#bones one shot | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

geminiwritten · 14 days ago

Text

this means war ; bones

fandom: star trek

pairing: bones x reader

summary: based on this song but incredibly drawn out and long winded (you're reuniting with the enterprise crew for jim's birthday almost six months after leaving for a job at the academy because of a messy breakup)

notes: hey, i'm back! life has been super busy but i was listening to this song a few months ago and decided that i had to write something for it... and then a few months and thousands of words later... here you go! it is a little bit messy, but i can't not post it. let me know what you think! please!

warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, sexual references (i promise i am working on writing actual smut and not this fade to black crap), and lots of words i'm sorry if it sucks

word count: 10749 (i have no self control)

The birth date of James Tiberius Kirk is either a taboo subject not to be mentioned or alluded to for the entire month of March, or an intergalactic holiday that must be celebrated for a full two weeks straight. This year, it’s a celebration. The USS Enterprise is docked at Starbase Yorktown after doubling back due to an unfortunate encounter in unfriendly space, but not even a month's setback on the starship’s five-year journey could put a damper on her captain’s birthday. In fact, the party itself was arranged in all its grandeur after the unlucky incident, seeing that shore leave provided the perfect opportunity to drink and be merry in celebration of Jim’s ageing.

So it was your best friend’s birthday celebrations that finally dragged you out of your dark and comforting office at Starfleet Academy for the first time in four months, all the way to Starbase Yorktown. It was a long journey, which you were thankful for, because despite it being almost half of a year since you left your post on the USS Enterprise, you’re still not sure if you’re ready to face her crew again. Of course you miss them, they were your closest friends long before the Enterprise’s five-year assignment, but when Starfleet made you an offer you couldn’t refuse, well... you couldn’t refuse it. Or at least, that was the story you stuck to when your friends begged you to stay. It most definitely had absolutely nothing to do with a saga of heartbreak and animosity.

“Okay, breathe,” you tell your reflection, watching the colour in your cheeks deepen the more you reminisce. The black dress you’re wearing is perfectly complimentary, accentuating all the right parts and boosting your confidence just enough to get you out the door. The hallway wasn’t too difficult, but the elevator descent awakens the anxious butterflies in your stomach, and the hotel lobby has your heartrate rising with every click of your heels against the polished marble floor.

“This is ridiculous,” you sigh, earning a few odd glances from passersby as you exit the hotel’s main doors. The artificial air outside is warm and the sky mimics a pink and orange sunset that casts long shadows on the pavement. You watch your own move as you head toward the party venue; a Federation building purpose-built for conferences and training seminars that Jim had somehow convinced someone to let him use. You often forget how respected the captain really is.

The walk isn’t long, and before you can even attempt to quell the nausea rising up from your stomach, you find yourself standing in the foyer of the building. The reception desk is empty except for a small sign atop it with an arrow pointing down the corridor, reading ‘Captain Kirk’s Birthday Extravaganza’. You have to force your feet to move in the direction of the music and chatter, despite every fibre of your being telling you to turn around.

The doors to the room are open, so you have absolutely no time to steel your nerves before the first person recognises you. A cadet from the MedBay, of course, you spent enough of your time there for every medical crew member to know who you are. His face is a mixture of confusion and delight as he calls out your name, “Y/N!”

You plaster on a smile, push your shoulders back, and walk into the party.

“I didn’t expect to see you here,” the cadet, Trevor, says, “Doctor McCoy said you-” Before he can finish his sentence, another body slams into yours, knocking the breath out of you and almost knocking you clean off your feet.

You stumble back but catch yourself, suddenly wrapped in the familiar smell of wild berry scented shampoo with a ponytail full of brown hair in your face. You hug her back, fighting tears as you mumble into her hair, “Nyota.”

“I can’t believe you came!” she says as she pulls away, her own eyes glassy with moisture, “how long did it take to get here?”

“Not that long,” you shrug, “and it was nice to see the stars again.”

She frowns, “you can still see the stars from the academy.”

“Not from behind my desk, you can’t,” you say through a forced smile, trying to make your sad reality sound like a jest. You truly did hate your dark little office; the only window was facing right at a brick wall of the next building and one of the two ceiling lights had died within a month of you moving in. It was always dark, always cold, and so far from anyone else, you often felt as if you were living in an apocalyptic world.

You only catch a glimpse of Nyota’s sympathetic stare before you’re wrapped in another pair of arms. “Y/N!” Jim exclaims, right into your ear, “you’re here!”

Tears threaten to fall once again as you hug your used-to-be captain back. “I’m here,” you mutter into his shirt.

He pulls back, his blue eyes practically glowing as he takes you in, “you look incredible.”

“Thanks,” your cheeks warm, “not looking so bad yourself, Captain.”

He chuckles, “you can’t call me that anymore, remember. You’re not a part of my crew.”

You know he’s only joking, but the words still cause a small fissure in your already fragile heart. “You’re still a captain, and didn’t you promise to keep my post vacant?”

His previously easy smile falters, but only slightly. “I did, in case you change your mind,” he sighs, “but only for six months.”

“What do you mean?”

“I can’t hold the position longer than six months,” he puts a hand on your shoulder as if he’s giving you the worst news of your life, “if you decide to stay at the academy, I have to replace you.”

“Wait,” you frown up at him, “is that why you asked me to come, so you could tell me to officially sign off of the Enterprise?”

“No, of course not, I just-” he hesitates before sighing again, “let’s not talk about this now, okay? I invited you here because I miss you.” He pulls you back against his chest and you let yourself relax, allowing the familiarity of your best friend to soothe the fresh wave of anxiety coursing through your veins.

“Now,” as he pulls away, Nyota puts a flute of champagne in your hand, “there are a few people who would really like to see this gorgeous face.”

You roll your eyes as he slides you under one arm and walks further into the crowd. “Even though I know you’re talking about yourself,” you say, “I’ll still pretend I’m flattered.”

It doesn’t take long for the rest of your friends to realise you’re here. Sulu and Chekov are first, each wrapping you in a tight hug before Scotty appears. You didn’t expect him to be that emotional, but you find it difficult to hold back your own tears as he sniffles against your shoulder. Keenser isn’t far behind, holding another full glass for you and taking the empty one back to the bar, no doubt about to retrieve more drinks for himself and Mr. Scott.

The more you watch the grins on your friends’ faces, the more your heart aches to return to them. It feels as if you never left, aside from a few funny stories from the last couple of months that Jim reenacts for you with tipsy enthusiasm. You almost forget about the reason that nearly stopped you from being here; the reason your whole body wanted to turn and run with every inch closer you came to this place.

Almost forgot.

“Bones!” Jim exclaims, throwing his arms up and almost spilling his entire drink, “what took you so long?”

Your heart leaps into your throat, stopping your breath as fire spreads across every inch of your skin. You know your face must be glowing red, but you can’t help that, so you focus on keeping your expression calm as you try to remember how to breathe.

Leonard hesitates, his eyes lingering on you before he clears his throat and turns to Jim. “Sorry, medical emergency.”

Jim scoffs, “I can tell when you’re lying. You’re a very bad liar.”

Leonard takes the drink Sulu offers him and clinks it against Jim’s outstretched glass, “well, we can’t all be talented liars,” he glances quickly at you before turning back to the captain. “Happy birthday.”

His words punch you right in the chest, and you’re sure you can feel another piece of your heart break, but you can’t let it show. You tip the rest of your drink to your lips, sculling almost a full glass of champagne while the others take turns greeting Leonard. When you lower your empty glass, the group is standing in awkward silence, each of them watching either you or the doctor to see who will draw their weapon first.

You take a deep breath before meeting his eyes, offering a tight smile, “it’s nice to see you here.”

“Impolite would only be beneath us,” he remarks, before finishing his own drink in one gulp.

