"You're sure?" Jim asks.

"It's hundreds of crew we need back on their feet," McCoy says. "I'm not saying it's the only way, but we have how long left in the Franklin's power banks? It's a way at least."

Which is a hell of a something, considering.

Jim presses his lips together, his eyes shifting across the officers gathered around them on the bridge.

"Chekov and I set the ship on fire," Jim says slowly. "I know you said you walked around it, but structural integrity is one thing. The chances of the environmental control matrix still being operational- hell, even still being there-"

"-Thirty six point seven four percent probability, Captain." Spock paces, his hands tucked neatly at the small of his back. His shirt stretches across his chest. It's too small, looks like. A size too tight on him. "The Doctor's plan, while not infallible, may be the best available course of action."

"Sounds like you're in favor, Spock," Jim says.

"For once, perhaps, we are in agreement," Spock says, though he doesn't look at McCoy, just spins on his heel and walks back across the bridge again with those even, measured paces.

"Say this works," Jim says. "Say that we can get the air filters from the Enterprise up and running, and say that we can use them to flush out the cave, we still haven't solved for the fact that there are, as we know, quite a variety of different species among our crew."

"If Scotty can recalibrate one oxygen mask, we can just do it on a bigger scale," McCoy says.

"Hell of a job you're volunteering me for," Scotty says. "Though… aye, yes, if you knew the atmospheric percentages that everyone would need, and we got most of say, the Andorians out, and the humans, and the Tellarites in a first go, some of the fine tuning…" He tips his head to the side for a moment, silent. Then, he nods. "We could do it. Might take a wee while, but we could."

Jim holds up a finger. "Another issue. How are we going to get the filters and regulators over here? You're talking a lot of equipment, Bones."

"Beam it," McCoy says.

Jim raises both eyebrows. "Beam it?"

"Scotty said this transporter was used for cargo, and it sure as hell feels like it," McCoy says.

"The Franklin's power," Scotty says. "I'm not sure that we can-"

"-The rocks," McCoy says, tipping his head towards the bulkhead, and beyond, the mine camp outside of the ship. "They're a power source, right? We can draw from them."

Jim stares at him. Scotty too, and behind him, Spock.

"What?" McCoy asks.

"Where did you get all these ideas?" Jim asks.

"Once in a while, the lot of you should consider listening to me," McCoy says.

Jim huffs out a laugh. "Apparently."

"If we do that, I need time to reroute the generators. That's a totally new power source, and to remodulate the polarity regulators and reverse the ion fields-" Scotty holds up both hands. "-This is a hell of a plan, Doctor, and I'm not saying no, but-"

"-I'll help," Uhura says.

"You will?" Scotty asks.

"You're talking about demagnetized the auxiliary pulse generator and rebooting it once it's routed through the transference inverter," Uhura says. Scotty squints at her. "If Jaylah gives me a hand, it's no problem."

"You ever consider a transfer to the Engineering division?" Scotty asks.

Uhura shrugs. "I like Communications"

"Sweet lord," Scotty whispers. "All right, Jim. This is still a maybe but… All right. Though we're still low on power. And drawing straight from the mine or not, that's a big ask. I won't be able to beam anyone over there to scout out the ship, I don't think."

"We'll walk," McCoy says. "It's not too far."

"We will," Jim says. "But Bones, you won't."

"I won't have you forgetting, Jim, that this is my-"

"-You can barely stand," Jim says. "And this planet, as you're so fond of pointing out, is none too safe. We need you here in one piece once we start, not gallivanting around the countryside. I'll go with Spock."

"Jim-"

"-Get ready for us to be coming back," Jim says. "Sulu, you have the conn while I'm gone."

"You're just going to leave us here to wait?" McCoy asks, but Jim is already moving towards the door.

"Take a load off, Bones," Jim tosses over his shoulder. "A few hours to relax. Isn't that what you've wanted?"

"Dammit, Jim, I-"

"-See you soon," Jim says and with a swish of the door he's gone, and Spock with him.

Scotty bends over a control panel, already murmuring to himself. The bandage above his ear needs to be replaced. McCoy rubs his hand over his forehead and sighs.

"I hate this part," Uhura says and he looks at her. "Waiting for the two of them."

"Yeah?"

Her nose wrinkles. "Jim and Spock have all the fun."

"Fun," McCoy mutters and presses his face into his palm.

…

"Are you going to try to wake him up?" Chapel asks.

"You look better."

"Told you," she says. She takes Manas' chart from McCoy, pulling the padd from his hand. "I'm assuming it's the same lung irritation that's keeping him unconscious?"

"Probably," McCoy says, studying Manas laying there stock still as she flicks through his records. "Though he's been in here a while now, so likely old age isn't exactly helping."

"Who is he?" Chapel asks.

