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Chapter Seven: Shades of Gray

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"Friendship needs no words - it is solitude delivered from the anguish of loneliness."
Dag Hammarskjold

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Jim, Bones had come to discover, was a master of avoidance. McCoy never would have thought it possible for someone so dynamic (and someone on crutches, no less) to turn completely invisible overnight. Leonard's automatic reaction to emotional stress was to take that bottle of scotch back to his dorm and make it disappear (possibly one of the many reasons why his marriage had failed) while Jim chose to make himself disappear. In no uncertain terms, the kid was making it abundantly clear that he considered their friendship to be over.

And as time drew on, some days Leonard was fine with that. He could easily recall all the miserable nights of sleeplessness and worry and frustrating conversations and he was sure that he wasn't really going to miss all the hell Jim had put him thorough. Other days, all he could remember were the dozens of time the kid had stayed up late with him to talk him through an impossible study topic or been there to support him when he just needed to go out and drink and forget he'd ever fallen in love and gotten married to the biggest mistake of his life. The fact of the matter remained: forgetting someone like Jim Kirk just wasn't easy. Especially after the doctor had become so deeply entrenched in the kid's life. Leonard would be going about his everyday life and suddenly remember a joke or a grin or (worse) those three hulking cadets who were out to put Jim in the hospital and experience a flash of worry and the irrational need to call in to check on the kid. Until he remembered that Kirk probably never wanted to see him again, and that he should mind his own business because if there were any way to make matters worse, he was sure he would find it.

It seemed very much like this was going to be the end of it.

News started buzzing around campus a little before midterms: someone was going to make an attempt at the Kobayashi Maru, an infamous training simulator designed to test the mettle and skill of aspiring Starfleet commanders. The last attempt had been made several years ago, or so the rumor went. A senior cadet had descended into depression after miserably failing the training simulator and had ultimately been dismissed from the academy.

No-one had ever taken the test earlier than their third year, but Leonard had a good idea who was going to be taking it this time.

He was right.

He contemplated joining the throng of cadets that flocked to the training stadium to wait at the entrance, listening with bated breath for the results of the test. He felt inclined to show his support for the kid, despite what they'd been through, but Jim didn't need it, and he certainly wouldn't want it.

McCoy walked back to his dorm in silence.

He found out the next day that although Jim Kirk had lasted sixteen seconds longer than the record-holder, in the end, he had failed the test. Just like every other cadet who had ever taken it, and it was nothing to be ashamed of, and he had been highly commended by the instructors for his skill and strategy.

Leonard knew that despite all of that, the kid was probably taking it extremely hard. Worse still was the nagging thought that he was smiling and laughing about it and there was no-one there at all for him to talk to because James Kirk didn't talk to people and he sure as hell didn't need anyone.

For the millionth time, the doctor contemplated trying to talk to Jim again. But he had tried before, he continually reminded himself, and been nearly choked to death for his efforts (and damn but he'd felt those bruised ribs the next morning). He'd tried damnit, and Jim hadn't. That just went to show what Leonard meant to the kid.

It wasn't until he was cresting his second week of Jim-free misery that something came along dramatic enough to shake him out of his stubborn stupor.

It was a Wednesday: mid-week, mid-bustle, mid-panic. Midterms were upon them and every cadet in sight seemed to be a human frenzy of bundled papers and flashcards and pencils. No-one walked anymore. They ran, or jogged, or sat on the nearest steps and sobbed uncontrollably because they just knew they were going to fail and flunk out of the academy and be a disappointment to everybody, etc., etc. Half-the-time Leonard was sorely tempted just to find a closet or something to hide in it until it was all over. It wasn't his fault most of the kids here hadn't made proper time to study, so he shouldn't have to suffer for it by being subjected to their noise and panic and mood swings.

It was at about this time, as he sat alone in the cafeteria wishing above all things that he were in a nice, quiet bar somewhere having a tall drink, that unbidden memories of his former drinking partner began to spring to mind. Almost against his will, his mind began replaying words and conversations he'd had with the kid, and not for the first time, he deeply regretted ending things the way they had.

Almost at the same moment that this notion crossed his mind, a familiar face flashed across his line of vision. It took him a moment to remember who the cadet was, and then he was shooting after him without a second thought.

Making a beeline across the room, cutting through tables and earning more than one annoyed glare, he ambushed Matt Conroy at the end of the food line.

