"No…I'm not joking…" Jim slurred, struggling to keep his eyelids open, "He…he pushed me…"

Jim watched as all three men staring down at him grew wide-eyed before he completely lost consciousness.

Four hours later.

Kirk sat up from his biobed, eying the doctor walking back and forth the room as if he was an interesting zoo exposition.

"I just don't get it, Jim," the man had repeated for the fourth time that minute, "Why the hell did he try to kill ya? I mean…you said something about the Klingons, you tellin' me that wasn't some damned delusional dream?"

Damn right it wasn't, Jim muttered to himself, fiddling with the thin flimsy excuse of a blanket over his legs. He had been trying to warn them since he first woke up.

Granted he didn't remember who anyone was at that point, but he did remember what the Lieutenant had said to him.

"He had me up against the wall, Bones," Kirk whispered quietly, scrunching the blanket into his fist, "Said I was to blame for…his family's death."

McCoy scoffed at that, "And what death might that be? Unless his family happens to be a generation of Klingons, we ain't been shooting at no-one. And I'd damn well hope not."

Jim shook his head, "He didn't say. But they were on a vacation, sent out a distress call and I got there too late. Klingons destroyed them."

The doctor strode by his side, wrenching the blanket from Jim's hands as if he'd been watching him get more violent with it by the second, "You're telling me that the Klingons are the ones that shot his family down…yet he wants to help them if you don't…what was it?" McCoy blinked, "Yeah, what is it he wants you to do?"

Sacrifice myself.

"Don't know," Jim lied, grabbing the blanket back to fiddle with it again using his nervous fingers, "Didn't tell me."

McCoy snorted, "Let me guess; earth's defences? Free trip to a deserted planet? Hell, free captaincy position altogether?" he sat on a chair beside Jim, glaring at his fingers that were relentlessly twisting and pulling at the blanket.

No, he wants me to die, or he'll kill my crew. Including you.

I don't want you to die.

"Probably, I was pretty out of it." There was no way McCoy was going to find out. Bones would throw himself under the bus to save Jim. But that was his job.

"I ought to do a psychological evaluation on him," Bones proposed, suddenly standing from the chair and marching over to his PADD, "Perhaps the trauma has caused a mental illness."

Jim sat forward, not daring to move a limb away from the bed, his arm still sore from yesterday's attempt to flee, "He's dangerous, Bones, he could attack you."

There was a long string of silence, and for a second Kirk thought Bones didn't hear him.

Finally, he said, "I'm trained for this kinda thing, Jim. You don't think I get patients like this all the damn time?"

Jim's eyes met low with his fingers, "Not ones that want to kill you."

He scrunched tighter.

There was a sigh, before he heard the tell-tale signs of footsteps drawing closer, a large hand suddenly clamping on his shoulder.

"You want a therapist?"

Jim gawped up at him in shock.

"What?"

McCoy frowned, "Do you want a therapist?"

The hell is he talking about? I don't need a fucking shrink.

"No? What the hell, Bones?"

The doctor's eyes softened, "You've been taking your stress out on that blanket for over an hour. I know someone attempting to kill you can be traumatic, Jim. If you need to talk, I can get you a—"

"I don't need a fucking shrink!" Jim bellowed out his inner thoughts, fingernails digging into the palm of his hand. Then he let go of the material, letting the crumpled sheets sag onto his legs, "I'll find a drinking buddy or something."

Sacrifice yourself.

"Jim, what the hell are you going to do every time something like this happens? If you keep it bottled up like this, someone's gonna get hurt, and I can bet it's you." McCoy's tone was condescending, yet his face had etched of sympathy—worry on it. Jim hated it.

The same two words repeated itself over and over again in his head, like the constant pounding of a pulsing headache, the buzz of a fly, a noise that would not settle.

"I just…"

Sacrifice yourself.

"I'll find a way, Bones…"

Sacrifice yourself.

Jim sagged into the biobed, reaching a hand to his face and clawing at the skin, moaning in sheer irritancy.

He almost unnoticed the large warm fingers that gently pried Jim's hand away from his face, the sound of a muffled voice that his now hazy brain couldn't quite piece together—it was questioning him, or at least that was what the tone implied.

