Chekov punches the bag until his wrist feels like it's going to fall off. He's never been one of those guys who goes looking for a fight, opting instead to solve things with reason. Still, he took all the required hand to hand combat courses at the academy, passing with sufficient marks. It's what makes his Captain having to save him from hostile natives on the latest planet they've visited all the more embarrassing. He already has to prove himself by virtue of being the youngest, now he looks even more like a child to those he serves with.

Every morning now before most other people get up, Chekov has decided to hit the gym and work on his combat skills until he's sure next time fists fly, he won't have to hide behind anyone. So far, he's failing miserably. A basic computer program is beating him.

"You wanna know what you're doing wrong?"

Chekov jumps about foot. He thought he was the only here in the dimly lit gym at a zero four hundred hours. Worse, he doesn't recognize the voice of who ever snuck up on him. He turns slowly, clamping down on the idea that some species has invaded the ship and he's going to have to put his nonexistent combat skill to use already.

McCoy's mystery companion Jim is leaning against the door frame eating a piece of fruit they brought back, from before mentioned hostile planet, that kind of resembles an apple. Jim looks like he already lost his fight badly, but clearly Chekov needs all the help he can get and even cautionary tale points are better than nothing. Hesitantly he nods.

Jim pushes off the wall taking one final bite of the apple before tossing the core in the towel bin. He walks over and begins adjusting Chekov's stance. "Don't drop your shoulder so much." Jim turns the program on again and stands back as Chekov runs through it again.

To Chekov's surprise, he does better with Jim's adjustments. "Thank you. That was great," says Chekov, earnestly.

"Don't be too thrilled, kid, it's just a training program. The real thing is much different." Jim would know. His life's been a series of fights- some good, some bad. Some he was never meant to win and some he couldn't afford to lose.

Jim's about to leave when Chekov asks, "Could you teach me?" He hesitates at the door. He should say no and be on his way. Nothing good will come in accepting this request. Still, he can't make himself walk away.

What could one lesson hurt?

"On the mat," says Jim, propping his cane against the wall.

Chekov is too impressed with how well a man who hobbled on board with a cane can move so quickly in the ring, to give much thought to the fact that it only took three moves to slam his ass to the ground. He clearly picked the right teacher.

Leonard's finishing up with a patient before he's even finished his first coffee of the day. He's starting to think these kids won't survive one day without the talented team in sickbay. They're not slammed since the ship hasn't encountered or experienced anything of note in days but it's far busier than Leonard wants to be at this hour.

"Safety procedures are not helpful suggestions, Ensign," berates McCoy. "Someone needs to baby-proof engineering," he adds under his breath.

Nurse Chapel comes over to update the patient file and to give the ensign a reprieve from McCoy's tender mercies.

Leonard turns around at the sound of sickbay's doors opening and his heart plummets to his feet. He's already scanning every inch of the man before him with his eyes for any sign injury before he can even utter, "Jim, what's wrong?"

Jim just doesn't wander around the ship during alpha shift; in fact he goes to great pains to avoid such a populated time on the ship. He should be in their quarters sleeping, not standing in sickbay. Leonard grabs his scanner and begins checking everything with Jim standing at the door. There might not be time to sit down.

Jim slaps Leonard's hand away as he runs the scanner over him for the second time. "Bones, relax! I'm not dying," assures Jim.

Leonard looks skeptical, like his tricorder chose this moment to stop working properly. The readings supports Jim's claim but doesn't make him feel better.

"Seriously, Bones, you're going to have a coronary if you don't relax a little." Jim heads towards a biobed, his limp severely hindering his stride. It does the opposite of reassure Leonard he needs to relax.

Leonard's at his side immediately, putting Jim's arm over his shoulder and wrapping his arm around Jim's waist to take as much weight as he can off Jim's leg. They get to an empty bed and Leonard has to do most of the work to get Jim on it.

"It hurts pretty bad today. I took some meds for it but it hasn't done a damn thing," confesses Jim.

Leonard frowns as he begins intently scanning Jim's leg. It has to be murder if Jim bothered to come all the way to sickbay to see Leonard. His in depth scan proves what he suspected is the issue. "Nurse, I need you to prepare a hypo."

Nurse Chapel is quick to fill the request, with a bright smile as she brings the loaded hypo. "Good morning, Jim," she greets, handing off the hypo.

