Against Medical Advice

"Kirk to Enterprise. One to beam up." Jim's voice was rough as he spoke into the communicator and he was grateful that no one was around the small landing area to hear him. Spock was still in the stone building, finalizing the agreements between the parties. Jim had finally been able to step away, satisfied the council had listened, but he was dead on his feet and wanted nothing more than to stretch out on his bed and sleep.

"Aye, Captain," Sulu said. "Stand by for transport."

He pocketed his communicator, feeling a slight pull in his chest. The higher gravity of the planet's surface had minimized the pain he'd felt when he'd left Sickbay four hours earlier. He'd gotten through the negotiations without coughing or wheezing, but facilitating most of the negotiations had taken a toll on him. Of course, the gravity had no impact on his fever, which had been rising over the past several hours.

The familiar tingle of the transporter was a welcome sensation. He was going home. As he materialized, he swayed as a burst of white stars filled his vision and the room tipped to the left.

Shit.

The sudden change in gravity pulled on him unexpectedly. His chest was tight and he suppressed the cough that fought to rise. He hadn't really gotten over the allergic reaction he'd had three days prior, and he knew from experience any change in environment could set off a coughing fit that would put him back in Sickbay before he could take one foot off the pad.

"Sir?" The transporter technician was suddenly directly in front of him, one foot on the transporter pad and reaching out as if to catch him. "Are you all right, sir?"

"Yes," he said, glad for once not to see the familiar figure of McCoy waiting in the room. "Fine."

But he could feel it starting again – the tightness and pain, his lungs seizing. God damn polymirephostat. A quick inhalation of a spore on the planet had set off a mild allergic reaction. It was the medication McCoy used to treat him that had collapsed his lungs. The combination of the two elements had led to a rare and nearly deadly reaction in his case.

Just my fucking luck.

He smiled at the technician even as he shivered.

"Do you want me to call Dr. McCoy?" the tech asked uncertainly.

"No." He wasn't going back to Sickbay. He'd already spent three days under McCoy's care and the crew was probably beginning to think he had the constitution of a newborn. Forget heroism and bravery, their captain could be killed by a simple inoculation.

Staring at the concerned expression on the young man's face – Richards, was it? – he offered what he hoped was an encouraging look.

Richards didn't move for a moment, and then took a step back.

Jim stepped down and walked out the door. All he wanted to do was go to his quarters and rest. He'd be fine with a little rest, back on duty tomorrow to hopefully finalize the acceptance of the planet into the Federation.

The turbo lift doors shut just as a wave of dizziness hit him. Reaching out blindly, he supported himself with a hand against the wall and waited for the dizziness to pass. He was more tired than he'd realized. Or the planet's gravity had been more of a blessing than he'd known, because the weight of Enterprise's air seemed to be dragging at him, and he began to feel a familiar congestion in his lungs, a soft rattling in the center of his chest as he inhaled.

Bones is going to kill me.

The doctor had reluctantly agreed to release him from Sickbay to transport down to the planet.

"One hour, Jim, and then I want you back up here." Bones stood scowling at him as he leaned against the biobed.

He nodded, because he didn't have enough air to talk.

The doctor turned and jabbed a demanding finger at Spock. "I'm holding you responsible for him returning on time. He shouldn't even be out of bed, much less beaming down to the same planet that gave him this reaction in the first place."

"It is not dangerous for him?"

Bones looked at Spock with a credulous expression. "I just said he shouldn't be out of bed. His lungs aren't even at sixty percent."

Spock seemed to hesitate, looking at Jim.

I'm going, he mouthed.

"One hour should be sufficient," Spock said.

"I don't see why Jim has to go. You know how to negotiate. Your father is an ambassador, for Christ's sake."

"This is a hierarchical society, Doctor. The council does not interact with a second in command. They are most adamant that Captain Kirk make an appearance. The success of the mission depends on it." He paused. "I would not make this request if it were not urgent."

McCoy's scowl deepened. "What's the damn rush? The Federation has been trying to get this planet to join for over twenty years. A few more days could hardly matter."

"Enough," Jim said weakly, holding out a hand. "I'm going."

But one hour of negotiations turned into four hours of crisis as Jim realized that instead of merely introducing the planet to the Federation, they had stepped into the middle of a civil dispute. Four hours of mediations with feuding parties on a planet that was hot, dry and generally unhospitable had taken the last of his reserves. Still, he needed the council focused on Federation citizenship and not distracted by the current civil disturbance. It had not been easy or simple, but he had managed to get both parties to agree to a truce. Spock was still there – albeit reluctantly – handling the arbitrations.

