Jim blew out a breath, bracing himself, and by the time he turned back to face McCoy his expression was settled and bright. Not everything could be a victory.
(No such thing as a no-win scenario, but he was, frankly, sick of hearing himself say that now that he'd lived the reality of it all)
"I know. I know you did everything you could, Bones. You're amazing." Jim tipped his head up just a little, and dropped a hand against the man's shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie. There was a part of him that knew he should do, say more. Be grateful, or at least show it, but he was running on fumes. He could do it for Spock, maybe, but Bones-- Christ, the man'd seen more of his scars than anyone alive. Jim could afford not to be perfect around him. Bones needed the man more than the captain, the reverse was true for Spock. So he just gave Bones a brief smile.
He didn't want to talk about his death, about watching himself die, about Pike or the crewmembers he'd have to bury (the ones he'd be alive to bury, God, that made it worse somehow, he was going to have to face their families--) or about how Spock was holding onto his self-restraint by a frayed (and fraying) thread. He felt both lighter and crushed beneath the weight of history's inexorable wheel all at once, and he pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I, ah. Come on, we've got this whole-- tribble thing to sort out." He shook his head, and then gave McCoy a wry glance. "And don't you go getting mad at Spock for this, either. I ordered him to give me a mind-meld of the whole incident. He's from the fight with Khan, it-- Jesus, Bones, I thought he was going to kill him. Whatever you did, it must have happened right after."
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(No such thing as a no-win scenario, but he was, frankly, sick of hearing himself say that now that he'd lived the reality of it all)
"I know. I know you did everything you could, Bones. You're amazing." Jim tipped his head up just a little, and dropped a hand against the man's shoulder in a gesture of camaraderie. There was a part of him that knew he should do, say more. Be grateful, or at least show it, but he was running on fumes. He could do it for Spock, maybe, but Bones-- Christ, the man'd seen more of his scars than anyone alive. Jim could afford not to be perfect around him. Bones needed the man more than the captain, the reverse was true for Spock. So he just gave Bones a brief smile.
He didn't want to talk about his death, about watching himself die, about Pike or the crewmembers he'd have to bury (the ones he'd be alive to bury, God, that made it worse somehow, he was going to have to face their families--) or about how Spock was holding onto his self-restraint by a frayed (and fraying) thread. He felt both lighter and crushed beneath the weight of history's inexorable wheel all at once, and he pinched the bridge of his nose.
"I, ah. Come on, we've got this whole-- tribble thing to sort out." He shook his head, and then gave McCoy a wry glance. "And don't you go getting mad at Spock for this, either. I ordered him to give me a mind-meld of the whole incident. He's from the fight with Khan, it-- Jesus, Bones, I thought he was going to kill him. Whatever you did, it must have happened right after."