Archive of Our Own

Contrary to popular belief, Leonard McCoy did not often drink to excess. Sure, he had a healthy appreciation for good bourbon, and had volunteered as a quality tester for the products of Scotty’s illegal still – only so no poor hapless ensigns burned holes in their stomachs, really – and he was no stranger to the warm, detached feeling brought on by a few glasses of the good stuff. But some of his darkest days had been spent at the bottom of a bottle, and overindulgence had never failed to leave him feeling wretched and miserable in the end. So he had found a better escape in Starfleet, and a certain blue-eyed cadet with a destiny too big for him.

So despite many a late night in bars with Jim, it had been a long time since Leonard had woken up feeling like someone had taken a sonic drill to his temple and filled his mouth with sand. It had been even longer since he’d woken up to the realization that his memory of the preceding events was full of holes. And as for the shackles, those were a first entirely.

Shackles?

His eyes snapped open and he whipped his head to the side to see that his wrists were indeed pinned to the wall behind him with thick metal cuffs. His shoulders were screaming in pain from supporting the limp weight of his body for god knew how long and his hands were unpleasantly numb from lack of circulation. Heaving in a ragged gasp, Leonard scrambled to get his feet under him, realizing as he did that his ankles were shackled too. His heart hammered in his chest, pumping adrenaline through his system and chasing away all vestiges of drowsiness.

“Are you well, doctor?”

Leonard flinched violently at the unexpected voice, jarring his aching muscles. He looked up, for the first time seeing the other occupant of what turned out to be a rather small, decidedly grim cell of a room. Spock was in a predicament identical to McCoy’s; fastened to the wall behind him by his wrists and ankles, skin unnaturally pale, even for the pasty Vulcan. There was a light green bruise on the side of his neck, and Leonard had wielded enough hyposprays in his life to recognize the evidence of one being brutally administered.

“Do I look well, Spock?” he snapped automatically, even as he calmed slightly with the knowledge that he wasn’t alone in whatever the hell mess he’d wound up in this time.

“Actually, you look rather peaked.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to take a multivitamin,” Leonard grunted. “Oh wait; I can’t, because we’re chained up in somebody’s basement.”

“We have no way of knowing for certain that we are underground, doctor,” Spock countered calmly. Before Leonard could do anything besides sputter about priorities, the Vulcan looked at one of his restrained wrists and added, a touch ruefully, “however, your observation about us being restrained does unfortunately appear to be accurate.”

“What happened?” Leonard demanded.

“I do not know. I have no recollection of being captured, and I awoke only moments before you did. I assume from our symptoms that we were drugged, but I do not yet have sufficient data to postulate about our current location or the identity of our abductors.”

Leonard wracked his muddled brain for his last clear memory before waking up in chains.

Leonard spied the figure sitting cross-legged outside the boundary of the shipyard fence, and felt the usual mix of emotions in his chest that only one man could evoke in him. He strode forward into the shadow of the familiar starship that dominated the sky from this close.

“Figured I’d find you here,” Leonard said when he was close enough to be heard. “You never did seem to know what to do with yourself when you’ve got both feet planted on solid ground.”

Though Jim’s face had been solemn in his contemplation, he mustered up a smile for Leonard.

“Hey, Bones,” he greeted softly as the doctor sat beside him on the grass. They both turned their attention to the vast vessel looming before them, gleaming red and gold in the light of the setting sun. The Enterprise bore none of the scars from her fight with Marcus and Khan. Her hull shone hale and whole after weeks of attention from Starfleet’s engineers and builders.

“You’d never know what she’s been through, looking at her,” Jim murmured, not taking his eyes off of his ship. “It’s like it never happened.”

McCoy sighed and reached over to cover Jim’s hand with one of his own. Much as he might try to downplay it, Jim had been struggling these past several weeks. Losing so many of his crew and discovering that Khan had killed thousands of people had shaken him deeply. But beyond that, he’d died and woken without a mark on his body. He had nothing to ground the experience in reality, no external wounds to validate the emotional trauma. Jim had slept through his body’s healing process, and now his mind was still trying to catch up.

Leonard squeezed Jim’s hand and leaned in close, pressing their foreheads together. He held Jim’s gaze solemnly.

“Visible scars aren’t the only ones that matter, Jim,” he murmured. “And you don’t have to be injured to be hurting. But no matter where the hurt comes from, I will always be here to help.”

Something in those fathomless blue eyes broke loose, and suddenly McCoy found himself with a lapful of Jim. Their lips met, and in the kiss Leonard felt the silent need that his lover had been unable to express in words. Jim needed to be reminded that he was alive, that the life ended in the decontamination chamber aboard the Enterprise had begun anew, and that he was not alone in his grief and fear. Leonard was happy to give him that reassurance as often as he could. Because he needed it too, needed to feel the warmth of Jim’s body against his, to see the spark of life in his eyes. He needed to experience Jim’s vitality to chase away the nightmarish images of him lying cold and still, empty face framed by the grey fabric of a body bag.

So he kissed Jim back with a passion that could leave no doubt that both participants were very much alive. When they finally broke apart, Leonard was heartened to see that something in Jim’s gaze was lighter. It also held that open tenderness that only he got to see.

“I love you, you know,” Jim told him.

The words were nothing new, but they never failed to send a shot of warmth through Leonard’s chest.

“Yeah, I know.” He smiled at Jim, knowing that it would convey the rest.

After a moment, they both turned back to look up at the Enterprise. Jim let out an audible breath.

“She leaves for spacedock tomorrow,” he said. “After that, the rest of the repairs should only take a couple of weeks.”

“You’re ready,” Leonard said in response to the unspoken uncertainty that he could hear in Jim’s voice.

“I’d better be.” Jim took a deep breath. “A captain on a five-year mission needs to have his shit together.”

That took a moment to sink in, and then Leonard’s stomach lurched with emotions he couldn’t even begin to sort out.

“You got the five-year mission?”

Pure excitement lit Jim’s face as his concerns faded momentarily into the background. He leaned in to give Leonard a quick, celebratory kiss.

“We got it. The admiralty told me today.”

“Sounds like you had a better day than I did.” Leonard regretted the words as soon as he’d said them. He should’ve given Jim more time to celebrate his news.

“What happened?”

“It’s nothing, Jim, just more harassment about the serum.”

Jim’s expression darkened, and he tightened his grip on Leonard’s hand. While the public had no idea that Jim had died aboard the Enterprise, it had been impossible to keep the fact from Starfleet Command. They knew that Jim had died, and knew that he had been brought back to life through the efforts of one Leonard H. McCoy, MD.

McCoy had faced criticism for playing god, and had even undergone a formal review for a possible ethics violation. But even as the noble face of Starfleet was attacking him, he was quietly approached for his research. Command had ordered him to hand over all of his findings, his formula for turning the blood of super soldiers like Khan and his people from a short-term stopgap treatment into a cure for death itself.

