Leonard can feel the nervous energy thrumming through him like an electrical current, finding escape through the vigorous tapping of his foot under the table and his hand frantically drumming the polished spoon on the table against his water glass. "Keep it together, Leonard," he chastises himself under his breath.

Uhura gently places her hand over his tapping hand, stopping the nervous twitch in his hand. His foot however, continues to shake like a dog with an itch. "We don't have to do this," she offers. She locks eyes with him even though they're sitting on the same side of the table. Leonard has no doubt she'll get up and walk out with him if he says the word.

He wants to say the word.

Leonard's life is no longer about what he wants.

This foolhardy idea isn't his own to begin with; a notion cooked up by a psychologist countless light-years away that doesn't actually have to sit through dessert. Daily's advice isn't wrong. Hell, he'd probably recommend the same thing to someone himself, but then again he wouldn't be the poor bastard having to endure it in that scenario. This meeting is meant to put the control back in Leonard's hands. To call the shots of where and when and with whom he confronts his nightmare and more importantly, pull the plug when he feels it's too much.

"No I can do this," he insists, taking to wringing the fabric napkin instead of continuing his fake morse code with the cutlery. His lying skills are on point today. Every molecule in him is screaming to run to the nearest airlock.

The restaurant is semi crowded; enough people that they're not alone, but not so many as to be claustrophobic. A perk of meeting up midday between the end of lunch and before the dinner crowd hits. There's some kind of upbeat music playing softly in the background that he can't place to a specific genre or species. It doesn't drown out people's conversations but keeps the silence of the vacuum of space from invading. It's a place aimed at a slightly younger clientele or at least a less cantankerous one. This was the only slightly more formal place, with an extensive dessert menu, open at this time. Not that Vulcans eat desserts or really have a pallet for it, but it's the simplest meal Leonard could think of to facilitate Daily's advice of small steps to climatize himself to Spock again. And damn it, if Leonard's going to be uncomfortable here, he's going to make it awkward for Spock too.

"Should we have a safe word?" asks Uhura, casually looking over the drink list.

"It's dessert not a threesome," grumbles Leonard. He can't bring himself to even pretend to be infatuated with the menu; nothing is going to settle in his stomach anyways.

Uhura rolls her eyes. "Perish the thought. That would be the most analytical and clinical threesome ever."

Leonard makes a face because he doesn't need images of Spock in bed with anyone adding to the mess he's already got taking up residence in his brain.

"I meant more along the lines of when you need me to get Spock to leave."

Bless Uhura; always looking for an out for him. Not only had she agreed to come and play buffer in this little experiment, but it's not lost on Leonard that she chose to sit beside him instead of across and beside her boyfriend. Her placement at the table not only forces Spock to sit across from Leonard, putting a table between them, but puts Uhura beside him like a guard dog.

"I don't know. Probably?" Leonard hadn't given and escape plan much thought. He supposes it would have been a tossup between running out the door screaming or crawling under the table; neither option all that dignified. He steadfastly ignores that voice in his head that sounds so much like his own, that's cataloguing all the items at the table that can be uses as a weapon capable of severing important arteries. "What did you have in mind?"

"I don't know. Something that can be worked into a conversation but isn't something so common it's said accidently."

'Fuck right off, Spock' is the first thing that pops into Leonard's head. It's too tempting. Plus Leonard can work that in at any juncture. And probably a little more direct than Uhura wants, though it gets his point across rather eloquently. He blurts out the second thing that comes to mind. "Platypus?"

"Platypus?" Uhura racks her brain as to what it is.

"It's an earth animal," he offers lamely.

It definitely isn't something she's ever going to bring up by mistake. "Can you work that into a conversation?" she asks, looking skeptic. "Do you know anything about the platypus?"

A million memories of reading Joanna bedtime stories back when the most exciting thing was looking at the pictures and listening to the sound of his voice. There were a few about the adventures of a talking platypus in them. Joanna's been on his mind a lot lately. Mostly how much he misses his little hummingbird and the guilt of leaving a version of her back in hell. "You'd be surprised. It's that or Narlithail, the parasitic worm from Eplilon Seven that finds a host and slowly eats it's brains until it grows wings and bursts from the host's skull." Leonard says it but it might be a little too on the nose for his demons lately.

