McCoy startles awake, pulling at the kink in his neck painfully. Five days of sleeping on a hard wooden chair isn't doing his body any favors but he can't bring himself to leave in search of a proper bed. He leans forward to check Kirk's bandages but stops short when he notices a pair of blue eyes staring intently back at him. It's the first time Jim's been awake since he was shot and Leonard can't keep the smile off his face. He hasn't felt relief like this in a long time.

"You stuck around," mumbles Kirk, like he thought McCoy would leave the second he pulled the bullet from his body or worse wouldn't have come at all. He knows he's a grumpy bastard who's hard to get along with but he did get into this profession to help people, no matter how annoying the patient is.

"It's not very professional to leave a man so close to death, even if he is a troublesome little shit like you." He doesn't mention that it soothed his guilt some to keep an eye on the kid. He knows assuming any responsibility for situations Jim gets himself into is a full time job that will drive him to an early grave, but he does bear some responsibility in this case. Even if he didn't outright ask for vengeance he can't help but feel as though he steered Kirk towards Ayel and the bullet he had waiting.

Jim wants to laugh but thinks better or it. Breathing is an effort at the moment and indulging in something as simple as laughing promises swift and absolute pain for the moment of merriment. "How bad is it?" The words are soft and hesitant, as though Kirk's just learning how to use his tongue. He has a rough idea, remembers the blood, the unconcealed look of forlorn on Spock's face and the blue streak McCoy swore while digging around in his gut, none to gently, for the bullet.

"Bad!" snaps McCoy like he's scolding a child. Any injury to these people is bad but trust Kirk to take it to the next level. The gunslinger has a little bit of color now, but the thought of Kirk as pale as a ghost haunts him. "You could have died!"

Kirk waves off his concern. "I wasn't worried, I knew you'd save me." Deep down, he really believes that, like he can jump and know for certain that the doctor and Spock will be there to catch him. He hasn't felt that sure about someone since his father would toss him up in the air as a small child in an attempt to touch the sky.

"Of all the stupid, harebrained..." sputters Leonard. He presses the heel of his hands against his eyes to try and relieve some of the pressure building in his brain. He's not a human safety net damn it, and he's not sure he can shoulder the personal responsibility of keeping Jim safe.

"Who's Joanna?" Jim asks, drastically changing the course of the conversation.

The question throws McCoy, his brain unable to process exactly what he's being asked. A tense silence fills the tent. It feels like a violation to hear his little girl's name come out of someone else's mouth now. He doesn't even feel he has the right to speak it. "How do you know about her?"

Jim looks concerned. McCoy looks like he's about to fall off the edge of a cliff and he isn't sure if the push will be liberating or deadly. "You called her name out in your sleep. Who is she, Bones?"

"She's my daughter," confesses McCoy. He can feel the back of his throat burn and he can't quite swallow past the lump that's forming. That phantom cold stiff weight is back in his arms and he wants to pull it tight to his chest and breathe life back into it.

Kirk sits up a little higher, wincing as his side pulls. "I didn't know you have a daughter." They'd researched their options in doctors before they chose McCoy. Admittedly, it was hastily done research, the clock working against them as Pike's life slipped away. There was no mention of the doctor in Federation City having a family and there was no sign within the residence of the child. McCoy never once begged or demanded to be released on the grounds that he had a child waiting at home for him.

"I don't," he says sharply. It's more sad than bitter and spoken with a finality that's hard to ignore.

"But you just said..."

McCoy suddenly becomes infatuated with the ground, his fingers spinning the ring on his last finger. "She died. A couple of years ago." When did the days turn to years? He can still feel his baby girl in his arms like it was yesterday, like he just welcomed her into the world.

Kirk ponders the information for a while. He feels like he's prying, digging into something he has no business touching but it feels too important leave alone. "How did it happen?"

There's honest concern in Jim's voice and he can't seem to find it in himself to tell the kid to mind his own damn business. Maybe if he's honest about it, Kirk will realize McCoy's not the miracle worker he believes him to be. "She was five years old when Rigelian fever swept through our town. Kids and the elderly are the most susceptible and without treatment it's almost always fatal. There was a shortage of the vaccine and the god damn shipment was late. I couldn't do anything to save her." Tears are flowing freely down his face and his hands instinctively form a cradle to hold his sweet little girl. "She needed me to save her and I failed."

