Bones was puking.

Not right at the moment, exactly, but Jim could smell the sour of sick when he arrived at Bones's quarters that morning. Bones had done enough puking at the Academy, on shuttles, during flight simulations, and after long nights of drinking, for Jim to know when the man had puked. He was sitting at his desk, dressed and ready for his shift, when Jim popped in without buzzing.

"You stood me up for breakfast, Bones!" he said, after taking in the pale, indignant face and the sick smell. "It was pancake day!"

Now, this was exactly the kind of thing that made people think that Jim was an ass. It was obvious that Bones wasn't feeling well. What he really wanted to say was Tits, man, are you ok? But he already knew that if he asked that the answer wold be 'M fine, dammit, go do captainy stuff, and he would never get a real answer. He would have an easier time gauging how Bones really felt by being his usual obnoxious self and seeing how his friend reacted. Good thing nobody was here except the two of them.

"Sorry kid, some stuff came up." said Bones, turning back to whatever he was doing at the terminal.

"What kind of stuff?" Stuff like the contents of your stomach?

"Nothin' too important. I'll come to dinner, how's that?"

"Fine, dinner. My quarters. Maybe I'll invite Spock.

"And maybe I'll accidentally spill some cocoa powder in his fancy tea."

"And maybe I won't stop him from knocking you down a couple ranks."

"Dinner. Now get out."

"Later, Bones."

Jim left, marching toward the bridge. So Bones had barfed, and Bones was kind of pale, and Bones was irritable but there was nothing new about that. He didn't seem extra irritable, but then it had been a short conversation. Hard to say. Then again, the barfing was a definite sign. Plus, yesterday Bones had come to lunch but had only eaten two bites of his sandwich and none of his carrot sticks. The wasted food bothered Jim on a basic level, but that was a different hangup. Obviously, Bones was sick.

In fact, Jim was sure he'd lost a few pounds in the last month or so. Not enough that most people would notice the difference, but Jim saw Bones every single day and had been doing so for years. He knew what Bones looked like, and the difference was obvious to him. Given his experiences on Tarsus IV, it was the sort of thing that made Jim very nervous. He would definitely see that Bones ate real food at dinner, and he'd drag his ass to breakfast in the morning if he had to.

Jim had to do six hours on the bridge today before he was relieved, a short shift while they were in friendly space mapping stars. Sulu was at the helm, Uhura was at communications and Checkov was at the science station covering for Spock, who was down in the science labs doing sciencey stuff. Otherwise it was deserted, which was kind of lonely. On the other hand, there weren't any crew members coming and going either, so he could speak pretty freely with these guys.

"Hey, any of you guys noticed Bones acting like a dick lately?"

Yeah, there was the jackass persona.

Uhura raised a single Spock-esque eyebrow. "You mean more than usual?"

"I mean more than usual, yes." Jim didn't laugh, because it was true.

"No, not more than usual." said Sulu.

"Aye, but he is not himself, Keptain," said Checkov. "I vas in sickbay last week, and he vas looking wery white, sir."

"Is that so?" Jim pursed his lips, considering. It was good to have a second opinion to back his up. But that still didn't mean it was safe to confront Bones about it. He knew from experience that Bones could be belligerent and violent when sick, and even more so when accused of being sick. If Spock were in Jim's head he'd say that was highly illogical, and he'd be right. But there was some rhyme and reason to it: Leonard McCoy didn't like to feel weak, and he couldn't stand for others to know he was weak.

Jim personally didn't see hurling your guts out as a weakness, just a fact of biology, but Bones seemed to think that as a doctor he should naturally have an immune system made of duranium alloy.

Maybe he'd send a message to Spock, telling him to come to dinner with a tricorder and surreptitiously scan Bones. That would be safer than actually asking Bones if he was sick. Jim spent the morning brooding about it, wondering whether Spock could hide a tricorder in one of his meditation robes, and whether or not they could sneakily do anything about it if Bones did turn out to have something. Maybe Jim could crush up some aspirin and sneak it into Bones's coffee. Or peach cobbler, Bones loved peach cobbler!

It was lunch time when he got the comm from Spock, telling him that Bones was really sick and unfit for duty. It was the most convenient way it could have happened; Jim did not have to nag Bones, and he didn't have to personally remove him from the duty roster. Spock could be blamed for all of it. Jim was surprised that Spock had even noticed that something was, but it was best not to look a gift horse in the mouth. Spock might pretend to be confused by humans and their illogical ways, but he was way more perceptive than most people took him for.

