A/N: If you thought that Jim's suffering ended last chapter, then you were wrong.
Very wrong :)

Jim woke up half-asleep on a cloud. A very floaty cloud. It was very soft and funny and—

"Hey, open your eyes Jim."
He groaned, reminding himself to confiscate all medical monitors aka throw them all out the window when he got better.

Time to face reality already?

So, he peeled open his eyelids, feeling like a ton of bricks were trying to weigh them down. It was an effort to force them open. McCoy was standing over him, staring into his soul.

"Huuuuh" Jim slurred, slowly moving his head to look at his body, that felt like it wasn't even there. There were strips of wires everywhere; all over his arms, over the bed, under the bed, on his feet, even in his chest.

"How you feelin'? It's been slightly longer than a few hours like I promised, maybe about four days is more accurate."

Jim bolted upright, but McCoy was already ready for his outburst and shoved him back down, as if trying to provoke him on purpose.

He scowled. "Y'let m' sleep'f 'or days?" he ran a finger down the tube coming out of his chest, "Wha'appen?"

"What's the last thing you remember?" McCoy asked, yanking away Jim's hand from the tubing.

"Mmmm…." Jim tried to think back to forty decades ago.
Oh wait, I'm not forty hahahaha.
McCoy is forty hahah!

"What you laughin' about?"
Jim lifted a sleepy hand and lazily pointy to McCoy. "Y'forty"

"I'm forty. Uh huh. I was the last time I checked." He looked up at the monitor overhead of him, "Now what's the last thing you remember?"

Jim thought hard and carefully over the last thing he remembers. Then it hit him.
"Ahhh-!" Jim gasped, McCoy whipping himself to stare at him for discomfort and about to drug him to hell, "I remember!"
McCoy frowned.
"Y' told m' to opn' m' eyezzz"

McCoy looked as if he wanted to bash his head against the wall. Both his and Jim's.
"Whose bright idea was it to drug him this much?"
Jim reached out a hand and tugged on the doctor's shirt. He spun around to face him quizzically. Jim steadied himself to speak: a task that only the greatest of the great could accomplish. He took a deep breath, preparing for the words he was about to emit out of his mouth;

"M' dyiiingg" Jim whined, rolling his head around the pillow. McCoy's frown bent into a smile, giving him a reassuring pat on the shoulder.

"Not anymore you're not."

Jim squinted. He felt like he was sitting inside a four-million-degree furnace, and that there were needles everywhere while simultaneously being hit by lightning. Twelve times.

"I feel like m'dying…" McCoy scowled in response to that, and Jim grimaced as the IV in his arm tugged. He turned his head to the side, watching McCoy push another syringe with white looking liquid down the tube. Jim eyed it like a child discovering grass for the first time.

"Cool," he muttered following the liquid's presence through the tube, which eventually hit his veins. At that, Jim, yelped and thrashed his hand around everywhere.

"Shit! What's wrong Jim?" McCoy knelt over and held him steady.

"It's cold," he mumbled, his hands shaking, "Get it out…"

McCoy sighed, letting Jim go and giving him a curious look. But Jim shook his left hand around, then with his other hand, grabbed the tube attached and started yanking it out.
"Fucking hell, Jim!" McCoy grabbed something from a tray that Jim was unable to see, and couldn't even begin to process what was going in, what with how slow his brain was working, and with the fact that McCoy had just jabbed him in the neck with a sedative, and was out like a light.

…

Chapel came bounding over at the sound of the alarms screeching from down the hallway.

"What happened? Is he alright?" she ran eyes over Jim's peaceful sleeping form.

"Yeah. He was in pain, so I gave him a painkiller, it was cold going into his veins, so it scared him and he tried to yank the tube out. So, he's sedated." Then he paused for effect, "Again."

"He's delirious?" she asked anxiously.

"It's all the drugs he's on. That's what I hope at least," McCoy grabbed his PADD from the table and started running through all the drugs Jim was on, "He's damn well been sedated for four days, I need to start examining him."

Chapel offered a half-smile and turned to look at the door, "Enterprise' bridge crew have been comming me, asking to see him."

"Yeah? Well they'll have to wait a bit longer." He dropped his PADD back onto the table and sat down next to Jim, the bed dipping. "I, uh, found that there doesn't seem to be any damage caused by the extensive surgery, but I can't rule that out until he's properly awake."