Leonard had refused. He may have lost sight of his ethics when he’d been staring down a lifetime without Jim, but he knew without a doubt that what he had created was too much power for anyone to wield, even him, and especially Starfleet Command. Spock, who had helped him create the serum and was the only other person who knew its formula, had agreed. Starfleet Command had not.

“Do I need to do some more yelling?” Jim asked. Leonard had tried to keep the whole issue from him at first, wanting to spare him the burden of feeling responsible. But Jim had sure as hell noticed when Command started threatening to take his CMO away from him. And he had been pissed. Command had backed off when the entire senior bridge crew of the Enterprise had threatened to resign.

“Nah, I took care of that,” Leonard replied with a wry grin. “You know how much I love yelling at people.”

Jim’s answering grin had a hard edge to it, but he nodded. He said nothing else, just leaned his shoulder against Leonard’s in silent support. They sat like that for a while, staring up at the ship in companionable silence. Leonard thought about the years to come, about the wonders and horrors that the mission would inevitably bring.

“It scares me, you know,” he murmured eventually, his eyes still fixed on the Enterprise. “What I’m apparently willing to do for you.”

He heard Jim’s breath catch, but he still didn’t look at him.

“‘Most especially must I tread with care in matters of life and death,’” he recited. “‘Above all, I must not play at God.’ I swore that, the day I became a doctor. I meant every word of the oath I took. So why didn’t I so much as hesitate when I realized what it would take to save you? Why would I do it again in a heartbeat?”

He finally turned his head to meet Jim’s pained gaze.

“I guess I know why,” he sighed, dropping his head onto Jim’s shoulder and taking a deep breath.

“Bones…”

“I’m not asking you to change, Jim,” Leonard said quickly. “And I’m not asking you for any promises that we both know you can’t keep. I fell in love with you the way you are, not the way I thought you should be. I guess I’m just…asking you to remember the kinds of consequences your decisions have. I’m asking you to think of me when you’re contemplating a risk or a sacrifice. That’s all. Think of me, and I’ll accept what you do after that.”

“I always think of you, Bones,” Jim sighed, resting his head against Leonard’s. There was a beat of solemn silence, but Jim’s voice was playful when he spoke again. “You’re like the grumpy, pissed-off angel sitting on my shoulder and yelling constantly in my ear. Makes it very difficult to do stupid things in peace.”

Leonard snorted and rolled his eyes, and the grave spell was broken. He dug an elbow into Jim’s ribs, smiling when he squealed.

They sat together for a little while longer, but eventually Leonard’s body began to remind him that he was not as young as he used to be, and had no business spending long periods of time sitting on the cold ground. He stood with a groan.

“I’ll leave you to your vigil, Captain,” he said, bending down to press a kiss to Jim’s temple. “But you should know that if you stay out here all night, you’re going to miss out on the best peach cobbler in the state.”

Jim grinned up at him. He’d been equal parts amused and delighted when he found out that Leonard liked to bake in times of stress.

“I’ll be home in an hour or two,” he promised.

Leonard had no idea if Jim had kept that promise, because he had no recollection of anything after leaving him at the shipyard. He must have been grabbed there, or on his way home. He looked up at Spock in alarm.

“I was with Jim,” he said. “Before…do you think he got taken too?”

“It is a possibility, although our captors would likely have kept him here, were that the case.”

“Then why you and me?” Leonard demanded.

Spock opened his mouth, probably to say something as logical as it was unhelpful, but then he paused, cocking his head to the side.

“I suspect that we may soon have the opportunity to find out, doctor.”

A moment later, the door set into the wall beside Spock hissed open, and a man entered. He was unmasked and human or humanoid, his dark clothing devoid of any identifying markings. His face was equally devoid of any emotion as he surveyed his captives.

“Who are you, and why are you illegally detaining two Starfleet officers?” Spock asked, way more politely than what Leonard had been gearing up to.

The man’s gaze settled on Spock, and he leaned in close, studying him. He wrinkled his nose.

“Who I am is of no consequence to you,” he dismissed. “As for why I’m holding you, I’m glad you asked.” He threw an appraising glance at McCoy. “Please understand, gentlemen, that I will get what I want from you, one way or another. I would prefer to do that with a minimum of unpleasantness, but I am fully prepared to do whatever it takes to get what I need.”

“Whatever you think you’re getting from us, you’re going to be waiting a long time,” Leonard snarled, choosing to focus on his anger rather than the fear that was building in his chest.

“There’s no need for that, Doctor McCoy,” the man replied, drawing closer to him. “My objective is simple. All that I require from you and your colleague is the formula that you developed for the serum to reverse death.”

Ice settled in Leonard’s stomach, and he caught Spock’s gaze. The Vulcan’s expression was as blank as usual, but his eyes betrayed his concern.

“Who are you?” Leonard demanded. No one was supposed to know that the key to curing death existed at all, much less the identities of the two people responsible for creating it. No one but the higher-ups of Starfleet, that is.

“As I already said, that is not your concern,” the man said calmly. “Just tell me how to create the serum, and you can forget you ever met me.”

“You honestly expect us to believe that you’re just going to let us go?”

“The fact that you have allowed us to see your face does render that possibility unlikely,” Spock added.

They were favored with a chilling smile.

“They did say you were smart,” the man said. “Well then, geniuses, think about this; you will both be leaving this room in body bags. What happens to you before then is entirely up to you.”

Leonard shuddered, chafing his wrists against the unforgiving cuffs. He had no doubt that the man, who he’d begun to think of as John Doe out of habit, meant business. He had the cold, detached look in his eyes that meant ending two lives in agony would affect him about as much as squashing an ant would affect most people. Leonard had seen that look before, in the recordings of Jim’s conversation with Admiral Marcus just before the man condemned the entire crew of the Enterprise to certain death.

Not exactly a comforting comparison.

Leonard looked at Spock again. The Vulcan looked as solemn as the doctor had ever seen him. He really did have expressive eyes, once you were paying attention. Like all of the emotion that refused to bleed onto his face was condensed in them. And right now, they held a mix of determination and sorrow. Because he knew as well as McCoy what they had to do. Leonard took a deep breath and nodded.

“We will not tell you,” Spock said simply, calmly. A statement of absolute fact. “There is nothing that you can do to us that will compel us to do so.”

Doe looked unsurprised and unconcerned.

“You have any idea how many people have said that to me, in one form or another?” he asked. “They all changed their tune eventually, and you will too.”

“Yeah? Were you asking any of them to hand over information that could throw the entire galaxy into unimaginable chaos?” Leonard growled, trying to hide his unease over how comfortable Doe was with all of this. How confident.

“You’re being a bit melodramatic, doctor. After all, what I’m asking you for would be used to help people, not hurt them.”

Leonard just glowered at Doe.

“We’re not that stupid, and neither are you.”

Doe smirked.

