Spock's not sure if he gained anything from his conversation with McCoy beyond a strange sense of relief and foreboding at the doctor's wellbeing. It's curious that despite knowing McCoy's welfare from both medical and the captain's personal updates for the crew, that an actual visual assessment was needed and could elicit a sense of ease in Spock; especially since he gained no definitive insight into the situation.

There's something he's missing, something he hasn't considered in his counterpart's actions and logic isn't providing an easy answer. That Spock had kidnapped McCoy for the purpose of trading the doctor for Uhura. Judging by the force Spock brought to the exchange and the attempt on Kirk's life, it would seem that he had no intention of letting Kirk live after the exchange. So why go to such lengths to kidnap the doctor and then to assure his survival in that universe beyond assuring Kirk there was still a reason for an exchange? That Spock made not intentional attack on the doctor at the exchange, in fact it appeared as though he intended to let the doctor go; an act, which seems contrary to the cruelty of that world and Doctor McCoy's assessment of the situation. Surely the better move would have been to execute the doctor in front of Kirk, thus demonstrating the price of rebellion to Kirk loyalists as well as using the emotional upheaval experienced by Kirk to overtake the former captain and kill him.

Either emotions play a larger part in that Spock's logic than Spock can calculate or they are unaware of some event the other Spock was factoring in. Regardless, the doctor seems unaware of his captor's deeper motives. However McCoy appears to lying about something.

The one person who could possibly help him make sense of any of this has unfortunately passed. The ambassador made a vow to not share information about an alternate future for fear of depriving Spock his own life, but he suspects, the ambassador would make an exception in this scenario.

Spock wonders if perhaps the photo of the crew among his personal affects, the one touched by time and friendship that they have not yet experienced, is a curse more than a blessing. He wants that moment now that he's seen it, yet every decision he makes will either put him on the path further or closer to that moment.

It occurs to him as he walks back to his apartment, that if he can't obtain any insightful information from the doctor, perhaps he can from himself. For all they are different, he and his counterpart are the same. If he tries to understand that Spock, he just might be able to answers his own questions.

He rearranges his schedule for tomorrow, taking the day off, as he walks into his quarters and prepares a pot of tea as he downloads the security footage from the kidnapping and the video message from Doctor McCoy. He has a long night of research ahead of him and a long day of meditation after that.


Jim doesn't recall how he got to the bar but he's here now so he should take advantage of the situation. When in Rome, right? He flops dejectedly onto a stool, already a little tipsy from demolishing the bottle he kept in his office for special occasions. By the time his eyes rise above the sticky bar counter, the bartender is already pouring him a shot with that 'sorry about the break up' look on his face. Jim's picking it up and slamming it back before the glass even makes complete contact with the counter. He doesn't have a clue what he's been poured but it's a dark amber color and burns in all the right ways as it goes down.

Jim raises his hand to signal the bartender to refill his glass. "And keep them coming," he grumbles lowly.

Starfleet captains shouldn't be getting blackout drunk in public, especially in a space station with a limited population and his high profile. The hell with it. He's either mourning the loss of his job or the death of his friendship. McCoy won't sell him out to the brace, that much he knows for certain, so the latter is true. In his bid to keep McCoy close, he's single handily built a wall... with a mote... occupied by alligators... that breath fire, between them.

Jim marks the passage of time by adding another shot glass to his pyramid of shot glasses, downturned to leak their last remnants on the counter, and stacked to an impressive height.

"Captain," greets Sulu, hesitantly as he claims the vacant seat next to Jim.

Jim turns his head in a clunky and jerky motion to get a visual on who's addressing him since his fuzzy brain is having a little trouble processing the voice. "Sulu," he slurs with oversold enthusiasm, clapping the Lieutenant on the back like he's just been reunited with a college drinking buddy. He glances around to see who else is tagging along with the helmsman. If it's Scotty or Chekov, maybe they can make this a real party. The only familiar face in the crowd is Sulu's husband, Ben, who raises his glass in acknowledgement with a smile from the couple's table. Jim returns the gesture but manages to spill three-quarters of its contents with his suddenly wobbly coordination.

"Everything alright, Captain?" Sulu asks, eyeing Kirk's impressive structure of empty glasses. The captain can barely keep his head up, resting it heavily on the arm not supplying the steady succession of drinks. His eyes are red and glassy but in a way that's beyond borderline alcohol poisoning, almost like he's devastated about the world falling out beneath him.

"Why wouldn't it be?" Jim counters, defensively.

Sulu shrugs. "I don't know. But the great pyramid of drunken regret here and the fact that you look like you just lost your best friend says there might be."

