A/N: hello! Two years late but here's chapter three :D I did actually write this two years ago and have not rewritten (or even checked) it, so take the terrible grammar with a grain of salt.
"Set him down there, give me a second and I'll get to it," McCoy ordered once they'd reached the sickbay (the Captain's area specifically). "Though I suppose I'm not meant to order you about, what with you being 'Captain Kirk'."
"Oh, don't be stupid Bones, you'd order me about even if I were an Admiral," Kirk replied, sitting down on the bed. Hovering almost anxiously by his side, Spock gently pushed him down, though he protested, "Spock, I'm fine, I said already -"
"He's right, Jim" McCoy, agreeing with him for once, "you're still unsteady."
"But -"
With an exasperated sigh, he turned to Kirk. "What happened to your earlier sentiments of 'I'll listen to McCoy and Spock now, because I am obviously out of it'? I should've guessed it wouldn't last."
"In all fairness, I am trying my best," Kirk said under his breath, not quite loud enough for the surgeon to hear.
Spock, an imperceptible expression crawling onto his face, looked at him. "Somehow, I find that a very hard statement to locate credence in."
"Right," McCoy said, the hardened edge creeping into his voice as it always did when he needed to focus on his medical duties, "let me have a look."
Kirk held out his hands reluctantly, wincing at the state of them. Little memory of what had actually happened once he'd snuck away remained; he could only remember storming down to the gym with the unwanted memories invading his head and clouding the edge of his vision.
"That one's fine, bruised but it'll heal quick enough," McCoy said, waving away the left hand, "I may get to treat it later, but we'll see how this goes."
Kirk gratefully lowered his arm, turning to a more comfortable position as McCoy examined the other. Spock, hanging about his other side, took a seat. They waited a moment, Kirk biting his tongue against the jarring pain that rose along his fingers, and up his wrist. McCoy waved a scanner over it, then, letting out a sigh, sat back.
"Good news. You haven't broken your wrist, which is lucky because I would have killed you," he began. Spock's eyebrows furrowed.
"Doctor, a wrist is not so difficult to reset that you would kill -"
"Metaphor, Spock," Kirk smiled. He looked back at McCoy, smile vanishing. "I suppose there's bad news?"
"Bad news is you've bashed your middle and index fingers out of place. Usually this would be an easy fix, but yours has potential to break through the skin if we don't move it," the doctor said, voice slow and contemplative, "so we have a choice. We either numb you, which'll take about half an hour, wait for it to fully set in and then do it. Or, we just snap them back then splint it now."
Kirk grimaced. "Might as well do it now… I've had worse." He lay back, readying himself, "I should have thought about that before destroying things."
"Well, yes, but it's done now." McCoy held his wrist, very gently raising it. Kirk shut his eyes. "Okay, it'll be a little sharp. Spock, distract him, it'll hurt less."
Kirk opened his eyes again, a grin slowly appearing on his face. He looked at his First Officer, who looked positively flustered at the request, and raised his brows. Spock, looking incredibly confused (by his standards), seemed to be wracking his brain for something to say. "Captain, have you ever wanted to hear about the effect of a phaser on subatomic particles?"
McCoy, taking a second to go over the question in his mind, raised his head and looked at Spock incredulously. Kirk laughed, feeling some of the tension drain away.
"Honestly, Spock, the things you come up with," McCoy said, shaking his head.
"No, Mr. Spock," Kirk replied, "I haven't, and I would love to -"
A snap interrupted him, and he flinched as pain stabbed through his finger, ascending his arm. He bit down hard on his tongue, drawing blood. Without meaning to, his other arm jerked upwards, his instincts urging him to knock the doctor out of the way. But, with a speedy grab from a Vulcan, he found his wrist held securely.
"For the love of -" McCoy said, starting, "don't kill me just yet, Jim, still have another to go." He studied the finger. Satisfied, he took the other one. "Hopefully Spock can come up with something better this time -"
"If you took notice, you would realize that I did indeed manage to distract the Captain. Even if not… in the way you meant," Spock retorted. McCoy muttered something Kirk couldn't catch, but he figured it safe to assume that it wasn't friendly.
