That's Why You Close Your Eyes: Chapter Two

[lilbatfacedgirl]

Title: That's Why You Close Your Eyes
Author: Lilbatfacedgirl
Rating: NC-17
Pairing: Spock/Kirk/McCoy
Warnings: Language, mild sexual content
A/N: Thanks to Spikeface for excellent constructive criticism!

Summary: Jim and Bones 2gether 4ever, til Spock gets in the way


Chapter Two:

Generally speaking, it took a lot to get Jim Kirk mad. Assholes in bars were one thing, but among a group of intelligent individuals he was a pretty patient guy. But if one more member of his crew asked him if they could help or take care of that for him he was going knock their goddamned head off.

Because no one else was touching Bones’ stuff!

He’d already handled the CMO’s office in sickbay. Chapel hadn’t even offered assistance, just stood in the doorway and answered whatever questions he’d had in a voice that parodied respect and dripped disdain. Jim said nothing. Christine was Bones’ girl through and through and she would consider it her personal mission to remind him on a daily basis that his doctor was never going to forgive him. He glanced around the empty cabin, at the half-packed boxes, and shut his eyes. As if he could ever forget.

The sharp, tearing pain in his chest was back again, bitter and familiar. He welcomed the pain, basked in it like a penitent. For Jim, it was the visceral manifestation of Bones’ absence. Sinking down on the mattress, he smoothed his hands over the hand-sewn nine patch quilt, a thin slice of Georgia that Bones had dragged into space. Biting his lip, Jim ran his finger over the unique stitch patterns, so familiar under his hands. This quilt had been a balm to him on nights when the weight of captaincy had seemed overwhelming, when he had traced the pattern where it lay over his cantankerous doctor’s stomach or back, soothed by his scent and the rise and fall of his chest. He needed that, the centering, the peace, so badly but the source was gone, the quilt powerless without the man himself, and the horrible, empty wrongness of that was ripping Jim apart.

He sensed his presence a moment before the door actually opened. A sharper ray of light from the corridor sliced through the dim expanse of the cabin, broken by a long, lanky shadow. Jim didn’t look up and the shadow didn’t move. Spock was no fool and he would not provoke Jim’s fragile calm by entering the doctor’s room.

“I am not here to offer my assistance, if that is troubling you. I would not presume.”

Jim met his eyes with a weak nod. “I know that. I think I’m gonna give it a rest for tonight anyway. We have two days until we rendezvous with the shuttle,” he stepped into the corridor and initiated the captain’s override on the door. No one was getting in there.

Jim took a step down the corridor but paused as he noticed Spock starring thoughtfully at cabin door, his eyes strangely distant.

“What is it?”

“I am merely contemplating his motives. To have timed it so carefully….”

“He just wanted to make sure there was no possible way for either of us to go down there and drag him back. I’m sure there are a dozen different regulations you could’ve pulled out of your ass to muck up the transfer. He’s no dope.”

Spock nodded, his eyes still locked on the door. Jim exhaled loudly and pressed a finger to the bridge of his nose. “Spock, what’s this about? I don’t get it.”

“In truth, I am unsure,” he replied, finally tearing his eyes away to look at Jim, “I confess that I feel a sense of…….”

“Guilt?”

“That is a facet of my current emotional makeup, yes.”

“So, you admit that you’re feeling emotions…..about Bones.”

Spock’s face remained calm but his eyes were pained, “I feel, Jim, many emotions regarding this loss, emotions I am currently unable to explain. And yes, I do consider it a loss, a surprisingly difficult one, and I am quite aware of the irony.”

Jim folded his hands and pressed them against his eyes. “Look, I can’t do this now. I just spent half the shift up to my elbows in his stuff and it fucking hurts so can we just go to bed, please?” Turning on his heels, he strode down the corridor.