The doors hissed open and he immediately opened his eyes, forcing himself off the wall before anyone saw him. He made the final walk to his quarters, feeling the back of his heels drag on the deck, nodding to a few blurry crewmen who passed him. His head began to pound just as he reached his door. Quickly slipping inside, he pressed a hand to the center of his chest trying to ease the tension. He felt a rattling in his lungs that hadn't been there on the planet. Now it seemed as if everything was settling in, dragging him down.

I need to sleep, he thought as he sat heavily on the edge of his bed. Everything would be fine if he just rested. He'd overdone it, that's all. He was not going back to Sickbay. It took some effort to pull off his boots. The straining pulled something in his chest. He felt a pop and a searing pain just as a cough rose. He tried to suppress it, pressing an arm tightly to his chest. The memory of the last three days in Sickbay was only too vivid - Bones' worried face floating above him, respirators and treatments as he struggled to breathe, agony with each breath he drew.

Once the coughing started, he couldn't get control of it. His entire body shook with the spasms as his chest seized. The rasping rumble that filled his ears was all he could think of as pain ripped through him. His lungs were trying to expel the fluid that had built up, but the process was agony, sending pain from the center of his chest to his back, as if something were ripping its way out of him. Desperate for air, he tried to breathe, but each time he tried to inhale, his lungs froze in a cutting pang and convulsed with such force that he felt his insides tearing.

Through his coughing fit, he heard the door buzz. The sound was demanding and intrusive. He knew who was on the other side of the door, waiting impatiently for entrance. He tried again to calm the cough, feeling his lungs expelling and sputtering, strangling out any oxygen. The door buzzed again, softer, more distant.

Go away. His vision narrowed, framed by thick, gray smog. His cheek pressed to the pillow as he tried to stifle the coughing. One leg dangled off the edge of the bed as if to entice him to stand. He squeezed his eyes shut and focused only on getting air into his lungs.

"God damn it," a familiar voice said.

Bones and his fucking medical override.

And then there were hands on him, strong and determined, urging him up from the bed. His hands gripped at the bed cushion as if to anchor himself as his lungs seized and sputtered.

"Up! Come on, Jim. Sit up!" Bones said sternly, forcing him into a sitting position.

The room tipped and swayed, but Bones' grip on him was steady and supportive, keeping him from listing off the bed. Disoriented, his own hand remained twisted into the bed covering as he tried to focus and orientate himself, but his coughing was persistent and disabling. Suddenly, a mask was forced over his nose and mouth. Bones held one hand to the mask and the other to the back of his head, holding it in place. It did nothing to alleviate the coughing. A gray veil fell over him as the corners of his vision darkened. Suddenly, a cool mist sprayed from the mask and into his lungs. It burned like acid into his throat and bronchial tubes. With all of his strength, he bucked back, trying to throw off Bones as the medicine settled into his lungs.

"No! Just breathe it in."

Fuck! Bones' hands were like iron on his head, locked in place. He wrapped his hands around Bones' wrists and tugged. Not a great defensive move by any standard, but it was all he could manage. Bones had all the tactical advantage. The hands didn't move.

"It's okay. Let the medicine work. Just keep breathing."

He knew the drill. The medicine would paralyze the cough, soothe his injured lungs, but the first few breaths were like drowning. Slowly, the cough subsided, his lungs stilled and some of the burning eased. His wheezing breaths filled his ears, making him wince. Jesus, he sounded like hell. There was no way Bones was going to let him stay in his quarters tonight.

"That's good. You're doing fine."

His strength abandoned him. He sagged against Bones, letting his hand slip from its bruising grip and land on the bed with a thud. It took all his energy to breathe, his body feeling oxygen starved even with the mask in place. His head rested against Bones' solid shoulder as he took shallow, halting breaths.

Get up! Move!

But he couldn't move. A high-pitched buzzing had filled his head, making it difficult to concentrate. After a moment, the doctor eased him to lie on the bed, elevating it slightly. Keeping one hand on the mask, Bones just stood watching him until he seemed satisfied that Jim's vision was clearing, then he took his hand off the mask.

"Leave it on," Bones said sternly and retrieved his tricorder.

Jim didn't have the strength to remove the mask, as much as he hated it. He lay exhausted as Bones ran the tricorder over his chest, scowling at the readouts.

"Goddamn it, Jim. I said one hour. One!"

There was that winning bedside manner that had put more than one crewman in tears.

His vision was still blurry, his head pounding like a drum, but he wasn't going to surrender to Bones or to anyone else, and he sure as hell wasn't going to just lie there and let Bones berate him.

"I'm okay," he managed to squeak.

That earned him a cutting glare. "Your blood pressure is in the toilet and you've managed to set your lungs back to under fifty percent."

His brows drew together and he opened his mouth to speak.