He listened to himself breathe, trying to push aside those two words that would not budge.

Sacrifice yourself.

"Jim? You alright kiddo?" Ah, the voice was suddenly back again, and—oh. What was this? There was a buzzing in his ear. Was it Bones' devices again? No, those produced a certain type of noise, this wasn't it.

Tinnitus.

"Jim?"

Jim blinked, the buzzing noise soaking away, like water rinsing down a drain pipe, becoming quieter and quieter as it washed further down the drain.

A new buzzing began—this time, from Bones' machine.

Jim watched as a hand suddenly hovered inches away from his face, an unconscious desire building to smack it out of the way because damn if it wasn't invading his personal space, he just wanted to hit it and punch it and the low whine was so annoying and—

"Looks like a hyperactive hypothalamus. What ya thinkin' there, Jim?"

A hyperactive what now?

"Nothing" Jim muttered, tightening his fingers into a fist as the two words continued to repeat.

Why is this happening to me.

"Like hell you're not," Bones barked, "Hmm…your adrenal glands are producing a massive amount of cortisol."

Jim stared at him.

McCoy sighed, "Stress, Jim. You're stressed. As in, fight-or-flight responses are kicking in right now. Why?"

How the hell was he supposed to know?

Or perhaps it's that voice, that told him again, and again and again and again,

"Sacrifice yourself."

…Oops.

Bones looked up from his beeping device, staring intently at him.

"What?" Jim asks innocently, kicking himself internally for speaking the words that were sure to send Bones' doctor instincts through the roof. If anything, he was the one with the fight-or-flight responses about to kick in any minute—

"What the hell, Jim?"

…Now.

He needed a distraction, and fast.

"I'm cold…" he whined pathetically, as if that outweighed the fact he'd just basically told his best friend to kill himself. Accidentally.

Bones scoffed, "You're…? My god, Jim! Do you have any idea what you've just—" he paused and darted his eyes around the room in disbelief, slamming the handheld device on a nearby tray that thankfully didn't shatter the glass cup that was sitting next to it.

"Can I get another blanket?"

Actually, that wasn't such a bad idea. The sheets were so damn thin if you looked really closely you could probably see his legs.

"Uh-huh. Yeah, I'll do that." Then the man scowled, sending Jim wriggling back away from the scorned creature, "Right after you tell me why you just told me to, what was it? Sacrifice myself? What the fuck, Jim?"

There was no way McCoy was going to let this drop.

"M'sorry, Bones…"

"Sorry?" Jim's sentenced barely ended before McCoy had almost interrupted him in disbelief. "I just wanted to know what was going on in that damn head of yours. That was totally uncalled for, Jim."

"I just hate being in here…" well, that wasn't a lie either. He would rather be sitting in the brig.

"Oh, I'm real sorry about that, Jim," McCoy spat sardonically, "Would it help ya if I sacrificed myself?"

Jim closed his eyes.

"Stop."

"Oh, oh I'll stop alright," the look on McCoy's face forced Jim to swallow hard. Damn, he looked scary.

"Bones—"

"No, it's alright Jim," McCoy glared daggers into him for another second before spinning on his heel and marching to the back of the room, "I'll get M'Benga to take a look at ya, while I go ahead and sacrifice myself."

"Bones, stop, I don't know what I was saying—"

McCoy marched back with a bigger sheet than what was currently draped over Jim's legs.

"And here's your damned blanket," he threw it over him, not making eye contact as he strode on behind him and left the room.

Jim watched as the slightly-thicker-than-normal sheet brushed over his legs, clumping together to offer whatever warmth was possible for how cold Jim felt right now.

Kirk didn't stop thinking about what he said.

His best friend probably thought he wanted him to die.

When in all truthfulness…it was Jim who wanted himself to die.
Or at the very least, those thoughts had begun to grow on him over the past few hours.

McCoy hadn't come back to visit him since, neither as a doctor or a friend.

Those two words demanding something so horrific of him was becoming more desirable by the minute.

Sacrifice yourself.

He pulled the sheets up closer to his chest, like a child who heard a bump in the middle of the night.

But he wasn't scared of the dark; he was scared of the thoughts in his head.

He wanted to do it, but at the same time, he didn't. Did that even make sense?