Spock starred after the captain’s retreating form before fixing his eyes once again on the cabin before him. A sudden compulsion to touch the door seized him and he lifted his hand and hovered momentarily over the surface. But no, it was a senseless invasion to which he had no right. Retracting his hand, he followed Jim down the hall.

********************

They made love that night in Spock’s cabin, their destination of choice in the last few weeks. Jim preferred it, mostly because the room held no unexpected reminders of Bones.

He pushed up into the thrusting body atop him, meeting and answering each movement, burying his face into the exposed throat, nuzzling and inhaling Spock’s unique scent. His arms and legs were wrapping and clinging, answering a compulsive need to touch and touch and feel. Running his hand through the thick, black hair, he pressed his lips to a sensitive ear and let Spock hear each gasp and moan. And when the world finally tilted and he came, panting desperate nonsense, he grabbed the Vulcan in a death grip, kissed him thoroughly, and told him that he loved him.

He meant it, too. That was the terrifying, wonderful, mind-fucking truth of it. He was completely, inalterably in love with his first officer, his friend and knew that the sentiment was reciprocated wholeheartedly. It was clear in Spock’s words, but also in the way he ran his lips over Jim’s face as he thrust to his own fulfillment, in the way he threaded their hands together and held them to his lips as he collapsed onto Jim’s chest and lay there in a satisfied daze. Jim welcomed the weight, the gentle breath that ghosted over his knuckles. It drove home to him how good and full and right this was      .

It was an hour later, as Spock meditated in his outer room, that a sleepless Jim revisited the strange juxtaposition that had been his life for the last five months. All day long he could maintain the smiling, shining face of a starship captain, but on solitary nights, the conflict in his mind would rear its ugly head. How could one person be so damn indecisive? How could they simultaneously feel so full and so very fucking empty?

James T. Kirk knew he was supposed to be with Spock, believed it with an unchallengeable certainty. They were supposed to meet, become friends. This progression would allow them to be more than the sum of their parts, to accomplish truly remarkable and worthwhile things. He and Spock had dissected every nuance of their encounters with his counterpart and had mutually decided to pursue a friendship to see if the unique chemistry the older man had spoken of was true in this universe, too. And it was, powerfully so. They had melded and it soon became obvious that they shared a rare mental compatibility, a comfort level with the other’s mind that was unusual among Vulcans and damn near shocking among humans. And it hadn’t taken very long for the rest of the pieces to fall into place. Friends, the other Spock had said. Yeah, the kind of friendship on which the deepest of love-matches must be based. They had agreed not to ask, not to pry, but Spock had been convinced that their counterparts had been lovers and bondmates and had set out to convince Jim that they could, and must be the same.

There was, of course, only one small problem. Jim was in love with their CMO.

Not that it had made a damn bit of difference but Jim had punched too many walls lately in fits of frustration. Now he just sat and swallowed his misery like medicine because really, who was he kidding. This was all his fucking fault.

He’d known he was going to fall in love with Spock. His subconscious had acknowledged it as early as his Starfleet hearing, recognized that once that pointy-eared bastard had breached his defenses and gotten into his head, Jim would never let him out again. Because that was the way it was supposed to be; he and Spock in a crowded room yet completely by themselves, seizing the situation, attacking it together while everyone else fell away. Well, no, not everyone. Not Bones. And perhaps Jim was spoiled forever because he’d gotten one small taste of it in that moment; of Spock in his face and Bones at his back.

Jim sighed. In the end it didn’t fucking matter if he believed in no win situations or not because he wasn’t the only damn person in the world and he wished to god he wasn’t so late getting to that particular table. Maybe he’d have realized that when you loved two people, you had to fucking choose. You couldn’t just pretend it was all okay, pretend that you weren’t cheating on your doctor just because you hadn’t actually fucked your Vulcan yet.

Until, of course, you did fuck your Vulcan….and your doctor saw.

