Author's Note: Thank you so much for your support - it means so much. Your reviews have been such wonderful inspiration.
I wanted to give a warning for content now that we've reached this part of the story. If you're easily triggered by emotional angst, tread carefully. If you want a head's up from me to let you know when you can breathe easier while you read, I'll be more than happy to oblige.
Warnings posted in end notes to avoid spoilers.
Thank you junker5, diamondblue4, and plumeria47 for your help with edits and ideas and encouragement - the list goes on. You guys are the best. (All remaining mistakes are mine, of course!)
We're backtracking again, but just a little bit. This chapter begins in McCoy's POV, right as they are arriving at the police station.
oOo
And If I Stand Next to You
Chapter 19
You'll keep tearing me apart (with your foolish games)
oOo
McCoy materialized on the beaming platform of the Atlanta Police Station, sandwiched between Jocelyn and Spock.
Or, rather, that had been the plan. Of course it didn't work out that way.
Jim was missing. Jim was flying high on Agrediphine. Treadway was smart enough to have lured Jim away.
Why would anything go right?
He'd never get used to his atoms separating, or his innards feeling like they'd been twisted into a funnel cloud once he materialized. It didn't matter what transporter system he used. Whether it was the platform on the Enterprise or the one they'd used on the shores of California. They were all the same.
Except for this one.
He felt himself coming apart as soon as he arrived. "Dammi—" he cursed, cut off as he was wrenched away again, the transporter beam sending him to who knows where.
He reappeared on the same platform to find Jocelyn looking at him, at the place where he'd stood, like she'd thought he'd disappeared forever. Like Porthos, Archer's poor dog that finally returned home after a year.
But he was a doctor, not some damned dog. He didn't have the time to be lost.
"Leonard, are you alright?" she asked.
"Not sure." He closed his eyes, dizzy and disoriented, and breathed deeply. "Damn it all…" He opened his eyes and glared at the man at the console on the other side of the room. "Is that normal around here?"
The man winced. "Sorry about that, sir," he apologized. "We're having some issues with interference, just like the rest of the city. You could feel some tingling for a short time."
"Wonderful," McCoy muttered.
Spock looked at him for a long moment.
"I'm fine, Spock," McCoy grumbled.
Spock hesitated before stepping down first. "We must hurry."
McCoy adjusted the bag on his shoulder and stepped off the platform, glancing back to see that Jocelyn was also following. He wasn't sure how he felt having her tag along, especially if this involved Treadway. But he'd figured that she'd find her way downtown on her own, anyway, if they hadn't allowed her to come along. This was the safest way to include her. He hoped.
Her face was pale.
"Having second thoughts?" he asked.
He wouldn't blame her if she did.
She averted her eyes. "No."
Her reply wasn't convincing, but he kept his mouth shut. The last thing he wanted to do was get in an argument with her when Jim's life was on the line and waste precious time in another argument. Maybe in time things would smooth out between them. But now? He wasn't sure they should even be in the same room together for long, both more likely to snap each other's heads off than to make polite civilized conversation.
"If you're sure…"
"I'm fine," she whispered.
He hesitated behind her, and was the last to greet the two officers waiting for them in the doorway.
The older of the two, a man with graying hair but a kind face, reminded him of Pike, and spoke first. "Commander, Dr. McCoy, I'm Detective Evans, this is Officer Hamilton. We've begun a search for both the captain and Mr. Treadway. Officer Hamilton will accompany you as you start on Specter Avenue on foot. It's not far from where you said you saw Kirk...in your..." he hesitated.
"Through our bond," Spock provided succinctly.
"Right," Evans said, nodding in acknowledgment. "The bond."
"And the ambulance?" McCoy interjected.
"Please, follow me." Evans walked out into the hallway. "I'll explain while we make our way to the front desk."
Impatient, McCoy bit back a sharp reply. He fell in step with Spock, beside Evans, no less anxious than before. In fact, just being in the presence of these capable law enforcement officials, knowing Jim was at the mercy of both the drug's effects and Treadway, tied his stomach in even more knots.
"We have one parked in the lot outside, ready to respond at your word, Dr. McCoy," Evans explained. "We've also been in contact with Starfleet. They are prepared to take Treadway into custody once we've located and arrested him. If there's anything else you need, don't hesitate to ask."
