knew what a promise was before Bones. His mom sure as hell didn't keep them. But Bones made it simple. Showed Jim that living doesn't have to be all about surviving one moment after the next. How love isn't something that gets stolen away the minute you express it.
And for that, and a million other reasons, Jim's got to do this.
This being neutralizing a threat to the Federation, immediate and worrisome enough that Jim's working with Section 31 again.
The Crew, his bridge crew that is, doesn't know that he has Section 31 officers on board the ship. They don't know how many times he was recruited. They don't know that one time, he didn't turn them down
He never wants then to.
If he dies on this mission, probably like Starfleet thinks he will, maybe someone will tell Bones. He deserves to know. But Jim can't tell him.
Can't tell him that when Bones was dying and there were no other options, Jim went to them and traded his service for a cure. They say, "Jump", he asks, "Off what?"
He never thought to make Bones promise him too.
So he kisses Bones like it's the last time on the transporter pad. He hears the titter of the crew and the throat clearing of his Section 31 comrades, the emotionless bastards.
"Be right back," he breathes into Bones' mouth. "I promise."
No matter the condition. Maybe Bones can put him back together.
And then he's gone.
-
Leonard doesn't want the folded fucking Federation flag. They can burn it for all he cares.
They'll no doubt give it to him in a few weeks.
Chekov and Scotty hacked into a secure feed. Jim and his team are officially MIA.
And all he can think about is the folded flag that Jim purposely didn't point out on a trip back to the farmhouse in Iowa. The first and last.
Fuck him.
Spock Prime came aboard a few days ago, asking to speak with the Doctor only. Blamed himself. If he had given Jim the cure (what fucking cure?) he wouldn't have had to make a deal with the devil.
Took him only a few hours to connect the dots at the end of a very lovely bottle of Romulan Ale. The remains of which are shattered on the other side of their quarters. He managed to knock over most of their picture frames too. Felt a bit successful and petulant after it.
"No news is good news. Especially with Jim." the Old Vulcan told him. He spent a lot of time swallowing bile after that. This guy didn't know his Jim. And he said as much before he kicked him out. Kicked Spock and Uhura, Carol and who knows who else out too.
Don't need them. They didn't make a promise they knew they were just going to break.
He falls asleep at some point. Ignoring the chiming of the door and the buzzing of his comm.
-
Bones is slumped over in a worse position than the night they decided to share their secrets. Well, most of them. Jim couldn't swallow anything other than cheap beer and Bones kept pouring.
Turns out guilt feels just a bit better when they share it.
He wants to run over, kiss the sleep away from his husband's face, and maybe the grief already etched in the lines of his forehead. That would be easy. But Jim's heard a bit about what went down in the last few months--and Christ he didn't think this was going to take that long--and knows that this isn't that simple.
So he kneels, very gently in front of the chair and lifts Bones' head. Smooths away his hair, kisses his forehead, rubs a hand down the back of his neck.
"Hey," he says softly when Bones stirs.
"Jus dreamin'." Bones slurs, full on twang and it would be adorable if Jim's heart wasn't shattering like Bones' face when he first left.
"Not dreaming. I'm home. I'm so sorry." He kisses Bones as lightly as possible, the corner of the mouth, back of the ear, all his favorite places.
Bones mumbles and falls back asleep. "Not dreaming."
Jim sighs, sees the broken pieces of the bottle across the room and bends to pick them up.
He deserves this. To be thought of as just a dream.
He goes to sleep in the corner of the couch, his whole body aching, his head pounding as if he's already sharing in Bones' hangover.
-
Not a dream. Not a dream. Not a dream.
He wakes with a start, like when you dream you're falling and suddenly as you're just about to hit the ground, you're awake.
Nausea is no match for realizing it was a dream.
Jim's not here.
He's about to fucking collapse on the floor, pathetic, as if someone cut the puppet master's strings when-
"Hey, Bones."
He barrels into Jim. He wants to punch him, kill him, for this. But he's here, he's alive, he's here. He promised, he's back.
They're breathless and panting and Jim's face is wrecked. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." He's babbling and all Bones can do is grab the back of his head and pull his face forward. He remembers the type of kiss Jim gave him when he laughs and figures it's about time to return the favor.
"I hate you. I love you." He manages to get out as Jim lips mangle in his own, as teeth smash together.
"I'm sorry, I love you. I promise."
Bones finds himself nuzzling his face into Jim's neck, smelling the scent he was deprived of, kissing under his jaw. "I promise too."