“Very well. Now unfortunately, you’ve both been immunized against the usual truth serums, so we get to do this the old-fashioned way. Who wants to go first?”

McCoy got the feeling that the question was rhetorical. Doe was eyeing Spock with a calculating gleam in his eye, as if he were looking for weak spots to exploit. Leonard swallowed hard. The serum had been his idea, his responsibility. And while being tortured was pretty damn low on the list of things he wanted to experience in his life, watching Spock get tortured was even lower.

Dammit.

He closed his eyes. As a fairly high-ranking Starfleet officer and a frequent member of away teams, he’d always known that there might come a day when he was interrogated for information. But understanding a distant possibility and facing a brutal reality were two very different things, and Leonard hadn’t been this scared since Uhura had called him in tears and told him to come to Engineering with a body bag. But Jim would surely notice that something was wrong soon, and he would come for them. All they had to do was hold out until then. He could do this. He had to.

He opened his eyes, took a deep breath, and wet his dry lips.

“I didn’t take you for a man who enjoyed wasting time,” he said, injecting as much derision into his tone as he could.

He succeeded in drawing Doe’s attention away from Spock. Their captor raised an eyebrow at him, and Leonard pressed the opportunity.

“Or are you just stupider than you look? You can’t torture information out of a Vulcan, you moron. They believe that pain is for lesser beings. They can shut it off like you or I could shut off the lights. You might as well try to torture information out of a rock.”

It was stretching the truth, and he knew it. Because as much as he may try to deny it, Spock was as human as he was Vulcan, and that human half was perfectly capable of feeling pain. Which was why Leonard was doing this in the first place.

The infinitesimal shift in Spock’s expression said that he knew exactly what McCoy was doing, and did not approve. Well, tough shit. Leonard had gone this far without caring about Spock’s feelings, and he wasn’t about to stop now.

His stomach clenched as Doe drew closer to him, intent clear in his eyes. This was what he’d been hoping for, he reminded himself.

“And you, doctor?” Doe asked. “How’s your sensitivity to pain?”

“Well, it hurt when I stubbed my toe last week.”

Doe smiled, and though it sent a shiver down Leonard’s spine, he refused to look away from those cold eyes.

“Fully functional though his pain receptors may be, Doctor McCoy’s stubbornness will nevertheless render your efforts equally ineffectual. When he is set in his beliefs, he is as immutable as the most stoic Vulcan.”

Leonard was too annoyed to be touched by what he was pretty sure had been a compliment. Leave it to Spock to make things unnecessarily difficult.

“Yeah, and you’re such a pushover,” he snapped.

Doe chuckled, and it was even worse than his smile.

“You know, every report paints the two of you as sworn enemies,” he remarked, looking back and forth between Spock and McCoy. “Something tells me they were inaccurate.”

Leonard gave him a look that usually reduced the recipient to a stuttering mess, but Doe just kept smirking. He glanced back and forth between the officers one more time, and shrugged.

“Well, I do like a challenge.” He smiled at Leonard, and stepped well into his personal space. “One last chance, doctor. Tell me how to create the serum, and we can forgo all of this unpleasantness.”

Leonard took a deep breath, even as cold sweat trickled down his spine. He had faced some difficult choices in his life, but this was a no-brainer. First, do no harm. The serum was his responsibility, and he would not let it wreak havoc.

“And deprive you of that challenge you were looking forward to?” he asked lightly. “I wouldn’t do that.”

Doe didn’t look disappointed. He just shrugged again and took half a step back. Leonard braced himself, waiting for the first blow, but none came. Instead, Doe reached into his pocket and withdrew a small, circular white device. He pressed it to Leonard’s forehead, where it anchored itself with some kind of barbs in his skin. Leonard grunted with the pain, but the dread settling in his stomach was far worse than the sting. Before he could react further, the device activated.

Leonard had broken bones, lost bar brawls, been shot, beaten by humans and aliens alike, thrown off cliffs, and, on one memorable occasion, nearly eaten alive by a carnivorous plant. He’d thought he knew pain. He’d been wrong.

To say that it felt like he was being burned alive wouldn’t do the experience justice. At least when you were burning, only your skin felt the flames. But every single cell in Leonard’s body felt like its own individual supernova, incinerating him from the inside. Being stabbed with a thousand scalpels dipped in acid would have hurt less. All conscious, rational thought faded, leaving nothing but pain; an all-consuming, unendurable agony.

It was unbearable, endless, well past the point where he should have passed out, and maybe he did, but if so the torment followed him mercilessly into the blackness of unconsciousness. Leonard would have given anything to make it stop but he couldn’t remember why this was happening, couldn’t remember how to make his voice work, couldn’t remember how to breathe.

And then it was over.

Leonard gasped in desperate lungfulls of stale air, unable to think for a moment beyond the sudden absence of pain. His vision began to clear, and awareness filtered back in. He was hanging limply in his restraints, his clothes and hair soaked with sweat. Every muscle felt like a noodle that had been boiled for about two years, and his throat was raw from screams he hadn’t even heard.

Panting, he raised his head, looking past Doe to meet a pair of dark eyes burning with intensity. Spock’s face had hardened into an icy mask, but the tendons in his arms stood out, showing how hard he was straining against his cuffs, and his clenched jaw gave away his tightly controlled anger. Like the other two times he had seen Spock this mad, Leonard was grateful that the Vulcan was on his side. Well, as grateful as he could be for anything in his current state.

“Do you see now, doctor, that stubbornness will only get you so far?” Doe asked, still in that annoying calm, condescending tone. “Even the strongest will has a breaking point, and that device on your head has a knack for finding it.”

Leonard had the sinking fear that he was right. While he had never encountered a device like this before, it wasn’t hard to guess how it worked. The barbaric contraption broadcasted excruciating agony directly to his brain, leaving his body unharmed. Effective, really; all of the pain of torture without the worry that the subject would die of his injuries before he could pass on the necessary information. And now that he had experienced it, every fiber of Leonard’s being was shouting at him to do whatever it took to avoid a repeat of it.

But nothing had changed. Handing over the formula was not an option. He just prayed that he would be strong enough to remember that after another round.

When McCoy said nothing, Doe sighed. He held up his hand, and for the first time, Leonard noticed the small controller in his grip.

“In ten seconds, doctor, I’m going to press this button, and you are going to experience that pain all over again, and again, and again, for as long as it takes. Or I could press this other button, and your life would end in a painless instant. Which button I press is up to you.”

Leonard gritted his teeth and looked back at Spock. The Vulcan’s frustration was evident, but he held Leonard’s gaze steadily. Those human eyes of his offered support, and the reminder of why he was doing this. Leonard had never thought he would find Spock’s presence comforting, but it was the only thing that gave him the strength to clench his jaw and stare down Doe in desperate defiance.

“Lieutenant Commander Leonard McCoy,” he growled. “Chief Medical Officer, USS Enterprise. 223-”

“You brought this upon yourself,” Doe interrupted. He pushed a button.