Jin snorts and rolls his eyes. It makes the room spin and his stomach turn. "I think I did," whispers Jim, hollowly and losing all color.

"Dr McCoy?" Sulu hazzards.

"Yeah," Jim grunts, working hard to keep the tears from forming. There's something about attempted alcohol poisoning that always makes him emotional. "But you don't want to hear about it; you've got a husband over there and you have to say goodbye to soon. You don't need to waste what little time you have with me." Jim's not a complete asshole. He's not going to monopolize Sulu's time when he should be making the most of what little he has with his husband. Besides, Jim can imagine what it takes to find a babysitter at a space port just so they can have some quality time alone here.

"I'll have a beer and he'll have a coffee," orders Sulu, getting comfortable on his stool. The bartender nods and sets to work getting their order.

Jim relents. "He says I'm selfish for wanting him here with us. Is he right?"

Sulu looks pensive for a moment as Jim turns one of the empty shot glasses in his hand. The silence is too much, despite being mere seconds, spurring Jim to continue. "He wants to quit. Starfleet... medicine, all of it. I told him I couldn't let him do that."

"It's probably not the best time to be making huge life altering decisions. Unfortunately they have to be made now." It's been hard keeping his distance from the doctor. Beyond Sulu's initial need to satisfy his conscience that McCoy was alive and on the mend, he hasn't been back to see him. Sure he'd like to be there to offer support but after seeing the distress his presence caused, Sulu decided it was better for McCoy to make himself scarce. He's not sure if he's envious or not of those that have been able to visit. It's a huge cluster-fuck that threatens to be messy and complicated for a great time to come, but he doesn't want the doctor to leave the crew.

"He said I won't let him go because I'm scared to do it alone," admits Jim. He doesn't know if it's true or not. He can't imagine doing this on his own anymore; taking it for granted that McCoy and Spock would always be there. He's willing to tear the universe apart to save his friends but is he strong enough to do something as simple as letting go if it's what they need most?

"I don't know that I'd use the word scared to describe you sir," Sulu counters. Scared doesn't exactly jump off a platform to try and rescue someone in freefall.

"I think he's right. I leap without looking because McCoy and Spock have been there for so long. I know they'll catch me." A wistful smile lights of Jim's face. "McCoy smuggled me onto the Enterprise. Did I ever tell you that?"

"No." They all know Kirk wasn't supposed to be on board and that McCoy told Pike he'd take responsibility for Jim bursting onto the bridge like a lunatic, but he didn't know just how big a role McCoy played in getting Kirk there.

"Everyone had gotten their assignments except me since Spock had brought me before the board which put me on my academic suspension. I thought McCoy had left, but he came back for me." The thought still touches Jim, even all these year later. Leonard was the first person unwilling to leave him behind.

"He told me 'he was doing me a favor, that he couldn't just leave me standing there looking all pathetic.' Then he gave me a vaccine for Lavaren mud fleas, which you should avoid if at all possible," say Jim seriously.

"It gets a little jumbled after that but I do remember him giving hell to a coordinator to get me on that shuttle. He could have lost everything for betting on me had it not been Nero attacking Vulcan. He didn't think twice. I just can't imagine doing this without him, without any of you." Jim's still pretty sure Leonard will come to regret walking away from them. Not right away but one night when he's sitting in some crappy apartment hearing the usual excuses from Jocelyn regarding cancelling plans for him to see Joanna and he'll look out at the stars and miss them. He'll miss the excitement and new discoveries that come with being the first doctor to see new races. By then it will be too late. Jim can't leave Leonard standing on Earth looking all lost and home sick.

"Fish were born to swim, eagles to fly and the doc to practice medicine. Maybe it is selfish to want him to do that on the Enterprise with us after what happened, but he needs to do it somewhere. And what other crew is going to fight for him like we will?" asks Sulu.

"You're right," says Jim, sitting up. The world tilts a little but his conviction is firm. Leonard might not be able to fight for himself right now, but the crew is prepared too. They still have a little time to help Leonard get back on track.

He stands up for an all too brief second before gravity decides it's not going to cooperate and Jim goes careening. His crash is prevented by someone's warm chest as their hands fall on Jim's shoulders to prevent him sliding to the floor. "Aye easy there Jimbo."

Jim can see nothing but bright red uniform fabric which is either his chief engineer or security coming to toss his ass in the brig until he sobers up. "Scotty?"

"Aye," confirms Scotty, readjusting his grip to keep Jim from falling as he tries to stand up unaided.

"When'd you get here?" slurs Jim, looking around the bar like it holds the answers.