Rest and nourishment, then, is what Spock had said. Jim could do that.

Two and a half hours later Jim burst into the CMO's quarters with as much enthusiasm as he could, carrying a tray of real chicken broth from the mess with crackers (the kind shaped like little goldfishes) and a glass of real ginger ale (in case Bones was still hurling). Bones was dozing on his bed with a PADD but woke quickly. Jim snatched the PADD away and tossed it—somewhere. He shoved the tray onto Bones's lap.

"You can have peach cobbler later if you eat all your broth," he demanded, and marched over to the bathroom for more blankets from the recycler. Spock was sitting at Bones's desk, watching in what Jim had come to know was faint amusement. Bones was cursing loudly as Jim returned with blankets and bundled Bones up like a burrito.

"Shut up and eat your damn soup, Bones." snapped Jim. "This is retribution for all the times I've been trapped helplessly in blanket prisons, at your mercy."

He found a pillow and plumped it up thoughtfully. Bones glared at him and sipped the soup.

Jim frowned. Something was Not Right here, but he had yet to put his finger on it. He tried to be scientific about his dilemma for a moment. Spock would have been so proud.

Fact 1: Bones was the worst patient ever. Jim knew this from experience, having been his roommate during the Academy's Saturnian Stomach Flu Epidemic of their second year. It took a lot for Bones to admit that he didn't feel well.

Fact 2: Bones was tucked into bed in the middle of the day. In pajamas, no less. It was one thing to take an afternoon nap, it was quite another to actually dress for bed as if you were going to be there a while. It either spoke to Spock pulling rank and forcing the doctor off duty, or to the fact that Bones must really feel like shit warmed over.

Fact 3: Spock was still here. He had commed over two hours ago, and he was still here. Spock must think that this was serious, or he wouldn't have been. Yes, he was absently scrolling through some articles across the room on Bones's terminal, but this was basically the Vulcan equivalent of anxious hovering.

There was definitely something worse than the flu going on here. Jim would weasel it out of one of them one way or another, but first...

"Dammit Jim, I don't need any more pillows!" Bones snatched the extra pillow from where Jim was trying to sneak it onto the bed and whacked him with it. Jim ducked and got hit anyway, but there wasn't a lot of force behind the blow.

"No horseplay, you're supposed to be convalescing. Did you eat all your broth?"

"I ate the damn broth, douchebag."

"And all the fishes?"

"Fuck you and your fishes."

"Ok now get sleepy." Jim grabbed Bones by the wrists and wrestled him down flat onto the mattress. Bones put up a half-hearted fight, which Jim was winning easily, until suddenly a pair of frighteningly strong arms closed around Jim's torso and yanked him away.

"Spock, what the—" Jim struggled against Spock's grip, but he already knew it was futile. He'd been manhandled by Spock plenty of times before and there was just no point in fighting. He found himself deposited on his feet at the door, with Spock's hand in an iron grip around the back of his neck.

"The Captain and I need to have a word, Doctor." Spock said, as if he hadn't just snatched Jim up and fucking carried him across the room. "We will return shortly."

"Spock!" Bones's voice was cut off by the sound of the door swooshing open, and Jim was shoved out into the hallway with Spock glowering over him.

"What. The. Hell. Spock?" Jim rubbed the back of his neck. He wasn't hurt, and he knew that Spock had been carefully moderating his strength, but damn. "You better have a good answer."

"Captain, I apologize, as I was clearly remiss in explaining the situation adequately." Spock fell into a parade rest in the deserted hallway, while Jim leaned up against the CMO's door with a scowl. "The doctor is in a more delicate condition than you realize, and you must refrain from any rough treatment. He will bruise very easily, and if scratched there is a danger that he may bleed uncontrollably."

Jim opened his mouth, surprised, but was cut off by a warning look from his First.

"The doctor has been treated for his illness, however he will continue to experience symptoms in addition to the side effects of the treatment for several days. He will suffer from pain, nausea, dizziness, perhaps fever and chills. He needs to be monitored, and you may stay if you can be gentle. However, if you injure him I will remove you from his presence."

Jim smirked. "Is that so, Commander?"

"Indeed, that is so, Captain."

Spock's face was extra blank, which Jim had come to know meant he was having feelings right now, and Jim was overcome by a wave of guilt. He might have hurt Bones, and he'd definitely upset Spock.

"Yeah, fine, I'm sorry, Spock." Jim turned toward the door.

"Apologies are unnecessary. You did not know."

"Ok, now I know. I'll be good."

"Very well."