Eleanora McCoy loved classic literature, and she had passed that appreciation onto her son. She’d read him the Harry Potter books at bedtime, stories that had been remade as vids a dozen times over but that would always be best on the page. Leonard had loved the tales of fantasy and magic, had dreamed of getting his own Hogwarts letter before he’d gotten too old to cling to the fantasy. Even as a child, he’d loved medicine, and some of his favorite parts of the books were the visits to St. Mungo’s, the magical hospital. But something that had always made him sad was the fate of Frank and Alice Longbottom, driven insane beyond the help of even magical medicine. Young Leonard McCoy had been unable to imagine the kind of agony that would ruin a healthy mind like that.

But now he understood. Human minds were never meant to withstand this.

When the pain released him this time, Leonard couldn’t even find the strength to raise his head. He just slumped heavy in his restraints, the sharp ache in his shoulders and wrists barely even registering after what he had just experienced. He tasted blood in his mouth, and knew that he must have bitten his tongue or cheek, but he couldn’t feel that injury either.

It took him a long moment to register the fact that someone was talking.

“-inevitably be rendered useless. Even if you were to extract the formula from us, you would not be able to use it without the blood of Khan or that of a member of his crew, all of whom are extremely secure. This will gain you nothing.”

Despite everything, Leonard almost smiled. Good old Spock, trying to logic his way out of the problem.

“While your concern is appreciated, you don’t need to worry about that,” Doe informed Spock dryly. “Getting hold of the two of you was harder than getting that blood will be.”

Doe’s confidence was complete and sincere. It sent a whole new wave of unease surging through Leonard. Khan and his crew were in the hands of Starfleet, and the fact that Doe was so sure that he could get to them, along with the fact that only Starfleet knew of the serum’s existence in the first place…was this a Starfleet operation? Would they really have two of their own officers kidnapped and tortured?

Yes, the pessimistic part of him whispered. Which means they’re not looking for you.

But Jim was. He had to be. Which meant that Leonard just had to hold on, to give him time. Jim had never, not once, let him down when it really mattered, and Leonard refused to believe that he was about to start now.

He let out an involuntary grunt of surprise and pain as a hand fisted in his hair and yanked his head back.

“How’re you feeling, doctor?” Doe asked conversationally. “Tired of playing this game yet?”

Leonard just mustered up the most contemptuous look he could manage, and spat a mouthful of blood at his tormenter. Doe reeled back, a spark of anger lighting his eyes for the first time and giving Leonard a surge of vicious satisfaction. But it did not last long. It was eclipsed by agony as Doe jammed a thumb into the button. The pain clawed into every level of his consciousness, rendering everything else irrelevant, overwhelming everything he was. He was shattering into a million razor-sharp pieces, the edges tearing into his very soul.

When the torment ended next, Leonard’s lungs seized feebly, his breath coming in short, useless gasps. Dark spots clung to the edges of his vision, and he longed for the oblivion of unconsciousness. But even that, he knew, would not provide relief.

“You are not proceeding logically.” Spock’s voice took a moment to filter into Leonard’s scrambled brain. Automatically, he tried to think up a suitably acerbic response, but then realized that the Vulcan hadn’t been talking to him. “You may be introducing the pain directly into his mind, but the effects on his body are very real. His heart will fail under this strain. A dead subject is incapable of divulging information.”

Leonard’s head felt like it weighed about as much as the Enterprise, but he raised it to look at Spock. His careful control had cracked, and his anger and concern were visible on his features.

“Don’t bother,” Leonard rasped, the words mangled by his shredded throat. He meant it. Death would be a welcome escape.

“Well then, I suppose your friend’s life is in your hands, Mr. Spock,” said Doe, ignoring the protest. “Tell me how to make the serum, and this all ends now.”

“But then what begins?” Spock asked, his voice icy. “An era in which death is meaningless, therefore rendering life meaningless as well. The cure for death would be the most powerful weapon in the galaxy, a power that would be inevitably abused. If the lives of Doctor McCoy and myself are all that stand in the way of that becoming a reality, then so be it. The needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few.”

Before, Leonard might have thought that Spock’s words were callous, uncaring. But just then, the reminder was exactly what he’d needed to hear.

Doe looked back and forth between the matching looks of resolve on the two men’s faces. He sighed and raised the remote.

“No, please-” Leonard could not help gasping, but a fresh wave of agony slammed into him, cutting off all control of his vocal cords.

He couldn’t do this. He was drowning in a sea of fire and he couldn’t keep his head above the flames. He didn’t know what would happen when he succumbed, but he knew that whatever remained of him would no longer be Leonard McCoy.

Suddenly, past the overwhelming tide of pain, he felt something tickling at the edges of his mind. It was something other, something outside of Leonard and therefore the pain. He grasped at it, desperate for anything that wasn’t torment. The presence responded, sliding into his mind and expanding like a shield, muting the pain.

What the hell?

The presence responded to his confusion, and Leonard realized distantly that it was a familiar one.

He had never undergone a mind meld, but Jim had tried to describe the experience to him once. He’d eventually given up because he’d been unable to find adequate words to convey what it had been like. Now Leonard understood why. English simply did not contain the necessary words.

It wasn’t like having a conversation. It wasn’t even like having two minds in his head. It was more like being two people at once; two unique entities joined together so closely that it was impossible to distinguish where one ended and the other began. Spock had settled in Leonard’s mind, but in doing so had made himself equally vulnerable. Knowledge and thoughts produced by one were instantaneously experienced by the other.

Which was how Leonard knew just what the hell Spock was doing. Vulcans were touch telepaths. Their abilities worked best when it was their subject that they were touching, but in a pinch, they could transfer their consciousness across a shared point of contact; in this case, the walls of their cell. It was a strain, and Spock’s presence was weaker than it would have been with a proper meld, but he was still able to draw Leonard into the protection of his own mental defenses. It was enough to offer him a buffer from the pain, to share and distribute it to a manageable level. It still wasn’t pleasant by any stretch, but Leonard no longer felt in danger of losing his mind. Spock had given him the support he needed to hold on.

Leonard could feel the Vulcan’s apology – an uninvited mind meld was a serious offence in his culture. And under any other circumstances, Leonard might have been angry at the intrusion. But now he recognized it for the lifeline that it was. He could feel the distress that Spock had experienced at watching the torture, feel his concern that the doctor’s heart would give out before they could be rescued.

And Spock had just as much hope as McCoy that the rescue was coming. He considered it to be logic, while Leonard would simply call it faith. No matter the description though, they both knew that their absence would be noted, and that Jim and Uhura would stop at nothing to find them. That they would succeed was inevitable. And now Leonard thought he might actually have a chance of living till then.

He knew that Spock could feel his gratitude. It was bizarre, this instantaneous and unfiltered exchange of thought. Leonard suspected that he would be embarrassed about it later, but he couldn’t care right now. In fact, he found it rather fascinating.

