Unspoken Truths by Mary R. and Lynn S. (aka Sahsheer), sahsheer@hotmail.com McCoy shoved his uneaten tray of food to the side and leaned back in his chair to sip his coffee. He had hoped a change of scenery from sickbay would improve his mood and help him sort through his professional dilemma regarding Captain Kirk. The doctor rubbed his forehead although it brought no relief from the increasing tension he felt. Recent observations of the young Captain's atypical behavior told McCoy a professional medical log entry was long past due. Yet the minute the report was made, McCoy was obligated to take steps that ultimately could result in Kirk losing his command. A medical log entry was not to be taken lightly. The Commander's familiar form entered the room and McCoy forced a neutral expression as Kirk passed by his table. The effort was wasted, Kirk did not seem to notice him as he first selected a sandwich and coffee from the wall unit and then chose a nearby isolated table. Studying a set of printouts he was carrying, Kirk began to methodically eat his meal. The doctor sighed, for a moment feeling maudlin. Sharing the mid-shift meal with Jim had been somewhat of a tradition for McCoy. Early in his assignment on board the Enterprise, the doctor rearranged his schedule, visiting the bridge a few minutes before midshift break to keep informed on the status of the ship's bridge crew. When Kirk managed to pull away, the two men normally spent the next half hour frequently discussing their concerns interspersed with lighthearted laughter and joking. Crewmembers always felt welcome to join them. McCoy closed his eyes blocking the image of the isolated figure across from him, remembering occasions when they joined chains of tables together to continue philosophical discussions. The room would echo with laughter and excited voices enjoying the conversation. All led by Kirk. It was immediately after the events on Miramanee's planet that the ship's mood began to change. Gone were the pleasant exchanges and shared meals had came to an abrupt halt. The captain now exuded an air of tension that no longer invited crewmen to openly engage their commanding officer in conversation. McCoy shifted, glancing around the room, not missing the subdued conversation and noticeable avoidance of Kirk's table. Stories of angry outbursts and tongue-lashings from the captain had begun to reach the doctor's ears and although he was disinclined to doubt some of the sources, the crew's reluctance to approach Kirk was evidence he could not ignore. Continuing to covertly watch the captain, he noted again the shadows under Kirk's eyes and the highlighted cheekbones indicating recently lost weight. All indications of increasing stress from an unidentifiable cause. The doctor struggled briefly with his own hurt feelings regarding the friendship they shared. Any of his attempts to casually discuss his concerns with Kirk had been brushed aside as not important. McCoy finished his coffee and shoved his chair back. It was time to return to work. He was planning to review the last few weeks bridge logs for documentation of any aberrant command behavior. It was a duty he had been avoiding for the implications behind his actions were damning. Both for the captain if any evidence was found and for himself for the feeling of betrayal at taking this action against Kirk. The captain's suddenly loud, angry voice startled McCoy. "Spock, can't I spend a few minutes without you interrupting?" The doctor stared in shock at Kirk. He had missed Spock's entrance but the Vulcan now stood at stiff attention at the captain's side. Spock's tone was the very essence of glacial formality. "You requested that I show you these reports as soon as they were completed, sir." Kirk clenched his fists, his face flushing with anger. "If your report had been more efficient the first time, I wouldn't have to waste my time with this now. I thought Vulcans were supposed to be competent." The captain practically sneered as he said this, bringing McCoy instantly to his feet. "Jim!" He snapped, moving quickly to face him. "This isn't the place for this. I suggest we go somewhere more private." The captain's face reddened, his eyes flaming as he glared at McCoy. "You suggest! You're interfering in my command business. Get the hell out of my way." McCoy's mouth gaped open as Kirk shoved him back and stormed out of the crowded rec room, leaving a stunned silence behind him. The doctor swallowed a couple of times, trying to get his voice to work. Spock, however, was not similarly affected and used the opportunity to escape. He was striding from the room before the doctor had begun to recover. "Spock! Wait!" Spock turned, his face a careful mask covering any expression, except for the glittering hard eyes. "Doctor, I am urgently needed in the computer section." McCoy held the black eyes, and finally nodded. He followed the retreating Vulcan down the corridor at a much slower pace. His steps automatically led him back to sickbay, his thoughts turbulent and troubled. It was time to perform one of the more unpleasant duties of a CMO and officially question the mental stability of the captain. Less than twenty-four hours later, McCoy approached the captain's quarters, with documentation in hand. Pushing the door buzzer, he squared his shoulders, knowing the coming battle was not going to be easy. Spock was there as McCoy had planned. He stood at stiff attention across from the desk from Kirk. The captain was scowling, pulling his eyes from Spock to glare at McCoy. "Yes, Doctor?" "Captain, you will report to sickbay in one hour for a complete physical. My reasons are official and logged." McCoy held up a disk. "According to regulations, you cannot refuse." The glittering eyes widened, emotion flaring in the hazel depths. For a moment McCoy was confused for he thought rather than anger, triumph was reflected in those penetrating eyes. However, Kirk's angry question proved how erroneous his assessment was. "And exactly what are you threatening me with if I do refuse?" "Removal from command based on observation of your behavior and command decisions," McCoy said softly. Kirk slammed his hand down on the desk, standing abruptly. McCoy took a startled step back against his will, aware that the captain was very close to striking him. The fact that Spock had taken a swift step forward, placing himself between the two men did not register until a few seconds later. The doctor eyed the thin Vulcan's back, wondering if the first officer also thought physically violence was a possibility. Drawing a steadying breath, the doctor stepped around Spock to face Kirk just as the Vulcan attempted to reason calmly with the captain. "Captain, I believe it would be beneficial--" Kirk narrowed his eyes at Spock, all his rage now directed at the Vulcan. "You can't even get this report right and you think I need a medical exam? Here," he said, all but throwing the tape at Spock. "Take this damn thing and correct it by the time I'm finished with McCoy in sickbay. Dismissed." McCoy froze, not sure he had heard right. Kirk was agreeing to the exam without an argument. He snapped his jaw shut, pulling himself abruptly together as he noticed Spock about to leave. "Wait a minute, Mr. Spock. I have another reason for being here. And I wanted to discuss it while you were both in the same room." Spock stopped at the door, his eyes wary as he looked at McCoy. "Yes, doctor?" McCoy raised an eyebrow and waited until the Vulcan rejoined them. Kirk sat back down, gesturing sharply to McCoy that he had the floor. McCoy could not resist glaring at Kirk in response to his gesture. "Captain, I don't know what's wrong with you, but you can bet your last credit I'm going to find out. I'm here now not to discuss your behavior, but how it's affecting your crew. I'm concerned particularly about your first officer. The physical I ran this morning showed--" "Doctor," Spock interrupted coldly. "You do not have my permission to discuss this with the Captain." McCoy caught a startled glance from Kirk to Spock. It lasted only for a second before the hazel eyes met his own with ill patience. Frowning, he looked at Spock not surprised to find snapping anger in the black depths. "I have every right when it concerns a member of this crew and his health. Especially when it's a direct result of stress inflicted by the Captain." "Spock's a big boy, Doctor," Kirk snapped. "We can't afford to ease up while patrolling the Neutral Zone. If Spock can't handle the pressure then he'd better request a transfer." "Jim! What the hell has gotten into you?" McCoy asked, stunned by the force of Kirk's words. He stared at the captain. "You haven't even asked --" The doctor paused, trying to interpret the look in Kirk's eyes. "Don't you even care what's wrong with Spock?" Kirk turned his chair, staring at Spock for several seconds. McCoy clamped his jaw against his own frustration, watching the two men carefully. The anger between them was real enough, Spock covering his own with a dispassionate expression the doctor had come to know well in the past few years together. The captain again faced McCoy, his face closed and hard. "I'm waiting, Doctor." "Waiting! In case you've forgotten, I asked you a question which you still haven't answered. " McCoy folded his arms across his chest, letting Kirk know he was not going to weasel out of this discussion. He wanted some explanation for the captain's unseemly lack of interest regarding Spock's health. Spock unexpectedly entered the fray. "The Captain's concerns have no relevance. And if you intend to pursue that subject, I will leave." Before McCoy could open his mouth to reply, Kirk leaned forward. "You're not going anywhere, Mr. Spock until I say so. Dr. McCoy, you haven't finished your report on my first officer. Please do so, or leave--my time is valuable." "Valuable!" McCoy exploded. This was the final straw, it was time for Kirk to face some unpleasant facts, whether Spock liked it or not. He repeated more softly, "Valuable, You can thank your first officer that you have any time at all. If it wasn't for his actions, you'd be dead right now along with Miramanee's whole tribe." There was a flicker of reaction on Kirk's already annoyed expression, and McCoy filed it away while plunging on with his diatribe. "Spock nearly killed himself trying to save you from that asteroid, driving himself the entire fifty-nine days. He barely ate or slept, losing more weight than he could truly afford. Then he had to oversee the repairs to the ship while you were on leave at the Starbase to recover from the concussion and injuries you sustained on the planet." McCoy paused, remembering his losing arguments with Starfleet Command about Kirk leaving the ship to recuperate. He had been overruled and the captain had remained there for another two weeks while the Enterprise was sent back out on patrol. The doctor narrowed his eyes suddenly. It was since his return from the Starbase that Kirk's behavior had been atypical. "Yes, Doctor?" Kirk acidly prompted. Practically feeling the heat from the Vulcan's glaring eyes, McCoy took a deep breath. "Spock collapsed while you were there, having pushed his body far past his own Vulcan limits. I spent the next few days, building up his depleted reserves and then--" "Dr. McCoy," Spock interrupted. "Is there a point to this?" "My dear Mr. Spock," McCoy's ice blue eyes held Spock's cold black ones steadily. "If you had informed the Captain of specific results from your physical this morning, as you led me to believe you would, then this would not be necessary." "If you will remember--" Spock began but the captain cut him off. "That's enough. I read the reports and they did not include the details of my first officer's collapse. This conspiracy to keep critical information from me has seriously jeopardized the mission of this ship. Before I discuss the repercussions for you, how