So this chapter is a little different from the previous two- I decided to experiment a little with POV, so it's written from McCoy's view, and is pretty much a stream of consciousness (this is also what happens when inspiration is running low and this is literally the only idea that I can work with, and when I have next to no time because uni starts in two weeks and I've done roughly ½ the work I need to do before my first seminars)

As always, please leave a review- did the change in POV work? Also, if there are any situations you'd like me to use/ any plot-bunnies you have, please let me know!

Thanks again to all the lovely people who have followed, favourite and reviewed so far, I honestly didn't expect to get so many of you to respond to it, so thank you thank you thank you!


I have to say, when I first joined Starfleet I didn't expect there to be quite so much running involved.

Sure, I knew they valued fitness- it ensures the 'happiness' of crew members, and means that they 'work to the best of their ability', and all the rest of the usual spiel.

Plus it goes without saying that the work Starfleet carries out does occasionally call on you to run for your life- though I suspect those of us onboard the Enterprise are placed in 'run-or-die' situations far more than other crews, which of course has absolutely nothing to do with our commanding officer, or the fact that certain members of the Admiralty seem to enjoy 'testing' him and, by extension, us.

So maybe I should say that yes, I knew there'd be some running involved.

I just didn't expect that running to be done while hauling a pretty much unconscious best friend through knee-deep snow in the middle of a blizzard.

Then again, things rarely seem to go the way I expect. I mean, it's not like I ever expected to even have the damned idiot as a best friend. Most normal people would have looked at him on that shuttle and run a mile. Hell, if I hadn't been pretty much forced into that seat by the stewardess, I wouldn't have gone near the kid. I'd probably have spent my years at the Academy with other medics, occasionally hearing about 'that Kirk kid' through the grapevine and quietly judging his attitude and actions from a distance; most likely it would have been a fairly peaceful experience.

Instead, I spent the whole time watching out for the idiot, patching him up as best as I could, making him rest when he'd burned the candle at both ends and was on the verge of collapse, dealing with his various issues (which he brokenly explained to me over the course of two hours, sometime in our second year when we were both very far gone on bourbon) and somehow finding the time to do my work as well.

How we both made it out, alive and still friends, is a mystery.

To be brutally honest, I knew my experience of Starfleet would be far from conventional the day I realised I was in too deep with Jim.

And now, apparently, that unconventionality has extended to include running for my life with far more frequency than anyone ever should- approximately twice a month, dependent on how many ground teams I'm sent on, and the nature of the mission.

Running for my life on what was supposedly a simple case of checking out an uninhabited planet because Jim thought it looked 'interesting' is new, though.

I told him to be careful, told him not to be suicidally thick, to come away from the nest.

'Stop worrying, Bones! Look at the state of it, this thing hasn't been lived in in years.'

Ah yes, because the claw marks and scales scattered everywhere were totally not evidence that something was recently in the area. They just magically appeared on the ground.

I swear to God, everyone claims Jim is this amazing genius, that he's some sort of whizzkid who takes apart machines and solves physics formulae for fun, but he's not. Honestly. This is the idiot who grew up in the middle of the countryside, who went to goddamned Tarsus IV and survived, and he still hasn't got it into his thick skull that sometimes, it's best to leave things with teeth well alone.

And now, because of his sheer stupidity, he's almost gotten himself killed.

Again.

As if 7 near death experiences in as many months isn't enough.

To make it even better, we're sat in an ice cave, waiting out a storm that would rival those that batter Antarctica for 8 months of the year, and trying to avoid the thing that Jim pissed off. He never can time his critical injuries with being in a convenient location for me to fix him up, by which I mean, why the hell can he not just get himself injured on board the goddamned Enterprise so I can use all the equipmentI have specifically been given to handle this sort of crisis. No, instead he chooses to get attacked on a bloody freezing planet where I have nothing but a basic medkit, we have next to no technology at all, and of course there's a blizzard so our comms are jammed and we can't call for help.

So all in all, I've had better exploration missions in my life.

The cold here is the sort that seeps into your bones, and it permeates everything; it's the kind that makes you feel like you'll never be warm again. There was a spare jacket in our packs, which I wrapped around Jim once we got into the cave (idiots, only bringing one spare jacket, next time we travel to a planet with a temperature that is permanently sub-zero, I'm going to make sure that we carry so much warm clothing that we can barely walk). The last thing I need is for him to get hypothermia on top of the fang wounds in his shoulder.

Blood loss combined with hypothermia is a fast track to death, and that's a road I really really want the permanent pain in my ass to avoid.

