Fic: "Crossfire" (7/19)
Title: "Crossfire, Part 7"
Author: Mijan
Series: ST: XI
Character/Pairing(s): Kirk&McCoy, Pike, Scotty
Rating: PG-13
Author’s Notes: This story is part of the Academy-era story arc, which includes “Convergence” and “And All the King’s Men.” “Crossfire” is a direct sequel. Several things in this story will not make sense unless you’ve read AAtKM first.
Summary: Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy are on top of the world at the academy until it all comes crashing down around them. Trapped in their own mystery of politics, sabotage, and possible murder, it quickly becomes impossible to know who to trust. Worse, Jim might still be a target. With a dangerous criminal on the loose and Academy leadership not doing enough, Jim and Bones have to get their lives back together and find out what happened... before it happens again.
*********
CROSSFIRE, Part Seven
Jim gave his team as much information as he could remember, and every one of them was able to supply their own memories of what had happened. It was highly disturbing, and Jim kept catching himself dissociating from what he was saying, as if he was talking about someone else, like a holovid he'd seen, not his own flesh-and-blood experience. It made it easier to analyze, he figured.
Throughout the discussion, Okoru maintained an admirably stoic demeanor. She was a third-year Engineering cadet who had just wanted to add level two flight certification to her resume, and had accepted the duty of Assistant Squad Leader because she figured it would never be necessary to take over. Now, she was in charge of a squad that was reeling from a disaster, and she was holding it together.
Freeman seemed anxious, voicing his suspicions and displeasure that the administration wasn't telling them anything. d'Eon asked a lot of questions; it seemed whenever she tried to say something herself, she had to bite back tears. And Thaleb continued to demonstrate his unshakable determination to bring justice to whoever had sabotaged the shuttle.
And they were all there, holding it together like a piece of fabric that had just lost a vital thread. Jim found himself grateful for the visit, even though he would have far preferred that nobody see him stuck in a hospital bed. It was unnerving.
Finally, after they'd hashed the shuttle mission details to bits, the conversation lapsed into classes, the continuation of their flight training, campus activities, and random chatter. The distraction was wonderful, and they were only interrupted once by a nurse who came to place osteo-stim units on the sites of his worst broken bones. Jim laughed it off as becoming a bionic man, with an archaic reference to having the technology - "We can rebuild him... faster, stronger... oh, never mind." He wondered if he was the only geek on campus who liked old books and films.
As the afternoon began to wear out, Okoru finally stood up with an air of leadership, signaling an end to the visit. "I'm sorry to cut out on you, Kirk... but we all need to get going."
Jim gave her his most grateful smile. "Don't apologize - who’d want to stick around one of these places for very long anyway? Hospitals run the fine balance between saving your life and killing you with sheer boredom."
She smiled back, but shook her head. "It's not that." She hesitated for a breath. "Tambe's memorial service is tonight. It starts about an hour after sunset. Candlelight vigil. I need to make sure we all eat before the service, so if we were going to go to the mess hall before it closes, we need to leave now."
Jim felt his mouth fall open in dismay. He was going to miss Tambe's service. He shook his head. "I should be there."
"Kirk," Thaleb interjected, "Cadet Tambe would know that your memory of her is strong and that you are deeply loyal. There is no dishonor in missing the memorial when your intent is good. You must allow yourself to heal properly."
Jim shook his head - I've gotta love the guy, but he doesn't always understand humans. "It’s not about dishonor, Thaleb. It's just that I want to be there."
"We know, Kirk," d'Eon said. "But we all want you back in one piece, so you rest up."
"Do you want us to say anything at the service... from you?" Freeman asked.
Jim opened his mouth to speak, and realized that for once, he didn't have any easy words. He chewed his lip for a moment, then sighed. "I'd need to say it myself," he finally said. "But... light a candle for me, okay?"
There were four nods of agreement, and after heartfelt goodbyes and well-wishes, Jim found himself in the empty room again.
In the silence, he pulled out his PADD and began absently reading course assignments, not really absorbing any of the material. Just something to fill time until... whatever came next. Didn’t seem to matter - he had no say in what would happen. What they’d do to him. When he’d get to leave. He just had to sit there and take it as it came.
After a few minutes, a doctor came in and checked his progress from the osteo-stim treatment and removed the devices. A nurse came after that and helped him out of bed to use the bathroom - thank goodness for progress, he thought cynically, but he thanked her for the assistance. It was easier than being contrary, and at least he was going to get to sleep without the hip immobilizer that night. But really, he had other things on his mind.
He grabbed his PADD again and switched from homework assignments to his own research - Terra Prime's tactics. Know thine enemy. It wasn’t much, but it made him feel a little bit less helpless, even though he knew what he really needed to do was get back to the shuttle hangar and look for clues. But unable to do that, at least he could research Terra Prime.
He reviewed Terra Prime’s long and brutal history. He cross-referenced reliable reports on their activity by location and incident type. He hunted for patterns. And he got nowhere. He needed one of the computer study rooms at the library. With their enormous screens and advanced data matrix processors, those computers could help him find data patterns in an hour that would take him months on his PADD. Incredible research tools. Too bad those were in the library, and he was stuck on his fucking biobed.
Finally, he put the PADD down.
In the silence of his room, he watched the fog outside the window turn from gray to dark gray, and he knew it would be time for the memorial soon.
He thought of Tambe, and the hundreds of cadets and faculty who would fill the main quad on the Academy grounds, while those who knew Tambe best would tell stories about her. There would be candles and tears, and it would bring closure.
Jim needed some damned closure.
He looked out the window, and tried to see lights from across the bay through the fog. Wished there was some way he could go out, just for the evening, but the mental image he'd had earlier of himself sneaking out in the flimsy hospital gown made him feel like a psych-ward patient who was trying to break out of a padded cell. As crazy as he'd felt lately, trapped and cornered, that wasn't the image he needed.
But it was how he felt. He couldn't leave. His team, his friends, were out there mourning for Tambe, and he was stuck here. Tambe's killer was out there, and he was useless, sitting in a damned hospital room. Unless a nurse came and un-tethered him from the IV, he was basically tied to the biobed. It was like a goddamned leash. An uneasy jolt twisted his stomach as he wondered, not for the first time, what they were actually giving him through that thing. Pain meds? Osteo-whatevers? Nutrients and supplements and who the fuck cares.
Frustration welled up, and he could feel himself shaking with pent up anger, distress, loss, and a need for vengeance that he couldn't do anything about while he was trapped at Starfleet Medical. He swore, if he wasn't wearing the damned hospital gown, he'd...
And then Jim remembered the duffel Bones had brought him. His PADD, some books, and... "My clothes," he whispered to himself.
An odd, giddy feeling crept up and overtook him. He could get out of there... sneak out and sneak back before anyone knew he was gone. He wasn't due for any more treatments for the evening. The biobed sensors... hell, he could hack anything, right? He just needed to be there for Tambe's memorial.
"Computer - activate internal room window privacy filter."
The window went opaque, and the giddiness heightened as he grabbed the medical tricorder that the nurse had left on the table and scanned himself. He cross-transmitted the data to his PADD, modified it, and set it on a repeating loop until he had enough data for over three hours of pre-recorded Kirk-vital-signs. Then, he turned around towards the biobed computer and tapped in the access code he'd seen Bones use for everything. The guy had no creativity - same password every time. A moment later, he'd uploaded his code loop into the biobed computer and activated it.
