Of all the activities on his List of Things To Do Really Late At Night, helping Ensign Rogers chase an invisible Andorian redbat out of his room was not one of them. In fact, it shouldn't have been on there in the first place. As is the strange, busy life of a starship captain.

That's it. After tonight, he was definitely banning alcohol from the Enterprise.

Only, he couldn't really because Bones and Scotty would skin him alive.

The thought of a soft, warm bed and a heck-ton of blankets all piled on top of him was the only thing that kept him going as the hour slipped past midnight.

At last, with the clock now closing in on one o'clock, Jim Kirk trudged back to his quarters. In a flash, alarm replaced fatigue, spiking through his veins at the sight of Bones stumbling toward his captain's quarters.

Picking up his pace, Jim launched into a full-on run that turned into a mad dash the second Bones' legs buckled. It was like watching a ragdoll fall in slow motion, and yet he still couldn't get there in time.

With a dull thud, his friend hit the floor and Jim felt his hammering heart come to a screeching halt. He couldn't get to his knees fast enough, hands darting around the physician's face and neck, searching for a pulse. It didn't take an M.D. to know Bones' heart rate was way too slow.

Come on, Bones, don't do this to me…

Whatever this was.

Jim forced himself not to jump to conclusions, shaking his friend's shoulder instead.

"Bones? Come on, you need to wake up. Bones?"

McCoy's eyes snapped open, unfocused and unseeing as he pushed himself off the ground.

"Hey, hey!" Despite his best efforts, Jim couldn't keep the man down. "Just hold it for a second, okay?"

A slow blink as Bones swayed on his feet. Finally, his glassy orbs seemed to focus. "Jim, what—?"

Jim kept a gentle edge to his voice and a firm hold on Bones' arm. "Hey, just take it easy."

"Don't…" Bones shook his head, bringing a hand up to massage his brows. "Don't get Chris. She's… tired, she's…"

"It's all right." Jim hoped his voice didn't sound as desperate to his friend as it did to him. "We'll let her sleep, it's fine." Though only a few feet away, he wasn't sure he could reach the wall comm without dragging Bones over with him, so he flipped out his communicator.

Before he could even get a word out, his hand that had once held Bones' trembling arm now grasped at nothing but air.

"Bones, wait a second! Don't—!"

But the doctor had already stumbled back into his quarters, disappearing in a dark haze.

Come on!

His once-still heart was then reminded that it wanted to win the 5k marathon as he dashed across the hall.

"Hey, Bones, stop!"

Communicator all but forgotten and his call to the medbay terminated, Jim barely caught Bones on his way down again. Easing him onto the floor, Jim checked his pulse once more.

Then nearly jumped out of his skin as a shadowy figure knelt down on the other side of Bones.

"Geez, Spock! Don't do that!"

In the faint stream of light from the hall, the Vulcan's eyes glistened. To the average human being, this meant nothing, merely a reflection of the light.

To Jim, Spock's growing worry was palpable.

"What happened?"

Washing a hand over his face, Jim shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. Probably even better. How did you get here, anyway?"

"I was finishing my meditation when I heard a commotion in the hall." Spock lifted a brow. "Sounds like that at one in the morning after Beta Shift had been over for several hours made investigation necessary. This simply proves my theory correct."

Jim probed Bones' head for any lumps or possible signs of a concussion. Or something. Something that would tell him what the hell was going on. He didn't like not knowing.

Being stuck in the dark meant you couldn't fix it, and he so desperately wanted to fix it.

"What theory?"

Spock's response was so quiet, it sent a shiver down Jim's already shaking frame. "That something is very wrong."

Sucking in a breath, Jim shook Bones' shoulder, adding in a few light smacks to his cheek this time around—for good measure.

"Bones, come on, you—"

In stark contrast to last time, Bones' lashes fluttered at a slow, lethargic pace, as if it was taking everything in him to force them open.

When Jim found himself looking into those dark brown eyes at last, he heaved a sigh.

"Bones, I swear…" He bit off a string of muttered curses, hoping the vulgar words would make him feel better.

They never did.

With the utmost care—and a bit of help from Spock—Jim began rolling Bones off his side, hoping to clear his airways or level his equilibrium. Or something.

Face it, you have no idea what you're doing.

Shut up.

"Just lay on your back for a few minutes, okay?"

Bones' lazy gaze drifted from Jim to his bed several feet away.

"Just take it easy for a second, Bones. Okay?"

Now you sound like a broken record.

Just knock it off! Besides, I'm not even sure he heard me the first time…

The slight nod, though followed by a grimace, sent small waves of relief crashing over Jim's head. At least Bones was responsive. That's good, right?

"Don't…" Another wince as Bones took a breath. "... Don't wake Chris. She's been working so hard… I'm fine, Jim."