"Hey." He stopped Matt in his tracks. "Where's your roommate?"

"Don't ask me." The cadet spread his hands. "I'm not his keeper. Besides, I transferred to a new dorm last week." He grinned, and stepped back into the throng of passing students.

Leonard watched him leave with a frown. He tried to remember when the last time really was that he had seen Kirk—the kid was making himself scarce as it was, but during the last week it really seemed like he'd completely vanished. He hadn't seen him in any of his usual classes, or at meals, or even in passing. Not the briefest glimpse or the most distant snatch of conversation, which was hard to accomplish when you were on crutches. Of course, that could easily be written off to cramming for Midterms, or a crowded class schedule, or one of a dozen other things.

But somehow, deep in the pit of Leonard's gut, the knowledge that the kid was completely alone right now sparked a feeling of dread and anxiety that he couldn't ignore. At least Matt, as much of a prick as he was, might've stepped in if he found the kid bleeding out on the floor. Right now, he had nobody.

This thought brought on a much larger realization, and Leonard felt his heart sink. Jim was an expert at pushing people away. It was obvious that he made a daily habit of the practice, doing just what he had done throughout his whole life. Anyone who came close—and the closer, the worse it was—suddenly found themselves in the crosshairs of all of Jim's screwed-up defense mechanisms. It was like he wired every potential relationship to self-destruct just so he could avoid getting hurt in the future. Strike first to avoid the pain. He had done it to everyone else, and he had done it to Leonard.

And the doctor had let him.

"Goddamn it, Jim." Leonard muttered. He glanced down at his communicator. A blinking screen told him it was nearly six. His last class for the day started in twenty minutes, but he could afford to cut. The professor wasn't testing until Friday, and it might be the first time he'd missed.

Decided, he shoved the books under his arm into his sagging messenger bag and shouldered his way back through the crowd toward the cafeteria doors.

They'd definitely toed the edge of the abyss this time, but Leonard had a feeling he and Jim were far from through.

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"Jim?" McCoy sighed. He stood in front of the same gray door where he'd stood two short weeks before, but this time it was not set to grant automatic entry and remained firmly shut. He'd had a feeling it wouldn't be that easy, but he could always hope.

Rapping his knuckles on metal again felt a lot more comfortable than pressing the small gray buzzer beside the control console. McCoy had always been a little old-fashioned that way.

"Come on, Jim." Leonard tried his hardest not to let the gnawing anxiety he was feeling creep into his voice. It was too early to start assuming the worst, or so he told himself. "I know you don't want to see me right now—maybe ever—but I also know you're in there… and we really need to talk."

Pressing his ear to the door in a very undignified way, Leonard held his breath as the roaring silence greeted his ears. He was hoping no-one came up the corridor and found him there; he would have a very difficult time explaining his methods or motives to campus security.

"The things I do for your stupid ass…" He grumbled to the door. Just was he was about to pull away in defeat, he caught a faint sound from within.

"Kid?" He tried again.

The sound came again; it was unmistakably the sound of a PADD spitting out a garbled recording. Kirk had never been the type to need study aids like that, but you never knew with people.

"You okay in there?"

Silence, save the occasional buzz of indistinguishable recorded audio.

Damn, he wished the punk would say something. And that furtive wish caused his mind to jump to the possibly inaccurate conclusion that maybe the kid physically couldn't say anything, because maybe he was sick or dying or those damn punks who'd been on his ass for the last year had finally caught up to him and made good on their threats.

"Look." Swallowing, this time Leonard couldn't keep the stress out of his tone. "I know you're there, so the silent treatment really isn't going to do anything for you. But you've been skipping appointments for that knee of yours and as your attending physician, I am well within my rights to use a medical override here. So you can open the door, or I can open it myself."

Letting his threat hang was sadly ineffective. He tried again. "This is your last warning, Jim."

His fingers were reaching for the console before he was finished speaking. Call him paranoid, but he was pretty sure that the James Kirk he knew would be more willing to argue with him than sulk in his room quietly. The kid had better be in one piece, or so help him—

The door slid open quietly and Leonard stumbled into a pitch black apartment.

"Jim?" His voice didn't echo as it had out in the corridor; it fell flat and cold. It took some time for his eyes to adjust as he carefully stepped towards the wall.

"Weapons offline. Main power at 38%."

The sudden blare of static made Leonard jump in the darkness. A fuzzy recording was still playing from somewhere in the deeply shadowed room, but it was too dark for the doctor to figure out where it was coming from.