…

Three more days passed, and Jim felt more awake than he had in ages; the elephants on his eyelids had decided to wander off.

Smiling, he opened his eyes to find he was alone this time, in some prestige white room, and it smelled horribly of antiseptic.

Wrinkling his nose, Jim attempted to sit up, taking in his new surroundings. Bile rose to his throat and a huge weight smashed onto his head, his bones weighing him to the bed. Cracking open his eyes, everything was blurry, and Jim felt so god damn weak, his muscles were jelly. His mouth fell lax and he felt the rest of his face follow. And his head. Oh god his head was so heavy.

He tried his luck in standing- high pitched wailing in his ears ensued, the floor and ceiling spinning out of control. But he had to try.

Lifting one heavy foot- more like dragging, he made it slowly across to what looked like a door. He approached it, wishing it would open faster so he would have less time to think about how tired he felt, then the doors hissed after what felt like entire minutes.

He stepped out, but everything else was white and smelled exactly the same. The room was spinning more too. And so was his stomach.

He looked further into the distance and saw a red spec- and another, and another- and- or was there only one?

Squinting at his terrible vision, he saw a blue blob emerge from the wall, and after very slowly moving across the floor, the blue blob took off down the corridors towards him at maximum speed.

Jim shrugged inwardly and slowly turned the opposite direction, much of his eyesight zooming in and out like a camera. A loud humming noise started from behind him, making Jim spin around to face the noise; the blue blob was right in front of him, making loud humming sounds and pressing hands all over his body.

As Jim was about to walk away, his legs buckled and he would have gone plummeting to the floor, before something had appeared under his armpits and started hauling him upright. The blue blob covered his entire line of vision now, too close, and Jim shut his eyes. A weird feeling was pressed onto the skin on his face, some strange windy breeze passing through.

"Hhhhumhggh" he moaned quietly. His head lulled backwards as his body gave in, ending up pulling both of them to the floor in a giant heap. Yet, he still couldn't hear what was going on. He tried exceptionally hard to focus, but was growing weaker and weaker, feeling loss of consciousness was imminent.

Eventually, he let go, and his last thoughts were where am I before succumbing to nothingness.

...

"Idiot! You fucking idiot!" Bones was yelling from above him, disturbing his nap. He moaned and tried to turn the other side, but two firm hands grabbed and yanked him onto his back again.

"What the hell were you thinking? Waltzing around here like you haven't just had major surgery?" Bones' shouting was on a roll, "Do you have any idea how long it took me to do that procedure? Are you fucking out of your mind?"

Jim squirmed and shuffled under the array of blankets at the yelling, wanting the man to go away.

"M'sorry..." he muttered, noticing a significant amount of nausea in his stomach.

"Like hell you are! You-"

Jim gagged and vomited over the side of the bed, gripping the sheets so hard he was shaking.

"Oh, okay come on," Bones lay him on his back and ran a scanner over him.

"You've a fever. See what you've done?"

Jim grimaced. "Fffuck o-off, Bones..."

"You plan on dying today too?"

"God…Bones, stop... I didn't... know where I was...okay?" Jim didn't want to listen to this accusing loud voice anymore, he wanted to sleep.

"You didn't know were you were? Well, did it never occur to you why there's a giant red button laying pretty right behind your god damned head."

Jim inched to the side to see what he was talking about. Like he said, there was indeed a big red button on the wall, reading emergency use only labelled on the top.
"M' didn't know… t'was there…"

A hand slammed onto the wall, radiating through Jim's ears. He grunted and shut his eyes.
"You've gotta be some new level kinda stupid to think that wanderin' around after I've only just been elbow deep in your fucking blood!"

Jim ran his hands over his face.
"I said m'sorry… wanna sleep now Bones…"

There was silence from the older man, probably deciding whether or not to rip him a new nostril. Not that he'd want to go back into surgery. Again.
"Probably better that way," he heard was muttered from above him, before a hypo was jammed into his neck. He yelped and was about to rub the sting from the attack, but he passed out before his arm could move an inch from the blanket.

….

Jim had been awake for at least three hours now, but he didn't dare move, in case the furious doctor with an outrageous bedside manner had it in for him.

He was miserable, not being allowed to move, not being allowed to sit up and practically fed only with liquids, and that was if he could ever keep it down. Bones had also restricted everyone from the crew from seeing him until further notice.

