The purpose is to experience fear. Fear in the face of certain death.

[hischair]

When: 17th onward!
Rating: Gross sickly stuff.
Characters: Jim & you!
Summary: Catch-all log for Jim's friends! After the 16th when he felt ill, Jim's Augmented blood has started to fight back like it did during the two weeks he was out cold after dying in a decontamination chamber. His organs will be starting to slowly fail, blood (both his own and Khan's) will be coming up, and he's generally confined to his bedroom in his and Bones' apartment. As time goes on, his condition will be deteriorating until his essence rite is performed. Please put the date of your visit in the subject header! Forward/Back-dating and Prose/Action are all fine, as are video/audio/text which can be directed here for all personal calls while Jim is sick.
Log: 

[ He finds himself thinking of Christopher, more than anything. Of the last time he saw him, specifically, in the Hall of the Missing. Of not being able to let go of him for so long and crying like a son lost in the thickest of woods, longing to find his way home only to briefly find it and have to turn back into the darkness once more. Chris had held him, kissed his hair like a father, soothed Jim in a way he had never had to before, but then again neither of them had died and been torn apart in such violent ways until the Augment came into their lives. Even in death, he's still been there when Jim needed him.

He stares out of the window in his room, propped up against pillows as coughs rumble in the pit of his chest, looking at the City below where the horizon meets a fake, beautiful sky. If he lets the migraines take over for long enough his senses go haywire and a drowsy kind of tactile memory swims under his fingers and into his nose, of an admiral's uniform scented with aftershave that soothes his anxieties almost as effectively as the real thing.

"It's going to be okay, son."

He wishes he could find a bar to drown his sorrows in. Chris always, always found him when he was at his lowest point in backwater dives.

And then on occasion, during his more painful moments where there's no one around to hear his muffled crying into a pillow or witness the sheets crumpling in his fists, his thoughts drift to the decontamination chamber. Jim wakes himself up several times after passing out with Spock's name on bloodied lips and hopes to God he hasn't started doing anything as embarrassing as crying out in his sleep to betray his fright; he has the use of his lungs still, unlike his final moments where he hadn't been able to tell his friend a wealth of things that suddenly seemed so important. Look after the crew, you're the captain now. I'll miss you. I don't want to go, stay with me. It's shameful, but a couple of times he calls for Bones just to have his company, terrified under a firmly schooled expression that he'll die in the here and now, well and truly alone.

If he had been given diagrammatics on his condition in the form of a vessel's specifics, he would have written it off by now. It's as if the effects of his descent into the warp core are being clawed out of his body in slow motion by the deepening fever-tide, leaving Jim to hate every minute of having survived. Which is counter-productive, he knows, because he very much wants to live. ]

Comments

[medicos]

And I'm not a doctor. Right.

[ he rubs a hand over his mouth for two things. to hide the exasperated look on his face, and to figure out how to address the situation wherein he dreamed about his best friend and it felt real, although it probably ( hopefully ) wasn't, but he still would like to know, anyway. not adding the fact that it's gonna be even weirder if they were real. ]

You can call me crazy after we've finished this discussion, okay? And after that, we'll never speak of it again.

But you did listen to that video on the network about - "essences", right?

[hischair]

Please don't tell me a magical dog gave us mind-meldy dreams that told you my essence has to do with banging the ship.

[ Jim rubs his eyes, distinctly not looking over at Bones. Eugh. ]

[medicos]

Don't be an idiot.

[ if that's the essence, then bones quits his life. ]

It was one part of a dream. The dream was a bit like a timeline from my perspective. From beginning to - [ end. bones purses his lips. ] - to the last thing you probably remember before you woke up.

[hischair]

That's still one hell of an embarrassing dream.

[ And he closes his eyes so he doesn't have to see anything in Bones' eyes. Some of it was personal on a level he'd much rather never get into, there being no doubt that they just shared the same memories courtesy of Jim's Shitty Life. ]

We're supposed to pick everything in it apart to find the point?

[medicos]

Find "the stuff that makes you yourself and nobody else" - [ you can practically hear the air quotes in the way that he says it, and with his accent, it sounds even better ] - if you don't already know what it is.

[ bones opens his eyes, landing on the sight beyond the window. a quiet, starry sky.

neither of them are stupid, and between the two of them, jim is kind of transparent. ]

You just enjoy making things difficult for me, don't you?

[hischair]

[ Bones is treated to the sight of Jim rolling his eyes, chagrined. ]

Come on, the common denominator between all of those is too crazy. I'm not made of — [ spluttering slightly ] — stars. That's really poetic, though, are you going to pluck one out of that fake sky for me?