"Lights, on." He called.

The computer answered him. "Lights disabled."

Leonard cursed to himself. He should have known. Jim didn't let anyone get the jump on him twice.

"They're firing another— All power to forward shields—-"

"Kid, I can't see a thing." McCoy swallowed, trying to peer into the dark corners with the help of the light from the door behind him. "I know you're royally pissed and damn, you've got every right to be…. But you're gonna have to help me out here."

"Sir stabilization has been lost."

"Are shields even up?"

Leonard gulped uncomfortably. What the hell was the kid listening to?

Hands outstretched, he grasped the counter of the small half-bar to his right. It curved around into a small alcove where a kitchenette was theoretically possible, but cadets didn't get their own perks unless they paid for them and most didn't—or couldn't. In Jim's dorm, it served as an odd empty space one or both of the cadets often used as a study area. Make that just Jim, now.

"Decks 17 and 13, we have confirmed casualties. 11% and dropping. 10%. Shields at 9% and dropping."

"Goddamn, this is creepy." The doctor griped. Stretching out one arm, he was just inches away from reaching a manual light switch he remembered being above the bar when his foot connected with something solid and he was pitching forward.

He landed on the floor with an undignified yelp he would definitely deny later. Groaning, he stayed where he was and groped carefully across the floor to find out what he had hit. He nearly jumped out of his skin when his fingers touched a warm body.

"Jim?" Straining in the darkness, he thought he could just make out a dark form slumped against the wall.

"Jim, if you're alive, you're going to need to let me know. Because otherwise I'm going to freak out and medical and security and everyone will be down here in about sixty seconds flat."

The body shifted, just slightly, and Leonard was able to release the breath he hadn't known he'd been holding.

"Go'way, Bones." The mumbled voice was scarcely higher than a whisper, but it brought waves of relief crashing down on McCoy's shoulders.

"Fat chance." Leonard's voice was shaky as he eased himself into a more comfortable position next to the kid, fingers traveling upwards to find a pulse on Jim's neck. "What's the matter with you?"

"Nothing." Kirk tried and failed to swat the doctor away.

McCoy heard the clink of glass and intercepted Jim's arm as he tried to raise a bottle of some kind to his lips.

"If your current state is any indication, I think you've had quite enough of that."

"Bravo 6 maneuver fire, full spread!"

"I'm initiating general order 13, we're evacuating!"

"What the hell are you listening to?" Leonard pried a mostly-empty bottle from Jim's stubborn fingers.

"Leave me alone, Bones." A sound suspiciously like a sniffle reached the doctor's ears, and he froze.

"Kid…" He breathed, stomach in knots. "Are you okay?"

"Autopilot function has been destroyed. Manual operation only."

"Get out."

"Not happening." McCoy easily dodged the alcohol-slowed arms that moved to push him away. He reached out for Jim, finding his arms, shoulders, his face. His hands traveled to a warm forehead and down to tear-moistened cheeks.

Jesus Christ.

"Oh, Jim." He sighed. "I'm sorry."

Just one nudge, just one broken moment like that—and suddenly Jim wasn't resisting him anymore. He went limp, letting McCoy pull him into his arms. He was shaking with quiet, shuddering sobs, pressing his face into Leonard's shirt. He was wrapping his arms around him, clutching him like his life depended on it.

"It's okay, it's okay." Leonard held him as tight as he could, swallowing the kid in his arms. "Shh, Jim. I've got ya." The kid was drunker than hell and probably had no control over his actions right now but Leonard couldn't help feeling that this was the most real he had ever seen him. And he had never been very good with words (he had a failed marriage and an estranged daughter to prove that) so all he could do in response was mutter nonsense words and soothing sounds and try to communicate through body language alone that he wasn't going anywhere and he wasn't giving up on James Kirk.

The garbled transmission, clearly years old, continued to buzz through the disembodied speakers from somewhere in the room.

"George, the shuttle's leaving. Where are you?"

"Sweetheart, listen to me. I'm not gonna be there."

Christ in heaven. Leonard really hoped this wasn't what he thought it was.

"No."

"This is the only way you'll survive."

"George, I can't do this without you."

Leonard didn't know when it had started, but he realized with a start that his own face was wet with tears now. Sorrow he couldn't contain streamed down his cheeks, dripping into Jim's hair. He couldn't believe what he was listening to, couldn't wrap his mind around it.