Spock had understood the stakes, had realized that if they wanted this incredible thing that lay between them, then Jim would have to end things with Bones. He had antagonized and belittled the other man, attempting to draw Bones’ hatred away from Jim and onto himself, despite Jim’s protests. But Spock was not human and could not grasp Jim’s illogical and contradictory need to simultaneously own up and hold on. He couldn’t put it off on Spock. If he was going to break Bones’ heart, he had to do it honestly. But dammit, he just hadn’t been able to let the doctor go. The very thought seemed to raise some sort of instinctual rebellion in him.

But then Spector had died and Bones had seen and……..

Jim sat up and rubbed his face. He’d been such a raw mess that night, pissed off at no one and everyone. All he’d wanted was to grab both of them and hold on tight and he’d resented the hell out of the rules that said he couldn’t. He’d needed to get away, find a place where he didn’t have to be the captain for awhile and some sick, selfish part of him had whispered that it was just fine to bring Spock to his and Bones’ hideout and accept his offer of a meld, that it wasn’t the queen mother of all betrayals. He hadn’t consciously expected it to lead to sex but that was really just willful denial. He knew himself well enough, knew how he craved true emotional intimacy to heal the aches in his heart. He learned that from Bones.

And Dammit, dammit,  he should’ve fucking gone to Bones. He’d needed Jim as badly as Jim needed him that night and that probably hurt more than anything else; to have failed as a lover and a friend.

He had stared at the darkened viewscreen for whole minutes after Bones cut the connection, his mouth slack and his eyes wild with panic, before bolting to his feet and racing down the corridor. The master strategist had no plan aside from getting to his doctor and begging on his knees if necessary.

He had stood outside Bones’ cabin semi-patiently for five minutes before desperation had kicked in and he keyed in the lock. The room had been empty, the bed untouched. Undaunted, Jim had sunk down and slept there, determined to wait him out but at twenty minutes til shift change, Bones still hadn’t returned.

Jim had known his doctor for four years but he had never before realized what a talent Bones had for evasion. Through an elaborate series of shift arrangements and crew placement, the good doctor was managing to make it impossible for Jim to catch up to him. Six days had passed since Spector’s death and Jim’s nerves were starting to fray. But Jim Kirk was still an exceptional chess player and he knew that Bones couldn’t hide forever. He just had to be patient and wait for an opening to present itself.

Alas, an intergalactic clusterfuck had derailed his plans.

Jim had been diligently pouring over navigation projections with Sulu and Chekov, grateful for the distraction, when Uhura had received the message from Starfleet Medical. It was encrypted for the highest level security clearance and intended for the eyes of no one save the captain, first officer and CMO of the Enterprise. As he commed sickbay, Jim had actually felt a profound sense of relief. Bones couldn’t avoid him now. Sure enough, the doctor arrived promptly on the Bridge and followed Jim into the conference room. Spock was already seated inside and as Jim initiated the security locks, the tension was almost palpable.

Reaching his computer, Jim entered his security code and engaged the decoding sequence. Glancing across the table, he stared hard, silently willing the doctor to meet his eyes, to give him the smallest window to express his remorse, but Bones kept his gaze fixed on the floor. The computer chimed and Jim turned his attention back to the screen as the unflinching voice of Rear Admiral Thomas Cody, Assistant Surgeon General filled the room.

“Access to the information contained on this tape is to be strictly limited to the following personnel; James T. Kirk, Captain, USS Enterprise, Spock, Commander, First Officer, USS Enterprise, Dr. Leonard McCoy, Lieutenant Commander, Chief Medical Officer, USS Enterprise.

Captain Kirk,

On Stardate 2258.276, Starfleet received an encrypted request for aid from the Vulcan High Council currently located on the New Vulcan colony planet. As you are all aware, the planet has been occupied by approximately 96% of the Vulcan Diaspora and operating at life sustaining levels since Stardate 2258.192. Security and medical teams were dispatched and landed on the planet two days later.

