And If I Stand Next to You

by restfulsky5

"Bones, why did you really bring me with you?" Jim asked. "I'm in the way, even here in Georgia." Bones was quiet as the porch swing rocked back and forth, the gentle rain lulling Jim to sleep. As his eyes closed, he heard a soft voice. "You're not in my way, or anyone else's, Jim. You're here so I can remind you, once and for all, that we don't leave anyone behind."

15. I'm Not Broken

Author's Note: Happy Thanksgiving! Huge thanks to those of you reading and also reviewing - it means so much!

I would say enjoy the read, but we're headed for angsty territory with this one...

---

oOo

And If I Stand Next to You

Chapter 15

I'm not broken (I'm a wide open highway with room to run)

oOo

When Jim awakened alone, with an aching, scratchy throat and a runny nose, he knew he was in for it.

He coughed into the stillness of the room to try to clear the phlegm from his throat, disturbed that a cold had seemingly come out of nowhere. A cold. A fucking cold. For anyone else, it was an illness that could be cured with a simple hypo. For him, it was an illness that could set him back again because, until his drug therapy was behind him, his body simply wouldn't respond to medication as it had before.

What was he? A germ magnet these days? Trouble magnet? Bones might never let him out of this room. The house. His ship. Ever.

Miserable, he turned onto his side. He might have to forgo speaking with the officers, after all. The dinner, too. Was it even possible for him to do anything without succumbing to fatigue or an illness? Was this Treadway's fault? Or had it been his own, a result of going out on the porch while it had been still raining?

Why couldn't he just get the damn treatments over with so his immune system returned to normal? What if Bones blamed himself? What if he didn't get over this? And it developed into something worse?

What if Bones sent him straight back into the hospital? He'd be there for weeks. He could just see it. Stuck in a biobed, an endless amount of machinery around him in an otherwise stark and empty room.

A low throb began behind his eyes at the end of his silent rant. He groaned with frustration into his pillow. None of this was helping anything. Neither was his pity party. He had to get moving whether he liked it or not.

He unfurled his body from its cocoon, but that was as far as he got.

He hated the thought of getting up. In fact, he loathed it. At least here he was comfortable and warm. He huffed and lay limply on his bed for a moment, the blanket now bunched up at his hip, exposing his bare feet. Besides the sore throat and runny nose, his muscles also ached, signaling without a doubt that he'd come down with something.

Bones was not going to be happy.

Dammit, he wasn't happy. Maybe this was why he'd been so cold earlier. Maybe it hadn't been that stupid memory of Delta Vega, after all, but this cold. It would explain why he'd lost his voice. Had those chills.

He heaved himself upright and slumped to a seat on the edge of the bed, leaning over as he got his bearings. Could he fake that he was feeling better than he really was? He'd managed to do that before, pre-dying days, of course. Maybe he could do it again. It wasn't that hard. He'd somehow deflect Bones's physician's eye, delay his inevitable magic wand, otherwise known as the tricorder, which caught all of his lies. All lies, of course, except for the one called 'meld-gone-wrong' that he had never told Bones about.

Feeling like the worst friend, one who didn't measure up anymore, he dragged himself out of bed and stood. He ran both hands through his hair, smoothing the bedhead that he knew was there without looking, all while trying to figure out how to approach Bones with this, or if he would at all.

He was caught between a rock and a hard place. He couldn't miss the dinner. Couldn't allow Bones to face Jocelyn without him. He wanted to be there to protect Bones if Jocelyn had her claws out.

Yet, if he had a cold, and Bones discovered that he did, there was no way that he would allow him to be present at dinner. More importantly, though, if he knew, then he could treat him and stop the cold from worsening.

No. He had to face the music. He had to tell Bones.

Chagrined that his captainly duties had been reduced to these pathetic decisions about his health, he turned around to look at where he'd been sleeping. As he stared down at the rumpled sheets it hit him how late it felt. Bones must have left some time ago. Maybe a long time ago. He did feel as if he'd hibernated through wint—

He suddenly sucked in a sharp breath, mind spinning with what-ifs. He had no idea what time it really was. He should have checked first thing.

After a cursory look around the room, he discovered that Bones had left his PADD on the desk. Which was unusual since Spock had caught him with it earlier. But maybe he hadn't told Bones. Shrugging indifferently, he picked it up and swept his finger across the screen—and cursed as he read the chronometer.

It was nearing 1630 hours.

That meant he'd slept the entire damn afternoon away. It meant that the police were probably gone. The devil in high heels could have showed up, already, too.

"Dammit," he muttered, looking around frantically.

He needed shoes. A shirt that wasn't wrinkled. Maybe some water to dash on his face—

"Jim?"

He wrenched his attention away from his scattered thoughts and glanced up to see Bones walking through the door, his face grim.

"Yeah," Jim said, trying not to wince as he literally squeaked the thin word from his raw throat.

"You feeling okay?" Bones asked once he was in front of him.

He blinked, unsure how to answer that.

Bones folded his arms and frowned at him. "Jim?"

He stared back dumbly, the truth caught in his itchy, painful throat.

He felt like...like shit. He wanted to go back to bed. He wanted to finally have a life again. Be a captain. Get over this business of having people wait on him, hand and foot. Punch Treadway in the face for doing this to Bones. Then crawl back under the covers.

Why couldn't Bones see that?

Bones sighed, his arms falling to his sides. "Well, hotshot, I do see it."

He winced. "I said that aloud?"

"Sure did," Bones said with low nod. "Tell me you're not going to do something stupid."

Jim blinked. "I'm not going to do something stupid," he repeated raspily.

"That'll be the day," Bones muttered. He sighed and dropped his hands, pulling his med bag around on his hip and grabbing his tricorder from its pocket like a man who had everything under control.

He was a little bit confused at Bones's calmness, being that his best friend's life was in complete turmoil.

"Bones," he began.

Bones looked up at Jim, silencing him with a single, stern look. "Let me put it to you straight, Jim. You. Have," he said slowly, "A. Cold."

Jim knew when he was defeated. He sank wearily onto the bed, dreading the verdict. "You know?" he rasped.

"You bet I do," Bones muttered, scanning him with a tricorder. "Noticed the fever as soon as I laid down beside ya and felt the heat radiating off of your body. Explains why you've been chilled this afternoon."

"Heat?" Jim whispered, confused. "Fever?"

"Yes. You spiked one while you slept, but it looks like the meds I gave you while you were out did the trick." Bones's brows drew together. "Well, for one symptom, at least."

"What now?" Jim asked.

"For starters, you rest." Bones paused, glancing up at him from the device. "Even if the police are here," he added.

He sniffed, a cough slipping out soon after. He grimaced at the sickening sound he made. "They're...they're here?" he croaked. "They don't need my statement?"

"Oh, they do," Bones said grimly. "That's why I came up here to wake ya up before the chief leaves."

"Great," he rasped, reaching to massage his aching neck.

Bones looked at him and shook his head as if in deep thought, then set his jaw. "Hands down," he said softly. "I need to examine you."

It wasn't a sharp command, but he could tell that Bones wasn't in the mood for jokes. Jim quickly obeyed.

Bones dropped the tricorder on the bed and placed one hand around the back of Jim's neck to support him and use the other to gently palpate the lymph nodes on either side of his throat. Jim watched him, unnerved by the new concentration etched on his face.

Jim breathed shallowly, feeling something like a cough creeping up in his chest. He tried to suppress it. "This is just—"

"Swallow," Bones ordered.

Jim sputtered out a cough but obeyed, grimacing when Bones prodded too hard with his fingers.

"Gah," he complained, coughing again with full force.

His body shook with the effort, Bones holding him steady with both hands while the episode subsided.

"Again," Bones said once he was done.

Jim barely refrained from shooting a glare at him. First, Spock had tortured him. Now, Bones, with his old-fashioned, hands-on doctoring.

"Jim," Bones warned gently.

He rolled his eyes, but obeyed a second time.

"Good," Bones murmured with a slight nod to his head, still prodding, each press like a hammer.

"Good?" he croaked.

He begged to differ.

"Your lymph nodes are slightly swollen." Bones quirked a brow. "It means the injections to boost your immunity are working, after all. Your body's fighting the infection."

"It's just a cold, right?" he asked again, his throat and the areas surrounding it hurting more than before from Bones's prodding.

"For now," Bones grunted. "I'm also worried about the spacing of the injections," he said, pausing.

That didn't sound good. "What do you mean?" he croaked.

He peered at Bones's face, trying to get a clue as to whether this was bad news or not. Unfortunately, Bones's expression never changed. He was in full 'doctor' mode.

"It means, Jim, that I need to continuously run scans and test your blood. In the past two hours while you were sleeping, I determined that we need to shorten the span between dosages to ensure that your immunity is developing properly and at the correct pace." He breathed out slowly, dropping his hands. "Not only that, but now that you have this cold, Jim, you might need an extra round of injections."