about telling me the point you're trying to make?" "Jim, can't you see what you're doing? The whole crew is going to hell in a hand-basket, and you can't push it hard enough." "It's my job to push." Kirk snapped impatiently. "But not like this. You've never pushed like this, you're impossible to please, no matter the effort, no matter the result. And berating senior officers in view of the enlisted men, Jim I've watched the bridge logs and noted that Spock seems to be at the top of your hit list. You're driving him to the point of total exhaustion." McCoy held his hand up, gesturing at Kirk. "I won't have that. Jim, he's not ready for it. He's lost three kilos of the weight we fought to put back on him. His reaction times are down nearly fifteen percent and his chemistry is--" "Doctor, you will cease this. You both forget I am Vulcan and can tolerate a higher stress level. There is no cause for concern." Spock stepped closer to the two men. "Jim, if you buy that then I'll--" McCoy started but the whipcrack sound of Kirk's voice froze both officers into place. "I don't intend to listen to any officer whose reaction time is down that much and doesn't report it to me immediately. You're both on report for dereliction of duty. Mr. Spock, you will report to sickbay immediately and cooperate fully with McCoy. Dismissed." Spock did not hesitate, he turned with smart precision and exited the office. McCoy remained where he was, forcing himself to breathe again. He remembered occasions where he had thought he never wanted to be on the receiving end of Kirk's anger. It was not an experience he was anxious to repeat, yet he felt compelled to reach out to that part of the captain he knew to be his friend. "Jim?" "I believe you were dismissed." McCoy ground his teeth together in an effort to be silent. He turned in a sloppy imitation of Spock's maneuver, heading for the exit. Resting a hand on the open door, he tried once more. "Dammit Jim, I thought you trusted me. Why won't you talk to me? Is it . . . do you realize just how close I am to recommending that you be relieved of command? For god's sake, talk--" "Dr. McCoy, you seem to have a problem obeying orders. I will report to sickbay in one hour." Kirk stood, his face hard. "And McCoy, don't ever threaten me again on my ship, unless you have a desire to see how fast you can be transferred." "Jim . . ." Kirk slammed a switch on his desk. "Security, report to my quarters." McCoy stared at Kirk, unable to hide the shock he felt at Kirk's actions. Within seconds, rushing feet warned him of security's immediate response. Stubbornly, the doctor did not move, forcing Kirk to take the action. "Escort Dr. McCoy to Sickbay, Lieutenant." Hawley was a stocky, middle-aged crewman that had been aboard for over a year. He looked at McCoy and then Kirk in surprise, however he had the presence of mind not to question the order. "Yes sir." An epithet rose to McCoy's tongue and he fought bitterly against letting it slip out. Instead he met the captain's eyes evenly, appealing to the humanity in Kirk. Wintry cold eyes stared back at him, an eyebrow lifting menacingly. The cabin door closed off the captain's image leaving McCoy with more questions than he had come with. Shaking his head, a bewildered and heavy hearted McCoy led the way back to sickbay, security guard in tow. "Spock, whether you like it or not, you're spending the next twenty-four hours here as my guest. Accompany Nurse Chapel, she'll show you to your new quarters." Chapel's sharp look told McCoy his attempt to maintain a light hearted manner was not entirely successful. He watched Spock follow her, thankful he could be out from under the Vulcan's disapproving eyes. Even though Spock would not admit to it, the rest, medications, nutrients and fluids that he would receive in the next few hours would restore him back to partial health and duty. McCoy was recalibrating the exam bed for human readings when Kirk appeared. The doctor nodded curtly at the bed and continued his calibration. The captain lay silently, his expression set and hard. Comparison of the initial scans to Kirk's normal parameters showed few variances. The level of the stress indicator was higher but there were no enzymes abnormalities that might indicate a reason for the emotional lability. A flashing indicator over an alcohol serum level caught McCoy's eye and he stared at it in disbelief. For the captain to show up for a physical with even a minute amount of alcohol in his system was a confirmation of how Kirk's mental stability must be deteriorating. Either Kirk did not care that it went on his report or . . . he wanted it on his report. McCoy frowned, pulling at his lip thoughtfully for a moment. For over an hour, the doctor conducted a thorough physical exam, trying the captain's already limited patience by including several tests in an attempt to explain Kirk's aberrant behavior. Finally, McCoy handed a towel to the captain, grabbing another one for his own perspiring forehead. The camaraderie that was usually shared with his friend was completely replaced by thick tension. His patient was uncommunicative, replying with short barks to the questions McCoy asked. He had also refused the deep psych profile McCoy wanted. It was his right, as Kirk was quick to point out until McCoy had evidence of deviation from command procedure, the doctor could not officially order it. Yet. Leaving Kirk to dress, McCoy ordered him to meet him in his office under the pretense of reviewing the results of the physical. Kirk scowled but nodded in response. McCoy sighed as he turned away, wondering what happened to the friend he knew. The doctor made a detour to check on the first officer, who lay on the bed, eyes open. "The object of this is to get some rest. In order to do so, you have to close your eyes, Spock," McCoy could not resist drawling. The black eyes flicked from the ceiling to McCoy. "I was resting, Doctor." McCoy grunted, studying the intravenous solution infusing into the Vulcan. "If you say so. I would suggest actually sleeping though, for the longer you resist it, the longer you'll be here. You won't be released until I'm satisfied with your readings," he added softly and then turned and headed for his office. Kirk was waiting at his office door, watching McCoy's approach with a frown. The doctor prepared himself for a sarcastic attack from the captain because of his delay. Instead Kirk's voice was soft, catching McCoy's full attention. "How is Mr. Spock? I thought he would be here." "He is. Back there," McCoy jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward Spock's cubicle. Kirk's eyes followed his thumb. "Will he be all right, Bones?" McCoy felt a jolt of pleasure at Kirk's quiet use of his nickname. Maybe there was hope after all. "He just needs rest, Jim. Spock seems to forget his human half sometimes can't keep up with the Vulcan in him. The crisis last month pushed him way past even his Vulcan limits." "If I had known he was sick, I never would have . . ." He broke off, frowning. "What? What is it, Jim?" The captain ignored the question and started forward. "I need to see him." McCoy shook his head. "The key word here is rest, Jim. No one is going to see him for at least twenty-four hours. And even then, it depends on his condition." For a few seconds, the doctor felt as if he had actually been communicating with the captain, but at his words, the hazel eyes turned to him, anger lighting their depths. "I'm tired of you blaming me for this. Neither you nor Spock informed me about his condition. You apparently held his reports in the logs. I checked them upon my return and nothing of this was mentioned. I'm warning you now, I am taking action." McCoy felt his jaw drop open. The warmth of a few seconds earlier was completely dispelled by Kirk's threats and frosty, cold expression. "What are you, Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde? The complete report is in my medical logs. Spock requested I not append a note to your log unless it became necessary. I would have told you if you'd had the decency to ask. You didn't. It's perfectly obvious to anyone who knows Spock that he's not well. It has now become necessary for you to be notified of his condition." "For your information, I asked Spock if he was all right just before you came to my quarters. I asked him to see you. He never indicated that there was anything wrong. He--" Kirk broke off, glancing back in Spock's direction. The low voiced, controlled anger Kirk was exhibiting was in direct opposition to the incidents of uncontrolled, shouting matches of late. McCoy studied Kirk, not flinching when the captain turned to glare at him. "You're angry with Spock for not telling you that he was ill." The doctor stated calmly. "You could say that." Kirk snapped sarcastically. "You both have managed to seriously jeopardize our mission." "Mission." McCoy said, frowning at the captain. "The only mission I'm aware of is a simple patrol of the neutral zone." "I'm glad in your opinion patrolling the Romulan border presents no problem, Doctor. However, if I were to insist on seeing it as a simple mission then you just might have a lot more customers than you ever dreamed of." Icy, sarcasm laced his tone. "You have him for the next twenty-four hours. See that he reports to me as soon as he's released." "Dammit Jim, you haven't listed to a word I've said. It's your damn overwork that put him there in the first place. I can guarantee you one thing -- he'll be on half-duty when he does return." McCoy searched the face for some sign of the Jim Kirk he knew so well. Sighing, he shook his head. "We're not going to resolve this out here." He nodded at his office, waiting for Kirk to lead the way. The captain remained stubbornly where he was. "You've got what you wanted. Without my first officer, I'm hard pressed for time." McCoy narrowed his eyes. "This is part of your physical. And believe me, your lack of cooperation is going down as part of my report of this exam. The longer we argue about this, the longer it will take." The doctor leaned back against the wall, "Besides, I don't see any alarm lights, Captain. Except the one ringing in my head right now. You're afraid to talk to me." That got the reaction McCoy expected. Kirk's head came up and his shoulders snapped back. "Afraid, doctor?" He spun around and brushed past McCoy into his office. Before McCoy could sit in his chair, Kirk snapped, "I could use a drink." Keeping any reaction he felt from showing, McCoy wondered why Kirk was demanding liquor, purposely ignoring the fact that they were addressing command fitness. Either he was so close to the edge, Kirk was unaware of the danger or . . . McCoy allowed a frown while removing the brandy from his cabinet. Was Kirk requesting the drink on purpose? Something . . . he could almost see the calculated movements of the captain pushing him toward the desired response. But why? McCoy handed Kirk a small amount of amber liquid, taking a sip of his own. Maybe a shared drink would help. Lord knew, they had done so often enough in the past. Instead of sipping his, the captain downed the brandy in one gulp. He held it out and McCoy refilled it, again quelling the concern he felt. "Your physical doesn't show any significant problems. There are signs of stress, probably caused by lack of sleep and proper nutrition. That can be easily remedied. Your psych reactions show a change, irritability, shortness of temper, a distrust of people bordering on the edge of paranoia--" "That's a bunch of bull, McCoy. I'm not paranoid, and your little color flash test wouldn't show that in any case." Kirk snapped belligerently. McCoy continued, holding the captain's eyes. "You've refused the deep psychological profile, which would give me a clue how to help you. I warn you, the moment you deviate from command regulations, I will order the psyche profile and remove you from command until I