He’d known for a while that Spock wasn’t as cold and unfeeling as he seemed, but the Vulcan had still remained foreign and unfathomable on some level. Leonard lived with his emotions close to the surface, and it was hard to empathize with someone who rarely displayed any emotions at all. But he’d grown to value Spock’s company, to enjoy the verbal sparring that challenged him and kept him sharp. And when he had witnessed Spock’s reaction to Jim’s death, he’d come to a new degree of understanding for his fellow officer. But none of that compared to being joined like this, given access to everything that his…god help him, his friend, kept hidden from most of the world.

A feeling of amused satisfaction began to radiate from Spock. Leonard knew that his curiosity would be conveyed regardless, but he forced the inquiry into silent words.

What the hell is so funny?

Not funny, doctor. It is just that I have long suspected that you do not find me as abhorrent as you so vehemently claim, and it is…surprisingly pleasing to be proven correct.

And there was some of that embarrassment Leonard had been worried about. If the exchange had been happening in the real world, he would have rolled his eyes. But then again, the exchange would not be possible in the real world.

Yeah well, cat’s out of the bag. Don’t you go telling everybody.

Cat?

Oh, come on.

He wasn’t sure how long they went on like that, simply enduring, with the occasional ‘conversation.’ They tried not to invade each other’s privacy more than was absolutely necessary, and although Spock worked to hide it, Leonard knew that he was beginning to struggle. The mind meld took effort to maintain across this distance, and the strain of the pain he was holding at bay wasn’t helping matters.

Take a break, Spock, Leonard urged silently, doing his best not to let his dread at the thought of being left alone seep through their connection. I’ll be all right on my own for a while.

No. It was just one simple word, but it was backed up by resolute vehemence, and Leonard knew that arguing would be pointless. Spock cared deeply, if not obviously, and he was loyal to a fault. He would not abandon Leonard, no matter what the doctor said.

But then, abruptly, Spock’s presence was ripped from his mind, and the full brunt of the torture slammed into him in a hellish wave. It was all the more intense for his respite, and coupled with the cold bereft feeling of having the mind joined with his torn away.

It ended after just a moment though, and Leonard’s vision cleared, giving him an unobstructed view of the scowl on Doe’s face as he leaned in close to his prisoner. But McCoy barely registered him before looking over his shoulder at the figure across the cell. Spock was hanging limply in his restraints, eyes closed and head slumped to his chest.

“What the hell did you do to him?” Leonard demanded in what would have been a shout if his voice were working properly.

“I had to stun him.” Doe rapped the end of a phaser against Leonard’s temple. “You two are just determined not to make this easy for me, aren’t you?”

“Whatever gave you that idea?” Leonard asked, relaxing slightly with the knowledge that Spock was still alive. Doe rolled his eyes, but then his face took on a calculating look. He glanced back at Spock.

“You know, he wasn’t wrong about the fact that this will eventually kill you,” he told Leonard. “You might hold out for a while, but the moment you die, I’m moving on to him if I still don’t have what I need.”

Leonard shuddered at the thought, and Doe smiled. He leaned in close.

“Yes, doctor. That device works on Vulcans too. Mr. Spock will endure the same torment that you’re experiencing. But he’s stronger than you, isn’t he? His Vulcan heart will stand up to the strain for days, weeks, even. Weeks of this, of unbearable agony slowly tearing apart that remarkable mind of his, with nothing but me and your cold corpse for company, until he inevitably breaks.”

It was a horrifying prospect, and Doe clearly understood what the thought of it was doing to Leonard. He pressed his advantage.

“You could spare him that, McCoy. Tell me the formula, and I’ll kill you both painlessly. Your friend need never know the agony that’s consumed you. Tell me what I need to know, for his sake if not yours.”

Leonard bit his lip and looked at Spock, hanging helpless and oblivious across from him. He knew that Doe would be as good as his word, would give Spock unspeakable hell or the freedom of oblivion based on what Leonard did next. But he also knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Spock would rather bear a lifetime of pain than see that formula revealed. It was his decision to make, and Leonard had to accept it.

Jim is coming, he reminded himself. But it was a colder comfort than it had been. They could be anywhere, maybe even off-planet, and there was no way of knowing how soon Jim would find them. And Leonard was starting to lose hope that he would make it till then.

Still, the longer he held out, the more time he bought for Spock. He owed his friend at least that much.

He met Doe’s gaze and mustered up the most derisive sneer he could.

“Go to hell,” he growled. Doe sighed.

“I should’ve brought a chair,” he muttered. Almost as an afterthought it seemed, he pushed the button on his remote, and Leonard’s world dissolved into a wash of agony once more.

He lost track of time. Not in the good way, the way that happened when he was spending time with Jim or curled up with a good book or absorbed in his research. Instead, he lost his grasp on everything that wasn’t pain, and that included the concept of time. His world whittled down to periods of Pain and No Pain, the former much more extended than the latter and each one more unbearable than the last. During two of the No Pain periods, he watched Doe fire another stun blast at Spock, making sure that he stayed out, unable to help. Some distant part of Leonard wanted to protest, to tell Doe to be careful, that no being, human or Vulcan, was designed to be stunned over and over like that.

But the conscious part of Leonard was retreating further and further into his mind, sheltering from what it could not bear. He thought he should have been more worried about that, but none of his emotions were working properly. He just knew that he had to keep silent. Had to, no matter what.

“Jesus Christ, McCoy,” the man with the pain button growled during one of the No Pains. “You’re just a doctor. I’ve seen trained soldiers break faster than this.”

Leonard stared at him, uncomprehending. He was a doctor? Yes, that sounded right. Do no harm. But then why was he being harmed? Why was everything fire and pain?

Shouts and blasts, distant but growing louder, trickled through the fog. Fighting. Fighting meant more pain, more people who wanted to hurt Leonard, and no, no, he couldn’t go through that, couldn’t bear it, couldn’t survive it, couldn’t couldn’t couldn’t-

“Bones. Hey. Shh, Bones, it’s all right. Wake up; it’s just a nightmare.”

Soft lips pressed to his temple, and a warm hand carded soothingly through his hair. Leonard felt himself relaxing at the familiar, trusted voice. He opened his eyes and there was Jim, all kind blue eyes and tender smile. Leonard reached out to touch his face, letting out a soft sigh of relief when it was warm and solid under his fingertips.

“Jim,” he breathed, sighing in contentment when his lover twined their fingers together.

“Hey.”

They were lying in their bed, in the apartment that they shared in San Francisco when they weren’t on the Enterprise. A stripe of sunlight shone through the window, turning Jim’s bronze hair gold. Leonard leaned in until their foreheads were pressed together.

“Was it Doe again?” Jim asked gently.

Leonard frowned, trying to remember. There had been a cell, the man with the remote- but his mind shied away from that, and he focused on the man lying across from him.

