The First Touch
It's too loud. And there are far too many people crammed into one place (all these damn college kids, and he can't even remember what it felt like to be that age anymore) for his liking. If he had a choice, he'd be out of here without a second thought (and it's not as if they'd notice his absence, anyway, he's just one more old man taking up a stool at the bar). But he doesn't have a choice. Because if he wants to survive tomorrow (his own personal hell), and the shuttle ride, he needs to be as far from sober as he can get.
Which is why he is currently sitting, nursing a bourbon and trying to avoid the thoughts flitting around the back of his mind (too tender by far, raw and open as a wound – and one he has no way of healing, except by giving it time).
But he's the type of person that dwells on what-ifs and possibilities. It's a requirement for his work (the only passion he has left to him, he won't let the bitch take that too) – the ability to quickly run through and discard any number of options, and arrive at the correct one in the timeliest manner. It's this aspect of his personality that has saved so many lives.
It doesn't make him feel any better when he looks back, and realizes that months ago he had followed a thread of thinking to his current situation. Because he also realizes that it was his own refusal (to see something broken past fixing) that had led him to dismissing it. His hope then had been that love could conquer all, and that somehow they'd be able to pull something out of the ashes of their love for each other, come to a reconciliation of some kind (for Joanna's sake, if nothing else).
Joanna….
Turning away from the bar (where the bartender has been shooting him odd looks but he can't help if he looks like shit) he slides off the stool and looks around the room.
There's too many damn kids here (that's what the problem is, he knows that now). They're all so young, full of hope (as they piss their night away, the way he wants to but there's too much hanging on his shoulders and he'll never have the chance again). It makes his scowl deepen, and he takes the last swallow of his drink – setting the empty glass on the bar before stepping away.
Maybe he'll be able to find someplace quieter in this tiny little town. His cursory glance previously hadn't revealed any other locations, but maybe if he digs a little deeper something will come up. At the very least, he can get a bottle at the convenience store and wander the rest of the night (even though in his head he can hear Jocelyn's laughter, her commentary about how low he has fallen).
But she's not here, and never will be again (good riddance).
Huffing to himself, he steps away from (the safe section) near the bar, and descends into the chaos that is the main area of the establishment. So many bodies pressed together, he can't avoid brushing against them and they (scratch at his nerves, the tender parts of him that are too raw by half) bump against him, laughing and jostling (without a care in the world, damn them and their innocence).
And he's moving towards the door, but it seems to take forever (time stolen by the hands brushing against him, minutes seconds disappear slipping from his grasp) and he's only halfway there when (some damn little punk kid) a lithe body slams into his.
The (brightest damn beautiful) blue eyes raise to his hazel ones, and his own widen in surprise (amazement, ecstasy). A scowl marring those (still breath-stealing somehow) stubble-coated features, as the blonde-haired kid looks up at him.
"Hey, old man, watch where you're going."
The audacity (he's only fucking twenty eight, it's not like he's that much older than this punk even though he knows he must look like he's eighty) of the young brat, but he can't even respond before the kid is slipping away and past him.
Taking the stool he'd just vacated at the bar. Anger simmers beneath the surface of his thoughts, but Leo doesn't (can't, he doesn't have enough left for it anymore, he's too broken inside and can't really give a damn about anything except a little girl's smile that he hopes to be able to see again) dwell on the little punk's attitude, instead using the opportunity to extract himself (and flee flee flee, cause there's too many damn people here and he hurts) from the crowd.
(*)
Through the pounding in his head, that no amount (of self-medication, cause that's always a great idea) pain killers will be able to disperse, his tongue feeling heavy and thick in his jaw (and his eyeballs trying to burn out of their sockets, he can't forget that) he manages to stumble onto the (hellish excuse for transportation, his worst nightmare and this is going to be his fucking life so he may as well learn to deal now) shuttle.
Tries to hide in the head, tiny as it is (because there are no windows, dear fucking god the windows and he doesn't want to see his doom coming for him) but the stewardess finds him. Drags him from his sanctuary and there's an argument (but he's not paying attention, all he sees are the windows everywhere that in several minutes are going to be showing him the vastness of space that surrounds them) but she forces him to sit in one of the chairs like everyone else (he supposes he should be grateful that he's not treated like the charity case he feels like sometimes, but gratitude is something that bitch stole from him a long time ago).
