Author's Note: Thank you to all who have recently reviewed this story and also messaged me. I appreciate the support so, so much. I will do my best to catch up on my replies this week. :)
Diamondblue4, Junker5, and plumeria 47 - thank you for beta reading and sweetly encouraging me throughout the writing of this fic! *HUGS*
Please note that this chapter starts off with McCoy's POV, beginning right after he leaves the kitchen. I hope you enjoy the read! It's an exciting one for me as an author - after nearly a year of posting this fic - but I'll let you see why. :D
oOo
And If I Stand Next to You
Chapter 12
I'm never gonna have to guess (what's on your mind)
oOo
His hair standing on end, McCoy looked over his shoulder not once, not twice, but three times on his way up the stairs to his bedroom.
He'd never been one to be paranoid. Yet he had the distinct feeling that he was being followed. And not by just 'anyone.' By Jim and Spock. Which was both ridiculous and impossible, considering that the last he'd checked, neither were ghosts nor invisible.
He felt like a fool, craning his neck every other step when he'd left them downstairs playing cards, Joanna's laughter ringing through the air as he walked up the stairs. They were not beside him on the steps, but if he were to be honest, it felt like they were breathing down his neck. He'd been fighting what seemed to be their presence in his mind all damn morning. Maybe even the day before, too, now that he thought about it. Ever since Spock knocked on Jim's door this morning, the feeling had gotten even worse.
He'd been more worried about the Vulcan today than in all their days working together on the Enterprise combined. And if that wasn't a scary enough...
There was Jim.
He couldn't explain the level of familiarity he had with him, or the presence he sustained in his mind, except that it bordered on an depth that was, as Spock would say, illogical, even before he'd stepped out of the kitchen. If this was the case, then how was he going to accomplish the tasks before him? He feared Spock was actually breaking down, and Jim occupied so much of his mind until he had to go through what seemed to be a barrier of "Jim" before he could get to his own damn thoughts about anything else.
He sighed and blamed his lack of sleep and finished trudging up the stairs. His room was just as he'd left it the other night. Immaculate and orderly because he'd slept in Jim's room, instead. He plopped down on the bed, comm loose in his hands, absently twirling it.
He wanted to call Jocelyn first to get the damn comm over with. She'd never been an angel, even when they'd been in their so-called "honeymoon stage." For lack of a better word, she'd always been somewhat of a bitch, more-so since their divorce. Rarely did she act cordial. Lately, however—or maybe ever since she'd met Treadway—she'd been an entirely different person. Even more negative, if that were possible, and bordering on cruel whenever it concerned him. He'd witnessed no sign of her previous compassion, as limited as it had already been, or any of her previous open-mindedness. Instead, her actions revealed a growing selfishness, a lack of consideration for her own daughter.
There was no question that she was successful. Her brains had helped her family's business, her management bringing it a high level of success. If she were that intelligent, no doubt constantly dealing with people who tried to pull one over on her, how could she fall for Treadway's claims and delusions? The way she was acting, one would think that it wasn't just for the custody of Joanna that she was marrying Clay.
He inhaled unsteadily. Maybe she wasn't actually falling for his claims, after all. Maybe she truly wanted the father of her daughter to suffer. If that were the case, then he was the fool to have married her in the first place.
Jocelyn wasn't the only factor to his problem. He wasn't exactly sure that Treadway would stick around long after they were married. He could get his 'new life' by milking his marriage with Jocelyn for all that it was worth—but in only two or three years, maximum. It sounded absurd, but he'd seen similar things in the lives of entertainers and movie stars. Even Starfleet officers.
In good conscience, could he allow Joanna to endure this unstable environment, knowing it would most likely end in a year or two? Or should he fight, despite an even greater chance that he'd lose the fight altogether and therefore make things worse? Possibly irrevocably damaging his relationship with Joanna?
Could he trust Spock enough to agree to the conditions he'd laid out for him? Could he supposedly 'give up' his daughter in return for an evening meal at his mother's? Could he trust Spock's instincts about his own ex-wife and yield the situation to him? Even at risk to Jim if Spock's plan failed?
No matter what he did or chose to do, someone was going to get hurt.
His mind racing at warp speed, he tossed the comm on the bed and stood, determinedly grabbing his PADD. It was do or die. He had to get this over with. He'd delayed long enough.
Sighing, he typed furiously on the device and pulled up Jim's medical records. There were a limited number of people who could access these. The ones on a need to know basis. Dr. Boyce, of course, four nurses, two techs, and three physical therapists.
McCoy's eyes slipped down to the next line, his heart lurching in his chest. He swallowed with effort, a lump painfully lodged in his throat.
Make that five nurses.
Since when were there five? He had not authorized this…
He ran a hand over his face, breathing raggedly. He could hardly register the fifth name, because by reading it just this one time, he knew that this was the one. No one else had 'history' with Jim. No one. There were no previous connections between Jim and the first four nurses.
Only with one.
The fifth and, coincidentally, the most recently added to their team. The one who probably had the most to lose, the most Treadway could use against her.
