Episode Three

Old Bones

Post Charlie X and Where No Man Has Gone Before

Gary Mitchell.

Kirk stared out into space with the name on his tongue where it would stay. He couldn't say it, and he couldn't let it go. He gripped the glass in his hand tight and resisted the urge to throw it against the wall.

Gary Mitchell.

He owes – owed the man his life. They were friends, the best of friends, for fifteen years. They worked together, fought together, laughed and played together. And Kirk had killed him, crushed him under a rock. If he gripped the glass much tighter it would shatter.

The door to the room slid open, and Jim didn't bother looking over to see who it was. If it was just a member of the crew, they would notice him and turn around and leave, as they had been for the past hour. If they stayed, then…

A body came over to stand next to his. "Hey, Jim."

… then they had to be Bones.

They were shoulder to shoulder, looking out over the vastness of space, Kirk's eyes narrowed to thin points.

"What could I have done, Bones?" He murmured quietly, his pose tense, shoulders bunched up. "What could I have done to save him? To bring him back?"

"There was nothing you or anyone could have done, Jim." The doctor says this with a sigh even as Jim turns violently towards him.

"We were friends, close friends, surely there must have been something I could have said to reach him, something I could have done!" Gesturing wildly with his arms, Jim stormed away, pacing the room. "For a moment, just a moment, I saw him as he was, before all this. He said my name – he called to me! Like he was asking me for help!" Red faced he spun round and began to shout. "And I killed him! I killed him!"

"You did your duty!" Bones shouted back, not quite as loudly or passionately. "You saved your whole crew from becoming the toys of a mad man who thought he was a God!"

"That mad man was my friend!"

"Was, Jim!" Bones stormed towards him, gripping his shoulders tight. "Not anymore. The man you knew died the moment his eyes changed and he turned dark. You didn't kill him Jim. He was already dead."

The knowledge, the heavy realization he'd been avoiding, that this was damn serious and Gary really was gone, hit him like a freight train and he collapsed, all the tightly bound strength in him just fading as he slumped against the wall. "He saved me once, Bones." The captain mumbled, eyes falling closed. "I was about to die, and he came back for me, dragged me to safety. He refused to leave me behind and I – I can't help but think…"

"That you left him behind?" Bones ended softly, his eyes searching Jim's face for something. Jim nodded slowly, feeling sweat build on his palms. The doctor's hands squeezed his shoulders, and then pulled him towards the table in the center of the room. He allowed his friend to sit him down, and then Bones sat across from him.

"Jim, Gary knew what he was signing up for; and so did you. You both knew something like this might happen. And if Gary was at all the kind of friend you say he was then I know he'd have understood what you did. And in your place, he'd of done the same."

Feeling almost dizzy, light headed, Jim nodded. "He said as much, when he was still somewhat sane." He spoke quietly, feeling the reality still settling in his bones. He was heavy, heavy with the weight of grief and duty and loss. The mission had only just started and this happened, this terrible thing. "I wanted him to be my first officer. We talked about it all the time, back in the academy. The two of us working together, searching the stars…" Scoffing, Jim gripped his knees until his knuckles were bone white. "Now he's not even here."

Bones reached out and put a hand on top of Jim's, but he didn't say anything. Neither of them said a thing, even though those words hung heavy between them: Gary Mitchell. Gone. But Bones was here, and Jim had a job to do. It would have to be enough.

The doors to the room opened, and both heads turned to see Spock standing in the doorway.

The First Officer had been aware, in theory, of the closeness of the Captain and his CMO. But the sight he came upon when he entered the observation deck and saw Jim and McCoy holding hands made him realize that perhaps the relationship went further than he thought.

A sudden stab of emotion cut through him but he blocked it out before it could be completely analyzed. Jim and Bones had moved apart, their faces turning the color of their red blood, and Jim stood and moved around the table.

"Something you need, Mr. Spock?" He sounded cordial, almost himself, but there were slight signs in his posture, his tone, and most of all his eyes that made it clear he was not all right. Spock realized that it was likely he might not be, for a long time.

"No, sir. I merely wished to ascertain your condition." He glanced from the captain to the doctor, as if the other man's face might reveal something about Jim's mental state. "Are you all right?"

Jim smiled a little, but it was weak and tired. "I will be." He insisted. "With time."