Dread swelled in his chest, squeezing more life out of him. More injections? Not only that, but more often? How could Bones think this was good? It was bad. Definitely bad.

He felt the world recede around him as he stared back at Bones.

A hand squeezed his shoulder. "I don't like that you're getting sick like this, Jim," Bones said softly. "Not right after the other infection you already had and even before most of the injections are even done. Your body is beginning to fight this infection, but it doesn't mean things are normal yet. I'm concerned this cold could turn into something more. We have to be careful."

He still wasn't sure why that explained anything, but he nodded. Now sick again, he felt out of his element even more than usual. He knew that Bones was the doctor, and he wasn't, but his mind was constantly playing tricks on him. He'd thought for sure he'd been improving. Getting better.

He couldn't wrap his mind around his treatment anymore, a fact that frightened him.

In his pre-dying days, he would have had a drink to take the edge off. It was almost too painful to think of it—who was he kidding? it was painful—but he would have also searched out a one-night stand. At the moment, he could do neither.

"Hey, earth to Jim. Are you with me?" Bones called out.

Jim blinked several times and looked away. "Yeah," he said hoarsely. "Sure, Bones."

Maybe he should contact Sarek again, like he had after the Narada attacks, and ask him for more meditation tips. He could just ask Spock now, too, since he knew about the meld with Selek. But...that might not be the best idea, either. On one hand he would hate to get on Spock's bad side by talking with his dad behind his back. On the other hand, who wasn't to say that he wasn't on Spock's bad side already? He didn't know what to think now, since Spock had stalked out of the room.

No, he'd ask Sarek. He had approached him about his troubles before, explained to him the circumstances surrounding the meld and the resulting damage, and it just made sense to ask him again. Sarek had agreed to keep his secret at the time, provided that Jim take other steps to ensure his mental health. He had. He just hadn't been truthful to Bones about why he couldn't sleep and needed a sedative; or given him all the reasons why he thought he'd needed an antidepressant for a few months; or explained the reasoning behind his sudden craving for plomeek soup. Now Jim was so used to it, sometimes small inconsistencies didn't bother him anymore.

Sarek had kept his secret before, so it was possible that he'd be just as discreet now. Jim set his jaw and made his decision. Until he discussed things with Spock again, he didn't want to aggravate the tension that presently existed between them.

Sarek, it was.

But another option had him thinking again.

Selek.

Years ago, with a hope and earnestness in his eyes that he was unused to seeing in a Vulcan, the ambassador had told Jim to contact him whenever he felt inclined to do so. Jim had warmed up to the idea then, even taking him up on his offer occasionally. Now, however, he scoffed. He could just see the look on Spock's face if he found out that he had included Selek in this again.

On second thought, contacting Selek was a bad idea. Besides, he liked Selek and didn't want to pull Spock's older self into a tense situation, not after all the ambassador had been through. It seemed too cruel.

He'd take care of things his own way. Just as he had before.

"You're in your own world, Jim," a voice by his ear murmured.

He wanted to laugh. He was in another world, all right. But not his...

"Here, allow me." Bones took him gently by the shoulders, guiding him back down to lay on the bed.

"But, I can't," Jim protested weakly, yet he did nothing to stop Bones from easing him onto the mattress, his muscles the consistency of runny gelatin.

"Yes, you can," Bones said, his smooth voice washing over him and keeping him in place under the covers. "He'll come up and talk to you here."

Bones wordlessly pulled a blanket over him, tucking it around him. Sighing, Jim turned his head to press his cheek against the softness of his pillow, finding comfort in it, even though it was lodged awkwardly behind his back.

"Who?" he rasped.

"Chief Larrett." Bones's hands guided Jim's shoulders forward before removing Jim's pillow from his back. He fluffed it, then repositioned so it was placed perfectly behind him.

"I could've done that," he said, words hardly a whisper.

"No more talking." Bones held up Jim's PADD. "Use this. Spock is blocking the bond for now. Said with you being sick and then dealing with sensitive information, it was the best thing for all of us."

Jim took the device without complaining, and without questioning Spock's decision, earning a doubtful look from him.

He'd keep the peace between them intact for as long as possible. Once Bones knew what Jim had hidden from him for years…

Jim couldn't even finish the thought.

He typed on his PADD instead, ignoring his hand tremors, well aware that Bones was watching his progress the entire time.

Whhere issSpock?/

Bones read it and threw up his hands. "Wish I knew," he groused. "He took off."

Jim typed quickly. He's gone?

"Yeah. Gone, as in split, drove off in his hovercraft," Bones grumbled. "Left right after Starfleet did. Said he had something to do."

Jim slumped against his pillow, confused. Why would he just leave?

"I don't know, Jim," Bones said, reading him correctly. "It makes no se—"

He stopped mid-sentence and stared down at Jim's next question. What did tthey edecide?

"We're ready with a statement," Bones explained, his eyes drawn. "If something leaks, if Treadway manages to tip off a reporter, I have something prepared."

Jim thought for a moment before responding. He wasn't sure he really wanted to know, or should know, given the nature of his PTSD, but his curiosity got the best of him.

What would you say?

Bones stared at the question for so long that Jim couldn't help but think the worst. That if word of his dying and subsequent resurrection by his CMO hit the news, Starfleet would be in the midst of a shitstorm. Who knew what else would be forced to come to light.

It seemed, for a time at least, that his involvement with Starfleet officials had been put on hold. Before he gave up the PADD, he typed one more thing.

Did Spock put me to sleep on purpose?

Bones quirked a brow at him as he grabbed the device, a look that Jim was familiar with and would see when the two ganged up on him to set him straight. He braced himself for the answer. After a few seconds, Bones turned the PADD back around to show Jim.

His reply was simple, effectively relaying Spock's earlier intention.

Yes.

Jim scowled. Both Spocks were manipulative when it suited them. However, had the situation been flipped, he probably would've done the same thing.

Knew it, he added, tapping the 't' with deliberate force to make a point.

"It was the best thing for ya," Bone agreed easily. "Both Starfleet and the police watched the holovid with Treadway. They know he's a threat, and have a warrant out for his arrest, especially since Christine—"

Jim looked at him, confused. Arrest? Christine? What do you mean Christine?

Guilt crossed Bones's face. "Right. I didn't tell you about that, yet. Treadway threatened her, too. More than threatened her, but I can't explain all that now. I will in due time. Just know that Treadway's threats are far worse than we thought."

Bones was talking so fast that Jim could hardly keep things straight in his cold-fogged mind, but he crossed his arms, anyway, and looked petulantly at him. Wanting answers.

"No," Bones said, shaking his head. "We're done talking about it. You're ill, Jim. We have it under control. Just leave it at that."

Jim let out a frustrated sigh, replying with more frustration. And your statement? he reminded him.

"I'll say that you'd nearly died, and Starfleet can back up this claim," Bones explained. "I'll say that I saved my captain's life with a specifically made serum tailored to his needs as a victim of minor radiation exposure—a serum that is no longer in existence or reproducible because it was destroyed during the attacks. Starfleet has already worked out the details and are adding them to your file."

Jim breathed in deeply, still unsettled. He typed again on the device and looked up when he was nearly done, catching Bones's eye. If this doesnj't work and people accuse you of—

Bones placed his hand over his, stopping his typing. "Of what? Miracles? Hiding something?"

Jim nodded.

"Then let them," Bones said. "We have a statement. Starfleet is in agreement."

Jim looked into Bones's eyes, guilt flooding his soul, the very places he'd given to Bones. Every fiber of his being yearned to go back in time. Start over. Tell Bones what had happened with Selek the instant he'd returned to the Enterprise. At the very least, tell him once he'd been promoted to Captain. Or, later that night in Bones's quarters, when all had fallen to silence for a brief moment and it had been just the two of them, except for the dream of the other him haunting his every turn, demanding that he rise to the occasion when he could not.

If only...

Bones's eyes softened, misunderstanding his reaction.

"Jim, we can ward off the worst, maybe even all, of the backlash," he said quietly, squeezing his hand. "Let's just hope it doesn't come to this. For now, you sit tight while I get the chief."

Bones got to his feet and returned the tricorder to his bag, pulling out something else.

Jim made a face. It was a mask.

"You'll have to wear this as a precaution, Jim." Bones's eyes were so apologetic as he handed it to him, he half-wondered if he could be dying again. "I'm making Larrett wear one, too."

Jim decided it was just because Bones was well-aware that he hated the idea of wearing a mask at any point in time and wanted to soften the blow. He took it like an obedient patient, giving Bones a tight smile before the doctor turned around and headed back downstairs.

The room was cold and empty without him, and he found no solace, not even in the fact that he would return. He slumped against the pillow in defeat and closed his eyes, his hands clenching the mask on his lap, refusing to put it on.

