hand on Scotty's arm or shoulder to convey to him all their wishes for success, that's all. They trust him to win the day.

Scotty hopes they're right to do so. He's never been less sure of his plans.

It's difficult to go to the bridge. Every time his heart break seeing Chekov, Uhura and Spock's chairs occupied by someone else. The officers in their place are all talented, but they shouldn't be here. Fortunately, they seem almost as uncomfortable here as he is. They too want their people back.

The captain's chair is empty. It's Kirk's chair and no one will sit on it while he's gone. Sulu stands behind the chair and Scotty stops beside him. He takes a respectful position to look at the screen in front of him. On the USS Tenerife, Captain Vaillard nods when she sees him.

"Captain," Sulu salutes. There's resolve in his eyes, and distrust.

Scotty trusts him to do what's right. The young man is quite accustomed to taking over every time both Spock and the captain get hurt or disappear without warning, both situations that are all too common on the Enterprise. He knows how to talk to authority better than Scotty.

"Any news?"

"Some," Vaillard says. "Not enough, I fear but we've made some progress. Both sides agreed to hold the fire for twelve more hours, but they still refuse to let us evacuate our men. We're trying to get permission to drop medical supplies and food to them from the sky."

If they're not all dead already, Scotty thinks cynically. He stops himself from saying it out loud. Criticizing the slowness of the negotiations will get them nowhere and he knows Captain Vaillard's meager reserves of patience are declining fast. The woman's not Kirk. She dislikes any criticism of how she's doing her job.

"If we can help..." he still says, like every day since the USS Tenerife arrived in reinforcement.

"I'll keep you informed."

Captain Vaillard obviously decides the conversation's over and ends the conversation. Scotty can think of a few things he wants to call her, none of them nice. Many people look the same on the bridge. Sulu's knuckles are white. Everyone looks at them, gauging them.

"We will not wait until there are only bodies to recover," Scotty says. It may be too late already. He doesn't say it.

Sulu nods.

"We all agree on that. Can you do it?"

"It's dangerous. Could cost us all our careers, too."

"And so what?" a young ensign asks.

There's a buzz of approval behind her. Scotty smiles.

"Alright. Let's do it."

There's a thrill of excitement propagating through the deck. It's the first time since the captain and the others disappeared. Scotty's proud of them. Jim Kirk pushes them to give their best and they all know they can trust him if they're in trouble. Now, it's time they're saving his skin in return.

"Sulu, you..."

"I'll take care of everything here. No one and nothing will disturb you. If Vaillard wants to know what we're doing, she'll find someone to talk to. Go."

Scotty leaves the bridge, feeling much better knowing the entire crew is supporting him. Still, he's putting all their lives on the line. If his calculations are wrong... Jim Kirk wouldn't take that risk, putting the entire crew's lives to save fifteen people. He'll put his own life in the balance, but not theirs. He'll be angry if Scotty can do it. But after every person on board owes him their life half a dozen times over, it's high time they repaid their debt. And the risk is minimal. He's sure of his calculations. Mostly.

A dozen people await him in the teleportation room. One half of engineers to help him and check his calculations, and the other half is composed of McCoy and other doctors, ready to take care of Kirk's team if all goes well.

If. There are too many ifs in this story. If everything goes well, if his calculations are correct, if they are still alive... It's time to transform these ifs into answers, even unpleasant ones.

Scotty looks at everyone. He can see the tension and concern in their eyes, but no doubt.

"You sure of yourself?" McCoy still asks, his voice almost trembling.

"I would be if people let me concentrate."

He can't deal with the doctor's pessimism right now. McCoy walks away, muttering an incoherent sentence about the odds of dying in space and the madness of it all. Scotty lets him. Everyone deals differently with stress. Scotty's just glad the doctor didn't ask again, because he's not sure, but he can't say it if they're doing it. He doesn't have time to dwell on the doctor's fears. Mentally, he goes over his calculations in his head one last time. It will work, he tries to convince himself. He had been working on it for the last ten days, making modifications to the engines, so they hold on.

It's a small thing, really, what he's trying to do. If he does it right, all the energy from the Enterprise's engine will go onto the teleporter for about ten seconds. They'll lose all communications, in and out of the ship, heating, light, artificial gravity, keeping just enough energy to keep on the oxygenation of the ship and to keep the infirmary working. All that extra energy should let them force Cykax anti-teleportation shields. It's a big risk. They could fry all the ship's electronics. Overheating could create an explosion large enough to take out the ship. So they only have a few seconds to find the captain's team and teleport them on board. Only seconds. So many things could go wrong.