Another way of putting it, was Jim was pissed.
McCoy approached him again, for the sixth time in the ten minutes. His features were as usual furrowed and in thought, as if something was wrong.

"You haven't spoken a word since yesterday," Bones acknowledged, folding his arms and staring down at Jim's vulnerable form, "I'm beginning to think there's something wrong, so speak up now before I start doing things," he sneered, "Things that you won't like."

Jim scoffed and rolled onto his side, ignoring the disapproving sounds that his captor was making at the slight movement. "What'd I tell you about moving around without assistance?"

I don't need assistance to roll on my fucking side.

"Might as well keep you there, if you've screwed something up it's your own fault."

Or maybe you're just a terrible doctor and I don't give a fuck what you think.

"Speak to me, Jim."

Just fuck off already.

"Damn it Jim, I'm a doctor, not a psychic! Speak to me before I make you speak to a psychiatrist!"

At least the shrink isn't going to scrutinize my every damn move.

Jim held back a yelp as the bed was suddenly moving back, sending a scowl over McCoy's way. But the callous doctor was as quiet as he was.

Looks like we're both giving each other the silent treatment.

Unexpectedly, Jim jerked as warm hands started moving around his neck, behind his ears, and then a gentle sigh. "The swelling's gone, and I can't find anything wrong, so you're being mute on purpose."

How long did it take for you to figure that one out, smart-ass?

"Just to be sure," a weird circular thing was pressed to the site of his head. Jim scoffed and slapped the hand away, pushing the horrid man away from him and turning the other way.

"Jim." The man started approaching again, "You can't stay like this forever. I can't help you if you keep giving me the cold shoulder."

Jim was literally seeing red at this point.
"What you gonna do, sedate me for another three weeks as a punishment?"

There was a quiet sigh, and the brush of cloth against his arm that was hanging over his body, telling him that Bones was right behind him again.

"Is that what this is about? 'Cos I sedated you?"

"Not just that," he mumbled under his breath.

Fucking isolated me from the rest of the planet and treating me like an insane person.

"Then what? Tell me what's wrong, Jim."

Jim clenched his fists and let out a shaky breath.
"I'm sick of the way you treat me, Bones!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, yanking his body back the right way so he was facing him again, startling the doctor.

"No-one's allowed to see me, no-one can comm me, I'm not allowed to move a fucking toe without being scrutinized, I can't even have my PADD! I'm just stuck here staring at the ceiling as your fucking pet!"

McCoy's expression went through the motions of anger to sadness and settling for calm.
"You scared the hell out of me when you went wandering off, Jim."

"I didn't know what I was doing. I'm lucid now! I know what I'm doing and I'm not going to walk off, I can hardly sit up. I didn't know what I was doing back then, I was drugged to hell and delusional!"

McCoy pursed his lips together, bouncing on heels in position for a bit before turning to the wall panel. "McCoy to bridge, Mister Spock can you spare a few minutes?"

Jim looked suspiciously at Bones. Surely he wouldn't have changed his mind this quickly?

"Spock here. Affirmative, what do you require?"

McCoy glanced down at Jim's scowling face. "The Captain's lonely and won't shut up about talking to outsiders, care to come down and keep him company?"

Jim smirked and wiggled back down under the blankets in satisfaction.
Finally, someone he could talk to. Hell, even Spock going over quantum physics for twelve hours straight would be better than Bones lecturing him.

"I will relieve myself of duty only with the Captain's permission."

McCoy rolled his eyes and looked towards Jim, who was copying the expression. Carefully, he rolled back onto his side and shouted, "You're the Captain now Spock, you decide."

You better fucking agree to it or so god help me when I get my position back you'll be cleaning toilets for three days.

"The lack of situation on the bridge and the conditions of the Captain require that it would be logical to visit him. I will be down immediately. Spock out."

Jim sighed in relief. Spock should be relieved too, since he's not, you know, gonna be cleaning toilets anytime soon.

McCoy stomped back over to him with a scowl on his face. "Happy, Jim?"

Jim nodded and dipped his head back onto the pillow. He was always good at getting his own way.

…..

Jim lay sprawled out across the bed, arms and legs dangling off the side because that was how far from the bed he was permitted to go.

