Four hours and another forced meal later, Jim again stood by his mom's bed, fingers gripping the bedrail. Bones had assured him that she was stable and would sleep through the night and then again urged him to get some rest. He didn't want to sleep and he was damn tired of Bones trying to tell him what to do. He was beginning to regret ever having let the man come with him.

"Don't you understand? As screwed up as she is, my mom's all I have left. I want to stay. I need to stay."

Bones eyed him critically. "How is she 'screwed up?'" Of course, he hadn't missed the offhand comment.

Jim did his best to shrug off what would likely be the beginning of another inquisition. "The same way all moms seem screwed up to their sons, I guess."

McCoy's eyes fixed on his and apparently decided this wasn't the moment to press. "Jim, you've been up for almost two days straight. Your mom's doing well. I'll stay here tonight, just down the hall – the night staff will call me if there's any change in her condition. The best thing you can do is to get some rest so that you're fresh in the morning when she wakes up."

It made sense, of course. Let Bones and the other docs take care of her. He could simply close his eyes and relax and let sleep and dreams . . . he felt himself nodding off and jerked upright, shaking his head to clear it. No, he had to stay, had to be here for his mom the same way she should have been there for him.

"I'm staying here." Defiant and uncompromising.

Bones' body posture seemed to slump with reluctant acquiescence. "Okay, Jim. I'll see about getting you a cot."

Minutes later, he was settled into the uncomfortable anti-grav bed, covered with a light blanket, listening to the soft hum of the machines watching over his mother.

Bones touched him lightly on the forearm. "They gave me a cot in the on-call room down the hall. I'm going to get some sleep – you do the same, okay."

Great advice but sleep wouldn't come. Every time a monitor bleeped or a nurse entered the room, he was instantly alert, questioning the medical personnel, making sure nothing had changed.

The sound of a faint rustle beside him jerked him into an upright position, eyes immediately darting toward the bed.

"Jim, it's okay," Bones assured him in a whisper. "It's just me. I came to check on your mom."

"What time is it?"

"A few minutes after three." McCoy stepped closer to his mother's bed and, after a minute, returned to his side. "Vitals are stable, brain function is strong, levels of consciousness indicators are increasing. That's good news. Which means," he continued, "that you need to get some sleep. The nurses told me you've been awake all night."

"I'm afraid that if I go to sleep, something bad will happen. I know it's crazy but I can't help it."

"I know." Bones gently pushed against his shoulder. "Come on, lie back down; if you can't sleep, at least try to get some rest."

Grudgingly, Jim complied. He was tired.

"Close your eyes."

He did as told. He didn't need to see, his ears would tell him all he needed to know. Suddenly, there was the unpleasant but all too familiar pressure of a hypo against his neck, and even as he tried to pull away, strong hands easily resisted his struggle.

"Sshh. It's just a little something to help you rest."

"Damn you, Bones. I told you . . . I needed . . . I need . . . stay . . . wake . . . ." Jim could and would fight nearly everything and charm everything else – except Bones' goddamn hypo. The last thing he remembered was Bones pulling the blanket up to his chin.

*****

Six hours of enforced sleep later, Jim was still bitching at Bones for the sleight of hand and hypo that had knocked him out.

"Goddammit, Bones, you had no right to dope me up."

"Keep your voice down," Bones growled. "We're in a hospital. Patients are trying to sleep."

"My voice wouldn't be up if you hadn't slipped me the hypo."

"Jim, you'd been awake for nearly 48 hours." Bones remained maddeningly calm. "You weren't doing yourself or your mom any good."

"It wasn't your decision."

"You weren't in any state to make decisions, at least not rational ones."

"I'm not a child."

"Of course you're not. But you were beyond tired, under a tremendous amount of stress, and not willing or able to rest on your own. Your body craved the sleep; I only helped you along."

"You can't just hypo me whenever you feel like it." Yeah, he was pissed and he knew that Bones would expect a certain level of argument and protest. But down deep, Jim knew the sleep had done him good.

"Well, I did. And given your feistiness this morning, I can see it was the right decision." Bones couldn't resist a slight smirk.

"You still should have asked me first."

"And you would have refused and then where would we be?"

"At least it would have been my decision. I don't need you or anyone else deciding what's best for me."

Bones nodded at his still-sleeping mom. "Is that what she did?"

Jim couldn't stop the hiss of disdain that came out of his mouth. "That wasn't her problem."

"So what was her problem?"

Would Bones never quit? "She wasn't around much when I was growing up." It seemed a relatively safe answer.

"Who took care of you when she was gone?"

"At first, friends or neighbors, sometimes a sitter." It was hard to remember them – today they were simply a blur of faces that passed through his life, making it no better or worse for their time in it. At the time, he'd resented them because they weren't his mom and resented his mom for leaving him in their care.

