Jim would rather be hovering in sickbay, or Leonard's quarters if he's been released, than on the bridge, but he has four hundred other crewmembers to take care of too. Being responsible doesn't make the minutes tick by any faster. As subtly as possible he gets up from his chair and saunters over to Uhura's station.

He leans over her shoulder like he's looking at something displayed on the console and in a low voice says, "If you found your shift ending early, would you be able to find your way to checking in on Bones?"

"Just a welfare check?" she asks, pretending to be as equally fascinated with the console.

"At this point, I could use a full assessment," says Jim, honestly. There are few people that know Leonard as well as he does and fewer still that are as intuitive as Uhura. If anyone will be able to dismiss or validate Jim's concerns, it's her.

"Are things really that bad?" she asks, slightly alarmed. It's obvious the toll events have taken on Jim. Even Spock seems uneasy regarding Leonard lately. While it's apparent Leonard has been struggling based on every encounter she's had with him, it's about what she would expect given the situation. Jim doesn't have to answer; the look on his face says it all. "I'll do it."

Jim waves over an officer to replace Uhura at her station. "Good luck."

Uhura nods solemnly before stepping into the turbo lift. There are fractures forming in their tightknit little group. Mostly, it feels like Leonard is slipping away from them.

She doesn't have to say anything when Leonard answers his door. He takes one look at her and then at the antique tea tray she has in her hands and lets out a defeated sigh, making way for her to enter. It's progress, since the last few times Leonard hasn't even bothered to answer the door.

Uhura strides over to the coffee table and begins setting out the cups and saucers while Leonard shuffles behind her. She pours the tea, adding the splash or cream and lump of sugar she knows Leonard likes.

"I guess this is a new record for Jim, waitin' three whole hours before sending a babysitter." Leonard swallows, looking slightly bashful as Uhura gives him a less than pleased look at being called a babysitter. "Sorry," he says taking a swallow. "But it's true."

"I would have come anyways," she replies, spoon clinking as she stirs her own cup of tea. "We're all worried about you, Leonard. We just want to help."

"I know," he says, sadly. "It's just…" he trails off as he sees Kirk lurking in the corner.

Kirk puts his finger over his lips and shushes Leonard. "They'll never understand. Telling them about me is a one-way ticket to a padded room. And you need me to protect you," he cautions.

"You're right," agrees Leonard.

"I am?" asks Uhura, unsure what she's being given credit for.

Leonard lifts the delicate cup. "I see you replicated your grandmother's antique tea set," he says, hoping to cover up his blunder.

"It's the original set," she replies, setting down her cup on the hand painted saucer.

"Oh? I thought it would have been destroyed when the saucer section of the ship was destroyed." He looks closer at the cup for any signs that it has been repaired. It's one of Uhura's most prized possessions, one she only ever took out for special occasions.

"It was packed well enough that it survived. I was very relieved when Spock was able to move enough debris for me to retrieve some things out of my quarters. Not much survived. I know others weren't as lucky."

Leonard wasn't a part of any of the salvage teams that went back to Altamid. It was mostly engineers and a few crewmen that were tasked to retrieve any personal items that may have survived. Jim brought back a small of box of things from Leonard's quarters, but Leonard never had more than a few irreplaceable items to start with.

Uhura glances around Leonard's quarters. She hasn't made it past the door before now. It looks like Leonard hasn't made it much further beyond that either. The standard furniture is all in place, set up by the engineer and design team but everything that is Leonard's is still in the boxes and shipping crates that are pilled around the apartment.

"I've been meaning to get to that," says Leonard, slightly embarrassed as he notices Uhura noticing the state of his place. He's had all the time in the world to unpack and move in properly; long before they even left Yorktown. He just can't seem to bring himself to do it. He's pulled out the basics, like his uniforms and shave kit- basically anything he needs to look like a normal functioning human when he steps out of his quarters.