have satisfactory answers. And that includes--" his eyes dipped to the nearly empty brandy glass on the table. "Drinking on duty." Kirk shook his head, "Since when have you had a problem with that? We've done this often enough. If that's reason enough to probe my head, then yours should be examined too." He swallowed the last of his glass and defiantly refilled it for the third time. McCoy watched him, swirling the brandy around in his own glass before setting it down on the desk before him. His taste for it felt suddenly sour. "I didn't come to my own physical with an already high level of alcohol in my system. Which becomes part of your record." He paused, frowning at Kirk. "And you're well aware of that fact." There it was again, that elusive clue that kept dancing just in front of McCoy. Thoughtfully, he recapped the brandy and moved to put it away. With his back to Kirk, he pitched his voice just loud enough for the captain to hear. "As if you want that fact in your record." McCoy watched for any reaction to his statement in the reflection of the cabinet glass from Kirk, but there was none. His feelings that Kirk was possibly acting out some outlandish charade probably stemmed from an illogical hope that nothing was really wrong with his captain and friend. He locked the cabinet and returned to his desk with a heavy sigh. "Now, per my section orders, I must have an explanation for the high stress indicator to attach to my medical report. Are you clear on my responsibilities, Captain, sir?" Kirk nodded, giving his own exaggerated sigh. McCoy leaned back in his chair, folding his arms, waiting for Kirk to say something. After several long moments of silence, he raised an eyebrow. "We can sit here all night if you want, I have all the time in the universe. I believe you on the other hand, are a busy man. So I suggest you start talking if you want to get out of here before dawn." Kirk narrowed his eyes, "What exactly do you want to hear, Doctor? Do you want me to tell you my CMO causes me stress by his varying degrees of insubordination?" McCoy shook his head, unable to hide his exasperation. He was almost grateful when the intercom interrupted him. It was Chapel reporting another injury in security, a broken arm this time. As he listened to the actions his staff was taking, he watched Kirk's reactions. Nothing. Kirk ignored him, taking no interest in the health of his crew. McCoy cut the connection. "At the rate injuries are piling up on this ship, by the time we get to the neutral zone, you may not have a crew to command. That's the third one today." "You're blaming me for this? Anything else you'd like to pin on me? There's a plague on Shren III and a famine on Allers while you're at it." He stared at McCoy. "And you want to know why my stress readings are up?" McCoy met his look levelly, berating himself for being drawn into this battle of wits. He paused, considering how to get past Kirk's defenses. He glanced briefly at Kirk's glass. It was nearly empty. Kirk was not showing any effects, yet he had drank enough to cause a certain state of inebriation. McCoy lifted his own glass and took a sip, deciding to bide his time. Kirk lifted his drink, stopping in mid-air to stare at the glass. The doctor's eyes widened when the captain shuddered and he returned the brandy to the desk. For a brief moment, McCoy read revulsion clearly in the hazel eyes. "Jim, what is it? What's wrong?" There was a long silence, so long, McCoy decided he was not going to answer. Then Kirk whispered, "I hate this . . . I--" McCoy froze. What did he hate? He quickly ran through scenarios wondering exactly what Kirk was referring to; his drinking, his behavior, the mission, being Captain? None of them seemed to fit the total picture. The doctor kept his voice quiet, trying not change Kirk's mood. "I can see that. Why?" There was a small shrug of Kirk's shoulders. The eyes that met his begged for forgiveness, sharing a story of sorrow and pain. McCoy moved around the desk, propping himself on the corner beside Kirk. He touched his shoulder. "Jim, it's been a rough month. Do you want to talk about it?" " 'Bout what?" The doctor hesitated. "Well for one thing about Miramanee. About the time you spent with her." A wounded expression flickered across Kirk's face and disappeared. McCoy felt his own stomach tighten. Illogically, he felt somewhat responsible for her death and Kirk's pain. "Jim, I want to help. Let me try." He rested his hand on the captain's shoulder, and for a moment felt Kirk lean into his grip. Then the captain tensed abruptly away from his touch. He came to his feet clumsily, swaying only for a moment. "This has nothing to do with my physical or command fitness. Unless you have something pertaining to those two items, then I'd suggest you leave me alone." McCoy had to move quickly to stop Kirk's headlong stride to the door. He pulled the captain forcefully around, putting his own brand of iron authority into his voice. "Captain, discussing the death of your wife and your grief at losing her has everything to do with your command fitness. Logged in my record is my theory that your unusual conduct is caused by your grief and--" Kirk slammed his fist against the wall, narrowly missing McCoy. "Stop it! I don't . . . I can't . . . " He stopped, his face twisting again in pain. "Jim," McCoy squeezed the arm gently that he still held. "I can't know how you feel. I didn't know your wife. But I know how I felt being forced to step back and do nothing, letting her die. I . . . " Kirk's eyes riveted on McCoy, his voice tight. "Could you really have saved her?" McCoy opened his mouth but hesitated. "I don't know. There was a small chance, if we could have beamed her aboard. We'd already lost your son, there was nothing--" The captain's face turned white and the doctor grasped his arm in support, afraid Kirk was close to passing out. "Son." Kirk whispered, wetness glistening on his eyelashes as he closed them. "You never told me." "No. I didn't know whether you wanted to know." His voice cracked. "I didn't want to make it worse for you." Kirk's breath came out in a rush and he opened eyes that were blazing with rage. "You just did." The words were low and even, this fact registering as McCoy concentrated on Kirk. Even drunk, when angry, Kirk rarely shouted. All the other incidents in the last few days had the ring of insincerity in them, like some sort of charade. But now, he knew he was touching the heart of Kirk's discontent. And with Kirk's next words, McCoy was not sure he could help the captain. Or himself. "Damn you, McCoy! Always trying to fool around in someone's psych, as if you're God. I keep having nightmares of her asking me to save her, only just as I reach for her she turns into Edith. Remember her, Bones? Kirk grabbed McCoy's shirt, pulling him close. "Remember how your reaction, forcing me to face the fact that I, in reality, killed Edith, made the whole sordid deed a thousand times worse?" McCoy felt his heart stop at Kirk's words. Could Kirk have been harboring this much resentment for all this time? Before he could attempt to calm the captain, he was hauled around and shoved against the wall. "Each time, I've been following my duty to this ship, yet you've made me suffer for the decision. When I look at your face all I hear are your accusations that I killed Edith. And then Miramanee . . . when I was trying to follow the prime directive and not change the culture more than had already happened, you argued with me, tearing my heart into pieces. Sometimes, I think you must forget I have one. " His face crumpled, a choked sob emerging. "A son. Dammit McCoy! Just stay away from me." Kirk spun away and was out of the office before McCoy could make his shaking legs straighten enough to hold him. He forced himself to move, toddling like an old man to his chair and slumping into it. After several calming breaths, the doctor forced his own shock and hurt into the back of his mind, attempting to focus on the captain and the possibility this buried anger and grief were the cause of his aberrant behavior. He moved to his desk, preparing to log his entry, choosing his words carefully. In his opinion, Kirk should have the psych profile he wanted now, before anything happened. But until he had some evidence of Kirk's command decisions being affected, his hands were tied. The captain would not accept on his word that he needed the test, in fact, if the captain felt this way about his CMO, McCoy probably should not be the one testing him. McCoy ran his hands through his hair, noticing his hands were still trembling. All he could do now was watch, wait and worry. "Enterprise Medical Log Entry, Stardate 5027.3. Dr. Leonard McCoy recording." The doctor glanced over at Spock. The twenty-four hours were complete, and the Vulcan was showing remarkable patience in waiting to be released. McCoy's request for Spock to witness his entry met with only a raised eyebrow. Now, refusing to sit, Spock stood on the other side of the doctor's desk, with his arms crossed. Continuing, McCoy chose his words carefully, "I'm concerned about Captain Kirk. He shows indications of increasing emotional tensions and stress. I can find no reason for the Captain's behavior except possibly that we've been on patrol too long without relief and diversion. He has resisted all my attempts to run a psychological profile. Commander Spock has assured me that I will be notified of any aberration in command procedure. My options at present are to keep him under close surveillance." Spock nodded. "You state the obvious. Starfleet Regulations require that the CMO is notified of aberrant command practices at any time. However, I concur with your assessment." He shifted, dropping his arms. "Is there anything else?" McCoy ignored him, entering the log and standing in one motion. "No. I'm taking you to the Captain--" Spock tried to interrupt, "That will not be necessary, I--" The doctor crossed over to his door. "I want to make sure he understands just what half-duty means. Be forewarned, Spock, I will be monitoring you also for compliance with the schedule I've given you. If you want to stay out of Sickbay, you'll follow it to the letter." Spock did not respond to his low key threat. Presenting a bored visage, he led the way from sickbay. His silence only slightly less unnerving than the Captain's icy, hazel eyes that challenged him as McCoy explained the conditions of Spock's release. The Vulcan remained standing formally in front of Kirk's desk as the doctor made his escape. He actually felt sorry for the Vulcan, finding himself a little protective wanting to remove him from the captain's clutches already. Throughout the day, McCoy kept an eye on the ship's log, making a couple of trips to the bridge to monitor. Kirk did not comment, but it was obvious to the doctor his presence was not welcome. Nothing out of the ordinary had happened and actually, Kirk seemed more calm than he had in days. The first shift was almost over, and Spock had been on the bridge for almost five hours. McCoy prepared to make another run to the bridge, if only to encourage Spock to eat by joining him for his evening meal. A red alert sounded just as he came out of his office. Feeling his stomach twist into a hard knot, McCoy turned automatically to check on his own department's preparations for possible incoming injuries. Chapel was already calling off the assigned triage duties to the personnel arriving in response to the alert. She lifted worried eyes as he approached, it was always difficult to be down here in the dark and not know exactly what was happening. Once assured of his own department's preparedness, McCoy headed toward the bridge only to be ordered overhead to report to the briefing room. He reversed the turbolift, feeling his tension rise another notch. Scott was there ahead of him. He slid into a chair beside the grim-faced engineer. "What happened?" The