McCoy's sitting in a moderately comfortable armchair in the lobby of his building. He's lost all track of time, giving into the mind numbing, exhaustion induced, nothingness clouding his senses. He exists in a sightless, soundless void and thank god, because he thinks too much. He never realized how much loneliness caused him to live in his own head until it became uninhabitable. There are too many memories and voices that aren't his own that makes semi catatonic appealing.

He thought he could do it, but his feet detoured from entering the building to instead circling the plaza near his place until he could barely stand anymore. Only then could he bring himself to walking in the front door to his apartment complex. He hasn't been able to stomach the thought of making it to the turbolift to get to his floor yet; it feels too much like a death march. He weighs the list of people he would normally go to, against the problematic nature of sleeping on a chair, in what's essentially a public space, and hasn't found a viable solution yet.

The top of the list is Jim: familiar, comfortable and his ultimate go to since the kid shoehorned himself into Leonard's life after that fateful shuttle ride to Starfleet. Jim, with his hero complex and kicked puppy dog look, would forgive Leonard's trespasses of late without being asked. He'd take pity on this old country doctor and shelter him from the storm. That's the problem; Kirk has every right to be pissed and he probably should be. Plus someone has to cut the cord so it will penetrate Jim's thick skull that Leonard shouldn't be part of his crew. Leonard really doesn't want to be there to see the look on the kid's face when he finally understands the mistake of fighting to keeping Leonard around.

Next would be Scotty. The engineer's a sympathetic ear and good for a beer... and extremely busy with the rebuild. He might be apprehensive about continuing their five year mission, but the rest of the crew is looking forward to it. It would be a special kind of sinister to do anything that might put the Enterprise project on hold and keep them all trap here just so McCoy can have Scotty hold his hand. While Scotty's as quick with a drink as McCoy's with a hypo, Leonard doesn't need any encouragement to drown himself into an alcoholic oblivion. He tried that once before and while it took the harsh bite of life away, he can't afford the price he paid last time.

There's Spock, whose cold, dispassionate, calculated facts might be reassuring at this point. Surely someone that logical would be able to tell McCoy if he was going crazy or if there was any part of him left to salvage. But there's the whole heart stopping, terror induced crippling fear at just the sight of the Vulcan to contend with, and if McCoy can't walk in the front door of his apartment, he certainly can't contend with that. Isn't that just typical?

Uhura, who's an even better listener than Scotty, and whose solutions don't come with alcohol poisoning, is an ideal choice. But she and Spock seem to be trying to rekindle things after Altamid, so the statistical probability that she's either at her place or alone is next to zero, which just circles around to the previous considered Spock problem. Uhura would probably extract herself from her boyfriend to house a colleague on the edge of a breakdown, but McCoy's unwilling to be the straw that breaks her and Spock's relationship's back.

Sulu's an option, but as accommodating and helpful as the guy is and would be, McCoy can't dump this crap at Hikaru's family's feet. He won't let his daughter see him like this, how can he ask another man to subject his family to it? Not to mention, Sulu kind of induces the same fear response as Spock, but to a slightly more manageable degree.

There's Chekov too, but McCoy laughs at that thought. He isn't enough of a bastard or pathetic enough to dump his problems on a kid that young- just yet. Last time McCoy asked him for help it cost the ensign his life. Besides, he knows he kind of unnerves Chekov lately, with his side eye assessments and open staring, as McCoy waits for Chekov's accusation at getting him killed when the kid was the only ally he had in a tank of sharks.

McCoy supposes there's always Christine, if he could get past the professional line this would cross. They've been each other's confidants and friends since boarding Enterprise, but are they close enough for it to not be weird and unprofessional to have your boss crash on your couch because he's afraid of the boogeyman? The other him, took advantage of, used and abused his Chapel; Leonard's not going to give himself the chance to put himself in the position to do any of that to Christine. M'Benga's pretty much the same excuse, and that brings McCoy to the end of a very short and depressing list.

