Work Text:
Coping Skills
By Anne Higgins
Leonard stepped out of the refresher, then glowered at his husband. Captain James T. Kirk sat on the edge of their bed wearing nothing but his wedding ring. Normally a sight to inspire a man to great things, but right now he wanted the blasted kid horizontal and sound asleep, not obviously trying to find the energy to stand up. "Damnit, Jim!"
Jim sighed. "Don't start, Bones."
"'Don't start?'" he echoed, his hands settling on his hips. "I'm your husband and your doctor. Which part do you expect to be happy with you running on fumes?"
"'m not running on fumes," he muttered, "Just having a little trouble sleeping."
An eyebrow arched. "For two weeks."
"You haven't slept either," came the soft reply.
He frowned. Three weeks into their five-year tour of duty, the Enterprise had received a distress call from Netris IV. An earthquake had left thousands dead and injured. He and his medical staff had done round-the-clock surgery for days, and still had several days worth of minor-so-they-could-wait cases to follow up on. "I've been catching catnaps on the cot in my office." He hated ever minute he had to sleep when someone needed him, but he'd taken the bare minimum downtime he'd needed to stay functional per Starfleet and his own personal guidelines. He considered the two hour nap he'd grabbed with Jim the height of luxury given the circumstances. And he was pretty damned sure Chapel didn't really have the authority to order him out of his own sickbay, but now that he could see how much Jim had needed him, he felt gratitude licking at the annoyance he felt toward his chief nurse. "Have you even gotten that much sleep?"
Jim muttered something that tried really hard not to be actual words.
"I'll take that as a no."
"I had stuff to do."
An eyebrow arched. "Such as?"
Jim flushed. They both knew that while transporter crews pulling the living and dead out of crumbled buildings and medical personnel dealing with the dying and injured had been going insane from the workload, the rest of the crew had … pretty much nothing to do. At least nothing of a life-or-death, burn-the-candle-at-both-ends nature. And certainly not for a full two weeks. "Captain stuff."
Leonard sighed. This sort of non-action situation was practically designed to stress out his 'leap in with guns blazing' husband, but he'd been too busy to notice how bad it had gotten. He squatted in front of him. Reaching up to cup his face, he murmured, "Jim." His tone made the name into 'baby, beloved, sweetheart, darling' and a host of other endearments he never used half in fear of blurting them out at the wrong time in front of the wrong people and half because he'd used them with his ex-wife and felt them too cheapened to use with this precious, aggravating man.
"Bones," Jim murmured the pet name he'd bestowed on Leonard within hours of meeting each other. It was the only endearment Jim ever needed to use for him and even had the advantage of not being horrifically embarrassing when used around others. Even if he did have to occasionally explain to the odd alien diplomat that it was short for 'sawbones' – an old Earth nickname for doctors. The day Jim actually told someone he really called him that because of something Leonard had said about the divorce settlement was the day sickbay would get in a stock of old fashioned needles instead of hyposprays marked 'Captain's private stock.'
Tired as he was, Leonard felt mildly impressed with himself, when he pushed upright with a smooth fluid motion and got Jim sprawled backward on the bed. "So damned beautiful," he muttered after giving him a long kiss. He would have loved to fuck him, but was too tired to even get it up, let alone use it. Instead, he stretched out, then wrapped his hand around Jim's cock.
He hissed, hardening into the firm grasp even as he protested, "No, you're too worn out."
"Never too tired for this," he murmured, brushing his lips against Jim's jaw as he began a slow, easy pumping motion. "Missed seeing you like this. All flushed and wanton."
Jim clutched his shoulders, moaning. That was his Jim – never too tired for sex. He grinned adding 'and with a hair trigger when he goes without' as Jim came within a minute, "Bones," a moan of satisfaction breathed into Leonard's shoulder.
A soft sigh, a squirm or two to get closer, then Jim fell asleep. Leonard took a few minutes to lick Jim's seed off his hand – damn, he'd missed the taste of him – and to let him move deeper into sleep. But duty called, and finally he eased himself out of Jim's arms, then off the bed.