"It's a boy."

"A boy? Tell me about him."

"He's beautiful."

"God, Jim." Leonard was shaking. "Please, please turn it off."

"I can't—it's my dad." Jim's voice was rough and punctuated with painful sobs. "I can hear him."

"Turn it off, Jim. Don't do this to yourself."

"Let's name him after your dad. Let's call him Jim."

"Kid." Leonard begged, burying his face in Jim's back.

"Sweetheart can you hear me?"

"I can hear...

"I love you so much. I love you!"

Static cut off the last word, and a soft white noise reigned supreme in the dark room. After a long, agonizing moment of this, the device ended the recording with a soft beep.

"End of transmission." The PADD informed. "File 217, USS Kelvin final communications log entry. Class: Confidential."

Jim said nothing, and Leonard said nothing. The kid was still a drunk, sniffling mess in his lap, and McCoy couldn't blame him. He didn't know what had possessed the cadet to put himself through this kind of mental torture, but it had shaken the doctor to the core and he could only guess what kind of effect it had had on Jim. He pulled the trembling figure closer, trying to will strength into someone he had never seen so human. Finding out one that one of the strongest supporting pillars of your life was this fragile was not an easy pill to swallow—and even though Leonard had jumped with both feet into this mess he found that as usual, he had no idea what to do next.

After a very long time of sitting there, holding his face against Jim's shirt and trying to calm himself down enough to actually be some semblance of helpful, Leonard knew he had to say something.

"Jim. You okay?" It was a lame thing to ask, but he had to break the silence somehow.

Jim laughed; the doctor could only tell because his body shook slightly. Clearly, he thought it was lame too.

"Why the meltdown, kid?" Bones searched out the kid's face, prying him away from him. He was still crying; still pretending he wasn't. "What got into you?"

"You won't get it, Bones." Jim mistook Leonard's movements and pulled away, that stupid fight or flight tendency always present.

McCoy caught his wrist and kept him there. "Try me."

A torn whisper that betrayed the lie. "Bones, I'm okay."

"Kid, it's long past time to drop the bullshit. There's nothing to hide anymore. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere." The doctor clasped Jim's tear-soaked face in both hands, shaking him gently, willing him to understand. "I will sit on this goddamn floor with you until the world ends if that's what you need. But I'm not walking out that door again."

Jim's hands came up to cover his own, and he couldn't disguise another ragged sob as it tore it's way free.

"You should get out while you can, Bones." Jim sounded so much like a lost child just then that Leonard had to swallow to keep his own voice steady.

"Bull. Now are you going to tell me why you're sitting in the dark here, torturing yourself with that transmission?"

Jim laughed, or maybe he was crying still. It was impossible to distinguish in the dark. He was silent for a very long time, but Leonard didn't let him go. If being here physically, willing his strength through to Jim was the only way he could help, then damn it he was really going to be here until the sky fell down around them. And even then, he would hold on until his bones disintegrated.

"It's today." The kid's soft voice was barely audible when he finally, finally cracked, his words spilling out in ragged chunks. "You know... It's today. I was born today. He died. Today."

"It's… your birthday?"

"You could say that."

Leonard's heart clenched painfully; the sheer agony threatened to stop his breath in his lungs. "You don't have to remember it this way, you know." His rational, logical words sounded empty and flat and so useless. "You can move on. Make your life your own."

"I want to, Bones." Body limp with exhaustion, Jim dropped his forehead onto McCoy's shoulder. "But… It's all they talk about."

Leonard didn't need to ask who. The destruction of the USS Kelvin wasn't exactly a secret: George Kirk had been a hero, and the day of his death had long ago been declared a Federation Day of Memorial. Obviously, no-one had given a shit about the kind if impact that publicity would have on the Kelvin's youngest survivor.

"Jim." Leonard sighed, wrapping his arms around the kid once more and dropping his forehead onto his head. "It's not the day your dad died. It's the day that you survived. That's what it means to me."

"Why are you even here?" The kid breathed. "After the way I've treated you…"

"You've heard all about my ex-wife." The doctor snorted. "I don't think you could treat me much worse."

Kirk laughed softly, hopelessly. "I think I already bumped her out of first place."

"Not a chance." Leonard smiled, nestling his chin into Jim's sunlight-colored hair, letting him avoid eye contact if that was what he really needed. "I was an ass to push you like that." The doctor admitted quietly, selfishly glad to have a chance to get the burden that had been building for weeks off his chest. "An insensitive, selfish ass."