"I called him," says Sulu, waving his communicator before pocketing it to help take some of Jim's weight. "We should get you to bed sir." With Sulu on one side and Scotty on the other, they begin to steer Jim towards the door.

Jim means to hold his ground but he just ends up stumbling, kept from eating a mouthful of floor by the sheer grace of Sulu and Scotty holding him up as they walk. "No," protests Jim. "You guys don't need to take me home."

Scotty just rolls his eyes. "Someone needs to be making sure ye get there and ye dinnae look like ye can do it on yer own."

"Sulu you should stay here with Ben. Scott- Scotty, it's your only night off. You shouldn't be babysitting me," mumbles Jim as he stumbles along with his men's help in what must be a sad sight. "That's an order," he adds, with as much defiance he can manage while getting the feeling his protests are falling on deaf ears.

"Ye can court martial us in the morning, sir," pacifies Scotty as they very slowly inch down the corridors of Yorktown.


Leonard sits there silently, staring at M'Benga as he runs his tests and then reruns them just to be sure. He's not certain if he's making M'Benga nervous, causing the man to second guess himself, or if he's just being extra thorough because it's Leonard. It borders on feeling like stalling, and Leonard clenches the fingers on his good hand to try and distract himself from contemplating the likelihood that M'Benga is looking for a reason to keep him in medbay. It's probably easier to maintain the illusion of being in the correct universe is Leonard is confined to a single room.

As long as everything checks out physically, Leonard is scheduled to be released. Physical is the only threshold he can hope to pass and even that bar is set woefully low for him to clear. Being allowed to leave medbay should feel like freedom, but now after Jim's revelation, if feels more like trading one cage for another. At least Jim had the good sense to stay away. Leonard figured for sure he'd have to contend with the captain's mug first thing this morning. Jim stayed away yesterday, probably to cool down, but if anything was going to have the captain busting through the doors, Leonard would have thought this was it. If M'Benga finds his absence suspicious, he hasn't said anything.

M'Benga checks the results on his scanner before putting the device in his lab coat pocket. "Well I don't see any reason why we can't release you to your quarters, Leonard." The look of weary trepidation on his patient's face gives him pause as he waits for a beat to see if his boss can give him a reason to stay. While McCoy will never admit it, he's just as bad as the rest of the senior staff, particularly their captain, at demanding release or escaping medical prematurely. Leonard's stayed two days longer than was absolutely necessary for survival already, which is normal and prescribed for any other crew member, but his complacency and acceptance of still being in medical now is almost concerning.

With no objection forthcoming, he continues, "You're going to be sore still so don't push yourself. I have you scheduled for general physical therapy starting two days from now and specialized therapy for your hand starting Friday." He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a ball of fabric and Velcro, unfolding it and spreading it out on the biobed for Leonard to see. "In the meantime, I want you to keep your arm in a sling."

Leonard raises an eyebrow but aside from looking like M'Benga made him suck on a lemon, doesn't voice his irritation.

"Primitive, I know, but it will keep you from over using your hand and my boss told me that just because the technique is antiquated doesn't mean it doesn't have some use still."

McCoy give and irritated huff but let's Geoffrey help him get the sling on. "You're the boss now, Geoff." The words are resigned and hollow, but not bitter.

"Just until you're cleared for duty again," assures M'Benga with a cheerful smile. Sure he has designs on promotion one day, but not today, and not like this. He may have the medical skills to hold the CMO position but he lacks the skill and finesse in which McCoy keeps the crew together physically and mentally. Not to mention M'Benga could probably live to be a hundred and never achieve the James T Kirk wrangling skills that McCoy has mastered.

"We'll see," whispers McCoy, like he knows a dirty secret, yet in the confines of his room it might as well be a scream. "Psych will have to sign off first." He can't imagine a world where anyone is going to certify the minefield he has going on in his mind as fit for duty. The sooner his crew accepts that and understands that they're leaving him behind when the Enterprise leaves, the better it will be for everyone; especially Leonard. Pretending is taking more energy than he can spare.

M'Benga places a reassuring hand on Leonard's shoulder. "They will. You just have to be patient and work through it."

Of course they will in the end. Jim will make sure of it. The kid will either add blackmail to his list of crimes or just continue his spree of falsifying reports to make Leonard look like a shiny gem in Starfleet's arsenal. Leonard wonders if maybe M'Benga is in on Kirk's plot. It's all going to be a futile experience. If Leonard believed peace of mind could be obtained though counselling, it certainly isn't going to happen now that every word out of his mouth has to be a carefully planned lie so he can live up to Jim's boldfaced sham.