"Do you always have to do this with broken fingers?" Kirk asked quietly, pain not fully faded from his features yet.
"Not usually, but you've pushed them back into the joint. Usually they can heal naturally, but we need to ensure the broken ends are held firmly in place. It's a fairly -"
Very quickly, while the Captain was taking his reprieve, the doctor reset the other one. Kirk winced, but with Spock still holding his arm he did not jerk.
"- a fairly simple procedure, but we have to do it quick. Just feel lucky you don't need surgery." McCoy continued, clapping a hand on Kirk's shoulder.
Sitting up, Kirk flexed his fingers. While they were painful, they no longer looked as if they were moments away from death. McCoy wrapped a bandage about them, mumbling about 'primitive techniques'.
"Thank you, Bones." Kirk said, when eventually he'd finished.
"No problem. Just… don't destroy a punching bag again. Or hit a wall."
"I swear to you, I won't," Kirk answered. Distrustful, McCoy glared at him. Kirk knew that the physician wouldn't believe him no matter how hard he promised.
"Well, whatever happens, you're not leaving here tonight, that's all I'm gonna say," McCoy said, moving and taking a seat further away, "I'm not gonna log this incident, but don't you dare even try to get up -"
"Oh, McCoy, you worry too -"
"Nope. You're gonna listen this time, Captain."
"Well, you shouldn't have to stay here because of me. It's gone one, you can leave Spock to -"
"Nope. No. Hush," McCoy ordered. "The next time I let Spock take charge is when I'm dead."
"That might be a minor problem, doctor, given I will inherit command -"
"That's not what I -"
"- but I agree that perhaps it would be best if the Captain spends time here."
McCoy stopped short, his mouth set in a hard line. Spock looked at him expectantly. "Problem, Dr. McCoy?"
"Don't agree with me so often. It's throwing me off."
He left the room, making for his office. Kirk thought he would probably only grab what he needed and then come back; he was going to be under heavy scrutiny for the rest of the night. Spock stared after the doctor, a slight frown on his face.
"Human nature is… difficult. I would have expected him to be pleased with my assent."
Kirk, still moving his hand about awkwardly, looked at the Vulcan. "Humans are difficult. But we're not so bad," he said good-naturedly, "we're just stubborn. Especially that one," he added, as McCoy re-entered.
"Watch who you call stubborn, or I'll have you in here for another two days."
Looking around fifteen minutes later, when the doctor had busied himself with whatever medical reports he had to do, and Spock was immersed in a small piece of tech (not dissimilar to a communicator), Kirk sighed. Stretching, he sat back up, swinging his feet onto the floor. He clambered up, to varying degrees of admonishment.
"I'm just standing," he said, holding his arms up innocently, "I have nothing else to do."
"You could try sleeping. Or finishing your own mission log -" McCoy began, but stopped himself. There was a silence that stretched on for a little too long. Spock glanced up, putting aside his work. All three knew that when Kirk eventually got to his mission log, he would have to detail, to some extent, the death of Edith Keeler.
Glancing at the floor, Kirk shook his head, trying to ward away the pain and grief that was hot on his heels. He didn't know for how much longer he could outrun it, it was much stronger than he was. But he couldn't let it catch him when his two friends were so close, eying him so cautiously.
"I'd… rather not do either right now," he answered. Spock and McCoy shared a look behind his back. One of the rare moments of unwavering unity between them. Of the few traits that bridged the gap in the middle of them, an undying loyalty to the Captain, and a sense of responsibility for him, were perhaps the ones that provoked their bond into action most.
"Jim… there's a point at which you have to come to terms with… Edith," McCoy said, voice softening, "and the sooner the better."
"You weren't there for most of it. You don't know how she -"
"I was back there for longer than you. I knew her well enough to know that she was the sort of woman who wouldn't want you to spend your time wasting away."
"I - I don't know how much longer I can do this, Bones. She was innocent, and I - I stopped you from saving her," Kirk said, equally quietly. The atmosphere in the sickbay felt weighted, like a heavy pressure was pressing down on all of them, forcing them to approach the situation in hushed terms.