Uhura looks like she's lost any appetite she might have had. "Platypus it is."

Leonard can sense the moment Spock enters the restaurant. There's a chill in the regulated air and the hair on the back of his neck prickles. He glances towards the entrance and sure enough the Vulcan in question enters like a demon emerging from the dark and scans the crowd for them. Scotty is trailing behind Spock a couple of steps. The engineer spots Leonard first, waving like a madman when he sees them.

He must tense up or hold his breath because Uhura places her hand on his shoulder and whispers, "Relax," in his ear as she waves back. Spock marches towards the table like he's on a mission, while Scotty gives them an enthusiastic thumbs up and detours to the bar. It will just be the three of them at the table but Uhura's obviously brought some of her own reinforcements to be on standby.

"Nyota. Leonard, it is good to see you," greets Spock with a kind of awkward and forced jovialness as he sits down across from them.

Leonard can't say the same. He literally can't say anything. His mouth is suddenly so dry that trying to move his tongue to form any words, pleasant or otherwise feels like trying to pry Velcro apart. He can feel Spock looking at him like he failed to return the serve in this verbal ping pong match.

"How was your shift?" prompts Uhura when Leonard clams up tight.

"Productive," affirms Spock.

Uhura is clearly going to have to carry the weight of this encounter. Leonard doesn't seem inclined to talk and Spock is not known for his small talk. Having cautioned him against a plethora of topics to abstain from the night before, she's clearly crippled his conversation tactics. "Did the new equipment for the Enterprise science labs arrive on time?"

As Spock prattles on about the new innovations the ship will be blesses with, filling the unclaimed conversation space left hanging between them. Uhura reaches under the table searching out Leonard's hand to give it a gentle reassuring squeeze. She's on his left so the only hand she can reach if his injured hand. The bandages are gone, replaced with a cumbersome brace to keep him from really using his hand for anything useful and thus not straining the still mostly useless appendage. Leonard can't really squeeze back so he settles for digging his fingertips on his other hand into his thigh until he can feel the pressure up his entire arm.

Spock can go on forever about stuff Leonard couldn't care less about on a good day, now it seems like he has an incessant wealth of knowledge on the most boring of topics. It makes every second stretch on for eternity. Leonard fades out from the conversation a couple minutes in when he figures out that had the equipment not arrived as scheduled, the departure would have been delayed a few weeks and Leonard would have received a stay of execution.

Even with a room full of people and Uhura and Scotty there to rescue him from the pointed eared nightmare, the panicked feeling begins to flutter its wings deep in Leonard's gut. It starts as a nagging sensation to leave, like he forgot to be somewhere or do something, growing more insistent until it feels like a million spiders crawling over him and his mind is analyzing and criticising every decision he's ever made in his whole life. Because somehow the green sneakers he chose wore on the first day of kindergarten was the catalyst to ending up here.

The line between here and there blurs slightly and Leonard's looking across the table at the Spock that sat at the head of the table eating breakfast while regaling Leonard with tales of the alternate McCoy mastery of torture.

"Keep it together, Leonard," he chastises, low enough that no one at the table hears. He knows it's not the other version, the lack of a beard a dead giveaway. It takes all of his energy to be in the same room as Spock, like he's holding his breath. It zaps his energy to the point where if Spock did try something, Leonard wouldn't be able to mount a resistance.

The waitress comes, all smiles and bubbly personality despite the raincloud that's hovering over their table. Uhura takes charge and orders for the table, some alien dessert that's more art than substance on the plate when the waitress brings it over. It gives Nyota something to talk about while Spock attempts to look like he's enjoying a serving empty calories and Leonard pushes shards of broken spun sugar around his plate.

Daily said Leonard should take small steps and share a meal with Spock, she never said he explicitly had to make conversation.

He should. He should say something. The lulls in conversation feel like chasms forming around him. He's going to end up trapped if they keep forming, where the only way out will be to talk about the one thing he doesn't want to speak about.