[medicos]

You were actually born in the stars, Jim. That's about as poetic as it can go.

[ he sighs, pulling up a hand and resting it behind his head. ]

Why? Do you want one? You can cuddle it in your sleep.

[hischair]

[ Grunting, he rolls over and pushes his face between Bones' shoulder and the pillow, sighing into the ball of it as he gets comfortable. Squirming as much as his sore stomach will allow, he drapes an arm over his friend's mid-rift and finally sinks into something resembling a resigned sleeping position. ]

We'll dress you up like a star, problem solved.

[medicos]

Got a pen? I'll draw a star on your forehead and maybe that'll get rid of your headache.

[ he might be serious. ]

[hischair]

[ Snorting, he smiles and inhales the scent filling his senses; human and earthy, a strain of something clean like an aftertaste of the hospital for the nose. ]

I can still cough on you, y'know.

[medicos]

Hold that thought.

[ he scrambles off the bed, he goes back to the living room, where his doctor's coat has been thrown haphazardly over an armrest. he searches the pockets for a bit until he finds what he's looking for - a blue ballpoint pen that he carries around with him at the hospital to sign way too many papers these days.

he comes back to jim's room and settles on what is, for tonight, his side of the bed. ]

C'mon, give me your arm.

[hischair]

What? Bones ...

[ Complaining, he's at a stalemate since he can't move much and Bones is apparently entirely serious as he wields that ballpoint pen. Reluctantly, he drapes the inside of his arm between them and gives him a flat look. ]

The last person who drew on me in bed used chocolate, just throwing that out there.

[medicos]

[ they are both such children. ]

I really don't want to know.

[ jim is going to feel the pinprick of pen dragging along skin. bones doesn't just draw one star, he draws several. they vary sizes, and placed on seemingly random locations all over his arm, if he's paying attention, maybe he'll figure out that bones is drawing a constellation on his skin.

specifically, capricornus.

all those nights staying up with jim and watching the night sky are finally paying off. ]

[hischair]

[ Chuckling, he focuses his attention down on what Bones is drawing. It takes longer than it ordinarily would for Jim to recognize the constellation but when he does a bark of laughter is pulled free. ]

That tickles. [ Twenty-six and grinning as he tries to keep his arm still under a doodle. ] Little 'witch doctor' for you, isn't it? Draw your star sign next to mine.

20 mins on google trying to find out when bones' birthday is whoops

[medicos]

Shut up, you idiot. It's the middle of the night.

[ he turns over jim's arm and draws the aquarius sign above it ( well, to be fair, he's a capricorn-aquarius cusp and depending on the year, he's one or the other ), right where it really should be, like jim's skin was a star chart and bones was pinpointing their locations for his astronomy class. ]

And say the words 'witch-doctor' again and I will definitely write on your forehead.

i know that feeling so, so well

[hischair]

Like anyone we wake up won't already wonder what illicit goings-on are under-way with you in my bed, pft.

[ He cranes his head up to see, reaching for the pen. ]

Hey, gimme that a second.

[medicos]

I could turn this into an emergency check up. [ don't push him.

he hands over the pen, scowling. ]

What now?

[hischair]

Doctor, I order you to keep your fingers well-trained. I know it's hard, this close to me. [ Coughing to one side, he wheezes and breathes a little better, wiping spit off his lips. ] I'll try not to seduce you.

[ Taking the pen, he writes on Bones' arm: JIM WAS HERE :) ]

[medicos]

[ standard eyeroll. ]

Are we suddenly five?

[hischair]

Don't turn into Spock on me.

[ Followed up by CAPTAIN'S PET, no regrets. ]

[medicos]

Goddammit, Jim!

[ yanking his arm off, YOU'RE AN IDIOT AND HE HATES YOU. ]

Are you kidding me?

[hischair]

[ Laughter peels out of him without a care in the world for the hour. He's through being a little shit, thankfully, and for the first time in a whole week there isn't a rasp or wheezy echo as he pushes his face into the pillow to stifle the sound, even when he sighs. ]

I'm so funny.

[ Shaking with more silent laughter. ]

[medicos]

[ oh, he's noticed. but he's not attributing the lack of rasp to whatever ~magic~ that's around the place.

laughter is the best medicine, anyway. ]

We'll have to work on your sense of humor before we can call you that.

[ SIGH. ]

You're insufferable.

[hischair]

You love me. C'mon, get in here, draw some more.

[ Tugging on Bones, he makes enough room for them both to slouch against the pillows and offers the underside of his other arm. ]

Free canvas.

[medicos]

The canvas isn't supposed to talk back.

[ he's just going to start drawing all the constellations in the the Sea all over Jim's arm. ]

Should've gotten a permanent marker.