McCoy cocks an eyebrow. How strange that she wouldn't know. "One of the men you have to thank for what happened to you."

"There were others, too?"

"The Captain already… took care of them," McCoy says. "This is the sole survivor. And he's a real piece of work, trust me."

"You know," Chapel says, tapping her fingers against the edge of the padd. She does it when she's in deep thought, a small tell that McCoy once didn't know to look for. How much he's missed her cuts right through him with a sharpness that makes him swallow. "It's funny. It's been a while, right? That I was here, I mean. I used Lavigne's shower and suffice to say, didn't even need to shave my legs."

McCoy frowns. "Ok?"

"And I'm not all that tired, being up and walking around. Whatever stasis I was in, it's not as simple as a coma. It's more of a- I don't know, a hibernation."

"Being unconscious can slow the growth of-"

"-No," Chapel says. "There were no changes. It's like no time passed at all."

"You're sure?" he asks.

"I got a pedicure at Yorktown," she says. "Uhura and I did, and we compared toes."

"That's… an odd thing to do, Nurse."

"I needed hairpins," Chapel says and waves her hand, dismissing him and his comment. He tries not to smile at that. God, how irritating he had found her when they started working together and she had walked all over him and his opinions. "I'd put money on keeping this Manas out for a while longer might be the best for him if he really is that frail, at least until we can get him back to a real medical facility."

McCoy looks at her. A clean uniform, outdated as all the ones on the Franklin are, but smartly pressed, and a shine to her boots. He wonders whose they are - Lavigne's extra pair, maybe. Her blonde hair is tucked neatly at the nape of her neck, and she's holding that padd with clean hands.

"Glad to have you back," he says.

"Doctor-"

"-Nope, that's all you get," he says, holding up his hands, palms towards her. "I'm not saying it again."

"Your leg," she says. "What happened? It's bleeding."

"Huh? What- oh." McCoy grimaces, looking down. "Shit."

"And who exactly fixed you up?" Chapel asks.

"Lavigne," McCoy says, even though it's probably not fair to throw her under the bus like that.

"Lavigne," Chapel repeats. "She let you walk on this? Take off your pants."

Once, he would have thought to argue with her. Did argue with her, for weeks and months of their mission back when they first shipped out. Now, he knows well enough where that'll end up if he tries.

There's a mark on her neck from the wires Krall tucked beneath her skin. It's an angry red. He watches the skin pull as she adjusts the patched together regenerator Scotty made. Then, she bends over his thigh.

"Ow!" He tries to bat her hand away. "Quit it."

"A couple inches to the right and it'd be a different story, wouldn't it," she says and she's so goddamn cool, standing there over his bare lap.

"I missed you too," McCoy says. "Leave it alone, would you?"

Instead, Chapel presses a hypo into his neck. He frowns. They only have so many of them.

"Unfortunately for us all, we need you functional," she says.

When she's done, he hikes his pants back up and tests his weight on his leg. He'd be annoyed it feels better - stronger, and not as wobbly - than when he did it, but mostly he's just riding that burst of happiness that's been growing all day.

"What do you remember?" he asks as he readjusts his uniform.

She sets the hypo back in order the same as she always does, that same way they kept them organized on the ship.

"I was in sickbay," she says. "And then we heard the red alert." She adjusts two more hypos, ordering those too. "We were boarded?"

"We were."

"I remember being in a Kelvin pod and then getting hit." She shakes her head. "That's it. Then I was here and you were talking to me." She blinks, then looks around sickbay. "Uhura said… The rest of the crew. They're still out? Like I was?"

"We'll get them back," he says and for the first time there's no accompanying jolt of worry at the words. "How're you doing?"

"Like I said, I'm fine." She holds her arms out and examines her wrists, her hands. "I feel maybe a little odd."

"I'm sure," he says. "You haven't walked in a while now, no matter what type of stasis you were in."

"You shouldn't have been either, not on that leg," she says and McCoy waves her off.

"Rest," he says, even though she'll ignore him. "I've heard it improves demeanor."

"You know, I do remember… I remember thinking that this is it. In that Kelvin pod. That I'd made it this far, and it was-" Her lips press tight. "The end of the road."

"Don't get all maudlin on me," McCoy says, even though - well. That's two of them, then. Coming out of that nebula, he wasn't exactly going on anything much more than a crazed, frantic hope that he might see another day. Now, though, there's the high of having survived. He's felt it before, that buoyed lift that comes on the other side of adrenaline and despair. Doesn't always last all that long, but it sure is nice enough while it lingers.

"Thank you," she says seriously and again he waves his hand between them.

"Oh please don't start," he says.

"I'm serious."

He rolls his eyes. "Great."

"Did you call me 'sweetheart?'"

"Something's wrong with your hearing," he says. "Make sure you get that checked out."

Her chuckle follows him from the room. He's smiling too, he knows.