They reentered Bones's room quietly, in case he had fallen asleep again. They needn't have worried, because Bones wasn't in the bed. Spock was looking around curiously when Jim spotted a couple drops of bright blood on the sheets.

"Bones?" he called, immediately alarmed. The bathroom door was shut, and Jim didn't want to just barge in on him, but Spock was already there keying in an emergency access code. The door slid back to reveal Bones leaned over the sink, dripping blood profusely from his nose.

"Fuck!" Jim exclaimed, taking Bones by the arm while Spock snatched a towel off the rack and pressed it to the doctor's face, encouraging him away from the sink. It registered that the blood was watery and thin, and oddly brighter than it should be. A symptom of the not-flu? "Did I do that? I'm sorry, Bones! I—"

Bones shook his head, patting Jim on the shoulder. "You didn't, kid, my blood pressure shot up is all." Fuck, here he was in Doctor McCoy mode, comforting Jim when he should be worried about stopping the flow of blood from his fucking face.

"Doctor, sit." Spock was pressing Bones down to the floor.

"'m fine, Spock." Bones flailed, fighting them off, but Spock was not deterred.

"Doctor if your blood pressure is not stable you may become disoriented, and if you fall you may injure yourself on the surfaces in this room."

Sounded like deja vu to Jim. At least he was on the other side, this time, but right at the moment that wasn't any comfort at all. They got Bones seated on the floor of the bathroom and Spock went to fetch a tricorder from sickbay. Jim stayed, kneeling, rubbing one hand (gently) into the doctor's back.

"Wha'd Spock say to you 'n the hall?" demanded Bones, though he sounded much less intimidating with half his face covered by a fluffy towel.

"That I better watch it, or else." Jim said. "What, is he like your bodyguard now?"

Bones snorted "More like my warden."

Spock reappeared, focused on the tricorder he was waving at Bones. Jim backed off a little, so he didn't get in range and interfere with the readings.

"Your blood pressure is indeed abnormally high, Doctor." said Spock. "But this is beyond my level of training, so you will have to instruct us."

"Gimme the damn thing," said Bones, waving a hand for the tricorder which Spock handed over. Bones looked at the readings, but didn't seem alarmed. "'Snot that bad. Best to let it go away on its own."

"So...?" Jim scooted back closer with a fresh towel, taking the bloody one away and chucking it into the recycler chute mounted in the wall.

"So the patient sits quietly and waits for the bleeding to stop. Now get outta my face."

Grump, grump, grump. Jim got up and went back out to the sleeping area. He stripped the soiled sheets off the bed and stomped them past Bones, stuffing them into the recycler and calling up clean ones. He kept one eye on Bones's hunched figure as he made the bed. Spock disappeared and reappeared a second time, now with a handful of hyposprays. Jim grinned inwardly; this might be interesting.

Bones was already cursing as Spock bent over him, pressing each hypo into his neck in turn. Spock had chosen the perfect moment though, because Bones couldn't struggle much without bleeding all over himself and Spock had him trapped against the counter anyway.

"Dammit Jim, get your shadow off me!"

"The patient sits quietly, Bones." said Jim, with an inappropriate amount of satisfaction. Oh yeah, Karma was on his side after all.

"What the hell was all that, anyway?"

"More analgesic and an anti-emetic, Doctor. I believe it would not be good for your blood pressure if you were to vomit."

"I ain't vomited."

"You did this morning!" corrected Jim. He didn't look, but he could practically feel Bones glaring at him from the bathroom floor. He busied himself with plumping up the pillows and adding more blankets onto the bed.

"There was also a tri-oxygen serum and a mild sedative."

"I've already been in bed all day!"

"Stop yelling Bones, it isn't good for yoouuuuu." Jim was almost sing-song in his contentment. Bones was going to be drowsy, stuck in a blanket prison and at Jim's mercy for possibly the rest of the evening. Suddenly every time he'd been sick in the past five years—every sniffle, every allergic reaction, every stomach bug that had forced him to submit to his roommate's whims—seemed so worth it for this one day of sweet, sweet revenge.

"Shut your face, bastard." Bones was batting Spock away, struggling to his feet. "Get out, hobgoblin, I'm takin' a shower."

"Are you done bleeding?" Jim asked, popping through the door before Bones could lock it on them.

"Yes I'm done bleeding, now fuck off so I can scrub."

"You're not gonna fall and crack your head open, are you?"

"Fuck off!"

Spock handed Jim a pair of clean pajamas through the doorway. Jim laid them on the counter for Bones, who was practically shoving him out. His face was reddish, and he'd broken out in a sweat.

