III. Boys Don't Cry
As Jim left sickbay for the second time that evening, a heaviness began to settle in his chest. He almost lost Bones, hell, he could still lose him. They had both been injured before, nursed grave wounds from dangerous away missions, but this was different. Before, Jim had someone else to blame, someone who he could feel angry at for hurting Bones. Now, he couldn't help but feel like there was no one to blame but himself. He'd been so self centered that he'd missed important telling signs that Bones was—troubled. And people called him a fucking genius. With his own kind of first hand experience dealing with suicidal thoughts and, well, attempts, if he was forced to admit it, Jim should've picked up on something, anything.
He thought back to the past few weeks, scouring his memories for anything that could be taken as an outward sign of Bones' imminent danger. The problem was that Bones was just as good at hiding things as Jim was. But usually Bones knew when something was wrong with Jim, and Jim knew when something was wrong with Bones. Damn it! He couldn't think of anything that would have caused Bones to take such drastic measures and nothing to suggest that he was even considering hurting himself. Jim felt the feeble grasp he still had over his emotions fraying. He needed to get to his quarters before it failed altogether.
Though he passed only a few crewmembers on the way back to his quarters, it felt like thousands of eyes were pressing into the back of his head, scrutinizing, searching for something on his person. The staring caused a stirring in his stomach, despite his usual lack of self consciousness and embarrassment. He turned his eyes to the ground, avoiding knowing looks and walked faster. Even so, guilt washed over him. He sped to as fast a jog as his ankle would allow, only to round a corner and collide into something painfully solid which left him unceremoniously sprawled back on the ground.
From his position on his back, Jim tilted his head upward and his blue eyes met the brown ones of the man who'd knocked him down. To anyone else, the voice coming from the figure would have sounded disinterested and nonchalant, but Jim's carefully trained ear picked up on the slight note of concern and surprise in one word.
"Captain."
"Hello, Spock. Are you going to help me up?" Spock immediately offered his right hand out to the captain, but Jim shook his head and grimaced as he pushed himself up from the ground.
Spock frowned. "Captain, you are covered in an extensive amount of blood; although I see no wound to suggest that it is your own. Are you unwell?"
Jim looked down and finally realized why his crew had been staring at him. Spock's assessment was, of course, correct. Somehow he had managed to forget that he was covered in Bones' drying blood. Not just his hands, but down the front of his shirt, his pants; he could even feel it crusted on his face and hairline when he focused on it. They probably just thought he'd finally reverted back to his old ways and got into a stupid fight with someone on board. Dumb bastards.
"I'm not sure how to answer that," he said truthfully. Physically, he was okay besides the ankle, but the image of his best friend dying in his arms was calling back feelings that he would have preferred never to experience again. He tried to push the emotions away and regain composure.
Taking in the look on Jim's face, Spock seemed to understand how he felt.
"If the blood covering your person is not your own, may I enquire as to whom it does belong?"
Jim felt his throat tighten at the question. His fists automatically curled into tight balls and his nails dug deeply into his palms. He didn't think he could answer and he didn't want to anyway, but Spock looked genuinely concerned, for a Vulcan. So he managed to choke out one word.
"Bones." And then he realized he was panicking, gasping hard and not getting enough air. His head was swimming, vision coming in and out of focus and his stomach churned. The picture of Bones' white face, stone still and lifeless flashed through his mind. He shook his head, trying to shove away the image, but it was only replaced by a different one, of Jim cradling Bones in his arms, Bones' limbs splayed in odd angles as the sound of Jim's scream fills his ears. It's a sound that Jim has never heard himself make, a painful cry, full of heartbreak and regret. Jim knew it was only a vision, but he couldn't stop the feeling of panic bubbling in his chest.
Spock's hands reached out to help him to sit back on the ground as he collapsed against the wall. They left Jim's shoulders almost immediately like he'd been burned, eyebrows all but disappeared under his hair and Jim knew that Spock had just been a witness to Jim's own thoughts and visions, memories and emotions all in one. Fucking Vulcan touch-telepathy.