"There you are!" exclaims Jim, stepping into the lobby looking equal parts panicked and relieved as he startles McCoy out of his stupor. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

"You have?" mutters McCoy, dumbly. He's still trying to decide if Jim's real or not as Kirk manhandles him to his feet and leads McCoy to the turbolift. Real or not, his Jim or not, he doesn't have it in him to fight where they're going. There's a part of him that finds relief in just giving up and letting someone else take control, no matter where they lead him.

"M'Benga told me he was releasing you today, but my meeting ran long and when I got there, you were already gone," apologises Jim, like McCoy's crippling fear is somehow his fault.

"Sorry?" says McCoy, half-heartedly but with genuine remorse. He's not entirely sure what he's apologising for but he feels compelled to do it; a lot lately.

Jim just rolls his eyes and doesn't let go of McCoy. "I came straight to your place from medical and you weren't here. Nobody has seen you and you weren't at any of your usual haunts. I was about to issue a station wide alert, I was so worried when I couldn't find you. You're not supposed to be pushing yourself." There isn't anger in his voice, just the telltale notes of panic like that of a parent who lost sight of their child in the market for a moment.

There's a certain amount of irony in this situation that Leonard would like to savour, if he could just get his head to wrap around something other than numbing relief. "Sorry," says McCoy again and it sounds just as useless as the first time. "You should have commed me." He didn't mean to make anyone worry.

"You don't have your communicator, remember?"

McCoy's hand automatically goes to pat his pocket but Jim's right, nothing is there. It's sitting on the kitchen counter not more than a handful of steps away but might as well be a galaxy away because with Spock pressing him painfully against the wall he'll never get to it. It's the only thing that can save him, that can get help, and he can't get to it because his first officer is going to kill him.

"Computer halt lift. Breathe, Bones," commands Jim, his hand steady and solid on the back of McCoy's neck trying to ground him in the present. "In and out."

Leonard doesn't know when he forgot to perform such a vital function, but apparently he did. The iron grip squeezing McCoy's lungs finally loosens enough that he can ease the hunger pains of his starved lungs. The recycled air in a stuffy turbolift has never tasted so good. The pressure Spock had placed against his neck fades back into memory.

Jim can feel the tension drain out of him the second he feels Leonard's chest start to rise and fall in a normal rhythm. He can't help the stupid smile that washes over him as he shifts from kneeling in front of the doctor to sitting beside him on the floor of the turbolift. "That's it. In and out." Now that Leonard is breathing, Jim feels like he can too.

McCoy opens his eyes as he feels Jim shifting around. The world is at a drastically different angle than it was a moment ago. He typically doesn't see the turbolift looking up from sitting on the floor; it's a little weird to say the least. They sit there in silence, neither one saying anything and it's quite alright with Leonard. The next moments could go either way. Either Kirk is going to realize this isn't something McCoy's going to be able to brush off and keep going and finally walk away, or he'll keep pretending that they just have to hold on until tomorrow when Jim pulls out one of his trademark miracles and magically fixes Leonard. Jim always gets what he wants eventually; the doctor honestly doesn't know which way he wants the dice to fall.

Kirk rises slowly to his feet before reaching down and gently pulling McCoy to his. "Computer, resume lift." The gentle hum of the turbolift cuts through the silence and Jim fidgets from foot to foot. "Where were you?" asks Jim, his eyes never leaving the display counting down the floors until Leonard's apartment floor.

McCoy bows his head. Firmly in denial. Practicing avoidance like he has a shot at a gold medal in the Federation games. Embracing cowardice in all its pathetic crippling glory; he doesn't think any of these answers will appease his friend who has clearly chosen avoidance along with him. He's too busy reveling in Jim's grip, that's tight enough to suggest he might never let go, without being painful, to voice any of his motivations or fears. It's a perfect moment, where Leonard feels untouchable and safe for the first time in a long time. It's also fleeting, because the door whooshes open and there are a handful of steps between him and what he's spent hours avoiding.

