A/N: What's up my dudes. Sorry for the extremely late update, I've had stuff going on. I'm on vacation right now and people are wondering if I've dropped this fanfic so I wanted to post what I had so far. I'm also kinda sifting into doctor who's fandom right now so my interest in this fanfic is waning. No idea if I'll finish it especially as comments/kudos have been extremely lacking but I hope you've enjoyed this story, and thank you so much to the people that have commented on all of them, you know who you are. Enjoy!

McCoy frowned, turning around to face Chapel, "I'm gonna keep him in an induced coma, but there's no tellin' how long it'll last 'til he can power out of it."

She nodded, "I agree with you on that. Perhaps keep him under deeper than you normally would for a human," she offered, "I mean…he's not exactly human anymore."

As much as he hated to admit it McCoy had to agree also. The kid was screwed, very much so.

And he had failed him.

…..

Rocketing down to corridor, Jim came to a halt and peered around the corner, looking for anyone who happened to be in his path. Escaping sickbay was easy, he could easily overpower everyone that stood in his way.

He darted away from the wall corner and thundered down the corridor.

He stopped.

He found it hard to think.

His mind was a mess…like there was two sides of him. Something telling him what he was doing as wrong, but—

"JIM!"

He ran. Darting down the corridor as fast as his legs could take him, and clearly faster than the man running after him as he was being left behind.

He whizzed around another corner, not knowing where he was even planning on going.

A blue phaser beam suddenly shot past him, narrowly missing his arm. He twirled around, smiling at the fear suddenly etched across the man's face.

He stormed after him, ignoring whatever destination he had originally planned to go, with only one thought in his head.

Kill him.

Kill him.

Kill him.

Because he's trying to kill you.

His feet pounded across the floor with every large stride, desperation in his lungs to catch this sprinting man; a pathetic creature running for his life after so obviously opening fire on Jim.

Honour.

He easily caught up with the creature, instinct beginning to engage them in a fight.

He threw him against the wall effortlessly, clutching at his neck and hissing something, some sounds he didn't even recognise, before letting him slide to the ground in bemusement. Since when could he make those noises?

The man scrambled, his legs and hands twisting to run, trying to escape like a rat in a cage.

Call themselves Starfleet officers. They shoot once and then make a run for it. How could they ever hope to survive in battle?

…

McCoy stumbled into medbay, using a hand to grasp onto the doorframe and leaning sluggishly onto it.

Dammit…

Chapel glanced up from another patient and gasped, "Doctor McCoy!"

He snorted, "I'm fine, I'm fine, uh…" forcing himself to keep up appearances and tread into the room while Chapel ran towards him, "I'm fine."

She broke into a worried smile, "You're starting to sound like Jim," she jested, taking his weight under his arms and dragging him towards a biobed, "What happened?"

McCoy snorted, "Yeah, about that," he groaned, slumping back onto the bed, and relishing in the comfort of it. Sickbay beds were pretty crap, especially examination ones. But he hadn't slept in days, no less actually lay down on something soft.

"He's uh…Jim tried to strangle me."

Chapel jolted back, "He what?"

McCoy sighed, "Tried to strangle me. Just dropped me against the wall eventually. Can't blame him though, tried to stun him with a phaser," he paused, taking note of his empty pockets, "And pilfered the hypo, too."

Chapel gave him a dumbfounded look.

"You? You tried to go after him with a phaser? Of all people?"

McCoy scowled, "On the stun setting!" he defended, wincing at the throbbing pain in his neck, "God…he does not in hell have the strength of a human anymore."

"Clearly it didn't work," she remarked, reaching her hands towards his neck and palpating his throat, "Anything hurt?"

He frowned—was the wincing from her touching not obvious enough? "Oh, I don't know, Chris, what do ya think?"

She smirked, "You're gonna need a hypo for that," Chapel retracted her hands, grabbing a hypospray from the tray and loading the contents with a painkiller and an anti-inflammatory.

McCoy balked, "Wait, hold on I can do that mys—dammit!" the stab to his neck was satisfying to the nurse who had watched him purposefully stab other patients in the neck as if he had a sadistic streak.

It was not however as amusing to the doctor with a half-swollen throat.