Scotty goes to the panel and opens a communication channel to the bridge.

"Scotty to the bridge. We're ready to begin."

"Good. Give me a second." Scotty counts to ten, and then Sulu's voice comes from the speakers. "Attention everyone. This is Sulu speaking. We're ready to begin the rescue operation. You have two minutes to strap yourself before we begin. I'd like to personally thank you for what you're ready to do for the captain and our crew-mates. I'm sure that in a few minutes, he'll add his thanks to mine. Sulu's out, countdown in progress."

Scotty buckles his belt. Everyone in the room does the same. He can hear the engines humming far below them. He hopes they'll hold.

"Ready, lieutenant."

"Let's go then."

The humming transforms into a violent noise, but Scotty refuses to pay attention to it. He would tear his beautiful silver lady into pieces to save his people. In the end, it's just a ship. People are more important.

Everyone, including him, focuses on the screen.

"I've got a signal!" someone screams.

"How many people?"

"Two... Three... Six. Six, for now. I'll try to widen the search for others."

Scotty must decide. He can feel the engines screaming. They must act now or the window will close.

"No time."

He pushes the button. The teleporter vibrates. The lights flicker. Half of them die. Gravity stops working. The teleporter takes too much energy from the ship, but they can't stop. It must be enough. It had to be enough. Scotty closes his eyes. He can't look.

"Six on board!" someone shouts. "We have them!"

He remembers how to breathe and presses several buttons, trying to return the Enterprise's circuits to their usual state. A tremor runs through the ship and all the lights die. An instant later, the weightless bodies of their six crewmembers fell to the ground. Gravity's back, but not the lights. It looks like they're gonna survive. Good thing the Enterprise is one robust lady, because it was a close one this time.

Six survivors. It was worth it.

"Let them breathe!" McCoy yells over the noise. "I want no one near the platform until we have some light. We don't want to hurt them."

They don't hear a word coming from the platform. That's not good. Before Scotty can worry, communication with the bridge comes back.

"Scotty, tell me you have them."

"We have six! No lights through. We need those to help the wounded and see who's there. Can you do something with that? I can't call the engineering department."

"I'll do it and ask them to give you the priority. Go back to them as soon as you can. They'll need you to assess the damage."

"Will do."

Minimal light comes back on less than a minute later. His engineers have taken the emergency circuit back online. The red light isn't much, but what it shows to them is bad enough to stop any cries of joy. Scotty has never seen such thin faces in his entire life, except in old photographs from before they solved hunger on Earth. Worse, their six survivors remain motionless, pale as death.

McCoy shakes himself and rushes towards them. He holds out his recorder toward the closest one.

"Uhura lives. That makes one. Oh God, please... They're alive. They're alive!"

Everyone sighs in relief, and then Spocks opens his eyes. He blinks, frowns, and looks at them, a very unusual expression of surprise on his face. What he sees in his eyes... Scotty would rather forget.

"Doctor McCoy?", he asks with a weak voice.

"Himself. You scared us, you bloody green goblin. Don't worry. You're on the Enterprise."

"Jim?"

The Vulcan tries to stand up, but the iron hand of the doctor on his chest prevents him from doing so.

"I said, don't worry. We're transferring him to the medbay, and the others, too. Then it will be your turn since you're in a better condition, overall. I suppose we can bless your Vulcan constitution."

"Uhura?"

"Alive, with Chekov, Fial, and Jones. Were the others with you?"

"Deads. Deads, deads..."

He looks haunted. Shock, Scotty diagnoses, because anyone can see it, even if it's not something he would have expected from a Vulcan, even after Nero. It's frightening to see Spock experiencing such a... human reaction.

McCoy presses his hand on his shoulder.

"At least we brought you back," he says quietly. "Can you stay awake for a few more moments? While Doctor M'benga examines you, I have a few questions to ask so that we can begin your treatment. The rest will wait."

Spocks nods, his all body shaking, and opens his mouth. Scotty decides it is not their place to listen and signals his engineers to leave the room and let the medical team do their work. The second thing he does is to contact the bridge.

"Sulu's speaking."

