"Captain?" Spock nearly shouted to the door in front of him, "Jim?" He was ordered rather abruptly to chase down Jim and drag him up to sickbay, but the doctor had been very vague about why.

It left a lingering feeling of uncertainty in his stomach, but it only served to make him more determined to find the man he was after.

When there was no reply or sign that the door was going to open any time soon, Spock punched in the emergency override that was only given to himself and McCoy, and slipped into the room before the door had even finished opening.

What awaited him was a room littered with shattered pieces of glass, and some fully-intact bottles of alcohol abandoned in an almost circle-like formation around the Captain.

The Captain himself however was on his back, clearly unconscious with his hands covered with blood, no doubt an injury from the glass fragments.

"Captain?" Spock inquired, approaching the figure on the floor. The action was illogical as he obviously was unconscious and unable to answer. Jim's face was ashen and still.

He knelt beside him, unable to push aside the anxiety that flitted in his stomach as he pressed two fingers against Jim's neck. That worry quickly resolved itself when he felt a very faint but rapid pulse against his fingertips. He cringed at the strong smell of alcohol radiating from the blonde.

Immediately, Spock whipped out his communicator. There was a danger in carrying Jim to sickbay if moving him could cause a bleed.

"Spock to McCoy," he said with urgency, impulsively gripping Jim's wrist and reassuring himself that the man was still alive.

"McCoy here—Spock, have you found him?"

"Affirmative, however he appears to have been injured, I am unsure about moving him."

"Shit—okay hold on. Nurse? Yeah, I need to get to him. Can you—yeah thank you. I'll be right there Spock."

Spock nodded to himself despite nobody being able to see, and hurled the communicator on the floor so he still had access to both Jim and getting help.

Briefly, he spotted Jim's eyes flickering, and tightened his grip on the man's wrist.

"Jim?" he probed, attempting to make sure that the Captain completed his effort at returning to consciousness.

The baby blues opened sluggishly, it was evident that he was confused.

"Spock?" Jim croaked out, his head turning to look at what was holding his wrist. "Where…ugh…"

Spock frowned when Jim shut his eyes again, gently shaking him on the shoulder, "Jim, you must not fall asleep," he urged, hoping that McCoy was sprinting all the way here.

"M'tired…n' my 'ead 'urts…g'night…"

"No, Jim, I insist that you must remain awake," Spock let go of Jim's wrist and placed both hands over his face in desperation. Floods of confusion originating from Jim swamped his mind as he made contact, but it did nothing, and eventually Jim lost consciousness again.

"…..Damn…..poisoning….hold…bottles….." fragments of speech washed over Jim, his brain struggling to drag its way to consciousness.

"Is…breathing?"

"…Appears…struggling…tried to…but failed…" Words began to piece together now as his mind began to kick in properly, he vaguely was able to feel hands brushing over his head. Speaking of his head, he had a huge headache, kind of like a sledgehammer being repeatedly smashed against his skull.

"Poisoning is really bad, Spock, I might have to intubate. Here, hold this,"

Jim could feel his chest struggling to rise and fall, and with every inhale his throat felt constricted, but at the same time, there was no panic. He didn't care. It was like all the threats of the world was unbeknownst to him.

"I'm gonna intubate and get him on the hoverbed,"

"What about the surgery?"

"I can't do it when he's drunk himself into alcohol poisoning, the damn idiot, it's too dangerous, so I'm gonna give him a temporary hypo to stop the infection from spreading and run a detox through him, should give him enough time to get him through surgery, maybe,"

"Maybe?"

"It's not looking good, Spock,"

At that moment, Jim felt his mouth being pried open and something being shoved down the back of it—instantly his fight-or-flight responses kicked in.

Jim jolted, his eyes flew open, his throat attempting to unleash a scream as someone tried to block his airway, just like the horrible doctor did on Tarsus.

"Whoa! Okay, okay he's breathin'," the contraption was instantly removed, and Jim started coughing and spluttering over himself, his vision distorted and blurred with tears.

"Hey, hey it's okay, kid, it's alright, relax," he recognised that voice. That voice belonged to someone he had been trying to avoid for so long. He didn't need his vision to realise who it was—Bones.

Jim gasped and shuffled back, shaking his head frantically. No, he couldn't have this doctor anywhere near him. He didn't want the surgery. No way. They were going to force him in there and do god knows what and hurt him just like the last time he had surgery.