Spock nodded, gripping his hands behind his back and facing an inner struggle of what to do or say. "I… am sorry for your loss." Jim's eyes widened marginally (the doctor's considerably) and he smiled a little more strongly.

"Thank you, that's very kind coming from you." Spock realized it was a comment but thought it a somewhat backhanded one, but he said nothing. With one last nod, he turned and left, and went back about his duties.

It was when he next attempted to meditate that the unnamed, unexamined emotion of that initial moment of seeing the two together reared up again, strong and swift and overwhelming. It was coppery, tense and shuddering through his mind, setting him off balance, pushing at his control. He felt fire rise in his gut and a sense of light headedness touch his mind. It was the most boggling and frustrating combination of emotions, and a most complex one to overcome.

Overcome it he did, though only by acknowledging it and then shoving it down into the deep. But it was with the acknowledgement that he was hit with surprise and even confusion. He found the emotion to be something akin to jealously – not like that which came with possession or a desire to have, but something more… somber. Tinged with bitterness. It was a complex, multifaceted feeling he could not comprehend, and he couldn't honestly define its source. He only knew that it was the sight of Dr. McCoy and the Captain, hands touching on Jim's knees that had incited it.

If only he knew why.

Hours after sitting with Jim on the observation deck, McCoy sat in his office with his own bottle of sorrows, up way past the hour he should have been, drinking more than he should've. It was a ridiculous thing, to feel so melodramatically remorseful at his age, especially given that he'd suffered no losses as Jim had, and had no valid reason to feel so. He was a foolish old man mourning not what he'd lost, but what he'd never had or would have.

The sight of Jim in grief over his close friend only reminded him of the life his friend had outside of Bones, the people he knew and loved. Jim had a family, had friends, and a lover on every planet. Bones was just one of many, just another companion on the Captain's long voyage.

But Leonard? He had nobody. He had a daughter he was never allowed to see and an ex-wife that hated his guts. His family was all dead, the people he'd once called friends long turned away. The only person who gave a shit about him was James T. Kirk.

He knew it was unhealthy, to be so attached to one person, to be dependent upon them for all your companionship, but there was no helping it. There wasn't a soul on the boat besides Jim who knew him and could put up with him the way the Captain could. Bones snorted as he took another long swig from the bottle. To be honest, he wasn't sure why the man did it. He half expected Jim to give up on him any day now. That day would be the worst of his life, second only to losing Joanna.

With that thought, he remembered Spock. The damnable Vulcan, so intelligent and powerful and mysterious, so everything Jim ever went for in his partners. The difficult ones were his favorite, more so if they were alien. Bones had noticed the signs, the way Jim's eyes lit up at the sight of him, how he went out of his way to see him. They were together almost constantly it seemed. Jim used to spend almost every evening with Bones, sharing a meal or just stopping by to talk for a moment. The doctor was lucky to see him once a week now. Between the work load, and all the time he was spending sharing meals and playing chess with the Vulcan, he didn't have time for 'Bones'.

Spock. Leonard could admire him, sure. He was quick as a whip and funny when he wanted to be, and not nearly as emotionless as he wanted the world to think. He was damned smart, and that was half his appeal, though he was hardly a slacker in looks either. There was no comparison between Spock and Bones, oh no – when it came down to it, Leonard knew who Jim would want.

And Jim? Jim was a genius in his own right, and charismatic, and passionate, and a boyishly handsome man. Spock would be lucky to have him.

Leonard McCoy? Leonard McCoy was a tired, washed up old man, with aching hands and a burned out heart, who loved his best friend and his biggest rival with equal intensity. Oh, he'd always loved Jim. Perhaps from the moment they'd met that charming smile and eventually, heartbreaking vulnerability reeled him in. Spock, the challenge that he was, made the doctor want to tie him down and shut him up, the fun way. Oh, he wanted them both.

He would have neither, and they'd be happy with each other, once they got their heads out of their asses and figured it out. Bones went to drink more from the bottle and frowned to find it empty. He let it drop to the floor, somewhat surprised when it didn't break. His head fell back, and the combination of drink, sorrow, and utter exhaustion put him to sleep.

He dreamt of a handsome smile and bright eyes; of dark passionate orbs and fiery discourse. He dreamt of two wonderful, beautiful men making love on a bed of bones, long dead and cold.