Spock slid, boneless, down the wall next to him, watching Jim's head disappear between his legs as he tried to calm down. Slowly, his breathing returned to a more normal but shaky rhythm and, after what seemed like hours, he raised his head back up to meet Spock's gaze, which was clouded with obvious confusion.
"I do not understand," he whispered, "To attempt to terminate one's own existence is illogical."
"Who ever said the human race was logical?"
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Jim finally reached his quarters and released the shaky breath he was holding. He was glad Spock had agreed that, for Bones' sake, the ship's rumor mill didn't need to be informed about the incident. He had assured Jim that he and Uhura would be certain to spread it along that Bones had simply been injured in a very serious accident. It was amazing how agreeable and almost, well, human Spock could be at times. He hadn't even brought up logic when Jim had proclaimed that he couldn't lose Bones, that he was all the family Jim had left.
He had questioned whether or not Jim still had a mother currently still living in good health in Iowa, to which Jim replied, "Yes, biologically we're related. But she stopped being my mother a long time ago."
And Spock somehow knew that that was all there was to be said of that topic.
Now in the privacy of his own quarters, Jim was anxious to remove any reminder of his best friend bleeding in his arms. He tore off his clothes in as few quick movements as he could manage, stuffing them quickly down the laundry chute.
He stepped into the sonic shower again, and although the blood was removed from his skin almost immediately, he was convinced that he could still feel it lingering there. He could still see it on his hands, smell it burrowed too deeply in his skin, and taste the persistent metallic pungency on his lips. So he scrubbed hard at his skin with a rag until his hands and face were raw and painful, but it still wasn't enough. For years he had wanted to feel Bones on him, smell his scent clinging on to his own body. Now, he would have given anything to remove what he was convinced would never come off of his skin.
At that thought he finally broke down completely and cried, sinking to the floor of the small cubicle with his arms wrapped around his knees. It was a relief to finally let all of it out. Sure, he basically had a panic attack in front of Spock, but this was different. He hadn't cried in twenty years.
Jim wasn't just crying for Bones, though that was what had admittedly brought it on. He cried for more than twenty years of shit that had passed itself off as his life. And being wracked with sobs painful enough to make up for twenty years of dry eyes was somehow strangely a relief. He cried for his dead father, for never knowing George Kirk outside his almost reverent stories of his heroic actions. He cried for every time Winona left him for some far off planet for weeks at a time, for leaving him in the less than gentle care of Frank. Frank, who, under the influence of his piss-poor liquor transformed into a fearsome creature who could hardly be considered a man.
Something flashed behind his closed eyes and he was instantly transported to a painful memory he didn't want to relive.
Frank's angry face, flushed with arousal and the effects of booze pressed itself close to his own. Jim stepped backwards, only to find his steps matched somewhat unsteadily by the drunk man in front of him. When he tried to inch away, Frank grabbed him by the neck and slammed him hard into the wall. All the air was forced from his lungs as Frank smashed his body into Jim's, slurring drunkenly.
"Where do you think you're going, you little fuck?" He grabbed Jim's neck again and threw him to the floor. Pain seared through the wrist he landed on, accompanied by a sickening snap of bone. Jim felt his eyes begin to water and prayed that he could stop the tears threatening to fall before Frank saw.
"You're a worthless fuck-up. You can't do anything right," the voice above him bellowed.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to." Jim wailed cradling his wrist against his chest.
"Like hell you didn't. Doesn't matter now. 'Cause you're going to pay for what you did. Teach you to break my things."
"It was an accident." And it had been. Jim was following his stepfather's request (command was more the appropriate word, but whatever) for another beer. He poured the frothy drink into a tall mug and was carrying it to Frank. His attention was so focused on not spilling any of the mug's contents that he forgot about the raised loose floorboard directly in his path. His foot caught on the loose edge and that was all it took for him to lose his balance and come crashing to the floor. Every precious drop of beer splashed to the floor and the glass shattered around him.