Scottish brogue was thick with anger. "We are in the neutral zone and are surrounded by Romulans. They are demanding we surrender. The Captain--" Kirk strode in, Spock close behind him. Once inside, the Vulcan remained near the door. The captain paced across the room, his keyed up energy keeping him from being still enough to sit in a chair. "All right. Spock, you had a theory on why your sensors didn't pick up the Romulan ships, until they were right on top of us." "I believe the Romulans have devised an improved cloaking system which renders our tracking sensors useless. You will observe, Captain, that the three ships outside are modeled after Klingon cruisers. Changing ship designs that drastically is expensive, and the Klingon cruiser has no important inherent advantages over the Romulan model of which we are aware--unless it is adaptable to some sort of novel screening devices." "If so, the Romulans could attack into Federation territory before we'd know they were there; before a planet or a vessel could begin to get its defenses up." "They caught us right enough." The engineer said. The captain immediately pounced on Scott. "A brilliant observation, Mr. Scott. Do you have any other helpful opinions?" Scott seemed momentarily nonplused, then he shrugged his shoulders. "We've not got many choices . . ." "Three. We can fight--and be destroyed. Or we can destroy the Enterprise ourselves to keep her from the Romulans. Or--we can surrender." Kirk did not give anyone a chance to react. "We might be able to find out how the Romulan's new cloaking device works. The Federation must have that information. Opinions?" "Odds are against our finding out anything," Scott said. "And if the Enterprise is taken by the Romulans they'll know everything there is to know about a starship." "Spock?" Kirk asked. McCoy had been carefully watching Kirk for signs of instability yet he saw nothing that indicated any aberration. If anything the captain's actions were decisive and professional. He watched Spock cross the room catlike to face the captain. "If we had not crossed the Neutral Zone on your order," Spock said coldly and evenly. "You would not now need our opinions to support a decision which should never have had to been made." The doctor straightened, his eyes wide. "Jim! You ordered us? You had no authority!" The captain and first officer were still facing one another. Kirk snapped, "Dismissed, Doctor." Even though Spock was challenging Kirk, there was no indication that the first officer intended to demand further challenge from McCoy regarding the captain's command fitness. The doctor leaned forward, "Jim--" "I said dismissed!" The order could not be denied. McCoy was on his feet and moving out the door nearly before the echo died. With angry short steps, the doctor retreated to his office, ignoring the questioning glances of his staff. The conference was security coded therefore he was unable to listen in on the discussion. The doctor pulled up the bridge tapes of the last few hours, watching Kirk's actions in the last few minutes before he ordered them across the neutral zone. He berated Uhura, Sulu and Spock within minutes of one another, yet once he committed the ship to action, Kirk seemed completely in control. What the hell was going on? The doctor spent nearly twenty minutes reviewing the tape, attempting to find some key that he was missing. Frustrated McCoy finally looked out his window, noticing his staff was glancing nervously at his office. He sighed heavily, they wanted answers when he had none. Reluctantly McCoy pushed himself up but reseated himself quickly when the whistle of the intercom pierced the air. "Dr. McCoy," Uhura sounded professional and distant. "Mr. Scott requested I inform you that the Captain and Mr. Spock have voluntarily beamed aboard the Romulan Flagship in exchange for two Romulan Crewmen here. We will keep you updated." Before she could cut him off, McCoy asked, "Do you need me on the bridge?" There was a pause and then dead air for a moment. "No, Mr. Scott requests you remain on alert status in Sickbay." McCoy nodded, "Okay Lieutenant." He sat with his eyes covered for a moment, not letting himself consider the danger his two friends were getting into. The situation was growing grimmer by the minute. There was little hope of either of them coming back unharmed or even alive. For Jim Kirk, it would be better if he did not come back. Here he would be branded a traitor and held responsible for endangering the crew's lives. That's if they managed to come out of this alive. McCoy groaned. If any of the crew was harmed, he had only himself to blame, he alone as CMO was responsible for ensuring the captain was mentally healthy. McCoy quickly ran through a relaxation exercise easing the tension from his shoulders and forestalling a headache he felt beginning at the edges of his temples. He stood, drawing a professional mantle around him and went to face his staff with the unpleasant facts. They deserved to know. Two calls to the bridge later, there was still no information about what was happening to Kirk and Spock. At least the ships were stationary and no one was firing on one another. Then Uhura piped down the message from the Romulan Commander and McCoy and Chapel listened to it in disbelief. "Attention Enterprise. This is the Romulan Flagship. The USS Enterprise under command of Captain Kirk is formally charged with espionage. The testimony of Commander Spock was highly instrumental in the confirmation of the intrusion into Romulan space was not accidental. It was Captain Kirk who was solely responsible. Furthermore, Spock was specific that your ship was not ordered here by Starfleet Command or your Federation Council. Since the crew had no choice but to obey orders, the crew will not be held responsible. Therefore I am ordering Engineer Scott, presently in command of the Enterprise, to follow the Romulan flagship to our home base. You will there be processed and released to Federation Command. Until judgement is passed, Captain Kirk will be held in confinement. " Into the dead silence, he heard Chapel draw a ragged breath. "It can't be true. Spock would never betray the Captain. I don't understand." McCoy rubbed his eyes, his temples beginning to pound despite his efforts to resist it. "I don't understand any of this. But at the moment, it sounds like Spock may be bargaining for our lives with Jim's life." "How can he do that? The Captain is his friend." Chapel snapped angrily. "Spock is a logical man. He would examine the problem from all angles and choose the most expedient outcome, ignoring the emotional implications." Chapel frowned but clamped down on her response as a crewmember with a burned arm from Engineering was escorted into Sickbay. Almost gratefully, they both turned their attention to the unfortunate tech, McCoy scolding him for ignoring safety precautions. He was nearly finished with the task when the intercom whistled again. Irritated, the doctor handed the sealant to Chapel and crossed to a private channel to answer the call. It was Uhura again, her face tinged with emotion. "Doctor, you must beam aboard the Romulan flagship immediately. There's been an injury!" McCoy felt the knot in his stomach turn to lead. The Romulan ship? He was a doctor, not a--"I don't make housecalls." He snapped. Uhura's agitation was suddenly clear. "Doctor, it's Captain Kirk." McCoy shut the intercom off, his knees already starting to shake. He had known the instant she called that one of his commanding officers had been injured. Chapel came toward him, a questioning look on her face. "Doctor? Are you all right? You look a bit pale." Yeah, McCoy thought, as in coward. I'm scared to death. Instead he leaned against the wall fighting to get his breath back under control. "Get me a tricorder and medikit. I'm needed aboard the Romulan ship." The nurse retrieved the requested items and then stood silently as he put them on. As he turned to leave, she stopped him with a hand on his arm. "I'm coming with you." McCoy forced a smile at her support, wondering briefly if he could have made such an offer if the tables had been turned. "I don't think you're invited, but thanks anyway." Within a few minutes, the doctor was beamed alone aboard the Romulan ship. Giving him no chance to inspect the cramped transporting area, two tall, thin aliens urged him down a corridor gesturing with their weapons. They moved quickly and McCoy remembering oft-repeated instructions from Captain Kirk to observe any detail when in unfriendly hands, was hard put to remember the many twists and turns they took. The Romulan ship had looked much smaller from the outside. They came upon the prison area unexpectedly and one glimpse of Kirk was enough to send McCoy rushing toward the cell door. He was forced to wait impatiently until they lowered the barrier outside Kirk's room. The guard let him in, immediately raising the barrier again, locking McCoy inside. The captain lay sprawled on the floor, intermittent tremors racking his body. Once he confirmed the absence of any broken bones, the doctor assisted Kirk to stand and sit on the table. Definite signs of neurologic damage was evident in the weakness the captain displayed on his right side. That would be easy enough to fix, McCoy was more worried about Kirk's lack resistance to the doctor's pushing him to sit on the table, in fact, there was a total absence of any initiation of movement or speech. Kirk had not acknowledged his presence at all. Remembering the guard, he snapped, "He'll recover but he'll need further medical attention. Inform your superior." The guard growled at the human but McCoy was relieved when he turned to speak into an intercom on the wall. Grasping Kirk's shoulder, he asked, "Jim! What happened? Where's Spock?" The eyes darted around the room in response. There were puffs of sound as he attempted to speak without success. Grateful he had been allowed to keep his medical kit, McCoy pulled out a hypo, deciding to attempt counteracting the neurological damage here. It was risky without Enterprise' continuous monitoring equipment in sickbay. Kirk's strength may have been weakened, but the doctor discovered quickly that the captain had enough strength to catch him off guard. Before he could inject the medicine, Kirk's iron grip caught his own arm in midair. Startled, he found pin point hazel eyes glaring into his. "No. I won't let you poison me!" "Jim," McCoy tried reasoning calmly, ignoring his racing heart. "I'm trying to help you." Kirk shook his head, his hand tightening painfully on McCoy's arm. "First Spock turns against me, then you. I--" He broke off, releasing the doctors arm as approaching footsteps sounded nearby. The Romulan Commander entered. McCoy watched her carefully, his eyes widening as Spock followed her into the cell. The Commander demanded, "You are the doctor?" The doctor nodded, unable to keep his eyes off Spock. "McCoy, Chief Medical Officer." "Captain Kirk's condition?" The Romulan glanced briefly at Kirk then back at McCoy. McCoy debated, wondering which direction he was supposed to take. Spock was not giving him any clues and Jim certainly was not in any condition to help him. Kirk needed medical attention back on the Enterprise and the only way McCoy knew to get him there was to make the situation sound grim. "Well you can see for yourself he's mentally depressed," McCoy began, sending another brief glance at Spock for reassurance. The Vulcan displayed no reaction to his words or to Kirk's condition. The doctor continued explaining, gesturing at Kirk. "He's physically weak, disoriented, has displaced feelings of persecution and rebellion." The Commander's glittering brown eyes drilled into his. "Then by your own standards of normality this man is not fully competent?" McCoy cringed at his next words, not quite meeting Spock's glance toward him. "No, not now." "Mr. Spock has states that he