Chapter Eleven

McCoy stood at the door with his arms crossed lightly over his chest, watching Kirk with concern. Kirk sat in a chair by the window, a blanket covering him. He had finally been able to keep his food down and digested in the past two days and that was helping him to gain strength.

Physically, Kirk was on his way to recovery with promising results, enough so that the man could spend an hour twice a day sitting up in a chair and out of the bed he had come to hate. Even the minor heart damage had been successfully treated and was healing nicely. He still had a long road to full recovery, and all of it was dependent on no further setbacks and a cooperative patient who followed his doctor's orders.

And therein lay the problem.

McCoy watched as Kirk shifted awkwardly in the chair, wincing before settling himself back into the soft cushions. In a moment, he had resumed his former posture – stoic and unaware.

There had been times in the past three weeks when McCoy had feared that he would never see Kirk out of bed. So unstable and close to death, every breath Kirk drew had been another promise. McCoy had been a doctor long enough to know how quickly patients could turn for the worse, how uncertain even the most promising prognosis could be, and so he had come to look at Kirk with anticipation laced with dread.

It was Kirk's silence that really bothered McCoy.

As he gained strength and spent more of his day alert, he had begun to reflect more on the events that had brought him to this place. And then there were the nightmares, which he had tried unsuccessfully to hide from McCoy-the sensitive and sophisticated monitors that surrounded Kirk recorded everything. Though McCoy didn't need the machines to tell him what he could plainly see: The haunted look in the blue eyes, muting their brilliance by degrees.

It was more than nightmares that caused Kirk's his self-imposed silence. He had not discussed what Komack had said, but an announcement had been made by the President of the Federation that Kirk was to get the Medal of Honor, and McCoy had to assume that that also played into Kirk's introspection.

This is where McCoy had failed him.

McCoy had hoped the seclusion of the Medical Center would protect Kirk, but the outside world, despite his best efforts, kept interrupting the healing solitude. Starfleet Medical was trying to make McCoy's 'super-blood' serum disappear unnoticed out the back door, while Starfleet Command was making a show of the young captain's bravado at the front door.

It was all smoke and mirrors.

Goddamned bureaucrats. Leech a man's blood while he lay dying.

He felt his temper rise. They all were just pawns to Starfleet, expendable pieces that were moved conveniently from position to position. What did they know of Jim Kirk and what he had really suffered? What did they know of how he lived?

McCoy glanced up at the monitor and frowned. Though Kirk was not in bed, his vitals were still being relayed to the monitor via a mobile band on Kirk's wrist. The monitor told him Kirk had been in the chair too long.

He walked over to the window. "Not much of a view, is it?"

Kirk shivered.

McCoy frowned. "Are you cold?"

Kirk didn't respond.

"A few more days and you should be able to go outside." McCoy leaned a shoulder against the window pane and studied Kirk. "I thought you'd jump at that chance. Normally I'd have to put you in restraints to keep you in bed. Can I look forward to this newfound cooperation in the future?"

"What do you want, Bones?"

The flat dismissal was like a punch in the gut to McCoy.

"You've been quiet. Is everything all right?"

"What could possibly be wrong?"

Uh-oh. McCoy's eyes narrowed. "I'm not good at guessing, Jim. Why don't you tell me what's on your mind."

For a long time, Kirk said nothing and continued to stare out the window. McCoy waited. He knew a good bit about how Kirk worked. The man could be stubborn and determined – a combination that usually won him against his opponents. He was waiting, McCoy knew, for McCoy to give up and go away. McCoy remained in place and the silence filled the room. And then Kirk spoke.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he asked quietly, not looking at McCoy.

The question surprised McCoy. He focused intently on Jim, wondering what Kirk knew and how much. "Tell you about what, Jim?"

Kirk looked up at him with a sharp stare. "Everything."

So that was it? Komack must have spilled the beans and told the kid all the details. No wonder Jim had been so silent.

He relaxed his shoulders, feeling an odd sense of relief that he no longer had to protect their secret. Kirk was bound to make his discovery sooner or later. McCoy had just hoped it would be later, when Kirk was stronger and more resilient.

"You were very sick," he said carefully, steadily meeting Kirk's penetrating gaze. "They weren't things you needed to know."

"That should have been my decision."

"No, it was mine. May I remind you that you were unconscious for most of this and trying damn hard to die?"

"I'm not dying now! What were you going to do? Keep me in this room until they rebuilt Starfleet Headquarters, or did you think I was going to miss the fact that half of Starfleet HQ was buried under a ship?"

"Is that was this is about? Khan flying that damn ship into Fleet headquarters?"

"It's not about the ship." Kirk pressed his right arm tightly against his side. His face pinched with tension. "It's about you thinking I need a keeper."

"That's not what I think," McCoy said evenly, trying to keep control of the conversation. "I have a responsibility to you as your doctor."

"Didn't you think it was important enough for me to know? I'm the reason Khan's still alive."

"No, you aren't. There's plenty of blame to go around in this, but Khan gets to take responsibility for the lives he took – you don't." McCoy noticed Kirk's left arm shaking and realized this was not the time or place to have this conversation. "You're tired—"

"Don't change the subject. I want to know why you didn't tell me." Kirk breathed heavily, agitated and restless.