Jim tugs him along and he follows, letting one foot shuffle in front of the other. "I needed some space to think," he blurts out. It's the opposite of the truth but he can't stand the void that creeps between them as Jim waits for an answer.

Jim looks like he's going to call bullshit but punches in Leonard's door access code instead. McCoy opens his mouth to try and force a better explanation out but anything Leonard was going to say is cut off by the door opening. Instead of darkness, bad memories and the ruins of his life, he's greeted by a joyful, "Welcome home!" from a crowd of people sprawled out comfortably in his space. He's pretty sure he stands there gaping like a fish until Kirk claps him on the shoulder and whispers, "Figured you'd want to celebrate freedom with your friends," in McCoy's ear. They both know he means 'figured you didn't really want to be alone' so both of them are exceptional liars in the shadow of McCoy's problems. Jim continues to push him along so they're not lurking in the door and into the fray. It's not a huge crowd but it's enough.

A warmness spreads through the doctor. It doesn't completely chase away the cold icy emptiness left by the other universe however it does begin to thaw a little. This world has a glow that the other one didn't. He's spent all day in a fog that doesn't want to dissipate, but he can feel the light here.

The apartment doesn't feel like it did the last time Leonard was in it. It's cozy and soft, like someone enjoys living there, like life can grow and prosper here. He suspects it's more the company creating a false illusion of things, that the horror, violence and coldness from that night are just swept under the rug and stuffed in the closet just out of view of guests. Plus there's strength in numbers and anyone trying to rip Leonard away will have one hell of a fight on their hands with this group of people.

"Here, sit here, doctor," says Chekov, jumping up from the couch to give McCoy his seat.

Thank god for Jim, because he pretty much deposits Leonard on the couch when his feet fail to move him. Everything is kind of hazy since leaving medical, even more so since the turbo lift and every part of Leonard feels heavy and tired. All of his energy is directed towards remembering to breathe because that takes conscious thought now, and he doesn't want whatever happened a few moments ago to happen again in front of everyone.

The captain continues on his path towards the kitchen leaving McCoy to soak in his surroundings. There're balloons, ribbon chains and scribbled drawings plastered on his walls. Clearly it's the handiwork of Demora, who's sitting on the floor beside her father, Ben Sulu, still frantically mass producing her master pieces.

The thing that does make Leonard's eyes prickle with tears is the large banner on the wall above the cabinet he keeps his liquor. The 'welcome home daddy' on a background of pink and blue swirls and hand prints, that aren't as little as he remembered, is almost enough to erase the heart pounding memories of Spock attacking him.

Before he can switch over to panic at the thought of the Vulcan, Uhura's pushing a plate of food in his hands. "Spock had to work," she assures him as she sits next to him with her usual grace and poise. "I don't know what the pink dip stuff is. Jaylah brought that particular dish," she warns, eyeing it skeptically, "consume at your own risk."

"Thanks." Uhura's soft smile means she knows he means more than the food. Spock's the giant green elephant in the room that none of them can understand but are polite enough not to talk about. Leonard hates that it puts Nyota in the middle.

A cheer goes up from the kitchen table and McCoy cranes his neck to see what's going on. Scotty, Jaylah, Sulu, Chekov and Chapel are all smiles, passing around cards and pouring drinks as Jim looks on fondly. They've got a good game of something going on over there that's thankfully pulled attention away from Leonard.

Uhura explains, "They're teaching Jaylah how to play poker. Personally I think it's going to come back to bite them in the ass."

Jim wanders back over pressing a glass in Leonard's hand before claiming the recliner next to the couch and putting his feet on Leonard's coffee table like the delinquent he is. "It's beer. Lower alcohol content than your usual poison of choice because of your meds." Leonard opens his mouth to clarify he shouldn't have any alcohol, when Jim adds, "I won't tell if you don't."

