They wound up in the recliner again, Leonard keeping up a steady rocking with one foot on the ground. Jim was dozing in and out against Leonard's side. He'd complained about the blanket prison but Leonard wouldn't budge on the issue. He needed to keep his body temperature up, and it was cool this time of year. The kid was overly tired and grouchy, especially after having been confined to the apartment all day long. They'd spent most of it napping, alternately watching the news feeds and resolutely ignoring them.

While Jim had been sleeping after Pike's visit, Leonard had stealthily gone through the kid's room and made all of his electronic cigarettes and associated paraphernalia disappear (all the while preparing a speech about how the things should be banned). Instead he replicated a few dozen suckers, the kind on paper sticks with chocolates in the center. Jim took to them easily, after pouting about his cigarettes, and they seemed a reasonable substitute. Leonard knew it wasn't about the addiction, but rather having something to do with his hands and mouth. Lots of people chewed gum or played holo games to deal with the same problem.

It was a temporary measure, of course. The kid didn't need all that sugar in the long-term, and he didn't need to have his teeth replaced every year either. But it was a coping mechanism, even if Jim didn't realize it, and they would work on it later. There were other, healthier ways to deal with stress and Leonard would help him establish better habits in due time. Right now minimizing the stress itself was key, and Pike seemed to be on the ball.

True to his word, Leonard hadn't allowed Jim to answer the two live comms that came through from Commander Winona Kirk, and Pike seemed to think he'd be able to have them blocked entirely within a few hours. Jim hadn't been real keen on talking to her anyway, and finally admitted that part of the problem was that she hadn't known he'd joined Starfleet until now.

"Yeah, I don't exactly keep in touch with her." he'd said, sipping a chocolate protein shake that Leonard had foisted upon him. "She doesn't write and neither do I."

"Yeah, I know the feeling." Leonard hadn't elaborated, but the truth was that he hadn't spoken to his own mother since before his divorce. She'd cut him out of her life after discovering his role in his father's death. Assisted suicide had been legal for centuries, but remained a hotly debated topic. Leonard's mom had never been anything but loving and supportive when he was growing up, but he knew before the time even came that she would never be able to forgive him for taking away the love of her life. He wondered sometimes if he'd have reacted the same way, in her shoes. But then, the truth was that he and Jocelyn had never been in the kind of love that his parents had been in.

Then there was Jocelyn, who'd drawn away easily while Leonard had been working obsessively to find a cure for his father's illness. Maybe they'd never been that close anyway. Maybe he'd loved her charm and good looks, and she'd loved the money he made and the lifestyle he provided. Maybe they had fooled themselves into thinking that's what love was. Or maybe it had just been Leonard, fooling himself. He'd staunchly refused to psychoanalyze himself, and just chalked it all up to the fact that you can never know another person, not really. Maybe you can't even know yourself. Jocelyn hadn't criticized his decision to end his father's life, but she hadn't supported it either. She'd taken her things, and his things, and everything, and left.

If Leonard were the sentimental type, he'd consider himself and Jim a matched set. Half orphans, half abandoned. But he wasn't, so he didn't. His PADD beeped, causing Jim to jerk awake abruptly. Blue eyes blinked owlishly as the kid looked around and identified his surroundings. Leonard shrugged apologetically, tapping the screen as Jim nestled back down to doze. He glared down at the name that came up on his comms client: Winona Kirk. She was nothing if not persistent, that woman. Still, Leonard deleted the message without reading it. Jim didn't need to be exposed to her right now and Leonard had exactly nothing to say to her. He had no idea how she'd gotten his personal mail code. Maybe she knew people in high places, who presumably didn't know how nuts she was.

A second later the PADD dinged again, this time a text-only comm from Pike:

McCoy, I got a message through to Winona Kirk's commanding officers and she's being called in for an assessment before her next shift. Her CMO will contact you with his opinion.