"The captain lives. Spock, Uhura, Chekov, Jones and Fial too. No other survivors, according to Spock. He's the only one who's awake. The others... it's not looking good."

"We save those who could be. Let's not think of the dead for now. Go back to your engines. We're handling the rest."

He's right. There's nothing else Scotty can do, except take care of the Enterprise. Fortunately, the task is difficult enough to allow Scotty to take his thoughts away from the injured. His beautiful silver lady is in a pitiful state. The engines suffered serious damage. Fortunately, the Narada and Khan incidents convinced Starfleet to boost the protection and strength of the Enterprise's engines. She'll be fine. They can move for now, but at least they'll remain in stationary orbit rather than fall toward that bloody planet. He can only hope that McCoy can repair flesh and souls as he does with the Enterprise. It probably won't be that easy.

Several hours pass before some news reaches the engine room, whispered by engineers coming to take their shifts, and it's anything but encouraging. When it's time to leave his shift and let more awake crewmembers take care of the repairs, Scotty goes straight to the infirmary. He hadn't slept in more or less forty-eight hours, but anxiety kept him awake, and would continue to do so until he'd seen with his own eyes.

He's not the only one eager for news. People he meets are tensed, but there's a glimmer of hope in their eyes. There's a crowd in front of the infirmary and a poor nurse is overwhelmed with all their questions. Scotty forces his way through the crowd to reach her. She looks relieved to see him.

"Can I go in?" he asks.

"I suppose you can. But these people..."

"Don't worry, I've got it," Scotty says as he turns toward the crew. "I know you wouldn't be here if it wasn't your off-shift and that everyone's worried about the captain and the others, but please go rest. If you can't sleep, go help with the repairs. You'll be more useful to the captain that way. I'll make sure Doctor McCoy will make an announcement soon."

After a few moments of hesitance, the crowd finally disperses. Scotty sees some of them heading toward the engine room. They're probably as tired as the men and women below, but more hands are always appreciated in times of need.

The infirmary's a mess, just a silent one, contrary to the outside. Doctors and nurses rush from one bed to the next. Scotty's disappointed to see the curtains around the beds prevent him from checking on the wounded. McCoy is nowhere in sight, so he sneaks into his office. He finds the doctor there, sitting at his desk, his head in his hands. McCoy looks up only when Scotty sits on the other side of the desk.

"I was wondering who would be the first to break in there, you or Sulu."

"Sulu probably wants to, but must be too busy. He must have the entire hierarchy of Starfleet and the Federation on his back by now, thanks to Captain Vaillard and these fuckers below. I only have the Enterprise to keep in the air, and our repairs are going well. I'll stop by to give Sulu some news and then I'm going to collapse for a few hours. On this subject, I promised the crew you would give them some news. Everyone is worried outside."

"You promised more than I can give."

No sentence could have frozen the blood in his veins more quickly than this, Scotty decides.

"That doesn't look good. How are they?"

"Spock is out of danger, at least physically. We gave him water and an intravenous dip to nourish him for the next day or so. He mostly needs to sleep twelve hours straight, and probably to meditate for twelve more hours after that. I think... I hope we'll declare Chekov and Fial in the safe zone in a few hours."

"The others?"

McCoy's head falls into his hands.

"I don't know if we can save them," he admits in a low voice. "Dehydration, infected wounds, sunstroke... For now, we're barely keeping them alive. I've never seen so many problems in one human body. Their organs could fail at any time, even with the intravenous dip to compensate. I don't know if... I don't know."

Scotty gets up and takes the bottle of whiskey he gave the doctor for his birthday out of its hideout. He pours them two glasses and downs his own. Technically, McCoy's probably on duty, but the man needs the heat to carry on. He probably also needs a complete meal and twelve hours of sleep.

"I'll keep the curious away from the infirmary. Just keep Sulu informed. The man needs some answers to give to Starfleet. Try to get them back on their feet quickly. That's all we ask, for you to try."

McCoy nods and sips his drink, all his attention once again on his patients' files. Scotty doesn't insist and lets him do his work and catch his breath.

He goes out of McCoy's office, but can't leave the infirmary yet. He must see, or he won't sleep. A nurse let him take a look at Uhura and it's so much worse than he thought. She was never plump, but now she's just skin and bones. Scotty wants nothing more than to go down to Cykax for a nice chat with the people in charge. How much time since the last time she ate? Too many days. Scotty lost the count of days since they lost contact with the team. Over ten days, closer to twenty. It was useless to torture themselves with the information. Instead, Scotty counted the day before the Enterprise was ready to bear what he had to do to her.