McCoy raises his glass in toast and takes a swallow. His failure at keeping the look of disgust off his face causes Uhura and Kirk to snicker to themselves. He's in no danger of consuming too much of whatever fool brand of beer this is that someone dared to bring into his home. He's always had a pallet more suited to top shelf liquors, even when he was young and has to admire the determination and fortitude of kids all over the federation, that get drunk on this swill to pass the time.

Leonard spends most of the night dozing on and off on the couch, Jim a permanent fixture in his orbit when he rouses. Who knew being laid up in medbay for weeks could leave him feeling so exhausted. He makes small talk with whoever is sitting next to him when he rouses, while the others continue with their shenanigans. He doesn't need to be involved in whatever game they've got going on, it's just nice not to be alone. Everyone seems content to carry on as he naps, the noise of company acting as his lullaby.

All good things end, the Sulu's being the first to leave, citing Demora's bed time. Really, they stay just long enough to be a part of Leonard's welcome back but leave before McCoy loses the line between which Hikaru he's looking at. The other Sulu had an angry scar running down his face, one of which McCoy would never have allowed to form. It helps knowing that this Sulu, his Sulu, hasn't triumphant in a world so evil as to impart a lasting mark like that, but sometimes just the sound of the Lieutenant's voice is enough to take him back to that god awful place. It doesn't help that there's a permanent dull ache in his hand. Spending anytime with Hikaru is a baby step; Leonard's tolerance for Sulu growing a little more each time, his skin crawling less and less when Hikaru says his name.

Uhura departs next when Spock is off duty. She leaves to meet him instead of Spock coming to collect her and say hello to everyone. They both know Spock could have gotten out of whatever he was doing but McCoy's glad for the pretense and even more grateful to Nyota for keeping them separated.

Chapel finishes her drink and thanks everyone left for a wonderful evening but has to get an early jump on alpha shift tomorrow so she can't see this party to its inevitable conclusion. Pavel is quick to offer to escort her home, being both the gentlemen and no longer willing to lose anymore credits to Scotty who becomes more adept at cards the drunker he gets.

They could stay all night for all Leonard cares. He has nothing he considers important tomorrow so the late hour isn't bothering him. He can sleep through anything, as he's demonstrated so far this evening, but Jim must say something because soon Jaylah is trying to prod Scotty from the kitchen table.

"Come Montgomery Scott, there is engineering to do in the morning."

"Aye, lass, right after this hand," protests Scotty, unaware that he's the only still involved in the game and essentially playing poker by himself.

"No, now," insists Jaylah, pulling harder at Scotty's arm.

Amused, Jim says, "I'd listen to her." He takes another sip of his drink and leans back in on the hard kitchen chair. He doesn't have to worry about his engineer getting home; Jaylah will see that he finds his way.

"Ah, alright," huffs Scotty, throwing his cards on the table. "I win," he declares, scooping up all the poker chips and staring down Jim like he might challenge his claim.

Jim throws his hands up in surrender. "I wasn't even playing."

Scotty stumbles a little as he gets to his feet but Jaylah is quick to steady him and lead him to the door. "I will take care of him, James T," she says solemnly.

"I'm sure you will," agrees Jim seeing the pair to the door. He chuckles to himself as he watches them head to the turbo lift. Scotty's gong straight home whether he likes it or not. He'll have to keep Jaylah in mind next time he has to herd inebriated officers.

Jim lets out a long sigh as he looks around the apartment. It was a fun night and the first time everyone felt like a family in longer than he'd care to admit. It's also the first moment that hasn't felt weighed down by everything that's happened. They've all needed an excuse to relax, what with stress of McCoy disappearing and the pressure of the rebuild. Leonard's slumped awkwardly on the couch snoring. He hates the idea of waking Leonard from what is probably the most restful sleep he's gotten since his abduction, but sleeping on the couch is going to wreck his back. On top of everything else, Leonard doesn't need to add that.