"You're running a fever and you're dehydrated. Didn't you think to drink any water on that damn planet?" Bones tossed the tricorder onto the bed, swearing. "You should have brought your ass into Sickbay when you beamed aboard, instead of bullshitting the technician."

So that's who had sold him out.

"I have no idea how you made it this far," Bones continued in a harsh and demanding tone. "But you're going back to Sickbay."

With that, Bones spun on his heels and stomped across the room to Jim's office. In the same insistent tone, Bones ordered a stretcher, and when the poor person on the other side of the comm asked what the emergency was, he told her, 'Never mind the emergency! Just get the damn stretcher down here now!' Then he told them to prepare for some kind of a treatment, punched the comm off, and returned to the bed, still glaring formidably.

This time, Jim glared back.

"You're a damned idiot, you know that," Bones said, picking up the tricorder. "This isn't a cold you're getting over. You had a severe allergic reaction. Your lungs collapsed. They have significant damage. I just can't wave a wand and fix this, you know."

"I know."

The scowl deepened and he glared up from the tricorder. "Don't talk! Your O2 sats are appalling." He reached into the medical pouch on his hip and withdrew a hypo. Checking the setting quickly, he delivered the hypo to the side of Jim's neck.

Jim closed his eyes as the tri-ox entered his bloodstream with a flush. In an instant, he felt the rush of oxygen to his cells, sending a kind of high through him. For a moment, he was dizzy with it, and then his body settled into the medication. A deep ache pressed into his chest as the temporary medication Bones had delivered earlier began to wear off. He opened his eyes and saw Bones' concerned expression.

"…fine," Jim said weakly and with just right amount of contempt.

Bones' eyebrows rose, but when he spoke, his tone was gentle. "You're not fine. Think I don't know how much you're hurting right now? And in case you missed it, that's blood you're coughing up."

He hadn't missed it; he just didn't want to acknowledge it. He took a few more shallow, wheezing breaths, feeling the heavy weight on his chest lighten slightly. A shiver went through him, re-igniting the pain.

Bones put a hand on his abdomen, watching him carefully. After a moment, he sighed. "You were supposed to be down there for one hour, Jim."

I know. I know.

"Mission success," he managed to get out between shallow breaths.

"Yeah," Bones said, completely unimpressed. "Mission a success. Hope it was worth it."

He couldn't really say. His lungs and chest were hurting so much and his body shivering so badly with fever that it was hard to gloat. He'd done what he always did-what he had to do.

"Why didn't you answer my comms?"

He stared at Bones' face, noting the deep scowl and tightness around the corners of his mouth and knew he should feel guilty at worrying his friend, but he couldn't have interrupted negotiations to placate McCoy – if that had even been possible.

"My duty," he said weakly and hoped that would be answer enough.

Bones snorted. "Your goddamn duty. I have a duty, too."

Touché.

The door to his quarters slid open and two nurses entered carrying a stretcher. He inwardly groaned and closed his eyes. He hated the thought of being carried through the corridors on a stretcher. It was bad form for the captain to be carried, unless a noticeable trail of blood followed him, and he didn't have that. No blood, just a fucking allergic reaction to meds. It was humiliating.

In the nine months he'd been captain, he'd had a few minor injuries – bruises, lacerations, pulled muscles. Nothing serious. But he'd had three major allergic reactions that had put him in Sickbay in anaphylactic shock. Bones had explained that exposing his sensitive (he hated that word) system to alien worlds was bound to cause some reactions. Until McCoy could narrow down what his body was allergic to, it was trial and error, both with his meds and with his exposure.

Bones spoke quietly to the medical staff. Their secretiveness annoyed Jim. He wasn't a ten year-old who had to be protected. He was the captain, and sure, he was a little under the weather right now, but he wasn't a goddamned invalid.

Bones attached a hand to his bicep in a firm grip, startling his eyes open. The nurses – one male, one female – stood next to the bed opposite Bones, a stretcher pulled to the side. They looked positively grim.

Wonderful.

"I've cleared the corridors," Bones said in response to his scowl, as if that was supposed to make him feel any better. Everyone would know soon enough that he was back in Sickbay.

"Are you ready?" Bones asked with a sharp and clinical expression.

He didn't think he nodded, but they moved anyway, the three of them slipping their hands beneath him and transferring him to the stretcher before he had a chance to protest. The captain should protest, he thought, make a big show of going on his own. Only his body was a dead weight in their hands, his head falling back at an odd angle as a pair of hands gripped his shoulders and lifted.

"Watch his airway," Bones ground out.

As he settled on the stretcher, a wave of dizziness overcame him and he closed his eyes, letting the nurses position him on the narrow space, moving his body as if it were a disjointed puppet.