"No time like the present," she says without judgement. She gets up from the couch and opens the first box she comes to. It's pictures and knickknacks that she begins setting up on the end tables. She tries her best to remember exactly how Leonard kept his quarters before and if she gets it wrong, Leonard doesn't correct her.

Leonard watches for a moment, his apprehension at having someone touching his things in his space, disappearing as she puts the items in the exact spots he would have, if he were doing it, without direction or prompting. It's hard to imagine why he should be leery of anyone that knows him this well. He looks to Jim for the answer but he's suddenly scarce. With no reason not to, Leonard gets up and tackles one of the boxes himself.

They're halfway through when Uhura finds herself unpacking a box for the bathroom. She's busy folding towels so she can place them in the cabinet when she opens the door to find the space already occupied. She pulls Leonard's medical bag out of the way so she can put the towels in and then the bag on top, but the bag opens, rattling as the contents shift inside. She isn't snooping, but in order to close the bag, she ends up looking at what's inside. A sadness washes over her as she takes in the vials and pill bottles all prescribed to Leonard set inside. This is what it takes for Leonard to get through the day. It's a harsh reminder that the tendrils of what happened back in that universe still have a grip on her friend.

She can't help but think that after what happened in the transporter room, that maybe it is too soon for Leonard to be on the Enterprise. That thought brings conflict, because she has to agree that Jim is right. Who is going to be there for Leonard if they're all off in parts unknown and Leonard is left behind to recover? No one else is going to help Leonard unpack or know how he takes his tea. No one else is showing up after a hard day with his favorite bottle of booze in hand and a willing ear. No one else is going to prevent Leonard from turning inward and reclusive. No one that is, but them.

"That's where I'm at," says Leonard from the bathroom door.

Uhura quickly closes the medical bag and stuffs it back in the closet. "I wasn't trying to snoop," she says, apologetically.

Leonard just shrugs one shoulder. "I'm a mess. I know it. I know you know it too. I can see it in people's faces. I hear the whispers."

"I think they're mostly whispering about you knocking the captain flat on his ass on the bridge," she says, raising a valid point of both concern and truth while aiming for a little levity. Jim's grown quite a bit from the cocky, swaggering, playboy he started out being. While they both live to irritate one another, there's a sense of respect between him and her. Uhura would and has trusted Jim with her life and he with his. They're a family, with them as the bickering cousins that have each other's backs. Despite that growth, she'd be lying if she said she didn't derive some satisfaction from watching Leonard, of all people, lay him out for his meddling.

Leonard subconsciously rubs at his knuckles. "I shouldn't be here," he whispers, raw and honest. "I don't know if I can do this."

Uhura doesn't know what to say. She doesn't have time to worry about it as the doorbell chimes.

Leonard's fragility and vulnerability disappear immediately as he goes to answer the door.

"What do you want Jim?" demands Leonard, spurring Uhura to make her way to the door too. Somewhere along the way she lost track of time. It's been four hours since alpha shift ended, and she hasn't reported back to Jim yet. No wonder he's decided to show up in person.

"I wanted to see how you were after today," says Jim, firmly blocked from actually entering.

"Alive," says Leonard, gesturing to himself as he refuses to move out of the way. "So you can leave now."

"Come on, Bones," pleads Jim.

"Leave," Leonard reiterates, harshly. He looks back at Uhura, his angry expression changing to one of exhaustion. "You should go with him, Uhura," he adds, but in a slightly kinder tone.

Uhura wants to protest. They were having such an honest moment before and the tension between Leonard and Jim has nothing to do with her and Leonard but ultimately, they both know her agenda is to smooth things out between everyone. So she nods silently, grabbing Jim by the arm before he tries the approach opposite of silent acceptance, and leaves.

Jim's disappointed as the door shuts both of them out. "Is he alright?" asks Jim, still wound up for a fight- against what and who, he's not sure.

"I'm not sure."