“You came for me.”

“Of course I did.” Jim leaned forward and captured Leonard’s mouth with a kiss that stole his breath. “I’m just glad I got there before that bastard could start hurting you.”

Leonard frowned. That wasn’t right, was it? He had been hurt, hadn’t he? He’d been burning.

“Hey.” Jim tapped his cheek. He raised their entwined hands for inspection. “No burns, no marks, nothing, see? You’re fine, Bones.”

Of course he was. Jim said he was fine, and Jim didn’t lie to him. He smiled, and Jim smiled back.

“I don’t know, Jim,” Leonard said, wrapping an arm around his lover’s waist to pull him closer. “I did get stunned pretty good.”

“Then I guess I’ll have to kiss it better,” said Jim, his beautiful eyes sparkling.

“Seems only the prudent thing to do.”

Jim took Leonard’s face in his hands and pressed a tender kiss to the corner of his eye.

“There?” he murmured.

“Nope,” Leonard breathed.

“Hmm. What about here?” Jim pressed his mouth to the sensitive spot below Leonard’s ear.

“Keep looking.”

Jim smiled against his skin, his mouth trailing lower, skimming over his neck and down to his bare collarbone. That was odd, Leonard registered distantly – he’d been wearing a shirt before.

“Jim?”

“Not there either? Okay then. Let’s try here.” And all thoughts of missing shirts faded as Jim moved lower still, his mouth exploring places that had never been struck by a stun beam and hopefully never would.

*****

Time blurred for Leonard McCoy. If he’d been asked, he would have been hard-pressed to say whether it had been a week or a month or a year since Jim had rescued him from Doe. But no one asked, and Leonard did his best not to think about it as he let the time slip by with Jim. Apparently Starfleet had given them some time off in light of recent events, so they never had to leave their apartment. They whiled away the hours in bed or on the couch watching crappy old holovids and stealing each other’s popcorn.

It was nice, peaceful in a way that Leonard hadn’t experienced in a long time. He cherished it, knowing that it couldn’t last.

“Why not?” Jim asked when Leonard mentioned it.

“What?”

“Why can’t it last?”

Leonard stared at his lover, realizing that he was serious.

“Because your ship is in spacedock preparing for a five-year mission that will take us very far away from this apartment, Jim.”

“I’ve been thinking about that.” They had been sitting side by side on the couch, but now Jim shifted closer, taking Leonard’s hand. “What if the Enterprise were to leave without us?”

Jim stared earnestly at Leonard, and Leonard stared right back.

“You don’t want to go back to space?”

“Nothing up there could compare to what I have down here.” Jim leaned in until he was practically in Leonard’s lap, and kissed him soundly. “I’ll stay if you do,” Jim whispered against his lips. “Stay, Bones. Stay with me.”

“I will. Of course I will, Jim.” But even as the words left him, Leonard felt inexplicable unease.

Jim would never give up the stars, something in the back of his mind whispered. Not like this.

Oblivious to his consternation, Jim kissed him with fresh urgency. It wasn’t long before his concerns, along with all rational thought for that matter, went flying out the window.

*****

An hour or a week or a month later, the two of them were on the couch again. Jim had insisted on a Lord of the Rings marathon – he never tired of teasing Leonard about the character that bore an uncanny resemblance to him – but he’d lost steam during the second movie. Now he was sound asleep, head in McCoy’s lap. Leonard stroked absentminded fingers through his lover’s hair as he watched good and evil clash on the screen.

The door chime sounded, and Leonard froze. It shouldn’t have been odd, right? Surely they got visitors. But in that moment, he couldn’t think of a single one. He stared at the door, inexplicable dread pooling in his gut. Bad things would happen if he opened that door. Painful things.

Another chime rang through the apartment, and Leonard swore under his breath. He got up, careful to avoid waking Jim, and stomped to the door. It slid open, and he relaxed a little. There was no danger lurking on the other side. Not the company that he would have chosen, sure, but definitely not danger either.

“Jim’s sleeping, you pointy-eared pain in the ass,” he growled softly at Spock. “Whadda ya want?”

Spock did not answer. He peered past Leonard into the room beyond, raising an eyebrow at what he saw.

“Fascinating.”

“What is?” Leonard huffed, exasperated.

“That this is your mind’s choice of refuge. I would have expected a scene from your childhood in Georgia. Although I suppose the Captain’s presence would explain your preference for this setting.”

“What the hell are you talking about, Spock? What do you mean, ‘my mind’s refuge?’”

Spock looked at him steadily, and the dread began to creep back in.

“I believe you know, doctor.”

Leonard took an involuntary step back from Spock’s unflinching gaze.

Pain, his subconscious warned him.

“Dammit Spock, if you came here to talk in riddles-”

“That is not my intention. I have come to retrieve you. It is time for you to return.”

“Return where?” Leonard demanded, fear giving his voice an angry edge.

“To reality.” Spock’s tone was as calm as ever, but Leonard thought he saw compassion in those dark eyes. “We are in your mind, doctor, and on some level of consciousness, you are aware of this fact.”

Leonard took another step back, shaking his head furiously. But even as he withdrew, flashes of memory raced through his head. He saw Spock staring at him gravely from across their cell, saw the grim face of a man with a mission and no scruples, felt the press of a small device to his head-

“No,” he gasped, shying away from the memory of what came next.

“You know that it was real,” Spock told him, and as much as Leonard wanted to deny it, he couldn’t.

“You can’t make me go back there,” he said instead. “Spock, I can’t do it. I can’t. Unless-” he choked on a horrified gasp. “He hasn’t started on you, has he?”

“No. The man that we knew as John Doe is in custody. He is no longer capable of harming either of us. Your body is safe now, doctor, and it is waiting for your return.”

“I don’t believe you,” Leonard whispered. His torment had been endless, of that he was certain.

“I have never lied to you, Leonard.”

The sound of the vidscreen, which Leonard had entirely forgotten about, flared up again. He looked at it, staring when he realized that it was no longer showing the twenty-first century movie. It was displaying an image of Leonard himself, pinned to a wall with a spidery white device clinging to his forehead. His body was contorted in agony and his mouth stretched in a hoarse scream that reverberated around the small room with painful intensity.

The viewscreen seemed to radiate anger and worry, and Leonard knew instinctively that he was witnessing Spock’s memory, experiencing it along with him. He wanted to look away, to retreat further into denial, but he was transfixed.

Sensitive Vulcan ears picked up the sounds of fighting outside their cell, but Spock kept silent, not wanting to provoke another stun blast from Doe. One particular voice rose above the others.

“Where are they?” Jim Kirk shouted, his human voice so full of emotion – fear and fury chief among them.

Spock had witnessed a vengeful Kirk, and was not surprised when the captain got his answer quickly. He braced himself, and the door slid open. Jim burst into the room, face bloodied and eyes blazing, phaser in hand. He was followed closely by Nyota and Sulu, their weapons also drawn and expressions grim.