A cool hand pressed to his forehead. Then they were moving. He was never so aware of his own heartbeat, thundering in his chest. He concentrated on taking rapid, shallow breaths, hating the sound of his wheezing lungs. A sharp pain dug into his chest, drawing a hiss from him.

"Are you doing all right, Jim?" Bones asked.

His hand moved to press against his chest as if to ease the ache.

"We're almost there," Bones said.

He kept his eyes closed and his jaw locked against the pain. The next time he opened his eyes, he was staring up at the array of lights in Sickbay. Everything was moving fast and he couldn't focus on the dizzy collection of images that sped by. He quickly closed his eyes again, not opening them until he was settled on a biobed.

More nurses surrounded the bed, quickly stripping him of his clothes, inserting an IV into his right hand. Other things were happening too quickly for him to understand or process. Before he knew it, he was beneath a warming blanket and someone was taking off the oxygen mask. He took a moment to look around. Being in Sickbay was not a new experience, but he always had difficulty orienting himself when he was flat on his back. A privacy curtain was pulled around the small area of the bed, making it impossible to know where in Sickbay he had been placed.

Bones stood by the side of the bed, studying the large overhead monitor with a frown. "Get a clearer picture of his lungs," he instructed a nurse.

"Yes, Doctor."

Dr. Wilson appeared at the side of his bed. The older man gave him a brief, encouraging smile before studying the display above him.

"And I want his blood gases." Bones' lips pressed into a tight line as he examined the display.

"That left lobe," Wilson said quietly, his eyes sharp and focused on the display monitor.

Bones nodded. His expression was stern and thoughtful.

A biting pinch on his left arm drew his attention away from the doctors and back to the nurse who was drawing blood.

"Sorry, Captain," she said politely, raising her green eyes and giving him a sympathetic look.

If he hadn't been wheezing and struggling to breathe, he would have given her one of his charming smiles and said something like, 'Don't worry about it. I've been hurt worse.' Only he couldn't get enough air in his lungs to speak and even if he could, he doubted his words would be articulate. A wave of dizziness swept through him and he closed his eyes, trying not to hear the uneven rhythm of his heartbeat, the warning ping of the monitor or the murmuring of the doctors as they consulted.

A gnawing pain settled in his chest and each time he moved his lungs it felt as if a knife blade were being dragged across the delicate tissues. He tried to take smaller breaths, but he felt as if he were weakly panting for oxygen. It hadn't been this bad before. When he'd first had the allergic reaction, it had seemed like a slow build, as if his lungs were shrinking. The pain had come later, but nothing like this. He shifted on the bed, pressing his arm to his chest.

He was dreading what Pike would say about this in his debriefing. They were due back on Earth in the next thirty days and he would have to explain his recent allergic reaction…and his decision to go back planetside.

"Jim, don't be so damn dramatic," Bones had said after his previous allergic episode, when he'd voiced worry about Starfleet's reaction. "People get hurt. That's why they have medical staff on starships."

"Yeah, Bones, they get hurt. They don't have a string of allergic reactions."

Bones had stared at him nonplussed. "Command doesn't distinguish the difference."

But Jim did. Being accident prone was one thing. Being recklesssomething else altogether. But allergies? How in the hell was he going to command a starship and explore new worlds if he went into anaphylactic shock nearly every time he stepped foot on a new planet?

"Jim." Bones put a hand on his shoulder.

He opened his eyes and knew he was in trouble. Bones wore his physician mask – unrevealing, professional with just a hint of empathy. It meant that Bones was going into doctor-mode, deleting his personal feelings so that he could do his job. He only did that when Jim was really hurt and both of them needed professional detachment.

"I need to talk to you," Bones said.

He took another, labored, wheezing breath.

"It doesn't look good, Jim. Your lung capacity is below fifty percent. White blood cells are building up in the walls of your alveoli and bronchia. There's fluid in your lungs and the scans show significant scarring."

Christ, here it comes.

"We're going to have to do a full pulmosaturo procedure."

He frowned and sucked in another gasping breath. He had thought Bones was going to order another respiratory therapy treatment, more mist sprayed into his lungs, another day in Sickbay recovering.

"This is a more aggressive procedure," Bones was explaining, "but it's our best option right now. We need to get your lung capacity up before it deteriorates any further and the treatment won't be an option. If that happens, your lungs will likely be permanently scarred and seriously compromised." He paused, meeting Jim's eyes with a serious stare. "A lung transplant would be the only other choice and, with your allergy-prone system, I wouldn't want to do it and risk the chance of you rejecting the transplant. You're at a high risk for being allergic to the anti-rejection meds."