“It’s been what? Like, half a year,” you can barely hear your own words over the thrum of your heartbeat.

He considers you for a moment, his gaze tracing up and down your body before he response, “like nothing ever happened between us.”

Once again, your choke on your breath, his words not only hurting you but throwing fuel on the little flame of anger growing in the pit of your stomach.

“Another round?” Sulu asks suddenly, snatching the empty glass from your hand.

Chekov nods enthusiastically, “I will help you.”

As the two of them walk toward the bar, Scotty and Keenser shuffle away and strike up their own conversation, and Nyota mumbles something about Spock before disappearing into the crowd. You’re left with only Jim and Leonard.

“So,” you clear your throat, “how have you been?”

Like he said, impolite would be beneath you, and you can't let him know how much he hurt you. Even though, if he asked, you would tell him anything he wanted to hear because you can’t help the way you still feel about him. The way you know you’ll always feel about him, even if you’ll never know what actually happened between the two of you.

- 6 months & 2 weeks earlier -

Your boots hit the floor with force as you run down the corridor, narrowly dodging startled Enterprise crew until you reached the rear-most turbolift on the ship. Unable to contain your excitement, you continue mashing the button for the MedBay even as the lift descends, only stopping when the doors begin to open. You slip out as soon as the gap is wide enough and continue your run all the way through the MedBay toward Leonard’s office door.

You swipe your card and the door slides open, and you can’t help the way your heart leaps when you first see him. You’re not sure you will ever be used to the way he makes you feel.

“Len,” you exclaim, gasping for breath, “you won’t believe... I got it... the... the thing!”

He leans back in his desk chair, chuckling, “I gave you access to my office for emergencies.”

“This is an emergency,” you say between breaths, holding your chest with one hand while the other hits the button for the door to close.

“Are you going into cardiac arrest? Because you look like you’re going into cardiac arrest.”

You try to regulate your breathing as you give him your most unimpressed stare, “I just ran over half the ship, I’m allowed to be a little out of breath.”

He laughs again, “a little?”

“Would you stop being a smartass and let me speak,” you say as you round his desk and lean against it.

He pushes his chair back to properly look at you, a devilish grin curling his lips, telling you exactly where his mind had gone seeing you atop his desk.

“I had my meeting with the admiral,” you explain, “about the grant.”

His cheeky grin vanishes, replaced by an anticipatory frown as he leans forward with his elbows on his knees, “and?”

“They said yes.”

“They said yes?” he echoes, standing from his chair.

“They said yes!” you exclaim, jumping into his open arms and pressing your lips against his. It takes a moment for him to respond, but when he does, he kisses you back with fervour.

“You are incredible,” he mumbles against your mouth, “did you know that?”

You pull back giggling, “I know.”

“Did they have any questions?” he asks, “any conditions?”

“Nope, they loved it.”

"They loved you,” he says before kissing you again, muttering against your lips, “I love you.”

You freeze and your eyes snap open, staring up at him as his cheeks turn red. He hesitates before taking a step back, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

“Didn’t mean it?”

“No, I-” he rubs the back of his neck, “I definitely mean it, I just don’t want you to think I expect you to feel the same way.”

You step forward to close the distance between you, “of course I love you,” you stretch onto your toes and press a kiss against his lips, “more than anything.”

His eyes darken and his hands grab your waist as he steps forward. You stumble back until your backside hits the desk, and before you realise what is happening, he lifts you onto it and positions himself between your legs. One hand stays on your waist while the other cups you jaw, “you locked the door?”

Your mind races with filthy thoughts as his thumb traces your bottom lip, and the best response you can must is a soft whisper, “not sure.”

He chuckles, “then we better hope there are no medical emergencies.”

You knew exactly how you looked as you leant against the back of the turbolift – your hair a mess, cheeks rosy, and lips swollen – but you didn’t care; you just had mind-blowing sex in your boyfriend's office. You nod politely at the two other lieutenants in the lift as you step out, unable to hold your giggles at their uneasy smiles once you turn down the hall.

Nyota was waiting for you in the mess hall, tucked into a small booth on the edge of the room with her nose almost pressed to her PADD as she scrutinised its content. You slide into the seat opposite her, “hey, sorry I’m late.”

She takes one look at you before smirking, “have fun?”

“Lots,” you reply with a grin.

She shuts off her PADD and slides it aside, “so, how did it go?”

“The sex, or?”

“You know what I mean,” she says, rolling her eyes.

You laugh before replying, “it was amazing, actually; I can’t believe how stressed I was for nothing. They listened to my whole pitch, asked all the questions that I had answers for, and then said yes.”

Although her smile is still wide, she doesn’t quite leap for joy the way you had when you ended your meeting with the admiral. You frown, “what?”

“I’m waiting for the ‘but’.”

“Who said there’s a ‘but’?”

Her smile turns sheepish, “Jim.”

"Oh, for fuck’s sake,” you sigh, “I told him to keep it to himself, because I-”

“Told them no?” she interrupts, “and you said you want to stay on the Enterprise despite their generous offer?” Her tone tells you that she already knows what you said, which was, in fact, the exact opposite of what she just said.

One tiny piece of information that you intentionally omitted when you celebrated with Leonard was that in order to win the admiral’s approval for the grant, you might have accidentally accepted a job offer back at the academy. In your defence, it was almost impossible not to say yes. You were asking some of the most senior offices in Starfleet for a huge quantity of additional resources in order to run a twelve-month biomechanical programme aboard the Enterprise. How were you supposed to know they would offer you a position at the academy? And how were you supposed to say no?

By the time you finish telling Nyota about your meeting with the admiral from start to finish the mess hall is much quieter, and you’re surprised at how late it really is when you check your communicator. There is a long, awkward pause while you wait for her to respond, and you begin to feel like a child waiting for their punishment.

“I can’t believe you said that,” Nyota sighs, resting her elbows on the table and holding her head in her hands, “you can’t just say something like that knowing you don’t mean it.”

“I know, I just freaked out.”

“Freaked out?” she echoes disapprovingly.

“Yes!” you snap, “it was awkward. What was I supposed to say?”

She rolls her eyes, “I don’t know, maybe ‘I’m flattered, but sorry’.”

“Nyota, seriously.”

“I am serious!” she exclaims, “you can’t just take something like that back.”

You sit back and cross your arms, “yes, I can.”

She mimics your body language, raising her brows, “how?”

“Jim is going to talk to him.”

She scoffs, “oh, great idea. You know everyone already thinks Jim favours you?”

“I know how it’s going to look,” you sigh, “but if it gets me out of this mess, I don’t care what anyone thinks about Jim and me.”

Her scowl softens ever so slightly, “so, you got what you wanted and now you’re just going to back out?”

“Well, yeah,” you shrug, “I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

Your communicator chirps and buzzes on the table, breaking both of you out of the intense staring competition you hadn't realised you were in.

“You better hope so,” Nyota says as she slides out of the booth, “and pray they don’t reconsider the grant.”

You check your communicator as you reply, “it’s going to be fine, Nyota, they’ll understand.” There are no missed calls or alerts, but the time reminds you just how tired and ready for bed you are.

The two of you leave the mess hall, walking together until you come to Nyota’s quarters where she bids you a good night. You continue in the direction of your own residency, flipping open your communicator along the way and calling Leonard. You listen to the dial tone for almost a minute before giving up and deciding to wait until he calls you back. Once inside your quarters, you shed your uniform and jump in the shower, scrubbing the stress of the day off before wrapping yourself in a fluffy towel. You check your communicator to find no missed messages, so you try calling Leonard again. No luck.