"Are we going to talk about it today?" asks Dr Daily in her tightly restrained tone that's careful to be neutral so as to sway Leonard's decision either way, like they're two best friends talking about a collage weekend that went awry years ago. Except they're not. She's his psychologist, tasked with evaluating his recovery and fitness to return as CMO and continuing to serve on this ship.

It: his whole life revolves around it, an experience that others are loath to acknowledge let alone name. Most people use the term it, as a way to put it out of their mind or a carefully planned step around the bear trap Leonard has become. Here it's an attempt to ease Leonard into the frigid waters of his past by dipping a toe in to test the waters. Even addressing it like an abstract concept makes his skin itch. He closes his eyes to ward off the too familiar images of Spock's malicious grin and the feel of warm blood splattering against his cold skin. His hand rubs at the phantom pain of an agonizer M'Benga swears he removed.

"No," says Leonard with finality. It's the last place he wants to go and certainly not with a stranger, as professional as she is. He's been somewhat relieved to be assigned an off ship psychologist with regular video comm. meetings instead of the Enterprise's psychologist who is one of the best; Leonard knows because he picked her. But being her boss and the thought of having to work together later, after he bears his soul, makes that avenue unappealing. Though it feels like Daily is analyzing him twice as hard to make up for the distance, it's an arrangement Leonard is more comfortable living with. Plus, he doesn't have the mental image of Daily dragging a body to sickbay for disposal after a session in an agonizer booth the way he does with Fraser. Except today when Daily is clearly eager to pick at Leonard's gaping wounds.

"Then what are we going to talk about today?" she counters.

Leonard's sullen, offering silence instead of revelations.

"You know how this works, Leonard. We have to talk about something and the longer you put off addressing what happened, the longer you have to wait to be cleared for duty."

It's the proverbial carrot they all dangling in front of Leonard yet he's not sure he has a taste for carrots anymore. He crosses his arms and looks everywhere but at the screen. Joanna would be sympathetic to his preteen like rebellion. The dirty secret is it wasn't his doing that put him back on the Enterprise to begin with.

"I think it's a preposterous idea," he hisses.

Daily taps her stylus against her PADD. "The concept in general or that it applies to you?"

Leonard makes a petulant face. "Why wouldn't I want my hand to work?"

"You tell me."

"I need it to perform surgery. To do my damn job." He raises his bandaged hand to emphasise his point. "To think that it's some sort of mental block that's keeping my hand from working is so completely… illogical."

"And yet it's a possibility. Perhaps it's your unconscious mind trying to tell you you don't feel ready to come back to work. Or given what happened in the transporter room, ready to be back on a ship."

Damn it, if Leonard doesn't want to agree with her more about not being ready to be back but he can't seem to bring himself to squeal on Jim for falsifying another report. He saw how broken Jim was when they took the Enterprise away from him and gave it back to Pike and again how wrecked Jim was when he had to destroy his own ship. Leonard can't be the reason for that. It would make him no better than the monsters he left behind in that other universe if he did. "I wouldn't be here if I didn't want to be," he says sullenly.

"Is there something else you feel maybe the root issue? Something that happened in that other universe that could be triggering you?"

Leonard almost wants to applaud at the causal way Daily circles back to the core issue in hopes of slipping past Leonard's resistance against it. It's not like she hasn't heard the story; he's gone over it several times. Though, he supposes she's earned her degree in realizing Leonard's put forward just enough to check all the boxes on his reviews and never any deeper. "Maybe I just have a healthy realization of how dangerous transporters are. Since performing surgeries and other CMO duties don't require the use of a transporter, I don't see how any future aversion to them is a problem. The Captain will just have to settle for taking his first officer on asinine away missions."

"You know how this works, Leonard," says Daily with infinite patience. "Therapy doesn't work if you don't do the work."

Leonard leans forward in his chair. "The only thing being back in that hell has to do with my hand not working, is it's the reason for the damage in the first place. Nothing more, nothing less," he says lowly.

