Armored, a star trek: 2009 fanfic

The supply lines were down, again. It was the third time that month, despite Jim's best efforts at organization. He stared at the screen's list of figures – everything had worked until the attempted mountain crossing. The military had killed thirty of Jim's best and some were still MIA. There must be a base in that pass, he thought, frowning. He scrutinized the map on the table next to him and let a small smile cross his lips. If we can find the base, we can create weakness.

"I'm gonna be alright, ain't I?" Leonard didn't respond to the boy's question as he peered through the x-ray of the young rebel's shattered femur. He probably wouldn't be all right. After Leonard stabilized him, he would be ordered to hand him over to a prisoner transport van and the kid would be sent off to god knows where. There wasn't a prison in all the territories capable of handling such a severe break without permanent crippling, especially for a rebel.

"You're gonna be fine," he lied. The doctor rolled his eyes when the commander who'd been watching him silently for over ten minutes finally bucked up the courage to speak.

"Doctor, you'd best finish stitching up that traitor and get underground. We've got information that the rebels have our location."

"This isn't a stitch job commander. This kid's leg is shattered. He needs surgery." Leonard held up the x-ray. Even a dunce like the commander could see that he needed attention.

"Well you can tell that to the rebels when they come through. Now by the authority vested in me by the Armored States, I order you to MOVE." Leonard hastily administered some pain medicine and something to take the edge off the kid's obvious terror at being left behind.

"Don't worry, son. I'll be back. No way I'm letting you die under my watch. "

"Move in!" Jim hissed, pulling his binoculars away from his eyes. "Go, dammit, go! This has to happen fast!" The small platoon of men clambered from the camouflaged vans and moved toward the base, which lay in a small valley about a mile from the road. Jim picked up a small machine gun and followed: he never let his people go where he didn't dare tread. They had approximately half an hour before the military could get reinforcements, and Jim's only hope was to rescue his MIAs before they were stormed.

The base was mostly empty – the military had been tipped. They'd taken most useful supplies from what Jim could see, though he pulled a few men aside and instructed them to search the place as quickly as possible all the same. The revolutionaries were woefully under-stocked in medical supplies, and Jim couldn't bear to see more of his people die from fever and infection.

He kept moving, supervising when necessary. He'd caught sight of movement behind the compound, and beckoned a few men to follow him to the exit. Soldiers loaded an armored van hurriedly ignoring a man attending one of Jim's men on a stretcher. Jim signaled and he and his men swept down upon the scene. They killed the soldiers, the human loss far beyond fazing Jim. He walked straight through the skirmish and toward the doctor.

"Are you trying to help this man?"

The doctor nodded, bristling.

Jim smiled grimly. "Good. You're coming with us."

"No I'm not. There are wounded here that need me. The rest of your people are in the janitor's closet. It was the safest place I could think of. Take them and leave." Leonard swallowed hard, fully aware that what he said could get him killed, but he had severely wounded men and women that would die in the hands of the sad excuse for a trauma surgeon he'd been brought in to replace.

"Thanks, but no thanks, doc. You want to save people? I have hundreds back at my base who need it more than these. Hell, I feel merciful. We can bring yours too."

Leonard recognized the desperation of a man in charge being unable to provide for his people and relented. He didn't really have much choice in the matter, but he'd go out his own way.

"Tell your men to retrieve the four soldiers hidden in the kitchens. They're unarmed and severely wounded. If they're further injured or killed I will not raise a finger to aid anyone no matter what you do. Am I making myself clear?"

Leonard didn't know if he'd be able to stand idly by around the sick and wounded, but he'd damn well try if they killed his patients. The 4 wounded Armored soldiers had put their trust in him, and he wasn't going to betray that trust, political affiliations put aside.

Jim nodded soberly. "You have my word they will not be harmed. But we need to get out of here now, or we're all dead!' He signed sharply to his second, Sulu, who ran up toward the compound. "Come on, doc, let's get this show on the road."

The rebels were scarcely hidden in their own vans when the Armored States reinforcements arrived. Jim swore under his breath, marveling at their luck. "Well, Doc, welcome to the dark side."

The doctor kept the tremble out of his hands for the most part after being hauled into an enemy van, but he was no soldier.

"Nervous, doc?" McCoy couldn't quite see the men around him in the darkness, but he felt hands on his legs and checking the waistband of his pants.

"I'm not armed, dammit. I'm a doctor." McCoy swatted the hands away and was met with hands on his wrists, shoving him to his knees.

"Cupcake, settle down. He's a medic. Blindfold him and be done with it." McCoy silently thanked the young leader for stopping the man. He knew that there were plenty of rebels and Armored soldier alike who would shoot a doctor where they stood.