"No" Jim choked out, "No, no, I don't-I don't-I don't-I-don't-No! No!"

"What? What's wrong? Jim?"

"I don't wanna do it!"

"Jim, listen to me—"

"No! No! Please, please! Please!"

"Jim, I need you to calm down darlin'—"

"Don't make me! Please! Please don't make me! Please! Please!"

McCoy shuffled closer, attempting to take Jim's arm but the kid just jerked away.

"Jim—Jim you need to breathe—calm down, Jim, Jim…damn it,"

"What is happening?" Spock queried from the side, successfully hiding the emotions that were threatening to pour out of him.

"Panic attack," McCoy answered gravely, "Jim, look at me—look at me—"

"No! No—no I won't let you—no, no don't touch me! Don't fucking touch me!"

Spock clenched his fists, "Doctor, can you not sedate him?"

McCoy bit his lip, "With alcohol poisoning, the medication could kill him," he swore under his breath, unsure of what to do at this point.

Jim's eyes rolled around in their sockets as he struggled to catch his breath, his hands flying everywhere, trying to find something—anything to latch onto. He cried out in fear and tried to stand, falling backwards instantly, screaming incoherent nonsense.

"Jim? Jim, look at me," McCoy coaxed again, trying to get the kid's attention, "What's wrong? I can't help you if you don't tell me what's wrong,"

Jim shook his head again, standing and falling four times before finally his legs couldn't stand it anymore—his world was closing in on him, this man caved in, trapping him, there was no escaping.

Memories of the last time he had surgery pummelled into his mind, playing out in front of him as if he were really there, and in a haze- he screamed, and cried, kicking and punching to the figure that tried to get close to him, gasping, hyperventilating, begging him to go away because he did not want the surgery-he was never going to have it, he was terrified, he would rather die, he was so scared.

"No! —gasp—No! —gasp —No! —gasp—No! —gasp—"

McCoy swore to himself as tears welled up in his eyes—he didn't know what was happening to his friend or why he was so terrified of him, "Jim, what is it? Is it the surgery?"

At that, Jim let out an unholy screech and started slamming the back of his head against the wall, "I don't want it! I don't want it! I don't—I don't—I don't—You can't—You can't make me! Please don't make me! Please—Please—Please—Please—Please—Please—"

"Jim—"

"Please!"

"Jim."

"Ple-e-e-ease don't do this to me!"

"Darlin' look at me, take some big deep breaths—"

"Please!"

"Come on, darlin', look at me,"

"I don't want it!"

"Doctor, you must do something…"

"You think I don't know that?" Bones hissed, "Get my med-kit, I need to—just get it,"

Spock complied instantly, trying to get rid of the recent images of Jim's outburst in the forefront of his mind, his wailing continuing in the background with McCoy trying and failing to soothe him.

McCoy opened his communicator, "McCoy to—" he froze when Jim let out another heart-wrenching scream, before gathering himself to continue, "McCoy to sickbay," his voice shook uncontrollably. This was a rare situation where he had no idea what to do.

Spock stretched his arm forward with the medkit in hand, McCoy managing to lean forward and grab it with his free arm.

"Chapel here, what is it? What is that—goodness, what is that screaming? Is that—is that Jim?"

"Yeah," McCoy breathed steadily, "It's a massive panic attack, he's got severe alcohol poisoning, it's dangerous to sedate him, I don't—I don't know what to do, Chris,"

With McCoy now talking over the communicator, Spock took this as his chance to stand and pace over to Jim's trembling form curled up in a ball protectively, screaming nonsense and moaning.

He sat in front of him, blocking his view of McCoy, and as gently as he possibly could, lay a hand over Jim's head. Scared blue eyes drifted from staring at the floor up to meet Spock's.

"He's—he's—he's—he's—he's gonna—he's gonna hurt me," Jim stuttered, his eyes frantically trying to look past Spock and lock onto McCoy, but the Vulcan was blocking the view.

"Jim. He will not hurt you. He would like to help. Please…help me to understand your fear."

As soon as he said that, Spock turned his head as he heard his name being sharply called by McCoy. Jim however still hadn't taken anything he said into account, now being back to staring at the floor and crying, so he swiftly shifted his body back to face McCoy.

"What is it, doctor?" Spock asked quietly. McCoy was still on the communicator.