What they discovered is potentially devastating to the survival of the Vulcan remnant. To summarize, the population of the New Vulcan colony appears to have developed a debilitating allergic reaction to an as yet unidentified biological element on the colony planet. 99.2% of the population has been infected, including the entire Council and all Vulcan medical personnel.

Our preliminary findings are vague at best but our projections are as follows; the reaction targets the respiratory system, causing temporary constriction of the airways and lung alveoli. The bouts of constriction gradually become longer and more severe as the disease takes root. The disease is non-communicable between life forms but removal from the planet does not alleviate the symptoms. The rate of decline varies somewhat depending on the age and overall health of the afflicted individual but all our projections indicate that if left untreated the disease will reach a 100% mortality rate for all planet-side Vulcans within the next eight months.”

Spock pushed his chair back with an angry screech. Hands fisted, back rigid as a post, he stalked across the small room and faced the door. Jim smacked the pause button and starred across the table at Bones. “A 100% mortality rate? They’re telling us that in eight months every Vulcan on that planet will be dead?”

Bones didn’t look up but he nodded his head carefully, eyes dismayed and mouth compressed into a grim line. Across the room, Spock glasped his hands behind his back, knuckles white and strained. “Captain,” he said, “Please continue the tape.” Jim hit play.

“The New Vulcan colony is in a uniquely vulnerable position and has requested that Starfleet proceed with rescue attempts in absolute secrecy. A contingent of the best medical researchers from all the Federation planets is being assembled at Starfleet Medical in an effort to find a cure. None of these representatives know the details of the project they are joining.

The USS Enterprise has been selected to rendezvous with the representatives and ferry them to Earth. They will be converging at Starbase 23 in four days. Dr. McCoy, an encrypted file will be sent directly to you at 0730 containing a detailed breakdown of Starfleet’s present medical findings. You are to familiarize yourself with these contents in order to brief the researchers when they arrive. You are further instructed not to share this knowledge with anyone, including the other members of your staff.

Captain, secrecy is of the utmost importance in this situation. I will not impart unnecessary information but will tell you that factions exist who would seek to use this development for their benefit. In light of your first officer’s personal connection, we trust you to be the soul of discretion.

Commander Spock, Starfleet extends its sympathy. We intend to do everything possible to resolve this situation successfully.

You will keep us appraised of your progress.

Thank you, gentlemen.

Cody out.”

A hollow silence hung in the room as the tape cut out.

Spock was still facing the door, back stiff, arms clasped tightly behind him. He finally managed to choke out a quiet, “My father,” before falling silent again. Standing, Jim moved to his side and laid a hand on his shoulder. Words seemed damned inadequate and he dug his fingers gently into the taught muscle, sending supportive thoughts through his touch.

A chair creaked as Bones stood up. With carefully averted eyes, he mumbled a flat, quiet, “Excuse me,” as he sidestepped Spock towards the door.

It would occur to Jim later that he couldn’t recall actually seeing Spock move. He just heard the crash as the heel of the Vulcan’s right hand slammed into the bulkhead two inches from Bones face, effectively blocking his way. As Jim watched in shock, Spock lunged forward, slapping his left hand onto the desktop, pinning Bones into the corner. The doctor’s fight or flight response sent him backpedaling into the wall, putting as many inches as possible between himself and the suddenly enraged Vulcan before him. Their eyes, burning black and green, latched onto each other like magnets.

Standing in a daze, Jim entertained the brief, flickering notion that he should interject himself between his officers but the thought was sludgy and quickly overwhelmed by the surge of electric energy volleying between Bones and Spock. It pinged off the walls, covering Jim, causing hair to stand on end in a surprisingly pleasant way. He starred, hypnotized at the two faces that were locked on each other in unblinking synchronicity. His hand still rested on Spock’s shoulder and fragments of confusing feelings that were not his own drifted into his mind. Spock’s pain and fear had been sideswiped by rampant fury at the thought that Bones would leave.