Good. If it was what Leonard thought it was, she should have been in talk therapy at a minimum a couple of decades ago. The situation was probably still salvageable with a course of powerful antidepressants, therapy, and perhaps a solid stretch of shore leave. Maybe she and Jim would reconcile; maybe not. It was possible that there was so much hurt and resentment built up between them that the relationship may no longer be viable. On the other hand, people bounced back from the worst kinds of abuse all the time, so it was hard to make a guess.

Time would tell, Leonard figured. He had no way of knowing how many hours it would be before that CMO got in touch with him, so there was no need to hold his breath over it. Jim wiggled in his sleep, smashing his face into Leonard's bicep with almost bruising force and jostling his PADD. Scowling, he put the thing down and tried to scoot away, but the blonde just followed like an overly friendly heat-seeking missile. Hmmm. He sat rocking, listening to the creak of the chair, for another few minutes before he nudged the younger man awake.

"It's about dinner time," he said to the confused face peeking out at him. "What d'ya wanna eat?"

"Not hungry."

"Don't bullshit me, kid. We'll order pizza again, and they've got brownies too. You want brownies?"

"You're gonna let me eat brownies?"

"Just this once. Sausage, onion, mushroom?"

"Fuck, yes."

Half an hour later Leonard answered the door very, very carefully. He wore a hat and sunglasses, even though the sun was almost down, took the pizza quickly and disappeared back inside. He looked ridiculous and he was rude to the poor delivery bot, but oh well. They shouldn't have ordered in anyway, but at least this would get some semi-real food into Jim, who hadn't eaten since his leftover waffles that morning. They arranged the boxes on the coffee table and dug in, watching some space opera rerun that was on the holo tv.

Leonard's PADD dinged while they were digging into the breadsticks. Pike.

Make up some medical excuse for you both, I need more time to make the student body fear the Wrath of Marcus. You're both officially exempted from exams, so you can blow everything else off until Jan. 8th.

Leonard frowned at it. Jim would be pissed.

This kid is going to go stir-crazy if you do that to us.

No immediate response. Crap. Okay, he could find some way to entertain Jim for three weeks, right?

He'd worry about it later.

Jim was tearing through another slice of pizza, which was a good sign. Leonard got up for another glass of iced tea from the replicator, and replicated a small container of butter just for the hell of it. He sat back down, grabbed a brownie, and buttered it up.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Leonard turned to find Jim staring at him, eyes wide, a look of barely-concealed disgust on his face.

He took a bite of the hot, buttered brownie and chewed it slowly.

"I'm a doctor, not a chef. Don't knock it till you try it."

"You're probably the kind of godless heathen that eats cereal right out of the box without any milk, too."

"Only if it's the kind with little marshmallows in it. Don't even talk to me about weird food, last week I saw you dipping dog biscuits in chocolate syrup." Leonard shoved the last of the buttered brownie in his mouth.

"Pike just took us both out of classes, by the way."

"What?" Jim dropped his brownie back onto his paper plate, gaping at him. "We have exams!"

"Not anymore, we don't." Leonard took advantage of Jim's momentary distraction to lean over and smear a glob of butter onto the brownie he'd dropped. "He's exempted us, and we're not to show our faces on campus until after the holiday break."

"Fucking, fuck man."

"Language, whipper-snapper."

"And it wasn't dog biscuits, it was graham crackers just shaped like dog biscuits. You should appreciate that I watch my fiber intake."

"Chocolate covered fiber doesn't count."

Jim scowled, snatched up his brownie without looking and crammed the whole thing in his mouth. Leonard watched, unimpressed, as the blonde realized his mistake and flailed around dramatically while making awful wheezing sounds that sounded suspiciously like "motherfucker."

"It's fucking delicious, don't be a wuss."

"I hate you."

Leonard's PADD dinged and he looked down, half expecting Winona Kirk again. Instead it was Pike's text reply.

I'll get you a series of private flight sims scheduled and he can spend the break helping you overcome that little problem of yours. That ought to keep him entertained.

