A/N: Back to the action. This chapter went without my medical beta reader, so if there are any mistakes you pick up on, let me know. To the best of my knowledge, having never set foot inside an ER and relying on what research I could do, what I have written seems plausible.

Chapter 10

Jim pressed himself deeper into a niche, his breathing shallow to avoid making sound that might attract attention. The black shirt he'd opted for--it would stand out far less than his uniform shirt--blended in well with the shadows. Nearby, Cupcake was making use of a digital code breaker on the door he stood in front of, a door that would take them into the apartment of Jiet Je Jong. Turns out the man was Jong Je's father. What fitting irony it would be if the good professor was part of Sovereign Istabul. There really weren't any clues to make them jump to that conclusion just yet, but given the lack of real evidence for the case, they had to start somewhere.

A plume of steam as he exhaled into the chilly night air made him wish he didn't need oxygen, but the locking mechanism on the door finally clicked. A green bar appeared on the small terminal, and Cupcake--yes, he actually did know the man's real name to be Paul--allowed the door to swish open to grant them access. They had it on good authority Jiet Je always stayed late at the university to engage in whatever research floated his boat, so Jim stepped in front of Cupcake to be the first to enter the apartment.

The interior was dark but for a small light being emitted by an aquarium filled with glowing neon fish. Pots containing plants just beginning to wilt made Jim wonder if the man had been home at all lately. Given the fact that he was the captain of the Enterprise where Murphy's Law was not only a reality but an every day occurrence, he automatically jumped to the conclusion that Jiet had been kidnapped by Sovereign Istabul and was being held against his will to make androids for them. He was sure Spock would have something to say about jumping to conclusions without any real evidence to back it up.

Cupcake allowed the door to swish shut behind them once he and Spock had entered, at which point their chief security officer made use of a fingerprint finder to start collecting data. Any fingerprints found that didn't match Jiet Je would have to be included on their list of suspects.

"Spock," Jim began in a whisper, "check the computer console. I'll search the rest of the apartment. Cupcake, keep an ear out for incoming people."

"Acknowledged, Captain."

Leaving the two men in the main living space, Jim worked his way back through a guest bedroom, a lavatory, a home office, and to the bedroom. People with something to hide generally hid it in their personal space where others weren't likely to go snooping around. Hell, he didn't entirely know what he was expecting to find. It wasn't as though the man would keep an android tucked in his bed.

Thankfully, the revolving closet Jim pulled through didn't have a single article of pink clothing, proving a certain color preference couldn't be passed from father to son. Only one interesting thing was in the wall of drawers, and that was an Istabulian nudie magazine Jim thumbed through with a smile on his face. Some things were apparently universal. And he'd been right about great asses being the norm for Istabulian women. He forced himself to put the magazine back where he'd found it and was just lifting the mattress off the bed when the sound of breaking glass from the main living space got an immediate reaction out of Spock and Cupcake. The two men broke silence and shouted that they were under attack.

Yanking his phaser from the holster, he dashed through the apartment to find his comrades under pressure against five men. The men were dressed in black clothing. Patches sewn onto the shoulders of their jackets depicted a crown surrounding a planet. He'd probably win money if he bet that was the symbol of Sovereign Istabul. Could anyone blame him for the shock registering on his face when his phaser blast dropped one of the men coming up behind Spock? Finally! They were finally getting to meet some real members of the anti-Federation rebellion.

"Don't kill them unless you absolutely have to," Jim shouted over the ruckus. "We need to question them."

"Yes, Captain. I'm aware of standard protocol," returned Spock.

Jim ducked beneath an arm that swung at his head and delivered a fist to his opponent's gut that propelled the man backwards into a bookshelf with glass doors. Shards scattered across the carpet. Spock relied on finesse and technique to get through a physical battle. Cupcake's movements were efficient, precise, and relied on his larger frame. But Jim? He was a pure brawler, loved nothing more than getting down and dirty or being up in his opponent's face, so he leaped over a body Cupcake threw across the room to get back in front of the man he'd shoved into the bookcase.

One of his hands fisted in the man's jacket, his other free to deliver a hard slug against his opponent's face. Only Mister Terrorist didn't play by the standard rules. Go figure. Jim twisted to the side in time to avoid the knife suddenly ramming toward his gut. He was in the process throwing his elbow in the direction of an exposed neck when the man lunged to the side. Momentum carried Jim's elbow into the solid wood, leaving his entire arm smarting and threatening to go numb.

Terrorists, opportunists that they were, never failed to make use of any opportunity. The same held true when the Sovereign Istabul twat rammed his shoulder into Jim's stomach with enough forced to hurl him backward where he landed on a glass table. More glass shattered under his weight and dropped him through the metal frame onto the floor. No amount of wiggling got him free of the temporary cage in time to avoid to the knife coming down at him. All he could do was throw his arm up to protect his face, leaving his stomach unprotected.

