Jim's supposed to be sleeping. He won't admit it but he's physically exhausted and mentally drained but now that he finds himself horizontal on an actual bed, sleep has become as elusive as something going right in his life lately. Every moment is punctuated by the beating of his heart that seems earth shattering loud in the vast nothingness filling his quarters.

There's a strange nothingness that has settled over him. He should be grateful that McCoy's still with them and enjoy the present but it's so tainted with heartache he just needs time to hurry up and pass. But what are they running to? The future is painted black but not in a positive it can be shaped into anything sort of way but a bleak are they ever going to escape the shadows way. Life has become limbo, a long stretch of uncertainty that's teetering on the edge of falling into something warm and familiar or the cold rapids of never be the same again.

Jim's hand curls into a fist and he slams it against the mattress. He shouldn't be moping; it's McCoy that's suffering not him. Not to mention he has a reputation of beating the odds to cling to. He's James T Kirk, god damn it; he took on death and won.

It hits him just how hollow some of his victories really are. He didn't take on death; that was Leonard. Jim's the idiot that sacrifices himself and forces McCoy to save his ass because Leonard is the force to be reckoned with. Death had a near McCoy experience and hasn't been brave enough to come for Jim since.

Their return keeps playing out in his mind on a steady loop; every painful moment in painful slowness for scrutiny and tormented reflection. The anguish of every minute is explored as he slows time to see every mistake made along the way and their inevitable conclusion.


The medical team disappears behind the doors to the surgical suit and Jim's left standing in the main part of med bay like a lost duckling. What's needed now is beyond his skill and the one person he'd trust with the job is the one lying on the gurney.

"He's going to be okay. He's in good hands," assures Jim, not that Spock needs the reassurance but someone needs to say it to put Jim at ease and the usual candidate is indisposed at the moment. Spock may mean well but hearing some statistic about his best friend's survival when even Jim can calculate that it's less than one hundred percent certain, isn't what Jim needs right now.

"Indeed," agrees Spock, at a loss on how to traverse these highly volatile human emotional waters.

Silence follows as Jim fights every instinct he has to cross that invisible barrier and hold vigil at McCoy's side. There are things he has to do, that his rank demands he addresses but his feet have grown roots, holding him in place as though he's a mighty oak sprung up in Yorktown medical. It won't be long before command at Yorktown demands answers. His grace period is dependent on how long it takes them to figure out the questions beyond how do six Starfleet officers appear on a transport pad, one severely injured with no actual record of transport orders to leave the station in the first place. He'll gladly answer for all of it, as long as he can preference his argument with McCoy's alive.

"Captain, perhaps someone should contact the doctor's family and inform them of the situation," suggests Spock, breaking the tense silence.

It's an easy out the Vulcan's providing Jim, a chance to spare himself the responsibility of looking those that matter the most to Leonard in the eyes and telling them he failed to bring McCoy home safe. It's a leniency he doesn't deserve. If someone has to tell Jo her father isn't coming home, it should come from Jim. He owes Leonard nothing less. "I'll do it," replies Kirk, hollow and without emotion.

"I would be more than willing..." starts Spock.

"I said, I'll take care of it!" snaps Kirk, drawing the attention of everyone in medbay. Spock doesn't flinch under Jim's misplaced aggression but somehow that make Jim feel worse for shouting at his first officer. "Sorry, Spock. I know it's not your fault. I just..." Need a living, breathing punching bag? Want to hurt someone to make my pain less? Need someone else to share the blame? Jim can't find an explanation that Spock could make sense of or that doesn't expose him as a shitty human being.

One by one the senior staff makes their way to medbay to settle in for what will probably be a long night. Uhura is first, sitting next to Spock, their hands interwoven. Jim's normally happy his two officers have found something profound to share with each other in the vastness of what they do, but right now, he's a little jealous of their intimate support system. He would love to share this burden with someone but the only people who he can commiserate with, who feel the ache of this scenario as keenly as he does, he has no right to add to their burden. It's the price of Captain and friend he must now endure.

Chekov is next to wander in. He's anxious and subtly trying to get answers out of Uhura as unobtrusively as possible while Jim works very hard to wear a trench into the floor. Unlike the rest of them, Chekov remained behind as a life line for the away team. While the rest of them have some context as to what happened, the youngest bridge officer only saw the bloody aftermath when a broken and dying McCoy appeared on the transport pad with a frantic away team.

The next to come through the doors is Sulu with an arm full of food containers. Jim can't force himself to eat anything but he's grateful for the sentiment. Again his people, who he can't possibly give enough praise to, are filling in the holes left by his short comings. He should be taking care of his people not letting them take care of him.

