Not a whole lot of action in this chapter, but it's a necessary beginning, I believe. More conflict (and an emotional rollercoaster for poor McCoy, for those anticipating it) in the next chapter, I promise. I don't own anything...


One: Concern

Looking at the man across the table, Jim Kirk could tell that Leonard McCoy had not been sleeping well. His bright blue eyes were dull and dark, mirrored by the shadowy circles under his eyes. His gentle, capable hands with their blunt fingertips and carefully manicured nails (They were artist's hands, McCoy claimed, suited for the delicate work of a surgeon, not like Kirk, whose hands were calloused and scarred) were turning his coffee mug around and around with a gentle scraping sound against the table. He didn't seem to notice—he was staring into the depths of his now cold coffee with a grim, absent-minded scowl. He looked pale, and as Kirk watched, one hand lifted and rubbed across his eyes with a soft sigh.

"You all right, Bones?" he asked, and when the doctor looked up at him, he smiled. "You seem tired."

McCoy grunted, shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose I am," he said. "But I'm all right."

Kirk leaned back in his chair, watching his Senior Medical Officer as he returned to the slow spinning of the coffee cup.

"You don't seem all right," he observed.

McCoy looked up again, this time directing the scowl at his captain. "Well, I am," he said. "Just tired. I haven't…" he hesitated, but continued. "Haven't been sleeping well."

"Getting sick?" Kirk's voice sounded a little too happy (it was simply lovely when Bones was the sick one, for a change), and the coffee cup stopped turning again. Kirk wiped the smile off his face as he was given the Look-the one that only McCoy could give, and the one that always made Kirk wilt just a little. It was the doctor look, the authority look, the one that said push me any farther and I will make you regret it. It was the stare that everyone on the ship knew as the no-nonsense, time-for-your-physical glare, the one that no one—not even Spock—could help but obey.

"No, I am not getting sick," McCoy snapped. "I'm perfectly healthy, thank you. If you'll excuse me." He stood, and Kirk waved an apologetic hand.

"I'm sorry, Bones. Really, you don't have to leave. You haven't eaten anything yet."

"I'm not hungry."

"Not hungry? You didn't eat anything for breakfast, either."

"What are you, my doctor?" McCoy turned, met Kirk's eyes, and looked away. "I've got work to do. I'll see you later."

"Bones…"

"Captain."

The doctor left without looking back, and as the break-room door hissed shut behind him, Kirk bent forward over the table and rested his chin on his closed fists. That had been most unlike the normally amiable doctor. Sure, McCoy had a reputation of seeming grumpy and cantankerous, but he was almost never genuinely so. Usually, Kirk had little trouble getting McCoy to open up about anything that was troubling him—McCoy seemed to turn to him whenever he needed to get something off his chest. Kirk returned the favor; he could tell McCoy anything. They understood each other, understood better than anyone else on board what it meant to have the lives of four-hundred people in one's hands. They shared the burden, shouldered it together, and it gave them a special bond of brotherhood that they didn't feel with anyone else in the galaxy.

Of course, there was Spock. Spock was the third brother, the third musketeer. He was the constant, steady, logical one that balanced Kirk and McCoy's emotionalism. When Kirk needed someone to empathize with him, he would turn to McCoy. When he needed someone to stabilize him, he would turn to Spock. McCoy did much the same, and it worked beautifully. The three of them knew each other better than they knew themselves, and when one was a little off-balance, the other two knew. All three were brilliant actors, and could fool any crewman on the ship into believing that the sailing was smooth, that life was good. Everyone, that is, except each other. There was no hiding anything, then, no secrets, and no lies.

And so the fact that McCoy was obviously distressed or ill or something, and was not telling, was disturbing. When had it started? Surely this wasn't a new development. This had started back…yes, this odd, tired, taciturn, moody McCoy had appeared after they had returned from the mirror universe. Kirk steepled his fingers, focusing on nothing, mind spinning. It had all started back in the mirror episode. Since then, he didn't remember seeing a genuine smile, or hearing any sort of spar from him to Spock, or even seeing the man hardly at all. He had invited his friend to lunch today to chat with his friend for the first time in over a week, and instead it had turned into a one-sided conversation interspersed with McCoy grunts, one word answers, and coffee-spinning. Most unlike the normally witty, sarcastic, talkative Doctor McCoy.

"Kirk to Spock."