He, a man who claimed he didn't believe in no-win scenarios, a man who'd defied death with the help of a determined, relentless doctor, couldn't help but feel that he was this close to losing all that he'd recently regained

His brotherhood with Bones.

oOo

McCoy left Jim's room, breathing a sigh of relief that he had been like putty in his hands, even listening to his suggestion about staying in bed. The cold was a setback, plain and simple. Jim's lack of resistance indicated his reserves were low. Resting was the best thing for Jim now, even though he, Leonard, hated the thought of sitting with Jocelyn for dinner without Jim acting as his security blanket.

He hurried down the steps to see Chief Larrett, a middle-aged, athletically-built man, pacing in the hallway while speaking into his comm. It had been a tense afternoon with numerous discoveries, with five other law officials present. Larrett was the last one remaining in the house, the others having left to seek out Treadway or take care of all legalities surrounding his arrest. Two cops stood guard outside the property.

He was still piecing it all together in his shock, and had chosen not to inform Jim of all the details, keeping his recovery in mind. Even so, his head was spinning.

First, he'd learned that Starfleet would, under no circumstances, allow their flagship's captain to be bullied or threatened in any way during his recovery. Thus, they would be charging Treadway, after all. Despite the possibility that the ex-boxer could retaliate and leak news of the serum to the media, they had no tolerance for Treadway's actions towards Christine or Jim. McCoy was relieved. When it came down to it, what mattered most to him was Jim's safety.

Secondly, Christine had confessed to her part in Treadway' scheme to Starfleet personnel in the last hour. He hadn't expected her full cooperation this soon, since she'd leaked a patient's information, which was a severe offense. Granted, she'd been forced by Treadway to give up the information with the promise that Jim would not be harmed, but breaking an oath was breaking an oath, in Starfleet's eyes.

Thirdly, the police had been looking for a man who resembled Treadway for months now. This was not his first offense, just his first offense in his real name rather than an alias, and it appeared that he'd been living under the radar for some time now. McCoy had a sneaking suspicion that Spock had believed this to be true all along, and had been withholding this information from them in case his assumptions were incorrect.

Now, if only he could figure out where Spock had run off to.

"He's not there?" Larrett said, frowning. "You tried Darnell's Financial?"

McCoy slowed as he neared the bottom step. He had to be talking about Treadway.

Larrett inhaled sharply. "This is unfortunate," he murmured. "He couldn't have possibly known about the warrant. Did you speak with his fiancé?"

Larrett's frowned deepened during a moment of silence.

McCoy fingered his own comm, debating whether to try and reach Christine, tell her that when it came down to it, he had no hard feelings against her. The poor woman. What she must be going through. It was quite possible that she would be brought up on charges for her part in this, if they could not prove that Treadway had, indeed, blackmailed her. For now, however, officials were satisfied with her cooperation and, for her safety, had assigned a watch to her.

He couldn't help but think that her current roommate, Dr. Marcus, could possibly be a target now, too, because Christine had cooperated. For both of their sakes, he hoped that they listened to everything Starfleet asked of them.

Jim would never forgive himself if they were harmed because of him. Neither would he, for that matter. As much as he hated it, he was tangled up in this as much or more than Jim.

He would also hold onto hope that Christine would not lose her credentials as a nurse or this one indiscretion ruin her career forever. She was a damn good nurse, one he'd be proud to work beside. He'd always hoped that she'd become comfortable working on a starship again. Jim's starship.

Larrett hummed. "She has no idea? Treadway obviously had a plan in place for awhile and covered his tracks as much as possible. However, it's possible he could have mentioned a place to her that he'd flee to, if he were caught. Question her again." Larrett stopped speaking again, listening to the other side but only for a moment. "Yet, thanks to Commander Spock and his quick thinking, we were able to discover a trail of Treadway's unpaid debts for the past five years. He likely found out about our investigation over the last twenty-four hours and panicked."

McCoy narrowed his eyes. So Spock had known. He didn't understand why he'd had to be secretive about all of this, but one thing he was learning was that the commander protected those he loved. Jim would balk at the idea that Spock loved him, but he, Leonard, knew for a fact that Spock did love him. Not in the way that he cared for Uhura, but as a brother. Their bond was strong.

"Ask her again," Larrett insisted. "Place plainclothes officers near the buildings exits to watch out for Treadway."

Concerned at the implications of that order, McCoy caught Larrett's eye. He hadn't thought of Jocelyn's well-being in a long time, but that didn't mean that he didn't care. She was Joanna's mother, after all. He didn't want her to be in the middle of his mess, in the first place. But he couldn't see her lying to the police, no matter how much she loved Treadway. He didn't see her helping a wanted criminal, either.

The chief covered the speaker with his hand. "How is he?" he whispered to McCoy. "Can he talk?"

McCoy hesitated. He hadn't even told Jim of his decision. He didn't want him to worry unnecessarily. Knowing Jim, he wouldn't be able to rest once he knew.

"Dr. McCoy?" Larrett pressed. "I only have a few minutes before I must leave."

"He's an ill man. You can only have a few minutes. I'm concerned his health will worsen if I keep him here," he admitted. "I'll have to transport him to Starfleet General and admit him later this evening."

Larrett's jaw firmed. "I must insist that you speak with security and allow them to provide an escort. Treadway is on the loose. Your ex-wife doesn't know where he is."

She'd always been a good liar. Her smooth talking had gotten them out of trouble when they'd been dating behind their parents' backs, but he hated the thought of her lying now. "I could call and try—"

Larrett shook his head. "You have enough on your shoulders, Dr. McCoy. Your daughter and Captain Kirk are your first priority. Not your ex-wife."

McCoy grew quiet. So they were. Jocelyn would be livid over this. And he couldn't blame her. They'd tarnished her fiance's name in one afternoon, though Treadway had done this to himself in the first place. He'd also violated their recent verbal agreement.

"I'll need just one moment with him," Larrett continued.

McCoy nodded. "That's about all he can handle, to be frank."

"He was a brave man, standing up to Treadway," Larrett mused.

"He was stupid," McCoy muttered.

Reckless. Self-sacrificing. Honorable.

Larrett quirked a brow, but returned to his partner on the comm. "Barrow?" he asked. "I'm going to speak with Captain Kirk now. I'll comm you when I'm on my way."

Larrett ended the call and inclined his head towards McCoy. "Barrow said your ex-wife is a bit shell-shocked. Does she have a friend she can call?"

McCoy swallowed uncomfortably. He couldn't think of one, sadly. At one time, he'd known her to be such a social butterfly that he didn't know whether she was coming or going. But that had been before Joanna had been born, also before Joanna's serious illness as a baby, and before he'd started down a rough road of his own making. All he knew now was that she worked. Worked a lot.

It was interesting that Larrett hadn't mentioned family. He rubbed his jaw, staring hard at him. "Is there a reason why you didn't ask me if she had a family member to talk to?"

Larrett wagged a brow. "Let's just say I've been around. I have a gut feeling that her very business-minded family will not be happy about this faux pas of hers."

"You're right about that," McCoy muttered. "They weren't happy when I bought her a hovercraft for our anniversary. Was nicer than the one she has now—but the wrong color and size, and from the wrong dealership."

Larrett gave him a sad smile. "I'd say, if you didn't have a sick Captain on your hands, to call her yourself. But I imagine that with the tension already existing between the two of you, it wouldn't be a good idea. This is another point against you, McCoy, at least in her eyes."

And did he ever know it. Thanks to him, she was marrying a wanted man. It wouldn't help her case to keep Jojo, if she stuck out the engagement. On the other hand, if she broke the engagement she had every right to continue to pursue full custody. Her wrath against him would prevail.

He'd done this to her, in more ways than one. He wouldn't be surprised if she wished that he'd never returned from space to begin with.

oOo

Her heart thrumming, Jocelyn wrung her hands as she stared out the window from her business office on the fifty-third floor. The city below her was functioning as it always had. Even her office was running smoothly. In fact, up until about an hour ago, she had been planning to leave soon for Eleanora's house, where she'd been roped into having dinner with her ex.

Funny how things worked. She'd wanted nothing to do with Len or his best friend—no one could deny that he and Jim had an unrivaled bond of friendship—and in a twist of circumstances, she'd been facing hours with them. Or however long they had planned to keep her there in an attempt to sway her. Now, through another twist of circumstances, she had decided to cancel on him.

There'd been a time before Clay, before the idea of taking complete custody of Joanna, when she'd looked forward to talking with her ex. Maybe even Jim.

Clay had changed all of that, and she simply couldn't explain why or how he'd done so. And now, things had changed again.

Because of Len, her fiancé was on the run from the police, facing charges she honestly didn't fully understand. She was in quite a mess. A mess she did not want any part of, but here she was in the middle of it.

"Mrs. McCoy," her secretary said through the speaker.

She cleared her throat. "Yes, Dominick."

"Your last appointment for the day canceled and asked to be rescheduled for tomorrow."

Though she hated the thought of an even busier day tomorrow, she didn't mind the breathing room. The police had just left. At least this way, she could have tea, calm her stomach….

Who was she kidding? Her fiancé was stupidly running from the police—to where, she had no idea—and her ex-husband was probably laughing at her from behind his mother's front door. Her family would soon find out about Clay and his double life. Also something of which she'd been clueless.