When he steps outside, the sun has slipped lower in the sky. He blinks at it, sure that he was just out here, frustration balled up tight in his chest. He runs his hand back through his hair. His entire body is humming. Pent up energy and a deep thrill. The breath he lets out is long and feels like a loosening, welled up from somewhere deep within him. There's so much more to do but it's… possible, finally. Hopefully.

And everything can all go back to normal now. They'll be here just long enough here to take care of the rest of the crew, and then they'll really be gone. Done with this mission and planet.

McCoy peers back at the ship. Done with sharing space with Spock. McCoy will have his own room again.

With a sigh, he settles himself onto a packing crate. Some sort of equipment that is likely important to the proceedings, but it's been set in the shade and makes a good enough bench. This isn't his part of the mission to solve. No, Jim and Spock will work whatever magic they need to on that ship of theirs, and Scotty will do the rest. As for him, he's got a good long stretch until he's needed again, and for now, that's more than fine with him. He leans back and is somewhere closer to relaxed than he's been in all too long when Uhura finds him there.

"All right?" she asks and to his surprise, she nudges him over until there's room for her to sit too.

"Aren't you linking the doohickey and the thingamabob?"

"Done," she says and smooths her skirt.

"Well, shit."

Her head tips as she smiles. "I know."

Out across the camp, Sulu and Chekov are staring up at one of the… structures, whatever they're called. Yellow and odd, is all McCoy knows, what with their rounded sides and oddly graceful geometrical design. In another setting, they might even be pretty, but here they make his skin crawl. Even so, this is nice enough, a breeze playing past them, and enough fresh air McCoy feels like he can breathe without wanting a particle filter, now that he knows what's in the air in this place. Jaylah never was wrong. The one they should have listened to all along it turns out, about how terrible this planet is. Though maybe there's some consolation that given half a chance, they might scrape themselves and their crew off the face of this rock and never have to come back again.

"You all right with not having gone back to the ship?" McCoy asks at length. "With Jim and Spock?"

"I think so," she says.

"You didn't want to say goodbye to it?"

"Jim does," she says and McCoy nods. "But it's… it's the people isn't it, that're home. Not the ship, not really."

"Anyone ever tell you you're the smartest one on the crew?"

"I've heard it now and again," she says and offers him a smile and well… that's something, coming from her.

"Do you hate me?" he asks, not especially wanting to have to sit here through her answer.

"I think you're a genius and an idiot," she sighs. "If you really want to know. Professionally the former. I'll let you extrapolate the rest."

"Been called worse."

"Hmmm."

McCoy props his elbows on his thighs and rests his chin on his clasped fists. It's hot out. Maybe not so much here in the shadow of the ship, but it's a hell of a lot warmer than inside. Spock must be thrilled, hiking through that forest in this heat.

"I care about him," McCoy says without quite meaning to. He sits up and rubs his palms over his thighs, daring a glance towards Uhura.

"I know."

"Yeah?"

"Otherwise it wouldn't have been just the once."

He grimaces. "Aw, Jesus, Uhura. What the hell did he say?"

She lifts her chin, a curl playing at the corner of her mouth. "I'm not going to gossip."

"C'mon."

"Nope."

"I've known you for- for years, now. A lot of them."

Too many, he's sure of more often than not. God, they were all so young.

"Actually, I've known him longer." She tips her shoulder into his, jouncing him. "He's the best person I know, and I know a lot of pretty incredible people. You would have been damn lucky, McCoy."

"Yeah," he sighs. "Maybe."

Probably. She's not wrong. Never is. He scrubs his hand through his hair and swallows thickly.

"Like I said." She stands and lifts her hair off her neck, wrapping the weight of it around her hand and drawing it forward over her shoulder. "You're none too clever for your own smarts, though I owe you my thanks for figuring our way off this planet."

"Sure," he says and shrugs. Wasn't just him. Never is. "And why? You got plans?"

"I'll be glad to be gone," she says and he nods. "We all will."

Right as rain she is. He can't help but grin at the thought of flying away from this rock.

"Pedicure?" he asks her, silhouetted there against the fierce blue of the sky. Years and years it's been, her and Jim and the rest of them, right there with him through this life.

She laughs, her head tipping back and strands of her hair falling behind her shoulder.

"Maybe," she says, flexing her toes in her boots and looking down at them. "I might just."

He raises an eyebrow. "No second date?"

She steps towards him, her boots kicking up dust.

"Who told you that?"

He shrugs up at her. "I hear things too, you know."

Her mouth presses together in a thin line as she studies him. He waits and sure enough, she purses her lips and says, "I didn't go."

"Really," he says and grins again. "Fascinating."

Across the mine camp, there's the twin sparkle of the transporter next to a large shape that has to be a pile of equipment and she sets her jaw, her eyes sparking.