Jim's already got an arm wrapped around Leonard as he begins to lift and whispers, "Time for bed." Leonard mumbles some protest, barely opening his eyes, but kind of helps Jim get him to his feet. It's like corralling a drunk to bed but with less swearing. Leonard's a ragdoll under Jim's complete control as he's guided to the bedroom.

Never having been trusted with the care of a toddler alone, Jim realizes he sucks at putting an unwilling participant to bed. Leonard's not awake enough to fight him, but he isn't exactly helping. Knowing he can't let Leonard sleep in his clothes, he attempts to get a sleep shirt on Leonard. He's partially successful; the shirt's on but it's backwards.

Jim shrugs his shoulders deciding to cut his losses and counting just getting the damn thing on as a win. Boots are easy, it's pants that are a little more complicated. In the end Jim opts to leave Leonard in his boxers and forgo trying to get sleep pants on the guy.

He thinks back to all the nights at the academy when he got so drunk he doesn't know how he made it home to bed. Except he does- it was Leonard, who always made sure he was safe and sound despite Jim's best efforts to be otherwise. Leonard's far too good for Jim.

He rolls up his sleeves and begins collecting dishes and glasses abandoned around the apartment. Leonard's neatness obsession, born in sickbay, definitely follows him home, so Jim knows he has to try and erase the evidence of their gathering; he's trying to smooth things over not start another fight.

He gets lost in the rhythmic cleaning, Leonard's words tumbling through his head. 'I need some space to think.' It's not an unreasonable request. After everything Leonard went through, he should be able to ask for a little piece and quiet, except that Jim can't shake the feeling that nothing good is going to come from Leonard being allowed to think. The last big thought the doctor had, was to write what amounted to a recommendation for his termination. Jim can't save Leonard from himself if he isn't around.

Not being around is what gave alternate Spock the opportunity to kidnap the doctor in the first place.

It finally hits Jim just how exhausted he is. The mess is far from vanished but it's passable in his book. Standing there in the semi dark makes it feel almost empty despite Leonard's personal effects lying amongst the scattered remains of their party. The air tastes stall and heavy. A chill runs down his spine making the space feel haunted and his presence a violation against the soul that once lived in it. Almost like when he stepped into Pike's quarters after he died to retrieve the man's service medals from his safe for his memorial service- except Leonard is alive, and mostly well and asleep in the next room.

Something red poking out from just under the couch catches Jim's eye. He flops down on the couch, reaching for what turns out to be a wayward poker chip. Now that he's flopped on the couch, standing up and walking out the door seems like a lot of effort. The journey back to his quarters seems insurmountable. Maybe he'll just close his eyes for a minute. He'll take a minute and then make his way to his own bed.

Sleep begins to tug at his eyelids. Getting up has little appeal anymore. In all likelihood he'll be up long before Leonard even thinks about dragging his ass to the replicator for his morning coffee. He'll stay the night, just in case anyone thinks they can try for the doctor again, and then he'll take a step back tomorrow and give the doctor the space he seems to think he wants. At least that's what Jim tells himself. The problem with this plan, he thinks , is he's afraid that if he lets go, there won't be anything to reach for later.


It's quiet, too quiet. There's no background noise, no soft beeps or gentle hums, just the suffocating silence that only early dawn can bring when you're truly along in the universe. McCoy had become intimately familiar with silence during his stay at Yorktown before Satan himself rose out of the darkness to personally transport him to hell. He and silence hadn't been on good terms then. But like any great love story, it starts with animosity that blooms into a new and profound respect for what the other can offer, followed by the terrible realization that you'll be crippled by the hole left within, should that force be removed.

McCoy's been itching for this silence ever since he was taken. Here he doesn't have to wonder what's real or not, what's truth and pretty lies. There's just a sort of pain free existence where he doesn't have to worry, to think or to pretend. All of those things are exhausting, requiring energy he just doesn't have.