There was nothing—absolutely nothing—that she could do to calm her fears. Still, she needed to find things to keep herself busy. Like she always did. Like Leonard had always done.

"Tomorrow morning is fine. Make it for 7:30," she said, knowing without looking that her upcoming schedule was too full to see this client otherwise.

She'd torture herself by coming in early. She'd even ask Nora to watch Joanna overnight again. At this point, she didn't care what clue that gave Len about her mental state. She wanted Joanna somewhere calm and, while Clay was out there, she could not be a safe haven for her own daughter.

She wasn't oblivious to the fact that Clay sometimes used his brawn as a threat to people. And if what Len and the police had said was true, Clay was not a stable man.

She'd like to think she had enough good sense to keep her daughter safe—and away from Clay until she could talk to him herself.

"Yes, ma'am."

Jocelyn sighed and pulled on her sweater, an old thing she kept around but never wore anywhere but in her own office. It even had a hole that she refused to mend because it reminded her of sunshine and tea on Nora's front porch, those afternoons she'd spent unhurriedly catching up on the McCoys. In fact, Nora had given her this sweater the Christmas after she'd divorced Len.

She'd never tell Len, but the reason she couldn't stand him was because she missed him. She missed the laughter that would soften the stress lines around his mouth. Missed the way he teased their daughter, encouraging her giggles. Missed the fact that even though they were divorced, he'd needed her.

Ever since he'd joined Starfleet, he hadn't needed her like he had before. One could argue that she'd never stopped loving him, but that wasn't the case. She had stopped loving him, at least like a lover would. She still loved him for Joanna, though her actions and words would seem to indicate otherwise.

She'd wanted Clay's attention to make up for what she'd lost, a man who'd given her his love within a week of meeting her. She'd wanted a father that was present for Joanna, and Clay had, at least at first, proven to her that he was that man. She'd wanted a second chance at true love, maybe at the expense of her heart, for she was starting to understand now that Clay didn't love her like she'd thought he did.

He loved the idea of her and her only, the idea of her and Joanna, as his family. But he'd wanted nothing to do with the responsibilities that came with them. That he was fleeing from the police was proof.

He balked at the mention of school shopping with them for Joanna, argued about where they'd spend the holidays, even refused to go into Joanna's favorite bookstore.

He'd made an attempt at first, back when she'd been enamored by the way he could charm her speechless and scoop her into his arms and carry her up to their bedroom like she was both a feather and the most precious treasure on earth. He'd been a passionate lover, more than Len had been towards the end of their marriage, given her more attention than Len had that last year. He'd helped around the house. Even helped Joanna with schoolwork once or twice.

Taken as a whole, she'd been stupid to fall for him so quickly. However, she could not deny her love for him, affection that kept her holding onto hope that he was innocent of the things they'd accused him of.

"Mrs. McCoy," Dominick said through the speaker.

She sighed. "Yes."

"Commander Spock is here to see you, ma'am. He is insisting it's of dire importance."

She drummed her nails on her desk, irritated. Besides Captain Kirk, a man with whom she could not compete, and also her ex, Mr. Spock was the last being in the universe she wanted to talk to right now. Especially unannounced.

However, she had a feeling that he would not relent. He'd stay until she left her office for the day.

"Send him in," she said, peeling off her sweater and stuffing it under her desk, with a flick of her shoe, where no one would see it.

"Very well."

The door opened seconds later, Commander Spock striding through her door exactly like she'd expected him to do.

Shoulders straight, chin lifted, eyes fierce. Like this was the very ship he helped command.

And who was she to compete with that….

She lifted her own chin and indicated with her hand the chair in front of her desk, where she was seated "Please. Take a seat, Mr. Spock."

"As I do not intend to speak with you at length, I would prefer to stand."

Of course he did. "Why are you here? You are aware that I was invited to dinner tonight."

"It is necessary for me to insist that you keep this invitation, despite what has transpired this afternoon."

"Meaning?"

"Your presence is necessary."

"I am under no obligation to do anything," she said through clenched teeth. "Leonard told me they would file charges...but an arrest wasn't imminent."

"Mr. Treadway's own actions have determined his course."

"After being provoked by you," she clipped.

"You use the term 'you' quite loosely," Spock said, quirking a brow.

"I believe I have a right to include you in the mix, the same as Len and Jim," she said in defiance. "I wouldn't be surprised if you're the one who decided to act on their behalf."

"Your fiancé cannot threaten the captain, using illegal means to do so," Spock said coolly.

She bit back a curse. What had Clay done? "By illegal, you're referring to the information he obtained on this...serum?" She had no understanding of this serum, no knowledge of it. The first time she'd even heard about it was when Starfleet officials questioned her about it.

She was grasping at straws, going into this blind.

"Yes," he said, walking to the side of her desk. He clasped his hands behind his back and peered out her window. "Your fiancé has revealed his true character. We did not provoke him. He threatened not only Jim, but Nurse Chapel, blackmailing her—"

"—into giving him information from Jim's medical file," she finished for him, having heard that from the law enforcement officials' mouths herself.

"Indeed," he said carefully.

She inwardly stewed, even more irritated now that she was being fed crumbs—pieces—that weren't connecting as easily as she'd like them to. She had no clear picture of what Leonard, Mr. Spock—and all of Starfleet, for that matter—were trying to hide.

Her stomach rolled, threatening to pitch its contents. For Len to risk custody of Jojo over this, for him to not give into Clay and his threats and demands—this had to be big.

And deep down, she knew that it had to be something that she would have fought to keep secret herself, had she'd known before getting involved with Clay.

She clenched her teeth, anxiously grinding them. Damn Len for pulling her into this crazy mess of his. Jim was at the heart of it, but Len, too. She was certain of this. He was the captain's attending physician, after all.

She was also positive that her family would disown her if Clay was found guilty and she had stuck by his side during the hearings.

She would be on her own.

She would either lose Clay—or her family and reputation.

And Joanna?

How could she even think of herself as a good mother if she isolated her young daughter from all of her grandparents? Certainly, after all she'd done to hurt Leonard, Nora would not accept her with open arms.

"Even if he did do these things, it can't be as bad as you're insinuating," she argued.

"Mrs. McCoy, you must understand that if Mr. Treadway has leaked this information to the press, it will begin a series of events, all of which will deeply affect Jim and Leonard," he said softly. "And it will only continue."

"So you want me to back off?" she asked with a dry laugh. "Go easy on him? Allow him rights?"

His expression darkened. "In order for you to do so, you must first be given the opportunity to understand what transpired."

She ignored his frightful look of superiority, and crossed her legs at her desk, equally confident. In her line of work, she had to be the boss in every situation. She'd treat this no differently. "Since there is nothing that you can say that will intimidate me, I'm all ears."

His eyes hardened upon her like he knew she was the hypocrite she denied to herself being. "And the truth?"

"If it will get you off my back, it's all I want," she snapped, wanting to get this meeting over with.

Spock turned his body away from the window and stepped towards her. "Is it?"

"Yes," she bit out, when he was too close for comfort.

"You could not handle it," he said icily.

It was a dare she could not refuse.

She stood, straightening to her full five-feet-seven-inches with heels, and looked him in the eye. She'd do it their way and get it over with. Let Leonard know once and for all that she meant business. She wanted a life with Joanna, away from the heartache that Leonard represented to her, but with Clay, as hard an adjustment it might be.

Spock had to be wrong. Joanna would be fine with her—and Clay. Despite Clay being very different from Leonard. Kids adjusted to new parents all the time. Generation after generation. They were resilient. Jojo would be fine. Even her own family would eventually accept Clay.

She would be fine as well, even if she had to hold her breath around Clay's unpredictable temperament every day.

"Try me," she baited him. "I want to understand."

"You say you are ready, but you are not," he asserted.

She glared at him. "Is it my humanness?"

"It is not a matter of your humanness," he replied coldly. "You are not capable of understanding."

"Oh? Not capable? You are rather rude, Mr. Spock," she taunted. "Ironic, given that your blood is human, too."

"It is the truth. And while I am half-human, I speak to you as a Vulcan. Our touch telepathy alone enhances—"

She blinked. Touch telepathy?

"—our understanding—"

Touch telepathy?

Of course. She'd forgotten.

"Then show me," she blurted, stopping him mid-sentence.

She could've sworn she saw triumph flash across the Vulcan's face.

He took one step closer, his presence even more intimidating than it had been a moment before.

She wanted to retract her reply—her own brash daring—but to save face, she could not.

"Show me," she whispered, drawing an insolent, shaking breath she could not tame.

"Indeed, Mrs. McCoy," Spock said, peering down his nose at her. "Since you are asking, then I certainly shall."

oOo

"Daddy?"

"Yes, sweetheart," McCoy said as he poured fresh iced tea into the glasses on the table.

Jojo refolded a napkin she had just creased in the center then looked up at him. "When's Mommy coming?"