He held his breath. Literally. Held it as long as he could as he tested his pulse. His own pulse began to speed up. The cardiac pattern displayed on the biobed readout, however, displayed a slow, steady beat.
Jim grinned.
Next step... get rid of the damned IV. Bones had said he'd rip his vein, but it didn't seem like it would be nearly that risky or difficult. It should just slide right out. He pulled off the adhesive, braced himself, and gave it a tug.
A burning pain seared through his hand, and Jim slapped his other hand down on the spot as he squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip to keep from crying out. FUCK. Okay, that was clearly the wrong way to do it. When he looked at his hands, there was blood seeping around his fingers. "Shit," he whispered, looking around frantically. There was a cabinet on the wall. Gritting his teeth against the pain in his hand and the ache in his hips, he slid off the bed and hobbled over to the cabinet. It contained basic medical supplies - some loaded and neatly organized hypospray vials, dermagel tubes, a few devices that Jim figured were basic regen tools, and one lonely roll of gauze.
One of the fortunate things of escaping from a hospital, he thought with cynical amusement, is that they've got medical supplies handy for when you fuck it up.
A moment later, with his hand wrapped, he'd managed to get out of his hospital gown. This was the most he'd moved his own limbs and joints since the shuttle crash, and he felt horribly stiff. His hips ached a bit, but it wasn't so bad. Not bad at all, really. Same thing with his ribs. Just a bit of an ache. There was no reason in the world why he had to miss the memorial.
Sometimes, it's better to ask for forgiveness than beg for permission. He was sure a wise man had once told him that, but at the moment, he couldn’t recall who it was. Didn’t matter. The advice still applied.
Grinning, he pulled on a pair of jeans, determinedly not wincing as he lifted each leg to step into them. He added a t-shirt, then the sweatshirt Bones had packed, which he found himself grateful to discover was the only zip-up sweatshirt he owned. Thanks, Bones, he thought.
Finally, he pulled on his regular shoes, and looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. He felt almost human again. Sore, but like himself. He needed this. "Okay, Kirk," he said to his reflection. "Three hours."
He pocketed his comm unit, left the PADD on the bed, and went to the door of the room. He wasn't moving as smoothly as he'd hoped, but it was late on a Sunday. Most people were tired by then, weren't they?
Cautiously, he activated the door, then peeked around the corner into the hallway. The nurse at the central desk had her back to his door, and was watching the patient monitor screen in front of her. All automated. Nobody was watching him directly. The place looked practically abandoned. This would be easy. He just needed to play it smooth.
As if he were merely leaving his dorm room, he walked out into the hall, found the turbolift, and when the doors opened, he stepped inside. Nobody had seen him. "Lobby," he said firmly, after the doors had shut. The 'lift started moving, and Jim felt a rush at the knowledge that this was going to work. It was a bit like the feeling he got sneaking out of the house when he was in his younger teens. He felt oddly young, and it was quite exhilarating. He also felt a sharp twinge through his hips, but by the time the turbolift doors opened, depositing him in the lobby, his excitement was enough to help him ignore the ache.
The exit doors were a straight shot from the turbolift. A single security guard stood at the entrance, but Jim didn't know the guy, and probably wouldn't be recognized by sight. Besides, security guards were always far more concerned about people arriving than people leaving.
Jim glanced down at himself to make sure nothing was out of place or suspicious, and noticed with a start that a splotch of red was seeping through the gauze on his hand. It was then that he realized that his hand was really aching. Okay, so Bones was definitely right about pulling that thing out, he thought, but that was a minor problem, easily ignored. It should stop bleeding very soon. He’d been through worse. He tucked his hands into his sweatshirt pockets and began making his way across the lobby.
His hips were really starting to ache now, but he figured once he'd gone some distance, the stiffness would work itself out. And really, he could call a taxi from his comm unit once he got to the edge of the Starfleet Medical campus, as he'd done many times after visiting Bones during his late shifts. Simple.
Jim smiled casually at the security guard, who seemed quite bored with the whole thing and merely nodded in response. Too easy. The doors opened in front of him, and the chill of the evening wind off the ocean met him with a refreshing gust to the face. It felt wonderful. Like a taste of freedom. He grinned to himself, then looked down.
Stairs.
Starfleet Medical's front terrace was a broad staircase. In the back of his mind, he knew there was a ramp somewhere, but really, if he couldn't handle stairs, then what sort of wimp was he? Taking his hands out of his pockets, he leaned lightly on the rail and began making his way down.
The ache in his hips slowly began to burn. Instead of helping the joints to loosen up, each step seemed to stab a bit deeper through his pelvis. He tried to breathe through it, but his ribs started to ache. He scowled at himself - this shouldn't be so difficult. Tambe had died. He could certainly put up with a little bit of pain to make it to her memorial. It was almost like a tribute.
By the time he made it to the bottom of the stairs, he was panting from exertion and cringing from the ache. It wasn't so far to go, though. If he could make it across the grounds, he could call for that taxi, and then he could relax all the way back to campus.
He started to walk across the quad when a sudden flash of pain ripped through his hips, and he doubled over at the shock of it. The movement sent a sharp stabbing sensation through his ribs, and he clutched one arm across his chest as he desperately tried to steady himself, bracing his other hand against his knee. A bit of blood ran down from his bandaged hand and stained his jeans, and he glared at his hand irritably. He liked these jeans.
It'll be dark at the memorial, he told himself. They'll have the street lamps turned off so the candles will show better. Nobody will see the stain.
And he had to get there.
It was one singular thought to latch onto in a world spinning beyond his control. Distantly, he knew he wasn’t thinking clearly - maybe because of the pain, or maybe because of something else he couldn’t quite understand - but it didn’t matter. All he could think was that Tambe had died, his team was going to be at the memorial service, and he needed to be there, too. The whole fucking campus would be there, and he’d be damned if he was going to be left out. He’d be damned if he’d let them stop him.
Growling and grunting with determination, he managed to push himself upright. The world teetered around him a little bit, and he stood and forced himself to breathe deeply and slowly for a moment to get his bearing. He was almost halfway to the gate.
Unsteadily, one foot in front of the other, Jim worked his way across the quad towards the road that ran by the front campus gate for Starfleet Medical. The pain was getting worse, though, escalating by the moment, and Jim started to wonder if maybe Bones had also been right about needing the painkillers. He hadn't thought it could be so bad without them. But he'd only removed the IV maybe a half-hour ago, hadn't he? Less than that, even. Had he injured himself again? Or were the drugs so short-acting? He wasn’t sure - time seemed immaterial.
It was all immaterial. Time, pain, rules, security - none of it mattered.
Pain was nothing. And maybe he deserved it. He should have figured out what was wrong with the shuttlecraft. Even if it had been sabotage, he should have been good enough to catch the problem and fix it. Instead, he'd let it go, and Tambe had died. Really, at the end of the day, it was his fault. He should have been better. Could have been better. Should have been able to handle whatever came at him, no matter how bad it was.
His father had saved eight-hundred people. Pike had dared him to do better. And in answer to that, he’d failed to save even one.
The emotional ache ripped through his gut with a sob, which sent a white-hot lance of pain through his hips, echoed by a sharp stabbing sensation in his chest. He stumbled, and reached out a couple more steps to one of the lampposts and grabbed onto it to keep himself from falling over. It was the bandaged hand that he’d wrapped around the post, and in the lamplight, he could see the blood oozing through the gauze now. Well, that's not good, he thought vaguely, but it didn't matter. Nothing seemed to matter, because nothing seemed clear anymore.