A moment's pause, and then Spock's voice issued from the receiver.

"Spock here."

"Meet me in my quarters in fifteen minutes. I have something to discuss with you." Kirk hesitated, one finger on the comm, and then said quietly, "It's about McCoy."

There was a silence, and then Spock said, "I will meet you there, shortly, Captain. Spock out."

So there was something wrong. This brief interchange with Spock dispelled any doubts Kirk may have been harboring, and he stood and carried his tray to the appropriate receptacle in meditative silence. What could possibly have happened in that universe to make McCoy act this way? Scotty, Uhura, and Kirk himself had certainly been shocked and disturbed by the entire experience, but it hadn't taken long for them to put it behind them. They talked about it now, teased each other, and even enjoyed discussing it, analyzing, speculating. McCoy, though, never joined in with the conversations. He stayed on the outside, offering brief input when asked, but never volunteering or initiating any comments of his own. Funny, that Kirk was only just now realizing this.

When Spock arrived at his quarters exactly fifteen minutes later, Kirk wasted no time in getting to the point.

"Spock, something is wrong with Doctor McCoy."

Spock laced his fingers together, piercing brown eyes locking with Kirk's hazel ones. "I quite agree, Captain."

"He's been acting…sullen, lately. Moody. Withdrawn. It isn't like him, and he won't talk to me. Our conversation at lunch today was disturbing, Spock. In that it wasn't a conversation at all. I talked at him, and he…responded. Barely. I'm concerned."

Spock waited a moment before responding, and when he did, his voice was carefully neutral. "I have noticed that he seems to be avoiding, me, Jim."

Jim. Kirk straightened a little in his seat; the gravity in the room was suddenly palpable. Spock only called him by his Christian name when there was powerful emotion behind it, either on Kirk's side of things or, very occasionally, Spock's. Kirk could remember every single time he had heard Jim coming from Spock's mouth-the fact that he was using it here was cause for alarm.

"Yes," he said slowly. "I've noticed that too." He was only now realizing that he had. The number of times he had seen Spock and McCoy in the same room together this past week had been minimal. They had not exchanged more than a few sentences during that time. "Have you noticed that he doesn't like to make eye contact?"

"Yes, Captain. Particularly with me. I do not believe that he is sleeping at nights, nor is he eating properly. He is quiet, listless, and extremely anti-social. He has not spent his usual time on the Bridge, nor has he been reported seen out of sickbay except to return to his quarters at night or to occasionally eat or visit the greenhouses. He shows all evidences of being ill, and yet he has done nothing on the record in an attempt to restore health."

"You've checked his records?"

"Just now. He has been injecting himself with a sedative in increased doses every night for the past eleven nights, though whatever seems to be preventing his sleep continues to overpower the drug."

"Are you suggesting it's more than insomnia?"

Spock tilted his head-his version of a shrug. "I do believe that there is something unnatural, or at the least, unknown, preventing him from sleep."

Kirk nodded, letting his eyes rove about the room as he thought, a frown tugging at the corners of his lips. "Any suggestions?"

"I suggest we look at the events surrounding the beginning of Doctor McCoy's decline in health," Spock said. "I believe it began when you returned from the time spent in the mirror universe."

"Yes, that's what I've reasoned," Kirk said. He stood, nervous energy driving him to pace. "And yet, I don't know what could have happened to him that is any different from my own experiences, or Scotty or Uhura's. We are all largely unaffected by what we saw and did there. McCoy is the only one that has suffered any ill effects."

"Was the doctor ever alone?"

Kirk bit at the inside of his cheeks, pausing in his pacing to think. "No…no, I don't believe he was. He was with Scotty…or me…no, yes, yes, he was. Toward the end, just before we transported back to our Enterprise. After the fight we had with your counterpart, Mr. Spock, I told you he insisted on making sure that you were all right. We left him alone, then. He came back with your counterpart-I can only assume that they were alone from when I left them. He hasn't spoken to me in detail about what went on between them. I only know the other Mr. Spock somehow learned of the switch and shut down the transporter circuits so that he would have time to send us himself."

"The doctor told my counterpart of your dis-belonging?"
Kirk stared at Spock for a long moment. "Well, yes. Or, that's what Bones said; that he told the other Spock about us. Why?"

Spock steepled his fingers and let his gaze shift to the floor, eyebrows locked in a tight V. "And did the doctor seem to trust my counterpart?"

