*Chapter Three*

The man, the ID hanging from his lanyard read his name as Dr. McCoy, Leonard, offered to help Spock carry Jim into the apartment building. Spock declined, stating that McCoy should focus on getting the supplies in unharmed. Taking Jim in his arms one more time, a final rush of adrenaline surging through his tired arms to carry the limp body to the elevator and then into the apartment of the hopefully adept doctor.

If Spock had been in any state to notice such things, he would have taken in the shabby apartment building in a far from prosperous neighborhood, and the tiny apartment to which he was lead. This young doctor was living far from the lap of luxury.

"Best to put him on the bed," McCoy gestured into the only other room in the apartment. The bedroom had the feeling of lack of use, the bed looking like it hadn't been slept in for weeks. Spock gently lay Jim down and moved out of the way as the doctor went right to work. After a few minutes, McCoy snapped out, "Go grab a chair from the kitchen table, your hovering it distracting."

Spock complied quickly, not liking to have Jim out of sight now that they had gotten so far. It was not a pleasant process to watch, and the doctor sometimes called him to help. But it was finally done, and Jim shifted, before seeming to fall into a more natural sleep.

McCoy smiled tiredly, and went about cleaning up. "He's a strong one, others would have given in before I could help them. Not your friend here though, he fought. And before you ask, he's going to be perfectly fine." He adjusted the IV that was gently dripping on its makeshift hook on the wall.

Spock nodded, all the actions of the day catching up with him and causing his shoulders to visibly sag in relief and fatigue. He looked up and said, "I don't know how I can thank you."

"Don' need to kid, I am a doctor, it's my job." But his weary smile was one of pride. "Why don't you get some rest, you can stay here until he is feeling better, which should take at the very least three days."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Are you sure?" These types of offers so rarely come around for anyone in his and Jim's position.

"Yeah, don't see how it can do any harm to me. Now rest, doctor's orders!"

Spock nodded, and tried to do as he was told, but ended up just watching the rise and fall of Jim's chest, making sure it didn't stop. McCoy moved about, checking on Jim every once in awhile and going about his no doubt normal routines after work. Without even meaning to, Spock drifted off to the sounds of life, while watching the soothing process of another breathing.

...(o)...

Jim could count on one hand the amount of times it hurt this much just to wake up. Which was saying something, as he had lived a far from glamorous and pain free life. This pain and general feeling of utter shittiness might just take the cake though.

He manages to push through the grogginess of his own mind, and opened his eyes to a room that is too bright. The room part was weird enough on its own, but the bed he was on had him scrambling to sit up. Where the fuck was he?

"Easy kid, I wouldn't recommend that," came a strange voice, its general kindness coupled with light Southern accent making Jim almost relax. He looked around quickly, and immediately regretted it as an uncontrollable wave of nausea rolled over him. Something was pressed into his hands, so he promptly threw up in it. Taking deep breaths for a moment, what he now identified as a pan was taken away and a cup of water pressed into his hands in it's place.

"Drink that slowly, no need for you to hurl again." Jim did as he was told, though his parched mouth begged him to gulp down the whole glass. Looking up, Jim met a pair of kind brown eyes that had far too much emotion swimming close to the surface to be Spock's.

"Spock?" he croaked, instead of the greeting his brain was initially going for, needing to know where his friend was.

"Right next to you, son," the stranger pointed to where Spock sat in an uncomfortable looking chair, front half of his body sprawled acrossing the bed Jim found himself in. Jim smiled at Spock's sleeping appearance, ruffled and not eluding his usual contained vibe.

"He just went to sleep, so even though he will be pissed to miss you waking up, I'm letting him rest." Jim looked back to the other man, who was smiling slightly, a days worth of stubble on his chin and bags under his eyes like he hadn't really slept in a long, long time.

"Spock doesn't really do "pissed", but I catch your meaning," Jim smiles back up at the man, ignoring the fact that he entire body felt like it just wanted to melt into painful nothing. "Can I ask who you are? And what is going on? Also, possibly, where I am?"

"You overdosed, or got injected an overdose," stanger began.

Jim winced, nose crinkling in disgust. "God damn, it must have been Cupcake!"

"...Pardon?"

"Some asshole trying to start a gang," Jim explained quickly, more interested in his current situation. "Sorry for the interruption, continue?"

The stranger looked thoughtful for a moment, then shrugged. "Well, your friend here must have found you and brought you all the way to the hospital where I work. They were their usually bastard selves though, and denied you treatment because you obviously couldn't pay. So I offered help to your friend and he took it. So here you are, alive, and in the crappy apartment of one junior doctor, myself."

"Well then, I guess a thank you is in order!" Jim held out a hand and put on his most charming smile, the doctor took it gently. "It seems you have saved my life, and I don't even know your name."

"Leonard McCoy, and it was nothing," the man had a kindly, if immaturely aged face. "If I didn't save you, then I would be about as useful as a human without bones."

"Leonard...hmm, I don't know if it quite suits you..." Jim mumbled, taking his hand back and placing it under his own chin in playful thoughtfulness. McCoy snorted in surprised humor at this teen who only hours before was close to dying. "I'm going to call you Bones."

"Bones? Really kid? Because of what I just said?"

"Why not?" Jim widened his blue eyes, pulling his classic puppy-dog look. "I like it!"

McCoy rolled his eyes, and mumbled in faked grumpiness, "Fine, call me whatever you want. But you really should get some more rest now, what you've been through isn't something you can just walk away from the next day."

"Okay Bones!"

"Don't you get all cheeky on me," came a warning that really wasn't much of a warning due to how non threatening his voice was. Jim schooled his face into innocence, relaxing back into the pillows. "Now right to sleep, doctor's orders!" Before he turned and left the room, he drew the curtains shut all the way, and turned off the overhead light. Looking back, he caught Jim peeking at him with one eye, and scowled, Jim chuckling and quickly pretending to sleep. Rolling his eyes again McCoy left the room, hoping to lull himself to sleep by watching crap daytime television, though it wasn't something he had much hope in.

...(o)...

Spock had been woken nearly as soon as he heard Jim's voice, but gave no outward indication he was awake. He listened to the two talk, his trust in the doctor growing as Jim quickly expressed his like for the man through his mannerisms. When McCoy instructed Jim to sleep, and prepared the lighting in the room to prompt that, Spock once again let rest over take him, knowing that Jim was alright and that the two of them were in good hands with the helpful doctor.