Spock keeps looking at him. It's a loaded stare, like Spock knows every single one of Leonard's secrets and doesn't know which one to exploit first to get Leonard to crumble. "Stop starin' at me like I'm one of your damn science experiments!" shouts Leonard.

The rest of the restaurant comes to a stop as they stare at the table that shattered the atmosphere. Spock sits there with his fork hanging in mid air. "I..."

Leonard tries to ignore the satisfaction he feels at watching Spock try to find the words to defuse the situation, but it's warm and comfortable like a thick blanket. It's so satisfying, he barely notices everyone else in the restaurant awkwardly try to go back to their meals like their curiosity wasn't peaked at Leonard's accusation.

Spock puts his fork down and folds his hands in front of him. "That was not my intention, Leonard."

Leonard can't sit though an apology or a Vulcan attempt at an apology, that he knows is just going to be lip service to calm him down so other people, namely Uhura and Jim, will be happy he and Spock are getting along. He throws his napkin on his plate. "Platypuses. A whole herd of platypuses."

Uhura looks grim and slightly apologetic; like it's her fault this meeting didn't cure Leonard of all his hang-ups. Spock just looks confused.

Leonard's prepared to leave quietly, and count this painful twenty minutes as a win but Spock has to open his mouth.

"I believe the correct term you're looking for is a puddle of platypi."

Something snaps in Leonard. When Spock isn't sadistically enjoying his torment he's being too obtuse to human emotions to not ratchet him up several notches. "Are you correcting my safe word?" shouts Leonard, full of disbelief and astonishment because some things should be sacred. He stands up in a huff. In a move that will either be a source of satisfaction for years to come or the death nail in his coffin, he grabs his glass of water and pours it in Spock's lap.

He doesn't stick around to hear Uhura explain the insanity to Spock or offer Scotty, whose jaw is on the floor, any sort of explanation as he passes the bar on his way out of the restaurant.

There are no less than fifteen messages waiting for Leonard when he arrives back at his apartment; one from Scotty, four from Uhura and ten from Jim. He ignores them all. He crawls into bed, clothes and all and pulls the blackest over his head. He doesn't want to talk about it and he doesn't want to work it out. He just wants today to be over.

He's pretty sure it's Jim that stops by after shift and rings his door bell and then Uhura around nineteen hundred hours. Probably, Jim again at twenty hundred hours, but Leonard never answers it. The only people getting in here will be the court-martial officers coming to get him for assaulting a superior officer if Spock decides to take particular offense to Leonard's actions.

There's a little voice that's been Jim's guiding star that whispers softy to him. He imagines it's what his father would sound like if he lived in a universe where he had the privilege to grow up with the man. It's never steered him wrong when he's listened to it (Jim spent a lot of his youth going out of his way to do the opposite), even when that voice told him the only way to save his ship and friends was to do something monumentally stupid and self sacrificing like climbing into a warp core.

It's screaming at him now but he can't hear what it's trying to tell him. Something is off about McCoy and he's not the only one who has doubts. Chapel's voiced concerns that maybe McCoy is pushing himself to fast and Uhura's first stop after dessert with him and Spock was to voice her concerns to Jim over McCoy and Spock's ability to work together. No one can pinpoint anything specific that can't be disqualified by the doctor coming to terms with his hellish ordeal.

They can only judge McCoy by the man that he was; none of them know what being on this side of things will look. This is new territory here. Surviving that alternate universe can't be erased and forgotten so they have to learn who Leonard is after that ordeal. Maybe this is the new normal?

A chill runs through Jim as he spares a second to wonder if the thing that he can't quite put his finger on, is that this isn't his Leonard at all. He dismisses the thought right away as his stomach starts to roll.

It's enough to spur Jim into checking on Leonard again before dinner. He wouldn't answer the door yesterday and despite himself, Jim refrained from breaking into McCoy's apartment, settling for computer confirmation that McCoy was safe at home.

There's no answer again. McCoy must still be at his appointment with his therapist. He turns to leave and go scrounge up something to eat before sequestering himself in his office to try and conquer the mountain of reports and reviews he needs to complete before they can being the Enterprise's first test run, and stops. He can't seem to move away from the door; an invisible force won't let him.