After an hour of flicking through data on your PADD, you begin to worry. You try calling a third time before you realise how late it is and your panic spikes, so you slip into your shoes and shuffle out the door. The halls are empty as you make your way down to the MedBay, only to find it just as desolate with a single nightshift nurse idly sorting different bits of equipment.

Two more unanswered calls and another half-hour of walking through the quiet ship has your heart racing anxiously, but its late and there’s no one else you can call without being a nuisance and waking them up. You make your way back to your room, dragging your feet until you’re close enough to fall into your bed face first and let out a few tears before exhaustion takes over.

You barely sleep, spending most of the night half-conscious worrying about Leonard. By the time your alarm goes off, you’re already dressed and slipping into your shoes. You shut it off before rushing out the door in the direction of the MedBay, retracing your steps from last night.

Relief washes over you when you see him standing in the doorway of his office, but a new kind of worry settles like a stone in the pit of your stomach. He’s not hurt or missing, so... was he ignoring you?

“Len,” you call as you walk through the MedBay, “hey.”

The look on his face is far from familiar; his hazel eyes seem darker and the circles beneath them are a deep purple, “mornin’.”

“Where have you been?” you ask, unable to mask the worry in your voice, “I was looking for you last night. I called a few times, but you never answered, I was so worried.”

He keeps his eyes on his PADD as he turns and walks further into his office, “sorry, medical emergency.”

You follow him in, trying not to choke on the panic rising in your throat, “oh, I didn’t hear about anything. Are you okay?”

“Fine,” he mumbles, “just busy.” He refuses to look up at you, keeping his eyes trained on the device in his hands and moving as if you’re both the south ends of two opposing magnets.

“Okay,” you say, your voice even weaker than before, “well, I spoke to Jim yesterday and he said we should break out the scotch tonight. You know, have a little celebration?”

“Can’t, I’m on call.”

"You could still come and hang out,” you force a smile onto your lips, “come on, don’t make me admit that I miss you.”

He only scoffs, his attention unmoving from his PADD.

You swallow the lump in your throat, “are you sure you’re alright?”

He sighs and finally looks up, his brows knit tight and something akin to resentment behind his glare, “Jim told me.”

“Told you what?”

“About the job offer.”

The stone in your stomach grows three sizes, sending a wave of nausea through your whole body and you have to lean against the wall to steady yourself. “He wasn’t supposed to,” you mutter, “he wasn’t supposed to tell anyone because I’m not taking it.”

“I think you should.”

His words feel like a knife being plunged into your chest, knocking you breathless and turning your voice into a whisper, “what?”

“I think you should take the job,” he says.

You blink back your tears, “why?”

“It sounds like a great opportunity, and you’re young, so you should take it.”

If it weren’t for your shoulder leaning against the wall, you could almost be sure the room itself is starting to spin. You can feel your heartbeat in every inch of your skin, heat spreading like wildfire through your whole body as your heart begins to tear itself in two.

“Just so I’m clear,” your words are soft and unsteady, “you want me to take the job and leave the Enterprise?”

He nods once, opening his mouth to reply but hesitates, as if suddenly deciding not to say whatever was on the tip of his tongue. Only then do you realise that tears are streaming down your cheeks.

“Okay, fine,” you say, wiping your face with the back of your hand, “I’ll take the job, and since you can’t seem to stand the sight of me, I’ll start in three weeks instead of six.”

You can barely see his face through the blur of tears, so you turn sharply toward the door and storm out, trying your best to keep your sobs muffled as you move through the ship and back to your room.

Those three weeks were the closest thing to hell that you’ve ever known. At first you were devastated, locking yourself in your room for four days straight, refusing to talk to anyone and living off half a meal a day. Everyone was worried but knew you needed space, especially after they heard you accepted the job at the academy. After the fourth day of wallowing, you got angry. You finally showered, dressed, and ate a full meal before deciding you would demand Leonard to tell you what the fuck you did wrong.

Jim said he could hear that first ‘conversation’ between you and the doctor all the way from the bridge... you were in the MedBay. You’re not sure you’ve ever yelled at someone so much, let alone someone you love, but it was like that for the rest of your time on the Enterprise. You couldn’t be amicable with one another, no matter how hard you tried.

“Y/N,” Jim nudges you with his elbow, “do you remember that?”

You blink away your daydream to find four sets of eyes on you and one pair intentionally avoiding you, “remember what?”

“When you weren’t wearing underwear and we-”

“Jim!” you smack his arm, “I thought you promised not to bring that up ever again.”

He wraps an arm around your shoulder, chuckling, “I’m sorry but I have a duty to never let that story die, it has to be one of the best days of my life.”

You roll your eyes but still join in the laughter of the captain, Sulu, Chekov, and Scotty. You’re almost positive you see Leonard’s lip twitch, but he quickly lifts his glass and takes a huge gulp of beer. Once the laughter subsides, Jim squeezes you closer and sighs, “you know, it’s just not the same without you on the ship. I actually miss you, like, a lot.”

You gasp dramatically, “did James Tiberius Kirk just admit to feeling something?”

“I’m serious,” he says, “don’t you miss me?” His blue eyes are wide and pleading, tugging at your heartstrings.

“Of course I miss you,” you quickly look around your circle of friends, “I miss everyone. It wasn’t easy to leave, but I just couldn’t pass up the opportunity.”

“Aw,” Jim coos, “do you mean it? You really miss me?”

You roll your eyes again despite the smile on your face, “yes, I really mean it.”

Leonard scoffs, “are you sure about that?”

You can feel the energy shift, everyone suddenly tense as you finally look up at him, “about what?”

“That you mean it.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” you ask, pulling away from under Jim’s arm.

Leonard shrugs, “sometimes people say things they don’t mean.”

“I guess,” you frown, “but why would I lie?”

“You tell me,” he replies, his expression unreadable as he takes another sip of beer.

You hesitate for a moment, the tension tangible as you scramble for words. “I’m confused,” you finally say, “Did I do something in the last twenty seconds to piss you off?”

He chuckles bitterly, “you know what? Don’t worry about it.”

The angry flame in your belly bursts into a bonfire, heating you from the inside and bordering your vision with red. “No,” you step forward ever so slightly, “you can’t just call me a liar and then tell me not to worry about it. What did I do?”

“Nothing, just forget about it. I’ll see you around,” he says, moving as if he intends to walk away.

“No!” you snap, taking another step toward him, “I won’t ‘forget about it’ either. This is not what I came here for, but if you have something to say, then say it. Or better yet, if you have something to feel, then feel it and stop pretending to be so fucking indifferent.”

He frowns, his hazel eyes full of an emotion you can’t seem to place. “Would you stop?” he murmurs, “you’re making a scene.”

Jim mumbles sarcastically behind you, “oh, how I miss the war.”

You ignore him, your glare locked on Leonard, “I’m making a scene? You’re the one that started it, but- oh wait,” you pause for dramatic effect, “that’s right; you can’t finish anything you start.”

The blow lands, because you can see the vein in his neck pulse even faster. Neither of you like to play too dirty, most of your ‘fights’ are just petty arguments, but every now and then a carefully crafted comment will remind each of you that if you wanted to, you could really hurt one another. You know Leonard isn’t proud of his divorce, and you know that bringing it up in any negative context can really get to him.

“Maybe you’re right,” his says in a low voice, “but at least I have the decency to walk away before I make a mess.”

It takes all of your self-control not to speak any louder than he did, “oh, you want to talk about making a mess?”

“No, because I’m going to leave before I say something I don’t mean.”

He turns and walks away before you can fully process what just happened. You can feel the red-hot colour of your cheeks as blood pumps through your veins twice as fast as normal, both from anger and embarrassment. Luckily, not many others noticed your little spat, and your friends had to deal with so much of that during your final weeks on the Enterprise that they’re not even phased.