"And later?"

Later, he would have done anything to have them back. They were distant but kind, dispassionate but thoughtful, unloving but caring – a solid bridge between his mother's increasingly abbreviated trips home.

"Was it Frank?" Bones prompted. "Did he take care of you when your mom was away?"

Of course Bones would figure it out. The man wasn't an idiot. And that meant that Bones would probably figure out the rest of it, the whole damn thing. He couldn't meet Bones' eyes. "Yeah."

*****

Shortly after they'd returned from breakfast, Bones' voice sounded from the chair on the other side of his mom's bed. "Jim, she's waking up."

He jumped out of his chair, his warm hands instinctively clasping her cold one. "Mom, can you hear me? It's Jim." Over and over he repeated the words, willing her eyes to open, to recognize him. It was more nerve-racking than he'd expected, realizing his mother was only moments from being conscious. Would she be happy to see him?

A nurse entered the room, followed by a doctor. Jim tried to stay out of the way as the medical professionals analyzed his mother as if she were a prized piece of art. The neurologist, who introduced herself as Dr. Kyoto, injected a hypo.

"Keep talking to her," the doctor encouraged.

After a minute, Jim thought he saw his mom's eyelids flicker. "Mom?"

Eyes blinked open, darted around in what Jim took to be terror. She opened her mouth, tried to talk but only incomprehensive garble emerged. She struggled to move and, when she discovered that the right side of her body wouldn't comply, it only increased her panic. Soon, she was thrashing and trying to talk and becoming more terrified by the moment. The neurologist administered a couple of hypos in succession and, almost instantaneously his mother started to relax. At first, Jim thought the doctors had once again knocked her out. Thus, he was surprised when she opened her eyes and focused on him.

"Jim?" Although only the left side of his mother's face and mouth moved, her speech sounded almost normal. From what Bones had told him earlier, the fact that he could understand her was due more to medication than actual improvement.

"Yes, it's Jim."

Her brows knitted in apparent confusion. "Why are you here?"

Jim couldn't decide whether she was happy to see him. "You're sick, mom. They called me."

"Sorry."

"There's nothing to be sorry about."

"Winona." The female doctor spoke from across the bed. "I'm Dr. Kyoto; I'm a neurologist. Yesterday morning you experienced a stroke. That's what's causing you to have trouble speaking and moving. The tests we've done indicate it's not permanent and we expect you to make a full recovery. You're going to be able to speak and move just like before. Do you understand?"

A nod.

"It may be a bit hard for a couple of days, until the medications start taking hold. Try to be patient. I promise you it will get better and the more you relax and let the meds work, the quicker it will happen. If you have any questions, feel free to ask me or any of the staff here, okay?"

"Okay."

The doctor motioned Jim away from the bed. "I'm not sure how much she understands right now. We'll run some more tests today. In the meantime, try to reassure her that she's going to be fine. What I told her is true – the more she can relax, the more effective the medications will be."

After the doctor left, Jim pulled his chair closer to the bed. Bones, after warning Jim not to overtire her, took his leave, saying something about checking in with the Academy.

"Mom, did you hear the doctor? You're going to be fine."

"Why come?"

"Why'd I come? You're my mother."

"Oh, Jim." A tear slipped from her eye.

There was a sudden ache in the pit of his stomach. It had been a long time since he'd seen his mother cry – he remembered once when he was five walking into her bedroom and finding her in tears. He hadn't understood, and worried something he'd done had made her unhappy. She'd pulled him into her arms and assured him it wasn't his fault. Still, je often wondered whether every time she looked at him she was reminded of the day her husband died.

Mindful of what the doctors had said, he tried to reassure her. "It's okay, mom. I'm here and you're doing good."

She shook her head. "Not good. Not a good mom."

Jim was at a loss for words. Was she upset that her illness had forced him to return home or did she mean something deeper – was she trying to apologize for all that had gone wrong over the years? Or were her words merely those of a confused stroke victim who'd awakened to find a son she hadn't seen in years standing at her bedside?

Any shrink would tell him that by coming back he'd taken the first step toward reconciliation, if not outright forgiveness. But that didn't mean he was ready suddenly to pretend that nothing had happened and that everything was right between them, at least not without understanding why she'd done what she'd done.

"You're still my mom." It was a carefully neutral response.

"Want to be."

Damn. It was hard to reconcile the part of him that had long harbored anger toward her with the helpless woman lying in front of him who seemed, for the first time in a long time, to be trying to make amends.

"You are. I know things haven't always been great between us. Maybe we can talk about it when you're better."

"Talk now." The words were slightly slurred and it was clear his mom was tiring.