No lung transplant meant artificial lungs. He'd seen people with mechanical lungs, carrying the external power pack that kept oxygen filtering through their blood. If that happened to him, he would lose both the ship and any chance at a significant Starfleet career. He'd be grounded and reduced to an administrative position. There were plenty of people in Starfleet who would love that outcome, first officers who had been waiting for a command position that Jim had gotten straight out of the Academy. "Paper-pushers…"

Bones frowned. "Jim, do you understand what I'm telling you?"

Bones' face grew fuzzy. Jim blinked-the edges of his vision were swimming and blurred. He breathed faintly into the mask, watching Bones' face begin to fade then disappear. That's what happens in space, he thought. Things disappear. But he wasn't going to disappear. He wasn't going to give up his ship and fade into the background, tied to desk in a nondescript office at the far end of the Academy.

Suddenly everything sharpened and Bones' face was close to him, scowling.

"Better?" Bones asked.

"Yeah." The lights were bright and his vision sharp.

The doctor glanced at the monitor, then handed a hypo off to the nurse, and Jim realized he must've been given another dose of tri-ox. The influx of oxygen into his cells stimulated his mind and awakened the pain again. What had Bones been telling him?

"Pulmo procedure?"

"Pulmosaturo," Bones corrected, stepping a little closer. "It's a liquid that's absorbed into the lungs. We sedate the pulmonary system, paralyzing a portion of the autonomic nervous system. This will make it possible for your lungs to continue to inflate while the liquid fills your lungs. The liquid provides enough oxygen to your system without your lungs needing to inflate." He paused, his expression unreadable. "Once your lungs are filled, the liquid repairs the damage and slowly absorbs into the lung tissue. You'll be unconscious while that's happening. When you wake up, the damage will be repaired."

He couldn't quite wrap his thoughts around the entire procedure. He shivered again, feeling a weight press down on his chest. His lungs were going to be filled with liquid – that couldn't be good. "How long?"

"Six to eight hours usually. We monitor the results closely. I won't bring you out of it until the damage is gone and you can maintain enough lung capacity to deliver the oxygen your body needs."

Something in Bones' expression or tone, he didn't know which, seemed off. Or maybe he was off, getting high from whatever Bones was pushing through his veins. Whatever it was, he had a strong sense that he'd missed something important, or Bones wasn't telling him everything. He scowled, wheezing in another breath and staring hard at Bones. "Is this…bad?"

"It's not good," Bones said gently. "The procedure is stressful to most patients. I wish there was another way. It's the best way to proceed in a situation like this. You can't inflate your lungs enough to keep them clear of fluids. The fluid will continue to build until you end up drowning. Your oxygen saturation is already dangerously low. That's why you're having trouble following this conversation."

His frown deepened at the comment. "Meds," he said, but barely heard the word as it scraped past his throat.

Bones shook his head. "We can't risk introducing new meds into your system when you've already had a severe reaction. And that won't treat the damage that's already been done. The scarring is considerable, but with this treatment I should be able to repair much of the damage."

"Much?" He drew in another painful, wheezing breath, looking at Bones with a scowl.

"It can't remedy everything. The rest is up to your body. With proper rest and care, your lungs should heal completely." Bones' expression softened. "I'll do everything I can to restore your lungs."

For the first time, he realized that Bones might be feeling guilty. As CMO, Bones was the one who injected him with the antihistamine that had caused his allergic reaction.

"This won't ground you, Jim."

It was a conversation they'd had months ago when Jim had had his first serious allergic reaction. He'd remembered waking in Sickbay and thinking that Pike would have his ship. He'd seen it happen before. Hell, it'd happened to Pike. Can't have a captain command a starship who can't walk…or who posed more of a risk because he was never in the damn command chair.

He drew in another wheezing, raspy breath. His chest barely moved, but it felt as if he were pushing against a ten kilo weight that had been set on his torso. Another wave of dizziness overcame him. Shit. He didn't even have the strength to move his head. He was confined to Sickbay and couldn't even get out of bed. In the meantime, the planet's council was considering Federation citizenship, something they hadn't been willing to do in twenty years, and he was side-lined with a fucking allergic reaction.

"I know this isn't what you want," Bones said quietly. "You have to trust me."

For a brief moment, Jim saw the professional mask slip and caught a glimpse of his friend – the man who'd dragged him to his dorm when he was too drunk to walk, who'd patiently listened as he'd ranted about the insanity of Academy protocols, and who'd stood silently by his side as he'd failed the Kobayashi Maru – twice.