"If I may, I thought we had already concluded that I was the one who stopped you," Spock interrupted, "prompting you to stop Dr. McCoy. It was my fault as much as anyone's"
"Exactly!" McCoy said. "You've got to see that there are reasons we did what we did."
"I know why you did it. I know why… why I did it. But… a just cause does not alleviate the burden of the aftermath."
"At this rate, you will be mourning her death for longer than you knew her -" Spock said. McCoy gave him a sharp look, silencing him. Kirk had a feeling it was meant to be surreptitious, but he turned his head and caught it.
"It's okay. Let him say what he wants."
"Captain, it was not of significance. What is of significance, however, is how you try to overcome your emotions."
"I can't. Not this time, not like the others. There's just… so much to think about."
Kirk sat down, rubbing his head. He was tiring, the constant chase of his thoughts and the wearing down by his companions was getting to him. Covering his eyes with a hand, he allowed the darkness to temporarily mitigate the lights which were searing them.
"Jim, I think you should sleep. It's late, and still only a couple of hours since it happened. The bridge team just received confirmation that you are expected to present your report of the events tomorrow, given it was an unintentional contact with a previously unknown place."
"I expected as much. Mr. Spock has helpfully kept warning me."
"I fail to register whether that was sarcasm or not," Spock said stiffly, "but I'll presume it was."
"I don't want to talk about it," Kirk said again, repeating it like a mantra in his head. If he told them enough then hopefully they'd stop pestering. But he should have known that they were both just as stubborn as himself, and blocking them would prove more and more unsuccessful as the night wore away.
"Oh, c'mon Jim! We're not saying you have to do much, only that you should sleep or talk or do something other than sit about," McCoy said irritably
"There's nothing wrong with me sitting -"
"If you're sitting about you're either thinking about it without telling us, or you're pushing the thoughts away."
"So you want to know my thoughts now?" Kirk scoffed, voice growing colder.
"You forget that I am able to detect your thoughts," Spock cut in, "but I haven't. This is not about intruding upon your privacy, it's about you."
"Oddly heartfelt for someone who can't process emotions."
"'It's a human trait that when we encounter personal problems, these things most deeply personal are the most difficult to bring out for our logic to scan. We tend to flounder around, blaming everything but the actual, deep-seated thing that's really chewing on us,'" Spock quoted, words flowing as easily as if they were there in front of him.
Kirk threw him a calculating look.
"Shakespeare?"
"Frank Herbert, one of your other Earth novelists. I enjoyed it when my mother used to read fiction from your planet, as she attempted give me well-rounded insight -"
"You enjoy things other than science journals?" McCoy asked doubtfully.
"Didn't he write science-fiction?" Kirk asked, smiling suddenly, the iciness in his voice vanishing at this discovery. A teasing grin lit up McCoy's face.
"You enjoy science-fiction?"
"I… suppose."
"You realize that you're basically sci-fi yourself?" Kirk said. Spock looked at him, a flicker of something that echoed embarrassment appearing on his face.
"This was… not the point of the quote, but indeed I could consider myself that. Though the inaccuracies of the technologies are quite frustrating -"
"Who woulda thought, our Mr. Spock, the science-fiction lover," McCoy said, still beaming evilly over the latest news about his friend, "I'll make sure not to forget this one."
"Sorry, you were saying?" Kirk said, stopping McCoy from continuing to plague the Vulcan. "What was the quote again?"
"In short, Captain: it is hard to dissociate from a situation and to view it as an outsider, from an altruistic perspective, when you have a distinct emotional connection to it. We ignore the fault within ourselves, for the love we hold for others blinds us to logic."
Kirk, repeating the idea in his head, found that it was in fact a suitable, almost perfect description of how he had been acting. But he couldn't help but think about Spock as well. Spock, the logical mind. The logical mind who had, to all appearances, lost a grip on his feelings multiple times throughout the day.
"And is this referring to me? Or to you?
"I'm… not sure. I would say probably… both. This evening has shown me that there is an element in our… our friendship that can… that can distract from my logic."