"A lot of things happened, Jim, but knowing everything wasn't going to change anything for you."

"Then why didn't you tell me!"

The monitor sounded with the increase in Kirk's heart rate and respiration.

"Jim, calm down."

"I'm the captain. Whether you like it or not, I'm the one ultimately responsible for everything that happens under my command." He bent slightly, pressed his arm tightly against his side and released a short gasp.

McCoy leaned over him as the alarms sounded loudly. "Take shorter breaths. Don't struggle so much."

The door hissed open and a nurse hurriedly entered in response to the alarms.

"I don't need a damn nursemaid!" And with that he tightly closed his eyes. His breath came in wheezing gasps.

"Get me 10 cc's of Dirium Complex," he ordered the nurse and put a supporting hand on Kirk's shoulder. He felt the trembling beneath his hands and cursed under his breath.

The nurse handed him the loaded hypo and he drove it home expertly against the side of Kirk's neck. For once, Jim did not protest. But then again, McCoy doubted he could even feel it. And just as he completed that thought, Kirk resisted, raising a hand to McCoy's arm to push the offending support away.

"It's all right," McCoy said softly.

Kirk's hand dropped, not out of compliance, but for lack of strength. The medication, which was a combination of sedation and beta-blockers, always won in the end. Within seconds Kirk's body softened and his breathing steadied.

Still supporting Kirk, McCoy glanced at the monitor and waited until the vitals stabilized. He hadn't expected such a volatile reaction. Kirk was still an enigma to him, at once boyish and charming, then suddenly deeply sensitive or obstinately angry. Whatever Kirk felt, he always felt it deeply and completely; there was no middle ground with him.

The nurse had called for an orderly, and together they transferred Kirk to the bed. Once settled in, McCoy covered him and took a few moments to watch the sleeping form. In the quiet repose of sleep, Kirk looked amazingly young. Even though he was still pale and drawn, the innocence of sleep seemed to transcend his illness. Watching him now, McCoy was reminded of the young cadet who had defied the Kobayashi Maru test, and had stood punished and forsaken on the tarmac as the rest of the cadets rushed to their assigned ships.

That was the moment when McCoy took a page from Kirk's playbook: He had set aside his own stringent set of rules to defy Starfleet in an act of faith in the young man who had ultimately saved all their lives.

McCoy reached to gently stroke Kirk's hair back. They had both been pariahs – not making friends easily, outcasts among their own kind, independent and defiant. He dropped his hand, took a deep breath and stood silently by the bed. This wasn't about Khan or Marcus. It wasn't even about Kirk being sidelined, or McCoy's choice to sequester him from the outside world.

McCoy was going to need help. There was only one other to whom Kirk would listen.

Spock sat in the chair by Kirk's bed and studied the sleeping human. For weeks he had waited by this man's side, waiting for Kirk to awaken, thinking that was all that was needed to restore his sense of peace, to give him some assurance that their relationship remained intact…that Kirk was still his friend.

He had never had a friend. He had not been accepted on Vulcan because of his human half, and he had not been accepted on Earth because of his Vulcan heritage. A child of neither world, an alien to both, it was Kirk who seemed to accept him for who he was.

As he watched, a frown marred the smooth features of Kirk's face and his eyes moved rapidly beneath the shut lids, bruised a pale gray. The monitor showed an increase in heart rate.

Dreaming.

McCoy had told him that Kirk's sleep had been interrupted nightly with nightmares – none of which Kirk was willing to share. But Spock could imagine what hellish scenarios the man's mind could conjure, given what he'd been through with Khan. It was not, in Spock's observation, the nature of Jim Kirk to analyze and reflect on the decisions he made, and so Spock was perplexed by the nightmares.

The Vulcan had spent hours in meditation contemplating his own actions regarding Khan and Kirk, as was his nature. He had not been able to draw any firm conclusions, except the obvious, which was that he had allowed his emotions to assume control. His father had once told him that emotions ran deep in their culture, more deeply than in humans. He now believed that his father was correct.

Kirk made a low sound and suddenly opened his eyes with a start, gasping for breath. Spock waited for Kirk to get oriented. It took only a few moments for the blue eyes to clear, then soften as they focused on Spock.

"Good morning, Captain."

Kirk frowned and looked around the room. "Morning? What time is it?"

"Oh-nine-hundred hours."

Kirk closed his eyes and let out a soft breath. "McCoy's getting too free with those sedatives."

"I believe the doctor is doing what he thinks is best for your recovery."

Kirk grunted, opened his eyes and, without moving his head, shifted his gaze to Spock. "I suppose he sent you to keep watch."

"He'll listen to you, Spock," McCoy had said. "You might be the only one who really understands what he's going through."

"The doctor thought you might like some company…someone who could offer a different perspective."

Kirk shifted positions and stared toward the foot of the bed. "I'm not angry with Bones. I'm just...angry."