"Everything looks like it's coming along as well as can be expected. I consulted with Dr Tri'youl last night and she's convinced that if you continue with your physical therapy there's no reason to believe you won't be back to eight-five percent function in your hand," say M'Benga, like it's some kind of victory.

Leonard just hears defeat. Stuck on a ship he doesn't want to be on and now he's going to be sidelined in his own medbay. Eighty-five percent of the dexterity he once had might be almost perfect for other people but no one wants a surgeon poking around in their insides if his fingers don't want to cooperate the way they should. The slightest tremor and he could be slicing through someone's colon like Swiss cheese. It would most likely be Jim too. Serve that kid right if he did gut him, thinks Leonard bitterly.

"This doesn't prevent you from practicing medicine, Leonard," assures M'Benga at his colleague's stony silence. They live in an age of innovation where most obstacles can be overcome if the patient is willing.

"No," agrees Leonard. "Just from bein a surgeon." It might not be problematic on a planet or space port like this where there's a large pool of other doctors to take emergency operations but on a starship, someone's life may depend on Leonard being able to perform the task. It's a disaster waiting to happen and Leonard's at a loss as to why no one else can see it.

"We don't know that yet. Eighty-five is an average outcome. You could gain more."

"I could come up with less," counters Leonard, holding the hand in question out. There's a fine tremor that runs through it. Not enough that he couldn't hold a glass of water without spilling it if all the bandages were off, but enough that he wouldn't be able to paint a straight line if he tried. "You gonna let me operate on you?" asks Leonard with spite.

"It will get better," insists M'Benga. Leonard scoffs. "We should also talk about counselling options."

"I already talked with the hospital therapist." Leonard holds up two fingers. "Twice." It's kind of a lie. He went to the appointment and listened to him but Leonard didn't actually do any of the talking."

M'Benga looks fondly at Leonard. McCoy spends all of his time chasing crewmen down to make sure they're alright and fulfilling doctor's orders because they're given for the patient's own good and now with the tables turned he's suddenly opposed to receiving the medical care he deserves. "I've taken the liberty of listing some options for you." M'Benga hands Leonard a PADD, letting him scroll through the names of psychologists on the list.

Leonard scans the list of strangers with next to no interest. He's heard of a couple, either by reputation or his own mandatory course work required by the academy. He might not be holding an advanced degree in psychology but his position requires him to have a workable base knowledge. He knows exactly what's in store and has no desire to endure this never ending rehash of all the things that keep him up at night. M'Benga's included their profiles and degrees, all of which seem to be some of the best Starfleet has to offer. "What's wrong Jillian?" he asks, noticing the Enterprise's assigned psychologist missing from the list.

M'Benga pulls a stool close to Leonard's bed before taking a seat. It feels like a conversation between friends as opposed to doctor and patient which might do wonders for softening McCoy's ruffled edges. Beating a lame horse isn't going to get the outcome they want. "Jillian's good. We both know he is, or you wouldn't have him as part of our team, but you are technically his boss, so in the interest of fewer complications and perhaps making you more comfortable, I went with people you don't have to share a meal with afterwards."

Clearly hiring competent people has come to bite Leonard in the ass. M'Benga's managed to thwart his plan before he's even had a chance to implement it. He can't pull rank on strangers or conveniently fix the schedule so he and Jillian can't make appointments work. M'Benga's taken a page out of Kirk's play book and it just makes Leonard feel like the walls are closing in even more.

"Just one problem with your candidates," says Leonard, trying not to sound too smug about poking a hole through M'Benga's efforts so big a starship could warp through it, "when the Enterprise leaves Yorktown, that's the end of these sessions."

"I've talked to everyone on that list, and they're all prepared to do sessions over video conference once the Enterprise leaves. Doctor Haven Daily is currently stationed on Earth so all her sessions would be by vid. The rest of the list is either stationed at Yorktown or will be here until we're ready to leave so you can start this process in person if that's what you want."

"Don't wanna start it at all," mumbles Leonard. He tries not to flinch at the abruptly loud clapping coming from the corner of the room. Jim might have gotten the message to leave him alone but his ghost can't seem to take a hint.

"Sharing is caring," cheers Kirk, taking sadistic enjoyment out of McCoy's discomfort.

Leonard's not so far gone that he can't identify the auditory and visual hallucinations as the hallmarks of some sort of psychotic break. Knowing he's going insane is just more pressure building on his already fragile foundation.

Geoffrey doesn't address Leonard's clear distain for the process, just continues on so as not to lose any momentum. "This isn't a decision that needs to be made today. Take a couple of days, talk to a couple and get a feel for them. You know how this works Leonard, and that it does work."