"Taste of your own medicine. Literally."

He glared at her. "Hilarious."

The nurse sighed, looking off into the distance in thought, "I've gotta get back to work and figure out what we're gonna do with Jim. You have a strangulation injury, doctor, so you're staying right there for at least a couple of hours."

"What!" McCoy sat up in denial, "I'm a doctor! I've got work to do!"

Chapel shrugged, "Should've thought of that before you chased after someone with the strength and mindset of a Klingon." She grabbed the tray and placed it on the far cabinet across the room, opening and closing the curtains with a harsh scrape.

Frustration festered in the back of McCoy's mind, but he couldn't help but notice the rising worry in his stomach for Jim—and all the other crew who were unfortunate enough to cross his path.

….

"Captain, we're receiving a hail that originates from a Klingon identity," Uhura paused, fiddling with the controls a bit more, "But it's not from the Klingon ship following us."

Spock furrowed his eyebrows, spinning, no—rotating his chair towards the communications officer.

"Can you understand what they are saying?" he asked matter-of-factly.

She nodded, "Yes sir, they want to hail us on a private channel, they say it's important. The signal is weak though sir, it's coming from far away."

Spock nodded, "Put it on screen, Lieutenant."

The image on the large panoramic screen flashed up an image of a Klingon—slightly staticky and distorted, likely from the distance.

He pursed his lips, pondering the meaning for this invitation of communication. Were they, too, going to demand the release of Captain Kirk?

Spock stood up from his chair and directed himself at the screen, "This is acting Captain Spock of the USS Enterprise. May I ask why you have hailed us?"

The Klingon growled, but stood tall, "Captain Spock, I am Staloz, son of T'arilla."

There was a moment of silence between them until the Klingon, Staloz, spoke up again.

"We have detected that you have been transmitting communication frequencies between a rogue Klingon ship."

Spock frowned, "Affirmative, the vessel has been chasing us for approximately 25.7 hours…Rogue, Staloz? I request that you elaborate."

The supposed enemy sighed, in a Klingon way—so it was more like a snarl, before another Klingon stomped into view.

"Captain Spock, I am Ukluth, son of Drargh," this Klingon looked to be more female in nature, if that were possible, "The vessel pursuing your ship is a traitor to our empire. They have no honour. They lost it the moment they refused to return their borrowed ship."

Spock craned his head in consideration, "You are suggesting that the action of the rogue individuals are separate from the actions of your empire."

The female looking Klingon nodded, "Yes. They are embarking on a mission that has no relation with us."

Answers. Finally.

Spock began to piece together the information—if the actions of these Klingons on the vessel chasing them—the vessel that had taken Jim—were separate from the empire; then the empire was not exactly purposefully engaging in conflict.

Perhaps diplomatic training could come into use.

"Am I right in assuming that this mission involves converting the human race into your own kind?"

The first male Klingon frowned, "They have done so already?" the creature turned to the Klingon next to him, both generally looking bewildered, which was a sight to see.

"They have attempted to do so," Spock confirmed, returning their attention back to him, "Our Captain is currently on the loose in the mindset of a Klingon. His spine has been irreparably damaged by your machine. Humans are unable to sustain the amount of pain that the Captain is in for long, unlike races such as our own."

It was true, and every crew member on both ships knew it.

Vulcans were trained to believe that pain was a thing of the mind, while Klingons naturally used pain as strength, not weakness.

"Remember, Vulcan, that the machine is not ours. Rather, it is theirs, or so they claim it to be. There is no honour in mutilating other races to become like our kind. They are not pure Klingon. We take no fault in this, Captain Spock."

Spock couldn't help but agree. It wasn't the empire that set them out to do this to their Captain, therefore they were not at fault.

The female-looking Klingon spoke up again, "Where is your Captain now?"

Spock glanced down to the navigation panel, not necessary to look for information that obviously wasn't going to be there unless Jim had somehow taken off on a shuttlecraft—rather he wanted to make it seem like he was considering it.

"I do not know," he finally concluded, his eyes raising to the screen again, "However, he is loose, injuring our crew members and extremely ill. We cannot fight him. His strength has surpassed that of a human."