"Soon, sweetheart."

Or so he hoped. He hadn't received word, one way or another, and they were late. It'd break Jojo's heart if she didn't come. She'd put "extra love" into the potatoes, more sugar in the tea, nestled "her" chair between her mother's and father's places at the table.

"Have you heard from Mr. Spock?" his mother asked.

McCoy glanced up from his table duties to find both of them staring at him in anticipation. "No, I haven't."

His mother glanced behind her back, as if looking up the stairs down the hall. "Jim?" she asked softly.

"He's asleep now," McCoy muttered, walking away with the pitcher. "Speaking with Larrett wore him out."

His mother came up beside him. "Here, let me take that. Stay with Joanna."

He reluctantly handed her the pitcher. He needed something to do. Keep his hands busy.

"When was the last time you checked on Jim?" she asked.

"Ten minutes ago. He was out like a light. Didn't even need the sedative I'd prepared just in case."

Even as he explained, he heard his white lie, loud and clear. He hadn't given Jim a sedative because he hoped that Jim would be awake when Jocelyn arrived.

Nora sent him a knowing look. "It wouldn't hurt him to eat with us, at least for a short time."

And allow Jocelyn another opportunity to ignorantly degrade him? Taunt him? No.

"I thought it wouldn't hurt to bring him here," he said, with more control than he was feeling. "And look what happened. He's sick."

"You couldn't have known, son," she said soothingly. "You can't blame yourself."

"Well, I do blame myself," he grumbled.

She took a breath, and reached out, grabbing him by the arm and gently squeezing his bicep. "Son, take this evening a moment at a time. Jim will do better on the transport back to the hospital once he's rested for awhile. Spend this time with Jocelyn and Joanna as planned. Show her how much you love Jojo and how much Jojo loves you."

He kneaded his forehead. He just wasn't sure if it—if baring his heart to the cold-hearted woman his ex-wife had become—would be enough.

"I'm sure Spock will arrive soon and help this dinner go smoothly," she added quietly.

"He's usually so punctual," he muttered.

"Daddy?"

McCoy turned around at his daughter's bright voice.

"I hear a hovercraft! I think Mommy's here!" she chimed, dashing off without his reply. "I'll let her in!"

He stared after her, swallowing the lump in his throat. This was going to be the death of him. His support system had vanished. He felt more vulnerable than ever.

"I know this is hard for you, Leonard," his mother said, embracing him from the side. She leaned her head against his arm. Grateful for the comfort, he wrapped his arm around her and hugged her. "But all you need to do is be yourself. Don't let the past get in the way. This is a new start."

He kissed the top of her head. "Did I tell you how wonderful you are, Mama?"

"You don't have to. It's enough to have you here," she whispered.

He pressed another kiss to her head, lingering. He knew she missed Donna, his sister, a woman who was a stranger to the family ever since their father died.

She'd never even met Jojo, something he couldn't help but hold against her. Since Joanna's birth, he'd only spoke to Donna twice. Once after Jocelyn's divorce, when he'd commed her because he didn't want their mother to be alone after he joined Starfleet. Not that it helped. She'd never commed back. The second time, Donna had contacted him, anxious to know if he was okay following the Narada attacks.

Their comm had ended with her saying she'd comm him again when she was ready. She'd never contacted him again. Her continued estrangement baffled him. She had no idea what had transpired during their father's last days, no reason to avoid him.

He was their mother's anchor. His presence here at her house couldn't be under more difficult circumstances, but here she was, as kind and compassionate as always.

"I better go," he whispered, dropping his arm.

Nora's eyes were wet as she looked up at him. "She'll see who you are, Leonard Horatio McCoy. Trust me."

He took a breath, nodding with a small smile. "You mean that Southern charm you graced me with?"

Nora smiled. "As long as you try to get along. Now, go."

He wagged his brows and left the room, taking his mother's words to heart as much as he could.

He rounded the corner, listening for the sound of Jojo's voice, but heard nothing.

"Jojo?" he called out.

Hearing nothing, he picked up his pace and practically jogged to the front door.

"Jojo," he called out again. "Where are—"

He stopped in tracks, his words fading when he saw the two people with Joanna, one of whom wore an unmistakeable disheveled, deer-caught-in-the-headlights look. The other, the missing Vulcan, was as stoic as ever.

He couldn't put his finger on it, but something just wasn't right.

"Mommy's here, Daddy!" Jojo smiled and closed her eyes, gluing herself to Jocelyn's side. "We made mashed potatoes and I made iced tea, extra sweet, just like you like it!"

"Jocelyn?" McCoy asked, concerned when she didn't speak.

In fact, she didn't look at him at all. She actually looked liked she was trying to hide behind Spock, her posture submissive.

It was odd and extremely out of character, but he was more concerned with the fact that they appeared to have arrived at the same time.

"Where have you been?" he asked Spock.

"Will the Captain be joining us?" Spock asked primly.

Jocelyn startled, seemingly losing her footing. Spock held onto her arm to steady her.

"He's sleeping," he groused. "Talking with Chief Larrett for all of five minutes wore him out."

Jocelyn sucked in a sharp breath. Spock's hand never moved an inch. In fact, the commander might have even moved closer to her.

"I'll let him rest while we eat, then…" He heaved a sigh. "We'll head back to San Francisco."

Jocelyn's face grew pale, her hand moving to cover her stomach as if she were sick.

"That is...unfortunate," Spock murmured.

"It was a risk that he—that we—took in coming here," McCoy said. "I can't risk anything else."

She squeezed her red-rimmed eyes shut, her hands clenched in front of her. Her hands trembling.

He stepped forward, worried that she would actually faint, pass out on the floor.

"Where were you, Spock?" he asked slowly, their close contact unnerving.

He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Spock had yet to let go of her—and Jocelyn was standing there as if she didn't care that he had her in a solid hold.

"I had a particular matter of which to tend," Spock said vaguely. "I met Mrs. McCoy on the way."

That was bullshit in Vulcan if he ever heard it. "What's going on?" he asked, scowling. "You're both acting…"

He stopped mid-sentence, suddenly remembering that they had a small audience who was listening to every word. He had to tread cautiously.

He huffed. "What is going on?" he repeated. "Is something wrong?"

"N-nothing," Jocelyn whispered, averting her eyes. "Nothing's wrong."

Nothing wrong his foot. "Jocelyn—"

She shook her head, briefly meeting his gaze. He blinked at her, shocked. He couldn't remember the last time he'd ever seen evidence of tears on her face.

"P-please, Len," she whispered, her faint voice shaking. "N-not now."

He frowned and cocked his head at her, concerned. She never asked for anything from him. Even something as simple as silence.

"Come on, baby," she whispered to Jojo, her hands still shaking as she put them on their daughter's shoulders. "Let's find your grandmother. Your father and Mr. Spock will be ready to eat soon, I'm sure."

She nudged Jojo along, leaving him to stare after them, baffled.

She'd sounded unsure of herself. She'd sounded kind. She looked…awful. Like she'd been crying—and was ready to cry again.

"What the hell is going on?" he asked harshly once they were out of earshot. He turned to Spock. "What did you do to her?"

"I did nothing," Spock said, his brows meeting in the middle.

"There's something you're not tellin' me," he accused.

Spock clasped his hands behind his back. "If Mrs. McCoy is expecting our presence, may I suggest that we not waste time by discussing this matter and, instead, partake of the meal she has graciously prepared," he finished, already moving away.

A frustrated groan rumbled from his chest. "Now, wait a minute. First you leave without warning, and now you won't explain why? I thought we were in this together."

Spock twisted his head around, his eyes like steel. Rigid. Unrelenting. "Doctor McCoy, you will listen to me," he ordered in a hushed voice. "You will not ask anything of your ex-wife tonight."

McCoy's mouth fell open.

If he didn't know any better, they were on the bridge of the Enterprise, Spock as Acting Captain.

"Now is not the proper time to discuss what you have witnessed," Spock continued.

"But, why?" he asked, finding his voice. "Did you see the look on Jocelyn's face? If she's upset about Clay, or not feeling well—"

"She is fine," Spock said firmly. "Dr. McCoy, may I reiterate that it is not the proper time...to ask questions. Not when there is so much at stake."

They stared at each other for a moment, the knots in his stomach tightening.

"Then, tell me," he said, his heart thudding in his ears. "What is it time for?"

Spock's jaw firmed and he stared past him to the staircase, just like Nora had earlier, towards the general direction of Jim. "Come," he said, voice softening. He looked away. "I believe I heard your mother calling us for dinner."

oOo

Jim slipped on the robe that he'd found laid out for him on the bed, and gratefully slid his feet into the well-padded, plaid slippers he'd found on the floor. Bones's voice had awakened him from his second nap of the day, reminding him that he was missing something very important. Dinner.