It was stuttered and ineloquent, a far cry from Spock's customary, carefully-formed precision, but Kirk felt some of the frost melt away from the edges of his resolve to remain distant. The corners of his mouth lifted up in glee, despite his attempts to quench it and remain professional. And this joy didn't feel semi-permanent. There had been plenty of humour in the evening; McCoy and Spock had done much to distract him, provide a temporary rest from his sorrow, but there was only so far and so long it could divert from grief. He had laughed, but the pain had been suffocating through the barrier. This felt long-lasting, warmer.
"Spock," McCoy said seriously, "I think that's probably the nicest thing you've ever said to anyone."
"I'll accept that as a… compliment."
"It sure as hell is," McCoy answered. "It was horribly said, but you gotta start somewhere. And this proves I was right, you like us really -"
"I never said anything about you -" Spock said, the dryness creeping back into his voice.
"Aw, damn, can't have it all I guess -"
"- but I suspect that you would fall into the category. Potentially."
"How kind," the doctor replied sardonically, but he grinned. "Look at that Jim, you've forced him into facing emotions."
Kirk, still smiling at the elation of Spock's admission, had stayed silent while the pair bickered and sat back on the bed (after McCoy had ushered him there insistently). Now he'd had some time to mull over the recognition of their friendship by the one person he'd never thought would confess it, he noted that some of the stress had lessened, the strain now only a vague nagging sensation. While he had always known that they'd been closer than just coworkers, it had always been clear to him, an acknowledgment was beyond what he had thought possible -
"Thank you, Spock," he said eventually. He tried to put as much earnest as he could into it, in the hope that the message he couldn't put into words would be conveyed. Spock nodded slowly, and Kirk knew he'd picked up on it.
He lay back, crossing his arms over his chest defensively. Thinking back, images of the accident kept flashing across his eyes, making it impossible to find rest. McCoy eventually wandered back to his office, and didn't immediately return. Kirk guessed he had proved himself sensible enough not to wander off immediately. When the repetitive film flicking through his head again and again got too much, he winced outwardly, sitting up again.
"You should sleep, Jim."
"I can't, Spock. I can't do it, I'm trying."
Spock sat up straighter, but it didn't look as uncomfortable as before. It wasn't professionalism driving him, but attentiveness to Kirk.
"You still see it happening?"
Kirk flinched, covering it up with a cough. Despite everything he'd said about Spock, multiple times in the past evening, he didn't believe a word of what he'd said. In truth, Spock was one of the few people who could read him near-perfectly.
"Every time I shut my eyes," he said, swallowing away the ache in his throat. "I keep seeing it. All the things I could have done. She could have come here, with us. Come to the future, staged her death. Anything else."
"Jim…"
"And if I could change it, I would. I don't care if it's wrong. And… I don't know, it scares me. That love could warp simple choice so much that I don't even hesitate -"
"And now you understand why I must put logic above myself."
The sentence, though phrased harshly, was not meant to be such. In fact, Spock's voice held more emotion than Kirk had ever heard it carry, a mixture of sorrow and pain, but also resignation. "And I'm sorry you have to understand, and have to understand on the day where I fail to do what you now know is so vital."
"Knowing something is vital does not permit me to pass judgement on those who cannot do what is required, especially given I cannot do it myself."
Spock didn't have a reply to that, so Kirk closed his eyes. It only took a minute before he was swarmed again, this time the images increasing in intensity until he could barely breathe. He'd seen death before, but Edith was different. She had been so… vibrant. All the things he could have done, how he could have helped, dancing out of reach.
Again, the desire to reach out.
He had to do something.
He couldn't just leave it.
He had to help.
"Jim!" Spock grabbed his shoulders as Kirk shot upright, gasping. He choked, feeling his throat tighten. "Breathe!"
He had never heard fear in Spock's voice before. Shaking, he clutched the hands holding him steady. "Please. Make it stop."
Spock's eyebrows knitted together in confusion until he realized what the Captain was saying. He nodded, a hand reaching up and softly brushing Kirk's neck. As the grip slackened, Kirk falling into a blissful unconsciousness, Spock clutched all the more tightly at his hands, not letting them go.
A/N: Hope this was somewhat enjoyable.