"Don't say a word," she tells him.

"I mean, I'm not one to gossip," he drawls.

"I'm serious."

"I am too," he says and stands, brushing off the seat of his pants. "Hey! How was it?"

Jim waves a hand in greeting. Spock ignores him, already bent over the equipment that materializes without a glance over. Look at that, he could tell Uhura. He's fucked this up between them before anything even started, now hasn't he. Some type of new record that is.

But as much as he hates that curve of shoulder Spock has angled his way, it's showtime for better or worse, and McCoy points himself across the mine camp and slowly begins walking over. They'll be gone soon, with any luck. Done and finished with the lot of this.

"You know," he says slowly. Dust puffs up around his boots as they walk and he frowns down at it. "We're going to have a lot of families to tell that their loved ones are all right."

Uhura looks up at him. "I suppose so."

"I've told more folks than I've ever wanted to that a patient isn't coming home to them. I don't think I've ever had to tell them that they actually are."

A hell of a lot of calls that'll be. And confusing as anything, when word of what's happened reaches the rest of the 'Fleet and the families at home. Though better than any other alternative, the type of which McCoy doesn't like to spend too much time dwelling on. Easier almost for someone like Jim, and McCoy himself, with a tiny family left back home, and most folks who'd care to hear the news one way or another already out here together. Spock too, come to think of it. They'd all be the first to know anyhow, no network of calls to make to drag out news either happy or sad.

"We're not out yet," Uhura says. "Though if I didn't know better, I'd say you sound downright optimistic."

"Good thing you know better."

She smiles again. "Good thing."

By the time they make their way over, Sulu and Chekov have joined Jim and Spock as well, and Scotty and Jaylah aren't far behind.

"Ready?" Jim asks, rubbing his palms together and looking around at them all. "Let's get this done and we'll be off home with everyone."

"What about Kattel?" Sulu asks. "When we head out, what will happen to her?"

"Leave her," Jaylah says.

Jim tips his head to the side. "It's not the worst idea."

"She is an enemy combatant," Spock says.

"She'll be stuck here without a ride," Jim says. "Not many enemies to combat."

"Ships pass by Altamid with some regularity," Spock says.

"She wants this planet for herself," Jaylah says. "She will not go."

"She is technically a prisoner," Spock says. "And she committed violence against our crew."

"What do you think?" Jim asks and turns to McCoy. "You're the one with the bum leg."

McCoy raises both eyebrows. He's not exactly judge or jury, and it sounds like Spock and Jaylah have opinions enough on the matter. Though still… he shrugs.

"Not the worst that's happened," he says and God if it isn't true. When this became his life - when it became normal - he's not sure he wants to know, to walk around injured and exhausted after a mission and have it feel so same-old. "It seems like one more bad day out here, nothing more."

"Furthermore," Spock says. "There is no guarantee that she will not resurrect the same technology that Krall used and artificially extend her life at the expense of others."

"We'll torch it," Jim says. "Leave this place so that nobody can ever use it again."

McCoy crosses his arms. "Well that's a flair for the dramatic, isn't it."

"I'm thinking there's an internal combustion engine sitting over that hill, and I'm not sure I like the idea of her crawling around on my ship once we're gone." Jim has that gleam in his eyes, one that McCoy knows all too well. A plan, a course of action, a way forward. McCoy can feel it like a shift in the air. "Spock, that blast from the ship will level this area, won't it."

"I agree with Doctor McCoy's assessment that this idea is rather grandiose. Also a gross misuse of Starfleet property."

But Jim's already bending over and unlocking the lid on the case of supplies they beamed over. "We'll leave behind a good sized crater, that's all. Bones'll get the crew fixed up, we'll get Katell and her people a good ways away, and we'll send the Enterprise up in style before we go."

"That's your ship," McCoy says. He shakes his head at Jim's back, still bent over and rummaging around, and turns to Jaylah. "You know, not all of Starfleet is this exciting."

"Unless you serve under Captain Kirk," Spock says and kneels to help.

McCoy looks down at him there. He'll put money on the fact that Spock'll manage to keep his pants clean, even kneeling in the dirt like that.

Then he clears his throat and walks off towards the cave. Now that they're back, he has work to do. No need to be staring after anyone, is there.

…

Spock is helping a very pretty ensign to her feet.

McCoy frowns.

"Bones?"

"What?" he snaps. Then, he clears his throat and at least tries to take some care with his tone the second time around. "What is it, Jim?"

"Scotty just said that if we can get everyone who's awake cleared out, he's ready to readjust the output measures to up the sulfur ratio and I for one wouldn't mind being outside when that happens."

"Yeah," McCoy says. He straightens, rubbing at his neck. In front of him, Rand is fine. Bewildered and a bit shaky, but when he asks her the stardate she's off by the right number of days, and Jim nodding at her pulls out a prompt, 'Sir'.