It wasn't entirely Jim's fault. If he had been less concerned with not making Frank angry, he might not have tripped. But then, he was rarely ever not concerned with that, and even if he hadn't tripped, Frank would have found another excuse to punish little Jimmy.
"Bullshit. It doesn't matter anyway. I'd still beat the shit out of you." With that he reared his booted foot back and slammed it as hard as he could into the left side of Jim's ribcage, colliding also with his obviously-broken wrist.
"You're worth nothing. Not to me, not to your mother. You know that's why she's not here right? She can't stand to look at that fucked up face of yours. You may look like your father, but you'll never be as great as he was. She wishes you had died instead of him. That's why she won't look at your face. You're not George Kirk." Frank reared back again and again, booted foot smashing harder and harder into Jim's ribs and stomach.
Finally Jim began to cry, tears falling silently down his cheeks from the pain of crushed bones and hearing all the things he was always afraid of someone saying. It was the wrong thing to do, letting the salty droplets fall in an effort to comfort himself. Frank saw them and erupted.
"Boys don't cry Jimmy. You're not a man at all, are you? Not even a boy, bawling like a little girl. You know what happens to boys who cry?" He began fumbling with his belt until he managed to remove it from around his waist.
Jim braced himself for the stinging crack of the leather on his back. It didn't come. Instead, he was wrenched from the ground, dragged to the bedroom by the collar of his shirt and thrown onto the bed. In mere seconds, Frank had the belt around both of his wrists and attached to the bed frame, with Jim almost screaming at the fiery pain shooting through his protesting wrist and the ache in his chest each time he tried to breathe too deeply. If Jim had been thinking a little clearer, he would have wondered if Frank was really as drunk as he had originally assumed.
"They get fucked like girls Jimmy." He realized Frank was talking about boys who cry, and even in a child genius' mind like his, this almost made sense.
In one quick movement, his pants were pulled down around his ankles, then removed completely. He managed to bring his eyes up to notice that Frank's own pants and underwear were removed as well, swollen purple cock bobbing expectantly. And Jim couldn't help but wonder what he was going to do with it. Surely he wasn't going to shove that. . . And then without any preparation at all, he felt the entire length slammed into the exact place he feared. Jim cried out at the overstretched feeling of something much too large filling him. Each thrust caused such a jarring pain in his entire body, that he was afraid that he might puke all over himself. It was becoming harder and harder to concentrate on much of anything, just the overwhelming feeling of wanting this to end. Please, please, God let it be over soon.
Frank's voice pierced through his hazy mind, shouting over and over again, "Jimmy, oh fuck. I'm gonna come in that tight little hole of yours while I fuck you raw like the whore you are."
Jim tried to block out everything and focus on his prayers, if that's what they were. He blocked the pain, the moaning and panting, the sensation of having something that didn't belong forced into his ass, the feeling of worthlessness and helplessness slowly creeping over him.
Time meant nothing to him. The minutes and seconds all blurred together, just a giant tangle of foggy sensations. He could have been there for hours or even days and he wouldn't have been able to tell the difference. All he knew was that when he finally felt a hot sickening splash of fluid inside of him and, with a sharp pain, realized Frank had removed himself from Jim he praised God for one of the first times in his life. And, praise that mysterious being again (if he indeed existed), Frank went out after that though he did leave Jim still tied to the bed for the next three and a half hours. But the moment his stepfather stepped out of the house, Jim let the salty tears stream down his cheeks. His nose ran and he still felt like he wasn't getting enough air, but eventually, he calmed down enough to fall asleep until Frank returned.
That was the last time Jim cried. He was afraid of what Frank would do if he did. It didn't help. Frank always found a reason to come back for more. Sometimes Jim thought about killing himself, about taking away Frank's punching bag and sex toy all at once while leaving a note to Winona explaining everything.