And he's glaring around (daring anyone to talk to him, that's what he's doing) as he puts the seatbelt on, determined not to let his fear show. But then he turns to view (the poor sap) his seatmate, and his heart stops in his throat.
It's that kid from last night. It's obvious that he doesn't remember Leo (even though, somehow, he's the only thing Leo can remember from the whole fucking evening). The one with the (he's so fucking gorgeous, and why hadn't he noticed it before? It must have been the eyes, they certainly are distracting) cocky attitude far too big for his age. And they're talking (but Leo can't even pay attention, so surprised by the coincidence that his mental functions have ceased completely) even joking together and somehow it feels as easy as breathing (what the fuck did he just admit to? He's not supposed to talk about that, not to anyone not ever).
That is, until the shuttle shifts beneath them, taking off.
"I might throw up on you." (and he curses himself for the words, wishing desperately he was glib or something equally impressive but he's just Leo and he knows that's never been enough for anyone least of all himself) he finds himself admitting, as his eyes widen in horror.
He's no longer staring at those eyes, his attention instead past the kid's (what the hell did he say his name was, Leo can't forget important details like that) shoulder, focused intently on the window that he can't tear his eyes away from.
But the kid just laughs at him (and where the hell does he get off, being so damn nonchalant) his head cocked back (and oh damn, he's got one of those crinkly smiles that take Leo's breath away) not even caring who hears him.
And then the kid's distracting him (somehow, how the fuck does he do it, like it's something he's always done) talking to Leo and making Leo laugh.
They chat animatedly all the way to Starfleet Academy, all the way off the shuttle (and he never even thought about the fact that they were in space, didn't have a panic attack and – thank god – didn't even have to avoid throwing up on the kid) until they're standing under the San Franciscan sun.
Then the kid clasps his shoulder, giving him (one of this crinkly ones again, and Leo can already feel his heart melting but god damn it it's not like he'll ever see the kid again) another smile.
"See you around, old man."
(*)
He's unsurprised when, even weeks later, he hasn't caught sight of that blonde head even once (not to say he's been searching for it, cause even in his head he won't admit that). The Academy is just so huge (so many kids, and he never imagined this many people would ever want to be trapped in that hell-hole commonly referred to as space) and crammed to the brim with eager (so full of aspirations it makes him sick, because as a doctor he's privy to exactly what percentage of these kids will never make it back down to Earth) hopefuls running through corridors and basically making it hard for him to get anything accomplished.
His shift at the Academy's clinic is over, and it's late. Thankful (for small miracles at least, they're the only ones he ever seems gifted with) that it's a Friday, and most of the students are off-campus (celebrating because they're young, and they have youth's exuberance) at the bars and clubs.
All he wants is to go to his favorite diner, alone with his (too morbid by far, but what can he do about that?) thoughts to nurse a cup of coffee before he crawls back to his (empty, and why did they think that just because he was older than the rest of them, he wouldn't be grateful for a roommate to chase away some of his loneliness?) dorm room where he has a good book waiting for him.
He's been enjoying The Catcher and the Rye (for the umpteenth time, and maybe he still hopes that it will give him some insight into his existence and what he should grasp in his life) and this weekend he should be able to finish a big chunk of it.
Focused on his footsteps (and okay, perhaps some blue eyes that have been haunting his dreams and every waking thought) as he travels the dimly-lit pathways between buildings, he lets his legs carry him to his destination.
And then (because isn't it just his fucking luck, he should have expected it) because he's not paying attention, he does not see the body he's about to collide with.
Until they've already crashed together, eliciting a (rather undignified, he can readily admit) squawk of surprise from Leo. It's dark, and the other person is not really visible in the low light. But there's a peel of laughter that escapes from the other person.
And Leo's eyebrows raise in surprise (and more than that, as his heart does this funny little flurry thing in his throat) as he stares down at the one person he never expected (but he'd hoped, oh god how he'd hoped, cause he's sick like that and he must be a masochist cause all he does is cause himself pain) to see again.