He washed his hands, pulled on a clean uniform, then headed for sickbay more than a little unhappy to leave his husband and their comfortable bed. But he had at least two surgeries to perform before he, and Jim for that matter, where technically on duty again. Relief ship should arrive in another day, so things could get back to normal. For a time.
Not likely this would be the last time a crisis hit that kept him busy and Jim stressed out. In the past, Jim had dealt with the need to blow off steam by drinking too much, getting into a fist fight, and his favorite -- having sex with someone he picked up for the night or a combination of all three. Now that he was captain of a starship he could not, should not and would not do any of them. None of the senior staff drank to excess – although Lord knew they all drank – and no captain could keep the respect of a crew that feared he'd physically attack them every time he got cranky. So Jim channeled all his coping skills into his sex drive. With Leonard.
It was the practical side of getting married before assuming command. So many had been stunned Jim would commit to a monogamous relationship completely missing the fact that the alternative would have been shipboard celibacy broken only by occasional opportunities for release on away missions or shore leave. Would have driven Jim batshit insane when confined to the ship, and made him even more prone to foolish choices in sexual partners off ship. It was not the reason they'd gotten married – but it was the reason he'd have been the only one to ever spend time in the bed in Jim's quarters married or not.
But that meant only one partner for all things sexual – making love, having fun and stress relief. And the last few days had pointed out the problem with the last of the three. Couldn't have the captain too wound up to sleep for days at a time. Dangerous for the man's health and the efficacy of the ship. Which meant Leonard needed to come up with a way to let the man relax when he wasn't available.
*
In. Gonna fucking kill Bones. Out. Gonna fucking kill Bones.
In. Gonna fucking kill Bones. Out. Gonna fucking kill Bones.
"Captain?"
Jim cracked open one eye and managed to shoot a glare at the Vulcan sitting cross-legged on the floor a few feet away from him. "What?"
"I may be mistaken, Jim, but I do not believe you are relaxing," Spock said, looking all annoyingly serene. "Perhaps you have not chosen a suitable mantra?"
"I like it fine."
"Nonetheless, it is not working. Might I suggest something else?"
To head off yet another lecture on the wonders of meditation, Jim sighed and said, "Fine."
"There is one very popular among humans. So Hum."
Jim gave him a look that apparently Spock thought conveyed the desire for elaboration versus 'this is such a fucking waste of time.' "It is Sanskrit – one of Earth's ancient languages according to Nyota. It is meant to represent the breath."
"Fine. I'll try it."
In. Soooooooo
Out. Hummmmm
In. Sooo gonna fucking kill Bones
*
Okay, fine. Time to bring out the big guns. He grinned and the aggravating kid in the captain's chair had the good sense to look worried.
*
"Ah, there you are," Bones greeted him looking all cheery and happy.
Jim flinched. Hey, he was man enough to admit it. Hell, if he thought it would save him from whatever had put that maniacal gleam in Bones' eye, he'd give whimpering a try. "Can we just talk about this?"
An eyebrow arched in an 'I'm listening' manner.
"I'm not stress-"
A snort cut him off. And okay, so denial hadn't probably been the way to go. "Lie down, kid."
Huh. Bones and bed usually meant good things, so maybe he wasn't about to be subjected to some Andorian torture masquerading as a relaxation technique. He kicked off his boots and face planted on the bed. "Gonna give me a massage?" he asked, giving Bones his best 'hopeful puppy' look.
This time the eyes rolled. "Jim, if I'm here to give you a massage, I can just fuck you stupid instead."
"I like it when you fuck me stupid," he said, coming really close to the whining thing.
"This is about what you can do when I'm not here. And why is it again that getting yourself off doesn't work?"
"I don't come as hard as when you do me?" he suggested.
"If you don't hurry up and just tell me … I'm seriously considering acupuncture."
Jim felt a momentary flash of alarm, because Bones was all about the jabbing – and yes, he knew acupuncture didn't really hurt, but he had confidence in Bone's ability to overcome that pesky detail -- then he smirked. "If you're here to poke me full of needles, you can just fuck me stupid."
Bones almost looked proud of him, and that was uncalled for. He hung around with a Vulcan for fuck's sake. Some of the logic had to rub off.
They exchanged glares for a few moments, then Bones stalked off to the refresher and came out with a round blondish-brown furball. "Oh, come on! A tribble?"