"C'mon now, Yeoman," Jim says. "We'll see you out."

"Thank you," she says, her voice dazed, but she lets Jim take her arm and guide her over to the tunnel that leads out into the sun. McCoy trails them, watching for anyone who might not have as easy a time making it. Behind him, Spock is patiently answering the Ensign's confused questions.

"Doctor?" he hears and spins around, ready to deal with whatever it's going to be. He can nearly feel the headache forming behind the spike of adrenaline.

But it's just M'Benga walking towards him, smiling.

"Geoff," McCoy says and then he's hugging him with a hard slap on the back. Good God is it strange - and wonderful - to have him here in the flesh, hugging right back.

"Hey there," M'Benga says and leans back to hold onto McCoy's shoulders, still grinning. "I heard you're the man of the hour."

"What?" McCoy asks, shaking his head. "Good to see you up and about."

"You figured all this out, how to get us out of here, that's what Rachel said," M'Benga says, releasing McCoy with a squeeze of his arm. "Interesting stuff, the way these particles inhibit the return to consciousness."

McCoy squints at him. "Rachel?"

"Rachel? Rachel Lavigne, she's got quite a story about the last few days."

"Huh."

"Chapel too," M'Benga says. "She's already working up some theories on all of this. Though I'm sure you've given it some thought- How do you think the particles transfer into the bloodstream?"

"No idea," McCoy says. He blinks at the bright sun of the mine camp. Next to him, M'Benga holds his hand in front of his eyes, squinting. "I've been pretty focused on getting all of you up."

"But we'll take a sample back with us?" M'Benga asks. "Oh, Commander, just the man. What do you think about getting a few cross sections of the rocks around here? And maybe some vials of the air?"

"Welcome back, Doctor," Spock says. His Ensign is rubbing at her eyes in the sunlight. Spock barely blinks. "A reasonable request. I believe some of my staff may indeed be looking for a way to occupy their time."

"You're not going to give them five minutes to recover?" McCoy asks.

"Your own medical team is hard at work with their bevy of new patients," Spock says. "And I admit a certain curiosity with the workings of this planet."

"A damn hell hole," McCoy says and Spock turns more fully towards him. God, McCoy's too caught up on him. Always has been, in some sense, though that irritation has faded over the years. Always might be too if he's not careful, and that realization as dull as it is, feels like a hell of a thing to teeter on the edge of.

Spock doesn't bother with a response. Just tips his head and with a "Doctor" for them each, leaves McCoy and M'Benga there at the mouth of the cave.

"Glad to be back," M'Benga says.

"You're certainly jumping in with both feet," McCoy says as he stares out across the camp, full with their crew mates wandering around instead of the echoing emptiness it has been for days now. It's a sight to see, for sure. Also keeps him from turning back around to watch Spock make his way down that tunnel.

"You discovered a whole new mystery to explore. Can't quite help it," M'Benga says. "And anyway, aren't you wondering yourself?"

"I'll wonder a lot more once we're gone from here," McCoy says and M'Benga grins.

McCoy thought he'd never see that sight again, or feel the hand M'Benga claps to his back.

"Let's go breathe down the science ensign's necks," M'Benga says. "We've got some time before there's more of us awake."

With a hand warm on his shoulder and that friendly weight to it, McCoy lets himself be steered around, off to what is apparently Starfleet's newest research project.

…

McCoy's in sickbay with the worst off - and the last - of the crew when the engines come on line. The lights flicker and a padd vibrates its way to the edge of a table. He grabs it before it can drop.

It feels as if the deck is pressing up into his boots. The Franklin and its crappy inertial dampeners. He reaches for the edge of a biobed to steady himself.

"Give us some warning," he says to no one in particular. Lavigne doesn't even look up. She must be getting used to working around here.

On the bed in front of her, a science ensign is blinking, her eyes wide as she takes in her new surroundings. Ensign Masters, McCoy is pretty sure. He's seen her in the labs once or twice.

And might do again.

The thump when Sulu sets them down again is worse. Lavigne has to steady Masters with a hand on her arm. McCoy sets the padd down and heads for the bridge, though he finds Jim well before then, already opening up the hatch outside.

"I think Sulu could work on his parking skills," McCoy says.

But Jim just pushes past him, out into the evening. The sunset lights the Enterprise's deck up pink and gold. The fires that lingered last time have drifted out, though the stink of burnt metal remains all the same.

"C'mon Bones," he calls.

"What the hell are we even doing here?" McCoy cranes his neck back towards sickbay. Then, he follows, shaking his head. "I've got patients, Jim."

"I know."

"I'm busy."

"Of course you are."

"I-"

"-Look." There's something slack about Jim's face. Horror maybe, or just a deep seated sadness. McCoy's sure he never thought he'd be here, his ship a twisted, scorched wreck, a scar across the valley. "Look at it, Bones."