believes the Captain had no authority or order to cross the neutral zone. Could this mental incapacity have inflicted him earlier?" She seemed to know his answer before McCoy gave it. "Yes, it's possible." McCoy found himself cursing silently. Spock was not helping him, remaining silently at the Commander's side. The doctor did not know if it was making things worse by telling the truth. All he knew was he needed to help Kirk. The doctor glanced at the captain who was still sitting slumped over at the end of the bed, his eyes glazed over. There seemed to be no awareness of the conversation taking place. A triumphant look crossed the Commander's face. "Mr. Spock," she said, her long black hair bouncing on her shoulders as she swung around to face the Vulcan. "The doctor has now confirmed your testimony as to the mental state of your Captain. He was and is unfit to command the Enterprise. That duty has now fallen on you. Are you ready to exercise that function?" McCoy tensed as Spock replied without inflection. "I am ready." All the worry and fear suddenly boiled over into uncontrolled anger. The doctor did not try to temper it. Why should he? Their situation had just gone from bad to worse. "Spock I don't believe it, there's no price you could pay that would make him sell out!" "The matter is not open for discussion." Spock's tone was wooden. McCoy felt his fury rise another notch. "What do you mean the matter is not open for discussion--" "That's enough, Doctor." The Romulan Commander snapped, her tone effectively stopping McCoy in mid-tirade. "As a physician your duty is to save lives. Mr. Spock's duty is to lead the Enterprise and its crew to a safe haven." Spock was agreeing with her. "There is no alternative Doctor. The safety of the Enterprise is paramount. It is misguided loyalty to resist any further--" For a few crucial moments, McCoy forgot his patient who, in spite of his assumption earlier, apparently had been listening to every word. Kirk lunged off toward his First Officer. "You traitor! I'll kill you." He grabbed for Spock's throat, his face twisted with rage. "I'll kill you." Spock reacted swiftly, placing his fingers with careful precision on Kirk's face. The Captain immediately froze, his face twisted in agony. He groaned once, the unnatural stiffness of his body sending a shaft of fear down the physician's spine. McCoy moved to take Kirk from Spock as he lowered him to the floor, fearing that whatever had happened, he was too late. The Vulcan withdrew to stand at the Commander's side while Kirk lay at his feet. McCoy dropped to his knees, "What did you do?" He began scanning immediately. His voice was shaking as the doctor demanded of Spock again, "What did you do?" Spock folded his arms behind his back, his expression impassive. He explained, "I was unprepared for his attack, I instinctively used the Vulcan death grip." "Your instincts are still good, Mr. Spock. The Captain is dead." With the pronouncement, McCoy felt his own hope die. They were all as good as dead. If Spock was selling out to the Romulans, he had effectively handed them all over in a handbasket. He put his scanner away, his hands shaking uncontrollably. Suddenly a Romulan Centurion was there shoving him out of the way, dragging Kirk's lifeless body from the cell. McCoy scrambled to feet to follow and was backhanded by another guard, knocking him roughly against the bed. McCoy straightened, wiping a trickle of blood from his lip. "Where are you taking him?" He demanded, managing to glare at both the Commander and Spock who had not moved from her side. As hard to believe as it was, the doctor realized he could not expect any help to come from Spock. In a matter of minutes the trusted officer McCoy knew and respected had become the enemy, killing his friend and commanding officer without a moment's pause. The Commander turned to leave, giving an order to the centurion who had hit McCoy. "Escort the Doctor to the Captain. Once his death is confirmed, return them both to the Enterprise." Spock followed the Romulan Commander closely out the door without speaking to McCoy. Once they exited, the burly guard shoved McCoy toward the door, growling something incomprehensible. The doctor obediently walked in the direction the guard pushed him, barely conscious of his surroundings. The events that led to this could have been prevented. If only . . . he had stopped Kirk before they had crossed the neutral zone . . . and here, why had he antagonized Spock within Kirk's hearing . . . he should have risked a sedative . . . anything, Jim might still be alive. And Spock. A traitor? Could he have gotten away with being a Romulan spy all these years? McCoy shook his head, it was simply inconceivable that Spock could have deceived him for all this time, his unique genetic makeup could not be faked. Yet, even if he were definitely Vulcan, did it rule out him being a Romulan plant? McCoy groaned, he could not believe that Spock had been pretending for all these months. He had seen Spock offer up his life for both the captain and the crew on more than one occasion. Yet the fact remained, he had just witnessed Jim Kirk killed by Spock's bare hands. His Romulan escort stopped him, gesturing through a door. Entering a small room that contained one chair in the center and three large Romulans, McCoy looked around in confusion. Kirk was not here, nor did this look like any healer station. The knot in his stomach turned to cold dread. His escort gestured to the chair, growling again in his own language. McCoy tried backing toward the door. "Where's Captain Kirk?" The Romulan beside the chair bared his teeth, speaking in butchered standard. "You--sit here." Taking a breath, McCoy moved toward the chair, understanding that he was being given the choice of sitting on his own or being forced into the chair. Immediately upon occupying the seat, restraints were strapped around his wrists, ankles and head. The tight bands bit into his skin. A wave of cold sweat swept through McCoy making the bands sting and burn. His repeated demands for release was ignored. After a few minutes of waiting, the door opened and McCoy looked up hoping that somehow it was Spock. The Romulan Commander. She nodded her head serenely at him but spoke to one of the guards behind him. "You may begin, Rath." The Commander shifted dark eyes to inspect him. "Your Captain and First Officer admitted to certain unspoken truths before Captain Kirk was killed. I must know these truths. Rath is a healer. He will enter your mind and find what these unspoken truths are." Before McCoy could protest, a burst of flame split his mind wide open. Fire spread from one section to the next. He could feel the healer's touch, searching and destroying piece by piece any rational thoughts. He screamed, pulling away but was unable to escape the relentless touch. The fiery search continued until he lost all awareness of time. He was unaware of screaming until he no longer had a voice. The mind-touch changed and the fire began to receded, a numbing cold replacing his inner thoughts. Then everything faded to blackness, a blackness lit by the fires of madness on the horizon. It would eventually consume him. Wakening was achieved in slow degrees of growing awareness. Motion and light. His arms were stretched above his head, hurting him. He lifted his head, nausea clawing at his throat with the continued motion. Two uniformed men with helmets hiding most of their face were dragging him down a long corridor. It took several seconds for the doctor to remember that he was on the Romulan flagship. His thoughts felt sluggish, his mind clouded with confusion. Something had happened . . . McCoy's stomach churned, forcing him to swallow hard against another surge of nausea. "Jim . . . Spock?" He called out hoarsely, his throat raw. Just as he was attempting to get his feet under him, the guards stopped, releasing him to the floor. McCoy pushed up to his knees, hazily recognizing the transporter chamber. Rubbing his throbbing temples, the doctor closed his eyes against a surge of nausea. The respite was short, the quiet broken by the door opening again. McCoy tensed as the Romulan Commander entered the room. She had . . . Fear twisted his gut but why? His head was throbbing too hard to think, and the doctor fought against moaning. He was not going to let these bastards see his surrender. Spock followed behind her, hesitating as he caught sight of the doctor struggling to stand. The Vulcan crossed swiftly to his side, helping him to his feet. The doctor leaned into his strength gratefully. "What happened?" Spock sounded angry. He frowned. "Can't remember. Spock . . . where's Jim?" The strong arms continued to support him, urging him toward the transporter platform. "Commander" Spock addressed the Romulan, his voice harsh. "McCoy is a physician. He was not to be harmed." The Commander's reply was condescending. "Humans are so weak. Spock, I am surprised you have remained with them for so long. Dr. McCoy fainted, hitting his head. We have done nothing to him." McCoy shuddered at the sound of her voice. He swayed for a moment before regaining his balance. Slender fingers touched his face, and McCoy recoiled in alarm. Through the mists in his thoughts he could see hot dry fingers forcing entry into his mind, leaving a trail of flame with their touch. A sudden void opened up in front of him. "Don't!" He snapped. They were both interrupted by the entrance of two centurions carrying the captain's body. McCoy stared at Kirk in horror, unable to move at first as the limp form was placed beside him on the transporter platform. He pulled free of the Vulcan's supportive grip, kneeling at Kirk's side as his memory came flooding back of Spock calmly murdering Kirk. Spock stepped down off the platform. "Doctor, you are to complete the necessary tests on the body according to Starfleet regulations. Do not forget to include the neuro-physiostimulator tests. They must be run immediately." McCoy glared at the Vulcan barely hearing the words. "I know my duty, Spock. I just hope you remember yours while there is still time." Aboard the Enterprise, McCoy was escorting the stretcher holding Kirk's body to sickbay when Spock's orders registered for the first time. A dead person did not require a physiostimulator test. Spock knew that so why did he order one? He stopped, his eyes open wide, unable to quell a sudden rush of hope. The procedure was used to bring a patient out of a coma or to obtain a response from the neural synapses. It was possible Spock had been trying to tell him Jim was alive. Catching his breath, McCoy urged the startled technician to increase his pace. Spock had said immediately and if he were right, the Captain did not have much time. He ordered Kirk to be taken to an isolation unit, asking everyone to leave. Respecting his need for privacy, no one questioned his request. McCoy turned on the monitors, his hopes plummeting as no life signs registered on the monitors. Retrieving the neurostimulator, McCoy applied it to the major systems. No response. He switched to the physiostimulator, feeling a sob of despair when no life signs appeared. What had Spock been trying to tell him? He specifically requested an unnecessary procedure. Suddenly he recalled the precise placement of Spock's fingers on Kirk's face when he died. Spock had called it the Vulcan death grip, but the doctor had never heard of that. Could he have been doing something to Kirk's mind . . . like a trance, a deep trance? McCoy stared at Kirk. If it was a trance, the physiostimulator should have worked. Unless the captain had been kept on board the Romulan ship longer than was safe. He could be too far under to respond to anything. If that were true, they were in danger of losing him in the next few minutes. McCoy adjusted a control on the bed that would bring Kirk's body temperature rapidly back to normal. As he waited, the doctor rapidly