He punches his lock override into the door and steps inside. "Lights," he commands. The darkness retreats quickly but the eeriness doesn't leave. This move is going to go down as smooth as a jagged little pill if McCoy finds out but if something's wrong, Jim has to know. He can't protect McCoy if he doesn't know the danger.

Jim isn't sure what he's looking for. He supposes a red flag over a note saying this is the issue or mural on the wall depicting an evil plot to over throw this universe is too much to ask for. Where does one even begin to look for a figurative smoking gun?

Everything looks like an apartment lived in by a temporary occupant. Things look used but the personal touches are sparse. It's just like every other Enterprise officer temporarily stationed at Yorktown. Jim wanders through, waiting for that little voice to give him some insight on what he's looking for.

He hits up the bathroom and pokes around the cupboards. He noses through McCoy's medkit and his pack of medications. There's an astronomical amount of medication all with names that mean nothing to Jim. He records the names and files them away for further research. Depending on what the medications are prescribed for, they could shed some light on McCoy's medical status. It feels like a slimy crawl through a backdoor to circumvent doctor patient confidentiality that McCoy's been pretty adamant about enforcing as far as Jim's concerned.

Jim heads to the bedroom next. McCoy's PADD is sitting on the nightstand, just begging to be picked up. It wouldn't take much on Jim's part to hack into McCoy's personal files but is that a line he's willing to cross? A report to the brace is one thing, but these would be personal files never intended to be read by anyone else. It feels heavy in his hands as he sits on the bed staring at it. This violation wouldn't leave McCoy anywhere to hide but Jim just can't bring himself to hurt his friend this way; not without solid proof that Leonard's spiraling out of control.

Jim flops back on the bed. This whole idea was stupid and not going to win him any favors with McCoy, who's been running hot and cold lately on his tolerance for Jim. He mentally readjusts his schedule to fit in a meeting with M'Benga and formulate some kind of plan that will allow the senior staff to help McCoy find his feet again.

Jim goes to push himself up off the bed when his hand hits something unexpected under the pillow.

"You now Daily's lying to you, right?" asks Jim as he stalks Leonard like a jilted lover.

Leonard rolls his eyes and continues walking back to his apartment. Fake Jim is just as annoying as real Jim. The only reason he knows this is the hallucination and not the real deal is Daily didn't seem to notice his unrelenting chatter.

"There is no conceivable way you can count yesterday as a win. I mean satisfaction of making Spock look like he peed himself aside, how the hell are you going to serve on a confined ship with Spock looming? Don't you have to report to him as head of medical?"

"Shut up," snarls Leonard. "I'm not head of medical, so M'Benga can report to Spock." He walks faster because while he's grown accustomed to arguing with his imaginary friend, he's not immune to the strange looks bystanders give him as he passes.

He thought for sure Daily would see his dessert meeting as a failure but after a few hours of discussion, Leonard's come to realize it wasn't a complete waste of time. It isn't a leap forward but even a tiny shuffle is still a step in the right direction.

"You can't serve on a ship with that monster," points out Jim. "There's nowhere to run, nowhere to hide and in space, only Spock will hear you scream."

Leonard stops marching forward and rounds on Jim. "Maybe I will serve on the Enterprise, just to piss you off."

"Yeah, cause that'll show me, Bones."

"I already have one child, I don't need another," hisses Leonard. It's one endless game with this Jim and it's exhausting. It's even more frustrating when he can't figure out where Jim's childish antics are going.

"Do you though?" counters Jim with an evil smile. "When was the last time you were even remotely a parent to Jo?"

Leonard doesn't dignify that with a response. It cuts deeper than it should because of course his subconscious knows he's been slacking on the parenting front. First due to distance and Jocelyn's restrictions and now because... well because. He can't wait to get home and sleep away the rest of the night in peaceful oblivion.

Leonard just makes it though the door when he realizes he's not alone in his apartment. Fear shoots through him like a lightning bolt. The air has been sucked out of the room, and in the distance he hears a crack of thunder. Slowly, he turns around from the door, every instinct within screaming to run.

Jim's sitting on the arm rest of the couch in the kind of dim light that highlights his brooding silence. He looks particularly put out; which is a wonder because the guy's in Leonard's apartment uninvited.