Leonard counts the rolls of gauze for a fifth time, because there's really nothing else to do and he's tired of reviewing medical reports by doctors that actually get to be a part of the action. He's inventoried the whole medbay three times this week alone, much to the irritation of the nurses. They never say anything, but Leonard can tell from their tight smiles that he's interrupting their flow.

He looks down at his hand with renewed disdain. He's going to lose his mind from sheer boredom being benched like this, why the hell would he be the one sabotaging his own recover? It's ridiculous. He'll have to review Daily's credentials again; she's clearly not as insightful as her file suggests.

"What do you want, Ensign?" asks Leonard tiredly as he reaches to count the empty vials again. Chekov's been lurking near the entrance to medbay for the last fifteen minutes and while Leonard's kept his back to the kid it's become pretty obvious, he's not here to see anyone about a medical concern.

Chekov bites his lip, lifting his head up now that he doesn't have to avoid making eye contact with one of the nurses. He quickly walks over to Leonard but hesitates, turning over the object in his hand. He's been debating what to do about it all week and is now second guessing his choice altogether.

"Spit it out, Pavel," urges Leonard. "I'm rather busy here." Leonard's not sure if the lie is for the kid or himself.

Chekov takes a deep breath, rubbing the smooth metal between his fingers one more time before holding the object out for Leonard to take.

Leonard raises a questioning eyebrow. Normally the kid isn't so tongue tied and squirrely unless he's trying to impress the captain. He takes the object unfurling it until the bulky basic looking bracelet is sitting in his hand. "You askin' me to the school dance?" asks Leonard when an explanation isn't forthcoming.

"No," chokes Chekov, blushing slightly. "I've been working on it for awhile. It will disrupt transport signals so you will be unable to beam anywhere with it on."

Huh. Leonard weighs it in his hand. "That's… that's really thoughtful," he says, trying hard not to choke up.

Chekov lights up brighter than the warp core at the praise. "Mmmm, there are some safety concerns," he cautions. "If there was ever an emergency, they would not be able to lock on to you. If you were unconscious or unable to remove it for beam out, we would not be able to rescue you." His demeanour chances to more pensive and regretful, like it's a personal failing on his part that he couldn't make the device determine the difference Leonard being rescued and being transported against his will.

"Thanks, kid," says Leonard before Chekov can talk himself out of the good deed he's done. He debates putting it on as Chekov proudly exits medbay.

"You're going to get that kid killed- again," says Kirk casually as he sits on the floor leaning against one of the biobeds so he can casually attempt to look up some of the nurses' skirts.

Leonard snaps the bracelet closed, muttering, "Shut up."

"I'm just saying," sings Kirk with a shrug. "Every time that kid helps you it ends badly for him. I mean, what are they going to do when they find out he made it harder for them to send you back?"

"Jim and Spock aren't going to hurt Chekov," says Leonard with as much conviction as he can manage to scrap up.

"Status report?" asks Jim from the comfort of his command chair.

"All departments are reporting green, Captain," replies Uhura in her cool crisp professional tone.

Jim turns in his chair so he's facing the front of the bridge. "Our course is plotted, Mr Chekov?"

"Aye, Captain," Chekov answers, his floppy curls dangling across his forehead as he nods.

"Then you know what to do helm."

"Yes, Sir," reply Sulu and Chekov in unison as their fingers fly across the console.

Everyone is so intently performing their jobs that the only one to space Leonard a single glance as he steps off the turbo lift is Spock. The Vulcan looks curiously at Leonard but is quick to go back to focusing on his workstation.

Leonard's not here for Spock anyways. He continues his march towards the captain's chair.

"Bones!" greets Jim, his face lighting up as the Doctor comes to stand beside him. Jim's half away out of his seat when his smile vanishes. His bright blue eyes cloud with confusion as he looks down at the space between him and Leonard that should be empty but instead is filled with the shiny reflective sheen of a dagger whose tip is firmly imbedded in Jim's abdomen.