Finally, a miraculous being sauntered through the door, to solve his never-ending boredom (or loneliness, but Jim would never admit that.)

"Spock," Jim acknowledged after the Vulcan had taken no more than three steps into the room.

"Captain." He took a seat next to Jim, looking as blank and unreadable as ever. Perhaps guess the emotion would be a new game he could play.

McCoy appeared from behind Spock, "Jim, I gotta go with Christine to update Starfleet 'bout what's happenin'," he paused and turned to Spock, "Do not let him out of your sight."

Spock gave a curt nod and returned to Jim's side, as McCoy slowly and cautiously left.

"How's our ship?"

Spock craned his head to the side slightly at the question, "We have not received orders from Starfleet as of yet. They are beginning to ask for shore leave in the meantime."

Jim stretched out and flopped onto his side, "Ahh, let 'em, it's gonna be a while before I'm let outta here."

Spock watched his every movement, "The decision is ultimately yours, Jim."

Jim's eyes lit up, "You called me Jim!"

Spock was suddenly revaluating the dialogue over the past 3 years, "That is your name, is it not?"

Jim flapped a hand in dismissal, "Yeah, but I mean, you're the Captain now, Spock!" he punched him in the arm half-heartedly, "It's your choice."

Spock shuffled back, "Very well, I will begin preparations."

Jim nodded and rolled back onto his back. He really wished he could go there with them, it's been such a long time...

But over-protective Bones won't let him put a toe on the ground.

He looked around briefly, and there was no one there but them. Better make the most of Bones not being here...

"Hey Spock?"

The Vulcan twisted towards him.

"D'ya mind walking me 'round the block and back? My legs are achey as hell."

Spock contemplated this,

"Are you not allowed out of sight?"

"Yeah. But you can come with me. I mean, or are you not capable of watching me?"

Pushing his ego would always work my way.

"I will guide you. But you will not be allowed out of my sight."

Jim sat up immediately, gesturing for Spock to silence the alarms.

This plan was awesome!

Not only was he gonna get out of bed, but he was going to walk out the door!

"Be careful, Captain," Spock warned, realising he was already drained of colour. But that was normal, not being up and about at all for more than a week.

Jim gripped onto Spock's arms to steady him, then swung over his legs, instantly falling forward and would have ended up on the floor if Spock wasn't in the way.

"Are you certain you are functioning adequately enough to stand?"

Jim chuckled slightly, he wasn't going to throw this chance away.

"'Course, just takes some getting used to, you know? Now help me up."

So, Jim was hauled onto his feet, and the second his toes touched the marble, the world caved in on him; his feet buckling as he plummeted to the ground. Strong hands nabbed him and kept him upright before his face impacted with the ground, however.

"Captain. You are not well enough for this."

"Pffft," Jim scoffed, "Gimme a chance, Spock! I'm getting there,"

Either Spock was too trusting in Jim or was convinced Jim still had more control over him, because he let him continue his journey to the door.

Half way across the room, slow steps and a very patient Vulcan were a good mix. Jim was glad it was Spock helping him and not Bones.

Speaking of, he really hoped Bones wouldn't be back anytime soon.

Left foot. Right foot. Left-breathe-right foot, left foot-breathe, right-breathe-breathe-"

"Do you require seating?"

Jim almost jumped out of his skin at the voice.

"Ahh...M'nooo'sssokaay,"

This time Jim wasn't ushered on.

"Are you quite alright?"

Jim took a breath.

Just let me walk.

"Door," Jim exhaled, eyes fixated on the rectangular goal.

"You must rest, Jim." A hand unexpectedly reached to his shoulder, and he flinched away.

"You... nerve...pinch...?" he tried to catch his breath.

"No, Jim." the hand only steadied him and ushered him on again.

Eventually Jim was facing the corridor again, fluorescent white lights bleeding into his darkening vision, like flashes of lighting in the middle of the night.

"How are you feeling?" The voice of Spock asked next to him.

"Sssso brigh'..." Jim slurred, feeling his legs wobbling.

But he pushed on and continued walking.

"Where' crew," Jim looked around.

"This is Starfleet Medical."

Jim scowled.

"I know mmm'hat..." he sucked in more air, "Ss'uhh'sss'ahhh a... liil...mmm..mahhh...looowyee"

"Captain?" Spock's voice was thick with unhidden concern.

"I neee'sheeee...aah... reew.."