Every cell in his body told him to do it—save everyone on the ship, save the whole of Starfleet; hell, even saving just Bones was worth it. But his self-preservation in his mind told him not to.

Oh, who was he kidding.

Why would he allow the deaths of millions of people, watch his crew— his family die around him—because he was too pathetic to sacrifice himself for them.

It wasn't much to ask. Not at this cost.

At least, that was what he convinced himself.

Jim turned his heavy head to the side, as if trying to move a sack of bricks. His eyes scanned around the room, searching for something—anything that he could use to harm himself.

Harm himself.

That was a thought he had never intentionally tried thinking. Regardless of what Bones commonly thought of him.

Bones…

He fucked it up.

Do it for him.

Sacrifice yourself.

His eyes locked onto the far end of the room; a large luminescent cabinet that literally screamed 'open me'.

There wasn't a doubt in his mind for what could be in there—he knew what it was—it was full of drugs. He'd seen Bones use it before, along with all the other doctors.

Needed clearance to get there though. Surely his Captain rank would be enough to get him in?

Or was he stripped of that rank when he fell?

Oh well, he told himself, whipping the blanket up into his arms for protection of the cold, only one way to find out.

He was still authorised as Captain, it turned out. The medicinal cabinet let him access the supplies, and briefly Jim wondered why he didn't think of doing this earlier.

If there were no supplies, there was nothing for Bones to hypo him with.

All the medications seemed to have been classified into different drawers. His eyes drifted across the signs.

Antipyretics

Analgesics

Antibiotics

Stimulants

Tranquilisers

The list went on. There were at least 10 drawers full of the stuff.

Briefly glancing behind him for any personnel in his room, he swiftly entered the access code and watched the first drawer of antipyretics automatically break open, a soft humming noise sounding loud to Jim's ears compared to the contrast of the silence in the room.

Hundreds of different vials were revealed—and this was just the first drawer. How many was he supposed to take?

Frowning, he peered closer to inspect how big they were; he could probably tuck them all inside the blanket he brought with him.

His legs felt cold without any proper clothing on, only the dignity that a gown could provide, which wasn't much. His feet were freezing from kneeling on the cold marble floor, the hairs on his skin standing on end.

Deciding the use of the blanket that would have made him feel warmer was worth it, Jim began picking out random vials; experimenting with them a bit by tipping them to make sure nothing fell out, then tucking them into his blanket.

After a quarter of the vials were gone, he typed in the access code with shaky fingertips to open the analgesics drawer.

Again, the drawer revealed itself with yet another hundred or so vials, and Jim picked them out again; faster this time, and tucked them hastily into his blanket along with the other stolen vials.

The more obsessive he became over the drugs, the quieter the voice in his head became. The two words repeating itself in his head became drowned out by the sound of soft clanking when he thrust the unidentified vials inside his stash.

Antibiotics were next.

Kirk had no idea what he'd just done, but he had a feeling he was going to regret it. There were at least a hundred and seventy missing vials from the cabinet drawers, and now he was all tucked back into bed, empty vials hidden under the biobed and his mouth tasting horrific. He had poured them all in there, one by one.

His next checkup was soon, and he praised whatever deity was out there that gave him M'Benga as his doctor and not Bones.

Bones was obsessive over Jim's health, like a mother hen. All doctors wanted their patients to get better, but Bones…Bones was ridiculous.

At least doctors like Chapel or M'Benga would only give the necessary procedures and not start vaccinating him for something that could only be caught twelve galaxies away.

Maybe with M'Benga, he could get away with a simple exam and refuse the needs for any meds.

If he opened that cabinet…

"Jim!"

Kirk's head shot up at the southern drawl—it wasn't M'Benga—oh no—it was Bones.

Oh shit.

"Bones!" Jim shouted a little too fervently than he wanted, "What's up?"

The doctor wasn't even looking at him. For a second, Jim thought he was still pissed off at him and refused to make eye contact, until he realised he was staring at the overhead monitor.

Oh fuck.

Oh no.

Oh god.

"M'Benga is dealing with Spock, so…you've got me," Bones mumbled, clearly infatuated with the feedback from the monitor he was glaring at.