Jim reaches out and grabs the doctor's hand, giving him an anchor in his grief. He gets it, the helplessness of watching someone you love die. He knows the sorrow, the unending ache that's always there threatening to burn you alive. He's also filled with rage; knows who's really responsible for the doctor's anguish because it has Nero's fingerprints all over it and if not Nero specifically someone just like him. Nero is the manifestation of everything that's wrong in the world and there doesn't seem to be an end of the nameless faceless carbon copies that ascribe to his values. Jim realizes he's lucky; he can put a name and a face to the monster pulling the strings in his life, McCoy has an illness who sure was sabotaged by some anonymous foe. Desperate people pay a lot of money when needed medicines are in short supply and Nero's built most of his empire off of selling those cures to wealthy grateful people while innocent people are left to suffer the consequences. "I'm going to make sure that doesn't happen to anyone else," promises Kirk, with every fiber of his being.

McCoy looks up at that, makes sure his eyes are locked with Jim's when he asks, "Is going after Nero really worth it?" Nero seems bigger than anything one gang can take on. There's going to be more bloodshed and without doubt, loss of life and it's not even their war to wage. These people are smart, especially the kid, surely they could find a town somewhere and reinvent themselves into upstanding members of society. They could have families, live the dream instead of hiding out dodging bullets and living like villains.

"It is," insists Kirk with more sincerity than he's ever shown, because if it's the last thing he ever does, he will make the son of a bitch pay.

"Why?"

"Nero murdered my father." The statement hangs heavy in the air. "He was the sheriff in Federation City and when Nero couldn't buy him, he rode in with his gang, dragged him out in the street for the whole town to see, and hung him." The swagger is gone, leaving only resentment and anger in its wake. Kirk is raw and exposed in a way he strived never to be but doesn't think McCoy will use it against him.

The sting seems fresh but McCoy hasn't heard this story before and the town is filled with gossipers. If the local sheriff had been murdered in cold blood recently, he would have been assaulted with the tale in the three years he's called the town home. "How old were you?"

"I was six years old when the son of a bitch made me watch my father hang." There's a bitterness coming off of Jim, that McCoy is sure will never go away even if the kid does manage to get his revenge. The wound is so deep and scared, it will never fade. Leonard knows exactly what that devastation feels like.

"Just what in the hell do you think you're doing?" demands McCoy, storming into the cookhouse. The day had started out fine, but he should have known it would take Jim all of a minute to throw it into chaos.

Jim freezes in his tracks. He didn't hear the doctor ride in. Once he was out of the woods, Leonard had returned to town with the looming threat that he'd be back every couple of days to check up on Jim. Kirk feels like the threat has worked better than it should. The uncertainty of the doctor's visits makes it harder to know when he has to play the perfect patient and when he can carry on as he likes. Now he's caught in the act and unsure how to get himself out of the doctor's dog house. "Um... getting something to eat?"

McCoy stands there with his arms crossed glaring. He has half a mind to tie Jim to the bed. Not only would it be beneficial for the patient's recovery but it would do wonder for his nerves too... and turnabout is fair play. The crazy fool has no business walking around camp when he should be in bed recovering. Jim's already used up all of Leonard's patience for his brand of shit the last time he came for a check up. He can't be held responsible for what happens when his last nerve finally gives out. Life is precious and Jim treats it like a game he can't lose. "Is that a question or an answer?"

"An answer?" says Kirk sheepishly. He doesn't believe in no-win scenarios but this might be the exception to the rule.

"Do you have a death wish?" McCoy asks, because if that's the case, he can throw his hands up in surrender now and not waste anymore of his time trying to keep Kirk's insides where they belong. He's reminded of his mother's warning that you can take a horse to water but you can't make him drink.

"No... I do have a wish for chicken though," Jim counters with half-hearted defiance. He was just looking for food, it wasn't as though he was getting ready to rob a bank... yet.

McCoy shakes his head; it's like dealing with children. "What part of stay in bed is too difficult for you to understand? You were shot, Jim, almost died. Running around here is only going to tear the wound open again."

"I'm hardly running anywhere," counters Kirk with mild disgust. Getting shot was inconvenient enough, having to recuperate on McCoy's time line is putting a serious damper on their progress to take out Nero. He's put them all in this position, waiting, worrying over him and he's limited by his own body on how he can make that right. Right now he's limping at a tortoise's pace, not even close to running because if he could run, he knows he wouldn't get caught if he could run.

Leonard points towards the door. "Bed." He's not beyond employing his parent voice, especially if Jim keeps acting like a delinquent.

Jim stands firm. "Chicken dinner." He's not sure it's a good idea to lose too many fights to the doctor. It's not only going to set a bad precedent for their relationship but for the rest of the crew too.