He tensed up momentarily while the blindfold was tightened around his eyes, but relaxed a few minutes into the bumpy ride. He had no clue what kind of medical nightmare he was walking into, and the time for stress and worry would soon be at hand.

Jim turned to look at the blindfolded doctor in the backseat and suppressed a sigh of relief. His people needed this so much, and finally he'd been able to provide for them. He felt that he'd been nothing but a series of failures to the young people that were harebrained enough to follow him Hell, he was harebrained enough to even start the movement. Jim closed his eyes for moment, remembering the insanity of the last year. He'd always been vocal against the government: five years ago, when he was still in college, the government had changed. It wasn't a transparent, democratic change (not that much had been before), but rather a terrifying pacifying of political leaders. Suddenly, the president hadn't been seen in a year and the country had taken to calling itself the Armored States. And Jim couldn't stand for it. His father had been a war hero and his mother had raised him both proudly and with political gravity. But he believed in a sort of liberty that the country had never seen, and finally, as the government crumbled and he graduated, he decided that if no one would start, he would. So he held meetings in his apartment and soon the entire town was onboard. They spread his message, and he organized their communications and demonstrations. When the military started shooting civilians, the civilians were ready: Jim had been running guns. But he hadn't been able to save them when the guns had done their dirty work – until now.

"How far are we out?" Leonard asked no one in particular. He didn't expect anyone to answer, but it was worth a shot. They'd been in the van for what seemed like an eternity.

"We're a minute out, doc. Don't be too eager. There'll still be sick people there when we get there." Leonard didn't recognize the voice, but took it as a sign that he should be quiet for the rest of the ride.

Leonard cheered silently when the van finally came to a stop. He heard the doors open and sunlight filtered faintly through his blindfold.

"Everybody get to work. Cupcake, Lassiter, and Crinn, get these supplies and patients to the hospital. I'll have a chat with the good doctor and he'll be along shortly. Good work tonight." Leonard felt himself hoisted off the floor of the van and pushed roughly off the side, just barely being caught by a pair of hands.

"Damn kids," he mumbled before the blindfold was removed.

Jim grinned. "Sorry for the precaution," he said, jerking his head at the blindfold. "Loose lips sink ships, they used to say, and I will not have my operation tanked by a chatty doctor. Anyway, the medical emergencies are in the main building. We'll give you a chance to freshen up while we move the newbies in. No one is at the brink of death, don't worry." He held out a hand to the doctor. "I'm Jim Kirk, by the way. The captain, you could say." Jim chuckled at the rhyme. "Follow me, doc."

Leonard sighed and removed the dirty coat. He thought it wise to shed the logo of the Armored States before the rest of the camp saw him in it. He knew his origins were no secret, but the less concrete those origins became the better.

He'd been rushed unceremoniously through the compound and into one of the smaller barracks near the center of the camp. There were 5 well-made beds and another strewn with greasy car parts and manuals with thick black corrections to the schematics.

Seconds after he removed the coat, a young boy stopped short in the doorway.

"A doctor!"

Leonard grimaced. "Right."

The boy smiled. "It's so wonderful to have you! I'm Pavel, Pavel Chekov. Do you need help with anything? I'm assuming you're here for the empty bunk?" At Leonard's nod, he continued, a little Russian accent tinting his speech. "Anyway, I'm glad you're here. I've been doing a lot of the first aid, since I did an internship in a hospital before…before everything, and we're lucky to have a professional again. And if you would be willing to teach me, I'd gladly assist you."

Before Leonard could reply, another voice spoke in a thick Scottish bur. "You'll no' be assisting the good doctor! You're s'pposed to be helping me, hellion!"

Pavel crossed his arms. "I can do both!"

"Not with all the new garbage they've brought in. Armored States workmanship is a load of crap. Now get along and find Keenser. Doctor, there isn't time to powder your nose. We've got incoming casualties and you're wanted in the main building."

Leonard nodded at the two eccentric rebels and quickly left the tent. The burly security guard who'd nearly threatened him on the van was steps behind him.

"Shove off, muscles. I've got work to do." He tried outpacing the man, but he was quicker than Leonard expected.

"I'm your protection, Doctor." The man that Jim Kirk had called Cupcake didn't offer any other explanation, and Leonard didn't mind the silence too much. By the looks of the flurry of activity around the main building, he had a lot of work to do.

Jim watched Cupcake lead the doctor into the main building. Despite his idiosyncratic moniker, Hendorff was one of Jim's best fighting men. He had done a tour of the Middle East before the government changed. The war had hurt him, jaded him, and Jim's vision, Jim thought with a smidge of pride, had been enough for him to leave the military and join the rebellion. Even in their own base, Jim felt more comfortable having the doctor under such an admirable man's protection.