Pain exploded in his ribcage when the blade slid through flesh like hot butter. A hiss was all he would allow himself. Jim wrapped his legs around Mister Terrorists' legs and yanked hard enough to bring the twat down. The man landed face-first on the edge of the metal stand with a satisfying crunch of bone and a soft yelp.

The move afforded him enough time to work himself free of his prison and an extra couple of seconds to pull the knife from his body. He covered the wound with a hand, grabbed the back of his opponent's jacket, and flipped him over. A large chunk of glass was imbedded in Mister Terrorist's eye. Neither was he twitching. Son of a…

His mental curse came to an abrupt end when a second terrorist slammed into him from behind, threatening to send him falling back into the table's metal frame. Jim dug in his heels and whipped around to deliver a kick to the man's stomach. A quick glance to his comrades assured him Spock and Cupcake were mopping up the other invaders, so he felt no qualms in dragging out his phaser and taking a pot shot at the idiot's knee. Whatever it took to keep the man from running or dying. So what if the smirk on his face was more than a little satisfied at the singed flesh? They'd stabbed him!

Glass crunched under the soles of his boots as he made the few steps over to where Mister Terrorist was clutching his knee. Just for the sheer principle of the matter, Jim slugged him in the face, but something wasn't right. Dude wasn't resisting or trying to fight back. That was when Jim noticed the white froth dribbling from the corner of the man's mouth. He released a string of curses that would have made a dock worker blush.

"They have poison tablets." Jim's tone was resigned in its matter-of-factness. "Why doesn't that surprise me in the slightest?"

"Yeah, we figured that out. They're dead, Captain. They're all dead." Cupcake said.

"Murphy's-flipping-Law," he muttered under his breath.

"Murphy's Law?" inquired Cupcake.

Spock quickly jumped in to explain since explaining things seemed to be what he loved doing best. "Murphy's Law is a theory that postulates the continuous occurrence of the worst case scenario. In this instance, Captain Kirk believes the Enterprise is--how would humans phrase it?--the poster child of Murphy's Law in that the worst case scenario occurs with frightening consistency."

"We are Murphy's Law. Check the bodies to see if they're carrying any kind of identification. Tag the fingerprints in our database. Maybe we can track down their personal information and establish some kind of people-train directly to the leaders of the rebellion."

Naturally, sirens could finally be heard in the distance. Neighbors had no doubt called the authorities when they'd heard the ruckus going on, but Jim was more concerned about the file showing on the computer console Spock was supposed to have been hacking. Something about the prototype androids developed by the program showing fear of death. He couldn't be sure, because his head was swimming from the throbbing pain in his side and the hot rush of blood dribbling over heated flesh.

"Captain Kirk!" Cupcake shouted, only his shouting sounded like it was coming through a long tunnel.

The stab wound hadn't felt that serious. Sure, the knife had been long enough to reach some vital organs, but he didn't think it had gone that deep. His vision tilted dangerously when he lifted his hand up in front of his face to look at the blood covering it. It was mixed with black.

"Jim."

Spock's voice calling his name was the last thing he heard as he sagged to the ground.

***

Bones' handheld slipped from his hand and clattered on the floor of Sickbay. It was the one call he'd been terrified of receiving even though he knew the chances of him receiving it at some point in their five year mission were high. He just hadn't expected it to be today, two whole days after dealing with a poisoned gas on his ship.

"Doctor McCoy?" Christine asked.

"Get me a crash cart, a gurney, and synthetic blood. Stat," he said in a smoke and whiskey voice that fought off panic and emotion. "Page Stella. We're going Code Blue."

He thanked whatever hoodoo spell had made Nurse Chapel so level-headed, because she didn't bombard him with questions.

"You heard him," she said in that authoritative tone of hers before tearing across Sickbay to gather a nursing team.

Grabbing up a medical kit, Bones raced out of Sickbay like Nascar had come to town. His heart thundered faster than his feet during the time it took--it felt like forever and a day--to get to the shuttle bay doors where Spock and Cupcake would be bringing in an injured captain. What terrified him more than Spock giving him the news was the sound of Jim's labored breathing in the background and the fact that Jim hadn't been reassuring the two men he could get up and run a marathon. A Jim who whined meant the injury wasn't life-threatening. A silent Jim meant there was a real chance he would die.

The truth of the matter was that Jim had saved his life, not Starfleet. Months of depression after his divorce had led to months of learning how best to sop up the most amount of alcohol humanly possible. Counting the number of times he'd somehow survived driving home drunk or sleeping in a dirty alley if the bartenders were caring enough to disable the ignition on his hover-car was impossible. As soon as he'd sat down next to Jim on the shuttle for new recruits, his life had changed. Who would take care of Jim after one of his bar brawls if he was passed out drunk? How could he have had access to enough booze to drink away the post-divorce anger when Jim had followed him around yammering about sex and women while steering him away from bars?

People at the academy had often asked him how he put up with rooming with Jim. Well, he didn't want to know how he would have put up with rooming with anyone else. Jim Kirk had a capacity to inspire loyalty that defied reason. Why? Because the man's zest for life was infectious. Because he knew Jim would risk his life without a second thought for someone he either deemed worthy or felt responsible for. Yes, Jim had saved his life, but he'd hoped to never have the chance to return the favor.