"Nitrous Oxide. It's still risky but less dangerous than full-blown sedation. We'll have to man-handle him onto the bed, and it won't be pleasant, but if I can get the medication into him, he should start to settle," he informed Spock, "Nurse, do me a favour and check if he's allergic to it, I haven't had to use this on him before," he asked Chapel through the communicator.

"Doctor, why give him Nitrous Oxide instead of a sedative?" Spock questioned. Surely it would be better to fully-sedate him rather than just keep him relaxed.

McCoy bit his lip, "Considering the only full-sedative he can take is Pepinotin, that drug will almost probably kill him with the alcohol in his system, but nitrous oxide, while still risky, has less of an effect on alcohol compared to Pepinotin. There's a better chance."

Spock nodded, dreading what he had to do to Jim now. "Could I not simply perform a nerve pinch?"

McCoy shook his head, "No, I don't want you to. We don't know what your Vulcan voodoo will do in his state," he explained.

Spock physically had to stop himself from sighing, then turned to face Jim, who seemed even more petrified than he was three minutes ago.

Shuffling closer, and with great reluctance, he pinned Jim's chest to ground, eliciting another cry of distress and kicking of the legs.

"I apologise, Jim," he murmured, watching as McCoy quickly made his way to him.

"It's fine, he's not allergic—get his legs, you're stronger," he ordered, shuffling up to Jim's torso, "I'll get his arms,"

"NO!" Jim bellowed, kicking furiously as hard as he could. He would NOT let these people get to him. Hurt him. "Please! Stop! Please! Pl—" the crying stopped as he suddenly had a coughing fit.

"C'mon kid, up we go—"

McCoy and Spock hauled themselves—and Jim, to their feet, shuffling over to the hoverbed as fast as was physically possible, Spock managing to keep Jim's ferocious kicking under control with that weird Vulcan strength of his.

Finally, they plonked him onto the bed, Spock's hand effectively pinning him down while McCoy tried to set up the equipment.

"Stop—Stop—Stop! Please! Get off me! I'll be good! I'll be good! I'll—" another coughing fit.

"Doctor?" Spock urged him, his wrist beginning to tire. McCoy quickly strode over, shoving the small cannister behind the bed and snatching up the mask in the other hand.

"Jim? Jim, hey, look at me darlin'" he urged, tipping the kid's chin up to face him.

"No—what—what are you—" as McCoy pressed the mask against his face, Jim's eyes grew wide and his charade fired up again, kicking and wrenching around on the bed, to the point where even Spock was struggling.

"It's okay, it's gonna help you relax, alright?" McCoy was struggling to stop himself from bursting into a flurry of tears—this was so damn hard.

"I don't wanna—don't make me—don't make me—I don't want it! I don't want it!"

"I know you don't want it, you're gonna be okay darlin',"

"I don't want—I don't—I don't want it—I don't—I don't—Stop! Stop!" Jim's hand frantically waved around his face, trying to slap McCoy's hand away from his face, but he found himself growing weaker. This just caused more alarm.

"I know…I know...I know…"

"Stop…please stop…please…" As Jim's eyes started growing heavy, and his breathing laboured, McCoy grabbed hold of his flailing hand and rubbed his thumb over it in comfort.

"I know darlin', I know…"

Soon enough, the only sound that could be heard in the room was the low hiss of the gas feeding into Jim's mask. Spock and McCoy stood silently still, unable to bring themselves to move.
Jim remained completely still on the bed, his eyes half-lidded, half-lucid, every now and then his eyes searched around the room.

"Jesus Christ…" McCoy finally broke the silence, "Let's get him up to medbay, I can give him that injection that'll slow down the infection while I run the detox. Should be about an hour before I can get him into surgery, but it's gonna be tight, Spock. Really tight. I need you to understand that."

Spock gazed at him for a few more seconds before acceptance sank in. Jim was very likely to die in surgery, and it was only logical to have to accept that.

He gave a nod, allowing both of them to grip onto the bed-rails and begin the journey up to the medbay.

Fifteen minutes later, and McCoy was now wordlessly gazing over at the half-conscious Jim in a now empty medbay. His throat still felt tight from what he had just witnessed—his stubborn desire to remain calm and in control being the only factor stopping him from breaking down.

"Doctor, why did he behave in that way?" Spock almost made McCoy jump when he suddenly appeared out of no-where. He thought the damn Vulcan left.

"How the hell should I know?" he bit back, quietly sucking in a subtle deep breath to control himself, the tears were lingering in his eyes and were imminent.