And he did trust Bones. But by God, he didn't want to do this, he didn't want to have the cold liquid fill his lungs, he didn't want to be this incapacitated from a simple shot. He wanted to be back down on the planet, sealing negotiations and having the celebratory feast that traditionally followed. Then he could return victorious to Earth and Starfleet, instead of having an uncomfortable conversation with Pike about his medical limitations.

Fuck. He wheezed in another shallow breath and nodded, closing his eyes. A hand pressed to his bare shoulder and squeezed.

"Wilson," Bones called. His tone was professional.

Almost immediately, the room filled with staff and he heard equipment being moved and set up around him. They spoke among themselves, as if he were no longer a participant in his own care. He simply focused on getting air into his lungs, one faint, jagged gasp at a time. A tug on his IV line caused him to open his eyes.

Bones was injecting something into the line and caught his gaze.

"This is to help with the autonomic responses," Bones supplied to his questioning look. "You might feel a little numb and you'll get lethargic."

As the hot flush of the medication pushed through the IV, he tried to focus on Bones and not the rest of the medical staff that surrounded him. Whatever the doctor had given him, it was fast-acting and he felt it loosen his muscles, dragging him down. He resisted, knowing he was losing control and that he now had to rely on the others around him. A feeling of helplessness and vulnerability suddenly ambushed him. His heartbeat picked up and he tried to move in the bed, but couldn't. He stared at Bones, who had not taken his eyes off Jim.

"It's going to be difficult to move," Bones said reassuringly. "Your autonomic responses will be sedated." He walked to the left side of the bed. A nurse stood next to him and handed him a narrow, flexible tube. "I'm going to insert this through your nose, down your trachea. It's the only way to administer the medication into your bronchial tubes without you having to inhale it."

He frowned, sucking in another painful breath, and tried to calm the fear that raced through him. He couldn't move and even if he wanted to protest, it was too late. His tongue was paralyzed. In a few hours, it'll be over. A few hours and everything will be fine. He just had to get through the next few minutes. Bones wouldn't do anything that would harm him.

The doctor read his concern and questioning look. "It'll be a little more comfortable this way."

Then Bones' face was blurry and the room took on a surreal feel, and yet, he felt everything at an intense level. He felt the mattress beneath him, the warm blanket on his naked skin, the IV catheter pinching his arm. Bones placed a hand to the side of his face and gently guided the tube into his left nostril. It was smooth and slick and didn't really hurt, but it felt invasive and foreign as it pushed into his nose and moved down his throat.

He kept his eyes on Bones, only vaguely aware of the others, feeling a little removed from his own body. He supposed he should be indignant at the procedure, angry even, but all he could do is lie on the bed and let Bones do what he was doing. Finally, the tube stopped.

Bones turned to the nurse. "Let's do this manually."

He wanted to smile at that, because Bones so hated technology and never fully trusted the machines that he had just told Jim would save his life, but it was difficult to find the proper amount of humor with a tube in his nose and his lungs failing with each breath. He watched the two of them with glassy eyes, wishing he could turn away.

The nurse attached something to the end of the tube and gave Bones the controls. Bones looked up at the monitor and studied it for a long moment before dropping his gaze to Jim. "Okay, I'm going to inject the medicine."

Cool liquid filled the tube and despite the sedative, he could feel the strange sensation of it moving into the warmth of his body, while still contained in the tubing.

The doctor was watching him closely. A male nurse appeared at the opposite side of the bed, but Jim remained focused on Bones. He knew the moment the liquid hit his bronchial tubes. He was drawing in a breath when all at once there was liquid in his lungs. His diaphragm convulsed, but his lungs were oddly numbed and continued to inflate, drawing in more of the liquid. He was drowning! His heart hammered in alarm and he tried to push away, but his body refused to move.

"It's all right," Bones said easily. "Just keep breathing."

A hand, not Bones', rested on his shoulder as if to hold him in place. In his mind, he fought and railed against the invasion, but in reality, he was powerless to move. The monitor pinged loudly.

"Everything is all right, Jim. Just relax into it." Bones' voice was far away, clinical and detached.

Tears spilled from his eyes and he hated his weakness, he hated what they were doing to him. The liquid filled his lungs, which continued to inflate.

"Almost done," Bones said gently.

His vision narrowed just as his lungs froze. He didn't know if his eyes were open, but he couldn't see. Voices were muffled, as if he were under water. Had he drowned? The tube was removed and he felt hands cradle his face, soothe his hair. Everything slowed. The bed was lowered, the mask removed, his body repositioned. Through it all he saw nothing, heard nothing as he withdrew further and further away. The last thing he felt was someone holding his hand.

