On the bright side, there had been too much going on for Jeremy to sit and think about things. It wasn’t much of a bright side, the things to tackle were all terrible and overwhelming — the sorts of things that stabbed at his heart and made his whole chest ache. But it was manageable until it wasn’t, and when it wasn’t he just pushed through until it was again. He could do that. He’d always had a knack for compartmentalizing.
But then the dust started to settle, a day or so went by, and nothing felt very manageable at all.
At a point, burrowing into his bed and (mostly) ignoring his phone in order to binge watch Star Trek became the only thing he felt like doing. He barely even looked up when he noticed that he wasn’t alone in his bedroom. “Picard just got captured by the Borg,” Jeremy offered up as context. “Guess shit’s getting real for them too.”
“The Best of Both Worlds, right?” Baz asked, making a thoughtful sound as he climbed onto the bed. He slid over until his shoulder was pressing into Jeremy’s, as if he needed the physical reminder that Jeremy was there and breathing and whole. He looked at Jeremy’s face rather than the computer screen, and he noticed the tense lines of exhaustion around his eyes. Helplessness lanced through Baz. He had no idea what to say, what to do, or if there was anything he could do to lessen Jeremy’s pain.
Reaching up to idly stroke his hair, he continued, “Except resistance isn’t futile for us, babe.”
“Well it wasn’t for them either,” Jeremy replied, not taking his eyes off the screen but shifting and leaning into Baz anyway, almost automatically without any recognition that he was doing it. “Spoiler alert, they get him back in the end, but things aren’t ever quite the same.”
“I remember that. I mean, you know my main TNG takeaway is about Counselor Troi and how much I want her to step on me,” Baz joked, leaning in to brush a quick kiss against Jeremy’s jaw. His fingers continued to brush through Jeremy’s hair even as he finally looked at the screen. “But I get that she’s not really the focus right now.”
“Nah, if you want to indulge your Counselor Troi fantasies we ought to pick a different episode. This one’s way more focused on love of my life Jean-Luc. And Riker, I guess,” Jeremy said with a slight shrug, finally taking a moment to look over at Baz. He hadn’t really wanted to see the look of concern he’d assumed would be there, but he supposed he ought to get it over with.
There was concern painted over Baz’s features, but faux-offense, too. “I thought I was the love of your life,” he huffed, letting his hand fall to his lap as he laid his head atop Jeremy’s shoulder. “I’m heartbroken now.”
But he reached for Jeremy’s hand, brushing his thumb against his palm, tracing along the other man’s life line.
“You’ll get over it. Hit me up if you ever become a starfleet captain though...” Jeremy managed a smile, though it didn’t come close to reaching his eyes as he pressed a kiss to the top of Baz’s head. His first inclination, to admit that he thought Baz probably was the love of his life, seemed to get caught in his throat.
Baz lapsed into silence for a few minutes, lazily tracing patterns on Jeremy’s palm as he half-heartedly watched Star Trek. Finally, he entwined their fingers together as he asked, “Do you need anything? Have you eaten?”
It wasn’t really the wrong question to ask, but Jeremy sighed slightly anyway. “No,” he said, though after a short pause he admitted, “and no, but I’m not really hungry. You should send food to Owen though. I’m worried about him.”
“I can do that.” Baz picked his head up and looked at Jeremy, hoping to catch his eye. “I get worrying about Owen, I’m worried about him too. But I’m also worried about you.” He gave Jeremy’s hand a little squeeze. “You have a lot on your shoulders right now.”
Jeremy didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t want to talk about it, and he didn’t want to think about it, and he knew it wasn’t really Baz’s fault that he didn’t. “It’s, you know, whatever,” he said, pulling his hand away so he could rake it through his hair instead. He didn’t meet Baz’s eyes. “I’m grand. Give it a few more days and I’ll sure we’ll be on to the newest tragedy anyway.”
“Yeah, maybe, but…” Baz scrubbed a hand against his forehead. He hated feeling this useless. “If you want to talk or not talk, I’m here. I’m here if you want to go blow things up, too.”
“How do you feel about some casual Death Eater murder?” Jeremy joked, though he wasn’t so sure it was entirely a joke. He felt murderous about as much as he felt miserable, which was most of the time it seemed like. He looked down at the bedspread, smoothing away creases that only reappeared as he shifted, turning to look at Baz a little more properly.
“Or blowing things up would be okay, I guess.”
“All right, then we’ll do that tomorrow.” Baz’s expression was as muted as his voice, as he was trying hard to push back on the fear and concern that had bubbled up at the word murder. The joke didn’t quite land, especially when Baz knew it was a joke that might be tempting to Owen. The Dearborn brothers were a force to be reckoned with when they were in agreement.
Their eyes locked for a moment, and there was a faint smile playing at the corners of Baz’s mouth. “Targets that look like the Lestranges sound okay?”
Jeremy nodded with a small smile of his own. Maybe it would be cathartic at least. The idea wasn’t entirely unappealing, and that seemed good enough for now. “Yeah. I’d rather never see them again so. That’ll work.”
Lapsing into silence, Jeremy found he didn’t really know what else to say.
Baz found himself reaching for Jeremy’s hand again, his fingers moving softly against Jeremy’s. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, babe,” he said, in a low voice.
“That’s not—” Jeremy broke off suddenly, biting his lip and looking down at their hands. A moment later he squeezed Baz’s hand tightly, almost a little desperate. “I keep replaying it in my head, and I haven’t figured out how to turn it off yet. But I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t.”
“Hey, hey, that’s okay.” Baz’s voice was low, soothing, and he gave Jeremy’s hand a gentle squeeze in return. He leaned over and pressed a kiss to his forehead, then pulled back just enough that their noses grazed one another. Unconditional warmth bled into his voice. “We don’t have to talk about it. I was just saying, you know?”
“Yeah,” Jeremy said softly, before leaning in for a kiss — lingering and needy. He felt clingy and vulnerable and sad and a whole slew of emotions, none of which he loved. None of which he particularly liked. “Can you stay for a while?”
“Of course.” Baz’s free hand stole into Jeremy’s hair, coming to rest at the nape of his neck. “I’ll stay for as long as you want,” he promised.