I'm Not Able [On My Own]

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by: stop-the-fading

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Prologue -

"Captain's Log, stardate twenty-two fifty-nine point five five." Jim leaned back in the captain's chair, letting his eyes slide shut wearily. "Our CMO has been missing for fifty-three hours, and we have yet to turn up any new leads as to his location. Best guess remains that the Klingons have taken him into custody in order to obtain information on Starfleet. Science Officer Spock assures me that new refinements made to the long-range sensors will help us widen the search area and retrieve him more quickly."

Pausing, Jim craned his head to look over at where Scotty and Spock were bickering (albeit quietly, since they both undoubtedly remembered what happened last time a disagreement had gotten out of control) before letting his eyes slide over to Nyota.

"Lieutenant Uhura, have you been able to pick up any Klingon transmissions?"

The young woman flicked her ponytail over her shoulder and lifted her chin. "Ah...captain. Yes. Speaking. They're speaking, and...um...yes. I'm..." Her nose scrunched, the only outward sign of frustration she gave, which Jim thought was very much an improvement on her temper when they'd first met. "I'm..."

Poking at the floor with his toes, Jim inched his chair around in a slow circle, taking in the entire bridge, giving Nyota time to find her words. He'd learned the hard way that she didn't much appreciate him butting in. It threw off her concentration, anyway, which defeated the entire purpose of cajoling her to speak in the first place. Jim was nothing if not considerate of his crew and their needs.

"Listening," she finished slowly, enunciating the word clearly as she wrote it out on her small notepad.

Jim nodded. "Keep on listening, Lieutenant. We may get lucky."

"Keptin," Pavel cried, sitting straight up in his seat and adjusting his paper hat (Jim could never bring himself to call it a crown in his head, but he made sure to always do so when he referred to it out loud, since it meant a lot to his ensign). "Lewels six and sewen are reporting Klingon intruders!"

"Uhura, sound shipwide alarms!" Leaping from the chair, Jim ignored Scotty's irritated curse when it rolled back and rammed into his knees. "Have the security teams surround and subdue the intruders! Phasers on stun!"

Nyota sighed. "Yeah."

"I vill call on my Imperial Guard, yes, Keptin?"

Jim shrugged. "Sure thing, Czar Ensign. We could use all the help we can get."

"Captain," Spock interrupted, holding up one hand to silence Scotty, who was still rubbing his knees and whimpering a bit, "I feel His Majesty's guards would be put to better use as a reconnaissance team, scouring the planet's surface for our Chief Medical Officer. Starfleet regulations clearly state that only official Starfleet personnel should be involved in the capture of an enemy."

Which Jim knew, since he'd written up that regulation before he'd even met Spock, but it was always good to be reminded. Knowing the rules was very important - otherwise, you might forget to break them.

Nodding to himself, Jim wagged a finger at Spock. "Very good remembering the regulations, Mr. Spock, but these Klingons might have information as to our CMO's whereabouts. Therefore, we must use all the assets available to us to capture them. Speaking of which, we should go do that. Capture them, I mean. Mr. Sulu!"

Hikaru, seated at the controls, tilted his head in a way which, to most people, would seem dismissive. Jim knew, though, that it was closer than most human beings got to being acknowledged by Hikaru Sulu.

"You have the conn."

Hikaru didn't reply. Not to Jim, anyway, but he did mutter "control is an illusion" to the potted gardenia balanced carefully on his knees. Jim wracked his brain for a moment before grinning.

"You're his backup, Ensign Phil," he said in the general direction of one of the larger blossoms. "Keep an eye on him, okay?"

He thought maybe Hikaru's smile was actually for him, not for Phil, which was even rarer than the head tilt, and it added a bit of skip to his step as he lead his crew down the corridor. The skip turned into a sort of skitter, though, when Jim had to dodge around a corner to avoid being seen by the pair of Klingons marching down the hall.

Jim narrowed his eyes at them, taking careful aim with his phaser, and stunned them both. He didn't bother to watch them fall, instead gesturing to the rest of the crew to follow and continuing to Level Six.

Jim liked Level Six - that was where the mess hall was. He was pretty sure they were serving lasagna for dinner later. He always liked it when they served foods that required utensils, mostly because he got to show off his fork. Subtly, of course. Not a lot of the crew got to use a fork, and Jim didn't like to be mean about it. Still, after the Romulan incident where the Ambassador's aide tried to poison him with a cyanide pill in his custard, Jim was always very reassured by the presence of something that could, in a pinch, be used as a weapon during mealtimes.

"I'm not supposed to be here," an angry voice cut across Jim's custard musings. "Just give me my god damned pants and let me out!"

"Leonard-"

"That's Doctor McCoy to you, you quack!"

Jim peered around the corner, lips pursed in a dramatic pout. Two more Klingons were flanking the shouting man, who was doing his best to stare down a high-ranking Romulan official. A few months ago, Jim had still been slightly off-put by the concept of Klingons doing the bidding of Romulans, but lately he'd come to appreciate the dastardly brilliance of that alliance. He could never be sure, though, that the Klingons weren't planning some sort of nefarious uprising that would topple not only Starfleet, but the Romulan Empire, as well, all in one fell swoop. Klingons were tricky like that.