searched the computer for information on methods to bring a Vulcan back from a deep trance. Frustrated at his inability to concentrate and fighting a growing headache, McCoy desperately wanted to ask Chapel to help. But, if he were wrong and Kirk was truly dead, McCoy did not have the heart to make her or any of his staff deal with the grief all over again. Nothing. The doctor cursed, the amount of information the computer contained about Vulcans and their health could fit into a brandy glass. He strode back over to Kirk. The body temperature was nearly normal. Lifting the physiostimulator, McCoy turned it to the highest setting and applied both the neuro and physiostimulator near the base of Kirk's neck. One minute. Two. At three minutes, McCoy removed them, his chest tightening in despair. He had hoped to prove that Spock was not a traitor. To prove that Kirk was alive. Dots swam before his eyes, and his vision blurred. Afraid he was going to pass out, McCoy fought to keep his shaking legs under him. Holding onto the bed for support, the doctor fought the strange seizure as a vague memory of something happening aboard the Romulan ship flitted through his thoughts. His attempts to remember were thwarted by a strong feeling of dread, causing his head to pound in rhythm with the chills that were coursing through his body. A heartbeat. McCoy raised a disbelieving face to stare at the monitor. The screen revealed one solid heartbeat and then was totally blank. With a tremulous smile, the doctor gently touched Kirk's still cheek, "Thank god, Jim. You're alive." Injecting Kirk with a mild stimulant, McCoy knew now he must be patient. He glanced down at his still shaking hands, deadly weakness creeping through his system as the paroxysm passed and his own excitement calmed. He crossed over to the fresher to rinse his face, staggering slightly as his knees threatened to buckle. Hanging on to the sink, the doctor frowned at his shaking hands. Nothing had happened to him over there, so why did he feel as if he had just walked through fire? McCoy glanced back at Kirk, knowing time was critical, the captain's life depended on his actions now, not in five minutes. He did not have the time to cope with shock like reactions or with thoughts that seemed to be operating slower than normal. Slipping quickly into his office, McCoy retrieved his medikit and injected a stimulant into his arm. He was headed back to the isolation unit, vitalizing needles already stinging throughout his system when he heard Chapel scream. Chapel had proven over the months to be efficient and professional. This was the first time McCoy had ever seen her panic. She came rushing out of Kirk's room, her hands fluttering, "Dr. McCoy, he's alive. I saw him--he's alive." "I thought I left orders no one was to enter." Chapel glanced at him but her eyes returned to Kirk. "I was concerned about you. You didn't look well--" She broke off. "Doctor, he's alive!" McCoy nodded, "Well, now that you know, you can help me. Hand me that physiostimulator." It took another five minutes before Kirk began to show signs or regaining consciousness. In that time, the doctor's emotions changed from elation that Kirk was alive to blazing rage at both the Captain and Spock not only for putting him and the crew through such torment but also for taking such risks with their lives. Subduing the hot coals of anger required quaking control as McCoy watched Kirk open his eyes and groan. At the sight of Chapel and McCoy bending over him, Kirk immediately relaxed. Giving a catlike grin, Kirk unknowingly fanned the flames of anger that McCoy was unable to completely subdue. "I feel like my neck's been twisted off." Kirk sat up, rubbing his neck. "That's the Vulcan Death Grip for you." He apparently managed the right note of lightness for neither Chapel or Kirk reacted. McCoy drew a deep breath. The stimulant was working but now he felt almost giddy, the rapidly changing sensations making him feet like he was riding a virtual reality high speed game. Chapel was speaking. "There's no such thing as the Vulcan Death Grip." Kirk kept his eyes on McCoy, making the doctor's hands begin to sweat. "Yes, but the Romulans don't know that. Sure fooled their doctors." "You took a big chance they didn't start an autopsy." McCoy allowed some of his anger to flare. Kirk's eyes dropped down, then he craned his neck around to look at Chapel. "As far as the crew is concerned, I'm still dead." "Why?" McCoy demanded before Chapel could respond. Kirk turned back, wincing with the motion. "That's what this whole masquerade was about, to keep the Enterprise and the Federation off the hook." "So, that if anything went wrong with whatever you're up to," McCoy shook his head, understanding finally that all the incidents leading up to this mission had been a charade. "You would be the one to blame." Kirk nodded, "So you can see it is of vital importance, no one knows I'm alive yet. Spock's still over there, we've got to get him and complete the mission. Do you understand, Christine?" "Yes sir." McCoy listened as Kirk outlined his next move and the doctor's part in it. He sent Chapel to gather the necessary supplies that would allow the Captain to return to the alien ship disguised as a Romulan. He pushed down his irritation that Kirk had not yet explained the reason for needing to go back. As soon as they were alone, Kirk grasped McCoy's arm. "I'm sorry Bones. I never wanted to hurt you. But you were the key to proving I had gone over the edge. Without you, and your medical logs, it wouldn't have worked." "I think I understand. But why didn't you trust me? I would have cooperated." "I . . . wasn't sure how far this would go. If you were questioned, being a doctor you don't have the necessary training not to break and tell the truth. I needed you to truly believe I wasn't quite sane." "It didn't work. I was--" McCoy stopped. A tendril of flame pierced his thoughts and for a suspended moment in time, McCoy remembered the chair, the Romulan healer probing . . . hurting . . . tearing-- "Bones!" Jim's voice was in his ear and the confusing thoughts disappeared back into a black void in the inner part of his mind. McCoy opened tightly closed eyes to find Kirk holding him by the shoulders, supporting him. He straightened, frowning. "What's wrong? Did they hurt you?" The questions were sharp, revealing Kirk's fear. "Nothing." McCoy shook his head. Kirk kept his hand on the doctor's arm. "You're trembling, I can feel it." McCoy drew back as the captain lifted a hand to touch the corner of his mouth. "Your lip is swollen." McCoy straightened, frowning in thought. "A guard hit me when they took your body away. That's all I remember. Then I . . . " There was nothing to reach for, except a deep pit of emptiness in his mind, surrounded by panicky, unreasoning fear. Burying his thoughts, McCoy forced a smile to reassure Kirk. "All I remember is being scared out of my wits the whole time I was on that ship." "If we get out of this alive, I'll make it up to you. I swear. I'm alive now, because of you." Kirk squeezed McCoy's arm, letting go as Chapel entered. The surgery was simple and short and all too soon he was escorting his transformed captain down deserted corridors to the transporter room. McCoy closed his eyes against the disappearing sparkles, as the captain insisted on beaming aboard the Romulan ship without the proper coordinates. He wondered if he would ever see Kirk again. The minutes dragged on as McCoy ensured that sickbay was maintaining alert status. Soon he realized bird-dogging his staff was making them even more jumpy and nervous. Retreating to his office, the doctor stared at the end of the month report. The stimulant was still working in his system making him too nervous to work on everyday duties. McCoy sank into his chair. Hands supporting his head, he tentively touched the black darkness that was lurking inside his mind, feeling an ominous nest of vipers twist his gut with the attempt. It seemed strange that he could visually see into his thoughts, there was an irregular outline shifting like a black hole in space threatening his sanity. The zone of darkness began to oscillate allowing images to drift through, frightening images because he knew that somehow they were real. Wiping beads of moisture from his forehead, McCoy struggled to overcome his rising panic. As he attempted to go deeper into the darkness, sparks of remembered flame began to lick at his thoughts. The doctor hesitated, seeing the danger, but his need to understand forcing him to overcome the fear. Shadows sorted themselves into wavering images . . . Jim lying dead at his feet . . . . . . . the Romulan Commander demanding his truth . . . . . . long fingers reaching for his face . . . . . . then a hand touching his temples . . . . . . Fire. . . searing his thoughts . . . Unaware of crying out, McCoy scrambled to retreat from the Romulan's mind touch, descending into a numbing darkness. He came to slumped forward, his head resting uncomfortably on his desk. The chronometer indicated over thirty minutes had passed. McCoy straightened, rubbing his face. He was hot, unbearably so, his uniform wringing with sweat. Standing was an effort, a wave of exhaustion making him stumble as he retrieved a glass of water and drank it down greedily. He felt as if her were burning up from fever. The doctor shuddered with an acute awareness of the cause. Without attempting to probe his thoughts, he knew the zone of darkness had grown larger and more threatening. The fire came from there and McCoy knew with certainty that when the zone enveloped his mind, he would be lost forever in the flames of agony. The knowledge of his own certain future looming before whispered. "I don't remember . . ." Seeing his fear, Chapel placed a firm hand on his shoulder, "You need rest, despite your denials, it's clear you aren't feeling well. Why don't you take a sedative? We'll see to the Commander's needs." He knew that coaxing tone of voice. Christine excelled as a nurse in her ability to coerce her patients to cooperate when they had no intention of doing so. She was attempting to do the same with him. Except she did not know, did not understand and even though McCoy did not comprehend it clearly, he knew that once he submitted he was lost forever. Maintaining a sense of normality was his only chance at survival. "Dammit Nurse, I told you I'm fine. It's my duty to take care of the Commander and I will." He stood, allowing his anger to cover the shaking weakness he felt underneath. "You can help me by getting my supplies." "Yes Doctor," came the brusque reply. She retrieved his medikit and tricorder and handed it to him silently, her eyes disapproving. Alone, McCoy headed for the quarters where the commander was now located. Two guards were posted outside the room. The doctor nodded at them curtly, grateful when one followed him inside. With one glance at the Romulan, McCoy's heart slammed painfully in his chest. He swallowed hard, unable to speak. She remained standing beside her desk, her dark eyes burning holes through him as he quickly began to scan her. The doctor had almost finished when her hand snaked out to grasp his wrist, long fingernails digging into his skin. "As a healer, you know how to hide the truth." Her voice was low, singing with anger. A memory burst through the blackness of her standing over him, saying, "I must know these truths." Flame . . . nothing but agony and pain. Crying out, he attempted to pull away, her grip threatening to break his wrist. He was marginally aware of the guard ordering her away, but battling the fire consuming his mind was taking all his attention. Heat from a phaser blast grazed McCoy's arm. The Commander collapsed, taking the doctor with her to the deck. McCoy ignored the security guards efforts to help him stand, needing a few minutes for the throbbing pain in his head to ease. When his breathing