In fact, his head was swimming, and now, the gate to the grounds of Starfleet Medical seemed impossibly far away. He stared at across the quad at the gate and knew he’d never make it. Through the pain, one realization finally cracked through and overtook his thoughts like the gavel of his own judgment: I’m a fucking idiot.
This was stupid. Bones had been right. He had the patience of a child, and he’d been so sure he was just fine. Refused to listen to the doctors. And now he was standing on the grounds of Starfleet Medical, bleeding from an injury that he’d caused himself, barely able to walk, surrounded by fog and darkness.
He couldn’t imagine how stupid he looked. Wondered why on earth he’d thought it was a good idea in the first place. And knew he had to get back to the hospital building. Now.
His hips burned and throbbed as he forced himself to stand upright again. His lungs were screaming for air, and he couldn’t breathe fast enough, like he was suffocating in the pain. He could make it back, though. He had to make it back.
He stumbled forward, and each footfall sent a lance of fire through his hips, straight up his spine. The fog was thick around him, or maybe his vision was blurring, and he knew it was bad. Really bad.
In the back of his mind, he wondered what Bones would think. How he’d scold him, yell at him, and dammit, Bones would be right. Absolutely right. Bones had tried to watch out for him, tried to take care of him, and this was the thanks he gave: he’d gone and fucked it all up.
A sob of guilt shook him, mixing in with his desperate gasps for air. The gate had seemed so far away, but now the main medical building seemed further. He vaguely thought he should pull out his comm unit and call for help, but he could see the medical building right there. He got himself out of his own room, caused his own idiotic situation, and he had to fix it himself.
But he couldn’t fix it himself. The fog was getting darker around him, and each step was getting harder, and he wasn’t going to make it. He almost thought he heard a voice yelling - security guard finally caught me - but he couldn’t spare a thought for it. His head was pounding, and his legs weren’t going to hold him anymore.
Pain ripped through him as he slumped to the ground. There were footsteps approaching, and he knew he was in trouble, but he couldn’t care anymore. It was all too far away.
*********
Leonard got out of the taxi at the gate of the Starfleet Medical campus and thanked the driver as he hoisted the bag of Chinese takeout onto his hip. He swiped his ID to pay the fare, then turned and hurried through the gate.
It had been a long day.
His tutoring appointment with Lieutenant Scott had been frustrating. Apparently, the people running the investigation didn’t want information being shared openly between different research projects, citing security risks, so progress had been exceedingly slow. Scott had also tried to present his evidence of the excess four kilograms to the Admiral, who had reviewed his work and completely rejected it with no explanation. Lieutenant Scott was livid over it, but it made no difference. If he wanted to stay on the investigation, he couldn’t piss off the Admiral. So he’d gone back to the engineering lab with nothing to show, no leads, and not enough raw data to learn anything new.
With that disappointent, they’d spent their hour reviewing material for the Basic Engineering class that Leonard had all but ignored lately, and planned to meet at their usual time the following Sunday. From there, Leonard had gone to the Cellular Biology lab and transferred his epithelial cell cultures, then caught a shower and a nap at his dorm room. Finally, he’d taken a trip into Chinatown to pick up some lo mein and dim sum from Jim’s favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurant.
Leonard smiled at the memory of their first foray into Chinatown for one of Jim’s lo mein cravings. Jim had zoned in on the little place, insisting that it looked just right, despite Leonard’s misgivings about sanitation codes. But Jim had been persistent, and had dragged him into the restaurant by the arm. He’d placed their order in perfect Mandarin Chinese, praised the food (which had been surprisingly good), and the owners had loved him ever since.
But that’s just how Jim was.
Jim could go down and order his own Chinese food directly in a couple of weeks, if he kept progressing as expected. But for now, it would have to be enough for Leonard to provide personal delivery service. Sure, Chinese food probably wasn’t the best choice for a start back, but he’d asked the cook to go easy on the oil and soy sauce, so it should be fine. Jim was probably going to find himself full before he expected it, but he’d get his appetite back soon enough. He was progressing so rapidly, it was unbelievable.
Really, Leonard had expected some sort of setback. Sure, once Jim’s bleeding had been stopped and his broken bones had been set and fused, the general injuries were no longer the major concern. They could hurt like hell, especially the pelvic fractures, but they’d heal smoothly with time and treatment. They were already healing very well, all things considered. It was the progress with the head injury that amazed and boggled Leonard. In his experience with trauma patients, head injuries like that didn’t just go away. There was always something. Memory lapses, new patterns of headaches, altered personalities, cognitive setbacks, depression...
Or paranoia, Leonard thought morosely.
But Jim did have a fair reason to be a bit paranoid. It was quite possible - probable - that someone had tried to kill him. But other than the displays of fear and vulnerability, which had subsided more and more as Jim had improved, he’d shown no other signs of mental instability. He was lucid, articulate, and was even joking like his old self.
And Leonard promised himself that he’d try to switch Jim from the IV to pills for his pain, now that he’d be back on solid foods. That way, at least the kid would stop hassling him about it.
Leonard smiled to himself as he made his way across the foggy grounds of the medical complex. Just a few days ago, he’d thought Jim was going to die under his hands. Now, everything was looking so good. Granted, there was the other half of the tragedy to consider - the rest of the campus was mourning Tambe at that moment. Leonard had left a bundle of flowers at the memorial site earlier. But for now, he needed to see Jim - the one guy on campus who probably wanted to be at that memorial service more than anyone, but instead was stuck in a hospital room alone.
Leonard shifted the bag of takeout higher in his arms; he’d really ordered way too much food. It was okay - leftover Chinese food made a craving-worthy Monday-morning breakfast.
The quad was eerie at night, and he always walked across the grounds a little bit faster when he had a night shift there. There was fog in Georgia, but not the way San Francisco had fog. It concealed things. And sure, the Medical campus had a security staff, but it was a hospital campus, and was technically open to anyone.
Like some drunk guy who must have been on a weekend bender, and was staggering across the quad towards the main hospital building.
Leonard let out a frustrated breath, and thanked the fates that he wasn’t on duty tonight. He’d had more than his fair share of drunks show up at the ER. Some had actually managed to injure themselves during their drunken antics, but most were just on one side of alcohol poisoning or the other.
The guy stumbled, and Leonard thought he heard a faint grunt of pain. That didn’t sound quite right for a drunk. And the staggering motions didn’t just look intoxicated - they were the motions of someone who was in severe discomfort. Even if the man was drunk, he was likely also injured. Leonard frowned and started walking a little bit faster towards the guy.
“Hey! Hey, are you okay over there?”
The man didn’t respond. In fact, he made it about two more steps before his legs buckled under him and he crumpled forward to the ground.
Leonard dropped the sack of takeout and kicked into a dead sprint down the walkway. The man was facedown on the ground under one of the street lamps, and as Leonard got close he could make out the Starfleet Academy sweatshirt. The guy’s hand was bandaged, and blood had already seeped through the poorly-wrapped gauze. He had dirty blond hair... suddenly so familiar, even in the poor light of the streetlamp. Leonard skidded the last few steps and dropped down to his knees, and was then able to make out the small shaved spot on the back of the man’s head. His gut froze.
“Jim!” Stifling his panic, he forced himself not to grab the kid’s shoulders and just roll him right over. He pressed his fingers against Jim’s neck, feeling a pulse that was too fast and too shallow, just like the way Jim’s chest heaved with his breathing. “Can you hear me? Talk to me, Jim!”