He'd swallowed an entire bottle of pills he found in the bathroom once, but Frank found out pretty quickly that they were gone and forced the kid to puke them all up in the toilet, flushing the note down with them. Then Jim had received one of the worst whippings in his life. He'd slept on his stomach for a whole week before he could stand putting weight on his back again.
Then of course, there was the incident with Frank's antique car. The feeling of the wind in his hair as he escaped and made his way to the final destination, an old quarry, was overwhelmingly good. He could do this. It would be easy to just go over the cliff with the car. Then he realized he'd be damned if he was going to die in something that belonged to Frank. He just managed to throw himself from the car before he went over the edge in it, scrambling to find a grip on the loose dirt and rock. He eventually found a hold, with everything but his fingers dangling over the cliff wall. Luckily he was able to pull himself back up, with a great sense of pleasure filling him at the thought that he'd just destroyed something that Frank found near and dear. Of course, Frank wasn't amused when the cop finally escorted him home. He smashed Jim's ribs in with a baseball bat then tied him to the bed.
Frank stuffed his hard throbbing cock violently down Jim's throat. He tried to breath, but between the crushed lungs and the aching dick invading his throat, he couldn't seem to get enough air. And he was forced to sit there, panicking, unable to fight back at all. A scream sat ready in the back of his throat, if only he could get this throbbing flesh out of his mouth, if only he could make his lungs work for just one tiny second. His vision was going fuzzy on the edges, blackness starting to creep in slowly but surely. After that he remembered nothing. He supposed that Frank must have fucked his face until Jim passed out and then realized he wasn't breathing.
He woke in the hospital and Frank, thankfully, was nowhere in sight. Both his lungs had collapsed thanks to Frank's trusty bat. Of course, he didn't dare mention that to any of the doctors or nurses. They accepted his answer about a bad brawl at school without blinking an eye. He'd been there before and most of the doctors knew him pretty well. Why shouldn't they believe him?
There were more attempts, but most were such utter disasters that Jim finally stopped trying. He began to fight back instead, but Frank only found this more arousing. That is, until Jim finally managed to beat him unconscious a few short months after his sixteenth birthday. It felt pretty good to leave Frank passed out and beaten in on the floor of the bedroom for once. He took advantage of the opportunity. That was the day he left home for good, never stopping to look back from where he came. He saw no point. There was nothing left for him there. And he hadn't talked to Winona or Frank since then.
Jim finally managed to wrench himself out of the horrific nightmares of memory, and leaned his head against the wall of the shower, taking giant gulping breaths of air. When he finally managed to stop shaking, he moved unsteadily from the bathroom and dressed again, this time for bed. He thought of the clothes he'd just put into the laundry. Even if they managed to get all the stains out of them, he doubted that he'd ever want to put them on again.
Jim crawled into bed. Though exhausted from all the emotional stress he'd experienced the past few hours, his body wouldn't let him rest. And a part of him was afraid of what kind of terrible visions would dance before his eyes once he managed to close them. He tossed and turned for a few minutes and was grateful when the comm unit chimed and the same nonchalant voice from earlier spoke.
"Spock to Captain Kirk." He practically ran to the unit on the wall and pushed the button.
"Kirk here. What is it, Spock?" he called walking away to sit down.
"I have found something that may provide an answer to your question regarding the reasoning behind Doctor McCoy's actions earlier this evening."
"You did? What is it?" It felt wrong to be eager like this, but if it would help Jim get his Bones back, he was anxious to learn what it was.
"I do not know if, in your present condition, you should—"
"Damn it Spock! If you don't tell me, I'll find out myself." There was a short pause in which Spock, no doubt was considering his options. He obviously agreed with Jim's assessment, because he continued.
"Doctor McCoy left a recorded message addressed to you, as well as a letter written on paper addressed to someone named 'Joanna'. Sir, I find the use of such archaic means of communication illogical."
Jim ignored Spock's "illogical sensors". "You're in Bones' quarters?"
"Correct. I found it necessary to find an explanation for Doctor McCoy's irrational behavior. Although I doubt there is any logic founding the decision he made, the message may provide the answers we seek."