"Privacy," McCoy said, exchanging a look with Spock. "Kirk could be in a compromised state."
He didn't elaborate on what that would entail, certain that if he didn't keep Jim's indiscretion contained that it would open up another can of worms. He'd already sent Boyce a message of his own before beaming to the police station, covering his tracks. He wasn't looking forward to reading Boyce's reply, a man who was already under harsh scrutiny by the brass, just like he was. More than that, however, Boyce was a man who knew him—McCoy—all too well.
Boyce was aware of everything pertinent to Jim's recuperation, including the stress it had had on his attending physician.
There wouldn't be much keeping him from transferring Jim to his care if he deemed McCoy emotionally compromised. Not if this went completely south.
And there was no way in hell that it hadn't already.
He couldn't fathom anyone else taking care of Jim, but he'd had to inform Boyce of the situation as soon as possible in order to get clearance at the local hospital. He'd had to risk it. Once Jim was stable—for he was prepared for the worst case scenario, that Jim had overdosed already—then they'd think about transferring him to Starfleet General.
Only then would he consider what Jim taking the Agrediphine really meant for them both—and their status as doctor and patient. As best friends.
Evans gave him a small smile. "We'll do all that we can. We are aware of the seriousness of the matter and Captain Kirk's poor health. We're prepared to keep this as discrete as possible, I promise."
McCoy hoped it was a promise that they could keep.
They passed a man in a trench coat as they made their way out the door with Hamilton. His face was hard to forget, the resemblance the man's sour face had to Spock's notable. And he'd bumped into McCoy with enough force to jostle him sideways a few steps.
The sour-faced man strode towards the front desk sans an apology.
"Idiot," McCoy grumbled under his breath, before the clear night air shocked him back to the task at hand.
At least it had stopped raining. With a sigh of relief that something was finally going right, he picked up his pace. Spock and Hamilton were already ahead of them.
"Do you know who that idiot was?" Jocelyn asked him breathlessly, hurrying to remain beside him.
"No," McCoy said, shaking his head. "You?"
She huffed. "Unfortunately, yes. He's Matthew's father. The man who'd like to put my family's business in the ground. Strange that we'd see him here."
"Matthew?" he repeated, his heart beginning to race.
The only Matthew that McCoy knew was Matthew the owner of The Book Heart.
The Matthew he'd talked to about his leg.
The Matthew that Jojo had liked.
Of course Jocelyn knew Matthew worked there. The Book Heart was Jojo's favorite place. Jojo had talked nonstop about it to him. To Jim.
And McCoy had talked to Jim, too, hadn't he?
He must have.
About the bookstore.
About Matthew.
The store that starts—
Fuck.
Jim had told Treadway to meet him there, the only goddamn place where he thought that someone would recognize him.
This was proof that Jim hadn't lost all of his common sense. Not completely.
Not...yet.
"Matthew graduated with us. He owns the bookstore that Jojo likes," Jocelyn continued, looking ahead and not paying attention to the fact that McCoy had stopped walking beside her and didn't need her to explain a damn thing. "She'd go there every day if I let her."
His heart clenched with fear, the truth of where Jim had gone somehow making this more real than ever. "He's going to the bookstore," he announced, his voice loud enough to stop all three of his companions in their tracks.
"What?" Jocelyn spun around, her brow wrinkled.
Spock's head snapped around at the same time, his eyes narrowing on McCoy in question.
McCoy tried using the bond to tell Spock but he was met with an immovable object. A wall.
He really had shielded him from Jim.
Did this mean Spock could finally sense more from Jim?
It made sense. McCoy didn't understand how Jim has been able to shield in his drugged state in the first place.
Maybe now Jim was so out of it, trapped in some twisted, psychological state, that Spock had to block him from them both.
Officer Hamilton turned his head, glancing between them as if trying to understand what was being said through the shared silence.
McCoy swallowed back the lump in his throat. "You said the place Jim was headed for started with a B?"
Spock literally froze, as if he couldn't believe McCoy had figured it out before anyone else, least of all him. That he knew where Jim was leading them. "Yes," he said with a rare bite to his voice.
"I told him about it," he said, illogically ashamed. "The bookstore."