There was a faint moan, then, “Bones?” Jim made a move to turn over, but Leonard lightly pressed a hand down on his back.
“Don’t move, kid. I’m going to call a stretcher.” He began rubbing gentle circles on Jim’s shoulder as he yanked out his comm and called a transport team out to the quad. He was grateful that they didn’t ask questions, and he flipped his comm shut and looked back down at Jim.
Through the frantic worry and anguished concern, a dozen furious thoughts ran through his head. He wanted to rip the kid up one side and down the other for his sheer stupidity. Demand to know what the hell he’d been thinking and why the fuck he was anywhere but on the goddamned biobed where Leonard had left him. Rant off a litany of curses and enumerate the reasons why Jim was an infantile and irresponsible idiot who must be begging for the world to kick him while he was down.
But he couldn’t. Something had to have happened to have caused him to do this. There had to be a reason. And right now, with Jim obviously unstable and in severe pain, was not the time to drill the kid with a lecture.
Carefully, cradling Jim’s cheeks with cupped hands, he turned Jim’s head to the side so that his face wasn’t pressed into the dirt, in hopes it would help him to breathe easier. He was both relieved and concerned that Jim didn’t resist the movement at all. Then he stretched himself out on the ground, parallel to Jim’s body, so he could look at Jim’s face directly.
Bleary eyes gazed back at him narrowly through the shadows. The kid had a smear of dirt on his cheek, but didn’t appear to have obvious any new injuries. There was a good chance that his pelvic fractures had become unstable, so he’d have to be reassessed for that. It occurred to Leonard that Jim’s hand was bleeding because he’d ripped out the IV, and the anticoagulants he was on to prevent clots while he healed had allowed the hole to keep bleeding unchecked. Feeling something twisting tightly in his own chest, he reached over and covered Jim’s hand with his own, bloody gauze and all. Forcing his voice to stay level, he asked, “Why’d you do it, Jim?”
“I...” The word was raspy, drenched in pain. Jim blinked a couple of times, and even in the shadows, it was clear that he was teetering on the edge of consciousness. He licked his lips. “I was trapped, Bones. Trapped... like a cage. A leash.” He weakly moved his hand under Leonard’s. “Couldn’t take it anymore.”
“Just in one afternoon? Come on, kid... what happened?”
Jim’s eyes closed and he ground the side of his face into the dirt and grass, groaning slightly.
“Talk to me, Jim.”
Slowly, Jim’s eyes cracked open again. “My team... Bones. They need... there are jus’ five of us. Just five. Flight teams are six. Need six of us, Bones. They left without me.” His words were peppered with gasps for air, croaks and grunts of pain.
Gritting his teeth against his own need to look away from his best friend’s anguish, Leonard kept his eyes locked steadily to Jim’s. “Did you follow them, Jim?”
“Yes. I... I needed... to get out... see Tambe’s memorial.”
Leonard bit down on his own tongue. He was glad he’d stifled his urge to give Jim a piece of his mind. He couldn’t yell at Jim. Not for this, not right now. This wasn’t really Jim’s fault, and Leonard realized that his hope for Jim to avoid neurological complications was premature. Paranoia. Irrational behavior. For all that he’d thought everything was fine, it seemed that Jim’s recovery wouldn’t be as short as he’d hoped. “Oh, Jim,” he said, watching Jim’s eyelids flicker weakly.
“So sorry... Bones. You... y’were right. I... was an idiot.”
A tight, watery sob tried to work its way through Leonard’s throat, but he swallowed it back. “You’re always an idiot, Jim, but you’re my idiot. It’s okay, kid. Try to relax. You don’t have to apologize. Just breathe, and help will be here in a minute.”
Jim groaned, gave a weak nod, and shut his eyes.
Leonard wasn’t sure if he was going to remain fully conscious or not, but if he passed out from the pain, it might be a blessing. However, given the occasional pained moan, the tight clench of his jaw, and the way his eyes were pinched shut, Leonard knew the kid was still awake and suffering silently. Knowing Jim, he’d stay conscious until they sedated him again.
With a choked sigh, Leonard maneuvered himself around and sat upright, and began rubbing Jim’s back again. He kept looking back and forth between the doors of Starfleet Medical and Jim... watching the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed.
There was a burst of activity from the building - the transport team was coming - but for just that moment, the fog muffled everything. Leonard was sitting there next to Jim’s prone body, in the silence, surrounded by darkness. He’d never felt more alone.
*********
They put Jim on constant watch.
His escape act had caused his pelvic fractures to open up again, which landed him back in emergency surgery to repair the damage. Leonard had held back, knowing that it wasn’t his place to treat Jim, not this time, but he stayed in the room as they prepped him for surgery. Held his hand while the nurse started a new IV. Told him what the scans showed, and explained what needed to be done. Jim didn’t complain once. Not even when they sliced his clothes off. Not a peep the whole time, neither in embarrassment or protest. He just nodded resignedly when Leonard said they were going to start the sedatives. Drifted off to sleep with a faint, “I’m sorry, Bones.”
Leonard knew he was. With heart-wrenching certainty, he knew.
And he sat there and watched numbly as the nurses came in and wheeled out the gurney. Made his way to the doctor’s lounge where he waited and drank too much coffee until Jim was out of surgery. He stayed just long enough to check in on the kid, confirmed that the procedure had been successful and that Jim was sleeping peacefully, and went back to his dorm room. He bypassed his secret supply of bourbon and went straight for his own small stash of sedatives and slept through his first two classes. Got excused from his afternoon clinic duty.
The lead doctor on Jim’s case gave him a three solid days of bed rest, and four days of inpatient physical therapy before they’d release him, to ensure that he didn’t overstress himself again. A fracture was delicate enough; re-breaking it was worse. Jim took to the treatment with surprising cooperation, and even an attempt at false cheer. It was a good enough act to convince most people, but Leonard wasn’t most people.
Jim was miserable, but it was clear that he’d forced himself to accept his situation. Even with the constant surveillance, which seemed to cause as much frustration for Jim as it did embarrassment, he grit his teeth and bore it with almost no outward resistance. He didn’t say it straight out, but Leonard knew. Jim felt like he was being babysat, and even more upsetting for him was the fact that he knew he deserved it. Needed it, really. His acceptance of everything was tenuous and pained, restless and edgy, and Leonard thought it was a bit like a convict on death row in the distant past.
Leonard stopped by every day, sometimes helping Jim with his PT exercises. Jim’s flight squad came and visited him throughout the week, and Leonard was glad to see that Jim didn’t try to shy away from the visits. Pike came around, too. Even Jim’s roommate, who had always been pleasant but never terribly social, stopped by to see if he needed anything. Nobody was allowed to question or interrogate Jim before he was released, for fear that he’d balk again. Aside from a few nervous mentions of Terra Prime, and just when Leonard was the only person in the room, he did pretty well.
Progress was slower this time, but it was steady. Yes, Jim was under constant watch, but somehow, Leonard knew he was unlikely to try to leave again until his official discharge. He’d probably emerge a more sober and solemn Jim Kirk, but maybe that wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe it was a lesson he’d needed to learn, although Leonard would have given anything for him to learn it another way. But at least he was going to succeed this time.
In the meantime, whenever he wasn’t in a class or visiting Jim, Leonard tried to find any new information about the crash, the saboteurs, the shuttle engines... anything. And he was failing miserably.
*********
(To Part Eight...)