Jim snuffled into the doctor's shirt; it sounded suspiciously like laughter.

"Fine, scoff at me, you little prick. I guess I deserve it." Leonard tried not to smile. "Just don't expect to hear it again."

"You can't apologize while I'm drunk, cheater." Leonard could feel Jim smiling. "You've got to say it again when I'm sober."

"Over my dead body. Besides, you're definitely the most coherent drunk I ever met."

"You say the sweetest things."

"…you sure you're drunk?"

"Positive. Cause I'm admitting that I was an ass too."

"Yep, you're drunk." Leonard looked down at the bottle he'd taken from Jim—it definitely wasn't any variety of Terran alcohol he was familiar with—and after only a moment of deliberation, took a long swig. It wasn't half-bad really, but it did kick like a mule.

"I'll tell you everything, Bones." The cadet sighed at last, long and heavy. "I'll tell you whatever you want to know."

McCoy felt himself freeze, alcohol sloshing loudly in the bottle. "Kid…" He began, "Do you even know what you're saying right now?"

"Probably not." Jim finally extricated himself fully from the doctor's grip and slowly leaned back against the wall. He slumped with a heavy breath, pulling his hands through his hair and down his face. He wiped roughly at his tear-streaked chin, his hands blurry shapes in the shadows.

"You might regret this tomorrow." The doctor felt inclined to inform him, even though his mind was screaming at him to just shut up and not scare the kid into changing his mind.

Even in the semi-darkness, to which his eyes had become partially adjusted by now, Leonard thought he could make out the breathtaking blue of Jim's eyes.

"Don't make me regret it, Bones."

"I won't." The words were as much of a promise to Jim as they were to himself. "And I wouldn't make you relive this shit if I didn't believe it could help you. You know that, right kid? I just want to help you."

"Yeah, Bones." Jim gripped Bones' hand hard; the thin digits were shaking lightly, betraying that stupid brave front. "I know."

Breathing in shakily, Leonard steeled himself. He didn't release Jim's arm. "Then tell me about the fractures. Stop when you need to."

The cadet's chin dipped to his chest. He took several deep, calming breaths and looked back up at Leonard.

Swallowing, his words came out in a whisper. "Have you ever heard of Tarsus IV?"

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Oh! Yes, I went there. You didn't think I would, did you? That's okay; I didn't think I would either. As you might have guessed from that last line, I'm not going to make a big scene out of it. There are more than enough stories out there filling in that part of Jim's past that do it far more justice than I ever could, so I think I'm going to let it lie for now. Maybe I'll dig it back up some day in the future, but… I… I'll stop rambling now. :] That was a stupid-hard chapter to write so, you should tell me what you thought. Did I do our boys justice? I hope so.

Another FAQ: someone mentioned that mentions of god, religion, etc would have been completely eradicated by the 23rd century. Although I don't really agree (I think it will be impossible for anything, technology, global advances, or otherwise to completely wipe out every kind of religion all over the world) I will concede the point. However, this story is from McCoy's point of view, and old-fashioned swearing and references just seem more in keeping with his character. I hope that makes sense. :]

On to the good stuff!

Thank you for your super-amazing, goofy-smile, heartwarming reviews, TipsyTippyToes, Time and Fate, spinalcracker, moviesaremagic, GB Freak1, Thomson, dustykingdom, lynxzpanther, perry, zhen123, Harm Marie, ackeberlynn, alinia1999, Aiso-san, Romanse.

Twilightstar7: Hahaha, you are so right—it would be rather difficult for someone (especially our dear Bones) to "oomf" in a graceful manner. Hope this update was quick enough for you!

Shameless Spocker: I'm so glad you enjoyed—and fear not, I would never leave our boys hanging in such a tragic predicament. : )

GingeRed: I pretty much love your novel/review. I definitely read it three or four times, possibly more. I don't think I'm going to end up going into detail about Jim's knee, but there will be other incidents to explain that Bones will not let go quite so easily. I guess you'll just have to keep writing—er, reading! ; )

laynee: Hearts and flowers and rainbows! I loves you too. :3 Also, your review may or may not have made me whisper scream "NEW REVIEW!"

hittocerebatosai: I just might. ; ) I don't think the story will carry on that long—maybe to about a year or less before the movies picks up. We'll see. : )