smartass_captain | Scientific Progress goes 'Boink'

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Scientific Progress goes 'Boink'

There's a message stuck to a door, last door on the left of a certain apartment complex in a certain New York. It's replicated paper, definitely a different sort of feel to it than one would expect in 2013.

Paper isn't the preferred message delivery device in the 2250s. Replicated paper and replicated ink.

Clint

Head to my place when you get this. Bring Ver.

Bones knows you're coming, he'll get you where you need to go. Don't bring your bow, we're not leaving home.

See you soon hopefully,

Jim

((Feel free to post without me until you guys actually get through the door to the Enterprise. I'm stuck in training/meetings and won't have another solid break for 2.5/3 hours from now. Will post actively after that time.))

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Oooh, tingly! It's like there's a party in his mouth, and someone spilled soda on the floor.

Clint gets back just in time to hear that question, and manages through the practice of working with the Black Widow for years to keep a straight face and not snicker at the accidental innuendo. For his part, he'll settle in on the couch and try not to make much noise.

The only thing faster than Jim's mouth are his eyebrows rocketing toward his hairline.

"However I can get you, obviously." He is not very bright in this regard. Or able to defend himself all flopped back on his bed like he is.

You don't get to be quiet, Clint. Either Jim's antics or squawks of pain are cause for much amusement.

"S'weird seeing someone else in my shirt." And a first, actually. Awkward mornings after aren't a thing he does. "C'mon, make yerself comfy. For all the crap you give Clint I'm really not sure how the good officer would react if he saw this."

She doesn't get it. Give her a minute...

There we go. Huff. Whap. "You really do have a one-track mind, don't you?" But he's not getting rid of her that easy. She'll lay down beside him and try to figure out how to do this with someone who isn't Loki-shaped. Her head on his shoulder and an arm across his chest? She's used to being the little spoon. This is weird.

"None of your legions of lovers ever tried on your clothes? I thought wearing home someone else's shirt was a badge of honor. Maybe it was just those sorority girls at college..."

"Gotta admit," Clint puts in, having had a good laugh at Jim's self-wrought misfortune, "there's really somethin' about seein' someone special walk around in your shirt and not much else."

It's good to be out of Verity's smacking radius.

Ah, That explains it then.

"Never had someone special." And holy shit that's true. In fact, Jim seems a bit unsure of where to put his hands or anything else for that matter, so he just lets Verity situate them however she likes.

"You guys want me t'leave the lights on dim like this or shut em off? If you gotta get up you can always just tell the computer to put them back on. Like this. Lights, 10%."

And it's almost all dark.

"We good here? Having our first family sleepover?"

"You'd better be talking about Jessica." He's not out of sass range. Nobody ever really is.

She's quiet while she arranges Jim's arms so they'll be cozy but not too close to anything sensitive. Fortunately, she has an expanse of back that's safe territory. "You will when you're ready." She's such an expert on these things, they should always listen to her about this stuff.

And then she's making this quiet little humming sound. There's no melody or anything, it's just happy. "This is nice. Family is nice."

"I could be talking about Bobbi," he points out. "We only got divorced back on... uh, Valentine's Day."

"She's right," Clint adds. "Like the song says. Y'can't hurry love."

Settling back on the couch, he gives a contented sigh. "Dark's nice. Better'n streetlights comin' in."

Jim stays quiet and lets the sound of his friends drifting off wash over him. This is probably the weirdest night he has ever had. A woman he will never sleep with is in his clothes sharing his bed using him as a body pillow.

His goddamn alternate reality supergreat grandpa is crashing on his couch.

Jim falls asleep to the thought of 'what the hell am I even doing' crossing his mind.

What he's doing is getting beat. Starving. Watching friend and family alike die in the Purge. Sometimes Sam's face is among the dying, staring up at him with accusing, dead eyes.

Sometimes it's his crew. His Aunt.

Tonight it's Clint, a makeshift bow splintered and broken over his lifeless body. And arms snaking their way around him. Smothering him. Choking him. He's next.

"No!" Jim's pulling and flailing at the hands around him, blindly panicking as he rips himself free from the strange embrace. How had he let someone get so close? His breathing is irregular, eyes wide and unseeing as he shuffles to the far side of the bed, nearly falling off in his hurry to get free.

Verity whimpers softly when Jim starts to fight her, and then she's awake, sudden and confused. Where she is doesn't matter much once she realizes Jim's upset about something, and she lets him go without a fight.

"Jim? What's wrong?" She doesn't try to touch him, much as she wants to; she knows it's not likely to help right now. He wanted away so he'll have his distance. "Jim. It's me. It's Verity."

"We're here, Jim," Clint calls, sitting up. "It's a dream, you're safe."

Shit, there were more?!

Jim topples off his bed with a reverberating thud , hyperventilating and making low whining noises in the back of his throat as he curls up. He's not on Tarsus. This he's dimly aware of. It's not Iowa either.

Oddly enough, it's the gentle hum of the Enterprises's engines through the floor that brings him back to reality and wakes him up properly. He's in his quarters. There's no one there to hurt him.

And he just made a huge scene in front of Clint and Verity.

Oh, hell.

Verity leans over just enough to be able to see him, not wanting to appear to be looming over him or anything threatening. She's worried and she can't hide that, but there's no anger or laughter or anything nasty in her voice. "Sweetheart, it's just us. You're safe, you're okay. Do you know where you are?"

It's hard to tell what's going on in the dark. "Lights, 20%." Should be just enough to see without her tripping over anything, at least until she finds her glasses.