A flicker of movement drew Jim’s eyes and he realized Spock had let go of the desk. It provided Bones with a possible escape but the doctor didn’t notice, his eyes still fixed on the Vulcan. Stepping closer, Spock raised his hand, hovering right over the doctor’s cheek as Bones let his head fall back submissively against the wall. Jim recognized this. It was the gesture both Spock’s had used to initiate a meld on him.

And Bones was going to let him do it!

The computer behind them beeped and went dark. Spock froze and suddenly the spell was broken. The doctor blinked and shrank back as the commander retreated, pulling his offending hand behind his back and locking his arms together. Turning stiffly, he nodded to a stupefied Jim with a curt, “Excuse me, Captain,” and stalked out the room without a backwards glance.

Bones was starring blindly across the table, his eyes still slightly glazed. Shaking his head, he concentrated on the wall and said, “Captain, I need to report to sickbay and begin some preparations.” He stepped towards the door but Jim threw off his confusion just in time to reach out and shackle the doctor’s arm.

“Wait a second! Bones, Jesus, are you alright? And what the hell was that about?”

The doctor refused to meet his eyes. “He got really bad news. People react in strange ways sometimes. It didn’t mean anything.” His voice carried a noticeably defensive tinge. “Captain, please let go of my arm.”

Jim studies his face. Didn’t mean anything, his ass. Something was wrong but he knew that expression. Bones wasn’t going to tell him anything unless he was ready and pushing the situation wouldn’t do any good. And there were bigger issues at play right now. Releasing his arm, he leaned against the wall. “Bones, I…..”

“Dammit, I don’t have time for personal problems now. I have a shitload of work to do to help save an endangered people from extinction. This shit will just have to wait! Can I go…..Captain?”

Captain. He’d never hated the word before but it was wrong on Bones’ tongue, hateful. Pulling himself up straight, he muttered a stiff, “Dismissed,” and watched as his doctor stalked off the Bridge.

*********************

It had taken eighty-three hours for the Enterprise to reach Starbase 23 and Jim had spent almost all of it with Spock. The Vulcan was gamefully attempting to maintain his façade of cool detachment but fear and stress were starting to take their toll. He had contacted his father to confirm his illness and the older man had explained that he saw no purpose in burdening his son with concerns he could do nothing about. Spock accepted the reasons as logical but Jim could tell he did not appreciate being kept in the dark.

Logical or not, Spock was hurting and afraid and although Jim made every effort possible, he could still sense the subtle fraying of the Vulcan’s typically sharp edges. He clung to Jim as a lifeline as his attempts at meditation failed to calm his fears but they could both sense it wasn’t quite enough. Jim could feel Spock looking to him for a comfort he didn’t know how to provide and he held on to the Vulcan twice as hard to compensate.

He had good instincts and he usually trusted them but Jim found himself backed into a corner. There was only one person he could think of who always knew what to say in these situations, always knew how to assist with another person’s suffering but he couldn’t exactly tell Spock to go talk to Bones, could he. He knew his doctor well enough to realize that he would put his own mental health far after that of a patient but Jim would be damned if he would be responsible for causing Bones more pain.

In the end though, his indecision had been for nothing. Forty-seven hours after storming out of Jim’s ready-room, Spock suddenly got out of their bed and strode out the door and into sickbay, clad in nothing but a meditation robe. Jim should have been shocked but for some reason it felt completely expected. And the hesitant but resigned expression that graced the good doctor’s face when Spock walked in the door and requested a fitness for duty evaluation suggested that he had expected it too. In fact, Jim could have sworn that Bones had been waiting for them. Well, expected or not, he still noticed Bones’ apprehension and the way he kept a bed or tray between them at all times. But despite this foreboding image, Jim couldn’t help but feel a sense of hope. Hope for what, he wasn’t sure, but as Bones reluctantly followed Spock into his office, he suddenly had the sense that maybe all wasn’t lost after all.