He lazily sluggishly moved his head to the side, everything looked the same.

"Mmm..ghhh-ahh neaa ahggg...cahgaag"

At that moment, Jim's legs completely went to jelly, he fell to the side and landed with a crack as his head collided with the metal ground.

He felt a million miles away from everyone, voices and sounds being projected as echoes, in a dream-state.

In slow motion, hands were on his wrist then on his face, saying words his brain didn't bother to take in. They were just sounds.

And then everything was gone like a light.

...

"Captain?" Spock shook him harder, grasping a limp arm.

"Captain?" he shouted with more urgency.

Nothing.

Deciding to prop him against the wall, Spock put one arm under Jim's chest and a hand behind his head-before retracted it completely in surprise.

Thick layers of blood were all over his hand, and from a quick glance to Jim, it was easy to see it was coming out of his head, pooling onto the floor like a tap filling a sink with water.

Immediately, Spock grabbed the communicator from his pocket and hailed McCoy, staring nervously at it, failing to battle the emotions threatening to show its face.

"McCoy here," came the reply, "Spock?" it was now laced with suspicion.

"Doctor, you must come immediately, the Captain is injured."

There was a silence followed by a string of curses.

"Fuck! Why did I leave him alone with you?! Where the hell is he?"

Spock swallowed the insult, "Just outside his designated area," he instructed, watching the crimson liquid take over the marble.

The line ended, and all both men could do, was wait until a doctor, and likely a very angry one, arrived.

Spock shuffled closer, gently shrugging off Jim's overcoat, making sure he didn't jostle his head around too much. Then, he carefully maneuverered the coat under the head wound, pressing it as a compress until McCoy arrived.

…

"Damn it," McCoy ran to the commotion of... well, two men. He took a single glance at Jim and clenched his teeth, "Damn it, Spock!"

The Vulcan's reply was to very slightly shake his head, glaring at Jim and not taking his eyes off him. Whether he was too afraid to look at McCoy was a different question.

"Trust you to be left alone with him for two minutes and he's gone fucked himself up," McCoy grumbled, running a scanner over him, "Incompetent idiots, the both of you."

The Vulcan glanced up at him.

That struck a cord.

"He had given me the impression that he could roam the building, if under guidance."

McCoy scoffed, "And you believed him?"

Sensing the rhetorical question, Spock didn't reply.

"Alright, looks like the wound reopened but nothing serious," McCoy mumbled, tucking the scanner away and reaching for another tool, "I'll use a protoplaser to stem the bleeding and get him up to medbay. Again." he said, with an emphasis on again. He was losing count of how many times he had dragged the man back up there.

Gently, he tugged at the compress tucked under his head, putting a finger there and running the device over it.

"What actually happened?" he asked over his shoulder, "I mean, I know he fell but what symptoms?"

"He was slurring his words. Shaking."

McCoy furrowed his eyebrows and stuffed the protoplaser back in his medkit. "You carrying or calling for a hoverbed?"

The answer to that was clear as Spock only sat staring at Jim's form.

Long, loud groaning noises emitted from Jim's lips, McCoy's eyes snapped up to meet his.

"Mmmmmrghn..."

McCoy gave him a reassuring squeeze of his hand, "Hey, kid."

Jim sluggishly dropped his head to the other side, groaning again.

"Hey, hey, don't move your head," he turned to Spock, "Hold his head still while I call for a hover bed, will you?"

Spock nodded and shuffled behind Jim, gripping his head tightly which left Jim with his eyes squeezed shut and moaning.

His eyes fluttered open and shut again, desperate to stay awake.

McCoy slipped one hand into Jim's, grabbing his communicator with the other.

Jim didn't react.

Frowning, he called down to sickbay.

"McCoy to medical, I need assistance in the uh..." he looked around for where he was.

"Corridor D3" Spock spoke loudly.

"Uh...yeah, what he said." he glanced at Spock with a brief thanks expression.

"We're on our way down, doctor."

"Bring a spinal board, there's a potential injury," he quickly added, glancing down at Jim, who didn't seem aware of McCoy gripping his hand. Stuffing the communicator away, McCoy took the chance to run a scanner over him again.

"Jim?" McCoy looked for recognition in those eyes, staring blankly at the ceiling, what with Spock firmly holding him still.