"Bad dream, right?" By Clint's tone, he knows what kind of an understatement he's making. He knows, because he's had night terrors like that, himself. He's going to find a cup in the dim light, get Jim some water. The sweating and the crying-out makes for a dry throat, and adrenaline always tastes bitter when it's got nowhere to go.

"Here," he supplies, holding out the cup, "got'cha some water."

"....Nnnhh."

They're looking at him. They know. He knew this was going to happen. Shouldn't have let them stay. Not with him. It's pitiful isn't it? Not being able to function like a normal goddamn person.

With the lights on Jim has no choice but to sit up, despite the protesting pain in his abdomen. He still isn't able to properly breathe, panic attack not subsiding knowing he's here and okay. It's reinforced by the replacement emotions of shame and dread. The worst sponsor emotions to ever get a deal working with the brain.

Suddenly there's just this burning desire to be out, somewhere they can't see him like this. BUt that's no good either. If he bails on them, his crew is going to see. he's trapped.

Jim's not even aware he's shaking or crying, trying to process unattainable escape plans.

Well, that's not good. Screw her glasses, that can wait. She doesn't need them to see he's panicking. Clint's got water, so she'll keep trying to talk to him.

"Jim. Listen to me. It's okay. You'll get through this. We're going to help you get through this, just like you always help us. Can you tell me what you need?" She's moving slowly across the bed while she talks. If he doesn't balk at her approach, she'll land behind him on the floor so she can hug him and he can lean back against her.

No such thing as a no-win scenario. The escape plans are all a bust, Jim, try the "get hugged and maybe drink some water" plan.

"We're here, Jim, and we're not goin' away. We're family, and you're stuck with us."

When escape isn't an option, Jim internalizes. It's fight or flight for a reason.

"I'm fine." He snaps like a whip, going rigid in Verity's grip. It's a similar defensive mechanism to hers. Walling himself up. Pushing everyone else away. Burned bridges mean he's abandoning them, not the other way around. The distinction is important in his warped view of the world.

They're lying. Had to be. It's not okay, he's not okay and they're pitying him. They're starting to see how much trouble he is and they'll get tired of it. Empty promises. Words he's heard dozens of times before. They may not mean to, but Jim knows better. Knows how twisted he is and that people are right to hate him.

This was a mistake. All of it. They're seeing a Jim that he's kept hidden from even Bones and Spock. And Jim's shaking with the knowledge that he may have just blown his chance for a family again.

"It's not a big deal." He can't even talk without sounding like he's pulling the words out with a pliers through his constricted airways.

Yeah, she knows what he's doing.

The best part of knowing that is she knows how to get around it. Learn from her example, because the situation will be reversed again someday far too soon.

First things first, she doesn't let go of him. Her hold is light, gentle, but persistent. He can get away if he really wants to, but... why would he want to? If he won't lean against her, she'll lean against his back, soft and warm, with her chin on his shoulder. "Please don't push us away, Jim. We love you. Try to breathe. Just breathe with me, okay? Nice slow breaths. In, and out. In, and out."

She's warned him she's stubborn, right? Because she is stubborn.

They all take their turn doing this dance. Clint backs off a little, so as to avoid making Jim feel trapped, but he's still holding that water in arm's reach. Verity seems to have the quiet mantra in hand, so he offers the quiet support of his presence.

No one loves Jim Kirk. No one.

Which is fine. If no one loves you, no one walks away. No one matters. Except Clint and Verity do matter. They matter as much as Spock and Bones and they know.

Jim's goddamned terrified.

But there's no changing what's already happened. They know and he can't magically make them un-know. The breathing is helping; he feels less strangled in his own skin. He stops looking quite so flushed after a few minutes, and mutely reached for the glass of water once he's pretty sure he's not just going to drop it with his stupid shaking hands.

"...This...is why...I don't do sleepovers." He settles on finally. It's all he can think of to say.

If Verity didn't love him, would she be going so far out of her own comfort zone to help him? Silly boy. He should use that great big brain of his, just as soon as it reboots. He'll see.

She'll keep up the quiet breathing mantra until he reaches for the water, but she doesn't move away. "I don't think either of us expected you'd be a good sleeper, Jim." Not only do they know, but she at least already knew. But her tone is affectionate. That means something. "Did you hurt yourself?"

Clint's not going as far out of his comfort zone, but he's been down this hole before, as it were. "Nightmares happen. We're not gonna judge you for your dreams, bro."

"Any chance....we can pretend this didn't happen and go back to bed?"

Like, they go back to bed. Jim's pretty sure he's not getting back to sleep. He can put on some shorts and a t-shirt and go spend the rest of the night in the gym working out. That's how he usually handles this shit. That or paperwork.

Literally anything but going back to sleep.

And definitely not talking about it.

"Didn't hurt m'self. I'm fine." Nope, nope nope nope.

"Really, Jim?" She can't help but sound a tiny bit exasperated by the lies. But she's still hugging him. "We'll go back to bed when you come back to bed."

He's not getting out of this so easily. "You can't pretend forever. Trust me, I've tried. You're going to have to talk to somebody about this."

Bracing for another panic attack in three, two...

"But it doesn't have to be tonight"

"Yeah, you're up, we're up," Clint agrees. "If you don't wanna sleep, we can throw darts, or something."

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http://tinyurl.com/pcra9wm

Awww :(

Poor puppy.

He's so wrong.

He'll learn. <3

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