Scotty follows closely on Sulu's heels with of all things, a case of beer and bottle of scotch. Jim's not entirely sure he wants to know how Scotty came by it, let alone brought it into medbay but it is something he can force himself to choke down.

They must make one hell of a sight, the senior staff of one of Starfleet's most infamous ships huddled together in corner of a waiting room in medbay, drinking and sharing antidotes about their CMO while waiting to find out the doctors fate. As improper as the whole scene is, it's oddly appropriate for this crew and the person they're waiting and praying for.

Jim's patience are worn thin when M'Benga finally appears from behind the surgical doors. The air is sucked out of the room as everyone waits to hear their friend's fate. M'Benga's face gives no clues as to whether Jim will have to inform Joanna McCoy that she'll will ever see her father again. Words of condolence are already running through his head as he numbly steps forward to close the distance between him and the doctor. All of his words seem inadequate to the task he shouldn't have to perform and how to you give a eulogy when you know the universe will never recover from the loss?

M'Benga looks pale and worn and Jim aches for the battle the man must have faced in there. "He made it through surgery," says M'Benga and it's like a weight has been lifted off of all of them. "We repaired the damage from the wound and don't predict any long term effects but it will be a lengthy recovery. I'll have a more detailed report for you, Captain, but there's been significant trauma, most of which has been repaired so it's no longer life threatening but will require further treatment when McCoy is stronger."

Most of what the doctor says is muted under the relief that Leonard is alive. He's alive. Everything else is inconsequential in comparison. "Evidence of torture... injures in various stages of healing... someone with basic medical training... healed to keep him alive but not properly... the most significant concern now is the damage to his hand..."

Wait his hand? Jim's mind snaps to attention. "Damage to his hand?" asks Jim, dumbly, because he had to have heard that wrong. Leonard's a surgeon, his hands are essential to what he does. If he can't be a surgeon after this, how's Leonard going to deal with that? Jim gets dizzy as his vision of the future, the one where McCoy shakes off this misadventure, the Enterprise gets underway again and they all go about life as it was before Altamid, starts to go fuzzy around the edges. Suddenly he's imagining scenarios where McCoy might not be the CMO on Enterprise, where he might not even be on the Enterprise at all. What if Leonard decides to return to Earth and retire? Sure at first they'll make the effort to stay in contact, but Starfleet business will slowly monopolise all Jim's time and eventually it will be just too much effort to minimize the distance between them and eventually they'll just send holiday vids to one another and then nothing at all. It's a selfish line of thought to dwell on how McCoy's potential complications are going to impact Jim's life but he needs his best friend. Jim needs McCoy standing on one side of his and Spock on the other just like he needs air to breath and space to explore.

Everything comes crashing back into bright clarity as he sees the rest of the medical team being led by Nurse Chapel, moving McCoy from surgery to his own recovery room. McCoy's overcome the biggest hurtle, he's alive, and Jim's going to make sure he gets over the rest of them too. "Can I see him?" asks Jim, interrupting whatever M'Benga was talking about.

The doctor looks surprised but looks over his shoulder to see what has captivated his captain's attention. "We're going to keep him sedated for awhile, but you can sit with him if you like."

M'Benga's barely finished his sentence before Jim's pushing past him to follow the medical team down the hall. There's lots of time to hear the details of just what the medical team had to combat to get Leonard to this point later, right now, Jim needs to see with his own eyes that Leonard is still with them.

"Please continue, Doctor," says Spock as he watches Kirk walk away.

"We're concerned about the nerve damage to his hand. It almost looks like someone tried to cut his finger off."

Uhura gasps, turning herself to bury her face in Spock's shoulder. Scotty makes short work of what's left in bottle of scotch while Sulu looks away and Chekov goes an alarming shade of green. Spock for his part has to concentrate on keeping the messy emotions trying very hard to rear their ugly head buried beneath his cool and collected exterior. He's having a hard time imagining a scenario in which Doctor McCoy would warrant such brutal treatment.

"The rest of the damage occurred from the breaking of the bones in his hand, repeatedly. Someone would break them, heal the bones to the minimal standard that could be considered healed and then break them again. No attention was paid to the nerves and tissue in his hand. With therapy he'll most likely regain full use of his hand for everyday tasks, but it's difficult to predict if he'll recover the finite sensitivity and control required by a surgeon that he had before."

The news hangs heavy over all of them, making their small victory of bringing Leonard home seem hollow.