There's hurt in Jim's eyes that has nothing to do with the pain rather the deep seeded betrayal Leonard has presented. Blood slowly creeps over Jim's lip, spilling down the front of his shirt and chin. The question of why, dances in his eyes but is unable to float over the river of blood in his mouth.

Leonard pulls his hand back, the blade sliding out of its fleshy sheath with it undeterred by Jim's hand that's clutching at the wound. Leonard stares dispassionately ahead as Jim crumples to the ground in the stunned silence that fills the bridge.

Carefully with the tip of his boot, Leonard pushes Jim's body out of the way so he can step in front of the command chair and take a seat. All the bridge officers stare at Leonard. "As you were," he commands. They don't verbally acknowledge his command, but everyone turns back to their stations.

Leonard sits up with a gasp, one hand wiping the sweat beading on his forehead and the other searching aimlessly for the weapon he used to carve Jim open with. There's nothing but tangled sheets and wayward pillows. Heart pounding, he looks his hands over for any spec of blood.

His hands are clean, but his feet hit the floor anyways as he ambles to the bathroom for a better inspection in front of the mirror. After splashing cold water on his face, he stares at the person looking back at him in the mirror. Is this the face of a killer? It's certainly not the face he remembers from before the Altamid. He looks down at his hand that's still wrapped. It's shaking. He's still struggling to perform basic tasks with it but he had no problem stabbing Jim with it.

"It was just a dream," he tells himself. He says it three more times just to will it into existence. It was a dream and nothing more.

Leonard's become a sixth degree black belt ninja in avoiding well meaning people; particularly Jim. He used to joke that there was nowhere on this tin can the captain could hide from him. Apparently the reverse isn't true. Leonard's made a career out of avoiding Jim since his forced servitude aboard the new Enterprise –A started and the rare instance in which it hasn't been possible due to the laws of space, time and the Federation, Leonard makes a point to be a downright ornery badger.

Jim's a well-established punching bag, unwilling to fight back these days against Leonard's misplaced and undeserved wrath. He just takes what Leonard's willing to dish out, never fighting back, just internalizing it to brood over later. Really, Leonard should feel bad about it or at least be concerned for Jim's state of mind, but he can't find energy for either. It wouldn't be an issue to start with if the damn kid hadn't meddled in the first place, so it's Jim's own damn fault. He should have done them both a favor and left Leonard's problematic ass back at Yorktown.

Leonard grips his breakfast tray tighter and surveys the commissary. Glancing around, it's the same groups of people at the same tables, probably having the same conversations as always and Leonard finds it all very tiring but his mandated councillor insists he stops holing up in his quarters for meals. He doesn't have it in him to have another argument about it with her, so he grits his teeth and tries to get through it as best as possible since he knows she'll do her due diligence and check the logs to see if he's complied or not. Leonard would, if the scenario was reverse.

In his quick survey for the least intrusive place to sit, he catches the captain's eye and there's so much damn hope that Leonard will pick his table, set his tray down next to Jim and start questioning his food choices and bitching about mandatory crew physicals, restrained in Jim's blue eyes that it makes Leonard want to puke. Jim never says anything as Leonard walks past his table; just sits there silent, trying not to look disappointed as he listens to Spock drone on about reports and the latest scientific anomalies. Lenard's a special type of villain.

There are days he wants to hurt Jim just as much as he's been wounded just so Kirk will leave him alone to wallow in his own misery or worse, so Leonard won't be alone in his trauma induced solitude. Jim would become a reflection of his own nasty scars and trauma carved and twisted soul; two halves that could attempt to make a whole to get through the rest of the moments laid out before them. There's still the core part of Leonard, the part that makes him a good doctor and decent human being that's still intact thankfully. It's the part that tries to reign in Leonard's terror and at the very least keep his feet moving past Jim's table, leaving him in the safe company of Uhura and Spock.