"All right. Meet me in my quarters with the message and the letter."
"Yes Captain."
"And call me Jim. Kirk out." Jim knew that Spock could have simply transferred the message to his own quarters, but he doubted that he would care to be alone when he viewed it. What if he was the reason? What if he'd driven Bones to the edge of his sanity? Spock was becoming a closer friend to Jim, and a friend was what he would need right now, even if it was one who didn't always understand human emotions.
The next few minutes were spent in silence until the door chimed and he called for the person to enter. He already knew it was Spock, wasn't surprised at the Vulcan surveying him carefully.
"I'm fine Spock. Well, I'm not, but it'll be okay." Spock looked like he wanted to say something, but thought better of it. So, he handed Jim the PADD and letter then turned to leave.
"Spock," Jim called. "Stay. Please. I don't want to watch this alone."
Spock seemed somewhat surprised at the request, but only hesitated for a second before responding. "All right, Jim. I will stay."
So, he pulled up a chair next to the one Jim sat in at his desk. Jim turned the viewscreen towards both of them and tapped a few commands onto the PADD until the video was displayed on it. He took a deep breath and hit the play button.
Bones' face appeared on the screen. He looked tired, more tired even than when they had first met on the shuttle to San Francisco, only a few days after Bones' divorce had been finalized. He had a look in his eyes that Jim now recognized as the same one on his face when he told Jim not to touch him earlier. There was no light in his eyes, just a cold emptiness that made Jim's heart ache. And Bones hadn't even said anything yet.
"Jim, if you're watching this right now, I guess that means that I did what I set out to." Bones' hand reached up to rub the back of his neck. Jim recognized it the habit he'd seen Bones do at least a thousand times before. He was nervous.
"I don't know if I can make you understand why I had to do it." Jim doubted that. In fact, he knew that out of every person on board the Enterprise, he was probably the one person who would understand completely. It pained him to think Bones didn't expect him to sympathize with his situation. Of course, Jim hadn't been very open about his past and family, something he would have to remedy, as painful as that would be, if he wanted Bones to know he would be there for him.
"Sometimes I don't know myself. I guess I've always just felt sort of alone—" Jim wanted to yell that he wasn't alone, but the recording continued, so he listened.
"—and a little bit of a failure, especially after my father died. The marriage all went to hell after that. Jocelyn couldn't take the man I'd become. So, we ended up getting divorced. You already know that though. And you know that Jocelyn only let me see Joanna once or twice a year. I'll always feel bad about missing her life. I've never really been a good father to her." Pain flickered briefly in Bones' eyes, then his expression changed as he suddenly remembered something.
"Oh, could you keep that letter for her until she's older, or at least old enough to understand? She's just a little girl now. You probably won't have the opportunity to get it to her for a while, but just do it for me, okay?" He paused to sigh and rub his neck again.
"Anyway, that's not all. I, I need to tell you something." Bones looked down for the first time in the recording. It was like he was refusing to make eye contact with Jim, even though he wasn't in the room, which Jim took as a very bad sign.
"No matter what my actions have said, I need you to know that I, that, well, I love you kid. I know you don't love me and that there couldn't have been anything more than friendship between us, but I thought you should know." Bones finally lifted his gaze back up to the camera. His eyes were wet and his jaw tense. He looked the way Jim felt at that moment, like he was so full of conflicting emotions that the world might just explode from the sheer force of them. Bones loves him. Him. James T. Fucking Kirk!
"It probably seems like I don't show it, but every time I bitch and moan at you it's because I care." Bones' breathing hitched and silent tears fell down his cheeks. He didn't seem to notice them as he continued.
"I'm sorry Jim. I really am. I just, I don't know. I guess there's just not a damn thing keeping me here anymore. I hope you can find someone who loves you as much as I do. Try not to get into too much trouble without me." Then he noticed the wetness on his face and blinked rapidly, swiping the moisture away with his fingers as he moved towards the camera.
"Goodbye Jim." And then the feed went black.
