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He’s not sure what wakes him, at first. The humming of the ship’s engines, so foreign and disconcerting when he had first set foot on the Enterprise months ago, drones on steady and reassuring around him. There’s no rocking or shuddering, no feeling of turbulence; his room is dark, without the blinking lights of a comm message or an emergency alert.
Leonard resettles himself in his bunk and, after a minute of staring at his ceiling reveals no sudden epiphanies, closes his eyes to go back to sleep.
Naturally, this is when the noise starts up again: not quite knocking, but a little more heavy-handed than mere tapping. It’s coming from the hall.
With a sigh, Leonard rolls out of bed. He has just enough presence of mind to wrap himself in a robe before going to investigate. His door slides open with a familiar hiss, spilling the dim light of the simulated night cycle inside; still brighter than the near-perfect darkness of his quarters, and he squints against it.
“Bones! You’re here!”
And that solves the mystery of the knock-tapping: Jim is leaning on the corridor wall just to the left of Leonard’s door, his fist raised to continue softly thumping away.
“I live here,” Leonard says, somewhere between confused and exasperated, a statement that Jim waves off as insignificant.
“You’re not always home.”
Exasperation is starting to win out, though now it starts to mingle with a touch of concern; Jim does not seem to be entirely sober.
“Where else would I be, kid? I’m not on shift, and it’s… Jesus, what time is it?”
The computer helpfully chimes in to indicate that it’s half-past-two by shipboard time, and Jim shrugs guiltily.
“I dunno. Were you sleeping?”
“Yes, Jim, I was sleeping.” But he’s not anymore, and now concern is edging out the irritation Leonard wishes he could hold onto. Instead he just sighs and reaches out to grab Jim by the arm. “Come on, come inside. Have you been drinking?”
“No, what?” Jim denies, though mercifully he doesn’t resist Leonard steering him in the door and over to the couch. “Just a couple of… maybe a little,” he amends.
Leonard orders the lights up to half, then presses Jim firmly down to sit before going to fetch a glass of water.
“Drink this,” he orders, “unless you want a hangover in the morning.”
Jim screws up his face, but he takes the water obediently and drinks it all. When he looks at Leonard again, once he’s done, there’s something uncomfortably like adoration in his eyes, shining unabashedly in the low light.
“You’re not going to scold me?”
“What the hell would I do that for?” Leonard asks with a snort. “Not the first time I’ve seen you drunk, kid—or the worst, either—and I’ve been right there with you more often than not.”
“But you don’t do that anymore,” Jim says, like it gives Leonard any right to judge. “And I’m the captain now.”
Leonard sighs, sits down slowly beside Jim and doesn’t meet his eyes. He fiddles with his ring for a few moments, but he doesn’t need to hesitate for long. Being honest with each other is the default setting in their relationship, has been for years. His best friend becoming his captain should never have changed that.
“Look,” he says, “yeah, I don’t drink so much anymore. But I’m not clean and sober, kid. I just do it alone now, ‘cause… you’re the captain now. Figured you didn’t need the distraction.”
Jim lets that sink in for a few seconds, processing, before letting out a wounded noise that makes Leonard flinch.
“Bones,” he says, and then again more urgently, tugging at the sleeve of Leonard’s robe when he still won’t meet Jim’s eyes. “Bones. No, hey, come on—”
Abruptly Jim swings himself up to straddle Leonard’s lap, cupping his face with both hands and forcing the eye contact Leonard’s been avoiding.
“You,” he says, with all the confident sureness of drunken best friends giving emotional pep talks everywhere, “are never, ever a distraction. You’re what matters. You’re why I’m even here, Bones. Okay?”
It’s hard to argue with Jim’s eyes burning into his, bright blue and fiery with conviction. And Leonard doesn’t want to argue, anyway: he’s missed spending time with Jim as much as they used to, before everything with Nero. He swallows around a half-formed protest and nods, instead.
“Okay.” For good measure he adds, “You’re why I’m here, too. Asshole.”
Jim doesn’t take offense. He keeps staring into Leonard’s eyes, intense and searching, for another long beat. Then he grins and says, “Good,” and his gaze drops from Leonard’s eyes to his lips.
It’s the only warning he gets before Jim dives in for a kiss, and if they hadn’t done this before Leonard probably would have pushed him off. But it’s hardly the first time they’ve messed around, in varying states of sobriety, so Leonard can feel relatively confident that Jim won’t regret this once he’s sober. He melts into it, opens up to let Jim in without hesitation, just like he always has.
The kiss is messy and slick, more raw enthusiasm than finesse; that’s what Leonard likes about kissing Jim. Whatever his reputation, the truth is that—in Leonard’s experience, at least—Jim is more interested in having fun than in showing off his skill as a lover.
But he’s in no mood to go any further tonight. When Jim’s hands start to wander, pushing at Leonard’s robe and sliding underneath, he pulls back and puts a stalling hand on Jim’s chest.
“That’s enough for now,” he says, and leans back in to press a last, brief kiss to Jim’s lips to let him know he isn’t upset. “Try again when you’re sober, kid. I’m going back to sleep; join me if you want.”
Jim needs no second invitation. He slides into Leonard’s bed like he belongs there, pressing close behind him and wrapping his arms around Leonard’s chest, face buried in the back of his shoulder.
He’s missed doing this, too, Leonard thinks as he drifts off to sleep. Maybe they both have. And maybe it’s time to stop pretending like things have to change between them just because the admirals gave Jim a whole damn ship to look after.