I'd checked the bite when we first got to the cave, neatly slicing his shirt across from the collar to expose the injury without letting too much vital heat escape. The two round holes were clean and cut deep down, but miraculously hadn't hit any veins; there was heavy bleeding, staining Jim's golden shirt a deep red, but I'd wiped the injury with iodine (primitive, but still as effective as ever) and wrapped it tightly with the roll of gauze from my medkit to slow the flow. It wasn't nearly sufficient, but it would have to do until the storm blew over. I hadn't spotted any signs of venom when I'd inspected the bites, and I hope that although the creature was dangerously territorial and had seemed to think that Jim was a perfect chew toy, it lacked any form of weird-venom-from-space-for-which-there-is-no-known-cure.

Jim shivers, and I shift slightly to pull him closer to my side. If he was conscious, I know he'd be making all sorts of lewd comments, like the absolute child that he is. Immature twat. I hold him close and feel the tremors that continue to wrack his body, whether from pain or cold it's impossible to tell. Most likely a combination of both.

Not for the first time, I wish there was a way that I could start a fire, contact the ship, do more to help him. He's not as pale as he was when I first dragged him into the cave, which is always a good sign; at least he's fighting, and he's stable.

That's all I can ask for.

I'm sorry, Jim. I wish I could do more.

I tug my jacket so that it fits more snugly around me, bringing my hands up so that they are nestled in the warmth between my body and Jim's. I watch his breathing for a while- although it's still shallower than I like, at least it's fairly even.

Just keep breathing, Jim. You're doing great. You just need to outlast this storm and then we'll be home and dry.

His head is resting on my shoulder, and I lean down slightly to the right to touch my forehead to the thick blond hair. How many times had he fallen asleep on my shoulder when we were watching a movie together? James Kirk, the man with seemingly boundless energy, was virtually incapable of sitting through a movie and staying awake. He'd end up leaning on me, and if work was catching up on me or I hadn't been getting enough sleep, I'd let my head drop to rest on his and fall asleep like that. Inevitably, we wouldn't mention it the next day, but I know that it was one of the keystones of our friendship, a display of trust and affection that we both needed. I briefly let my eyes slide shut, smiling at the familiarity of the close contact, before opening them again. I know I can't let myself fall asleep, know the creeping threat of the cold if I do. I won't be any help to Jim if I let myself fall into a hypothermic state.

Sighing, I curl myself around his inert form, willing the small pool of heat between us to grow.

I'm going to get you out of this, Jim. I promise.


The next morning dawns, bitter and raw. My eyes sting from staying up all night, and I know that I won't be able to manage another vigil and still be able to look after myself and Jim. The sooner we get out of here, the better. I listen to the wind outside- it's still fierce, but sounds less like a hurricane than it did yesterday. Small victories, and all that.

The storm may have abated, but the issue of an unconscious, injured best friend and no means of communication with the ship continues to be a thorn in my side. Except in this situation, it's more like a goddamn broadsword hacking away at me; I'm conscious of every wasted minute, of the effect it could have on Jim, of the effect that waiting is having on him.

He's worse this morning. His breathing is quicker and raspier, and his face is so chalky that it looks as though someone smeared ash all over him. He's still not woken.

If it weren't for the fact that he was burning up, I'd instinctively say he was suffering hypothermia, which is damn near impossible to treat in a cave, on a planet where you are surrounded by ice and snow and basically everything that's just going to make hypothermia worse. Sorry, did I say 'damn near impossible'? I should've said 'completely, utterly, never-been-done-in-the-history-of-medicine, impossible.'

But luckily, hypothermia isn't an issue because Jim is currently pushing the 41°C mark.

Which is just fantastic.

The only explanation for the fever- when by rights he should be absolutely freezing, not feeling like a human oven- is the god awful bite on his shoulder. I peel back the layers of clothing until I see the blood-stained makeshift bandage wrapped around the wound. So much for stemming the bleed. Lifting the bandage, I can't help but grimace. The flesh around the fang wounds looks as though it has been partly eaten away, and his entire shoulder is red and swollen. Pus is starting to collect in each injury, mingling with the viscous blood that is still seeping out. I swallow hard- I may be a doctor, but some things still hit me hard- and sit back on my heels.

Shit, Jim.

Voices creep into the back of my head, a thousand bees buzzing incessantly against my skull- he's going to die, there's nothing you can do about it, look at what the venom's doing, it's probably causing all sorts of damage inside that you can't see, that you can't stop, why didn't you spot this earlier, you idiot, he's dying and you're stuck on a freezing planet and you can't help him…..

