McCoy doesn't know who tells Jim, which poor bastard drew the short straw and had to tell the captain exactly the extent of the physical damage done to his CMO, but he knows the second Jim finds out. Yorktown medbay explodes in a series of crashes and bangs just outside McCoy's room and he knows without a shadow of a doubt none of the equipment in the state of the art facility stands a chance against his friend's ire.
The noise and subsequent destruction plays merry hell on Leonard's nerves. He can't help but flinch at every sound. M'Benga mentioned PSTD in a hushed conversation between himself and Kirk when they thought Leonard was asleep. They do that a lot now, talk about him like he isn't in the room. Normally it would piss him off but he can't summon the energy to care. They're not entirely wrong. He knows he may be physically in the room but mentally he's checked out. Far too often it's to a world where Chekov got his throat slit and Sulu tortures him within an inch of his life, while Spock and Kirk fight over who gets to pick his carcass clean.
McCoy clenches his pillow tightly like it's going to save him from the explosive wrath outside his door. At best it keeps his hands from trembling. He knows Jim's not mad at him, that Jim would never hurt him, except that he did, or rather his counterpart tried.
There are images and memories tumbling around in his head that are not his own and those that are, are about people that are really here. On paper it seems so simple; the monsters live in another universe and even though they look like everyone Leonard holds dear, they are not here. In actuality it's harder to convince himself that he's home.
Listening to Jim fight the world stirs something inside Leonard like an itch he can't scratch. He needs to protect himself but can't quite place against what. Pain explodes in his gut, sharp and fierce and he curls in on himself protectively searching for a wound that's not there. There isn't a knife in his lower abdomen just centimeters from his heart yet he can feel the warmth of blood covering his hand and coating his belly. No matter how hard he stares at his hand, he can't see the blood he feels is there. It starts a spiral of doubt about what's real and what's not. The last thing he was ever sure about was looking up at Jim as he stained red the pristine white sand on a planet with onyx colored sky.
He was wounded saving Jim and there's a disturbing chance that this is all a hallucination as he bleeds out on that planet. Or is he bleeding out on the bridge because Kirk decided he should be captain over Leonard? The recollection of Kirk's mutiny is the most vivid memory Leonard has; every detail is flawless like he's stuck relieving the moment over and over again.
Jim did this to him. Kirk put him in medbay and now he's come to finish the job.
"It's not real," whispers Leonard closing his eyes tightly against the bright white of his room. "Spock did this. It isn't real." It becomes his mantra, tumbling off his lips until the pain in his abdomen subsides and all he can feel is the tender new flesh M'Benga created under the bandages Leonard tore off.
Leonard buries his face in his pillow until Jim runs out of things to break in the other room.
Jim can hear Uhura calling out his name but he can't stop. His feet carry him faster and faster until he's running down the corridor. He barely makes it into the bathroom before crashing to his knees in front of the toilet and puking.
He can't stop retching. His body needs to dispel the guilt, horror and shame over what he's just witnessed. He should have gotten to McCoy faster, noticed sooner. McCoy should never have been in a situation where he felt saying goodbye was his only recourse. Lying on the cold hard floor of the medical center bathroom, he toys with the idea of going back to the mirror universe, because whatever Kirk does to Spock- it isn't going to be enough.
A tremor runs through him as he finally stops retching enough that he can crawl into the corner. He pulls his legs tight to his chest and lets the cold from the bathroom tiles leech into his skin. He can hear the faucet turn on, then off and Uhura's heels click across the room until she's standing in front of him with a damp towel in her hand. He must make one pathetic sight because she looks sad rather than angry at him. The fact that she even wants to help him at all after what he did is miracle enough.
Uhura sits down next to Jim, close enough that their shoulders press together and hands him the towel to wipe his face and clean up a little. The situation is a mess. They haven't been this much of a wreck since Jim died in the Enterprise warp core. This time around they have Jim but it's Leonard they're waiting with bated breath to see if he'll make it. Uhura suddenly feels very small as she realizes just how much they all depended on McCoy telling them he could bring Kirk back even when the false certainty didn't quite reach his eyes. She's not sure she has the skill to keep everyone from falling over the raggedy edge but she'll try for Leonard's sake. She takes Jim's hand, mindful of the abraded and bleeding knuckles and gives it a reassuring squeeze.
"How's Spock," says Jim, soft and quiet and full of regret. Hitting the wrong Spock won't solve anything and a captain shouldn't go around beating his well meaning crew. It was a thoughtless despicable act, one he should crawl across broken glass to give an apology for. Unfortunately, Jim's never really spared a moment to think through his actions when in a destructive mood, and he's not going to insult his friends by promising to it won't happen again when it's written in his DNA. He's met the Jim Kirk that doesn't think about anyone but himself and vows to at least direct his stupidity away from those he cares about.