He left the main building for the smaller technology building. "Uhura, any chatter?" he asked, biting into an apple. It was all he'd eaten since yesterday. He liked to see his people fed, which left him occasionally hungry.

Uhura took off her headphones, frowning. "No, there's nothing. And that's what got me worried. Everything's gone dead."

Jim's eyes narrowed. "Get Scotty and Chekov on this too – we'll check for technology problems. I'll send Sulu out for a peek. Report in an hour." He turned to leave, still absently chewing the apple.

"Captain?"

He couldn't stop a smile. He loved the title. "Yeah?"

"How worried should we be?"

"We'll know more in bit. But not terribly. Didn't you hear? We've got a doctor."

Leonard surveyed the small makeshift hospital. There were thirteen or fourteen people lying in cots shoved so close he didn't think he'd be able to maneuver in between them. There was a tall cabinet with a lock which Leonard assumed was for the opiate based medicines and possibly some alcohol. He was relieved when he saw none of the patients had any symbols or signs of their army. It was safer for the four he'd led into captivity. Wounded enemy were easy pickings for the more sadistic of the rebellion.

He acted quickly, dismissing five of the patients as severe flus that would pass as long as they stayed hydrated. He assigned Chekov to the five young people struck down with the flu.

"Make sure you wash your hands after you're with them, boy. We don't want that becoming an epidemic. And get me some gloves. This woman's leg is severely infected." The woman in question was delirious and feverish. Her leg had been treated, but no amateur, even as one as well meaning as the young Russian, would've been able to save it.

The others were suffering from infected wounds and viruses that needed more than water and R&R. He checked the available supplies and suddenly noticed that Jim's eyes hadn't left him.

"What?"

Jim had come back into the large building after speaking with Uhura. "I just like to watch you work, doc," he said, a little cheekily. "Fixing people up, with no more than their bones to save. You know, I never got your name." He paused, considering. "Probably for the best, especially if you decide that the rebel cause isn't your cup of tea. So I'll call you Bones."

"Fair enough. I'm not a man into revolution, Captain. I fix people who're hurt and there's no room for politics there. There's wrong and right on both sides as far as I can see."

Jim grinned. "You called me captain! I'm blushing. And I'm glad you're willing to be reasonable with this, Bones. I don't ask that you fight for us. I don't ask that you believe in us. All I ask is for you to do your job. Save lives, heal people, hell, all people. Those military bastards will not be harmed in rebel care. That's the thing about this war, Bones. We're not heathens, or savages. I'm not in this to be sadistic or to gain anything." Jim shook his head ruefully. "The only thing I want is the kind of liberty I know people of all sorts deserve. The Armored States is rather contrary to that mission. I wouldn't have held that against them, but they harmed innocents. And that's where my problems lie. So don't be political if you don't want, but never underestimate the power of a concerted effort of innocents."

Bones grinned at the war weary young man. He was so full of ideals and it stung to remember himself before medical school when he had shared those same ideals. He'd fought the Armored States in med school and was even arrested on a few occasions for his efforts, but that'd driven his wife away and eventually led him to a position in the middle of nowhere.

"That all sounds nice, kid, but we'll see about that when this blasted war is over." He tore open a clean pack of bandages and proceeded to show Chekov, Cupcake, and the Captain the best method for binding a wound.

Half the time, proper first aid would prevent a lot more damage to the patient, but all the citizen soldiers that made up the rebel army weren't even halfway trained in the science.

"And you never pull out a knife if it's not absolutely necessary." He ended his small tutorial with a pat on the patient's back. A line had begun to form outside the med tent. Bones guessed a lot of the soldiers had hidden or ignored injuries for morale and because there was no other option. He was going to be in that tent a while.

Jim checked back in with Uhura, trying to conceal his worry. The radio silence had gone on for three days. No matter what they tried, the rebels were still entirely disconnected. He'd spent hours with every technology lead of the rebel base, and not even Scotty could figure anything. Uhura had tried to send a message to Spock, who was doing reconnaissance in the capital, but with the servers down she couldn't be certain if he'd received it.

On the fourth day, when Jim stopped in to see Uhura, she beckoned him over to her workstation eagerly. "There's something in from Spock," she said, eyes glinting. "I'm translating it from the code now."

"You're a saint. So's Spock. What does it say?"

She looked back at the screen and raised a hand to her mouth. "Jim, they're coming."

"What? When? How?" Jim spat, but the feeling in his stomach was familiar. He'd felt it the whole time. It was only a matter of time before they attacked.

"They've been on the move for two days. They'll be here in two more, as long as the snow storm doesn't set in."

Jim grimaced. "Good thing we have a solid medical staff now."