He heard voices, soft and calm in conversation. They were like distant thoughts circulating above him, more dreamlike than real. It had little to do with him and he let the murmurs drift past, sinking again into darkness. It seemed only moments before he became aware again. He was lying on his back, cocooned in warmth and surrounded by a familiar hum that instantly put him at ease. His body was heavy, the way it felt after too much sleep. He recognized the after-effects of heavy sedation. Cautiously, he took a faint breath, testing his pain points, and taking a brief inventory.

His mouth was dry and his chest felt as if someone had taken great delight in pounding on it with a hammer. Christ…. It took an effort to move his arm and drag it across his body. A cool hand caught his in a gentle, but firm grip.

"Take it easy, Jim."

Bones. Of course.

He drew in another breath, deeper this time, and frowned. The agony in his lungs was now a deep ache that went beyond exhaustion. He struggled to open his eyes and saw only a blurry, distorted array of images, so bright they hurt his eyes.

"You're okay. Try not to move."

Bones' face floated somewhere above him. Christ! His head hurt.

"Breathe a little more. That's it."

Why was Bones telling him to breathe? His vision swam and he kept blinking to focus.

"Things a little fuzzy?"

He heard the metal scrape of something to his right and the incessant beep of the regulator, chirping like an angry chick.

"Where are you?" he asked in a whisper. His throat was raw.

"Right here." Bones' face came into view. This time he appeared more clearly. "The medication is wearing off, but you still have plenty in your system. Give it a few minutes."

The bed was moved into a more elevated position, causing a wave of dizziness. He closed his eyes for a moment, waiting for it to pass. When he opened his eyes, he saw Bones watching him carefully.

"Are you with me?" Bones asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Yeah." Even though he didn't feel like it. His voice was raspy and weak and his muscles were like overcooked macaroni. He looked around, seeing that the privacy screen was still drawn. "How long?"

"It took a little longer than expected. But you made it through okay. How do you feel?"

Like he'd followed his father's car down to the bottom of the quarry. "Terrific."

"I bet." Bones reached up and tapped some commands on the IV regulator. "Your O2 sats are up and blood gases look good. Any pain when you breathe?"

A rush of heat was injected into his arm, pushing through the IV catheter. He scowled as the medication began circulating through his blood, hot and painful. He swallowed past the dryness in his throat. "Bones…how long?"

Bones let out a soft breath. "A few days."

Days!

"What happened?" His head felt as if it was in a vice and someone was tightening it with each passing minute.

"There was more damage than we first thought," Bones said. His eyes were tightly focused on Jim. "We had to keep you down longer than recommended. The medication isn't meant to be present in your lungs for so long. You may feel some residual aches."

Whatever Bones had pushed through the IV, it seemed to kick up his heartbeat and dull his headache. He took a few more careful breaths, relishing the air rushing into his lungs without the sharp, gnawing pain. But they did ache, as Bones said.

"Jim?"

"I'm okay." He was beginning to see clearly now and his thoughts were coming into focus. "What else?"

Bones' eyebrows rose. "You want your whole medical file?"

"Yeah." He glared at Bones. "I want my whole medical file." Because he'd lost a few days when he thought it was going to be hours; because his ship was an intermediary in a planetary civil conflict requiring delicate negotiations; and because he was the goddamn captain!

Bones was unaffected by his demanding tone. "I made a medical decision, Jim. You weren't responding to the treatment as quickly as needed. It was either keep you in treatment longer, or risk pneumonia or worse by bringing you out too soon."

Bones' explanation just pissed him off more. He shifted restlessly in the bed. "Why in the hell did I have a reaction in the first place?"

Bones sighed and settled his shoulders. "I don't know, Jim. I told you, I'm trying to isolate the elements so we can take precautions in the future."

Precautions my ass. He frowned, feeling some of his strength begin to wane. "I don't want any reactions in the future."

Bones' expression froze. "That's not possible, Jim. The way you eliminate an allergic reaction is by avoiding the substance you're allergic to."

"How in the hell am I supposed to avoid what I don't even know I'm allergic to?"

A pained look softened Bones' eyes. "You can't."

He turned away from his friend, a retort just at the tip of his tongue. It wasn't Bones' fault he was a walking allergy-prone catastrophe, and he knew he should be thanking his CMO and friend, but he was too pissed about being in Sickbay to bring himself to do it.

"Look, Jim—"

"When am I getting out of here?" He looked at Bones, putting on his best I'm-in-command face.

Bones crossed his arms over his chest. "If you cooperate, I'll release you to your quarters within the next twenty-four hours."

He opened his mouth-

"If you don't cooperate, you'll stay here for another two days."

"I feel fine." Which was a lie, because he was certain he didn't have the strength to get out of bed, much less walk out of Sickbay. And he was getting tired just from talking. He suspected Bones knew that, too.

"Glad to hear it," Bones shot back easily, picking up a PADD, "but you're still not leaving."