"Yeah, Bones. Let's talk about what it feels like when the sharp point of a blade pierces your skin causing it to split open. Go on, tell Geoffrey the exquisite life affirming agony, the rush that hits you, when that knife embeds itself in bone."

Leonard glares at the floor. A scream is building in his chest, clawing at his lungs like an injured animal in need of release. He wants to crack, to let his soul shatter into a million pieces on the floor that no one will ever be able to put back together. He just has to keep it together until he gets out of here then he can go crawl into a hole somewhere. One problem at a time. "They all have security clearance for this or am I going to have to talk in useless euphemisms?"

"Whoever you choose will have complete access to Starfleet's files on the matter but right now they just have basic medical reports available to them."

Great. He gets to shatter someone else's perfect illusion of the world. Clearly he's destined to hemorrhage horror all over the place.

His face must betray his inner thoughts because M'Benga adds, "You need to talk to someone, Leonard," warmly with a note of seriousness that says there's no wiggle room for this. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out another PADD. "Now, let's talk about your medication. I've included all your prescriptions on here and you can pick up a dose packet at the front desk. In a week we can look at dosages and removing some of them. Unless there's something you're not telling me, these should help you get through the next couple of days."

Leonard hefts the PADD in his hand, staring at it silently like it might bite. It feels heavier than usual, as though it's weighed down will all the prescriptions loaded on to it. More accurate, it's the chain around his neck shackling him to the darkest period in his existence. He can't blame M'Benga; he knows if the situation were reversed, he'd do the same as his colleague. It just feels different from this side.

A hypo every twelve hours isn't going to make that smiling Cheshire cat parading around in Jim Kirk's form disappear- that's going to take something stronger. Isn't that the burn? It's medically inadvisable to chase his demons away with alcohol.

He should probably tell M'Benga that his hallucinations are a bit more animated than just uncontrollable flashes of memories that feel real but he can't force his lips to form the confession. He'd probably look horrible in a straight jacket anyways.

"Am I free to go?" asks Leonard, and he has to look away because there's a flash of hurt disbelief that overtakes M'Benga before he can hide it.

M'Benga stares at Leonard as though he can read his soul like a religious text. It could just be an interesting use of phrasing, but they're in treacherous waters and anything could be a signal that a new storm is rolling in. "You're not a prisoner here, Leonard," he says sincerely, not sure if McCoy knows that or not.

Leonard folds in on himself a little. He can't stand being exposed like this. Especially with all the lies piling up around him like dead carcasses in a Klingon brawl. He swallows down the bile crawling up his throat trying to escape this hell in a way he's incapable of. "We're good here?" he corrects.

M'Benga has that doctor look on his face, the one that screams he wants to discuss something. Leonard steadfastly glares at a smudge on the floor, trying to evoke the long held child belief that if you ignore everyone and don't look at them, you become invisible. Nobody does stubborn like McCoy, and while it's great when dealing with patients that try medical's patience, M'Benga has a sneaking suspicion it will prove detrimental in this case. He nods slightly. "You are free to go home."

McCoy nods as he slowly edges himself off the edge of the side of the biobed and to his feet. Leonard rolls his eyes and hopes off the biobed. "Thanks." He grinds his teeth against the ache he's convinced will never go away. It's as a part of his being now as the numerous scars he has from his ordeal. When night is its quietest he can swear he can still feel the cold weight of the agonizer like a phantom limb. Equally, when night's at its darkest he can feel it going off, like even though it's removed it's still going to succeed in its mission to tear him apart.

M'Benga steadies him as he wobbles slightly. There's nothing standing between him and the scene of the crime, rather his quarters, than a couple thousand shuffled steps he doesn't want to make. There are no medical grounds to keep him any longer and while he's sure Geoff would come up with an excuse if he asked, Leonard can't make himself ask to stay. He could ask to be reassigned quarters but that would raise too many red flags with the right people and he doesn't have the energy to wait around while someone sorts out his living arrangements.

"Do you want me to call the captain?" asks M'Benga, sensing Leonard's hesitancy at taking his first steps to freedom.

The short answer is yes. But he hasn't seen Jim in two days since he unceremoniously told him to fuck off. He doesn't regret it and as justified as it was, it isn't fair to go crawling to Jim every time he's afraid. Jim can't be his security blanket to protect him from the dark. If he's honest with himself, he's a little disappointed Jim isn't here to see his release back into the world. Now that he's gotten what he wants is doesn't feel like he actually wants it. "No. The captain has better things to do than babysit." He storms out of medical before he can change his mind. It's just a room after all, god damn it.

He makes a beeline for the door and makes it all the way outside medical to the well groomed courtyard before it hits him, really hits him- he doesn't know where home is anymore.