Bones was no stranger to hard work. Med school and his time in hectic operating rooms had had him adjusted to long hours and sleep deprivation, but the few days he'd been the only competent medical staff in the rebel camp were exhausting.

Physically, mentally, and emotionally taxing patients, soldier and civilian alike, poured in at all hours of the day and night, forcing Bones to rouse himself out of sleep and see what child had stepped on an Armored State's mine or what soldier had suffered from their intentional poisoning of the rivers. It was becoming more and more difficult to stay neutral. He had seen the rebels do a number on prisoners and shoot innocents in the heat of battle, but the Armored States had been engaging in total warfare right under his nose.

He was monitoring the heart rate of a young civilian girl when their captain, a man he had slowly grown in admiration for, entered the medical tent.

"She's a cute one, isn't she." He pushed the young girl's hair out of her eyes and stared at the stump of an arm that she would be forced to live with for the rest of her life.

"They broke her arm so violently, Jim. Just a little girl and they snapped it like a twig. The infection was too bad. I couldn't save it."

Jim stroked the girl's hair again. He closed his eyes for a moment, and the exhaustion he hid so well showed through. "Bones, I'm sorry."

The doctor frowned. "Not your fault."

Jim shook his head. "What?" he said, looking at the girl. "Oh, I mean, technically it probably is, but that's not what I meant. I'm sorry you're caught up in this, or rather, sorry I dragged you into this. Things are about to get bad. Worse. And just when I thought we had a shot at winning…" His head bowed. "I'm just so damned tired of fighting, Bones," he breathed, so quiet that only Leonard could hear.

"A body gets tired of fighting. A mind gets more tired, but you've got to keep going, Jim. These people look up to you and..." Leonard paused for a moment. He was veering into dangerous territory. He was used to getting slightly attached to the people he treated, but he'd never been a man to attach to ideals or movements. "And your cause is good. It's good and you've got to buck up and help these people." He cut the distance between them and wrapped the captain in a hug. It lasted for only a few seconds before his face reddened and he pulled back, smoothing out his borrowed army fatigues and hastily attending to another patient across the med tent.

Jim kept his head bowed as Leonard darted away and slipped out of the med tent after the doctor was sufficiently busied. He sought Uhura – perhaps there had been some more communication from Spock. Perhaps there was still a way to get out of this.

"News?" he asked, a little more tersely than he meant.

"No, and you don't need to be sassy about it," she replied.

He forced a grin. "You're right, of course."

Her face softened. "I know. I always am. How's the doctor?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

Uhura's eyes glittered with glee. "You just check in so often on the med tent, if I didn't know better, I'd think you were diseased."

Jim could feel the slightest tinge of a blush start on his cheeks. That obvious? "Well, I mean, as the concerned leader of a military operation…"

"Concerned leader my ass. You checked in like once when Scotty got that weird stomach worm thing."

"Scotty's tough, I knew he'd be fine!"

She shook her head. "And when Chekov got chicken pox?"

"People don't normally die from that."

"You're a shitty liar, el Capitan."

"For being a fluent Spanish speaker, you disappoint me with your poor accent."

"Whatever, only your weird genius savant skills got you through high school language requirements."

Jim could have kept bickering for hours. It was a comfortable, safe kind of arguing, and it distracted him from the oncoming storm. He didn't realize he hadn't spoken for awhile until Uhura waved her hand in front of his face.

"Jim, you've been staring at the ground for about ten minutes. And I just got something in from Spock."

His stomach dropped. "What is it?"

"They'll be here tomorrow."

Bones didn't know exactly what was going on, but he'd been readying the more stable patients for transport all day and Jim hadn't been by to see him since the night before. He hated to admit it, but he was falling a little bit in love with the brash commander.

"You feel any wooziness since yesterday, Carter?" Bones adopted a gruff tone for the young soldier. He responded better to it than any other. The young man shook his head. Bones knew he wouldn't admit to it even if he was, but okayed the kid for transport anyway. There was only so much he could do for these stubborn rebels anyway.

Jim snuck around the transports, pretending to be checking in but knowing all he wanted to do was see the doctor. Bones was bent over a stretcher, concern and exhaustion etched across his brow. Jim took a deep breath and stepped forward.

"Hey Bones," he said in an undertone,

"Jim, my real name is Leonard. You don't have to keep up the Bones act."

Jim blinked in surprised confusion. "Well, of all the names, I didn't see that one coming. Anyway." He wanted to exchange pleasantries, wanted to banter, but he knew what he had to say. Not waiting for an answer from the doctor, Jim jumped in. "Look, I want you to know how much I appreciate what you've done for us. So…so you're free to go. Get on the transport when it leaves with the wounded, and wherever it stops, get off. Run for your life and don't ever admit your association with us." He gave a tight smile. "Good luck. Have a good life." The words rang false, and he tried to smile again to counteract their harshness. "Really. You've been…amazing."