Someone like Treadway wouldn't have had to look too far to see the connection, given how rumors had spread about her and Jim.
The room shrank, all four walls pressing in on him. Neck heating, he tugged on his shirt, loosening his collar as he reread the names of the nurses given access.
Vic Philips.
Delilah Idlewood.
Wyn Che'na.
Sean O'Conner.
Four trustworthy medical personnel, handpicked by Boyce and himself.
And the fifth…at one time, he'd trusted her as well.
Christine Chapel.
"Good God," he whispered, his shock no less mind-numbing as he said her name aloud. "Christine?"
How the hell could she betray them like this? Even if she had been threatened, it still felt like a betrayal. He knew her. Jim knew her. He'd hated that she'd left the Enterprise. No one could replace her. He was still trying to fill the void she'd left in his sick bay.
She was tough, yes, but had a bedside manner he envied. She was smart. Didn't suffer fools. She upheld integrity at all times in regards to her work.
She was smart.
He'd always had faith in Chapel as a nurse. As a human being. Even after she'd left the Enterprise, her hasty departure placing a false sense of blame on Jim for what had transpired between them. Which had been nothing of consequence, a fabrication made up by Jim himself to save her reputation.
It worried him that she could be manipulated like this, to hand over a damn time—1448—to someone like Treadway. It worried him, because it indicated that Treadway's threat was serious enough for Christine to believe it.
He began a mental list of possible scenarios, all of which ended with shortening someone's life. Chris's own life. Maybe even Jim's. What hold did Treadway have over her?
He'd thought she was stationed elsewhere. At a starbase that the Enterprise had never encountered. When had she returned to Earth? Why had he not known? Or run into her at Starfleet General?
There were too many questions to consider on his own. He tapped a few numbers on the device. With any luck, Boyce would be willing to speak with him, despite the hour.
He waited, trying the number twice. In under a minute, a disheveled Boyce appeared on the screen.
"Leonard," he grunted. "You do realize I just got off a twenty-hour shift."
"Sorry about that, but I wouldn't have contacted you had it not been urgent," he said.
"Is it Jim?" Boyce asked in a scratchy voice. He leaned forward, eyes sharpening. "How's it going down there with Jim and your mother? He isn't worse, is he?"
"He's doing well today," he said truthfully. "I'm hoping his numbers will improve this week. But, given what they've been up until now, it will be a miracle if we can move up our schedule."
"This is the type of treatment takes time, Leonard," Boyce said. "More time than we think we are willing to give. And if you ever need a break, Jim certainly wouldn't fault you for it."
"I'm doing fine," he said evenly.
Boyce narrowed his eyes. "Fine, huh? I know you, Leonard, and I can tell when you're burning the candle at both ends. There's something going on. Is it Jim?"
"Chapel," he said, tone brusque.
Understanding filled the other doctor's expression. He nodded. "I wondered if you'd see her name in his file. She was recently transferred and given that she has treated Jim in the past, I took advantage of her transfer as soon as I could. I requested her to work on Jim's case."
"When was that?" he asked.
"Just before you left for Atlanta," Boyce explained. "I'd bumped into her during my break. There was no time for us to discuss it, however. Given Chapel's expertise, there were a lot of people wanting her. You have no idea the strings I had to pull to keep her."
"She's a damn good nurse," he agreed quietly.
"Why the interest, Leonard?" Boyce asked, his eyes even sharper than before. "Surely you're not contacting me only to ask about her name in Jim's file."
"I'm not sure I can say at the moment," he said honestly. "I need more information. Once I get that information, I promise I will do my best to explain the situation."
"You can't say, or you won't say?" Boyce asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Do you not trust her with this knowledge of Jim? For what it's worth, she's only acted in the utmost professional manner about it all. Not even blinking an eye, except for the initial shock that Jim had survived irradiation."
He found himself biting his tongue. Informing Boyce, a department head at SFG, that he believes Chapel was being threatened and manipulated into giving up information from medical records was a serious accusation. What she's doing was an illegal act even if they couldn't prove she'd been threatened. He'd hate to paint her in a negative light if he didn't have to.
"I'll tell you when I can. It could be nothing, and since that might be the case, please don't tell Chris that I inquired about her," he said decisively, offering no further explanation. "But I will be contacting her on my own."
Boyce nodded. "Fair enough. I'll agree to that. You do look at things from all angles and I trust you, Leonard," he said. "Only, do me one favor."
"And what is that?"
"I might be going out on a limb here, but if it's concerning the safety of your patient, a high profile Starfleet captain, don't wait to tell me or the authorities."
McCoy feigned disinterest. Surely Boyce had no idea...
"Don't wait too long to act," Boyce continued. "I've seen a lot over the course of my career. Not much surprises me anymore."
Given Boyce's decades of experience, he had no doubt that was case. For one instant, he was tempted to reveal all. It tempted him, having someone on their side that would do all he could to stop Jim's records from going public. But Treadway's confidence gave him a foreboding feeling that the ex-boxer truly did have more than just a time to threaten them with.
