Departing from the hospital where she had been spending the past few months, Nyota Uhura left in – once again – a mixture of stunned awe. J.T's self-describing metaphor had been accurate – he really did absorb her teachings like a sponge. Heck, he even learnt new languages as fast as her – no wonder Hoshi Sato had gladly taught him. After all, who wouldn't enjoy educating a genius mind? Especially one that was constantly eager to learn – unlike the normal temperament of a teenager.

It was a pity, that he was survivor. Like so many other teenagers residing in the ward, he maintained a burning hatred towards Starfleet for their tardiness. If it weren't for his opinionated character, Starfleet Academy would be an ideal future for him.

'Oi! Doc!'

A dark-haired boy slouched lazily on his hospital bed, neglecting to remember descent etiquette as he launched a glob of spit from his mouth and lobbed it against McCoy's neck. The doctor halted his quiet pacing and spun on his heel, mouth open – ready to reprimand whoever had displayed such vileness. However, when he spotted the perpetrator he instantly clamped his jaw shut. It was forbidden for the medical volunteers to verbally assault survivors of the Tarsus IV massacre – even a single word used incorrectly could mentally damage the most sensitive patients and as such, Starfleet had enforced the rule amongst the hospitals.

The patient who had yelled and spat arrogantly knew the rule well, for his mouth twisted into a cunning smile. He had been using the limitations of the medical volunteers to his advantage, hoping to manipulate them into his personal servants.

'Me' leg's gone gammy again – give us some meds will ya?'

McCoy breathed in deeply to control his irritation at the patient's whiny behavior. This time, there was no need to check the patient's I.D number for Stanley Harge was a regular nuisance to all medical staff alike and a patient's list was not needed to match the name to his face.

'I've already explained to you before, Stanley – I can't administer drugs if your body doesn't require them'.

Stanley's face contorted in rage and his eyes glared murderously into McCoy's.

'Whaddaya sayin' Doc? That I'm lyin'!? Gonna make me sit here in pain or are ya gonna give me what I want?'

McCoy sighed at the idle threat. He was used to being verbally assaulted by the patients and hardly any of them ever made good on their words – especially Stanley.

A quick glance up at the monitor next to Stanley's hospital bed confirmed that his heart rate and breathing were functioning at a normal level – obviously no sign that the patient was in pain which meant that yes, Stanley had been lying. Unfortunately, to accuse a patient of such a crime – even if it was true – would lead to McCoy being seriously reprimanded for his 'poor choice of words'. But there was no way McCoy was giving this kid any more medication than he needed – the consequences would be career shattering should he do so.

'Stanley,' he began, attempting to emulate a reasoning tone, 'I can't give you painkillers or I'll risk damaging your liver. If you're body doesn't need them then you'll only get sicker than you already are'.

Stanley's face was slowly turning red… and then purple. The monitor beside his bed now indicated an increase in heart rate but from his facial expression, it was obviously an emotional response. McCoy took an involuntary step backwards as Stanley pushed himself upwards so that he was sitting straighter on the bed, his feet planted on the sheets.

'Didn't ya hear me right, Doc? I said I WANT MORE DRUGS! Ya think you can sit there and not give me what I want, eh? THEN I'LL BLOODY GET IT MYSELF!'

His voice rose until he was yelling at the top of his lungs, the veins on his neck and temple jutting out as his anger boiled over.

'Now… just look here,' McCoy raised his hands slowly in a sigh of peace as Stanley's rage turned animalistic.

'DON'T TELL ME WHAT TO DO!' Stanley screamed.

Without warning, he suddenly launched himself off the bed. Stanley twisted himself in mid-air so that his hand was able to reach into his pants and pull out a knife he had kept hidden for the past few days. Landing, he tucked himself into a ball, the blade gripped sideways so that it didn't pose a threat to himself as he rolled along the floor. Nearby medical staff yelled demands for security as Stanley raised himself from his crouch and advanced on McCoy.

'Stanley…' McCoy said warningly, although he was powerless to stop his feeling of utter terror leak into his voice.