"Not just a tribble. Your tribble."
When had Jim lost control of his life? Oh, yeah, it had been when some hungover bastard had sat down next to him and said he might throw up on him. "My tribble?"
Another eyeroll. "Jim, you know we use tribbles to soothe the patients in sickbay."
He nodded.
"And who has the most sickbay frequent flier miles?"
He glowered at the world in general. "I do. But I don't remember having a tribble."
"You're usually unconscious when I give it to you. Or high on painkillers."
Bones looked like he was about to launch into another lecture on avoiding getting hurt -- as if it were some favorite thing Jim liked to do. So he opted for a crafty redirection. "Tribble?"
"Shitfaced."
"What?"
"That's what you named it after you got shot in the ass on Dor XII."
He sat it down on the bed so it rested between Jim's shoulder and ear. Immediately it began to purr, and yeah, okay, this was kind of familiar. And … soothing. Fuck, he hated being out-maneuvered. "It's staying with us?" he asked, petting his 'old friend.'
"Unless you need it in sickbay." He gave Jim a soft smile, apparently liking what he saw. "I've been thinking of requisitioning one for every crew member."
"Hmm, probably a good idea." God knew that this ship went from one huge stressfest to the next and the fluffy things did make a guy relax.
Bones looked all together too smug. Which was a sexy look for him. "Bones?"
"Yes?"
"I can't help but notice that you are here."
Bones picked up Shitfaced and set it on the bedside table. "That I am," he purred, crawling across the bed toward Jim.
*
Lots of stress, next to no sleep – Leonard could see that quickly becoming the official ship motto -- but at least this time they could collapse together. Except Jim was having trouble flipping his Captain switch to off. "Should check bridge," he muttered, exhaustion slurring his words.
Leonard would have rolled his eyes if he weren't certain it would drain the last of his reserves and send them both crashing to the deck. "Let the Hobgoblin run things for another shift," he said. The Vulcans had been involved in the peace talks ten years back and pretty much had united the planet – abet temporarily – in a hatred of all things with pointy ears. And why someone thought logic would impress a people known for their passionate … everything, Leonard would never know. In any case, Spock had exercised the better part of valor and stayed on board. Where he no doubt got plenty of sleep, especially given he didn't need that much in the first place.
"But-"
"Jim," he cut him off with his best official 'I'm a doctor and you're being an idiot' voice. "No."
"Bossy." Jim managed a smirk. "'s sexy."
"Hold that thought," he muttered, dragging Jim through the door of their quarters.
No doubt deluded by the mere hint of sex, Jim's energy levels rallied enough to help Leonard get them stripped off, through a five-second joint sonic shower, then on the bed.
Jim quickly snuggled up against Leonard's chest – much in the way a barnacle snuggles up to the hull of a sailing ship, but hey, the man was a cuddler and Jim Kirk never did anything half-way – then had the good sense to conk out.
Leonard smiled, then followed him into the blessed silence of much needed sleep.
*
Two pairs of eyes instantly snapped open, but only Bones shifted away from the comfy tangle of their bodies, then pulled himself out of bed.
Inside Jim was whining for him to come back just like Bones had damned well better be doing whenever a bridge emergency yanked Jim out of his arms. But they both knew no one would disturb them in the middle of sleeping off the last mission if it weren't dire.
"McCoy here," Bones answered the hail, while yanking on the scrubs he favored for middle-of-sleep-shift runs to sickbay.
"Hendrix's appendix has ruptured, Doctor," Christine Chapel informed him.
Fuck. Even Jim knew that was bad. Funny how far medical science had come, yet some things still stubbornly remained potentially deadly and something sending infection bursting through your body was damned near the top of the list.
Bones cursed a blue streak, because, yeah, Lt. Hendrix had been part of the away team and had no doubt kept her condition hidden in order to complete the mission. And that 'ship full of fucking martyrs' salvo as he shoved his feet into his surgery shoes was a bit over the top. But she had been the only one with prior experience with the natives. …
Jim started to get up to do his usual 'crew member in danger' vigil, but Bones skewered him with a glare. "You stay in that fucking bed and sleep!" he snapped, pulling Shitfaced out of its cage and gently tossing it to Jim.