He gave him a small smile to ward off any doubts that he was, in fact, scared shitless that he'd make the wrong choice and this house of cards they were living in would tumble down.
"I'll keep that in mind," he said.
"Good," Boyce says, eyes softening. "Now, enjoy your time away with Jim and your family, if you can."
"Thank you," he said.
"Get some rest, too, McCoy," Boyce ordered.
The screen faded to black.
He should speak with Christine next, but he didn't. On auto-pilot, he tried to contact his child's mother.
"It's about the message I sent you, isn't it?" Jocelyn said before he could get in a word edgewise.
"Tell him to stop threatening my staff," he ordered.
"What?" she exclaimed.
As if she didn't know, he thought bitterly. "Tell him to stop threatening Jim, too," he emphasized in a growl. "He's gone too far, and there will be consequences. We will file the threat and I intend to get a restraining order. He's out of line, Joce."
"What? I don't know what you mean," she said after a pause.
"You can't be that oblivious to his actions," he accused. "Tell him to stop, and I'll…"
He deliberately allowed his words to fade, prompting her response.
"And you'll what, Len?"
The nickname irked him. "Tell him to stop. Then, come here for dinner—"
"Dinner?" she laughed like the thought was absurd.
"Yes, dinner, and, in return," he continued, swallowing before he choked on his next words, "I'll give up Joanna."
She didn't speak for a minute.
Maybe two.
He pulled the device away from his ear and glanced down, just to check they were still connected.
They were, and she still didn't reply.
"Give me two more days with Joanna, Joce. Not including this one. Then, come for dinner," he explained quietly. "Alone."
"Is this some trick?" she hissed.
He wished it were. "No—"
"After all of this, you're just going to give her up?"
He really was.
He sighed. "I saw his fists, saw them with my own eyes on the holovid feed. He threatened Jim. Would've hit him, too, square in the face, had Spock not shown up. Quite frankly, that's going too far. I can't risk the health of my critically ill patient. He can't afford to be injured like that, Joce. He can't even go out in public because the risk of infection is too great."
"You care more about him than you ever did me," she bit out.
He wouldn't deny it—Jim was more like family to him than she ever was.
"He's my brother, Joce," he said quietly. "Would you like to watch the feed for yourself? Your fiancé towering over a sick, weaker and underweight, defenseless man?"
"You'll give her up?" she asked, obviously avoiding the truth.
"If he doesn't retaliate after we file the charge. And if you come for dinner," he said hoarsely, emotion stinging his eyes. "Yes, I'll give her up."
"What time?" she gritted as if through clenched teeth.
He'd make it early. "Five."
"I guess I overestimated you, Leonard," she said haughtily. "I've been prepared to fight, but now it seems you won't fight at all."
"As long as Joanna remembers that her father didn't fight dirty like you, that he never lowered himself to hurt another human being, then I reckon I'm the winner," he said quietly. "Because now Treadway will have a record. One day when she's old enough, the truth will stare her in the face. Even if you deny it, the account of this crime won't."
Hands shaking, he cut the connection.
"I'm sorry, Bones," a soft but ragged voice said from the doorway of his room.
He looked up. Jim leaned against the doorframe, head resting heavily against it.
"How'd you make it all the way up here?" he demanded to know. He stood and immediately went over to him, putting his hands on his shoulders as he checked him over. "You shouldn't have climbed the stairs, Jim."
"It wasn't too hard," Jim protested, smiling weakly. "I'm feeling better."
"That was more exercise then you've had in six weeks combined," he grumbled, worried when Jim didn't deny it. "And how, exactly, am I going to get you back downstairs?"
"Let me rest up here for awhile?"
"Of course," he said, scowling. "You're a stubborn man," he added in a mutter.
"I'm fine, Bones," Jim said. "Really."
"You can rest on my bed for as long as you need," he said firmly.
"Thanks." Jim straightened and entered his room, his gaze dropping to the holos in frames that he had sitting on his nightstand.
Three were of himself, Jim, and Spock, the ones he also kept copies of on the Enterprise. Two were of Joanna. And the sixth was of Joanna wearing a bright smile, also sandwiched between her father and Uncle Jim.
He needed another of the three of them—in case Spock was wrong.
"It's going to work, Bones," Jim whispered as if he'd read his mind. He picked up one of the holos. "There isn't anything Spock can't do."
"Right. He can't stop getting under my skin," he muttered. "Did you think of that?"
Jim rolled his eyes, setting the holo back down. "Speaking of that…" he looked at him apologetically.
And there it was again. The buzz. The never-ending thoughts of Spock. Of Jim.
"What?" he sighed. He rubbed the back of his neck, the base of his skull. "Are you claustrophobic in here, or is it just me?"
Jim peered at him carefully. "What do you mean?"
He huffed. "I keep worrying about Spock, that's what."
"He's fine," Jim said, shrugging. "Anxious, maybe, but fine."
"Anxious about you," he said.
