The overly cheerful therapist is waiting, just waiting, at the receptionist's desk when Leonard walks in- and he's early to the appointment. He'd hoped to have a minute to himself, where his well meaning friends weren't hovering or he wasn't setting himself up for a meltdown, but little miss sunshine is clearly a morning person.

"You must be the famous Dr Leonard McCoy, Geoff is always going on about," she greets extending her hand enthusiastically to shake his. Her smile is so big, Leonard can almost see all of her teeth. "I'm Kathy but feel free to call me Kat."

Leonard decides he hates people, but he offers her his good hand because starting off, what looks like will be a tumultuous relationship at best, on the wrong foot is probably a bad idea. "Geoff?" he presses because he doesn't know enough about his medical colleges' personal lives to play six degrees.; knowing his luck, this is probably M'Begna's cousin.

She blushes slightly but her smile never falters. If anything, it gets brighter. "Geoffrey and I were at the academy together. Every time our medical group gets together all he can do is gush about working under you."

Perfect! His physical therapist is best friends with the Enterprise's acting CMO, which means not only will M'Benga get a report on everything Leonard does and doesn't do to aid his recovery, but Jim will be guaranteed a detailed report too. He feels claustrophobic, like a noose is tightening around his neck and he only has one good hand to try and remove the rope. Who knew it could be so hard to sabotage a Starfleet career? He idly spares a second to think that maybe Jim is the architect of this turn of events. The thought burns deep within, smoldering far more than the crime warrants.

"I think that praise was probably premature," replies Leonard, raising his bandaged hand to emphasise his point.

Kat's smile falters' just a little, though she recovers fast enough that had Leonard not been glaring with poignant disdain, he might have missed it.

"We'll get you there," she promises.

If Leonard hadn't been paying attention to his medical team back in medbay nor been a doctor himself, he might actually believe her. He rolls his eyes. Medical professionals shouldn't make promises they know they can't keep.

"Follow me," she beckons, turning to lead him down the hall decorated with inspirational posters.

She takes him to a large bright white room. If it wasn't for the specialized equipment spread throughout, it would look like a spa in some fancy weekend retreat tourist trap. There's a large pool in the middle of the room with alcoves along three of the walls that offer enough privacy but don't leave you feeling trapped. He might find the place relaxing, if he wasn't riddled with apprehension about this session.

Kat takes him to the second alcove which has a large window that overlooks the garden one floor down, and sits across the table from him. She says, "Let's see what we're working with here," cuing Leonard to put his hand on the table. Methodically and gently, she unwraps the bandages encasing his hand. He tries not to flinch at the coolness of her finger tips as she removes the brace that was buried under all the bandages to keep him from bending his fingers and hand. She slowly turns his hand over looking at it from all angles, her hands ghosting over the healing incisions and scars.

Leonard suppresses a shudder. Since waking up here, his hand has always been bandaged while he's conscious. The last person he can remember paying so much attention to his hand was when Sulu was breaking it and healing it just enough to break it again. The last touch in memory is Sulu's knife breaking the skin as he promised to cripple Leonard's medical career. It's a promise kept.

Leonard hasn't gotten a real good look at his hand since examining Spock's attempt to fix it enough to make it look like Leonard was in one piece. Once the surgical marks fade, it will look the same, but Leonard can feel the difference. It feels stiff and achy and instead of bending his fingers like he wants, the digits just tremble like leaves in the wind but don't bend. It's not the hand of surgeon.

She starts slowly, going over the stretches she's forcing Leonard's fingers to do because he cannot get them to do them on his own. Leonard glares at her apologies about causing him pain because she can't be all that sincere since she's still hurting him, and pain is a woefully inadequate adjective to describe the torment she's facilitating.

It isn't long before he's sweating and there's a copper tang in his mouth from biting the inside of his lip. He's willing to fight to get his hand back but he can't shake the feeling that he doesn't possess the strength to battle his way through, especially when the outcome will be so far from where he wants to be.

When the sadist is done for the day, Leonard feels like he's gone five rounds in a Klingon arm wrestling match. All that effort and his victory was a tap of a finger; it wasn't even a particularly useful finger.

Physical therapy is every bit as horrible as Leonard imagined it would be. He studied it in school, he's prescribed it to his patients and he knows the benefits of it, yet being here on the other side, he's ready to deem the whole thing an exercise in medieval torture. Of course he knew he wasn't going to be walking out of the building with a perfectly good hand, hell, a usable hand is pretty much the best outcome and that's going to be a long way down the road, but to actually live the long road to recovery is disheartening.