"He'll be fine." After the initial shock and mildly stunned look on Spock's face at being punched settled, the damage was erased by the capable hands of the medical team. Uhura's seen Spock take far worse abuse by people that actually intend to do the Vulcan harm and brush it off as nothing. While Spock may not understand the emotion behind Jim's misplaced rage, she knows he understands Jim doesn't mean it. "If anyone can come up with some explanation in human behaviour for it and forget it, it will be Spock," she offers, after all, Spock smacked Kirk around before and Jim forgave him for being caught up in the heat of the moment. They're friends and she's sure they'll weather this slip.
"I still shouldn't have hit him," he says sullenly. McCoy's in bad shape, he can't afford to alienate the few friends he has left with his stupidity. "This whole thing is a mess."
Uhura lets out a long breath. "It is." They sit in silence, long past the point where the cold hard floor becomes unbearable. She wracks her brain to try and come up with something profound and inspirational to say but draws a blank. Instead she goes with the only thing that remotely sounds like advice Leonard might give, "It's getting late. We should go and try to get some sleep so we can be here for Leonard tomorrow."
Jim keeps his gaze fixed on the floor. "I still have to contact Joanna. Let her know why her dad hasn't talked to her in awhile."
"I can do it if you like." She can't imagine what she could possibly say to Leonard's daughter that would mitigate the terrible news or make it any easier for her to swallow coming from someone she doesn't know, unlike Jim, but Nyota will try her hand at it, if it will help.
"No," sighs Jim, resigned to his fate. "Technically I have to talk to Jocelyn first."
"Leonard's ex-wife?" Uhura's only heard of her in passing, Leonard being surprisingly tight lipped about the details of his divorce, other than it had been nasty enough to make Starfleet his only option. It wasn't until after they started serving together onboard the Enterprise that he even mentioned to her he had a daughter whom his ex took delight in keeping from him.
"Yeah. And if I don't do this right, she'll use it as an excuse to keep Joanna away from him. It's taken years for Bones to get her to back off enough that he can have comm. access to Joanna whenever he can. She's just looking for a reason to cut him off." It feels weird to talk about McCoy's personal drama with someone else. It's a can of worms Leonard has worked extremely hard to get a lid on, only opening up to Jim for the first time in their third year at the academy after he spent the weekend in a bottle because Jocelyn decided not to bring Joanna to San Francisco to see Leonard for the first time since their divorce. Being heroes of the Federation after Nero wasn't something Jocelyn could dispute at their next custody hearing, loosening the restriction on their daughter.
Jim gets to his feet before turning to help Uhura to hers. Today has worn them all out and they won't be any good to Leonard if they're falling apart. Uhura's suggestion might be the best thing for all of them right now. Maybe tomorrow will be better. "Tell Spock that I really am sorry," he says sincerely before leaving Uhura in the hall. He'll get a final update from M'Benga for the night, then tangle with the sanctimonious, fire breathing dragon that Leonard calls an ex-wife.
Morning comes far too early. Jim swears his head just hit the pillow and now he's being spurred into action by his morning wakeup call. Draining a pot of coffee he fumbles to find his routine in a room he hasn't lived in, in over a week. He compiles a to do list which consists mostly of finding other people to do the things he needs done if he's going to remain at McCoy's side. And he's going to remain at Leonard's side even if it's not for the altruistic reason of reassuring his friend that his nightmare is indeed over. Jim isn't too selfish not to note he's hanging around for his own reassurance and perhaps a touch of guilt.
He's still rubbing the last remnants of sleep out of his eyes as M'Benga scrutinizes him with weary skepticism before giving Kirk the nightly report. His crew seems oddly concerned with his wellbeing when there are far more pressing concerns and people to be fussing over.
"He's asleep still, and we had no incidents through the night," confirms M'Benga. There's relief radiating out of every pore that he finally has something good to report.
"That's good," agrees Jim. No news is good news and at this point nothing new to report is the best kind of news. He stares at McCoy through the observation window in the door. If it wasn't for the tight grip the doctor has on the blankets with his good hand, Jim would think he almost looked peaceful. The blood, cuts and bruises are a distant memory, erased by the precision tools M'Benga wields. The lack of visible injury minus the thick bandages on McCoy's left hand mocks Jim. The physical damage and horror can be so easily wiped away and forgotten, like it never happened nor matters. For the whole world, his friend looks shiny and new yet he knows the outside doesn't reflect the inside. Medical doesn't have a tool that can erase the broken pleas and pained whimpers of Leonard's first few days home.
