Title: With Close Friends (#15, The Drabble Bin)
Author: klmeri
Fandom: Star Trek TOS
Pairing: pre-Kirk/Spock/McCoy
Summary: Written based on an anonymous prompt submitted to my tumblr: Imagine Bones recovering from a hard week and taking an uncharacteristic nap in the middle of the day while Jim & Spock play chess and watch over him.
A/N: Anon, you started by saying ‘imagine’ and I did. The scene was too good not to jot down. Thank you!
Previous Drabbles: The Old Four | Those Neighborhood Hoodlums | Trapped | A Cage of His Own | Of Perky Starfleet Bottoms | An Hour Past | War of the Bots | The Best Substitute | Surprise Meeting | Little Help | Dreaming | The Tower | Brother | It’s Complicated

They think he has fallen into a deep sleep and has no sense of what is happening around him, but Leonard knows different. He knows in a way that makes him feel as if the universe has finally offered him a gift for all of his sacrifices. It’s in a form that he didn’t quite expect, but his heart is glad nonetheless. He needs these men—to look after, to lean on, and to simply exist alongside.

There is an old saying: when it rains, it pours. This past week has certainly seen a deluge, with Leonard caught in the center of it. He has never once shirked his duties but even the strongest man (including a half-Vulcan) would have felt his limitations after the grueling pace of a viral outbreak among two-thirds of the ship’s crew. The fast-acting virus has been as merciless on the doctors as the patients, but Leonard’s staff is known to be some of the hardiest medical officers in the galaxy. They had forsaken sleep and regular meals; they had slaved over lab results and researched treatments until their eyesight became blurry; they had tended the ill and absorbed longer shifts and extra duties without complaint. It was akin to wartime, and every capable hand was needed. They survived it. Thankfully, not one crewman was lost.

Leonard is a realist: he is not of the strongest variety of men, and he has long since known what his physical limits are. Like most doctors, he has been pushed to the brink and beyond several times during his career, enough to be aware of when to react wisely and conservatively in order to endure a triage. Yet he never does, citing that he should not have expectations of others that he himself is not willing to perform to.

And so it is that personal code of Leonard’s which has landed him here, stretched out on the couch in the captain’s quarters, aching to sleep but so strained by exhaustion that his brain has forgotten how to turn itself off.

At least he has a distraction, something to calm his thoughts and remind him why he needs to remain very still, pretending to be unaware of the quiet clink of chessboard pieces and the soft, steady breaths of the other occupants of the cabin.

Jim will certainly not appreciate his half-delirious senior medical officer jumping up to pace the room. It is bad enough, decides Leonard, that he practically collapsed into the captain’s arms after being summoned like a wayward child to hear a lecture on ‘taking care of oneself during a time of crisis’ (and to believe—Jim had had the audacity to use the same speech Leonard had once delivered to him!).

Or maybe it was into Spock’s arms that he fell?

Sadly that moment is not quite clear to Leonard. He thinks he did barely manage to stay on his feet, which is the only saving grace to an otherwise embarrassing situation.

They tucked him in. Maybe that’s more embarrassing. Leonard is not sure.

He snorts quietly into his blanket.

For a long moment, no other sounds are heard in the room. Leonard fears he has given himself away when, finally, he hears Jim call quietly, very tentatively into the silence, “Bones?”

Leonard doesn’t dare hold his breath because Spock with his sharp Vulcan hearing will notice that.

It is Spock who, surprising Leonard, deflects the possible discovery with the reminder, “It is your move, Captain.”

Jim seems to accept this diversion amicably, and the clinking of chess pieces starts up again.

The tension in Leonard ebbs away, then, allowing his mind to relax. It is easier with his eyes closed to picture the ongoing game: Jim, seated, with his legs crossed at the knee, and Spock sitting directly across from him in his typical straight-backed fashion, his elbows on the table and fingers steepled in contemplation. Both pairs of eyes will be bright with intelligence and a hint of cunning yet will remain soft at the corners, a tell-tale sign of the warm friendship that exists between them. They will be content to play chess, and they will speak less without Leonard to prod along their conversation.

Despite his eyes being closed, Leonard’s eyelids grow heavy with a similar contentment. Fondness, which always seems to be lurking near to hand in the presence of Jim and Spock, makes the blanket feel cozy. His breathing deepens. Gradually his thoughts fall out of array, gaining a fuzzy edge.

He cannot be angry. He hardly ever is. Jim wanted to fuss because he was worried. Spock came along, too, as he always does when Jim feels concerned—no, not just Jim. The concern must be mutual. Jim speaks of it, and Spock claims it is logical. They work as a team, those two.

“Ah,” comes a murmur to Leonard’s ears, “I believe he is resting now.”

“I think he’s smiling, Spock. Must be a good dream.”

“Indeed.”

Oh, the silly fools. But they might be right. Leonard is having a good dream. He dreams of hands adjusting his blanket, of voices that speak with undisguised caring, and of arms that never, ever let him fall.

-Fini

Not As It Seems

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• Beyond the Call of Duty (#27, The Drabble Bin) – from September 24, 2020
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