"Mmm," Jim hummed tiredly. McCoy continued his gaze for a few more seconds before opening his med kit, taking a needle and shifting closer. He took his arm, gently piercing his skin.

Jim didn't budge.

Taking a breath, McCoy asked "You feel that?"

Jim sighed, "Feel what?"

Gritting his teeth, McCoy threw the needle away and picked out a larger one, shuffling to his leg. He poked him with it, and again Jim didn't move.

"You gotta be kidding me..." McCoy muttered, throwing that needle away too, grabbing the scanner and going over him with it again.

"Wha' goin' on..." Jim mumbled sleepily.

"Uhh, you're gonna be okay," he said, not so sure himself. "How's your breathing Jim?"

Jim shifted his head, making Spock clamp down on it harder, causing him to whine.

"Fine!" he squeaked.

"Okay, tell me if you're strugglin',"

So, McCoy sat and stared at Jim, unable to do anything else.

...

It was a loud buzzing noise that woke Jim first. His body felt fuzzy and weird, so he couldn't tell if his requests to his limbs to move were working.

Opening his eyes, the world was surprisingly crystal clear. Several people in white uniforms were accompanying the top of his vision now. McCoy was holding something down against Jim's forehead, expression more serious than he had ever seen. He realised Spock was still holding his head when he tried to turn to look around him.

But then Spock moved into his line of sight, and Jim was confused. Eyes darting around manically, he tried to make sense of the situation.

Something was around his head, and touching his neck.

"I can't move my head!" Jim almost shouted, trying to struggle but he couldn't tell if his body was responding. "Why can't I feel anything?"

"It's alright, try to calm down sir," a nurse who was practically on top of him said.

Now wasn't a time where Jim could construct jokes about her position.

"Why can't I move?!" he bellowed, yanking his head forward in an attempt to get out. It was when he had rocked his head to the side with too much force that the rest of his body automatically followed. That was when he realised his entire body was wrapped in straps against a board.

"What the fuck!" Jim watched his arms and tried to move them to plan an escape, but nothing was happening. "What the hell is wrong with me?!"

At that moment, Jim was hoisted onto his back again, McCoy preparing a hypo in the distance was the first thing he saw.

"No! I don't... want..." he hissed through clenched teeth, trying hard to get his legs to respond. "Fuck!"

A hand against his shoulder made his head jerk to the side.

"Easy, easy," McCoy muttered from the side of him, pressing a hand to his neck.

"No!" Jim shouted desperately, "Please!"

"You gotta calm down kid, or I'm gonna have to make ya."

Jim spent 3 seconds trying to relax before the desperate thoughts of not being able to move overwhelmed him again.

Jim sobbed, "What's happening to m-me?"

Another sound of a strap tightening from below him made him attempt to sit up but screamed in frustration at not being able to move.

He caught someone nodding at McCoy and the sting to his neck couldn't be stopped in time.

Everything went black.

...

The second time Jim woke up, his head felt weird, and instantly he could tell that something was off. And he still couldn't move.

Tearing his eyes open, the only thing Jim saw was the floor. A very blurry one at that. He was exhausted, and wanted to fall back to sleep, but his heart was hammering at the position he was in.

Counting the tiles on the floor, Jim began to get irritated with the cushioned padded mould that was pushing against his face, and realised it was probably there as a comfy alternative to his head being flopped at the end of the bed. He thought some more, trying to make sense of where he was, and concluded that he was lying on his stomach, face in a cushioned head rest hole so whoever it was had access to his back. Or the back of his head. What did they want?

He couldn't move, they could do whatever they wanted to him and he couldn't defend himself. Like an experiment.

He was so vulnerable like this.

Strange, I don't remember making an appointment for a massage table.

"You there Jim?"

Ah, it's McCoy, apparently came for a massage too.

"Mm'ere"

"Thought so, heart rate just picked up out of nowhere. I'll be done in a few minutes, alright?"

So, not a massage then.

"Don' put m'to sleep" he mumbled, tired. "M' just waking up..."

He heard McCoy scoff.

"Like hell you are. I need to finish this."

Before he could argue, he was out like a light. Clearly the hypo went into his body and he was too numb to feel it.

...

The third time he woke up, he instantly recognised the jagged edges of an oxygen mask pressed against his face. Everything felt dreamy, he was definitely dreaming. Cracking open his eyes, he noticed it was pitch black, and he was propped upright on a biobed.