"When will his body fail him from the infection?"

McCoy shut his eyes at this. He'd have to perform a miracle to save him. He was supposed to be in surgery nearly an hour ago, and he couldn't bring him in for the minutes to come because of the damn alcohol poisoning. With the only anaesthesia that could be used on Jim's ridiculously overactive immune system, putting him under in this state could very well kill him.

The chances of him surviving by waiting a little longer before surgery after going through detox was marginally more hopeful.

"His body is already failing him, Spock," McCoy griped, "The longer we leave him like this, the worse the infection is getting, and I can't do a damn thing because sedating him will almost certainly kill him," his voice was low and dangerous, on the edge of lashing out. Thankfully Spock noticed and didn't push him further.

"I believe he drank alcohol under the impression that you would not perform surgery," Spock stated in a matter-of-fact tone.

"Yeah, you don't fuckin' say." McCoy grunted, "Clearly he didn't consider the fact that not having the surgery could very damn well kill him," he hissed, striding back over to Jim's bed and grabbing a hypo from the tray, sitting down on a stool next to the bed.

Spock frowned, strangely protective of his Captain.

"What are you doing?"

McCoy scoffed, yanking the kid's gown back and depressing a hypo into his abdomen, "What does it look like I'm doing? Trying to save his damn life is what I'm doing."

Spock tilted his head and watched intensely. "What are the contents of the injection?"

McCoy slammed the hypo back onto the tray, "Damn it, must you want to know everything!" he shouted, angrily forcing himself to stand upright, "It's slowing the infection, if you must know. At least I hope. Fighting it off. Unfortunately, it's gonna damn well hurt when he's awake, but he brought this on himself,"

After a few more seconds of silence, McCoy strode back to the bed, in a fit of rage and…sat down on the stool.

"You know that is not true."

McCoy glared onwards, staring at the monitors as his vision blurred over with tears, before finally giving in and throwing his head onto the bed, leaning over Jim and crying into the blanket.

Instead of provoking, Spock decided to stay quiet for the time being. Jim was terrified for some reason, they both knew that he didn't choose to drink himself into poisoning just to be difficult.

A feeling of guilt resided in the pit of Spock's stomach. He had seen the first signs of Jim's distress just yesterday in the turbolift. Yet, he remained quiet, under the illogical human gut feeling of wanting to protect him.

If he had told McCoy about what happened, this could all have been avoided. In fact, Jim's surgery could have been over by now, but instead…

"Doctor, I have a confession."

McCoy sniffed into the blanket, and pried his head upwards, "What could it possibly be?" he croaked wearily.

"I…yesterday, Jim had, what you would describe as a meltdown in the turbolift. He appeared absent-minded, scared, in pain, and he had admitted his fear of the surgery to me when I carried him to his quarters—"

McCoy spun the stool around to face Spock in lazy anger, "You carried him?" he couldn't find the energy to shout, "Why?"

"He…I believe he was having a flashback. He attacked me, and I performed a nerve-pinch on instinct. I had to carry him back to his quarters."

McCoy merely nodded this time, turning back to Jim and glancing at his pale face. He couldn't find it in him to be angry anymore.

"So, he was afraid of the surgery, huh," he muttered, wheeling backwards until he was at the foot of the bed, adjusting the controls on the cannister.

"I believe so. What are you doing?"

"Reducing the nitrous oxide a little. Don't want him to be over-exposed. Again."

Spock became concerned over the possibility that Jim could wake up and start panicking again. "What if he regains consciousness?"

McCoy nearly laughed, "He is awake, Spock. He's just so drugged up that he can hardly move. I'm reducing it to see if I can make him somewhat aware, so I can start him on the detox."

Just like McCoy predicted, Jim's fingers began to clamp around the blankets as soon as the medication was reduced. Slowly, lazily, but it was there.

Cautiously, Bones stepped over to Jim's line of vision, watching as Jim's eyes followed him, gazing up at the doctor and opening his mouth to say something, then stopping.

"Hey darlin'," Bones mumbled, gently closing his fingers around Jim's, "You with me?"

It took a few seconds, but Bones eventually felt a very faint attempt at a squeeze around his fingers. He offered a smile and turned to Spock.

"He's good. Can ya do me a favour and stay with him while I set up an IV? Might flip his shit or something if he sees a needle," he joked, gently pulling away from Jim's reach and moving out the way to let Spock through.