"What are you doing..." the question dies slowly as he spots the phaser in Jim's hand. Leonard's phaser. The one he's been keeping under his pillow- just in case.

"What is this, Bones?" demands Jim, all serious and pissy like Leonard's been hauled before a review board.

Leonard's already got his hackles up. "I don't know Jim, what's it look like?" It's amazing how they always sidestep Jim's trespasses in favor of Leonard's. From where Leonard's standing home invasion is a far greater infraction of Starfleet policy than one phaser.

"Looks like a phaser, that you're keeping in your bedroom, under your pillow." None of these things are horribly wrong per se. Leonard is an officer in Starfleet and thus issued a phaser, but they're usually kept in the armory. Leonard isn't one to like phasers to start with, let alone keep one in his quarters. And under his pillow of all places.

"Sounds like the kind of thing someone breaking into a person's apartment might find," counters Leonard. Jim's uninvited presence makes all the argument he needs for why it's necessary.

"Bones, this isn't like you?" tries Jim. He doesn't want to fight and he doesn't want to babysit but things are adding up to a disturbing number. Is this where they're at now, hiding weapons to defend against potential enemies?

"I remember a time when the captain of the Enterprise didn't lower himself to forging reports and breaking and entering. So I guess we've all kind of fallen from what we used to be."

"If something's wrong you can tell me," insists Jim. He looks hopeful, like his plea with knock something loose in Leonard. He just needs something to work with here. If Leonard is that afraid, he'll have security post guards in the building, in the hall, at Leonard's door. Jim will personally take a shift.

"He's standing in your apartment, holding your phaser; the only thing that keeps you safe. The only thing wrong here is him," says imaginary Jim, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall behind Leonard like he'll jump into the fray if things come to blows here. "If you think he's not going to have you locked up somewhere for being crazy then you're dumber than you look."

"Fuck off, Jim."

"I'm not the only one who's concerned, Bones. We just want to help. The Bones I know doesn't keep a phaser under his pillow." Jim can understand the desire but it just illustrates how wrong he's been about how far Leonard's come.

Leonard holds up his hand. The bandages have been gone for awhile but the brace remains, emphasising how useless his hand still is. "Maybe the Bones you knew is dead," offers Leonard. Disappointment is the only thing awaiting this friendship. Leonard is never going to be what they need him to be.

Jim turns an interesting shade of green and Leonard kind of wants to take it back. A wounded and cornered animal is always dangerous. Sometimes Leonard doesn't realize how vicious his bite can be.

"Jim, I..."

"Don't cave to him," sneers imaginary Jim, looking disgusted at Leonard's desire to apologize. "He's invading your space and sneaking around spying on you. Who knows what else he found or will find if you don't put a stop to it. Kirk's nothing but trouble and he'll take everything from you. How is this any different from what Spock did?"

Imaginary Jim's not wrong. Jim's help has long since stopped being useful to Leonard. Everything is aimed to make everyone else comfortable with what happened; not Leonard. They all want him to go back to the way things were like it never happened so they can forget. The cuts are too deep for Leonard to ever forget.

"It's seventy-two steps to the bathroom and your med kit. You can stop all his meddling with that scalpel," says imaginary Jim with all the calm and sincerity in the universe.

It leaves Leonard feeling cold and gut punched. Things are taking a serious dark turn. Could he actually hurt Jim? Does he want to hurt Jim? Before everything that's happened, Jim was his best friend.

"I need you to stop breaking in here. Just stop helping! Leave me the hell alone. You're not helping, any of you!" yells Leonard. It's too much, all of it, any of it. He just wants to be alone but it's terrifying to be alone.

Jim just stands there, unable to form any words but the look on his face says it all. Maybe Leonard's punched him for the last time. Punching bags wear out eventually.

Leonard's head feels like it's going to split open. If people don't start giving him some breathing room soon, he can't be held responsible for what happens. "Get the fuck out, Jim! And don't come back."

"We'll talk about this later, Bones," promises Jim, as he walks out of the apartment.