They've got them. That's what matters. Scotty refuses to hear the voice saying "too late" again and again.

He wants to see the captain, but if he does, he probably won't be able to reassure the crew, so he goes to see Spock instead. The Commander needs to know the Enterprise's in good hands if he's awake.

A nurse points him to the Vulcan's bed, muttering to him to be cautious. At first, Scotty thinks he's meditating, and it's so good to see something normal around here for once. However, he soon realizes that the Vulcan is also thin as a skeleton, and he's not meditating. His eyes are closed like for a meditation, but his whole body is trembling, his hand clenching hard on the blankets.

Scotty doesn't leave. He runs away, afraid of meeting Commander Spock's eyes. The man doesn't need people to see him like that. After that, Scotty can't find the strength to talk to Sulu. He can't even go to his own room. It's too far away, and he's exhausted, so he collapses on a couch in the nearest recreation room he finds, and falls into a dreamless and uneasy sleep.

When he wakes up, he doesn't feel rested at all. He pours himself a coffee, looks at his wrinkled uniform, decides his room is still too far away and staggers to the bridge.

No one turns their head toward the elevator when he goes there. Everyone's looking either in Sulu's direction or at Admiral Komack's head on the screen.

"We both know Captain Kirk would have taken the same risks and..." says Sulu.

"It doesn't matter. These were unacceptable risks."

"With all due respect, sir, those risks paid off. Starfleet can't leave hostages in the hands of terrorists, especially these hostages. We could neither negotiate nor let a hero of the Federation - to quote the media, sir, those media which would make a mountain of it if they had died - dying of hunger on the other side of the quadrant. Would people still trust the Federation? I'm sure you had people looking for a solution. We found one first, and not a minute too soon. It worked. Cykax will need to calm done now, or at least to deal with their own problem by themselves."

The admiral doesn't respond. Sulu went straight to his throat and they all know it. This is the best outcome. It says a lot about how bad it was.

"We'll discuss possible sanctions with Captain Kirk. When can we talk to him?"

"He hasn't woken up, sir."

"Then keep us informed about his well-being and about the Enterprise's repairs. That's all you need to focus on from now on. Captain Vaillard is in charge of the Cykax negotiations."

The admiral cuts off the communication and everyone breathes more easily. Sulu collapses in the captain's chair, but no one cares for the moment. Someone can sit in Kirk's place, since now he should be able to take back his chair any day from now on. Or so they think. Scotty isn't so sure.

"Bad day, huh?" he asks.

"Bad week. Bad month. The captain better wakes up quickly. It's his job to deal with the Admiralty. I'm the man who presses the right buttons and protects his back."

"Any news?"

"Nothing changed, dixit McCoy, about an hour ago. I need to sleep, but I think I'll go see by myself first."

"I'm going with you. I cannot focus my attention on the engines without fresh news."

No one stops them from entering the infirmary. McCoy understood a long time ago he can't keep one of the team out when another is lying there between life and death. At least the agitation of the day before has calmed down. The wounded lie on their bunks, still asleep or unconscious. Scotty thinks there's more color on their cheeks.

Someone put down a mattress on the floor for McCoy to sleep near his patients. The man looks exhausted. He snores. A nurse leans over to wake him when they see Sulu and Scotty. McCoy stands up instantly. He looks even worse than Sulu and him.

"Chekov woke up once," he says bluntly while he tries to wake up his muscles. "Fial woke up twice. We're still waiting for the others to wake up."

"Those are good news, aren't they?"

"We can't be sure they'll wake up. And even if they do, they have a long road in front of them. A lot of therapy, physically and psychologically. We had to drug Chekov to get him back to sleep. Spock..."

He just shows them. Spock is curled up on his bed, eyes closed, hands clenching on his knees so hard that he bleeds.

"He refused to answer our question. I'm not even sure he realizes we're here. M'benga says we shouldn't touch him while he's like that. The man knows Vulcan physiology and psychology better than me. He's trying to contact Vulcan doctors for more information. We know so little about Vulcans and trauma, even after..."

Vulcan's destruction, of course. And if a Vulcan reacts like that to what the team experienced on Cykax, Scotty doesn't dare to imagine the others' mental state. The survivors will need their support. It will not be easy, and it will be long before they recover. But Scotty's not one to abandon his friends, not now, not ever. Neither are Sulu and McCoy. They'll fight, all of them.