Spock awkwardly glanced down at Jim, unsure of what to say. He still seemed completely out of it, his eyes blinking slowly as if about to fall asleep.

"Captain." He greeted him, which was rewarded with Jim's eyes rolling up to face him. It took a few seconds, but he was able to reply,

"Spock…" he smiled weakly, trying to lift his hand and failing. "Why…why m'so…so sleepy?"

At that moment, McCoy gripped Jim's wrist and turned his arm so that his palm faced the ceiling.

"Because you're all drugged up on shit, you moron," he joked, wiping a cloth over his wrist to Jim's fascination, visibly cringing at the feel of McCoy's latex gloves against his skin.

"Bones…" Jim mumbled, then rolled his head back to face Spock. "Spock"

The Vulcan forced himself not to smile—it was a relief to see him alert, although acting very strange.

"Slight pinch, Jim," McCoy warned him, his thumb applying pressure, immediately followed by a pin-prick to his wrist.

Jim's reaction was slow, but two seconds after, he gasped and whipped his head back to McCoy.

"Look back at Spock, kid," McCoy urged gently, worried that the sight of the IV might trigger Jim to have another panic attack.

Jim however he obeyed, sluggishly gazing at Spock and smiling gleefully at him.

But Spock was concerned.

"Doctor, why is Jim acting so contented?"

Bones snorted, "Because he's drugged to high hell, Spock," he answered, Spock simply raised an eyebrow. "You're doin' real good, kid."

Jim beamed as if he was back to his old self, seeming rather pleased with himself for whatever reason. Then, his eyes rolled inwards to his nose.

"Wha'dis?" he mumbled, raising a hand and pulling at the mask on his face. McCoy dropped Jim's wrist,

"No no no, Jim, don't touch that, kid," he urged, dragging his free hand away from his face and patting it softly.

Jim gaped, "But why?"

"Because…because it's giving you medicine to make you feel better," Bones sighed.

"But m'feel fine!"

"Exactly. So, keep it on."

Jim pouted at that, but left the mask alone.

All of sudden, Jim cringed and squeezed his eyes shut, his legs tensing and pressing on the bed. Spock stood up and stared at the doctor in alarm.

"Jim?" McCoy prompted worriedly, meeting Spock's gaze, "You okay?"

Jim let out a choked sob and clawed his fingers into the mattress, "…hurts…"

"Uh-huh, Spock grab that hypo on the tray next to you, will ya?"

Spock instantly obliged, watching as McCoy pulled back Jim's gown again, depressing the plunger already filled with a vial into Jim's stomach.

"Infection is getting worse, I need to rush this detox," McCoy mumbled, grabbing a syringe from behind him and holding up Jim's wrist, "This might burn a little, but it's normal, don't worry about it," he reassured him, sticking the syringe into the IV port and emptying its contents.

Jim started wriggling around on the bed, worrying Bones as his heartrate started increasing again, showing movements much the same as his panic attack earlier. "Darlin' what's wrong? Is something worrying you?"

Spock watched in amusement at the doctor's vocabulary and caring demeanour over Jim, something that he had never ever seen from the CMO before.

"I don't like th'thing in…" Jim raised his hand and started shaking it viciously.

"That's…" Bones tried to think of a way he'd explain this to a scared child, "That lets me put medicine in your body, Jim." He comforted him, grabbing Jim's flailing hand and catching it in his own, worried he'll dislodge the IV.

"Can I see?" Jim's attitude suddenly changed, apparently interested in the detox all of a sudden.

"Uh…yeah, the second one goes in in about ten minutes, you can watch it then if you want," he smiled, patting him on the shoulder and glancing up to his vitals. Luckily his heartrate had dropped back down to acceptable levels, and the pain had lessened which went the injection had worked.

"I wanna talk to Spock" Jim piped up, his other hand reaching out to the side Spock was on as if trying to grab him, while the Vulcan just stared at it perplexedly.

"Yeah, sure, I'll just be over here," McCoy smiled, backing away slowly and turning to march over to Chapel for a likely extremely lengthy conversation.

Jim turned to Spock, reaching out and gripping the hem of his shirt. The Vulcan narrowed his eyes, trying to make sense of the action.

"What is it, Jim?" he asked, staring down at the fingers wrapping around his shirt.

Jim hesitated for a second, then licked his cracked lips, "Why am I here?"