Author: Mijan
Series: ST: XI
Character/Pairing(s): Kirk&McCoy, Pike, Scotty
Rating: PG-13
Author’s Notes: This story is part of the Academy-era story arc, which includes “Convergence” and “And All the King’s Men.” “Crossfire” is a direct sequel. Several things in this story will not make sense unless you’ve read AAtKM first.
Summary: Jim Kirk and Leonard McCoy are on top of the world at the academy until it all comes crashing down around them. Trapped in their own mystery of politics, sabotage, and possible murder, it quickly becomes impossible to know who to trust. Worse, Jim might still be a target. With a dangerous criminal on the loose and Academy leadership not doing enough, Jim and Bones have to get their lives back together and find out what happened... before it happens again.
*********
CROSSFIRE, Part Seven
Jim gave his team as much information as he could remember, and every one of them was able to supply their own memories of what had happened. It was highly disturbing, and Jim kept catching himself dissociating from what he was saying, as if he was talking about someone else, like a holovid he'd seen, not his own flesh-and-blood experience. It made it easier to analyze, he figured.
Throughout the discussion, Okoru maintained an admirably stoic demeanor. She was a third-year Engineering cadet who had just wanted to add level two flight certification to her resume, and had accepted the duty of Assistant Squad Leader because she figured it would never be necessary to take over. Now, she was in charge of a squad that was reeling from a disaster, and she was holding it together.
Freeman seemed anxious, voicing his suspicions and displeasure that the administration wasn't telling them anything. d'Eon asked a lot of questions; it seemed whenever she tried to say something herself, she had to bite back tears. And Thaleb continued to demonstrate his unshakable determination to bring justice to whoever had sabotaged the shuttle.
And they were all there, holding it together like a piece of fabric that had just lost a vital thread. Jim found himself grateful for the visit, even though he would have far preferred that nobody see him stuck in a hospital bed. It was unnerving.
Finally, after they'd hashed the shuttle mission details to bits, the conversation lapsed into classes, the continuation of their flight training, campus activities, and random chatter. The distraction was wonderful, and they were only interrupted once by a nurse who came to place osteo-stim units on the sites of his worst broken bones. Jim laughed it off as becoming a bionic man, with an archaic reference to having the technology - "We can rebuild him... faster, stronger... oh, never mind." He wondered if he was the only geek on campus who liked old books and films.
As the afternoon began to wear out, Okoru finally stood up with an air of leadership, signaling an end to the visit. "I'm sorry to cut out on you, Kirk... but we all need to get going."
Jim gave her his most grateful smile. "Don't apologize - who’d want to stick around one of these places for very long anyway? Hospitals run the fine balance between saving your life and killing you with sheer boredom."
She smiled back, but shook her head. "It's not that." She hesitated for a breath. "Tambe's memorial service is tonight. It starts about an hour after sunset. Candlelight vigil. I need to make sure we all eat before the service, so if we were going to go to the mess hall before it closes, we need to leave now."
Jim felt his mouth fall open in dismay. He was going to miss Tambe's service. He shook his head. "I should be there."
"Kirk," Thaleb interjected, "Cadet Tambe would know that your memory of her is strong and that you are deeply loyal. There is no dishonor in missing the memorial when your intent is good. You must allow yourself to heal properly."
Jim shook his head - I've gotta love the guy, but he doesn't always understand humans. "It’s not about dishonor, Thaleb. It's just that I want to be there."
"We know, Kirk," d'Eon said. "But we all want you back in one piece, so you rest up."
"Do you want us to say anything at the service... from you?" Freeman asked.
Jim opened his mouth to speak, and realized that for once, he didn't have any easy words. He chewed his lip for a moment, then sighed. "I'd need to say it myself," he finally said. "But... light a candle for me, okay?"
There were four nods of agreement, and after heartfelt goodbyes and well-wishes, Jim found himself in the empty room again.
In the silence, he pulled out his PADD and began absently reading course assignments, not really absorbing any of the material. Just something to fill time until... whatever came next. Didn’t seem to matter - he had no say in what would happen. What they’d do to him. When he’d get to leave. He just had to sit there and take it as it came.
After a few minutes, a doctor came in and checked his progress from the osteo-stim treatment and removed the devices. A nurse came after that and helped him out of bed to use the bathroom - thank goodness for progress, he thought cynically, but he thanked her for the assistance. It was easier than being contrary, and at least he was going to get to sleep without the hip immobilizer that night. But really, he had other things on his mind.
He grabbed his PADD again and switched from homework assignments to his own research - Terra Prime's tactics. Know thine enemy. It wasn’t much, but it made him feel a little bit less helpless, even though he knew what he really needed to do was get back to the shuttle hangar and look for clues. But unable to do that, at least he could research Terra Prime.
He reviewed Terra Prime’s long and brutal history. He cross-referenced reliable reports on their activity by location and incident type. He hunted for patterns. And he got nowhere. He needed one of the computer study rooms at the library. With their enormous screens and advanced data matrix processors, those computers could help him find data patterns in an hour that would take him months on his PADD. Incredible research tools. Too bad those were in the library, and he was stuck on his fucking biobed.
Finally, he put the PADD down.
In the silence of his room, he watched the fog outside the window turn from gray to dark gray, and he knew it would be time for the memorial soon.
He thought of Tambe, and the hundreds of cadets and faculty who would fill the main quad on the Academy grounds, while those who knew Tambe best would tell stories about her. There would be candles and tears, and it would bring closure.
Jim needed some damned closure.
He looked out the window, and tried to see lights from across the bay through the fog. Wished there was some way he could go out, just for the evening, but the mental image he'd had earlier of himself sneaking out in the flimsy hospital gown made him feel like a psych-ward patient who was trying to break out of a padded cell. As crazy as he'd felt lately, trapped and cornered, that wasn't the image he needed.
But it was how he felt. He couldn't leave. His team, his friends, were out there mourning for Tambe, and he was stuck here. Tambe's killer was out there, and he was useless, sitting in a damned hospital room. Unless a nurse came and un-tethered him from the IV, he was basically tied to the biobed. It was like a goddamned leash. An uneasy jolt twisted his stomach as he wondered, not for the first time, what they were actually giving him through that thing. Pain meds? Osteo-whatevers? Nutrients and supplements and who the fuck cares.
Frustration welled up, and he could feel himself shaking with pent up anger, distress, loss, and a need for vengeance that he couldn't do anything about while he was trapped at Starfleet Medical. He swore, if he wasn't wearing the damned hospital gown, he'd...
And then Jim remembered the duffel Bones had brought him. His PADD, some books, and... "My clothes," he whispered to himself.
An odd, giddy feeling crept up and overtook him. He could get out of there... sneak out and sneak back before anyone knew he was gone. He wasn't due for any more treatments for the evening. The biobed sensors... hell, he could hack anything, right? He just needed to be there for Tambe's memorial.
"Computer - activate internal room window privacy filter."
The window went opaque, and the giddiness heightened as he grabbed the medical tricorder that the nurse had left on the table and scanned himself. He cross-transmitted the data to his PADD, modified it, and set it on a repeating loop until he had enough data for over three hours of pre-recorded Kirk-vital-signs. Then, he turned around towards the biobed computer and tapped in the access code he'd seen Bones use for everything. The guy had no creativity - same password every time. A moment later, he'd uploaded his code loop into the biobed computer and activated it.
He held his breath. Literally. Held it as long as he could as he tested his pulse. His own pulse began to speed up. The cardiac pattern displayed on the biobed readout, however, displayed a slow, steady beat.