He hadn’t asked about what had transpired in the office but Spock emerged with his emotional vertigo back under control. He was balanced enough to initiate a meld and Jim was finally able to pour the feelings of love and comfort he so desperately needed into the carefully guarded psyche. Spock improved but Jim noticed he made daily excuses, all perfectly legitimate and in the name of the Vulcan race, to go down to sickbay and engage in conversation with Bones. Jim kept an eye on these exchanges, feeling an inexplicable sense of investment in them, as if they somehow held his very future in their hands. There was nothing remarkable about these conversations, at least not to the casual observer, but Jim knew these two men like the back of his hand and this just wasn’t them. There was no snarking, no viscous passive-aggression. Sure, that could be attributed to Bones’ hurt and resignation, Spock’s emotional upheaval, but somehow Jim suspected there was more to it because pain and heartbreak wouldn’t explain the undercurrent of fear Jim sensed from Bones. He wasn’t leaving them unsupervised until he figured it out.

The Enterprise’s rendezvous at Starbase 23 was quick and perfunctory. They soon found themselves on a course towards Earth with nine of the Federation’s best doctors and xenobiologists. Jim ran through the motions of an official diplomatic greeting but he could tell these hands-on individuals were not interested in pomp and circumstance and quickly turned them over to his CMO. Bones was working himself ragged trying to brief the group without the help of his staff, and Jim hadn’t been the least surprised when Spock had mentioned the doctor’s haggard appearance and requested to be assigned to sickbay to assist in the briefing process.

He just didn’t know what he was dealing with here. Spock had spent the better part of months trying to push Bones away and now that he’d finally succeeded, he turned around and kept drawing the doctor back. And he was damn evasive when Jim asked about it, citing the crew’s need of a healthy CMO as a logical excuse for his concern. Jim wondered and worried but ultimately didn’t have time to over think the situation. They’d be arriving at Earth in twenty-two hours.

In an effort to quell the gossip mill that was circulating around the strange delegation aboard the ship, Jim held a formal diplomatic dinner party on the night they pulled into orbit, covering the scientists in a shroud of normalcy for the benefit of his curious crew. The party was unexpectedly lively as the scientists relaxed from under the burden of assumed responsibility and geared up for the fight they had ahead of them.

Nursing a brandy, he carefully observed the diverse individuals who had been tasked with saving Spock’s species. They were competent and intelligent, which was to be expected, but they all exuded a sense of warmth and compassion that Jim found remarkably assuring. Apparently old Tom Cody knew what he was doing. These people weren’t courting fame or recognition. They were all like his doctor, motivated by a need to heal.

As he scanned the room again, Jim felt a tightening in his chest. Among this group, there was one individual who raised his ire, a gregarious Betazoid biologist named Jovanni Tor. For all intents the young doctor seemed as genuine as the other members of the delegation, but there was something about him, a fabricated quality, that struck Jim as suspicious. Of course, his judgment might have been clouded by the obvious way Tor had latched on to his Bones. The two were currently engaged in an intimate conversation and Jim, an expert on body language, could read the intent rolling off the Betazoid. It rankled him but who was he to interfere. He’d made his own bed. Technically, Bones could screw the guy right here on the buffet table and all Jim could yell about was propriety and protocol!

In all honesty, though, Bones didn’t look too happy to be the focus of Tor’s attention. He was attempting to be polite, a rare feat for Leonard McCoy, but Jim could see his tension and had just resolved to intervene when the door slid open and Spock walked into the room. His eyes locked onto Bones, taking in the doctor’s uncomfortable expression and he marched across the room. With no more than a curt, “Excuse us, Doctor,” to the surprised Tor, he grasped Bones’ elbow and towed him firmly away. Eyes wide with surprise, Jim plunked down his glass and followed them into the corridor.

