Leonard's head is hammering with a vengeance and the rest of him hurts with the ache of someone else's desire to burn him away from the world. His head lulls to the side as he tries to summon the strength to lift it. The best he can accomplish is rolling it forward enough so it hangs limply against his chest. He can't produce enough saliva to spit out the thick coating of blood painting his teeth and tongue. If there was a merciful deity in the universe it would take him now.

Leonard can hear someone shuffling around the chair he's tied to muttering to themselves with promises of the agony they're going to inflict on the doctor. McCoy lets out a strangled cry as someone grabs a fistful of his hair, wrenching back his head so Leonard has no choice but to look him in the eye. Leonard's heart starts to really pound as he realizes he's looking at Jim and the cold hearted bastard looks smug. Jim should be safe not someone looking at him ravenous like he's about to carve Leonard like a turkey for Christmas dinner.

"Do you know what this is, Bones?" asks Jim, twirling a dagger in his hand. Excitement dances in his eyes.

McCoy's gaze lands on the captain's hand. "Iz, a knife," he slurs. It's more than that. He'd recognize it anywhere. All officers of the ISS Enterprise had those daggers strapped to their person as part of their uniform.

"You know, it really is a multipurpose tool. I mean there are the obvious applications of gutting your enemy, but there's the psychological aspects of having a weapon close to make you feel safe and to remind other's you're dangerous. Hell, I've even used it to cut food," says Jim pealing an apple with the dagger in question. Jim's smile is all predator as he leans in close, his breath hot against Leonard's ear. "Think I can do you in one long strip." The apple falls away and the knife changes direction, cutting through the captive's shirt. It slices through the tender flesh along the way leaving a red ribbon running down McCoy's side as the fabric of his shirt falls away. "Feel free to scream."

McCoy almost bites through his tongue but he doesn't make a sound; his jaw muscles spasming in protest.

Jim's an artist, a demented and depraved Picasso. Leonard will be the finest representation of his marred flesh period. McCoy can't even suck in a breath before Sulu is driving his dagger through his right shoulder, the tip embedding into the back of the chair. This time he does scream. It's loud and animalistic. His vision swims as dark spots dance around the edges and he chokes on his own blood and vomit as his body shakes and spasms. His breath is as shaky as his body as his muscles quiver and tremble; pain crackling along every nerve ending.

"I've figured out who you are, Doc." Jim pulls the stool closer; his face taking over McCoy's narrowing vision.

"I don't... what?" he tries to ask but it comes out more as a whimper. He shrinks back as much as he can with the knife pinning him in place, to put any kind of distance between him and Jim. He can feel his blood spreading out against the fabric of his uniform that's pinned between his back and the chair, the sticky warmth cooling against his clammy skin. "Why?" he says again, repeating like a mantra. Jim shouldn't be doing this to him.

"You're a spineless coward, a snivelling quivering mess of worms that's more afraid of living than dying. You don't belong as part of this crew of exemplary officers," sneers Jim. "You're just pathetic."

Jim flicks the dagger pulling a wounded hiss out of McCoy as the doctor actually bites through his lip to endure the ripple of pain the vibration sends through his body. "It's so exhausting having to carry your ass; the broken bird that's never going to fly again. You're incompetence is going to get someone killed, you know that?"

"Then why don't you fix the problem, Jim?" demands Leonard, glaring with every ounce of strength he can muster.

"Good idea," agrees a voice from behind Jim. Leonard would recognize that voice anywhere; he's heard it his whole life.

Leonard's staring at himself handing Jim a scalpel.

"Cut off a hand. He isn't using them anyways," offers McCoy grinning with delight as Jim takes the scalpel.

Jim doesn't hesitate, the sharp blade setting free a river of blood as it severs nerves, muscle and bone with no more effort than a feather floating on a gentle breeze.

Leonard wakes up with a scream trapped in his throat. He can feel the pulse point in his neck jack-rabbiting. He tears at the bandages on his hand, peeling back the protective layers until he gets to the battered appendage. It's there, in all its useless glory. He breathes a sigh of relief that's there but can't hide the disappointment that the last few months haven't all been part of a bad dream.