"I don't think so," Bones said, appearing almost magically across the bed from Jim and carefully studying the medical monitors. "Mrs. Kirk, I'm Dr. McCoy, a friend of Jim's who's been helping take care of you. You've had enough activity for the time being. Jim will be here when you wake up."

For once, Jim was grateful for the sight of Bones' hypo. His mom needed the rest and he needed the time to figure out what the hell he was going to say to her when she woke up.

****

Bones had insisted that they get away from the hospital for a few hours and so they found themselves at a local restaurant that specialized in burgers, chicken, and ribs, complete with potatoes served every which way. Bones ordered a burger and fries from a bored waiter; Jim, who was not particularly hungry but knew he'd get shit from Bones if he didn't eat something, did the same.

"Does my mom know what she's saying?" Jim asked. "I mean, how much is the stroke affecting her?"

Jim saw a flicker of something in Bones' eyes that made him suspect Bones understood the thought process underlying the question. "The CVA affects her ability to process speech," he replied, "meaning she's not always able to find the right words to express herself. And, of course, the paralysis makes it difficult for her to enunciate – without the medications, you'd have a hard time understanding her." He paused while the waiter delivered their drinks – a beer for Jim and coffee for Bones. "Now that she's awake, we'll be able to run additional tests to determine the level of impairment."

"So when she says she's sorry, she may not mean it?"

"I can't answer that, Jim." Bones twirled the stir in his coffee. "I don't mean that she's lying – she's sorry about something. What I can't say is how much she's remembering and understanding, whether she's simply apologizing for being sick and dragging you here or . . . something more. I can tell you that every day she'll get better, physically and mentally."

"How long until she recovers?"

"That depends on how well the drugs work and how hard she works at the therapy. Several weeks at least, maybe months."

Minutes later, the server pushed plates of food in front of them. "Need anything else?" he asked without enthusiasm and left quickly when both men shook their heads.

"I used to come here as a kid, you know," Jim said, smiling at the memory. "It was a treat. They have this humongous dessert – chocolate cake and ice cream and chocolate sauce – I could never eat it all but sure had a blast trying." Jim stuffed several French fries into his mouth. "Mom used to bring me here before a deployment. She'd let me order the dessert and then break it to me that she was leaving again."

"It must have been bittersweet."

Jim shrugged. "It was what it was. I'm not the only kid whose parent went away for a while."

"And when your mom left?"

He understood where Bones was headed and was not going there. "She left," he replied simply, suddenly terribly interested in rearranging the fries on his plate.

"And left you with Frank?"

Jim forced himself not to react even as his eyes flicked upward. "Leave it alone." He was proud of himself for keeping his voice under control.

Bone's eyes bored into his. "Is that what your mother was apologizing for today?"

Shit, so Bones had heard part of his mom's conversation and had obviously put two and two together. Jim glanced at his chronometer. "Shouldn't we be getting back?"

"Jim, I can see there's something going on between you and your mom. I'm not sure what it is but my guess is that it involves Frank and has been festering for a long time. Ignoring me won't make the issues go away."

"Right now, the only issue I want to deal with is my mom's health."

"The situation with your mom could very well impact her health. As her doctor, it's important for me to know what's going on."

"Then maybe you don't need to be her doctor." This time Jim couldn't repress the anger that crept into his tone.

"That's certainly your choice."

Jim slammed his hand onto the table, hard enough to cause the fork to jump a few millimeters. "Dammit, Bones. I don't want to talk about this." He motioned to the waiter to bring their check. He'd eaten enough and, at the moment, he didn't care whether Bones was finished or not.

"All right, have it your way. Your mom's reacting well to the meds and I expect they'll start her on PT in the morning. She's out of danger so you don't need me here any more."

"Are you saying you're leaving?" Obviously, Bones couldn't stay here forever, and Jim knew he had no right to expect him to, especially now that his mother was over the immediate medical crisis. And, as long as Bones remained here, he'd continue to press Jim about his past, about the relationship with his mother and Frank, about what had happened years ago. Bones had already figured out quite a bit and had shown that he wasn't going to ignore what he was learning. The last thing he needed was Bones poking and prying into his personal life. All in all, it was probably best that Bones went back to San Francisco so that Jim could sort this out in his own mind and, with some luck, with his mom.

Still, Jim couldn't escape the feeling that he was the one driving Bones away, pushing away the first person in years that he might be able to call "friend." If he'd only had a normal childhood, the things that most kids took for granted like two normal parents who helped you with your homework and went to your football games and taught you to drive and consoled you when your girlfriend ditched you . . . Dammit all, even now, years later, it was making a mess of his life.

McCoy's eyebrows pressed together. "There's nothing more I can do for your mom that isn't already being done and I've got my own patients waiting for me." He stood up from the table. "I'll get a seat on tomorrow morning's transport."