Author's Note: The original content contained in the following belongs to me, but I don't own the characters or the world. This is a short story based on the idea that McCoy, as a doctor, feels a particular responsibility to everyone aboard the Enterprise, but especially to those he considers friends. Not sure where this is going, so any suggestions would be appreciated. Please read and review. I don't write slash.

Time Runs

McCoy watched him leave, raising an eyebrow in unconscious imitation of a certain first officer, and then went back to his office. His two bit psychiatry told him that there was more going on here than simply being accused by the Captain of being incompetent. So, he probably wouldn't take it personally. The mission had started out stressful, and that aspect of it had increased exponentially to this point, culminating in Chekov's injury, and the Captain's, though he would admit to no such thing. Jim had a tendency to acknowledge injuries only when they left some sort of physical mark, but McCoy knew that the worst injuries sometimes left emotional and mental scars, rather than physical ones. Those were also the hardest to heal. Jim blamed himself, and he needed time to process the fact that this was not his fault. Still, McCoy couldn't deny that he shouldn't be on the bridge in the state he was in when he came to sickbay. Sighing heavily, he toggled a switch on his desktop communications unit.

Uhura's face appeared on-screen, and he gave her a small smile. "Well, Lieutenant, you are working late tonight."

"Tonight's my night to work the night shift, Doc. What can I do for you?"

"Patch me through to Spock, please."

"Yes, sir. How is Chekov?"

"He's holding his own. He's still out, but you can sit with him for awhile, if you like."

"Well, maybe later. Hold for Mr. Spock, please."

A moment later, a deep, crisp voice came onto the channel. "Doctor, what can I do for you?"

"Spock, could you please meet me in sickbay to discuss our patients' status. It is rather important, and I don't want to discuss it on here."

"I am on my way, Doctor McCoy."

While he waited for Spock, McCoy checked on Chekov again. He seemed to be resting easy after the surgery, at least for the moment, but McCoy was not at all sure that wouldn't change. Rubbing his eyes, he returned to his office to find Spock waiting for him.

"Mr. Chekov-"

"-is holding his own, Spock. It's Jim I am worried about now."

"Ah, yes. He did seem rather restless when I saw him."

"Restless, Mr. Spock? Restless is an understatement. The Captain was downright twitchy when he was in here."

"Twitchy, Doctor?"

"You heard me, Spock. That's exactly what he was, too. He practically threw the Saurian Brandy I poured for him back at me."

"So what do you propose, Doctor?"

"I fear I am going to have to relieve him, Spock, but I want to try to talk to him again first. I need a witness. I won't do this lightly, but until this business with Chekov blows over, or he turns back into the Jim Kirk we all know and love, he shouldn't be on the bridge."

"I agree, Doctor. I will accompany you to talk to him."

Kirk was still glaring at nothing when McCoy and Spock walked into his quarters. McCoy stood a bit behind Spock, and surreptitiously pointed his tricorder toward the Captain, in an effort to judge his physical state. His glare found them, and his voice had a razor sharp edge to it, when he said, "Gentlemen."

"Captain."

"I am not really up for social calls tonight, gentlemen."

"This is not a social call, Captain. This is a professional visit to determine your fitness to continue in command of this ship."

"Are you insinuating-?"

"—I am not insinuating anything, Captain. I am simply requesting an explanation for your behavior in sickbay a few minutes ago. One that will satisfy my medical log entry."

"Mr. Chekov is a member of my crew. Isn't it reasonable for me to be concerned about him?"

"Concerned, yes. We are all concerned. You've seen crewmen in limbo before, and you've even seen some of them die. You have not ever before, however, chewed up the furniture in sickbay in response to such a situation. Why is this one different?"

"I don't know."
"You are the only one who does know."

"GET OUT OF MY QUARTERS!," Kirk bellowed, knowing he wasn't helping his case by sounding irrational, but unable to help himself.

"Captain, you are hereby relieved of duty and confined to quarters, pending a full physical and psychiatric evaluation." Kirk bounded off his bed like lightning, and lobbed a very heavy, quite unbreakable relic, which he had picked up on some world or other that the Enterprise had visited, at his Chief Surgeon. At the moment, he wasn't registering where it came from, or even what it was. McCoy ducked out the door, with Spock right behind him. Spock went to the comm. link in the corridor, and called security. He posted two guards outside the Captain's door, and followed Dr. McCoy back into his private office in sickbay. McCoy sat down behind his desk, and rubbed his eyes, motioning Spock to sit also. As the first officer sat down, McCoy said, "Well, Spock, what do you make of our Captain now?"

"That, Doctor, was most decidedly not our Captain. I surmise that something happened down on that planet."

"I suppose it is possible, but he was fine when we first got back."

"Then there are three possibilities. One, whatever happened has gotten worse since the Captain returned to the ship. Two, Chekov brought something with him, and it has now spread to the Captain. Three, the stress that the Captain has been under since this mission started has been exacerbated by his worry over Mr. Chekov's condition, and the symptoms of that stress were exacerbated as well."

"Any recommendations?"

"Yes, Doctor. I have an idea."