He couldn't help but feel like he'd aided Jim somehow. By having the Agrediphine in his possession. Then telling Jim about the kind-hearted owner of Jojo's favorite bookstore. And agreeing he could come to Georgia in the first place, forcing the man to endure treatment he shouldn't have had to endure. Not after all he'd been through.
"The Book Heart. And Matthew. I told him about it all," he clarified. "Jocelyn said Matthew's father was the man who bumped into me. Maybe he was coming to the station to report…"
His voice trailed off as he realized that Hamilton was already speaking into his communicator, the officer's eyes turned in the opposite direction from the one they'd been headed. "He's still giving his report to the chief?" Hamilton asked into the comm, keeping one eye on McCoy. "He mentioned a possible holdup at his son's business?"
Those were all the clues they needed. That bastard, Treadway, had blackmailed Jim into leaving his safe residence and out from under McCoy's watchful eye, no doubt having dangled the safety of the ones he cared about most in front of him. Giving Jim no choice but to act alone.
"He's there," McCoy said simply.
"Where is it?" Spock demanded of Jocelyn. He was inches away from her, a dark, primal rage filling his eyes.
McCoy was taken aback. He'd never seen anything like it coming from Spock before.
"Spock, you know where it is," McCoy said, confused as to why Spock had needed to ask the location of a place he'd driven them. "You drove us there."
A moment of silence stretched between them, the rage softening.
"I…" Spock blinked. "I do not know."
Spock's admission worried him. If he was this emotionally compromised, where would that leave them?
Even Jocelyn looked concerned. "There, Mr. Spock," she explained quietly, pointing in the same direction that the officer was looking. "Cross the intersection. It's almost half-way down the next block. A gray building on your left. You'd get there faster on foot now that traffic has picked up again."
Hamilton covered the speaker on his device. "The transporters are down all over the city. We have to get there the old-fashioned way. Our witness said there were at least two men in the store with his son."
"Shit," McCoy swore.
And just like that, Spock took off, disappearing into a crowd of people that was quickly coming toward them.
"He should wait for back-up," Hamilton said sharply.
McCoy began to walk backwards. There was no time to tell him what Spock had done to Khan. "He is the backup," he retorted. "Make sure that ambulance is there. And Jocelyn—"
She wrapped her arms around herself, looking like she had at his mother's house. Scared. Lost. Like someone who had no business seeing Treadway face-to-face. "Yes?"
He stared at her. "For your own safety, don't follow me."
Who knew if she would heed his warning, but he wasn't responsible for her. He didn't have the time, or focus, to be worried about her safety.
Chief Larrett was right.
Jim and Joanna. They were the people he was responsible for. Spock, too.
But of the three, the one person who needed him the most didn't stand a chance against the ex-boxer, let alone a chance against the drugs he'd taken, was Jim.
He turned around and raced after Spock, but remained a considerable distance behind despite his best efforts to keep up. Spock was one fast son of a bitch, and he—McCoy—was only human. He also carried the medical supplies that would keep Jim alive. It was a lot to carry, especially when even more anxiety had wrapped itself around his body like a heavy chain.
It was pure luck that they'd beamed into the police station, only to learn just outside the building that someone had reported a possible hold-up at The Book Heart.
Pure damn luck. Kirkian luck.
Of all the locations Jim could have chosen, he'd chosen there.
This clue was the hope they needed, this realization that Jim had been thinking about the ridiculous situation he was putting himself in—and his friends—all along.
That decision could be the one thing that gave Jim a fighting chance, if McCoy could get there in time.
He barely looked both ways before crossing the intersection, tripping over his own feet when a small hovercraft beeped its horn at him.
He jolted back, his life passing before him in the blink of an eye. The driver of the craft had missed him by an inch, unable to steer clear of him because of the hovercrafts both beside and above him.
"Move outta the way!" the driver shouted, his face obscured by shadows though he'd stuck his head out the window.
Move? He wasn't sure he could. He didn't feel right. The world was passing him by, leaving him behind.
Was this what happened to emotionally compromised doctors of reckless captains? When enough finally became enough? Had he finally reached his breaking point?
He thought he'd had no breaking point.
Then Jim had died.
He'd kept it together then.
So he kept telling himself.
Then Treadway had showed up on his mama's front porch.
And he still kept telling himself...