Bones sat up. All he wanted to do was get on that transport and run as far as he could, maybe see his daughter, but he couldn't do that. He'd spent his whole life rebelling against all the idiocy that the Armored States seemed to run on, but he'd never stood against them like he knew he should. There were good people going to need his help, and he couldn't sit idly by.

"I'm not going, Jim. Whatever they're planning tonight, you seem to think you're not going to make it through. I'm gonna make sure that doesn't happen." Relief flooded his body. He'd made a decision, and judging by the happiness apparent on the Captain's face, he'd made a good one.

Without thinking Jim pulled the doctor into a tight hug. "Thank God, Bones." He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself not to break down. "It's…it's gonna be a long day," he choked. "I'm really glad you'll be here for it."

Bones allowed himself to relax into the hug for a moment. He hadn't been hugged in so long. Working with the Armored States did not tend to garner a lot of affection.

"Me too, Captain." They released each other after a few moments and began to talk logistics as if that moment of joy hadn't happened, but even as they talked about the possible body count and all the supplies available to him, Bones couldn't help but bask in the warmth of that momentary happiness.

Jim did his best to prep the doctor for the upcoming battle. He didn't sugarcoat the details, didn't give a false sense of their odds of survival. They walked through the whole of camp, shoulders nearly touching, and Jim explained where extra supplies where and where to retreat if (when, he couldn't help thinking) things got bad.

As they finished their circuitous route around camp, a few flakes of snow falling, Jim turned back to the doctor. "Above all," he said, clearing his throat, "remember that I'm not the most important person here. I may be in charge, but my life is worth no more than anyone else's. Don't get cute or stupid, okay?" He meant the words as strongly as he said them, but he nudged Bones's shoulder with his own. "Anyway, you want a drink before the fun begins? Scotty's got some amazing brandy. Or if you're more into vodka we can ask Chekov."

Bones nodded, restraining the bounce in his step that normally came at the mention of brandy. He hadn't had the opportunity for even a nip of good brandy since he'd been enlisted, and the few hours before an attack seemed as good a time as any to break that streak.

Scotty handed over the bottle of brandy as gently as one would handle a newborn, a look of abject sorrow and longing coupled with a few seconds of resistance.

"Don't give me that look, Scotty. We're not going to drink without you. Round up the crew," Jim took the bottle, "and tell them to meet me in my quarters."

Leonard followed beside his captain, terribly aware of the smile that didn't reach the other man's eyes and the shaking hands that held the walkie-talkie close to his mouth. He was reaching Uhura.

They settled into his quarters and waited for the small core crew to assemble. They trickled in one by one, Scotty first, then Chekov trailing close behind. Sulu gravely parted the tent flaps minutes before Uhura made her appearance, obviously displeased with the proceedings.

"We're really going to drink now?" she pursed her lips, but relented after only a few seconds after Jim grinned and raised his eyebrows, gesturing to the brandy Leonard was holding. The room fell silent.

Jim surveyed the room, making brief eye contact with each person, each member of his crew that he held so dear. Last was Leonard, newest, but somehow all the more dear. Jim smiled a little. "What do you guys want, a speech? Bottoms up!" he quipped, taking a shot from Chekov. Everyone sniggered and the sound of clinking glasses briefly distracted Jim from what he knew he'd still have to say.

After the first toast, Jim stood up again. "You all know what's about to happen. All of you are aware of the odds we face. So I'm not going to tell you about how all of this is a lost cause and we're going to go out with glory, because I'm confident that you guys have your hero shit together. What I want to tell you is this: go out in love. If you die, die completely enamored with what you believe in and what you fought for. Even if we don't succeed, even if everything we fought for is lost, at least before we're dead the world will know that some people still cared enough to die for liberty. Die for love: for people's right to love and for your own love of your people. All of them. All of you mean so much…to me, to this cause, and even if it doesn't realize it, this country. So here goes. One more drink, and I wish you the best. If I don't see you again, it's okay. Because at least I know you've loved."

Jim sat down heavily, staring past the refilled shot glass and felt Leonard's hand on his shoulder. The weight of his speech and the impending battle had left tears at the edge of his eyes. He wiped them promptly away before downing the shot and flashing a smile at the doctor. Seconds after the crew had begun to talk amongst themselves, a shot rang out near their camp.

"Here we go, lads." Scotty rushed out of the tent, followed by the rest of the crew. Uhura had already begun yelling through her walkie-talkie before she'd even stood.