And you…a voice added from nowhere
He looked at Jim, wondering if it was him who'd spoken.
And you, Doctor McCoy.
"And me. He's anxious for...me," he echoed faintly, frowning at Jim, who'd begun to rub his temple.
I'm dizzy. Bones is gonna kill me.
Indeed, you should not have climbed the stairs, Jim.
McCoy shook his head. Jim? Spock? How the hell was he hearing them in his head?
He was going crazy…
Haven't felt this weak in the knees since the Academy and Gaila walked in…and I was sitting down then. Also felt something else, but we won't go there.
Captain, that is information I do not require to know at this point in time or otherwise…
Tough. You're the one who got us into this mess.
McCoy looked wide-eyed at Jim, feeling all of the blood rushing from his face.
Oh...shit.
"Jim," he warned.
Jim glanced sideways at him, wincing with a 'who me?' expression on his face.
Captain, it was…
...an accident. I know. I know. And he will understand….
….
Spock, c'mon. He will.
…
Well, maybe.
"You're dizzy?" he snapped. "Weak in the knees? Sit down."
Never mind that he had a Vulcan and an idiot talking about him in his own mind.
"Now," he snarled.
Jim's eyes widened.
"Yeah, you, ya moron," he snapped. "You're dizzy, right?"
Jim's shoulders slumped. He dropped like a fly onto the bed. "You could say that."
"You're in my head, Jim," he said through clenched teeth. "The hobgoblin, too."
The buzz instantly became a roar. The buzz...was …
A bond, Doctor McCoy.
A bond, Bones.
"You've got to be kidding me," he whispered tightly, dropping beside Jim on the bed.
That was the last thing he needed, wasn't it? He saw a lifetime before him of unwelcome dwellers in his head. Even if one of them was named Captain Moron.
He denied with every fiber of his being that he'd heard them in his head.
"No," he said adamantly, shaking his head. "This isn't happening."
"It won't be that bad, Bones," Jim whispered, placing his hand on his knee. "Really."
He shot right back up to his feet, pointing his finger at him.
"Oh, no…" he began, his voice nearing a shout. Jim winced as if he'd hurt him. "You're not seriously...you're not sayin' what I'm thinkin'...No!"
Jim gulped, looking guiltily up at him. "Uh, Bones…"
"No," he barked, denying it for a second time. "No."
Yes, the second voice chimed in.
He palmed his forehead. No, no, no. This couldn't be happening. Not to him.
Spock?
There was no answer. Typical.
…
He does that sometimes, Bones.
He glared at Jim. "So, now he's being quiet? He's the only one that could've caused this to happen. Is he running away with his tail between his legs?"
Jim sighed, shoulders slumping. "He's sorry, if it helps," he said in a low murmur. "It was an accident. Actually if there's anyone to blame, it's me. My damn hallucination."
"It's not your fault," he gritted out. "Can it be reversed?"
Jim shook his head. "Not without side effects."
"So, in other words...no," he said tightly. "It's unbreakable."
He wouldn't let Jim suffer more than what he was already suffering.
Jim winced. "Right. But, it won't be too bad."
"Hearing two voices when I'm in the middle of a surgery won't be too bad?" he asked sarcastically.
"Spock said we'll be able to learn to block each other quickly, because it's only a low-level bond. A familial bond. And...a little on the erratic side right now." Jim's eyes brightened. "Just think how helpful it'll be when we're on the ship and one or two of us beam down."
"That's cheating!" he accused.
"That's taking advantage of something other captains and first officers and CMOs don't have," Jim said pointedly.
"I like my privacy," he said, narrowing his eyes. "And so do you."
"I know you do," Jim said quietly. "And although this is exciting to me, I know it's not as exciting for you."
"The novelty of it wore off in about half a second," he said through clenched teeth. If he got through this without cracking his teeth into smithereens, it would be a miracle.
"Look at it this way. You were broadcasting things pretty loudly just now," Jim said. "You don't have to explain anything to us."
"You know about Christine?" he asked, chest tightening.
"Yeah," Jim said, nodding. "And that Joce thinks you're, well, crazy."
"What am I going to do with you?" he asked breathlessly.
Jim looked at him quizzically. "Uh, hopefully not kick me out of your mother's house now that I brought us together like this."
"It's a rhetorical question, Jim," he said sarcastically, scowling.
"Oh," Jim replied in a small voice.
"You came into my life as this punk kid, tearing it apart. You built it back up only to tear it apart again...and build it back up for a second time. And now? You're a part of me—Spock, too—in a way...I never expected." He paused, lost in thought. His world had been in constant chaos because of Jocelyn and Treadway. Jim was the one thing that wasn't chaos. Yes, he was constantly moving and challenging him with his intensity and passion for the stars, but he also gave him life and purpose at the same time. "You've broken me, Jim. I don't know...I don't know if I can take...more."
"You're really worried about this, aren't you?" Jim asked, his eyes filling with anxiety. "Dammit, Bones. I never….I mean...I didn't plan—"
"It's not your fault," he swiftly interrupted before he could get much further.
