I still own nothing and I still hate Chekov.

McCoy sighed. This was the second time in a day that he had sedated Jim. The kid who McCoy secretly thought of as the son he never had was acting like a toddler who didn't want to go to bed. McCoy retired to his own quarters. Otherwise Jim was going to be throwing his words back at him about not getting enough sleep.

000000000000

In the morning, Jim was back on the bridge having slept for nearly 24 hours thanks to the hypos. Everything was back to normal. Until a few days later, Jim developed a fever and Spock had to practically drag him, kicking and screaming, to sickbay, as Jim was being resistant. Once there, McCoy analyzed his condition.

"He hasn't been sleeping like I told him to. The lack of sleep made him more susceptible to the sickness, which won't be that severe if we can just get him to rest."

"That could prove to be difficult." Spock noted.

" I think I noticed that, you pointy eared-" He was cut off by a interjection from Jim.

"Why are you both talking about me like I'm not here?" That earned a laugh and a gentle shove back into bed from McCoy and an almost-smile expression from Spock.

"Jim, go to sleep." Said McCoy. Spock agreed.

"The doctor is correct, captain. You need to rest." Jim sighed and closed his eyes.

Three minutes later, he opened them, much to McCoy's annoyance. A hypo was instantly administered.