"You ready?" Jim asked, holding the tent flap back for Leonard. He felt the adrenaline that he'd become so familiar with during his time in busy ER's and nodded. He was as ready as he'd ever be.

The camp splintered into action. Uhura wormed past the doctor and into the fray, headed towards her communications building. Chekov, Scotty, and Sulu grabbed guns from the back room, Sulu tossing one each to Jim and Leonard. More people than seemed possible swarmed from the tents and buildings preparing weapons and sounding alarms.

The Armored States began the attack with long-range weapons. Missiles hummed through the air and within the hour most of the rebels' long-term structures were decimated. Jim had ushered Leonard back to the med building, which had so far remained unscathed. Communications were entirely down and he couldn't find Uhura, no matter how many times he commed her.

Another hour passed, and finally the Armored States sent troops in. The close-range fighting was bloody and harder than Jim had expected, though he was proud of his amateur soldiers. He kept comm'ing Uhura when he could spare a hand, still with no answer. At one point he found himself fighting next to Chekov, blood oozing out a nasty cut by the young Russian's hairline. "Get yourself to med, kid," Jim shouted between machine gun blasts.

Chekov wiped at the blood with his sleeve and grinned. "No, sir, I'm fine. Oh der'mo! Uhura told me to tell you that Spock's got a possible lead on reinforcements. She escaped the blast that took out the comm building and managed to salvage contact with him. She's holding position to monitor that situation."

Jim took a deep breath. "Thank you. I was starting to get worried. The others okay?"

"So far, so good. We're getting pummeled but the body count is low, sir."

Jim and Chekov stuck together, fighting their way around camp and corralling the Armored troops where rebels could more easily defend against their fire.

Chekov had just returned from a brief reconnaissance mission to Uhura and was updating Jim when enemy fire intensified. A bullet tore through the young Russian's shoulder and he cried out in pain and shock. Jim dove at him and pulled him to the ground. The wound was bad but not mortal, but Jim pulled the kid up and began to drag him to the med building. They made good time until pain blossomed through Jim's leg. He stumbled and Chekov fell away from him. "Chekov, get moving! They're concentrating on us now…run to medical and get yourself sewn up. We can't hold here. And I can't run with you."

Chekov, blood still welling from his shoulder, shook his head vigorously. "Captain, I can't just leave you! It's getting cold!"

"You can and you will. Get moving, go!" Jim edged around to face the oncoming enemy. "I'll be fine," he lied, more for Chekov's benefit or his own he couldn't tell.

The battle wasn't going well. The snow was accumulating rapidly and the temperature was dropping. McCoy was no master tactician, but the streams of wounded and their constant nagging to rejoin the fight told him that they needed every last man.

A figure blocked the doorway, leaning to one side and clutching its shoulder. He reached for the gun he'd been given until the figure stepped into the light of the medical tent. He'd already had two armored soldiers stumble their way into the tent since the battle began. Chekov's face was wrought with agony, and blood was dripping freely from a wound on his shoulder.

"Come on, kid. Let's get you patched up." Chekov sat on the table willingly enough, but the look in his eyes told McCoy that something was terribly wrong. "Chekov, where's Jim?"

The boy put his head in his good hand and choked out a reply. "He was shot, sir. He told me to go on without him. I didn't want to." He straightened out again and put on a brave face. "He is our captain. He knows what he's doing."

"Like hell he does. " Leonard growled. He ignored Chekov's insistence that he go help Jim and began to patch the boy up. The bullet had ricocheted off his shoulder blade, saving him from death, but it was one hell of a bullet graze. He finished stitching, hoping like hell he wouldn't try to go back out there.

"You must come with me to find our captain." Chekov pulled on McCoy's arm insistently.

"I've got patients here, Chekov." Leonard gestured to the 10 or so soldiers who had made it to the med tent.

"You've also got plenty of patients out there. Some of them were not well enough to get here."

Leonard could not deny that fact. The med tent was getting further and further away from the front lines as the battle shifted eastward.

"Nurse Chapel, watch these patients and radio me if anyone comes in with something you can't handle. We've got an idiot to save."

Jim grimaced and dropped the gun. Empty, again. He cast around vainly for another (he'd already used two salvaged weapons since Chekov had left), and it seemed his luck was up. The heat of the battle had shifted and he was in no real danger of anyone but possible scouting parties, so he tried to stand and limp toward the med tent. It was painful going, and he'd already lost a lot of blood.

He heard faint sounds behind him, coming up from a looted supply shed. Jim drew the knife he kept on at his belt for emergencies and turned around. Five Armored States soldiers were approaching, and with them they dragged Uhura. Jim's heart sank. Her capture was not only a blow to the troops on the ground, but it also meant no more contact from Spock. Outside communication was finally severed, then.