had slowed, the doctor dropped his hands from his head and pushed himself up with trembling arms. "Doc, you're as pale as a ghost." The guard kept a hand on his arm solicitously. "I'll get someone to take you to Sickbay." He needed time to regain his equilibrium, not someone fussing over him. McCoy shook his head. "I'm all right. I think I got all I needed. You might ask her about food preferences when she's awake. I doubt I'll be making anymore housecalls." McCoy retreated to his own quarters, quickly washing his face and managing to get his breathing back under control. Grabbing his medikit, he barely made it back to sickbay before Kirk entered with most of the bridge crew behind him. McCoy gave Chapel the information to review from the scan he had obtained from the Commander. Shelving the disquieting sensations, McCoy joined the jubilant group. Attempting to regain a sense of normalcy, he dredged up a smile at their laughter but felt oddly out of synch with his friends. Uhura grabbed him, throwing her arms around his shoulder, oblivious to his reticence. "The Captain and Spock said if it weren't for you, we would all be prisoners by now, and they would be dead." Uhura's eyes were shining as she hugged him once more. Chekov chimed in, "You're the hero, doctor!" McCoy shook his head. "I didn't even know what was going on. My knees were shaking so hard, it's a wonder you didn't pick it up on your sensors! What the hell was this all about anyway?" Chekov explained proudly, "We are now the owners of a working cloaking device." McCoy stared at him disbelieving, "All this was for military technology?" He shook his head, "I should've known." Everyone laughed, unaware of the sincerity of McCoy's statement or the anger he felt in being a pawn of the military. The group was already moving toward the door, excited talking bursting out again. McCoy caught a glimpse of Spock watching him from across the room and turned away uneasily. An image of Spock standing over Kirk's body battling his thoughts briefly against the current reality. 'I instinctively used the Vulcan Death Grip.' echoed insanely through his mind. He jumped as a hand was placed on his shoulder. "Bones?" An animated Kirk stood at his side, dispelling the image from before. "Security informed me of the Commander's actions. You all right?" Seeing the worried expression, McCoy forced another smile. "I will be if you promise me I don't have to visit her again and that we're headed for a nice long shoreleave soon." "It's a promise on both accounts." The captain started to move away. Seeing Spock was approaching, McCoy caught Kirk's arm. The Vulcan presented a danger to him although the doctor could not define why he felt this. In an attempt to avoid him, McCoy guided the captain toward the minor surgery room. "Jim, I believe it's time to remove those ears." With a guilty grin, Kirk traced the outline of his ears. "I keep forgetting they're there." "Unless of course, you plan to go through life looking like your First Officer." McCoy added. A few steps behind them, Spock commented drily, "Somehow Captain, on humans they are not aesthetically pleasing." The three men paused in the doorway of the treatment room, Kirk catching Spock's eye. "This shouldn't take long," he paused, raising an inquiring eyebrow at McCoy. The doctor supplied, "Twenty minutes, Captain, unless you want a haircut too." Kirk grimaced at his attempt to joke but continued without comment. "I'll join you in Engineering as soon as we're finished. Mr. Scott says the damage wasn't too bad but--" "You want to see for yourself." McCoy finished for him, shaking his head. Kirk shot the doctor an irritated glance before turning back to Spock. "Set up a debriefing for the senior officers following our inspection." The captain paused, suddenly seeming to notice the intent gaze that Spock was focusing on McCoy. The doctor shifted nervously, his lips suddenly dry as Kirk turned his discerning eyes on him also. "Doctor, we'll need a full report of your experience there. Spock says you were separated from him on the flagship for over four hours." "Four point three hours." The Vulcan clarified. "We'll need a complete accounting of your time." Kirk stated quietly. Another shiver of fear coursed down his spine and McCoy dropped his eyes to avoid their concerned looks. He started for the exam bed, sending a gruff reply over his shoulder. "I'll tell you what I remember." "Bones," Kirk sounded troubled, but the doctor did not turn back. "You told me you weren't hurt. What happened during that time?" His chest was beginning to tighten in fear, a tremor nearly causing him to drop the scanner he held. "Dammit Jim, I told you I don't remember anything. Now do you want this surgery or not?" The captain approached the bed with slow, measured steps. "What I'd like is the truth, Doctor." McCoy froze, struggling to force air into his suddenly constricted lungs. "The Commander, she . . . wanted to know your unspoken truths." "What?" Kirk whispered. "On her ship? Did she interrogate you?" There was a pause, then the voice was edged with fierce, protective anger. "Did she hurt you?" The black void waiting for the right moment to pounce, opened for a brief moment, fiery pain enveloping his thoughts. He raised hands to his temples, warding off the pain. Looking up, he cringed away from the dark, knowing eyes of Spock. He forced his hands to drop and snapped, "Jim, I don't remember." With a quick angry motion, McCoy turned back to his instruments, ignoring Kirk's supportive grip on his shoulder. "Look, give me a break. Haven't you put me through enough already? Forcing me to think you were insane then making me come aboard a Romulan ship and watch Spock turn into a traitor and kill my best friend." He could not keep the bitterness out of his voice. "And it was all for a piece of hardware. You'll forgive me if I can't help but feel a little betrayed by both of you." The hand on his shoulder fell away. Kirk said softly, "Okay Bones. We'll talk about it later." "A normal human reaction," Spock's condescending tone did not evoke the normal biting response from McCoy. "Captain, with your permission I will see Dr. M'Benga regarding a complete physical on McCoy before the briefing." McCoy whirled, feeling like he was being cornered. "Why? I didn't do anything! I told you nothing happened." Kirk was settling on the exam bed. He looked up at McCoy in surprise. Spock responded calmly, his manner irritating the doctor further. "It is standard operating procedure, Doctor. A physical is required of any officer's exposure to a known enemy of Starfleet. The Captain and I will also submit to a complete physical when time permits." Kirk angled his head to address Spock who stood behind him. "Bones is well aware of the regulation, Commander. See to it." "Yes sir." McCoy watched as Spock left, feeling some of his tension ease. Kirk waited in silence as he fingered the miniature laser that was needed to remove the skin grafts he had used to make the points on Kirk's ears. "Bones, we don't have to do this now if you don't feel up to it." "I feel fine, Captain." He motioned for Kirk to lie down. Positioning his head to one side, the doctor began working with the laser, relieved that his hands were steady. Finishing the right ear, he repositioned Kirk and moved to the other side. In the silence, Kirk whispered, "Bones, about the charade..before all this with the Romulans, I'm sorry. You know I didn't mean anything that was said." McCoy paused, "I think you did. And I think we need to talk about it. But not now," he bent back to his work. "Talking while I'm doing this could be dangerous to your health. Quiet." He could feel the quiet shock that went through Kirk. The captain managed to remain silent while he worked for several more minutes. However, the signs of tension began to build until Kirk was forced to whisper harshly, "I thought you understood, it was all an act." McCoy remembered the angry words Kirk had hurled at him in his office. He stopped the laser to run his thumb over the round edge of Kirk's ear. "Your anger about Miramanee and Edith was no act, Jim." Squinting, he changed the setting of the laser to remove a resistant flap of artificial skin. "I'm telling you the truth, Bones. I planned--" The rest of Kirk's explanation was lost as the pain filled void in his mind sent tendrils of flame to touch his thoughts. Truths. Unspoken Truths. The Commander's Truth. Jim's Truth. Another lance of pain shot through him, memory and Romulans running together. Hurting him, reaching into his mind, lancing him apart piece by piece. The Romulans had tied him down, but now somehow he was free. McCoy looked down, seeing the enemy lying within his grasp and knew fresh terror. He lifted the weapon in his hand, aiming the full force of the laser at the vulnerable green neck within his grasp. Even if he did not know the precise anatomy of a Romulan, there had to be vital circulatory arteries within the general region. The invisible beam sliced through the green skin. Instead of the expected green color, red blood spilled out onto his hands and McCoy stared at it in confusion. There was a strangled cry, "Bones, it's hur--" McCoy dropped the laser from numb fingers, staring in horror at Kirk. It couldn't be Jim. A second ago there had been a Romulan. The face wavered, Romulans surrounding him. Fingers reaching for his mind, leaving fire and desolation behind. Smothering a scream, McCoy slid to the floor. "Bones," A whisper drew his attention and he looked up to see Kirk holding a hand out to him. "Help me." The captain's head lolled weakly on the side of the bed, his eyes glazing. Blood was pouring from his mouth. Red blood. Kirk's blood. McCoy looked down at his hands, confused by the rivulets of red blood covering them. Fragments of past and present flashed before him, his mind shattering under the onslaught. He tried to stand, slipping. "Jim!" The captain gasped once and then was still, his face white and lifeless. Fire erupted in his mind and McCoy fell into a bottomless void that was filled with unending shafts of agony. There were flashes of images. Someone screaming over and over. Whispered reports reaching his ears. The captain was dead. Tests. Procedures. Voices. Pain. He tried opening his eyes and found Jim's face floating above him ghost like. The face wavered and was surrounded by Romulans. Everyone was laughing, and Kirk was laughing with them. The agony in his mind exploded blowing them all to fragments. And him. Sobbing. He heard someone crying nearby. McCoy cautiously opened his eyes again, discovering Uhura sitting beside him. She was holding his hand, tears flowing down her cheeks. There was a squeeze and a whispered prayer that he live. He tried to speak, tried to tell her there was nothing left. He was dead, lost in hell. Fragments that was all that was left of his mind. At times, he knew he was lucid yet the reality was torn from him in tortured visions. Chapel appeared frequently, her manner soothing and reassuring. But McCoy soon became terrified of even admitting to her presence. Each time, the fingers of fire would take over, pulling the nurse's face apart, horrified screams following her descent into madness. He whimpered, retreating from the sound and the hand that rested on his forehead. Hot fingers that wanted to touch his mind and send tendrils of renewed fire deep within his thoughts. "No!" He whispered, but no sound emerged. Calm dark eyes commanded him to look up and for a moment there was respite in the storm that constantly surrounded McCoy's mind. His grateful smile faded in horror as the turbulence whirled suddenly around him and dragged his Vulcan friend into the broken pieces of his mind. Then the fire was gone. He raised his head cautiously but no explosion of pain accompanied the move. A whisper cautioned him to remain still. A flutter of panic descended as the whisper continued to instruct him. A presence in his mind. Panic. Fear. 