elliewood | Fic: Consort, Chapter 7

Oh god my head hurts.

And now it hurts worse, thanks Bones. Aren't you supposed to, like, do no harm or some shit?

Ow motherfucker that HURTS

"Okay, look up. Now look down. More down than that. Okay, left side. Right."

owowowowowow

"Hmm."

What the fuck is that supposed to mean?

"Meaning what, exactly?"

"Meaning I still can't find what's causing your headaches. I think you need a specialist. I've done all I can."

"A specialist. Wonderful. Can't you just bump up my prescription?"

Hop off the table and try not to stagger on the landing. Yeah, good catch. That was smooth. Now where the hell is my jacket...?

"It's a miracle you're still walking around with what I've already given you. Most people would be drooling in front of a vid marathon with the amount of dope you've got circulating inside you."

"Yeah, well, I might try that next."

Jacket on. Boots...where?

"I've got a better idea. Try Spock's suggestion and see a Vulcan healer."

shitshitshit

"What, you've been talking to Spock about me? What happened to confidentiality?"

"Do you mind my talking to Spock?"

no

"Hell yeah! He's already all up in my behind about the headaches. I could stand to have him a little less vested in my health issues."

Can't look at Bones, have to look at my boot, gotta pull it on, okay, there.

"Why?"

"Because I want some space. It's like I'm helpless or needy or something. I hate that."

"Here's your other boot. Hate what?"

"That needy part. I hate needing anything. I hate needing him."

"Why?"

Pull on that boot stomp stomp okay, ready to go.

"It's just not something I do."

"Jim, if you want this to work out between you two, you've got to quit labeling yourself. Because telling yourself what you do and don't do is code for giving up responsibility. Don't fall into that trap. Love isn't all flowers and candy and romantic walks in the moonlight. It takes a fuck of a lot of work."

And there's the problem, right there. Whoa, getting dizzy, gotta sit down.

"What? What is it?"

And the head descends into the hands. Fuck you, Bones.

SHIT

"You do love him, don't you?"

ah goddamnit

"It's a fair question, and a simple one to boot. Do you love him?"

...?

"Yeah, I mean, I guess so. Yeah."

"You guess?"

That's not something I do, either.

"Okay, let me ask you this. Let's say Spock walks right into this room, right now, right through that door. What's your first reaction?"

And I could actually see it, see it freakishly clearly, Spock rounding the corner and entering the room through the open door, dressed how he normally is at home, a plain black tunic over a closed-neck shirt, his perfect hands hidden inside the folds of the sleeves, his steps quick but unhurried, his face alive with concentration on something

maybe me but probably not

and there it goes, this horrible feeling in my stomach, the sudden whomp of near-pain, as if a giant hand had just taken hold of my guts and squeezed them, a feeling like I have to shit or puke or die, and I know I have to look away because I can't stand the proximity, can't stand that he will know, will be able to see right through me if I don't avert my eyes, will be able to see right into my mind

I need

and I have to do something, I have to distract him, so I look everywhere but his eyes, look at his chin, ear, throat, down to where his heart is, I reach for it, reach under the cloth to find it, like a bird fluttering under my palm, and his eyes close so I know I'm safe, and I grab his ass and squeeze it with my other hand, and he sighs, turning liquid in my arms, folding into me.

"So. Do you love him?"

...?

I don't know

...

"Yeah."