Jim leaned across him, fever hot and sweaty on a shuttle headed for space dock. McCoy had wanted to click his jaw shut with a knuckle under his chin, how it had hung open like that. Cadet reds, he remembers now. And that flight, away from the city and into what they couldn't even see coming.

McCoy puts a hand on Jim's shoulder. "You all right?"

"Yeah." When Jim turns to him, his eyes are too bright. "It's good to see it again, you know?"

"You going back aboard?" McCoy asks.

"Didn't have time earlier to look around, not really." Jim clears his throat. "Yeah, thought I might."

Jim makes for the bridge, picking his way through the corridors that slant at that same awful angle they had last time McCoy was here, and that's where Spock finds them, his footsteps soft on the blackened, burnt tile.

"Captain," he says. "The crew is requesting an opportunity to return to their former quarters."

"'Course," Jim says. He runs his palm over the back of his chair. "The ship's log? And our archives, we need to-"

"-I have already begun the necessary recovery process. The data is currently uploading to the Franklin's servers and I have a number of crew members emptying the archival vaults."

Jim smiles. It's faint, what with his eyes still tracking over the wreck of the bridge. "Thank you." He touches the edge of Chekov's station. "Say, Bones, the dust. Is it what's keeping Manas out?"

"I don't know. Maybe," McCoy says. "But Manas is old. I told you Jim, he's dying."

"Well, he'll die in Federation space, then," Jim says. "We'll take him with us, back to Yorktown."

"If he makes it that far," McCoy says. "It's been a long time since he's… recharged, or what have you, and I don't have a lot of supplies at hand. I can't stop old age, nor death in its tracks."

"You can bring a couple hundred people back," Jim says.

McCoy shakes his head. "They were just asleep. It's hardly the same."

"I'm serious, Bones." His hand on the edge of Chekov's console, Jim turns to face McCoy. "I can't believe it."

"I should have figured it out sooner," McCoy says. "Then we could be well clear of here by now."

"That you figured it out at all," Jim says. "That has to be one in a million."

"Oh please," McCoy says. "You would have, Jim." Spock's standing next to him, so McCoy tips his head in his direction. "Or logicked it up, in the end."

"No," Jim says, "I don't think so."

"I agree with the Captain's assessment," Spock says.

McCoy rolls his eyes. "I don't want to hear a statistical probability, Spock."

"Then you will have to suffice with that which the Captain provided," Spock says and McCoy lifts his eyes to the ceiling again, that glass dome that once showed them the stars now splintered open to the blue sky beyond.

"So look, I know I gave you the whole talk about you being free to go on your way," Jim says. "But I'm thinking, given recent life saving performances, I'm going to have to reconsider that."

There's a tenor of earnestness behind the joke and McCoy grimaces.

"Jim…" McCoy says.

"Stay with us," Jim says. "C'mon, you, me, Spock. The rest of the crew, too. There's so much more out there, and you gotta be there for it, Bones."

Jim would still let him go home. Hug him goodbye, slap him on the back, and wish him the best. McCoy could leave with a bag slung over his shoulder and an application in for a position at some hospital, and Jim would probably write him a reference for it. Broken bones and twisted ankles. Winter colds, births, the banality of livers and kidneys that need a round of hypos and to be sent on their way.

He looks over at Spock. That same rush as earlier is still sitting high in his chest. The wash of success always makes everything brighter. Shinier. Easier, the very thought of it, as if what was once complicated can be pulled free like a knot he's worried at for too long.

"Please," Jim says. "And Spock and I promise not to get any harebrained ideas about quitting either, right Spock?"

Spock nods. He's looking right at McCoy and McCoy's not sure what to do about that stare. Hasn't ever been sure, has he.

"And," Jim says. He doesn't sound like he's bothering to stop for a breath. Some part of him apparently won't ever grow up. McCoy is maybe ok with that, all things considered. "We've got the new ship. New quarters. They're going to be nice, right? And-"

"-I heard you the first time, Jim." McCoy crosses his arms. He has a feeling he knows where the road this decision will take him on leads, and it's standing around a chair a hell of a lot like this one, just on a newer, updated bridge. He probes at the thought. It doesn't bother him as much as it might, which in itself is a little alarming. But not more so than the thought of leaving, turning his back on all of this. No, he walked out into the world once, away from all that he knew, and it was like falling with no ground there to catch him. How very long it took to stitch a life back together. And if this is what he made for himself… he looks at Jim, and then back at Spock again. It could be worse. Cause really, it's not all that bad.

He sighs. And then he says, "I'll be there."

Jim grabs him by the shoulders. McCoy's seen that grin before but God has it been a long time.

"Enough, enough," McCoy says and bats his hands off. "Don't bust a gut, I'm busy as it is."