"Is he okay?" Jim asked innocently, "Spock, I mean."

Bones broke contact with the monitor and started bringing out equipment that was probably made specifically to torture him.

"Yeah, he got himself injured on an away mission, is all. I gotta say, I'm surprised, I thought without you there everything would go smoothly."

Jim sat up. Was Spock okay, or wasn't he?

"Is he badly hurt?"

McCoy scoffed, hovering another white device over his abdomen and slamming Jim back onto the bed, with a forceful hand "No, he's fine. Got a cut on his head but that's all."

Jim frowned, rubbing his head that roughly hit the pillows. That's it?

"A cut on his head? Bones, he's an important asset to the bridge, you can't take him off duty for something as minor as a bruise."

Jim felt his heart beginning to race as Bones' frown at the tricorder readings grew deeper.

"Can't I?" he didn't even finish the rest of his sentence before picking up another device and hovering it over Jim with his other hand, until both hands were occupied with annoying, beeping devices.

"Sorry about earlier, Bones," Jim tried to distract him, hoping it would draw him away from the readings that was likely the result of a suicidal overdose that had yet to take effect on his body.

"It's fine, Jim. Have you eaten anything?"

Jim resisted the urge to mouth the word fuck as Bones' observations grew closer to the truth.

"No," Jim lied, "I haven't eaten anything at all today," Well, technically that wasn't a lie.

"Uh-huh," Bones gave both monitors one more glance before setting them down on a tray, "You're severely malnourished and dehydrated. Which is weird, the tricorder didn't show that earlier…"

Jim's mind brought his attention over to Spock. What was he doing that got him hurt?

"Bones, what's the mission right now?"

McCoy gave him a brief glance before turning his attention back to an IV pole he was hanging up.

"You know I can't let you in on that. It'll stress you out, and you're already extremely tense."

Jim scowled. So, it was something really serious?

"I need to know. It'll make me even more stressed if I don't know what it is that would make me stressed."

The doctor sighed, returning to Jim with an angry scowl upon his face.

"And then you'll get stressed knowing what the mission entails."

Jim sat up again, "So it is something serious!"

McCoy strode the rest of the way over and shoved Jim heavily back down on the biobed. "Sit up again once more and I'll make sure you can't even move a finger."

Jim blinked, but nodded hastily. "I just want to know what it is, Bones. Tell me, please."

Bones sighed, taking a seat next to Jim and whipping out his PADD.

"I don't know all the details, Spock's the acting Captain right now. There's something going on with a mining colony and we're trying, god help us, to establish relations with them," then he chuckled to himself darkly, "He's terrible at negotiating, Jim, we need you back."

Jim folded his arms together, freezing when he felt something tug. Glancing up, he realised there was something sticking into his arm. He looked up in alarm.

Bones put a hand over his wrist, "Relax, it's an IV, I put it in just now."

Jim glanced back over to the intrusive object in the back of his hand and followed the tubing all the way up to the IV drip on a pole.

"I didn't even feel it." Jim mumbled, surprised considering he always felt it.

Bones' face dropped, "I know, which is why I'm concerned. Not eating doesn't make you numb, Jim."

At that moment, the beeping of the wall-com resonated across the room.

Saved by the bell.

Grumbling something under his breath, Bones stood up, patting Jim lightly on the shoulder and reaching to the wall com.

"McCoy here."

Jim listened intently. Perhaps the call would prove useful to the information that's being hidden from him.

"Uhura here. We've just received a communication from the mining colony Druzed, they're willing to have a conference at 1300 hours today."

McCoy scoffed, "Yeah? That's an hour away. Why the hell you tellin' me for?"

Jim internally cringed at the way McCoy spoke to his officers. Damn it, he had to tell him to relax around them, they're not even his patients.

"Uh…well, we were hoping you'd be able to tell Spock, considering he's with you right now."

There were a few beats of silence, obviously McCoy had completely forgot Spock was here, regardless of mentioning him ten seconds ago.

"I'll tell him, Lieutenant. Anything else you need?"

Uhura perked up again, "No sir, just make sure he's down here in an hour."

McCoy was about to end the transmission before the communications officer piped in again, "Oh, sir! They're requesting Captain Kirk's presence down there too!"

