Hello! This is my first fanfic, so please be nice and leave a review if you get ye chance (just no flames)! I had no beta, so all mistakes are completely mine. All credit goes to Chrisii; the original story is her idea, and I am writing a sequel to it. Please check out her fanfic, "Of exhaustion and massages." It'll help you understand the plot and circumstances if you do, though it is not essential to understand this story. Enjoy.

Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Star Trek characters, just having fun with them. They belong to Paramount, I believe. Correct me if I'm wrong. I don't make any money off this.

Leonard McCoy had had a long day.

Now he sat alone in Medbay, inside the little space that the privacy screen permitted, with Chekov. The kid slept quietly on his side, an oxygen mask over his nose and mouth, and an IV in the back of his right hand. Bones swept hair out of his eyes and leaned forward, staring at the prone figure. Chekov had been doing so well… he'd even been released from Medbay. But last night he'd suffered from a panic attack, after which he'd collapsed, and he hadn't come out of it yet.

Bones heaved in a breath and stood up. A rush of exhaustion and sudden memory hit him, and he groaned. The engineers still hadn't fixed that broken biobed. It had stopped working several nights ago, and Bones hated having his equipment out of order for long periods of time, lest he need it.

The doctor stood up and limped tiredly over to it, kneeling.

The workings of the biobed were complex, but not to someone who had studied chromosomes and cells, nerve transmissions, and heart and brain functions. Bones was a genius, even if he didn't know it, and that was enough to aid him in finding the problem. A simple wiring malfunction, probably caused by the old age of the equipment. Next time they docked at a star base, he'd have it professionally fixed.

Fixing the thing for temporary use was easy enough. But just when Bones thought he had done it correctly, he must have hit something, and the bed fell. The weight of it combined with his angle caused a horrific crack, and Bones cried out, head hitting the ground. His world went out of focus.

When Dr. M'Benga entered Medbay to take over for his shift, he hardly expected to be put straight to work. Upon arriving, he didn't see McCoy anywhere.

"Leonard?" he peeked into the CMO's office. It was dark and empty, a cold cup of coffee sitting on the desk.

"Len?" He peeked into the curtained enclosure where Chekov lay. The kid looked so pale, so skinny. His breaths were shallow and he was running a temperature; he must be dreaming. M'Benga picked up a hypo and administered it, and almost immediately the boy's chest rose in a contented breath, and he slipped into a peaceful sleep.

"Leonard McCoy, where the heck are you?" he whispered to himself.

Exiting the curtained area, he lay eyes on one of the most surprising things he'd seen since boarding the Enterprise.

"Dr. McCoy!" he knelt down to check the unconscious man's pulse. It was there. Sluggish, but there.

Twenty minutes, four nurses, one worried Jim, and seven hypos later, McCoy was laying on a diagnostics table, eyelids fluttering. His fingers were twitching, which was, according to M'Benga, a sign of an imminent return to consciousness.

"Bones, can you hear me? Bones, hey, wake up. You've got quite a lump on the head, not to mention-"

But before Jim could explain about Bones' shoulder, said doctor shot up into sitting position. But he didn't stay that way; his shoulder jolted, and he cried out, falling hard on the table.

"Sorry, Len. Couldn't give you any anesthesia or sedatives. You were out a while, and I didn't want to risk sending you into a coma. Plus, you're so pumped full of meds for the swelling and nausea from your concussion, I just can't chance anything else. But thankfully the meds I gave you have some painkillers." M'Benga sighed. McCoy froze.

"Nausea? Coma?" McCoy asked slowly disoriented, "what nausea?" he slowly lifted his head, and winced. "Oh. That nausea."

Jim would have laughed had Bones' face not been so pain-ridden.

"Listen, Len, I'm gonna make this fast, but that won't change how painful it's going to be. Got it?

"Yeah." McCoy swallowed, shifting. His face was so white.

Jim took Bones' good hand and squeezed lightly. "As hard as you need to Bones. Squeeze as hard as you need to." Bones was pale and sweaty. He was trembling.

"Ready?"

"No."

M'Benga glanced at Jim, who he thought had clearly said, "no."

"No, Dr. M'Benga. Could I have a moment?" he glanced at the two other attending nurses. "Alone?"

"Yes Captain, of course. Tell me when you're ready." They took their leave.

"Bones? You okay?"

"No." he whispered.

"What's eating you? You aren't usually like this. Usually I'm the baby." He smiled. "C'mon, tell me... what happens if I go stuff a pumpkin pie in my mouth."

"You wouldn't!" McCoy groaned when he moved, "who would save you when you go into cardiac arrest?"

"That's just it Bones. You wouldn't be there to save me from an allergic reaction, and so I would die. Don't you get it? N,o? I trust you with my life. My life, okay? That's a big deal." Jim shrugged. "I do care, Bones."

Jim stood up and covered the shivering doctor with a blanket, and patted him awkwardly on the shoulder. Bones leaned in to the touch, and soon Jim Kirk found himself messaging Bones stiff muscles, avoiding the injured shoulder, of course.

He gave him a few minutes, finishing the massage. "Are you ready? We shouldn't leave it too long like this."

"Yeah, Jim. I guess I am. Thanks for...Damnit man, don't hug me!"

M'Benga, looking curious, entered again. "You're ready, Doctor McCoy?"

"Yeah, I guess so."

"Good. On the count of three. One…." M'Benga flashed Jim a look, "Len, what's your favorite color?"

"Arghhhhhhhhh!" Bones screamed through his teeth, and the sound of his shoulder popping back into place resonated around the room. Jim looked down at his hand.

"Bones, I think you broke it." Was all he said. Through gritted teeth came an answer.

"Don't be a baby, Jim."