"Morning, Christine," replies Jim with his lady killer smile.

Leonard jabs the hypo in Jim's thigh a little harder than necessary with his own evil grin. He doesn't need Jim flirting with his staff.

"Ouch!" says Jim, rubbing his thigh. "You sure you should be a doctor? You're bedside manner could use a little work. What was that anyway?"

"Anti-inflammatory and an extra strength pain killer. It should help take the edge off. And my bedside manner is just fine. Stop flirting with my nurses."

"Yep," agrees Jim, happily. He feels a little drunk, not out of control but kind of unnecessarily happy kind of drunk.

"You know what else takes the edge off?" asks Leonard, like they're about to discuss a universal secret out loud.

"Not over working your leg by not using your cane," scolds Leonard. He gives Jim a gentle slap on the side of the head. "Idiot."

Jim just rolls his eyes. It's not worth another round of this particular fight. And he's planning on riding this subtle buzz all the way to bed.

"Let's get you home," says Leonard, helping Jim to his feet. They assume the same position, Leonard a solid and comforting presence beside him as he takes most of Jim's weight.

"Christine, tell Geoff I'm going to be out making a house call for the next thirty minutes or so."

"Bye Christine," bubbles Jim, giving her a tiny wave and a wink as they leave sickbay.

Uhura's not sure what she was expecting exactly. She's met Jim before, much to her everlasting annoyance, so she knows the wild tales of the midnight pirate the crew are spinning are absurd. (Leonard would have mentioned a parrot by now.) She's seen Jim's last Starfleet photo so the scar and the cane aren't unexpected either. Still there's something about him that takes her off guard when he answers the door. Behind the bright smile and warm greeting, there's something haunted and brittle, like a bird that's had its wings clipped but still remembers how it feels to soar.

She'd never thought she'd feel sorry for Jim Kirk until this moment.

"Uhura?" asks Jim, like she's missed her queue.

"What?" she says, coming back to herself.

Jim tips his head lower causing his bangs to slip further forward hiding his scar even more. He's long figured out when someone is trying to determine if looking is more or less offensive than not looking. "Are you going to stand at the door all night or are you going to come in?"

"Yes, sorry," she says, stepping into the McCoys' quarters. She hands Jim a bottle of wine. "I wasn't sure what we were having so I brought white.

Uhura takes a good look at the place as Jim leads her to the dining room. It's like getting to see behind the curtain in oz; there's been so much speculation about them, Jim in particular, it's hard not to check for the fantastical theories crewmen have come up with even though she knows most of them are ridiculous before she even stepped foot over the threshold. It's all homey and comfortable; a well earned balance between Jim's chaos and Leonard's order. It's nowhere near the clear line of messy versus neat freak of their shared dorm room.

"That Uhura?" calls Leonard from the kitchen, over the clang of dishes. It smells heavenly, significantly better than the sandwich and salad she probably would have replicated for herself tonight.

"Yeah and she brought a bottle of wine," replies Jim, handing the bottle off to Leonard as he pokes his head out of the kitchen.

"Dinner will be just a moment, if you want to have a seat," says Leonard, setting out a plate of garlic bread.

She sits across from Jim, leaving Leonard the spot beside both of them. Having Leonard between her and Jim has been the only way she could ever tolerate Jim's juvenile antics.

"It's been awhile," says Jim, "you remember that first name yet?" There's a coy smile on his face that's so reminiscent of the old days. Uhura didn't realize she even missed that infuriating smile.

"Uhura or Lieutenant will work just fine," she counters with her all too familiar smile.

"It's a big ship. I'm sure someone on it knows your name," challenges Jim.

Uhura stares him down. For his first volley in years, it's not a bad one. "You don't talk to any of them."

"Touché. Claire."

"Claire?"

Jim shrugs. "I told you if you didn't tell me your name, I'd have to make one up for you."

"And that's what you came up with? Claire?"

"Naomi?" says Jim, trying it on for size. Uhura frowns, as she unfolds her napkin and lays it on her lap. "Roxanne? Beth? T'chel?" continues Jim.

"What are you two going on about?" asks Leonard, as he sets down two huge bowls, one with rice and the other with chicken and mushrooms in a cream sauce and sits down at the table with them.

"Uhura needs a first name," replies Jim, grabbing the bowl of rice to starting to spoon heaps of rice on his plate.