M'Benga holds up a sample container with a black device encased in it. "We removed this from Leonard. It was embedded in his chest."

"For what purpose?" asks Spock, scrutinizing the object.

The doctor shrugs his shoulders looking solemn. "We haven't had time to analyze it yet. I was hoping maybe you could tell us what exactly it was designed for."

"I can have a look at that, says Scotty, jumping up and snatching the container. He's halfway out the door before anyone can object.

"I vill help you," says Chekov, eagerly trailing after the Scotsman. It's something to do, a way to help that isn't just sitting and waiting for news.

M'Benga reaches into his pocket and pulls out a data chip. "There's also this. One of the nurses found it in Leonard's pocket. The captain should probably take a look at it." He presses it into Spock's hand before taking his leave to check on his colleague turned patient and going to his office to start a medical report he's loath to write.

Uhura stares at the chip, a horrible weight settling in her gut. There could be anything on that chip but her intuition is screaming at her that they're not going to like what it holds. "I can begin decoding it."

"The Captain..." starts Spock.

"Has more pressing concerns at the moment. If it's nothing then we don't need to bother him with it and if there's something... we can prepare the captain for it."

Spock tips his head in agreement. It goes against protocol and Spock's natural course of action but he defers to Uhura's grace in navigating complex human emotions. All the logic in the world can't guide him through the mind filed the crew now finds themselves in.


Jim checks the time again. His Uhura enforced timeout of four hours isn't up yet but he's already itching to go back to medbay. He is a grown ass adult and really can go back any time he wants but his crew is tenacious and no doubt have his door under surveillance so they know the second he goes against their mandate. He's the captain but his crew are the ones holding things together right now and he can't afford to piss them off. So he lays there, waiting for sleep, or news, or his time to run out, whichever comes first. Whatever releases him from this purgatory, he has enough time to run through their mission and return again. Maybe this time he'll imagine he didn't have his head up his ass the weeks leading up to McCoy's kidnapping.


It's a subtle minute change at first, one that would no doubt go unnoticed by human observation skills. The monitors have barely registered the change in respiration or the tensing of muscle that Spock meticulously catalogues out of the corner of his eye while reading through his stack of daily reports.

He pauses in his task to observe the doctor more intently, the captain's words, a desperate plea, to be notified at any change weighing heavily on the commander's next course of action. While sitting at the doctor's bedside isn't physically draining, he does recognize that it is emotionally taxing on a species that prides themselves on experiencing them.

Spock's debating the literal and figurative selection of human speech against siding with his T'hy'la's orders over his captain's, when McCoy opens his eyes. There's confusion on the doctor's face, instantly replaced with sheer terror the second Spock puts his PADD down.

"You are in medbay within Yorktown recovering from injuries you sustained while in the alternate universe," informs the Vulcan, loud, clear and precise, in a bid to avoid the confusion fuelled episode of the previous day. His words do not have the desired effect. Where the doctor is often overly emotional, this goes beyond, into something more resembling the fear driven response of a wild animal with its leg caught in a trap as opposed to a man.

McCoy's right hand ineffectually claws at his chest, hampered slightly by the post surgery bandaging. Unable to dig out the device he knows lies dormant, acting like an invisible shackle keeping bonded to Satan, he scoots higher up the bed, wild and feral, attempting to put what distance he can between himself and the monster sitting next to his bed in some obscene and cruel mockery of caring. Like it will convince Leonard he's anything other than the architect of Leonard's own personal hell.

"You'd know. It's ya handiwork," croaks McCoy like he hasn't used his voice in awhile. He's been carved and molded like some great masterpiece for the sick enjoyment of others, but no more. If Spock's going to kill him as promised, the smug bastard is going to have to work for it. He's taken everything from Leonard: his friends, his little girl, the life he had and his ability to say goodbye to any of them; everything except Leonard's ability to be the biggest pain in the ass possible. McCoy's willing to prove just what an uncooperative bastard he can be.

He's back in Spock's clutches which must mean something happened to Jim. Even if it wasn't his Jim and some horrific murderous copy, he still wouldn't wish Jim at the mercy of the Vulcan that's derived such pleasure in his torment since the moment Leonard laid eyes on him in his dark and lonely apartment on that stupid vulnerable space station on the edge of that violent and unexplored nebula. His memory from the exchange to ending up here is Spock's chamber of tortures is hazy at best and he feels sluggish and exhausted but he needs to get away.

Spock reaches over to try and grab McCoy so he doesn't end up tumbling out of bed but that seems to agitate the doctor even more.