The first Klingon's eyes widened, "His strength is that of a Klingon?"

"That is what it seems to be."

Both Klingons turned to each other, conversing in what he assumed was 'Klingonese' for at least a minute, before finally turning back to him.

"We will assist you in detaining him, acting Captain Spock, and in return you will aid us in capturing our rogue ship."

It didn't take the most logical mind in the universe to realise that was probably as best of a deal that he was going to get.

"Your proposal is logical. I agree to your terms."

…

"Does my goddamned throat look swollen to you!"

"McCoy, you're not moving anywhere until the 24 hours are up."

He scowled.

It's already been 3 hours; how much longer does he have to wait?

"In my own professional, medical opinion, I'm absolutely fine."

In all honestly, he was fine. The medication had reduced the swelling and his throat was pretty normal again. But someone was insistent on sticking to regulations.

"And I agree with you, however you need to stay here for another 21 hours otherwise you could injure yourself." Chapel was unrelenting.

Was this what it was like dealing with Jim's escape attempts?

He tried a more sentimental approach.

"Christine, listen to me," McCoy growled in a hushed tone, "There's a human-klingon hybrid running wild through the ship right now and the only person who can get through to him is me."

Chapel gave him a dumbfounded look.

"If I don't try right now, then you're gonna have more than jus' my absolutely fine throat to worry about."

The nurse set her jaw and stared at him, the conflict running through her mind; break protocol and maybe help Jim, or leave the 'patient' in bed for the rest of the day and risk a dozen more injuries piling in.

She shook her head at him and sighed, "The second you start to feel bad—"

Fuckin' finally.

"—then you come straight back in here. Or so god help me I will drag you back in here by the hair."

…Huh.

He snorted, "I'm still ya CMO, Chris. Don't forget it." That certainly was no damn way to talk to your boss.

She shrugged, "You speak to the Captain that way. You're a hypocrite, doctor,"

He snorted, "Oh yeah? You mean Spock? He deserves it, that green-blooded son of a—"

"The real Captain," she interrupted him, a stone-cold look in her eyes, "Kirk. He's your boss yet you threaten him all the time. Insult his first officer too. You're no better!"

Yeah, alright, he scoffed, a half-smirk plastering his face.

She was definitely right.

Whether or not they'd be able to keep up that stupidity, rests in whether Jim could be saved.

…..

White walls, white floors, eerily silent and seemingly in the middle of nowhere.

As if experiencing déja vu, Jim found himself once again lying in the middle of a corridor, no recollection of how he got there or where in the vast ship he was.

There was nothing but the gentle low hum of the ship, not a single person wandering around. Even on the night-shift there would be at least someone walking around.

What the hell's going on?

But then, as he was about to sit up—images suddenly surfaced to the forefront of his mind, re-emerging again after a poor hiding attempt.

One image; vivid and taunting him, begging for attention, was the playback of his own hands at Bones' throat, attacking and pinning him against the wall, watching him slide down and feeling no remorse.

Well, now he was.

He couldn't remember why it happened, why he didn't care, what happened to Bones afterwards or why he was angry in the first place.

There was a hypospray tucked into his back pocket, too, so assumedly his Klingon-self saw it as a threat and took it away from him.

Jim slumped back down onto the floor, swiftly overwhelmed by his emotions.

But a helpful thought plagued him, prodding and pushing through the other images ploughing his mind, unable to keep it down, no choice but to acknowledge it.

'You will become a Klingon'; those bastards had said to him. 'Your name will be HoD qIrq when you are finished.'

It was something he didn't want to think about. Not even acknowledge, or even begin to accept. As soon as he acknowledged it; it was true, right?

And the inevitable fact that he was slowly transforming into a Klingon, regardless of Bones' distressing surgeries, was a thought too horrific to accept.

Because it didn't matter how much Bones tried to fix what the Klingons had done to his body; it was his mind that was being altered. And that was the scariest part of all.

There was no way in hell he would be able to live with himself as a Klingon. He had already hurt his best friend…he couldn't let this escalate further.

…..

An entire ship to search for Jim.

Twenty-three decks.

McCoy didn't even need Spock to know the odds—it would take days to search all of them, and Jim no doubt would have hurt someone by then.