Jim held himself back from jumping for joy while watching McCoy nearly have an aneurism in shock.

"What? You want Jim down there? He's still a patient, it's gonna be at least a day 'til he's gonna be released, his bio-readings have shot down significantly which indicates an inf—"

"He will attend the conference, Lieutenant." A monotone voice voiced in.

Jim's head darted to the wall-com again, noticing Spock's face now appearing on the screen.

Yes. I love that damn Vulcan.

"Spock? What the hell are you—? Get off the channel! You little shit!" the communication was abruptly ended as McCoy darted off out of his private room and into main sickbay.

That was too close.

In the conference room however, in front of all his senior staff and potential 'federation friends', Jim was beginning to wish too close came true.

He was sitting at the opposite side of the table from Bones, who was staring at him constantly and paying no attention whatsoever to the goings on around him.

Thankfully, Spock had picked up his role as acting Captain and was leading the whole conversation, as Jim could hardly keep his eyes open.

His head was swimming, a vertigo so bad that he felt his body sway slightly, the room zooming in and out like a malfunctioning camera.

"In return for a cargo ship from the Federation to deliver you dilithium crystals, we will require more than 2% of your overall shipment."

Good on you, Spock, Kirk was thinking distantly. If they thought the Federation were gonna get three pennies for a pound, then they were in for a surprise.

His vision swam.

His eyes darted around the room at objects he thought were moving, but were not. Everything was swimming.

He strained to listen closer to the voices. But all he could hear was buzzing, his ears ringing relentlessly.

His body began to feel like wet clay.

He was sinking, his limbs suddenly sliding down the chair with his neck slouched back, his mouth agape, unable to control his body.

The meeting room disappeared and all that he saw of the world was half the side of underneath a table, the rest of the world blurred out.

"Jim!"

His head lolled back against the chair motionless. He was too exhausted to try to move it.

"Get me some help in here!"

Suddenly, hands were at his arms, hauling his body up and he hated it because it hurt, stop moving me, but then the chair was yanked away and thought he was going to fall—but no, someone had caught him and was laying him down.

Now his limp body was staring up at the ceiling, a bustle of faces around the corners, one of them creeping over the rest of his vision for more attention, dressed in whites—Bones.

"Jim? Jim can you hear me? Shit!"

He could hear him, but he didn't want to reply. Not only didn't he want to reply, but his body was too slack and wilted to be able to do it.

"Jim. Talk to me." His face looked desperate and almost scared, a vast difference to the anger that were always upon his face in sickbay just hours ago.

Jim tried, but all his weakened body could allow was an ungraceful croaked moan.

After another soft muttered curse, Bones pulled out his tricorder that—of course—he always had in his pocket.

This time Jim couldn't even gather the limited energy he had to care that the device was being hovered too close to his face.

There was another curse.

"This can't be damn well possible," he hissed, recalibrating it and trying again.

But yes, Jim thought, it is possible, I'm trying to sacrifice myself, let me do it…

"Spock, get medical down here stat, and you, tall guy," he pointed at one of the delegates behind him, "Get me that medkit, big white box behind you on the wall."

The creature thankfully was obedient, regardless of the annoyance of Spock the inexorable arguer, and quickly spun around to grab the medkit while Spock 'ran in the Vulcan way' to the wall comm.

McCoy turned his attention back to Jim.

"Jim, you still with me?"

Another moan.

"Alright, have you taken anything?"

Jim remained quiet at that. If Bones knew, he'd be able to treat him, and if he was treated he wouldn't have died, and if he didn't die then...Starfleet was doomed and so was his family.

"Jim. I need to know, dammit, have you taken anything? Any drugs?"

Jim continued to stare absentmindedly into those terrified hazel eyes.

"Jim, dammit, this thing only tells me so much. What. Did. You. Take?"

The creature suddenly returned with the medkit, McCoy grabbing it and beginning to open it before it even hit the ground.

"Medical is on their way," Spock offered, staring down at Jim in a way that he was sure the Vulcan had let his impassive mask slip. Was there some emotion in there?

He wasn't able to look for long though, as his vision began to swim again, and Spock's face became too distorted to focus on.