"Fine, I'm going, but if you take too long and we think you're sick Spock is going to break the door down."

"Fine, fuck off."

The door shut. Jim looked at Spock, who moved back over to the terminal.

"If you intend to stay, Captain, I will return in a few hours to take a tricorder reading before gamma shift begins.

"Yeah, I'll stay." Jim frowned at him sternly. "This isn't the fucking flu, Spock. He's really sick, isn't he?"

Spock hesitated.

Spock. Hesitated.

Jesus fuck, was it that serious?

"Spock?"

"It is not the flu, however I am not at liberty to say more."

"Wow, way to be evasive. But he's going to be ok, right?"

"He will be in a weakened state for some weeks, but I have confidence that he will make a full recovery."

"Good." Jim sighed. He ran his fingers nervously through his hair. "Does he need to take any medicine?"

Spock indicated a few hyposprays that he had placed on the bedside table. "These will reduce his symptoms and the side effects of the treatment. He may have another dose of each in four hours. He must also eat well and rest. I have removed him from duty for two weeks."

"Two weeks?"

"He was not able to complete his shift today, and it is not safe for him to continue working if he has spells of dizziness. There are many sharp instruments in the sickbay."

"Yeah, ok. Hypos in four hours, food, sleep."

"Do not allow him to consume alcohol."

Jim grinned. "That's oddly specific, Mister Spock. I take it he's already tried."

Spock nodded once. "He needs to be properly hydrated, and liquor will have the opposite effect."

"You are so right, Spock."

Blanket prison. Hyposprays. No booze. Yes.

"I have removed myself to beta shift, Captain. If you wish to stay the night with the doctor, I will arrive an hour before alpha in the morning so that you may take your leave."

"You don't have to do that, I'm sure we can get one of the nurses to come and sit with him."

"I doubt he will tolerate his own staff in this situation."

And there it was again: Spock was way more perceptive than most of the human crew gave him credit for. It was true that Bones wouldn't want to be seen by the nursing staff in his condition; he'd see it as an admission of weakness. Jim didn't want to cause any awkwardness in sickbay, nor did he want to compromise Bones's authority there by ordering him to comply.

"Fine. I'll let them know that he's on personal leave. You can get all the medicine he needs?"

"Indeed, I have clearance to use the synthesizers in med bay. If I did not, we do have a set in every science lab."

"Of course. Then I'll see you in a few hours?"

"Indeed."

Spock disappeared a few seconds before Bones emerged from the bathroom, looking less red-faced and more sleepy. He climbed onto the bed while Jim picked a sports drink from the replicator that he knew Bones would tolerate.

"Will you drink this, please?" he said, trying to sound sincerely worried. "Spock wants you to be hydrated."

Bones scowled but took the glass and downed it quickly.

"Do you want something to eat?"

Bones shook his head, dragging the covers up. Jim tucked them around the doctor, surprised when there was no protest.

"Spock's medicine working?"

Bones nodded.

"Gonna sleep?"

Another nod.

"Want me to read you a story?"

A scowl.

"Ok. I'll be here when you wake up."

Bones was already drifting off. He must have been tired already, for that sedative to be kicking his ass so hard. But Jim thought he remembered tiredness being a side effect of hypertensive crisis, from when his granddad had been dying from some heart-or-age related thing. He thought headache was one too, but Spock had already given Bones something for it.

Jim called the lights down and kicked off his boots. Officers got full sized beds instead of twin bunks like the rest of the crew, and Jim hadn't really appreciated that until now. He padded around to the other side of the bed and stretched out with a PADD. He could do his paperwork here and then submit it to his terminal in the morning. He wasn't too surprised when he got the urge to drift off, lulled by the steady rhythm of Bones's soft breathing beside him.

Spock shook him awake some time later, to tell him that the doctor's numbers were somewhat improved according to the tricorder. Jim watched as Spock administered the hyposprays and bribed Bones awake with a bowl of replicated peach cobbler. Spock demanded he drink a glass of juice, then set up another group of hypos on the nightstand and left for the night. Bones grumbled in his drowsy state, but Jim slung an arm across him and told him to go back to sleep.

He hadn't expected to be so unwilling to torture Bones during what was possibly a once in a lifetime opportunity. Tomorrow. Jim would definitely, definitely exact his revenge tomorrow.


A/N: I had intended this story to be a oneshot, but my fingers kept going. Oops. And now that there's a Jim POV, there will probably be a McCoy one soon.