Author's Note: This is another product of grief. I know it sounds a little cliché but this one is something I needed to write because my birthday is next week and I just lost someone else close to me so this is how it goes.
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Bones knew death came in threes but this was ridiculous.
He stood to the side of the bridge and watched his best friend. The captain had been received a subspace transmission titled Urgent. At first he thought it was just about something Starfleet wanted him to know. The bridge had gone on like it normally did; Sulu and Chekov announcing their findings to Spock who assumed position when Jim stepped off the bridge. Uhura was talking to Rand as they continued to work diligently on Alpha shift. Everything was in working order…
….until Jim stepped out of his ready room. His face was pale and his shoulders slumped. Bones would have thought the man had been berated but the tellers of his true emotions were his hands and eyes. His fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white. His eyes, which were normally bright and filled with laughter, were dull and emotionless.
He was shutting down.
Bones looked at Spock as the Vulcan cast a look over his shoulder at the doctor. The atmosphere of the bridge had suddenly dropped at the change of emotion from their captain. Uhura stood and made her way over to Jim. As her hands reached for his face, Jim suddenly stepped neatly to side, completely throwing her off. He always accepted Uhura's hugs. In not doing so, he told everyone something was off.
As the captain moved across the bridge to the doors, the doctor and first officer instinctively moved as well. They blocked the door, drawing the captain to a stop.
"Move." His voice was hoarse.
"Jim, what was that about?" Bones asked. He was genuinely concerned for his friend's sudden mood change.
"Move." It was a stronger command than it had been before.
"Jim…"
"Move, damn it! That's an order!"
The doctor and first officer had no choice but to do as their captain bade them. They stepped aside and Jim was instantly through the doors. They looked at each other.
"Sulu, you have to conn." Spock announced, coming to the same conclusion Bones had.
"Aye, sir." The helmsman replied drolly.
Jim's friends moved swiftly through the corridors to the captain's quarters. They knew he would either be there or in an observation lounge. Those were the two places he went to escape everything he was going through.
Trying his room first, they were met with no success. The observation lounge was the same. If Jim wasn't there, where was he? He didn't disappear very often, preferring to spend his time with his crew. When he did retire, it was usually very early and to his room where he read until it was time for him to go to bed. Now that he was upset, there was no telling where he would hide.
'Chapel to McCoy.' It was a quiet call.
Bones pulled out his communicator. "McCoy here."
'Sir, the captain just locked himself in your office.'
"Thanks, Chapel. McCoy out." He looked to Spock, his disbelief obviously evident. "He went to the last place we would think of."
"Apparently that was his reasoning for going to your office. He hates Medical Bay so much that he avoids it when he needs to go but goes when he does not." Spock was amused by this but wouldn't voice his opinion.
They moved quietly to Medical Bay. Chapel was waiting for them when they came in. The door to his office was closed and obviously locked. He usually left it open but with Jim, it was closed for privacy. Bones keyed in the override codes and watched as the door slid open.
Jim was curled up on the doctor's couch that got regular use. He was in the fetal position with one arm curled under his chin. The other was extended and he was holding something in his hand. It was a padd and something was scrolling along the screen.
As they rounded the corner of the couch, they could see their captain was crying. Bones huffed as he slumped down on the floor, not even daring to move the younger man so he could sit on the couch. Spock sat elegantly, earning a scorned look from the CMO. They sat quietly as Jim read the message and set it to scroll again.
"It's from my stepfather." There was an angry tone in the choked voice. "My only friend from high school had a heart attack yesterday. He died on the table."
"Oh, God, Jim. How old was he?"
There was a pathetic sob that sounded in the quiet office. "Twenty-seven. Bones, why? Why does everyone leave me? What have I done?"
Instinctively, Bones sat up, cupped his friend's face in his hands, and shook him gently. "You haven't done anything. You haven't. It's just a fact of life, Jim. People die."
"But he was only 27 and no one knew he had a faulty heart. And Miss Claudy was only 78 when she died." He was sobbing like a child now, tears running freely down his face, blue eyes big and bright and in pain.
"Jim, Miss Claudy had pancreatic cancer. There was nothing anybody could have done for her. You said so yourself she wasn't scared of dying."
"She just told me that so I wouldn't worry about her, Bones."
Bones sat back and looked at his best friend as he curled even further in on himself. Miss Claudy had been the lady to basically raise Jim when he was a child. God knew his mother wasn't doing it and neither was his stepfather. She had developed pancreatic cancer at the beginning of last year and passed in July. Jim got permission to go to her funeral, Bones and Spock accompanying him.
At the funeral, Miss Claudy's son Jaxion, who had been Jim's friend since they were really small, told Jim it was good to see him again. Jim couldn't help it; right then and there, he broke down and bawled like a baby. The two men kept in touch over the remainder of the year, Jim even inviting Jaxion to the ship for Christmas. Unfortunately Jaxion couldn't make it but he sent his regards.
A thought hit Bones hard and fast. "Jim, by any chance was the man Jaxion Claud?" The sob left the other man before the nod did. It felt as if he was being hit by a ton of bricks. No wonder Jim was behaving like a child.
"He was the last thing I had that was close to her. Now they're both gone."
As if on autopilot, Bones moved until he was on the couch. He elongated his body and lay beside Jim. As if on cue, Jim turned and wrapped his entire body around his friend. The sounds that left the younger man made Bones want to cry. A few tears even misted at his eyes but they didn't fall. As he held the captain, the doctor looked at the first officer. Spock was sitting utterly still but the emotions that were playing in his eyes told the doctor that he wasn't unaffected by this reaction.
Thirty minutes passed before Jim loosened his grip and the strong sobs turned to soft sniffles. Bones sat up, pulling his captain-friend with him. Jim sat up and rubbed at his eyes. He looked at Spock and offered a lopsided smile as his apology. Spock merely nodded.
"Jim, I think you should tell the crew." Bones said quietly as he ran his fingers through messy blond hair. "They'll understand."
"I agree. They all like Jaxion's gifts he sent to us. I think Chekov and Uhura formed a friendship with him, as well." Spock added.
Jim looked between his two friends, taking in everything they had just said. He rubbed his nose a few times to keep it from running like it always did the few times he had cried. "You think it will help?"
"I think so. That way no one's kept in the dark about why you're acting so strange. But that doesn't give you the right to lash out at everyone like you do when you're upset. So if they know, they can help put you back in your place."
The captain's shoulders slumped. "Thanks, Bones. Just what I needed."
"Everyone will understand you're grieving but yelling at people is out of the question." He didn't answer. He just hefted himself up and headed for the door, literally running into it because he forgot it was locked. "Jim."
"I'm fine, Bones." He hit the unlock code and walked out, padd in hand.
Bones and Spock followed him back to the bridge and stood beside him as he made the announcement. As predicted, Chekov and Uhura took it worse than the others. They both hugged Jim tightly, which he reciprocated with equal tightness. During the entire thing, not once did he cry.