Jim grinned.
Next step... get rid of the damned IV. Bones had said he'd rip his vein, but it didn't seem like it would be nearly that risky or difficult. It should just slide right out. He pulled off the adhesive, braced himself, and gave it a tug.
A burning pain seared through his hand, and Jim slapped his other hand down on the spot as he squeezed his eyes shut and bit his lip to keep from crying out. FUCK. Okay, that was clearly the wrong way to do it. When he looked at his hands, there was blood seeping around his fingers. "Shit," he whispered, looking around frantically. There was a cabinet on the wall. Gritting his teeth against the pain in his hand and the ache in his hips, he slid off the bed and hobbled over to the cabinet. It contained basic medical supplies - some loaded and neatly organized hypospray vials, dermagel tubes, a few devices that Jim figured were basic regen tools, and one lonely roll of gauze.
One of the fortunate things of escaping from a hospital, he thought with cynical amusement, is that they've got medical supplies handy for when you fuck it up.
A moment later, with his hand wrapped, he'd managed to get out of his hospital gown. This was the most he'd moved his own limbs and joints since the shuttle crash, and he felt horribly stiff. His hips ached a bit, but it wasn't so bad. Not bad at all, really. Same thing with his ribs. Just a bit of an ache. There was no reason in the world why he had to miss the memorial.
Sometimes, it's better to ask for forgiveness than beg for permission. He was sure a wise man had once told him that, but at the moment, he couldn’t recall who it was. Didn’t matter. The advice still applied.
Grinning, he pulled on a pair of jeans, determinedly not wincing as he lifted each leg to step into them. He added a t-shirt, then the sweatshirt Bones had packed, which he found himself grateful to discover was the only zip-up sweatshirt he owned. Thanks, Bones, he thought.
Finally, he pulled on his regular shoes, and looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. He felt almost human again. Sore, but like himself. He needed this. "Okay, Kirk," he said to his reflection. "Three hours."
He pocketed his comm unit, left the PADD on the bed, and went to the door of the room. He wasn't moving as smoothly as he'd hoped, but it was late on a Sunday. Most people were tired by then, weren't they?
Cautiously, he activated the door, then peeked around the corner into the hallway. The nurse at the central desk had her back to his door, and was watching the patient monitor screen in front of her. All automated. Nobody was watching him directly. The place looked practically abandoned. This would be easy. He just needed to play it smooth.
As if he were merely leaving his dorm room, he walked out into the hall, found the turbolift, and when the doors opened, he stepped inside. Nobody had seen him. "Lobby," he said firmly, after the doors had shut. The 'lift started moving, and Jim felt a rush at the knowledge that this was going to work. It was a bit like the feeling he got sneaking out of the house when he was in his younger teens. He felt oddly young, and it was quite exhilarating. He also felt a sharp twinge through his hips, but by the time the turbolift doors opened, depositing him in the lobby, his excitement was enough to help him ignore the ache.
The exit doors were a straight shot from the turbolift. A single security guard stood at the entrance, but Jim didn't know the guy, and probably wouldn't be recognized by sight. Besides, security guards were always far more concerned about people arriving than people leaving.
Jim glanced down at himself to make sure nothing was out of place or suspicious, and noticed with a start that a splotch of red was seeping through the gauze on his hand. It was then that he realized that his hand was really aching. Okay, so Bones was definitely right about pulling that thing out, he thought, but that was a minor problem, easily ignored. It should stop bleeding very soon. He’d been through worse. He tucked his hands into his sweatshirt pockets and began making his way across the lobby.
His hips were really starting to ache now, but he figured once he'd gone some distance, the stiffness would work itself out. And really, he could call a taxi from his comm unit once he got to the edge of the Starfleet Medical campus, as he'd done many times after visiting Bones during his late shifts. Simple.
Jim smiled casually at the security guard, who seemed quite bored with the whole thing and merely nodded in response. Too easy. The doors opened in front of him, and the chill of the evening wind off the ocean met him with a refreshing gust to the face. It felt wonderful. Like a taste of freedom. He grinned to himself, then looked down.
Stairs.
Starfleet Medical's front terrace was a broad staircase. In the back of his mind, he knew there was a ramp somewhere, but really, if he couldn't handle stairs, then what sort of wimp was he? Taking his hands out of his pockets, he leaned lightly on the rail and began making his way down.
The ache in his hips slowly began to burn. Instead of helping the joints to loosen up, each step seemed to stab a bit deeper through his pelvis. He tried to breathe through it, but his ribs started to ache. He scowled at himself - this shouldn't be so difficult. Tambe had died. He could certainly put up with a little bit of pain to make it to her memorial. It was almost like a tribute.
By the time he made it to the bottom of the stairs, he was panting from exertion and cringing from the ache. It wasn't so far to go, though. If he could make it across the grounds, he could call for that taxi, and then he could relax all the way back to campus.
He started to walk across the quad when a sudden flash of pain ripped through his hips, and he doubled over at the shock of it. The movement sent a sharp stabbing sensation through his ribs, and he clutched one arm across his chest as he desperately tried to steady himself, bracing his other hand against his knee. A bit of blood ran down from his bandaged hand and stained his jeans, and he glared at his hand irritably. He liked these jeans.
It'll be dark at the memorial, he told himself. They'll have the street lamps turned off so the candles will show better. Nobody will see the stain.
And he had to get there.
It was one singular thought to latch onto in a world spinning beyond his control. Distantly, he knew he wasn’t thinking clearly - maybe because of the pain, or maybe because of something else he couldn’t quite understand - but it didn’t matter. All he could think was that Tambe had died, his team was going to be at the memorial service, and he needed to be there, too. The whole fucking campus would be there, and he’d be damned if he was going to be left out. He’d be damned if he’d let them stop him.
Growling and grunting with determination, he managed to push himself upright. The world teetered around him a little bit, and he stood and forced himself to breathe deeply and slowly for a moment to get his bearing. He was almost halfway to the gate.
Unsteadily, one foot in front of the other, Jim worked his way across the quad towards the road that ran by the front campus gate for Starfleet Medical. The pain was getting worse, though, escalating by the moment, and Jim started to wonder if maybe Bones had also been right about needing the painkillers. He hadn't thought it could be so bad without them. But he'd only removed the IV maybe a half-hour ago, hadn't he? Less than that, even. Had he injured himself again? Or were the drugs so short-acting? He wasn’t sure - time seemed immaterial.
It was all immaterial. Time, pain, rules, security - none of it mattered.
Pain was nothing. And maybe he deserved it. He should have figured out what was wrong with the shuttlecraft. Even if it had been sabotage, he should have been good enough to catch the problem and fix it. Instead, he'd let it go, and Tambe had died. Really, at the end of the day, it was his fault. He should have been better. Could have been better. Should have been able to handle whatever came at him, no matter how bad it was.
His father had saved eight-hundred people. Pike had dared him to do better. And in answer to that, he’d failed to save even one.
The emotional ache ripped through his gut with a sob, which sent a white-hot lance of pain through his hips, echoed by a sharp stabbing sensation in his chest. He stumbled, and reached out a couple more steps to one of the lampposts and grabbed onto it to keep himself from falling over. It was the bandaged hand that he’d wrapped around the post, and in the lamplight, he could see the blood oozing through the gauze now. Well, that's not good, he thought vaguely, but it didn't matter. Nothing seemed to matter, because nothing seemed clear anymore.
