A/N: I got into a Jim/Bones mood. and this is my accomplishment. Reviews for cookies :] Duh.

Taptaptaptaptap.

It needed to hurry up. It doesn't take that fucking long to energize somebody, some people even. That explosion was enormous. He was going to be hurt, Jim knew it. A lot of them were. Medical teams were assembled, waiting for their turn to bring the hurt, most likely dead, to the critical ward. Jim barely had time to breathe as he put his entire vessel on Red Alert, and everybody who didn't have a specific task – i.e.: Spock, Sulu, Chekov and Uhura – was now part of the temporary medical team.

White sparks swirled around the transport pads and Jim watched, eyes narrowed, trying to discern one figure from the rest. Another Federation ship was waiting beside the Enterprise, willing to take five of the injured since they were in a smaller ship; Jim and his crew were taking ten. This damned race had called out for help; their leader was "injured". It was a trap. A damn, fucking trap!

His heart was racing and, quite frankly, he was amazed his own body didn't betray him and send itself into cardiac arrest. With the Chief Medical Officer down on this – apparently – hostile planet, Jim would die and that would be the end of it. Fuck! This thing needs to hurry up. Blurry figures became sharper, everybody was still… or relatively still as the white lights faded away and screams erupted from the casualties. Jim sent the first of his medical wave to retrieve who they could. It took a short five minutes to get nine of the very seriously injured patients.

Then Jim stood still. Bones was standing on the pad, leaning against the wall looking as if that was the only thing keeping him standing. His left hand was wrapped around his right side and his Captain saw a dark red blotch spreading out from his side, getting larger by the second.
Before Jim could react, Bones' eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed.

-xx-xx-xx-xx-xx-


Tick tick tick tick tick tick.

That clock was getting on his last nerve. They had electronic things, but no. No. Bones liked antique things. That stupid clock was one of those things he picked up on their last little break to Earth. So there it stood, on a metallic shelf Bones put in himself, like his pride and joy, ticking away the time while he was in surgery getting repaired… Jim pressed his hand to his mouth, a choked sob wrenching itself out of his throat. Goddammit, he couldn't take this.

It was all a huge mistake. A neutral planet or so Starfleet had said. Jim had a few words for Starfleet; the vast majority of them started with 'f'. They sent out a distress signal, and upon talking to… whoever the hell he was, he called himself Exo [pronounced "ez-zo"]. Exo said their leader was in dire need of medical attention they had no access to on their planet. So Jim assembled a team of medical people, led by Bones, and a few security officers. His heart gave a sickening thud.

They weren't on the surface longer than ten minutes, Jim had his eyes transfixed on the screen showing Bones' vitals, when the explosion went off. Shouting ensued and no faster than he gave the order, his staff was working to transport their own back onto the Enterprise. Three of the officers who were security died instantly. One of the nurses with them was yelling something about land mines, that she heard laughter before they beamed off surface.
It was a trap.

He had single handedly sent his men, his Bones, into a trap.
A very formal voice cut through his raging thoughts. "While it is evident there is nobody seated next to you… I believe the proper human terminology is 'is this seat taken'?"
Jim waved a hand, meaning go-ahead-and-take-it, whether Spock knew it or not. The Vulcan obviously got the hint as he sat down quietly beside his Captain.

"Have you received word on Doctor McCoy's condition?"
"He's—"Jim cleared his throat trying to rid it of any emotion, "He's still in surgery. Complications with a spleen laceration..." His voice became noticeably softer.

Spock watched the man beside him, his usually hardened features eased just a bit at seeing his Captain, the very determined, I-have-all-the-confidence-in-the-Universe James T. Kirk become so unraveled and uncertain. In cases like this where loved ones were involved, Spock was the next best thing to glad that he rarely acted on his human emotions. A passing thought questioned whether Jim was experiencing something similar to what Spock had when his mother did not make it aboard the Enterprise.
"It is highly unlikely that Doctor McCoy will not survive his procedure. My readings suggest that when humans have something to strive for, to live for," his eyes flicked to meet Jim's briefly before glancing away, "their survival rate almost doubles. Fascinating."