Without an instant’s hesitation, Jim shot Doe in the chest. The man dropped, and Jim’s face twisted in horror as he took in the sight of McCoy. The doctor had stopped screaming just before the door opened, and he dangled from his restraints, pale and still as a corpse.

Jim’s phaser clattered to the ground, and he was at McCoy’s side in an instant, calling out his name. His tone grew increasingly desperate as he failed to illicit any kind of response. A murmured litany of pleas and denials fell from his lips as he fumbled at McCoy’s neck for a pulse. Spock in turn listened for a heartbeat as Nyota set about freeing him from the shackles.

After a moment that Spock knew logically only lasted a few seconds but that felt quite long indeed, he heard the dull thud of the heartbeat he had been listening for, and a soft, pained cry of relief from his captain.

The images began to break up after that, chunks of time slipping away between each flash of a scene. There was McCoy, tucked in Spock’s arms despite Jim’s protests because the Vulcan was stronger and could carry the doctor to safety more rapidly. Then the inside of a medical transport as emergency responders worked to stabilize an utterly unresponsive McCoy, Jim looking on with frightened eyes. After that was a room in Starfleet Medical, where McCoy lay motionless and pale on a biobed. Jim stood nearby, his grave face lined with worry as a doctor explained that McCoy was physically sound, but that his mind could be destroyed or permanently unreachable. When the doctor had gone, Jim turned to look at Spock. The desolation in his eyes twisted sharply in Leonard’s chest.

“What do I do, Spock?” Jim wondered in the memory. “I can’t lose him like this.”

The raw, simple honesty of the words struck Leonard like a physical blow. He sank onto the couch behind him, somehow unsurprised to find that the sleeping version of Jim had vanished from it. He let his head fall into his hands so that he did not have to look at the fear and pain and guilt on his lover’s face in the viewscreen.

“How long has it been?” he asked Spock dully.

“Three days since our rescue. Jim has not left your side in all that time, except to deal with the men who did this.”

“Who were they?” Leonard asked, because it was easier than thinking about Jim.

“Rogue agents from Section 31, the clandestine branch of Starfleet that Admiral Marcus oversaw and tasked with the kind of operations more characteristic of Earth’s Cold War than the more civilized society of today.”

“So it was Starfleet. No wonder Doe didn’t think he’d have trouble getting access to Khan’s blood.” Leonard didn’t know why the news hurt so much. Alexander Marcus had made it pretty clear that Starfleet was not everything he’d wanted to believe, but he’d still held onto the hope that it was fundamentally good. But knowing that the service that he’d given so much to had betrayed him so deeply and utterly was still a blow.

“Our capture and interrogation was not ordered by Starfleet,” Spock corrected. “Doe, whose real name is Derrin Wyle, was frustrated that Starfleet Command was going to stop pressing for the formula. He decided to, as they say, ‘take matters into his own hands.’ He convinced two of his colleagues to help him, and they worked together to capture us and bring us to a recently abandoned Section 31 facility. However, once our absence was noted, Captain Kirk and Lieutenant Uhura began to search for us, aided by trusted members of the crew. It was Doctor Marcus who suggested that Section 31 could have been responsible. Once they began pursuing that line of inquiry, it did not take them long to find us.”

“Took long enough,” Leonard grumbled. But he knew that wasn’t fair. He glanced at the viewscreen, which had gone dark. “So what now?”

“You must let go of this shelter,” Spock informed him, nodding at the living room. “Given the form that it has taken, I believe that simply walking out the door will be sufficient. I will guide you the rest of the way.”

“Well that’s comforting.” The words came out more sincere than he had intended.

Leonard sighed and glanced around the sunny living room. It was still quiet and peaceful, but now that he had been forced to acknowledge that it wasn’t real, it had lost some unidentifiable quality. He took a deep breath.

“Let’s get this show on the road then.”

Spock quirked an eyebrow.

“Show, doctor?”

Leonard rolled his eyes, but a smile tugged at his lips.

“If you’re in my head, shouldn’t you understand what I’m saying?”

“I have been endeavoring to be as minimally invasive as possible.”

“Oh. Well, I’ll make that even easier for you. Come on, Spock; we’re leaving.”

He marched toward the door, Spock on his heels. The moment he stepped across the threshold though, he was back in that dark cell, and unbearable agony was tearing through him, consuming him. He reeled back, gasping, and stumbled into Spock, who steadied him. Leonard rounded on the Vulcan.

“What the hell was that?” he demanded, jabbing a finger toward the door behind him.

“It was the full brunt of the trauma that you experienced, without the buffer of your mental defenses,” Spock told him bluntly, but not without sympathy.

“I can’t go out there,” Leonard gasped. “Spock, I can’t do it.”

“You can, although whether or not you will is entirely up to you.”

“Is it always gonna be like that?”

“I do not believe so, but you will always carry the memory of the experience.”

Leonard cast a frightened glance back at the door.

“What if I can’t handle it?” he asked. “What if it drives me insane?”

Spock stepped into his line of sight and held his gaze steadily.

“I would not let that happen,” he promised gravely. “But I believe that you are underestimating yourself, doctor. Leonard. You are stronger than you give yourself credit for. You have more than proven that.”

Leonard closed his eyes, wanting to believe what Spock was telling him but not quite managing it. But the brutal simplicity of the situation did not leave him. He could stay here forever, never leaving the apartment that he shared with the Jim who would never quite measure up to the real thing, or he could take the risk to reclaim the agony that he had escaped from and rejoin the real world.

He heaved a heavy sigh. It was no choice, really.

“Show him to me again?” he asked in a whisper.

The vidscreen flickered to life, and there was Jim, sitting at Leonard’s bedside. He was holding one of his hands and watching him sadly, looking older than McCoy had ever seen him.

“I’m so sorry, Bones,” he whispered, leaning forward to brush the hair back from Leonard’s face and press a kiss to his temple. “I’m so sorry. Please come back to me. You promised-” His voice cracked and he bowed his head. “I can’t do this without you.”

Well damn. Leonard glanced at Spock.

“For someone who claims not to understand emotions, you sure know how to manipulate them.”

Spock gave him a bland look, and Leonard shook his head. But it had worked. Newly resolved, he took a deep breath and turned back to face the door. He looked at Spock again. He would never admit it, but the Vulcan’s calm, steady presence beside him was a comfort. He took a deep breath and stepped out of his shelter.

Though he’d tried to brace himself for it this time, the pain still caught him off guard. It surged through him, threatened to swallow him whole, and he almost lost himself in it.

But then Spock was there, his presence acting as a buffer and a guide. He anchored Leonard, helped him distinguish himself from the pain and stopped him from getting swept away by it. He showed Leonard how to box the agony away as a memory, rather than a current reality. And then Spock was guiding him to the surface.