"Hey!"
McCoy jerked his head up at the angry shout.
The driver stuck his head further out the window. "Somethin' wrong with ya?"
Wrong with him? What wasn't wrong with him?
His best friend had first lied then betrayed him.
His captain had taken things into his own hands without any thought to what impact his decisions would make on Starfleet and his position as captain. Or the impact on McCoy's position with Boyce and Starfleet Medical.
His best friend had taken a drug that, if he were to be honest, could have side effects that even he couldn't completely anticipate.
The drug was new. Tested, but not as thoroughly with the type of combination of drugs already coursing through Jim's system, and certainly not with the adrenaline. Just enough for McCoy to know that one dose, along with his supervision, was all that Jim's fragile body could handle. That one dose would have kept him alive had his body begun to shut down. But two?
McCoy wasn't sure he'd recover if his best friend lost his life because of him and his desire to be prepared for anything while Jim convalesced in Georgia.
McCoy looked down, and his breath caught. His hands, the ones responsible for getting Jim well without harming him, the so-called steadiest hands on the ship, were a mess. They shook uncontrollably like Jim's hands have for days.
His hands hovered over the front of the craft, like he had the power to stop it.
Ironic, when he felt completely powerless.
The driver cursed. "Do ya wanna get killed?"
He shoved himself away from the craft, ignoring the endless rant behind him as he hurried down the street in silence.
He had to focus, dig deep to find that core of steely willpower he'd used to bring Jim back from the dead.
Jim needed him to be the strong one, not the hurt friend. Not the Starfleet officer drowning in self-pity. Nothing but the doctor who could keep him in alive at all costs.
Like he always did.
The drumming of his heart in his ears drowned out the sound of people and traffic. He shouldered through a thick crowd of teenagers like a battering ram, aware of every beat of his heart, every stray thought that doused his hope.
A blonde man with his own will of steel and reckless abandon filled his vision, fueling him with the determination he needed to press on.
"Hey, man!"
McCoy never heard the angry passersby, but stepped on toes and shoved kids aside without looking at their faces or anything else that could possibly distract him.
Jim. Jim. He had to get to Ji—
He saw a thinning in the wall of bodies and, with another spurt of speed, pushed forward. He broke free of the crowd with a grunt, frantically looking down the street. He jogged, looking around once. Then twice.
The area ahead of him was peculiarly void of a Vulcan.
Shit.
He'd lost Spock.
How the hell had he lo—
He stumbled to a halt, tilting his head back and staring up at the buildings lining the street for the first time.
What had Jocelyn said? Red building? No...gray.
Wait, he knew where the store was. Didn't he?
He wasn't quite halfway down the street. He was close. But where was Spock? Where could he have gone?
He had no clue.
He was on his own.
He decided to run.
It was all he could do while Jim met with Treadway, making what could be the biggest mistake of his life.
Run.
Find Jim.
Push his hurt and disappointment aside.
Save Jim.
He was out of breath, his stomach locked in a painful, grueling vise of nerves, but he pressed on. He forced one foot in front of the other. If he didn't, Jim would not have the proper medical care he needed.
He wouldn't fail him.
Not for all the world.
He almost missed it.
Spock emerged from seemed to be thin air, the Vulcan backing away from the building, onto the sidewalk. Confused, McCoy faltered. That had to be the building. Why was Spock leaving?
Then Spock raised his arm, a murderous expression on his face that McCoy could see from afar under the streetlights, and fired the phaser that he held in his hand.
McCoy's heart lodged in his throat.
Oh, God. No.
He sprinted the last several hundred yards, running like he was a man twenty years younger. Like Matthew had as quarterback, before he'd lost his le—
Christ, Matthew. He's probably there, in the middle of this fucking mess. If Treadway had harmed Matthew, Jim would never forgive himself.
Fuck, neither would McCoy. He was an innocent man. A respected man. Jojo would be heartbroken...
Spock fired steadily.
Sirens wailed behind them.
Or maybe they had been all along.
"Spock!" he shouted, quickly coming upon the Vulcan. "Where is he?"
Spock rammed himself into the door like he'd never heard him.
Something flashed into sight. A glimpse of something pale beyond the commander, in the large front window.
Of something black.