He wasn't surprised they'd started without him. Neither did he care all that much. His stomach rolled at the thought of sitting down to eat. He gritted his teeth, fighting against the all too familiar, recurring aversion of food. At least he'd had Nora's pie—and had enjoyed it before it had been too late to actually savor what he'd eaten. His stomach was nauseated again, his throat was raw. He couldn't smell a thing, either. He wouldn't be eating or drinking anything, not if he could help it. But he couldn't let that stop him from going downstairs and checking up on Bones.

The only thing that could stop him was Bones, himself, and if the doctor decided to take him back up stairs and tuck him in bed again, then so be it. He'd at least make an appearance. A bedraggled, lousy one, scoring himself and Bones no points in impressions, but at least he could shoot Jocelyn a murderous look, given the opportunity.

Running his hands through his slightly greasy hair, he made his way out of the room and down the hall to the top of the stairs. He gripped the banister, his breath catching as he took in the number of steps before him, spiraling out of control. They seemed endless.

He clung to the banister for dear life. He'd forgotten how damn long it had taken him to get up the stairs.

Taking a deep breath, he took each step like an aged man. Carefully. Deliberately. The long, loose robe didn't help his progress. He stopped halfway down the stairs to tighten his belt, leaning against the wall for support. He could hear Bones talking again, but something about his tone wasn't right.

"I didn't realize that being here would upset you this much," he was saying.

"It's not…you, Len." Jocelyn's voice was thin, cracking when she said her ex's name.

"Yeah, right," Bones muttered.

"It's not—"

Silverware clattered against a plate. "But it is," Bones insisted. "And I can't...I can't sit here and watch you sit through this whole damn meal—"

"Son—" Nora cautioned.

"Like you're afraid I'll hurt you," Bones said finished, his voice raising with every word.

Jim crept down the rest of the stairs, hugging the wall as he suppressed a coughing fit. He leaned his head against the wall once the urge to cough subsided, breathing shallowly. What had Bones arguing with Joce already? And swearing? Bones always watched his tongue around Jojo.

"I'm not...afraid," Jocelyn said, with a hint of her usual bite.

"You coulda fooled me," Bones grouched. "You can't even look at me, Joce."

"It's been a stressful afternoon," Jocelyn whispered.

"You got that right," Bones said with a growl. "And it's far from finished."

More silverware clanged.

"Doctor McCoy—"

"Just a minute, Spock," Bones said tightly. "This is between me—and my ex-wife. Not you."

"Joanna," Nora said quietly. "Why don't we see about having dessert out on the porch."

"But I'm not done!" Joanna protested.

Jim could just imagine her pouting at the thought of leaving her mashed potatoes on the plate, half-eaten.

"Dear, we'll come back," her grandmother soothed. "But I need you to help me get things ready for everyone."

"But, Nana!"

"Jojo," Bones warned.

"Okay, Daddy," Joanna whispered reluctantly, just as Jim reached the bottom step.

He remained still, willing Nora and Jojo not to look back as they walked hand-in-hand out of the other dining room door and headed towards the kitchen. He breathed a sigh of relief when they turned the corner, leaving him undiscovered in this part of the house.

"I'm not gonna lie, Joce," Leonard said thickly. "I'm going to miss her."

Someone—Jocelyn?—began to cry.

Jim inched towards the doorless entrance to the dining room. He peered around the wall to see Bones grimace as he watched Jocelyn, and run his hands over his face.

"Unbelievable," Bones muttered.

Spock tipped his head towards him. "Doctor, I fail to see—"

Bones rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Because she doesn't do this—she doesn't cry!"

Jocelyn covered her mouth with her hand, muffling her sobs. Tears trailed down her cheeks, all the proof they needed that she did cry.

Even Jim was shocked by her behavior. And confused. This was not the Jocelyn that he knew. No wonder Bones was scratching his head.

"And why would she?" Bones pointed out bitterly. "It's not like she's the one never going to see our daughter again!"

Jocelyn's crying increased as she put her head down, her hair falling across her face like a shroud.

Bones blinked several times, rubbing his eyes as he stared at her. "Christ," he said under his breath, his brow knitting together before he turned to Spock. "See?"

"Doctor, I admit that it is...unusual."

Bones huffed. "I don't like it when you agree with me—"

"You are quite contrary, Leonard—" Spock began.

"Even so," Bones interrupted, "since you're admitting that's it's strange, will you tell me what's going on?" he asked, accusation pouring from his eyes.

"It's n-nothing. I'm fine," Jocelyn whispered before Spock could get a word in edgewise. She brushed her hair back with a shaking hand. "Len—"

Bones took one look at her tear-stained face and threw his napkin down on his plate. "This isn't nothing," he interrupted harshly. "Is it Clay? Me? Something else I did?"

"N-no." Jocelyn wrapped her arms around her chest. "Y-you can h-have her," she gulped, her slim shoulders shaking.

Bones blinked at her. "What?"

Jim wondered if he'd misheard her. She'd...conceded?

"We b-both can," she said, averting her face.

"Did you just…?" Bones look at her in confusion.

She nodded and sniffed, wiping her eyes with a napkin. "I'm dropping the c-case."

But Bones acted like he didn't care that she'd just handed him back his rights to Jojo, and shot a heated glare at Spock. "Did you threaten her?" he asked harshly. "Because if you did, you just stooped as low as Treadway."

Jim couldn't help but agree.

"I did not," Spock said indignantly, as if that was the last thing on earth he'd done.

But Jim saw it.

It was unmistakeable. There was a gleam in his eye. A look that he—Jim—recognized. He'd seen it on a Vulcan before.

He'd seen it on the other Spock.

And on his Spock.

"Joce?" Bones said, voice suddenly tender. He reached out a hand to touch her shoulder but she shrugged away from him, caught in another torrent of cries.

Jim stared at Spock, then Jocelyn, and back at Spock. All three caught in an endless cycle of pain, confusion, and stubbornness. He felt like he was watching a train wreck, one that finally didn't include him. At least...not directly.

Bones tore his gaze from Jocelyn and glared once more at Spock. "You did something," he argued. "I know you did."

"I did not," Spock growled.

"You came here together," Bones shot back. "Explain that."

"Stop it," Jocelyn demanded. "Both of you, just...stop."

They both fell silent immediately, looking at her in surprise.

She drew a tremulous breath. "I asked, Len," she continued. "I asked him."

Bones's expression grew wary. "Asked him what?"

Jocelyn sniffed and exchanged a look with Spock. "I…" she hesitated.

"Joce?" Bones pressed.

She bit her bottom lip, glancing back down at her lap. "Nothing."

"Nothing?" Bones guffawed. "Unbelievable…you two...it's obvious you're hiding something. Explains why you shut down the bond!"

It suddenly came together with such clarity—such absurdity—in his mind that he couldn't help but...laugh.

Hiding something?

Blocked the bond?

Arrived together?

Jocelyn? Crying?

"Fuck me," he breathed, chuckling humorlessly.

Spock—their Spock—had actually done it.

Bones shot to his feet, now seeing him in the doorway. "Jim," he said earnestly. "You're sick. You shouldn't be down here."

He ignored him and stepped into the dining room, his eyes widening on Spock as the reality of his First's actions truly hit him. "Oh, my God. You didn't."

"Captain, I am unaware as to what you are referring," Spock said calmly.

Jim shook his head in disbelief, missing Jocelyn's frozen expression as she stared at him like was a ghost. "We're back to Captain now?"

"My intention is to show my respect."

"You mean to say that you're still upset with me," Jim argued back. "Case in point, what you did to Jocelyn."

"Captain, I admit that I do not follow your train of logic."

Bones frowned. "Jim—"

"That's bullshit, and you know it," he said angrily. "You know perfectly well what I'm talking about."

"Hold on, Spock," Bones said.

"Captain," Spock said, pushing his chair out to stand. "I do not."

"Jim—"

"Not now, Bones. You took it out on her, Spock," he stressed, looking pointedly at Jocelyn. "You were mad at the other you—"

"Wait a minute," exclaimed Bones. "What does the other Spock have to do with—"

Spock rolled his shoulders. "That has nothing to do with what occurred—"

"—for what he did to me—"

"—any of this?" Bones finished.

"It has everything to do with it," he argued. "You can't tell me that one has nothing to do with the other."

"—with Mrs. McCoy in her office," Spock finished at the same time.

"Oh, so now you'll admit to what you did," Jim said with a dry laugh. "You admit that you melded with her?"

They all glanced at Jocelyn. She inched her body backwards in her seat, wringing her hands on her lap.

"You melded with her?" Bones echoed.

"Bones, don't worry about it," Jim pleaded.

Bones shifted his gaze to look at Spock in confusion. "With Joce? Why?"

Jim had a sneaking suspicion as to why. To end this nonsense once and for all.

Spock's eyes flickered with unease. "I do not believe that we should discuss this here."

"No," Bones said, turning to stare at Jim. "I think we should discuss this. Jim, how did you know—"

"I didn't," Jim denied with a shrug.

"Indeed, he did," Spock countered.