Alpha shift hasn't started yet, so most of the people are cheerfully optimistic about the day. It's more than Leonard can handle, especially when he looks at people and sees their inner abominations and demons that took over in the other universe. It's a twisted version of Dr Jekyll and Mr Hyde where he can see the man and the monster in everyone else except himself. There's just a stranger staring back at him in the mirror these days; the bare bones that Spock saw fit to carve him down to, basic building blocks to resurrect the monster of the their universe.

Leonard picks Chekov's table to darken. The point of this exercise is to socialize so he can't sit by himself. Chekov has a table closer to the back these days and is often alone when Leonard walks in since Scotty and Sulu are on beta shift rotation this month. It's probably cruel to moor the kid on Leonard's lonely island but Chekov doesn't try the way everyone else does, to put him at ease. Plus, the dead can't say shit, so there're no haunting accusations lurking in Chekov.

All eyes are discreetly on him as he sets his tray down on the table. Silent looks are exchanged, replacing the quiet whispers that used to follow Leonard when he entered the room; he's the star in his very own freak show.

Chekov's confusion always vanishes quickly under his cheery smile like he can't quite figure out why Leonard blessed him with his company but is grateful for the opportunity. All those brains and he can't figure out that the rest of the crew is relieved that the doctor didn't choose their table. As awkward as Leonard finds it, he knows people feel the same way around him, always careful to avoid topics that might upset him or remind him. They're treating him like glass and he's starting to feel like it, like he might break under their false concerns and jubilation.

Chekov's different. There isn't any false undercurrent in his greetings and small talk or loaded questions that aim to dig at the roots of Leonard's issues. He's looked, hard, for any fracture in the kid's sunny disposition.

"Um... good morning, Doctor," says Chekov, like a question rather than a statement.

"Mornin'," grunts Leonard as he rearranges his tray in a more productive manner.

Chekov tries to hide it, but Leonard catches the little smirk at the edges of the ensign's mouth as he goes back to shoveling in the congealed mass that passes for scrambled eggs aboard a starship. Leonard's an old grump but Chekov seems to take delight in the fact that it's mostly a well played facade around him.

Leonard tries not to look as he reminds himself, he doesn't care, but that wounded look Jim's sporting constantly, catches his eye. It's been almost two months and as much as Leonard is loath to admit it, he misses the way things were before Yorktown. It's exhausting being this broken and just pretending the last year never happened seems far simpler on paper. If they just don't talk about it, maybe Leonard can fake it enough until being alright isn't an act anymore.

"Don't even think about it," scoffs Kirk as he flops down in the chair next to Leonard and triumphantly put his feet up on the table.

"Think about what?" asks Leonard into his coffee so Chekov doesn't hear.

Kirk rolls his eyes. "You're going to go over there and put that son of a bitch out of his misery by forgiving him. Any why because he has sad puppy dog eyes. I have those too," says Kirk demonstrating his best wounded look. "I'm telling you not to. And I know best."

"Do ya now?"

"I was the one who was there with you on that shuttle when Spock was taking you to exchange you back to that renegade who would have gutted you like a fish. I was the one that warned you these people were out to get you. I saved you from being transported back to that hell. Who saved your life?" he demands.

"You did," relents Leonard, shoulders sinking.

"Great," says Kirk, rather pleased. "Let him suffer."

Leonard sighs, dejectedly piling his used dishes on his tray to take back to the reclamator. He pauses briefly near Jim's table. Part of him wants to go over there, to end the feud that feels like it's become more about having a feud rather than still being made at the issues, but he can't make his feet move in that direction. Eventually his just standing in the middle of the mess hall becomes awkward. Leonard returns his dishes and retreats to sickbay.

"Somebody better be dying," grumbles Leonard as he angrily tosses aside his sheets and dozily gets to his feet so he can put a stop to the infernal buzzing of someone at his door.