They’d taken less than five steps when Bones stopped and twisted in Spock’s grasp. Jim could sense a reluctance in the Vulcan but Spock released him nonetheless. Taking two steps backwards, Bones whispered furiously, “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”

Spock’s tone remained level, though the smoldering burn Jim was starting to associate with the doctor was back with a fury, “You appeared distressed and in need of assistance.”

“I was not in need of your damned assistance. Either of you!” The glare Bones shot at them could probably have slain a Klingon. He turned back towards the door before rounding on them both again. “Look, I don’t know what the hell your game is but I am not playing it. You too have each other now. Fine! But you stay the hell away from me, at least until I can get the hell away from you!”

He had stormed back into the dining room, leaving Jim and Spock to follow in his wake. Jim had watched him throughout the meal, carefully avoiding Spock, Tor and himself with the deftness of a champion juggler. But as the conversation at the table turned back towards the situation on New Vulcan, Jim began to realize that it wasn’t just the three of them who seemed to want a piece of his doctor.

“Dr. McCoy,” spoke up Philip Settle, the human microbiologist chosen to head the project,” you’ve spent the past week educating us about this disease. I’ve listened carefully because I’m aware of the expertise you bring to the table. Are you all aware that the good doctor here is responsible for curing the formerly fatal Terran disease Signet Syndrome?”

A general murmur of admiration emanated from the other guests, but Jim saw Bones grip the edge of the table. His mind began racing through possible ways to switch the conversation topic because his doctor hated, hated any mention of the Signet cure. Glancing across the table, he took in the concern in Spock’s eyes. Spock? But how did he know…”

“Dr. McCoy, since you bring a rare expertise to the table, I’d be interested to hear how you would approach this particular disease." Settle and the rest of the delegation looked at Bones with interest.

Jim wasn’t particularly surprised when Bones began laying out a rudimentary plan of approach for the team’s research. That would be Leonard McCoy, always putting his own well-being behind that of others. And he’d probably written this research plan up as soon as he’d gotten the file, despite the miserable memories it would’ve dredged up, because people were dying and he could stop it. He certainly had the influence. The delegation was sitting around the table in rapt silence, hanging on to his every word.

Jim couldn’t help but feel like he was watching the application of some hidden agenda. He knew Bones was a brilliant physician, that his medical mind would be an added boon to this delegation, but how many damn geniuses did they need? He could see what Settle was up to. They wanted to take his doctor. Even with all the crazy ass missions Starfleet sent them on, they wanted to take away the asset that somehow managed to keep them all alive.

Oh, who the hell was he kidding? For all his noble insinuations, he knew perfectly well that he wanted Bones to stay because he needed Bones to stay. The situation was spiraling downward, and he couldn’t find a way to make heads or tails of it. And why? Because Bones was his sounding board, the one he went to when he couldn’t find his way, but he couldn’t exactly do that when the doctor himself had become the crooked path. Jim grimaced. He could imagine that conversation. Bones, I have a problem. Imagine there was this guy who cheated on his boyfriend with this other guy who he’s pretty sure he loves, who he’s destined to change the galaxy with, according, mind you, to some future version of the other guy ( the cheated with guy, not the cheated on guy, would you keep up) But the problem is, the first guy still loves his boyfriend and needs him because he really doesn’t know how to change the galaxy without him. What do you think……hypothetically, of course.

He mulled this over as he sat in his cabin that night. Spock was seated stiffly on his bed, his eyes far away. And that was another fucking enigma he didn’t need. He wanted to know what was going on between his doctor and his Vulcan! Grabbing a chair, he pulled it over to his bed and sat down in front of his stoic first officer.

“Hey.”

Spock continued to stare pensively at the wall, “Yes, Jim.”

“I need you to tell me what the hell is going on between you and Bones, and I need you not to bullshit me. You know how much I love him, how much its fucking killing me that I hurt him, so please. I don’t understand it and I need to know if it’s alright.”