And they'll win.

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-. -.-.-.-.-.

LEONARD

When Uhura wakes, it's the fifth day after the rescue and it's three in the morning. It goes unnoticed in the agitation. Only when it's over, McCoys looks up and meets her cloudy gaze. He rinses his hands, takes off his gloves, and approaches the young woman. He tries to smile and fails. Before he sits next to her, he takes care to slide a curtain to prevent her from seeing the rest of the room.

"It's good to see you back with us, Lieutenant."

"What's going on?" she asks in a slurred voice.

"You slept for several days. Can you tell me what happened? What do you remember?"

Uhura stares at him with haunted eyes for a long moment.

"Everything", she finally says in a painful whisper. "Everything."

McCoy pats her hand in an awkward gesture of support. Sometimes it's difficult to be your friend's doctor.

"I heard screaming", Uhura continues after a long silence.

"Did you hear that? Yes. Sorry. We lost Jones. We did everything we could, but... he never wake up."

"Oh."

McCoy didn't like the sound of that. It was the voice of someone who had looked Horror in the eye and lost part of her humanity and empathy. Uhura wasn't one to surrender to despair and fatalism. Until now. It may be temporary, an after-effect of the trauma. But maybe she wouldn't recover. Maybe none of them would. Only time will tell.

Earlier, Chekov told him he couldn't believe it was over. Fial only opened her mouth twice, once to declare she would take an indefinite leave of absence and ask if he could take care of the arrangements. The second...

The doctor lets the silence settle. He knows Uhura. She needs time to realize she's safe and come back to herself. He lets her think and checks her constants. When he's satisfied, he turns his eyes to the wall and waits. He tries not to hear the nurses moving poor Jones' body on the other side of the curtain.

When Uhura opens her mouth again, it is to ask word for word the same question as Spock, Chekov, and Fial.

"And Jim? The captain?"

"Jim is still asleep. But his condition is stable."

He hopes it is. Uhura and Jim were the worst of the six survivors. Initially, their health improved at the same time. But after four days, Uhura went from a comatose state to restful sleep and woke up within a few hours. Jim shows no sign of that.

Strange. Everyone's first or second thought was to ask about Jim. Not the captain, Jim. The others came second. Something happened on Cykax, he knows. More precisely, something other than "just" half a dozen Starfleet members starving to death and about as many dying violently. Something that concerns Jim specifically. As his friend, he's not sure he wants to know. As his doctor, he needs to.

McCoy makes monstrous efforts to hold back his questions. Uhura is already closing her eyes, and he doesn't insist. He's a doctor, not a therapist. He could do more harm than good by forcing her to speak out.

They will be time to talk. He slips away discreetly. When he comes back, Uhura is sleeping again. Her vitals tell him she should move back to solid food sooner than he thought. That's a relief, for the doctor and the friend. He notes the progress on his pad and takes the time to schedule an appointment with the therapist's team.

The next day, Chekov gets up and walks a few steps. Uhura eats half a peach without retching. Spock stops shaking. Fial agrees to speak to a therapist.

Jim is still sleeping. But there's hope.

The day after, Spock breaks a cup and nearly beats a nurse during an unsuccessful attempt at meditation. Uhura's stomach refuses any food. Chekov cries uncontrollably. Fial insults the therapist and leaves. Jim still doesn't wake up.

That night, McCoy tosses and turns in his bed for hours without falling asleep. He finally gives up, turns the lights back on, and goes back to reading his team's reports on his five patients. It's discouraging.

When he returns to the infirmary, the patients are where he left them, lying in their beds, hiding from each other and staring blankly at the ceiling.

All right. Enough is enough.

"Crisis meeting!" he shouts to his stunned team. "I don't care if they're in wheelchairs or in their beds, but I want these four patients in my office in five minutes. Don't care if they want to or not. Don't even care if they're alive or dead. Go!"

Doctors and nurses rush to execute his orders, probably too happy to have something to do. McCoy uses this moment to regain his composure. He's half disappointed that Jim didn't wake up just hearing the word crisis and isn't already crawling to his desk demanding to take his place in front of any danger. If even this cannot bring him back to life, what will?