He gets on shaky legs and stumbles to the bathroom. Still rattled from his nightmare, he raids his medicine cabinet for something to take the edge off. He stands in the dimly lit bathroom staring at his reflection in the mirror as his breathing slows to something resembling normal.

Jim's words haunt him as he begins his regiment of hyposprays and painstakingly rewraps his hand. Everyone is spending a great deal of energy tending a bird with a broken wing that will never fly. The spare med kit he keeps in bathroom calls to him. It would be easy to do what McCoy had proposed in the dream. One quick cut and there would be no arguing his future in Starfleet. Something that decisive and destructive would make one hell of a statement about his mental fitness, never mind his physical inability to do his job. He has enough supplies that it wouldn't even be dangerous.

When something becomes gangrenous, the only option is to amputate.

Leonard opts to throw up in the sink instead. It doesn't completely purge the thought but it pushes it back far enough that the dark recesses of him mind can reclaim it.

Leonard isn't sure how to cut out his soul.

Jim's still sprawled out on the couch like an octopus, arms and legs splayed out in ways that can't be comfortable when Leonard comes out of the bathroom. He just stands there and watches him sleep; frozen in place like he might disturb a dozing lion. It's just Jim, his Jim, there shouldn't be anything to be afraid of, yet Leonard's circumspect. Wariness is oozing out of every pore. Can he really trust Jim?

Every part of him is screaming no. Jim's up to something, he always is. It occurs to Leonard that the only way he's going to survive is if he can get away from Jim. But Jim's cleaver, he'll tighten his iron jaw even more if he thinks his dinner might slip away. He needs to slip away subtly.

"Morning," manages Jim around a yawn as he stretches blinking dazedly around the apartment.

"Mornin," replies Leonard, curtly, heading straight into the kitchen to work on obtaining some coffee.

Jim sits there a little dazed until the scent of warm caffeine reaches him. "So what are your plans for today because I have a break between meetings with Admiral Shakser and the engineering department for a late lunch?"

"Can't," blurts Leonard before he can really think. He needs space; it's an itch that's settled into his bones. Last night the thought of being alone was terrifying but this morning have Jim within arm's reach feels suffocating.

Jim looks at him skeptically as he makes his way into the kitchen to help with breakfast.

Leonard has a very limited amount of activities going on in his life since he's benched on medical leave, making excuses hard to dig up. "If Daily's agreed to take me on as a patient my session will probably run long as we get to know one another," says Leonard lamely.

Jim just shrugs, stuffing part of a cinnamon roll in his mouth. "What do you want for dinner then?" he asks around a mouthful of food.

"Don't talk with your mouthful, Jim," scolds Leonard. "What were you raised in a ..."

"Barn?" supplies Jim with a chuckle. "Did spend a significant portion of my childhood on a farm."

Leonard needs a reason that seems plausible, and that Jim will respect without tipping the captain off to Leonard basically baring the door against him. "I'm going to call Joanna tonight. Rather do that alone if that's alright with you."

"Sure, no problem." Jim smiles. He knows how important Joanna is and if there's anyone that can get McCoy out of a funk, it's that little ray of sunshine. "Tell Jo I say hi."

There's a special place in hell for people who use their kid as an alibi. The worst part is, it shouldn't be a lie. He should take this time to call, and talk to her in person to let her know he's good instead of sending short text messages apologising for not being able to take her calls.

Leonard really is a coward.

"Will do," says Leonard as Jim heads out the door to go back to his place to grab a fresh uniform before his work day starts. He can feel his muscles uncoil as the door slides shuts. There shouldn't be such a wave of relief in the wake of Jim's presence.


One Month Later

Leonard's incredibly fascinated with the stain on the carpet. It's kind of an electric green color which is odd against the navy blue fibers. It's almost in a perfect triangle except one of the tips is smeared outward pointing to a handful of droplets that are sprayed out around it. This room is only used by the Yorktown medical for long distance therapy sessions, so Leonard supposes he can forgive the less than surgical cleanliness of the space. Guessing the source of the stain has become his new favorite game. The other option would be to fill the silence that often falls between him and Daily.