"It sort of is," Jim said in a defeated tone, stretching out on the bed. "If I hadn't flipped out….damn PTSD…" he muttered.
He stared up at the ceiling.
Looking pitiful.
McCoy inwardly groaned. He couldn't stand it when Jim looked that way—dejected or guilty or whatever else he was feeling. He sighed and sat on the edge of the bed. "Spock said we can manage this?"
"Yeah," Jim said roughly. "It'll take some work, but he can't shield us forever. It's already affecting him."
"Wait," he said, glancing sideways at him with a frown. "That's what has been bothering Spock all this time? That's why he ate the pie? Because he was channeling you?"
Jim looked up at him sheepishly. "Um, yeah?"
"Unbelievable," he groaned.
Just what I need. Another Jim Kirk. Might as well poke myself in the eye now and get it over with.
Hilarious, Bones.
"It's been hard for him to shield us so much," Jim explained, exhaling slowly and tapping his fingers on his chest. "It's not good, at least I don't think it is, though Spock begs to differ. He wanted to keep it from you a little while longer so you can deal with Christine and Jocelyn, but it's caused him some headaches this morning. And he's had to meditate a little more than usual to keep himself….stabilized."
Guilt flooded him. "Hell, Jim, I don't want Spock to suffer because of this…" He faltered. He hated the idea of his own stubbornness—his stupidity—harming Spock at all. "If I can help this along, then so be it."
Jim smiled fondly at him. "That's the spirit, Bonesy."
He rolled his eyes. "That does not mean I like it."
"I know," the younger man murmured, his fingers stilling. "But it's the start to a beautiful relationship, a friendship Vulcan style."
He suppressed his irritation and sighed. "I didn't want it, Jim."
"I know, Bones. But we have it now, and we need to make the best of the situation," he said in a captainly voice, despite his yawn. He closed his eyes.
I should let Jim eat more pie. A big, fat, juicy piece of...
McCoy narrowed his eyes. Not in a million years did he think that. "The hell, Jim?"
"I told you this bond thing would come in handy."
"Infant," he muttered.
Jim opened one eye. "Jojo is waiting for me, but maybe you can go down there for awhile? Take my place?"
McCoy gave him a small smile. "I'll come up to get you in half an hour."
"Okay," Jim murmured, eye fluttering shut. "Just be prepared. I swear Jojo has x-ray vision and can see my cards."
"I'll keep the warning in mind." He squeezed his hand. "But that skill is actually hereditary, ya know."
Jim hummed noncommittally in his throat. "I always knew something was strange about you," he whispered.
"Strange?" He quirked a brow though Jim's eyes were still closed. "Like this bond, I'd say it comes in handy, especially when it concerns the people I care about And in particular, one Starfleet Captain. If you knew him—his self-sacrificial behavior—you'd understand."
I'm sorry I'm all this work, Bones, came the hesitant, quiet reply in his mind.
He left the room, Jim already half-asleep.
It's not work when you're you and I'm me. I wouldn't have it any other way, Jim.
oOo
Two hours later, after he'd made his own communications, Spock brought two glasses of sweet iced tea out to the back porch. He approached McCoy, who was alone and staring off into the distance.
"Are Jim and Jojo still having those staring contests?" McCoy asked absently.
"Indeed."
McCoy's lips twitched at the corners, his eyes sparkling with unprecedented amusement. "They usually have to call a tie. That, or Jim succumbs to laughing once she resorts to picking her nose for the win."
"Fascinating," Spock said.
He handed McCoy the extra glass.
The doctor cocked a brow but didn't refuse the refreshment. "Trying to sweeten me up, are ya?"
"That is not my intention," Spock said.
"Well, wouldn't blame ya if you were. This bond thing is going to take some getting used to," McCoy muttered, holding his glass up to him. "Cheers."
Spock did not lift his glass.
McCoy took a second look at him, frowning. "I'm putting my best foot forward, though I don't like it," he added.
"You do not have to explain," Spock stated. "What I have done is deplorable, and is a punishable offense."
"Don't give me that. What you've done?" McCoy scowled. "Haven't we been over this? It's Jim, that force of nature that one day is going to be the death of me."
"He is not at fault, either, a fact of which you are well aware, Doctor," Spock said dryly.
McCoy sighed and waved a hand in dismissal. "Yeah, well, I'm just trying to make you feel better."
"Please do not attempt to do so on my account. Any attempt will be futile."
McCoy rolled his eyes. "Fine. Do you want me to blame you?"
"It would be deserving," he said flatly.
"That's not what I'm asking," McCoy gently said.
Spock thought for a moment, about the strain he experienced as he attempted to shield McCoy and Jim from himself. The guilt that he had pressed this bond upon them for the rest of their lives.
That was more than sufficient punishment, for it distanced him from them in a way that he could not bear for any length of time. He carried the guilt alone. He had lacked self-control as he had desperately tried to shield Jim from his episode of post-traumatic stress on the porch, his human side dominating his Vulcan heritage as his concern for the Captain escalated beyond all logical limits.