His first thought was that of leather jacket of Jim's that he had worn over the years, a staple of his civilian wardrobe.
His second thought was that pale, cold skin could accompany an overdose.
Dear God.
That was Jim.
"Jesus, Spock!" he cried, waving his arms to try to get the commander's attention when words didn't seem to do the trick. "The fucking window! The damned window!"
Treadway was bashing Jim's body—his head—into the glass.
Spock stepped back and turned his head, a desperation contorting his face when he finally saw it, too.
The window vibrated—fucking vibrated—as Jim's body hit it again.
McCoy's heart dropped. What the hell kind of damage was Treadway inflicting? Jim's body couldn't take another battering, not even with the drugs. A concussion could set him back. Broken bones would set him back, both conditions requiring a body that functioned normally to recover. Both requiring an immune system that was in full working order.
Things Jim simply did not have.
McCoy was a man who could endure tough situations, more so than the average CMO, given the trouble Jim Kirk naturally attracted.
But he was unprepared to see the body of his best friend flying through the air and hitting the hard, wet sidewalk with a sickening thud.
And Treadway's two-hundred fifty pound, muscled body slamming into it.
The window had shattered into a million pieces.
Some of those pieces had to be lodged into Jim's body. The rest were strewn along the sidewalk, a mocking display of light and brilliance.
Jim had been brilliant once.
McCoy would make sure that he was again, if it was the last thing he ever did in this life.
"No!" McCoy roared.
The cry erupted from his chest, loosening the heavy weight of desperation that had been trapped there, requiring only the right moment for it to be released.
Treadway grabbed Jim with both arms, yanking him to his feet.
McCoy saw a blur of blood and panic and triumph and Jim's dazed—nearly blank— expression.
Spock entered the mix, and fists flew, Jim caught in the middle.
McCoy stood apart, feeling more helpless than he'd ever felt in his life. A sob caught in his throat without his noticing, and he was only vaguely aware of the commotion behind him.
"Hold your fire!" Hamilton ordered. "You could get the captain! He can't take that kind of hit."
Jim? Stunned?
McCoy wasn't sure Jim would survive that.
He couldn't make heads or tails as to who had who locked in a fight.
He didn't know how long he stood there. Just fucking stood there. He only saw Jim's body, Jim's newly broken and bleeding body, being abused and beaten. The apparent overdose evident in his white skin and sluggish response. His body like a rag doll in Treadway's grip.
And out of reach from McCoy's healing hands.
Spock lunged and gripped Treadway's shoulder, his fingers fumbling for the proper nerves to pinch and render him unconscious. Treadway let out an outraged cry, his head snapping back into Spock's in what had to be an act of desperation.
Spock stumbled back, expression dazed.
It was the window the ex-boxer needed to gain the upperhand. Treadway grabbed the scruff of Jim's neck—his best friend who wasn't responsive save for the wide-eyed look of helplessness he wore—and dragged him away like he was nothing to him.
When he was everything to McCoy.
Spock wavered on his feet, slowly straightening his body.
McCoy stepped forward.
"It's over, Treadway," Hamilton stated. "You're surrounded. Let the captain go now, and things will go easier for you."
"No deal," Treadway snarled, dragging Jim's body closer to his own like a shield. "Stay right where you are, McCoy. Everybody."
McCoy froze. "Please," he said hoarsely through his short, frantic breaths. "Let him go. He's sick."
"I know what he is." Treadway jerked his head towards the cops. "And I ain't lettin' him go until they put their weapons down."
"So you can kill him?" he asked.
Treadway tsked. "Now, now. I never said anything about that."
"He was planning on it," a voice sounded from within the store.
Matthew, the bookstore owner, stepped out the door with a limp, his hands up.
A phaser dangled from his fingers. McCoy was relieved to see that other than the limp, he didn't seem to be harmed.
"This was set to kill." Matthew looked over at the police. "Could be he planned on killing all of us, until Kirk ruined his plans."
Spock glanced back at McCoy. Had Jim been able to foil Treadway's plans?
Jim didn't look like a man who had any reserves left. He looked completely stoned, his body on the brink of crashing.
McCoy silently begged the Vulcan to get their friend back at all costs.
Treadway didn't need a phaser to kill Jim. He could do that with his brute strength. Strength that nearly matched that of a half-Vulcan.