Leonard thought the distance and view screen angles would be an advantage in lying about his ability to perform. Turns out he should have vetted Daily better because she has even less time for Leonard's bullshit than he does. Her tolerance for his distractions lasts only a few minutes before she's skillfully directing the conversation back to the matter at hand which leads to long stretches of silence as Leonard categorically refuses to discuss a period in his life he's desperate to forget.

"Leonard," prompts Daily, sternly.

Leonard rolls his eyes. He's not in the mood today. He doesn't like overly cheerful people to begin with and his day has been crammed packed with them. Watching a group of physical therapists high five one another and cheer because Leonard was able to make a fist and hold it for a count of ten pretty much ate up his desire for cooperation for the week. Performing open heart surgery on a species with four hearts while the ship is under attack- that deserves a round of applause and a personal cheerleader, not getting to the point where he can almost grab things.

It took all of his will power to stay for the rest of his session, not to mention coming to this appointment. If he didn't, Jim would go to red alert and things have just settled to a place where Jim feels comfortable enough to be distracted by the Enterprise enough that he only checks up on Leonard in person once a day. He doesn't have it in him to play nice anymore.

"What do you want me to say?" he snaps. Beating around the bush is exhausting. Do you want to hear about how I had to pull a knife out of my shoulder to save the bastard that put a device in my chest to torture me? How about how I watched Checkov get his throat slit? Nobody wants to hear the gory details if they want to sleep at night. And I don't want to talk about it." Leonard crosses his arms to punctuate his point. Maybe the cliffnotes will shut her up for a minute.

Daily looks contemplative for a moment, quickly tapping notes onto her PADD. "You said don't want to talk, not that you don't need to talk about it."

It's like talking to a Vulcan. Leonard knows he's not on his game enough to mentally spar with anyone these days.

"You're a doctor Leonard, you know how this works and the benefits. It's not your job to protect me from what you need to talk about."

Leonard wants to know who's going to protect him from what he's supposed to talk about. That phaser he's taken to keeping under his pillow as he sleeps can't protect him from this.

Daily leans forward in her chair, her genuine sympathy and concern radiating through the video link. "If your goal truly is to return to your post aboard the Enterprise then we have to work together on this. If you decide that isn't what you want then we can go a different route. The decision is yours."

If Leonard had the power to turn back the hands of time, he would gladly return to his post on board a flying tin can that attacks danger like nobody's business. The question no longer has a simple answer. Hell, it has no answer because Jim already made it. Maybe it's better he doesn't have a choice, a voice, in it. He hasn't done a very good job lately with the control he has been afforded.

There're voices in his head, some that take shape, that constantly ask why he's protecting Jim's trespass. Jim's trying to shoehorn Leonard into a place that he just doesn't fit anymore. The incarnation of his nightmares in the day time wears Jim's face. The greatest salvation to his sanity would be to walk away, just disappear somewhere never to be found. So why is he destroying himself to facilitate a lie not of his own making?

Telling Daily to go to hell dances on the end of his tongue, held back by the tight drawbridge of his teeth.

"Tell her!" insists a voice. Leonard doesn't have to turn his head to know he'll be staring at himself.

"Cut out the infection doctor," snarls McCoy and Leonard tries not to flinch at the ferocity of it. Instead he grips the armrest of the chair tighter until his knuckles ache with protest and his finger tips turn white. He closes his eyes and runs through the list of drugs available for a physician to prescribe for auditory and visual hallucinations. He repeats the list over and over again to drown out the criticism offered by his counterpart until that McCoy fades away.

If Leonard admits the report was forged, by a Starfleet captain no less, Jim will lose everything he's given his life for. His hand damaged hand starts to ache. The difference between him and his alternate counterpart is he can't inflict that kind of pain on others. He's lost everything; he can't do that to Jim, even if the kid is trying to kill him.

Leonard averts his eyes from the screen. He swallows the lump in his throat and starts, "Cruelty is rewarded and compassion punished. Chekov is the type of kid that's dying to be helpful. It held true over there too. He died being helpful."


Jim's been approaching the last few weeks with cautious optimism. Leonard's good days seem to outnumber the bad, which is basically a reduced number of glares aimed at Jim that promise dismemberment.