Jim narrowed his eyes at him. Why the hell was Spock changing his tune all of a sudden? "Did not."

"Captain, you were the one to first question my actions," Spock said.

"I guessed," he snapped. "She's…." He briefly closed his eyes, trying to calm himself down, regain control of this situation, if he'd had any control in the first place. "Emotional."

"Well, that's putting it lightly," Bons muttered.

"An assumption, Captain, which was based on our earlier discussion—and my discovery." Spock paused. "Also, on your own experience."

He wanted to face-palm himself. Why was Spock giving Bones this sensitive information? Information that could tip the precarious peaceful balance between them?

"Hold on," Bones ordered, walking around the table so he was sandwiched between them. He turned and stared at Jim. "What the hell is Spock talking about? What discovery? What experience?"

Jim's mouth snapped shut. He understood Spock's tendency to tell the truth—in all circumstances—but he hadn't expected an all out heart-to-heart, a sharing session.

"Jim?" Bones asked again.

Spock took a breath. "The Captain—"

Jim stepped forward, chest swelling with panic. He really was going to tell him. "No. Spock—"

"—and I had a disagreement once I learned—"

His throat shrunk, blocking all air. "Fuck, Spock. Don't," he pleaded hoarsely.

"—that the ambassador melded with him when they first met, resulting in unforeseen effects, on—"

The dread washing over him felt like a heavy chain draped around his neck, pulling him down. "Stop," he begged, racking his brain for some logic to throw at him. "If you want to salvage the rest of our sanity right now, don't...don't say it."

Spock grew quiet, but his hesitation cost them both.

Bones's expression grew cold. "Jim? Is this true?"

Jim clenched his hands at his sides, hardly knowing what to do with himself. The train wreck was happening—and he was in the center of it.

"Spock?" Bones asked.

Spock's jaw firmed, but there was a hesitancy in his eyes.

Jim stared at his First, pleading with him. "—don't—"

"Jim," Bones gritted. "Is. This. True?"

He stubbornly lifted his chin—and shook his head. A blatant lie, but this was not the time for this truth.

The warmth in his eyes all but gone, Bones's impassive expression chilled him to the bone. He turned his neck, inclined his head towards Spock, but his eyes never left Jim's face.

In that moment, Jim understood that his secrets had damaged—maybe even irrevocably—the one thing that mattered more than anything.

"Spock?" Bones asked in a low voice. "Did Selek meld with Jim, cause him…." He swallowed. "Many of the problems he complained to me about following the Narada attacks?"

Jim inwardly winced. Sometimes he really hated the way Bones's brain functioned. How he knew exactly when to call him on his bullshit.

"Yes," the Vulcan admitted.

Bones's nostrils flared. "When, Jim? Where?"

"N-nowhere," he stammered.

Bones growled. "So help me, Jim, this is the last goddamn thing I need right now!"

Jim's shoulders slumped in defeat. He knew what it was. He knew what an ass he was because he couldn't help but keep things secret, not when they could potentially harm others, even at the expense of his own honor. Not when he could protect himself.

"Delta Vega," he admitted painfully.

Bones's expression fell, breaking into a thousand pieces. In that singular moment, he saw that Bones remembered everything that had happened following his venture on the ice planet, everything that he had said to him once he'd returned to the Enterprise.

Now lies. Now deceit. Plain and simple.

He couldn't bear to look in the eyes of his best friend and witness his hurt.

"Fuck," he whispered. Like a coward, he looked down at his feet, his breaths heavy and labored, until Bones spoke into the frightfully tense silence.

"All this time," Bones asked in a hushed voice. "And you never even thought it would be a good idea to tell me? To explain to me what was really going on with you?"

"I didn't...think it was necessary." He pressed a hand to his forehead, another headache coming on as fast as his lies were biting him from behind. "I thought I could handle it."

It was a poor excuse, but the truth. He hadn't thought of the implications back then. Only of keeping it together on his own. Bones had had enough to deal with, stepping immediately into Puri's position as CMO. All of them had had so many responsibilities…

He didn't want his friends to point the blame at Selek, when, after the meld, everything had been so damn clear. At least for a time.

He'd done what he'd had to do. He'd done it well. He just hadn't expected it to snowball like it had. He never expected that he'd still have moments of being Vulcan. Or nightmares that involved his planet imploding. Or the depression that had worsened after he'd died, the intense longing he had to be the other him.

Stable.

With a father.

He'd had a dad. A father who'd watched him become captain.

How could he not be depressed about that? At least once in awhile? How could he not feel ashamed for about what had happened to him? For having new ideas he couldn't account for on his own?

Bones sucked in a sharp breath, as soon as the thoughts crossed his mind.

Jim glanced up at him, stricken with guilt when their eyes met. He couldn't believe it. Spock had lifted the shields, allowing that single thought to bleed through the bond—and head straight towards Bones. His thoughts had been laid bare in a moment of weakness.

"What damage has this done, Spock?" Bones asked in a controlled, 'doctor's' voice, watching him without blinking an eye. "What are we looking at here? Emotional damage? Intellectual? Were his sleeping patterns altered? Eating habits? Does this explain his occasional bouts of depression? His insomnia? Nightmares?"

Jim grimaced at each educated guess, each question fired one after the other like he should've expected from as great a doctor as Bones.

His headache became damn close to a migraine.

"It has done...enough," Spock said quietly.

Bones narrowed his gaze on Jim. "Will he need a Vulcan healer?"

Spock watched Jim, eyes guarded, expression closed.

Jim's breath caught.

"Yes," Spock simply said.

The tension in the room fell over him like a thick blanket, suffocating him.

His hands began to shake.

He could hardly breathe.

Spock had said nothing about a healer.

Nothing.

Fuck.

"Jim, go to your room and pack," Bones said flatly. "We leave for Starfleet General in thirty minutes."

Jim lurched back, wide-eyed with disbelief. "Leave? For what? The hospital?"

That only meant one thing. But Bones wouldn't do that to him, would he? Not tonight.

"Yes, the hospital, where you'll be admitted," Bones said without missing a beat, "and immediately undergo your next injection therapy."

Sweat beaded his forehead. Injections? So soon?

No.

No.

This couldn't be right.

He wouldn't.

He couldn't bear the thought of them. Dealing with their effects. Losing his mind. Losing control of his bladder. Losing his dignity. Losing...everything.

He wrapped his arms around himself, shielding himself from Bones, and vehemently shook his head. "No," he said, refusing to accept it.

"Yes," Bones said quietly.

He hugged himself as tightly as possible. "No," he whispered hoarsely.

"Yes."

"No." He dug his fingers into his skin until it hurt. "I'll...I'll be fine. Fine for a few days, at least, right?"

"No, you won't be," Bones said darkly. "That's not how it works."

Without warning, a cough swelled in his chest. He easily succumbed to it, his body shaking with a force so hard that he could've sworn he'd broken a rib. Hands touched his shoulders and pushed him into a chair, and when he looked up, he saw it was not Bones—but Jocelyn.

She'd stopped crying and was looking at him with an expression he couldn't decipher.

He hunched his shoulders, the cough more than he could take. She rubbed his back until it subsided.

Bones stood apart the entire time.

Jocelyn lifted a glass of water to his lips. "Here...Jim." she said, voice thin. "This might help."

He sipped, and although the liquid hurt going down his raw throat, he hadn't realized how thirsty he'd been. "Thank you," he breathed, gingerly touching his side.

"You're not fine, Jim," Bones said, his eyes narrowing on Jim's side. "Clearly, you are not fine!"

"I...I am." He swallowed, too frightened by his expression to move. "It's just a damn cough. A cold."

"It's going be more than a cold—"

But couldn't face this. Not tonight. Maybe...never.

He shook his head. "I'm not going."

"There's no challenging me on this, Jim," Bones countered. "Wait in your room until I can arrange for a transport."

He blinked at him, every part of him screaming that this wasn't happening to him. "No," he whispered. "I can refuse treatment, can't I? It's my right."

Bones stepped forward—everything about his posture, the fury in his eyes, the snarl on his face—demanding his obedience. "Go. To. Your. Room."

Stunned, Jim stood despite his aching side—and backed up. Right into Jocelyn. He dropped his arms. "But—"

She gently gripped his arms from behind, offering him comfort again, in this strange reversal of circumstances.

Bones's jaw clenched. "I'll take a look at your ribs as soon as...as..." But he didn't finish. His eyes filled with more hurt than Jim ever expected to see, his eyes brimming with tears. "Dammit, Jim."

"I'm sorry," he whispered guiltily. "Bones, I'm sorry."

The doctor abruptly turned his back to them all. His head hung low as he braced himself with his arms against the wall. "Goddammit, Jim," he repeated hoarsely.

"Bones—"

"Dammit, Jim," Bones croaked in a wrecked voice, barely looking over his shoulder at him. "Stop arguing with me and do as I say. After all we've been through, I deserve...I deserve at least that much respect from you."