Breathe, McCoy. Just breathe. Remember what they taught you. You're not a CMO for nothing.

Handle what you see in front of you. Do your best. Don't think about what could happen.

I take a few shuddering breaths, feeling the cold air punch my lungs. The doubts die down. I glance back at Jim.

Think. How can you help him?

I pride myself on being able to think on my feet, and on being able to take comfort from my years of experience. Now, though, I feel like a graduate fresh out of med school, being quizzed on treatment options by a senior doctor.

High fever, low external temperatures. What do you do?

Ordinarily, I'd try to bring his extreme temperature down- stripping his clothes, giving him an ice bath, anything.

Unfortunately, that's not exactly an option here, so I need a back-up plan.

Think, McCoy!

There's a spare cloth in the medkit, and I quickly retrieve it. I find a clean patch of snow just inside the doorway of the cave, and wrap the cloth around it to form a makeshift ice pack. Moving back to Jim, I gently place it on his forehead. It's not ideal, but hopefully it'll start to get his temperature down to a safer level.

I find the flannel that I used to clean his injury last night scrunched in a ball in my bag. I tip more iodine over it, before gently wiping at Jim's shoulder. Iodine stings like a bitch, so for this at least I'm glad he's completely out of it- treating a patient is always worse when they react to whatever you're doing, and honestly I despise causing Jim any kind of pain. The smell of the disinfectant makes my eyes water, but I keep working, clearing away the build up of pus and blood as carefully as I can.

I try not to think about the fact that the venom is already in his bloodstream.


The next few hours pass in a fairly routine cycle, mostly consisting of me rotating between changing Jim's ice pack, checking his temperature (still hovering around 40°C) and watching for any sort of change in his condition. The venom is clearly potent, if the damage to the bite site is anything to go by- it's only a matter of time before something else happens. Morbidly, I find myself speculating on the possible effects.

At approximately midday, I notice that the howling gale, which has been a constant soundtrack during our entire stay on this goddamned planet, has been replaced with silence.

The storm's over.

Wearily, I grin at the unconscious man next to me.

We made it, Jim. I'll have you out of here in no time.

I flip my comm open.

'McCoy to Enterprise. Enterprise, do you read?'

Silence. Please, please don't let there be interference, please let them hear me.

'Enterprise to McCoy, hearing you loud and clear, Doctor.'

Honestly, I've never been so happy to hear Uhura's voice in my life. I've never been one for sentiment (no matter what Jim says, with all his 'Bones is a massive teddy bear' crap) but if she had been on planet with us, and I wasn't 10 years her senior, I'd have kissed her.

'Lieutenant, we need immediate evacuation. Jim's critical again.'

I could almost hear the eye rolls on the bridge. Their frustration and concern was palpable.

A few moments' silence.

'Doctor, I've informed Scotty of the situation, he's just trying to get a latch on you….'

'Laddie, I've got coordinates on ye both, ready to beam when you are.'

God bless the efficiency of the Enterprise crew. At least they're not all goddamned idiots who get themselves damn near eviscerated by venomous reptiles with large teeth on strange planets.

I look down at Jim.

We're nearly home, kid.

'We're ready, Mr Scott.'


It's two days later that the idiot finally opens his eyes again.

Two days of fever, seizures, and internal bleeding.

Two days of sleepless nights, staying up with him because god only knew what the venom might do to him next.

Two days of him on a life support machine, as his body tries it's hardest to shut down.

All I can say is that I'm grateful that we got back on the ship when we did. If Jim had suffered the full effects of the venom while in that cave…..

Well, let's just say the Enterprise wouldn't have a captain anymore.

Which is why, when he cracks open his eyes, the first thing I want to do is punch him. I want to get rid of all the emotions I've been bottling since he was attacked, all the anger because he's so goddamned irresponsible, the strain of not knowing if he'll pull through, the fear and the stress and the exhaustion and all the rest of it. I want him to know that what he put everyone through- what he put me through- is unforgivable.

The next thing I want to do is hug him, because I came so close to losing him. I want, more than anything, to reassure myself that he's fine, and that he's bounced back, like he always does because he's James fucking Kirk. I want him to know how much he scared me, how much I care about him because god I care about his idiotic carcass so damn much.

But in the end, I don't do either of those things.

I just sit in the chair next to his bed, and smile at him.

'Next time, kid, just leave the nest alone.'