Jim's still smiling when he walks away. And then he's gone, and it's just the two of them.

"I am pleased," Spock says. For a long moment, they look at each other before Spock turns. The door doesn't slide shut behind him, not without power to it, leaving the slice of corridor visible and Spock's back as he walks down it.

And that might be all. The end of it. All of… whatever it was, this thing they got themselves into, might well have just dissipated, floated away like smoke on the wind with Spock's measured steps down the hall. Spock will continue to be… Spock. And McCoy can go back to a different type of ordinary, a normal that he's sure will feel common enough, given some time.

He wants that. To not feel the jump under his skin every time he catches sight of Spock. To even everything out again, roll it smooth and calm.

Though he wanted off this ship too, and to scrub his life free of the thought of the next one. So maybe… well, maybe he doesn't really know half of what he should do. And maybe he's wrong about the half he thinks he does know.

It's easier riding high on the wave of success to imagine it, the idea of him and Spock. But the answering ebb will come, one McCoy knows all too well. The next mission could be just as bad, worse even. Though... It's an odd thought, but Jim might not be wrong about wanting to have someone there to share that with. To go home to at night, and to be there in the morning when the going gets as rough as McCoy knows that it can.

For the first time, McCoy really lets himself consider it. Him and Spock. Spock.

It's unhinged, is what that idea is, that picture he conjures of the two of them and a future that stretches. Working together and then seeing each other after their shifts. Shore leaves, days off, those long evenings when the ship is quiet, humming away at warp speed or in a slow orbit over a new planet. Lunches, breakfasts, the officer's mess, the new rec room, whatever it'll look like. His quarters. Spock's own.

Unhinged and still terrifying.

Wouldn't that be the hell of it though, out here at the edge of the known galaxy and all that they've faced. Scared stiff by Spock of all things. A laugh nearly bubbles up in him at that. But under it… If he's going to be honest with himself - as honest as Spock has been - under it is a deep, coursing curiosity.

Maybe he is ready for a change. Maybe… maybe it's been enough years that trying something new isn't that bad of a thought. But good God, to wrench his life into a shape that fits another person into it. He rubs at his face. What a goddamn thought.

He sits with that, standing there by himself on what was their bridge, and later that evening when he climbs off the ship for the last time he's still working over the idea. He stares up at the shape of the saucer, towering at that godawful slant and frowns at it over the churn of his mind.

Then, he pats the hull next to him, a blackened sheet of deck plating, and picks his way back to the Franklin.

Onwards, he thinks. One foot and then the next, away from the life he lived on that ship and towards whatever it is that's coming ahead.

The rest of the crew is milling about, staring back at the Enterprise. They're ready to go, McCoy knows, that expectancy in their step. He's seen it before, an edge to everyone's movements that means it's time to move on along.

When he spots Spock, he's halfway around the curve of the ship standing by a landing strut, a tricorder in his hand. He's looking at a fern, McCoy realizes. McCoy watches him squat down to turn the frond this way and that.

For a long moment, McCoy stands there a good distance away, taking him in. The last of the day's sunlight on his hair, highlighting the brown in it. That crease at the corner of his eyes as he reads the screen of his tricorder. A tiny expression, that is. McCoy's sure his face would be blank if he thought anyone was watching.

He can be gone before Spock sees him. Before anybody does, the rest of the crew hidden by the hull of the Franklin. He can head into the ship and slip away from all of this, or… not. He can go on over there.

Which, well, he might not actually mind doing.

His mouth is dry.

There's nothing for it then but to make his feet move, unsure the steps are real even as he's taking them. But he walks over all the same and watches his progress as if from outside of himself, his own body held at a distance.

Spock looks up and then stands. McCoy can't help but wish he was a bit more engrossed. It'd give him another moment before he licks at his lips and says, "Ok."

Spock's head tips to the side. There's a question in those eyebrows and McCoy's sure that if he has to hear it spoken, he'll back out, so he just plows forward.

"This isn't going to work," he tells Spock and that eyebrow rises higher. "Between you and me, but if you've rationalized good enough odds that it's worth a shot… Ok."

Spock's staring. McCoy's sure this isn't how it was ever going to go, the half formed thoughts he barely ever even allowed of someone. He wants to rub his palm over his chest where his heart is beating too hard. Dinner, he'd have guessed, would be the order of things. A cup of coffee, or a drink, not extraterrestrial flora.

"If you still want to," McCoy adds. He knows it sounds odd, coming a beat too late. And maybe Spock doesn't. Which would be… fine. Some version of fine. He hates how he can feel his own pulse.

"Why will it not work?" Spock asks and damn him, it's got to be this difficult, apparently. Yes would have been preferable. Or a stiff nod. They could have shaken on it and Spock could have let McCoy retreat again to ease off the tremble of all of this in private.