The plea for respect gutted him. He sagged in guilt, would have pitched to the side had it not been for Jocelyn's arms holding him up. He didn't feel right. He felt...dazed.

Like he was watching himself from the outside of the glass this time, looking in.

It was a horrible, horrible feeling.

"Let's go, Jim," Jocelyn murmured. "I'll walk with you to your room."

He nodded absently, and though he could hardly understand what she was doing—or why she was doing it—she comforted him and guided him with her smooth movements and quiet voice the entire way.

oOo

McCoy didn't know how long he stood facing the wall after he sent Jim to his room to wait for him. He was lost in his thoughts. Incapable of even calling for the damn transport. Drowning in self pity. Dumbfounded that Jim had kept this from him for as long as he had. Trying to understand what Spock was explaining to him, that the meld that had gone…wrong...at least for Jim. That Spock had revealed this in his deep concern for their Captain's health.

It was enough time for Jocelyn to have taken Jim to his room and return.

"You shouldn't be so hard on him," she huffed from behind him.

"You're one to talk," he muttered, his head dropping more and sagging to his chest.

He'd been sucker-punched. By the very person he'd risked everything for—his brother.

"You've put me through hell, Joce. Jim and Spock, too, for that matter."

"I know," she whispered. "And I'm...I'm truly sorry."

He turned around and faced her. "You have no right to...to…"

"To what?" She laughed shakily. "To apologize? Make amends? Help him? Help you? When you can't even see straight?'

"I can see just fine," he said curtly.

"I know you better than most, Len. Even as your ex-wife. You're seeing through your hurt, Len," she corrected him, crossing her arms across her chest and hugging herself. "Like I did."

"She is correct, Leonard," Spock agreed quietly. "You must take a moment to regain your perspective."

He scowled. "I need more than a damn moment."

"I know," she said, nodding. "I would, too. But don't take too long."

She stared at him like she actually cared. He didn't know what to think about her, either.

"Do you realize that this changes everything? That I have months and months of files to go through? Jim's medical files?" he asked them, his hurt almost too much to bear. "To make sense of his symptoms over time? Not only that, but I have to find the right healer and convince them to come here to help him? While he's receiving drug therapy? Do you realize how even more difficult this is going to be on him?"

"I don't understand all of what just happened but I do know that Jim Kirk is not a selfish person," she said quietly. "He didn't mean to hurt you."

Her reprimand reminded him that Jim was hurting, too. "How is he?" he asked her hoarsely.

"He's not...well," she said. "And he needs you."

McCoy was worried that he didn't actually want him.

Jojo rushed in, tears streaming down her face. "Uncle Jim is gone!"

McCoy knelt beside her, looking her directly into her eyes. "What do you mean, Jojo?"

She gulped, her chest heaving. "I snuck into his room when Mommy was talking with Nana! But he wasn't there!"

McCoy glanced back at Spock.

"I've...I've looked everywhere," Jojo wailed.

Spock immediately strode out of the dining room and down the hall. McCoy chased after him, catching up to his long strides.

They rushed into Jim's room and scanned the room, every surface area, every nook and cranny, searching for a sign as to where he'd gone. Jim's PADD was missing. He couldn't believe their luck when he saw Jim's comm, discarded on the floor, hidden by one of his slippers. It could possibly give them a clue as to where to find him.

He reached down and picked it up, immediately scrolling his recent comm list.

"He commed three cab companies," McCoy muttered, silently reading. Had he done that—and left his comm—to confuse them? "How did he even leave the property without the police noticing?"

He handed the device to Spock, who looked at the call log, as well.

"He could have asked them to meet him a block or two away," Jocelyn said, coming into the room. "This side of the house is shadowed by the trees, making it easier for him to hide and leave unnoticed."

He frowned. "He couldn't have gotten far."

Not this early in his recuperation. With a bag slung on his shoulder.

"I will leave at once," Spock murmured. "Chief Larrett must also be alerted, in the possibility that this is related to Treadway's disappearance."

McCoy's heart lurched. This couldn't possibly be Treadway's doing, could it? "Jim left of his own accord. There's no indication of any struggle," he protested.

"I fear it is a possibility," Spock said.

"I'll come with you," he said decisively. "There's no question that Jim is pushing himself running off like this. I don't know what his physical or mental condition will be when we find him."

Spock's brow creased. "Is any of his luggage is missing?" he asked, indicating with his head to the one bag on the floor by the open closet.

His heart beat heavily as he rummaged for his luggage in the closet. "Only his duffel bag is gone. Think he left for the hospital?"

"Perhaps," Spock said. "Or a nearby hotel."

"Maybe we can still find him, before he hurts himself," McCoy said, swallowing. "Is he blocking us?"

Spock's eyes flickered with emotion. "Yes. It is unfortunate," he said, walking out of the room, McCoy and Jocelyn closely following.

"He's gone?" Nora called in a worried voice from the end of the hall.

McCoy tamped down as much anxiety as possible. He didn't want his mother or Jojo to worry unnecessarily. "Yes. He left. He could be headed for San Francisco on his own—or another place to stay for the night."

If they were lucky, that's what he had done…

How could they find him if he decided, irrationally, to stop the treatments and head somewhere else entirely?

"It's storming again," Nora said. "I don't like the idea of him out in this weather in his weakened condition."

McCoy didn't, either. He hated the thought of Jim developing pneumonia. Aggravating any of his symptoms.

Joanna pressed against Nora's hip, her eyes glistening with tears. "Daddy, please find Uncle Jim. I'm scared."

"We'll find him, baby," Jocelyn said softly.

McCoy turned to her, scowling. "We?"

She lifted her chin. "You need all the help you can get."

"And Jojo?" he countered, not wanting their daughter to be scared even more by their absence.

"We'll be fine," Nora assured him softly. "Go."

Spock nodded. "I will comm Larrett, then inform you of where we should look for him."

"I'll be waiting," McCoy confirmed. "Until then, I'll head downtown, towards the public transport system. He might be planning on taking a hoverbus to wherever it is that he's going."

Spock left, leaving McCoy and Jocelyn alone. She stared at him expectantly, as if waiting for him to speak.

He had nothing to say to her.

"I need to pack a few things," he said hotly, excusing himself from her presence.

She had the audacity to follow him back into Jim's room, where he grabbed medical supplies for every possible scenario he could think of.

"What did you mean, asking Mr. Spock if he is blocking you?" Jocelyn asked.

"We have a bond," McCoy explained, also grabbing Jim's coat from closet. He stuffed it in a bag to keep it dry.

"A bond?" she echoed.

"A familial bond that was recently formed—by accident."

"Oh," she said. "I bet you just love that."

It irritated him that she knew him that well. "If you're asking if it bothered me, it did," he snapped. "At first. Now, however, it would come in handy if Jim wasn't so damn stubborn."

"Like you?"

He ignored her and hurried to the front door. He grabbed his own coat from a hook on the wall, slipping it on. He reached for his keys which were lying on the hall stand.

She grabbed the keys before he could. "Let me drive."

He hesitated. It didn't make any sense to him that his ex-wife wanted to help them. Or that she now seemed more concerned about his best friend's disappearance than that of her fiance's.

She rolled her eyes in a mannerism that was all too familiar to him. "We have no time for this."

He looked at her in suspicion. "Why do you want to help?"

"Because you drive like an old man," she retorted. "You couldn't drive fast enough, not even if a dozen Klingons were on your trail."

He opened his mouth to argue with her—but then realized she was right. She could drive crazier than anyone. Than him. Especially him.

His mouth snapped shut.

"Besides, it will be easier for you to talk on the comm with Spock," she added.

He nodded, and grabbed the umbrella. "Fine," he said curtly, chagrined that he had to agree with her.

They hurried out of the house and down the steps. Discovering that it was pouring, McCoy held the umbrella over her head the entire way.

By the time they made it to the car, he was soaking wet, even with a coat. He continued to hold the umbrella for her, as the driver's door slid open.

"We'll find him," she said, still standing.

He was at a loss for words. "Maybe."

She gave him a tight smile. "We wi—"

A force like none other slammed into his head.

"Agh," he groaned.

The umbrella fell from his grip and onto the wet pavement, discarded.

He clutched his skull.

"Len," Jocelyn cried. "What's wrong?"

He couldn't answer her.

He dug his fingers into his scalp, a low whine escaping from his throat.

"Oh, God. Len!"

He curled into himself, willing the force to go away.

Willing the fire burning in his brain to stop.

All he could feel was pain.

All he could sense was Jim.

All he could sense was Jim.

"Ji-immm," he groaned.

What was wrong with Ji—

He dropped to the ground.

Helpless.

His mind and body overcome.

"LEN!" Jocelyn screamed.

It was the last thing he heard before all went black.

---

Author's Note: Thank you for reading. I know it's an awful way to end a chapter again...bear with me! :)

Junker5, diamondblue4, and plumeria47 - thank you for editing this (mega) chapter. I greatly appreciate the work you put in, keeping me on track.

I'd absolutely love to hear what you think. Please, review?