There were grey moving figures around the room, obviously they were goats.

He wanted to touch the goat, they were so cool! And fluffy, and goats talked to him. He wanted the goat.

"Hello" Jim croaked out with a tiny voice. Seconds later, a tall figure was beside him, a hand against his forehead.

"Hi Jim," whispered a voice, clearly not wanting to alarm the goats.

Where did it go? The goat was gone.

"Where'sss th' goat?" Jim slurred, feeling sad.

"What do you mean, Jim?" the female voice spoke up a bit.

"I'm in a dream I think" Jim observed his unreal goat dream "I really want the goat please"

There was silence in the blackened room, apart from the steady beeping of machines.

"Goat?" Jim asked again. He was in a parallel world full of goats. "I don't feel real" Jim whispered, "I feel funny" then he paused, "Goat."

The figure held up something against his head, which started making a weird beeping noise.

"I... mmm goat" he breathed, trying to ignore the beeping.

It suddenly stopped.

"Hang on, Jim," the voice came back, then the figure walked off.

Jim frowned, he felt really vulnerable and his head felt swimmy. Nothing definitely was real, but all Jim could think about was goats.

Shortly after, a figure that had a dark blue tint to it came into view, followed by the other grey figure he saw earlier.

"Hi" Jim greeted them sleepily, "I feel... goat"

Jim almost screamed when a harsh light suddenly flicked on in one of his eyes, waving around, then moved to the other eye.

"Go away!" he shrieked, feeling even more tired than before. What really confused Jim was how the world started falling down. In fact, he was falling backwards and came face to face with the ceiling. And there was no goat. There was mumbling that Jim couldn't make out, and a lot of movement.

"I... dreaming..." he exhaled in awe. Hands clasped the side of his face, fingers pushing under his jaw until his mouth magically opened all by itself!

"Augh eta mahik!" he tried to speak, the dark blue figure had put something in his mouth to stop his tongue from moving!

More mumbling, and Jim started to feel anxious. Another tune of beeping on his left, another one his right, then suddenly pressure was gone and he could close his mouth again.

A sting to his neck.

"Ow" he muttered, growing frustrated at the beeping. And another. And another. Then more movement to the side of him, and his head started growing fuzzy.

He blinked sluggishly, trying to stay awake. The mask was pulled off, only for it to be strapped back seconds later. Except this mask tasted funny, it was like fruit.

"Strawberries" Jim muttered tiredly, feeling himself getting pulled under. The beeping started echoing, and suddenly he was very far away.

"G...gh...gugghh..."

Then there was nothing.

...

"Is he asleep?" a nurse had asked.

"I think so," McCoy muttered, checking the monitors again, "Thanks for getting me."

"What's wrong with him?"

McCoy scowled, "Aren't you supposed to be a nurse?" he sneered, "Obviously he's had an allergic reaction to a drug you've given him."

The nurse gave a quiet "okay" and scurried off, making a hasty retreat, leaving McCoy to his patient.

"Damn it, can't you go one day without something happening?" he grumbled to the unconscious man, "I better be getting fifty damn commendations and three medals of honours by the time I've nursed your negligent sensitive ass back to health," he sighed and gave another just-in-case shot to Jim's thigh, then left him to sleep the rest of the night through.

...

Jim awoke with a start, a sharp pain throbbing behind his eyes.

"Uggghhh..."

"Hey Jimbo, you done givin' us heart attacks yet?"

He opened his eyes to see McCoy looming over him. "You remember what happened a few hours ago?"

Jim stared up at McCoy looking remarkably stoic in such ways that would impress Spock.

"Bones" he whispered, hoarseness of his throat becoming known to him. The fact he couldn't move a single limb also became known to him. He glanced down at his fingers, willing them to obey, but they refused.

"Bones" he repeated in urgency.

"You done screwed up your spinal cord, kid."

"I can't move... my legs and arms won't move... but..." he sat up, arms limply dragging across the mattress, "I can feel my stomach..."

"I know," Bones shoved him back down, "Partial paralysis is what you've done now, idiot."

Jim's throat tightened, and for once it wasn't allergies.

"Can you fix it?" he asked with an unmanly squeak.

'I don't know," Bones sat next to him, dipping the bed down.

"But I'm gonna damn well try."