Oh, just damn it all. He resisted the urge to punch the PADD.

Jim had recovered from his buttery trauma and was scarfing down another slice of pizza enthusiastically. Leonard was pleased by that, considering the weekend they'd had, and also by the tricorder scan he'd taken earlier in the evening. Oxygen levels up, iron levels up, strong heart rhythm, everything within normal ranges. The soreness would probably continue for some time, but it wasn't at a level that Leonard would be tempted to prescribe more than an aspirin for. Since Jim probably couldn't safely take an aspirin, it was best to just let it sort itself out.

Speaking of, Leonard reminded himself, he'd have to get Jim's list of allergies memorized soon if he were going to be his primary physician. He'd also have to talk the kid into a full physical, which he apparently hadn't had done in years, and get started on those Cal-6 shots. They were scheduled to meet with Phillip Boyce in the morning so Leonard could get a second opinion on Jim's recovery. That would be a good time to do the first one since they'd been taken out of class, so Jim could come back and rest afterward.

Thing was, Leonard was reluctant to bring it up at the moment, but also didn't want to spring it on him first thing in the morning. Right now Jim was eating, and relaxed, and he didn't want to do anything to change that. If Leonard brought up the bone density problem, he would also be bringing up Tarsus IV, and he suspected that would kill any desire for food. Best to let them finish dinner and get settled before talking about it. He made a mental note to ask him when was the last time he'd seen an optometrist, because he'd noted a certain squintiness when Jim read late at night and an allergy to Retinax-D on his chart.

They watched the holonet and kept eating pizza until Leonard thought he was going to barf, and Jim started to look droopy. Leonard was brainstorming while he nudged the kid toward bed and cleaned up the pizza boxes, and finally fired off a text comm to Pike before going to brush his teeth.

What if I make us disappear into the Deep South until New Year's?

It wasn't a bad plan. They could get a shuttle in the morning and spend the holiday south of the Mason-Dixon Line in a hotel room, eating pecan pies and watching old movies until it was time to start classes again. Jim was less likely to be recognized there than here in what was practically Starfleet Central, plus it would be relaxing for both of them. Jim could waste time playing games on his PADD or reading whatever bullshit astrophysics crap he wanted, and Leonard could have time to talk to him about the Cal-6 injections in a non-threatening atmosphere.

(And it would get Leonard out of those flight sims.)

He checked in on Jim, who was crashed out on his bed in a food coma, completely dead to the world. Definitely a good sign, falling asleep in his own bed and sleeping deeply. Then he double checked the locks on the windows and doors, double checked that the curtains were still shut, and turned on the security feed on the terminal. His PADD dinged at him as he was climbing into his pajamas.

That could work, but you're still doing those sims. Let me know when you're leaving.

Leonard decided that he didn't like Pike all that much after all.

We'll catch a shuttle to Nashville after Jim's checkup in the morning. Probably be there by noon, I'll give you a buzz when we get where we're going.

He clambered into bed, wondering what Jim would think about the unplanned vacation. He probably wouldn't mind, and Leonard could find them plenty of things to do. They could have a few days of downtime in the Smokies, then head further south and hit the Historic Space and Rocket Center in Huntsville, Alabama. Jim would love that shit. Then they could drive from there to Gulf Shores and spend New Year's at the beach. A shuttle could have them back at the Academy in a couple of hours, and he could start flight sims in the last few days before classes began.

He'd known he'd have to do the sims, one way or the other. But with his qualifications he was a shoo-in for any number of ground postings, so chances were he'd never actually have to spend a significant amount of time in space. He'd been totally smashed when he got on the shuttle to the Academy, or he'd have taken a handful of tranquilizers before boarding. As it was, he'd have to grab a few things from medical in the morning before they left: a Cal-6 shot, in case he could talk Jim into it over the break; a tranq hypo or two, for the shuttle rides; a handful of epi-pens, in case there was an incident. He'd take along his own medkit, of course, his PADD, some clothes.