Spock frowned, sitting on the stool that McCoy had just left from, sitting up firmly straight, "I…believe that you had what the doctor calls a panic attack," he replied, watching Jim's face for a reaction. There was only an indication of worry before it settled back to relaxed again.

"Why was I panicking? I…I never panic,"

Spock forced himself to inhale and exhale a couple of times, "You were afraid of surgery," he replied calmly, knowing that somehow, it was the wrong reply the second the words left his mouth.

It was, of course. It only took mere seconds before the beeping on Jim's monitors grew rapid as memories came back to him, as logic returned to his mind.

"Oh…oh. The…the surgery…I…"

"Captain, I apologise, this was not the correct choice of words, I merely mean—"

"I don't…Spock…Spock I don't want the surgery, I…oh god, I don't…"

The sound of quick rapid rising and falling boots filled Spock's ears as McCoy was alerted to Jim's setback.

"Spock! What the hell did you do?" he yelled, running back over to Jim and feeling his breath leave his throat when he saw Jim's utter fear for him.

"I apologise," Spock repeated himself, realising what he had just done.

"Bones, please don't operate on me, I don't want it," Jim begged, his eyes welling up again.

"Dammit Spock, I leave you alone with him for one second…" he strode to the controls on the end of the bed and raised the medication levels again, not wanting to risk Jim going into a full-blown panic attack.

"Wait!" Jim yelled, knowing what Bones was doing, "Don't—don't put me out again, I just—can't we talk about this? I just—I…mmm…" he sighed, a long breath releasing from his lips as the drug pulled him back down.

There were a few moments of tense silence after this.

"Doctor, I—"

"Shut up, Spock," McCoy snapped, practically seething with rage, "He was getting better. Why the hell did you tell him about the surgery? What the fuck is wrong with you?" he shouted, storming over and just about manage to restrain himself from grabbing the Vulcan by the collar.

"I did not intend for this to happen. He wanted to know why he was here, and I told him the truth."

"He's not Vulcan, dammit!" the CMO shouted, jamming another detox drug into Jim's IV, "If he's panicking over something and he forgets why he was panicking, you don't tell him the damn reason so that he starts panicking again!"

Spock remained silent, not attempting to stop the guilt that surrounded his mind. Jim had relapsed and it was his fault.

Then, to make matters worse, another alarm started sounding over the monitor.

McCoy stopped his rant to glance up at it, taking in the results and noticing the infection was spreading to Jim's chest.

"Shit," he raced to the instrument tray and pulled out another drug. "Nurse! Get in here, now!"

Spock stood to attention in alarm and stepped out of the way, "What is happening?" he asked, berating himself for the shakiness of his voice.

Chapel marched into the room, glanced up at the monitor for merely a second and then nodded to McCoy, "I'll get Boyce to cover sickbay and scrub in," she explained, darting off to change into scrubs.

"Infection is still spreading—I can't leave it any longer, we'll have to risk it," he replied to Spock, rummaging through the instrument tray and swearing when he couldn't find any masks left. "Chris, I need another mask!" he shouted across the room, running to the foot of the bed and lowering Jim down flat.

"Doctor—"

"Get out of here, Spock," McCoy hissed, as Boyce suddenly came marching into the room with the CMO's scrubs.

"Thought I'd bring these with me," he retorted, throwing the uniform over McCoy as he tried to get Jim prepped.

"Yeah, thanks Boyce," he murmured, Chapel now coming in too.

"We only have rubber left, the plastic ones are being sanitized during shore leave," she explained, handing him a rubber mask, which was rarely used these days.

"That's fine, just get him under," he ordered, pulling down the surgical mask under his chin that Boyce hooked over his face.

"Which medication we using here?" Boyce asked, aware of Jim's many allergies, tugging out tray of anaesthetics and smacking it on top of the table.

"Pepinotin. Detox hasn't had a chance to completely run through his system but he's doomed if we leave it for any longer," McCoy explained, waiting for Chapel to turn off the nitrous oxide before removing the mask Jim had on now and switching the cannisters over.

"Get me my medical team, I'm gonna need at least six," McCoy added, staring up at the monitors and reading off the list of problems they were going to soon spend hours fixing, "Total loss of renal function in his right kidney, forty percent loss in his left, infection has spread from his abdominal cavity up to his chest, we won't yet know what exactly it's actually infected until we get in there," he explained. Boyce nodded and ran off to comm the medical staff to assist.