Bones was busy pacing back and forth in front of the shuttle bay doors with Nurse Chapel, Stella, and their team standing nearby when the hover-car came to a stop on the tarmac. Cupcake was the first one to emerge. When Spock, his face seemingly contorted with emotion, climbed out with Jim in his arms, the hobgoblin didn't immediately start running in the ship's direction. He lowered the captain to the ground to perform CPR, an action that made Bones' heart leap up into his throat.

And he'd been complaining about the trip from Sickbay to the shuttle bay taking forever and a day. The thirty yards separating him from Jim felt like an insurmountable gulf, but he eventually got there, eventually was able to go down on his knees as Spock leaned forward to blow a breath of oxygen into Jim's lungs. Had a Vulcan face ever showed so much desperation as Spock's was in that moment? Perhaps that was what terrified Bones the most.

"He coded when we were en route from the apartment," Spock said while fisting his hands against Jim's sternum to deliver the required pumps of his fists.

"Jim, you son of a bitch, you'd better not die on us, do you hear me?" Bones shouted. "Chapel, fifty ccs of adrenaline. Westin, have those paddles charged to three hundred and ready!"

The vial of adrenaline was delivered to his open hand already loaded into a hypospray, so Bones popped Jim in the neck. Everything seemed to be moving in slow motion. Heightened senses made him imagine he could hear every thud of Spock's hands against Jim's sternum. Thud…Pause…Thud…Pause…Thud…Pause…Breath…Pause…Thud. He kept expecting Jim to suddenly sit up and crack a joke about finally knowing what half-Vulcan lips tasted like, but the captain never did. Technically, the captain was dead. The thought turned his blood to pure adrenaline.

"The tricorder finds no foreign bodies or poisons in his system, Doctor," Stella said. "He has as a collapsed lung from blood pooling in his chest cavity and lacerations to his liver, kidneys, and diaphragm."

"Chapel, get your ass in here and intubate."

He could hear himself shouting but couldn't feel the resonance in his throat as he leaped over Jim's body to get to the wound on his other side. Blood soaking the captain's shirt and trousers and pooling beneath him on the tarmac was so dark as to appear black. Any doctor fresh out of med school wouldn't need a scan to tell them Jim's liver had been punctured.

"Paddles are charged!" This from Westin, who took a pair of scissors to Jim's shirt to expose his chest and slapped protective gel pads over the captain's skin to avoid burns from the electric charge.

"Goddamnit, get out of the way, Spock!"

Never once had he allowed himself to think he would be trying to resuscitate Jim Kirk. As soon as Spock slung himself out of the way, Bones applied the paddles, shouted for everyone to get clear, and delivered a jolt in an attempt to restart the man's heart. The portable monitor blipped with the resulting sinus rhythm only to blare a flat line when Jim's heart failed to pick up the rhythm on its own.

"Charging to four hundred," Stella said.

Bones shook Jim's shoulders gently and said, "You'd better come back, you stubborn-as-a-mule son of a bitch. I didn't put up with you for three years at the academy to have you die on me now."

That said, he applied the paddles again to deliver another jolt. Again, the monitor blipped a rhythm. All he could do was hold his breath for a moment to see if Jim's heart would respond. Blip blip…Pause…Blip blip…Pause…Blip blip… Breath rushed out of his lungs when the captain's heart maintained the rhythm. It was erratic, but at least his heart was beating on its own.

"Chapel, break open a chest tube kit. Spock, help me get him on the gurney so we can take him to Sickbay. Cupcake, clear a path."

When Spock had hold of Jim under his shoulders, Bones took hold of his ankles so they could both lift him from the ground. Inserting a chest tube in the middle of a dry dock with hundreds of Starfleet crew and Istabulians gathering around wasn't his idea of a sterile environment, but waiting would mean precious minutes depriving Jim of an adequate oxygen level which could result in brain damage. Chapel had the chest tube waiting for him. He snapped on a pair of latex gloves and used a laser scalpel to open an incision several inches down from Jim's armpit. Once the tube was in place, blood surged through it to splatter on the ground.

Only then did he allow their group to get underway, a group that gained members during the mad dash as though the entire crew was forming a shield around Jim to protect him from prying eyes. Chekov, Sulu, and Cupcake appointed themselves lead bulls to shove people out of the way so a path could be made clear. Uhura was there with her hand on Spock's shoulder as though the hobgoblin could take some small comfort from her natural calmness. Ritha was running as close to him as she could without getting in the way. Even Scotty, who had just been released from Sickbay yesterday, was doing his best to keep up despite not being back to full strength yet.

Jim didn't dare die, not when so many people were loyal to him. That did nothing to make him feel better, though, when the gurney-train finally broke through into Sickbay. Spock's face was still registering open shock and fear, his shirt soaked in Jim's blood, so there was no way Bones would feel secure until the hobgoblin was back to his usual non-expressive self.