"Bones…" his tone was low and threatening.

"I've let Spock know you're awake," Bones said suddenly, tapping at the PADD. "He can brief you on the ship's status. Will that satisfy you?"

"No."

Bones snorted and continued making entries on the PADD, glancing up at the monitor to compare to whatever the PADD was displaying. During it all, Jim lay fuming, irritated that he'd lost three days during a critical negotiation and that the mission had to be delayed because of him. It wasn't supposed to go this way, he thought miserably. He'd left Earth three weeks ago with new orders and Pike's blessing. He had been given the best ship and crew in the Fleet and he was confined to Sickbay.

"I want to speak to the command crew," Jim said.

Bones stopped his entries and looked at him. "That's not going to happen. You still have a lot of recovery to do and rest is part of that. I'm not having my Sickbay filled with department heads just to soothe your pride."

"I have a ship to run." He glared at Bones, feeling the first deep ache in his chest. He pushed back into the mattress.

"Do you think this ship stops operating when you aren't in command? You've got competent officers and a more than competent second in command. Let them do their jobs."

"And what the hell am I supposed to do?"

"Recover. You're allowed, you know?" Bones looked pointedly at him. "How's the headache?"

"Fucking wonderful." His tone was flat. A sudden exhaustion swept through him.

The privacy curtain parted as Spock stepped inside the curtained area. As always, the Vulcan was impeccable in appearance.

"Captain, it is good to see you recovering satisfactorily." Spock stopped by the side of the bed. "Doctor McCoy informs me you are well enough for a briefing."

"That's not what I said," Bones said, pressing commands now on the monitor above Jim's head.

"The council, Spock? What happened?" Fatigue was quickly weighing him down and he wanted the full report before his strength failed completely.

"You were most persuasive in your negotiations. The planet has agreed to join the Federation, something no other Federation ambassador or starship captain has managed to achieve. Including Admiral Pike."

He was a little muddled at that.

"They were most impressed with you," Spock said, by way of explanation.

"We left orbit?" he asked with a scowl, trying to keep disappointment out of his tone.

"No, Captain." Spock stood with his hands clasped behind his back, regarding Jim with a neutral expression. "The signing of a planet into Federation citizenship is a celebrated event with a traditional ceremony. I thought you would want to partake in the celebration. This is the first planet you will be welcoming into the Federation, and as such, is a momentous occasion."

They had waited for him, had kept the entire ship in orbit until he was recovered. He hadn't missed anything. He stared at Spock, trying to decipher the carefully controlled features. Was there a hint of a friendly smile in the softening of the mouth?

"Thank you, Commander."

The barest hint of movement in a single, sculptured eyebrow destroyed the illusion of gentleness. "No thanks are necessary. It is my duty to ensure the success of a mission by offering my assistance. As you were incapacitated, it was only logical that I finalize the negotiations and prepare the planet's council for Federation citizenship."

Jim sank a little more into the soft pad beneath him. Breathing seemed to tire him and suddenly he wanted to sleep. He kept his eyes on the Vulcan's face, as if trying to shatter Spock's discipline and get him to own one human moment. "You could have done that without me," Jim said weakly. "You didn't have to wait."

"You are the captain," Spock said without missing a beat. "This ship will always wait for its captain."

He looked at Bones, who had stopped what he'd been doing to watch the exchange. He'd been worried that the crew thought him weak and a liability, worried that Pike thought him too great a risk, and worried mostly that he'd fail at the one thing he'd been born to do. Spock had left Pike in the hands of the enemy and certain death to obey orders, but he had defied logic and kept Enterprise in orbit so that Jim could join a celebration. Jim wasn't immediately sure what to make of it.

"Congratulations, Captain," Bones said with a small, approving smile. And then, in another instant, his smiled dropped off as he turned to Spock. "Out. My patient needs rest."

With a brief nod to Jim, Spock left. The enclosure around his bed seemed small and empty, but he had never felt more a part of the ship. His vision swam and he fought to keep his eyes open. "He waited."

"Of course he waited," Bones said, arranging the blanket around his shoulders. He was only a blurry image, but his voice was clear. "You're the captain. You're HIS captain." McCoy paused, his face thoughtful. "It just might say something about that tight-assed, cold-natured martinet..." He smiled then, and patted Jim's arm. "But don't get your hopes up."

Kirk answered the smile.

THE END

A/N - As always, a big "I love you and thank you" to my soul sister, Carol, who always makes my work better, and to Shoreleave, who pushed me to do better on this one. Thank you, ladies, for giving me your time and advice. This story is better for your involvement and your love. Hope everyone enjoyed this purely self-indulgent story. I have no excuse.