Though he apparently just chose the opposite of that, now didn't he. Throwing his life open to someone, and that someone is evidently going to be Spock.

He sighs. Spock makes him do that, doesn't he. This is a terrible idea, and yet all the same he's staring at Spock and how that damn sunlight shines on his face.

"I like to spend most of my time alone," McCoy says.

"I do as well."

"I don't know anything about your- your culture," he says and lifts a hand far enough to sort of wave at Spock, standing there with that eyebrow still cocked.

"Incorrect," Spock says and really, what a goddamn catch this man is. A complete and utter ass. Though McCoy probably should have known this is where he'd end up, watching the breeze stir through the hair of someone so thickheaded. "You know a sufficient amount."

"Sufficient," McCoy mutters. "I work too much."

He's heard that one before, now hasn't he. That he'd rather be bent over a hospital bed than at home.

"You work fewer hours per week than myself," Spock says and takes a step towards him.

"I'm not good at this," McCoy says and would hold a hand up to stop Spock, except it probably wouldn't deter him. Spur him on, more like. They've always gone at each other like this, haven't they. Round after round.

"That much is apparent."

"Hell, Spock, I thought you were trying to win me over."

"And I believe you are realizing you will not win a debate on this topic." Spock sets his tricorder down on the lip of the landing strut and God, he takes another step. McCoy's body flares with the movement, the anticipation and the nerves of it all. It wasn't better when Spock was pissed at him, but it was at least closer to a normal he's lived with for so long now. This… this is entirely too new.

"I told you I'm going to mess it up, and I stand by that." McCoy would cross his arms but Spock has come too close. "And then we'll both be miserable, so fair warning."

"You are afraid that it will succeed," Spock says.

McCoy frowns. "Don't you listen? I'm telling you that this- us, won't work at all."

"Then why make the attempt?" Spock asks. His eyes are bright and McCoy doesn't think it's just the sun. There's a feeling caught in the air between them that McCoy had sure as hell better answer right, though his voice sticks.

"Well, the way I figure it," he finally manages and God is his throat tight, "I'll either get to be right or I'll get to be happy."

Spock's mouth quirks. McCoy realizes he's staring at his lips

"I would imagine that you would rather like those odds, Doctor."

Spock's finger lifts McCoy's chin. He smells good. How anyone can after working all day, McCoy has no idea.

"Oh shut the hell up," McCoy says and Spock kisses him. Hard and slow, and McCoy's nose bumps against Spock's cheek before he remembers to shut his eyes and kiss back.

Spock's mouth is warm and he's holding the back of McCoy's head and McCoy can't think of what to do with his hands until Spock steps into him. And then it's easy enough to rest his palms on Spock's waist. Which is better. A lot better. Something firm to hang on to.

When Spock pulls back, McCoy swallows. His lips are wet. He can see the soft brown of Spock's eyes, up this close.

"You are certain?" Spock asks.

"No," McCoy says. Spock's thumb rubs back and forth over McCoy's neck and McCoy wonders if he knows he's doing that. "But I'll let you try to convince me." It registers that he's talking too fast. His heart is still racing. He moves one hand to the small of Spock's back and tests what that feels like, his palm resting there. "You're stubborn as all hell, so I'm sure you'll make a go of it."

"I am?" Spock asks. His touch is so nice on McCoy's neck. "What is your term? A kettle?"

"You know it, don't pretend you don't," McCoy says and he's ready when Spock kisses him again. Leans into it and holds on tight to Spock's slim waist.

When Spock finally lets him go, McCoy can still feel the shape of his sides under his hands. They feel warm. His neck, too, where Spock touched. There's a crazed sort of giddiness lodged up in his throat.

That evening, he catches Spock looking at him. All around them, the ship is shifting into action, a call for stations, diagnostics read out on the engines, the shields, the impulse thrusters, and amid it all McCoy is buzzing. Like something monumental just shifted, a shove of what was immovable slipping into a new place, a different shape. He wants to worry at it, but then the ship lifts off the ground and they're all staring down at the Enterprise, there on Altamid's surface.

Scotty's voice crackles over the comm. "Kattel and her people are clear."

"Chekov," Jim says. "If you would do the honors."

Chekov spins his chair halfway around. "Don't you want to, sir?"

"I don't think so," Jim says.

Jim orders the ship turned around after the torpedoes are shot. Whatever goodbye he gave to the Enterprise, they steer clear of watching the explosions roll over it. Instead, the shock of the detonations push at the Franklin as Sulu steers them up into the atmosphere. The air thins, clouds rushing past, and then the last of the wisps are pulled away and the view screen just shows the black of space, pinpricks of stars hanging there.

"Take us out, Mr. Sulu," Jim says.

Across the bridge, Spock is still watching him. McCoy lets himself look back.