Bones' heart skipped a beat when he looked down and saw Jim's fearful eyes looking up at him.

Of course. He was off the nitrous now.

"Bones—"

"Nurse, hand me the mask."

"Bones please…"

Jim fearfully swallowed hard, trembling nervously as McCoy gripped his chin and pressed the mask over his face.

"Deep breaths, Jim. It'll be over before you know it."

"M'scared…"

"I know, darlin', just breathe this in for me. You'll wake up later and everything will be over."

Jim, still dazed from the nitrous, blinked slowly and didn't put up a fight this time. The mask constricted most of his view, but he saw Bones attempt a weak reassuring smile to him.

And that was the last thing he saw before welcoming the darkness.

Spock paced nervously outside the OR doors. Doctor McCoy had been in there with numerous medical staff for at least seven hours now. He had been sitting down and pacing back and forth the whole time—Boyce even offered for him to nap on one of the bio-beds and joked about doing a physical to pass the time, but nothing unnerved him more than his Captain's life hanging in the balance.

And what he couldn't help, as illogical as it were, was playing back the events of today in his head. Memories of Jim's screaming and crying—it was so unlike the Captain, it made everything even worse.

With this in mind, he was sure something was wrong with him.

He was about to take Boyce up on his offer for an exam before McCoy suddenly burst through the doors, absolutely stained from head to toe in blood, it looked like something out of a Terran horror movie.

McCoy caught Spock's gaze, yanked his surgical mask down and shook his head.
Spock felt like he was going to throw up, before McCoy offered a smile and shook his head again,

"No, no, Spock, I didn't mean that. He's alive, it was just…it was bad. It was really, really bad."

Spock pursed his lips, and quietly asked, "Please elaborate."

McCoy sighed, and perched himself to the chair next to him.

"Well, ah…he's not going to be leaving here anytime soon. The infection managed to spread to his chest from being left for so long, his heart was beginning to deteriorate, and he crashed on the table twice. Obviously, his appendix is gone, both his kidneys are gone and have been replaced with new early-stage grown ones, so he'll be on dialysis until they're fully grown," he explained carefully, "There is nothing there that will get him kicked out of Starfleet, but you're gonna be sitting in that chair for at least a month."

Spock nodded solemnly, glancing up when the doors banged open again, the Captain being wheeled through. He looked ashen, and his hair was an absolute mess. What shocked him though was the fact that there were various tubes sticking out of his mouth and out of his chest.

"Don't worry about it, Spock," McCoy reassured him, "He's on a ventilator until he can breathe on his own, and those tubes stickin' out of his chest are for the dialysis machine. Let us clean him up a bit, then you can go see him, yeah?"

Spock nodded again gratefully, remaining seated while McCoy strode back over to the others and guided them into a cubicle.

There was no word in the Vulcan vocabulary that could express how relieved he was.

Three hours later.

Pain. It was the first thing he registered. There was pain in his head, in his throat, in his chest, and in his abdomen. The pain made him want to cry.

"Jim?"

Who was trying to call his name? That was strange, he was in the middle of nowhere. Darkness. He was alone. Yet someone else was there, calling his name.

Slowly, but surely, he began to push himself to the surface—the surface of what he did not know, but he felt like he was getting closer to something. It was almost like a fight, to claw his way to the surface, to struggle and crawl until he could breathe the air.

Except he couldn't breathe.

Almost all at once, he heard high-pitched alarms hammer into his skull, screaming and wailing—a constant beeping—it made the pain worse.

"Jim!"

"Jim, if you can hear me, squeeze my hand."

Jim managed to feel fingers slip around his skin—his hand. Trying to obey the person in the darkness with him, Jim mustered strength to squeeze very lightly around the fingers that latched around his.

That command didn't help him breathe.

"Okay, Jim I need you to cough for me, on three,"

Jim didn't understand. How do you cough on three? Why? Three was a number. He didn't want to play games, he couldn't breathe.

He groaned—a bad idea, the breath hitched in his throat.

His eyes flew open in alarm, the world returning to him all at once. Something was sticking out of his mouth, he didn't like it. There was a man in white standing over him, a deep frown on his face—it seemed familiar.

"One, two, three,"

Jim shook his head and started thrashing, why was he counting!? He couldn't breathe!

"Okay—Jim, Jim, calm down, you're on a ventilator and we need to take it out, now when I count to three, you need to cough. Do you understand?"