You turn to Jim, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he chuckles, once again wrapping an arm around your shoulders, “on the scale of Y/N versus Bones, that was like a four.”

You can’t help but giggle as he guides you toward the bar.

“It would have been a three,” you continue, “but I’ll award an extra point for the jab at his divorce.”

“Jim!” you scold, nudging his rib with your elbow.

He laughs again, louder, “what? If I have to deal with my two favourite people at war, then I’m going to make a game of it.”

You spend the rest of the night right beside Jim, trying to ignore the guilt growing bigger and uglier inside your stomach. Leonard doesn’t leave until a few hours later, having been caught by a group of his MedBay buddies who insist on fetching him drinks, and you can’t help from keeping him within your sight. You’re jealous of every single person who gets even a second of his attention or a smile directed their way, and when one of the cute young nurses leans in a little too close to him, you feel your drinks bubbling up your throat.

You decide to say goodbye mere minutes after you see the doctor walk out the door, leaving Jim to his merriment with the rest of the crew who are more than a little inebriated, though he doesn’t let you walk away until you pinkie-promise to join your friends at breakfast in the morning. That should be fun.

The walk back to your hotel feels longer than it did on the way to the party. Your feet are sore and heavy, and your stomach feels like its full of toxic waste that isn’t going to stay there for long. You didn’t even drink that much, you just can’t help feeling sick over your argument with Leonard and the way that nurse touched his arm.

You kick your shoes off the second you step into your room and wriggle out of your dress, throwing it on the floor along with everything else you can remove from your body before falling on the bed. Just as you’ve done for the past five months, you begin to play back every interaction you’ve had with Leonard since he told you to take the job at the academy, starting with the newest addition to the library from this evening. The first time you did this was the first night you spent at your cramped apartment on the academy’s campus; you thought if you dissected enough of the interaction, you might be able to figure out what went wrong. After a while you realised it had become a sort of comfort, simply remembering that Leonard did still exist and he is still out there. You often wonder if he thinks of you just as much, but you try not to feed the hope that still burns at the back of your chest, which is exactly why you’re only allowed to remember the fights and arguments. If you let your mind wander further back than that, you might not ever return to reality.

A chirp from your communicator wakes you, so you rub your eyes until you can read the cheeky message from Jim reminding you about your breakfast plans. You groan loudly as you throw the comforter back and quite literally roll out of bed. You’re not ready for another battle, but you do have unfinished business with Jim relating to your status of employment aboard the Enterprise, or lack thereof.

You hadn’t mentioned it last night because of, well, obvious reasons, but there is another factor contributing to your decision whether or not to forfeit your post as a part of Jim’s crew. Before you left, as if your boss knew this trip would tempt you to return to your friends, the academy offered you another position co-leading a brand-new programme for aspiring mechatronic engineers. It’s not necessarily your strength, but it sounds incredible, and to be amongst some of the most intelligent people in Starfleet would be nothing short of inspiring, but that meant giving up the Enterprise (and her crew) for good.

You quickly shower and change into comfortable clothes before packing most of your belongings into your duffel bag. You do have another night booked, but you’re not sure you’ll want to stay on Yorktown much longer if this morning doesn’t go well.

Unsurprisingly, Jim decided to have breakfast at the Starfleet base where most of the crew would be staying during their time on the starbase. It was just the same as the mess hall on the ship or at the academy, just a little newer with better food because most people passing through Yorktown were high-ranking or dignitaries from the Federation, and apparently, Jim Kirk was also one of those important people. The Enterprise crew were given a private buffet on the mezzanine level of the huge eating area, where two long tables were laid out with all the breakfast food you could imagine.

“I think we might have to warn Starfleet about giving the captain a big head,” Nyota says, falling into step beside you, “or soon there won’t be room for anyone else on the bridge.”

You giggle, “but if there’s no one else on the bridge, who’s going to compliment his luscious hair and his humble courage?”

She laughs too and even Spock cracks a tiny smile beside her.

“Hey Spock.”

“It is nice to see you again, Y/N,” he responds with a nod, “I regret not being able to spend more time with you last night.”

You wave your hand dismissively and continue toward the tables of food. Sulu soon joins the three of you and you chat idly while loading up plates full of food. Jim is standing at the back of the room, leaning against the wall with a coffee in one hand and using the other to animate whatever intriguing conversation he and Scotty were having. You try not to acknowledge Leonard as you approach them.

“Hey,” Nyota whispers, “we don’t have to join them.”

You shake your head, “I’m calm, I’m sure of it.”

She can’t help but snicker quietly at the comically wide smile you force across your face as you reach your group of friends.

“Good morning gorgeous,” Jim greets you as you join them, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I’m surprised you’re here,” you say.

He rolls his eyes, “please, I have a liver of steel.”

You can’t hold back your laughter, “is that what that was on New Year’s Eve? It was your liver of steel that made you fall off the toilet and page Len because you couldn’t feel your left butt cheek?”

You laugh a little harder as you vividly recall the state Jim had been in that night, but the laughter from the rest of the group is soft and awkward, and only then do you realise what you said. Len. Only you called him that.

Jim clears his throat before it gets too uncomfortable, “uh, anyway, have you thought about your decision?”

“Oh,” you quickly swallow the piece of pancake you put in your mouth, “right into it, then.”

He shrugs sheepishly, “I kind of have to have an answer once I’m back on duty.”

“Well,” you sigh, “then I have to tell you about something else.” You steal a glance at Leonard, noticing his cheeks a darker shade of pink than usual and you wonder if it’s because of your slip up.

You explain the offer from your boss and the programme you’d be running to the group in front of you, trying to keep your voice neutral. You don’t want to seem too resentful of the tiny apartment and dark office you currently have, but you definitely don’t want any of them to think you’re more interested in the academy’s new initiative than returning to the Enterprise.

To everyone’s surprise, Leonard is the first to speak, “it’s a good programme, I’ve heard of it.”

“You’d leave for good?” Nyota asks, “give up your position on the Enterprise?”

“And surrender from the battle,” Jim chuckles, glancing between you and Leonard with a smirk. Nyota and Spock both give him their most disapproving parent stares, and his grin disappears, “sorry, not the time.”

“Well, I was kind of hoping my friends would help me decide,” you say, looking to each of them except Leonard.

“But you know what we’re going to say,” Nyota shrugs, “we want you to come back to the Enterprise.”

“I know, but,” you look pointedly at Scotty, “you can also understand that this is a huge opportunity. I just need some advice.” You know that above the rest, Scotty is the biggest advocate for your career, and you knew he would be the most excited about the programme at the academy.

“You’re right, lassie,” he sighs, “and I’d like to say I’ve missed you the most – it’s been hell down there with just Keenser – but I could never tell you not to take this offer. You’re young, and they’ve noticed you. If you go for this now, you’ll have endless opportunities at Starfleet.”

“But you also have endless opportunities on the Enterprise,” Jim argues. “The resources for your programme only just came in and we’re in the early stages of setting it up; you could take over and lead it. It is your baby.

Your pulse quickens with excitement at the idea of running your programme, but it’s been months since you had anything to do with it. “I’d feel bad taking it over from someone else,” you say, “I couldn’t do that.”

He shakes his head, “no one has been appointed to lead it yet.”

Sulu clears his throat, “well, Captain, we do have Mr. Scott and Dr. McCoy who could lead the programme aboard the Enterprise, and the offer Y/N has is huge. There are thousands in Starfleet who would kill for this opportunity. I miss her as much as anyone else, but she could assist remotely if we need her.”

Jim frowns at his lieutenant for not picking the same side of the argument.

“You’re right, Sulu,” you smile at him before countering Jim’s scowl, “Scotty and Dr. McCoy can run it. They’re the brains behind the whole thing anyway. All I did was pitch it, so really, my job is done.”