Spock digested the words. Despite his mother being human and his father being Ambassador, he knew very little about the cultural behavior of Earth's native population. What had Kirk to be angry about? He had saved the Enterprise and crew, exposed Marcus' plan, defeated Starfleet's terrorist, and earned his captaincy. He had even cheated death. He was, once again, the Federation's newest hero.

Kirk turned to look at him somewhat expectantly.

"You are distressed about receiving the Medal of Honor," Spock said.

"You've been working on your bedside manner," Kirk said lightly.

"It is Starfleet's highest honor. Very few are awarded it."

"I don't want it," Kirk said quietly.

"You are within your rights to refuse."

Kirk looked at him. "Admiral Komack wouldn't like that very much."

"Then accept it for what it is, a symbol of valor and personal sacrifice in going beyond the call of duty for the good of others."

"It's not that either," Kirk said, turning away.

"I would not believe that about a man who offered his life for that of his crew – twice."

"I was desperate," Kirk said quietly. "I finally understood what Pike had been trying to teach me, and I thought it was too late."

Silence.

"Do you know why I went into the warp core, Spock? It was the only way to make everything right. It never occurred to me that I was going to die. It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was saving the ship."

"Those are the qualities of a Starfleet captain, to put the needs of the ship and crew before those of himself."

Kirk looked to the foot of the bed. "I remember everything you told me. I do listen to you, you know."

"I had wondered."

Kirk smiled and chuckled softly. He stared at the plain white walls and seemed to drift in thought, his smile slowly fading. "This didn't turn out the way I thought it would, Spock. Nothing turned out the way I thought."

"That may be the greatest lesson."

Kirk slowly turned to him with a thoughtful expression. "That's something Pike would have asked me: What is there to learn from this?"

"It is a question we must all ask ourselves, Jim."

Kirk nodded, still thoughtful.

"This is not something you need to think about now," Spock said. "For now it is enough to know that the Enterprise and the Federation are safe."

Still watching Spock, Kirk's mind shifted gears in an instant. "I want a shower."

McCoy watched Kirk from his spot along the wall in the physical therapy room. Now that Kirk was strong enough, he was doing more intensive physical therapy, requiring more specialized equipment. Tir, the physical therapist, was a well-built man in his mid-thirties with ten years' experience in the field. He was no-nonsense, quick-witted and never held back his punches.

McCoy liked him.

Kirk on the other hand….

"Are you pushing?" Tir asked. He was positioned over Kirk with Kirk's legs pressed up against his chest.

"Yes, I'm pushing!"

They held the position for a moment longer. McCoy could see the perspiration roll off Kirk as he rapidly breathed through his exertion. Kirk's hands were gripping the thick pad beneath him and McCoy could see they were trembling. Tir must have seen it as well, because he finally let up, coming off Kirk to a stand, but keeping his hands on the now useless legs.

"You push like a girl, Kirk," Tir said politely and dropped to his knees to massage the aching legs.

Kirk's response was to lash out with his right leg. His foot caught Tir in the shoulder.

McCoy couldn't help but smile.

Tir rubbed his shoulder with an amused expression. "Okay, I hear you."

McCoy pushed off the wall and walked forward to stand next to the pad, looking down at an exhausted Kirk.

Tir glanced up at McCoy and gave him an expression that seemed to make a request. Tir knew he had overstayed his welcome with Kirk. He also knew that he needed to keep the relationship stable if Kirk was to get better, and that meant letting Kirk keep his sense of autonomy, and maybe his dignity, as well.

"I'll take over, Tir," McCoy said.

Tir nodded and, without a word, relinquished his patient to McCoy.

Kirk's eyes were closed. His breathing had steadied somewhat and he remained still as McCoy skillfully massaged his legs.

By the time McCoy finished with the left leg and moved on to the right, Kirk had opened his eyes. McCoy occasionally watched Kirk's expression for signs of pain, but remained mostly focused on loosening the cramped muscles. As he finished, he studied Kirk, noting the tight mouth and tiny lines at the edge of his eyes.

"How's your back?" McCoy asked.

"Talking to me loud and clear."

McCoy nodded. "I'll order a sonic treatment when you get back to your room. That should calm the nerves a bit. You're doing well."

Kirk's eyes sharpened. "Does that mean I've earned my freedom?"

"We'll see how the end of the week goes. Your recovery—"

"—is going to take time."

McCoy scowled. "You know it's rude to finish people's sentences."

Kirk stared at him with a soft expression and the faintest smile. "Thanks, Bones."

McCoy met his friend's gaze and saw in Kirk's face something of the young man who sat confidently in the captain's chair, who had decisively ordered the Enterprise out of the bottom of an ocean to save his First Officer, and who had defied the head of Starfleet to do what was right. But there was something else there, too – a maturity that comes with understanding, and the steadiness of accepting it.

"You're welcome, Jim."

A/N – this is where our story ends…for now. I want to thank all of you for allowing me to share my story and for your reviews – I read every one of them.

I never intended this story to go so long, but the characters had other ideas. I have planned a few more chapters that take Kirk to his apartment. I am attempting to bridge the gap between the hospital scene in the movie and the re-christening of Enterprise where we see a more mature Kirk, who seems to have learned some important lessons in STID.

Until that time, read, love and enjoy.