As Leonard's medical proxy he gets a little more than just the basic report offered to a commanding officer about Leonard's progress, mostly of the physical rehabilitation concerns. It's not nearly enough information but since Leonard is certified as able to make his own decisions, the reports don't contain specifics that the patient might not want to share. Jim makes a list of questions to ask M'Benga. He might be able to needle some more information out of the doctor by getting him to elaborate on the medical terms and what duties he can expect to perform until Leonard is officially back to work.

There's one month left until the Enterprise is ready to resume he mission and command obligations are ramping up. Jim's down to checking up on Leonard every other evening at dinner and once a day via message. He's most proud of checking the logs once a week to see if Leonard has gone to all his appointments and video sessions with his psychologist.

They're two weeks away from Daily signing off on whether Leonard's even fit to be on the Enterprise. As long as it's foreseeable that Leonard can operate in medical in some capacity, they're golden. If not, Leonard is going to be reassigned to another crew and Jim's actually going to have to look at the personnel files that have been sitting on the corner of his desk for the last few weeks with candidate vying for the Chief Medical Officer position on the infamous Enterprise.

"Come," says Jim as his office door chimes.

"You wanted to see me, Captain," greets Spock.

"Yes, Spock," he answers, motioning to empty seat across from him with one hand while opening up his calendar on screen with the other.

There's a slight hesitation before Spock sits down. It's only a fraction of a second but it's the closest thing to I'm rather busy at the moment Jim supposes he'll ever see out of his first officer.

"We have a staff meeting scheduled for tomorrow for all department heads," says Jim.

"That is correct," confirms Spock, in a tone that is nothing but usual Vulcan monotone but the slight raise of an eyebrow signifies that Jim better come to a relevant point soon.

"I'm going to ask Dr McCoy to attend."

That earns a full head tilt. "Is the doctor certified to return to his duties?" Spock has been keeping his distance at the direction of both Kirk and Uhura, and out of his respect for the doctor's mental welfare. He had hoped he would still be kept apprised of things despite giving McCoy space.

"Not yet. But the plan is to get him back and that means running medical. He should be included in the final plans. And I figured it would be a nice way to ease him into it. M'Benga will be there as acting CMO but I figured Bones could observe," says Jim.

"The doctor and I have not been in the same room for weeks. Are you sure the doctor will be accepting of my presence?"

Jim's not sure. This could be a very bad idea, but the two of them have to work together and better to work it out now then when they're trapped on a starship together. "We start small."


Leonard's figured out the magical chemical cocktail to keep the nightmares at bay. His physician would disapprove of his self medicating and his therapist would probably have some legitimate prescription to help, but Leonard's trying to create space between him and everybody else. Giving them something to fuss over will do the opposite. He's finally got some breathing room from Jim, since the Enterprise's imminent departure is too close now to for him to be shirking his official duties.

Unfortunately his solution has just pushed the nightmares into day time hallucinations that he's not always successful at silencing. At least he prays their hallucinations. He's not the best judge of reality these days.

"You know they just want to get you on that ship to make disposing of you easier. Fewer people to ask questions if the ship's doctor gets sucked out in to cold vacuum of space on a starship," informs Jim as he tags along.

"Shut up," snaps Leonard. He's already running a few minutes late for a meeting he doesn't want to attend, he doesn't need to hear all the ways being on the Enterprise makes it easier for Spock or Jim to kill him. No matter how fast he walks or how hard he tries to not think about this incarnation of Jim, Leonard can't shake him. "I already have to deal with that hobgoblin I don't need you yappin too."

"You know I'm right."

"Enough already!" snaps Leonard, turning sharply to yell at Jim. Everyone within earshot, stops to stares at Leonard, trying to figure out who he's yelling at.

"Are you alright, Doctor McCoy?" asks Chapel, walking over. It's not every day you see your boss yell at nothing in public. The stress of everything that's happened might be taking its toll today.

Leonard turns to Chapel, suddenly very aware he's standing in the middle of a public walk way talking to no one. The tension that Jim had been winding up fades pretty quickly. He stands up straight and turns around with a less pissed off look on his face. "I'm fine, Christine."