As Spock reaches out to grab him, McCoy clenches his hand as best he can and lets it fly, punching Spock in the side of the head. He grunts and hisses at contact, his hand exploding in pain but watching the Vulcan's head snap to the side is worth every agonizing second. He won't let Spock touch him again, let him unmake him again; never again.

Spock's stunned for a moment. Not because the doctor's punch was particularly effective or even painful but it is surprising. McCoy's greatest weapon is his mouth, wielding it often and precisely at Spock, but his oath to protect people ceases McCoy's ability to cause harm to another unless in dire circumstances. The fact that he would view Spock's aid as a personal attack is most troubling. He doesn't have time to change his tactic, the way the doctor is now favoring his injured hand as he continues to struggle against Spock is all the proof he needs that if he doesn't stop the doctor, he will further injure himself.

It's hard to get a proper grip on the doctor's arms as he continues to flail about, slipping from Spock's grasp every time he believes he has a grip. With all the commotion, the doctor's sleeve is pushed up leaving his forearm exposed and bear. Spock's too busy concentrating on subduing the doctor without causing harm that his mental fortitude slips slightly as his hand gains contact with the doctor's arm. He's immediately overcome with a wash of emotion and images that spill freely from McCoy's chaotic mind unbidden. It's a violation of the doctor's privacy and a Vulcan taboo but being a touch telepath requires concentration when touching species that do not have the mental skill to stop their thoughts and feelings from being broadcast all over the place and Spock has inadvertently let his control slip for just a moment.

He flinches back like McCoy has just burned him. It's like being caught in a hurricane and Spock struggles to make sense of what he's seen, to find some sort of order in the chaos McCoy has inflicted upon him.

The commotion has caught the attention of the medical staff, who enter the room and instead of calming the doctor, McCoy panics even more at their presence. Options limited, Spock uses the only choice available that will both calm the doctor and protect him from further harming himself. He manages to snake a hand past McCoy and reach the junction where his neck meets his shoulder. Applying the appropriate pressure, Spock renders McCoy unconscious via nerve pinch but not before a look of utter condemnation creeps over McCoy's face.

No longer struggling, the medical team is able to move in and begin assessing McCoy's reaction and the harm he has inadvertently done to himself. Spock steps out of the way, unsure if the ends justify the means. Based on the look on the Captain's face, who must have returned the same time the medical team was alerted to McCoy's awakening, Spock has made a miscalculation.

Jim stands near the door in absolute horror. Somewhere deep down, he knows Spock would never do anything to hurt McCoy and such extreme measures would only be a last resort to protect the doctor but the image of Leonard bleeding out on the surface of a planet in that god forsaken universe is still fresh in his mind. He knows the pattern of every bruise, scrap and cut that litters McCoy's body; all there because Jim wasn't around to protect him from any of it.

McCoy has breached consciousness twice now and both times Jim hasn't been able to recognize his friend. McCoy's usually a cranky badger not a cornered ornery shrew. There's genuine fear in Leonard's eyes when he wakes and it tears Jim up inside. McCoy should feel relief and safety when he sees his friends not terror that he has to fight tooth and nail to escape.

"What the hell happened?" snaps Jim, like it's somehow Spock's fault. If he can't keep his Spocks straight in his head, how can any of them expect McCoy, who was kidnapped in the first place by who he believed was their commander, to know the difference? Jim's blood runs cold as he considers the fact that McCoy might be under the assumption that it is his friends who have done this. They know McCoy was in an alternate universe full of their doppelgangers, but what if Leonard believes it was them?

"The doctor was causing himself harm. I..." answers Spock but Jim's gone numb to everything to listen. He waves his first officer off, the world falling away as he imagines what a world where he would be the one to torture his doctor and friend. "Not now Spock," breaths Jim following behind the medical team as they move McCoy from his recovery room for better assessment on what damage he inflicted on himself.


There's something eerily familiar about the gentle buzz of background noise that manages to penetrate the thick darkness of Leonard's mind. It's comforting in its rhythm and there's a faint smell that's as welcoming to him as a bottle of brandy shared with Jim back home; he's in a medbay. It feels like home and he wants to wrap himself in this made up comfort for the rest of his days.

There's a throbbing in his head and things are a little fuzzy around the edges but the last clear thought he has is pushing Kirk out of the way of Spock's deadly wrath. There's some fleeting memory, more of a feeling really, that Jim, his Jim with the warm smile and cocksure grin had been there. A faint echo of someone talking about going home rattles around his brain but it's as elusive as trying to catch a ghost walking in the halls. He should be dead and he's not. There's no way death would leave him with this insatiable ache feeding on every nerve ending and muscle in his body. It's not agony, there're drugs in his system weighing him down and dulling the sting but they're not strong enough to remove the pain completely; only death can do that. Clearly Spock or Kirk aren't through with him yet.