It was too damn bad that he was the only doctor that bothered to go looking for—

Oh.

His ranting thoughts interrupted, McCoy's eyes fell upon a figure in front of him. Not covered in gold or a draping gown, but a blue shirt mottled with bruises and ripped sleeves.

Damn, he cursed to himself, storming towards his newfound patient and rapidly slipping into doctor mode, Jim's attackin' already.

"Doctor?" the figure noticed the doctor's presence and peered up at him. Upon coming closer, McCoy was surprised to realise it was a woman.

Jim was one hell of a flirter, but he would never…do that.

"Yeah, I'm here," he encouraged the woman, gesturing slightly to her mauled arm, "That looks like it hurts some," it didn't seem to be bleeding, so the alarm-bells kept quiet. "Lemme guess, captain on a rampage?"

But his joking tone did nothing to alleviate the shock the woman was going through.

"I don't…I didn't do anything, he just came at me—I was just carrying equipment for the science lab—it was like—I don't know…"

McCoy grit his teeth, taking a breath and pushing away the realisation that this was Jim this woman was talking about, not a villain, an enemy, or a monster.

Still, he was a doctor, and there in front of him was a patient. "Let me have a look at that arm darlin'," he offered instead, unsure of how to explain to her that Jim was half-Klingon at this point. And he was a doctor, damn it, he had to do doctor things.

The woman allowed him to take it, wincing as he prodded around the claw marks—or the nail marks. Jim had gone completely out on this poor woman.

He sighed, "Look. Listen, Lieutenant, head on over to sickbay and get that looked at," he advised, urgently wanting to continue his unlikely quest in finding Jim.

His persistence seemed to rub off wrong on her, "Is it bad? Oh god, am I going to lose it?"

Self-control stopped him from snorting, "Nah, but I'd make sure an infection doesn't start. I don't want to see your face when I get back, you hear?"

Clearly that came out the wrong way as the woman hastily nodded and shot off down the corridor in front of her, apparently assuming her arm was going to come off.

Well, she sure would be happy once she gets the good news.

It was only ten minutes later when he had approached deck seven, up another two floors as sickbay was on deck five. The corridors were now suddenly flooded with people after the incident with the Lieutenant was recorded, which no doubt would make Jim's hiding worse…if he had even regained his sound mind yet.

Truth was, McCoy had absolutely no plan with what to do with Jim once he had him. He was so caught up over the fact he could hurt somebody that he just shot off down the corridor the minute he was released without thinking.

Which was completely unlike him. He always had something up his sleeve no matter the occasion.

All thoughts revolving around that quickly went out the window when he turned another corner and saw a lone figure scurrying like a rat escaping its doom into another room.

Now either a crewmember had done something so extremely abhorrent that they were hiding from the CMO…or that was Jim.

Apprehensive, McCoy trod towards the door, running through his head what to say.

What does he say? Was Jim in a human or Klingon mindset?

"Jim? You in there, buddy?" he spoke with caution, not wanting to emergency-override the door if he could help it.

As per expected, there was no reply. He tried again.

"Jim. It's me. It's…uh, Bones. Yeah. You need to open up kid, lemme come in."

When he decided he was just talking to an uncooperative brick wall, McCoy lifted a hand resignedly to use the emergency medical override—but unexpectedly, a voice, low and gravely, exhausted, could be heard from the other side.

"Don't come in," the voice warned, sounding tired and fed-up, "Seriously, Bones, don't come in."

McCoy frowned at the door and slumped his shoulders. Well, at least he was getting some words out of him. That's progress.

"Why not? I'm hypoless, I promise."

He waited patiently for another reply, but upon realising that the uttered sentence from Jim was a one-off, he grunted in exasperation and began to tap in the medical override into the keycode panel.

"I'm coming in now, Jim."

Almost instantly; "No,"

As the doors slid open, McCoy cautiously tried to block the only exit Jim had, "S'alright, just wanna talk," he lied, fulling intending to get him off guard and…well, he hadn't thought that far ahead yet. Maybe talking was a good idea after all.

"You got any of that eye-blinding Saurian brandy?" he stepped towards Jim, while the blonde, apparently in his own mind, began backing into the room again.

