It was so time to get out of here. Chris had made it back to Jim's hospital room at sundown to find Jim showered and dressed in clean cadet reds, sitting on the edge of the biobed while McCoy fiddled with a tricorder. Jim's blonde hair was slicked down, still wet, and his face was pale, but otherwise he looked to be almost back to one hundred percent. You'd never know that he had been dead for a short time just the evening before.

Security was out in droves after the incident with the reporters, patrolling every block of the campus, the adjacent Medical Center and student housing blocks. Everything was under control, but McCoy had commed him earlier, telling him that it would be helpful if Chris would meet them at the hospital and then adjourn to their apartment with them for dinner. And while Chris didn't really think they needed an escort back to their apartment, which was literally right across the street, he couldn't argue with the doctor's logic.

"This is less about the reporters and more about Jim," McCoy had explained. "He needs to know that somebody is looking out for him, somebody besides his doctor. He's not gonna want other cadets to know what's happened, so you're it."

"You don't think he'll resent having an extra babysitter?" Chris had asked, because he could already hear Jim's complaints in his head.

"He'll act like he's annoyed, but don't forget I've been living with the kid for six months and I've already shrinked him. Call up any other mental health pro and describe Jim's personality, they'll give you the same advice."

Right, psychiatrist, he'd almost forgotten. He didn't mind. Chris liked to know his students, and McCoy wasn't his own advisee but he was Jim's roommate so chances were they'd be running into each other more and more frequently in the future. Between Jim and the Admiralty his whole day was wasted, so he gave up and closed up his office at seventeen hundred.

So here he was, watching McCoy fuss over the cadet and administer what looked suspiciously like a field sobriety test. Jim sat still, perplexed, while the doctor ran his fingertips through his hair and across his face.

"Tell me if I touch any place that tingles or feels numb," he said. Jim's confusion was apparent, but he was clearly so determined to get out of here that for once he didn't open his mouth.

"Now without looking, reach down with your right hand and touch your left foot."

Jim raised an eyebrow, but did as he was told. McCoy just grinned, obviously having a good time.

"Now touch all of my fingertips with your fingertips." McCoy held out his hands, fingers spread. Jim obeyed again. "Good. Now hold my hands and squeeze as hard as you can." Jim did so. McCoy flattened his hands, palms up, and said, "Now try to push my hands straight down."

Apparently this was where Jim drew the line.

"What the fuck are we doing, Bones, playing patty cake?" he said, and Chris hid a grin behind one hand. That was the same thing he would have asked if he'd been in Jim's position. Still, he was interested in seeing where the doctor went with this.

"We're testing for signs of neurological damage before I let you go out and walk around on your own." McCoy flattened turned his hands over. "Now push my hands up."

Jim pressed his hands to McCoy's and lifted upwards. McCoy turned his hands to face Jim.

"Now push me away," he said.

"Don't you have a tricorder for this?" Jim whined, pushing against McCoy's flat palms.

"I do, but it only tells me so much without a real brain scan. Unless you'd like to go hop in the MRI machine?" Wide-eyed, Jim shook his head. "Good. Stand up."

Jim slid off the table with McCoy standing directly in front of him, but he seemed steady.

"Close your eyes, reach your left hand out to the side, and then touch one finger to your nose without looking."

Jim grumbled but did as he was told. "This is ridiculous."

"This is to make sure you don't trip and crack your skull open. Now do it with the right hand." McCoy made some notes on the PADD in his hand. "Stand on one foot."

Jim lifted his left boot off the ground, and McCoy stepped perceptibly closer to him but didn't touch.

"Other foot." Jim switched feet. "You can move all your fingers and toes. Do you feel any tingling or numbness in your hands or feet or anywhere on your body?" Jim shook his head. "When you stood up just now did you get any sense of vertigo, any dizziness, lightheadedness?" No again.

"You're a liar, but you're fit to walk across the street." McCoy put the PADD down, raising an eyebrow at Jim's incredulous look. "What? I saw your pupils dilate a little bit when you got up. Your blood pressure's still out of whack, so the room prob'ly spun around, right?"

Jim nodded, cheeks coloring.

"Go fix your hair back, I messed it up, and then we'll go. And don't trip."

Jim disappeared into the bathroom. Chris almost collapsed into laughter as soon as he was gone.

"Not that I didn't enjoy the show," he gasped, "But what was that all about?"