McCoy cracks an eye open and groans as the light pierces his skull like a hot blade. It's a reminder of the pain this universe inflicts on souls for just existing and something McCoy's become all too familiar with. He goes to throw his arm over his face and block out the vengeful accusation the world is throwing at him, when his arm refuses to move. Alarm starts shorting out his brain, his breathing speeding up as he realizes he's right back where this whole never ending nightmare began. Spock warned him about still being on the Enterprise. The sweet thought of freedom was nothing more than a cruel trick his mind was playing in him, having gotten on the same page as everyone else in this universe; if only his soul had gotten that memo too.

He's about to start struggling in earnest when he glances down towards his arm and finds a mop of blond hair. His arm's not restrained at all, rather Jim's head's laying on it. And it has to be his Jim because only his Jim would sit with him all night and risk screwing his back up by sleeping hunched over him like this.

He can't help but stare, but the more he does, the more he catalogues the lines of tension in Jim's face that form when he's under stress. He's sleeping which means Jim's exhausted himself and probably hasn't been sleeping or eating properly since Leonard last nagged him about either. If universal constants have remained the same while McCoy's been gone, the moron is probably sporting a few injuries under that proper command gold uniform of his, that medical doesn't know about. For the first time in he can't remember, he feels safe and whole. Leonard almost doesn't want to wake him up so he can savor this moment for all it's worth, but he needs his hand back if he's going to hold something to quench his parched throat.

"Jim," he croaks. It's so quiet, he can barely hear it so there's no way it's going to penetrate Jim's thick skull.

He tries again a little louder. "Jim." It catches in his dry throat and ignites a coughing fit that rattles his whole body. Jim's eyes snap open at the distressing sound and if Leonard could catch his breath he'd wave off his captain's growing panic. He knows he's caused his friend enough worry over the last few days.

Jim's heart starts to beat faster and he's sitting upright and sliding off his stool in an instant. "I'll get M'Benga."

"No," chokes Leonard and he shakes his head to make sure his point is made in the absence of his usual commanding tone. He doesn't need to be fussed over and he certainly doesn't want to be alone. If Jim walks out that door, even if it's just to grab one of Leonard's staff, there's a chance this could all be a dream and Jim won't be back. McCoy just wants to savor this. "Water."

Jim sits back down and pours a glass of water from the jug sitting on the side table. He pointedly ignores McCoy's scowl when he refuses to let Leonard try and juggle the glass by himself. "I can grab M'Benga if you want. He's just down the hall putting together his surgical report. Or Nurse Chapel if you'd rather. Anything you want, Bones, just name it."

The water is cool and perfect or perhaps it just tastes better because he's home. McCoy licks his dry lips. There's a thousand questions he could ask, some he probably should ask, like what's his prognosis and how the hell did Jim kobayashi maru his way out of this one, but he's home, he's finally home and that's all that matters this second. "Nah. I'm good, I'm home."

His eyes start to slide shut, far too heavy to keep open, so he's definitely on drugs. He's just about to drift when a troubling thought stabs through his chest. He looks Jim straight in the eye, because no matter the truth, he needs to know. "I am home right?" The only thing worse than being stuck in that hell would be if he got Jim stuck there with him.

Jim squeezes Leonard's hand and he realizes that Jim never actually let go of it. "You're home, Bones," answers the captain with absolute conviction.

"Good," clips Leonard before settling back on his pillow. The tension drains out of his limbs and he soaks up the warm comfort of the Yorktown medbay blankets. "We'll talk about ya riskin your fool neck ta come get me from that hell hole later."

"At length," agrees Jim, the sparkle finally coming back to his eyes. "Once you're out of here. I look forward to it." For the first time in his life, he's actually looking forward to getting chewed out by McCoy.

"Jus ya wait... teach ya to do stupid things..." mumbles Leonard as he finally nods off to dreams that aren't bathed in blood and fear.

"Just sleep. I'll be here to make sure nothing happens," reassures Jim. Nothing in this universe is going to tear him away from McCoy's bedside. He fights back the tears that are burning his eyes. For a brief moment he had the McCoy he remembered. The little glimpse gives him hope that this might be the first step to getting back to normal and putting this nightmare behind them. It's probably too much to hope his friend will be spared the scars from this but right now Jim wants to pretend so bad that the next time Leonard wakes, it will be like the alternate universe never happened.