"Dr Tri'youl is one of the best orthopaedic surgeons in the fleet and she's made arrangements to be here tomorrow so we can schedule Leonard for surgery the day after. It's the best chance he has for regaining full dexterity in his hand."
"That's great." Jim shouldn't be surprised McCoy's colleges have arranged for the best surgeons to help and he's extremely grateful for their devotion to their boss. He licks his lips; maybe if he moistens them enough the question he's afraid to ask will slip out easier. It doesn't stall for near enough time. "What are the odds?'
M'Benga shifts his weight from foot to foot. "She's one of the best," he assures.
One of the best. The best is lying in that bed and even under ideal circumstances, which these are not, he couldn't operate on his own hand. "The odds?"
"Until Tri'youl can take an in-depth look, I would place the odds at fifty-fifty for a one hundred percent recovery."
Jim presses his lips tightly together. It keeps the unpleasantness from tumbling out of his mouth and is a dramatic improvement over his outburst yesterday yet his small victory ever his temper doesn't dampen his desire to put his fist through the window right now.
"These people were very skilled in what they did. If Leonard did anything else we'd be able to guarantee his recovery to a level that his hand wouldn't be an issue except for something as delicate and precise as surgery."
"Yeah," huffs Jim, pushing open the door and taking his seat at McCoy's beside. It's the first time he's ever resented his crew for being the best in all universes.
Jim loses track of time. His attention is divided between keeping one eye on his work PADD and the other on Leonard. He doesn't feel like he accomplishes much. He's been trying to write the same line of his report for at least an hour and can't seem to string together any words that resemble a sentence. He does manage to smooth out the pained and pinched lines that appear on Leonard's face with a litany of whispered apologies and reassurances.
Leonard finally shows signs of stirring beyond the last remnants of a bad dream and Jim dumps his PADDs haphazardly on the side table. His muscles pull and protest the change from his cramped position as he grabs a hold of McCoy's hand.
It's the contact, warm, firm and solid against his palm in a reassuring way, rather than painful vice grip of human cruelty against his skin that brings Leonard out of the blissful arms of unconsciousness and crashing back into reality. He lies there still, like death, waiting for some conformation of which side of purgatory he's fallen.
"Come on, Bones. I'm so sorry. We need you here with us. I need you here with me," floats softly into Leonard's ear. He knows that voice; he's clung to it before when the world was going to hell and he needed someone to save him.
McCoy opens his eyes slowly, desperate to cling to the last tatters of sleep which is the only source of protection he has from the monsters that have invaded his life. A smile brushes his lips as he looks up a Jim who looks worn thin around the edges. Safety laps at his soul like gentle waves against a quiet, secluded beach oasis. Jim has an unnatural ability to stir feelings of calm, trust and annoyance and exasperation and Leonard's willing to bask in all of it but it takes his traitorous brain all of a minute to expel those feelings and replace them with unbridled fear, terror and the stark realization that it was those who were closest to him that delighted in his pain and anguish.
"You're home," insists Jim, seeing the look of animalistic fear loom at the edge of the doctor's eyes.
Leonard looks at Jim, really looks at him for any tell tale sign he's looking at the legendary animal that's slaughtered his way through a universe. He'd swear it was his Jim he's looking at but there's no way to be sure. Pretending to be McCoy's friend and captain only to reveal the truth once he's lulled into a false sense of security isn't above these people.
"I swear to you, Bones, I got you home," promises Jim, looking so broken he might slit his own throat if he thought it would convince Leonard.
"Sure, Jim," croaks McCoy, yanking his hand from Kirk's grip.
"M'Benga says the best orthopaedic surgeons in the fleet will be here tomorrow and can begin to fix your hand the day after that," says Jim with false jubilation that fails to reach his eyes or the concern that shadows his smile.
"Can hardly wait," mumbles McCoy, rolling his head away from Jim and bringing his bandaged and useless hand into focus. He doesn't listen to Kirk spew well meaning optimism at him; he knows the statistics and options better than Kirk ever could. Even if he did manage to end up back in his universe, which is a pretty big if considering the sadistic fucks he's dealing with, his old life is almost certainly out of reach. Coming back whole seems to have been too much to hope for.
He hasn't been following Jim's one-sided conversation so now's a good a time as any to ask the question burning just beneath his skin. "Where's Spock?"
The question throws Jim, rendering him silent as he contemplates just what Leonard really wants to know. Telling him evil Spock is still out there but evil Kirk is going hunt him down and remedy that situation doesn't seem like it will be as reassuring as Jim would like it to be. Truth is, he'd feel safer if he had evil Spock's heart in his hand so maybe there isn't such a thing as evil Kirk after all, just various shades of Jim. "He's in his office at Yorktown fleet headquarters," he says, opting for removing their counter parts from their daily conversations.
"Good."