Spock stared at him, his eyes dark and serious. “Jim, when you and I first realized the true nature of our connection, I told you that it would be illogical to attempt to maintain a relationship with the doctor, that it would cause him harm. I have come to some realizations recently that are causing me to reconsider this stance.”

Jim stood up, glaring down at him, “What do you mean?”

Spock met his eyes, “We were attempting to recreate what our counterparts shared. Perhaps that is not the best course of action. I am secure in your attachment to me and you know I reciprocate it, but you still care for the doctor and you seem unable to let go of those sentiments. This used to confuse me, but recently I have discovered that I am not adverse to the doctor myself.”

“Meaning what exactly?”

“I believe the most logical course of action would be to expand our relationship to include Dr. McCoy. While not traditional among humans, small groups of multiple partners are typical in other Federation species. In fact, the practice was rather common in Vulcan’s history.”

Jim starred unblinking as the Vulcan recounted with clinical precision his own deepest desire, the one that had already been popped full of fucking holes. Suddenly, it was just too damn much and his concern for Spock’s delicate mental condition was overthrown by his own blind fury.

“You’re not fucking adverse to him? And you couldn’t have realized this a month ago, before I tore his fucking heart out and lit it on fire! You’ve got to be kidding me!” Spock closed his eyes as Jim paced the length of the cabin. “Do you even realize how bad I hurt him, Spock? For Christ’s sake, he caught us fucking in the E.O., the room that was supposed to be our place, just him and me. Then I tried to crawl in his bed. And let’s not even get started about how you’ve treated him. Or how I didn’t do nearly enough to stop you! So, what exactly is your plan here? That he’s just gonna forgive us and we can be a happy alternative couple for the rest of our lives. Cause if you think that, then you don’t know Leonard McCoy!”

Spock’s face was calm but his eyes were tired, even sad. “Jim, I am aware that there is a great deal of distress in this relationship, and I accept responsibility for much of it. With your acquiescence, I wish to repair the damage.”

And in a fit of pique most unbecoming a starship captain, Jim walked out the door.

He wandered the halls for most of the night, lost in thought, but hours later he had arrived at a few conclusions. Yes, the relationship was currently in shambles, but the bottom line was that a possibility he had abandoned now seemed reachable. He didn’t know what it would take, probably a great deal of time and groveling, but he still didn’t fucking believe in no-win situations and he was going to win Bones back, no matter what it took and they were going to make this work.

Checking a chronometer in the officer’s mess, he saw that it was nearly time for the delegation to beam down to Starfleet Medical. Tired but mentally at ease, he headed towards the transporter room.

Spock and Bones were already there with the assembled delegation. Jim shook hands politely with Dr. Settle before stepping away. As the elderly scientist stepped onto the platform, he turned and looked at Bones. “Dr. McCoy, why don’t you join us for a quick tour of the facility? I understand you’ll be docked for several days and we’d appreciate your insight and suggestions. It would only take a few hours. Would that be alright, Captain?”

Jim’s stomach dropped as a wave of panic spread across his whole body. From the corner of his eye, he caught Spock’s expression, saw his own sentiments mirrored back at him. But what the hell could he say. Of course you can borrow the doctor. Ha ha, yeah he hates transporters. Don’t keep him too long now, ha ha, wink, wink.

And Bones was gone.

The official transfer paperwork was rushed through three days later, an addendum attached to their next mission order. Jim knew it was coming, had known fourteen hours after Bones had beamed down, when Admiral Cody himself had contacted the Enterprise to request that Dr. McCoy remain with the delegation for the remainder of the three day shipdock. And as he held it in his hand, Jim had felt strangely disembodied, as if the hand holding the stylus, signing away his Bones, were not his own. And it wasn’t his feet that carried him off the Bridge, down the corridor and into the CMO’s cabin. It wasn’t his body that lay on the bed, his eyes on the ceiling.

But it was definitely his heart that was breaking.