"No," he admitted.
"I didn't think so," McCoy murmured, glancing sideways at him.
"However, I am fully aware of your misgivings concerning the bond, Doctor McCoy," Spock continued. "The intricacies of the bond justify your concern. They impact the mental well-being of both the Captain and yourself."
McCoy's brow furrowed. "It's caused Jim to become fatigued a bit sooner than I like. I'm not sure he'll be able to go with us to the bookstore after all."
Spock looked down at his iced tea. "I am at fault," he murmured. "It is a burden he cannot bear."
"It's not a burden, not in the sense that you think it is." McCoy gave him a small smile. "Did you hear the excitement in his voice when he spoke of utilizing the bond during missions? He's like a little kid."
"We will never employ the bond as he suggested," Spock asserted.
McCoy's eyes widened. "Now wait a minute."
"Doctor McCoy, it should not have developed and I will do everything in my power to inhibit it."
"You need to just step back and listen to yourself," McCoy said, glaring at him. "Yeah, it's not terribly convenient for me, and I'm not sure I'll get used to it anytime soon, but I won't deny the benefits. What if the comms are down? And Jim is hurt? And you need me to beam down? You use the bond, that's what. If it comes down to Jim's safety, then it's worth the unease I'm having in my brain right now."
"I cannot in good conscience—"
"Yes, you can, and you will," McCoy demanded. "I can read between the lines, here. To do what you're suggesting would take a lot out of ya, goes against what's natural, and you can be damn sure that Jim would have none of that. In fact, it'd make him feel worse. Me, too, for that matter."
Silence grew uncomfortable between them, and Spock found himself immersed in a mental anguish of his own making.
"It is a punishable offense," he murmured, cringing as he considered speaking of it to his father and his subsequent response.
"So you'd feel better if you fess up, is that it?" McCoy said in disbelief.
"Yes."
McCoy shook his head. "Spock, neither one of us want you to blame or doubt yourself. There are other factors to consider. Please, for Jim's sake, don't do anything rash. He needs you here."
"Very well," he said after a pause. "I will merely consider my options."
"That's all I'm askin'," McCoy drawled, sipping his tea. "We have enough blaming and offending going on. Speaking of…" He cleared his throat. "I have a feeling you got in touch with local law enforcement about Treadway?"
"Affirmative," Spock said. "I informed them of Captain Kirk's condition and advised that they take that in consideration. They have, and will arrive here at your mother's home at 1400 hours, at which time he will sign the appropriate papers with them as his witnesses."
McCoy looked relieved. "Good," he murmured. "At least we don't have to risk his health taking him into a facility. I'm nervous enough as it is. If they make more out of this—"
"They will not." Spock said.
"How can you be so sure of that?"
"I have contacted Starfleet and we will have the appropriate...back up."
McCoy guffawed. "Back-up?"
"We should expect two Starfleet law enforcement officials to arrive at at 1300 hours, who will accompany Jim's lawyer."
McCoy sucked in a breath. "You sure about all of this? This is...getting bigger, Spock. You gotta admit, that's a pretty big security blanket."
"I am aware of the impression this gives, Doctor," he said softly. "However, we will not divulge more than what is necessary. Given that our meeting today with the officials is in regards to Jim and his desire to file for a restraining order against Treadway following the threat of his safety on the porch, we will not be pressed to elaborate on the situation. Treadway can under no circumstances believe that we will ignore his threats. If we do ignore them, he will simply continue to threaten and use others."
McCoy grew quiet. "I'll have to insist that Jim stay behind, then. I can see him getting worn out quickly from our field trip, even he is just sitting in the holocraft."
"He will understand," he murmured, adding, "I assume that Nurse Chapel has not returned your message?"
He knew, of course, that she hadn't, but McCoy seemed reluctant to share anything regarding her and her supposed betrayal.
"Would you, if you were her?" McCoy replied with a mirthless laugh. "I have a mind to go ask her for myself, instead of messing around with the comms and messages she probably won't answer. Or I could try and contact Carol Marcus," he muttered. "Uhura said something to Jim about Carol visiting Christine, which means they've both been in San Francisco for at least a short time. Then again, I'd hate to involve anyone else in this mess. It's also the last thing Carol needs after her own trauma."
"I concur," he said quietly. "However, you cannot leave Jim unattended. Perhaps I should return to San Francisco and approach Nurse Chapel on your behalf."
McCoy sighed. "You've done so much already," he said, shaking his head. "And we need you here for the dinner."
"I assure you I would return to your mother's home before the engagement."
"Let me think about it," McCoy muttered. He swallowed the remainder of his tea, smacking his lips in satisfaction when he was done. "I don't want to back her in a corner, although I'm sure you wouldn't do something like that to her…"
McCoy threw him an expectant look.
Spock quirked a brow. Did he expect him to 'play fair?' When all that Treadway had done was cause the misery and fear? Indeed, he could not respond in a passive manner. If Nurse Chapel would not explain her part in the threat, he would do all that he could to convince her and appeal to her heart for Jim's sake. And for Joanna's. "I do not know as to what you refer."