"Hey, Bones." It slides easily off the kid's tongue, that grin so huge (and so crinkly around the edges, and oh fuck the kid can't be as happy to see him as Leo is to see the kid) Leo can easily identify it in the dark.
"Where've you been?" as if the kid has been expecting him (definitely not like Leo has, looking for those eyes around every corner).
And there's two questions that Leo thinks of immediately (Only two? He's kidding himself here, but he knows and lets it slide) but he answers the most pertinent one first.
"Who the hell is Bones?"
And then, like it explains everything (which, in the kid's head, it probably does), "You, of course!"
Ah-ha. He'll let that one go (for the moment, but he sure as hell is getting the story for how that happened. And protesting. Definitely protesting), and asks his next question.
"What do you mean, where have I been? I haven't been anywhere but this school for the last month and a half!"
A lazy smile in the dark, and a hand on his shoulder (and what right did that have, feeling so damn good and – oh shit.), as the kid turns him back around.
"You looked like you were headin' somewhere interesting. I'll come with, and we can catch up!"
"I was going to Joe's Diner, so I could enjoy some grub by myself. And a cup of coffee."
He finds himself answering, against his will (surprised he's giving away so much, already. But he can't help himself, not when those eyes are staring at him like that).
"Coffee guy, are you? Somehow I'm not surprised."
And just like that, the kid is walking forward like he (has every right to invite himself along, without asking without telling and Leo can't let him get away with this. He likes his solitude and his loneliness, and how is he supposed to brood if he has company?) knows where he's going.
Leo stands still, dumbstruck (and admit it, unable to form coherent sentences cause he's so damn happy to see the kid again, the little snot) as the kid walks away.
Without even stopping (so fluid and easy in his grace) the kid turns around, walking backwards as he grins at Leo.
"You coming?"
And he's even more frozen in place at the words, which makes the kid stop in his tracks (and is he waiting for Leo? No one's ever waited for him before, no one ever gave a damn and they sure as hell never wanted Leo's company no matter how he deluded himself) and raise an eyebrow at him eloquently.
"Well?"
But he sure as hell doesn't want to make the kid wait (and he won't admit that he's jogging to catch up, no not never not to nobody) and the kid does, patiently watching him until Leo is at his side before turning back the way they're going.
His shoulder bumps against Leo's, companionably (and doesn't that just fucking feel great, big masochistic bastard) keeping pace.
Walking the same line, parallel.
(*)
Even though they'd never caught sight of each other before, somehow (unbelievable and wonderful even though it's really trying Leo's patience now) they bump into each other continuously now.
He's not even really consciously aware of it (which is also a lie, because he counts off every single time they're in each others presence and is desperately waiting for the next when they're not) but the kid and he have been spending most of their free time together – and even some that isn't, as they've become study-buddies (and doesn't that just top the fucking cake! It's not enough that they have meals together, and those gym practices where the kid kicks his ass day in and day out).
But somehow, in the midst of everything, Leo'd finally realized he'd had a friend (and doesn't that make him happy, knowing he can count this brilliant amazing absolutely perfect being as his only friend?), and he didn't even have to do anything to get one.
If he didn't (suspect, hope) know any better, he'd allow himself to think that the kid was actually trying to cultivate a relationship with him. More often than not, in the beginning, it was the kid who found him. Appeared at his table in the cafeteria, keeping up a running commentary as he inhaled his own food; waited patiently for him outside his class, joking as they walked to the next together.
The list went on and on (and, really, who is he kidding himself with this thing called hope. But it makes it hard to deny, easy to ignore that little voice that whispers that no one could possibly care about him, not ever and certainly not this perfect being) until eventually their schedules were the same, somehow, (and how the fuck did the kid manage that? Leo suspects that he's a master-class hacker, but he also assumed the Academy's computer systems would be better than that) and the kid was everywhere in his life.
The only time they weren't together is when they were sleeping (and, small miracles, in different rooms because no matter how masochistic he is that's just fucking cruel) and when Leo is discharging his responsibilities at the clinic.