"To borrow one of your own phrases, Doctor," Spock said, successfully pulling Bones' gaze off the bed and back to the situation at hand. "'The hell, you are.'"

Jim wanted to laugh—would've laughed under different circumstances. Instead, he bit down on his lip as Bones launched into a nasty bout of coughing.

That cough.

Jim could've slammed his forehead against the wall.

Because that cough.

The very same that had plagued the doctor since their trip to Vera IV, a Class M Bones had tried to blame for his so-called "allergies."

And like an idiot, you believed him.

He was almost one hundred percent certain that stupid, pain-filled cough had something to do with this. And it scared him to death because he didn't know why.

"All right," Bones groaned no more than half a second after the coughing subsided, "what happened?"

Spock cocked his head. "It would appear you fainted." Bones just blinked."Did you consume any alcohol?"

And why did Spock look at Jim when he asked that?

No, Spock, we weren't on a drinking binge.

…

Not tonight, anyway.

But they hadn't done that in a while—not since Nero, at least—and…

The glare Bones flashed them both was typical. "Of course, not. Do I sound drunk to you?"

Jim sucked in a breath. "Damn it, Bones! You passed out twice!"

"Three times, actually." Only when Bones pointed toward the bathroom did Jim notice the light and the open door. Right. "Once in there."

"That's even worse!"

And he had to wonder how long Bones had struggled like this. Alone.

"Well, I didn't say it was better."

Twenty-seven days… Spock's voice drifted through Jim's mind. And four hours and a quarter.

Isn't that how long he'd said the cough had lasted…?

Twenty-seven days.

"It just felt like falling asleep," Bones began, completely unprompted as he launched into a long-winded explanation of events. "Sorta like when your alarm goes off and you just close your eyes for a minute or two, but then you can't… can't… Sorry, just give me a second… Uh… You end up drifting off again and you wake back up with a jolt. It felt like that."

Jim nodded, hand gripping Bones' shoulder—more to keep himself grounded than anything.

Another cough preceded the rest of the doctor's rambling tale. "Couldn't keep down the medicine, and I thought for a second I'd just fallen asleep on the bathroom floor, and then… then, uh… Sorry, just give me a… a second, uh… Oh, uh, I figured I'd better get somebody or something, I don't know… You saw the rest, I guess."

Swallowing hurt, so Jim blamed it on the anxiety as he pressed a hand to Bones' forehead. No fever.

"Do you think you can stand long enough to climb into bed?" he asked.

Bones shot him a look. "Do you?"

Jim pursed his lips, unwilling to give voice to the worrying thought.

No.

Running both hands over his chest as if such an action would erase the cough. Inhale, exhale…

Jim found himself matching Bones' breathing pattern.

"Sorry…" Bones sighed, eyes closed. "Just… give me a minute. I'll be fine. I just need to catch my breath." He glanced up at Jim. "I'm coherent, right?"

"Most assuredly," Spock answered this time, and for that, Jim couldn't be more grateful. Maybe the break would let him focus on loosening up his throat… "In fact, you took three times longer than necessary to inform us about your condition."

"Sorry 'bout that…"

Though Jim forced a small smirk, he doubted it held any mirth. "You have sorta been monologuing this whole time."

"There's…" Leonard forced his hand off his chest long enough to point at one of his cabinets. "A hypo's in there that should stabilize… stabilize… Well, you know."

As Spock rose to get it, Jim continued to prod around Bones' neck and forehead.

"You're definitely clammy."

Great job, Jim. You're a regular surgeon.

"Really?" He couldn't tell if the sarcasm in Bones' voice was deserved, but if Jim was being honest, it probably was. "Well, do you wanna share your diagnosis? Or are you gonna let the actual doctor do that?"

"All right," Jim conceded, Spock kneeling back down beside him, hypo in hand. He had to swallow a smirk as Bones made a grab for it and failed miserably. "What do you think is wrong with you? And if you say allergies, I'll say bull, and then I'll scream."

Jim felt Bones' heavy sigh like an overloaded pack pulling down on his shoulders. "Fever, lingering cough, fatigue, and aches? We're looking at acute bronchitis."

So, a chest cold. Okay, that's not too bad.

Jim forced himself to breathe easier. "Made worse by you working yourself half to death today."

How do you even treat a chest cold…?

"Bronchitis can cause blackouts, in some cases." Bones shifted his gaze up to Spock, who still held the hypo at the ready. "Give me that hypo Spock—agh!"

With an odd mix of gentleness and ferocity, Spock jabbed the tool against Bones' neck. The agile movement foiled any of McCoy's attempts to snatch the device out of his hands.

"Damn you," he muttered, the words lacking their usual bite.

Spock merely raised a brow. "Doctor, you told me to—"

Waving a dismissive hand, Bones' eyes slipped shut for a moment. "I know, I know…"

"We should get you medbay," Jim said after risking a glance at the door.