He was trying to help. Jim knew it, but he just didn't want it. He wanted Bones to come out of surgery, thumbs up with that stupid smirk on his face. A twinge of fear crept up his spine and he stifled another choked noise.

"Captain." Spock almost whispered. Jim looked up anxiously as the surgical bay doors opened up and two nurses floated Bones out on a gravitationally suspended gurney. There were no thumbs up. There was no smirk. There was Bones, lying on the bed with a large tube in his throat, his torso from hip to shoulder bandaged with a spot of red on his side. White bandages covered his right arm and the right side of his face. One of the surgeons Bones frequently worked with came up to him.

"There was a complication with his spleen. The lacerations he obtained were very severe and we had to remove the organ completely. After we did that, however, his vitals stabilized and he did well. We found several bone fragments in his side, arm and face."
Jim's heart sunk. How poetically ironic. "His?"
"No. We are certain they were from the poor souls who received the brunt of the explosion. You can see him, Captain, but we do not recommend you try to wake him just yet." With that, the doctor left.
"What do you wish to do?"
"Just… I'll see him. I need to see him." Jim turned on his heel, going to the room they hovered Bones to. He walked in slowly, a knot forming in his stomach as he gazed at the older man lying peacefully on the bed Jim usually found himself on. His skin was sickeningly pale, which… truth be told, scared the absolute shit out of Jim. To see somebody so strong reduced to this…
"Captain, I believe everything is taken care of. You need to get some rest."
He couldn't even think of some smartass answer to retort with. Jim simply slumped down in a chair and, within minutes, succumbed to sleep.

-xx-xx-xx-xx-xx-

Fitful nightmares played their way through Jim's mind as he slept. Everything from watching Bones dying on the planet to killing the man with his own hands caused Jim to have next to no sleep. The chair didn't help much either. After a few hours of discomfort, Jim sat straight in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees to put his face in his hands. He looked up with his fingers still resting over his mouth and watched Bones sleep quietly. Somewhere between the time they got into the room 'til now, they had taken the plastic intrusion from his throat which was a good thing, Jim thought. Without warning, Bones shifted his position, head lolling to the side.
"Jim…" He whispered hoarsely. Jim shot out of his chair and went to the bedside.
"I'm here, I'm here." McCoy reached up with his good, left hand and immediately Jim took it, holding it between his own. "You're safe now."
"That fuckin' hurt,"
Jim's lips twitched. Same old Bones. "Do you need anything? I can call a nurse or…"
"Just stay." The older man said. It sounded like more of a question. Either way, Jim wasn't going anywhere.
"Sleep if you gotta. I won't go anywhere."

McCoy didn't need to be told twice and, without opening his eyes once throughout the conversation, he relaxed and fell back into the sweet bliss of unconsciousness.

-xx-xx-xx-xx-xx-

It was a couple weeks before Bones was allowed to go back to his own quarters. Jim muttered something about being cooped up in one room for so long being bad for their health. Bones pointed out that Jim didn't have to stay. He was awarded with a snort and that was the end of that.
Bones sat heavily on his bed, sighing at the comfort that quickly embraced him.
"Take off your shirt."
"Really, Jim? I just got out of sickbay. I reek and—"
"That is for later. One of the nurses told me to put this stuff on your cuts and stitches. So. Shirt off. Now."
"Is that an order?"

"It will be in a minute, take off your damn clothes!" McCoy grinned and, gingerly, took his shirt off, tossing it off to the side. Jim sat down next to him, taking his time unwinding the bandages. McCoy was busying himself humming some unfamiliar, but far from unwelcome, tune Jim had never heard. Once the dressings were off, Jim took a minute to rake his eyes over his best friends' torso. Jagged red lines scattered themselves from his fingers to his shoulder, over the right side of his neck, following up from his right jaw, temple, eye and into his hairline. The stitches had come out a couple days ago, but the side of his injury was still very red and very raw. The still rather fresh wound snaked its way from Bones' hip to just under his right pectoral. You did this to him.