Jim's first instinct was to cry again. Damn these newly rediscovered emotions. The revelation that Bones loved him sent tiny impassioned sparks down his spine, but the guilt from before was still devouring him. Jim Kirk was known for leaping before looking, but in the end, he didn't make the one blind leap that mattered the most and now he was paying for it.
He knew what Bones was feeling, the onslaught of helplessness that makes it seem impossible to go on living. And sometimes, it just feels like everything is darkening before your very eyes, that every ounce of strength you have left is slowly leaking from your body. Bones' instinct was to go towards that darkness, thinking that once he was there, he would find solitude. Jim knew reality though, that once you get there, the darkness is so thick and heavy that the long tendrils ensnare you and you end up suffocating.
Jim had escaped only barely, and the thought that Bones was searching through that dark fog alone was enough to make his breath hitch in his chest and a large lump swell in his throat. The only thing that kept him from succumbing to his emotions again was the light bulb that clicked on in his head as comprehension washed over him.
"Jim." Jim turned his eyes back to Spock, who he'd forgotten was sitting next to him. Spock, who apparently could read the expression of guilt riding all over his face, could see that it permeated him down to the very core.
"Jim, you must not blame yourself. It appears that Doctor McCoy has been suffering from what can be classified as 'depression' for many years."
"I know," he replied. "I know it's not my fault directly, but I still should have noticed something was wrong." His voice quieted. "I didn't know he felt that way."
"Do you reciprocate his feelings?"
"Do I love him back? Of course I do! He's all I have left." Spock didn't ask if Jim loved Bones the same way he seemed to love Jim. He was glad for it. Then he remembered the light bulb and turned back to it. "It doesn't matter now. I think I understand."
Spock just looked back at him and waited for him to continue.
"She was leaving." He repeated Bones' earlier words, forgetting that Spock probably wouldn't know what he was talking about.
The look on Spock's face told Jim he was right. His face betrayed both confusion and concern that perhaps his captain too was going a little insane, both in that underemphasized Vulcan way that too few people could recognize. "I'm afraid I do not understand."
"It's something Bones said to me before the medical team arrived. I thought he was a little delirious, but it makes sense to me now. His words were 'She was leaving'. I tried to ask him who he was talking about, but he passed out. Now I think I know who he was talking about." He paused to take in the Vulcan's expression, which was now one of curiosity and the still-present hint of concern. Jim didn't know if the concern was for him, for Bones, or for himself, having to be in the presence of a man possibly insane.
"There's only one person left who could leave him."
"You are incorrect. There are at least two people whom the doctor would be concerned about leaving him, although I do not know the person you are talking about."
"I was talking about Joanna, his daughter. Who were you talking about?"
"I was referring to the close bond that you and Doctor McCoy share. I believe he would also be greatly affected were something to happen to you." This statement would have worried Jim greatly if Bones hadn't said "She was leaving".
"I guess he probably would," he conceded. "Anyway, I need to be sure I'm right. Do you think it would be wrong to search through Bones' messages?"
To his surprise, Spock answered, "I would say that we have already effectively violated the doctor's privacy, which can be considered immoral. However, I believe that under the current circumstances we may be forgiven, and if your motive would be to discover the root of Doctor McCoy's problem, you would be in your right to search through his messages."
Interesting. Jim was fascinated by this Spock who was being slightly devious. He made a mental note to keep a closer eye on his First Officer then turned to his viewscreen and commanded, "Computer, display all messages sent to Leonard McCoy in the past three weeks. Voice authorization code delta, beta, victor, seven, nine."
The messages appeared obligingly on the viewscreen. Jim scanned through them and quickly found what he was looking for: a written message received two weeks before from Jocelyn Hirschfield, ex-wife of Leonard McCoy. He selected the message and began reading, feeling Spock standing behind him, staring at the viewscreen over his shoulder.