Leonard waits as patiently as possible, considering the late hour and the fact he's a grown ass man standing in a hallway holding a pillow and blanket like his wife just threw him out. He never had much patience to begin with; he certainly has next to zero these days. The armful of bedding is the only thing preventing him from melting down the door buzzer. He's tired, it's late and he just wants to feel the cool softness of his pillow caressing cheek as he drifts off.

Finally the door opens.

"Uhhh," says Scotty. Slack jawed and half asleep, as he tries to process who's standing before him in the middle of the night.

"You're you right?" asks Leonard , like there's some unwritten law stating an evil alternate version of people must disclose their true identity if directly asked.

"Last time I checked?" It's too late, (or perhaps early?) for these kind of riddles.

"Can I crash on your couch tonight?" Leonard asks.

Scotty blinks at him a few times then sticks his head out the door, looking left then right, to see if anyone is with the doctor. The engineer looks like someone handed him an exam that's going to determine his future with Starfleet and he completely forgot to study. It's probably the same stunned, shell shocked look that came over him when Admiral Archer asked where his dog went after he tried to prove his transporter theory. "Ummm."

"You have a girl over?" ventures Leonard, feeling his potential safe haven slipping through his fingers. He can't sleep at home- he tried. It doesn't feel safe anymore, if it ever felt safe to begin with.

"The only lady I have any time for lately is the Enterprise," says Scotty fondly.

Leonard resists the urge to push his way into the apartment. He hefts his pillow up. "Then?"

"Right! Come on in and make yer self comfortable," blurts Scotty, like he suddenly remembers how human interaction works.

The apartment is dim and quiet; Scotty was clearly peacefully asleep before Leonard darkened his door. Leonard makes a beeline for the couch and begins laying his blanket out.

"Jim know you're here?" asks Scotty, more awake and sure he isn't dreaming his late night visitor. The captain has been keeping close tabs on the doctor lately and Scotty doesn't relish the thought of being caught in the middle if these two are butting heads again. He'll do it, but covering for one with the other often requires a well planned out story that he's not capable of on the fly.

Leonard snaps, "I don't need a goddamn babysitter!"

"I'll take that as a no."

"And he's not going to know!" hisses Leonard over his shoulder, as he throws his pillow down. "He's got his nose in enough of my business." There's no escape from Jim if everyone throws up a rescue flare every time Leonard is around.

Scotty wanders over to the closet to retrieve some more bedding. He's fallen asleep on that couch a few times by accident and knows from experience it's not that comfortable. He passes the bedding over to McCoy who seems to relax a little. From there he wordlessly heads into the kitchen and comes back with a bottle of Scotch, settling on the shorter end of the L shaped couch. He's up now so might as well make the most of it. He takes a swig and passes the bottle to Leonard.

Leonard eyes the bottle skeptically.

"An old Scottish remedy- drink until you can't remember anymore."

The offer is tempting. Black out drunk sounds heavenly right now, especially since he spent the hours since kicking Jim out, tossing and turning, alternating between fear that he no longer has a phaser to protect him (sneaky bastard took it with him, like Leonard wouldn't notice) and the fact that he thought about hurting Jim. He shakes his head and pushes the bottle back towards Scotty. "Can't drink with the meds I'm on." It's the truth; he's been warned against drinking on them.

"When has that ever stopped anyone before?" asks Scotty, in that conspirator tone that suggests he won't rat Leonard out or think less of him for indulging.

It hasn't stopped him before but he knows he has enough problems; he doesn't need to add alcoholism to the mix. He used it as a crutch after father died, and again after his divorce. It never helped anything then. It just pushed him down a slippery slope that got harder to climb out each time. If he gives in to it now he knows there will be no stopping this time. "Just not ready yet."

Scotty shrugs his shoulders and takes another drink. "Wanna talk about it?"

He really doesn't. Everyone already looks at him like a broken bird that won't fly again, he couldn't bear it if they started looking at him like the monster from the alternate universe too. "I just need some place where I can sleep," says Leonard and it almost comes out as a broken cry. He just needs to feel safe enough to sleep.

Scotty nods his head but doesn't get up. "We can do that too," he says slouching down into the cushions instead of going back to his bedroom. "Computer, lights off."