These few moments when evening kisses daylight, in the heartbeat between awake and dreaming, are both precious and fleeting. McCoy never wants them to end. It's the calm before his life once again gets sucked into a swirling vortex of self-doubt, pain and misery he calls his day. He glances at the time display next to his bed and resigns himself to the cold embrace of life.

He sits up in bed, the satiny blue sheets pooling around his waist as he stretches. There's a dull ache in his bones, one that has become his constant companion and doesn't seem to be soothed by any prescription he's been issued. His muscles twitch and spasm as his joints pop and crack as they slip back into some shape resembling the working human form.

It never used to be like this. McCoy feels like a stranger in his own body. Unlike Jim, McCoy isn't under any delusion he's going to be young and invincible forever; he knows he isn't a spring chicken. Yet his body feels like it has been ravaged and gnarled far beyond its years with time and experience he never asked for.

He slips from bed with tender care. Too exhausted from yesterday, he didn't dream of blood, betrayal, crazed Vulcans and people trying to steal his ship. This small respite might be the only saving grace that gets him through the day.

He stumbles and weaves on shaky legs like a new born lamb, to the bathroom. The lights painfully bright, expose every line and fault in the mirror. What he sees is so foreign, it's hard to tell if it's his reflection or the other McCoy staring back at him from beyond the grave. He contemplates drowning himself in the sink for a moment but decides it's more trouble than it's worth to go out like that. He might just be vain enough to not want that listed as his cause of death on his autopsy report. Instead he settles for splashing frigid cold water on his face before blindly reaching for his hypo kit with all his prescriptions his medical team have placed upon him. He's aiming to get through today comfortably numb, thank you.

McCoy's hand hits bare sink, with no kit in sight. He peeks around the bathroom but any reasonable place for it is empty. He wracks his brain trying to remember what he did with it yesterday after leaving medical. Jim took it when he pried McCoy's paralyzed ass from the lobby chair, which means the kid probably dumped it at the apartment entrance or possibly the kitchen.

McCoy continues his exhaustion induced stagger out of the bedroom and into the living room. He's in a sleep shirt he knows he didn't put on and boxers he can't remember stripping down to, but putting on actual clothes right now seems more effort than it's worth and frankly he's not aiming to impress anyone at this hour. The place still looks as dishevelled as he does from last night. Clearly Kirk's tidying efforts petered out not long after McCoy did, not unlike their academy days when they shared a dorm room. The kid can run a starship, but still hasn't mastered the art of cleaning up after himself. McCoy lovingly attributes this defect to the correlation between genius and clutter. He thought sharing a dorm room was going to be the greatest test of his mental resolve; how wrong he was.

Just like their academy days, Jim's passed out on McCoy's couch; flopped out like a ragdoll and drooling on the cushions. Obviously Jim didn't go home last night. As with his constant presence in medical, Jim seems to be under the delusion he can continue his lost puppy antics now that Leonard's been set free. Really it's McCoy's own fault. He'd been too lenient in those first few weeks after the shuttle from Riverside. He'd set a bad precedent by feeding the kid, letting him up on the furniture (He's even treated Jim for Reballin Fleas because the kid can't seem to keep his hands to himself or use the sense the good lord gave him), and look where they are now.

"Get up!" barks McCoy, kicking the couch as he heads into the kitchen. He didn't ask for company this early in the morning and misery loves company. "You're drooling on my couch."

Jim mutters something completely unintelligible and not even in Standard, sitting up but letting his eyes droop closed again.

McCoy spots his hypo kit tossed on the counter as he replicates his morning coffee. Coming back to the couch he precariously balances the coffees and his kit with one good hand, handing Jim a coffee as he sits down in the empty spot left since Jim sat up.

Jim perks up slightly with coffee in hand, looking slightly more alive and less like some worn scrap scrapped off someone's boot. He drinks it back making little mewling noises and taking more pleasure in than he has any right to.