Dear Leonard,
I know this is really sudden, but Joanna and I are leaving Earth. Paul has been offered a posting as a researcher in a new colony on the outer region. We discussed it and he accepted the position. The reason I'm letting you know is that the planet is not in the Federation and if all goes well, we won't be returning. If you want to say goodbye to Joanna, we'll be at Starbase 18 in three weeks catching a shuttle from there. It will be your last opportunity to see her. I don't want you talking to her or seeing her after that. I realize that it sounds harsh, but it'll be easier for Joanna to sever all connections with you than hoping that someday you'll come to see her. Let me know if you want to say goodbye.
Yours,
Jocelyn
When Jim finished reading, he exploded. "That bitch!"
"Indeed."
"I can't believe she would do that to him. She's taking away one of the few things he has left. No wonder he went fucking nutso. That was probably the only thing keeping him going, and just barely. He was already afraid Joanna wouldn't remember him."
"Why would the doctor's ex-wife wish to separate Doctor McCoy and his daughter?" Spock asked calmly despite Jim's ranting.
Jim breathed and rubbed his eyes tiredly. "I don't know. I know that Bones went a little crazy after his dad died. He mentioned that they were really close, especially because his mom died when he was just a kid. It must have hit him really hard, knowing that he had no family left.
"In the end, Jocelyn probably just doesn't want that much crazy around her daughter. Doesn't matter that Bones is a fucking good father, even if neither of them think so." What kind of justice was that? Taking Joanna to God-knows-which planet in some damn far off corner of the galaxy.
"Would I be correct in assuming that Paul is the girl's stepfather?" Spock asked after a few seconds.
"Yeah. The guy's a real asshole too. Cockiest son of a bitch I've ever met." Spock raised an eyebrow at him accusingly.
"Okay, yeah, I'm cocky too, but I know I'm being cocky. And mostly I do it to annoy people, if I'm being honest. I don't always think I'm great." Spock looked almost like he was trying not to laugh, which, for a Vulcan meant that the corner of his mouth twitched briefly.
"Don't look so amused Spock. What are we going to do about all of this?"
"Capt—Jim. I have an idea. But it does require me to place a conference call with Mrs. Hirschfield. If you will permit me to talk with her, I believe we can come to some understanding."
Jim grinned at the image of Spock calmly fuming at McCoy's ex-wife, but he was curious to see what Spock's plan was. "Permission granted. Do I get to be present when you place said call?"
Spock's eyebrow twitched unconsciously. "Under the circumstances, I believe it would be better if this conversation took place without your supervision. I'm afraid at the moment you are still too emotionally compromised to be present."
"Aw, come on Spock. I just want to tell her what a bitch she is," Jim whined, though he knew that this was a battle Spock would definitely be winning.
The eyebrow twitched harder this time. "Do not worry. I shall endeavor to make it clear to the woman that her behavior is both illogical and reprehensible, although I do not find your use of colorful metaphors necessary to express my point effectively."
Jim frowned but gave in. "All right, but I expect a full report afterwards. And don't leave anything out."
"I believe that is the definition of a full report." Spock stood to leave but stopped and turned back at the sound of Jim's voice.
"Spock, can I ask for one more favor?"
The eyebrow rose again. "That depends on the nature of the favor."
"Could you keep all of this a secret? Not just what McCoy did, but all of this." He motioned around him. "I don't really want people to know anything. I'm afraid it'll only make McCoy retreat further and that's the last thing we need."
He looked down and said quietly, "I'm going to talk to him." They both knew what he meant, that he would tell Bones how he felt, draw every pent-up feeling out of the pit of the dark space he hid them in and lay it all out on the table. Of course, it wouldn't be that simple, which is why it had to be kept secret.
"I am your friend. Of course I will not mention this to anyone." Jim relaxed. He knew that once he had Spock's word, the man would follow through with whatever was asked of him. Spock may not be human, but he was a good friend.
"Thanks. For everything," Jim replied, smiling as warmly as he could.
Spock nodded briefly, turned and walked out the door, leaving Jim to ponder just how to go about professing his love to an emotionally troubled man.