Leonard shakes his head. "Not this again."

They both know Leonard knows her first name. Even if he didn't know it as her friend, he has access to every crewmen's personnel records, first names included, as CMO. Uhura's never once asked him to keep it a secret, and yet he keeps it, even though the sole purpose of withholding it is to annoy the hell out of Jim, the same way Jim's never once asked Leonard to betray Uhura's confidence to win their little game.

Dinner is actually quite pleasant. Uhura and Leonard both have horror stories about admirals throwing their weight around in fields they have no business in and cadets that make them secretly question the future of the universe. Jim seeks out any opportunity to tease Uhura about anything he thinks might ruffle her feathers but not enough to sour the night.

All Jim's stories are amusing anecdotes about farm animals or Leonard or both. Never anything personal and certainly never about Starfleet or Nero.

It's only her and Leonard working on the bottle of wine and they're doing a good job. So much so, that she shares her own amusing tale of past love. Loose lips sink ship, or in this case, torpedo starships.

"You're sleeping with the Captain?" exclaims Jim, thrilled like a dog that's gotten into the trash.

Uhura silently curses bringing a bottle of wine and Jim's choice to abstain tonight of all nights. "Not anymore," she corrects. "We broke up not long after Vulcan."

Leonard looks sympathetic and maybe a little sad before tossing back the last few swallows in his glass and pouring himself another.

"Oh my god, what was that even like?" presses Jim with unrelenting enthusiasm.

"Jim!" manages Leonard, practically choking on his wine.

"What? Can you imagine that, Bones?"

"I'm trying not to."

If Scotty was surprised when the doctor showed up at his door, he's even more floored when a few days later Jim himself shows up looking awkward and forced to be there in turn. They stare at each other for a few moments; Jim scuffing his foot and fiddling with the hem of his shirt.

Jim looks infatuated with the floor. "I'm not good at apologizing," he mumbles before raising his head to look Scotty directly in the eye. "So un-fuck you, or whatever."

It takes Scotty's brain a moment to compute exactly what's happening. "Okay," he says, not sure if Jim's just going to leave it there. Jim just stares at him blankly, like he's waiting on Scotty to dismiss him or something. "That was a shit apology. It wasn't even me that you told to go fuck myself, you just shut a door in my face. Do you make it a habit of telling crewmen where to go and how to get there? Cause this isn't the lot you want to pick a fight with."

"It would be a good fight." A smile over takes Jim. There's a spark of life that takes hold that Scotty hasn't seen in the limited encounters he's had with the young man. It's like Scotty's finally speaking his language. "Haven't had one of those since the one that got me into Starfleet."

"Got you in?" Fights are usually a sure fire way to get out of Starfleet not in. "So you do serve?"

That light and life seems to disappear right before Scotty's eyes. "No. I'm not Starfleet," snaps Jim, like it's an absurd notion.

Scotty's lost. "But you just said..."

"I didn't say anything," says Jim abruptly and with finality, like he's daring Scotty to say otherwise.

"Alright," agrees Scotty for lack of any better response. "You wanna drink?" he asks. There's no better way to bond than over something with a kick. He still has about half a bottle of bourbon that McCoy brought over.

"Yes," say Jim. He aborts his step forward in a jerky manner. "No. I shouldn't. It mixes with my meds."

"What meds are those?" says Scotty without thinking. Everything is so back and forth his brain can't keep up enough to sensor the things coming out. He realizes what he's said too late as Jim pales considerably. "Are we not supposed to talk about that either?"

Foot firmly in mouth. Scotty wants to bang his head against the nearest bulk head. The crew should probably stop talking about this guy behind his back. Scotty can't keep conjecture separate from the few facts they do know about Jim McCoy.

Jim's hands clench into fists at his side. There's a finely controlled anger dancing like fire behind his eyes. "I'm going to..." he says before turning abruptly and leaving. It's not the fastest storming off Scotty's seen due to the obvious hitch in Jim's gait but the point is made none the less.

Leonard tries to look like he's paying attention but weekly staff meetings aren't that interesting to start with, let alone when they're filled with endless reports of the latest scientific findings. The science department is on cloud nine with the discovery of a star that's about to go through a rare phase. Leonard's excitement begins and ends with 'cool light show.' The rest of it is just a long string of scientific words that have little impact on his day. He's sure the others feel the same way when he's giving a rundown of medical stats but Leonard tries to keep his simple and straight to the point.