'Not my mind! Please, no more pain,' he begged. 'Rest, my friend. I will not harm you. You need rest.' McCoy relaxed in the gentle waves that buoyed him. Waves of peace in the confusing thoughts. 'There's nothing left. Let me die,' he asked wearily. 'Rest, I will guard your sleep. You are tired.' The gentle voice urged him to listen. He was so tired. There was always pain and mind numbing fear to keep him from sleeping. 'Thank you.' McCoy opened his eyes, glancing around the room cautiously. Sickbay. He felt a pressure on his hand, and found Kirk at his side. He watched him, waiting for the pain to intrude, for the captain to twist into a hundred different images. Nothing. The smiling face, pale and worried, waited patiently. "You're going to be all right, Bones. We're here with you." Kirk clasped his hand tighter, the whisper growing softer, more intense. "Don't give up, please." "Jim." He had no voice, no sound accompanied the word. There was no strength to return the pressure of Kirk's grip. It was enough. Kirk's smile grew wide and he lowered his head suddenly, rubbing his eyes briefly. McCoy frowned at the sight of a recently healed scar on his neck. A fragment of memory threatening his new found peace of mind. His eyes flew back to Kirk's face, seeing the translucent paleness, the trembling hands and remembered suddenly the blood everywhere. Jim's blood. The memory was real. McCoy found himself standing at a closed door and behind it voices were asking him for the truth. The Romulan Commander. "Jim," he begged. "Tell her please. Your unspoken truths. Don't let them . . . her . . . hurt me." Feeling as if he were in another dimension, McCoy watched all color fade from Kirk's face, his eyes widening in horror at the doctor's words. McCoy slipped back into darkness with a soft cry, not understanding, only knowing that he had hurt Jim again. There was no meaning to time. But McCoy became more aware of longer periods of an ability to think, to reason. There was help he thought, but it was gentle and unobtrusive. Helping him sort the truth from the confusion, burying the flames under layers of loving concern. Voices were whispering at his side. He let them filter in and out without listening until the anxiety in their tone caught his attention. "The lad needed the rest badly." "I know, Chapel's been worried about his slow recovery. He's emotionally worn out. Sending him to his quarters doesn't help. He just comes back and says he can't sleep. The only reason he's out now is she forced him to take a sedative. Even then he refused to leave." "There's not much we can do for him, until Dr. McCoy is able to talk to him. Nothing we say helps. He feels responsible for what happened." "And what if Leonard doesn't pull through?" The husky voice broke. "He will, you watch, if only because his friend needs him so." The voices faded away, familiar and yet he had no names. McCoy lay for a long time, savoring the fact that he could remember the conversation. Understanding took longer to filter through. He opened his eyes. Kirk lay on a bed nearby, curled on his side. Dark shadows under his eyes told of many sleepless nights. There was a permanent frown etched in the young commander's face, making him seem much older than he was. McCoy let him rest, drifting back into a twilight of sleep that was almost enjoyable. He experienced no nightmares, no twisted thoughts. He even toyed with the problem of Kirk and the conversation he had overheard. Medical personnel came and went silently, adjusting his treatments but leaving comfort in their wake. He reveled in the complete lack of pain. No flames waited at the back of his mind. He could start living again. Someone was brushing his hair back from his forehead. Chapel, he thought, she used touch to comfort and reassure. Opening his eyes, he was surprised to discover Kirk standing beside him. "Bones?" Concern was in his voice and face, but the captain's eyes were full of fear. An emotion that McCoy was sure had not been present when Kirk was facing the Romulans. "Jim." He smiled. Relief flooded the captain's features. "Feeling better?" "I think so," his voice was half-whisper, half-scratch. "At least my thoughts seem clear." "Thank god." Kirk's voice broke and he turned away. It took all his energy to move, and at that it was only his hand. Still his touch on Kirk's arm was enough to turn him back. "Jim. It's all right." Kirk nodded, trying to smile without success. A tear was quickly brushed away. "Sorry, Be right back." He shifted as if to leave. McCoy grasped the gold sleeve. "Jim, stay." Kirk glanced quickly at him in surprise, looked away again to hide the tears he was struggling to suppress. Pointing to the chair beside his bed, McCoy urged Kirk to sit. "I don't think I've ever seen you more scared, Captain. How about telling me why?" Kirk's shoulders sagged under the weight of McCoy's question. "Don't think I can really explain. I --" He broke off, clamping his lips together. "Damn," he whispered, brushing a hand over his eyes. He glanced briefly at the doctor, "If I lost you, I only had myself to blame. It would've been my fault." "How? It was the Romulans, not you." He tried to put more strength in his tone, holding Kirk's eyes. "It wasn't your fault." "Yeah," Kirk lifted eyes to stare at the ceiling, his voice bitter. "I gamble with your life and you tell me it's not my fault?" As the captain shifted to look at him again, McCoy caught a glimpse of the barely healed scar on the side of Kirk's neck. He lifted a hand to touch it, ignoring the trembling weakness. "I thought that was one of my hallucinations. I did that?" Remembering all the blood that had surrounded him, he shivered in horror. Kirk caught his hand, drawing it away from the wound. "That wasn't your fault. You weren't to blame." The traces of memory were becoming clearer. "I remember someone saying you were dead." Kirk's eyes twinkled briefly with amusement. "Uhura claims I must have nine lives like a cat. Claims so far I've used up five of those lives, two this week." McCoy stared at him in dismay. "It's nothing to joke about Jim. You nearly died because of me." The captain leaned forward, his hazel eyes glittering with anger. "The Romulans are the only ones to blame this on." He touched the side of his neck, his voice softening. "Spock doesn't know how you maintained your sanity as long as you did. If you had given in earlier, there wouldn't have been anyone to bring me out of that trance in time. I believe he's gained a new respect for your mental capabilities." "About time," McCoy said gruffly. "Jim, I did this. With my own hands," he reached up to touch the faint scar again, "Yet you say it was the Romulans fault, not mine. Yet you claim you're to blame for my injuries. I may not be Spock, but even I can see the illogic of your reasoning." Kirk did not respond to his gentle teasing. A rapid shift of emotions crossed the expressive face from protest to self-loathing. McCoy frowned, "Jim, talk to me." Kirk blinked, his face unexpectedly crumbling into an expression of torment. Giving a soft moan, he covered his face with his hands. McCoy strained to hear the broken words, "When we began to understand the torture you had undergone . . . after Spock melded with you . . . he said . . . anyway, I lost it . . . if it hadn't been for Scotty, I--" He stopped. McCoy considered trying to sit up, but knew it would set off a cacophony of alarms, even if he were strong enough. He rolled on his side, near the edge of the bed and pulled one of Kirk's hands free. The eyes were tightly closed, the long lashes dark with unshed tears. "What Jim?" "I would've killed her. The Romulan Commander who did this to you. I had a phaser in my hand and was . . . Oh my god." "You didn't do it, Jim." Kirk snapped his eyes open, the depths blazing with self- hate. "You don't know how close I came. I would have killed her when what happened to you wasn't her fault at all. It was mine alone. " "Good lord, Jim, you're being obtuse. How can you be to blame for their actions?" "All of this is my fault. We were in their space at my order. You became a pawn in the game of high tech warfare, or like you said over a piece of hardware. Military secrets." The words were harsh, unforgiving. "Jim, aren't you forgetting you were ordered on this mission. You follow orders just like I follow yours." "It was a volunteer assignment." Kirk did not look away from McCoy's eyes as he explained. His jaw clenched and unclenched before continuing. "I thought it sounded like a challenge. Told Spock it would be a risk worth trying. We didn't have to do it." The psychologist within McCoy recognized the source of Kirk's confusion, his conflict between allowing friendships to form and maintaining command. He hoped he could keep his steadily growing fatigue from interfering with getting the captain to talk. It was imperative to utilize the time now, knowing the rare vulnerability Kirk was exhibiting would be hidden soon by high barriers needed to maintain his command image. "How long have we known each other, Jim?" The questioned obviously startled Kirk, pulling him from his dark thoughts. "I don't know. Guess about eight years." "We've shared quite a few experiences together, wouldn't you say?" Kirk nodded, watching him warily. "Many of them before I ever came aboard under your command. Some of them just as risky." McCoy waited. The captain opened his mouth to comment then closed it abruptly. The doctor continued, "You requested me for the Enterprise and I volunteered to take the assignment." Kirk started to respond and McCoy stopped him this time with a sharp look. "Do you think for one minute that I signed aboard without being fully aware of just what kind of commander you are? This whole crew knows that signing onto this ship is a risk and . . . " the doctor smiled, unable to hide his own swelling pride, "an honor. I'm proud to serve on the Enterprise with you as my Commander and I'm lucky enough to count you as my friend." He knew he had been getting through to Kirk, his face losing some of its haggard expression, the eyes lightening slightly. But at his last words, the captain winced. "A friend who wounded you deeply with words that should never have been spoken." He stood up, placing a hand on McCoy's shoulder. "Bones, all those days of uncertainty when Chapel and Spock couldn't reassure me if you were going to live or die, I was afraid that you were going to die thinking that I blamed you for my pain at losing Edith and Miramanee. I don't. Please believe me, I'm telling the truth." Truth. They kept circling around to the same question. Fatigue was pressing in on his thoughts. He nodded, fighting to keep his increasingly heavy eyelids open. It was important for Kirk to understand one truth, the only one there could be. "We are friends. It was your love as a friend that reached out and pulled me into this safe harbor. That is the truth that will never change, no matter what trials we go through." Kirk straightened, his eyes shining. "I read a quote a long time ago that I didn't really understand until recently. It says, 'From quiet homes and first beginnings, out to the undiscovered ends, there's nothing worth the wear of winning but laughter and the love of friends'." He paused, touching the doctor's cheek and then reached down to grasp his hand. " It's true, winning this battle with the Romulans meant nothing when I thought I was going to lose you." He lifted McCoy's hand in his tight grip. "Friends." He whispered. The word followed McCoy as he sank into the peaceful sands of sleep, the clasp of his friend's hand keeping him safe and protected. The circle completed itself neatly in his mind. Love. Truth. Friendship. Story by Mary R. and Lynn S., 1996 Star Trek is a registered trademark of the Paramount Picture Corporation; no copyright infringement is intended. http://www.sttos.net