"Bed. And you should only be eating soup, which I'm sure someone around here will be happy to bring to you in bed."

"I'm not ten years old, Bones," he complains.

"Could have fooled me." Jim opens his mouth to protest further but Leonard raises his hand to silence him. "Bed now, or I call Spock in here and have him pick you up and carry back to bed."

Kirk glares fiercely. "You wouldn't dare."

"I would," confirms the doctor. He's not above playing dirty if it saves Kirk from himself. Better yet, he knows he can get anyone to do anything he asks around here if it's for the benefit of Jim. He'd even resort to getting Spock to do his bidding despite the fact that the pointed eared Vulcan is second on the list of people he absolutely wants to avoid owing any favors to.

"Fine," snaps Jim with finality. He can't argue against the protectiveness of the gang and believes when push comes to shove in this scenario, they'll take McCoy's side. He's not sure he likes the idea of the doctor being able to supersede his orders in regards to his people.

"Fine," Leonard agrees, as smug look of satisfaction creeping across his face as Kirk begins to hobble towards the door.

Jim pauses to look pointedly at his jailer. "Are you coming?"

"I'll be there in a minute," he insists. He's sure retribution will be swift once Kirk can actually walk more than twenty feet but for the moment he's going to enjoy it. He waits until he sees the Captain actually cross the threshold of his tent before going to the stove and spooning out a helping of soup Sulu has been making for the patient. He slices off a chicken leg and drops it in the bowl. He can be reasonable and compromise slightly.

Jim's sitting in bed pouting when McCoy brings him his soup. The pout disappears though when he's handed his lunch. "So what's been happening in the big bad city?" he asks around a mouthful of soup. For being bandits, things around camp are rather boring when you're forced to stay in bed and the only way to stave off the boredom is to live vicariously through everyone else.

"Don't talk with your mouth full," lectures McCoy as he raids the cupboards for the supplies to change Jim's dressing.

Kirk frowns. Usually there's a story about some moron who injured himself doing something stupid that McCoy needs to rant about or a second hand tale about some of the more interesting people Gaila has met, but today the doctor seems tense at mention of the town. "What's going on, Bones?"

Leonard curses Jim's perceptiveness; his problems aren't Kirk's concern, especially when he should be focusing on getting back on his feet. He paces back and forth a few times, chewing on his bottom lip. "I'm worried."

"I can see that."

"The town has been pushing settlement in the lands to the north and the first wagons of settlers came in last week. Half of them were sick with Rigelian Fever. If it spreads... the town can't handle an outbreak. I don't have the supplies to stem an epidemic, Jim. The town will be decimated." He's lived through it once and isn't sure he can do it again. He's already been approached by suppliers he's sure work for Nero, about a guaranteed supply of medicine he can be provided with for a substantial price. The average person won't be able to afford it and McCoy's financial resources are limited since the divorce; he can't secure enough on his own to help very many people. The mayor and sheriff have been made aware of the situation but don't seem to share his concern; they seem to think things will work out. Leonard knows they won't.

Jim's quiet. He knows what this means for the town, for McCoy personally and curses his injury all the more. He knows how to ease the doctor's plight but not if he can barely sit on a horse. The weight of being declared Captain is sitting heavily upon him. The solution is clear but asking the others to jump in the fray without him seems unthinkable. "It'll be okay, Bones."

Kirk's optimism is infectious and he can't help but feel slightly hopeful. "Yeah, how do you know?" he asks, because maybe if he knows for sure, can see the silver lining Jim sees for himself, he can be that sure too.

"Cause I know."

McCoy sits down next to Jim and lifts up his shirt before unwrapping the bandages. It looks better than it did when Scotty came to get him but it's far from alright. He probes around to make sure things are healing properly and rolls his eyes as Jim hisses in pain. "Don't be such an infant." He rewraps it in clean bandages and helps Kirk lay down.

"What's the prognosis?"

"You'll live," huffs McCoy. Deep down, he's really relieved, despite what it probably means for his own life expectancy. Meeting Jim Kirk has taken years off his life.

"I thought so," says Kirk with unwavering assurance.

Leonard tries really hard not to picture Jim lying there covered in blood, eyes bright with pain. It was very close and he's not sure Kirk appreciates just how close he came to death. "You'll be back to being a menace in no time."

"Good." Jim stifles a yawn, his eyes growing heavy. "I've got things to do."

"Yeah, I'll bet you do," mutters the doctor as he watches Kirk drift off to sleep.