In fact, his head was swimming, and now, the gate to the grounds of Starfleet Medical seemed impossibly far away. He stared at across the quad at the gate and knew he’d never make it. Through the pain, one realization finally cracked through and overtook his thoughts like the gavel of his own judgment: I’m a fucking idiot.
This was stupid. Bones had been right. He had the patience of a child, and he’d been so sure he was just fine. Refused to listen to the doctors. And now he was standing on the grounds of Starfleet Medical, bleeding from an injury that he’d caused himself, barely able to walk, surrounded by fog and darkness.
He couldn’t imagine how stupid he looked. Wondered why on earth he’d thought it was a good idea in the first place. And knew he had to get back to the hospital building. Now.
His hips burned and throbbed as he forced himself to stand upright again. His lungs were screaming for air, and he couldn’t breathe fast enough, like he was suffocating in the pain. He could make it back, though. He had to make it back.
He stumbled forward, and each footfall sent a lance of fire through his hips, straight up his spine. The fog was thick around him, or maybe his vision was blurring, and he knew it was bad. Really bad.
In the back of his mind, he wondered what Bones would think. How he’d scold him, yell at him, and dammit, Bones would be right. Absolutely right. Bones had tried to watch out for him, tried to take care of him, and this was the thanks he gave: he’d gone and fucked it all up.
A sob of guilt shook him, mixing in with his desperate gasps for air. The gate had seemed so far away, but now the main medical building seemed further. He vaguely thought he should pull out his comm unit and call for help, but he could see the medical building right there. He got himself out of his own room, caused his own idiotic situation, and he had to fix it himself.
But he couldn’t fix it himself. The fog was getting darker around him, and each step was getting harder, and he wasn’t going to make it. He almost thought he heard a voice yelling - security guard finally caught me - but he couldn’t spare a thought for it. His head was pounding, and his legs weren’t going to hold him anymore.
Pain ripped through him as he slumped to the ground. There were footsteps approaching, and he knew he was in trouble, but he couldn’t care anymore. It was all too far away.
*********
Leonard got out of the taxi at the gate of the Starfleet Medical campus and thanked the driver as he hoisted the bag of Chinese takeout onto his hip. He swiped his ID to pay the fare, then turned and hurried through the gate.
It had been a long day.
His tutoring appointment with Lieutenant Scott had been frustrating. Apparently, the people running the investigation didn’t want information being shared openly between different research projects, citing security risks, so progress had been exceedingly slow. Scott had also tried to present his evidence of the excess four kilograms to the Admiral, who had reviewed his work and completely rejected it with no explanation. Lieutenant Scott was livid over it, but it made no difference. If he wanted to stay on the investigation, he couldn’t piss off the Admiral. So he’d gone back to the engineering lab with nothing to show, no leads, and not enough raw data to learn anything new.
With that disappointent, they’d spent their hour reviewing material for the Basic Engineering class that Leonard had all but ignored lately, and planned to meet at their usual time the following Sunday. From there, Leonard had gone to the Cellular Biology lab and transferred his epithelial cell cultures, then caught a shower and a nap at his dorm room. Finally, he’d taken a trip into Chinatown to pick up some lo mein and dim sum from Jim’s favorite hole-in-the-wall restaurant.
Leonard smiled at the memory of their first foray into Chinatown for one of Jim’s lo mein cravings. Jim had zoned in on the little place, insisting that it looked just right, despite Leonard’s misgivings about sanitation codes. But Jim had been persistent, and had dragged him into the restaurant by the arm. He’d placed their order in perfect Mandarin Chinese, praised the food (which had been surprisingly good), and the owners had loved him ever since.
But that’s just how Jim was.
Jim could go down and order his own Chinese food directly in a couple of weeks, if he kept progressing as expected. But for now, it would have to be enough for Leonard to provide personal delivery service. Sure, Chinese food probably wasn’t the best choice for a start back, but he’d asked the cook to go easy on the oil and soy sauce, so it should be fine. Jim was probably going to find himself full before he expected it, but he’d get his appetite back soon enough. He was progressing so rapidly, it was unbelievable.
Really, Leonard had expected some sort of setback. Sure, once Jim’s bleeding had been stopped and his broken bones had been set and fused, the general injuries were no longer the major concern. They could hurt like hell, especially the pelvic fractures, but they’d heal smoothly with time and treatment. They were already healing very well, all things considered. It was the progress with the head injury that amazed and boggled Leonard. In his experience with trauma patients, head injuries like that didn’t just go away. There was always something. Memory lapses, new patterns of headaches, altered personalities, cognitive setbacks, depression...
Or paranoia, Leonard thought morosely.
But Jim did have a fair reason to be a bit paranoid. It was quite possible - probable - that someone had tried to kill him. But other than the displays of fear and vulnerability, which had subsided more and more as Jim had improved, he’d shown no other signs of mental instability. He was lucid, articulate, and was even joking like his old self.
And Leonard promised himself that he’d try to switch Jim from the IV to pills for his pain, now that he’d be back on solid foods. That way, at least the kid would stop hassling him about it.
Leonard smiled to himself as he made his way across the foggy grounds of the medical complex. Just a few days ago, he’d thought Jim was going to die under his hands. Now, everything was looking so good. Granted, there was the other half of the tragedy to consider - the rest of the campus was mourning Tambe at that moment. Leonard had left a bundle of flowers at the memorial site earlier. But for now, he needed to see Jim - the one guy on campus who probably wanted to be at that memorial service more than anyone, but instead was stuck in a hospital room alone.
Leonard shifted the bag of takeout higher in his arms; he’d really ordered way too much food. It was okay - leftover Chinese food made a craving-worthy Monday-morning breakfast.
The quad was eerie at night, and he always walked across the grounds a little bit faster when he had a night shift there. There was fog in Georgia, but not the way San Francisco had fog. It concealed things. And sure, the Medical campus had a security staff, but it was a hospital campus, and was technically open to anyone.
Like some drunk guy who must have been on a weekend bender, and was staggering across the quad towards the main hospital building.
Leonard let out a frustrated breath, and thanked the fates that he wasn’t on duty tonight. He’d had more than his fair share of drunks show up at the ER. Some had actually managed to injure themselves during their drunken antics, but most were just on one side of alcohol poisoning or the other.
The guy stumbled, and Leonard thought he heard a faint grunt of pain. That didn’t sound quite right for a drunk. And the staggering motions didn’t just look intoxicated - they were the motions of someone who was in severe discomfort. Even if the man was drunk, he was likely also injured. Leonard frowned and started walking a little bit faster towards the guy.
“Hey! Hey, are you okay over there?”
The man didn’t respond. In fact, he made it about two more steps before his legs buckled under him and he crumpled forward to the ground.
Leonard dropped the sack of takeout and kicked into a dead sprint down the walkway. The man was facedown on the ground under one of the street lamps, and as Leonard got close he could make out the Starfleet Academy sweatshirt. The guy’s hand was bandaged, and blood had already seeped through the poorly-wrapped gauze. He had dirty blond hair... suddenly so familiar, even in the poor light of the streetlamp. Leonard skidded the last few steps and dropped down to his knees, and was then able to make out the small shaved spot on the back of the man’s head. His gut froze.
“Jim!” Stifling his panic, he forced himself not to grab the kid’s shoulders and just roll him right over. He pressed his fingers against Jim’s neck, feeling a pulse that was too fast and too shallow, just like the way Jim’s chest heaved with his breathing. “Can you hear me? Talk to me, Jim!”