"I did sleep!" he protested.
"Less than two hours!" Bones answered, stalking out the door. "I'll comm you when I know something. Sleep!"
Jim scowled after him, but he knew if he tried to follow Bones would hypo him in the name of his well-being. "Fucking doctors," he muttered, exhaustion pulling at him as the brief surge of adrenaline faded. If he didn't sleep, he wouldn't be worth anything in an emergency he could do something about. He knew that. So he tried to curl up and go back to sleep to the soft trill of Shitfaced's purr. Trouble was a large tribble was no replacement for warm skin over strong muscle nor was a purr a match for the comforting symphony of Bones' heartbeat. Still he tried. He really, really tried, but the two-hour sleep had taken the edge off and Shitfaced couldn't hold as well as be held.
"Fucking hell," he muttered and decided he'd had enough of this shit. He swung out of bed, yanked on the sleep pants he seldom bothered with, then picked his tribble back up. "Come on, baby," he said, heading for the door. "Daddy needs some sleep."
*
She nodded her confirmation, and he sighed with relief. Too tired for false modesty he allowed himself the thought that sometimes it was a gigantic pain in the ass to be so much better than everyone else that dead on his feet he was still the best choice to handle something like this.
"All right then," he said, setting aside the laser, then stepping out of the sterile field. "Keep pumping her full of antibiotics and she should be fine." Should be.
He glanced toward the sickbay doors and the turbolift beyond that could whisk him back to his quarters and a nice warm Jim. Tempting, God, so tempting, but, no. Things could go wrong fast and he'd sleep better if he stayed here for a few hours. "Wake me in three," he said, walking toward his office. He'd decide then whether or not he could leave.
Oddly enough Chapel didn't give him an argument. Then again, maybe she could tell he felt as about able to run a marathon as to walk the few yards of corridor needed to reach his bed. Never felt more grateful for an office with a cot recess in it. Or at least not since the last time Jim had been hurt enough Leonard hadn't wanted to leave.
The door slid open and he blinked in surprise to find the cot not only already deployed from it's wall slot, but to twice the normal size he bothered with. He blinked and his tired brain cleared enough to tell him the large lump in the center of the cot went by the name of Jim. A trill made him amend that to 'and Shitfaced.'
"I saw him sneak in," Chapel said and he frowned as it sounded like she was both in front of and behind him. Then he saw the comm light blinking. Jim had set it to monitor the conversation in the surgery area where his nurse still stood. "I'll wake you if there's a change in the lieutenant's condition."
He nodded and deactivated the comm. He hadn't realized Jim would worry that much about Hendrix. Yes, her condition had been potentially fatal, but there was relatively little danger provided she responded well to the antibiotic protocols. If he'd known the idiot hadn't known that, he'd have kept to his promise to comm him with updates, but he'd honestly thought Jim needed sleep more than information. So much for his great understanding of the mind of James T. Kirk.
Deciding he'd worry about it when he could think straight again, he shucked off everything but his scrubs trousers, then slipped under the blanket and onto the cot with Jim. He had to do a fast snatch and pull to keep the tribble from getting squashed when he touched Jim's shoulder, then almost instantly found himself all tangled up with Jim's limbs.
A happy sigh sounded through the room as Jim's head settled into its usual resting place on Leonard's chest, then Jim's whole body relaxed as if moving from a light sleep into a deeper one. And suddenly Leonard understood why everything he'd done to help Jim relax hadn't worked. It wasn't the lack of booze, brawls or even sex that kept Jim from uncoiling, it was the lack of one Leonard McCoy. Jim needed him, or – he glanced toward the comm panel – at least the sound of his voice to know all was right enough with the universe to sleep.
He kissed the top of Jim's head. "Should have just told me, brat," he whispered. Of course, he'd never told Jim about using the demanding hours a doctor worked and the convenience of this cot to hide his own unwillingness to sleep in their bed alone. "Guess that makes me the idiot." And the two of them quite the pair.
Settling Shitfaced on the far edge of his pillow, Leonard smiled. "Love you," he whispered into Jim's hair, then on the happy thought that never were two idiots so utterly made for each other, Leonard fell asleep.
end