“Your job is not done,” Nyota butts in, “you have no idea how hard the last few months have been without you.”

“That’s because I haven’t been replaced, the crew is down a man.”

“You’re not replaceable,” Jim states, his brows even closer than before, “no one could-”

“I’ll stop you right there, Captain,” you interrupt, “because there are plenty of incredible people in Starfleet who could do more than simply fill my shoes.”

Jim huffs, failing to find another counter argument.

“If I may, Y/N,” Spock says, taking half a step forward, “but you are seeking advice to assist in making the decision, are you not? Though you argue only with those who advise you to return to the Enterprise, which would suggest that you have already made this decision. Unless you are simply waiting for a better reason to return, or perhaps, for the right person to ask you to,” he pauses and turns to Leonard, “Dr. McCoy?”

The air is suddenly thick with tension, everyone gaping at Spock and wondering if they might have imagined what they just heard.

“Fire in the hole,” Jim murmurs into his cup as he takes a swig of coffee.

Leonard clears his throat, “I don’t particularly care what Y/N does, so I don’t think my opinion should matter.”

Jim coughs, almost choking on his drink, “and take cover.” He pats his chest and turns to Spock, “have I introduced you to our newest cadet in the archaeological research division? He’s amazing. Nyota, Scotty, you too.”

Without so much as a hint of subtlety, everyone disperses, leaving you and Leonard alone in the corner of the huge room.

Somehow, you find enough courage to turn to him and ask, “why did you tell me to leave?”

“I’ve answered this question a hundred times,” he sighs, “it was a great job opportunity. You would have been stupid not to take it.”

“No, this time I want the truth.”

He rolls his eyes, “why do you repeatedly insist on having this conversation, knowing exactly how it's going to end?”

You can only just hear him over the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears; rage and anticipation coursing through you as you stand between the doctor and the rest of the Enterprise crew. You’ve already embarrassed yourself last night, you might as well give it one last go before you make your decision.

“Because I want the real answer,” you reply, keeping your voice even, “so we’re going to keep having it until you tell me the truth.”

“Okay, you want my advice?” he says, “take the job and give up your position on the Enterprise so that I can be rid of you and this conversation for good.”

Once again, his words knock the breath from your lungs. You can almost feel the new fractures splitting your heart into even smaller pieces, but the pain moves to the back of your mind as you realise that he did just admit something that he hasn’t before.

“So…” you whisper, searching frantically for your voice, “it was about getting rid of me, not about the job.”

An array of emotions you can’t even attempt to read cross his face in less than a second before he settles on a frown, “look, I don’t have to explain myself to you. If anything, you owe me.”

“I owe you what?”

“An explanation.”

You frown too, “what for?”

“For what you said before you left!” he snaps.

You can practically feel the sets of eyes on your back multiply, more bystanders finding interest in the exchange happening at the back of the room.

“Len, we were at each other’s throats before I left,” you say, lowering your voice, “I’m sure we both said things we didn’t mean.”

You try for a second to remember something deep and personal he’d said to you in your final weeks on the ship, but nothing comes to mind. In fact, all you can remember is petty fighting and childish arguments. It was almost as if neither of you truly wanted to hurt the other, or at least, not acutely. You never brought up the deepest and darkest pieces of pain from each other’s history, knowing it would irreversibly damage the relationship between you. The closest you’ve gotten was last night when you hinted at his divorce, saying he couldn’t finish anything he started, and even then, you felt awful.

“Not that,” he mutters, "what you said after your meeting with the admiral.”

You frown again, “that I got the grant?”

“After that.”

You have to think for a minute, playing back that day in your head as you’ve done a thousand times. Only this time, you allow yourself to remember all of it, without blocking out the parts that made your heart hurt. You gasp quietly when you realise, slowly looking up at him, “y-you’re angry because I said I loved you?”

His expression is the softest you’ve seen it in months, his hazel eyes almost green behind the sadness filling them, “I’m not angry that you said it, I’m angry because you lied.”

Tears begin to blur your vision, but you refuse to let them fall, “why would I lie about that?”

“Don’t bother, alright?” he says before clearing his raspy throat, “I heard you talking to Nyota.”

“When?”

“When you went to meet her, after we- you know, in my office,” his cheeks turn the faintest shade of pink.

You shake your head, as if it should help clear your thoughts, “I’m confused.”

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” he snaps again, though this time with a little less bite.

“Well clearly, I have no idea what is going on!” You don’t care who’s watching anymore, this is the closest you’ve ever been to actually finding out what happened.

He sighs, “You called me, by accident I guess, and I heard you. You told her that you only said it because it was awkward, that you were going to take it back because you got what you wanted, and that Jim-”

“I’ll get Jim to talk to him,” you cut him off, realisation smacking you across the face. You feel dizzy as everything hits you at once and a montage of memories rush through your head. The pieces of the puzzle you’d been trying to solve for months finally fall into place, and you finally know why Leonard broke your heart that day.

“Exactly,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest.

You’ve spent months wondering whether it was because of the job offer itself, or because you got the grant on his behalf, but Leonard wasn’t the type to be jealous of his friends. You wondered if he simply wasn’t ready for a new relationship, or if you’d scared him when you told him you loved him, but he said it first. You even wondered, very briefly, if he’d heard some stupid rumour about you and Jim, since you knew there were some of those around, but you’d spoken about it before, even laughed about it. You never considered that the whole thing could have been one, big, stupid misunderstanding.

Leonard frowns, “You can’t seriously tell me that you had no idea what happened until now.”

“Len, I-”

“No,” he shakes his head, “I really don’t want to-”

“Leonard, please,” you sigh “would you just give me five seconds.”

“You’ve had five months,” he exclaims, “and you still can’t admit it to my face?”

“Because you’re wrong,” you snap.

His frown disappears, “I’m what?”

“You don’t know what you think you know,” you say, clasping your hands over your stomach as another wave of nausea hits you.

"I heard you say it.”

You take a deep breath, trying to calm the nerves coursing through your veins like an electric current. “Yes,” you begin, “I said those things, but not about you. I-It was about the job, I… when I was in the meeting with the admiral, he offered me the job before he approved the grant, and I said yes... but I didn’t mean it. It was awkward and I needed him to say yes, so I accepted, but I never wanted the job. I didn’t want to leave the Enterprise; I didn’t want to leave you. I was in love with you. Jim was going to speak to the admiral for me, say that he couldn’t let me go, the ship needed me, and I had to run the programme, but then... well, you told me to go, so I-”

“Left,” he finishes for you, his eyes glassy as his mind wanders back to that night.

Your heart is thundering so loud you can’t even hear the commotion of the people behind you over the thrum of your pulse. Neither of you dare to speak, you don’t even know what to say. Six whole months of pain and anger, all because of a misunderstanding. If Leonard had asked you about the conversation he overhead, or if you asked him what was wrong instead of just leaving... you could have avoided the worst six months of your life. You feel stupid.

“You must hate me,” he finally says, every bit of anger gone from his voice, “I’m so sorry.”

Before you can respond, he steps to the side and strides right past you. He passes easily through the groups of people enjoying their breakfast, down the stairs, and out of the building.

“Ye’re barely off the ground for six months and ye already forget how ta solder straight,” Scotty shouts from the deck below.

You put down your tools and take two steps to lean over the railing and glare down at him, “for your information, I was never very good at soldering.”

He chuckles and waves a hand, returning his attention to the open machinery in front of him, ready to remedy your errors from attempting to fix it earlier. In your defence, you weren’t usually on the tools, but you wanted to be able to join in on the practical portion of the new programme when the time came, so you agreed to a month down in the warp core with Scotty to brush up on your skills. It’s been almost a week without incident, which you considered to be a personal record. Though you’re fairly sure it has nothing to do with your skills and everything to do with not wanting to end up in the MedBay.