"I mean it Bones, don't come in," Jim's hands were behind his back, his arms shaking.

In shock. PTSD? Human. Explain that, Klingon bastards.

"It's alright," he coaxed, raising his hands in front of him almost in surrender, "I know what you did, and everything's alright."

Well, it's not alright, but Jim didn't need to know that.

"No point in playing dumb with me, Bones," Jim muttered, his eyes trained to the floor, beginning to bring out the hands behind his back—a hypospray lodged into his fist, "Nothing's gonna change it."

McCoy's jaw clenched, staring at the hypo gripped so tightly in Jim's hands. "Hey, c'mon now Jim, give that hypo to me." This was likely the hypo that Jim had taken from him when he attacked him.

And he had a bad feeling about the meaning behind him acquiring the device in the first place.

Jim didn't even shake his head, "I told you not to come in," he spoke hoarsely, as if just recovering from crying, "I don't want you to see."

McCoy unconsciously clenched his fists and took a step closer, "Just give that to me, Jim," he reached a hand out to take it from him, but the blonde merely stared at it in hesitation. "C'mon, hand it over now."

Don't do it, damn it.

Please, don't do it…

Jim shivered and shook his head, "No, I want it to stop," he glanced to his hand, "This'll make it stop, right?"

Alarmed, McCoy had to use every ounce of willpower left in him to not lunge at Jim and rip the hypo out from his hands.

His arm still outstretched, McCoy continued in the calmest demeanour he could muster, "It'll make it ten times worse, trust me," he pleaded, trying to inch closer but Jim backed away again, "We can fix this. It's okay."

Jim's hands were trembling so badly the damn hypo could fall out of his hands, "It's not okay."

Christ.

"You're right, it's not," he locked eyes with the blonde, trying to get him to calm down, "But it will be okay. I promise, alright? Jus'…give me that hypo, kid,"

He tried again to reach for it, but Jim jerked back, suddenly overwhelmed and jammed the hypospray directly into his carotid artery.

Fuck.

Fuck!

No no no no…

Jim inhaled sharply, "Oh god…" the device clattered to the floor, his hands shaking harder like no tomorrow, fear plastered across his face as he realised what he'd just done "I…"

Shit. "It's alright, it's alright," McCoy murmured, assisting Jim to the floor while doing his best to stay calm, "You're okay darlin', you're okay,"

Need to contact medical…now.

Idiot just gave himself an overdose of lorazepam.

"I'm scared," Jim croaked into the base of his friend's neck, "I don't wanna…"

As he suddenly fell unconscious, McCoy grunted as Jim's entire body weight slumped into the doctor's arms.

"Jim?" McCoy ran his hands over the unresponsive man's face, trying to get his attention, "Goddammit, you absolute moron…c'mon, stay with me,"

But the drugs having immediately entered Jim's bloodstream had likely caused a coma instantly. Which meant more reactions were soon to follow.

"S'alright…" he muttered to himself more than anyone, "Just gonna get us some help here…"

He forced his left hand out from under Jim's back, shoving it into his pocket and retrieving his communicator.

"McCoy to sickbay, I need medical assistance in deck 7, uh…"

God, where the hell in deck 7 am I? Been looking all over the damn ship for him.

"Where are you, doctor?"

No-one ever came up here, it was a useless deck, pending more refits at Yorktown.

"Uh…it's an empty room," was the only information he could provide. He shut his eyes for a second, wondering how he was going to do this. "I'm gonna request a direct transport to sickbay. Standby, there's an overdose."

"Yes sir."

He ended the transmission, immediately opening another one to the transporter room.

Dammit, we don't have time for this!

"McCoy to transporter room, I need immediate beam to sickbay for two."

The reply thankfully was instantaneous, "Affirmative, beaming you to sickbay."

Flipping the communicator shut and tossing it aside—because damn it he didn't have the time to carefully pocket it away, he pressed two fingers against Jim's neck—the artery he'd injected the drugs into. Relief flooded him when his pulse was still going, though rapid and weak.

As a flurry of gold haze surrounded them, McCoy tightened his grip on the figure laying on his lap, a promise to make sure he wouldn't lose him in the transport beam.