The doctor lifted a brow higher than his. "I have a feeling about you and all of this. You're keeping things close to your chest, which leads me to believe that something's bound to boil over one of these days, as they do when things seem too...quiet."
Spock took his first sip of tea.
He rather liked the 'quiet,' and continued drinking his refreshment in the preferred silence, without acknowledging McCoy's last statement. He could not deny that he, too, felt the foreboding weight of all of their combined actions. Nonetheless, the actions were unavoidable, necessary to the success of this mission.
"I'll see you out in the craft," McCoy finally said, getting up from his seat on the swing. He paused beside him before he left the porch. "It's good to be three, Spock. It's good, no matter what happens," he said with a rare affection. "Despite my grumbling, it's better not to be alone in this."
He was not given to emotion but McCoy's last sentiments, which, despite the lack of appropriate Vulcan words to describe what he was experiencing within his heart, struck a chord. He swallowed with difficulty, before taking another sip of his tea.
Being three was, indeed, good.
oOo
"Are you doing okay?" McCoy asked Jim softly through the comm.
Sitting in the hovercraft, he watched Jojo skip happily beside Spock as they entered The Book Heart. He'd opted to stay behind in the craft for a few extra minutes so he could check on Jim—for the third time since they'd left thirty minutes ago.
Thankfully, Spock had not said a single word about his compulsion to speak with Jim, that compulsion most likely a result of their new brotherly bond.
"Yeah, but I wish I were with you," Jim said wistfully.
"Next time," he promised. "When we don't have police coming over to interrogate you."
"They're not going to interrogate me."
"Better not," he muttered.
"I have a hunch that whomever Spock talked to in Starfleet won't let this get out of hand."
"A hunch, huh?"
"Yeah. And you know my hunches. They're never wrong," Jim quipped. "Hey, why are you even still talking to me? Aren't you at the bookstore?"
"I hated leaving you after I promised you a field trip" he admitted.
He heard Jim smile over the comm.
"Don't feel guilty about it. You were watching out for me," Jim said softly. "I'm fine. Really."
"Okay," he sighed. "Wish me luck. Not sure that this guy will recognize me, but he will recognize Jojo. Especially if Treadway were with her the last time they came here."
"Are you worried about him treating you or Jojo differently because of...Treadway?"
"Would you be?"
"I'd be cautious, I guess," he said softly. "But not worried."
"Treadway is a...strong personality, Jim," he muttered.
Jim snorted. "That's putting it lightly."
"I just don't want to ruin things for her," he said. "Maybe it's best if just Spock accompanies her inside—"
"Get your ass inside, Bones," Jim said abruptly. "Don't let someone like Treadway spoil this time you have with Jojo."
"You're right," he murmured. "I'm going. I'll comm you when…"
His voice trailed off when Jim yawned "Jim? Ya with me?"
"I'll be asleep, most likely, so just wake me up you come home," he said, laughter in his voice.
"We shouldn't be too long," he said.
"Alright," Jim said. "Now, go. I bet she's dying to show you her favorite books."
He cut the connection, stepping out of the craft just as it began to pour. "You gotta be kidding me," he muttered, looking up at the sky with a grimace when he remembered he had no umbrella in the craft.
Sighing, he dashed across the street, soaked by the time he made it to the door of the bookstore. The door actually rang when it opened for him, harkening back to the days when bells were hung to notify the store owner of customers.
He ran a hand across his face, squinting around for a tall Starfleet officer and a sprite of a girl. He saw Spock first, standing with his hands clasped behind him. Jojo was nowhere in sight, but McCoy walked up to him anyway, wanting to dry out without getting books wet in the process.
"Did you lose her already?" he asked in jest, eyes scanning every nook and cranny.
"I did not," Spock said softly, inclining his head towards what appeared to be a massive oak tree, its branches reaching clear to the top of a cathedral style ceiling.
McCoy's eyes widened in shock. He'd never expected to see such a sight at this store, which had seemed small from all appearances when he saw it at first glance from the outside. His eyes trailed back down towards the roots, which twisted and curved in a dizzying maze that faded as they pointed the way towards various rows of shelves—the children's books.
Hearing voices, he walked hesitantly around a large root which he then realized provided a perfect if not elaborate seat for reading. He walked a few more steps, finally spying her sitting on the floor beside several other children, hugging her knees to her chest as she listened.
A pleasant looking man in his mid-thirties and wearing glasses sat in the center of the platform before him, reading animatedly aloud from a book. The last page, apparently. For he snapped the book shut and rose from his chair.
"The end," he said gently.
All the children whined in disappointment, including Jojo.
"Mr. Matthew," a boy exclaimed. "Read more, please?"
McCoy frowned. Matthew? As in Matthew Kennedy? This had to be the store owner. "Please?" Jojo echoed, wriggling in impatience.
He hid a smirk behind his hand as several children clambered around the man, earnestly pleading that he keep reading.