He gets a bag full of tools to help him with an exercise program for his hand and a cheerful, "I'll see you in three days. Remember, don't overdo it with those exercises."

Leonard grumbles, "Wouldn't dream of it," in his most petulant tone. He'd flip her off but since he has only one usable hand and it's holding a bag filled with rubber balls and elastic bands, his point won't really get across.

He leaves his first appointment feeling like he gained nothing but disappointment and a renewed painful fire in his hand. Compared to everyone else, he's been the epitome of realistic. He hadn't realized just how much he needed someone to look at his hand and say he'd be back to one hundred percent until Kat looked over his scans and hand, smiled and said, "We can work with this." She was his last sliver of hope that apparently he had been nurturing in secret. Now that that's gone, the ledge he had been secretly clinging to when the world feel out beneath, has crumbled too. He'd wanted to be wrong about his likely outcome. Damn if Jim's fool optimism isn't dangerously contagious at all the wrong moments.

Leonard's already in turmoil; deciding he doesn't need to have a professional poke at the already gaping infected wounds of his soul, he makes the irresponsible choice to skip his psych appointment. Instead he wanders the city. A familiar ache ripples across his chest as he finds himself wander an excessively recognizable path. He spent far too many evenings and lunch breaks walking Yorktown when crewmembers, mostly Jim, cancelled or forgot about standing get-togethers. He's completely alone in an ocean of people, though not because he's been put on the back burner this time, rather none of them can understand the heat that's burning him alive now.

The stamina to keep walking isn't there anymore, leaving Leonard searching for a bench before too long. He dumps his bag down looking at it with disdain before settling his weary bones on the bench himself. He focuses on the pond before him, steadfastly ignoring the reclamation unit he can see out of the corner of his eye. The temptation to throw away his goodie bag Kat gave would be too great if he lets his gaze wonder.

He's dealt with enough of Joanna's temper tantrums as a toddler to know he's in the midst of one himself. There's less screaming, stomping and waterworks, but not by much. His mind wanders to his little girl, who isn't quite as little anymore, and quickly to the other daughter he never knew he had, because she is his, even if she's from another universe. His daughter is an orphan in a cold cruel world.

"If you need anything, sweetheart, Uncle Jim will help out anyway he can."

Those words haunt him now, whispering on the edge of his consciousness. Is there still a Jim Kirk there to look after that Joanna? Is that even a good option? Perhaps she's better off in world without him; he did kill her mother after all but what if someone worse takes her under their wing? As long as she's there, there is no answer that will sooth his soul. He toys with the idea of petitioning Starfleet to retrieve her, a girl he hasn't actual met but can list every freckle on her nose, every speck of gold in her jade green eyes and draw the small birth mark on her shoulder with his eyes closed.

He can hear the answer before the question is even asked. Asylum to a girl who never asked for it and requires opening a door to an alternate dimension filled with desperados and gangsters that would want to fillet this universe out of sheer satisfaction; he could never sell the brace on it. Maybe Jim could?

It occurs to him as he sits amongst the gentle hum of a peaceful universe, that he's unwittingly brought himself to a bench overlooking the pond in the central plaza by Yorktown headquarters. He has to read the name on the building to figure it out. The damage caused by the Franklin as it burst through the water to smash into Krall's ships is completely erased as though the horror and destruction of that day never happened. He's kind of envious that an experience can be so completely erased from a place but not a person.

The people of Yorktown have picked up the pieces and moved on. They rebuilt, made it better, as a signal to the universe that they will not be deterred. Leonard feels kind of guilty for not putting his best effort into gaining his life back, especially when that effort requires nothing more than to actually show up to his appointments today. The guilt eats away at his resolve to play hooky for the rest of the day and after a long painfully slow exhale, resigns himself to dragging his ass to counselling, even if he's two hours late.

There's a certain amount of relief coursing through Leonard as the secretary tells him, "Take a seat and we'll see if we can fit you in somewhere. The doctor is currently busy with other patients since your appointment was scheduled two hours ago."

Leonard tries to hide his smile. "Sorry 'bout that." He's not, but he doesn't need to make the secretary even snippier.