Kirk frowned, but refrained from questioning his Vulcan friend about the relevance of the question. "I believe he did…more so than I, at least. He was…adamant about seeing to his health. Wouldn't leave, even with a direct order. He was…very much like you, Spock. Bones seemed particularly willing to trust him."

Spock was silent, eyes dark and brooding. Then he shifted, looked up at Kirk, and said calmly, "I would like to speak to the doctor. Perhaps tonight, if you would accompany me, captain."

Kirk nodded. "It would be my pleasure." He shot his first officer a quick grin, and Spock got to his feet gracefully and moved to the door. He turned as it slid open and said, "It would be best, captain, if the doctor were not forewarned of our coming. I would have our discussion completely free from his prior contemplation."

Kirk inclined his head. "If you think it best, Spock."

Spock quirked an eyebrow. "I do."

And he left.

Kirk sat for a time, thinking, hands resting lightly on the desk in front of him. The odd behavior of one of his best friends was more than concerning from a platonic standpoint. It also affected the Doctor Leonard McCoy that was his Senior Medical Officer. Having his ship's surgeon in any less than top condition was dangerous to a large ship on such a mission as was the Enterprise. He needed the doctor in prime health, both mental and physical, and at the moment, Bones was neither. He may disagree, but Kirk knew his friend well enough to know that if he was showing signs of discomfort, the pain was real enough and advanced enough to be a concern. If he needed to pull the rank card he would—force Bones to tell him, or at least to take care of himself, but he hated to do it. Even if he did, there was no guaranteeing that Bones wouldn't just pull the same card being CMO and override Kirk's commands based on the fact that this was a medical concern. Of course, there were ways around this, but it had the potential to become extremely messy.

"Sickbay to Captain Kirk."

McCoy. Kirk punched the comm and spoke into it in his professional voice. "Kirk here. What is it?"

"Jim…I'm sorry." There was a sigh. "I didn't mean to walk out on you like that. Like I said, I've been tired. I'm sorry."

Kirk smiled, feeling a rush of affection for his friend. "I know. It's all right. You sure you're all right?"

"Fine. Once I get a decent sleep, I'll be good as new. I know I haven't been up to par this last week, and I'd guess you're starting to think about pulling the rank card on me, make me take care of myself."

Kirk laughed. They knew each other too well. "Well, it had crossed my mind."

"I thought so." There was a smile in Bones' voice. "Well, I thought I'd head it off before you got around to it. I'll get some sleep tonight, Jim, don't worry. I'll be fine."

"If you're sure."

"Positive." There was a brief pause, and Kirk thought of notifying Spock that there was no need to see Bones, at least not yet. But then, "Oh, and Jim? There's no need to tell Spock of this. I don't know that he's noticed I haven't been sleeping well. I haven't seen him much. And I know how close we all are, and that you might be inclined to speak to him about it. There's no need to worry him—he's got enough on his plate. All right?"

Right. "I understand, Bones." That doesn't mean I'll comply.

"Thanks, Jim."

"You're welcome, Doc. Take care. Kirk out."

Kirk ended the communication and sat back, a grim smile etching itself on his features. After all, it wasn't only Bones who could pull off intimidating, he mused. He had a Glare, and Spock could generally hold his own against any and all of the crew as far as intimidation and Looks-that-shut-you-up-on-the-spot. Together (and he hoped he wasn't being overly optimistic), he and Spock would be more than enough to dig up whatever secret McCoy was keeping buried. Confidence boosted the smile to a regular Kirk-style charmer, but just as he settled back to enjoy a night free of duty, the image of McCoy's darkened, hollow, desperate eyes rose to his mind's eye, and the confidence ebbed away fast enough to give him emotional whiplash. It was times like this that he envied Spock's alleged lack of emotion. A good, healthy dose of logic was just what he needed...unfortunately, Jim Kirk didn't always do logic unless Spock was hovering somewhere nearby and he happened to pick up on the brain waves. Feeling vaguely sick, he leaned forward to rest his head on his arms and prayed for sleep to come quickly.


I find Spock rather difficult to write, so I hope he's acceptable. Thanks for reading! And thank you to all who reviewed on the previous chapter...I love to hear feedback! Feel free to give me pointers or ask questions too, though I would, of course, appreciate them to be in good taste. Reviews are my life-blood, I swear...don't let me down!