One by one, his patients arrive. Only Uhura isn't in a wheelchair. She's still too weak to leave her bed, so McCoy's office has never been so crowded. None of them is meeting his eyes, and they don't look at each other either. Spock barely keeps himself from shaking.

"I'm not that kind of doctor, so I will not try to be your therapist. But. You all either refused to talk to one, even if you knew you had to if you wanted a future in Starfleet, or you were so uncooperative they want to strangle you right now. I've programmed a meeting for every one of you this afternoon and you better play along this time. Until then, I think it would do good for you to have a chat. Of course, nothing stops you if you just want to stare at the wall and suffer alone. I'll be back in an hour. Have a good time."

In moments like that, McCoy would love to slam the door to punctuate his speech. He spends the next hour wandering in the infirmary like a bear in its cage. Fifteen times he checks Jim's constants. They never change. When he goes back to his office, his team looks mostly relieved to see him go.

Inside, the atmosphere is less explosive than when he left. Chekov and Uhura's eyes are red. They're struggling to regain a modicum of control over themselves. Spock looks like Spock, which means nothing. Maybe he's just repressing his emotions so hard he's going to explode. Nothing on their faces betrays what they talked about. Maybe they'll tell him, as a friend, someday, but today, as a doctor and a friend, he let the matter rest, refusing to listen to the little voice telling him he would insist on Jim because he's his friend. Either way, he's glad he cannot see the same amount of despair in their eyes.

There's something new there. Determination.

McCoy doesn't know where they're going to direct that determination. Probably toward Jim's recovery. That's good enough for him. Focusing on someone else before they're strong enough to care for themselves could help them.

"So, have you decided to be more reasonable?" he asks, hoping he did the right thing.

He's not surprised to see Uhura taking the lead.

"Yes, doctor. But we have conditions."

"Since when does a patient negotiate about his treatment? In my infirmary?"

"First, we want one of us to stay at the captain's bedside until he wakes up. There's plenty of room there. We could put a second bed or a wheelchair in a corner, and we won't disturb the nurses' work. Of course, you can say how much time each of us can stay with him."

McCoy pretends to be furious.

"Because I still have a choice? Amazing! So nice of you!"

"Second, one of us is going to make a call to New Vulcan. This call will not be recorded in the ship's archive. No one else will hear it. Chekov will erase its existence."

They don't need to say who they'll talk to. It's the other Spock. Who else, indeed. But what they want with him, McCoy cannot guess.

"That's all?"

"A last thing. We'll talk to the psychologist. However, we reserve the right to refuse to answer certain questions."

Before McCoy can protest, Chekov cuts him off.

"Medical confidentiality or not, I vill not say certain things without the captain's approval."

"It's not negotiable," Fial confirms.

Spock nods silently, as if he doesn't trust his own voice. The doctor faces the stubborn stares of his patients for a long minute, then raises his hands in surrender.

"All right. You have your three wishes. But. If I think Jim's physical or mental health requires me or any doctor or therapist on the ship to be made aware of something that happened on the planet, you speak."

They nod in silence, one after the other. A good thing, because if they didn't, the deal was off. They leave the room after that, alone or with the help of a nurse. Unsurprisingly, Spock's the first to move in to keep a silent vigil next to Jim. The half-Vulcan took a while to adopt Jim as his captain, but now has the ferocity of a mother when it comes to defending him. Well, maybe not a mother. McCoy stares at them from his office, thinking. He probably made the right decision. Spock looks more calm, watching over his captain, than he did in his bed.

McCoy should probably use the time to do some paperwork. He works on a few files before he looks up. When he does, Spock's still there. He's frowning and looking at a padd, only looking up to give Jim strange looks that McCoy probably shouldn't try to decipher. When he looks again a few minutes later, Spock's gone and Chekov limps toward the empty chair. Spock has stayed less than an hour and that's unexpected. Probably even a little worrying.

An hour passes, and it's Uhura's turn. Every time McCoy looks up from his paperwork, he can see her speaking softly to Jim. When he goes to check his vitals, she doesn't look up. She's still talking, in what appears to be Klingon. When he leaves, she's humming a song in another soft-sounding language. McCoy would like to show his support, but he's not sure how she'd react if he'd put his hand on her shoulder, and her thinness scares him. It would make things more real if he could feel her bones under his hand, so he only brushes past her before cowardly fleeing to his office to drown himself in paperwork.