There was a faint moan, then, “Bones?” Jim made a move to turn over, but Leonard lightly pressed a hand down on his back.
“Don’t move, kid. I’m going to call a stretcher.” He began rubbing gentle circles on Jim’s shoulder as he yanked out his comm and called a transport team out to the quad. He was grateful that they didn’t ask questions, and he flipped his comm shut and looked back down at Jim.
Through the frantic worry and anguished concern, a dozen furious thoughts ran through his head. He wanted to rip the kid up one side and down the other for his sheer stupidity. Demand to know what the hell he’d been thinking and why the fuck he was anywhere but on the goddamned biobed where Leonard had left him. Rant off a litany of curses and enumerate the reasons why Jim was an infantile and irresponsible idiot who must be begging for the world to kick him while he was down.
But he couldn’t. Something had to have happened to have caused him to do this. There had to be a reason. And right now, with Jim obviously unstable and in severe pain, was not the time to drill the kid with a lecture.
Carefully, cradling Jim’s cheeks with cupped hands, he turned Jim’s head to the side so that his face wasn’t pressed into the dirt, in hopes it would help him to breathe easier. He was both relieved and concerned that Jim didn’t resist the movement at all. Then he stretched himself out on the ground, parallel to Jim’s body, so he could look at Jim’s face directly.
Bleary eyes gazed back at him narrowly through the shadows. The kid had a smear of dirt on his cheek, but didn’t appear to have obvious any new injuries. There was a good chance that his pelvic fractures had become unstable, so he’d have to be reassessed for that. It occurred to Leonard that Jim’s hand was bleeding because he’d ripped out the IV, and the anticoagulants he was on to prevent clots while he healed had allowed the hole to keep bleeding unchecked. Feeling something twisting tightly in his own chest, he reached over and covered Jim’s hand with his own, bloody gauze and all. Forcing his voice to stay level, he asked, “Why’d you do it, Jim?”
“I...” The word was raspy, drenched in pain. Jim blinked a couple of times, and even in the shadows, it was clear that he was teetering on the edge of consciousness. He licked his lips. “I was trapped, Bones. Trapped... like a cage. A leash.” He weakly moved his hand under Leonard’s. “Couldn’t take it anymore.”
“Just in one afternoon? Come on, kid... what happened?”
Jim’s eyes closed and he ground the side of his face into the dirt and grass, groaning slightly.
“Talk to me, Jim.”
Slowly, Jim’s eyes cracked open again. “My team... Bones. They need... there are jus’ five of us. Just five. Flight teams are six. Need six of us, Bones. They left without me.” His words were peppered with gasps for air, croaks and grunts of pain.
Gritting his teeth against his own need to look away from his best friend’s anguish, Leonard kept his eyes locked steadily to Jim’s. “Did you follow them, Jim?”
“Yes. I... I needed... to get out... see Tambe’s memorial.”
Leonard bit down on his own tongue. He was glad he’d stifled his urge to give Jim a piece of his mind. He couldn’t yell at Jim. Not for this, not right now. This wasn’t really Jim’s fault, and Leonard realized that his hope for Jim to avoid neurological complications was premature. Paranoia. Irrational behavior. For all that he’d thought everything was fine, it seemed that Jim’s recovery wouldn’t be as short as he’d hoped. “Oh, Jim,” he said, watching Jim’s eyelids flicker weakly.
“So sorry... Bones. You... y’were right. I... was an idiot.”
A tight, watery sob tried to work its way through Leonard’s throat, but he swallowed it back. “You’re always an idiot, Jim, but you’re my idiot. It’s okay, kid. Try to relax. You don’t have to apologize. Just breathe, and help will be here in a minute.”
Jim groaned, gave a weak nod, and shut his eyes.
Leonard wasn’t sure if he was going to remain fully conscious or not, but if he passed out from the pain, it might be a blessing. However, given the occasional pained moan, the tight clench of his jaw, and the way his eyes were pinched shut, Leonard knew the kid was still awake and suffering silently. Knowing Jim, he’d stay conscious until they sedated him again.
With a choked sigh, Leonard maneuvered himself around and sat upright, and began rubbing Jim’s back again. He kept looking back and forth between the doors of Starfleet Medical and Jim... watching the rapid rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed.
There was a burst of activity from the building - the transport team was coming - but for just that moment, the fog muffled everything. Leonard was sitting there next to Jim’s prone body, in the silence, surrounded by darkness. He’d never felt more alone.
*********
They put Jim on constant watch.
His escape act had caused his pelvic fractures to open up again, which landed him back in emergency surgery to repair the damage. Leonard had held back, knowing that it wasn’t his place to treat Jim, not this time, but he stayed in the room as they prepped him for surgery. Held his hand while the nurse started a new IV. Told him what the scans showed, and explained what needed to be done. Jim didn’t complain once. Not even when they sliced his clothes off. Not a peep the whole time, neither in embarrassment or protest. He just nodded resignedly when Leonard said they were going to start the sedatives. Drifted off to sleep with a faint, “I’m sorry, Bones.”
Leonard knew he was. With heart-wrenching certainty, he knew.
And he sat there and watched numbly as the nurses came in and wheeled out the gurney. Made his way to the doctor’s lounge where he waited and drank too much coffee until Jim was out of surgery. He stayed just long enough to check in on the kid, confirmed that the procedure had been successful and that Jim was sleeping peacefully, and went back to his dorm room. He bypassed his secret supply of bourbon and went straight for his own small stash of sedatives and slept through his first two classes. Got excused from his afternoon clinic duty.
The lead doctor on Jim’s case gave him a three solid days of bed rest, and four days of inpatient physical therapy before they’d release him, to ensure that he didn’t overstress himself again. A fracture was delicate enough; re-breaking it was worse. Jim took to the treatment with surprising cooperation, and even an attempt at false cheer. It was a good enough act to convince most people, but Leonard wasn’t most people.
Jim was miserable, but it was clear that he’d forced himself to accept his situation. Even with the constant surveillance, which seemed to cause as much frustration for Jim as it did embarrassment, he grit his teeth and bore it with almost no outward resistance. He didn’t say it straight out, but Leonard knew. Jim felt like he was being babysat, and even more upsetting for him was the fact that he knew he deserved it. Needed it, really. His acceptance of everything was tenuous and pained, restless and edgy, and Leonard thought it was a bit like a convict on death row in the distant past.
Leonard stopped by every day, sometimes helping Jim with his PT exercises. Jim’s flight squad came and visited him throughout the week, and Leonard was glad to see that Jim didn’t try to shy away from the visits. Pike came around, too. Even Jim’s roommate, who had always been pleasant but never terribly social, stopped by to see if he needed anything. Nobody was allowed to question or interrogate Jim before he was released, for fear that he’d balk again. Aside from a few nervous mentions of Terra Prime, and just when Leonard was the only person in the room, he did pretty well.
Progress was slower this time, but it was steady. Yes, Jim was under constant watch, but somehow, Leonard knew he was unlikely to try to leave again until his official discharge. He’d probably emerge a more sober and solemn Jim Kirk, but maybe that wasn’t the end of the world. Maybe it was a lesson he’d needed to learn, although Leonard would have given anything for him to learn it another way. But at least he was going to succeed this time.
In the meantime, whenever he wasn’t in a class or visiting Jim, Leonard tried to find any new information about the crash, the saboteurs, the shuttle engines... anything. And he was failing miserably.
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(To Part Eight...)