With any luck, the councillors are over booked and he won't see anything beyond the waiting room and PADDs loaded with month old articles on housekeeping and adventure vacations. He flips through a couple articles without reading them, silently resenting the smiling people in the pictures as they live out their fantasy holiday. Evil Vulcans aren't going to pop in from other dimensions to kidnap any of them.

Luck isn't on his side today. He's in the middle of concocting some half baked story to feed Jim when he inevitably asks about Leonard's appointments, when another overly perky assistant appears and calls Leonard's name.

He prays this isn't his assigned councillor because good lord when did they start graduating babies? He follows the kid, who looks even younger than Chekov, to an office where the guy takes a seat behind the desk with a mess of PADDs and honest to god books and gestures for Leonard to sit across from him.

"How old are you?" snaps Leonard, because he's not super keen on pouring his guts out to start with, he doesn't need the added pressure of giving this kid nightmare that his mother has to chase away tonight.

The guy smiles like it's not the first time he's been asked today. "I'm Nathaniel. Dr Kipson's been called away to a meeting at the hospital that he unfortunately can't get out of at this time. He thought you weren't going to show after you were a half hour late. I've been instructed to go over your options for counselling since you're scheduled to depart soon and need a certification evaluation. And I'm twenty-six for the record."

"Yeah, maybe in about ten years you are," gripes Leonard in a low grumble.

"I understand that Dr M'Benga gave you a list of therapists that are familiar conducting their practice with Starfleet personnel stationed off world or on deployed vessels. You are of course free to continue with Dr Kipson while you are still at Yorktown. There are of course a wide variety of programs that maybe beneficial to you and I would be happy to go over them with you."

What Leonard really wants to do is storm out of here, perhaps knocking over the mess on Nathaniel's desk for dramatic effect as he goes. Nothing would demonstrate his point so eloquently that he's unfit for duty more than a display of his unwillingness to play the game he's dedicated his life to being a part of. His muscles are tightening in preparation of standing up and walking out but he can't bring himself to do it. He just can't torpedo Jim's career like that.

"Maybe you could see if Dr Haven Daily is taking on patients?" Leonard asks to look like he's actually trying. Daily's stationed on Earth so maybe it will be easier to commit to the lie if she isn't ever in the room with Leonard.

"I'll get right on it," assures Nathaniel. "We also have several support groups in Yorktown that might be of interest."

Leonard puts his hand up to stop Nathaniel. "Why don't we just see how this goes first? Then maybe we can talk about filling up my social calendar." He tries for a sincere smile but it doesn't feel like it actual appears on his face.

"I'll forward the information to you as soon as I hear," says Nathaniel, seeing Leonard to the door.

Somehow, despite missing his mandatory caring and sharing session, he still feels like he's losing.


For doing nothing productive, Leonard's surprisingly exhausted. He hits the lobby the same time Jim does and tries not to think about what a coincidence that is. There's something infuriating about thinking the Captain has nothing better to do than lurk and stalk him. Though, Jim is carrying a bag of takeout that smells heavenly so Leonard might be willing to forgive him if that is the case.

Jim doesn't say anything as he falls into step with Leonard like if he keeps quiet maybe Leonard will forget that he's there and won't ask him to leave. He's dying to ask, the need building up in his gut until he feels like he's going to explode. He makes it all the way into the turbo lift before the question comes spilling out, "How'd it go today?"

"Fine," grumbles Leonard. There's something about the question or perhaps Jim asking it that sets him off, his already irritable mood taking a big dip further into miserable. He lived this nightmare, is sentenced to endure the fallout and in the name of recovery has to talk about and work with it all day. It's like he can never escape it. When he finally gets home, there's Jim wanting to talk about it.

Leonard shuts the conversation down pretty quickly, leaving Jim to stand there and wrack his brain for something else to talk about. This has to be the longest turbo lift ride ever. He wracks his brain but besides visiting Leonard and putting out fires (mostly figurative, maybe one literal) for the rebuild, Jim hasn't had time for anything even remotely different and interesting. Still he has to talk about something.

Leonard drowns Jim out as he prattles on visiting admirals and some pissing contest between engineering and the science department, settling on the couch once they get to his apartment. His stomach's growling so loud he's in no danger of falling asleep. The one good thing about Jim making himself at home in Leonard's space, is Leonard doesn't have to do anything; Jim just wanders into the kitchen and starts plating whatever he picked up.

"Scotty thinks the new configuration should give us an extra twenty percent out of the engines," spews Jim as his verbal diarrhea continues.