Jim slowly raised his hands and waited for the troops to make their way down the hill to him. As they came forward, he caught Uhura's eye and winked. She frowned but nodded almost imperceptibly.

The leader of the group marched up to Jim and snatched at his wrists to tie them. Jim kneed him hard in the stomach and snatched up his knife. He had no qualms about killing these people. Uhura struggled and kicked at her captors, her martial arts training formidable. The troops were surprised enough at first that Jim managed to take down another before the one not incapacitated by Uhura grabbed him. Pain throbbed through Jim's leg and he couldn't move fast enough to avoid the bayonet that the soldier had detached from his rifle.

Jim felt frozen in time, totally still as the rest of the world whirled around him. Distantly he heard Uhura cry out and vaguely watched as one of her guards hit her hard on the head. She went down into the snow. There was no pain in this stillness, but nonetheless something felt wrong. Jim forced his eyes to move around the scene, to look down at the source of the wrongness. The bayonet drove through his chest. He collapsed to his knees and watched his blood stain the snow. The two remaining soldiers snatched up Uhura, and one gave Jim a pitying glance. He slumped over, pain finally overcoming him.

Leonard ran through the blinding snow with a single thought on his mind. Jim. The man had become so important to him in such a short amount of time and Jim's last words to him rattled in his brain. "Are you ready?" He wasn't.

"Sir, I think I hear something." Chekov shouted over the fierce winds.

Leonard's mind was devoted fully to thoughts of Jim and the biting cold until Chekov stopped him with an arm flung across his chest. He looked to where Chekov pointed and saw a figure in the snow. There were two Armored soldiers and two rebels in the valley, and three other Armored bodies scattered around. He could see their uniforms, but the snow made identifying them impossible. Leonard gasped as a bayonet entered one of the rebel soldier's chest.

"We have to go stop them!" Chekov began to rush forward, but Leonard yanked him back by the back of his uniform. It was suicide.

"With what, Chekov? Our can-do attitudes? You've got three shots left and a whole forest of Armored Soldiers. If we die, we're no use to anyone." Chekov settled down on his haunches, glaring at the 2 soldiers that had ambushed the rebels. They hoisted one over their shoulder and left the other before retreating toward the other end of the valley.

"Go." Leonard advanced, praying that it would not be too late for the rebel that lay dying in the snow.

Jim felt curiously warm. The wind had quieted and he could hear his blood pumping out of his body, feel his breath grow more labored with each passing moment. He could feel his life slipping away, and he studied it almost academically. He'd been hurt before, but they were small things compared to this. This, he thought with a grim little smile, was a transformative experience.

Footsteps crunched on snow and he dimly saw to figures rush down the hill towards him. He didn't have the strength to care who they were. Until he heard Georgian accent curse quietly and a sharp intake of breath mixed with frantic muttering in Russian. Then he roused himself a bit.

The doctor crouched by Jim's side, staring at the bayonet wound through his chest. Chekov flitted around, holding his injured shoulder and trying to look calm. Jim looked up at Leonard, who was still regarding the wound, brow furrowed. Jim tried to clear his throat. "Hey Bones," he rasped. "My eyes are up here."

Leonard's mind buzzed with panic and sorrow at the sight of such a broken figure. The soldier had removed the bayonet at an angle, widening the wound and making it nearly impossible to close with the few tools he had been able to bring with him. Leonard fake rolled his eyes at the comment.

"Don't get shy with me." His voice shook and he was certain that Jim could see right through the banter. "We're gonna have to get you to the med tent, Jim. I can fix you right up if we can get you to the tent." Chekov nodded enthusiastically on Jim's other side. Leonard wasn't sure if the kid actually believed him or if he was just as hopeless as Leonard felt.

Jim's breath caught painfully. "I don't think that plan's…all that plausible," he managed, wheezing a little.

Leonard clenched his jaw. "Then I'll head back to the med tent and get people to help carry you."

Jim's fingers were cold and he could barely feel them enough to move them, but somehow he managed to find Leonard's hand in the snow. "Don't leave me," he murmured, twining his fingers around the doctor's. "Just…just stay. Just a minute."

Chekov's eyes glazed with tears. "No, I'll go. Let me!"

Jim turned his head a little to look at the young Russian. "Don't you dare, kid." But Chekov had already hurried off into the flurrying snow.

"Dammit." Leonard whispered. Jim was shaking and he couldn't do anything but keep pressure on the wound and wait for him to go.

"Jim, I-uh, I want to thank you for everything. I'd still be bitter and complacent and you've meant so much." Leonard cursed the words that escaped him. It sounded like he was giving up on Jim, and a dying man didn't need that in his last minutes. "I'm sorry." He felt the tears coming long before they'd reached his eyelids, but he couldn't do anything to stop them.