Regardless, he had, indeed, stumbled upon the location of their missing CMO - and on his very own ship! Foolish, he thought to himself as he signalled to the rest of the crew with a flurry of intricate hand signs. But then, the Romulan-Klingon Alliance had always been somewhat overconfident.

"Captain's Log supplemental - the Klingons and the Romulans have clearly underestimated myself and my crew greatly, for they have committed a grave error - attempting to take control of the Enterprise and, in so doing, returning to us our lost Chief Medical Officer, Doctor Leonard "Bones" McCoy."

Jim peeked back around the corner, eyes narrowing when one of the Klingon's sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Want me to take care of it?"

"No," the Romulan replied wearily. "Leave it alone. The last thing we need is to get him agitated."

Jim snorted (covertly). Clearly, the doctor was already agitated, although he was looking more confused by the second. His bewilderment seemed to work to the advantage of his captors, who directed him into his room with little fuss. When they emerged, followed by a shout of, "this is wrongful imprisonment and I'm gonna sue your asses," Jim leapt out from his hiding spot and, his crew behind him, held the intruders at phaser-point.

"You are in violation of our treaty and have clearly disregarded all concepts of the Neutral Zone! I'm going to have to ask you to come quietly."

The Klingons sighed again, and the Romulan slipped his hands slowly out of his pockets and held his hands up in the universal don't-shoot gesture. "James," he said calmly. "We've talked about this. We aren't enemies."

"Don't make me have Czar Ensign Chekov recall his Imperial Guard to help subdue you," Jim sneered.

"It would be logical to simply surrender at this point," Spock pointed out helpfully in his usual unruffled manner. "You have returned our Chief Medical Officer, who seems no worse for wear save for the unfortunate absence of his trousers, and it is very likely that the Federation officials will be lenient with you."

"How about," one of the Klingons (the blond one, Jim noticed, who had taken his fork away once because he'd tried to defend himself with it against the Gorn that had stolen one of his chicken nuggets), "we call this one a draw, and we get in our spaceships and leave, and no one gets phased."

"Stunned," Scotty corrected, half-hiding behind Nyota.

"Right. That."

Jim considered his options. "Would you make sure all remaining intruders are removed from my ship?"

"Sure, Jim. No more intruders. We'll all leave you alone."

Pursing his lips again, Jim relaxed and holstered his phaser. "Okay."

Nodding slowly, the three intruders turned and walked away. Jim grinned, reaching out to bump his fist against Pavel's. "Another successful outcome in the ongoing battle against the oppressive forces of the Klingon and Romulan people! Good work, everyone!"

"We...we should...um...rec...um..." Nyota's lips moved slowly around the word she was contemplating, "...rescue."

"Right!" And with much fanfare, Jim burst through the doorway and into the holding cell. "Hey, Bones! We're here to rescue you!"

There was a brief but intense silence, during which Jim met the eyes of his CMO and realized that, yes, this man was his best friend in the universe. There was an immediate connection, as there had always been and would always be. This man would follow him to the stars and beyond.

Then the doctor groaned, curling up on his side on his cot, back to the door. "I don't know who you are, although I can take a guess as to what brand of crazy got you stuck here, and if you don't get outta my room right the hell now, I'm gonna kick your god damned ass."

Jim frowned, plucking awkwardly at his scrub top. He didn't like the kinds of shivers he got when people said weird things like that. It felt too much like fear, and James Tiberius Kirk had no room for fear in his life.

He could feel his crew shifting awkwardly behind him, and he knew they could tell he was thrown off. They'd long since stopped saying weird things like that around him, which was good, because a captain should never show discomfort in front of his crew. Jim wished he knew how to stop.

"That's not...that's not right," Jim murmured, crossing his arms and glowering at the man in the cot. "That's not right, and you know it. Bones, c'mon. You need to come with us so we can make sure the Klingons didn't hurt you."

There was a snort from the otherwise motionless lump.

"Bones-"

"My name ain't Bones, kid. And I ain't been hurt by Clingwrap or whatever."

"Klingons," Scotty stressed insistently.

"Right. So you can piss off."

Jim swallowed, tilting his face towards the floor, because captains aren't supposed to cry in front of their crew, either. "C'mon, Bones. We're best friends, remember? Or...or...oh." Jim brightened, suddenly understanding. "I bet their clumsy Klingon mind-penatrate-y thingies scrambled stuff around. You don't remember me, huh?"

He heard a soft breath of relief behind him, and the sound of a paper tricorn being straightened again, and he smiled. "That's okay, Bones. We'll help you until you do remember, okay?"

There was another silence, this one rather more annoyed than the last, before the doctor sighed heavily. "Sure, kid. Okay. Can I get some sleep now?"

"Sure thing, Bones! Okay, everyone," he said, pivoting on his heel so fast he nearly knocked Spock over, "let's head back to the bridge and leave orbit! I've had enough of this planet."

It might have been his imagination (which did strange things sometimes, usually the sorts of things that gave him that fearful tingle that he so loathed), but he could have sworn he heard his best friend muttering as they left.

"I know the feelin', kid."