Jim’s birthday was a couple of weeks ago, and you still haven’t spoken to Leonard since that morning. After he left, you went straight to Jim and told him you’d be back aboard the Enterprise effective immediately. You quit your job at the academy – luckily you were still within the probationary period – and had all of your belongings packed and shipped to the next Federation planet that the Enterprise is due at. You’ll be picking them up in a few days, but you honestly wouldn’t be too worried if they never showed up. You’re just happy to be home; it’s as if you never left. That is, except for Leonard.

You know you have to give him space, and obviously he wants nothing to do with you right now, so you can’t force yourself upon him even if you’d settle for just friends at this point. Your heart aches in a whole new way whenever you hear his name, but you haven’t yet run into him, and you’re not sure what will happen when you do.

“Shit,” you hiss, quickly pulling away from where you’re working to watch blood drip from your hand, “of course.”

“I told Scotty that it wasn’t a good idea putting a pretty girl like you down here,” Jim says as he wanders in from the corridor.

You scowl at him, “I’ll ignore the misogyny because I’m in pain. Can you get me the first aid kit?”

He chuckles, “I don’t think a bandage is going to cut it; you need stitches.”

“I do not,” you argue, despite the blood creating a small puddle at your feet.

“Yes, you do,” he insists, “and as a bonus, you can give Bones a heart attack.”

You take a clean rag and wrap it around your hand, allowing Jim to help as you ask him, “why would I give him a heart attack?”

He shrugs, “I’m not sure he knows you’re back aboard the ship.”

“Excuse me?”

“I haven’t spoken to him since Yorktown,” he clarifies, “I made sure he was okay after breakfast, but I didn’t tell him that you’d decided to return to the Enterprise. It didn’t seem like the time.”

You’re almost positive if looks could kill, Jim would dead on the floor right now. “But he’s the Chief Medical Officer,” you stress, “he has to know everyone aboard the ship.”

“Yes,” Jim says, “and no, there are a lot of crew members.”

“He would have had to sign me back on!”

Jim can’t help but laugh again at the way your voice cracks. “He’s been sick,” he states, “since we boarded. Doctor Gronan has been standing in for him until yesterday.”

“Doctor Gronan signed me back on,” you mutter to yourself.

“Yep.”

“Then why wouldn’t you tell him?” you exclaim.

Your captain laughs once again, shrugging as he replies, “I thought it would be fun to see how long it took him to find out.”

“This isn’t a game!”

“But it is fun.”

“I’m going to kill you.”

“After you get stitched up, come on,” he sighs, guiding you toward the corridor by your shoulders, “I assume you know the way?”

“I’m familiar,” you reply, dragging your feet into the bright white hallway.

“Excellent, no detours, but first, where’s Scotty?”

“Deck below,” you mumble.

“Thank you,” he gives you a cheeky wink, “now, on your way.”

Your pulse quickens with every step you take toward the MedBay, which you’re pretty sure is why the rag you’re holding begins to soak with blood. Other crew members watch you hurry through the ship with concern, and by the time you reach the MedBay, you’re trailing little red droplets across the floor. The moment Leonard looks up from his PADD, he goes paper white and his eyes practically double in size. Despite being obviously unsettled, he looks good; you could never get sick of seeing him in his uniform.

“Hey,” you say, stepping closer to him in order to deter bystanders from eavesdropping.

He swallows thickly, “hi.”

Another beat of silence passes because you hold up your injured hand, “um, I’m bleeding.”

“Shit, sorry,” he finally notices the bloody rag, “come with me.”

You follow him into one of the treatment rooms and sit on the bed, legs swinging over the side as he pulls the stool and cart over to you.

“Sorry,” he says again as he arranges the equipment on the cart, “I- um, I didn’t know you were back.”

“I know, Jim thought it would be funny.”

He looks up suddenly, that familiar frown knitting his brows.

“I didn’t know,” you clarify, “I assumed you had signed me aboard and were just avoiding me.”

His frown softens and he opens his mouth to reply but hesitates, instead returning his attention to the bloody rag wrapped around your hand. He nods for you to show him, so you extend your arm and allow him to remove the make-shift bandage. You try not to wince when the material pulls on a dried bit of blood, but you can’t help your hand from twitching. Leonard’s own hand cups yours out of instinct; a comforting gesture that wouldn’t mean a thing to you from any other doctor but means everything from Leonard. He looks up at you, as if asking permission to continue touching you, waiting for you to nod before he starts cleaning the cut.

“Let me know if I hurt you,” he mutters.

Ironic... you think, though choose not to say it aloud. You nod again, “okay.”

Another few minutes pass as he finishes cleaning the cut, numbs your skin, and prepares to stitch it closed. He holds the dermal regenerator a few inches from your hand and it begins to whir softly, shooting out a blue beam that sews the skin back together. You let your eyes wander from the healing cut to where the doctor is touching you, his warm skin beneath the glove making yours tingle all the way up your arm and into your chest, waking up the butterflies that live in your rib cage. Their fluttering wings make it hard to breathe, and that familiar sense of anticipation and giddiness takes over any feelings of contempt or anger.

The regenerator stops and he looks up to meet your gaze, his pupils doubling their size, “all done.”

You flex your hand, “feels brand new.”

“Give it a minute,” he says, “keep stretching, and I’ll check it over before you go.”

You watch him pack away the cart and dispose of all the bloody gauze. His hands work fluidly, not once hesitating as his muscle memory tells them where to put each tool or piece of equipment. He pulls his gloves off and for some stupid reason your heart leaps; heat flushes through your whole body, concentrating in a tight ball just below your belly as your mind replays all the things those hands have done to you.

“Let me have a look.”

You willingly put your hand back in his, praying your cheeks aren’t as red as they feel. He presses gently around the faint line where your cut had been, glancing up with each new area he pushes on to see if you wince or react at all.

“Looks good,” he lets go of you hand and rolls back on the stool, “you can go back to work, just don’t lift anything heavy and please wear gloves.”

You try to fight the sheepish grin tugging at your lips, “yes, sir.”

His cheeks flush pink and you can’t help being a little proud. He stands up, avoiding your gaze as he picks up his PADD to check off a few more things, no doubt clearing you to return to work. You slide off the bed and straighten your uniform, trying to think of something else to say so you don’t have to leave. Should you make up an illness, or is that too desperate? This is the most amicable interaction you’ve had in months; you don’t want it to end.

“I jus’ want to say,” he clears his throat, “I am really-”

“I know,” you interrupt, “and it’s okay, you don’t have to apologise.”

He frowns, “you’re not angry?”

You sigh and lean back against the bed, “well, I thought about it, at first, but then realised that I gave up on us just as quickly.”

“What do you mean?”

“You told me to leave, and I left,” you reply, “I knew something was wrong, but I didn’t argue, I didn’t fight it, I just left.”

His frown doesn’t move, only his eyes, raking up and down your body twice before settling on your lips and turning that warmth below your belly into a full-blown bonfire.

“Besides,” you continue, your nerves forcing you to fill the silence, “if I honestly believed I'd heard my boyfriend tell someone that he regretted saying he loved me, I’d probably react the same way... or worse.”

He cracks a small smile and your heart races as if you’d just run five miles, but the light-heartedness on his face disappears just as quickly as it had come. “Ex-boyfriend,” he says.

You frown, “what?”

“You said boyfriend, you meant ‘ex-boyfriend’.”

“Oh,” you nod slowly, “well, actually, I don’t think I remember breaking up.”

He actually laughs, only a short chuckle, but it’s the best thing you’ve heard in months.

“I’m serious!” you insist, laughing despite your words, “neither of us actually said the words.”