"I don't have to kill him." Treadway laughed. "Look at him. He's done that to himself. The fucker didn't even have the sense to stop at one hit of whatever he stole from your stash, Doc."
McCoy couldn't help but obey the bastard. He looked at Jim. He wasn't even sure if Jim had heard him. His head was limply hanging down, sagging like the rest of his body.
All the signs were there.
Something wasn't right with Jim.
Something wasn't right at all.
And everyone on the street had either seen it or heard it, without the correct context.
Fuck, this was going to be a disaster.
"He isn't well. He had no choice. Just let him go," he pleaded again. He reached for straws and added, "You have what you wanted. The money, don't you?"
Treadway's eyes flickered with curiosity.
A ripple of satisfaction coursed through McCoy's chest. "It's what you wanted from Jocelyn, wasn't it?" he continued. "Well, you have it now. Jim came through for you."
"And what? You'll let me go?" Treadway asked, his eyes teeming with distrust. "I don't see that happening. In fact, I don't see a hell of a lot happening, after all."
Treadway paused and, keeping one arm locked around Jim's neck, reached into the captain's jacket, keeping his eyes trained on McCoy.
Nausea swelled upwards, into his throat. He tamped it down, fighting the fear that Treadway knew just what he was looking for. What he—McCoy—would be looking for if he had been born a man bent on destroying people's lives.
Another hypo.
Jim had to have the other hypo stashed in his pocket. He wouldn't have just packed the thing away, not in his drugged state.
Agrediphine would have given him the feeling that he needed more, a lot more, at whatever cost, just seconds after taking the first dose. In a strange way, it was part of the psychology that would have helped keep Jim alive had McCoy been forced to use it.
At this moment, McCoy was sure that Jim longed to fulfill his craving, the thrill long term drug use would give him, and nothing else. The desire would fill the captain's every thought, whether if he thought it was wrong or not, or if he hadn't used the drugs for pleasure to begin with.
If Spock sensed this from Jim, it explained the commander's inconsistent behavior. Spock must be shielding it from him, in order to keep McCoy's head as clear as possible so he could treat Jim.
McCoy had a horrible sinking feeling that coming down from the drug would be an entirely different hell from the drug therapy.
That Jim would hate him even if they came out on the other side of this.
That in Jim's weakest moments during a detox, he—McCoy—would barely manage to remain level-headed.
"Ah, yes," Treadway said smoothly, pulling his hand out Jim's jacket. "Here we go."
Treadway twirled the hypo in his fingers, a casual, baiting gesture.
McCoy clenched his hands into fists until his nails dug painfully into his skin.
"Dr. McCoy?" Hamilton asked softly from beside him. "You're going to have to tell us which is the greater threat."
He felt numb.
He had no idea.
No fucking clue.
"McCoy?" Hamilton prodded again.
"Wait," he rasped.
He feared the effects of the stun would be more detrimental, causing seizure or death, or rendering Jim in a coma.
But that was without Agrediphine.
With Agrediphine, Jim's chances of survival were slim to none.
But another dose of the drug?
God help him...
"Not yet," he said more firmly, the same voice he'd use in his sickbay.
Still, doubts assailed him.
Was he making his worst mistake?
"Wise move, McCoy." Treadway's triumphant smile sickened him. "I figured Kirk had brought another fix with him. But as I was saying. The way I see it—"
Treadway held the hypo at Jim's chest, near his heart.
McCoy choked. "God, no—"
The human body could only endure so much.
A friendship could only endure so much.
Bodies—officers—moved in beside him. From the corner of his eyes he saw Spock creep forward as Treadway's attention was diverted.
And Jim...Jim was staring off into space, unaware.
"—I'm going down, anyway," Treadway said in an eerily calm voice. "One way or another. Too bad I couldn't play daddy to your brat, McCoy."
It took him a second to realize what Treadway meant. A second too long.
Rage coursed through McCoy. "You bastard, if I find out that you touched her, I'll—"
"You'll what? Kill me?" Treadway taunted. "I don't think so. You're as naive as Joanna is, McCoy."
Jim lifted his head, his eyes ever so slightly more focused at the mention of Jojo's name incidentally baring his body even more to his captor.
