OH MY GOD THIS FIC.

This fic and I had difficulties, and eventually it got to the point where it was start afresh or get a divorce.

We're in couples therapy now, we've both agreed to make some changes and we're much happier.

(aka the fic that got rewritten instead of just being deleted)

If you've just started reading this; hi! You've joined just as I've promised to update more, you lucky devil you!

If you were reading this before and now you're like "There used to be 11 chapters?" It's for the best that this happened, trust me. There's no major plot changes, just hopefully an improvement on quality, fic length, characterization and everything else really.

I'm sorry if you preferred the old version, but rewriting was the only way I could feasibly carry on with this fic.

Tags will be updated as we go along!

The title comes from This Bitter Earth / On The Nature Of Daylight by Dinah Washington & Max Richter, which I more or less had on repeat while writing most of this.

Thank you to Shannon, Anne + Finn for reading this over for me you are all stars

"Everyone grieves in different ways. For some, it could take longer or shorter. I do know it never disappears. An ember still smolders inside me. Most days, I don't notice it, but, out of the blue, it'll flare to life."
― Maria V. Snyder, Storm Glass

It's funny how the human body works

Leonard McCoy knows all the little tricks and functions that go into making the body tick, and he should; he didn't spend 10 years becoming a trauma surgeon to not understand how the human body works.

But understanding that he's in shock and that's why he can't feel pain is useless when all he can see is a large piece of metal sticking out of his left arm.

He must pass out at some point (his brain offers multiple options for why – blood loss, pain, shock) because the next time he opens his eyes there's the bright, artificial lights of the hospital, and an overwhelming feeling of something being wrong.

"Leo? Honey are you awake?" It takes him a moment to register the voice, everything feels fuzzy and distant, but he manages to turn his head to see his grandma sat next to the bed.

Leonard wants to ask why she's there, and why he's in a hospital bed in the first place, he's a doctor not a patient after all. But his eyes drift shut again, and before he can really understand what's happened, he's asleep again.

It takes a few more tries before Leonard manages to stay awake long enough for someone to fetch his doctor – someone called Dowd that Leonard has never heard of before – to tell Leonard what's happened despite his protests that he doesn't need a doctor, he is a doctor damn it. The whole time his grandma sits by his bedside, giving him this sad look that would probably make more sense if he wasn't doped up on morphine, and the feeling of wrongness in his chest hasn't faded away.

But then Dowd is in the room, 6 foot something with a shock of orange on his head, and Leonard's world turns upside down

He'd been in a car crash, a serious one with two other cars and a truck. A piece of metal had gotten loose in the collision and was flung into Leonard's left arm, just below the shoulder.

They hadn't been able to save the arm.

"I'm a surgeon." It's like he's on another planet, because until it was pointed out to him that he doesn't actually have that arm anymore, Leonard hadn't noticed. Now the empty space where his arm should be was all he could look at. "I need two hands."

"We tried to save it Leonard, but the damage was too great. I'm sorry."

"But I need two hands."

"Leo, sweetie, there's something else." That's his grandma, and he manages to rip his eyes away from the empty hospital gown sleeve to look at her.

"I don't think now is really the best time, Mrs McCoy. He's been under a lot of stress; he needs time to recover first." Dowd has a nasal voice, and he keeps sending nervous glances towards Leonard's chart, then at Leonard himself. Leonard's glad he's never heard of the man before today, he's probably one of those surgeons that sing while they're operating to keep them on task. "Maybe you should wait until tomorrow."

There's something in the way his grandma's looking at him that's familiar.

"Where's Jocelyn?" It hits him suddenly that she isn't here. He's lost his arm and his wife isn't here. His daughter isn't here. "Where's Jo?"

No one answers his questions, but the feeling of wrongness that's been plaguing him since he woke up turns into a sharp stabbing pain in his stomach pain and all of a sudden, he knows.

His grandma is looking at him the way she looked at his father when Leonard's mother died.

"I'm sorry, Leo. I'm so sorry," His grandma's voice cracks, and suddenly Leonard can't breathe through the pain in his chest, because this can't be happening, this kind of thing doesn't happen to Leonard, but it has happened because Leonard's arm is gone, Dowd is shouting for a nurse, and he can't breathe.

"Leo, they didn't make it."