"You know the rules," he announced, smiling. "Same time next week."
"Aww," chimed a few children, but they ceased their actions and eventually dispersed to other areas around the store.
Jojo's face was crestfallen as she turned around. She trudged back, and even when she saw him—her father—never cracked a smile.
"Jojo, sweetheart," he whispered. "Want to look for your books?"
She shook her head. "We missed it, Daddy. We missed the craft and the story just like Mommy missed it."
He didn't quite know what to say, given that he'd had no idea when the story was scheduled in the first place. And he had no idea if he'd be able to bring her the next time.
"We'll find out when story time is next week, and tell your Nana, alright?" he said, crouching down in front of her. "She'll make sure you're here."
She wrinkled her nose at him. "Daddy, you're all wet."
He wiped the water from his forehead. "Wouldn't you know? Just as I got done talking with your Uncle Jim, it started to rain."
"We do sell umbrellas," a man said from behind Jojo.
McCoy glanced up to see the same man who'd read the story. He stood and awkwardly wiped his hand on his pants before offering it. "Sorry…" he said, wincing when he realized his hand was still damp, since his pants were far from dry. "It's raining cats and dogs out there."
Matthew smiled as they shook hands. "You must be Doctor McCoy."
He nodded. "And you are Mister Matthew, owner and book reader extraordinaire."
The man's cheeks flushed. "Ange usually reads, but she's home sick. I'm just...the fill-in."
Jojo smiled shyly up at him. "I like it when you read, Mr. Matthew. Daddy said Nana will bring me back next time."
McCoy swallowed back the fear that Jocelyn would ostracize his mother right along with him, therefore breaking the promise he'd made to Joanna on her behalf. He'd do all that he could to make sure Joanna came back here, to a place she clearly loved. Even if he had to beg Joce at dinner two days from now.
"I hope to see you then, Miss Joanna," Matthew said warmly. He scratched his nose. "Did I imagine this the last time, but weren't you going to ask me about the next book of the The Pickle Bear series?"
Her eyes widened with excitement. "Is it here? Is it here?" she shouted enthusiastically, clapping her hands.
"It sure is," Matthew said.
"The Pickle Bear?" McCoy echoed in amusement.
She nodded. "Uncle Jim loves The Pickle Bear. The bear gets himself in all sorts of trouble—so he's 'in a pickle,"' she giggled. "But he learns lessons. You should buy him a book, Daddy."
"He loves the Pickle Bear?" he asked, quirking a brow.
Interesting.
"Everyone loves The Pickle Bear," Matthew agreed with a straight face.
"Uh-huh, they do," she agreed. "And Uncle Jim told me he did this morning when you were talking to Mommy, I think," she said solemnly.
He frowned.
"Because I know that's where you went when you left breakfast, because you had that look on your face, Daddy," she continued. "When you haveta talk to Mommy and don't want to."
Matthew glanced cautiously from Joanna, to McCoy, and back to Joanna.
McCoy opened his mouth to steer the conversation elsewhere, but she continued.
"Since Uncle Jim is sick, Daddy, and you're taking care of him and he needs more treatments and that means he's gonna be sad and even more sick," she repeated, "you should get it for him oh MisterMatthewwherearethePickleBearbookssowecangiveonetoDaddy?" she finished hurriedly, forgetting about him altogether and eagerly glancing up at the bookstore owner.
He wondered if Joanna was always beside herself like this when she came here, spilling family secrets and Jim's secrets at the same time.
"Right this way, Miss Joanna," Matthew said hesitantly. "If it's alright with your father."
McCoy took a breath, brushing off the entire exchange, beginning with the awkward handshake.
"That's what we're here for, isn't it?" he drawled softly, grinning down at her. He smoothed her hair, his love for her stirring in his chest as she beamed up at him. "Books. Your favorite books. Might as well get one for your Uncle Jim, too, since you recommended it."
"I love you, Daddy. So much," she whispered, suddenly wrapping her arms around him and his wet clothing without a single care.
The world stopped as he realized he might never hear those words spoken to him ever again two days' time from now. Worse yet, never again feel her love as strongly as he did in that one, blissfully wonderful moment.
Never.
Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Please, review? :) NEW CHARACTERS HAVE ARRIVED! NEW CHARACTERS! I hope you are excited as I am. :D I've been waiting for what seems like for-EVER to get to this part, which seems to set off the next arc to this fic!
Just a reminder about the bond - our beloved Triumvirate is NOT "bonded" in a marital sense, just to make that clear. It is a familial bond. :)
(Inclusion of Carol in this story does NOT mean I will have any pre-ship...from the responses I got, it's clear that it's better to avoid the pre-ship at this point - I don't want to pull the rug out from under any of you who have been long-time readers or leave anyone disappointed. :) However, she might have a very very small part to play in this story, at any rate. I'm mulling over a one-shot for Jim/Carol post Beyond so hopefully if that is posted at some point, it will make up for my indecisiveness of it all! Please forgive me for that! Feel free to message me privately if you have questions/concerns. Thank you!)