Jim's always been comfortable with the silences that fall between him and Leonard, which is odd because he'd be the first one to admit that he needs to fill uncomfortable silences with some kind of noise or action. Lately it hasn't been like that. The silence has been filled with skepticism and accusation. This morning is the first time that things feel like they might be back on solid ground. And then Leonard opens his hypo kit and proceeds to give himself five injections. Jim counts them on the sly, each gentle hiss a sharp knife in normal's back. Leonard is far from being back to normal.

Leonard finishes his new daily ritual and tosses the kit on the coffee table. He buries himself in his coffee mug, unable to look Jim in the eye. It's ridiculous, but taking a pharmacy worth of drugs makes him feel weak and he can't bring himself to see the pity or condemnation in Jim's eyes at his weakness. There's a part of McCoy that's glad Jim's here, that he stayed the night to slay any monsters that should exploit the cover of darkness to prey upon Leonard again. There's also a part that feels the added pressure of Jim's presence, like everyday Leonard spends engaged in the battle for his own sanity, his own life, he's disappointing his friend.

There's this enormous thing between them now. Jim's lie is going to take one of them down; either Jim through exposure or Leonard by keeping it. It's the shackles weighing them both down and keeping them chained together. 'I'm sorry' by either of them can't set right what's already been put in motion and won't stop until one of them implodes. Maybe it's best if it does take McCoy down, he's always been a dying star anyway; burning bright just before it extinguishes forever.

"What are your plans for today?" asks Jim. There's a cautious hesitancy in his voice, like he's standing in a mess of broken glass and can't see a clear path to move without risk of cutting himself.

Throwing himself in a black hole sounds like the wisest course of action. "Physio and probably my mandatory therapy session. My social calendar is pretty full for the foreseeable future, what with the Enterprise departure date looming and some weird standing order that I be on it as Chief Medical Officer," grumbles Leonard. He's bitter. He can't be who Jim wants him to be but he needs Jim to be around. It would have been better for everyone if he never came back.

"Good," enthuses Jim with as much optimism as he can fake this early in the morning. "Keeping busy is probably a good thing."

Leonard just glares over his coffee mug. There's keeping busy, which he doesn't have the stamina for these days, and then there's busy constantly facing the fallout of the brutality brought down on Leonard.

Jim tries to smile his way out of the tension that seems to find its way back into the room; apparently it just needed its morning caffeine fix too. He feels useless and incompetent, not sure which moments McCoy appreciates his help and which he doesn't, or that anything Jim does is help at all. He can't seem to do anything right but he has to do something.

He lingers on the couch while Leonard gets dressed, stopping himself from actually asking if he can give Leonard a hand, that would be a sure fire way to end up with a uniform boot lodged up his ass, and claims ignorance when Leonard bitches about his shirt being backwards. There's no real reason for Jim to still be there, waiting for his friend to get ready for the day other than Jim's need to know he's safe which sounds kind of pathetic to his own ears and some deep seeded fear that once Leonard knows he can be on his own that he won't let Jim come back.

Jim leaves with McCoy, awkwardly hanging around the turbolift door as they wait. The ride down to the lobby is silent and Jim resorts to fidgeting and making tapping noises with his fingers. "So I'll come find you for dinner," says Jim as they're about to part company. It's not a question, he knows what the answer would be if it was one.

"Whatever, Jim," snaps McCoy, walking away shaking his head. He's barely in the mood for company now, after his appointments today he probably won't want himself for company let alone someone else. Jim's an infection: he didn't ask for it and he won't be able to shake him. Obviously, Leonard's request for a little breathing room, as terrifying as the prospect might be, is going to be ignored like all of his wishes lately.

Jim stands there for a moment, a little lost. His day doesn't technically start for another two hours and he doesn't know what to do with this McCoy free time. He should probably head to his place and get a less wrinkled uniform. He should most definitely not follow Leonard like a bad stalker. He forces himself to head to his quarters instead of following Leonard to his appointment, and prides himself on his restraint of waiting a whole hour before asking the computer to give him an update on McCoy's location- just to be safe.