*****

There were cool fingertips pressing into his face, which might have alarmed Leonard more had he not known and trusted wholly the person they belonged to. Then the fingers moved away, and Leonard felt oddly alone in their absence.

“Did it work?” an anxious, familiar voice asked, and Leonard’s lips twitched into a tired smile. His illusion hadn’t done Jim’s voice justice.

“I believe so, Captain.”

Leonard opened his eyes and found himself face to face with Jim. It had always been one of his favorite ways to wake up.

“It worked,” he said. His voice was a wreck, not surprising given the hours of screaming and the subsequent coma. “Hey, Jim.”

His lover looked like absolute crap, the strain of the last few days evident in the shadows around his eyes and fading bruises that he had obviously not allowed anyone to treat. Still, his face lit up like a fireworks display.

“Oh, thank god,” he breathed, and then Leonard found himself with an armful of very relieved boyfriend. Jim kissed him, obviously not caring that his mouth must have tasted like something long dead, and Leonard welcomed it. This too had only been a weak echo in his protective illusion, and he thought he deserved to enjoy the real thing.

Jim’s face was wet when they broke apart, and Leonard sighed. He wiped at the moisture with gentle hands, noting distantly that Spock had left them alone.

“Hey,” he said again. “I’m all right, Jim.”

It even had the benefit of being mostly true. He would never forget the experience, and he had no doubt that the occasional nightmare would visit, but with Spock’s help, he had pushed through and compartmentalized it.

“More all right than you, at least,” he added, prodding one of Jim’s bruises. “Why didn’t you let anyone take care of these?”

Jim’s expression darkened, and Leonard’s gut twisted.

“It’s some kind of twisted penance, isn’t it?” he demanded, sitting up. He ignored the spinning head that this caused. “Dammit, Jim-”

“They tortured you!” Jim exploded, shooting to his feet. “They took you, not fifty yards from where I was sitting, oblivious. They took you from me and they hurt you so badly that it almost killed you. You were in unbelievable pain for almost thirty hours because of a serum that you made because of me. You and Spock almost died and all I got were a few bruises, so yeah, I refused treatment. I’m supposed to keep you safe, Bones, and I failed so spectacularly I can barely believe it.”

“You couldn’t have known, Jim,” Leonard said firmly. He wanted to go to his lover, but his muscles felt weak and achy, and he didn’t think that falling on his face would improve the situation. “You couldn’t have known the kidnap was coming, but when you did, you got to us faster than anyone else would have.”

“Yeah,” Jim said quietly. “And even then I almost lost you. If it hadn’t been for Spock-”

“Stop it, Jim,” Leonard begged. “Yes, things could have ended worse than they did, but Spock was there and you didn’t lose me. I’m gonna be fine.”

And as he said the words to convince Jim, he finally started to believe them himself.

He stretched out a hand, and Jim returned to him, sitting in the chair beside the bed. He leaned forward to rest his head on Leonard’s stomach, closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. Leonard stroked his fingers through Jim’s hair, watching as the tension slowly bled from his shoulders.

“For the record, there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you either,” Jim murmured after a long moment, opening his eyes to peer solemnly up at Leonard. “Not a damn thing.”

Leonard made a mental note to get more details on exactly what had gone into his and Spock’s rescue. But that didn’t matter right now.

“I know,” he replied, giving Jim a soft smile.

*****

While the doctors had initially wanted to keep McCoy overnight for observation, he had quickly disabused them of that notion. He might have felt a little worse about scaring one of the residents into actual tremors, if not for the fact that his ranting seemed to reassure Jim.

Once he was free of the confines of his hospital room though, Leonard realized his mistake. There was only one logical place for them to go next.

“Wait,” he gasped, grabbing Jim’s arm before he could flag down a hovercab.

“What is it?” Jim asked, concerned.

“Nothing, it’s just – can we not go home yet?”

He couldn’t face the scene of his illusion, not yet. He wouldn’t be able to convince himself that it was real, and he would miss the security of his mental refuge.

Jim clearly didn’t understand, but he was willing to indulge Leonard.

“Where do you want to go?”

And that was another tricky one. When Leonard thought about it though, he knew what he needed.

Nyota seemed surprised to see them when they showed up at her door fifteen minutes later, but she got over it quickly. She pulled Leonard into a gentle hug.

“Thank you,” she whispered in his ear, and he closed his eyes. He knew why she was thanking him, and it reminded him of the necessity of what he’d done.

“Thanks for coming to get us,” he said, pulling away after a moment. “That hobgoblin of yours home?”

Nyota nodded and stepped back to let them in. Spock emerged from the kitchen, wearing-

“Is that an apron?” Leonard demanded, momentarily distracted from everything else.

“It is, doctor. A most effective means of remaining clean while preparing food.”

Leonard just stared for a moment. There was a dusting of flour in Spock’s hair, and the scent of cinnamon clung to him. He hadn’t been just ‘preparing food.’ Leonard looked at Nyota.

“Is he…a stress baker?” he asked incredulously. That was something Spock had managed to keep to himself during their mind meld.

Nyota just gave him a small smile and a wink. Then she grabbed Jim by the elbow and dragged him into the next room, ignoring his startled protests. Left alone with Spock, Leonard didn’t know what to say. He and the Vulcan just watched each other in silence for a moment.

“Well, you’re a lot taller than the Keebler elf, but you’ve certainly got the appropriate ears.”

Huh. Not exactly what he’d been going for when he opened his mouth, but it was certainly one way to start a conversation.

“I am not familiar with that species, doctor.”

Leonard stared at Spock’s utterly deadpan face for a moment, before letting out a reluctant chuckle.

“And they say you don’t have a sense of humor.”

Spock gave him an innocent look, but the spark of mischief in his eyes gave him away. Leonard shook his head.

“You are something else, Spock.”

The Vulcan inclined his head. When silence descended again, Leonard sighed. Communication had been a hell of a lot easier when neither of them had actually had to say anything.

“You came back for me,” he said quietly. “And you…supported me in there. I guess I just wanted to say thanks, for getting me through it.”

“Your gratitude is misplaced,” Spock replied. “You only required the support because you intervened on my behalf. Wyle would have subjected me to that device first, had you not put yourself forward in my stead.”

Uncomfortable, Leonard shrugged that off.

“I did what I had to.”

“Yes, I am beginning to understand that.” Spock studied him carefully. “You are one of the most intensely, puzzlingly human individuals I have ever encountered.”

While Spock spent a great deal of time bemoaning the human race, Leonard got the feeling that he was receiving something of a compliment.

“Yeah well, you have some human moments yourself, Betty Crocker.”

“I was under the impression that you came here to thank me, doctor, not to insult me.”

“I can multitask.”

“Of that I have no doubt.”

Silence fell again, and the two men eyed each other. Leonard knew that everything had been said that really needed to. He could grab Jim and leave, or…

“I don’t suppose you have another apron? I promised my boyfriend a peach cobbler.”