Leonard was drifting in that soft place between waking and sleeping when his PADD started blipping at him urgently. Muttering curses, he threw off the covers and grabbed the device from the bedside table. The screen glowed automatically in the darkness, displaying a message from the CMO of the USS Columbia.

CC: Pike, Christopher; McCoy, Leonard

From: Tkrit, Scalia

Commander Winona Kirk's psychiatric evaluation was completed at 0700 on the current stardate. The results indicate that she is of sound mind, however, based on copies of recent communications that she sent to Captain Pike (who then forwarded them to me) I have ordered her to see the ship's counselor weekly until further notice. Her attitude toward Pike indicates a serious problem that needs to be resolved. I have pulled all her comm records for the last six months and will be forwarding them to the ship's counselor immediately.

About damn time. Now the Columbia's counselor would see the crazy shit she wrote to her son and maybe get a clue. He would prefer that she start with antidepressants at the outset, but she wasn't his patient. It wouldn't surprise him at all if she'd faked her way through psych evals for years; if she was even half as sharp as Jim she'd have learned the answers the shrinks wanted to hear pretty quickly. As long as she was doing her job, there wasn't a lot of evidence to indicate that she was unbalanced at all. Lots of women weren't particularly nurturing mothers, although the majority of less-than-stellar mothers couldn't hold a candle to the way Winona had treated Jim.

And what about the other Kirk kid, Sam? Jim had never mentioned him, not once. Pike said he'd disappeared without a trace, but that was difficult to do these days unless you actually left the planet. There were plenty of places out in the black to get lost in, if you didn't want to be found. But how did a fifteen year old get out of Earth's atmosphere without a parent's signature? Or did he find a shady doctor to change his retinal patterns and fingerprints, assume a new identity? Could he be tracked down, and if so, would Jim even want to see him?

Crap, he was wide awake now. Oh well, if he took enough tranqs he be able to nap on the shuttle in the morning. He got up and started quietly packing a bag with jeans, sweaters, his PADD, a few other things. A movement in the doorway caught his attention, and he turned to find a sheepish Jim standing there. He'd locked it open so he'd hear if Jim needed him during the night, and wasn't surprised that he hadn't managed more than a few hours of sleep. They had napped on and off all day. The kid eyed Leonard's duffel bag.

"Going somewhere, Bones?"

"Surprise vacation, to Tennessee." Leonard zipped it shut and tossed it down at the foot of the bed.

"Oh." Jim shuffled a little, looking at the ceiling. "Need help packing?"

"Nope, I'm packed."

"Okay."

He turned to go back to his room, looking dejected, and Leonard took pity on the poor uninformed bastard.

"You should pack your bag too," he called, "and be ready to go after your appointment in the morning."

Jim reappeared. "Huh?"

"Pack a bag, you need some clothes and a PADD and your comm. We're going to be in Nashville around lunchtime."

"Oh."

"Oh? You don't sound enthusiastic. Would you rather stay here?"

"I'll pack."

Jim flittered back through to his room and began tossing stuff in a bag. Leonard heaved a sigh, grabbed the blanket from his bed, and dragged it to the recliner in the living room. He had a feeling neither of them would get back to sleep if he didn't. Jim would be up all night, and Leonard would be obliged to stay up and harass him about his sleeping habits. He listened to Jim's movements for a few more minutes before the kid turned up again, heading for the replicator.

"No coffee, you hyperactive mutt."

Jim froze in place, not having noticed Leonard.

"Come over here, we're going to sleep until it's time to go to your appointment, and then we can get a nap on the shuttle."

"Um." Jim approached the recliner, color rising in his face.

"Don't be stupid, there's nobody gonna see you."

They got settled awkwardly, finally pulling up the blankets and calling the lights down. Jim fidgeted for a while, but the rocking soothed him back to sleep and Leonard drifted off while making a mental list of places to eat in Gatlinburg.