Treadway's finger twitched. "They want me alive. Starfleet. The police. How else will they connect the dots as to how I got so close to Chapel and Marcus?"
Jim's body trembled from head to toe, his eyes darting about in drugged agitation.
His best friend didn't even know he was there.
"Jim," McCoy whispered. "Look at me."
Time stood still.
It was enough.
He sent a message through the bond, fighting with all that he had to get through to Jim until Spock lifted the shields for them all.
Not much, but just enough for McCoy to understand that underneath Jim's agitation and despondency and his fresh and intense cravings to feel good again and — oh, God, his hallucinations —guilt and regret festered like an open wound.
McCoy's eyes filled with tears he didn't bother to wipe away.
He allowed them to slip down his cheeks for Jim to see, as proof that he loved him as a brother, just as he always had.
Jim, listen to me.
Everything will be okay.
I forgive you.
I will never leave you.
Not even this can end our friendship.
Not even this.
I promise you.
Ya hear me, Jim?
Jim squinted in his direction.
How had McCoy not realized how much blood was on his face?
"'ones?" Jim rasped softly.
Yeah, Jim. It's Bones. I'm here. I'm here, I promi—
"You're too late, McCoy," Treadway mocked, coaxing a heartbreaking whimper from the captain.
Don't listen to him, Jim. I'm gonna get you out of this. All of it. I swear on my father's grave that I am.
"Far, far too late," the taunts continued in a false voice of reason. "You see, if I'm going down—"
Treadway plunged the hypospray into Jim's chest.
Jim gasped a painfully hollow breath, his face locking in a silent, twisted scream.
It shook McCoy to the core.
"—it's only reasonable that I take him down with me, too."
A strangled wheeze escaped Jim's lips.
Like death.
It was the last thing McCoy heard before all hell broke loose.
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.
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.
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To: Philip Boyce, M.D., Chief of Staff, Starfleet Medical
From: Leonard McCoy, M.D., CMO Enterprise
Stardate: 2259.1870
Time: 1926 hours
Status: READ
Situation critical. Treadway on the run. Jim is missing.
We have reason to believe that Treadway blackmailed Jim into meeting him. Overdose likely. Jim first took 80 mgs Agrediphine and an equivalent second dose before leaving the house. Epinephrine to follow. Possibly more...
I believe Jim made his decision already emotionally compromised.
Need immediate access to Atlanta Memorial to treat him once he is found.
.
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To: Leonard McCoy, M.D., CMO Enterprise
From: Philip Boyce, M.D., Chief of Staff, Starfleet Medical
Stardate: 2259.1870
Time: 1939 hours
Status: UNREAD
Access will be granted. A beta blocker will be necessary, but do not cause Jim more harm through treatment at this time. Complete detox not recommended. Beaming 50 mgs of Agrediphine to be administered intravenously at .5mg/hr with an initial dose of 2 mgs, diluted, via rapid IV push, once his condition is stabilized. Increase as necessary. It will keep him comfortable and lessen his agitation without placing undue stress on his body while we continue to monitor his condition.
I will be there as soon as I can.
Remember, Leonard. You are not alone.
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Author's Note: WARNING: Non-consensual drug use, some violence, emotional angst, implied (as in possibility only) sexual child abuse.
Thank you so much for reading. Kind reviews are always appreciated and loved. :)
I'll try to update next week sometime - when I keep these chapters shorter I have a bigger chance of actually meeting these weekly goals. :D
One more note before I sign off. Every little thing that I write in this fic has a purpose. You don't see it yet, but you will. I'm not putting Jim through all of this for kicks, or Bones and Spock, for that matter. I humbly ask for your trust and patience. Also, I'd like to mention that Bones is not putting aside his hurt forever - just indefinitely. He's a doctor first and foremost. That means that he's thinking of his 'patient' and his well-being over anything else. He knows that Jim is not Jim the captain right now, not really. Jim is a very sick man who is still dealing with PTSD, depression, and everything else that you have witnessed in previous chapters - someone who literally CAN'T make sound decisions and certainly not the ones that a man in better health could make. (Add in an unstable bond and also Treadway...it's a recipe for disaster.) I'm not making excuses for his mistakes, or for Bones's own secrecy, either. Just wanting to make these things clear in case they've been at the back of your mind.
Thank you. :) Until next time!