"The tricorder does show some relevant readings, but you can tell more about a patient's neurological and mental state by their actual reactions." McCoy's lips formed a thin line as he signed something on the PADD and turned it off. "Don't get me wrong, scanners are great, but sometimes you need to look at the patient himself to get the whole picture."

"So, what, that was a psych eval?"

"Among other things. The patient is compliant and non-combative. And he's himself, and he's fine. Needs a meal and a good night's sleep and by tomorrow he'll prob'ly be itching to get off the couch."

Jim reappeared and they made their way out of the hospital. McCoy had a paper bag full of hyposprays, which he explained were vitamin and iron shots, plus tri-ox for every three hours to make sure Jim got enough oxygen to recover as quickly as possible. He'd also made an appointment for the kid to be checked over by a second doctor on Monday morning before classes.

"Careful, though." Chris warned. "He's officially your patient now, and after what happened Marcus says he doesn't want anybody touching Kirk but you."

"It's just a scan," shrugged McCoy, "and it's best to have a second set of eyes. This other guy's a good doctor. And if Jim needs any further treatment I'll be doing it myself."

Jim looked mildly annoyed at their conversation. Probably didn't like people talking about him as if he wasn't there. But the kid looked a lot more relaxed out in the open air than he had even as they were leaving through the ICU waiting room, and Chris decided that maybe he was too glad to get away to go mouthing off already. As before, he didn't open his mouth. Maybe McCoy was teaching him some restraint? Couldn't hurt.

The walk to the apartment was short, with no sign of any reporters or disturbances. They passed two cadets, who saluted Chris, but otherwise were undisturbed. McCoy let them in with his keycard and hit the lights. Chris, who had been in a lot of dorm rooms, was pleasantly surprised to find that the place was tidy and clean. For some reason he'd taken Jim for a slob, but he was glad to be proven wrong.

These apartments came fully furnished, with a common living area, a kitchenette, and two bedrooms with two separate bathrooms. They were intended for returning graduate students who were looking for new qualifications, or for guest professors such as Captains who were staying planetside for one reason or another. The Admiralty had agreed when Chris had recommended one for Jim, saying that given his minor celebrity status and his record he might fare better if kept somewhat segregated from the other cadets.

The little living room was cozy, with a predictably beige tone to all the walls and provided furnishings. There was a couch and coffee table, two big fluffy recliners, a television mounted on one wall. In one corner was a desk with a terminal. The kitchenette at the back had a half-sized sink, refrigerator and replicator. There were a few medical journals on the table, a single coffee cup on the counter by the sink, but otherwise the whole place looked very well cared for.

McCoy gestured Chris into a recliner and went to rummage for sodas while Jim leaned over the terminal to place an order for pizza. Chris checked his comm for messages, pleased to find that Marcus had received McCoy's complaint about Grady Ross's incompetent staff and had reported them to the state authorities. Surely ensuring that an EMT could identify an allergic reaction with a tricorder was part of training over there?

"Looks like Marcus is about to be all over Grady Ross like a fat kid on doughnuts." he announced. "They'll be thoroughly investigated, and I'm sure they'll call the three of us up to testify."

"Good." said McCoy, handing Chris a bottle of soda. "I'm still havin' trouble believin' that it actually happened. Dammit Jim, sit!"

Jim dropped onto the couch, where McCoy bundled him up in a white blanket dragged from a nearby closet. He opened the paper bag he'd left on the table and pulled out a set of metal monitor bracelets. He snapped one around his own wrist, the other around Jim's.

"You'll wear this until Monday morning," he said, sounding somehow stern but not intimidating. "If your vital signs move out of a certain range it'll set off an alarm on my end. So take it easy, understand? We're gonna eat, and you're gonna lay here and rest. Any questions?"

"Is it waterproof?"

"Of course it is." McCoy brought out another blanket and threw it haphazardly over Jim, then found a pillow in the same closet and threw that at him as well.

"Will you quit? I'm not an invalid!"

"There's nothing wrong with extra blankets, I want to keep your temperature up, and don't be a child in front of your advisor." McCoy threw a grin at Chris, who grinned back, while Jim flailed under the blankets until he freed his head and arms. "Now, if you gentlemen don't mind, I haven't had a shower since yesterday morning, so I'm going to go scrub. Back in a sec." He disappeared into one of the bedrooms.

