Kirk awoke to sound of McCoy retching. Disoriented in the dark and still drowsy from sleep, he stumbled out of bed and padded into the bathroom, yawning and rubbing his eyes. McCoy was hunched over, heaving and gasping for breath.

Kirk crouched next to him, placing a gentle hand on his back, causing McCoy to jump. He leaned forward, cradling his head in his arms, unable to stop vomiting. Kirk sighed.

"You need to go to medical and see a doctor," he said softly, running his fingers over McCoy's now slim shoulders. His partner shook his head and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.

"I am a doctor, Jim," he coughed, leaning back against the door. The circles under his eyes were dark and deep and every cough pulled his skin tight across his chest. "Besides, all they'll do is giving me Nubane, Zofran and send me to bed. I can do that for myself."

"So why haven't you?" Kirk asked, closing the toilet lid and wetting a rag in the sink. "Lean forward."

McCoy obliged, too tired to argue. Kirk laid the warm rag across McCoy's neck and sat down next to him.

"If I go on a painkiller, I'd become a zombie," McCoy grumbled. His bare chest was flecked with goose bumps and thumb shaped bruises; for this, Kirk felt guilty. In his despair, he hadn't been able to get close enough, even once they were that close. He had clung to McCoy like a life raft.

"Isn't not being in pain worth it though?" Kirk asked, knowing the answer already. McCoy glared at him.

"You think if it was worth it I wouldn't already be on everything they could give me? I'd like to die with a little dignity, Jim. Not that this is particularly dignified, mind you-"

"Alright, I'm sorry," Kirk interrupted. "Come on, let's get back in bed."

He stood first and was almost back to bed when he noticed McCoy was still sitting on the floor of the bathroom. He turned around and was about to ask him what was wrong when McCoy sighed.

"I can't walk. Too tired."

For the first time, but not for the last, Jim Kirk picked up his partner handily and carried him to bed, McCoy complaining the entire way that he felt ridiculous.


"I need to talk to you," Kirk said as he passed Spock in a low voice. Sulu nodded, passing directions to Chekov to take the helm for a minute. He followed Kirk into the airlock.

"Captain?"

"At ease, Sulu. This is personal."

"What's going on?" he asked, leaning against the wall. Kirk sighed.

"Bones is dying," he said. Sulu raised his eyebrows.

"How?"

"Cancer. He's refusing treatment. Six weeks, maybe, but after last night, I think that might be generous."

Sulu said nothing for a long minute, his eyes cast down in thought and perhaps prayer.

"Jim, I'm sorry. I truly am," he said, resting a hand on Kirk's shoulder. "Has he told anyone else?"

"No. His attending physician knows and me. He doesn't want anyone to know."

"Well, it's not exactly a secret," Sulu shrugged. "He looks terrible, has for a while. When he was able to stand behind Pavel and hide, I knew something was wrong."

Jim smiled a little.

"He has kids, no?" Sulu asked, shifting his weight and crossing his arms. Jim nodded.

"One, a daughter. She's a teenager."

"He should be home with her, not on this ship," Sulu said, realizing too late that he had inadvertently hurt Kirk's feelings. "I'm sor-"

"No, it's fine, you're right. Go back to work, I'll be along shortly. Don't let Spock get too comfortable in there."

Sulu nodded, squeezing Kirk's shoulder and heading back out.

Kirk leaned back against the glass and closed his eyes. He felt like time was speeding up and there was nothing he could do about it.

Nothing.