His smile fades, and he looks back down at his PADD before you can figure out the new expression on his face, “regardless of words being said, I’m sure other things happened that-”

You cut him off, “what ‘other’ things?”

“I’m not naive,” he chuckles bitterly, “I’m sure there were plenty of Starfleet’s finest that were more than eager to meet the gorgeous new engineer.”

“Oh,” you know your cheeks are now glowing red, “thanks, I think, but- uh, no, I didn’t sleep with anyone.”

He looks up again, a mixture of confusion and something else you can’t quite place written across his face. Panic clouds your thoughts as you wonder whether he has slept with anyone in the time you were away. You hadn��t even considered it, hadn’t tortured yourself with that possibility because deep down he was still yours, it was almost as if a part of you knew it wasn’t over.

“Why not?” he asks.

You shrug, “too heartbroken.”

He drops his PADD on the nearest tabletop, sighing, “you have no idea how sorry I am.”

“Len, I told you-”

“Let me apologise,” he demands, stepping forward until his chest is an inch from your nose, “I need to apologise, because I don’t think I will ever stop hating myself for losing my one reason for existing.”

You gasp and then quickly forget how to breathe, holding the air in your lungs as if the slightest movement would wake you up from whatever wild dream you’d fallen into. You stare up at him, unblinking.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, hooking a finger beneath your chin.

You still can’t breathe, and your head starts to spin as he slowly closes the distance between your mouths.

“If you want me to stop,” he murmurs, his lips practically brushing yours, “just tell-”

“Shut up,” you mutter, before pushing up onto your toes and pressing your mouth against his.

His hands find your waist and your bodies snap together, like two magnets alone in their own field void of any other gravitational pull. His lips taste the same, his tongue moves exactly the way you know, and he feels like home.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again, your mouths barely parting before his lips catch your breath again.

You step back until your bum bumps into the bed, and with the slightest effort, he lifts you onto it. His hands spread your knees, allowing him to nestle between them as his touch makes its way up your body to your neck, the heat of his skin on yours pulling the knot below your belly even tighter. You slide forward ever-so-slightly, unable to stop yourself from grinning when you feel the hardness of him rub between your legs.

He groans and tightens a hand around the front of your neck, “careful, darlin’.”

Your grin grows wider, “I missed you.”

He pulls back and his hands return to your waist. His skin is flushed and his pupils blown wide, his lips swollen and red, and you’re almost convinced you’ve died and gone to heaven. “I missed you too,” he says, before pressing a gentle kiss against your lips.

“Do you two know there are cameras in here?” Jim asks, appearing at the door and startling both of you, “or do you just have some kinky preference for being watched?” His smirk stretches from one ear to the other, and he attempts to appear casual by leaning against the door frame but his bright eyes are sparkling with mischief.

“Do you watch all the surveillance footage, or do you just have some kinky preference for the MedBay?” you retort, your fingers curling into the fabric of Leonard’s shirt to keep him in place.

He doesn’t even try to turn around for obvious reasons in his pants, but throws an irritated scowl over his shoulder, “really, Jim?”

Jim chuckles, “what’s the matter, Bones?”

“You,” Leonard snaps, “you’re the matter!”

“Why can’t you turn around?” he asks, his voice laced with evil intent.

You reach for the small pillow at the top of the bed and lob it across the room at him, “would you fuck off?”

He laughs again, “no need to be so rude, I just wanted to see my two best friends!”

Leonard rolls his eyes, his grip on your hips tightening, “you’re about to see a lot more than you’ve bargained for if you don’t fuck off.”

Your stomach flips and a warm, tingly sense of anticipation spreads throughout your whole body.

“Fine,” Jim sighs, pushing off the door frame and taking a step back, “I’ll just watch the cameras.”

“Get out!” Leonard exclaims, turning around as Jim cackles and hurries away.

Leonard presses the button for the door to slide shut and another button to lock it.

“You don’t think he’s really going to watch the cameras, right?” you ask.

He returns to the space between your legs, splaying his hands across your thighs where your dress has ridden up, “probably.” His hands slide up under your dress and you instinctively straighten your spine, tilting your head back in a desperate attempt to get your mouth closer to his.

He stays just out of reach, his breath hot on your lips as he speaks, “so you better be a good girl and put on a show.”

END.

49 notes · View notes

hopingforrainydays · 2 years ago

Text

birth of the bone-breaker | general kirigan

pairing: general kirigan x fem!reader

warnings: descriptions of blood and gore

word count: 2.3k

summary: soft times with the darkling as he comforts a traumatized grisha; in other words, a story in which a healer becomes something else and finds solace in the shadow summoner

author’s note: so so excited for shadow and bone season two. this one has been sitting in my drafts for a long time, and i’m happy to finally share it with y’all!

requests are open!

You were dragged through the palace gates at Os Alta, your limp form tugged forward--and held up--by the red-clad Grisha on either side of you. You barely registered their forceful motions, keeping your chin tucked into your chest. It was sodden with dirt, blood, and what could only be assumed to be some other form of bodily matter. But that wasn’t a bother. You barely registered that either.

It had been a long enough journey, but you had not fought the Grisha hauling you by horse, carriage, and on foot. You weren’t a fighter by nature, and even so, any of the adrenaline that flowed through your veins had ebbed away. Besides, you deserved whatever they had planned for you. The iron grip of the Corporalniks prevented any attempt of a struggle. The black detailing of their keftas marked them as Heartrenders; they could take the air from your lungs or crush your heart in a matter of moments.

But you could do the same, couldn’t you?

The shadow of the Little Palace loomed over you, and yet your gaze did not falter from its focus on your muddied feet. It was the only thing grounding you to this moment, no matter how you wished to glance upon the palace one last time. Once inside, you found small purchase on the smooth marble floors, the tips of your toes tripping at the quick pace set by your companions. A part you, deep inside, was apologetic of the mess you were bound to leave behind: muddy, bloodied footprints.

It wouldn’t be your first mess.

The First Army soldiers flanking the grounds had kept their hands on the trigger of their rifles and any Grisha that now flock through the halls followed your every movement, hands clasped in front of them. The dark forms of the oprichniki walked ahead, leading you to your doom. A strategic hold on your arms forced your hands to be kept apart.

You understood, in part, their caution. It still pained you. The presumption that the Grisha--your family--looked at you as though you were a monster clogged your eyes with tears.

Saints, you deserved whatever awaited you.

The Grisha soldiers brought you to the end of the hall. Ornate double-doors pushed open, and you were marched to the center of the large room. The bruising hold on your biceps ceased, causing you to fall to the ground in an ungraceful heap. You caught yourself against the ground, eyes trained on your bloodied fingertips. Your fingers folded into tight fists, the jagged edge of your fingernails cutting into your palms. You winced at the throbbing pain, but dug your fingertips further into the soft flesh. In the wild panic that rose in your throat, in the unsurety of the future, and in the potential meeting of your gruesome fate, you found that it was the one thing that reassured you.

“What is this?” The voice came from in front of you. It was cold and calculating, and one that you faintly recognized from your years spent training at the Little palace. General Kirigan.

“Forgive us, moi soverennyi. It’s a matter of grave importance,” said one of the Heartrenders. From what you could tell, they were stood not far behind you. Ready, in case you were to attack.

There was a shuffle of feet behind you. One of the Grisha, a Squaller, stepped forward. Her voice cracked as she said, “We were meant to deliver a few supplies to the Second Army regiment posted outside Chernast. When we arrived, they were–” she paused, taking in a shaky breath. She whispered, more to herself than anyone else, “Saints, they were all dead.”

“Except for them,” the other Heartrender spat. There was a sharp tug to your hair, yanking your head back. You let out a yelp, wild eyes meeting the cool stare of your general. “We found this one near the Fjerdan border, not far from the rest.”