"Computer, what time is it?" he snaps.

"The time is zero two hundred hours."

"Good god," he snarls, thumbing the door control extra hard. "What the hell do you want?" demands Leonard as Jim turns around rather drunkenly, almost surprised there was even a door there, let alone that Leonard answered it.

"I don't want to fight!" blurts Jim. He wilts a little like the confession took a lot out of him, bracing his arm against the door frame to support himself.

Leonard catalogues all the telltale signs of inebriation from the glassy eyes that almost look like Kirk was crying, to the slightly off coordination down to the open bottle of Saurian Brandy clutched in his hand. "Showin' up at my door in the middle of the night ain't the way to accomplish it."

Jim sways a little then looks like he really is about to start crying.

Leonard rolls his eyes dramatically and silently asks every perceived deity for infinite patience. "Get in here," he says, grabbing Jim by the collar and dragging him inside before the section comes out to see their drunken captain making a spectacle in the corridor.

Jim doesn't fight, just traipses along behind Leonard as he pulls him in and steers him towards the couch. He flops down bonelessly, sprawling out over most of the couch in a tangle of limbs, partly because Leonard's actually let him get past the threshold of his quarters and Jim's just going to go with the flow, so he doesn't get kicked out and partly because the ship's been spinning for the last hour, and he needs to lie down. He'll talk to Scotty tomorrow about fixing the internal dampeners. "I don't want to fight with you, Bones," he reiterates. "I don't know how to."

"You keep saying that," says Leonard as he makes his way to the replicator. "Coffee, black," he orders, waiting for the computer to process the request. He grabs the cup, pressing it into Jim's free hand that isn't still clutching the bottle, as he sits down on the edge of the coffee table directly in front of Jim.

"I don't even know why we're fighting," he slurs, before taking a sip of coffee. He screws his face up at the bitter taste. Jim's always preferred a medium roast with sugar, not this obsidian-colored dark roast Leonard uses to get himself out of bed in the morning.

"I'm not entirely sure either," mumbles Leonard, as he pushed the coffee cup away from the edge of the coffee table where Jim precariously sets it. He has a list of sticking points in mind but if he's being honest, there all things that would be disagreements before Yorktown happened; issues they'd argue about for a day or two tops, then burry the hatchet and carry on without a faulter in their step.

"I mean I can't fight with you. I can fight with almost everyone else but not you. Cause it doesn't matter what the outcome is with anyone else. I've gotten used to everyone leaving; they've done it my whole life. But I just can't can't… I can't handle it if you walk away from me too. And I get that that's selfish, but I need you, Bones. I can't lose another person that matters to me." The tears do start to fall now that he's poured his heart out.

Leonard bites his lip. Whatever rant he was prepared to launch about drunken behaviour and Jim's poor decision of late and Leonard's obligation to uphold them, dies in his throat. It's such a bleeding-heart confession, and Jim looks so fragile, almost more broken than Leonard is, that Leonard can't help but let his walls crumble a little.

Leonard glances around the room for any sign of Kirk. It's almost a relief when the apparition is nowhere to be found. "I'm not going anywhere," he says quietly.

"Good," hums Jim, his eyelids growing heavy and droopy.

Leonard shakes his head, reaching over to pull the blanket from the back of the couch and drape it over Jim. It's sheer reflex that he grabs the liquor bottle as it begins to fall from Jim's lax hand.

"Hey, you grabbed it with your left hand," observes Jim, with an overly drunken slur. A stupid grin spreads over his face and he mumbles, "That's great, Bones," as he succumbs to sleep.

Leonard looks down at the bottle in his hand. He hadn't really thought about what hand he was using to spare his couch and carpet from the spilling liquid. He just reached out and grabbed it. Staring at it firmly clenched in his normally rather useless hand, his finger begins to twitch and before he can trade the bottle off to his good hand, the muscles tighten and tremor until the bottle slips from his grasp, landing on the floor.