'SHUT UP!' Stanley screamed, spittle flying from his mouth, 'You don't give me meds – I get them MYSELF!'

In an instant, his hand was raised above his head, blade gleaming dully in the artificial lights overhead.

McCoy closed his eyes. This is it, I'm going to die doing the work I love he thought bitterly. He didn't bother fleeing or even moving, his body was already in shock as a result of fear and he knew that his mind had caused temporary paralysis to his limbs. Even it he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to move a muscle.

Clang!

McCoy cracked his eyelids open in time to witness the dagger forcibly wrenched from Stanley's grip by a metallic blur. In unison, their heads followed the path of the metal projectiles. Eventually, the objects skidded to a halt and both men were left looking at two diverse knives – one slightly dented and the other with a blunted tip. Instantly, McCoy's brain made the connection – someone must have thrown the dagger at Stanley's weapon with such force that it had knocked it out of his hand.

The thrower must have been incredibly skilled to be able to hit their target without harming Stanley's hand – especially using something as poorly balanced as what appeared to be a knife created for cooking purposes.

McCoy twisted his head around in the direction the weapon had been thrown from. His eyes scanned the small crowd of medical and security personnel until he spotted a small, blonde haired boy struggling on the floor as he was restrained with handcuffs.

'Get off me!'

Stanley resorted to verbal abuse as he too was forced into restraints.

'Hey!' McCoy yelled as J.T was hauled off the ground, 'that kid just saved my life!'

He started after the blonde haired boy as he was escorted away but a security officer stopped him.

'Sir, I'm sorry but you can't follow him'.

'Why not? Why are you arresting him in the first place? He saved my life, dammit!'

'He was in procession of a harmful weapon,' the security officer informed him, 'and he isn't being arrested – merely restricted to his bed until we can determine he is fit for release'.

McCoy huffed and eyed the swearing teenager over the security officer's shoulder. He was indeed, being dragged to the general direction of his hospital bed and not the ward exit.

'When can I see him?' he demanded.

'As soon as we have determined that he is securely restrained and not in procession of any other weapons,' the security officer informed him.

McCoy nodded.

'I'll wait, then,' he resolved.

McCoy tentatively approached J.T's bed. The teenager was huddled atop the mattress; his legs dawn up to his chest and his face buried between his knees. One arm wrapped around his legs whilst the other was spread out, pulled towards the side of his bed by his cuffed wrist.

McCoy's heart dropped.

He had almost been killed because he had refused to act in such a way that could have mentally damaged a patient in accordance to Starfleet's rules. And here they were, obviously causing significant mental trauma to this patient – hypocrites. McCoy had never seen J.T so vulnerable looking – normally the teenager acted completely the opposite. Being restrained must bring back terrible memories for him thought McCoy, the other med volunteers are right – he was probably held prisoner by Kodos.

'J.T,' he said softly, kindly.

Instantly, the teenager was alert. He jerked his head up and quickly identified the danger – or so he thought. It was hard to tell these days; to him, everyone was the enemy. Then he recognized the person who had spoken and relaxed marginally. The medical volunteer was still a potential danger but he would be less likely to pose a threat to J.T after he had saved the man's life.

'I want to thank you for saving my life… that was quite a throw kid,' McCoy said seriously.

'Thanks,' muttered J.T carelessly.

McCoy stood there awkwardly, unsure of the direction of this conversation.

'I'm sorry… for what happened to you,' McCoy said.

Inwardly, J.T sighed in exasperation. That was the problem with adults – you save their lives and they have to nag you with their sympathy. What was wrong with a simple thank you and then leaving him in peace?

'Nothing you could've done,' J.T replied flatly.

'I talked to the Chief Medical Officer stationed here and he's agreed to allow you an earlier discharge'.

J.T scrutinized the medic's voice.

Cautious yet kind – genuinely kind – unlike the manipulative compassion of Kodos. In that moment, J.T trusted the medical volunteer. Not completely – not as much as he trusted Pike – but enough.

He locked eyes with McCoy but it wasn't in dominance, it was in gratitude.

'Thanks,' he said and this time, he really meant it.