Roberts finally finishes up and Spock dismisses the senior staff. It's like getting out of school on a Friday; that sweet taste of freedom rejuvenating you after a long tiring week. Leonard's looking forward to sleeping in, curled around Jim and breakfast so late it technically counts as lunch after spending the night watching the star put on a light show to rival the fireworks on Federation day. Leonard's almost there now.

"Dr McCoy, could I speak with you a moment," calls Spock, before Leonard can even clear the conference room table.

Maybe he didn't do such a good job as faking interest in the meeting as he thought. He lets out a long sigh and braces himself for what could be a tedious conversation. "Yes, Captain?"

Spock waits until everyone else has left the room before retrieving the PADD from the bottom of his pile. He brings up a few star charts and hands the display over to Leonard. "I did not know you had an interest in navigation and star charts."

Leonard looks confused. "I don't," he says but then looks at the PADD and suddenly it makes sense. He's looking at the course Jim had been mapping out.

"I am curious as to how you knew the location of this phenomenon?"

Sure enough, Jim plotted out the ship detouring to this exact location. Leonard looks at the star date the plan was submitted- three weeks ago. A report submitted by one Dr Leonard McCoy, CMO.

Leonard closes his eyes. Damn it, Jim.

"I'm a doctor not a navigator, Spock. This report may have been submitted with my credentials but it's not mine," he confesses, preparing himself for a lecture about security breaches. "Jim likes to mess around with star charts and courses. It keeps him busy and makes him feel like he's still capable of being a part of all this. I'll tell him to quit forging my name on stuff and botherin' you with it."

"I must express concern of his ability gain access to your computer accounts and the ships encoded star charts, but am intrigued at how he could file a course to this star two weeks before the science department gathered enough evidence to deem investigating this solar system worthy of the detour?" states Spock.

Leonard shrugs. "Jim's good. Eighty percent genius, fifteen percent luck and five percent steadfast belief that that luck won't run out. Jim was damn near the top of his class at the academy, on track to being the youngest Captain ever. Then Nero happened and that dream died along with a lot of other people. He won't ever see that captain's chair, but that wildly intelligent and natural born explorer is still in there."

"Perhaps he should consider a career in astrophysics charting and research," suggests Spock. He knows good work when he sees it and it would be a shame to waste such talent when there are avenues to put it to use outside of Starfleet.

The fond glint in Leonard's eye that appeared when talking about Jim's skill disappears, leaving the doctor sullen and deflated. "You've only seen Jim on his better days."

That gives Spock pause. His encounters with Jim so far have not demonstrated an individual who is a stellar representation of humanity. Insubordination and a clear impulse control issue are only the first things that come to mind in which the brass would have concerns and a lengthy discipline record over. It's a little easier to see how Starfleet could allow someone as obviously skilled as Jim McCoy be discharged from service so completely and abruptly.

He also knows what it's like to be underestimated because someone else saw him as less. The Vulcan science academy thought his mother would make him incapable of meeting their standard. He had proved them wrong and then chose Starfleet instead, where his mother's influence was seen as an asset not a handicap.

'I assure you I wouldn't have put him there if I didn't think it would be beneficial for both of you.'

Spock decides to take one of those leaps Admiral Pike always spoke of. "I am prepared to give Mr McCoy his own clearance to allow him to continue to make star charts and plot courses." He can see Leonard start to perk up. "It is by no means a guarantee that I will implement any course set out by Mr McCoy. I will simply take it under advisement."

"I'll let him know." Leonard extends his hand to shake Spock's. "Thank you." Spock nods accepting his thanks and dismissing him.

Leonard leaves and makes it about thirty steps before he has to stop and lean against the bulkhead so he doesn't fall over. He's a war zone of excitement and apprehension. He wants nothing but the best for Jim, to see him shine and be graced by every happiness this universe can offer. He's also seen this play out before and the end result is heartbreakingly disastrous. He's not sure he can go through that again let alone Jim.

The line between protective and supportive is so blurry he's terrified he'll trip and fall down the slippery slope of good intentions gone awry. Deciding his fear is more his own, he opts to relay Spock's offer. There will be ground rules. By the time Leonard gets back to their quarters he's already come up with eight of them.