A few hours later, Carina Ferreira, comes to see him. McCoy looks up, sees that Jim's still unconscious and that Spock's still watching him, and gives all his attention to the therapist.

"They're getting better," she says with a little smile, where he can still see concern. "There's still a long road in front of us. They've all spoken to us, but half-heartedly. They do not lie, but they give us as little as they dare. Still, I've gathered some knowledge about the amount of food they ingested during their... ordeal. It is on my report, page two."

"That'll be useful. Thanks."

McCoy glances at the files. He doesn't know if he wants to scream or cry when he sees how little they had to eat and drink, but two sentences shatter him, as a doctor and a friend.

"Captain Kirk, by all accounts, voluntarily deprived himself of his share of food several times to increase the chances of survival of his subordinates.".

He's not surprised. It's all Jim. Since they set foot on the Enterprise, the man could have died more than twenty times. He would rather be killed rather than see a single one of his subordinates die. The number of times he's come close to death trying to save everyone's lives seems to climb with each mission. Sometimes, McCoy wants to lock him up to protect him from himself. He doesn't, because it would be useless trying to keep Jim from danger, and because he knows it's the only thing keeping Jim sane.

He keeps reading.

"The quantity of food ingested by the captain could be inferior by half than his subordinate's share. Significant long-term physical and psychological trauma are to be feared for all victims.".

His heart sinks. Carina explains in a clinical and detached manner the evolution she predicts in her patients. McCoy has the irrational urge to hit her. It's not her fault. She's a competent doctor with enough experience to distance herself from their suffering. She needs to, and he should do the same, but McCoy never could develop that skill. He likes to believe it makes him a better doctor, even when in times like that.

"I think you made the right choice," Carina concludes. Group therapy is probably the best way to help them open up. We'll try that tomorrow."

"Glad to see I didn't blow it up."

"You don't, and everyone's stressed. Also, Lieutenant Fial is still saying she's leaving Starfleet. I asked her to stay for a few group sessions, but I think you should prepare the papers. She will not change her mind."

"And Spock? How he's doing?"

"He does not cooperate with us. He said only a few words during our session. Dr. M'Benga offered his help. I'm seeing later and we've already asked help from New Vulcan."

"Would you say it'll help?"

"I don't know enough about Vulcan post-traumatic psychology," she shrugs.

"Not just for Spock. Do you think they'll heal?"

"If Captain Kirk recovers... Yes, I think so. If not, I'm not so sure. From the little they tell me, and without breaking patient-doctor confidentiality, I'd say they're putting too much of their recovery on the captain. We'll work on that, but... They're hiding things concerning the captain. I know you are their friend, but as a therapist, I'd say you must try to remain objective, and it will be harder in the next few weeks."

"I know that."

Carina throws him an exasperated look.

"You're their friends. You may feel tempted to ask questions and listen, but right now, they need a therapist more than a friend. Listen to them, but send them to us. In cases like this, a friend's ear is not enough."

"I know that. And I will."

She's right, of course, McCoy thinks as she leaves. He's too involved and today it's a bad thing. He needs to be harsh with them, as a doctor, to help their bodies and minds heal. But he's afraid, because of that Big Secret, as he's already calling it. He doesn't know what it is, but he recognizes a bomb when he sees one. Better to focus on the good news. They started to talk, and it was the right first step in the right direction. And if they're talking, they're healing. And they're watching over Jim, which is better than staying in bed to stare at the wall.

It will be fine, he repeats to himself all afternoon as he watches the survivors take their turns near Jim every hour. Everything will be fine, even if Chekov never looks up from his captain's hands, never moving during his watch, as if something would kill him if he moved. Even if Uhura cries for hours when she doesn't vomit what she forces herself to eat. Even if Spock's murdering aura goes up to thirty meters by now.

It must.

At nine o'clock, Jim's vitals change, and McCoy breathes at last. He's not in a coma anymore, he went back to a real healing sleep. When he announces the good news, everyone smiles from the engine rooms to the bridge. Sulu kisses everyone who crosses his path, Scotty "finds" illegal whiskey and throws a dance party in the officer's mess.

But the other survivors do not smile. No, they're looking like they are preparing for war when McCoy tells them. From now on, there are two of them keeping watch at Jim's bedside at the same time, waiting for him to wake up but seeming to dread it at the same time.

Everything will be fine, McCoy keeps telling himself, because he needs to if he wants to sleep. It's harder to pretend every hour that passes.