"What did you bring for dinner," interrupts Leonard, because he's starving and frankly couldn't care less about the ship's engines.

Jim carries two plates over. "I got us..." He stops suddenly at the foot of the couch.

Leonard just galres at Jim, who looks perplexed.

"...steaks?" he asks because he's not sure what's pissing Leonard off now.

Leonard waves his bandaged hand at Jim, wondering just how the kid has managed to stay alive for this long because out of all the food Jim could possibly bring home, he opts for something that requires two hands.

He knows when it dawns Jim because he starts looking a little sheepish.

There's a long tense moment where Leonard pictures himself stabbing Jim in the neck with the steak knife resting on one of the plates he holding should Jim actually voice what Leonard can see tumbling around his head. He only needs one hand to stab the kid.

"I'll make something else out of it," offers Jim quickly in a panic, realizing he'll live longer if he doesn't offer to cut Leonard's steak for him. He can hear Leonard mumbling, "What kind of idiot gives a man with one workin hand a steak?" as he heads back in the kitchen. He stares at the steaks, which stare back mockingly. He should have thought about it a little more but he'd been hung up on the idea of getting something Leonard loved that was worth celebrating with and failed to consider the particle side of how Leonard was going to eat it.

He's never been particularly handy in the kitchen; the replicator is his best friend for anything more complicated than making toast. It's like taking a test and remembering every useless fact in the universe but not the correct answer. Until he had to eliminate them, Jim never gave any thought to how many food options required two hands.

Inspiration not coming, he replicates a loaf of bread an goes the sandwich route because that seems the easiest to eat one handed while still social allowed to be a little messy. Leonard still looks a little murderous at the offering but he eats it.

Leonard's getting up to clear his plate when Jim springs out of the arm chair, almost dumping his dinner in the process. "I'll take that for you," he offers, grabbing the plate from McCoy.

Leonard snatches the plate back. "I am capable of taking a damn plate to the kitchen!"

"Sorry." Jim raises his hands in surrender. "Just trying to help. Don't want you to overdo it."

"Are you spying on me?" demands Leonard. "Did Kat wait a whole minute before reporting back to you or do you just have a live feed to all of my sessions?"

"What are you talking about?" counters Jim, genuinely confused about what Leonard is raving about. "I just wanted to help. I don't know anything about your sessions."

"I bet you don't." Leonard storms towards the kitchen. He gets about half way before the communicator sitting on the kitchen counter catches his eye. It's exactly where he left it from that night- out of reach, too far away to get help. Spock grabs him by the shoulders, slamming him face first into the wall. The decanters, bottles and glasses on the table clink and rattle at the force. McCoy can feel him leans against his back, his elbow presses firmly against the doctor's spine making it impossible for him to move.

Leonard can't breathe. There isn't enough room for his lungs to expand and there isn't any air getting past his throat. He's going to die, Spock is going to kill him. The Vulcan's hand falls heavy on his shoulder, fingers coiling to pinch. He's going to die or end up in that hell! He just needs to...

"Breathe!"

Jim can't get Leonard to look at him even though he's kneeled on the ground in front of him. His heart stopped when Leonard crumpled to the ground unable to breath and it doesn't start again until Leonard manages to suck in his first short shaky breath. Jim's not sure his nerves can handle Leonard's panic attacks; he doesn't know how Leonard survives them.

They sit on the floor for an hour in silence except for Leonard's ragged breaths. Jim's hand is resting on his shoulder like an anchor holding him to this world. Even though Jim must be uncomfortable in his awkward kneeling position, he never leaves Leonard's side.

"You think you can get up now?" whispers Jim. There's no judgement in his voice, or consequences on the horizon not matter what answer Leonard conjures up and Leonard's grateful for it. He nods his head because his voice refuses to get with the program.

He can't seem to get his legs to work either.

Jim helps him up, practically carrying him to the couch. All sense of time has vanished and Leonard's pretty sure reality would go with it, if it wasn't for Jim sitting next to him. It feels safe, like Jim can't keep the evil Vulcan away, but there's doubt, this annoying little whisper tickling the back of his brain that wants to know who will protect him from Jim.

Leonard looks worn thin and brittle like spun glass. Jim doesn't know what to do.

"Do you want to talk about it?" ask Jim.

Leonard's quiet for a long time. Jim figures he isn't going to say anything when Leonard finally confesses, "Jim, I thought I was going to die."