Jim rapidly nodded, his hands clawing against the mattress in desperation.

"One, two, three—" Jim coughed, and the tube nastily slid out of throat, sending him spluttering and coughing over himself—and the pain intensified. He moaned, tears spilling at his eyes instantly as white-hot searing pain ravaged through his chest.

"Twenty cc's of bicaridine," he heard the man say to someone behind him, who turned back and then pulled back an eyelid, creating a magical bright light.

"Pupils reacting and responsive," the man said, moving to his other eye, blinding that eye with the magic light for a few seconds then put the device away.

Jim heard another alarm sounding, the man above him swore and ended up strapping a mask to his face. Jim frowned in confusion.

The alarm stopped.

"Someone get Spock and tell him the idiot is awake," at that moment, whatever was entering Jim's lungs now seemed to make everything kind of click for Jim, and he realised that man above him was Bones.

"Bones" Jim croaked, cringing at how harsh his voice sounded. Bones glanced down towards him and smirked.

"Hey yourself, kid. Told you it wasn't so bad, didn't I?"

Jim blinked slowly, "But I still hurt everywhere," he moaned, reaching for the annoying mask on his face and trying to drag it off.

McCoy smacked his hand away. "Don't you play with that, Jim. I've just given you Bicaridine, so you should start to feel better soon."

Spock approached him after that. McCoy saw him, nodded down to Jim and stepped out of the way.

"Bones!" Jim called after him, who glanced back with an alarmed look on his face. "Thank you...for everything"

Bones' frown merged into a smile, "Aw, you getting all sentimental on me? You're welcome, darlin',"

Then he turned to Spock and narrowed his eyes, "Do me a favour and make sure he keeps that mask on," Bones ordered, before slapping Jim on the shoulder and walking away. Jim smirked as Bones left the room, a warm feeling swirling in his stomach when looking at him. Frankly, he didn't want him to leave. Luckily he only moved 7 steps away to speak to Chapel.

Spock seated himself on the stool beside Jim's bed. His hair didn't seem as immaculate as usual, in fact he looked like he'd just woken up.

Was he asleep and had just come running to Jim the second he was told he was awake…?

"Jim," Spock greeted him quietly, "I am…most pleased that you are awake."

Jim shrugged and started playing with the rails on his bed.

"You don't look like you slept either," Jim joked, attempting to reach a hand out to touch it then dropping it back on the bed with exhaustion. Such effort.

"I was…understandably concerned for your condition." Spock muttered, offering a rare, but hidden slight smirk.

Jim reached out his hand through the rails, glancing up to Spock with his trademark blue begging eyes.

The Vulcan glanced at his hand in confusion, then looked up to his face, trying to decipher what he wanted. Then, timidly, he pushed his hand into Jim's, and watched curiously as Jim's fingers curled around his.

"Fascinating," Spock muttered, wondering why Jim was doing this. Perhaps it's a unknown form of communication.

"Spock," Jim croaked, smiling a little, "I'm trying to hold your hand" he quietly admitted. Spock raised his eyebrows, but agreed to this strange form of Terran comfort.

"Are we gonna get in trouble?" the blonde asked, his eyes half-lidded as if we were about to fall asleep. Spock was confused.

"For what would we get 'in trouble' for, Jim?"

"Well…" Jim licked his lips in thought, "You knew that I had that meltdown in the turbolift but neither of us said anything."

Spock glanced over to McCoy. He was standing with Chapel and Boyce, probably reviewing Jim's notes.
"Ah. Doctor McCoy already knows of the incident. He did not seem phased by it."

Jim narrowed his eyes—how the hell did he find out?
"Wha…how did he…?"

"Jim. I told him myself. I…I confessed."

Jim smiled widely, "You were feeling guilty, Spock?" he teased. Spock straightened himself up, although didn't let go of Jim's hand.

"No, Jim. Never. I am not capable of those emotions."

Jim smiled, tightening his grip on Spock's hand and shutting his eyes.

"Of course you're not, Spock. Of course you're not."

Well that is The. End. Finally. I sincerely hope that you enjoyed, you probably cringed at least 4 times from how many plot twists there were hahaha…poor Jim. Don't forget to leave kudos because it temporary increases the adrenaline rush in my body when it pops up in my email.

If you enjoy UnfortunateSuffering!Jim then feel free to look at "Sectioned", as I'll be carrying on with that now!