“Release her.”

“General, you should know it was a massacre.”

“Release her.”

The hand in your hair released. Your head slumped forward, a throbbing pain forming at the back. General Kirigan stepped toward you, his finger reaching out to lift your chin. You flinched. He hesitated, the finger hanging in the air for a moment before retracting entirely. Instead, he crouched, his eyes now level with your own.

“What happened?” he asked, his voice softer now than when he spoke to his soldiers.

“Our best guess is drüskelle-”

“I wasn’t asking you,” the general snapped at the Heartrender. He turned his attention back to you, waiting patiently for your response.

You shook your head back and forth, frantic. The memories of the attack had plagued your mind throughout your journey from Chernast to Os Alta, but you were always quick to shove them away. You didn’t want to remember.

The general’s tongue darted out to wet his lips. His dark eyes roamed your indiscernible features, watching as your eyes darted to look at the Grisha beside you. With a frown, he rose to his feet.

“Leave us.”

One of the Corporalniks made a noise of disagreement, but with one look from their general, quieted. The remaining Grisha left the room in slow, hesitant movements, as if they thought General Kirigan would change his mind. With a final bow, the Squaller closed the door behind her.

There was a tense silence as you remained on the floor and the general leant back against the round table. You were afraid to move, though most of the stress in your muscles had eased at the near-isolation.

“Can you stand on your own?”

You didn’t respond.

“Are you injured? I’ll send for a Healer.”

“No,” you were quick to dismiss the idea. The voice that left you did not feel like your own; it was rough as sandpaper, and a lot louder than you intended. Noticing the general’s taken-aback-expression, you were quick to whisper an explanation. “The blood isn’t mine.”

With a sigh, he moved towards you. He reached his hand out in front of you, mindful to keep his movements slow and stay a respectful distance away. You eyed his hand before placing your palm into his own.

He turned it over, brushing his thumb over the deep crescent marks left by your fingernails. A trail of blood ran from them down to your wrist. The look he gave you had your face burning in childish embarrassment, as if you were getting scolded by a parent.

“You’ll visit the infirmary later. I’ll have a servant come to clean you up, lest you’re hiding anymore injuries.”

You wanted to scoff at his choice of words. A small mark of self-mutilation was hardly an injury, and would never compare to the harm you brought to those in Chernast. Instead, you settled on a frown. He hoisted you to your feet and set you straight. As he moved to leave, you caught his arm.

“Wait,” you said. He looked at you expectantly, and you found yourself at a loss for words. You weren’t sure where you were going with this, but the idea of being left alone terrified you. The idea of being left alone with one of the servants terrified you even more. You wanted to believe it was because of the looks the other Grisha had given you upon your arrival--distrust, discomfort, and horror. You would never admit it, but you knew the true reason: you weren’t afraid of what they’d do to you, but of what you’d do to them. “Stay.”

After a beat of silence, you cleared your throat, pulling away from the powerful man. It was foolish, you were foolish. You leaned against the table, propping yourself up with both arms. The strength it took to hold yourself up became too much, though, and your arms trembled with exertion.

General Kirigan reached out to catch you, balancing your weight on his forearms. He didn’t say anything, didn’t react to your request, or reprimand you for being so forward. Instead, he wrapped an arm around your back, supporting a majority of your weight as you leaned into his side.

He mumbled encouragements as he led you to a side room, resting you against the cool surface of a sink. You observed the new environment, the realization that he had brought you into his washroom dawning on you. The room was large enough, with a tub seated in the center. General Kirigan was beside it, turning the handle to allow water to pour from the faucet. As the tub filled to a level of his liking, he set out a variety of soaps and sponges off to a table on the side.

He took a few tentative steps in your direction, as though he were approaching a wild animal. Maybe he was. He gestured to the door you had entered through. “I’ll be in the other room.”

With a flustered expression, he shut the door behind him. It took you a while to get the motivation to move, to make any progress toward the bath. The ruined garments decorating your body would not budge under your trembling fingertips, so you eased into the tub fully-clothed. The water was scorching hot against the exposed parts of skin, but as you adjusted, you found that you preferred it. The bitter cold of the Fjerdan border still bit into your skin, so you welcomed the hot pain.

Cold. Chernast. Pain. Burn. The connection formed before you could stop it, and you were plagued by the memories from days before. You whimpered, curling into a fetal position. You remembered your weak attempts at healing the fatal injuries that littered the bodies of your fallen friends; the Fjerdan warriors charging you, axes raised to cut you down; the burning rage as your hands moved in ways they never had before; Fjerdan blood mixing with Grisha as it splattered into the snow.

The rap of knuckles against the door startled you out of your trance. The general’s voice sounded from the other side, “Is it okay to come in?”

You froze. Had it really been that long?

The door creaked open. He stepped into the room, his eyes finding yours. He let out an exasperated sigh at your state: curled in the tub, clothed, the water barely warm, and skin still dirty. His figure disappeared into the other room, bringing back with him a wooden chair.

He took a seat by the tub, reaching forward. His hands rested on your shoulders, smoothing over the fabric as his fingers moved to work at the buttons of your ruined kefta. The general was close enough now for you to smell him. A whirl of musk and spice filtered through your nose. You inhaled deeply, the scent strangely calming you.

The rest of your layers were stripped from your skin, and he folded the garments--Saints know why; they were beyond the help of any Fabrickator. You were left in a loose shirt and pants. The muck and grime caking your skin itched, and it took everything in you not to scrape it off. Your fingernails dug into the fat of your calves, jabbing through the thin material of your pants. You curled further into yourself, head rested against your knees. The pain brought you to the present, and it was all you could do to focus on that.

“What did this to you?” the general asked, rolling up his sleeves. He rubbed a bar of soap against a damp towel until the suds grew to his liking. He pressed the cloth to the skin of your hands, gently rubbing away the grime.

It was a different way of asking what happened, with an implication that you were not the cause. If only he knew that you were. “I don’t know. I don’t want to know.”

“You’re a Heartrender, no? You must remember the attack.”

“I’m a Healer.”

The confession stalled his movements. His grip on your wrist loosened, but he continued his work in the silence that followed.

“I do,” you whispered, after a moment. “I do remember.”

Kirigan didn’t say anything. He glared at the bruises marking your arms from the Heartrenders’ grip.

“Fjerdan warriors attacked in the night. We never saw them coming. There was so much blood, so many bodies.”

“But you weren’t one of them.”

“No. I was trying to help those still alive. Heal them, if I could. Saints, at that point I was saving them just for them to die again.” You swallowed, thick and teary-eyed. “One of them found me, in the midst of it all. He pinned me to the ground. I saw the axe raise. And I just…panicked.”

By now, Kirigan had moved to cleaning your face. He dabbed carefully at your forehead.

“My hands were on his chest, and I felt every bone in his body break.”

You were disgusted with yourself. You were a Healer, not a Heartrender. It was your chosen specialization because you could not stand the thought of causing another person pain–you wanted to help. And yet here you were, one massacre later.

His finger smoothed the crease of your brows. “That sounds like self defense to me.”

“It could’ve been. If I hadn’t hunted down every warrior after that.” He gestured for you to stand. A fluffy towel wrapped around your shoulders, soaking in the sopping wet material of your clothes. “Why are you doing this?”

“Doing what?” he asked as you stepped from the tub.

“Taking care of me.”

“Someone needed to.”

“You didn’t have to.”

A pregnant pause. You thought you may have overstepped or offended him. He pulled you close by the towel on your shoulders, fingers gripping the sides of your jaw. His thumb rubbed against your cheek. “I did. I know what it’s like to feel like the monster.”

“General–”

“Kirigan. Just Kirigan.”

“Kirigan.” You smiled, if only a small one, for the first time in weeks. “Thank you.”

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