And this is not one of those times, as they share one half of the booth with their legs propped up on the other half. The kid's side is pressed up against Leo's (and he can't help but relish even though he knows it's fucking wrong and he disgusts himself sometimes but he can't help it) and they're chuckling about one thing or another.
He takes a swig of his beer to hide his smile, watching from the corner of his eye as indignation floods those (baby-blue so beautiful) eyes, color peeking those cheeks as the kid sputters into his own beer.
"Bones! How could you say something like that?"
He doesn't reply, just gets up to get another beer for each of them. There's a grin on his face that he can't hide as he's making his way back to the booth (their booth, that they occupy every Friday night and fuck if everybody seems to know and they never have to kick anyone out) with the beers in hand.
Freezes, as a shout goes up (one so loud it can be heard over the music pounding its beat into his heart) and there's a tussle right in front of him. He can't make out any of the other participants, but (damn if it isn't obvious, and he can pick the kid out in a fucking crowd and it's just really pathetic) he can easily make out the blonde-haired form in the middle of it all.
He groans, and speeds up, in a hurry (he's worried, every damn time the kid starts a fight or finishes it, he's afraid it'll be something he can't patch up and the kid'll really get himself into trouble) to get to his friend's side.
But he's not fast enough, and his (heart stops, cause he can fucking see but he's too far away but somehow he hears himself gasping) hand goes up, the bottle it was carrying falling uncaring to the floor as a different bottle connects with the kid's temple.
And he goes down, falling into a (still somehow graceful, even in unconsciousness) heap on the beer-stained floor.
He doesn't even (give a damn) register that the fighting has ground to a halt, as he shoves himself (his elbows are pointy, and fuck if he knows how to use them to best effect) through the throng of participants to the kid's side.
Finds himself kneeling before he even realizes what he's done, testing the kid's pulse at his throat and peeling back an eyelid with the other hand.
Pupils aren't dilated, he should be okay (please, please let the little fucker be okay. If he is, Leo'll never drink again, just fuck it let him be okay). And everyone is standing around them, stunned and frozen and watching him work.
His fingers, of their own accord (and who does he think he's lying to, he's been wanting to do it since he first laid eyes on the kid) brush through the kid's hair, down over the temple (where there's already a fucking bruise, and he's going to kill whatever asshole did this to the kid – if he wasn't positive that the shadow he'd seen fleeing hadn't been the perp) and cups that cheek.
He can feel the stubble against his smooth palm, and then he lifts his hand a millimeter (so hard to do, he just wants to leave it there a little while longer, but there are people all around and what the fuck does he think he's doing) to slap against the kid's face.
Gently, but hard enough to bring him back to consciousness.
"Come on, kid, wake up now."
A groan, and the cheek is pressed against his hand again (and what the fuck is that, that's not good and why is he being such a fucking idiot) so he pulls his hand away, before he can do anything that the kid will see (cause he doesn't want to mess up the best damn thing that's ever happened to him, the only good thing really besides Jo who he doesn't know when he'll get to see again).
The kid's eyebrows crease for just a moment, and then his eyes open – wide and blinking (so very blinding, that blue.) up at the dingy lights in the bar.
"Bones?"
"Here, kid."
Not even asking for permission, he pulls the kid's arm over his shoulder and hefts him to his feet. The kid, still (so damn) weak, leans against him (and doesn't that feel fantastic, but he can't think about it cause it's so damn wrong cause they're friends and he shouldn't ever want anything more), putting nearly all his weight on Leo as he hangs his head.
The crowd parts before them at his (admittedly probably too intense of a) glare, and they make it outside without further incident. The kid's head is leaning against Leo's shoulder (so warm and alive against him, and Leo missed this so fucking much, this two people existing in the same space thing) as the doctor drags him along.
He wants to get the kid to his dorm room, where he has a med kit and plenty of supplies (cause this isn't the first fucking time he's had to patch the kid up, but damn it, it is going to be the last!) so he can fix whatever's wrong.
He almost misses it; the sound is so soft (like the kid doesn't want him to hear, but he must because he said it aloud and it just confuses Leo further) and mumbled into the flesh of his shoulder.
"Thanks, Bones."