Jim's weak fingers tightened. "No. Thank you." He stopped a moment, trying to breathe, trying to remember how to get oxygen into his broken lungs, hoping he'd have the chance to say everything he needed to. "You know that speech. All those things I said. It was true, for me, because of you." He coughed and shuddered, tasting blood. "I'm dying, but that's okay. Because I know I have loved. Because I am still in love."

Leonard wanted to say a thousand things and thank Jim in a thousand different ways, but the faraway look on his face and the blood that was still pouring out of the hole in his chest told him that time was running short. Leonard wiped the tears from his eyes before leaning down and kissing Jim gently, smoothing his hair, and wiping the blood from his face.

"I love you."

A smile spread across Jim's face and a whispered, "I love you too, Bones," crossed his lips before his eyes closed for the last time.

Leonard held Jim for a long time before his judgment came back. He was a sitting duck in the valley, and he had people back in the med tent that needed him.

"Goodbye, Jim." He stood and mustered up the strength to turn his back on the man he'd loved and ran as quickly as his shaking legs could take him back to the carnage that he knew awaited him.

"Do we have an estimated body count?" Sulu asked the room at large. His face was ashen with exhaustion and trauma and grief, but there was still a hard glint in his eyes. "We need to make a stand."

Uhura cleared her throat. A bandage was wrapped around her head and she looked on the verge of collapse, but she too had a spark of determination. "From what the Armored States soldiers were saying, they were pretty sure they'd gotten three quarters of us. And thanks, by the way, for getting me away from them. Kind of didn't think I wasn't coming back. Anyway, I think they're right. But we've fought guerrilla-style for a long time now. This isn't over."

Scotty nodded vigorously. "We've lost too much to be through now."

Leonard could barely keep his head up through the small war council. He was exhausted with grief and pain, but knew that the others had suffered just as much as he had, oftentimes more. He cleared his throat.

"We must keep fighting, or Jim," (his heart ached at the sound of his name), "and all the others will have died in vain.

"And the lad, Chekov." Scotty took a long pull from a bottle of whiskey.

Chekov. Leonard had completely forgotten about the brash young man until he'd noted his absence at the council.

"How did it happen?" Leonard asked. He didn't want to derail the conversation, but a brave man like Chekov deserved to be remembered even in the darkest of times.

"One of ours found him shot in the back 5 or 6 times. I dunno what he was doing so far out anyway. I passed him earlier and he said he was going to the med tent to get his shoulder treated." Scotty tipped back another glass.

"He was coming back for help. I told him not to go."

The conversation turned to their troops and the ¾ loss that would certainly be their doom.

"I don't know how, but we have to keep fighting. I'll fight the whole army my damn self if I have to. It's gone on long enough." Leonard raised his voice unconsciously and found himself standing before the group, a new resolve to end the Armored States once and for all. But how?

Uhura smiled a little. "We'd need a leader. And I think he just stood up."

Sulu and Scotty exchanged glances and raised their glasses. "I'll drink to that," said Scotty. Sulu nodded.

There was a soft rap on the door, and everyone jumped. Uhura was closest and hesitantly she approached it and opened it. She let out a half stifled shriek and leapt at the figure. Sulu quickly drew a gun.

Uhura turned around. "Idiot, put that down. It's Spock." A tall, dark-haired man inclined his head regally.

"Uh, pleased to meet you," Leonard began. "I'm McCoy, Leonard McCoy."

"And our new leader," interjected Scotty. "Good to see you again, lad."

Spock nodded again. "I'm glad to be back. I've brought reinforcements."

Leonard paled at the thought of himself being leader. He was so young in the revolution, but Jim had had faith in him and he must have some in himself.

Spock raised his eyebrows. "New leader? Where is Captain Kirk?" The realization that Spock had been out of touch since Uhura was taken dawned on everyone in the room as Spock scanned each person's face. Leonard knew that Spock knew, but it was only right that he know the whole story.

"He was ambushed and stabbed in the chest. I was with him when he died." Leonard looked at the ground as grief briefly overcame Spock's calm exterior.

"I am sorry. Jim was a good man." Spock stood still briefly before beginning his report on the number and condition of the reinforcements he had brought.

Leonard looked at the faces of everyone in the room; determination burned in their eyes and in their speech. They supported him. Even Spock, this new, unknown variable, accepted him because Jim had accepted him. Leonard looked into the faces of the revolution, and his mind, those of the revolution had lost. He saw Chekov's young, excitable face, saw Jim's brilliant laughing blue eyes, and even though they were gone, they were not forgotten. Their mission was not forgotten.