"Don't bother." Bones shifted, hands clawing at his sweat-coated chest once more. "There isn't anything that can really cure bronchitis. Just… Well, it'd be foolish to make a fuss. Help me sit up, will you?"

Against his better judgment, Jim nodded. With Spock's help, he eased Bones into a sitting position. The glaze in Bones' eyes wasn't doing anything for Jim's anxiety, but they couldn't stay huddled on the floor forever. They had to get things moving, and if that meant waiting on bated breath with his hands hovering inches from Bones' shoulders, so be it.

"Just…?" He prompted when it became clear the physician wasn't going to expound upon his earlier statement.

Nothing can cure bronchitis, seriously? What is this, the 21st century?

"Just…" Leonard shook his head, a shiver wracking his frame as he slumped back down toward the floor. Jim's hands were on him in an instant, bracing his fall. "Just help me lay back down, will you? Just… Yeah, that's it… Just—" A strangled cough stole his breath away. A flash of alarm jolted through Jim's veins.

Bones ended up with his head resting on Jim's knees.

"Sorry," the doctor wheezed, "just… Sorry."

"Stop apologizing." Jim tried to keep the tremble out of his voice. "That's an order, okay?"

With a flutter, Bones' eyes closed.

"Sure, Jim…"

"The captain's right. Apologizing for something you cannot control is illogical."

"Right. How'd… How'd I ever guess you were gonna say that?"

The next coughing fit last longer than the first and it had Jim holding his breath.

Waiting.

Waiting for Bones to get a reprieve.

Waiting for the anxiety in his chest to dissipate.

A full minute had barely gone by when Jim shook his head, an air of finality drenching his tone. "All right. That's it."

Jim reached out, but Spock beat him to it, scooping Bones into his arms as the fit subsided at last.

"Careful, Spock," he couldn't help but caution, earning a slightly reassuring, slightly offended look from his first officer.

With great care, he set Bones down on the bed. Instantly, the doctor's features relaxed.

"You said there's no cure except one thing, right?" As Bones opened his eyes, Jim worked up the best smirk he could manage at the moment. "I'm going to take a guess that it's rest."

Bones made a face. "I was afraid you were gonna catch on."

As his friend drifted into the calming arms of sleep, Jim turned to Spock. "Do you think we should take him down to medbay?"

Hands drawn behind his back, Spock studied McCoy for a fraction of a second. "Considering the best medicine would appear to be rest, I doubt the doctor would be able to rest as well in a busy medbay as he would right here in his bed."

"Right." Jim swallowed. It was easier this time, even though the residual anxiety continued to gnaw at his stomach. "How did you know we were in here, anyway?" A forced chuckle brushed past his lips. "You sort of came out of nowhere…"

"I had just finished my nightly meditation session when I heard a commotion in the halls. And I believe you already asked that question earlier, Captain."

"Oh…" Wracking his brain, Jim couldn't remember anything beyond Bones' pinched face and wet coughs. "I suppose you did, at that. Sorry, Spock."

"Under the circumstances, forgetfulness due to increased stress is only—"

"Logical?"

Spock quirked a brow at Jim's ghost of a grin. "I was going to say natural, however, yours works just as well. Perhaps even better."

"Why, thank you, Mr. Spock." Without further ado, Jim climbed into the double bed beside Bones, relishing the deepening trenches between the Vulcan's brows. Exhibiting all the patience of a saint and all the willful mischief of an imp, he waited until he had settled himself atop the covers, arms folded beneath his head, to explain. "Well, if Bones isn't going to medbay, I'll just have to be his nurse and keep watch."

"Watch, Captain?"

A shrug. "You never know. What if he wakes up and gets all disoriented again? What if he stumbles out into the hall trying to find us?"

What if he stops breathing…?

"I may not be a physician," Spock began, "but I do not believe apnea is a symptom of acute bronchitis."

He definitely hadn't meant to voice that thought. So, maybe he was a little tired…

A quick glance at Bones proved Spock's statement correct.

Still…

Out of the corner of his eye, Jim noticed Spock claim a seat on the nearby sofa.

It was his turn to raise a brow.

"However," Spock continued with a slight tilt of his head, "your other concerns are quite plausible. If he were in medbay, he would be monitored until his condition improved. It's only logical that we would do the same here in his quarters."

The smile that stretched across Jim's face felt warm and sunny; it calmed him slightly. "My thoughts exactly. I'm glad we're on the same page."

Though Spock made no comment after that, Jim could see his dark eyes zeroing in on Bones.

Thanks, Spock.

Later on, he wouldn't recall drifting off to sleep—maybe lying down wasn't such a good idea—but before his world went black, Jim remembered turning toward his friend and flashing a soft smile.

You're in good hands, Bones.

Don't worry.

You take care of everyone.

And now, we'll take care of you.

I promise.