"Hey, what's the hold… up…" Bones had turned, looking over Jim's features. "This wasn't your fault." He assured.

Jim nodded slightly, swallowing past the large lump that had formed in his throat. He put some of the bright purple ointment on a q-tip and gently swabbed over the cuts on his hands. One by one he counted in his head and worked his way up Bones' forearm, bicep, shoulder. After his neck, the number hit triple digits and hot tears stung Jim's eyes.

"Close your eyes," He requested, trying to keep his voice even, but it sure as hell didn't work. Jim felt a tight grip on his hand and his blue eyes darted down, meeting the others.
"Do not. EVER. Blame yourself for what happened down there. Don't you dare, do you hear me?" Bones' voice was stern, but completely filled with distress. "You responded to a call like a Captain of the Starfleet should do. You did your job and nobody anticipated something like that from what we thought was a neutral race."
Well, he couldn't keep the tears in now even if he tried. One blink sent several dripping onto his legs, darkening spots on his slacks. He just stared back into Bones' eyes, his mind a chaotic wreck.
"I should have gone down. I should have. You shouldn't have been down there."
"I was doing my job, Jim. They needed medical help and I went to do my job." Now-light-purple colored hand and not rested on either side of Jim's face, thumbs brushing any tears that escaped. "We did our jobs, and dammit, it wasn't your fault."
"I-I gotta finish." Jim tried to pull back. He didn't want to completely break down. He needed to help Bones however he could. He stilled, steeling his spine as warm lips met his own briefly, feather-light. His eyes fell half-lidded before McCoy pulled away. Jim nodded a little and continued applying the medication as directed.

He finished up a while later, shakily tossing away the empty tube and cotton swab. Bones was lying on his back, the ointment on his hand and forearm had turned clear and gradually, the rest was too. Jim sat by Bones' hip, facing the older man. His eyes were lazily traveling over his abdomen, across the worse of the damage.

"It feels weird," Bones started, grabbing Jim's attention so he focused on Bones' face, "They took out my spleen. I would have thought having an organ removed, I'd feel lighter or something."
"S'it still hurt?" He was whispering, meaning he was thinking.
"Not much. Dully throbbing would be a better explanation. Look at me."
"I am."
"No. I mean look at me." McCoy rested his head back on the pillow, looking straight into Jim's eyes which seemed to focus more when he was stern. "Stop thinking about it. I mean it, Jim, it's going to eat you alive."

"I can't have my people killed… I can't send my own people out there to get slaughtered!" his voice rose slightly and his shook his head, but his eyes remained locked.
"If shit like that happened and everybody backed out, there wouldn't be a Federation. Plain and simple, people die. You can't fight with it, and it sucks, yes, but it happens. The effects are strong on their leader, but you're still the leader of so many more people. If this experience doesn't humble you, then you don't deserve to be a Captain."

Jim snorted, eyes flicking away for a split second before returning. "It's not humbling."
"Oh no? That's not what I'm seeing." A glimmer of doubt darkened blue orbs. "Nope. I see a man who thinks he can take on the entire Universe alone sitting on my bed crying over fallen comrades. You don't think that's humbling yourself, Jim? If it wasn't, you wouldn't be here. You wouldn't give a shit that I was hurt. You would be on the Bridge carrying on with your life."
Jim winced. He didn't want to be the kind of person who didn't care.

"You love your crew, Jim. Every damn person on this ship, you love them, because if you didn't, you wouldn't be here. You'd probably still be back on Earth, picking fights with Starfleet crew members, getting your ass handed to you." McCoy grinned when Jim's brows knit together in annoyance. "Just sayin'."

He watched Jim shift on the bed, taking McCoy's good arm and moving it so Jim could tuck himself beneath it, against the strong comfort of Bones' chest. He rested his head over Bones' strong heart, savoring the sound that reassured him that Bones was still alive and cracking jokes at his expense. McCoy rubbed Jim's arm, pressing a soft kiss to the top of his head.
"You've got guts, kid. And I don't plan on dying for a long time. You're stuck with me."
Jim smiled thoughtfully, closing his eyes.

"Good."