"Are you staying for pizza, Captain?" Jim asked, still arranging the covers.

"Sure. I'm guarding you guys against late night reporters."

"Oh, good." Jim grinned. "Those guys can be sneaky, you know."

"Oh yeah, I know."

The door buzzed and Jim struggled out of the blanket cocoon to answer it and take the pizza. McCoy re-emerged from his room at that moment and immediately shouted him back onto the couch. The golden hair disappeared again beneath the blankets.

The pizza turned out to be delicious.

"Where is this from?" Chris asked, looking at the unfamiliar box.

"Totino's, downtown." McCoy answered. Jim was busy stuffing his face. "Jim goes explorin' on weekends, can't keep still for an hour. He found the place a couple weeks after the semester started and we keep it on speed comm."

"It's really good, I'll have to remember that." Chris saved the number from the box on his comm unit.

They munched the pizza, talking about life in the dorms and how lucky these two were to have avoided it. Before long Jim was dozing off, soda in hand, so McCoy took it away from him and sent him to bed.

"No shenanigans," he admonished as Jim's door closed.

"Look," Chris said softly, unsure whether Jim would eavesdrop or just go to sleep. "Before you look at his files, you need to know that there's some really nasty stuff in there."

"I had gathered that." said McCoy. He frowned. "I've already got my own professional opinion about his childhood. Plus, the tricorder readings tonight showed some weird stuff."

"Like what?"

"Like a serious gap in his bone development, which would indicate either a period of disease—the likes of which nobody gets anymore—or a period of starvation." McCoy looked troubled, and his expression darkened considerably when Chris nodded briefly.

"You've been granted access to his entire record, uncensored. It's long and it's ugly, but Marcus thinks that with your psych background you'll be able to keep him on track if he strays. I told him that we didn't need to be putting any additional pressures on you, as you're a student too, but..." Chris waved one hand in a helpless gesture.

McCoy shrugged it off. "I was in a funk when I came here, and Jim pulled me out of it. If I gotta pick him up and rinse the puke off of him after a bender, it's the least I can do."

"I don't think you understand." Chris leaned forward. "Some of this isn't the kind of thing most people just get over. If it had been just one thing, or just another one, maybe. But shit rolls downhill and Jim Kirk grew up in a shit storm." McCoy's expression soured even more, if that was possible, but he stayed silent. "He'll have to hit the bottom sometime. According to his therapists he never dealt with a lot of it properly, but somehow he still passed all of Starfleet's evals. So, either he's a psychopath and was less affected by it than a normal person would be... or he's just a really good actor."

"Could be he was young enough to bounce back." McCoy looked speculative, if doubtful. "Kids are a lot more adaptable than adults, they assimilate stuff a lot easier than we do."

"That may be true as well, and I'm sure you'll come to your own diagnosis." Chris stood. "I just wanted to warn you that it's not pretty, and Jim probably doesn't want you looking at it."

"Yeah, he told me that. I can't avoid it, unless you want to assign somebody else."

"I really don't. Besides the convenience of you being his roommate, Marcus looked over your records himself. He says there are doctors we have with more experience, but none who are more qualified, especially for a case like Jim's. And besides, you've proven your competence already." He shook his head, grinning. "That thing with the laughing gas was pure genius."

McCoy grinned back. "My daddy taught me to use all the resources at my disposal, sir."

"And you do it well." Chris nodded. "Also I need to remind you that Jim's file is confidential, and parts of it are one hundred percent classified. Your eyes only, nobody else, not even other doctors, not even your boss, no one. If you need a second opinion on something, you can reach me at any time and I'll find somebody with clearance." He handed his card to McCoy, who stashed it away.

"Goddamn," drawled the doctor. "I told Jim I was too tired to look at it tonight, but now the suspense is killin' me."

"Yeah, you probably want to wait until daylight. There's enough nightmare fuel in there for weeks." Chis turned to the door. "I'll be in touch to make sure he's doing ok. Call me if you guys need anything at all."

"Right you are, Captain."

He caught a glimpse of McCoy as he left, still standing by the couch with a pinched look on his face. Chances were, he'd already formed a fairly accurate assessment of Jim based on the kid's behavior. Chris knew from experience that he didn't talk about his family or his childhood to anyone. Maybe McCoy could change that. At the very least, Chris knew that the young Captain-to-be couldn't have been in better hands.