Chapel looks uncertain. "Are you sure? Maybe we could go and grab a drink and talk about it," she offers. She need more time to make a proper assessment and if something is wrong maybe Leonard will be comfortable enough to tell her.

"Just a long day with my therapist and then I got turned around making me late for this meetin. I promise I'm fine," assures Leonard, summoning his most reassuring smile. The lies are easier to tell if he wants them to be true.

"Alright. Don't push yourself too hard." Chapel squeezes his shoulder before continuing on her way.

Jim rolls his eyes. "If she bought that, you need a new medical staff."

"Shut it," growls Leonard under his breath as he storms off towards his meeting.


Leonard supposes the change in venue is for his benefit. He doesn't have to be here, in fact technically he's not supposed to be, but he isn't required to do anything and it will keep Jim off his back. Instead of a conference room in Yorktown command, Jim's moved the meeting to an observation lecture room at the Yorktown university campus. The Enterprise senior staff is seated at the table in the middle of the room while Leonard's sitting up on the observation gallery circling above that allows students to look down on the demonstration that would normally be taking place. It allows Leonard to be there without being the center of attention. It also maximises the distance between him and Spock.

Leonard listens to the discussions going on and takes a few notes when M'Benga fills the captain in on medical's issues and concerns. Geoff doesn't really need any input from Leonard; it sounds like he has everything under control- at least from a planning aspect.

It's pretty much a regular boring staff meeting and since Leonard isn't responsible for medbay at the moment, the whole thing is extra tiresome. He never takes his eyes off of Spock though. Scotty and Chekov might as well be speaking Klingon for all he understands about the technical aspects of engineering and warp cores, but he can tell they're excited. Uhura spends most of her time asking for more training time with the new equipment for the communications staff. Sulu's energized about taking the ship for a test spin around the solar system. Leonard's not sure what Spock's prepared to talk about.

Leonard feels his palms start to sweat the second the Vulcan starts to talk. His skin begins to crawl and itch with need to escape. If he knows Spock is going to be within arm's reach, Leonard can fight down the urge to run or curl into a tight ball on the floor. It's when he doesn't know that the hobgoblin is going to make an appearance from hell that Leonard tends to have an uncontrollable meltdown. Definitely not the type of reaction one wants to have on a ship. Apparently contact has a time limit, because despite knowing Spock would be in attendance, he can feel the panic starting to take hold.

The pain in his hand flares up but it's not nearly as bad as the pain in his chest where the agonizer used to sit. It rips through him stealing his breath. He balls his good hand into a fist and jams it in his mouth to stifle any sound that might dare escape. So far no one in the meeting has paid him much attention beyond a smile or a wave when they had walked in and the occasional glance Jim steals every ten minutes or so. He certainly doesn't want to gain attention this way.

Leonard closes his eyes and tries to take some deep breaths. He finds things to focus on like Daily suggested, like the feel of the fabric covering the bench seating he's on or the firmness of the carpet as he presses his feet down. As the vice grip on his lungs starts to ease a little he whispers to himself, "I'm not there," on repeat until the world starts to feel calm and not the rising hurricane that threatened to rise up and drown him.

He doesn't know how much time has passed but Spock is still talking. Tremors are still rippling through Leonard, making him shaky and fragile. He has a tenuous grip on reality at the moment. He's not sure how long he can hold it or what might tip him back into the black abyss. His hypos are back at the apartment, both prescribed and self chosen ones.

Leonard can feel Jim watch him as he gets up and leaves the meeting without so much as a word. He's grateful that Jim doesn't say anything either or follow him out.

Once he gets outside it's like gravity has been restored to regular pressure. He walks aimlessly, just knowing the direction he has to escape from. He surprises himself when he shows up to the medical building and logs on to contact Daily. To his surprise, she answers.

"Good afternoon Leonard. We weren't scheduled for meeting today," she says looking at her appointment book.

"I know. I just..." Leonard trails off. He doesn't know what he wants. This was probably a bad idea.

"I have the next forty-five minutes free if you want to talk," she offers. "And if need be I can reschedule my next appointment."

Leonard swallows. "I don't know if I can do this."