"It was a panic attack. It feels like you're going to die, but I promise you, you won't." It feels like an empty promise, like he just told a stressed out person to relax believing that that's all it would take.

Leonard shakes his head frantically. "Not right now," he stammers. "On that night. When I was back over there. And it wasn't a question of if, but when. Of when that smug green blooded, Satan impersonating, bastard was going to snap my neck or disembowel me. Or when you were going to look into my eyes and see a stranger worth slaughtering."

Jim opens his mouth to protest, because he can't imagine killing McCoy in any world under any circumstances. More importantly he needs his friend to remember that he's safe back in their universe where none of his friends, particularly Jim himself, would ever hurt Leonard. He can't imagine having to look his nightmare in the face every day, but they aren't their counterparts and despite what Leonard's going through, it still rubs Jim kind of raw that McCoy could ever confuse him for his counterpart.

McCoy holds up his hands to stop Jim's objection. "I know it wasn't you. But god damn it Jim, it was and I can't not look at you and see him. So unless you can convince your incredibly moral and rule abiding first officer to erase these memories, I don't want to hear it."

Spock won't do that. Jim already asked. Vulcan's have some rule about not messing with people's minds and trying to erase someone's memories apparently has a slew of potential repercussions that could affect McCoy more negatively than the having the actual memories. He closes his eyes. Maybe their friendship isn't going to be what gets Leonard through this.


It's getting really late and Leonard's losing the battle to stay awake despite his protests of not wanting to go to bed.

"Night, Bones," Jim says hesitantly, standing by the door awkwardly. Leaving shouldn't be so marred with indecision. He feels insecure, like he's on his very first date and doesn't know if he should kiss the girl or not. Leonard's an adult; he doesn't need Jim to babysit him all the time. A little space could probably do them both some good. And it's not like Leonard's asking him to stay and play guard dog.

Leonard feels about as dejected as Jim looks right now. He hasn't been the best company, snapping at Jim more than is healthy and certainly more than he has any right to. The company has been good, even if he won't voice the fact Jim's incessant hovering has been distracting him from having to actually be alone with himself in the apartment where it all started. Jim's been the crutch of distraction and he's about to walk out the door.

Leonard nods. "Jim."

The seconds of silence and inaction feel like a breath shy of eternity. As Jim turns and walks out the door, it feels like he's marching to his appointment with the firing squad. He makes it far enough that the doors hiss closed behind him but can't make his legs carry him any further.

He leans against the wall by Leonard's door and closes his eyes before sinking to the floor. His mind is a chaotic storm of horrific and unlikely plots that involve finding Leonard's body come morning. In all fairness, being captured by a doppelganger to fill in for your doppelganger in a hostage exchange is pretty unlikely, so Kirk's imagination has licence to fear something else befalling his friend. His mother hen approach might be bordering on ridiculous. People don't disappear behind closed doors, except Leonard kind of did.

The threat, however unlikely, is still out there. Jim killed neither that Spock nor Kirk and only has Kirk's word he'll handle Spock. If that Jim Kirk is anything like him, and Jim fears he is, Kirk will die to fulfill this promise. If it was anyone other than Spock, Jim could guarantee they're dead already. His Spock shouldn't be underestimated so theirs can't be either, and so forever in the back of Jim's mind lies the worry that the temptation to fill a McCoy shaped hole in their universe will prove too much for them.

Maybe he'll just stay here- to ease his own insecurities. It's not like he's never slept on the floor before and morning isn't so far away. He resigns himself to his new role as McCoy's creepy stalker when the door opens and Leonard's head pops out.

Leonard looks left, then right, down the hall before a mop of blond hair at hip height catches his attention. "Figures," he grumbles, rolling his eyes. Jim's like a puppy without a home and goddamn it if Leonard didn't put a plate of food out for him the first day they met. He'd never damage his reputation as a curmudgeon by saying it out loud, but he's relieved Jim didn't have the strength to leave.

"Let's go," huffs Leonard, turning and stepping back into his apartment.

Jim scrambles to his feet and follows. He can't help the stupid grim spreading across his face as he sees the blanket and pillow already on the couch.

"Don't get any ideas," warns Leonard, trotting off to bed. This can't be a continuous thing, for so many reasons, but there is comfort in having Jim close like back at the academy before life went to hell. Neither one says a word about Jim sitting at Leonard's door, nor the fact that Leonard came looking for him, but both sleep better.