Seconds later, he felt something cold with the zingy taste of metal slip past his lips and move to the back of his throat.

Fuck, he couldn't breathe.

Fuck.

He jolted his head up and tried to get the device off of him.

His body flooded with adrenaline, as he struggled to survive against the creature that was suffocating him.

Fuck.

"Jim! Jim. Just relax, I just need to—calm down, it's alright…shit…"

Get off me, he wanted to say to the creature that was trying to kill him—but he wanted to die, didn't he? Would it count as dying if someone else killed him? But he had already made the sacrifice, would he die because someone else had killed him after his sacrifice and then he would be helpless to save everyone who would be killed after?

Oh god.

Oh no.

Oh god nononononono…

"Jim. It's alright, it's alright, Jim. It's alright…hey, kid…my god…" a hand on his forehead, and Jim wasn't sure if it was supposed to be comforting him or pinning him to the ground.

"It's alright. Just a little longer. It's—oh jesus Christ don't ya start cryin' on me now, kid, come on…"

He couldn't help it. He didn't know what to feel. What the hell was going on? He was so confused.

Blinking away some tears, Jim's vision slightly cleared enough to see Bones staring attentively at another device that was beeping fast and crazy.

He watched as McCoy suddenly looked up for a second, nodding to some unknown presence that had entered the room, then returned his attention back to Jim.

"It's a drug overdose, Chris, a massive one. I think it's an attempted suicide, this ain't no accident." Jim watched as the nurse knelt by him, "I'm getting readings of ridiculous amounts of antipyretics and analgesics, not to mention stimulants and tranqs."

Nononononono—

Jim was aware of his hoarse breathing coming out in strange gravely noises past the device in his throat. He stared up wide-eyed at McCoy, trying to get his attention.

But soon it became a second too long, and he started fidgeting again, shaking his head against the two medical beings that kept him still.

Letmegoletmegoletmegoletmego—

"Jus' stay still Jim, you're alright. Just another couple of seconds, I promise ya." Bones had his fingers around Jim's jaw, making the blonde feel like the device was being manhandled down his throat.

He shook his head desperately, trying to summon any possible strength left in his body to move—to escape.

Both voices of Bones and Chapel chimed in trying to offer their reassurances before he finally summoned the energy to start kicking them.

He swiped at the device in his mouth, sticking out like a thermometer, getting frustrated as Bones kept grabbing his wrist and pulling it away.

"Few more seconds…okay, kid…there we go…almos' done…"

You've been saying almost done for the past five minutes! Fuck off!

"There you go…there you—alright he's done," the device was promptly removed from his throat, and instantly Jim jerked forward and vomited over himself.

Both doctors refused to look at him in disgust and simply offered their reassurances, Chapel running fingers through his sweat-soaked hair.

"There's a lot of shit in him, Christine," he heard Bones mumble, watching as he passed it onto the nurse, "This should have registered everything he swallowed."

Jim knew it was bad when he felt Chapel's fingers around his arms tense up slightly when receiving the readings—but hell, he knew it was bad anyway.

There were over a hundred vials he had swallowed.

"What do you want to do?" he heard Chapel say softer than usual; worried, perhaps. "Activated charcoal?"

Jim swallowed against the bitter taste of the vomit lingering in his mouth.

He felt so weak.

Tired…

McCoy pressed two fingers against Jim's neck, nearly startling him.

"Yeah, let's do that. Get him on the hoverbed and I'll com down to the medbay," Jim watched idly as Bones' fingers left his neck and stood up from the floor, stepping back over to the wall com to inform his staff.

"You've done something really stupid, haven't you?" he heard Chapel say under her breath as if it was a rhetorical question, "You did this to yourself, right? You've been in the medbay for the past three days. Why did you do it?"

Jim blinked his heavy eyelids at her and then decided the millisecond rest felt excellent, so he shut his eyes altogether.

"Oh no you don't," he felt someone gently shaking his shoulder and tapping his face, "Stay awake, Jim, or my boss is gonna be pissed."

Jim's eyelids drifted open at that, a smirk forming on his face.

"Christine…he's the…CMO…I'm your boss…"

Jim felt the life in him drain into nothingness in a mere three seconds, and so his heart followed.

TBC…

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